AGNES SMITH So the blessèd Phœnix, his death-hour over, His dear old home once again seeketh, That land of delight ; lorn of mood, then, Back from the brave one do the birds turn them To their land once more, when the mighty atheling Young is at home. High God only Knoweth his nature, omnipotent Ruler, Whether woman or man : this wot not any Of all men of earth but the Creator only, In how marvellous a manner he made this creature, How great the decree that gave him his being ! There the blessèd bird may in bliss enjoy his Home and the currents that course through the forests, On that beauteous plain the bird may remain A thousand of winters : then, his life's end cometh ; The pile covers him through the blaze of the fire : Yet, wakened marvellously, he cometh to life Once more wondrously. So, when, wan and drooping, He death dreadeth not, its dire agony, Who knoweth ever that renewal of life shall The flame's fury follow assuredly, Life after death, when in bird-form he riseth Early thereafter from his ashes springing, Reneweth his youth 'neath the shelter of heaven. He is son and sire to himself, and is heir Forever thereafter to his old inheritance. The mighty Maker of Man granted him To live so wondrously his life again over, Covered with feathers, though the fire had swallowed him. -from "The Phoenix", an allegorical poem of the Northumbrian cycle, commonly attributed to the Anglo-Saxon poet Cynewulf (A.D. 725(?)- A.D. 800(?)) Mercia, 799 A.D. ..... As promised, you spend more time out of doors than under the shelter of a decent roof. Peter takes you into the southern kingdom of Mercia, and inland, where he says the Norse invaders will not venture....at first. Seemingly possessed of a great deal of knowledge concerning these invaders, he tells you that they will begin raiding all along the British and Hibernian coast with increasing intensity. "At first," he says, "they will come seeking only spoils...but if the residents of these islands do not mount an effective defense, the Norsemen will soon look to more long- term conquests. This is not the first time that periodic raiders have become conquerors here...you, Agnes, are a descendant of the last wave of invaders." In the next few years, you hear tales brought to you from the coasts, and occasionally from overseas. (Peter does not completely sequester you from the outside world; occasionally you venture to towns and villages along the few roads that carry goods between English cities, usually passing yourselves off as either a monk and a traveling nun, or Peter as a minor, impoverished Saxon lord and you as his daughter.) These tales describe tales of the Norsemen as horrific as you might have imagined, and their raids are becoming more frequent. They show no respect for holy ground, and in fact, monastaries become their favorite targets, for the valuable artifacts and stored goods to be found there. Peter only nods knowingly, and says "As I expected...they-" (he sometimes refers to them as "Rus") "are finding easy pickings here. This will be a long, harsh period in this land's history." In the forests of southern England, he teaches you the skills of hunting, trapping, building shelter, and surviving the elements with only what materials you can gather by hand. "As an immortal, you CAN survive walking naked through a blizzard," he tells you. "But it is exceedingly unpleasant. Trust me, I am speaking from experience. Likewise, you can't really die of starvation or thirst....but your body can reach such extremes of agony from deprivation, that you will wish you could die." He shudders, and says "Again, I am speaking from experience." Besides teaching you woodscraft, he begins teaching you to fight. You don't know where he acquired the coins, but one month you travel to town and he purchases a sword for you, a very fine one, better than your father likely could have made. Thereafter, every day is filled with hours of drilling in stance, grip, posture, attack and parry, and he makes you perform his repetitive exercises until your arms ache. He's pleasantly surprised at how hardy you are, having spent years working at your father's forge. Soon you can execute the basic movements of swordsmanship to his satisfaction, and then begins your training in earnest. You come to hate this, really hate it. At first, he's not too harsh, making you fight to the point of exhaustion, but leaving you unscathed. Gradually, he begins forcing you to fight in earnest, inflicting a nick here, a cut there, and then he's really hurting you, slashing your face or thrusting his sword into your side, or kicking your legs out from under you, hard enough to break your knees, when he thinks you aren't taking the lesson seriously. These wounds heal quickly, true, but Lord God, they hurt! And he continues to escalate the intensity of your training, until he'll even go so far as to kill you when you fight poorly (in his estimation.) Impaled through the gut is the worst- he does this only twice, but each time, you can barely stand to touch the hilt of your sword for days afterwards, fingers trembling as you remembering the agony of steel slicing through your stomach, and pulling intestines out as he withdraws the blade. He also hacks at you until you collapse and expire from blood loss, or splits your skull, or breaks your neck- he doesn't rely entirely on his sword, he has a number of impressive tricks he can perform with his bare hands, all of them deadly. When you think he is being too brutal, when you beg for mercy, plead with him not to be so harsh, he never apologizes, though you do see guilt sometimes flicker over his face, before he suppresses it. "I know it hurts, Agnes. But think about how much it will hurt when you are assaulted by someone who really means you harm. To be *brutally* honest, your chances of living on your own, over the centuries and through wars and upheavals and invasions, without ever being raped, are small. That is the way of it. And that's only mortals, who will inflict all manner of indignities on you, but aren't likely to decide to behead you except by chance. Immortals will kill you. I have never struck your head off. That's what WILL happen if you lose a duel with an immortal who is not your teacher." You do get better, but you can never match the precision and speed with which Peter wields his own blade. Sometimes you sense the Quickening in him, stronger than usual, and with a surge of energy, he slams you across the clearing. Other times, sparks fly from your blades as you spar, and his eyes glow. You learn little about the man himself. He tells you he comes from an icy land far to the east, where winter is much longer than summer, and where, just a little farther north, it is eternal. He doesn't know exactly what year he was born in; he knows he first learned of Christ when he was about one hundred years old, and has been a Christian for over three centuries. His own mentor saw the Star of Bethlehem with his own eyes. He speaks little of his life, but more and more, it seems that an overwhelming sadness, a fatalistic resignation, governs his moods. He sees little joy in life, and he withdrew from the world to become a perpetually wandering monk for reasons you can only guess, but you suspect it involves tiring of watching cherished mortals die. Then again, it could be guilt; he also mentions his pagan past, and says one cold evening that "Had you met me during the early years of my immortality, Agnes...." he pauses, "I doubt I would have treated you much better than those Rus." He never lays a hand on you, except when teaching you to fight. Every once in a while you notice him watching you, with a long measured gaze, but like everything else about him, it's impossible to decipher. Does he ever have thoughts about you, like a man might commonly have about a woman? If so, he never expresses them. The other important thing he teaches you is the ability to read and write. "I was illiterate for my first two hundred years," he says. "A vast amount of knowledge has been lost, over the centuries, because those who possessed that knowledge weren't able to write it down. One of the greatest gifts the Church has bestowed upon Christendom is the recording of events in books, written by monks all over the world, so that all will not be forgotten after a generation of mortals has passed away. You *may* not ever need to read and write, Agnes, but you will need every advantage you can get, and this is one that even a woman can acquire. Well, you can, anyways. I think most women haven't the head for such knowledge, but I think you can learn this." That's the closest he ever gets to praising you. Learning how to read and write in Latin is sometimes tedious, but it's also exciting, in an odd way, for this was always a secret that was the exclusive province of the clergy. You had assumed yourself that only priests could read, but Peter proves you wrong. You have been with Peter for nearly six years, when he enters the small hut in the woods you've been sharing for the last year or so (with a partition separating your own sleeping area). It's dusk, and he sits by the fire for a long time, warming his hands, while you read a bit from a Bible he obtained for you, in the same mysterious way he procured your sword. You sense he is going to announce something of grave import, and close the book and wait. Shortly, he does. "I have taught you all I can, Agnes. Oh, we could practice more with the sword, I could teach you some languages...but you know what you need to, to survive, to the best of your abilities." He pauses, and though it might be your imagination, his eyes seem moist, and his voice catches. "I must leave you now. You see, I must return to Lindesfarne." <><><><><> Numbed, Agnes sits in silence watching him, and as the sense of loss takes hold tears well up in her eyes. She fidgets with her braided hair - long once more - and then stares into the fire as the tears start to roll down down her cheeks and drip onto the hearth. Finally, with a breaking voice she says, "Your mind is made up isn't it, or you wouldn't have said anything. And you are so stubborn that nothing I say or do will change your mind." She turns to look at him. "But why, Peter? What can you do at Lindesfarne that you cannot do here? You can pray, sing, meditate, anything, and what's more you won't have Rus breaking down the doors every month .." She stops herself short and falls silent a moment. "That's it isn't it? You're going there _because_ of the Rus. What do you plan to do: keep them off the island single handedly? Give the Brothers a false sense of hope so that more stay than would otherwise have done , and so more of them are killed? And didn't you say there was an immortal amongst them? What do you plan to do about him?" She holds up her hand - "No. Don't answer." She stands suddenly, her eyes now red and puffy. "It's your choice, and for your own reasons, you have chosen to go somewhere I cannot follow or help." Choking back tears she adds, "I wish you luck Peter." And with that she rushes out of the hut, to throw herself down at last at her favoured spot where she had taken to sitting reading in the sun. She lay sobbing uncontrollably, fearing for the only other person in her life that lived. <><><><><> [GM] Peter doesn't chase you, but eventually you spend your tears, and there isn't much to do but return to the small dwelling. Peter is already packing his meager belongings. He avoids looking at you, as he speaks. "What did you think, Agnes, that the two of us would sit here in the woods forever? You knew we would have to go our separate ways eventually." He pauses, while tying his pack. "I have to go back to Lindesfarne," he says slowly, "because I swore to one of them that I would, in six years time. Yes, there is an immortal among them. His name is Hygar, and to persuade him to take his men away from the monastary and not slaughter those monks who still survived, I promised to return, in six years, to meet him outside holy ground." <><><><><> "Of course I knew we would go our separate ways _eventually_. But I had thought that we would have travelled together for a while, perhaps seeing foreign lands and big cities, once you had decided that I could take care of myself." She goes to her side of the hut and starts packing her things. "And when you meet this Hygar you will no doubt fight - and no doubt it will be to the death? Is he better than you?" A while later, as he answers, she rejoins him, wearing her outdoor clothes and carrying her leather backpack. Rather matter of factly she says, "I'm coming with you." <><><><><> [GM] "Yes, we will fight, and fights between our kind are almost always to the death," Peter replies, still avoiding meeting your eyes. "As to which of us is better..." he sighs. "I am older than him, and in my prime, I am sure I'd have been more than a match for him. But he is a ravaging predator who has been hunting immortals almost constantly, and has probably taken several heads, thus making him even stronger. While I have spent most of the last two centuries sequestered in monastaries. I don't know, Agnes. The skills never really leave you, but if you don't practice them, they dull. I will simply have to trust in God." As you follow him outside, he stops, and his shoulders slump. Then he turns to face you, with a resigned expression, one that says 'I knew she was going to do this.' Finally looking you in the eye, he answers in an equally matter-of-fact tone. "If I lose, Hygar will rape you, give you to his men and let them all have a turn with you, and then he will take your head. And since he'll know what you are, you won't escape by hurling yourself overboard this time." <><><><><> Not flinching from his look in the eye, Agnes replies, "Well, you had better not lose then." "I know you will not listen, but I will try anyway: If you do not believe that you _will_ win; not might or could or maybe; then why are you going to fight him? For your honour? What good will your honour do you if you are dead? To fulfil a promise? Better men than you have failed to keep their promises, and alive as an immortal you have the ability to good works in atonement until the day of judgement. Peter. What more can I say? Peter. I _care_ about you, don't throw your life away." She looks away, and gathers up her things. "Anyway, I'm coming with you. I'm certainly going as far as Marham. It's up to you to convince me not to go with you all the way. You said once that an immortal who kills another gains many of their memories. If I were to remain somewhere and wait for you, wouldn't Hygar know where I waited. That would be even worse than watching, for I could be taken by surprise. And I have no intention of not meeting you afterwards, if only to know you are safe." She slings her pack on her shoulder. "Are we off, then?" <><><><><> [GM] "Agnes, it is not that simple," Peter says, as you begin walking. "Honor is important; among our kind, one's word is often the only commodity one has to deal with. A man who gains a reputation as a coward and an oathbreaker will be remembered as such, for centuries. Even a predator like Hygar was willing to grant me a period of grace before returning for my head, because he expects that I will keep my word and be there to meet him. If I renege, I will never again be able to negotiate such a delay with any other immortal." "Even so, if I *knew* for certain that he will kill me, then I would probably run. I am not suicidal. But, we cannot always know the outcome of a battle beforehand, and there are times when you must take your chances. If another immortal seeks your head, you cannot run forever. Hygar would find me eventually." He pauses. "And I have a better chance against him than you do. If I kill him...then he will never come for you." He is silent for a long while after that. The next morning, as you both rise and begin walking north again, Peter says "I have been thinking. We have time for a detour. You said you wanted to see big cities with me. I will at least show you London." He pauses again, then says, "I have a friend or two there." <><><><><> "Hmmm ..." She replies with a questioning look. "Don't let yourself think that I don't know what you are planning, but yes, I would like you to show me London." <><><><><> [GM] "What?" Peter asks, and for the first time in a long time, you have to suppress the urge to laugh; Peter is amazingly bad at trying to look innocent. He averts his eyes and keeps walking, grim-faced and tight- lipped. You make excellent time, since he sets a brutal pace, much worse than the long march south, six years ago, at the end of which you'd surely have had painful callouses beneath blisters if not for your healing ability. This time he makes you run half the time. You aren't sure if he's making one last effort to improve your physical conditioning, or just trying to take your mind off of what lies at the end of the trip. But eventually you exit the woods and set foot on a packed dirt road that leads to London. London, when you finally come within sight of it, just after sunrise almost a week later, startles you even from a distance. To your unjaded eyes, it is enormous, a fortified settlement on the Thames that could swallow Marham and never notice. Peter assures you that there are cities on the continent that dwarf London, and are far more ancient. Passing through the gates, you see a sea of strange faces, more people than you've ever seen in one place; indeed, you take in more people with one glance than you have ever MET in your entire life! Peter shoulders his way through the throng, unfazed, and you have to make an effort to stay close to him and not be separated in the crowd. You're still gawking at all the sights and sounds of your first visit to a big city, when a familiar sensation prickles at the base of your skull. So familiar that you've learned to ignore it for the past six years. But while you still sense Peter's familiar presence, right next to you, this warning buzz is from *another* immortal who has entered the range of your senses. <><><><><> Agnes looks at Peter for his reaction, and then quickly looks around the crowd about her for this other immortal. If Peter has carried on going, she will ruush to catch him up again, and catch hold of his hand. <><><><><> [GM] Peter looks unsurprised by the proximity of another immortal, and doesn't hesitate. He glances at you when you grab his hand, but doesn't pull away. He leads you into a large hall that you take to be some sort of drinking establishment, by the loud, slurred voices coming from within. The other immortal also seems to be inside. Inside, the atmosphere is dank and not too pleasant, after the years you've spent out of doors. The smell of unwashed bodies and alcohol- tainted breath hangs heavily in the air. This is less odious than the looks you get from the men crowded around tables, playing knife-catching games, tossing stones, and generally engaged in crude male cameraderie. You feel an urge to move closer to Peter, as a dozen pairs of eyes unabashedly strip you naked. You feel very much out of place here. "This i'n't a fit place fer wimmenfolk," says a deep, gruff voice from the high table. A bulky shadow looms there, obscured by shadows and the pall of smoke from the firepit in the center of this open room. Peter looks neither left nor right but proceeds through the room, pulling you along with him, gently. You see a plethora of leering grins, and hear kissy-kissy noises, smacking of lips, and other rude noises, and a few muttered but intentionally audible suggestive comments. The large shadow speaks again as you approach- "Is ye deaf, ye-" Then the voice changes. "Piotr?" As the big man stands, you realize that the buzz comes from him. And the new immortal is truly immense; you get the impression that he must be nearly as broad as he is tall, and he's considerably taller than Peter. For all that Peter talks about staying in good condition, to be prepared to fight at any time, this immortal appears to have spent quite a few years in front of this table. Not that you'd want to take him on- whatever condition he might be in, he'd only have to get you on the ground and sit on you, and then he could cut your head off at his leisure! The big man and Peter exchange greetings in a language which seems to be a dialect of the one Peter taught you as his native language; you catch a few words, enough to glean that these two seem to be old friends. They embrace, and Peter seems to be engulfed by the other man's bulk, until he pulls away again. You wrinkle your nose as the stranger leans closer to you; he definitely *smells* like he hasn't moved from this table in a while. "Aahh," he says. "So ye be one of us too." He speaks Anglo-Saxon in the heavy southern dialect, with a foreign accent thick enough that you have to concentrate to understand him. "A great pleasure, pretty girl." He belches. Peter speaks quietly, glancing around. "This is Agnes. Agnes, this is Hwuulf. Hwuulf, is there somewhere a bit more secluded where we could talk?" <><><><><> "Hello Hwuulf." Agnes responds quietly, and then waits to follow the other two - still holding Peter's hand in the tight grip with which she had held it since entering the establishment. <><><><><> [GM] The immense immortal frowns, and digs at his greasy beard. "I goes by Aethelbad now," he says. "It's the new fashion." He laughs. "Gauls are not fashionable. Angles and Saxons are fashionable. If what I hear from the north is true, soon Danes will be fashionable." He throws back his head and laughs some more. Peter puts a hand over his face, and mutters, "Hwuulf, is there somewhere else....?" "Oh, ya," Hwuulf/Aethelbad says. With a grunt, his immense bulk lurches up from his seat, and he gestures with one massive hand. "I own lots of this little town. I have me a place in the back, c'mon." The floor of the beer hall shakes slightly with each step of your host. Following behind him, Peter murmurs "He has put on a bit of weight since I saw him last." <><><><><> Agnes retains her firm grip on Peter's hand as they follow Aethelbad. "Peter," she says softly, "He can't _really_ own lots of London can he? I mean - its huge and that would make him enormously rich. Wouldn't it?" <><><><><> [GM] Peter smiles slightly. "He probably does," he replies. "He's been in Britain longer than I have...he came over just after Rome abandoned this island. He's been living in London for most of the last three centuries. It isn't hard for an immortal to accumulate a lot of wealth slowly. I doubt it's all owned in his name, though. Don't let Hwuulf's bucolic demeanor fool you- he's a canny old Gaul, and probably wields more influence in London, and possibly throughout the Kingdom of Middlesex, than anyone realizes. That is a common method of survival for our kind, Agnes; find a way to surround yourself with men and property that you own, overtly or covertly. Of course, no kingdom lasts forever. I expect the prospect of the Norsemen mounting a full-scale invasion of Britain has Hwuulf worried." The back alley is fetid and dark, and enormous rats scurry about, chittering angrily at the three humans who dare intrude on their domain. Aethelbad plods through puddles indifferently, and pulls a key ring from the enormous belt strapped around his girth, and opens a door to a long, flat building which turns out to be a warehouse. It looks like goods brought into London are stored here, and you see a wealth of grain, cloth, pottery, and some weapons. Your host keeps walking to the rear of the structure, where he unlocks another door and swings it open. "C'mon," he says. "Pardon the mess, I don't have visitors offen'." He chuckles some more, as he seems to do after nearly every comment he makes. Inside you see a very large bed, a number of wooden chests stacked about, and a lot of half-eaten food and ale mugs with mold growing on them. Aethelbad curses and kicks at a rat, which scurries under the bed. He picks up a ream of papers and scrolls and sets them on a chest (the notion of this man reading, like a priest or a scholar, is almost startling, but then, you've never met another woman who could read either.) Then he sinks his immense bulk onto his bed and sits there, while the hay mattress slowly depresses even more beneath his wait. He begins speaking the language he and Peter shared earlier, but Peter stops him, and speaks in Anglo-Saxon. "Agnes is one of us, and I want her to be privy to the conversation," he admonishes. Aethelbad raises an eyebrow, looking at you skeptically, then shrugs. "So," he says, in Anglo-Saxon. "Ye were one a' them Christians last I met ye. A priest, weren't ye?" "A brother," Peter replies. "A monk, not a priest. I still am a Christian, but I have had to put aside my holy vows." Aethelbad grins at you. "Aye, for a pretty thing like this I don't blame ye. How come ye to find all the pretty ones and I gets some no-brained twit like Arthur? All the immortals come through here the last few centuries, ain't but one woman an' she dead now, I'm pretty sure. Wasn't much to look at neither, not like Agnes here." Peter sighs. "I put aside my vows," he continues slowly, "because I was challenged." He puts a special stress on the word 'challenged'. "I have to meet him later this year." "Oh," Aethelbed says, his face reflecting surprise, and his manner becomes more serious. "By who?" "I don't think you know him. He's one of the Norsemen, his name is Hygar. I met him once, maybe two hundred years ago, just before I left the continent for the last time." "Can ye beat him?" Aethelbad asks, scratching his beard again. Peter hesitates, glancing at you. "I believe so," he replies slowly. Then, after a pause, "But I don't know for sure." He looks down, apparently somewhat surprised to notice that you're still holding his hand. Aethelbad follows his gaze, then glances back and forth between you with a calculating look. He says something to Peter in a language you don't know at all. <><><><><> Agnes also looks to where the others looked, and can't see anything amiss. And then she realises what it is that they have noted. She briskly drops her grasp of Peter's hand and pulls hers free, all the time growing a brighter shade of crimson. Agnes can feel the heat radiate off her cheeks. She looks at Peter, "I ... I ... I felt uncomfortable in the ale house," she explains weakly, "and then there were all the rats in the warehouse... " She glances at Hwuulf, and looks back at Peter. "I'm sorry Peter. I didn't mean to embarrass you in front of Hwuulf ... it's just that there were so many men there, mentally undressing me, more men in one room than I've ever met before, and I knew what they would have done if you hadn't been there." As the tears start to well up and her voice starts to crack, she continues, "I didn't want us to get seperated - and holding your hand was so comforting that I didn't want to let go." Losing all resolve she throws her arms around him and sniffles into his shoulder. "Peter! Don't leave. There is so much that is new and frightening to me. I _need_ your haand to hold to get me through." <><><><><> [GM] Peter sits still for long moments, at a loss what to do. Then he hesitantly pats your shoulder, in a rather feeble gesture of consolation. "Agnes...I have to go. If I run from Hygar, he will come find me eventually, and you too. And in the meantime, neither Hwuulf...Aethelbad, here, or any other immortal, will offer me aid, because I forswore an oath to accept a challenge." "It be a matter of honor," Aethelbad says. "A woman wouldn't unnderstand such things." <><><><><> Agnes moves away from Peter, and wipes her tears with her sleeve. She looks at Hwuulf/Aethelbad and through the sniffles replies, "If it means understanding why he must needlessly risk his life, then no I don't understand." She looks back and forth between them, before finally looking at Aethelbad. "I presume then, Peter, that your plan is for you to leave me here with Aethelbad, for if you lose, Hygar would then have to fight him to reach me." Still not looking at Peter, she continues, "Did the plan include saying 'goodbye', or were you just going to not come back from an errand? When? Tomorrow? Today?" She looks at Peter at last. "That's why we had to run to London isn't it? You waited until the final moment before telling me you were leaving, and when I was having none of it, you didn't really have any time to spare for a detour did you? So here we are. You have delivered me to Aethelbad. You have done all that you feel honour bound to do by way of me, and now you must run to Bernicia for you are also honour bound to get yourself killed on a date now too far in the future." She pauses and stares into his eyes. "When are you due to fight Peter?" <><><><><> [GM] "I..." Peter opens his mouth, then closes it, then tries again. "The end of summer. He will come to Lindesfarne at the end of summer, after most of this year's raids have already ended. That gives me time to make the journey north on foot, assuming no...undue delays." He looks down. "No....I thought about doing what you said, leaving you hear with Hwul- Aethelbad, while you slept...for your own good. But I could not." Aethelbad mutters a word in his own language, shaking his head. You doubt it's complimentary. Peter looks up, and stepping towards you, places his hands on your shoulders. "Don't you see, Agnes? I am trying to *protect* you! I've taught you how to fight, I've taught you how to survive, but that will only do you good against mortals! I can't teach you well enough in the time we've had to defend yourself against a hunter like Hygar!" He pauses. "I....don't want to see you get hurt, and if I do die in battle against Hygar, I want to know you'll be safe, at least for a while. Maybe long enough to learn more than I could teach you." <><><><><> Agnes sits down, and clasps her hands in her lap. As she does so she looks away from Peter, and once in the chair she stares intently at her hands, head bowed. After a while, a once she is obviously more composed, she speaks quietly at her hands, "Thank you Peter, for all that you have taught me; thank you for allowing me to trust you; thank you for being a friend. You've made your decision, and I've done my best to dissuade you. I shan't embarrass you any more with this." She wipes her eyes, blows her nose on a kerchief, and stands up. Looking more composed, but with puffy red eyes, she looks squarely at Aethelbad. "Lets start again." She holds out a hand to him, and manages a weak smile. "Hello Aethelbad, I am Agnes. I am pleased to meet a friend of Peters." <><><><><> [GM] Aethelbad encloses your hand, literally, in his sweaty grasp. "If Piotr...Peter, wants me to protect ye, I will. Ye'll be safe enough here for now...oh, not in yon mead hall, those men are a rough lot. But...hmmm." He scratches his beard again. "I s'pose ye could be a serving girl at the eatery near his Lordship's home, they's a richer lot there-" Peter frowns and says "You can do better for her than serving wench! Agnes can read and write, did I mention that?" Aethelbad's eyebrows go up. "Ye taught her to read? Harrumph! Well, strikes me as a bit unnatural, but aye, that's useful. Tell me, girl, can ye count past your fingers?" <><><><><> "Of course I can count past my fingers! I use 'dozens' all the time: and 'scores'!" <><><><><> [GM] Aethelbad sighs and puts a hand over his face, shaking his head. "I'm sure she can learn to count," Peter says. "She's quite clever." You're hearing more compliments from him while he talks to Aethelbad than he's given you directly in the past six years. "All right, all right," Aethelbad says. "Don't worry none, I'll take care of her, *Peter*. Ye know I will." Peter nods, satisfied with how he has arranged your disposition. Obviously it has not occurred to him that you might want a say in it, but he seems to assume he's talked you out of accompanying him to Lindesfarne. "Now, I can sleep wherever you have space for me," he goes on, "but we need to find someplace suitable for Agnes." "S'a widow a street over," Aethelbad grumbles. "Keeps a tidy home, and makes a few coins putting up travelers, but cautious about who she'll put up. Go to her with yer traveling monk act, I'm sure yer clever enow to spin a convincing yarn about Agnes. That'll do for a fortnight, I'll think up something more permanent-like by then." Peter nods. "Thank you, my friend." He adds some words in the foreign tongue they share. "Come Agnes, let's get you your lodging." <><><><><> Walking with Peter towards the widow's house, Agnes says indignantly, "What did you mean: 'Learn to count'? I _can_ count." <><><><><> [GM] Peter almost smiles. "He means count past your fingers. Using 'dozens' and 'scores' as synonymous with 'lots' isn't quite the same. Don't worry, you'll learn. I've never bothered learning much math myself, never saw a need for it." [Just in case you didn't know, in an illiterate culture, you need to buy Cyphering (m/e) in order to have basic arithmetic skills.] He leads you to the small but nicely kept up house that Aethelbad directed you to. Small by London standards, that is. By Marham standards (and compared to the huts you've been sharing with Peter for the last six years), it looks quite grand. "Hmm," Peter says. "All right....we'll pose you as a widow, come to London to beseech the aid of relatives now that you're without a home. I'm the kindly village priest who escorted you here." He fingers his cross. "Of course you and Aethelbad will have to work out a more permanent story to keep you in London under an innocuous guise. But Hwuulf is good at that sort of artifice." <><><><><> "Very well, Peter, I'm sure I can manage to 'pose' as a widow." Agnes' voice has an edge to it that Peter hasn't heard for some time. "Maybe I could 'pretend' that my husband had been killed by Norsemen." She looks away. "Forgive me Peter, I didn't mean to be bitter. It's just that those are not the memories I wanted to be reminded of so close to you leaving." "Yes, I can act as a widow - it comes naturally." <><><><><> [GM] Peter pauses, and says "I'm sorry....I didn't think." Then, stone-faced, he continues on. The widow is a woman named Agatha, and she's not quite old enough to be your mother. She eyes the two of you suspiciously at first, but her demeanor changes completely when Peter explains that he's a priest, and your unfortunate circumstances. "Poor child," Agatha says, patting your hand. "My own man passed away from the rot, six years ago. Fortunately, he did not leave me completely bereft of means. I'll be happy to take care of you, dear." She looks down at the ground and addresses Peter. "Err, Father, you can, ah...." Peter smiles with just a touch of cynicism, and withdraws some coins from his pouch. <><><><><> Agnes lets Agatha pat her hand. "Thank you Agatha. You are too kind.", she replies to her. Looking over at Peter, she adds, "Father Peter, you as well have been too kind to me - I mean it sincerely. I know you have arranged for your acquaintance Athelbert to help me. Should I seek him out, or will he come and find me? I know you have to return North soon: be sure not to leave without saying good-bye." Agnes looks back to Agatha. "I don't have much," she says nodding to her bundle, (that includes a poorly disguised sword), "but can you show me where to put them?" <><><><><> [GM] "Father" Peter nods at you, a faint trace of a smile on his face. "I expect Aethelbad will send an errandboy to fetch you." (You'd hope so....Aethelbad himself would probably give Agatha a stroke!) He pauses, as if struggling with something else he wants to add, then says simply "Good-bye Agnes. God be with you." He turns and leaves the house. Agatha smiles at you and says "I'll show you your room, dear," and leads you upstairs, to a very small room, almost a cupola, with only a mattress and a chamber pot. It is clean though, and even looks like it's been dusted recently. "This is just for you to sleep in," she says, noting your apprehensive look at the confining space. "You're welcome to join me in the main room...I hope you don't mind helping with housework?" <><><><><> [Agnes] "No, I don't mind Agatha, its the least I can do to repay your kindness." Agnes stows her belongings in the corner and follows Agatha back down to the kitchen. As she is shown where everything is, Agnes gets the impression that, not only is she going to be expected to do some cleaning, but some cooking too. **And probably all of both, unless I am able to pay for my keep.** Agnes thinks to herself, regretting a little that she hadn't asked Peter for some money. She knew why she hadn't asked. To have asked would have been to imply she wasn't going to see him again, and that was the last thing she wanted to do. Agnes and Agatha sit for a meal of gruel, and then Agnes cleans all the plates and pots in the kitchen. As she stands scraping at the bottom of a pot, she wonders how long it will be until Athelbad finds some work for her. <><><><><> [GM] Agatha is nice enough, but talkative. VERY talkative. And gossipy. And nosy. Under the guise of being conversational, she does her best to pry as much as she can from you, and you have no doubt anything she might learn (or imagine) about you will be passed on to her neighbors. Not the best long-term arrangement for an immortal who is trying to avoid notice. You don't have long to wait. The next morning, you sense an Immortal presence as you are sweeping dust from the front door. Peter approaches, still wearing a clerical robe and crucifix, but with a pack on his back, and an obvious long, wrapped bundle that is his sword. "Good morning to you, Agnes," he says, and pauses. "As I promised, I....am saying good-bye before I leave." <><><><><> [Agnes] Agnes throws her arms around him. "Oh Peter, take care." she says as she hugs him tightly. "Thank you for looking after me, and for bringing me here." She releases him and steps back. She avoids meeting his eyes and nervously starts toying with the braids of her hair. After a long pause, she adds, "I can't think what else to say .... " She looks up at him ... "Good luck, Peter. Look for me when you get back here." and plants a peck on his lips before turning back inside Agatha's house. She looks at Agatha, who has obviously been watching everything, and holds herself back from lashing out with a sharp tongue - it would serve no purpose. "Oh, there you are Agatha." she says with a smile, "You've just missed Father Peter. I shall miss him. He's been like a father to me bringing me down here after my own father and husband were killed. The only real family I have now is my late husband's cousin, Seth - who is supposed to have come to London some six year's ago. Father Peter has set some hounds running to see if he can be tracked down." She looks down at the duster in her hands, "Ah, well Agatha, we shouldn't stand here doing the Devil's work of idly gossiping." With that she returns to work. <><><><><> [GM] Peter trudges away, leaving you with a sense of cold foreboding. It is two days later when a well-dressed man knocks on Agatha's door. With some misgivings, your hostess summons you down. "This man says he was sent to fetch you and bring you to your waiting relatives," Agatha says, a hint of skepticism in her voice. The man is perhaps five years younger than you, average in appearance, showing surprising deference as he nods and half-bows to the two women in front of him. "Agnes Smith, aye?" he says. "I'm to escort you to, uh, your kinfolk...." His voice trails off under Agatha's withering gaze. "Which kinfolk would that be?" she asks him sharply. <><><><><> [Agnes] "You must mean Seth and his family," Agnes butts in. She grabs her shawl, "I must meet them at once!" she says as she takes the man's arm and leads him back to the door. Agnes looks back at Agatha, "I'll be back later Agatha.", and back at the smartly dressed man, "Come on. Lead the way." <><><><><> [GM] "I'm not really taking you to your uncle Seth," the man confides to you as you walk away from Agatha's house. "Aethelbad sent me to fetch you." He does not, however, take you back to the dingy drinking house you saw before, nor the warehouse across the alley from it, but towards the docks. You note men of rough character here too, but aside from some lecherous stares, no one harrasses you as your nameless escort leads you to a long, flat building situated next to a dock, where bales of goods are stacked high from a large ship which is somewhat similar in design to the Viking ship that came to Marham, though without the dragonshead prow. As you approach the dock, you sense the tingling in your stomach and spine indicating that Aethelbad (or so you assume) is most likely inside. <><><><><> [Agnes] Agnes smiles at the man. "I know Aethelbad sent you, but Agatha is such a busybody that the quicker we were out the better." She follows the man, taking note of the route they travel, and watching, like the country lass she is, all the bustle of activity about the docks. After a few leering looks she pulls up her shawl to wear it as a headscarf. A tingling in her stomach makes her think, "Peter!" but then she remembers, Peter has gone. It is someone else. "It'll be Aethelbad ..." she thinks " ... probably ..." She knows that Peter would be roundly cursing her for being stupid about now, and if they had been alone, he'd probably have run her through. In her haste to leave Agatha she'd not brought her sword. "Now," she thinks, "at my first time out from under Peter's protection, and I'm careless." She is suddenly transformed. Where, moments before she was soaking in the atmosphere and trying to understand the activity, now she was glancing about trying to identify the other immortal, and more importantly, identifying potential weapons. <><><><><> [GM] There are boards and beams about, and ropes, but nothing sharp, unless you're able to persuade your nameless chaperone to give up *his* short sword. Your heart beats with a little more trepidation as you enter the flat structure, which seems to be another storage building. Inside, Aethelbad is waiting, rummaging with plump fingers through a box of cloth. A foreign-looking man stands next to him, but you sense no Immortal presence from Aethelbad's friend. They seem to be arguing in the latter person's language. Aethelbad raises his voice and swings his arms wide in expansive gestures. The smaller man backs away a step as he sputters in indignation. Finally, Aethelbad kicks the box, then nods his head. The other fellow walks out, looking satisfied. He pauses, eying you curiously for a moment, before proceeding out to the dock. "Agnes!" Aethelbad rumbles. He beckons you closer with a wave of his huge hand. "Come on girl, what are you hovering there in the shadows for? Thank you Stephen, you can go now." Your escort bows slightly, and departs. <><><><><> [Agnes] Agnes smiles at Aethelbed - more in relief that it is _him_ and not someone else than any other reason. "Hello, Aethelbed." she says as she walks towards him. "I wasn't hovering in the shadows ... " she starts to protest, " ... well, maybe I was. I was just curious as to what you were doing with that other man: and what language you were speaking." She glances at her feet for a moment, "And I was being cautious." Looking up at him again she continues, "I hope you aren't offended, but I wasn't to know that it was going to be you and not some other immortal." <><><><><> [GM] The huge Immortal looms over you like a mountain in the dimness of the warehouse. "Ah. Very good, but a little late for caution if you're already within range of our sense." He waves a hand the size of your face in the direction of the departed foreigner. "A merchant from the continent. Trade is good nowadays, when it isn't being disrupted by Norse raiders." You also notice that Aethelbad does not appear to be armed. With no pause as he changes the subject, he continues, "Girl, I am going to do you a kindness, though you won't think so, and tell you that it is very unlikely that Piotr will be coming back." <><><><><> [Agnes] Agnes looks up at the looming giant in the gloom. "Thank you Aethelbad." She replies with little emotion. "I think in my heart I knew that already, which is why I argued so hard for him not to go. Now that he has gone, I am not going to sit and await his return." She looks around at the warehouse. "So ... what is it that you think I might be able to do?" <><><><><> [GM] Aethelbad looks around. "London's becoming an important trade center, aye, though it be still tiny compared to the great shipping ports of Europe, and farther east. After the legions crawled back to Rome, England be mostly cut off from the continent. Your people invaded a few centuries ago, but they be just barbarians who come looking for land. But they settled down and stayed here. Now things be changing. Charlemagne is sending envoys to Northumbria, and the Vikings be all over the place...I settled here partly for account of so few Immortals get out this far west." "Ye have a choice, girl. Ye can remove yerself from the Game by taking up residence on holy ground. Like a convent. But Piotr he say ye already refused that. Now Piotr be a good teacher and I'm sure yer now competent as a woman can be with a blade, but frankly, you'll never be able to protect yerself with your sword alone." "So, if ye have as good a head as Piotr say, I can teach ye how to do trade, how to handle money. First ye have to learn reckoning, numbers and such. Eventually ye learn how to make some money for yourself, and if ye be wealthy enough ye can hire s'many men as ye need to protect yerself. Problem is yer a woman, that means ye have to find men to use as go-betweens. I known some other female Immortals, they found saps they could lead around by the nose, married 'em or seduced 'em or whatever it took. Fer now ye don't need to worry about that, while yer under my wing like I told Piotr ye'd be, but eventually ye'll need to move on, so ye need to learn that there are other ways to protect yerself than hiding on holy ground or trying to be the best fighter in the world." <><><><><> [Agnes] "Thank you Aethelbad. I don't intend to stay in a convent, so learning how to stay alive without relying on my skill - or lack of it - with a sword will be vital. So let me learn numbers. Then I'll see what I can learn about trade. You are obviously very good at it," she smiles, "so I'll be learning from someone who knows what they are talking about." "I'm not sure how good I'll be at leading me on - but I will have time enough to make a few mistakes."