AGNES Grow Old With Me Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be, The last of life, for which the first was made: Our times are in his hand Who saith, "A whole I planned, Youth shows but half; trust God: see all, nor be afraid!" -Robert Browning, from "Rabbi Ben Ezra" ..... 802 A.D. London The wedding is simple; Captain Westland's crew makes up most of the audience. He admonishes them to be on their best behavior. Their behavior does improve markedly, now that you're the Captain's wife, and not....whatever they thought you were before. Your trip north along the European coast is splendid, and the glimpses you get of Carolingan culture, here on the fringes of Charlemagne's empire, make you wonder how much grander the great Emperor's court must be. Back in London, Aethelbad is waiting, as always. His reaction to your news: "Wise choice....a prosp'rous captain wit' 'is own ship....make sure ye 'ave ownership when he dies, an' ye have easy transport out of England, plus trade contacts along the coast..." Once he realizes your motives were purely sentimental, his reaction is different: "Fool! 've ye thought 'bout the future at all? What 'appens when ye don' get old? What 'appens when that Cornwaller or someone like 'im comes after ye? What 'appens when 'e's a dodderin' old fool, even assumin' he survives Vikings, storms an' plagues?" Aethelbad's softer side is as sliver-thin as always. You and Brian settle into what had been your home, and which you now must think of as "our" home (and which is, of course, as far as everyone else is concerned, now Brian's home). You enjoy several months of marital bliss, as the worst of the winter storms pass. Brian's normal practice is to sail in late winter and early spring, then again in early winter.....trying to avoid the greatest danger of running into either storms or Vikings. A dangerous gamble, but Brian insists that not all the Norsemen are bloodthirsty pirates. "Most of 'em are actually peaceful traders!" You remember Lindesfarne, and Marham, and Kai....it's hard to reconcile the images of those bearded heathens with civilized sea- merchants like Brian. As the weather grows warmer, Brian feels the sea calling to him again, and makes plans for his next trip....a trip on which he plainly does not expect to bring you along. <><><><><> [Agnes] "You are right, Aethelbad, I haven't thought about the future. I'll waiit and see what turns up, and I'll deal with it then. Worrying about and making plans for the future didn't seem to do Peter much good, so I thought I'd enjoy myself for a few years before making serious plans about the future. I've got twenty or thirty years before I look unnaturally young, so why not spend the first half of them enjoying myself rather than constantly the next dissapearance." At an opportune moment, like in bed when her legs are wrapped around him and they are both resting, she leads the conversation to ways in which she can make his business more 'successful'. "Brian, wasn't the voyage back from Spain much more enjoyable for you than all your previous ones? We had time for our bed together. Would you go back to your lonely voyages of the past, when I would be more than willing to accompany you? I could also help you with the choice of goods at your destination - you know I have a good eye for material." She gives him a hug and continues, "And I wouldn't have to worry about you whilst you were away, and you wouldn't have to worry about me back here. What do you think?" <><><><><> [GM] "Lonely? Well....I wouldn't call them exactly lonely, I do have my crew...." Brian says. He's not enthusiastic about the idea at first. The first trip was part of his courting, but now that he has you, he's not so eager to expose you to the same dangers he regards as inconsequential when he's the only one at risk. You also suspect that Brian isn't entirely sure he wants to be with his wife *constantly*, particularly having her along to supervise his business dealings...and it definitely runs against tradition, having a woman as a regular passenger on a ship. It takes you several days, but you finally win him over. And so you become a rather exceptional member of Captain Westland's crew, and you sail the Atlantic for the next twelve years. You travel to Asturia many times, and Bretagne, and the cities of Charlemagne's ever-expanding Carolingian empire, and as far north as Friesland, where Charlemagne finally vanquishes the Saxons in 804. You see some of the Norse traders Brian told you about, and they do appear somewhat civilized....but meanwhile, their countrymen continue to ravage Europe, the raids becoming more numerous every year. Ireland, you understand, is now dominated by the Vikings, and even the coastal forts built by Charlemagne hinder, but do not eliminate, their raids on his empire. You come across a coastal village in Bretagne one summer, weeks after a Viking raid. Only a few very young children, and old men and women, remain. The men were all killed, the women, taken away in their longships.... Once Brian takes you down as far as the Caliphate, to a port town he insists is reasonably hospitable to peaceful traders, even Christians. He notes how tense you are the entire time, and doesn't repeat the trip. You meet other immortals several times; all men, and their reactions range from ambivalence to friendliness to menacing lecherousness. All such encounters occur in coastal cities, with Brian and/or plenty of his crew nearby, so you're never forced into a confrontation. Even the less pleasant ones don't seem inclined to go out of their way to pursue you. Ten years pass before Brian first comments that you look as young and pretty as the day he married you....a fond observation, nothing more. But it sends a twinge through you. Brian's hair is greying, and a few more wrinkles line his face. Nothing lasts forever.... .... Early winter, 814 A.D. Bordeaux Your ship had sailed up the Gironde to dock at this large trading center in the heart of Aquitaine, your last stop before returning to London for the winter. The bells of the great cathedral were tolling as you docked. It took only a few minutes from the time you set foot ashore to learn the cause; the mighty Emperor Charlemagne has died. You and Brian secure the ship, appoint crewmen to stand watch, and go into town to learn what other news accompanies this tragedy. Walking away from the port, you feel a familiar, dreaded tingling sensation in your spine, quickly spreading to your skull. Brian looks at you as you tense and slow your pace. In the fading afternoon light, a figure picks itself out of the shadows at the edge of the street, and walks towards you, between the inns and taverns. The mortals who share the street with the immortal part before him, oblivious that they are doing so. A malevolent smile, an evil gleam in his eyes.......Gerald of Cornwall advances on you, wearing a brown cloak over a leather jerkin, beneath which you hear the jingle of chainmail. "Agnes!" he calls out, as if greeting an old friend. "What a pleasant surprise!" <><><><><> [Agnes Westland] "Hello, Gerald." replies Agnes in a resigned tone that makes no attempt to disguise her distaste at meeting him again. "I see that you decided against troubling Aethelbad then. I suppose that was too much to hope for. You still have an affinity for chainmail - well I still have an affinity for rivers - if you understand me. So shall we not do better to just avoid each other?" <><><><><> [GM] "Never dream it, woman," Gerald sneers. He stops, a few paces from you. "You have no fat Gaul protecting you here. Go ahead and jump in the river again....this time I will be waiting for you when you emerge, count on it." "Who is this, Agnes?" Brian demands. He steps towards Gerald, hand on the hilt of his own shortsword. "You know Aethelbad....you are from London then? How dare you threaten my wife?" <><><><><> [Agnes Westland] Putting a hand on brian's arm to restrain him, Agnes says, "Brian, leave him. This is the man who attacked me in London and who slew those men by our house. Don't tangle with him." She looks back at Gerald. "Well, Gerald. Now what?" <><><><><> [GM] "What?" Brian exclaims. "That was twelve years ago!" He stares at Gerald. "You don't look old enough to have been more than a boy then." Gerald smirks at Brian, then ignores him, looking back at you. "I'll give you until dawn to make peace with God," he says. "Then I am coming for your head. And if you try anything clever, like hiring militiamen to harass me, or fleeing Bordeaux, or taking refuge in the cathedral....why then, I suppose I will have to take someone else's head instead." He looks directly at Brian. Brian snarls. "That's it!" He shakes your hand off. "You're a madman, and you are NOT going to harm one hair on Agnes' head." "You are going to stop me, with that little bread-carver?" Gerald snorts. "Listen to your wife. Stay out of this, and live." <><><><><> [Agnes Westland] "Brian, leave it be! I don't want to see you killed. He's wearing chainmail and can use a sword: and you are a ship's captain. Come on, let's get back to the ship." She puts a restraining hand back on Brian's arm, and attempts to guide him away from the incident. <><><><><> [GM] For a moment, you're afraid Brian feels his manhood too threatened to back down....but apparently your words sink in. "Stay away from us!" he calls back to Gerald. "If I see you again, I'll have *you* thrown in the river, with your chainmail on!" His voice trails off, as if realizing how empty the threat is. "That was the same man who harassed you back in London...before we went on our first voyage together?" he asks. "What was all that about rivers, and what does Aethelbad have to do with this? Why did he call Aethelbad a Gaul, anyway? That fat old merchant is as Saxon as they come!" Brian looks at you, puzzled and disturbed. <><><><><> [Agnes Westland] Clutching Brian's arm tightly, they head back towards the ship. "Gerald was after me in London, all those years ago. Aethelbad told him to desist, or face the consequences with him. But Gerald had one attempt despite that. I tried to push him in the river, but fell in myself, and shook him off by swimming to the far bank." As she talks, Agnes looks about the dockside for a suitable place for the fight that is starting to look inevitable. "When we sail tomorrow, we can put him out of our minds. If it has been all these years for our paths to cross, it will be probably as long before they cross again." she says, knowing it to be a lie. She guides them back on board and to bed. Brian may never see her again, and she intends him to remember their last night together. As he drifts off to sleep, her mind is brushing cobwebs off old memories, that hadn't been properly practiced since she was with Peter. Once she is sure he is asleep, she rises, and dresses in her shipboard clothes with britches and topped with a leather jerkin. Picking up her belted sword, daggers, rings and some money, she slips off the boat, making her way along the dockside to the furthestmost jetty. There she sits on a box, running the whetstone along her blades, as she silently confesses her sins to God, thanking Him for the life He has allowed her to have beyond her first death, and asking Him to bless Brian his ship and his crew. Her tears have stopped by the time the sky beyond the city has started to lighten. <><><><><> [GM] As the sky to the east begins to turn pale, you sense the buzz of another immortal approaching. The man from Cornwall comes striding casually down the dock, still wearing his chainmail and leather. The sound of his booted footsteps echoes loudly, the only sound aside from the slapping of waves against the waterfront. Gerald unslings his shield as he comes nearer. His grin is confident and arrogant. "Are you ready?" he asks. "Don't think for a moment I'm going to let you get away with that push-me-into-the-river trick." <><><><><> [Agnes] "Oh Gerard, how could you think such a thing! I just thought that the end of a wooden pier but two yards wide would be a secluded spot. That you choose to equip yourself with items that will cause you difficulty if you fall off the pier is your problem." she replies, knowing full well that should the opportunity arise she will indeed come to close quarters and drag, push or pull him off the pier and into the river. She stands, sword in hand, dagger in the other. "By the way Gerard, if I haven't made it plain before - I hope you rot in Hell for eternity." <><><><><> [GM] Gerald laughs. "Hell may be my destiny, woman, but you'll see it before I will." He stands there on the dock, facing you squarely. With your back to the end of the pier, there's nowhere you can go except backwards into the river, or forward into Gerald. He apparently means to wait for you to come to him. <><><><><> [Agnes] With a shrug, Agnes slowly walks towards Gerald, determined not to swing the first blow, and not in any great hurry to start things going. Studying as she goes, she decides that his limbs would be the most fruitful target, but that she'd be satisfied with hitting him anywhere to begin with until she knew how good he was. Feints could wait till later too. <><><><><> [GM] Gerald shifts his stance slightly, holding his shield at the ready. As you enter the reach of his weapon, and simultaneously place him within your reach, your swords both hover in the air, points inches apart, ready to attack or parry. Gerald takes the initiative and strikes first. He brings his sword back very slightly, then slashes at you. You miss blocking it by a fraction. His point tears through the front of your leather jerkin, and you feel a burning pain across your chest. Blood spatters in an arc, following in the wake of his blade. You suck air in through your teeth, hissing in pain. Gerald's eyes are already lighting up, as if he believes the fight is all but over. <><><><><> [Agnes] The impulse to lash out was great, as was the impulse to run. But she knew she couldn't afford to do either. ***I might as well try to be clever now, whilst I'm still capable of it.***, she thinks as she attempts a feignt at Gereald's head that she pulls into an attack on his near leg. <><><><><> [GM] The pain from your wound causes you to wince as you move, giving your feint away. Gerald holds his parry until you sweep at his leg, then deflects it easily with his sword. Getting past his shield and armor is going to be as difficult as you feared. Your one advantage is that being less encumbered, you are able to move more quickly. Now that you're in melee range and the first exchange has ended (with first blood going to Gerald), you sense an opportunity to strike again before Gerald counterattacks. <><><><><> [Agnes] **It's been a long time since pain like that has been a companion.** Thinks Agnes, as she tries to get back into the mind-set for combat that Peter taught her - **what? getting on for twenty years ago?** Sensing that Gerald is not quite back on balance from his block, Agnes takes a hack at his right hand/wrist. **This will only be quick if I lose.** she thinks as out of the corner of her eye she gauges where she is standing with respect to any drops or obstacles, and similarly for Gerald. <><><><><> [GM] You slash at Gerald's wrist, but he puts his damnable shield in the way, and you succeed only in chopping a chunk out of its edge. Your sword whips around in your hand, as you try to catch him on a reverse stroke, but already alerted to your intentions, he pulls his arm back and deflects your sword with his. He takes a half-step forward and slashes at your chest, unimaginatively duplicating his first attack, but this time you manage to parry. Peter's lessons come back with surprising speed; fighting for your life proves to be an excellent skill refresher. You're holding your own, but barely. The Cornwaller's skill seems to be roughly on a par with yours, but his shield and armor gives him a great advantage. If the fight remains a back-and-forth exchange of blows, then barring an extremely lucky blow by you, the odds are definitely in Gerald's favor. You have a bit of an advantage in speed, being so lightly encumbered, but Gerald is moving cautiously, not extending himself in such a way as to make it easy for you to try grappling or tripping him, and he stands solidly in the center of the pier, making your prospects of maneuvering around him very poor. You have severe doubts about your ability to wrestle him into the water, unless he does something foolish. Charging into close combat where his shield would only get in his way and you could use the knife in your left hand to better advantage will probably be fatal should he foil your closing attempt. <><><><><> [Agnes] The first few seconds of combat had realised all Agnes' fears about fighting Gerard whilst he was wearing chain and wielding a shield. She would lose the long game. She would go for the long shots then. A swing at his chest to see if she could actually hit him, would be followed by another feignt head: cut at leg. And next time he looked unready she would step into towards him and drive her dagger into whatever was available. A niggle from her chest reminded her that all this pre-supposed that he didn't cut her down in the interim. <><><><><> [GM] Perhaps Gerald thought you were too intimidated to attack in earnest; or was merely being cautious as you seemed to be going for extremities. He fails to bring his shield up in time as you go for a body shot, and your sword strikes him in the ribs, under his sword-arm. He winces only slightly. There are a few drops of blood on your sword-edge when you pull it back, but you lost a lot of striking power trying to get around his shield, and his armor absorbed most of the rest. Your feint proves useless again, and Gerald takes the opportunity to step forward and slash at your chest again, from the opposite side as before. He carves an almost identical wound across your chest, crossing the first in a bloody "X". The "niggle" has turned into hot, searing pain, as blood pours down your front. It takes all your will to avoid staggering. "That must hurt!" Gerald smirks, leering and preparing to strike again. <><><><><> [Agnes] Gritting her teeth she doesn't reply. She steps away from him, intending to go on the defensive until the pain subsides. She retreats enough to reposition the fight closer to the edge of the pier, or at least at an angle across it. If this fight was to her way, someone was going to have to fall in the river. <><><><><> [GM] Gerald presses his attack as you back away, but still not as rashly as you might wish. His sword slashes at you again, and you avoid it only by taking another step back, and another. You're running out of maneuvering room. He has moved closer to the edge, but still looks quite prepared to resist an attempt to knock him over the side. "Thinking of jumping in the water?" Gerald asks, poising his weapon for another strike. "Go ahead.....maybe I'll just shed my chainmail shirt and dive in after you....or maybe I'll go kill your mortal husband while I wait for you to drag yourself back to the shore." <><><><><> [Agnes] "You bast***!" she replies. Stubbornly, she tries yet another feignt attack which will be followed by a cut at his legs. The pain in her chest is a constant reminder of how badly against her this fight is going: and throwing herself into the river may not be the sure sanctuary she had been thinking it - especially if Gerald will kill Brian. **What right have I to save myself at Brian's expense?**, she asks herself, **But he may kill him anyway. I'll just have to kill Gerald then.**, she concludes, but she is far from convinced that this remains a possible outcome. <><><><><> [GM] "Sadly, 'tis true," Gerald replies affably. "And I am proud of it. Bastards grow up mean. Don't you think so?" At last! Gerald may be formidable, but he's clearly not the smartest fighter, as he finally falls for your third attempt at the same feint. Or maybe your desperation just made it look more like a genuine attack this time. He raises his shield high to block your swing at his head; leaving the lower half of his body exposed. You lunge forward and bring your sword down desperately at his forward leg. Landing just beneath the bottom edge of his chainmail shirt, which hangs down below his belt, your broadsword chops into his thigh with the force of a butcher hacking at a side of beef. The thick leather trousers he's wearing do little to absorb the blow, and your blade sinks deeply into his flesh, stopping only when it bites into bone with a gratifyingly loud "chunk!" Blood is everywhere when you pull your sword back, spurting from a massively severed artery. Gerald half-screams, half-snarls, "Aaaarrrrghhh!!" as he staggers and falls onto his side, his crippled leg collapsing beneath him. He instinctively raises his shield over his head, struggling desperately to lurch upright to a position from which he can bring his sword back into play. <><><><><> [Agnes] Seizing the opportunity, and trusting to Gerald to be too pre-occupied with his wound to realise her vulnerability, Agnes puts her full weight into one good solid blow. Such is her relief at seeing the fight become more balanced at a single blow, that she just swings aat him, not bothering with where she hits. "Well, take that you smug bastard!" she tells him as the blow lands. <><><><><> [GM] Gerald is trying to flip himself over as your unaimed blow lands....on the same leg you just hit. Your sword strikes lower this time, just above the knee.....and this time your blade goes almost entirely through the limb. More blood jets out over you, and the lower half of his leg now hangs loosely by only a strip of flesh....but in retrospect, you'd have done better to cripple another limb. He still seems unable to move into a sitting position. All he can do is keep holding his shield overhead, while blood gushes out from his maimed leg and forms a growing puddle around him, staining the pier and dripping between the planks. You try to hack at him again, but only clip off a piece of his shield. And again, this time bypassing the shield, but only the point of your sword slashes across his chest, and you don't think it even penetrated his armor. You have to struggle to take a calm breath, and plan your attacks more carefully. Gerald finally rises to one knee, as you swing again. He swings his shield at your sword so desperately he pulls himself off-balance, and his other arm flails for a moment to compensate. Your sword chops into his exposed wrist. His sword drops straight down and lands next to him with a clatter, and as yet more blood sprays, his right hand hangs loosely from a lacerated wrist where bone protrudes from raw flesh. Gerald looks at it in shock, then looks up at you. And suddenly HE lurches sideways and rolls to the side of the pier, and throws himself into the water! <><><><><> [Agnes] Agnes walks to the edge of the pier and looks down at the water. The immediate danger is gone, and she calms herself down a bit, trying to think rationally again. She sheathes her sword, and as she does so, looks at her chest for the first time. It's not in a good way. She contemplates what to do next as she watches the bubbles break the surface of the water. "He'll come back for revenge", she tells herself, "and I won't be so lucky next time." Holding her arms across her chest and tensing heerself in the knowledge of the pain to come when she hits the water, she jumps at the bubbles. <><><><><> [GM] As soon as the cold water hits your chest, you wish you'd waited for your wounds to heal. But the long minutes it would take would probably give Gerald a chance to escape. Biting back a scream, you tread water for a few seconds, until the agony in your chest diminishes to a tolerable level. Then, taking a deep breath, you dive. It's dark. For the first few yards, you can follow the cloud of blood, but after that, you're all but blind. Only the buzzing in your head tells you you're still close to the sinking immortal, but the buzz has never been directional. You're not sure if Gerald is allowing himself to sink deliberately, or can't stay afloat in chainmail. You can only hope that with his encumbrance, your breath outlasts his. In the dark water ahead, you see a darker spot....fluttering slightly, like a moving shadow. <><><><><> [Agnes] Agnes swims towards the shadows. The feeling of the dagger in her left hand comforts her, as does the knowledge that Gerald has a large shield tied to his left arm and his right hand is almost severed. Reminding herself of these things allows her to keep swimming through the blackness towards uncertainty. Hovering at the edge of her mind is the thought of Gerald dragging her to a death by drowning. She forces that thought to remain at the edge, to keep her resolve from cracking. <><><><><> [GM] You kick towards the shadow, and feel small disruptions in the water rolling against you. The dark spot resolves itself into something that you identify as a man with a cloak and a shield more out of memory than any real clarity in the image, here underwater beneath the pre-dawn sky. The water is particularly dark around the shadow; blood is still flowing from Gerald's almost-amputated limbs. Of course, you are also generating a fair cloud of blood yourself. Close enough to be almost with arm's length, it appears Gerald is still struggling to remove his shield. Whether he's noticed your approach, you can't tell, though he must surely know you're not far away, since he can feel the buzz as well as you can. <><><><><> [Agnes] Agnes reaches out through the bloody water and grabs hold of Gerald, and then tries to stab him with her dagger. She reminds herself that otherwise she will have to be contantly alert forever more against a returned Gerald. <><><><><> [GM] You grab the edge of Gerald's shield, and hold onto that as you try to stab him. You miss, and Gerald struggles, and kicks out at you. You pull yourself inside his shield, and unsuccessfully try to stab him again. He tries to shake you off, but is too encumbered with his shield and armor, and possibly weakened by blood loss. You stab him in the chest, but the point of your dagger catches on his chainmail. It's hard to get much force behind your blows underwater. Gerald tries to reach both arms around you, in a clumsy bearhug, with shield and useless hand both hindering his grapple attempt. He almost manages to do it, though. <><><><><> [Agnes] Realising the effectiveness of his chainmail against her soggy blows, Agnes tries to stab him in the face and neck, before giving in to the need to breathe and heading towards the surface. <><><><><> [GM] You and Gerald struggle frantically for another few seconds; you trying to stab him, he trying to grapple you, the only option available to him. Neither of you is successful. Only when you are in danger of running out of breath and taking in water do you let go of him and kick towards the surface. The trip back up seems a bit longer than your dive down, but when you break the surface, you can still feel Gerald's presence beneath you. The exact range at which immortals can sense one another is not something you've ever determined, but this close to the docks, the Gironde can't be terribly deep. And if Gerald doesn't make it to the surface himself, he will surely start drowning about now. While you tread water and regain your breath, the sensation from Gerald's nearness drops off sharply, telling you that he's slowly drifting out of range. <><><><><> [Agnes] Agnes looks about to orientate herself to the shore, and a way out of the river. She lips her dagger into her belt and then duck-dives down again. She searches once more for Gerald. She follows the trail of her own blood back downwards to where the fight was, and perhaps to a trail of Gerald's blood leading to the man herself. This time she will just try to drag him to the shore. <><><><><> [GM] As you dive, you see a dark form rising. You're closer to the surface, and emerge before Gerald does. You hear him gasping and hacking as he breaks the surface of the water, downriver from you. As you plunge forward to catch up to him, he struggles and goes under, then his head bobs up again. He chokes and spits water. He's obviously having a great deal of difficulty. Your own wounds are still terribly painful, but you comfort yourself with the knowledge that he must be suffering even more. He goes under again as you come almost within reach. <><><><><> [Agnes] With stubborn determination now that she has seen that he still lives, Agnes strikes out after him again. She is determined to drag him to the shore. The pain in her chest merely serves to remind her of the hurt he has inflicted upon her, and would do again if she let him go. <><><><><> [GM] You reach him easily enough, but with the last of his strength, he resists you. This simply causes him to sink again, and his struggles become feebler. However, his mass is considerable, and in your weakened state, you feel him dragging you under as all you can do is hold on, and you know you won't be able to pull him ashore. At least not until he drowns and stops resisting entirely, and then you'll be lucky to get his armored body to the surface. <><><><><> [Agnes] Agnes lets go of him and returns to the surface, where she treads water gaining her breath, and waiting a short while to see if Gerald makes it to the surface again. If he does, she'll pursuue him again, if not she'll dive down looking for him. <><><><><> [GM] Gerald breaks the surface once more, and then disappears. You have a few bad minutes, diving to find him, when you can neither see nor sense him. The thought that he might have gotten away, and that you will have to do this all over again someday, is too dreadful to consider. Your heart races, urgency causing you to consume your stored air faster than you should. On your second trip back from the surface to get a breath, you sense a faint buzz as you try to peer into the dark water, and immediately kick towards it. It becomes stronger, and stronger, as you dive deeper. Only the dimmest light filters down here, and you have to suppress another shudder, imagining what sorts of creatures might dwell here in the bottom of the river.....though you know the Gironde is hardly the ocean, and the harbor of one of Europe's largest cities seems an unlikely place for sea-monsters. Still, you've never forced yourself this deep underwater before. You reach the bottom of the river, almost bumping into it face-first before a hand touches the mud ahead of you. And you realize that while you can sense Gerald nearby, if he's drowned and drifting along the bottom, awaiting some future time when his body will wash to the shore and he can revive, you could spend a long time down here, trying to find him. <><><><><> [Agnes] Much as it causes despair, she gives up, and slowly swims to the shore. She has drifted a fair way in the current, whilst looking for Gerald, and the spires of the town are the only hint of its position behind a bend in the river. She wades out of the river through the mud to the bank, and climbs out. After seeking somewhere secluded in the shade, away from the bank itself, she lies down to rest. She hasn't slept all night, and fighting for her life on the quay and in the river has rather taken it out of her.... When she wakes it is gone noon. **Brian!** she thinks **He'll be worried sick!** She leaps up to hurry back when she realises that her bosom is falling out of the large slashes in her jerkin and blouse. **There's no way I can go back like this!** She sits down again, and takes off both garments. She sits, examining them, contemplating how to fix them, and as she does her mind wanders. "Which is more cruel?" she asks herself, "To go back to Brian, and stay with him as he grows old, or to stay away, making him free whilst he is still not too old to marry and see his children become adults?" She thinks of the circumstances of the situation. In front of Brian, Gerald had said he was after my head, and I'd said that he was after me. Brian wakes to find me gone. There is a sword, lots of blood, and pieces of my blouse and jerkin on the quay, and no sign of either me or Gerald. "Brian may grieve, but he should certainly believe me dead." A shiver runs down her spine as she thinks of Peter's words on the boat from Lindesfarne all those years ago. Tears run as she thinks of what she has just decided to do to Brian. After some time she put that to the side. She'd better get back to town before nightfall. She decides that without a needle, she is stuck, puts on the blouse back-to-front, and on top the jacket the right way round. It would have to suffice until she could fix it. She was glad she'd brought money and jewelry with her - this was anything but a planned change of life. She made her way the long way round to approach the town from a different direction than from the river. After a quick visit to stalls to buy needles, thread and leather to repair her clothes, it would be a room in an in to effect those repairs, and then some serious thought as to what she was going to do now. <><><><><> [GM] With the money you have on hand, you buy a decent room, despite the odd looks you receive. The most obvious conclusions about your status, based on your being a single woman with man-like clothes in disarray, are likely to gain you unwholesome inquiries very quickly. You fall asleep with difficulty, and twice during the night, wake up with a gasp, sure you sensed the Quickening of another immortal approaching. You spend a long time sitting up in bed each time, hardly daring to breathe, and straining your senses to catch a hint of tingling in your spine. Finally you conclude it's nervous exhaustion, and residual terror from your fight with Gerald. The river is not deep, but it's not particularly shallow either. It took you about two weeks to wash ashore when you drowned, out in the open ocean. How long will it take for Gerald's carcass to reach the surface, and for the Quickening to force air into his lungs once again? Weighted down by chainmail, hopefully a long time. Of course, when you drowned, it was your first death. Peter did say that immortals usually recover more quickly as they get older. You spend two weeks trying to maintain a low profile, and only when you have quietly walked the length of Bordeaux, without sensing another immortal, and noted the departure of the ship in which you spent so many years of your life, with Brian, are you reasonably certain that you are now alone. <><><><><> [Agnes] Back in something more feminine, Agnes spend time around the markets, establishing what commodities are bought and sold, what comes from the interior, and what goes back. She would like some time away from the sea, and a tinker seems as good an occupation as any. She will become a simple travelling merchant. As well as the mule, and living equipment, and wares to sell, in the back of her mind are the lessons learned from her fight with Gerald. - His shield was undeniably an enormous pain to her, she must acquire one and learn to use it. Similarly, his chainmail made a huge difference, perhaps aspiring for something similar straight away would be over ambitious, but leather more substantial than her jacket would have been a help. On reflection she was lucky to survive being tutored by a monk and brawler, neither of whom seemed to set much store by shields or armour. Still, she'd learned. After some weeks checking out the city and its commerce, she set about deciding what she could afford, buying it, and setting off into the interior. Romance was too painful an experience to repeat - hopefully not standing still long enough would avoid its repetition. <><><><><> [GM] The life of a traveling tinker actually provides more freedom than you could have imagined....the inhabitants of the villages and towns you pass through expect you to be slightly outside the mainstream, so your being a woman is less of a hindrance than when you lived in London, and every man around expected you to settle down and remarry at the earliest opportunity. Which is not to say you don't still experience your share of problems. From amorous farmboys to drunken louts in taverns to occasional brigands on the road, you're constantly reminded of how hazardous the world can be for a woman. Your sword keeps most trouble at bay, and you learn to be very wary at all times when out on your own....but more than once over the next decade, you are threatened with assault and rape and forced to flee. On one occasion you kill a local squire who had you pressed against a table with a knife at your throat (you called his bluff and drew your own dagger, only because you knew you'd wake up again if he did slit your throat, which he didn't), and that forced you to run from the county, with a price on your head. Charles' son, Louis the Pious, reigns tolerably well, but the Holy Roman Empire begins to fall into decline....still a major world power, but no longer enjoying the grandeur and prestige it once did. Not that this makes a difference from the perspective of the average peasant, or a traveling merchant. You run across your old friend Sancho a couple of times; he seems amused that you've taken up his profession. Comparing his sizeable caravan, with mercenaries hired for protection, to your pack and mule, he has cause for amusement. Aside from a brief encounter with an immortal in Alamanni, a man who was in too much of a hurry to stop and introduce himself, Sancho is the only immortal you meet in your travels. The Empire is partitioned among Louis' sons, and you hear tell of political battles concerning who will rule what domain, but it's remote, and of no particular significance to you. Likewise, you hear news from England occasionally. Apparently Mercia is being eclipsed by Wessex, as King Egbert subjugates one kingdom after another. You begin to feel homesick, and even miss Aethelbad. But returning to London is out of the question, not while Brian is probably still alive. The Vikings continue to plague the civilized world, but unlike England, the Holy Roman Empire is at least capable of preventing the Norsemen from penetrating into the interior. For now. Away from the sea, you are safe from that particular horde of murderers and rapists, though there are plenty of others to avoid. In the south, Asturias and the Franks try to invade the Iberian peninsula, but the Muslims hold them off, and you hear that Arabs are taking over the Mediterranean. You wander Aquitaine, Burgundy, Austria, and as far east as Bavaria, where the edges of the Holy Roman Empire fade into still-uncivilized barbarian hinterlands, and repeat the journey, several times, taking a different path each time. 827 A.D. Your next encounter with an immortal occurs at an unlikely spot; a tiny village in the lowlands of Aquitaine, now ruled by Louis' son Pepin. Not far from the river eventually leading to Bordeaux and thence to the sea, this humble agrarian community boasts a tiny chapel of its own, perched on a small bluff overlooking the river, with a gentle slope leading down to the fields behind it. You pass this chapel on the road leading to the village, noting that it seems well-maintained, but too small to have a permanent clergyman in residence. Probably a traveling priest makes a circuit of the villages in this region, and uses this chapel for services when he comes out this way. At the point where the road comes closest to the chapel, you sense a prickling at the base of your neck, intensifying until you're sure what it signifies. Only then do you see the small horse grazing next to the chapel. A young man emerges. To your surprise, he appears to be non- European. In your travels, you've never actually seen an Arab, or Saracen, but this is the most likely classification that occurs to you, seeing the other immortal's dark skin and vaguely eastern dress. His eyes widen when he spots you, and without further ado, he comes stalking directly towards you, hand on the curved sword hanging at his side. He begins spouting a stream of invective at you in a language you don't understand. His tone and expression make it clear that he's not introducing himself in a friendly manner. <><><><><> [Agnes] Agnes stops Ethel, her mule, and as she does so she slips her left arm through the loops of the medium-sized shield hanging off the furniture, that she had taken to carting about after her fight with Gerald. She momentarily considers the waste of time, effort and money that acquiring the cuirboilli has been, as it siits packed - useless - on Ethel's back, and as she prepares herself for a fight wearing only the skirt, blouse and leather jacket that she had fashioned herself from raw materials. Standing by Ethel's flank, she leaves her left arm resting across her back, so as not to have moved the shield from its resting-place. She too rests her hand on the pommel of her sword, and stands her ground watching the stranger approach. The sensation gets stronger as he comes closer, and with it the adrenalin increases. Thoughts race through her mind: **I'm not even wearing my working gloves!** As a light gust of wind disturbs her long hair, **I'm not wearing a hat, and my hair isn't tied up!** **There's no river to run to if the going gets tough!** As he gets close, she tightens her grip on the shield. **If only Peter had taught me how to use one of these things. If only I'd bothered to get some tuition once I'd bought it!** "I have absolutely no idea what you are saying!" she says to him, loud enough for him to hear over his own tirade, and in Latin. "But if you make to draw your sword, I shall take that as a hostile act, and react accordingly." She watches his reactions intently: **Will he look as blank as I no doubt did when he spoke to me?** <><><><><> [GM] The infidel stops just a few paces away, pausing for only a few moments to listen to your words. Obviously not understanding them, he resumes his own invective, gesturing at you with a hostile sneer. Then he draws his sword and stands there, waiting, adding another word or two that probably doesn't need to be translated. You take some small comfort in the fact that he isn't wearing any armor either....and he has no shield. <><><><><> [Agnes] **I feared as much.** she thinks as the man draws his sword. She lifts her left arm from the mule's back, protecting her front with the shield, and as she does so, draws her sword. She glances beyond him for a moment, gauging how far it is to the church. **He's the agressor. Let him make the first move.** she thinks as she moves sideways away from her mule, making a start to the long half circle she hopes to make to put the church at her back. She mentally rehearses her parries, and notes the state of the ground in case she should become desperate enough to have to dodge rather than parry. Peter would have chided her for being too defensive, but then she knew that he wouldn't take her head, and after her one 'real' fight with Gerald, she felt entitled to be cautious. <><><><><> [GM] The other immortal moves straight for you, looking at your shield and obviously calculating how to get past it. He feints tentatively. You bat his sword aside, seeing an opening so obvious that for an instant, you suspect he might be setting you up. But he doesn't stop your attack, and you carve his chest open with a vicious downstroke, and then tear another piece out of him on the backstroke. He reels backwards, staying on his feet only through force of will, but unable to do anything else as blood gushes from the open wounds on his chest. <><><><><> [Agnes] To the exclusion of all else, Agnes concentrates on planting a good blow on the saracen's neck. Then she'll revert to a cautious fight, with slashes to his chest. <><><><><> [GM] Your sword sweeps towards the infidel's neck. He gasps, sees it coming, and raises his fist, clenched around the pommel of his sword, to fend it off. There's no calculation in his defense; he's too stunned by his injuries to do more than throw his weapon haphazardly in your path. In the next moment, one of God's little jokes leaves both of you staring in amazement. Your blade strikes his, precisely at the base of his blade, where the tang sinks into the pommel, and at just the right angle so that you meet maximum resistance. Your sword breaks in two, the end of it spinning over your opponent's shoulder, leaving you holding a hilt with about six inches of useless metal protruding from it. <><><><><> [Agnes] Grasping immediately, her predicament, she jumps at him, hoping he is still too stunned to react properly and hoping to get inside his weapon. If she does she throws in punches with her fist still wrapped around the handle of her now useless sword. The terrible thoughts that she had when she'd sliced him were coming true! This was her fight with Gerald in reverse, only this time she had no river to shake off pursuit! <><><><><> [GM] The Saracen does nothing to stop you as you close in, stepping as closely as your shield will allow. It gets in your way as you try to pummel him, your first blow merely bruising his shoulder. You then land a solid punch to his jaw, smashing teeth with the weight of your broken sword behind it. He coughs and spits blood, but remains standing, albeit shakily. He manages to block your next punch as he backs away, realizing you're too close for him to use his sword, so he takes your blow on his arm. You can't land another blow on him as he moves just out of arms' length and ducks behind YOUR shield. Then his sword comes up at you from below, and slices into your left armpit, causing agony as the blade cuts through muscle and bone. Your shield drops and hangs like dead weight at the end of your useless arm, and the jolt of pain it sends through you as it falls makes you fear that your arm may be about to come off. Certainly there's enough blood spurting from beneath the juncture of arm and shoulder. You reel back, despairing at yet another calamatous turn of events. He lurches forward, pressing his advantage. He tries to disembowel you, but only the point of his sword cuts through your light leather jacket, tracing a bloody line across your stomach that stings but doesn't penetrate deeply enough to be critical. You grit your teeth and overcome the pain on your left side enough to bring your sword back into position. Then remember that your sword is about as useful as a large knife for purposes of parrying, and much less so for attacking. While you no longer have any effective benefit from your shield, you have to conclude, looking at the infidel, that he's still in much worse shape than you. His chest is a bubbling, bloody mess, and he looks groggy as he shakes his head and spits out more blood, with his smashed jaw looking almost....squishy. <><><><><> [Agnes] Agnes backs away, dropping the broken sword and pulling out her knife. Then she waits for him. Her plan is to dodge his next swing, hopefully inside it, but if not she'll close with him afterwards. Either way she intends to get inside his distance and strike at him with the knife. <><><><><> [GM] While you're drawing your knife, the Saracen slashes at your neck, trying for victory with a single blow. He's too clumsy and you barely have to move, which is fortunate, because that stomach wound is causing more pain than you initially thought. You're not going to be able to dodge very effectively. You step into his guard and try to stab him, but fail. He backs away and slashes again at your neck. He aims too low, and strikes your shoulder instead....which is bad enough. He cuts all the way into your shoulder, tearing through your upper chest, and sending you tumbling to the ground. Peter never warned you about how bloody these fights can really get. Your vision is swimming, and you feel light-headed. You seem to be lying in a puddle. The Saracen, as bloody as you, is staggering towards you, raising his sword overhead. You can't do anything to stop him. He brings it down......into the dirt next to your face. And snarls at his own ineptitude. It's tempting to just lie here and give up. Your opponent sways on his feet, raising his sword again as if it weighed as much as him. It looks like the fight may be won by whoever can hold onto consciousness longer. <><><><><> [Agnes] Pain bathes Agnes as she lies looking up at the saracen. Peter had never been able to inflict so much damage upon her, and she had never continued the fight when it all got too painfull. This time though, to stop was to die - forever. **The road runs through a rather pleasant pasture. The birds are still singing in the trees. All in all it is quite a nice place to die, near to that church too.** "No!" she snaps out of it, and tries to get to her feet, prepared to parry with her dagger for all the good it would do, and launch herself to the side, out of the way of the saracen's next blow. **I have to reach the church before I pass out!** she decides. **Even if I stay conscious, I cannot beat his sword. I'll work out how to get out afterwards!** If she can only get to her feet, she will run for sanctury. <><><><><> [GM] You roll to your knees, and the Saracen swings his sword down at you, and it sticks in your shield. He shakes his sword, trying to wrench it free, and worrying you in the process, jerking your body back and forth. You're too numb from shock to do anything, you just feel more pain, pain added to pain, blood added to blood, more blood gushing from the arm that's being half-pulled off. The Saracen pulls his sword out, takes a step back, raises his sword, and keeps stepping backwards, out of control. He falls backwards and hits the ground, groans, and passes out. You rise, on wobbly knees, almost get to your feet, then fall over. ..... You wake up with a fly crawling in your ear. The sun has progressed only a short distance in the sky. Your body aches and your arm still hurts terribly, and bloody muck clings to your face. A few feet away, the Saracen is still lying unconscious. But the buzz is louder than that of the flies attracted by your blood, so you know he's healing just as you are. <><><><><> [Agnes] She lurchs to her feet, using her right arm as she does so. She picks up her knife and staggers across the grass, slick with blood, towards the saracen. The sight of all the blood and the smell of gore is overwhelming. She pauses to throw up, the end of her hair catching some to mingle with the congealed blood that already holds it in ropey tangles. She launches at him with the knife, trying to drive it into his chest before he regains consciousness. <><><><><> [GM] Perhaps some instinct stirs him as you approach, and he groans. You see that his jaw has mostly melded back together, and the wounds on his chest are closed, though still raw and red. His eyes don't open, however, as you plunge the knife into his chest. More blood spurts from him, as you keep stabbing. The buzz doesn't stop, though his breathing does. <><><><><> [Agnes] Agnes stops when the knife slips out of her hand, the handle too slippery to hold. She wipes her hand on her front, and when she looks at it her palm is more bloody than before. Looking down, she realises that her clothes are completely covered in blood, as are her arms, her hair, and - she guesses - her face. She goes completely queezy and, turning away from her victim, vomits a bloody spew once more. After what seems an age on her hands and knees on ground slick and wet with gore she regains some of her mental composure. Wiping her hand on something less bloody than it, she gingerly picks up her knife from the pool of congealing blood and slips it back into her belt. She stands up, and feels her skirt clinging against her legs as it hangs heavily with the weight of absorbed blood. After seaking the saracen's sword, she picks it up and returns to his body. She lifts the sword foor the death blow, holds it, and then brings it down again. "No. I can't. I am not a barbarian. I cannot kill him like this." She looks at him. "I hope God is as merciful to me as I have been to you." She kneels again to remove any other weapons he may have, and then walks to where her broken blade lies. Recovering it and her mule, she goes to the saracen's teathered horse, and unties it. Leading both animals past the church, she looks for a way down to the river, well away from the village, and spotting one makes her way down. At the river bank she teathers both animals, and and as her arm has recovered enough, takes off her shield. She searches his horse for more weapons, and taking them all with her, she wades out into the river. Placing her shield on a boulder, she takes off her bloody clothes piece by piece, washing out the blood, and puting them on the rock when she's done. Finally, naked, she washes out her hair, teasing out the tangles with a comb, and cutting them out with her knife if they prove too difficult. <><><><><> [GM] It seems to take forever to wash the filth and the stain off your body and out of your hair. It almost appears to have soaked into your skin. Your arm is still a little sore. Only after having been on your own for so many years have you begun to realize how many things Peter *didn't* tell you. One being whether or not an immortal who loses an arm will grow it back. The sun is going down, and it's getting chilly by the time you wade ashore......and stop dead as you sense the Quickening again! "Marwan!" calls out a man's voice, irritably. A horse and rider emerges from the low trees just back from the riverbank, on the opposite side of the river from the chapel. The man is another Saracen, but dressed much better than the one you just fought. He also appears slightly older (which means nothing among your kind, of course.) He's wearing ring mail beneath a white and green cloak, with some sort of white head covering wrapped above his forehead. Your peddler's eye informs you that the trappings with which he and his horse are decked out are worth a considerable sum of money. Of course, what really catches your attention is the long, straight sword at his side, and the shield hanging from the saddle of his horse. He jerks his horse to a halt and stares at you for a moment. Obviously, you are not the immortal he expected to find. He's too far away to reach you, should you dive back into the river and swim for the opposite shore, but he's close enough to intercept you easily should you try to run for your horse. "Afwan...." he begins, then, averting his eyes, says aloud in Spanish "Excuse me....do you speak Spanish?" And switching to less fluent Latin, "Or do you speak Latin? My Frankish is poor." He wheels his horse in a half circle, glancing up for a split second to see if any comprehension registers on your face. The man is clearly discomfitted by discovering a naked woman....on the other hand, he's not leaving. "My name is Kemal ibn-Hakim ibn-Daud Hajii," he says, pronouncing his name very clearly and formally. "I was looking for my pupil. He seems to have......" his voice drifts off as his gaze comes to rest on the sword, lying on a rock next to you, which you took from the other immortal- "....wandered."