Agnes Smith Born 770 AD in Northumberland, England 'died' 793 AD Agnes is the daughter of the blacksmith, John, and the wife of his apprentice, Kai, in a village on the coast of Northumberland, not far from Lindesfarne. The village is typically Saxon, stone walled buildings with turf roofs. There is some fishing, some smallhold farming, animal husbandry and some hunting of game. Agnes is the only child of John Smith, and her mother died in childbirth. Consequently she has been doted on by her father, and is quite stubborn and used to getting her own way. Despite this, she is popular in the village. With her good looks and voice she was much sought after by many suitors, and she took pleasure in flirting with them all. Three years ago she married and has since been less brazen. Last month it has been said that there were dragons in the sky breathing fire, and other evil omens. Only yesterday evening, it looked like there was a large pall of smoke over the monastery at Lindesfarne, and some of the men determined to sail there first thing in the morning. They had set off, at first light. It was early evening now, and they still had not returned. Agnes was down by the shore gathering sea-coal for the forge. On the beach were also the womenfolk of the men who had gone to Lindesfarne. There was a bit of sea-mist, so the visibility was poor. There was a scream. Agnes looked up, and there coming out of the mist was the head and neck of a dragon! She was rooted to the spot in abject terror. Her mind was nummed, and her mind was oh so slow in realising that on the back of the dragon were armed men, that were even now jumping into the surf and splashing towards the shore. Still in the grip of terror, Agnes looked up the beach. The armed and armoured intruders were on dry land now, and some of the men of the village had armed themselves and were engaging them in combat, and were falling with mortal wounds. And among them was Kai! The terror was gone - replaced with a dreadful sense of forboding as she raced across the sand to her husband's fallen form. Even as she got there she knew he was dead. A cry distracted her - her father! Looking up she saw him keeping three intruders at bay with swings from his large felling axe. Agnes grabbed Kai's sword and ran towards her father, getting closer and closer, almost to the point where she could strike one of them from the back, when she saw the axe fly off to the side, her father's severed hand still holding on to it, and then they had run him through. With Kai's sword she struck one on the neck, and saw the blood well up, and then the armoured body of an intruder struck her from behind and brought her to the ground. She woke up. She was on the dragon, which she could see now was just a boat. In the flickering torchlight, she could see that there were several other women from the village, along with animals, and other valuables. Looking to the far end of the boat, it looked like Elspeth was suffering 'a fate worse than death'. The only two men who really mattered to Agnes were dead - killed by these pirates. There was no way she was going to give them her body too. Given a choice between 'a fate worse than death' and death itself, she would take death. Agnes hurled herself over the gunwales and into the cold dark sea. The shock was numbing. She told herself that with luck she could swim ashore, but in her heart she knew she would drown. '798: In this year King Beorhtric took to wife Eadburgh, daughter of King Offa. And in his days there came for the first time three ships of Northmen, from Hörthaland: and the reeve rode hither and tried to compel them to go to the royal manor -- for he did not know what they were -- and they slew him. These were the first ships of the Danes to come to England.' -from the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle. "From the fury of the Northmen, good Lord deliver us!" -common prayer during the Viking era ....................................................................................... Autumn, 793 A.D. Northumbria, the Bernician coast Drowning is a terrible way to die. It seemed a simple choice when you flung yourself over the side of the longship. What these pirates apparently intended for you and all the other female captives was a fate worse than death....or so it seemed. But as your lungs fill with water and you sink into the cold depths, gasping and choking and desperately, futilely, struggling for the surface, the pain in your chest and the horror of descending into a murky abyss as life seeps agonizingly out of your body is unbearable, terrible enough to make you wonder if you'd have the courage to do the same again if you'd known what it would feel like. Your only comfort, as darkness closes over you, finally stifling the excrutiating, suffocating torture in your lungs, is the memory of your bearded captor's furious cry and his failed attempt to snatch you from the water before you sunk beneath the waves. At least you denied that monster, the man who killed your husband and meant to rape you and sell you into slavery, of his prize, and you'll carry his look of helpless frustration to your watery grave. A small, very small, victory. ..... Bearded, axe-wielding ogres chase you through your dreams, driving you into the sea, which grasps you with watery, icy-cold fingers and drags you to the bottom, where your lungs will be seared by the salty water until they burst, and then fish will nibble on your flesh, stripping your bones until your skeleton lies in ghastly repose on the seabottom, and crabs will nest in the empty eye-sockets of your skull.... The roar of waves intrudes on your dreams, and you gag, and spit up sand and seawater. Mud clings to your face, and you're cold and wet and miserable.... and alive! It takes you a few moments to orient yourself, but you are no longer dreaming. You're lying on a pebbly beach, with jagged rocks not far off, and you nearly scream as a sudden wave washes over you, submerging you in dark green water before the tide recedes once more. You don't immediately recognize the beach- it's not one near your village, though the coastline doesn't look too unfamiliar, at least in the composition of the terrain and the plants you can see. The simple skirt and blouse you were wearing hangs in tattered strips around you....it has worn away in many places, with holes and missing chunks of cloth that you'd expect to see from a garment that had spent days or weeks floating in the water. In fact, you're rather embarrassingly exposed by what little is left of the thin fabric sticking to your body...but up and down the beach, as far as you can see, there is no one to be seen, not a sign of anything living but the beach grasses and the seabirds. <><><><><> AD 793 In this year dire portends appeared over Northumbria and sorely frightened the people. They consisted of immense whirlwindds and flashes of lightning and fiery dragons were seen flying in the air. A great famine immediately followed these signs, and a little after that in the same year, on 8 June, the ravages of the heathen men miserably destroyed God's Church on Lindesfarne. Anglo Saxon Chronicle Agnes get up and walks to the edge of the surf, and looks around in wonderment. She is alive! She falls to her knees and prays to Almighty God, thanking Him for her deliverance. As she stands up again, she realises that her clothes are rags, much more than if she had spent even a day at sea. There was obviously something wrong with her recollection of events. But, if her clothes were in this state, she was glad that she could not remember the details. Agnes looks up and down the shore. Nothing. No-body. One way looked much like another. There was always the option of going inland, but she discounted it. On the shore she could see further, and would be less likely to be taken unawares. It would also be easier to explain why she was wearing virtually no clothes. She set off, Northwards - on a whim, walking along the beach were the water ebbed and flowed with each wave, covering and uncovering the sand. As she walked, her mind's eye re-ran the sequence of events at her village of Marham. The attack, the death of her husband and father, her futile intervention, and finally her very small victory. Despite her guilt, she could see nothing that she would have done differently, no outcome other than that which transpired. Agnes realised that tears were streaming down her cheeks. <><><><><> [GM] The beach curves around, and you follow the twisting coastline for a couple of miles, lost in mourning and a numb sense of loss, along with some other sensation you can't properly assess...*everything* feels different. Around a final sharp bend, you come to a stop. Lying across a grey expanse of water....is England. Or so you surmise. The coastline stretches as far as you can see in either direction....and you realize that you are in fact on an island off the coast. Which is puzzling...except for a few jagged rocks sticking up above the waves not far from the shore, there is no island near enough to your village that you could have, by any stretch of imagination, swam the distance. Walking farther, you top a rise, and see a small ship with sail lowered and oars stacked against the side, sitting pulled up onto the sand. A pair of warriors, in metal armor, stand near, and a group of Saxon men who must be the oarsmen are clustered around a fire built in the sand, engaged in banter. Beyond, inland, you see a smoking ruin, around which a few figures can be seen moving to and fro. You've never been here, but from the descriptions given you by the few in the village who had, and instinct, you realize you're looking at what was once one of the largest monastaries in Northumbria. Lindesfarne. You could not have washed ashore alive on Lindesfarne. On a good day, the large island is visible from the shore by your village, but it's several hours away by boat. The men on the beach have not yet noticed you. <><><><><> 793 In the same year the pagans from the northern regions came with a naval force to Britain like stinging hornets and spread on all sides like fearful wolves, robbed, tore and slaughtered not only beasts of burden, sheep and oxen, but even priests and deacons, and companies of monks and nuns. And they came to the church of Lindesfarne, laid everything to waste with greivous plundering, trampled the holy places with polluted steps, dug up the altars and seized all the treasures of the Holy Church. They killed some of the brothers, took away with them some in fetters, many they drove out naked and loaded with insults, some they drowned in the sea. Symeon of Durham Agnes gets down at the crest and lies there watching. She peers at the ship and armoured men to reasure herself that they are local Anglians and not like the Pirates. [OOC not Saxon surely - this far North?] "What to do?" she thinks to herself. "Well, unless I throw myself upon the mercy of some-one, I'll be left on the island to starve. Given that the Monastary is a smoking ruin, there will be no monks to help." Almost at the point of getting up and running towards them, she checks herself. "But why? What life would I be giving myself. The wife of a nobody. Only the lowest would accept a widdow, who brought neither inheritance nor dowery. There were unlikely to be many, if any, left at Marham, so there would be none there to return to - no friends nor relatives. Her only family would be those of the husband she would not have chosen." She lay on the dune and continued to watch. "No. God must have rescued her for better than that - He would surely not let her die on this Holy island if she stayed. That is what she would do. She would wait until the ship left, and see how many if any remained. If some remained, there would be time then before she could be shipped off, and she would prove her worth in that time. If none remained - so much the better." With a new resolve, and only waiting to be done, Agnes watched events in front of her. <><><><><> [GM] The oarsmen do seem to be Anglians. The warriors are wearing Saxon- style armor, but they speak Northern dialect. You hear them making crude jests and discussing a certain lady back in Melrose in exceedingly bawdy tones. Lying in the sand is tedious and uncomfortable, especially with your ragged, still-damp clothing. But the men seem disinclined to walk up and down the beach, so you remain secure in your hiding place. A few hours after high noon- though the sun can barely be seen in the hazy sky- a body of well-dressed men comes walking back from the monastary's ruins. Several are warriors, dressed in better armor of Anglian design, and one you can see by his fine clothes and jeweled sword is a man of importance, possibly one of the king's thegns. One of the brothers of the monastary walks with the group, and makes humble obeisance as the ship is pushed back into the water, and the men climb aboard. You cannot catch the entirety of their conversation, but the thegn says "...return next week....before Midsummer Day..." Midsummer Day- the feast of John the Baptist- should still be TWO weeks away! At least, two weeks from the day the pirates attacked. You look down again at your soggy, frayed clothes, with the hem of your skirt disintegrating and algae clinging in patches. The ship slides into the water, and rows towards the mainland. The monk bows, gives a final wave of his hand, and turns to walk back towards the Lindesfarne monastary. <><><><><> Lo, it is nearly three hundred and fifty years that we and our fathers have inhabited this most lovely land, and never before has such a terror appeared in Britain as we have now suffered from a pagan race, nor was it thought that such an inroad from the sea could be made. Letter of Alcuin Horrible thoughts played at the edge of Agnes' mind, but she only gave sufficient thought to recognise that others too may have them. She striped off what remained of her clothing, and considered it a while, but not daring to allow herself to come to any conclusions - or even start down that road. Later maybe, but there were more immediate needs. Agnes checked that the boat was by then out of sight, and then stood up and picked her way towards the ruins of the Monastary, where she would seek shelter, food and clothing - and perhaps realise or banish the lurking fears she had about stepping onto hallowed ground. <><><><><> [GM] An odd sensation sweeps over you as you walk naked across the sand, which gives way to scrub and grass, towards the smoking remnants of the monastary. It is a feeling of serenity and stillness, outside the range of any senses for which you have words, and indeed, only this sensation, intruding on your awareness, alerts you to the fact that there seemed to be an extra quality to the earth and air and sea which had remained hitherto invisible to you, your entire life. The entire world seemed to vibrate with a quicker pulse, a pulse to which you are now dimly attuned. The alienness of this new sense, and the shock and confusion which dominated your thoughts, allowed your numbed brain to completely tune it out until now, unneeded and unwanted extra sensory info that was discarded as useless. Somewhat like the crashing of waves, which was almost inaudible to you after years spent living by the sea, unless that constant noise should grow measurably louder, or else subside unexpectedly. Setting foot on the outer perimeter of the monastary grounds, you become aware of what you were ignoring as it suddenly fades into an even quieter undertone. You can still perceive it if you concentrate, but now the sense is nearly overloaded by sudden quietude. It takes a moment to shake off the illusion that you've stumbled into another dominion. All the mundane sights and sounds and smells are the same. You have at times, in reverential moods, felt a sort of peace when entering the small church nearer your village, but never has this impression of sanctity been so tangible to you before. Truly, even defiled, Lindesfarne must be holy ground indeed, and you feel relief, and gratitude to God, that your presence has not roused His anger. At least, no flames come down from heaven to punish you for treading blasphemously on ground consecrated to Him. But while the feeling here is peaceful, and welcome because of that, it is not inherently welcoming. There is an offer here, of solitude, but there is power here too, and some instinct tells you it is power that need not always remain dormant. It is neither friendly nor hostile, merely present. You hear voices on the other side of a blackened outer wall, and feel suddenly ashamed of your nudity. What will these men of God think of a strange woman emerging naked from the sea? <><><><><> On Æthelwald Moll's disposition in 774, his son Æthelred was received as king of Northumbria against the will of many Northumbrian Nobles. During the next five yearsfour of his enemies are known to have been betrayed into the hands of his friends and killed by his orders. But in 779 he was expelled from the kingdom by a grandson of Eadberht named Ælfwald, who reigned until 788. Ælfwald was remembered as a just and pious king, and his death which was the result of a private conspiracy, was followed by a greivous degeneration of morals in the north. He was the last Northumbrian king for which any ancient writer axpressed admiration. His successor, Osred, son of Æthelred, was driven from the country within the year, and Æthelred came back from exile. Alcuin who had known him, and welcomed his restoration, had no respect for his behaviour as king, and regarded the sack of Lindesfarne by the Northmen in 793 as the beginning of judgements about to fall on Northumbria because of the violence, the contempt of justice and the evil lives of its rulers. ... Æthelred was a treacherous and merciless enimy. It was clear that he was never at ease with his kingdom, and it was probably to obyain an ally who could protect him that in 792 he married a daughter of Offa, king of the Mercians. For nearly four years after his marriage he seems to have ruled in peace. But in 796 he was murdered by a band of cconspirators, led by one of his nobles, and Northumbria fell into virtual anarchy. Abridged from 'Anglo Saxon England' by Sir Frank Stenton < Agnes > Ashamed, but with no real choice, Agnes continues on to the Monastary, picking up on the way, anything that will preserve at least some modesty. At the gates, she calls out "Hello!" <><><><><> [GM] The "gates" are shattered, and hardly to be distinguished from the walls around them. Most of the roof is gone. However, through the breach in the wall, you see interior walls of stone that are still standing, and darkness farther in, suggesting that the structure was not completely razed. The smell of smoke is everywhere. Aside from pieces of wood, covered in greasy soot, and broken bits of masonry, here and there a bit of metal that might have been a utensil, a shattered piece of crockery, there is little outside with which to cover yourself. Your call quiets the voices you heard talking. Then a man answers tremulously, "What? What was that?" Someone, in a lower, younger voice, says "It sounded like a woman!" Two monks in robes of plain brown sackcloth, one elderly and one portly and middle-aged, and a slightly younger man, beginning to go bald, wearing plain peasant garb and holding a shovel, step out from around the wall, and stop abruptly when they see you, the large monk in the lead halting so abruptly the two men behind him nearly run into him and each other. Three pairs of eyes pop wide open, and the old monk says "All the Saints!" and gulps. The younger monk stares for a moment, then, turning red, averts his eyes, holding his hand in front of his face, palm outward. "By God, child, who are you, and what are you doing wandering around unclothed?" The unrobed man hesitates a little longer before he looks away. The old man grates "Corwin! Run get a robe, or a tapestry, or *something* to cover this...this woman." Corwin drops his shovel and retreats into the monastary. <><><><><> < Agnes > "Forgive me father, but I didn't know who else to turn to my husband and my father have both been slain and the village sacked and the women including me abducted but I managed to get away and I must have been in the sea for a night and a day when I managed to make it to the shore on the island, and the pagans left me with nothing to wear ... " Agnes blurted. Slowing down, she continues, "My name is Agnes. I had hoped that I would find clothing food and shelter here. I was shocked to see the monastary had been sacked." <><><><><> [GM] The monks' expressions change as you tell your story. "Oh, you poor child," the fat one says. "May God strike all those pagans dead!" the older one says vehemently. "They burned the monastary, defiled all that was holy and sacred here...they stole everything, our relics and wrought silver and tapestries and everything else of value, burned what could be burned, all our books, our precious Latin manuscripts..." the old man moans. "They put half the brothers to the sword and drowned many of the others, Gregory and I survived only by the grace of God-" The younger brother puts a hand on the elder's shoulder. "It was terrible indeed. I suppose they sacked your village after they left here. The king's men were just here; apparently the sea raiders struck at several places along the coast, but they're gone now. John of Olney, one of the king's thegns, promised that there will be increased vigilance along the coast of Northumbria, though I doubt it. But I'm sure they won't be so daring as to strike again soon in the same place." The peasant, Corwin, returns with a musty old robe identical to the ones the monks are wearing. "Uh, it's all I could find quickly," he stammers, trying to avert his eyes from you as he hands the cloth over, while also trying to sneak a peek at the same time. <><><><><> Agnes takes the robe from Corwin, saying "Thank you, Corwin" as she does. She turns around, and with her back to the three of them, pulls on the garment over her head. She checks it is fully down, and then turns back to face them. "That's better. You can look now." She says, ignoring any glances that she has been aware of up to that point. "Would it be possible to have something to eat and drink?" she continues with the hint of a smile, slipping into her pre-marital 'little-girl- lost' ways. <><><><><> [GM] "We don't have a lot," the old monk says peckishly, but the younger one says "Of course, we will share what we have with you." Within the burned walls of the monastary, you follow the three men, and receive curious looks from some of the other surviving clergymen, though Brother Gregory and Brother Augustus explain your predicament quickly. You're horrified at the extent of the damage. The pirates did indeed steal just about everything that wasn't nailed down, and smashed or burned most of what remained. In a small central room, a broken wooden table has been crudely repaired, and another of the secular helpers is sent to fetch a pitcher of small beer and some bread. Only now do you realize how utterly famished you are, and you tear into the bread with embarrassing speed. Your stomach growls and churns, and after consuming an entire loaf by yourself, you've only sated the sharpest edges of your hunger. You feel as if you haven't eaten in many days, and now that you feel somewhat safe and relaxed, you notice how your arms tremble, and you feel light-headed and weak, all from hunger. Your thirst is nearly equal to your hunger, and you down a pitcher of small beer as speedily as you did the loaf of bread. Your throat was not parched, but your body cried out for water. The two monks watch with sympathy, surprise and bemusement as you gulp down everything set before you, and then feel very guilty, knowing how little they must have right now, but wanting more. Once you've stopped for the moment, Brother Gregory says "Well....Agnes. We must decide what to do with you now. I am afraid it sounds like you have no home to return to. However, we, ah, do not usually have women here on the island." <><><><><> Agnes looks at Brother Gregory. "But Brother Gregory, these are not usual times. Would it not be possible for me to stay a while, to recover from my ordeal, and to decide where I should go once I have left? " She smiles at him. "I could help out whilst I stay. The monastary needs every hand it can get to rebuild it, does it not? I can, cook, sew and weave: and I can work leather and work iron in a forge." And with more solemnity, she adds, "And I shall keep myself to myself, and cause no _trouble_." "Please let me stay until I am ready to face the world again. Please." <><><><><> [GM] Brother Augustus says "Women are *always* trouble." But Brother Gregory hushes him. "Now, now...." He looks at you with a more compassionate expression than the severe and irritable older monk. "It's true, we have no shortage of work and a definite shortage of workers. And you seem to have an abundance of useful skills. Besides," he adds, inclining his head towards his senior, "what else shall we do, Brother Augustus? The pirates scuttled all our boats. We have no ship until the Bishop speaks to the King and procures one. We can hardly throw her back into the sea. And even if we could take her ashore, it would hardly be the Christian thing to do to simply abandon her." "We could send her to the convent in Mercia," Brother Augustus snaps. Brother Gregory sighs and rolls his eyes. "Well....we can't because we have no boat." That simple fact leaves the older man with little to say in return, so he just scowls. Brother Gregory says "Come with me, please, Agnes, I am afraid a storage room is all we can offer in the way of sleeping accomodations, but none of us have anything more comfortable." Walking around the monastary with you towards the other side, he says "Brother Augustus is not nearly as harsh as he seems. His nature is simply to be...difficult. And it has been a most severe trial we have been through...though yours has been as great. The good Lord saw fit to spare us few, and I personally cannot think but that your washing up on our shore, a small miracle in itself, must be part of His design." You see some other, smaller buildings behind the main monastary, also burned for the most part, but there is what seems to be a very small chapel, hardly more than a shrine enclosed by walls, which is intact but for the shattered wooden door. Brother Gregory is leading you to a rear entrance to the monastary, as it's easier to simply walk around the outside than to pick your way through some of the burned and rubble- strewn interior sections. A sudden jolt stops you dead in your tracks. A sensation almost as indescribable as that which you experienced (and then felt muted) before you set foot on the monastary's grounds) earlier, but stronger. A shiver goes down your spine, as if someone is stepping on your grave, and you sense the definite presence of Someone....who, you do not know, but instinctively you know that this foreshadowing is a warning, that there is something or someone nearby of whom you should be wary. <><><><><> << Agnes >> Agnes stopped short and looked about. Seeing no-one but Brother Gregory she picked up the skirts of the robe, and hurried to catch him up again. She thought about the sensation. She might be religious, but old wives tales had to be heeded too - especially those about people walking over your grave. It was too immediate, too personal a sensation to be dismissed as just a foreboding about the pagans returning to Lindesfarne. It had to have something to do with the men already on the island. She mulled things over in her mind. **Brother Augustus had said "Women are _always_ trouble." Perhaps he knows that some of the monks will be *trouble* once they find out that a woman is on the island, and given the chill down her spine that she had just felt, perhaps the *trouble* was going to be on a par with that which she had just escaped from.** She would have to be careful. It would be wise to know what she faced. "Brother Gregory. How many monks were ther here before the pagans arrived, and how many are there now?" <><><><><> [GM] Brother Gregory sighs. "Before, there were forty-seven Brothers, the Bishop, and, oh, perhaps three dozen lay people. Now, there are nineteen of us who have taken the tonsure left, and under- " He is cut off by a cry of rage and desperation. "NO, BY GOD! Aeign thegat lidawn hard fethan skatash! Lieft co-" From the small chapel rushes a tall monk with stubble growing over his bald pate; apparently he has not applied a knife to keep his clerical tonsure clean-shaven in several days. He has a ragged dark brown beard and mustache, also somewhat unusual for a monk. But what really startles you is the heavy, double-edged sword he's holding in one hand. It is much larger than most swords you've seen, but he holds it in a firm grip, keeping the point steadily pointed ahead of himself and towards the ground as he runs. The ominous foreboding radiates directly from him, as clear in your mind as if he was on fire. He comes to an abrupt halt, several paces from you, and stares at you wide-eyed, nostrils flaring. Brother Gregory does not seem to sense the invisible current that passes between you, but needless to say, the scene still shocks him. "Brother Peter!" he gasps. "What in God's name are you doing?" <><><><><> The sight of the sword-wielding, unshaven man running at her brought it all back: the serpentine boat; the fight on the beach; the death of her husband; throwing herself off the boat; drowning; her rotted clothes; her ravenous hunger ... Before the man had travelled but a few paces towards her, Agnes' flashback had shattered the wall of denial and self delusion that she subconsiously built. She _knew_ that she had drowned, but had for some reason not died, or worse had been brought back from the dead. The feared thunderbolt from the heavens had not struck her as she stepped onto consecrated ground. Instead, Death personified was rushing towards her from the holy chapel. She was an abomination before God, and He was going to strike her down using His instrument. Her eyes were wide with terror, but they took in his face, his eyes, the large sword expertly held, the manner of his gait, the small pebbles dislodged by his feet as he ran, everything about him. Her Nemesis had arrived. And then he stopped abruptly several paces in front of her .... and the spell was broken. Agnes turned and fled: Headless of everything, she ran as fast as she had ever run ... back down the path along which she and Brother Gregory had approached the chapel ... past the burned out buildings ... past the broken gate ... down the path to the shore ... and onto the beach. Surprised at how much ground she had covered, as she turned to head along the shoreline, Agnes allowed herself the luxury of a glance backwards ... <><><><><> [GM] To your horror, the sword-wielding monk is right on your heels...the crawling sensation in your spine never abated, as he pursued you all the way to the beach. Far back, by the monastary, you see that Brother Gregory and another monk came as far as the outer wall, and from that distance are watching the chase- too far away for you to read their expressions. The source of your terror, the one Brother Gregory called Brother Peter, is loping after you without much difficulty, still holding that big sword, though no longer in a grip that looks like he's ready to use it; more like he's simply carrying it along with him as he runs. "Stop, damn it!" he cries out in exasperation. "Where are you going to run to, anyways? It's an *island*, for God's sake!" <><><><><> 794 ... And Northumbria was ravaged by the heathen, and Eccgfrith's monastary at Jarrow looted, and there one of their leaders was slain, and some of their ships besides were shattered by storms; and many of them were drowned there, and some came ashore alive and were at once slain at the river mouth. 796 In this year Ceolwulf, king of Mercia, harried Kent, and seized Eadberht Præn, their king; he led him bound into Mercia (and had his eyes put out and his hands cut off). 797 In this year the Romans cut off the tongue of Pope Leo and put out his eyes, banishing him from his See: and soon afterwards by God's help he could see and speak, and became Pope again as he had been. Anglo Saxon Chronicles ****************************** Agnes looked ahead again along the empty beach. "He's right," she thought dispairingly, "there is nowhere to run." She slowed from her sprint to a stop, and turned to face her Nemesis. "You are right. I cannot escape God's wrath by running away from it." She sinks to her knees. "I forgive you for what you must do, Brother Peter." And Agnes prays, humbly, awaiting death's blow. <><><><><> [GM] Brother Peter stops, breathing heavily. "God's wrath...what?" He sinks to his knees, opposite you, and lets the sword point sink into the sand. "Dear God," he says. "You don't- you've just...become, haven't you?" He puts a hand on your shoulder. "I am not going to hurt you, child. I am not an instrument of God's wrath. I am sorry I frightened you....I thought you were...someone else." No longer angry or demanding, his voice is gentle now. "Tell me...who are you, woman, and by what circumstances did you come here?" <><><><><> With tears running down her cheeks, Agnes looks up from the sand to look at the man who knelt with her on the beach. "My name is Agnes.", she says through sniffles. She looks away from him again, and nervously starts fiddling with her badly matted, long mousy hair. "My village was attacked by pirates, the menfolk killed and the women abducted. I threw myself into the sea from their boat to escape them." With the sleive of the habit, Agnes wipes her eyes, but even when she has done so, she still avoids looking at him. "I made it to the beach behind us, and went to the monastary, where Brother Gregory arranged for me to have this monk's habit, and for me to stay a while on the island." She glances at him, "You frightened me, and reminded me of the pirates, so I ran away." <><><><><> [GM] "I see," Brother Peter sighs. He takes your hand, gently, and standing, pulls you to your feet. "The pirates came here also, as I'm sure you know. They aren't merely pirates, they're raiders from the far north. They are a fierce and warlike people....and they will be back." Seeing your consternation, he adds hastily "Not immediately. But by next year, certainly. I have sent a letter to the Bishop, begging him to warn King Aethelred, but I do not know if I will be taken seriously." He looks at you. "When you threw yourself into the sea, Agnes...what happened? You swam all the way to Lindesfarne?" You sense he already knows the answer, but his eyes stare into yours, insistently demanding an answer. <><><><><> Agnes finds she cannot look away from the insistant eyes. "I ... I ... " the tears roll down he cheeks, as she fights to speak through the sobs, "I drowned!" and she buries her face in his shoulder. "I heard someone mention today's date, and I know when I was abducted. It has been a week since I died - I don't remember any of it, but my clothes were those of a drowned woman, and my hair is a matted mess." She pulls away from him slightly, and looks at him. "You knew before I told you, didn't you? What has happened to me?" <><><><><> [GM] "There, there," he says roughly, patting your head. He's obviously not used to comforting people, nor to women crying on his shoulder. He sighs as you step back. "Yes, I knew. I have found it's better to get you to say it yourself than to tell you. That cuts short the denial." He picks up his sword again, and tucks it under his robe. "Let's get back to the monastary. I can hear your stomach growling. If you were floating in the water for a week, then you must be starving, and what I have to tell you is best heard on a full stomach." He takes a few steps, then turns back for a moment and grabs your hand again. "Believe one thing, Agnes. I know your world seems to have come to an end, but you're safe now. Not forever, but no one will harm you here. However....do not tell the other brothers what you just told me. It and everything else I will tell you, must remain a secret." <><><><><> < Agnes > Rather numbly Agnes falls in step with Brother Peter, and goes with him back towards the monastary. Before reaching any of the other brothers she asks, "Brother Peter, why did you rush at me with a sword if it wasn't to strike me down? And how will you explain your actions to the other brothers?" Having listened to his answers she walks in silence with him back to the monastary, contemplating the empty stomach that he has reminded her about. <><><><><> [GM] Brother Peter sighs. "I thought the monastary was being assaulted again, and that you were....someone else. I sensed you, just as you sensed me. You have noticed the sensation you feel from my presence, a tingling in your skull?" He frowns at the monks ahead. "But it was very rash of me, I let rage overwhelm my senses. Even if you had been who I thought you were, it would have been a most grievous sin to draw blood on holy ground. I will have to do penance for my impetuousness. And for lying, which is what I shall have to do to the Brothers. Shh, no more questions for now." He approaches the shocked monks who filed out of the monastary to see what was going on. "Brother Gregory, Brother Aethald, Brother Thurdan...please, forgive this spectacle. I am deeply ashamed...the shock of the raid, of everything that's happened....I have been praying for days on end since then, as you know, I'm afraid I took leave of my senses and was overcome with visions of another attack, and rushed out when I heard strange voices." Brother Gregory looks taken aback. "But...surely the only strange voice you heard was Agnes', certainly a woman's voice didn't make you think the pirates had returned?" Brother Peter shakes his head. "I cannot say what I thought, Brother Gregory. I was not in my right mind. Anyways, I regained my senses when the poor girl screamed and ran away, so I chased after her hoping to calm her down." "With a sword?" the one called Brother Thurdan asks. "Well, obviously I still wasn't thinking very clearly." Brother Peter does look remarkably abashed. "Where did you get the sword?" asks another monk. "It was one the pirates dropped, I took it to my room. I don't know why." This story has numerous holes in it, and you can tell that the other brothers are not entirely satisfied with Brother Peter's explanation. But, they accept his apologies for his strange behavior, and with concern, suggest that he get some rest. Brother Gregory lays a hand on your shoulder and asks if you're all right. Still confused, you all move back inside. Brother Peter catches your sleeve and whispers in your ear, "After evening prayers, when we all go to bed, wait for me to knock softly on your door, then wait a while and come outside to the rear gate. And try to be stealthy, please; if anyone spots either of us slipping outside, I fear no one will believe anything but the obvious." <><><><><> Agnes goes with Brother Gregory and lets him finish showing her around the monastary. Smashed and burned wood litters the floors. Anything of obvious value has been ripped out and anything else of beauty destroyed. Brothers pick through the wreckage to see what can be salvaged. Agnes is saddened at the scene of destruction of what must be many monks' lives' work. At the animal sheds there are more signs of wanton destruction. Inside what looks to be the shearing shed, Agnes takes down a pair of shears and cuts off her long matted tresses, leaving her with a rather ragged, but tangle-free, boyish cut. "That's a little less provocative or distracting for the Brothers don't you think Brother Gregory?" The tour passes the forge. Agnes stops and walks over to it. She stands long moments looking at it, and tears roll down her cheaks once more, for she doesn't see the cold forge of the monastary, but the one from her village - hot and working. Her husband stands by the anvil, holding in the tongs a red hot ploughshare-to-be, which her father strikes with the hammer. The clang of the hammer punctuates the jokes and ribbing that pass between the men. Kai looks up and seeing her, says, "Agnes? ... Agnes? Are you alright? ... Agnes?" says Brother Gregory as he puts his hand on Agnes' shoulder. Mustering what composure she can, she looks at Brother Gregory. "I'm sorry. I think I'd like to go to my room now." Time passes slowly by Agnes in her room, with little to do but watch the shadows lengthen, and the daylight fade. And mourn. Bells have rung and songs have been sung on more than one occassion, and everything has been quiet in the dark for some time, when the door is quietly knocked. She waits a while and, still barefoot as she has been all day, she slips out of her cell, along the corridor, and out the rear entrance of the monastary. <><><><><> [GM] Brother Peter is waiting by the gate, as promised. You suppress a shudder as you sense that supernatural foreboding again. He looks at you, then says quietly "Follow me." He begins walking, not towards the beach, but up the hill that rises behind the monastary, which peaks at a jagged promontory. You notice, by the bulge beneath his robe, that he's carrying his sword. <><><><><> Walking slowly, Agnes follows behind Brother Peter, up the hill, taking care on the rocks with her bare feet. Once a suitable distance from the monastary that their voices will not carry there, she asks, "Why the sword?" <><><><><> [GM] "A precaution," he answers. He doesn't turn around, and keeps walking up the slope, leaving you to ponder the meaning of that. At the top of the promontory, he stands looking out over the ocean, with the monastary and the beach stretched out below. Framed against the night sky, his hair beginning to get shaggy enough to flutter slightly in the breeze, there is a timeless quality about him, like a sentinel standing guard over the island. The supernatural aura that radiates from him whenever you come close burns into your mind more acutely than ever. He stands there for a long time. Then, without looking directly at you, he begins speaking. "You will learn that it is wise to always be wary of another of our kind, Agnes. You are fortunate that I am the first one who found you; others would have slain you already. And experience teaches me to be wary of you. You seem innocuous and no more than you appear; a frightened woman who washed up on shore with no understanding of what's just happened to you. But I cannot be sure of that- some of our kind are very cunning, devious enough to pretend to be a lost waif newly reborn so as to catch a would-be mentor offguard. I have particularly learned to be wary of women, as for you to survive, you must be even more cunning and ruthless than a man. There is one who dwells in Hibernia, who can disguise herself magically and could quite easily appear to be a young woman. And she is exceedingly dangerous. I really don't believe that you are her, and if you are, I probably would stand little chance against you anyways. But...one can never be sure." He finally looks at you. "Forgive me, I know I am only confusing you. Agnes, one reason I became a monk is because I desire to amend for past sins, but...I am not good with people. You need someone who can be gentle and sympathetic, but that is not my nature. Gruffness and impatience is." "You are an immortal, Agnes. You cannot die by normal means. You drowned, but came back to life, because our kind cannot drown. Nor can we starve to death, though we feel all the pangs of hunger. Even wounds cannot slay us, though they still hurt." "There are others of our kind, and you can always sense them by this foreboding that we feel in each other's presence." "I do not know what we are, truly. I think God selects some people to be immortal for reasons of His own, but it certainly isn't because of any great virtue that person possesses. I was a pagan and a sinner of the worst sort when I became immortal, and I know of others who are still the most wicked and ungodly creatures imaginable. It is a mystery that no one I know of has ever been able to solve." He pauses. "Do you understand what I'm telling you, woman?" He waits, perhaps to see if you're going to go into hysterics, or denial. <><><><><> Agnes stands beside Brother Peter, looking at the Monastary, the beach and the dark sea under the night sky, listening to his words. "Yes, I think so." replies, continuing to look out to sea. "But if wounds cannot slay us, why do you fear the woman in Hibernia?" <><><><><> [GM] "We can be killed one way, and one way only," Brother Peter says. He draws his sword, very quickly. It hisses through the air, and stops- poised at your throat, the edge just barely touching your skin. Brother Peter holds it out at arms' length, while your heart skips a beat. Framed against the shimmering sea, with the moon behind him, he's a sinister shadow with eyes that seem to glow within the absolute darkness of his silhouette. The sword gleams, reflecting moonlight. He's polished it since this evening. "All other wounds heal almost instantly. Even being disemboweled, or pierced through the heart, will hurt a great deal, and leave you helpless for the time it takes your flesh to mend. But if your head's cut off, you die." After an eternal moment, he lowers the sword, slowly. You breathe again. "Slaying another immortal releases their soul from their body, but in a most unholy manner, the immortal who slays him- or her- draws the soul into himself. It is an unspeakably....satiating, experience. Evil, but like many evil things, it is tremendously gratifying." He shudders at some memory, but it isn't entirely with loathing or fear. You know that he's not merely telling you what he's heard from someone else. "And you gain much of the memories of the person you slay, and it makes you more powerful. So, there are many of our kind who hunt other immortals, to take their heads and *feed* on their souls." "That is why I fear the warrior-woman from Hibernia, because she is ancient and has killed many immortals, as well as countless mortals. But now I know you are not her. She would never allow a blade to come so close to her neck, even knowing that I was only testing her." He sheaths his sword. "And nor should you, Agnes. There is a great deal you need to learn, if you wish to survive." <><><><><> Agnes stands rooted to the spot. Frightened, by the man beside her, but frightened more by the things he is telling her, and more still by their implications. After a long pause, she looks around at him. "And will you teach me what I need to know to survive, Brother Peter? I am no fighter, I know almost nothing of wielding swords. If, as you say there are immortals out there hunting us down, I cannot hope to defend myself - and I do not intend to spend eternity as a nun." She turns around square on to him. "Please teach me, Brother Peter." <><><><><> [GM] Brother Peter's shoulders slump, and he sighs deeply. "I was afraid you would ask me that," he says. "I am not much of a teacher. I have only mentored one other immortal before, and the relationship was...difficult. I have no idea how to teach a...a woman." He looks tired, and sad, turning away to look out at the ocean. "I was already planning to leave. If you will not go to a convent, you will have to come with me. If you stay here, you will be at the mercy of the Norsemen, when they return. Or worse, Hygar." <><><><><> "I will go with you then, Brother Peter, and you can teach me how I am to survive in this new world of immortality." She looks out to sea, as he does, and time passes. "If we are immortal, how do we stand in the eyes of the Lord? How can you be a monk? Is all that the priest taught untrue? Is there no redemption after death?" she asks, having plucked up the courage to ask. <><><><><> [GM] Brother Peter sighs again. "You do ask difficult questions, woman." "I cannot speak with authority on how we stand in the eyes of the Lord. He must have some reason for granting one person in a generation this blessing or curse, of immortality. What seems random to us is no doubt part of some plan unfathomable to us. There are other Christian immortals. I know of one man from Ireland, who was converted by Saint Patrick when he traveled there centuries ago, converting the pagans of that land. Another who survived the fall of Rome. So we hope that we can seek redemption and salvation in the same manner as other men...and women. Some of us do die, at the hands of other immortals, and the rest of us will be here on Judgment Day- so eventually we *will* face the Lord's judgment. No, what your priest told you was not lies. But....priests do not know everything." He sets off back down the path to the monastary. "Come, you had best get some sleep. I cannot think of any graceful way to explain to the other brothers why the two of us will be leaving together...so we will simply have to go, and let them think as they will. We will wait until the Thegn returns with his ship, though. Until then, do as you planned to do, helping with chores about the monastary." <><><><><> Agnes sits on the hilltop watching Brother Peter walk back to the monastary and disappear inside. She waits a while, thinking of good times with Kai, and then walks back to her room. In the morning she seeks out Brother Gregory, and asks if she can help with the forge. It was the task she'd always prefered, and as she struck red hot metal with the hammer she vented her frustration. It also made her do something - and think of what she was doing whilst she did so: unlike some dainty women's craft that allowed the mind to wander to what might have been. The items she worked on were relatively simple: repairing the hinges of the main gates, and a variety of other doors; brackets; nails; and similar simple things that required replacement or repair. She didn't intrude on the Brothers' services, and spent that time walking up the hill, or along the beach, coming to terms with her immortality. After two days, she was in a much better mental condition, and told Brother Gregory that she felt up to returning to the mainland, and removing her intrusion from the island. When the Thegn returned, she would leave on his boat. Having got from him some cloth, needle and thread, in her spare time Agnes created a skirt and short smock-top that would allow her to leave looking a little more feminine than she would in a Monk's habit. A week passes, and a boat is seen approaching the island. Agnes dresses in the clothes she has made, and carries in her pocket the small knife she had forged earlier. She says her goodbyes to the Brothers and thanks them for their hospitality and help in recovering from her traumatic time. She waits for the Thegn to make his way to the monastary, and waits to see if Brother Peter will indeed leave too. <><><><><> [GM] For the most part, the monks leave you alone, though you catch a few covetuous glances cast your way, when they think you're not looking. Brother Gregory, still the kindest of all of them, tells you "If you are sure, my child. But, you don't need to leave so soon. We are willing to offer you shelter as long as you need, and you really have been very helpful around here, and your work is much appreciated. Besides, where will you go?" But he reluctantly accepts your decision. On the day that the Thegn returns, armed and armored and dressed in fine clothes, despite the fact he's only visiting the humble, devestated abode of peaceful monks, the brothers all file out to say good-bye....not to you, but to Brother Peter. He looks quite different already. He is letting his hair grow out, and with a full beard, he looks less like a holy brother and more like a grizzled warrior. For he has shed his monk's robe and now wears simple traveling clothes...and his sword. He also looks foreign, which is the first time you've really noticed this; he fit in well with the surroundings, while he was dressed like all the other men here, and his Anglo-Saxon is unaccented and far more extensive than yours...but he definitely no longer looks like either an Angle or a Saxon...nor like any of the pirates, whatever land they come from. The other brothers must surely have spent a great deal of time trying to change Brother Peter's mind. Persuading, pleading, cajoling, threatening, shaming....there must have been all of that. You have never heard of a holy man simply setting aside his vestments and leaving the order; you can't imagine they let him go easily and without argument. But if so, all arguments are done now. They simply say their farewells, quietly, tersely, some tearfully, some, like Brother Augustus, with a dire scowl and a refusal to look Brother Peter in the eye. No longer Brother Peter, simply Peter, the mysterious immortal walks to where you stand, and gives you only a slight nod of acknowledgment before proceeding on down to the ship. The Thegn, King Aethelred's man, now stands next to you, on the beach, and looks at you in an appraising manner that you like not at all. "So, woman, you want a ride back to the coast? And just where to after that? I don't suppose you had some manner of...payment, in mind, for this favor?" <><><><><> Agnes looks at the Thegn, suspecting that she knows what sort of *payment* he is looking for, and it is a fee she will not pay. She shudders at the thought of what she did last time to avoid such a fee. She calms herself before speaking. "Well, once back on the coast, I thought I'd make my way back to my village. There must have been some survivors... As to payment - I presume that for helping a helpless woman who has suffered enough at the hands of the pirates, you wish something other a credit in your favour come the Day of Judgement? In that case when I get to the village, I can arrange for some money to be sent to you - at Bamburgh? How much were you considering charging? For if it is a fee I am unwilling to pay, I will have to remain here on the Island. Of course that would mean that I would have to explain to the monks and the Bishop why you wouldn't take me. But of course you are a charitable man, and it is not as if the task takes you out of your way or costs you, so I'm sure your fee will be nominal... " She waits for his response, showing no emotion. She realises that this must just be a foretaste of what is to come. It had never struck her before, but throughout her life her status had always had the backing of her father, her husband, her village. In fact, thinking about it, her status was almost wholly derived from them. Although she had never consciously used that backing, but she supposed that people reacting to her must have taken into into account. And now that they were gone, her status was only what people could see - a woman in a poorly altered monk's habit, with no money or outward signs of wealth, looking weak, defenceless and alone. No wonder the Thegn thought he could take advantage of her. <><><><><> [GM] The thegn scratches in his beard, listening to you. Looking you over for long moments. Finally he smiles and shrugs. "Aye, what t'hell, come on board, then. But don't get in the crew's way, I'd hate for them to be...distracted." Somehow, his ready agreement does not put you at ease. On board the ship, Brother....no, just Peter, is leaning against the starboard side, looking out over the ocean. He has the timeless quality about him again, and as he's been doing for the past week, is all but ignoring you. <><><><><> Agnes climbs aboard, makes her way forward, and sits with her back to the bow-post, looking back over the ship and its crew. It also lets her look back at Lindesfarne as the ship puts to sea. She looks down the starboard rail at Peter, and watches him stare at the sea. She wonders to herself, how old *is* he, and what is it that makes an immortal become a monk. Sitting low to avoid the spray from the bow, Agnes lets her mind wander as the boat sails on, and is gripped with fear when her mind's eye shows her a similar scene of warrior oarsmen pulling a ship through the water, only this time it is night. Other women struggle at the far end of the ship. She comes to with a start ... <><><><><> [GM] The thegn is looming over you, while you sit crouched against the bow. "Tell me, woman," he asks, his voice conversational, "where do you plan to go once you're ashore?" "If you'll pardon my saying so, you seem to be in rather destitute circumstances, and without much in the way of prospects, am I right?" His hand, rough and calloused, reaches down to touch your cheek. "But you are a pretty thing, and not too old." "I'm the king's man; under my protection, no one would molest you. Do you see what I'm saying, woman?" <><><><><> Agnes looks up at the Thegn, not fighting his touch, but not encouraging it either. "I understand your offer, sir. And you are right, my circumstances do look bleak, but then I have not seen my village since the raid. There may have been many left alive, perhaps my late husband's kinfolk. In any event I would like to go back to my village see who survived, and make sure that my late husband has at least had a decent Christian burial before thinking of things such as your offer. Please allow me to show him that much respect. After that, I may well take you up on your generosity. Would you grant me a week to make up my mind?" <><><><><> [GM] The thegn frowns slightly, but then nods and withdraws his hand. "Well....that is not unreasonable, I suppose. But....don't play games with me, woman. I'll come looking for you." He walks back to join the crew, as they prepare to make the mainland. Peter approaches, casually. "That was handled fairly well," he says. "You seem to have more sense than I'd credit most women with having. You do realize that if you insist on living unattached, to convent or family, however temporary the latter may be, it is situations like that you will have to be dealing with, for your entire life?" <><><><><> Agnes looks up at Peter, and gives him a brief smile in greeting. "I suppose that a continuous stream of small conflicts will have to weighed against periodic large ones." She stands up, and still holding the bow post looks to the shore. "I take it then that you have had many 'temporary' families. Well *my* family appears to have been 'temporary' and I will tell you this ..." She turns to look him in the eye ... "it is not something I would do deliberately." She looks back over the side again. "You must be a callous man, Peter, to go into the lives of a woman and her kin, knowing that in what? 5? 10? years, you will walk out never to be seen again. What anguish you must have caused many women. Do you always make sure they are provided for in their old age? Or do you walk out on that responsibility too? Do you ever think of your children? - for you must have many scattered down the ages? Perhaps this is indeed a curse if I am expected to take the best years of a continuous stream of men only to abandon them." <><><><><> [GM] "Don't you presume to judge me, woman," Peter says harshly. "You haven't even lived one lifetime, much less a dozen. I've done things I'm not proud of, some even after I became a Christian, but I have never used up and abandoned a mortal woman." "Your family was as temporary as all mortals are. If your kin had not been killed by the raiders, if they had not died at sea or been killed by storm or fire or plague or war or starvation or any other of the seven horsemen, they would eventually have died of old age, while you were still young and beautiful. Would you enjoy watching your husband wither, becoming a decrepit, senile old man, unable to provide for any of your needs, while you remain youthful and womanly? And how do you think *he* would feel, becoming weaker and weaker until he needs your help to lift a spoon to his mouth, watching his own body fail him while you remain eternally young?" "Why do you think I have spent the last century and a half in one monastary or another?" He spits the words out, then turns away, stone- faced, leaning on the bow railing. "Yes, I am callous, Agnes. If you intend to live very long, and stay sane, you will become callous also." "You're utterly wrong about one thing, though. I have no descendants. Nor will you. Ever. Immortalkind does not procreate. Perhaps God wishes there to be no immortals but those whom He personally selects, but none of our kind, man or woman, has ever borne or fathered a child." <><><><><> Agnes leans on the rail beside Peter, looking at whatever he is looking at. A long pause later, she says, "Forgive me. I shouldn't have passed judgement, especially as I know nothing of you. But I grieve so much, and at the moment I cannot face the thought of having to do so again and again." As the shore approaches, she speaks again. "Where do you intend to go now Peter? I want to go with you to learn what I need to know to stay alive: to learn to be callous if that is what it takes. But first I must go to Marham, to bury my grief." <><><><><> [GM] Peter sighs. "The first time is the hardest. I won't say it ever gets easier to watch mortals fade away- if you continue to allow yourself to care about them. But it becomes easier to accept it." "We will go to Marham, then, so you can make your peace. After that, we will go south, to Mercia. I hope you are prepared to live out of doors for much of the time. You will need to learn to hunt and fish and build shelter for yourself." <><><><><> "If hunting, fishing and building a shelter is part of all that I need to learn to stay alive, then I will learn how to hunt fish and build a shelter. I put myself in your hands Peter. You know what I need to learn. Show me and I shall do my best to learn it. <><><><><> [GM] "You're very trusting," Peter says. He doesn't sound like he admires this trait much. He doesn't speak to you again until after the ship makes land. He disembarks before you do, and is already proceeding up the dirt path that goes through the center of the small port town at the mouth of the River Tweed. You have to endure another encounter with the thegn, who grabs your arm as you step off the deck. "Agnes...your name is Agnes," he says. "I am Theodric. Remember what I said. You aren't likely to find another man who'd treat you as well as I." His touch makes you want to flinch, but in his rough, crude way, Theodric probably fancies that he really is doing you a favor. Indeed, many women in your position would consider his offer extremely generous. But you saw your husband's brains spilling out of his skull only a few weeks ago. And Theodric doesn't seem so different from the men who killed him, except in style of dress and in the fact he speaks the same language as you. Peter meets you at the edge of town....you find your way unerringly to him, by the buzzing in your head whenever he's near, a sensation you've gotten used to in the last two weeks. He barely waits for you to catch up to him, before he turns and begins walking. The ship took you slightly north from Lindesfarne, and Marham was south of the island. Walking to your village will take a couple of days...apparently Peter was quite serious about 'roughing it'. He takes long strides that force you to walk at a brisk pace to keep up. Gruffly, without looking at you, the former monk says "Are you sure you want to do this? Your family is dead, and any survivors believe you are dead, or gone forever. If there's one good thing about the circumstances of your 'death', it's that it afforded you a clean break with your past, and that's something that many of us don't get so easily." <><><><><> Once they stop for a rest Agnes looks over to Peter. "You think I am too trusting of you, don't you Peter. What else can I do. You have had the oportunity to kill me several times now and not taken it. Is it so foolish for me to assume that if you have not killed me by now you don't intend to do so in the near future. Am I not better spending my time trying to learn what you show me rather than spending it distrusting your every move and trying to establish what motive you might have for doing what you are doing?" "Peter. I don't even _have_ a sword never mind know how to use it properly." A while after listing to Peter's response Agnes says. "You don't think we should go to Marham, do you? To you a clean break is that important that I should not go to see my husband's and father's graves. For that is the only reason I am going. There is no cache of wealth that I can pick up. Some clothes perhaps, but if we are to live rough then what I am wearing is better than anything I will acquire there. Very well, it seems that I can either get on the wrong side of you by insisting that we go to Marham, or I can get on the wrong side of you by trusting your judgement. Very well. I will trust your judgement. But one day I will return to Marham." "So where are we heading now?" <><><><><> [GM] Peter stops walking, and lowers his head, sighing loudly. "Agnes", he says finally, after a long moment. "I told you I am not the most patient man. I....am a difficult man to endure, I suffer from the sins of intolerance and impatience, and a judgmental nature. I realize this, but after centuries I fear I am not going to change." He turns to you. "Trust is a good thing. But for our kind, it is a dangerous thing. I am not condemning you for trusting me. You can trust me, at least insofar as I will not take your head. But I fear your nature may be *too* trusting, and you must realize, some of us engage in games and power struggles that span ages. An immortal who wants to take your head is only one of the things you must fear. I have no designs on you, am not using you for any plots, but you have only my word on that, and there are immortals who will tell you the same thing, sounding far more sincere when in fact they are anything but. I just....do not want you to be taken advantage of, because you are too willing to rely on someone who *seems* to have your best interests at heart." "As for visiting your husband's and father's grave....that isn't unreasonable, if you are sure you can bear it. But what if you see other kin, or friends, and are tempted to stay? Will you still be able to walk away, much less to do so without saying good-bye to them? One of the worst mistakes an immortal can make is to allow yourself to be anchored by mortals. Believe me, only woe can come of it." His eyes seem to look somewhere distant for a moment. "It is better to just walk away and not look back." <><><><><> A serious/concerned look comes over her as Peter looks distant. "Very well, Peter. You look like you really meant that from the heart. I shall head your advice. We won't go to Marham then. I shall leave that as a task I will do once all whom I know there are no more. For you are right, I would find it very difficult to leave once I went back. I would think of some excuse to stay." "Right. Decision made. Now take me away before I change my mind."