Agnes Smith AGNES & THE INFIDELS 846 A.D. Rome .......... [Agnes] Compared to the largest city she'd been to recently, Rome was a relief. Fending off Guiles without offening him had been hard work, but she succeeded. At least here in Rome she didn't have that problem. And the city was magnificent. It almost made up for the fact that she'd been excluded from all the comercial activities almost since entering Italy. It almost made her long for Britannia again - but the security of the city had much going for it. At the sights and sound of an attack the feeling of security evapourates. She turns away from the walls, and makes her way quickly back towards where her caravan is stabled. Clutching her scabbard and her skirts, she hurries, keeping an eye out for trouble ahead of her. She has no interest in fighting to defend a city in which she has only just arrived. However, she has every intention of defending her own interests, and they include Sancho and his caravan. The fact that her shield and chainmail are in the caravan has not a little to do with it too. <><><><><> [GM] You see fires lighting the skyline, and hear whoops and the clash of arms. And unfortunately, the fires are springing up in the direction in which you're headed. The sounds of battle are closer still. Sancho chose his route through Italy carefully, as Muslims from Tunisia have been raiding southern Italy for years, occasionally striking along the coast even north of Rome. But they're mostly hit-and-run expeditions, much like the Vikings, often supported by the corsairs who hold the isle of Cossura and have even established a small pirate kingdom in southern France, known as Fraxinetum. This would appear to be a more determined raid....Rome has too many troops, and there are too many other cities nearby who would mobilize to defend the holy city, for it to be likely that actually capturing the city is their intention, but the Arabs are certainly running amok in one sector, and it's the sector you're in. People are screaming as small houses are put to the torch and larger estates are invaded and sacked, and it's only a matter of time before you turn down a large avenue, trying to find a safe way out of the neighborhood, and see a horde of sword-wielding pirates overrunning the city militia that's fortifying the barricades. <><><><><> [Agnes] Agnes is no heroine, and she knows an untenable position when she sees one. She turns and runs. She follows the line of least resistance, and goes with the crowd. Clutching her scabbard tightly, she follows those who might know the city better than her, and might know whiich way to go to get away from the saracen raiders. As she crosses open spaces she tries to spy St. Peter's, and keeps a look out for signs of the Tiber in order to keep her orientation. **What is the world coming to?** she asks herself as she goes, **This is Rome!** She keeps her ears open for the sound of pounding feet gaining on her, and often glances behind. She has no intention of being cut down from behind. But then again, to draw her sword would be to attract attention to herself.... <><><><><> [GM] A shout goes up behind you, you don't know if it's because the infidels sighted you, or someone else, but some of them are following in your wake. You orient yourself to the Tiber easily enough, but unfortunately, it will provide no refuge; it appears that some of the attacking pirates are coming FROM the Tiber. No fires are visible in the direction of St. Peter's, which makes it a good place to run. But you find yourself blocked there, too. The largest contingent of Rome's defenders have gathered there to make a stand, determinedly holding the Saracens back, protecting the great cathedral. Unfortunately, that leaves the Saracens between you and sanctuary. These infidels could teach the Vikings a thing or two about sudden raids. They've only penetrated about a quarter of the city, and probably won't get much further, but you're unlucky enough to be hemmed into that quarter. Your options appear to be; find a hidey-hole FAST, and pray you aren't discovered (not likely, there is already a pack of Muslims coming down the street towards you); fight your way through the Saracens ahead of you, or run to some other line of defense and fight your way through that one (not likely, the best you'd manage is to take a few of them with you); make a break for the Tiber, hope you're not intercepted, dive in and hope you're not fished out (not likely, they're all over the place between here and the river, and you don't know how many of them are on the river); surrender and be taken prisoner (not likely, unless you fancy going to an auction block in Cossura, or worse, North Africa); something else (not likely, but one never knows). A lot of unlikely/unpleasant possibilities, and very little time to choose between them.... <><><><><> [Agnes] Glancing anxiously about, Agnes seeks and sprints for a side street. She hopes to shake pursuit after a few random turns, and give herself time to find somewhere defensible to hole up. **A narrow stairway would be nice,** she thinks to herself as she glances down all the side alleys she passes, ** but I suppose a doorway could suffice.** She pauses long enough at the next to test whether or not it is locked. She has visions of herself getting in, and slamming and barring the door behind her in time too hear pursuit carry on past, but she knows that she is fantasising. <><><><><> [GM] The Muslims howl and give chase. Trying to shake pursuers in a city isn't so different from trying to do so in the woods...the distances are just much shorter, and the margin for error smaller. You round a corner, sprint down the street, turn down an alley, make a sharp left, down another side street.... and suddenly, they aren't in sight anymore. But you can still hear them, not far behind, and no telling which of these streets will dump you right out in front of another gang. The nearest door is locked, and no one answers your pounding. Anyone inside is sensibly going to stay inside. The next door is the same. You have a number of doorways you can crouch in, and one stairway which unfortunately only has a wall on one side, the other being exposed to the narrow street, though if you climbed to the top, you might be able to stay concealed in the shadows by the door. Yelling and running feet, much too close, remind you of another difference between hiding in a city and hiding in the woods....if the pursuers make a determined search effort, you have fewer places to hide, and a greater likelihood they'll find you eventually. From the next street over, you hear a door being smashed down, and metal clashing with metal. From perhaps two blocks away, you hear a woman screaming shrilly. Not the first you've heard. <><><><><> [Agnes] Things are looking difficult. She draws her sword and makes for the sound of the clash of metal. Hopefully it will mean that she won't be fighting on her own, and with luck she will be able to make best use of a surprise attack from the back. Of course - if there are too many of them she might well have dropped herself into even greater trouble, but it was a risk worth taking in order to get off the streets. <><><><><> [GM] Rounding the corner, you realize you've made a bad choice. The battle you see is an extremely one-sided one; there are no militia here. A few city folk had taken up short swords and small shields that they probably had hanging on their walls for decoration (one man is using a *stool* as a shield), and are trying to fight off the Saracens who are breaking down their doors. They're outnumbered at least six to one, and only three are still standing. One goes down with a heavy infidel sword cleaving his skull as you watch. And all of the infidels see you....eyes widen, and lips curl back in surprised grins, and no less than eight of the Saracens come rushing towards you. <><><><><> [Agnes] **Ah well, my time to do my bit for Rome.** she thinks as she backs away. Conscious that she has no armour nor shield, Agnes tries to stand where it will be difficult for them to outflank her. She will retreat with her dodges, and parry the infadel that appear to be good. However, for the start, she will hope to surprise them with her skill by taking out the legs of the first couple to reach her. <><><><><> [GM] The Saracens look surprised when you draw a sword, with your back to the corner of the building behind you so you can pivot around it and back down the sidestreet when pressed. They stop smirking when you cleave the first man's leg all the way through, and slice open the second man's thigh. The second man, staggering, makes the mistake of hitting you with the flat of his blade. He actually gets past your guard and inflicts a painful blow against your side, but his desire to capture you alive costs him his life, as you cut him open with your next two attacks. With two infidels on the ground at your feet, one dead and the other dying, the remaining six approach with a little more caution. "Put down the sword, woman," says the leader, in passable Latin, or you assume he's the leader, with a scale vest and a better-looking sword than the others. You step back, maintaining distance and keeping your back to the wall as the others try to circle around you. You feel your ribs throbbing painfully as you heal the blow from the fallen Saracen. "That was impressive, yes. But there are six of us now, and more behind, yes?" <><><><><> [Agnes] "Thank you for your concern," she replies in Latin, "But I have no intention of walking meekly into slavery." "One or two more of your men will have to give their lives if you want to take me." She waits for the next to step too close to her, launching an attack against his legs, before stepping diagonally back facing them off again. <><><><><> [GM] Another man lunges at you, trying to strike you on the temple with the pommel of his sword. Despite watching for it, he still fails to evade your swing at his legs, and yelps as he jumps back with a vicious slash above his knee. He limps to the side, clapping his hand over the bloody wound. Everyone else maintains a cautious distance. The leader glares at you. "Very impressive, yes," he repeats. His eyes narrow. "I will not be opposed by a woman!" He says something in Saracen to his comrades. Then points his sword at you. "Listen, you lay down your sword now, you will not be mistreated. Make this hard for us, we will make it hard for you. You have nowhere to run. You cannot win, understand?" <><><><><> [Agnes (The Stubborn)] "You will be disappointed then, for I have no intention of laying down my weapon in the face of a mob of barbarian blasphemers." She smiles a sarcastic smile. "But if you leave me alone now, I promise not to hurt any more of you." She remembers at last, the knife on her belt, and draws it with her left hand. **This may dissuade them from throwing themselves upon me.** she tries to convince herself, as further doubts about the wisdom of her chosen course of action flit about at the edge of her mind. <><><><><> [GM] The leader grits his teeth. He barks something again in their language, as he and two other men approach you, he in front, his companions to your flanks. You continue backing down the alley, but don't dare turn around to run, they'd be on you in a second. The man in scale mail feints at you, but you recognize it for what it is, and pay attention to the man on your right instead. Apparently they're still determined not to lower your market value with unsightly puncture wounds and amputations. The Saracen is striking at your weapon, not you. You foil his disarm attempt easily, whip your sword back to your center to prepare to deflect the next blow- The man on your left blindsides you- you knew he was there, but you simply didn't see his attack coming. The flat of his broadsword smacks you upside the head, knocking you off your feet. You're dazed as you go down, trying to keep your guard up and struggle to an upright position. You're aware of blood trickling down the side of your face. One of the three infidels facing you- you're not sure which- is brave enough to leap for your sword-arm while you appear disabled. He lands on it and holds your arm pinned to the ground. You try to bring your left hand up to stab him with your dagger, but a boot comes down on your wrist. The leader is yelling something angrily. You shake the bloody haze from your vision. Your sword is kicked from your hand, and the man standing on your other arm is squatting to reach for your dagger. You see the rest of the infidels surrounding you on all sides. <><><><><> [Agnes] She resorts to kicking, punching, scratching and trying to use her dagger! "Bastards!" she shouts at them in Latin. "I will be no-one's slave!" She writhes and struggles attempting to regain her feet and shake herself free of attackers. <><><><><> [GM] You manage to kick the leader in the inner thigh- you don't get your foot quite high enough to do some serious damage- and even succeed in slipping your sword arm, now absent sword, from the other infidel's grasp, and punch him. The foot holding down your hand that clutches your dagger stays firmly in place. The man you clipped in the jaw curses and backhands you across the face. The leader is still yelling something. Another man grabs you by the hair, and someone starts trying to grab your legs as well, while you thrash about and kick anything that moves. You put up quite a fight, but there are too many of them. After another few moments, you're grappled and rolled over, pressed hard against the paved street with at least three men on top of you, and your arms are roughly pulled behind your back and tied with a strong rope. "Oh, but you will!" the leader grunts, now that you've been subdued. "What kind of woman are you? You need taming, oh yes." One of the other men says something in their language, which provokes rough laughter that gives you a cold feeling. They haul you to your feet, and begin shoving you down the street, a Saracen holding you on either side, to join the larger group of raiders, who are hauling everything of value out of the residences lining this street. You see a few other men and women also being taken captive....all young, healthy folk. A few children as well. You taste blood in your mouth, which reminds you of your head wound...which is probably healing even now. The leader also notices it, and points at you and gives orders to another man. Someone produces a strip of cloth and starts wrapping it around your head. <><><><><> [Agnes] Subdued now, Agnes walks with her captors, feeling _very_ sorry for herself. Lots of thoughts of "if only I'd ..." go through her mind, as she tries to come to terms with her situation. That she heals so easily could now work against her, and she resolves to try to avoid being beaten at all costs. Sancho had warned her that she might be thought of as a witch. She continues along meekly, but with her eyes active, searching out an opportunity to escape. <><><><><> [GM] The accounting you gave of yourself- one man dead, another being carried by his comrades and unlikely to survive the night, and two more who will also be sporting mementos of your capture for a while- has earned you a sort of grudging respect, which means that your chances of escape have been drastically cut down. The Saracens are keeping a close eye on you; no telling what the wild infidel woman who knows how to use a sword might try. Two men are within arms' length of you at all times. Even after a loop of rope is thrown around your neck, linking you to more captives ahead of and behind you, a Muslim swordsman stays near you. Either they're afraid you might try something else unexpected, or they simply want to make sure they keep track of such a remarkable captive. The way the men who captured you mutter amongst themselves when they look at you, and the baleful, appraising stares you get, also do nothing to make you feel better about your situation. You have a dreadful suspicion that you'll be a paying a terrible price for giving them such difficulty, as their leader promised. It might be just your head-wound that prevented them from starting immediately, but it won't take long before they discover that you were not hurt nearly as bad as it first appeared.... The Saracens begin dragging their loot and their prisoners to the sundered gate. You and your fellow captives are yanked ruthlessly along, dragged down the street should you stumble and fall. <><><><><> [Agnes] Continuing to regret earlier choices made, Agnes works hard at keeping her feet, as the line of prisoners is led to wherever. She realises she is very much alone - especially as she can barely understand the vulgar Latin the locals are speaking - not like Church Latin at all! She passes the time trying to understand what few words are spoken - and puting them into context. <><><><><> [GM] Heading out the gates of the city, you look back and see a terrible sight....flames licking around St. Peter's. The heathens must have overwhelmed the defenders and set the great basilica on fire. Your fellow prisoners are too busy weeping and bemoaning their own fate to pay much attention to you. They speculate that they might be saved if the Dux who has jurisdication over the lands surrounding Rome mobilizes his troops to pursue the raiders...but more likely they will converge on Rome to save it from further depradations. You're all forced to march down the road, surrounded now by a very large force of Saracens. You're only one of half a dozen chains of slaves, and there are hundreds of men and horses. You know it will be a day or two marching to the coast, if they don't put their prisoners on horses. You might get a chance to escape sometime during your journey. After sundown, the Saracens finally stop and make camp in another sacked village. A couple of the men you recognize as your captors come by, inspecting the lot of you. You've never been far from a watchful guard. One of the men- the man who stomped on your wrist, in fact- squats next to you, and pokes at your bloody bandage. He says something harsh and gutteral to his companion, and favors you with a toothy grin. Late that night, the rest of the prisoners are untied so they can eat and drink...with guards holding swords and spears standing alertly nearby. You, however, are separated from the rest, and hauled off towards the nearby woods. <><><><><> [Agnes] *No!* she screams to herself as a fearful shiver runs down her spine. She forces herself to be dragged along meekly. She knows what happpens next. She tries to occupy her mind my counting how many there are, and noting their weapons, but it doesn't help put aside her dread. Fear wells up inside her, more fear than in any of her fights. And she prays to God to help her. She asks his forgiveness for sinning with Sancho, acknowleging that his punishment is just and appropriate. <><><><><> [GM] You recognize four of the men, including the Latin-speaking leader; a fifth man is also with them, perhaps an additional friend they just decided to invite to the festivities. They take you to a secluded spot and hold you down. The leader stands over you. "I told you to surrender, woman. If you had, I would have kept my word." He starts uncinching his belt. "I also said, if you fight we will make you regret it. I always keep my promises." <><><><><> [Agnes] She glares at him, willing God to strike him down. "I know I would have ended up here anyway, despite whatever weasel-words you spoke. I had not then, nor have I now, any reason to think of you other than an uncouth barbarian and pirate who would cheat, lie, or break an oath to get what he wanted. I suspect you would even boil your grandmother down for glue, if glue was vital for your plans. You will no doubt boast of this 'conquest' later to your comrades. Such a pity that they will snigger behind your back about the 'man' who needed the assistance of seven others in trying to capture a mere woman who disregarded his threats, and then needed the assistance of four others before he could force himself upon her. You _will_ be the talk of the raid won't you?" She realises that she has dug herself into the pit even deeper, and leaves unspoken her thoughts, **And at least I can comfort myself in knowing that a price was paid with the lives of two men.** <><><><><> [GM] The infidel scowls darkly, but if you hoped he would fly into a rage and do something foolish, you're disappointed. "It would be wise for you to shut your mouth, or we will put a gag in it or worse," he growls. They're neither imaginative nor excessively sadistic- it's probably their desire to have an unmarred chattel to sell that keeps them from being as brutal as they could be. But it's bad enough, with five men taking turns. When they're done, they bring you back to rejoin the other captives. They still seem unusually impressed by your prowess, to the extent that they hold your arms pinned while they untie your wrists, and then retie your wrists in front of you, so you can grasp food and a wineskin, but still have restricted movement. The other men and women taken from Rome watch you with curiousity and a little dread, wondering what you've done to merit such special precautions by your captors. If any of them have guessed why you were separated from them for a time, they say nothing. <><><><><> [Agnes] She is despondant, desolate, violated. The images of each of the men are burned in her mind. She longs to bathe, to wash away every last trace of them. And she wishes to kill them all - slowly, painfully, degradingly. She eats mechanically, taking in little of what goes on around. Her world has colapsed around her, and she feels that she has lost all abitity to influence it. Events flow past her as if they formed part of a dream, from which she would soon wake up, and all would be well: but morning never comes. <><><><><> [GM] The Saracens march you for the next two days, to the coast. Ostia has already been plundered, and you spend two days there, penned up with other slaves. You suffer a nasty fright when you're separated from the other prisoners again, with two of your violators leading you away by a rope. They take you to a wooden palisade that surrounds a number of cage-like cells, many occupied by other prisoners. You're thrust into one of these cages, and left there. Apparently this is where they keep captives of particular noteworthiness...several of the men are tall, brawny Italians with hostile expressions, who watch the infidels with sharp, measured stares, clearly alert for any chance to strike or escape. A couple more look like wealthy patricians, probably worth a high ransom. And you note that the three other women who share this enclosure with you are particularly attractive. Two look as demoralized and forlorn as you, while a third, a striking young woman with blonde hair, barely out of her teens, sits in her cell with a haughty expression, somehow managing to look like the Saracens are waiting on her. <><><><><> [Agnes] Seeing the other women looking miserable somehow forces her to raise her own spirits. She knows in her heart of hearts that she is better off than they. She takes the opportunity of being left alone to try to work loose her bonds, as she looks around the other cages. "What now then?" she asks of one of the men whose eye she catches. "Wait for more captives and then see who has had a ransom paid: the rest of us sailing to slavery?" <><><><><> [GM] The man in the cage nearest you nods, looking at you with only a little curiousity. "Aye, something of the sort. I believe most of us will be boarded onto ships tomorrow, bound for Palermo." Palermo, on Sicily, currently the staging area for most of the Muslim raids on Italy, is one of the largest Muslim-held cities in the Mediterranean. It's said to be the largest slave-market, also. He notices your bound wrists; he has similar bonds. None of the other women do. "Most of us have no hope of ransom; we just attracted their notice by impressing them with our fighting skills. I killed six of the Devil-loving bastards before one of them hit me from behind." He grins malevolently. Then frowns. "You women, I reckon you are bound for some heathen prince's harem. Filthy infidel bastards!" He spits. <><><><><> [Agnes] She notices him take note of her bonds: "I killed two before they took me seriously when I told them that I had no intention of walking quietly into slavery." She nods towards the haughty one. "Who's she?" <><><><><> [GM] He cocks an eyebrow at your story, obviously as incredulous as the Saracens at the notion of a woman warrior. The man looks across the compound at the blonde woman, who is presently fluffing her hair. "Not sure," he says. "Looks like some rich merchant or nobleman's daughter. Certainly acts like a little princess. Maybe she figures daddy is going to ransom her before she gets herded onto a boat." He shrugs. "Easy enough to see why the infidels have given *her* special treatment." Indeed, and you wonder if she fully realizes what she's in store for if daddy *doesn't* ransom her. A Muslim guard walks past and smacks his sword against the thick wooden bars of the male prisoner's cell, snarling something in Saracen. The man replies, "@&#%$ yourself, you Devilspawn whoreson!" The Muslim yells more curses, to which the captive responds in kind. Finally another Saracen with a spear stalks over and jabs the butt-end at the prisoner, hitting him in the chest and stomach. The man grits his teeth and subsides. The swordsman swaggers towards your cell, glowering at you. He pauses and looks carefully at your wrists. You've managed to loosen the ropes a bit, but by the way his eyes are narrowing, you fear he either noticed your efforts, when you thought you were unobserved, or he's noticed that your bonds seem a little slack. <><><><><> [Agnes] She twists her wrists slightly, taking up any obvious slack. As she does, she turns back towards whoever is appropriate to take her wrists out of the view of the guard. She decides that if he has spotted her handiwork, she won't make a fuss, and will meekly allow them to be retied, unless an opportunity for escape looks viable. <><><><><> [GM] The Saracen keeps staring at you for a long moment, then you breathe a sigh of relief as he passes on. By the time they come around with stale bread and thin, watery gruel to feed the prisoners for dinner, you've just about worked your wrists free. But they open your cell, and two of the men who captured and later raped you move inside to grab your arms. Trembling in fear of what they might intend to do, you're relieved when they simply check the bandage on your head. Until you notice the suspicious glances they exchange. The man behind you forces you to your knees. "Hey! Leave her alone you filthy misbegotten sons of goats!" the Italian man in the next cage yells, unhelpfully. They inspect your head more carefully, fingernails scraping away the dried blood caked over the spot where you took a heavy blow to the skull during your capture. More comments pass between them; you can't understand a word, but clearly they are a bit startled. One man hauls you to your feet again. Being casually manhandled like a stick doll by these two infidel reavers is almost more than you can bear, but surely at this point, a beating, or just a backhand slap across the face, and subsequent disappearance of all marks, will bode very ill for you. So you force yourself to remain quiet and passive. Even when the man in front of you grabs your blouse and pulls it up, which provokes more cursing and snarling threats from your "friend". It's not prurient interest that has the infidel inspecting your bare torso, however. They're looking at your side, where you also got cracked across the ribs during that same fight. And where of course you also no longer have a bruise. The infidel pulls the hem of your blouse back down, and looks at you with an expression that almost makes you more nervous than the one he gave you as they led you into the woods. He grabs your wrists, holds them up to inspect your bonds, and his eyes narrow further. The two men retie them, pulling the ropes tight enough to virtually cut off circulation in your hands. They set your bread and gruel on the ground, and leave. You lean against the bars of your cell, shaking. The man in the other cell continues to bluster on about infidel dogs laying filthy paws on good Christian women, etc. etc. <><><><><> [Agnes] Agnes reacts passively throughout the guards' visit. And meekly accepts her meagre fare. She doesn't know what to do. So she does nothing. She slowly eats her gruel and waits to see what happens. Her eyes check the cage and the compound. She tries to determine whether escaping from her cage will actually do her any good. She is torn between waiting to make an escape when it might work, but potentially waiting too long, or making one and 'dying' in the attempt. But almost 'dying' will not be good enough, for she'd be seen to secover from mortal wounds, and then only God alone could say what the saracens would do to her. She waits. <><><><><> [GM] Getting free of your bonds you could probably accomplish....especially if you are willing to endure the pain of tearing your flesh off in doing so, since that would heal very quickly. Getting through the cage would be more difficult. You might be strong enough to break through it eventually, but there's no way the guards could fail to hear you doing so, which is probably why none of the men have tried. You've never tried picking a lock before, so you don't know how well you might accomplish that. Once out of your cage, you'd have to get out of the compound. And that's probably the least likely feat. There's one gate through the palisade, and there are always Saracens lingering around it, within and without. The only other possibility would be scaling the walls, and you're not much of a climber. If not for your betraying healing ability, it might be worth it, but if you get caught, you'll almost certainly be punished somehow, and then you'll almost certainly be revealed as something unnatural, and then God knows what. You don't know if the Saracens burn witches, but you doubt they treat them much more humanely than do Christians. Dawn comes. Everyone is given another ration of bread and gruel, and your ropes are inspected again. Then, one by one, each prisoner is led out of their cage. Those who cause trouble (like your friend in the next cell) get clubbed until they behave themselves. The men are all roped together in one chain, the women in another. And you feel a shiver run up and down your spine. It's not the Quickening...but it's something akin to it. Not quite the same as when you sensed Peter's ghost behind you either, but again, akin to it. There's something nearby that is setting off the supernatural senses you possess as an immortal. The weeping and wailing of the women on other side of you is beginning to grate on your nerves, and on the Saracens as well. You all get jerked along roughly, and yelled at if anyone stumbles. You notice that the blonde woman doesn't sob....she glowers at the infidels, and while she seems to have enough sense not to resist, or yell at them, she mutters things under her breath, and continues to maintain an arrogant, haughty disposition. You all get marched down to the port, where Muslim ships await you. You're marched up the plank and onto the deck of a galley, where the women are chained to one side of the ship, the men on the other, huddled together in small spaces behind the oarsmen. Jumping overboard this time won't be possible, not when you're both chained to the deck and tied to your fellow prisoners. The entire time, that unnerving almost-Quickening buzzes in your head. <><><><><> [Agnes] Dawn had come and gone, and nothing in the way of viable opportunities had presented itself. And time had passed, and she had found herself acquiessing to being roped into a chain of other women. The shiver over her spine brings her to her senses. Rather than the 'just accept what's happening' state that she'd allowed herself to slip into, she was alert. She struggled to recognise the feeling, and in the end failed. It was not like the feeling she'd had with other immortals, nor with Peter's ghost. Her rather weak conclusion was that it must be something else. The wailing of the other women, her jerky progress, and the need to avoid stumbling and the potential cuts, bruises or beating that that would bring, limit her ability to give too much thought to the matter. The hopes she had nurtured since her capture were rudely crushed when she saw that she was to be tied to the galley. Grim as the experience of drowning had been the first time, it had been a price she would willingly have paid again to regain her freedom. Dispair started to attack her self confidence. **Didn't saracens lock their women away all the time? How could she move on when her lack of aging became noticable? How would she escape? Even if she escaped, how would she be able to return to Christendom?** This latter question restored some self confidence. She might not be able to crew a galley, even assuming she could steal one, but she eventually get something smaller. Still distracted by the buzzing in her head, she starts to take an interest in the route the galley takes, landmarks by day and stars by night, as she steadily moves further south than she's been before. She watches the crew too, partly to understand the operation of the galley, and partly to see if this buzzing stengthens or weakens in any way associated with any individual crewman's movements. In fact she keeps herself as mentally active as she can with the things she is comfortable with, rather than contemplate whater fate has in store for her at the ship's destination. <><><><><> [GM] 846 A.D. Palermo, Sicily ..... The strange, unidentifiable sensation remains contant throughout your journey south. You learn the names of the other women, including the haughty golden- haired girl, Antonella. She doesn't speak much, except to complain, and glowers at the Saracens with more spirit than any of the other captives. She takes virtually no interest in her fellow slaves. While your initial assessment of the girl was that she's a spoiled brat, you have to concede that she seems to have a good sense of just how far she can antagonize her captors without getting a beating. Physically, she's quite impressive....she's not even out of her teen years, but she's taller than any of you, and taller than a few of the men. After several days of sailing, you arrive at the port city of Palermo. You obviously get little opportunity to appreciate the sights, but Palermo is far larger than you expected; certainly on a par with Rome, and possibly even more wealthy. You're also surprised at how cosmopolitan the city is; the Saracen infidels rule here, but the streets are crowded with heathens of all sorts; Saracens, dark-skinned African tribesmen, Jews, even a few merchants from the Viking lands...and not a few Europeans who may well be Christians, yet deal with the infidels nonetheless. You'd be more impressed if you weren't being dragged through the streets by a rope, of course. The pseudo-Quickening continues. You women are separated from your male counterparts for the last time, and led to a large, dark, sinister structure. Your captors leave you at the entryway, and you are escorted into the cool, damp recesses of the building by very large, bare-chested men who carry heavy clubs in one hand, and whips coiled at their belts. This, of course, sets up more fearful trembling and wailing from your fellow prisoners. Expecting the worst, you're all led to a room in the interior, which turns out to be nothing more than a large pool. One of the guardsmen walks down the line and unties each of you. He then faces the shivering women and says in halting Latin; "Take clothes off..." he gestures at the water. "Clean. Clothes there." He gestures at a spot by the side of the pool. "Hurry! Clean!" "You want us to clean our clothes?" Antonella asks, in a snotty tone. The guard blinks, and shakes his head. "No....no need clothes. We give. Take clothes off, clothes there." He points again. "Perverted heathen bastards...I wonder who the lot of you bribed to get this job?" Antonella mutters. The women look at each other, no one wanting to be the first to disrobe in front of the guardsmen. Apparently disliking Antonella's tone- or perhaps this is just a routine he's used to- the guardsman steps forward, grabs Antonella's gown at the neckline, and rips downward. She shrieks angrily, and accompanied by the sound of shredding cloth, the burly man propels her into the water with a hard shove. Antonella hits the water with a splash, flails around for a few moments, then gets her feet under her and breaks the surface, sputtering, crossing her arms over her chest. She glares up at the guard, who, unperturbed, turns and looks at the rest of you expectantly. <><><><><> [Agnes] Seeing the fate of dissenters, and craving the need to wash heself - the first wash since she was raped - she turns her back on the guard, takes off her clothes and slips into the pool to wash herself clean. She tries desperately to wash away all lingering essence of their deeds. Somehow, in her mind her effort isn't quite sufficient. With as much modesty as she can she will try to put on whetever clothes the guards return with. <><><><><> [GM] The other women reluctantly join you and Antonella in the pool. They continually watch the guards fearfully, as if afraid they'll be set upon at any moment, but the men don't oggle the bathing women....they merely keep an aloof eye on you. The guards bring very simple, roughly-woven robes for you all to put on. Antonella climbs out, pulls the garment over her head, and looks down at it, wrinkling her nose with distaste. "You'd probably get a better price for us if you didn't dress us like shepherds," she sneers. The guards likely don't understand her, and seem to have decided the best way to deal with the blonde captive is to ignore her babbling. Your wrists are all tied in front of you, and you are looped together in a rope chain again. Outside, your original captors await. Apparently they're wasting no time in putting you on the auction block. You're all led past several such, and an apprehensive shiver goes down your spine (matching the still-persistent shiver from something else that's followed you from Ostia) as you watch men, women and children being sold like livestock, to wealthy Arab and Jewish traders, who will then take their human wares south, to North Africa, or farther east, to the Holy Land or, according to Sancho, even further. You don't get taken to an open-air auction block, however. Your group of women is taken to a small building near one of the markets, a cool, long brickhouse, which actually has carpets laid over the floors inside. And there are cushioned seats. You're allowed to sit down, and a young Muslim boy actually brings a pitcher and pours cups of water for all of you. Antonella acidly dismisses the comforts of this new slave pen; "They want us to look pretty for all the drooling old men who might want to buy us." "SHUT UP!" one of the other women finally screams, then doubles over, sobbing. Antonella looks at her sourly, then takes a long drink, holding her cup awkwardly with her wrists bound. <><><><><> [Agnes] That the odd sensation has stayed with her since Ostia is still here, intrigues Agnes. Its source is obviously either one of the other women, or one of the few original guards still with them. She has resigned herself to being sold as a slave. Escaping as a slave will no doubt be near impossible. No doubt she will just have to get herself killed. However choosing the site will be the thing - given that she now has no money and no clothes. So occupied had she been in her own thoughts, Agnes had barely been noticing Antonella's commentary, until the other woman's outburst. She looks at the sobbing woman, and then Antonella. "Antonella. Some of the others don't seem to be taking this in their stride as well as you. Don't you think it would be kinder for them if you kept to yourself your thoughts on our fate?" She asks politely. <><><><><> [GM] Antonella pauses, and looks at you in surprise, as if she hadn't realized any of the rest of you could speak. However, she replies mildly, "I'm not any happier about our fate than you. But there isn't much point in weeping and wailing, is there?" She glances at the sobbing woman. "We'd do better to save our strength for when we'll need it, aye?" Shortly, men who must be potential buyers come in, receiving ingratiating smiles and bows from your captors. You're all forced to stand, turn around for inspection, and occasionally answer questions about your origin and education. They don't subject you to any great indignities, like stripping you, though a couple make you open your mouth, apparently to check your teeth. You're occupying your mind with assessments of your potential masters, and possibilities for escape (most likely with the help of a filched dagger...and what would the Church say about committing suicide when you know you'll come back to life?), when you feel the Quickening. No half-buzz or mysterious "other" sensation this time....there is definitely another immortal about. <><><><><> [Agnes] Trying to maintain her composure, and not attract attention to herself, Agnes glances at the entrance to try to identify who has just entered, and who enters soon after. The immortal could yet be outside the building. Her experience with Reynald told her that if she lay low, the other would have difficulty identifying her, if that is what she desired. As usual, she bided her time. She made herself aware of the others in the group, to see if the mystery person and source of the other effect had reacted to the arrival of another immortal. <><><><><> [GM] No one else seems to sense anything out of the ordinary. The Quickening continues to hammer in your head, though. A short Jewish merchant prods you to get your attention, as you were so distracted that you missed his question. "I said, what languages do you speak, girl?" he asks in Latin. There's a rustle at the curtain of beads over the entrance, and a tall, armored saracen steps in, squinting as he looks around, with his eyes adjusting from the bright sunlight outside to the dim interior. The merchant questioning you looks up at you expectantly, but over his shoulder, you recognize the newcomer as Kemal ibn-"something or other"....the Saracen immortal you met in Aquitaine almost twenty years ago. <><><><><> [Agnes] She flinches a bit at recognising him, unsure as to whether this was a good or bad thing. Nevertheless, he would no doubt recognise her. So she stares him in the eyes, waiting for him to look in her direction. "I can speak a little Latin." she replies haltingly in Latin to the jew without taking her eyes off Kemal, and continues in a Northumbrian dialect of Anglo-Saxon, "but my mother tongue is Anglo-Saxon, and I speak it much, much better." She saw no point in parading her skills for all to see. It would be better to reveal them when it was to her own advantage. <><><><><> [GM] The Jew looks blank when you speak to him in Anglo-Saxon. The Saracen immortal is looking around, obviously searching for the immortal he sensed, and he makes eye contact with you almost immediately. "Ya Allah!" he exclaims, with a sound almost of exasperation. "La anti!" He strides forward, with another pair of warrior entering behind him. Your sellers greet him effusively in their tongue; apparently Kemal is recognized and holds a position of some esteem. He gestures at you and speaks to them for a few moments, then comes over to you. "Agnes, yes?" he asks, in Spanish. "Of....Northumberland." The Jewish merchant clears his throat and says something in Saracen. Kemal looks down at the little man and says something else, in a flat, hard tone. The Jew blinks, and steps away, moving on to another slave. Kemal looks back at you. You can't quite tell if his expression is amusement or exasperation. "How DID you get into this situation, woman?" <><><><><> [Agnes] "Yes, I am Agnes of Northumberland," she replies in Spanish. "You are Kemal. I appologise for not being able to remember your full title." She shrugs. "I was visiting Rome." She indicates her original captors. It pains her greatly to gloss over the details and make light of what was done to her - but they could be his friends, and antagonising him seemed a foolish thing to do. "Unfortunately, these men and their associates chose to visit the city that same day. As it was the day I arrived, I did not know the layout of the city at all, so avoiding capture turned out to be impossible. They were most insistant that I returned with them, and I found myself unable to refuse. So here I am." <><><><><> [GM] To your dismay, Kemal chuckles. "You have interesting way to put things." He nods. "Ah yes, the raid on Rome. Quite a successful raid it was...a great blow against the infidels, if more symbolic than anything else." He frowns. "They should not have burned the cathedral, though. Razing holy ground- even infidel holy ground- sets a bad precedent." He puts his fists on his hips, looking you up and down. "Now whatever shall I do with you, woman?" Then he scowls, and looks away, concentrating on something in the distance. He takes a step away from you, and begins looking over the other women, who shrink away from the fearsome-looking warrior. Except Antonella, who stands defiantly with her chin up. And it's Antonella that Kemal stops in front of. He stares hard at her, until finally even the haughty Italian flinches and looks down. But she hisses in Latin, "What are you staring at?" "Ya Allah!" Kemal groans, slapping a hand over his face and shaking his head. Finally he comes back to you and whispers "Who is she? Do you know about her?" <><><><><> [Agnes] Agnes replies quietly in Spanish, "I know nothing of her, except that she too was captured in the raid on Rome. She has maintained a self confident and aloof - bordering on arrogant - bearing throughout." Now that Kemal has given her the opportunity to speak quietly to him she continues, "I have had an 'odd' feeling ever since Ostia: not like the Quickening, but not unlike it either. Can you feel it too? Do you know what it is?" "As for what you can do - you can pay my price and grant me my freedom. I shall pay you back of course - but unfortunately my money is still in Rome, so I may be a while." <><><><><> [GM] "Indeed?" Kemal replies dryly. He turns his head and scowls at Antonella. "I am afraid it is not quite so simple." Without giving you a chance to comment further, he turns and speaks to the two men that came in with him. They both withdraw to the other end of the room. A lengthy, whispered conversation ensues, during which the other two men glance up at you repeatedly. Finally Kemal returns, and begins speaking to your captors. You don't need to understand the language to know what this conversation is about....you recognize haggling over price when you see it. Kemal's voice rises angrily. The slave-trader negotiating with him sounds alternately indignant, offended, apologetic, and placating. The bartering goes on for quite a while. Finally, the two men throw up their hands, nod agreement and conclude their transaction with much sighing and groaning.....you'd take pleasure in the familiar scene of two merchants both putting on a great show of feeling the other has robbed them blind, if it weren't for the fact that you are the commodity being traded. Kemal and his two friends go into another room with your seller. You hear what sounds like a very large amount of silver being poured onto a table and counted. Finally they emerge, and Kemal and his comrades go outside, without a backwards glance at you. Your captors beckon to you, and loop a rope around your neck again. They do the same to Antonella. Both of you are led outside, where Kemal is standing next to a black stallion and conferring with his friends. Kemal looks at you and Antonella with an almost pained expression, but the look on the faces of the other two infidels is much more familiar....grinning lust. Your captor bows as he gives you and Antonella over to Kemal. The Saracen immortal holds both your tethers. His friends take the reins of their horses....and Kemal's horse as well. The three of them seem to be exchanging farewells. Kemal looks forlornly at the pair, as they walk away with his horse. Finally he turns to look at the two women he now has possession of. "HOW did you manage to command such a high price for yourselves?" he blurts out in Latin. He glares at you. "You aren't even a virgin!" "Goodness, perhaps I could have drooled all over myself or something...better yet, torn at my breast and ripped my hair out, and lowered my value thereby," Antonella quips sweetly. "Did you have to sell that pretty horse to buy us?" "Ya Allah!" Kemal exclaims. He grits his teeth and says "Silence is among the womanly virtues I prize the most!" He turns and begins jerking both of you along after him. "Whatever did you say to him?" Antonella whispers in your ear as you follow the Saracen. "SILENCE!" Kemal growls over his shoulder. <><><><><> [Agnes] "No, I'm not a virgin, and they made damned sure I wasn't!" she retorts in Latin to his comment. In a more matter of fact tone she continues, "I think my price may have been adversely affected by the price they had to pay to capture me. Unfortunately I could only kill two of them. Some more and they might not have taken me at all." When he tells them to be quiet she obliges, whispering "Later." to Antonella and allowing Kemal to lead them onward. After a time she realises that as well as the buzz from him, the other sensation is still there. Now there is no-one else left from her journey. In Spanish she says to Kemal, "It's her, isn't it? What is she?" <><><><><> [GM] "Later," Kemal answers you in Spanish, echoing your reply to Antonella in Latin. You realize he's leading you towards the docks. He greets a number of men that he passes, and at the walkway leading to a fairly large galley, he stops, and addresses an Arab sailor, who has trouble taking his eyes off of you and Antonella before turning to face Kemal. He bows and runs aboard the ship. By the activity taking place on the decks, it looks very much like this ship is preparing to depart very soon. Kemal stands there, waiting, then half-turns towards you, frowning. "What do you mean, they made sure you aren't?" he asks, in Latin. Antonella grimaces. "They check us, you know," she mutters, a slight flush rising on her face. Kemal looks uncomfortable, and looks away again. <><><><><> [Agnes] Agnes fights to control her anger and not aim any venom at Kemal, despite the loathing she currently feels for Saracens and all things Saracen. After a few moments trying to calm herself, she adds to Antonella's reply in Spanish. "Five of your ... them, took turns raping me!" she says to Kemal's back. She turns away from him, feeling her anger rise again, and not wishing to say anything more to sour things. Perhaps she should have said nothing then, but she had and that was that. Before she realises it, her anger has swept away her stoicism, and with it her calm. Floods of tears spill out as she weeps uncontrollably. She puts her arms around Antonella, and hugs her for support, knowing that if she lets go she will fall to the ground. After some long minutes, she releases Antonella, and bleary eyed, with tears still running, looks back at Kemal. Attempting to speak with composure, but not being very successful, she says in Spanish, "I appologise for the scene Kemal. I shall not do it in public again." Wiping her eyes and cheeks with the hem of her robe, she asks in Latin, "To where are we bound?" <><><><><> [GM] Kemal's head jerks back towards you. "They raped you?" he repeats, sounding...annoyed. Antonella looks at you wide-eyed. "They did *that* to you?" She lays her hands on your shoulders awkwardly when you begin clinging to her and crying. Kemal is silent for long moments, then says slowly, "They should not have done that. It is against our faith to use force with a woman....even infidels and slaves." He doesn't sound horrified, so much as offended...like a Christian indignant at someone laboring on the Sabbath. He grits his teeth and mutters something in his language, then says, "They should be brought to justice. They have violated the word of the Prophet, and must be punished." He looks over his shoulder at the galley. "But we cannot tarry here. Damnation!" "Well, you could always untie us and leave us here....I'm sure Agnes and I will be happy to seek justice on our own," Antonella suggests. Kemal favors her with a sour look, and is about to reply, when an imposing- looking Muslim comes striding down the walkway from the galley. Kemal bites off his reply and turns to speak with this man. They argue at length, and you and Antonella seem to be part of what they are arguing about. Antonella whispers in your ear, "What do you think the chances are that we could overpower him and jump overboard, once we're out of port? I'm not a great swimmer, but we could grab a cask or something to help us float...." The other man, looking very displeased, walks back up to the ship, and Kemal returns to the two of you. "Agnes," he says in a solemn tone, and continues in Spanish, "I have no choice, I must leave now. And you must come with me. But at the earliest opportunity, I will come back to Sicily with you and seek out the men who transgressed against you. I will also write a letter to the Caliph's mufti in Palermo, and send it back immediately upon our arrival in Tunis. This crime is not something to be taken lightly, and I will do everything within my power to see they are punished. You have my word." With that solemn, but somehow not very comforting promise, he begins leading the two of you up the plank onto the galley. Antonella mutters "I don't speak much Spanish, I only caught a little of that...we're going to Tunis?" "Yes," Kemal says, without turning around. "Now for the last time, be silent, woman!" <><><><><> [Agnes] Surprised at the sympathy Kemal has shown, she says nothing, and allows herself to be taken onboard the galley. On the journey she will continue to keep track of the navigation, but she doesn't feel her need is so desperate this time. Once they are on board and relatively free to speak, she tries to disuade Antonella from jumping overboard, and in fact will physically restrain her from doing so, having warned Antonella that she will. It is not a death she would wish on anyone, never mind a mortal for whom it would be terminal. "There will be no convenient cask, and we will drown. I will not let you try, never mind the overpower him bit." "Antonella," she adds, "I have met him before, some years ago, I asked him to pay my price. I would rather wait and see what his intention is before trying to escape." <><><><><> [GM] The headstrong girl seems disappointed that you failed to endorse her escape plan...but she also seems a little relieved too. She probably didn't really want to jump overboard. But remembering how you felt when you awoke on a Viking longship, you can sympathize with her, as the two of you, still with wrists tied and a rope around your necks, are led onto a galley filled with leering Saracens. Kemal takes you to a compartment below the deck, where supplies are stored. You and Antonella are to share quarters with other goods, such as iron ore and glass and caskets of dye. He considers the two of you, and then slowly draws a knife and cuts your bonds. Antonella begins staring at him, and at you, obviously thinking this would be a good time to try to overpower him. Of course she hasn't thought beyond that, like to how you would then get past all the sailors on the deck. Kemal shakes his head and makes an exasperated sound. "Behave yourself girl, or I will have you lashed to the bow." Antonella blinks, and sits down hard. Kemal looks down at you. "I have no time to speak to you now," he says in Spanish, "but we must speak later. We will have to come to an....understanding." He scowls, glancing back at Antonella. "The crew will be keeping a close eye out for you, and if you try to come on deck, you'll be stopped before you even emerge. So don't try to escape. If you commit any mischief down here....well, the captain will probably order you flogged." Then he continues, in a gentler tone. "You will not be mistreated, Agnes, you have my word. No one here will lay hands on you, unless it's to prevent your trying to jump overboard, or damage the ship...or its crew. I will answer those questions you had earlier, once we are underway. But please do not try my patience. This is hardly a situation I chose for either of us." He bows in farewell, and leaves you alone in the creaking, groaning compartment below the deck. You hear men running around overhead, shouting in the infidel language, and something chitters off in a corner. Kemal's Quickening still thrums up and down your spine, as it will for this entire journey. Alone with Antonella again, you're also aware of the continuing sensation of something else....which you now know comes from her. She rubs her chafed wrists. "So what was that all about?" she asks, speaking Latin. "What happens to us now? He takes us to Tunis, and we become his harem slaves?" She grits her teeth. "I'm not going to endure what you did....if those Saracen dogs try to have some sport with me, I'll kill myself first!" Her sentiments are painfully familiar. "And if he thinks *I'm* going to be a docile little slave-girl, he's wrong!" Despite her fierce words, you see the first signs of her haughty demeanor fraying....her voice trembles a little at the last statement, and she has to take a deep breath. You even see tears forming at the corners of her eyes. <><><><><> [Agnes] Agnes replies in Spanish in a similar tone. "Thank you Kemal. I shall not try to escape on the journey, and I shall try to stop Antonella from doing so too. Once we are underway, with that promise in mind, can we be allowed on deck? At least for our ablusions?" She bows her head back to Kemal as he leaves. As Antonella finally cracks, she puts her arms arund her and holds her tight. "It's all right Antonella. It could be worse. You could be on your own. And Kemal has at least shown some kindness - our bonds are cut. I'm sure some would have left us tied even if we had been going to Jerusalem." As the other sobs, Agnes struggles to know what to say, without saying too much. "I know how you feel, after all I'm in the same situation." She longs to give a better explanation, to explain that this is the second time it's happened to her, but she could hardly say her choice of death over servitude resulted in her ressurection, and any explanation other than that would merely give heart to the poor girl's suicidal plans. She sits Antonella down, and sits with her a while, and then walks around the store inspecting the goods, initially out of curiosity, but then with a trader's eye, and finally with a warrior's one. She selects a suitable shard of glass, to make a dagger, and then blunts the part she intends to grip with the iron ore. "Kemal may keep his word," she tells Antonella, "but that doesn't mean that the rest of the crew will heed it." As she takes a rest from blunting the edges of her handle, she spies the fallen rope from their bonds. "How are you with rope?" she asks, and then says "Never mind." as she realises that she too would be useless with the stuff had it not been for years at sea. She works at making a rough belt with a loop to hold her dagger that she can wear under her robe. If nothing else it keeps her occupied. <><><><><> [GM] Kemal sighs and nods. "We will make some sort of arrangement," he replies. Antonella watches you, fascinated, as you fashion your crude dagger, and begins trying to do the same thing. She promptly slices a finger open, and drops the rough glass with a shriek. After that, she simply leans back against a box of iron ingots, sucking on her finger, and occasionally asking you questions- "Where are you from?" "What were you doing in Rome when the Saracens attacked?" "How did you meet Kemal before?" You feel the familiar lurch of a ship sliding free of its moorings, and you know you are underway, heading towards infidel lands. A little bit of light seeps into the hold through gaps in the seams of the deck, so you know when the sun goes down. Antonella's questions are becoming petulant and irritating- when she's not proposing absurd escape plans- "Perhaps we could set the ship on fire!"- she's whining about the same things that are bothering you; the discomfort of being confined down here, displeasure at your situation in general, so on. You're actually glad to see Kemal when he finally comes down the ladder...especially since he brings food. "Well, I hope you've been enjoying the nice fresh sea breeze!" Antonella says. "Never mind that we've been stifling hot down here, and hungry and thirsty and not even a decent place to pee! So how long is this trip supposed to take, anyway? And what are you planning to do with us when we arrive in your ungodly city? I'll tell you one thing right now-" Kemal's hands open and close, as if he is restraining an impulse to violate his vow not to lay them on her. Then he advances swiftly on her, and his sword comes out in a blur. Antonella's tirade ends in a squeak as she begins scooting herself backwards along the floor of the hold, with the point of Kemal's sword pressed against her throat. "I will tell *you* one thing right now," he says grimly. "I purchased you, which makes you my slave, and I *will* have respect and obedience from you! If you find your conditions unpleasant, perhaps being hobbled, tied and gagged in the forward compartment, which is a great deal cooler, seeing as how it leaks, would give you a sense of appreciation for how accomodating I have been thus far!" He lowers his sword slowly. Antonella looks up at him with wide-eyes, and for a moment you're afraid she's going to reply with another angry retort, and who knows whether that will test Kemal's patience to the limit. But fortunately, she either lacks the nerve, or has gained too much sense, to continue. "In the future and until I say otherwise, you will not speak in my presence unless spoken to, and when you do speak, you will address me as 'Master'. Is that understood, girl?" The beautiful Italian flushes angrily, but when Kemal's swordpoint starts to move back in her direction, she stammers "Y..yes...m...*Master*." The last word emerges through clenched teeth, and she looks down at her feet while she says it. Kemal stands there for a moment, then turns and sheaths his sword with a smooth motion. "Agnes....when you are finished eating, I will be waiting for you above. Please settle the girl-child down, and then come up on deck." With that, he climbs back up the ladder and disappears out the hatch. Antonella starts to sputter indignantly, and then breaks down and starts bawling. <><><><><> [Agnes] "I am a merchant. My husband and I run - ran - a trade caravan through Italy, Provence and France. I met Kemal one time in the South of France. We had a mutual acquaintance who has since died. That's why I remember him. ... " Agnes answers Antonella's incessant questions as best she can without giving herself away. "The caravan was in Rome .. I am from Northumbria ..." but the answers get shorter and the pauses before each one longer. She watches Antonella's incident with Kemal with interest. "I will, Kemal." she answers him, and watches him leave. As she sits eating her food, Agnes says to Antonella, "Have you learned a lesson? Your world as it was is no more, and your old way of reacting to it no longer does you any good. " She offers her some of the food. "Here we are, equals. both bought as slaves from the same market at the same time by the same man, and yet now, by your own actions we are different. Because you insisted on speaking, you _have to_ remain silent in his presence. Because I chose to remain largely silent, I have the option of speaking. You _have to_ call him 'Master' despite it sticking in your throat as much as it would mine, I can get away with calling him 'Kemal', but I will chose to call him 'Master' on those occasions that warrant it in order to preserve my privilege. For that is what it is. Much as it sickens me - he _has_ *bought* us. We are but items to use abuse and throw away, much like the rest of the goods in this hold. I cherish every little thing that lets me feel that I am more free than I could be. The privilege of being able to call him other than Master is one of those things. That he trusts my word sufficient to allow me on deck is another. You have denied yourself these little things, and will have to work hard to regain them. And to what gain. A fleeting opportunity to tell him how he had not treated you in the manner to which you had become accustomed, rather than to thank him for not treating you in the manner that you might have expected." She finishes her portion of the food, and wipes her fingers on her robes, as she stands. "Humility is much prized by the Church. You would do well to remember that life as a slave will be easier if you learn some. For both our sakes. Now this humble slave will see what our master wants of her," she says with a 'brave-face' smile. At the top of the steps, she pauses and looks back. "Please don't do anything foolish. We are on a boat, at sea with an unknown number of Arab sailors and soldiers on board. Nothing we try will do us any good until we have somewhere to run." She knocks at the door, and then opens it to step through onto the deck. <><><><><> [GM] Antonella is silent throughout your lecture. She doesn't say a word as you leave. Kemal is standing up on the deck, arms folded, as you emerge from the hold. The ocean breeze is refreshingly cool. Besides Kemal, you see a few other Saracens on deck, but they're up by the stern or down towards the bow. Kemal and you have been given plenty of space. He watches you stand and get your balance on the rocking deck. The first thing he says is, "My full name is Kemal ibn-Hakim ibn-Daud Hajji. The proper form for you to use in addressing me casually is 'ibn-Hakim ibn-Daud', or 'ibn-Hakim' when brevity is necessary. 'Kemal' is far too informal for a slave to use when addressing her master." Then his tone becomes softer, and less pompous. "I lost my temper with the girl. I apologize for that. She is....very trying. I had no intention of sailing back to Tunis with two slaves, one of whom is obviously a spoiled child." He turns away, and begins pacing on the deck. "Unfortunately, it is her more than you that I must be concerned with." He looks out over the waves. "The girl is an immortal, Agnes. She doesn't know it yet, because she hasn't died her first death. That is what you sensed about her...her unfulfilled destiny." <><><><><> [Agnes] "Yes, ibn-Hakim ibn-Daud," she replies sadly, feeling herself slip a little more towards the status of a horse. Bitterness encroaches on her, despite her lecture to Antonella. But she says nothing and watches him as he paces the deck. "Oh." is all she replies, realising that Antonella's plan which would have involved getting themselves both killed hadn't been such a poor one after all. When he looks at her expecting her to have said more, she replies, "I am but your Slave, ibn-Hakim ibn-Daud, that that is our relationship despite our having immortality in common, is plain. I therefore wouldn't presume to ask you what you what your plans for us are, nor presume to offer suggestions." "I shall, like all the other slaves you no doubt have, carry out your wishes without comment, and hope that at some point in my -considerable- lifetime you generously grant me my freedom, or I escape: waiting for death not being an option for either the master nor the slave." <><><><><> [GM] Something goes over the Saracen's face...irritation? Guilt? Something else? Hard to tell. "Now look!" he snaps. "There are other Muslim immortals in Palermo, and they are not so tolerant as I. They would have simply taken both your heads." "I paid nearly everything I had and then some, including my beautiful Rashid, to buy the two of you. That puts you in my debt, and while you seem honorable enough, inasmuch as a woman is capable of comprehending honor, I'm not about to just set you free so you can someday, somehow, find me again, and acquire the money to pay me back, and not lose your head in the meantime." He presses his palms together, and seems to be trying to calm himself. In a milder voice, he says, "I am not such a harsh master. I set all my previous slaves free before I left the holy lands. I do not intend to keep you enslaved forever. And *you* may speak freely to me...so long as you are polite. The girl I would prefer remain silent for now." His voice takes on an ironic tone at the last comment. He gestures downwards, towards the hold where Antonella is no doubt huddled up feeling sorry for herself. "The girl needs to be trained. I could not simply abandon her, but I have no idea how to teach a *woman*." He shakes his head. "So we are all bound together in this. Now can we come to a reasonable understanding, or am I going to have to treat you like a dangerous animal that may attempt to escape or turn on me at any time?" <><><><><> [Agnes] "Then I shall endevour to be polite at all times, ibn-Hakim ibn-Daud. And since you will allow me to speak freely I shall say this: That I am disappointed that you plan to keep me a slave I think is obvious. But from what I have heard of the Saracen attitude to women that are _not_ slaves, I think my exact status probably makes little difference. As to honour, no, I cannot fully comprehend what your concept of 'honour' is. But as I have been a merchant for almost half a century, I do understand what it means to give my word. If a merchant's word is worth nothing, then she is worth nothing. I said that I would not try to escape on the journey, and would try to stop Antonella from doing likewise. I said that I would eventually repay you. You may take these things as Gospel - sorry, whatever you have." she allows heself an ebarassed smile. "You have put an obligation upon me with regards Antonella, _more_ than just giving a slave a task that the master declines to do for himself. However I accept that obligation, and I shall not abandon her until she has become immortal and been taught enough to survive. As for turning upon you like a dangerous animal: had I wanted to try for your head, I would have done so in Aquitaine. I shall not try for it now, nor at least until after - say, I have paid my respects to the memory of my late mentor at his monastery in Northumbria. For as long as I am your _slave_, ibn-Hakim ibn-Daud, that is all I promise." <><><><><> [GM] Kemal ibn-Hakim scowls. "We *protect* our women. The Prophet, blessed be his name, commanded that women are to be treated with respect and gentleness..." his voice trails off and he actually looks away at the change in your expression. He coughs with embarrassment. "Yes, there are bad Muslims, just as I daresay there are bad Christians. I...I am deeply ashamed that you were treated so, by men of my faith." He paces away from you, hands clasped behind his back, and then turns slowly back towards you. "I do not fear your attempting to take my head in a duel, woman. You were no match for me in Aquitaine, and I doubt very much you are a match for me now." He frowns. "But I take your point." "What you are asking for," he says slowly, "is respect, and trust. Both are qualities that must be earned, and not qualities I normally attribute to infidels, or women." He meets your gaze steadily. "I grant, however, that you may have reason to hold similar reservations about Muslim men." "Let us wait until we arrive in Tunis, and I...we, have been able to settle into my new household. I have a great deal to do in Tunis, and little time to worry about..." he waves one hand vaguely in the air, "*these* matters." "Then, perhaps we can discuss our...relationship again." <><><><><> [Agnes] "The promise I made for the duration of the journey, I extend to a month after our arrival at your home, ibn-Hakim, ibn-Daud.", she responds, and waits. After a few moments, she asks, "Forgive my imprudence, ibn-Hakim, ibn-Daud, but I am unaccustomed to the role of slave. Is there anything more, or am I dismissed?" After she is dismissed she bows and returns to the door to the hold, opens it and descends, closing it behind her. "I am not a good teacher, Antonella. I am unable to practice what I preach. Some of the privelages I cherished have been eroded without concern for my reaction, and our previous acquaintance stands for a lot less than I had hoped. I allowed myself to become bitter about it." She walks over to where Antonella is, and flops down beside her. "I promised that I would not escape until at least a month had passed after we reached his home, and that I would stop you from trying to escape too." She smiles at her, "I thought it only fair to warn you, and ask you to respect my promise. After that time? Well it remains to be seen what life is like as a slave in his household." She takes Antonia's hands in hers. "We are in this together. One day we'll see St. Peter's again." <><><><><> [GM] "Yes, go!" he says, with a frustrated wave of his hand. To your back he says "And when we are in private, ibn-Hakim will suffice henceforth." Antonella sits on the floor of the hold, knees up to her buxom chest, head resting dejectedly on her knees. She just looks up at you when you tell her about your agreement with Kemal, then lowers her forehead back onto her knees. The rest of the journey passes with little incident. Kemal does allow you and Antonella to come up on deck twice a day, in the morning and in the evening. He seems to have seen to it that the crew will stay away from you while you make your ablutions and get some fresh air, but he always hovers not too far away. You catch Antonella looking over the side with a thoughtful expression, more than once, but you don't have to grab her. Her whining diminishes, though it doesn't cease. She offers some token complaints every so often, as if to keep her spirits up. In Kemal's presence, however, she is completely silent. Kemal comes down one night, cursing as the ship sways and almost throws him off the ladder. The seas have been choppy for the last day, and you had to persuade him to allow Antonella up on deck more often, as she's been getting severely seasick. "You'll be pleased to know we will be making port in Carthage tomorrow morning," he says. "We'll ride from there to Tunis; we should arrive by nightfall." He pauses, then adds, "I know this has been a very unpleasant trip, however short. I *did* try to persuade the captain to give you more freedom, even allow you to stay in the forward hold with the horses, which would at least have given you more sunlight and fresh air. But he refused; it was all I could do to bring you on board in the first place." He sighs. "I am sorry. I don't want you to think you were treated this way because I am cruel." Antonella looks at the floor. "No, we were treated this way because slaves rank below horses in value, no?" Then adds, "Master." Kemal scowls, but says nothing. He glances at you, and there's no mistaking that his conscience has been pricked somewhat. Then he wordlessly climbs back up the ladder to exit. <><><><><> [Agnes] Agnes watches him go, and looks round at Antonella. "You are not helping yourself. Yes, it was a true statement. Yes, it inflicted some hurt. And yes, I'm sort of glad it was said. But speaking without his permission and doing so to embarras him is not going to help to get him to treat you more civily." She gives a small laugh. "I'm one to talk. I merely wait for him to allow me to speak freely before digging myself deeper into a hole." She makes the finishing touches to her dagger's hemp-bound handle, crude sheath and tries it on under her robe. Turning round slowly she asks, "Is it obvious?" "Since I've extended my word to cover a month after we get to whereever we're going, I can't actually see this being any use, as I'm sure I'll have found something better by then, but it seems a shame just to leave it behind. Still, I suppose anything could happen on the road. She looks at her feet, and then Antonella's. "I wonder if he will get us sandals? I don't for a moment think that when he said '_we_ will ride from there to Tunis' that the two of us would be getting a horse - or a mule for the purpose."