AGNES SMITH Part VI Homecoming The tide rises, the tide falls, The twilight darkens, the curlew calls; Along the sea-sands damp and brown The traveller hastens toward the town, And the tide rises, the tide falls. Darkness settles on roofs and walls, But the sea, the sea in the darkness calls; The little waves, with their soft, white hands, Efface the footprints in the sands, And the tide rises, the tide falls. The morning breaks; the steeds in their stalls Stamp and neigh, as the hostler calls; The day returns, but nevermore Returns the traveller to the shore, And the tide rises, the tide falls. -Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, "The Tide Rises, The Tide Falls" 827 A.D. London ..... Your ship docks in London late in November, just after sundown. The captain had pushed onward despite the worsening weather, hoping to make port rather than be stuck somewhere down the coast in the middle of a storm. Thunder rolls through the sky, accompanied by flashes of lightning, and you set foot on a familiar-looking dock amidst a downpour. This late, and in the unpleasant weather, there aren't many people around. You walk cautiously along the wharfs, reassuring yourself of the comforting presence of your sword. You've dealt with all sorts of ruffains, these last fourteen years, and defeating Gerald has given you new confidence, but as Peter would somberly remind you, a mortal lurking in a dark alley can take out the most skilled warrior with a sap, if he or she is incautious. London hasn't changed at all; you could have just left yesterday. It feels almost like home. Almost. The last few weeks have made more poignant your memories of your real home, Marham, far to the north. The village where you spent the first twenty-three years of your life, and which you haven't seen in the last thirty-four years. It's definitely time to pay long overdue respects to your parents, and your first husband....but first, you have to pay some respects here. Along the familiar streets, the alehouses are unchanging, and so are the looks you receive from the few loiterers who hang around outside even in this weather. It isn't long before you feel the prickling sensation that soon blossoms into a strong buzzing in your skull. You look into the dark doorway of the drinking establishment you're passing, remembering the first time you entered one of these places, with Peter. That still sends a shudder up your spine. But you're no longer as naive and vulnerable as you were then...though you know you're not as hardened as you could be, either. You remember that Aethelbad's custom is to wait in his customary seat, when he senses another immortal. This is his territory, his town, he makes visitors come to him. And he certainly won't come out to meet the unknown intruder in the rain. So you take a deep breath and step inside. All the raucous male laughter ceases, as two dozen pairs of eyes focus on you. One thing you had forgotten was how bad these places smell. And that old fear is coming back, try as you might to suppress it. You feel an urge to turn around and dash back outside, perhaps come back tomorrow, and try to find Aethelbad while he's making the rounds of his businesses.... A looming shape in the back of the room rumbles "What d'hell? Oi, woman....." Athelbad's voice changes tone slightly, rising with wonder. "Agnes?" <><><><><> [Agnes] "Hello, Aethelbad" she replies as she approaches and embraces him. "It's good to see you again." After a few moments she realises how she must be embarrasing him, and releases him. "How is London? Tell me what you've been up to, and I'll tell you my tale." <><><><><> [GM] Aethelbad seems stunned as you walk through the rank tavern and embrace him, to the approving hoots of the other patrons. Aethelbad, unfortunately, smells no better than he did last time. But if you didn't know better, you'd think he almost looks happy to see you. "Harrrummm," he rumbles. "I thought ye were dead, lass." He looks around, and then lurches to his feet. "Let's go elsewhere to talk." This disappoints his drinking companions, of course, but he takes no more heed of them than he ever did. "London's t'same as it ever was," Aethelbad says, as the two of you step outside into the rain. Aethelbad is behind you, so you're taken completely by surprise when one massive arm wraps around your head, and he grabs the side of your skull with his other hand. He pulls you into his massive chest with a headache-inducing grip, almost smothering you, and you feel just a little pressure being put on your neck....just enough to know he could wrench your head and snap your neck in an instant, by flexing his arms. Your feet are dangling off the ground, and your hands are free....you could reach for your knife, or less probably, your sword, but Aethelbad would break you in half before it clears its sheath. "Much as I'd like t'believe yer Agnes," he growls, "I have it on good authority she was killed over a dozen years ago. So yer tale'd better be REAL convincin', at least as convincin' as this glamour yer wearin'...." <><><><><> [Agnes] Stunned by his reaction, Agnes says nothing for a few moments. "I don't suppose it does much good to say that it was Peter; or Piotr as you called him; that brought me to you from Lindesfarne, and that was where he went back to, probably to die at the hands of Hygar. Nor that Peter knew you as Hwuulf, that I held his hand when I first met you, and I made a bit of a scene when there was just the three of us, trying to persuade him to stay. You really want to know how I'm here. I married Brian Westland, and you despaired of me when you realised I'd done it for romance. Anyway, we sailed the seas, and some 15 years later in Bordeaux, I met Gerald again. Remember him? He was the one I came to warn you about that day, and then he challanged me, and I ran to try to lure him into the river. Well, we fought on a pier in Bordeaux early one morning. There was lots of blood, Gerald's sword and severed hand were left on it, and then the fight moved into the river. By the time I had abandoned trying to find Gerald's drowned body in the river, I had drifted downstream a fair way. Buy the time I had recovered from my wounds much time had passed." she pauses ... "Oh, Aethelbad, he was my husband, and I did love him, but he was beginning to notice that I hadn't aged a day since we'd met ... I really ought to have died that day, So I decided to make it like I had. It left brian still young enough to find another wife ..." She sniffles. It pains her greatly to reexamine what she believes to have been her cruelest act in her life. "I moved away from the coast, so that I wouldn't meet any ships' crew's that might recognise me, and spent the next dozen or so years as a tinker. Then one day, I met a saracen immortal, who challenged me. I won, but didn't cut his head off. As I washed the blood off myself I met his tutor, Kemal ibn-something or other. His pupil in the meantime had met Gerald - who did cut off his head. Gerald then challanged me again, and Kemal challenged the winner. Well, I killed Gerald properly this time - so I know what the quickening is now. Kemal didn't want to fight a woman, so he left me. This is Gerald's chainmail, I thought of it as his penance to me. I had to modify it a bit to make it a comfortable fit, and I usually don't wear it, just carry it with me - but I thought you'd be impressed that I'd started to looked after myself properly. Obviously too impressed." "Aethelbad. Gerald said that he killed Brian. Is it true?" <><><><><> [GM] Aethelbad releases you, and sets you back down on the ground, gently. "If yer not Agnes, I guess I'd never be able t'tell the diff'rence," he says gruffly. He pauses. "Sorry lass, but I know Piotr...Peter, told ye 'bout the woman in Hibernia who can change shape." He looks down at you, as you turn to face him, involuntarily wrinkling your nose a bit. "Aye, I knew by t'way ye walked in, even if ye was Agnes ye'd been changed. Yer first Quick'nin, that always changes people." He shakes his head. "Sounds like ye been luckier'n ye deserve, girl." He scratches his beard. "Kemal ibn-somethin', never heard of 'im, but then I never met a Saracen immortal." He looks surprised at your last question. "Huh? No, Brian Westland ain't dead, he be here in London, right now! He came back from the Continent, nigh on fourteen years ago, and said ye'd been murdered....I heard 'im tell about a man named Gerald who accosted the two of ye in Bordeaux, an' then ye disappeared, I figgered Gerald had taken yer head. But that Cornwaller never came back to London. I told 'im I'd pull his head off wit' me bare hands if he ever did, an' I meant it. Westland only made a couple more trips back to France, after ye...died, then he come back here and settled down. He...uh, remarried." Aethelbad clears his throat with a rumble. "It'll be awkward if ye plan to stay here, lass. Westland still owns a couple of ships, and he goes to the docks often....him an' his boy. And there's plenty of others who still remember ye, an' believe yer dead." <><><><><> [Agnes] Agnes bursts into a broad smile, and - despite the smell - hugs Aethelbad once more. "Oh Aethelbad, I'm so pleased for Brian! And a son too! Oh! That's what I _so wanted_ to happen. I could make him happy, but I couldn't give him a child to love, to teach, to pass his life's work on to. That's why I left him when I did." She releases Aethelbad again. "That's the best news I could have hoped for, better than I dared hope. Thank you." Stepping back a pace, she continues, "I know it's too soon for me to return to London and be seen. I only called in to London to see how you were, and get news of Brian. I intend to go back North to Northumbria, to visit some graves, possibly on Lindesfarne, and lay some of my personal ghosts to rest." She kisses him on the cheek. "God bless you Aethelbad. I'll be gone in the morning. I'll look you up next time I pass through, but it'll be short like this, unless another thirty years have passed." <><><><><> [GM] "Aye, lass," Aethelbad answers. And, as you walk away, he mutters almost inaudibly, "Take care." ..... Three weeks later.... Traveling as a tinker, you've found, is somewhat more hazardous in your native England than in the Carolingian Empire. No Vikings are raiding the coast at this precise time, but the ever-present threat is there. The raids become more numerous every year. King Egbert has not been able to establish an effective border guard, as Charlemagne did; he has neither the funds nor the unequivocal support of his nobles that would allow the construction of coastal forts like those that defend the continent and have slowed, if not stopped, the Viking raids there. Additionally, King Egbert's rule is not as undisputed as he'd like to believe; there is little open warfare, but the former kingdoms of Mercia, Northumbria and Essex, as well as some of the subkingdoms, are restless, requiring a constant visible presence by troops from Wessex. Egbert is slowly stabilizing the country, obviously learning quite a bit about government from growing up in Charlemagne's court. If only the Vikings would go away, England might someday become a major world power....but that doesn't seem likely to happen any time soon. You found the villages you passed through to be suspicious of all strangers, even moreso than in France. And in three weeks, you have almost as many close calls with brigands and predatory thanes along the road to Northumbria, as you did in thirteen years on the continent. It's obvious that England is no place for a woman to travel alone. And this is *without* running into any Viking raiders. Nonetheless, you manage to reach Northumbria in one piece- though you killed one brigand along the way, and wounded several other men. Late one evening, as heavy coastal fog rolls in, making the scene much like one you remember from thirty-four years ago, you stand on the narrow trail that leads down to a cluster of thatch huts, with cooking fires rising from their midst...... the village of Marham. <><><><><> [Agnes] She is pleased that the village hasn't been razed. But it is too late to go in and get hospitality. Too many people are likely to recognise her, despite the years. She tucks in her braids, and pulls up her coif. There were too many fears driven by memories, for her to wear her normal clothes. That, and the desire to look as different as possible from the girl she was when she was here last, has caused her to wear her chain. But then, she had actually been wearing it most of the time anyway since she'd realised the country was so dangerous. Thus it was that she skirted her home village, looking like a man in armour and shield. She nudged her horse into motion, and made her way to the churchyard, there to search for graves in the fading light. <><><><><> [GM] Marham may still exist, but the Viking raids have left it more impoverished than it was when you lived here, and by the number of huts you see, it's clear that the population is even smaller than before. You doubt the village will be here in another generation or two. You remember Marham as a small, close-knit community, fairly prosperous by the standards of peasant folk, though having seen London, and the cities of the Carolingian Empire, you know now that the average peasant is a poor creature indeed. There is the dirt path you used to take to the beach, where you and Kai would go on long walks, during your courtship. There is the hut that you think once contained your father's bellow and forge. There is a rocky outcropping on the beach, where the fishermen used to cast their nets. There are a few boats tethered on the shore, but not so many as you remember, and they are in poor repair. A small patch of woods, where you used to play hide-and-seek as a child. The churchyard- little more than a tiny patch of ground set next to the tiny chapel where people would gather for mass, when one of the priests would come from Lindesfarne- is in poor condition, as is the chapel. You walk through the weed-choked cemetery, like a ghost, your chainmail jingling. The headstones are just chunks of rock, crudely split into somewhat flat sections so that someone (a priest, no doubt, since no one in Marham could read or write when you lived there, and you doubt that's changed now) could scratch names onto the surface. Many of the stones are difficult to read, the letters worn almost smooth. And the lettering is often none too good either. But you remember where your mother's marker was. You have to clear weeds away to find it, but it's still there. "Mary Smith waife of John Smith dyed in childbirth". No date. Next to hers, is another stone, that you find lying flat on the ground. You pull it upright and read: "John the Smith, who was kilt by Norsemen in this year of our lord 793 anna domino." At least whatever priest inscribed your father's gravestone was a bit more literate than the one that etched your mother's. You search around, seeing too many other names that you recognize, and a few you don't, but at last, on the edge of the plot, is a relatively large stone, that reads: "Kai Smith and his wife, lost to the Norsemen" <><><><><> [Agnes] Agnes sits by Kai's headstone. She pulls from her pouch the small posy she made the day before, she sets it down in front of the stone. "Hello Kai. I'm sorry I have been so long. It wasn't that I didn't think of you, it's just that other things got in the way. And I'm truely sorry I wasn't able to be here for the funeral, but I was swimming in the sea, escaping the norsemen. As you can see, I survived .... " [she tells the grave the story so far, skipping over the immortality bit, for he'll know that anyway and she's cautious in case someone overhears.] "Goodbye my love, I'll always remember you. I'll come back when I can." She moves back to her parents' graves and kneels beside them. "Hello mother, father. I'm glad you're together again. This is the first chance I've had to visit, and thank you father for all you did for me, bringing me up, teaching me as you would have a son. It has saved my life on several occassions. I love you and will remember you." She stands and moves back towards her horse. She was glad she'd come here. It hadn't been as terrible an experience for her as she'd expected, but she wasn't nearly as emotional as she had been before her quickening. Now she had to go to Lindesfarne. She'd try to make it to Bamburgh tonight, and then see about a boat. <><><><><> [GM] You arrive late at Bamburgh, and they've built a wall since the last time you were here. They don't allow anyone inside after sundown, so you have to camp outside, and wait until dawn. The townsfolk are surprised to see a woman, dressed in chainmail and carrying a sword, but no one gets in your way. Down by the docks (merely a few sticks of wood protruding out into the water, barely wide enough to walk on, compared to London's docks), you find a boatman who is willing to take you across the water to Lindesfarne Isle. He eyes you skeptically, but nods as you settle on a fee. As you step onto the sandy shore of Lindesfarne, you hear the monastary's bell tolling. The coastal fog hasn't burned off yet, so you can only just make out the wall looming ahead. <><><><><> [Agnes] "I'll only be an hour or so.", she tells the boatman. She walks up the hill towards the monestary. Shivers run up her spine, as she recollects that first day of her immortality, those many years ago. She knows she'll have to go inside, for the graveyard is within the walls. At he gate she pulls off her coif, shaking her hair loose, and unbuckles her sword-belt. She knocks on the gate. <><><><><> [GM] After a long delay, you hear someone walking from the monastary, through the small courtyard to the outer wall. A monk cautiously opens the gate and looks at you, blinking in surprise. He doesn't seem quite sure how to address a woman wearing armor and carrying a sword-belt. <><><><><> [Agnes] "Good Morning Brother, I have come for Mass, and to pay my respects to one of the graves in the monestary's graveyard." She says to the brother as she steps towards the door. "I shall leave these just inside the door, if I may." she continues as she shows him the swordbelt shield and coif. <><><><><> [GM] "We, uh, don't usually get visitors for Mass," the monk says, still nonplussed. He steps aside and allows you to hang up your arms, with a bemused expression. Another monk who came out to join the first doesn't look so amused. "Is this what the world is coming to?" he growls. "Women carrying swords....pagans ravaging the land...it's surely a sign from God, that He is displeased with our wickedness-" His companion pats him soothingly on the shoulder. "She's only come for Mass, Brother Anthony." The two of them remind you somewhat of the pair of monks you met the first time you came to Lindesfarne, one mild in temperament, the other sharply critical. They make way for you to proceed inside, where much is as you remember it....the monastary has been repaired, but there are signs that it's needed repairs more than once, over the last three decades. It must take a great deal of faith indeed, for the brothers to stay here, knowing that the Norsemen might return at any time, and almost inevitably will. Mass is a simple affair; as the first brother told you, you're the only non- resident in attendance, and the other monks cast sidelong glances at you as you kneel, in your leather and chain. The graveyard is more crowded than last time. The headstones are in much better condition than those at Marham, and with better inscriptions as well. You find Brother Augustus, Brother Aethald, Brother Thurdan...several other vaguely familiar names. But nowhere is there a stone with Peter's name on it. <><><><><> [Agnes] She stands in the graveyard, pleased and yet disappointed that she hasn't found Peter's grave. He may have agreed to meet Hygar somewhere else, or he may still be alive. The latter she knew to be wishful thinking. If her were alive he would have at least let Aethelbad know. She ponders asking the older monks about Peter, but decides that that would only cause them to remember her from her earlier visit. She turns away from the graves and walks back to the gate. She buckles her belt back on, pulls the coif back over her head, and picks up her shield. "Thank the brothers for me for their hospitality.", she says to the one that opens the gate for her. And then she walks out and back to her boat. She sat in the boat as it made its way back to Bamburgh, thinking. She hadn't really thought about what she was going to do past this point ever since she'd made this plan in Aquitaine. Now that she'd visited all the graves, the plan was competed - but now she hadn't thought of a new one. Britannia seemed to be a dangerous place, more dangerous than she'd immagined from her positions of relative security in Marham and London. It didn't seem like the place to stay, especially if, as she intended, she was not going to marry again. She decided she would visit Dunedin, that furthest away place of her childhood, just so that she'd seen it, and then she would return to Gaul. <><><><><> [GM] As you are walking back through the monastary, you have to pause as the other monks escort one elderly man to the small dining room. He looks up and smiles. "Agnes! How nice to see you!" The monks helping support their brother exchange looks. Underneath the mass of wrinkles, and the wispy white remnants of his hair, you recognize Brother Gregory...the kindly brother who overruled the objections of Brother Augustus, and let you stay at Lindesfarne when you washed ashore thirty-four years ago. He was not a young man then...that he has survived this long, through successive Viking raids, is truly amazing. "I'm afraid Brother Peter is gone," he continues sadly. "He said you might visit again." The other two monks gently urge him forward. "Brother Gregory is very old," one whispers to you. "He often thinks the people he's talking to are people he knew long ago." <><><><><> [Agnes] Looking at Brother Gregory's escorts she says, "It's alright. I'm told that I look remarkably like my mother. It is probably her that he remembers. Let me talk with him." She embraces Brother Gregory. "Brother Gregory, It's good to see you again. When did you last see brother Peter? Did he say where he was going? " <><><><><> [GM] Brother Gregory seems quite lucid as he talks to you...as if he simply doesn't realize that a generation has passed since he spoke to you and Peter "yesterday". "He said he had to meet someone...and that he probably would not be back." Gregory looks sad. Stooped over, he clasps your hand and looks up at you. "He said to tell you...." the old monk's eyes go glassy for a moment, as if his mind has drifted off, and then he focuses on you again. "He said to tell you, God bless you, and do not forget." <><><><><> [Agnes] The cold resolve that she thought that she had acquired evaporated with Gregory's message from Peter. She no doubt looked a sight to the onlookers - a supposed warrior woman in chainmail, with tears trickling down her cheeks. **No Peter, I shall never forget you.** She sniffs and wipes her eyes. "I'm sorry Brother Gregory, what was it Peter wanted you to tell me? Did he just wish you to convey God's blessing, and not to forget him, or was there more?" <><><><><> [GM] "I...I don't remember," Brother Gregory mumbles. His expression turns sorrowful, almost tearful. "He said....don't forget..." he whispers. And looks down. The other two monks look impatient. "He shouldn't be on his feet so long," one says. <><><><><> [Agnes] She feels awful. A sickening feeling in her stomach tells her that she has lost something and she can never get it back. She has indeed paid a terrible price for her love of Brian. She stayed with him, and then avoided him for too long, and now too much time has passed. The trickle down her cheeks has turned to a stream as she clasps Gregory's hands to hers. "Gregory, who else might Brother Peter have talked to?" She looks desperately at the other monks, her eyes imploring them to tell her which other brothers might still be here that knew Brother Peter. <><><><><> [GM] "Brother Augustus," Brother Gregory replies. Then he blinks. "Oh, he's passed away, hasn't he?" He sighs, then looks up at you again. "He said, God bless you, and do not forget, and...." Gregory blinks again, concentrating furiously. "Nothing more," he finishes, shaking his head. "That was all." His voice trails off. "Brother Peter?" one of Gregory's helpers is whispering. "I have never heard of him....perhaps one of the Brothers from before the first raid..." the other monk turns to you. "He remembers most clearly events that happened before the Norsemen first came to Lindesfarne....over thirty years ago. He is the only still-living survivor of that first raid." <><><><><> [Agnes] Agnes embraces Brother Gregory once more. "Thank you Brother Gregory." She releases him, and turning to his helpers says, "Thank you, Brothers. I'll be going now." She collects her equipment, thinking, **Oh, Peter. Forgive me. Are you lying in some nameless grave like Gerald - unknown to all but your killer? And now it's far too late for me to follow your trail. How can I repay your kindness?** She looks at one of the brothers. "Brother, I would like to speak with His Grace the Abbot." <><><><><> [GM] The two monks were already taking Brother Gregory away. They stop and look back at you, puzzled and a bit exasperated. "Yes, very well, I will go see if he can come speak to you, after we finish our mid-morning meal." The brothers make you wait outside, although they do offer you a bowl of thin fish stew and some hard, black bread. Finally, as they all file out, one thin, elderly man approaches you with hands folded in front of him, one eyebrow raised. "My child, I am Brother Andrew. I am abbot here. You wished to speak to me?" <><><><><> [Agnes] Her composure regained, Agnes curtsies to him. "Father, it is a rather unusual request, but I'd like to spend some time working for the monastery, in gratitude for some help one of the monks once gave to my mother. I can work a forge, I can fish, or maybe I can trade honey or mead on the mainland on behalf of the monastery." [OOC: the Abbot of Lindesfarne was also bishop at this time - hence her deference.] <><><><><> [GM] The Bishop looks non-plussed. "That is...very gracious of you, my child. However, I am not in favor of housing a woman in the monastary, however helpful you might be." He wrinkles his brow. "There is also the matter of the Vikings...they have plundered this very abbey twice in the last twenty years. I see that you are a woman of....arms, but nonetheless, no woman should be put at risk in a place subject to attack by those heathens. They are the very Devil's own children, and have a particular fondness for ransacking holy places." "I am, however, also loathe to turn down an offer of service to God's Church by someone of obvious means. While the most fitting way for you to serve the Church would be by taking holy vows and becoming a nun..." he pauses, seeing that this option doesn't seem to hold much appeal for you, "I would not refuse your offer to serve as a trader for us on the mainland." <><><><><> [Agnes] "Thank you father, it would be an honour to serve God and the monestary in that way." Agnes is pleased. Even if she cannot repay Peter, she can repay the monestary that he was willing to die for. "There is a boat waiting for me on the beach. Shall I return tomorrow to discuss with the appropriate Brothers the details of what goods to take away, and what the monestary requires? Or shall I let the boatman know I shall be here a while longer?" <><><><><> [GM] You spend the next few years running supplies to the monastary. They've never had a full-time trader engaged for this task, but have merely depended on the tithe owed the Church from the neighboring villages and towns, of which a small part goes to Lindesfarne, usually in the form of goods rather than cash. This means that the monastary's provisions are usually of low quality and somewhat erratic in coming. Thanks to your efforts, the brothers eat better than they probably have since the monastary was founded, and you reckon that you've saved them quite a bit of money, which can go for badly needed repairs and renovations....although sadly, the bishop was probably right that the Vikings will just come to sack the place again, sooner or later. Throughout all this time, you avoid Marham, knowing that there may be people there yet who would remember you. Occasional late-night visits to the cemetery, to pray over the graves of your parents and your first husband, console you somewhat. In 828, King Egbert is recognized as overlord of the Seven Kingdoms of the Heptarchy. He is no Charlemagne, but you see slight signs of unification and a more orderly system of government; if only the Vikings would all fall off the edge of the ocean, he might turn England into a wealthy and powerful nation. It's plain that the bishop doesn't exactly approve of your unwomanly demeanor, but as he said, he's not in a position to turn away anyone willing to serve the Church. Occasionally he asks you to perform some other errand, such as delivering a message to a village priest, or carrying a silver cross to Bamborough. Rumors that float into the sailing ports you frequent, from Europe and beyond, tell of renewed invasions by heathen Saracens, in southern Italy. You develop something of a reputation along the Bernician coast....Agnes, the woman warrior. Especially after you leave a grabby thegn in Dunedin (which you finally visit) lying unconscious next to his horse. You fear retaliation after that, but the fact that you're known to be working for the Lindesfarne Abbey gives you some protection. Still, His Grace sends you on fewer trips after that. Viking raids continue, but for these years, they pass by this particular stretch of coast. They strike to the north and south however, and every year they seem to be more numerous. You never intended to stay so long, but it's easy to let the years slip past. How will it be when your lifespan is measured in centuries...will entire decades pass you by, with little notice? Brother Gregory passes away three years after you returned to Lindesfarne. His funeral is simple and moving, and drives another reminder home, that you are not like the people you live and work with every day. Still, despite your earlier resolution that you would go back to Gaul, Northumbria is comfortable to you....it's home. Dangerous, yes, though you're traveling mostly in the more settled areas and rarely alone...and rarely far from Lindesfarne, now....but still, after spending so many years in the woods with Peter, and then in London, and then with Brian, and then wandering the Carolingian Empire, you don't want to leave again, for what might be an even longer period. But time passes....and you know you are pushing the limits that you can safely stay in one place.... ..... January, 834 A.D. You returned to Lindesfarne isle with another shipful of honey and mead. You arrived late in the evening, so you'll be staying the night. (You've done this not infrequently, and there is even a small cubicle more or less reserved for your occasional overnight stays now.) Brother Andrew is not currently in residence, but has gone on a trip east, for a council of bishops. You are feeling restless, unable to sleep. So you rose quietly and walked up the little hill, to the bluff overlooking the monastary, and the sea...the same place Peter once took you, a little over forty years ago now. The view is almost identical. The wind whips your hair about your face, while the moon shines down on the waves, which you can hear in the distance splashing against the rocks. You shiver suddenly, in an uncontrollable reaction to a sense of supernatural dread. Your spine tingles, and you feel goosebumps all over. But it's not the Quickening....not quite. Something is nearby....no, as you stand looking out over the waves, your instints tell you something is *behind* you. A presence. Not an immortal. Something else. What? A painfully familiar voice seems to whisper in the wind....."Agnessss..." Peter's voice. <><><><><> [Agnes] Fear grips her. She skin tingles and shiver after shiver runs down her spine. Her knuckles grow white with grasping the shawl about her shoulders ever tighter. Welling up inside is an almost uncontrollable urge to flee - off the cliff if necessary. But more powerful is the fear that roots her to the spot like a startled rabbit. And then she hears the voice ..... "Agnessss ....." Almost of their own volition her legs spin her round to face the source of the cry. With eyes wide with fear and ashen- faced she looks to see what's there, struggling hard to keep control of herself. Part of her wishes it to be Peter, for it was so like his voice that she heard, but more of her fears that it is indeed Peter - but not in the flesh! <><><><><> [GM] It IS Peter. You feel the hair on the back of your neck rise. Peter stands there wearing his monk's robes, with his beard partly- trimmed and his hair just growing out from the tonsure, as he looked when you first met him. His sword is at his hip. You see the rocks behind him...and through him. His image is ghostly and insubstantial, and a faint glow surrounds him. He looks at you and repeats: "Agnes...." Aside from being translucent, he looks exactly as he did the first time he brought you to this spot. He frightened you then. He frightens you much more now. You suffer a violent trembling fit, at the sight of the apparition, but he doesn't move towards you. <><><><><> [Agnes] "What do you want!" She cries at the apparition. "Peter! Please don't haunt me! I ..." she sobs, "I didn't want you to die! I tried to stop you." I loved you Peter. Don't do this to me." <><><><><> [GM] The ghost frowns, and looks confused for a moment. Then he shakes his head slightly, and holds a hand up. "You have to go, Agnes." His image wanes, as if he's about to fade, and then he grows more substantial again. You continue to feel prickling all along your spine. "The Rus.....are coming again." "Hygar is with them." "Please....go......" His voice trails off, and he starts to fade again. <><><><><> [Agnes] "But Peter, If I stay and kill Hygar we can be together again ..." she pleads. <><><><><> [GM] Peter shakes his head. "No Agnes.......not in the truest sense......" He smiles, more gently than he was ever able to smile in life. "Someday, we will be together, in Paradise...." "...but for now, I want you to live." <><><><><> [Agnes] "I shall leave then Peter. I never really said before you left. Thank you for all you did." She blows him a kiss: she cannot bring herself to walk towards the apparition; and watches it fade. And when it is gone, and she is alone on the cliff-top once more, she flees for the sanctuary of the monestary, barring the outside gate and the door to her cell behind her. The next morning, Agnes carries on as normal, perhaps looking white and ill. She makes her excuses that she's not well, and she'll spend the day on the mainland, and be back the next. As she leaves, she says to the brother on the gate. "I have had a premonition that the Heathens are about to return: I am afraid that I shan't be back." She will give no more explanation than that. Not entirely sure where she's going, she sets off on the road South. Despite the daylight she calls at Marham, and says farewell to her parents and Kai, for she knows that she would return for some time. She ought to pass through London for old times' sake, but she'll take a ship from somewhere in Wessex or Kent, and avoid the chance of meeting Brian. <><><><><> [GM] Peter smiles again. His lips move, as if he's trying to say something, but no sound comes out. Then he bows his head, and clasps his hands together in front of him...and slowly fades. It takes a few moments longer before the supernatural aura also fades, and you can move again. ..... Lindesfarne Abbey is sacked again that year, and that year and the next are among the worst since the raids first began. The area around London is raided, and you hear that a few Viking war bands actually entered the city itself, looting a few neighborhoods and setting some buildings on fire. The Danes hit England harder than ever before, and the Norweigians build permanent settlements in Scotland. <><><><><> [Agnes] She was disappointed that Aethelbad hadn't been in London. At least, she hadn't felt his presence when she walked the streets round his usual evening haunts. Not enough time had passed, so she still couldn't afford to stay, and she carried straight on to the port at Rye. She had made good time from Lindesfarne, for the prospects had to be bad for Peter's ghost to appear, and the further she was from there the better. She watched the sea go by as she sailed in the ship across the Channel, mentally evaluating the skill of the captain and crew as thought about her future. She couldn't see herself returning to Noorthumbria until the vikings had gone, and that didn't look like it be until a long time yet. She decided to take in some sights on her way back to her old haunting grounds. She would make her way to the city of Dorestad. From there she would make her way along the Rhine valley and visit the great city of Aix-la-Chapelle. She would continue upstream until she reached Bavaria, and trade for a while on the northern side of the Alps instead of the western. After she has been there too long, maybe she'll try the southern flank, and maynbe go to Rome.