Dukkering, Chapter Three: Soldier of Fortune by Baron Bardulf

After a candle had been placed in a window, the sound of a carriage could be heard outside. A man and a woman entered and surveyed what was before them. Although they were dressed like commoners, their disguises failed instantly.

He was old and bearded but presented himself with the calm, rock-solid demeanor of a seasoned warrior. He was a man born to command armies, yet there was a sense of earthy humility about him. He expected obedience and devotion, not out of pride, but simply because that was the natural order of things.

Although she too carried the weight of many years, the woman was unlike her companion. The dark skin and eyes bespoke a Turk, or perhaps a Moor. While it was clear that the other four men beheld her with respect and awe, fear was easily seen behind their regard. They took pains never to look her in the eyes.

“Are we alone?”

“Yes Sire - as you have ordered, there are none here but the gypsy woman.”

"Take your men outside. Stay in the shadows, remain unseen and allow no one to enter."

"Sir Tancred..." The ice in the woman's voice halted them. "...that doesn't mean you can kill some unlucky wretch."

When the door shut, the old man glared at the woman beside him.

"I'll thank you not to address my men in that way. Tancred's a fine knight..."

"- and a damned sorry excuse for a monk. Have you forgotten what he did to those poor bastards at Caesarea? They had laid down their weapons and yet he slaughtered them.”

The man shrugged off the reproach and turned his attention to Dulcinaya.

“So that’s her, eh? - that gypsy?”

“Don’t make light of the humble; she is a powerful seer.”

“How did you learn of that knave’s ‘talents’?”

“I have my own gifts.”

He gave the old woman a look of barely contained disgust. “I’ve had enough of your foul arts.”

“I didn’t choose to be what I am - and neither did she.”

The man strode across the room and stood before Dulcinaya’s table.

"Now then…” He placed his fists on the table-board and leaned closer. “…tell me my future with those cards and we'll be done."

"Cards?” Dulcy’s eyes opened wide with sudden panic. “Oh, you mean these? Fortune telling?? N-N-Never M'Lord!!! I'll not do such a loathsome thing! These cards are for clever tricks, idle amusements, games of chance, sleight of hand...."

“There! - you see? Here is your great oracle! This miserable creature has confessed herself to be a fraud. We’re done here! I’m through with this nonsense.”

"Stop it, Jacques. You’re scaring her. She thinks you're a witch-hunter."

"Me, a witch-hunter? Of that you must have no fear." He looked at the older woman with a wry smile. "I've already found all the witchcraft I can deal with."

“Pray, be seated.” The woman took her place at the end of the table while “Jacques” made a great show of sullen resignation and sat opposite Dulcinaya. “You must forgive the old dog.” Her voice hinted at affection. “He’s a soldier. Oft-times he forgets that not everyone must jump when he barks.”

The woman’s demeanor shifted. The dark eyes beheld the gypsy with a serious and uncompromising regard. “I now ask for your service…and above all…your trust.”

She reached beneath her cloak and unfastened a leather pouch that hung from a belt.

“NO!” He rose to his feet and bellowed. “I FORBID IT!!”

“You can’t stop me. Accept that…”

“You don’t dare…you wretch! Have you forgotten your oath?”

“Spare me the lecture - I’m not one of your acolytes."

“If you defy me….”

“Even in my defiance I will honor my oath. I pledged you my service - not my obedience! When you spared my life at Antioch, I gave my vow to you. In Jerusalem I accepted the burden that you placed upon me. I have served you like no other.”

“If it’s any comfort to you, you were my last choice.”

“I was your only choice. Only I could bear its touch without going mad. How many of your men paid dearly for that knowledge? I’ve often marveled at my fate. How can it be that only an infidel woman can hold and possess the object that all of Christendom desires?"

The dark eyes grew cold.

"Mark my words, you fool! You and your knights are too rich, too powerful, and too proud. The whirlwind is coming, Jacques. I can feel it, but I cannot see it! It will soon be upon us and it may already be too late. The gypsy is your only hope."

The old man looked at the woman. His eyes searched her as one who was grasping for a shred of trust.

"Please believe me." Her voice softened. "If there were any other way........"

Jacques slowly regained his seat. “May God forgive me for this.”

The woman opened the pouch and produced a well-worn goblet and cruet.



© 2010 Baron Bardulf

Dukkering, Chapter Two: The Gypsy Trap by Baron Bardulf

Life would slow down after All Hallows Day. The harvest was done and the farmers had plenty of idle time and idle money. On a cold night, they would find their way into the tavern. The lure of a warm fire, the company of friends and perhaps some spiced wine would prove irresistible.

Dulcy usually set herself up in the fire-side corner of the public room. An azure tablecloth, two borrowed candles and some scattered herbs would set the stage. There she would hold court like a ragged gypsy mage-queen.

In that corner, magic reigned and a ha’penny or other petty coin would buy a peek at whatever the future held. While a palm reading was best for some queries, the cards were Dulcinaya’s favorite.

Theatrics were the enchantment of the game. Each card was revealed slowly and teasingly. The turn of a card brought forth a look of grave concern, feigned shock, or perhaps surprised delight. The secret to dukkering was to answer each question with yet another question. Thus a heart’s desires would be laid bare. When a few more cards were shown, there would be a raised eyebrow, a knowing glance, or perhaps a conspiratorial wink and a sly smile. Whispering a vague prophecy somehow made it all seem true.

However, this Sabbath’s Eve had been a wretchedly slow night, and there was naught but three pence in her purse to show for it.

It was near closing time. A few farmers argued drunkenly as to what next year’s market would bring. Off in the other corner there were four strangers who drank and kept mostly to themselves. One could overhear the usual debate concerning the vagaries of gambling, the fickleness of women, or the merits of one horse over another. By the look of them, they were likely nothing more than sell-swords.

“Tis Sabbath Eve, gentlemen, and midnight is upon us - we must bid all a good night.” The serving wench made her usual announcement to no one in particular. The farmers downed the last of their grog and ale while gathering their cloaks. The four in the corner didn’t so much as lift their cups. The wench went over to their table. “There’s an inn less than a league north of here. I’m sure you gentlemen will find a night’s rest there.” They kept their seats and said nothing as the last of the farmers left the tavern. “Surely you'll not break the Sabbath? There’ll be hell to pay if the Vicar finds out that you were sitting here with an ale in your hand past midnight.”

“What about the gypsy?” One of the men queried.

“I let her stay because she helps me clean up. Now out with all of you! None of you look like the sort who will sweep floors.”

“Sit down and be silent, woman.”

“I’ve no patience for your nonsense. I’ve got work to do. Now get out!”

The man stood up and towered over the wench. “That wasn’t a suggestion.”

He turned to the other three and gave orders…"You guard the door - and keep the gypsy in her seat. Search the larder and kitchen - make sure no one else is here.”

The brute held the trembling woman's face before his.

"Leave this place, tell no one what you have seen, and do not return until sunrise. If you disobey, the gypsy..." He glanced in Dulcinaya's direction. "...will be found feeding the crows in a field somewhere. Do you understand?"

The wench gave a terrified nod and fled the tavern.

"Give the signal that it's safe to enter."



© 2010 Baron Bardulf

Dukkering, Chapter One: Consciousness by Baron Bardulf

Consciousness, when it arrived, simply hurt.

Maybe the damned priest was right.....I am bound for Hell...
That the rhythm of pain kept pace with a heartbeat and thus gave evidence of life blessed her with an odd sort of comfort.

The gray peace of oblivion enfolded once again......

"HOW'S THE DRUNK?"

A blast of cold air invaded the lungs and dragged her once more amongst the living. Dulcinaya rose upon one elbow and faced the open door. Squinting through a single blood-shot eye, she discerned Elphin's silhouette.

She gave him a terse description of how his ancestor's unfortunate mating choices had cursed this land with his existence. He smirked, shook his head and slammed the door with malicious effort.

"God-damned gadjos - why do I keep taking in every stray dog?"

"Go easy on him. When you didn't come home on Sunday morn, Elphin went to fetch you. The rest of us thought nothing of it - after all, it wouldn't be the first time you and the serving wench got snockered after hours." Katherine spoke gently. "Elphin carried you all the way from the tavern by himself. He swears he didn't drop you on your head more than twice."
"Where am I?"

"You're in your own bed. You're safe - now shut up and lie down."

Katherine pressed a cold rag against Dulcy's forehead.

"By the way, Morwenna says you're not drunk and you don't have a hangover - you've been drugged."

"Mow....who?"
"Mor-Wen-Nah... remember her? She's another stray-dog gadjo you took in recently. That 'dog' has been with you ever since Elphin brought you in - she left only after I threatened to throw her out."
Dulcinaya took a deep breath and held her eyes shut.

"Whenever I can eat again, I'd like a large plate of crow."

"Save the humility. We all know you're not well."

"How did Morwenna know that I was drugged?"

Katherine remained silent and only raised an eyebrow - a prudent woman never revealed where such knowledge came from.

"Leave those things to the healers."
Dulcy rolled upright, sat on the edge of the bed and buried her face in her hands.

"Morwenna said to give this to you when you were strong enough. She said it would help clear your head."

Dulcy gave the potion a sniff and recoiled. That was followed by a tentative sip.

"Augggh! This stuff is awful!

"Drink it, it's good for you."
"Drink it? - I'd sooner kiss a pig's........."

"Aysha's sow just had a litter. I'll fetch one for you - got any preferences?"

When presented in that manner, the correct choice was obvious. Dulcinaya took a few deep breaths, steeled herself and downed the entire dose in a single gulp. Her eyes bulged as the cup shattered on the floor.

"Oh - My - Gawd." The words were forced out between croaking gasps.

"You were supposed to sip it, dammit."

"Yeah, thanks for telling me. I hope that was fun to watch."

Katherine placed a finger to her lips to compel silence and gave a quick glance about to make sure there were no others present.

"After Morwenna told me you had been drugged, I was pretty sure that you had been robbed." Katherine leaned close and spoke in a low voice. "As soon as she left, I looked to see if there was anything in your purse."
" - Bet it was kind of empty, eh? - At least I know the bastards didn't get much..."

"- Shut up and let me finish. When I emptied your purse onto the table there were three coppers.."

"- So what? That's just about all I ever have....."

"... and ten gold florins..."
Katherine waited until the shock began to fade from Dulcinaya's face.

"Close your mouth, you look like a fish."

"Y'know, sometimes your sense of humor really gets on my nerves....."

"I wasn't joking and you have some explaining to do. What happened at the tavern?"

"I'm having trouble remembering anything from last night. Hell, when I woke up, I didn't recognize my own vardo."

"It didn't happen last night. Today is Monday - you've been unconscious for a whole day."
Dulcinaya collapsed back onto the bed and wrapped the pillow around her head.

"Gimme some time, this may take a while to piece together."

© 2010 Baron Bardulf