The Free Company - Book VI: For Whom the Bells Toll

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Pedro had fallen when the Turk first forced entry to the keep. But it wasn't his end. A stout warrior, Pedro swatted aside Death's hand as it reached out to him. He regained his feet and threw himself back into the fray. Blood flowed from his numerous wounds, his shield grew heavy. He threw it far into the mass of Turks around him and drawing a dagger from his belt, he fell upon the nearby Turks, hacking and slashing with sword and dagger. As the Turks fell back, Pedro dropped to his knees, his energy spent. He looked down on Captain, fighting with as great a skill as Pedro had ever seen. Hearing the Bells ringing, Pedro turned his gaze skyward, and said to no one in particular,

"I think I am ready. Yes, my part has been played."

Death seemed to hold Pedro firmly in his grasp. But by some miracle of medicine, the Spaniard was pried from Death's steely embrace, and though he never fought in battle again, he travelled with the Company for some time afterward, and upon retiring to his family estate in Spain, he never spoke of anything with more pride than when he told of his adventures with the Free Company. Death came for him, as it must for every man, but he never had any fear of it after he had fealt it's touch in Belgrade.


When O'Floinn rode in, Captain had already fallen. He would have charged after the escaping Sultan alone, but for the steely gaze of Lochlan. After the battle, life went on for the Celt much as it had before. Captain was gone, but his legacy lived on. O'Floinn was eventually wed to Marie, the sister of his former commander, Jean D'Auxonne. He came to have two children, whom he amazed and entertained on many a night with tales of the Free Company and the brave men he'd fought alongside.

He remained in the Company for many years after Belgrade, though after he recieved news his father was ill, O'Floinn returned home and saw to his passing. He returned to the Company, but the trip to Ireland had awakened a deep longing for his home. He parted from his friends, his brothers, swearing himself indebted to them for the rest of his life, for all that they had done for him.

Before his life was spent, O'Floinn would see his son join the proud ranks of the Company. He travelled back to Italy once more, to see the Company which had been his home for so long. The officers were not those he had known, though some that he had once commanded were still there. He travelled to Rome, and there while in Church, he was to meet his death.

Having been ill for several days, he sat with his mind faded and his eyes foggy. A priest came to him, knowing the Celt had little time left. He put a hand on O'Floinn's shoulder, unsure if he would be heard.

"The Lord recieves all who recieve him, my son. No righteous man need fear death."

O'Floinn looked up at the priest then, his eyes suddenly clear, his expression thoughtfull.

"Death? Why would I fear death? It rode with me for so long."

O'Floinn smiled, and the priest took a step back, unsure what to say. But he had no need to respond, for when he came back, O'Floinn lay still, never to be roused again.

 

[LordLeto]

"Six long months a brooded inside those walls. Oh how the serbians complained, the some company men complained about the lack of food, some even began to ponder eating their horses. Such a vile thought. But the serbians were the loudest. I like to think I carried myself the best in those times, I was use to a lack of food, but I am an old man and old men embellish things. When one of the others comes around, and they will come around, the fighting will never end, that I can promise. When they come around you can ask them. But until then I will have to do for your stories.

Where was I? Oh yes sixs months of starvation, of food and familiy. I had be able to ignore the last one over the years, but being so close to my sister its pain superceded all others. I waited and waited and waited, until I could wait no more. I took to the river. The bodies of the fallen were comited to the river to prevent their vileness to permiating the others and I traveled with them, behind the turks unnoticed.

Had I known the eventual break-out of our men from the keep and the arrivel of not one but two armies to lift the seige was just days away I might have stayed. But I was a foolish you man and I did foolish things. It was simple to get into the camp. Most gajikane do not give much notice to us, perhaps just to avert their eyes from us and these turks were no better. They couldnt tell one roma from another. I joined the slaves of the turks, such a sad thing, their servents were fed better then the valiant company men inside the keep. But such is war.

Upon finding my sister we planed our escape. I had plenty weapons on me to give to the men and slay the inept guards left for the slaves. From there it would be a simple enuf task of melting into the forests.

But plans often change as our did. The day of our escape was a very eventful day indeed. The leader of the Free Company, 'Captain', the man whom I had abandoned not days before slew that arrogant sultan only to succumb to his own wounds. We were making our break for the forests when the fleeing turks, and their foes nipping at their heels, came running thru the camp. We gave up our chance at freedom to exact a dear price for all the injustices that had been visited upon us and our people.

Oh that must have been a surprise for the company men. The boy deserter leading a rabble of posessed Roma slaying their foe. We could have been killed in the frey as well had the company not been aware of me. Or perhaps more likly that we were slaves to the turks and not their foe.

We joined the company in their persuit of the wreched turks for miles. And so began our tribe, we became brothers and sisters in shared blood that day. The blood we shed and the blood of the turks we took. When the company tired from persuit as had we we returned to the city.

I rejoined the company and gave one finnal disrespect to our 'Captain'. When pressed for a explination as to why I was gone for days only to appear at the head of a slave uprising I stoped thinking and lied thru my teeth. I was not aware that our learder was dead, so I made a bold lie that he had sent me out to rouse the slaves against their masters. His death saved my skin as there was no one to tell of my lie but myself.

This shame has stayed with me for my entire life. This shame is why we are in Italy today. This shame is why we send our young men to fight with the company. This shame is why we will always send our young men to fight with the company. As long as we exist and it exists we shall pay in blood and reap only glory for my transgression against the dead."

Upon this note by the aged gypsy Marek a man appeared just inside the opening of the tent where the old gypsy and young children had gathered. Marek rose to greet the man.

"Lord Marek?"

"I am no Lord, but that is my name."

"Are you the leader of this Gypsy band?"

"I am."

"I have been sent by John Brandon, leader of the Free Company."

"I know who he is, and I know why you have been sent. Little Dika, go ring the bell, we shall pay our dues once again."

The little girl ran past the confused messenger, hobbiling Marek slowly fallowing.

"Come boy," He placed a shaking hand on the messengers sholder "we have plenty of men for what ever cause the Free Company may need of us."

 

[Valdemar]

The ship was pulling into Ancona, just as the bells began to peel from the tower atop the hills behind the city. Johan stood at the railing with his wife and as always the insistent clamour of the many bells send shivers down his spine, recalling the last hours of the siege of Belgrade.

He had arrived along with Kent and the remainder of the cavalry just in time to hear the bells booming across the battle in the city and on the plain, but too late to partake, the had ambushed the fleeing Ishak, and young Ottoman heir, and only upon their return to the city had they learned of Captain’s faith. Johan would forever wonder if their prisoners would have survived the ambush had the company men known Captain was slain.

His wife put a slender hand on his arm, staying the slight tremble and brining him back to the world of the living. It was good to be back home, even if it meant more dull time fulfilling his duty it also meant family. His sons were all grown up, and not all lived here, but his girls did, and the two youngest still lived at his house, no doubt creating mischief and broken hearts.

The small ship gently swayed its way to the docks, and Johan was pleased to find solid ground under his feet again. He gently escorted his wife down the plank, and as always when he was caught in this mood allowed his mind to drift as they walked up through the old part of town.

He had stayed with the Company through the chaotic years following the siege, helping Kent keep the Cavalry intact, and allowing John of Brandon to find his place as commander. Once the Company settled back in Italy he finally got up his courage to propose to Rosa. He father grudgingly gave his consent, and Johan carried his wife with him to the north and settled in training recruits under Kent. As the Company embarked on new voyages he had reluctantly resigned along with Kent and finally fulfilled his long standing promise to Rosa’s father.

Packing up his by now large family he had moved south again, and settled, with the help of his half-brother as a very prosperous citizen in Ancona, using his connections and outstanding experience to become Captain of the guard.

Life had become secure if dull, and his reputation and connections with the Free Company ensured he was never overly worked, no pirate ever ventured near the harbour, courtesy of Frederik and Maria, and no Brigand haunted the farmlands within his jurisdiction, after all who would like to tangle with an Free Company veteran, and a Man-at-arms at that?

Johan was content if bored, but a happy man, when he reached his door and learned that his old friend, Geoffrey was no more, another chapter had finished in the book of the Free Company.

 

[Valdemar]

Ishak sat quietly on the rich carpets on the floor, looking out over his splendid gardens. Fountains played melodiously and a few birds chirped in the lush green growths near the high wall.

From his vantage point he could see over the wall into the distant fertile valley and the hazy mountains beyond, but his eyes didn’t focus on the beauty and his mind was occupied elsewhere.

He had spent the last few years here at his country estate, withdrawn from the bustling life at court. Mehmet had grown up, and ruled in splendour form the city Ishak had taken with his father the Sultan.

The First Vizier of the Empire had earned his rest. He had spend years in toil, first warring for the father, then helping the son rule, and finally reigning in his place as Mehmet subdued the tribal warriors deep inside the realm.

The old man smiled contently, Mehemt had turned out to be a great ruler, strong in war, fair in peace, and as gifted in many ways as Murad had been. Ishak was happy with what he had wrought and the only drop of bitterness in the chalice was that his old friend Murad had not been around to witness the young pup come to age.

He closed his eyes and let his mind drift. He had negotiated another peace with the Christians, this time on their terms, Serbia lay wasted, but the Free Company had bought the peace, a phyrric victory for both, the Sultan slain, but also the famed Captain. He smiled sadly, an old wound, he would gladly have negotiated with Captain, to have met this famous man just once.

He had brought the Sultan home, had buried him regally then helped the son to rule. Finally, when he had seen his work done he had retired to his country home. Not that he had missed any opportunity to come here, but to finally call it home was a blessing.

A discrete knock on the door broke his thoughts. He smiled, he knew who it was, the very reason for keeping this place out of reach of the plotting court of the Empire. She entered through the discrete doors to her chambers, older, but no less beautiful to his eyes than she had been all those years ago when she had first been presented to him by Murad. Still slender and nimble she still graced his bed on occasion, but it was for her companionship he loved her. For his bed there had been, and Allah willing would be, others, but for the sheer peace of mind she was still his first choice.

She smiled down at him, knowing instantly where his mind had been. She graciously lowered her self to the carpet at his feet, careful not to touch the twin blades that habitually lay beside him. The ornate curved from the father, and the Christian one from the son.

Ishak smiled, his life was full, and even the one defeat at Belgrade could not spoil this day. The city would fall soon, of that he was certain, Mehmet would wash away the stain in due time.

 

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As the smoke and dust of battle settled again, Belgrade was saved. The young boy, Jan van den Berg walked out onto the battlefield and inspected the tremendous carnage before the cities walls.
Hundreds upon hundreds of death and wounded dotted the field to all directions. Blood stood in pools between the trampled grass and its smell, the smell of death was overwhelming. Overhead a group of vultures circled, diving towards the corpses and bodies now and then.
Wounded screamed and moaned, some of them crawled to nowhere, others begged for mercy, water and deliverance of their brutal faith.

Between these grotesque scenes the thirteen-year old strolled looking left and right, searching. He wanted to find Singleton, his retainer, the Armenian whom had brought him into the company, trained him and trusted him.
This evening, the survivors of the Light company, Chen at its head, had re-entered Belgrade to rest a while. Jan had been watching them as they passed by and had been looking out for Singleton, but he was not seen anywhere. And so he questioned every member of Lim’s company except for Lim, whom was not there yet.
“Look for him, he is on the field, you will find him. He might know where Mosby is.” One of the chin told Jan.

And so he had set out, just an hour ago and now, when the sun was setting and the moaning of the wounded grew ever loader and more agonizing he walked towards the distinct figure of a Chinese warrior, kneeling on the field. It was Lim, kneeling next to a slain warrior, his head in his hands, the long hear flowing and waving I the small breeze.
“It is Singleton, isn’t it?” the boy asked as he approached Lim.
“Yes, I am afraid so. It is him.” A sad Lim replied lowering the warriors head to the ground and putting two little copper coins on his eyes. “He must be in heaven now.”
“How did it happen, how did he died?” Jan asked while tears where running down his cheek.

“ It was a tremendous fight only erupted by a lull during the duel of Captain and the Pasha. After both of them collapsed to the ground an even greater fury erupted and Christian and Muslim alike stormed each other like they would have stormed the gates of hell itself. In the thick of it Chen and my troops met each other again and it was there when Singleton fell. The Turkish Janissaries charged us on the flank and got into our rear throwing us in confusion. At that moment Chen ordered me to counter the threat with my Jaghun. And so I did. I led the left while Mosby took the right. His men where just slaughtered and hundreds of Turks fell amongst their feet.
At this moment Singleton was still sitting on his horse and I saw him kick the mount in its flank and throw it into the enemies ranks with a giant leap. Several infidel spears caught the beast in its breast and brought him down while Mosby was sticking at the heads of his attackers with his bloodied scimitar. One by one he took them down until a mighty Janissary struck him, full force on the shoulder and brought him down.
Two times I saw him rise again only to falter underneath the waves of Turks once again. I tried to reach him but the fight was just too heavy and its tide took me past the place he had fallen.
When the crusaders joined the battle the matter was decided and so the Free company and my Jaghun survived.
As the fighting had died down and the Turks had retreated I went to search for Singleton’s body and when I found him he was still alive, to my surprise.
The axe had caught him in the left shoulder pretty hard and I think it was almost totally severed from the rest of his body, then there are a lot of wounds on his back, possibly received while he was not able to defend himself anymore.
For an hour his head was in my hands and he breathed quite normal. Some ten minutes ago his eyes opened and he spoke. “Tell my brother I am here to save him. Tell my mother she will be save in the barn.” Then he fell back and died. “

Slowly Jan stroke Singleton’s hair while Lim took the bloodied scimitar from his hand before putting both of his hands, folded on his chest.
“I think it is best if you take this and join me in Singleton’s place.” Lim said to Jan.
“You want me to join your jaghun?” an awestruck Jan sighed.
“Yes, I think Singleton has told you well enough how to fight and I can use your help certainly.”
“I am very grateful to serve under you command lieutenant Lim and will not falter once or shame Singleton’s legacy.”

That night Singleton was buried underneath a firm oak on the fringes of the battlefield. And the next day both Lim and Jan set out, for an adventurous future in which Jan would live up to Singleton Mosby’s legacy.

 

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Locanda del Edgewater, December 3, 1442

Stroph walked up the path. He used a cane now and had streaks of gray in his hair. His two big dogs ran along beside him.

At the top of the hill was a gate through an iron fence. Stroph took out a big key and opened the gate. Inside it was a small cemetary. He walked with slow steps towards a fresh grave. Next to it was one he had put here a few years ago:

Tomas, son of Stroph and a Free Company man

He knelt at this grave and said a prayer for his fallen son. A moment later, he walked to the second, fresh grave:

Henri, son of Stroph and a Free Company man

Tears flowing, he knelt besides this grave.

One of his dogs was sniffing around the grave.

"Branden. Back off there. Sit. Sit."

The old Frenchman sat by this second grave and began to think. He remembered the letter he had gotten from Geoffrey. He remembered how his heart had broken that day as he read of how Henri had fallen in the final battle. How he had seen the Captain fall and then had died in the battle as the Company faught to the fallen body of their leader.

Down below, he heard Be'cki calling for him. With a sigh, Stroph turned and began to make his way back down the path...

 

[Valdemar]

Frederik walked down the small beaten path. He had walked this way many times now, and still managed the trip with out help despite his close to fifty years.

The small monastery had become a ritual, almost a pilgrimage of sorts ever since the first time he had returned, some three years after placing Drakken here.

His first visit had been with murder on his mind, but seeing the creature he had created anger had turned into vengeance and he had spared the life of the creature, so that he would be reminded of his deed every day of his remaining life.

His visits always brought back the memories of Maria, and the pilgrimage was in many ways in her honour, more than anything else.

He sighed and sat on a protruding rock and rested his legs, he was not thirty anymore, and could hardly match the Free Company fighters anymore, though a random thug would still get out of a fight with him badly.

He leaned back and closed his eyes. The world had been good at first, the first years after the battle of Belgrade. Maria had been tired and fragile when he had taken her from the city and unto his hide away.

Weeks had turned to months before they had returned to the world, and on the surface everything had been as it used to be, but Frederik sensed that Maria was not happy.

They had settled in Florence, and on the coast, and soon returned to their calls and vices. Frederik began travelling again and Maria attended to her extended fleet.

As time went on the time between each rendezvous grew slowly, from days to weeks to months. Slowly they were drifting apart. Frederik had his issues in the courts and merchant halls of Italy and the Roman Empire, and Maria her interests lay on the waves.

When they met there was still fire, but something had been damaged in the dungeons of Cosimo, and finally broken in Belgrade. Something that couldn’t be repaired, and could not be defined.

Frederik felt a light drizzle on his face and opened his eyes. Even the weather suited hi mood. He got up stiffly and started walking again.

In the end it had been almost a year since he had last seen her when the news came. She had been killed in a needless skirmish with some Turkish ships on the Aegean coast somewhere, her grave the sea she loved so much.

He had wept, for the first time since the death Aliena and so far for the last time, he had wept, wept not for her death, but for all the love that was lost, and all the promises that had gone unfulfilled. At that point he had been ready to go north and kill Drakken for what he had done.

He crested the large ridge and could see the light of the village below, twinkling in the growing darkness.

He never knew what made him stop again in Buda on the way, or what twists of faith had made him accept the invitation to a ball, he was certain had he pressed on Drakken would have been dead, and his own life very different.

Maybe it was the memory of Maria, and the ball they had attended in Buda before the siege, the last time he had seen her happy and smiling in a full rope, the epitome of female beauty.

Whatever the reason it had changed his life once again. Attending the ball was the young blond Duchess he had talked amiably with the last time. This time she was not a young bright girl, recently married, but an attractive young widow, sharp as a razor, with her own fortune, and a young son. The most sought after party in all of Hungary.

They had talked all night, and Frederik had not so much fallen in love, as enjoyed the company. He had come up with excuses, and stayed for more than a week, wrangling invites to all the grand balls.

When he finally arrived at the Monastery it was with more consideration and infinite more cruelty that he told Drakken that Maria had died, and that he, his nemesis, and Drakken himself was to live for a long time without her.

He had returned to his duties and task at hand, keeping young Brandon supplied with information, meddling in both Venice and the Austrian court, but kept finding himself more and more attracted to Buda.

For every visit he expected her to be married, and finally, one day when she still accepted his visit, he had made a decision. To move out of the shadows and into the grey light of the politics of court.

With the aid of the old Irishman and his own contacts he suddenly appeared at court a noble of both Florence and Austria, a rare but profitable combination. She had willingly accepted his marriage, and they had together now lived for more than a decade, producing heirs to his titles, and perhaps to his hidden Empire of trades and secrets.

Her son from the first marriage had benefited, his lands richer than anything else, and Frederik had wisely refrained from claiming the lands of his wife, leaving them to the young heir.

As he entered the village and heard the lone bell call to vesper he knew his work was done, he would have many more years with his beautiful blonde, witty, and intelligent wife, amiably growing old together, and he would not come back to the monastery again.

He loved his wife, but not with a passion, he wondered silently if ever the ghost of Aliena and Maria could be banished.

 

[The_Hawk]

The unmarked galley was gently bobbing in Taranto's harbor when the rider came. Dismounting, the figure looped the reins around a mooring rope loosely and approached the nearly empty ship. The dull roar of day had given way to the creaking timbers of dusk, and the ship's complement had gone to waste their wages on their last evening in town. All, that is, but one -- the lone figure who leaned against the prow of the ship, looking out over the harbor and the sea beyond.

"I knew you'd come," Maria de Medici murmured.

"Did you? Are you sure you shouldn't be the spy?"

The lady pirate turned, smiled. "I paid the gate guards to let me know when you rode in. Not many ladies ride alone. Particularly not to the docks."

Annette tossed back her cloak hood, sweeping her graying hair out of her eyes. "No, I suppose not," she said ruefully. "Though anyone who tried to stop me would've gotten a trampling for their trouble."

Maria chuckled, and eyed her counterpart for a long moment. "I was surprised to get your letter. I wasn't expecting you to come yourself, I have to admit. I hope your bring good news?"

"Of course." Annette smiled, sadly. "It is done. I put word through all the appropriate channels. Surely you had to imagine he would be listening.

"As much as I hoped otherwise, I knew he would be."

"Well. He believes what you want him to believe."

Maria grunted. "Good."

Silence descended. The admiral turned back to the sea, seemingly forgetting her guest and the favor she had done. Finally, Annette spoke. "May I ask a question?"

"You may ask," Maria said, her voice leaving a great question as to whether she was inclined to answer.

"Why? Why this elaborate charade? Just to spite a former lover?"

Maria wheeled on her. "How dare you! Spite him? I love him!" She inhaled sharply. "I loved him," she corrected.

"Then why?"

Maria sighed. "He could never be happy with me. He lives in the past, Frederik Hviid. He thinks about Ailena -- do you even remember her? Every day, he thinks of her." She leaned against the rail heavily. "And I..." Maria gulped back tears, exhaled. "I will always be a memory of the past to him. A reminder of the horrors he has seen, and which he blames himself for. Ones he thinks he could have prevented." She glanced over at Annette, running a hand over the scars concealed under her blouse. "We both know he keeps Drakken locked away for his own brand of vengeance. But he tortures himself far more than he has ever tortured the German."

Annette took a step closer, spread her hands wide in a gesture of puzzlement. "But why? You said yourself that he thinks about Ailena. If he imagines you're dead, too, he will torture himself about that as well, won't he? How will that assuage his unhappiness?"

Maria blinked aside her tears. "Maybe it won't. But at least now he'll have a chance."

Annette nodded, slowly, once, and clasped her hands before her. She watched her counterpart -- they were almost the same age, but two more different women had never met. "So. Maria de Medici is dead, killed in a skirmish in the Aegean. Now what will she do?"

Maria smiled despite herself. "Go west, I suppose. Jonasz always thought highly of France. Not so much of Spain, of course, but I'm sure they've forgotten us by now." She patted the prow. "Of course, my fleet will need to be disposed of, auctioned off and the money secreted where no one will find it for a while."

"It'll be taken care of. But won't you need your ships?"

"Oh no," Maria grinned. "I only need one."

The two chatted idly for a few minutes, but finally there was nothing left to say. Maria gave Annette a brief, spontaneous hug; the latter remounted her horse and rode off. She didn't look back, and they would never meet again.

Afterwards, Maria sauntered back to her cabin and collapsed into a chair bolted to the floor. She closed her eyes for a long moment before a noise caught her attention. She leaned over the edge of the basinet -- also bolted down -- and peeked at its occupant.

The infant yawned, stretched, and opened its eyes. Twenty years later, the boy would grow to be an Adonis of his time, showing none of the plain features of his father -- none except those icy blue eyes, eyes which betrayed a Nordic heritage.

It was the night when Maria de Medici bid farewell to Italy, and farewell to Frederik Hviid, forever. But not every tear she shed that night was of sadness.