“Well, what do you remember?” Katherine hovered close.
“The woman gave me something to drink in a beat-up old goblet. She said it was a potion that would protect me. I was cautioned to drink it slowly. It had an odd taste, very sweet and bitter at the same time.”
“As soon as I touched the goblet, everything shifted, it all was so clear and transparent - no, that’s not it. It was as if I became transparent. Nothing came from me, it all came through me from somewhere else. I had no fear, no thoughts, and nothing to remember…”
“Everything was revealed to him - I spared him nothing. When I turned up the 'Tower' card, I saw it all - betrayal, torture, disgrace, and death by fire. To his credit, I saw him flinch only once.”
“The infidel would escape - but just barely… I told her where to hide something. If she did so, the old woman would win her freedom before she too died.”
“That’s the last thing I can remember before I woke up here.”
Dulcy’s voice trailed off. “I’ve tried over and over to recall what I said, but I just can’t. The memories keep going through my head like a song. I know the melody, but I can’t remember the lyrics.”
Katherine interrupted gently. "I was thinking about that gold...."
"Yeah, me too. I already know what you're going to say." Dulcinaya smiled sadly. "I know they meant well, but they might as well have filled my purse with rocks. We can't do anything with that gold - it’s worthless. You and I must keep it hidden and never tell a soul. If that wealth became known, every cutthroat in God’s creation would hunt us down."
"Besides, I’m a dirt-poor gypsy. Can you imagine me telling a judge that two strangers that nobody else saw drugged me and then stuffed my purse with ten gold florins?”
“It’s not hard to imagine at all. After he enjoyed a good laugh, the judge would hang the whole Kumpania as thieves." Katherine scowled, as if to recall an odd memory. “I didn’t think of it until now, but there’s one more thing. Elphin told me that when he pulled your face off the table, you opened your eyes for a moment and said one word before passing out again.”
“What did I say?”
“Rosslyn” Katherine eyed Dulcy quizzically. “Got any idea what it means?”
Dulcinaya pondered a moment and shrugged. “No - not a clue.”
© 2010 Baron Bardulf
Showing posts with label Bardulf. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bardulf. Show all posts
Friday, June 18, 2010
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
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
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
Monday, May 24, 2010
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
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
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
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."
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
Sunday, June 14, 2009
How Bardulf and Morwenna Came to Join the Kumpania
By Bardulf & Morwenna
How was I was kidnapped by the gypsies? Did I say kidnapped? Well, not really kidnapped…. It’s a bit more complicated than that.
Have a seat my friend, and for the price of an ale, I’ll tell you a tale…..
By nature, I’m an ordinary seaman with just enough talent to be a second mate. While not a lavish life, it was tolerable enough. Tolerable enough until I happened to take a shine to a Cornish lass.
That girl had a mind for merchanting. ‘Tis known that not many need a keg of nails and fewer yet have the money to buy a keg of nails - but everyone needs a few nails now and then.
It wasn’t long before she discovered that when you sold nails by the dozen, you could earn more than the money it cost to buy the same number of nails by the keg. Pretty soon, we had a profitable ship chandler business.
What does any sailor with too much money buy? No, not whiskey - a ship! We bought a run-down, old merchantman that brought us a tidy profit in trade with the Dutch - which of course we used to buy another ship - and in turn, another!
Do you remember that splendid little war we had with the French a few years back?
I do.
Some sorry Frog man-o-war boarded my ship and stole my cargo!
Facing ruin, I did what a man had to do. I turned privateer - I was not a pirate you understand; all my vessels had a proper letter of marque - signed by the King himself! We showed the damned French what happens when you steal from an Englishman!
That privateering was rather rewarding made the revenge sweeter. Riches and honors came in abundance. My lady & I were proclaimed Baron & Baroness by the King - however, with no Baronial lands they were perhaps empty titles….
So far, so good. ‘Tis said however, that good fortune will test you as surely as any adversity.
Well, the old king (God rest his soul) dies and his idiot son marries a French princess, and just like that, the French are now our allies! -
And just like that, French ships are no longer fair game and I’m now a pirate! How’s that, you ask? When the they steal your cargo, it’s a “prize of war” - when you return the courtesy, well, that’s piracy!!
It seems the damned Frogs were also a bit upset that I sank a few of their ships.
How many? - perhaps a dozen, maybe more…..
Not finding a gallows to my liking, we hid from the French in the only place a Frenchman would never look…..
France.
One dark and stormy night, the Baroness and I took our comfort in what might be generously deemed a tavern - it was “The Old Brown Cow” - or some such name. While the ale was tolerable enough, the port sherry truly pleased my palate and I indulged more than a gentleman should. That’s the only excuse I have for what follows….
The “entertainment” on that evening was an odd lot of gypsies. One woman danced and tried to coax a few coins from the patrons. Three others tried to coax a danceable tune from instruments that had clearly seen better days.
The dancer might have succeeded were it not for a man that sat close by. He seemed pleasant enough, but would always favor any patron that paid too much attention to the dancer with a deadpan glare that warned any man to keep his distance. That he also kept a rapier within arm’s reach didn’t help her income a bit.
The Baroness yawned, looked bored, and excused herself.
Moments later, ‘twas then that six men entered…..
By the look of them, they were the Sheriff, four bailiffs, and a somewhat aggrieved-looking farmer.
“That’s her! - That’s the thieving wench!”
The dancer froze but a moment, then ran for the kitchen door - and right into the arms of a waiting bailiff. He spun the woman around, seized her by the scruff of the neck and pinned one arm behind her back.
“Release her.”
It was the fellow with the rapier who spoke. It was a simple, dry, matter-of-fact command that a prudent man would heed.
Prudent men were in short supply that night.
“Or what?”
May the Gods save us from such idiots. The idiot in question was the youngest bailiff. The youth compounded his lunacy by drawing a sword and turning to face the seated man.
With a speed I would not have credited to a mortal, the man rose, and unsheathed the rapier. One fluid blow stuck the sword from the bailiff’s hand and the return stroke pinned the fool against a wall.
When everything stopped moving, the room was full of bared steel.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that the blond gypsy woman that had played the fiddle had chosen her targets and was quietly readying two throwing knives.
“Gentlemen…..”
I stood and walked to the center of the room, clearly unarmed and brandishing only my purse.
“….there’s no need for this to end badly.”
I held out the purse to the farmer and shook it so that all could hear the coins inside. I saw no reason to reveal that those coins were but a handful of coppers.
“What was taken? A few eggs - perhaps a chicken or two? Surely those things are not worth a man’s life.”
“The first man who moves, I’ll kill you where you stand.”
A familiar feminine voice - the Baroness had returned. She stood in the kitchen doorway brandishing a wheel-lock that I had given her some time ago.
“Put the pistol down, my dear - there’s no need for that. I’ll explain later.”
“I step out for a moment to visit the loo and when I come back you’re surrounded by armed men while holding your purse out! And this is the thanks I get? I’ll be damned if I ever save your sorry Saxon arse….”
She never finished the tirade because a deafening report filled the room. The Sheriff’s hat was shredded, but thankfully the head below it was spared.
I really did intend to have the pistol repaired someday. Whenever the clockwork was over-wound, the trigger pawl had a nasty habit of slipping, causing the gun to fire without actually pulling the trigger.
In truth, I can remember but snippets of what followed - things did happen faster than the most even-tempered of men could observe.
I’ll give the gypsies credit for being a quick-witted lot - everyone of them seized whatever opportunity the confusion provided.
The dancer broke free when she came down hard on her captor’s toes with her heel. She then wheeled about and settled a private debt. While I didn’t witness what she did to his nethers, his bulging eyes bespoke the result.
I don’t recall which of them grabbed the Baroness & I pulled us out the door.
We were guided along a path through the woods that I could not have found, let alone followed in the dark. Presently, we entered their encampment and were given food and drink and a place to rest.
“The Sherengro wants to meet you two. Address her as the ‘Rani Bari’. She’s been told what happened at the tavern.”
The woman sat at the edge of a campfire and barely took note of our approach. Her attention centered on some cards that were spread out on a small carpet.
“You two are bit old for brawlin’, eh?”
“I fear we’re at the mercy of your hospitality, Rani Bari. Everything we had is back at the Tavern. We dare not return for it.”
“This Kumpania honors its debts and its friends.”
The woman fell silent and scowled at the cards. She gathered them up and laid them out again. Whatever was divulged did not please her, for she quickly gathered them up again. Suddenly, her face brightened - as if seeing something obvious for the first time.
“Well damn me for being a fool! The cards can’t reveal unless I know your names!”
“We are Bardulf and Morwenna, Baron and Baroness at your service.”
The Sherengro paused. Clearly she suspected the vagabonds before her were of a couple of loons. She then favored us with a gently tolerant smile that is used in the company of small children.
“Baron? Baroness?? Forgive my lack of manners! I’m Dulcinaya, The Queen of Egypt! Welcome to my royal court!
Dulcinaya shuffled the cards one more time and laid them out.
“The cards say you’re going to stay with us for a while.”
Baron Bardulf
http://bordervalekeep.com
How were we kidnapped by the gypsies? Did I say kidnapped? Well, not really kidnapped…. It’s a bit more complicated than that.
Have a seat my friend, and for the price of an ale, I’ll tell you a tale…..
By nature, I’m an ordinary seaman with just enough talent to be a second mate. While not a lavish life, it was tolerable enough. Tolerable enough until I happened to take a shine to a Cornish lass.
That girl had a mind for merchanting. ‘Tis known that not many need a keg of nails and fewer yet have the money to buy a keg of nails - but everyone needs a few nails now and then.
It wasn’t long before she discovered that when you sold nails by the dozen, you could earn more than the money it cost to buy the same number of nails by the keg. Pretty soon, we had a profitable ship chandler business.
What does any sailor with too much money buy? No, not whiskey - a ship! We bought a run-down, old merchantman that brought us a tidy profit in trade with the Dutch - which of course we used to buy another ship - and in turn, another!
Do you remember that splendid little war we had with the French a few years back?
I do.
Some sorry Frog man-o-war boarded my ship and stole my cargo!
Facing ruin, I did what a man had to do. I turned privateer - I was not a pirate you understand; all my vessels had a proper letter of marque - signed by the King himself! We showed the damned French what happens when you steal from an Englishman!
That privateering was rather rewarding made the revenge sweeter. Riches and honors came in abundance. My lady & I were proclaimed Baron & Baroness by the King - however, with no Baronial lands they were perhaps empty titles….
So far, so good. ‘Tis said however, that good fortune will test you as surely as any adversity.
Well, the old king (God rest his soul) dies and his idiot son marries a French princess, and just like that, the French are now our allies! -
And just like that, French ships are no longer fair game and I’m now a pirate! How’s that, you ask? When the they steal your cargo, it’s a “prize of war” - when you return the courtesy, well, that’s piracy!!
It seems the damned Frogs were also a bit upset that I sank a few of their ships.
How many? - perhaps a dozen, maybe more…..
Not finding a gallows to my liking, we hid from the French in the only place a Frenchman would never look…..
France.
One dark and stormy night, the Baroness and I took our comfort in what might be generously deemed a tavern - it was “The Old Brown Cow” - or some such name. While the ale was tolerable enough, the port sherry truly pleased my palate and I indulged more than a gentleman should. That’s the only excuse I have for what follows….
The “entertainment” on that evening was an odd lot of gypsies. One woman danced and tried to coax a few coins from the patrons. Three others tried to coax a danceable tune from instruments that had clearly seen better days.
The dancer might have succeeded were it not for a man that sat close by. He seemed pleasant enough, but would always favor any patron that paid too much attention to the dancer with a deadpan glare that warned any man to keep his distance. That he also kept a rapier within arm’s reach didn’t help her income a bit.
The Baroness yawned, looked bored, and excused herself.
Moments later, ‘twas then that six men entered…..
By the look of them, they were the Sheriff, four bailiffs, and a somewhat aggrieved-looking farmer.
“That’s her! - That’s the thieving wench!”
The dancer froze but a moment, then ran for the kitchen door - and right into the arms of a waiting bailiff. He spun the woman around, seized her by the scruff of the neck and pinned one arm behind her back.
“Release her.”
It was the fellow with the rapier who spoke. It was a simple, dry, matter-of-fact command that a prudent man would heed.
Prudent men were in short supply that night.
“Or what?”
May the Gods save us from such idiots. The idiot in question was the youngest bailiff. The youth compounded his lunacy by drawing a sword and turning to face the seated man.
With a speed I would not have credited to a mortal, the man rose, and unsheathed the rapier. One fluid blow stuck the sword from the bailiff’s hand and the return stroke pinned the fool against a wall.
When everything stopped moving, the room was full of bared steel.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that the blond gypsy woman that had played the fiddle had chosen her targets and was quietly readying two throwing knives.
“Gentlemen…..”
I stood and walked to the center of the room, clearly unarmed and brandishing only my purse.
“….there’s no need for this to end badly.”
I held out the purse to the farmer and shook it so that all could hear the coins inside. I saw no reason to reveal that those coins were but a handful of coppers.
“What was taken? A few eggs - perhaps a chicken or two? Surely those things are not worth a man’s life.”
“The first man who moves, I’ll kill you where you stand.”
A familiar feminine voice - the Baroness had returned. She stood in the kitchen doorway brandishing a wheel-lock that I had given her some time ago.
“Put the pistol down, my dear - there’s no need for that. I’ll explain later.”
“I step out for a moment to visit the loo and when I come back you’re surrounded by armed men while holding your purse out! And this is the thanks I get? I’ll be damned if I ever save your sorry Saxon arse….”
She never finished the tirade because a deafening report filled the room. The Sheriff’s hat was shredded, but thankfully the head below it was spared.
I really did intend to have the pistol repaired someday. Whenever the clockwork was over-wound, the trigger pawl had a nasty habit of slipping, causing the gun to fire without actually pulling the trigger.
In truth, I can remember but snippets of what followed - things did happen faster than the most even-tempered of men could observe.
I’ll give the gypsies credit for being a quick-witted lot - everyone of them seized whatever opportunity the confusion provided.
The dancer broke free when she came down hard on her captor’s toes with her heel. She then wheeled about and settled a private debt. While I didn’t witness what she did to his nethers, his bulging eyes bespoke the result.
I don’t recall which of them grabbed the Baroness & I pulled us out the door.
We were guided along a path through the woods that I could not have found, let alone followed in the dark. Presently, we entered their encampment and were given food and drink and a place to rest.
“The Sherengro wants to meet you two. Address her as the ‘Rani Bari’. She’s been told what happened at the tavern.”
The woman sat at the edge of a campfire and barely took note of our approach. Her attention centered on some cards that were spread out on a small carpet.
“You two are bit old for brawlin’, eh?”
“I fear we’re at the mercy of your hospitality, Rani Bari. Everything we had is back at the Tavern. We dare not return for it.”
“This Kumpania honors its debts and its friends.”
The woman fell silent and scowled at the cards. She gathered them up and laid them out again. Whatever was divulged did not please her, for she quickly gathered them up again. Suddenly, her face brightened - as if seeing something obvious for the first time.
“Well damn me for being a fool! The cards can’t reveal unless I know your names!”
“We are Bardulf and Morwenna, Baron and Baroness at your service.”
The Sherengro paused. Clearly she suspected the vagabonds before her were of a couple of loons. She then favored us with a gently tolerant smile that is used in the company of small children.
“Baron? Baroness?? Forgive my lack of manners! I’m Dulcinaya, The Queen of Egypt! Welcome to my royal court!
Dulcinaya shuffled the cards one more time and laid them out.
“The cards say you’re going to stay with us for a while.”
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