Agnes Smith CHARLEMAGNE'S HEIRS [GM] In fact, you hear about the great Danish assault on Dorestad just before you were going to travel there, and so narrowly avoid being caught in a worse Viking invasion than the one from which you fled. Aix-la-Chapelle, seat of Charlemagne's empire, is grand, though like the rest of his empire, his son and grandsons are letting its grandeur fall into decline. Likewise his strong coastal defenses. Charlemagne's heirs are too busy maneuvering against each other to unite against the Vikings. You manage to avoid most of the fighting, and resume your life as a traveling tinker...though even here in the Carolingian empire, it's more dangerous. Civil war always leads to a general breakdown in lawfulness, and puts many people out of their homes, and that means more bandits, more brigands, more militias and war-bands that might consider a lone woman fair game. But there isn't anywhere you can go that's *safe*. Even withdrawing to holy ground would only protect you from other immortals. In 840, as the Vikings are eating up the Frisian coast, Charles the Bald and Louis the German go to war against their brother Lothair. You keep your sword skills sharp, and sadly, still have occasion to use them, not infrequently. Sometimes a solid punch serves you just as well, though; no one expects a blacksmith's strength in a woman. You can only pray you never find yourself trapped in an indefensible situation, because while you know now that you're a match for all but the best swordsmen individually, you're no mythic warrior who can cut down an entire party of assailants. The Vikings are notorious for pillage and rape, but the fact is, gangs of armed men anywhere, whether brigands or imperial troops, tend to behave pretty much the same, when dealing with the defeated. ................. 840 A.D. Alamanni In a small village on the Rhine, between Reichenau and Saint-Gall, where you found lodging for the night, you and everyone else in the village are rudely awakened by pounding hoofbeats and shouting men. You hear the clatter of many suits of armor, borne by horses, and there are dismayed cries from the innkeeper and your fellow guests, in the tight communal sleeping area you're all sharing, as a couple peek out through the shutters. Unlikely as it seems, this village is apparently being occupied. You're within Lothair's territory, and while Charles' troops are not far to the west, no one thought the fighting would come this close...of course, no one ever does believe that an army is going to march through *their* town. <><><><><> [Agnes] Agnes was a bit slow on the uptake of the implications of the noise. Her door was barred. Her goods were in the room with her. Should they start to break into the inn, there was time enough to pull on her hauberk. But what of her horse and mules? Suppose that this was a raid for mounts? Having all her wares in the inn would do her no good whatsoever if she had no animals to put them on, and if - due to the raid - no replacements could be bought for love nor money. She hurriedly pulled on her hauberk over her skirt and shirt, and buckled on her sword belt, tucking the coif under it. She pulled on her overcoat, and thought, **I might as well look like a non-combatant**, as she wrapped her shawl about her shoulders. She hesitated a moment about her shield, but she left it: it wouldn't go with the image she wanted to project in the darkness and anyway she might well need a free hand for the animals. Agnes herself has a peek out the shutters before hurrying down the stairs into the main room of the inn, to see who else was there, establish what they thought was going on, and to look out to see if she did indeed need to get to the stable. <><><><><> [GM] A large body of mounted men in armor are arrayed outside; one man, wearing an expensively-brocaded cloak, is already walking towards the inn. Other soldiers are rousting the inhabitants of the other structures in the sleepy village. There are at least sixty men out there, and it looks like more are arriving. Downstairs, you find the cavalry commander, wearing an archaic breastplate and greaves beneath his cloak, explaining to the innkeeper, in a civil but inflexible tone, that all quarters in town are being commandeered by the army of His Imperial Highness, Charles the Second, of Aquitaine, Neustria and Burgundy. The fact that this village now belongs to Charles, and that his army is now camped on this side of the Rhine, will probably come as an unwelcome surprise to Lothair.... The commander graciously allows that those now sleeping here will be permitted to remain until morning, but must vacate immediately upon sun-up....after questioning, of course. No doubt they want to check to make sure no one that might be important to Lothair just happens to be residing in this insignificant community. As you come downstairs, the warrior looks at you, and one corner of his mouth turns up slightly. His gaze lingers for just a moment longer, and then he spins on his heel and goes back outside. The innkeeper wrings his hands, and prepares to receive the soldiers that apparently will be sharing this inn with you, imminently. While the other guests murmur amongst themselves anxiously, you peek outside to see what your prospects might be of getting to your horse and mules in the stable...and then the Quickening hits you. Your fingers tighten on the doorframe, as you sense that one of the men out there is an immortal. <><><><><> [Agnes] Agnes steps back inside quickly, pulling to door closed behind her, and retreats back up to her room. **An immortal!** She is torn. to wear her armour in case he challenges her there and then, or to take it off to be a normal preson? No. He would be foolish to challenge her here and now, in front of all these soldiers. He would be a laughing stock with them. There will be time enough to dress for a fight. She takes off the hauberk, and settles for the night. In the morning she'll put her armour on after breakfast, just before leaving. Or just before the duel. If he's with an army, he's likely to be one to want a fight - even if it is with a woman. <><><><><> [GM] Shortly thereafter, a dozen cavalrymen enter the inn, and go up and down the halls, evicting all private room residents into the common room where the less prosperous travelers sleep. The cavalry officers obviously intend to take the best rooms for themselves. You're forced to vacate your room as well, and follow an indignant, grumbling merchant down the stairs. The buzz in your skull has faded, but resumes as you're clearing a spot for yourself on the floor. Then it fades again. And returns. This repeats several times....there's a lot of movement outside, as the rest of Charles' army arrives, and the immortal is apparently moving back and forth, or circling the inn. The mounted troops who commandeered the inn have the innkeeper and his family scurrying about, bringing them wine and refreshments (which they *are* paying for, at least). One man suddenly circles an arm around your waist as you go by. "Hello, who might you be?" he grins, pulling you towards him. He's just removed his mail shirt, and is holding a cup of wine in his other hand. His comrades laugh and wink at the two of you. The innkeeper's poor daughter is also being grabbed at by the troops, as she brings them wine and old cheese. None of them seem malicious, just tired from the fighting and riding they must have been doing lately, and eager for some relaxation and recreation...but you know things can go several ways at this point. Memories of a presumptuous thegn in Northumbria come back to you, and Peter's words at that time, that this is what you'll have to put up with your entire life....he was right. <><><><><> [Agnes] She feels herself about to set off down a path that she had sought to avoid, and had told herself that she would avoid ... but there was an immortal outside who might want her head, and gratuitously making enemies wasn't going to help ... in fact some friends night be positively useful ... She allows herself to be pulled towards the soldier, and slipping back into her flirtatious teenage days, replies with a smile, "I'm Agnes, sir, a simple tinker." Allowing herself to be set upon his knee she drapes an arm around his neck, and taking his goblet from his hand takes a sip from it. "And what's your name?" <><><><><> [GM] "I'm Charles," he says, looking quite pleased at your willing response. One of his comrades pipes up, "No relation...." and they all laugh. Charles nuzzles your neck, and says "Mmmm.....you smell good, Agnes." He kisses your throat and lays one hand casually on the top of your thigh. "We've been riding hard all the way from Quierzy, and the only thing I've smelled for the last six days is horses, mud and these stinking swine I'm with." He gestures at his comrades, who laugh roughly and retort "Aye, ask Agnes how she thinks YOU smell, eh?" That provokes another chorus of laughter, in which Charles joins in. He leans back in his chair, closes his hand around yours, which still holds his goblet, and pulls the goblet to his lips to take another sip. Then, smiling affably at you, he says "You've a foreign accent, Agnes, but I cannot place it. I s'ppose being a tinker you've traveled far and wide, eh?" The buzz comes back, as the other immortal comes within range for about the sixth time tonight. <><><><><> [Agnes] She struggles mentally to remind herself how she used to enjoy playing this game ... "Hello, Charles." she replies as she guides the goblet back to her lips. "I've travelled for a few years here and there in the Empire - I suppose my accent has blurred." She tries to ignore the buzzing in her ears. "Where are you from Charles?" <><><><><> [GM] "Neustria," he replies, nibbling at your neck again. "Are you alone, then? How long have you been a wandering tinker? Surely not that many years?" Charles continues to flirt with you in his crude way, letting his hands roam a bit, but not being too outrageous; while he undoubtedly is already laying plans for the night, for the moment he seems content to sit with you in his lap, drinking and joking with his friends. The innkeeper's daughter looks at you somewhat sullenly, as she dodges yet another pair of hands seeking to slide up her skirt or down her shift, obviously neither as skilled nor as willing to play the game that you're playing. You learn that Charles is a knight under Charles the Bald's banner, a fairly low-ranking one, like all the other officers here. Charles II himself is not traveling with this body of troops, but with another segment of his army, whose location your Charles either doesn't know or isn't willing to reveal. He mentions some dux as the commander of this force, expected to arrive later tonight. As the night wears on (and you prepare for dealing with Charles' inevitable invitation/expectation that you'll share his bed with him), the buzz from the unknown immortal pounds in your skull again. A few moments later, the doors to the inn fly inward, and the cloaked cavalry commander you saw earlier enters, flanked by two men in even richer clothing and bearing swords with silver and gold pommels, denoting some higher status. They aren't dressed *that* richly, though, and they're both relatively young, and while the men inside sit up straighter and become slightly more restrained in their speech, the atmosphere remains casual enough that you don't think either of these men would be the Dux. "Good evening, Sir Dorian," one of Charles' companions says, gently pushing away the innkeeper's daughter as he stands. She gratefully flees to the kitchen. "'Evening Marcel," one of the nobles replies wearily. He looks around, sees you on Charles' lap and winks. "Ah, how about some of that wine for us?" Marcel nods and yells for more wine, which the bedraggled and fatigued innkeeper's daughter brings out shortly, eyes downcast. Dorian's companion, a rather handsome man with long brown hair hanging to his shoulders, looks more than a little worse for wear. His eyes flicker all around, nervously, and he seems almost jumpy. His face is haggard, and his hands twitch at his sides. Dorian leans close to him and whispers something in his ear, to which the other merely nods, in a distracted way, while scanning the room, his eyes meetng yours for a second, before they move on. <><><><><> [Agnes] "Oh, for about 5 years." she replies, "With my father until he died a couple of years ago." As he nibbles her neck, and tingles run down her spine, she tells herself that she'd worked for a monestary for too long, and that she been denying herself something she rather enjoyed. And Charles wasn't that bad ... When the three enter, Agnes looks, as do the rest in the room. She can't say which one of the three is the immortal. It could be all three for all she could tell - or none, with the real culprit outside. No matter, she decides. This is by far the best camouflage, and she turns back to Charles and sips some more of his wine. "Who are they?" she asks quietly, as she runs her fingers over the nape of his neck. <><><><><> [GM] "Sir Gosbert's our commander, Sir Dorian and Sir Reynald are the dux's cousin and nephew, respectively," Charles replies. The three higher-ranking knights sit down with the rest of the men, and join them in drinking. Charles is getting a great deal of envious attention now, including from Dorian, since you, the innkeeper's daughter, and the innkeeper's wife are the only females around, and the wife has finally relieved her daughter of serving duties, and wears an ominous scowl on her heavy features that dissuades any flirtations. The big knife tucked under her belt helps, as does the fact that she probably weighs half again as much as any of these knights. Reynald definitely has the look of a cornered animal, eyes darting all over, and his hand constantly gripping the pommel of his sword. Dorian seems to be trying to lighten his cousin's mood, plying him with drink and nudging him as he gestures at you and whispers, but while Reynald does look at you from time to time, it's with a suspicious, wary gaze, not anything like lust. He gives all the other guests of the hostel the same look, and drinks cup after cup of wine. <><><><><> [Agnes] **It's probably Reynald then.** Agnes decides. She is careful to drink sparingly, and takes note of the general level of drunkeness. **This could get ugly.** she reminds herself. She lets the evening unfold, quite prepared to spend the night with Charles, but equally prepared to make a tactical visit to the lavatory and not return (possibly having agreed to meet Charles in the stable) if the possibility of a gang-rape looks real. She'll try to time that retreat to coincide with others leaving the room for other destinations, to confuse Reynald. <><><><><> [GM] There are numerous lewd jokes and comments about "sharing" during the night, but for the most part, these men are pretty tired, and it looks like the excessive alcohol consumption is more likely to put them to sleep than make them aggressive. The plodding steps of the large matron of the establishment also have a quelling effect on any amorous feelings. Dorian's been trying, without success, to get Reynald to cheer up, including urging him to hit on you, repeatedly, and winking at you and gesturing, by inclining his head, at Reynald. After a few incidents of this, Charles is clearly getting a bit worried that he will lose his "prize" to the more prestigious knights, and nibbling on your ear, tells you he feels like going to bed, and asks if you'd care to join him. Reynald continues to sit there and drink, with a haggard expression and an almost haunted look in his eyes. <><><><><> Agnes leaves with Charles and lets events take their course.... <><><><><> [GM] The other men grumble a bit and express good-natured disappointment when Charles takes you upstairs, but no one tries to stop you. Most of them are already knocked out; it's close to dawn. The knight has very little patience or finesse. After he rolls off of you, he promptly falls asleep. Not unpleasant, considering how long it's been, but nothing like Kai, or Brian. While you lie there and listen to Charles begin snoring heavily, you feel the continuing presence of the other immortal, buzzing in your head. Not since the years you spent living with Peter have you had to sleep with another immortal in such close proximity. <><><><><> [Agnes] She lies there, wondering how Reynald's coping with the buzzing. Probably poorly, she decides, unless he's spent time being tutoured. But then again, she's not sleeping too well either. After a while, she gets up and dresses. She decides that she might as well make use of the morning light to pack her animals. She goes back down to the main room, to survey the scene, and start to collect her belongings. <><><><><> [GM] In the main room, Reynald is the only one still awake. He's pacing the room, and spins to face you, looking tired but still jumpy. He untenses slightly when he sees you, and shakes his head, tossing his bangs away from his face. "Finished with your business already?" he asks, in a half-mumble. You recall the men were mentioning a whorehouse down the road, earlier. "Or just not able to sleep?" He seems to be talking more to himself than you; he's already looking away from you, probably not even listening for your answer. <><><><><> [Agnes] She regards him across the room, fists cleenched by her sides. "Others might have taken such snide remarks as some sort of challenge. It is accepted, nay expected, that Charles sleeps with a unknown woman at the first opportumity, but the woman who does the same is a whore. Well I am not a whore!" She untenses a bit, and cakms down. "Speaking of whores though," she says in a more friendly tone, as she walks over and sits at a chair near the centre of his pacing, "You look like a man desperately in need of one." She unties her braid, and starts combing her long hair as she watches him. "You look tense, tired, worried even. What's wrong?" <><><><><> [GM] Reynald raises an eyebrow at the 'challenge' comment, but it seems more natural surprise at your vehement response than any comprehension of the implications. He does tense a little more, though. "I..." he frowns. "Your pardon, I am not used to the....freedom, with which German women conduct their...affairs." That almost makes you chuckle, since you certainly don't think your accent sounds very German. He paces some more, then looks back at you when you sit and question him, with a skeptical expression. "Your concern, or show of concern, would be characteristic of either a whore or a nun," he says. "You say you are not the former, and you are certainly not the latter." He puts a hand to his forehead and grits his teeth. "Your pardon, I am sure you mean well. I do not think I can explain it to you. Let's just say I have a fierce head-ache." <><><><><> [Agnes] "Well, all the wine you drank wouldn't have helped that. I couldn't help but notice you drinking it like there was no tomorrow, whilst your companion desperately tried to get me to sit with you rather than Charles." She continues to comb her hair, teasing out the tangles, as she watches him. "Do you often get these headaches?" she asks innocently. Before letting him reply, she continues, "My father used to get them. He said it was because he was too tense, or worried. He used to say a neck massage used to relax him enough to make the headache bearable. You should try it sometime. I'm sure one of the 'ladies' your companions went to visit would oblige you. I prresume that's where all the others went?" <><><><><> [GM] [Most of the others are still here, lying asleep on the floor, or slumped in their chairs. Including Dorian.] Reynald opens his mouth, and closes it again. When you finish, his eyes narrow suspiciously. "You certainly *sound* like-" he stops, looks down at his unconscious cousin, and then rolls his eyes and shakes his head, turning around to resume pacing. "No, it's not that kind of headache, but thank you for the suggestion." He stops again, and faces you once more. "Are you merely making conversation while you attend to your grooming, or is there some reason why you are so interested in my...headache? Surely you aren't offended because I *didn't* try to lure you away from that fortunate cavalryman?" He seems to really look at you for the first time, and smiles wanly. "I assure you, if I had not other things on my mind, I would certainly have entertained the notion." <><><><><> [Agnes] She starts re braiding her hair. "I was awake - Charles fell asleep. I thought I'd sort my hair out, and then see to my equipment. As you were obviously awake, I thought I'd make conversation, especially when you said you couldn't sleep. Obviously my efforts to make polite conversation have been in vain." She stands, "If you are wanting something to do, you can help me move my stuff from that corner there to the stable.", and walks to her pile of goods and equipment in the corner of he room. <><><><><> [GM] Reynald looks down at his sleeping cousin again, and sighs, then follows you and helps pick up your equipment. "Normally I would be happy to make polite conversation with you," he offers, almost apologetically. He sighs again, and says "I really cannot explain it." The two of you walk out of the hostel, the knight with an armful of your things. In the greying dawn, you see a multitude of horses and men....not that many out and about, as the entire army seems to be taking a rest, but a few pass you by and look curiously at the pair of you, before bobbing their heads respectfully when they apparently recognize Reynald. Reynald looks over at you and says "Say...you aren't traveling by *yourself* are you? I assumed you were either a local woman, or with one of the other merchants!" It's easy to guess why he's so incredulous; considering how many close calls you've had the last few years, it's a miracle you haven't been killed and/or gang-raped by wandering bands of brigands. You've heard from a couple of the immortals you've met that your kind seems to have a talent for evading notice, which may explain your phenomenal luck thus far, but considering that large groups of looters and pillagers are known to follow in the wake of armies, you're now wondering whether you want to trust that luck to get you out of what may well be the imminent epicenter of the fighting. <><><><><> [Anges] "Yes, I am travelling alone. However, it seems to be getting more difficult and dangerous though, and I am thinking of settling down. Maybe it was that it _is_ more difficult now that my father is no longer with me" She gestures at the scene of troops in encampment: "This does not seem to be the time nor place to settle, though. So I intend to get away so somewhere that isn't an armed camp, or a battlefield, or the chaos that follows in the wake of an army. Maybe I'll find myself a husband, settle down, children .... " Her words tail off as she realises she has led her own conversation into a painful area. She starts putting the furniture back on the animals. "What of you, Reynald? Are you a professional soldier or are you a family man called out for this war? What's the war about anyway?" <><><><><> [GM] "Aye, well, best be careful on the roads," Reynald says, somewhat needlessly. He looks at you oddly. He answers your question with another odd look. "No, I have no wife or children. Of course I am a professional soldier. I am a knight in the service of His Highness Charles the Second!" "As for what the war's about, it's about curbing the overweening ambitions of Lothair, who would have all of his grandfather's domain subject to him alone." Of course. From what you've gathered, that's pretty much what all of Louis' sons want. They rebelled against their own father over dissatisfaction with the division of power, after all. But Charles and Louis the younger are afraid that Lothair might actually succeed, hence their alliance against him. *Better the Empire remain divided, than it be united under one man WHO ISN'T ME!* <><><><><> [Agnes] With her goods safely secured on her donkey, she pulls on her hauberk and buckles her sword-belt about her waist. She pulls her coif over her head, and then round her neck, finally pulling her braid through and free. "Well, thanks for helping, Reynald. I'll be going now." She unhitches her mule and ties it to the horse's saddle. "You take care of yourself." she says as she mounts up. As she starts to move away, she continues, "Get yourself a good night's sleep tonight." Once she's started off down the road, she turns to look back at him, "Don't lose your head, mind.", before spurring her animals into a trot. <><><><><> [GM] "Wait, I don't even know your name...Agnes, isn't it?" Reynald watches as you ride away. When you pass beyond the range of the Quickening, quite a ways down the road, you see him jerk upright, and look around, then spin back to face you. You think he might run and jump onto his horse to pursue you, but he doesn't. He just stands there watching you recede into the distance, until he and the small village are out of sight. <><><><><> [Agnes] As the quickening goes, and Reynald spins round to stare, she gives him a wave and then rides on. .... *Things appear to be against a travelling trader.* she thinks to herself. *It's time to do something else more settled.* She stops and takes out the fine silk cloth that rests in her saddle bag. She unwraps it, and regards the broken sword it protects. She examines the pieces, as she has done many times before. "One day, Peter, I'll reforge the sword you gave me. I will." She lovingly rewraps it, and continues onwards. Continuing to ply her trade, she keeps an eye out for somewhere suitable to settle for a while. Perhaps a village and do some smithing, perhaps a town and smith or trade in merchandise. She'll see what comes along. <><><><><> [GM] You manage to get out of the immediate vicinity of Charles the Bald's army without running into trouble, but a few days later, three men try to rob you on the road. Once again, you save yourself and your goods by surprising them with your swordsmanship, slaying one and dealing the second a probably-mortal wound, before both survivors run away. You got stabbed in the arm yourself, though, and if they hadn't been so craven, they probably could have finished you off had they stayed. It's definitely time for a career change. The next town in your path, Luxueil, which you know is also the site of a large monastary, might be a good place to do so. Unfortunately, as you lead your mules down the road, with the town actually in sight in the distance, you see a large body of men heading towards you, from that direction. It's early afternoon; you were expecting to reach Luxueil by nightfall. Your heart starts pounding as you note the rough, undisciplined manner and shoddy equipment worn by the approaching riders. Certainly not knights, and a peasant militia (which are often not much better than brigands- not that knights are above looting and pillaging themselves) wouldn't have horses. You see at least twenty, and while they're still far enough away that you could duck into the woods, they must have seen you already. This is very likely one of the larger, more organized brigand gangs...possibly preying on the surrounding countryside while most of the local lord's troops are with Charles to the east. And as Peter would tell you, you're looking at a very limited number of options, with a very limited number of possible outcomes...most of them unpleasant. <><><><><> [Agnes] She viewed the body of men with concern. So much so that she wheeled her horse off the road, and started to lead her mules into the woods. She knew this option would only work if they chose not to follow, and the minor inconvenience it provided might just be sufficient if they had a schedule to keep. But, unfortunately, they looked like they would take whatever time they required to take what they wanted. As she led the animals through the trees, her mind raced through an inventory of what was in her saddlebags, and what on her mules. With her ought to be her weapons, shield, money and a few personal things. She couldn't remember mis-packing anything but with the distraction of Reynald's presence, it was a possibility. She didn't want to think of the value of the goods on the mules, especially given her next option. She could never hope to beat a score or more in a fight, and she shuddered to think of the consequences of failing to do so. That only left not being caught in the first place. If they pursued her, she'd abandon the mules and ride for it. **Ride for where?** she asked herself. **The abbey?** She hadn't been there before, and it would be in no position to offer sanctuary against the likes of this armed band - always assuming that they hadn't already pillaged it! She could always retrace her steps. **They would hardly be likely to follow me into an armed camp. But then I wonder what Reynald's reaction would be? A few days at mule speed versus a gallop? I could probably cover the ground in the remains of today. ** **Academic!** she tells herself. **They might not follow, and if they do the worth of the mules may distract them.** She glances back to see if they have turned off the road after her. <><><><><> [GM] The riders are indeed riding off the road, following you. It would almost be more comforting if they were galloping after you, in hot pursuit, but they are following at a casual, unhurried pace, as if they have plenty of time and nothing better to do.... <><><><><> [Agnes] They were so casual about it! She bid her mules goodbye, and dropped their leads. Decision made, she headed back from whence she'd come. Once again she'd chosen death over a fate worse than it. She glanced back to see the effect of the mules. When she saw that it was negligable, as she'd expected, she spurred her horse into a trot. **Will they ride me down, or wear me down? Probably the latter. I hope Reynald's army hasn't moved far - they certainly looked like they were going to stay a day or more.** She glances back through the trees, to see what her pursuit is up to now. <><><><><> [GM] A little over half the brigands are still following you, the rest having remained behind to guard their newly and very easily-acquired loot, no doubt. They're picking up the pace slightly, but not chasing you at full speed yet. They probably know you have a long way to go before you reach any possible sanctuary...and for that matter, you've been riding all day, while they apparently just left Luxueil. Their horses will be fresher than yours, and they can spread out to cut off any doubling-around or slipping off into the woods that you might attempt, and take turns maintaining close pursuit. Small wonder they seem to be treating this as sport. <><><><><> [Agnes] Agnes continues at a pace that keeps them at a distance, and waits to see what time and the changing terrain will bring. She thinks back to what sort of ground she travelled over during three days walk. Some sanctuary other than Reynald's army? Some keep? some pass where no outflanking is possible? She doesn't particulary want a fight, but if her horse is too tired compared to theirs and one is inevitable, then she wants to give herself the best chance she can. <><><><><> [GM] Between St-Gall and Luxueil are only a string of small villages, none of which will be able to shelter you from these men, and your riding there would only bring the brigands down on the villagers as well. You know the area fairly well, but unfortunately, what you know isn't encouraging. There are no passes, no easily-defended strongpoints. Which is probably why there are no keeps along this road to the Rhine, and why Charles sent his army across here. Your only hope is the setting sun; in the darkness, a lone quarry will have the advantage over a company of mounted men, and they might even give up the chance, rather than continuing to seek you out in the sinister, dark woods. Not that you're eager to spend the night out here in the forest yourself, but it beats spending the night with them.... Another glance back shows they are gaining on you, urging their horses to greater speed, probably having the same thoughts as you about encroaching night. You can hear one of them shouting- "Come on, woman, where do you think you're going?" Another calls "We only want to have a look at you!" But the rude laughter that follows makes it clear what kind of look they want. <><><><><> [Agnes] She spurs her horse on. She doesn't want to over tire it. She wants to keep the men far enough behind her that the darkness might shake them, and yet still have a horse capable of putting in a gallop once dusk has fallen. If she has to ride into and through the night so be it. Her only hope is that the night will let her reach the army: or that it will let her hide from her pursuit: or in the worst case it will allow her to ambush them in ones and twos as they search the woods for her. <><><><><> [GM] As you increase your speed, so do your pursuers. It's starting to become less of a game to them, as they start chasing you in earnest. Despite your horse being tired, you still have the advantage of being a better rider. You increase your lead, and they spur their horses into a full gallop, not wanting to let you get out of sight before sundown. You'll have to do the same, or be overtaken. Barring another plan, now is the time you'll either have to shake them, or almost certainly be caught. "Where are you going, little girl?" calls the same mocking voice as before. "The woods are dangerous at night, and no place for a poor woman traveling alone!" "Aye, there be wolves!" another replies, and over the pounding of horses' hooves, you hear a ripple of laughter that makes your flesh crawl. They think this is funny. They're getting annoyed, because the game is proving more troublesome than they expected, but chasing a frightened woman down and terrorizing her, before all the other unspeakable acts they have in mind, is their idea of *fun*. Reynald and Charles and all those other lecherous knights were benign by comparison. <><><><><> [Agnes] **Aye, there be wolves, and then there are _wolves_,** she thinks as she spurs the horse into a gallop. **and I know which sort I'd rather take my chances with.** Sanctuary no longer seems an option. She starts to put in changes of direction whenver she thinks they will be unsighted, and will take a few moments to realise what she has done. She doesn't want to ride like an arrow, for even if they do lose sight of her in the gathering gloom, they would easily find her again by continuing on the same course. She will keep going until she loses them. <><><><><> [GM] Your horse produces a burst of speed that puts you a little farther ahead of them. Moving off the road to change course slows you a bit, but you think you managed to slip into the trees without being observed. A moment later they'll see the empty stretch of road ahead and realize what you did, but maybe they'll guess wrong as to which side you left on. You hear them still in pursuit, and continue through the woods, occasionally getting a glimpse of another horse with your furtive glances behind you, and not sure if they glimpsed you. By the time darkness falls, you've made enough course changes that you're not even sure which way the road is from here yourself. You can hear them still crashing through the underbrush, and calling to each other...now quite a ways away, but unfortunately in several different directions. You've eluded them, but there still exists the possibility of running right into one or more of them, if you continue in the wrong direction. <><><><><> [Agnes] She reins in her horse and comes to a stand. She waits, listening for them, and choosing a direction from which she hears no noise, starts off again at a walk. She would like to be some distance away come dawn, and standing still will not acheive that. <><><><><> [GM] You lead your horse as quietly as you can through the woods. After an hour or so, the animal is becoming increasingly uncooperative, as it's probably more tired than you. But you haven't heard any of the men for some time. You continue moving through the woods, moving until dawn, at which point, having failed to orient yourself (your star-reckoning skills having become rather rusty, after all these years on land), you appear to have not only lost your pursuers, but yourself. Of course, if you head north, you will eventually reach the St-Gall-Luxueil road again, while east will eventually bring you to the shores of the Rhine. Either direction can easily bring you back into the clutches of either brigands or marginally- less-rapacious soldiers, but what else is new? Your horse looks at you with resentful, tired eyes, as if also contemplating a change in careers. <><><><><> [Agnes] She takes off the saddle, and tethers the horse on a long rein. and wrapping herself in her blanket, settles herself for a few hours rest. When she awakes, she decides, she'll go South, and stop at the first city she comes to, preferably one with a wall. Despite the other sorts of risks involved in sstaying in a city for a time, it seems preferable to having to avoid large gangs of brigands. <><><><><> [GM] Besancon is a fair-sized city, a day or two south of Luxueil, and upriver from Lyon. It's the seat of an archbishop, so it's moderately well-defended. And the river feeding it comes from the south, and so is less likely to carry Viking raiders...not that the Norsemen won't range as far and as wide as they can, from whatever direction they come. Besancon seems like a reasonable place to settle down for a few years. Once again you'll have to contend with the difficulties of being a single woman with no family, but at least this time, even having lost your mules, you still have a small amount of starting capital. <><><><><> [Agnes] With her horse and its furniture sold, and the money she had and the jewelry she wears, she has enough to start in business. She keeps an open mind as to which area of commerce will be most profitable, but with the state of the world at the moment, she couldn't go far wrong with specialising in cloth, weapons and armour. Although most money is to be made in trading in them, she still aspires to build her own forge, and spend a day a week keeping her hand in with the sskills requiired to make the products she trades in. There is also the small matter of reforging a sword. That will be a long term project carried out with care and devotion. Smithing in other metals will be other hobbies she might try. <><><><><> [GM] Lothair is defeated the following year at the Battle of Fontenoy. Louis and Charles swear their alliegance to one another the following year, with the Oath of Strasbourg. The year after that, the Treaty of Verdun divides the Empire into the Eastern, Western, and Middle Kingdoms, with Lothair in charge of the latter, which encompasses your new home of Besancon, while also stretching north to Aix-la-Chapelle and to the coast beyond, and south all the way to Rome. Despite losing the war, Lothair also receives the nominal title of Emperor. Thus, Charlemagne's heirs preserve his empire in a weakened, partitioned form, but avoid dismantling it entirely. 844 A.D. Besancon .......... Your four years in Besancon have been fairly prosperous and fairly peaceful (though once again you have a regular crowd of would-be suitors, considerably more cultured than the sailors in London, at least). You haven't yet saved up enough to buy a forge without liquidating the rest of your stock, but you have found a local smith who's friendly and not too put off by the idea of a woman working a forge, so with a bemused air, he lets you practice at his forge a couple times a week. It's occurred to you that you could probably offer a partnership with him, since you could at least handle the metal trading part of his business, and then take over when he dies. But he's not that old, and by the time he does die, you'll probably be facing the problem of how to conceal your own lack of aging again. This may be a greater problem here than in Britain; the Carolingians believe strongly in witches, and Lothair himself has shown great willingness to carry on the tradition of executing them. (The fact that the sorceresses he's executed, like the sister of Bernard of Septimania, and the Empress Judith, have all been political opponents, hardly seems to raise a doubt in anyone's mind of the maleficic nature of the women.) While Besancon has been fairly good to you, the rest of the Empire doesn't do as well. Two years ago a large earthquake shook the south, and last year, both crops and animals were afflicted by epidemics that left much of the countryside starving. A hard winter followed, and there are more paupers trying to crowd through the gates of the city than ever before. It's one of those afternoons at Brendai's forge, while you pound determinedly at a cheap sword, practicing for the eventual rejoining of Peter's blade. Brendai, the blacksmith, a large man with thick arms like your father's, is outside talking to another craftsman. He makes passes at you now and then, but so do most men. (You have no doubt he'd have no qualms about following through if you responded seriously to him, but as long as you treat his lewd jokes and occasional pinches with good humor, he doesn't bother you much, and he keeps lots of other men from bothering you more, AND you get to keep using his forge. Brendai's wife is not so fond of you, though.) And just like that, suddenly the Quickening shivers through you, warning of another immortal's presence. <><><><><> [Agnes] Setting down the sword and hammer, Agnes walks to join Brendai and the other craftsman, deciding to broach the subject of a partnership, (and use the oportunity to casually look around for the other immortal). She leaves her scabbarded sword where it lies with her shield near the forge. There is no point in attracting atention to herself, and she can always run for them. But if it a civilised encounter, she shouldn't need them there and then anyway. <><><><><> [GM] Brendai turns to greet you when you approach. "Looks like I might have some business, Agnes. That's one large train, and I'll bet those horses need shoing, at least." Proceeding up the main avenue is a long file of horses, mules and wagons. A large merchant caravan is stopping in Besancom for the night, apparently. Along with the horse drivers, there are a number of mounted men-at-arms, hired to protect the caravan from brigands. This is a merchant wealthy enough to travel in relative safety. At the front of the procession is a rather plump fellow in a voluminous blue and yellow cloak over a bright green shirt, wearing a wide-brimmed hat with some feathers stuck through it, a bit of ostentatious fruppery that marks him as a foreigner. As he draws closer, the bearded face splits into a smile, and you recognize Sancho Aristeles. You last saw the Spanish trader about twenty years ago, a few years before you returned to England after your battle with Gerald. He touches his hat and opens his mouth to greet you, then stops, seeing Brendai next to you, and realizing he doesn't know what your current situation is. So he greets Brendai instead. "Good afternoon, blacksmith. I trust you are open for business? We'll certainly have need of your services while we provision ourselves and rest up in this fair city." "Aye," Brendai nods enthusiastically. He whispers to you "I'll be needing my forge back I'm afraid, but I wager you'll find business of your own to conduct with these folk, eh?" <><><><><> [Agnes] She smiles a genuine smile at Sancho Aristeles as they recognise each other. "Certainly, Brendai," she replies to the smith, "I'll move my stuff right away." She wipes her black and grimy hands on her apron as she watches Brendai return into the yard. She turns back to Sancho Aristeles, lifts the heavy leather apron over her head and folds it over her arm. "Hello, Sancho Aristeles. I trust you are well?", she enquires as she wipes the sweat off her brow and whisps of hair out of her eyes with the back of her hand, smearing more soot onto them in the process. "These are dangerous times for travelling merchants." "Do you want me to show you round the city? I just need to get my stuff out of the way of the blacksmith. He lets me use his forge, and I make sure that any metal I supply him with is good quality. One day I'll forge myself a sword I'd be satisfied with. Oh, forgive me Sancho, you must be tired and in need of a drink. Let me show you round later, after I've pointed you in the direction of the best hostalry." <><><><><> [GM] "Gracias, Agnes," he replies. "It is good to see you again. You are right, it's very dangerous for traveling merchants, I always thought you were rather...bold, to travel by yourself." He smiles. "Let me get everything settled in and my apprentices and guards fed, and then we shall catch up on old times, si?" Later that evening, you feel the familiar Quickening sensation while you tidy up your small shop. Even knowing it's Sancho, your eyes instinctively dart to your sword, reassuring yourself it's within easy reach. Then the portly merchant is knocking on the door. He looks around as he steps inside. "This is a comfortable little place," he says. "So, I take it you have not gotten married again? Tell me what you've been doing for the last....hummm, twenty years, isn't it?" <><><><><> [Agnes] "Oh, I've travelled around a bit since we last met. I've criss-crossed Carolingia a fair number of times. I fought with and beat a young saracen called Marwan. I didn't kill him, but a head-hunter named Gerald did not long afterwards. I took Gerald's head immediately after that, and Marwan's mentor, Kemal ibn-Hakim and I agreed not to fight. I returned to Northumberland after that, and served as merchant for my late mentor's monastary for a few years before coming here. The problems with robbers had become quie acute in Mercian and Northumbria, so I thought I'd come here where I remembered it to be safer. I'm only in Besancon because even here it got too dangerous to travel alone. The bands of brigands got too numerous and too large fior me to deal with. So I decided to stay in one place until things get better. I'm sure that it will given another 10 or 15 years. The only others that I've met in this time are Aethelbad the London merchant, and a soldier in Charles' army called Reynald. I'm not sure if he's a head hunter or not. He didn't realise *I* was the immortal when I left. And so here I am. I'm single again. I found deserting my last husband too painful. I got around the issue by operating from a monastary or traveling alone. N0ow that I'm in one place for a long time again, I'm sure that conforming to society's expectations or," she adds with a wry smile, "just lust, will get me down the aisle again." <><><><><> [GM] "Reynald? Haven't heard of him. Either he used to go by another name, or he must be relatively young...of course you are rather young, relative to me." Sancho grins. He laughs at your last comment. "Oh, you are a remarkable one, Agnes. I hope you do not lose your head anytime soon, it would be a great shame! Every other female immortal I've met has been either a conniving witch or a trembling flower destined to lose her head to the first hunter who comes along." The Spanish merchant scratches his beard and looks more serious. "I am not so sure this area will be safer in ten or fifteen years. Charles's grandsons seem to have settled their differences for now, but those Norsemen show no signs of decreasing their attacks anytime soon. I am on my way to Paris now, and I think that is the last trip I'll be making that far north, until the Viking raids cease. They are sailing far downriver and ranging quite a ways inland now, and in some places, they seem to be settling in permanently." He regards you thoughtfully. "You seem to have settled in here rather comfortably. Do you miss the wandering life at all?" <><><><><> [Agnes] She laughs. "Of course I miss travelling, Sancho, especially with all the problems that staying in one place brings. But, its out of the question for now. It's just not worth my effort - I'd probably have all my wares stolen: and worse. If you think all this trouble will last longer than 10-15 years, that's a worry. This city isn't big enough for me to lose myself and start again. And if I'll not be able to abandon here and start again by disappearing and travelling again, I'd best plan carefully for when I am starting to look too young." She looks pensive for a while, staring into the wine in her goblet, before looking up and continuing. "Sancho? Would I survive being burnt at the stake as a witch?" .... She realises that the conversation has been hers and about her. After he responds she moves the conversation onto him. "What about you, Sancho? I know nothing about you: where you are from, how long you've been immortal, who you've met." <><><><><> [GM] "Haaaahh.....burned alive, I'm not entirely sure." Sancho clears his throat. "Everyone....every immortal, that is, says that we can only die by losing our head." He stares into his wine as well. "I once saw a girl burned at stake for practicing witchcraft. I doubt she was really a witch. It's a terrible, terrible way to kill someone. Being stoned to death, or drowned, is bad too, but not as bad as that. Her screams..." He shudders. "Anyway, when it was over, her body was still there...little more than a blackened lump, but the fire did not consume her completely. So.....I would guess that considering we can recover from being hacked, impaled, crushed, drowned, or strangled, you could probably heal even from that. I think I'd almost rather be beheaded, though." He smiles at you, trying to lighten the mood. "It is difficult for an immortal to stay in one place. Those that do have usually built up a lot of wealth, and political connections sometimes going back centuries, to allow them to periodically change identities, or disappear and come back as their own heir." "I'd love to tell you more about myself, Agnes, and the immortals I've met....." "If you come with me, we'd have plenty of time to talk, on the road." His smile widens. "Think about it, Agnes. *I* have enough protection for my caravan to fight off any brigand gang...I only have to worry about the occasional rogue army, or being caught by a large-scale Viking raid, and I'm pretty good at predicting trouble and avoiding it. I keep the turnover among my assistants high enough that no one ever realizes quite how long I've been at this. And I carry goods and messages for other immortals, which makes me valuable to them and earns me favors. I enjoy the traveling life. But I would enjoy having someone intelligent, with a long view of things like me, to talk to. And a companion who is also very pretty does not hurt." He winks. "Now don't worry, I don't expect more than companionship...unless you are also fond of pleasantly plump merchants." He pats his belly and laughs jovially. <><><><><> [Agnes] She holds herself back, to not bite his hand off. "That is an interesting proposition Sancho. Travelling in less dangerous circumstances to less dangerous places certainly has a lot of appeal.... And I haven't been here long enough to put down roots ... Not that that really matters does it? Yes, Sancho. I'm amenable to your offer of companionship. I can leave when you are ready." <><><><><> [GM] Sancho beams. "I am so pleased! It gets lonely, being by oneself, so to speak, for so many years. I'm sure you understand." It's surprisingly easy to pick up and leave. All your goods can be loaded onto Sancho's caravan, for you to sell on the road. Your landlord has already been paid. Brendai is disappointed that you're leaving, of course. People begin whispering almost immediately when the news gets around that you are leaving with the Spanish merchant. But that hardly matters....they may well all be dead before you return to Besancom again. Sancho's assistants, packers and teamsters, and mercenary guards, are also intrigued by you, naturally. But they all respect their employer, and apparently this isn't the first time Sancho has done something odd. He tells you he pays them well for their loyalty, and their silence. Concerning the inevitable propositions, Sancho says "No one will try to force himself on you- they value my goodwill too much. But you know how men are. Nothing I say will keep them from trying to get under your skirts." He pauses. "Now, if we let them believe that you and I are sleeping together, it will reduce the amount of harrassment, though not eliminate it. On the other hand...." he clears his throat. "Perhaps you want to be free to make your own sleeping arrangements. If that's the case, ah, I will not say anything. Though I trust you will keep in mind the hazards of provoking jealousy, and will be suitably discrete." ..... It definitely feels different to be traveling with such a large group. No more lonely treks along dangerous roads, making camp by night as far from the road as possible, and worrying not only about human predators, but wolves and bears as well as other fell beasts. Around the campfires at night, Sancho and his men share an easy camaraderie, and while as a newcomer, and a woman, it's harder for you to share in it as well, you enjoy the companionship. Even the guards are decent fellows, in a rough, bawdy way. Sancho's caravan consists of fifty packhorses, half again as many mules, and a score of fully-loaded wagons. His caravan guards number over two dozen, and many of the teamsters and packers are competent with slings or bows. His is probably one of the larger merchant trains canvasing Europe, and you feel a little bit jealous, considering that when you first met him, his traveling wares were not much more impressive than what you once hauled around Carolingia. But then, aside from his having less difficulties for being a man, he's also stayed on the continent the entire time. A few times you see pairs of would-be highwaymen, or even small groups of them, and each time, they give the caravan a once-over, taking in the mounted guards in ringmail, and decide against causing trouble. ..... Like many older immortals, Sancho's true ethnic heritage is not that which he has now adopted. Just as Aethelbad, originally a Gaul (so far as you know), now pretends to be a Saxon, and will probably become a Dane should they overrun England as they seem on the verge of doing, Sancho's bloodline is probably closer to the Norse than to the Latinate descendants of Iberian tribesmen that were once conquered by Rome. His people were called the Suevi, and they were once a Germanic tribe that lived north of the Danube. He only learned this from older immortals, as by the time he was born, the Suevi had been living on the west coast of Hispania for over a century. Almost three hundred years ago, Sancho was a spear-carrier in the army of the Suevi kingdom, when it was overrun by the Visigoths, who were later conquered by the Arabs. He tells you that he was actually carried off the battlefield by a Visigothic immortal, who then mentored him. His teacher was slain by a Byzantine officer. "If I was truly of a warlike mindset, I suppose I would seek vengeance," Sancho says. "But it seems to me that immortality is too precious a gift to waste on deadly duels. Let the hunters kill each other off. A few times I've been challenged....the Rules say I can't have mortals kill my enemies, and I can't let them interfere in a duel, but there's no Rule that says I have to let the bastards near me." He gestures at his guards, flanking the caravan. "Better protection than any training...there are too many immortals out there with centuries of combat experience...not much point in trying to match them for skill." He pats his sword. "Not that I don't practice now and then, sparring with the guards...I love the look on their faces when they see how fast the fat old merchant is with a blade." ..... Sancho doesn't know exactly how many immortals he's met over the past three centuries, but he guesses it's around thirty. He knows for certain of eleven that are still alive, including both you and Aethelbad (whom he has never met). He met Peter, once, before Peter moved permanently to England. Rome, he says, has always been home to at least one immortal, and sometimes two or three coexist there peacefully. Roman immortals, he tells you, are usually fairly reasonable, as the more violent ones have been killed off over the years. He met an ancient Celt from Hibernia once, who warned him that Hibernia was home to ancient, treacherous female immortals that slay any other immortals who venture there. Muslim immortals are the worst- when you tell him about Kemal ibn- Hakim, Sancho tells you you were lucky to meet one so merciful. Most of them consider it their duty to Allah to kill any infidel immortals they encounter. In Paris, Sancho tells you you will meet another immortal, a Gaul who's probably older than Aethelbad. "He's managed to make himself a Carolingian nobleman now. You might want to make friends with him, since he's obviously planning to survive a good long time, and if he doesn't lose his head or choose the wrong side in a war, he's likely to be in a position of influence." <><><><><> [Agnes] Sancho is fat, and not at all physically attractive she decides, and resolves to herself that she will probably continue as she has in the past. On their first night camped in the countryside she undresses and gets into her bed in his caravan. The unaccustomed tingling in her head keeps her awake, and she listens to his breathing. She'd been here before, and with hindsight she knew she'd made the wrong choice then. Peter had been kind and considerate, and she'd fallen in love with him, and never shown it until it was too late. Sancho was kind and amiable, and above all - he was immortal. She could talk freely with him. There was no need to deceive him by pretending to age nor watch him wither ... She slipped out of her bed and into his, sliding her arms around his ample frame and pulling him close ... She feels totally at home with the caravan. From doing it all herself on her own she appreciates all that needs to be done and when it has been done well or badly, and despite any looks or metaphorically crushed toes, she slides into the role of the Caravanmaster's business partner - no: companion - no: _wife_ ; and helps him run the business. <><><><><> [GM] Sancho isn't *terribly* fat....not even remotely like Aethelbad. And if you ignored his belly, and bulbous nose, you could almost consider him pleasant-looking. Sancho is very different from Peter. He's amiable, companionable, but not the sort of man who inspires passion... You're not sure if you'll ever fall in love with him. But he doesn't expect you to. As he stated from the beginning, he's content just with your company...and your choosing to give him more makes him very happy. Count Guiles, now of Paris, is a burly, rough-hewn man who doesn't at all fit your image of a nobleman. His courtly graces seem a rather clumsy affectation to you. But you've had no previous exposure to courtly graces, so perhaps this is how all noblemen behave. He greets Sancho warmly, and you more so. The immortal count flirts with you quite brazenly, even once it's clear you have a relationship with Sancho, and is rather unsubtle about trying to get you into bed. Afterwards, Sancho tells you that he's probably one of the more formidable living immortals. And quite casually comments that, should he ever lose his head, you could do worse than to associate yourself with Guiles. Guiles' ambitions may be stalled somewhat by the Vikings, however. Sancho's instinct for avoiding trouble is indeed quite good; only months after you leave Paris, with Sancho vowing to stay further south for a while, the Vikings raid the city. Your caravan wends its way south, through Neustria and Aquitaine, and you revisit Bordeaux. Then skirting the Spanish Marches, you come back up the southern coast, through Narbonne and Aniane, then up the Rhone into Burgundy, but stopping short of Besancom. Finally, it's time to turn south again, and Sancho announces you will be heading into Italy. This will be your first visit to Rome. ..... 846 A.D. Rome It's no wonder this has been a sanctuary of sorts for immortals for the last several centuries....the aura of the Papal palace permeates the city. Much of Rome resonates as holy ground. Sancho introduces you to an immortal who not only remembers the fall of the Empire, but remembers the coming of the Apostles to Rome. You knew from what Peter and Aethelbad told you that there had to be immortals who predated Christ, of course, but actually meeting someone who might have laid eyes on the Saviour Himself- or at least met other men who had- is a humbling experience. Sancho is conducting business in the wealthiest mercantile district, and unfortunately, Romans are even less tolerant of females meddling in business affairs than are Carolingians. Not wishing to be a hindrance, you take the opportunity to do some sightseeing, admiring the ancient buildings, and walking along the aquaducts. On the outskirts of the city, still staying within well-lighted, well-patrolled neighborhoods, you hear a cry come from the gates. Soon the alarm is echoing all over the neighborhood, and people come running out, to erect barricades, while the militia mobilizes. Sancho's talent for avoiding trouble seems to have failed you. Rome is under attack!