The Free Company- Book V: Bloody Retribution

3 March 1440, Noon - Trianda

How much? How much!?” The annoying voice squawked out at him, and Lochlan suppressed the urge to choke the life out of him just to rid the world of its sound. “That man is my bread and butter….do you know how hard it is to find good talent?”

Lochlan met the man’s gaze for a lingering moment. “You know as well as I do that this man is the runt of the litter among his kind, and odds are good that he’s feeble-minded as well, else he’d not be in the service of another, but with his own.”

Merchants are all the same, Lochlan thought dourly. If I press him in public, and make it seem as though he’s trying to hoodwink me, odds are I’ll get my way…..predictable.

The Merchant stammered and sputtered for a moment, opening his mouth to speak, and then closing it again like a land-trapped fish gasping its last. Finally, realizing that he was at the center of attention he did not particularly want, he flushed and motioned Lochlan forward. “I will not let you rob me of my livelihood, but if you will come with me so we can discuss the matter in private, I’m sure we can reach an understanding.

The Ranger suppressed a smirk, nodded, and the three of them wandered into the Tavern, and to a table in the corner.

Terms were discussed and agreed to.

A price was settled on.

Money changed hands, and the merchant went away smiling, and Lochlan found himself sharing a table with this mountain of a man, not quite knowing what to say next. He studied the Highlander out of the corner of his eye, and then, not particularly liking that approach, met his gaze and studied him openly.

The Highlander misinterpreted his gaze and stood, as if he were property to be inspected, and as he turned slowly so his “new master” (for that surely must have been his interpretation of recent events) could inspect that which he had just purchased, Lochlan couldn’t help but notice the deep scars on the man’s back, shoulders, and the back of his neck. Most were not whip scars (though some undoubtedly were) they were….he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Obviously though, the man had been his fair share of scrapes, and on the winning side too, given his appearance.

“You have too much skill with your blade to have need of a thrasher.” He spoke softly….the voice of a servant….very different from the full-bodied, gravelly voice he had spoken with in the thick of battle, earlier, and he would not meet Lochlan’s gaze. “Looks as though you can do a fair bit of thrashing of your own….so why? Why buy a slave built for a purpose you have no use for.”

Lochlan smiled at that. “I didn’t buy you, I paid for your release.”

The Highlander looked doubtful. “That’s not the way the world works. Nobody does something for nothing.”

“Funny you should mention that."(Everything Prior is Vel's post) Lochlan said, he glanced around the Dolphin. What do you see, and sit down man your giving me a headache from looking up that high.

"I see men of war, gathering." The giant said, glancing about the room. He watched another foppish noble present himself to Captain. "And boys who wish to be men." He amended.

Lochlan raised an eyebrow. "You'll fit in fine here." He murmured. "You'll pay me back out of your wages, half to me, half to you until I'm fully compensated. Then, your free to go where you wish, though, I don't doubt we'll have work for you if you wish to stay."

"And you are?" The highlander asked.

"Me, I'm Lochlan, Lieutenant Lochlan to most. And us? Were the Free Company." He rose from his seat. "Finish your drink, then head on over to the camp, I have work to do here yet." The scot nodded, and somberly returned to his drink while Lochlan returned to the growing cluster around Captains table.

3 March 1440, Noon - Trianda

Lochlan blinked when the man, Irish by his looks, charged after the thief, pulling an arrow to string. Maybe its in the water. No that can't be it, if it were in the water how would they all get here. The water would have to be everywhere.

A few seconds later the Irishman, smirking now walked back up the stairs. He dropped the thieves dagger on the table and smiled at his friend. Maybe its in the air. Nah, couldn't be in the air.

“I think this is worth the money I owe you.” Maybe there's some sort of scent that those of us in it can't smell.

“I suppose it is” I wish someone would explain it to me.

He examined the dagger and nodded. Maybe Captain knows.

“Why can’t we go anywhere without disabling peoples limbs anymore?” Then again, if he knew, wouldn't he have told me?

“The English, doubtlessly” Forget it. I'm just going to get it over with.

The man sighed and took a long drink, aware of the eyes of most of the tavern upon him. However he did seemed quite surprised when Lochlan yanked a chair out from the table and sat down. "Looking for work?" He asked.

"How did you..." The Irishman began.

"Lucky guess. Were recruiting, head to the camp outside town."

"Ok but..." His companion began.

"Ill see if your any good later on." Lochlan said, rising from the table. "Good day." He nodded, leaving the confused but apparently hired men behind him.

He pushed his way back over to Captains table. "Alright, who's next." He said, looking arond at the crowd.

Shur'tu looked up from his drink. He heard the deep twang of a bow, a composite bow no less. The Mongol looked up to see a dark haired, fair skinned man walking back in. A Celt?

Lochlan came over and had a few bried words with the man and his friend before returning to the Captain's table. Shur'tu rubbed his forehead, tracing the nasty scar from left to right. The Mongol slowly rose to his feet and made his way over to Celt's table.

“A nice shot. Can you do more with that bow than kill a drunken thief?”

The Celt eyed the thick steppelander calmly. “You bet your Tartar ass I can.”

Shur'tu's lone eye gleamed, and he replied flatly, “Show me.”

A mongol had approached. He spoke in a flat tone.

"Show me"

"Very Well, come"

O'Floinn led the stranger outside. He jogged toward his horse and pulled a discuss from his saddle. He came back and handed it to his Greek friend. The Greek nodded and threw it. His bow sang and the discuss flopped over and fell flatly onto a patch of grass.

"Impressive"

Another arrow seemed to have appeared on the string rather than been drawn from a quiver. It blew an apple clear off a tree branch.

"What do you think?"

"Not too bad"

Just to prove his point, O'Floinn gestured to a seagul splashing out of the water with a fish. Another arrow arched out. Most thought he would shoot the seagul, instead they were amazed to see the fish fly out of the seagul's jaws

A whistle echoed from his lips. That said everything O'Floinn needed to hear.

3 March 1440, Noon - Trianda

When no one responded to Lochlan immediately, the ranger decided to take matters into his own hands. The tavern was getting a bit warm now, more bodies were being packed into than normal at this hour, and it was starting to become noticable.

"You." He pointed at an Italian, who was cleaning his nails with a knife.

"Si?" The man asked.

"You here for work?" Lochlan said, folding his arms across his chest.

"S....yes, I am." the small man said, switching to english.

"Head to the camp on the outskirts of town." Lochlan dismissed him with a nod. Evidently either a man without much willpower, or someone who could recognize authority, the man left the tavern.

Lochlan continued in this fashion sending men on there way, or dismissing them with a few glances and perhaps ten seconds of conversation.

He was about halfway through the process, which everyone seemed to be appreciating as the air grew a bit more breathable, when he came face to face with a greek.

"Can I help you?" He asked, and the man took a step back. Lochlan glanced at the man, cavalry boots.

"Yes, I wanted to speak to Captain, but..."

Lochlan cut him off. "I'm good enough, cavalry?" He nodded at boots.

"Yes, I have sixty-five men." He nodded. "We came to join you."

Lochlan nodded, and glanced around the tavern. There he was, outside talking with that Irish bowman. "Shur'tu!" He said, his voice cutting across the din.

The Mongol raised his head from his conversation. "This ones yours." Lochlan said, and the steppelander nodded, gesturing at the cavalryman to come outside.

The ranger turned back to the mass of men, he still had work to do.

March 3, 1440 - Trianda, Just Outside the Tavern

A whistle echoed from his lips. That said everything O'Floinn needed to hear.

“Well done, stranger.”

“Daniel's the name. Danny O'Florin.” The Irishman stuck out his hand.

Shur'tu stared at it for a moment and then slowly reached out and shook hands. “I am Huran Shur'tu. We can always use a good bowman.” The Mongol gestured to Danny's horse. “Can you ride as well?”

“Aye.”

“As well as you shoot?”

“Even better.”

“That I would like to see, but tell me, where did you get that bow?”

"Shur'tu!" Lochlan's voice interrupted the Mongol. He turned towards the lieutenant with a questioning look. “"This one's yours."

Shur'tu looked over the man and motioned for him to come outside. The man came over and started to speak only to be cut off.

“You can ride?”

“Yes. Look I really want to speak to . . .”

“You will speak with me for now. How many men do you have?”

“Sixty five. Light cavalry.”

The Mongol's eye lit up. “Light cavalry? We can use light cavalry. I'll inspect your men in a moment. Gather them and wait for me.” Shur'tu turned back to Danny O'Florin waiting for an answer to his question.

"But where did you get that bow?"

This story always dissapointed people, usually assuming it is interesting.

"Well...a Greek fellow gave it to me after I saved his sheep from a group of pillagers a few years back"

"It's more interesting than that isn't it?"

"Well...yes, I actually got it from An Arch-Bishop after I saved his life during an ambush near Venice."

"You don't like telling it?"

"It usually involves too much hand shaking."

The mongol looked at O'Floinn oddly for a moment then turned back to the Italian. O'Floinn whistled loudly, his horse trotted over.

"Honestly I don't understand why people tolerate shits like that mate. I mean, can you see him facing a charge? No, I didn't think so either. Little git would probably piss and crap himself before the shouting started. It's not even like he knows what he is meant to do, according to that Anthony bloke who played dice with us. You remember what he said? Course you do, you've got a good memory for those things. Much better than mine. Still, my dice came up lucky last night wouldn't you say? Really? You know that is a really unfair accusation - I was using his dice as often as mine. Now don't you start on that again or we'll be arguing forever."

This constant stream of babble came from one of two men as they walked down the street. Both were big men. Tall, they were not the tallest by a long shot. By their shoulders are broad and the rest of their bodies were seemingly designed to fit around that specification. For the moment they wore simple leathers, their swords at their sides. Both have black hair and look quite similar, though close inspection reveals them to be quite different. One of them - the one that has been talking this far gestures at a passerby.

"Umm, 'xcuse me but can you point me and my friend to where the Free Company Officers are? Over there hey? Gerd, looks like they have their prioties sorted, hitching up in a tavern like that."

Gerd seems content to let his friend whitter on. He smiles slightly, but looks about at all the activity.

"Well it seems busy enough doesn't it? Nice place really, shame about the women. Trust you to think of that. I'll have you know that I have a great sense of taste. Stop that. Wow, look at that Celt. Nice shot. Wish I could do that."

At this Gerd's shoulders started to jig up and down for a few moments. From his face he seemed to be laughing - but there was no sound. A moment later his companion did chuckle.

"That was a funny image though - I bet the seagull was rather surprised by it all. Can you imagine about to eat into a chop say and having it swiped? Well here we are, best get this done and over with. I'll be much happier when we get in. Freelancing is fine as well as it goes, but I think I prefer being part of a troop."

With that they reached the threshold of the tavern.

"Doesn't look like a bad place either does it, nice inn they have here. Oh look, there's an officer type. Doesn't he look a little grim? Perhaps he ought to get out in the sunshine more. I mean, being cooped up inside all day is bound to be bad for your heath. I wonder what they are all looking at? Or, is it us you think. Well they can't have lived very interesting lives if they find us interesting. Ow!"

Gerd had thumped his companion on that arm. He exclaimed in surprise, but he did shut up when he saw Lochlan in front of him.

The ranger had been momentarily taken aback by the constant gabble. It was clear what these two were here for, and then he realised they were talking about him. Since there was a momentary lull he took his chance.

"There's a camp on the outskirts of town. Go there, you'll be tested later."

"Sure thing sir. Come along Gerd, let's find a place to drop our kit. I've been getting soft on that ship. Yes, and you have two. Cheerio all." And he walked back out into the. Gerd shrugged, and followed.

The Mongol's eye lit up. “Light cavalry? We can use light cavalry. I'll inspect your men in a moment. Gather them and wait for me.”

Jean bowed, but the Mongol had already turned back to the Irishman. He walked over to his cavalry--amazingly still there. He jumped on his horse. One of his men asked, "Are we in?"

"Yes," Jean replied. "And were working under a Mongol."

He noticed all of his men chattering among themselves. They would have time to get used to the idea. Jean and his men would likely run across many unusual characters during their time with the Company.

As Shur'tu had directed, he paused and waited for the Irishman to finish. He had missed something--he heard the Irishman say, "It usually involves too much hand shaking."

Jean could not help but let out a chuckle at this. At least he now had the attention of the Mongol...

"It usually involves too much hand shaking."

Jean could not help but let out a chuckle at this. At least he now had the attention of the Mongol...

Shur'tu turned and shot the Frenchman a look. Slowly the Mongol made his to the gathered cavalry men. They were lightly armored and certainly looked comfortable on their horses. Shur'tu eyed their gear. It was acceptable, at least by European standards.

The Mongol faced the their leader. “Name?” he snarled.

“Jean d'Auxonne.”

“Your men appear to be satisfactory.” Shur'tuy emphasized the word appear. “Ride into the camp. There is a small man named Milo. He'll take your names, and then we will find out just how capable you are.”

Jean took a few moments to puzzle through the steppelander's strange accent. He then nodded curtly and took off towards the tent city not far away. Shur'tu watched as they rode away. The Frenchmen were skilled riders. He could tell by the way they handled their mounts. The way man and steed almost became one. Shur'tu turned and made his way to the stables.

Without his steed, a rider is dead. Without his rider, a steed is dead. Shur'tu decided it was time to get aquainted with his new steed.

March 3, 1440 -- Noon -- the Lazy Dolphin

Maria and Frederik had finally returned to the Dolphin after having to find lunch elsewhere. With so many mercenaries packing the place, it seemed unlikely that they would manage to get a meal with any reasonable celerity.

A wave of silence surrounded the lady as men stopped mid-sentence to stare at her. Something had changed -- perhaps she was no longer living in the shadow of her foster father -- but Maria found she couldn't help being noticed these days. Or perhaps there had been so much blood spilt in Constantinople that the mercenaries spent more time thinking of simpler pleasures.

Dreaming, she thought with a smirk. Behind her came Frederik, a faint smile on his lips. He couldn't help but feel a certain pleasure when Maria had this effect on other men.

The two made their way through the crowd, emerging eventually at Captain's table. Behind them, conversations resumed as though nothing had happened. Maria surveyed the mercenary commander and his wife with a broad smile. "Good morning, Constance, Captain."

The two looked up and returned the smiles. Captain, ever the gentleman, began to rise at Maria's approach, but was waved back to his seat by the young lady as she and Frederik joined them. Still, Captain seemed perkier at the sight of her -- a fact which was not lost on Constance.

"So, Captain," Maria began, "there are no shortage of ships in the harbor today."

"And as you can see, they brought no shortage of mercenaries with them." Constance inclined her head toward the mob. In the midst of it, Lochlan controlled the crowd like a hundred-character puppet show. The sight of him organizing the group brought a smile to the faces of the two couples.

"He loves his job," Frederik observed.

"He's not the only one." Maria bowed her head towards Captain, who accepted the gesture with a nod. Constance, however, shot Maria a look -- don't encourage him, it read.

Captain caught on quickly and diverted the conversation. "How are things in Rhodes-town?"

Maria flushed for a half-second. He knows about Osman! But she swiftly realized that his voice held no accusation. She hid her nervousness behind a thin cough before she responded. "Things are well with the fleet. We're slowly replacing our losses in marines and crew, and I've called in a few experienced Captains -- the Knights have been some help there. As we agreed, I dispatched the non-essential ships to continue their trade routes -- we have to make money somehow -- but they can be recalled in a week or two if need be." She paused for a long moment. "Why? Is the Company moving soon?"

"I'm not sure yet," Captain said. "Have you heard something I haven't?"

"Well, Lochlan was talking about moving supplies via ship in the near future...." Her eyes took on a fire. "Venice, Captain?"

"Not so quick, there, good lady. The Company doesn't even have a contract at the moment." Captain leaned back in his chair. "But don't expect that debt will go unpaid forever."

3 March 1440 – Rome, around noon

Alain stepped to the banquet table, his eyes searching. He selected a crystalline decanter and removed its stopper. A fruity brandy scent wafted to his nose, drawing a smile. He pulled his flask from a pouch, removed its stopper, and carefully poured the golden liquid in. He dipped the stopper into one of the yet untouched fingerbowls, then gently set the stopper and returned the flask to his pocket. Only then did he select a goblet and pour it full of the liquor.

The doors opened to the chamber, and the various guests, servants, and the ever-present guards bowed as one. A young woman entered, gracefully returning the courtesies as she moved into the room. Alain watched from the corner of his eye as she made her way through the assembled guests. One of the house guards looked at him quizzically. Alain met his eyes and gestured curtly, then turned back to the table and his glass.

“Ahem.” Alain grinned at the mere sound of her voice, but remained fixated on his brandy. The guard looked warily at the officer.

“Ahem.” A hand brushed Alain’s side and gently planted itself on the table next to his. The eyes of the room were focused on them, but Alain was only aware of the distinct soft breathing behind him. He reveled in it.

Father in Heaven; what is wrong with me? It’s his sister! We practically grew up together…

Alain’s ankle suddenly throbbed with pain, as the woman’s shoe stabbed into it. He half collapsed, his glass coming perilously close to tipping at the woman. She nimbly plucked it from his hand, and then halted the panicking young guard with a wave of the wrist. “Lady Catherine, hello.” Alain’s face was a confused mask of wincing and smiling as he picked himself off the floor.

Lady Catherine of Angers smiled warmly and sampled the pilfered brandy. Around the room a small chorus of laughter echoed before normal conversations began anew. The panicked guard at last stepped back to his post, still eyeing the strange officer and the Lady whom they were charged to protect.

“I’m still wondering why he made you part of his guard. You’re barely able to take care of yourself.”

Alain Bouscher watched the woman take another drink of the brandy. The sun highlighted her brunette tresses, held away from her ears with simple combs. Her green eyes sparkled at him. It was a long moment before a self-assured smile returned to his face. “We do well. After all, we’ve survived this long,” Alain selected another goblet and began to pour. “And without the services of a Tyrol Baron.”

The sparkle in Catherine’s eyes dimmed. “You never wrote.”

“We were preoccupied. You know how he is when on a mission.”

“Some of us worry.”

“We survived. Far more than any of us were anticipating.” Both took drinks, their eyes locked. “Where is your Baron?”

“If you’d have wrote, you’d know.” Catherine looked away; Alain’s smile faded.

Those not on the walls lost just as those of us who were…

“I’m sorry Cath. I wish….”

“That you’d have wrote? That he wouldn’t have died?” Catherine’s voice had an edge now. She watched Alain closely, looking for him to back down and make a joke. She was ready for it, maybe even wanting it. “Or maybe that you’d have had the tenacity yourself?”

“No. I just wish you to be happy.” It was a half-truth, and both knew it. Catherine took a drink and crossed her arms, her eyes never leaving his. After a moment, smiles began to return to their faces. The rest of the room failed to take any notice.

“So how is my brother?”

“Late as always. Fortunately he wasn’t tardy on the wall in Constantinople.”

“Cons….” Catherine’s eyes narrowed as Alain nodded. “I guess I can’t blame you for not writing.”

“It wasn’t planned, we were to have been safely out before the end. I’m still not sure why we didn’t leave.”

“He wanted to stay? He’s never been one for an open fight.”

“I know. He’s…. changed.”

“Changed? Was he hurt?” Catherine moved nearer Alain. He looked at her and smiled, then laughed.

“No Cath! He’s just…different. Did you know he still carries that little fox you made him for luck?” She laughed, and Alain grabbed the decanter to refill their goblets. “He does! In the middle of the siege, at the very breech, he pulls it out in the lull.”

“I can’t believe he still has that! That was so long ago. I’m surprised the stuffing hasn’t fallen out!” Catherine took a drink and became serious again. “So you were on the walls. How was it pet?”

The smile was there, but the Alsatian’s eyes were weary. “It was indescribable. We’ve seen nothing like the Turk’s here. Not even the fables of the Nordic raiders are so depraved. But the really scary thing is he was at peace in it. He just kept going, making decisions, filling the gaps, taking charge. I almost think he was comfortable there.”

Lady Catherine touched Alain’s arm. “You weren’t comfortable with it?” Catherine stopped breathing for a moment, suddenly aware of what she meant. His dark eyes softened and her heart leapt. Before he could reply the doors to the quarters opened abruptly. Lady Marie Danael, Duchess of Andrécourt swept into the room before the guests could bow or kneel before her.

“Catherine. Lord Bouscher. My only daughter and my son’s corruptor are the only ones who greet me.” The Duchess slowly turned from the far corner of the room around to her daughter, her arm motioning the startled guests up merrily. She eyed Catherine’s hand on Alain’s arm and smiled warmly. “So. Are you two together yet?” Both the young nobles were caught in a state of complete confusion.

“Mother!”

“Good. He’s no good for you.” The Duchess looked at Alain, shocking him with a wink. “And she’s no good for you.”

“But he’s always been your favorite!” Catherine unconsciously pushed against Alain’s arm. Alain knelt low, a smile on his face. “Greetings Duchess! It is a pleasure to be in your company again." The Duchess noticed her daughter’s fingers had stayed attached to her ‘pet,’ and laughed heartily before offering her hand to the Alsatian. Alain gently kissed the back of her hand and stood. “Charming as ever Alain. You understand you are like a third son to me?”

“Yes mi’lady. As well as being your favorite!” Catherine grunted, drawing a comical look from her mother who stuck her tongue out in reply. She laughed, and then deftly sent Alain’s gloves from his belt to the floor. “And you’re terrible!” All three laughed, and soon the room joined them.

“So Alain, besides corrupting my daughter by having her cross her arms in public, have you made my son forget the days of the week?” Catherine smirked, the sparkle back in her eye. Alain feigned being hurt elaborately and gently tugged on her hair before issuing a series of protests. Before he could finish a series of dire threats against the local merchants and their carts became audible from the hall, accompanied with heavy footsteps and the noise of bags.

“I would surmise that would be your errant son now mi’lady…” A loud thud landed against the door, followed by a stream of unintelligible swearing. The doors rattled, then opened to reveal the startled face of Pierce followed by Landen. The room abruptly ceased conversation and knelt before Landen of Andrécourt, much to his surprise.

The Duchess gazed upon her son in stunned surprise. Gone was the young man she had last seen seven seasons prior. His face was drawn and lean, thin scars highlighted his cheek and left eye. His energetic green eyes had been replaced by a thoughtful, serious look. He still wore his armor with its signs of recent repair, his blades still hung on his belt. With his brown hair pulled back, he was the image of his father during his youth.

Landen moved slowly into room and knelt before the Duchess before kissing the back of her hand. She motioned him up. “We have a limited time, and there is much to do and say my son. The Cardinal’s letter said you are still needed.”

“I am afraid so mother.” Landen glanced at Alain, who shrugged. “There is some…unfinished business to attend to.”

“Then we shall make the most of the time we have.” The Duchess smiled, and looked to Catherine and Alain. “Well my sons and daughter, shall we be seated? There is much to celebrate!”

3 March 1440 – Rome, nearing high moon

The festivities were still going on in the main hall of the villa. Sounds of laughter, singing, and the pleasant strains of the musicians floated over the courtyard and it’s pools. The pleasant smell of flowers and hay filled the air on a light breeze. Landen leaned against the balcony rail, staring at the stars.

“There you are!” From the courtyard Catherine appeared, dragging Alain with her. Landen merely smiled and waved. His sister swiftly moved to the stairs, Alain momentarily left behind. “I guess we’re coming up.”

Catherine hugged her brother tightly while the Alsatian joined them. Then she brandished three goblets, passing one to her brother as Alain poured each full of wine.

“So, before I head for my quarters, a drink. Who knows when we’ll all be together again to savor the moment?” Catherine’s eyes moved from her brother to Alain in the shadows on the balcony.

“I doubt it will be so long Cath. He gets grumpy without seeing snow.” All three chuckled.

“One of these days big brother, you’re going to discover girls aren’t so bad.” Catherine grinned at Alain. If her brother noticed, he didn’t divulge it.

“Why sis? After all, I have you to keep me out of trouble.” Landen grinned and took a drink. “Besides, someone has to take care of the family duties.”

“And those duties include having a son to pass on the duties to. Or are you planning to give them all to my children?”

“You mean to you? I know, I know. Mom went long on that subject today also. She has the list of eligible brides already prepared.” Landen groaned just at the thought. Catherine and Alain grinned silently on until she set her goblet on the rail.

“Well, I know you two have things to discuss. We can catch up more after the service tomorrow.” Catherine hugged each man and stepped back, heading towards her room on the far side of the courtyard. Landen returned to the rail and the stars, Alain lingered for a moment before joining him, the touch of Catherine still flowing through his body.

“Mom says that this is the happiest Cath’s been in ages.”

“Huh? Oh. I’m pleased she’s feeling better. Seeing you meant a lot to her.” Alain took a drink and listened to Landen’s chuckling.

“I’m pretty sure I have nothing to do with it Fop.”

“Doubtful. So how was the journey?”

“Smooth enough. After nearly a month escorting a bishop, I find a marked lack of a need for absolution.” Alain laughed out loud. “So how are we doing?”

“We’re doing. We have new horses; most we ended up breaking ourselves. They’re as good or better than before, although they need seasoning. Pierce’s tinkers have the gear in good form, and we replaced the damaged bows. Luc-Pierre has the home guard in good shape, although not up to the numbers from before. He’s waiting for you to contact him with instructions.”

“I’ll get a letter out in the next day or two. It will take some time to replace the losses.”

“How did it turn out?”

“One hundred sixty two of one hundred seventy seven made it safely. Lost one hundred thirteen of the guards in the process, another forty-six wounded. Costly, but nowhere near as bad as Constantinople.”

Alain let out a low whistle. The inexperienced guard from earlier suddenly became explanatory. “So. What’s this about unfinished business?”

“Nothing really. Guillies left the door open for us.”

“No plans then?”

“No. Seems odd after the last year and a half.”

“So what do you have in mind then?”

Landen looked at Alain, a slight grin visible on his face. “I understand the Free Company is still in Rhodes.”


4 March 1440 – St. Peter’s Basilica, Rome

The Duchess of Andrécourt looked on, a content smile on her face. Cardinal Guillaume of Angers received ordination from Pope Eugene IV, her own son Landen serving as the Cardinal’s attendant. Her efforts to gain him selection had been successful, forever securing a tie to the church for the family. The benefits to the coffers were immeasurable; tax exemptions for the family lands, better relations with the Tyrolean’s to the north, and most importantly the direct elevation of the family at the court of Charles VII.

Her daughter, although widowed, had secured an alliance and a barony with the von Unzicker’s. She could now follow her heart, something that the Duchess valued more than the gold in their coffers. Her son had grown up, and his service to the church would soon be finished. He would build on what she had accomplished, already more than what her husband had accomplished in their lands in Scotland. Alain’s safe return had only tied their families closer. Surely soon the crowns would tire of their endless battles, and her family could be one again.

March 3 1440, Noon the Lazy Dolphin

Frederik leaned back in the chair while Maria and Captain discussed the shipping. He was feeling better now than this morning, not only had he placed a distance to the event with Johan, it almost looked like the distance to the citadel improved Maria’s mood. It warmed him in a strange way to have Maria so admired by the rest of the men, knowing that at least for now, she was his girl. A novel feeling.

All in all, he felt good. His eyes slowly scanned the room taking in the scene, Lochlan had left the huge man from the street alone at a table while the ranger busied himself with the evaluation of the newcomers almost like a meat market, yes that ox looks strong, no that sow looks ill, I’ll give you two pence for that one. I wonder what he will do with that big fellow?

Lost in thought he suddenly heard Maria mention the possibility of departure and he snapped out of it and paid attention, he had been pushing the inevitable decision in front of him, basking in the lazy mood of the island doing his business through his factors now that he again was able to communicate. The deal he had signed here on Rhodes all those months before had come through in Alexandria, saved only be the long delay before the Turks finally and opened trade again, which reminded him,

“Has anyone seen Annette recently?” His question cut through the light discussion at the table and for a moment nobody spoke, then Constance slowly shook her head and looked at Captain, “No, she keeps to herself.”

Frederik shrugged, he had noticed as much, but hoped for an explanation. He raised his hand to get the attention of the barmaid, but almost had to shout, so engrossed was she with that ridiculous young man in the absurd hat. Frederik looked him over; he had not failed to notice how he had savored the looks of Maria as they entered. Finally he rose and went to the bar himself, he shook his head, what a man had to do to get a drink.

March 3rd, Rhodes. In the Company camp.


Johan’s horse certainly was impressive. It was such a fine specimen that Bernhard couldn’t take his eyes from it.

“A splendid mount you have there, John!”
“Johan…”
“It’s called Johan?”
“No, I’ve named it Hannibal, after the great warrior”. Johan smiled. Bernhard finally gathered that the man’s name was Johan, not John.
“So you’re Johan? Terribly sorry about that, sir. So who is this Milo character, anyway?”
“He’ll equip us, I believe. That’s what the Captain said…”
“Oh, good! I could use some new equipment. I seem to have lost my armour…”. Bernhard laughed uneasily.
“Who have you fought for before, Bernhard?”, Johan asked tentatively.
“Oh… different people. You know how it is. One day you’re fighting for someone, the next day you’re fighting against them”. Bernhard hoped he sounded convincing.
“Yeah. I know”



Milo was in the warehouse on the docks, going through the inventory. He nodded at the two newcomers. At least they were young. The blonde one seemed somewhat familiar.
“How can I help you?”

Bernhard decided to act quickly.

“I could use a mount, sir. And some light armour. If I could borrow a grindstone, I could get my sword sharpened as well”
“I can sharpen it for you, young man”, Milo said.
“I’d rather do it myself, sir”. Bernhard didn’t want anyone to see his sword. Not just yet.



After they’d been sorted out, Johan and Bernhard returned to the quarters. They looked around the place and looked at the other people gathering.

“Why did you join the Free Company, then Johan?”, Bernhard asked casually.

March 3rd, Rhodes. In the Company camp.

“Why did you join the Free Company, then Johan?” Bernhard asked casually.

Johan smiled dismissively, “ah, well, being the youngest son never earned you any favors, I needed to make a living.”

Bernhard wouldn’t let go, “That beast of yours is magnificent, you must have been quite successful?”

Johan looked at the borrowed armor, good to be sure, but not his own. “Ah, well, perhaps so, at least I brought my own mount and arms, he looked pointedly at Bernhard’s lack of equipment.”

Bernhard smiled sheepishly, “I guess I had that coming.”

Johan smiled, “No offence, so why did you enlist? By the look of you, you have been south for a while?”

Bernhard smiled, “Oh I just lost my employment and got stranded, that’s all, the Free Company have quite a reputation, so I guess that is my way out.”

“And your equipment too, yes I have heard of them even up north, I have actually come a long way to fight with them.”

Bernhard looked puzzled “Equipment? Oh you mean I lost my equipment, well in a manner of speaking I did.”

Johan let it drop, no need to push, he had his own reasons to here and his own failings to hide, “Let’s see if we can find our way back to that Tavern, I’ll buy the first beer, that much I have left, you can buy the next round when you get paid.”

Bernhard beamed, “what an excellent idea.”

March 3rd, Rhodes. – The Lazy Dolphin

Erik watched as men came and went. He watched as Lochlan efficiently sized up each man and sent them out to the camp. Still he sat back and watched as some Celt was once again bragging about this or that, although he did seem rather skilled with a bow. In came Shur’tu, exchanged some comments and took some men outside.

Through all this Erik sat and watched. Not once did he see any man with any degree of skill or discipline for a pike unit. He merely shook his head and tried to get rid of his dark and brooding thoughts.

All I see are swordsmen and bowmen. Not a single man with the aptitude for a pike. Perhaps it will get better, after all this is just the first morning.

Erik leaned across the table and motioned to Captain.

“Captain, a word with you when you have a chance. Not now, but perhaps later this eve?”

Captain looked at Erik and nodded his head simply.

Good, at least I can speak to him in a more private setting.

Erik finished up some fruit he was munching on and once more watched as the men came in and either bragged or puffed up. They all tried to prove their worth to the Company in one meeting.

These men don’t understand, we’ll make them warriors and if not, they will die. Fighting for gold has a tendency to do that.

Again he shrugged off his dark thoughts and finished a long pull on his tankard of water. He was amused at that boy with the silly hat, kind of reminded him of that Swiss commander, Roos. Erik snickered a moment drawing the eyes of Constance and Captain.

“Sorry, but the boy’s hat reminded me a little of Roos and his damn hat. Always preoccupied with it.”

This brought a chuckle from those at the table. It was still painful to remember, but still some joy could be brought to the fore.

Just then Erik saw Maria and Frederik enter the tavern and make their way to the table where they sat. He turned to Captain and Constance, “If you will excuse me, I find the atmosphere here… rather… stuffy. I bid you all farewell until later.”

Erik stood and left the table, glaring at Frederik as he passed, but not lingering to hear any of the traitor’s words. Once outside he breathed in deeply and went off in search of Baer.

March 3, 1439 – late morning, Trianda, Rhodes

Fritz limped back towards the Free Company camp, his earlier happy mood having been shattered by four iron-shod hooves.

The road was nearly choked with the influx of new arrivals from the flotilla that had recently docked – and worse yet, with their horses! - so he chose a lesser known path that led through the fields and along the rugged coastline. Almost, he regained his sense of joy in the day as he watched the distant fisherman casting their nets, the birds wheeling in the gentle offshore breeze, and the occasional call of warblers and swallows who were searching for their mates.

As he neared his temporary home, he cut through a hedge and across the pasture that served as the Company’s practice field. So at peace and at one with nature, he was, that is wasn’t until they were almost upon him that he became aware of some sixty or more light cavalrymen – all of them strangely garbed and unfamiliar to him – galloping madly towards him. He screamed and dove to the ground, landing in a rut in the field where the water from the previous night’s light rain had collected.

The beasts thundered by, their riders barely having noticed him cowering in the mud puddle, and continued on towards the camp.

It was hard to distinguish tears from puddle as he picked himself up once again. As he straightened he let out a small cry of pain. His hamstring – the other leg’s hamstring - was knotted and throbbing from his sudden motion…

* * * * *

The son of a shepherd, Fritz had spent much of his youth alone in the high pastures and alpine meadows in his beloved homeland of Helvetia – alone, that is, except for the rams, ewes, lambs, and a couple herding dogs.

From early spring until late autumn, he had lived almost a hermit’s life…a life that suited his nature perfectly as he was happiest when he could sit on a gentle slope in the warm sun, playing his hand made wooden pipes and watch the lamblings gambol about I the bright green grass.

At night he would build a small fire, cook his simple but hearty fare, and then either resume playing his pipes or sing his favourite songs – songs that he had learned from his father and that had been handed down from generation to generation, from father to son, for as long as…well…forever.

But war had shattered his peaceful life when the wicked Austrian Duke had invaded his peaceful canton, slain his mother and now-aged father, absconded with his sheep (while he was hiding in a nearby cave), and set fire to the village in the valley far below. That was when Fritz had first learned to hate. That was when the word “revenge” had first entered his vocabulary.

It had taken him nearly a week to find his way to a friendly city that had not been destroyed or captured by the evil Germans…the city of Lucern. It was there that he had met the redoubtable Renaud Roos, had enlisted, and had become a pikeman.

He had found it an overwhelming experience at first – to be surrounded by so many people. He was shy and quiet, and while most of the men had gone out to the taverns for women and drink each night, Fritz would use those brief quiet times to remain alone in the barracks, play his pipes or sing, and then fall into gentle sleep where he would dream of the high, snow-covered mountains and the bleating of the occasional lamb. Though the other men teased him, mercilessly but good-naturedly, for his aloofness and sobriety, he had simply smiled and ignored them. To each his own.

Then had come the terrible battle that had changed his life forever…and then the long, heart-wrenching, desperate years that had finally culminated in that one terrifying, horrible night in Constantinople.

* * * * *

Fritz managed to stagger the rest of the way across the field without incident, and found himself back at the main road. Looking to his left, he saw his new commander exit a building and turn towards the camp, seemingly deep in thought. He stumbled over to the building and then looked up at the sign, swinging from a wooden arm attached to the exterior wall, and almost smiled at the brightly-painted, strange-looking fish that was on it. He had never been inside it.

He seemed to remember one of the men calling the fish a “dolphin” and trying to explain to him that it wasn’t a fish. The man had seemed so serious, but Fritz had been certain that this must be some secret joke that he simply didn’t understand.

He shrugged. It certainly looked like a fish.

In front of the building there was a long wooden railing with quite a few of those fearsome monsters - who seemed, for no reason he could understand, to hate him so – tied to it. One barred its teeth at him, and several of the others snorted and stamped the ground heavily with their feet.

Then he remembered something else – something that many of the men (particularly the Germans he had been assigned to join) often said. The “dolphin tavern” served very good ale, and at a very good price. Suddenly, for the first time in his entire life, he felt desperately in need of a beer.

Shoring up his courage, he limped up the couple steps, opened the door, and stepped in...

March 3, 1439 – late morning, Trianda, Rhodes

He had finally overcome the shock of having seemingly been sold almost into slavery with Robert and the Free Company. His ears had recovered from the unreasonable boxing Lochlan had given them. He had found someone to show him a tent where he could stow his gear…and, of course, he had returned to the Lazy Dolphin to take care of the unfinished business of his ale, his stomach, and…

Robert had seemed preoccupied with other things, so he had taken a separate small table of his own. Now, happily well into his forth mug of ale, his breakfast comfortably gurgling away in his stomach, and the ever-increasing attentions of the serving wench suggesting a promising afternoon when – she had told him in a breathless whisper – she would be off work for a couple hours until the dinner rush, Artur de Bloomfielde was finally back in his element. Leaning back with a casual “the world is mine” sort of air and adjusting his Floppy Hat™ to make sure that it covered the tips of his ears – the only family trait he sincerely regretted – he now looked around the tavern’s main room with a little more care.

His eyes, naturally, went towards Robert first…but didn’t quite make it that far because he realised that the devastating beautiful woman with the dark curly hair was seated at the same long bench. Artur allowed his gaze to linger on her…to appreciate her curves, her full lips, her flashing eyes, her…

God damn it! What a woman! He thought hard, trying to remember something Lochlan had said. Oh. Right. Maria. That was her name. Maria.

The ugly – well, not really ugly…more just ‘not handsome’ – merchant was seated by her side looking rather bored. If that was the man who was favoured with this goddess’ attentions then Artur felt that world had truly turned itself upside down. Fortunately, he was here to set it back on its feet again.

The serving wench blew him a kiss as she went by with a tray full of ale.

Well…the righting of wrongs could wait until just a little bit later. After all, wasn’t there a saying that desert should be savoured after the other courses of the meal? If there wasn’t, he decided to pretend that there was. Yes…first the wench, then…Maria…

Maria’s (Artur-thought-soon-to-be-ex-)companion rose from his chair with a foul expression on his face and walked to the bar where he had to vie with a rather boisterous crowd to obtain a tankard of his own. Artur smiled.

Yes indeed. It would be like stealing candy from a babe…

March 3, 1439 – late morning, Trianda, Rhodes

The morning progressed, and the heat of the day dutifully followed with it. The Dolphin warmed as well, thankfully the choking feeling of too many bodies was gone, and the crowd that had filled the tavern was thinned down to the last of their numbers.

"Ill see you at camp Lochlan." Erik said as he walked out of the tavern, not looking back.

"Alright." Lochlan said, caught off guard. He thought for a moment, then shrugged and glanced around the room. Only a few more hopeful remained, and he'd get to them in a few minutes.

The main table was still mostly full. Captain and Constance were talking with Maria and Frederik, Seans son was seated there as well, obviously waiting for something, and that other noble was there as well. Lochlan rolled his eyes, Captain could handle them, he had enough on his plate.

In the other corner was Artur, he'd grown since the last time Lochlan had seen him. Of course that had to have been eight years ago now, on that visit to Scherer's home in Magdeburg, but still. And he was still making eyes at that barmaid, like a bitch in heat.

"Children." Lochlan muttered. He would have said something but the door opened, and he turned to see who it was. "Fritz." He said warmly to the pikeman. "Have a seat wherever, you see anybody begging to join us, send them my way."

"Yes sir." Fritz said, moving cautiously into the room. Damn that city, he's only just beginning to heal from what happened there. Those who have hurt my brothers so shall pay. Lochlan shook his head, he had other things to deal with at the moment.

Catching the eye of the barmaid, he motioned her over. "Katrina." he said softly. "Anything Fritz has over there is on me, alright?" She nodded, she'd seen it before with some of the other near broken men.

Lochlan smiled. "Good lass." Then he nodded to the now seated Fritz, and headed back in the direction of Captains table. 'll deal with young De Bloomfielde later...