The Free Company - Book VII: Closure

[redwolf]

October 12th, The Twisted Sole, St-Malo, Late Afternoon

Jan led Lucjan back downstairs towards Kent’s table. “Lieutenant Kent, may I introduce to you Lucjan, a new recruit. Captain has assigned him to the Heavy Cavalry.”

Kent stood up rather unsteadily. Jan glanced at the number of empty mugs on the table but said nothing. Kent extended a hand to Lucjan, “Welcome to the Free Company, Lucjan.”

Lucjan took the hand with a firm grip and replied in his own language. Kent looked at him blankly before Jan translated it was a welcome message of his own.

Nearby, Lim Hui had encountered another person whose language he could not understand. He looked around frantically for help and spied Jan over with Kent. He waved to get Jan’s attention.

Jan caught his father waving and knew what he wanted but at the same time he had to translate for Lucjan. Then he remembered something, something that Bogdan had mentioned back in Ancona.

He turned to Bogdan and Mihai, “The two of you speak Pole right? I remember Bogdan mentioning it when we were back at Ancona.”

Bogdan nodded. Gratefully, Jan pulled Lucjan over to him, “This is Lucjan, a Pole. Can you take of him for me? I need to get back to Lim Hui.”

“No problem. What do you need me to do?”

“Help to translate what he is saying to Kent. He can’t speak English at all.”

Bogdan nodded once more and Jan left to return to Lim Hui. By the time he got back to his father’s side, Lim had managed to move the person he was having problems with to another sergeant.

The next person in line stepped up to Lim Hui. Jack Harrington stopped as he saw Lim Hui for the first time. Lim Hui saw the stare and he knew what Jack was thinking. He had seen it many times before in Ancona. Most people will have the same expression when they see one the Chinese soldiers for the first time and Lim Hui happened to be dressed in his former Imperial Guard uniform today which made him look even exotic, as Amric would have said Lim thought, to the Europeans.

“You wanna close your mouth now or are you waiting for a fly to fly in?” Lim asked Jack.

“You speak English?” Jack asked.

Lim sighed, “Yes I do. I learnt how to speak English back in Ancona. I had a good teacher.”

Jack was still staring at Lim and his outfit, “Are you one of those Muslim warriors?”

Behind him, Lim could hear Abduh chuckling away. He managed to suppressed a smile as he replied, “No I am not a Muslim. I am a Chinese. I came from China, what you Englishmen calls Cathay. Now if you are done gawking at me, why don’t you tell me what you are here for?”

 

[Lord Durham]

Oct 12, 1450: St. Malo – The Twisted Sole - Late Afternoon

"We both have our own arms, so you needn't equip us and we both have experience. I've fought in Prussia, across the German Empire and done some contract work in France. I follow orders, though I can give them, keep my equipment clean and orderly and know how to keep formation. If you have need of men such as us, we are ready to serve...once a contract is settled on. Of course." The man who identified himself as Gunther tried his most polite courtly bow, though it seemed rather stiff.

Captain drummed his fingers on the oaken table, cracked a half smile. He had watched the men approach, saw their eyes passing from Baer to Lochlan to LeClerc, saw the slightest hint of surprise when they realized it was he, and not they, who were in charge. He couldn’t blame them, he reasoned. This was his father’s Company, after all. These men around him had grown up with his father, fought with his father, suffered defeat and won brilliant victories with his father. And now that mantle was his. With Robert’s death he had been groomed to lead the most feared mercenary group in Europe and the Near East. And no one thought it should have been otherwise. Not LeClerc, not Jaegar, not Kent, not Chen and certainly not Lochlan. And here he was, barely 25 years of age. Yeah, they had every right to show surprise.

The sound of Lucjan and Jan thudding down the tavern steps brought him back to reality. He sat up and leaned forward. “Don’t bow. It’s embarrassing.” He smiled to assuage their discomfort. “It might spread to the men.” Lochlan and LeClerc rolled their eyes and chuckled. Nikolai ignored them, being in conversation with someone over his prized spear, and Baer stared blankly. Good old Baer. A ball of laughs. “Your credentials sound good. You have your own gear. You have experience. Welcome to the Free Company.”

Gaston and Gunther exchanged looks. Gunther asked, “We’re in? Just like that?”

Captain nodded. “Just like that. Of course, you can be out, just like that. A day or two with Baer will determine that.”

Baer swung around in his seat and gave them his best humourless smile.

Captain continued. “Find some quarters and have an ale. Get to know your new comrades. The serious work will begin tomorrow.”

Gunther started to bow, but then thought better of it. The two men turned and walked away.

Baer growled, “You didn’t ask that one about his eye.”

“Why? It’s up to you to determine how many he’ll need. Now, who’s next? Christ’s cross, but this is thirsty work!”
__________________

 

[redwolf]

Oct 12, 1450: St. Malo – The Twisted Sole - Late Afternoon

Charles had barely taken two steps out of the tavern door when he saw the Company’s physician Jan Barbasaen walking towards the tavern. Jan took one look at Charles face and knew something was wrong immediately.

Before Charles could say a word, Jan had pushed Charles back into the tavern and onto an empty table. He took Charles pulse while Charles tried to explain what had happened to him earlier. Jan chuckled as he heard how Baer’s trousers was hit by Charles vomit.

Jan finished his examination, “I got some medicine for you but they are yet to be unloaded. I will speak with Milo to see if we can get the medicine unloaded first.

At that point of time, Thomas Hulne who was sitting in the next table with Nikolai turned around on hearing Milo’s name. “You are looking for Milo? I suggest you try later. He said the next person to disturb him at the docks will be volunteering to help him with unloading.”

Jan snorted, “I like to see the old geezer try that. At the dockside you say eh?” Jan looked around the tavern and spotted Olav Erlingsson drinking a beer by himself.

Jan pulled Charles to his feet and brought him over to Olav’s table, “Olav, take care of this sick man for me will you. Get him some food, no beer unless you want him to vomit on you next and then get him to a bed upstairs to rest. I will be back soon with his medicine.”

Olav who had saw Charles vomiting earlier started to protest but a glance at Jan’s face shut him up immediately. Jan nodded and left for the docks to look for Milo.

------------------------------------------------

Christine had just sent another recruit on his way when a man staggered over to her table. The man almost lost his balance but just managed to stop himself from falling as he grabbed the edge of the table with both hands. He appeared to be quite drunk.

Christine drew back slightly as she smelled the rancid smell of strong beer and fish from the man’s breath. “This be the place to join the Free Company?” The man said in a unsteady voice.

“This is the line for recruits to draw their equipment. If you are looking to join the Company, you will have to join the other line over there.” Christine pointed to another long line of recruits.

The man stared at the line of men for a moment before turning his gaze back on Christine, “I think I will stay here. The view here is much nicer.”

Christine kept her calm and replied with a cool voice, “I am flattered but I am already married to a officer of the Free Company.”

“So what? I think the Free Company is over rated. Slayers of the Sultan Murad and all, I have heard all the stories but now for the first time I see them live in person and what do I see? I see a Company who have heathens in their ranks. A Company who hires heathens instead of good Christian men, how good can they be? I think you are better off with me, my lady. I am a knight after all and am better than most of the men here” The drunk man boasted to Christine.

Christine stood up at that point and pointed to the door, “I think I have heard enough. The door is that way.”

The drunk knight grinned and leered at her before suddenly extending an arm and grabbing one of her breasts, “A nice handful too I see.”

A sharp sound echoed across the tavern as Christine delivered a stinging slap to the Knight’s face, “HOW DARE YOU?!”

The slap at his face infuriated the knight and he flung aside the table that stood between him and Christine and delivered a slap of his own to Christine that sent her sprawling to the floor, “YOU SLUT! How dare you dare slap a knight? I will teach a lesson you will never forget. You will rue the day you fail to show respect for your betters.”

The knight started advancing on Christine…

 

[unmerged(31558)]

October 12th, 1450, Late Afternoon - The Twisted Sole, St. Malo

“No I am not a Muslim. I am a Chinese. I came from China, what you Englishmen calls Cathay. Now if you are done gawking at me, why don’t you tell me what you are here for?”

Jack rubbed his hand from cheek to cheek, brushing some of the sand from the beach that he had missed earlier out of his overgrown stubble. He lifted his shallow cheeks into a smile revealing surprisingly good teeth and took out his dagger.

"Right..I don't mind fightin wit a heathen as long as I get a good helpin of meat and greens along wit a few coins for me troubles!" Jack replied as he twirled his dagger

Lim Hui's stare indicated to Jack his grossly false assumption of acceptance and he jumped to correct himself, "..that is...if you'll have me?" he asked with an uncertain laugh before continuing, "..as you can see i'm a bit like Mars..but with a knife.." he raised his shirt to show his chest and stomach muscles "...and hands that can slip through shackles.." he took his shirt with his left hand and paraded his right hand in front of the others "..in the case we all get captured by the Turk..the way I see it, you can't afford not to have me around!" A silence fell over him as he lowered his shirt back to his waist.

 

[The_Hawk]

Oct 12, 1450: St. Malo – The Twisted Sole - Late Afternoon

Rhys had barely made it into The Twisted Sole when, perhaps drawn by something out of place, his eyes fell on a young man. The Welshman clapped a hand down on the young archer's shoulder. "Those your bows?" he asked gruffly, with a gesture.

Tylo half-turned in his seat, grinning proudly. In German, he began, "Yes, they are; I ow--"

"Piece of advice," growled ap Gruffyd, in a fashion which suggested he was not actually feeling especially generous. "Unstring your longbow if you're not using it, or you'll warp it. And if you have two bows -- by God and St. David, what I wouldn't have given for two bows when I was young! -- you won't be using them both."

He paused, realizing the younger man hadn't responded in the English he'd spoken, and quite possibly hadn't understood a word he'd said. He sized up the youth. "You don't look very Welsh, or even very English. Where did you come by that longbow, I wonder?"

 

[unmerged(131207)]

October 12, 1450: St. Malo - The Twisted Sole - Late Afternoon

There was a gift to be had in focus. But with every gift comes its inherent curse. Anything worth his focus was worth seeing through to its end. He was delighted for the moment with the idea that there may be another group of men in the company who could speak at least a bit of Polish. Jan had just introduced him to Bogdan and the man nodded on the mentioning of "Pole", a promising notion. It was short lived though. His enthusiasm crashed with the sudden spike of unusually loud yelling, even for the current environment, and the startling screech of something heavy sliding violently across the floor. For a moment, he thought he'd heard himself staggering in all over again.

Attention! Pay attention! His mind was screaming at him as he scanned the room for the source of the sound. There! He could almost hear his mind barking at him through his own ears as he caught site of the bellowing drunkard and his angry advance towards a woman not far from where he was standing.

Rushing between two fellows who appeared to be argueing over their eccentricity, one dressed in shiny, outlandish clothes, the other playing with a knife and showing off his muscles, he was at the drunkard's back in only a moment.

As the man reached down to grab the woman on the floor, he let loose what began as an angry grunt, and ended in the vulgar, defiant screaming of a prisoner being dragged to his cell. Lucjan had taken hold of him by his belt and was dragging him in the opposite direction. One good yank and the frothing oaf fell straight to his ass, staring up at the bald headed figure in a rage.

"You that wretch's wife?!" The fallen man cried. Lucjan just stared at him, unable to understand anything he was saying. But the troublemaker remained defiant, even as he stumbled to his feet and the rest of the bar was roaring at his misnomer.

The man, only further agitated by the laughter, pulled a dagger and started a reckless advance.

Lucjan drew his sword and took a step back.

He watched the man's life flash before his eyes. He watched the shock that crossed his face as he stumbled forward to his knees, unable to keep his balance, and the sword's point came to rest upon the center of his chest, urging him backwards ever so slightly. He watched the man begin to shiver, then quake, and drop the dagger to the floor. Tears were welling up in his eyes. Fear, or maybe it was an overwhelming sense of self-preservation, did that to a man when they felt they were at the cusp of an untimely and undignified end. The culmination of their life either not enough, or too much for them to bear. Either way, it brought ages of tears rushing forth into one moment to all but the hardest of men.

The man began to pray.

Lucjan made a motion to prepare his sword for a thrust, and the man winced deeply, covering his face and releasing a startled cry. Then the hard, rocky thud of a boot collided with his chest and sent him sprawling backwards.

Sword sheathed, Lucjan approached the shocked vagrant and lifted him with a heave to his feet, dragging the delirious fool across the floor as he begged and pleaded before kicking a boot into the back of the man's knee and cramming it deeply inward as he hit the floor. The man let out a howl of agony as he fell to his knees, pinned to the floor as if he'd been spiked there. But that too was short lived. Once, twice, he yelped, a whimpering babe, as his face was slammed with merciless intent into the edge of the table he'd so violently cast aside before. He even yelped a third, but the blow never came. The small trickles of blood flowing from his mouth, nose, and a cut beside his eye quickly grew into burgeoning rivers, dirtying the floor below, before slowing to a dribble.

There was a gurgling from the man's throat, and an incessant pleading for mercy as he was thrust to the floor at Christine's feet. Lucjan's knee was in his spine, his hair pulled tightly back in the Pollock's furious fists.

Lucjan looked around for Bogdan or for Jan. Screaming out some wild foreign order, a relentless demand, there was fire in his eyes.

By the fourth or fifth yell, the man's head was slammed into the floor, giving no respite for the pain as Lucjan's knee found more weight to bury into the drunkard's back and the howling intensified.

It was then that one of them finally understood what the Pollock was screaming in his odd mash of foreign tongues.

"Make him apologize."

 

[The Swert]

Oct 12, 1450: St. Malo – The Twisted Sole - Late Afternoon

Dietrich stood in the queue deep in thought. After chatting with the group of men he had fallen onto for about 15 minutes they finally directed him over the see the Captain for recruitment. He had already heard that the company was in town to rid it of bandits and it was upon this intention that his mind was fixed.

For a long three months he had tried to forget about the bandits and that's what led to him taking up gambling as a diversion. For it was them back in the summer who killed his brother. The small talk had reminded Dietrich of the painful events. It was seemingly an innocent contract to protect some merchants as they took their goods from Rennes to the port at St Malo, just a run of the mill thing. Dietrich and his brother, Manfred, oh how painful it was it even recall his name, had taken up the offer thinking it would be a bit of easy money. However the bandits struck, came out of the woods. Dietrich and Manfred went at it as the merchants cowered together. It was only 3 or 4 of them and Dietrich and Manfred were able to position themselves between the goods and the bandits. Soon enough the bandits realised that this convoy was protected and fleed but as Dietrich turned back after chasing them off he noticed his brother had been hit by an arrow. The merchants had tried to help but to no avail and he died on the way to St Malo. Dietrich felt the anger raging within him and then suddenly he realised he was being spoken to.

"I said next" the Captain was saying. Somehow during his daze he found himself at the front of the queue with 4 or 5 faces analysing his physique.

"Dietrich Langschwert" he composed himself. "I hear you're here to take care of these bandits. I want in on that. I want cut their bleeding heads off!" The composure was gone as that final cry bellowed around the room.

"You have a score to settle with them?" asked one at the table.

"They killed my brother" The occupants of the table looked at one another and muttered between themselves for a moment. Dietrich's face was hard as rock. The captain decided not to pursure the matter and changed topic.

"What experience do you bring?"

"I served 5 years in the guard of the Landgrave of Hesse, 9 months in the guard of the Archbishop of Cologne, 2 years in the Swabian mercenary group the White Eagles, 1 year in the Lions of Dijon, 15 months in the Silver Swords in Touraine and the last two years independently with my brother."

The captain nodded to himself but before he could speak Dietrich continued.

"I notice most people here have just arrived and are no doubt not accustomed to this region" he spoke as he signalled around the room referring to both the company members and the would-be recruits. "Well I may have only been here three months but I know my way around this area. I could well help with directions if you need."

"What weapons can you use?" asked the captain.

"Did you not hear my name? Langschwert. I use longswords like my father and like his father before him. I wield a bastard sword which I use with just the one hand allowing the other to hold my buckler." he took up a battle stance and motioned towards his imaginary equipment. "I also carry my Katzbalger in case I lose my bastard sword or to loan to the unequiped in times of peril."

"Next question!" Dietrich had a booming voice when we wanted and this impatience took the Captain somewhat by surprise forcing him to sit upright.

 

[unmerged(35829)]

October 12, 1450 - The Twisted Sole, St.Malo - Late Afternoon


“Ever done some scouting? Snuck up real close in pitch darkness across open fields?”

Thomas shuddered at that the memory of the surprised look on the french faces still haunted him. The 'attack' on Thury-Harcourt had caught the french forces totally unaware, Thomas and the rest of the English bowmen had marched through the night to the edge of the forest by Moulins and then worked their way across the open fields to Thury-Harcourt, before dawn they had sprung their attack, 120 archers and scouts against the unsuspecting, and unarmoured, french knights and infantry had been devastating, the savagery shown only bettered by the speed at which the bowmen retreated back through the woods to safety. The attack had, however, secured safe passage over the river d'Aunay and the retreating English forces had gain a safe route west.

Bringing his mind back to today Thomas nodded "Yes sir, I have. On our retreat it was oft necessary to be, shall we say, cautious in our movement. Scouting became second nature to us."

Turning his gaze back to the boar spear Thomas continued "Sir, do you use that solely on foot or have you used it on horseback. Back home we did both in the forests and glens depending on terrain."

 

[Amric]

October 12, 1450: St. Malo - The Twisted Sole, Late Afternoon

Christine's shout of outrage and the slap heard through the tavern caught Baer's attention. It had also caught the Captain's. Baer was already rising from his seat when the Captain spoke.

"Deal with that," he snapped.

"Already on it," Baer started moving.

The new recruit, Lucjan, was already there. He almost smiled as the big man draggedt he drunken oaf away from Chen's wife. The man's screeching was reaching higher decibels as the Pole continued to harangue him in his polyglot of languages. Most of which Baer didn't understand. The man, face down on the floor with the Pole's knee in his upper back did amuse him. Slightly.

He reached the two and looked into the Pole's eyes. His own peered deep within the other's. Both men recognized great strength in the other.

"What the hell is he saying?" Baer asked anyone nearby to translate the Pole's words.

"He's telling the fool to apologize to Christine," Mihai told him.

"An excellent idea!' Baer boomed, kneeling down to the prone man, "I'd suggest you do that very thing. Or I'll let the Pole rip out your spine and give you over to a puppeteer as his new toy!"

The man's beet red face went a deeper purple, but his eyes rolled toward Baer's voice and saw the grim, and unpleasant, look on his face.

"I-I'm sorry, my lady," he stuttered, "My manners were atrocious and I most humbly beg for your forgiveness."

Baer helped Christine back to her feet. She looked down at the knight with a sniff of disdain.

"If my husband were here," she intoned with fire in her voice, "He'd kill you right now."

"I'm sorry, I really am!"

"In the Free Company we do NOT do such things," Baer snapped, "You will not be joining."

He turned to Christine, "What do you want done with him?"

She scowled down at him, "I do not accept his apology. I don't ever want to see him again."

"Not a problem," Baer nodded sagely and turned to Lucjan, "Let him up."

The Pole looked at him questioning until Mihai translated. With a shrug he released his prisoner. The man started to rise, only to be helped by Baer's hand gripping his throat. Tightly. He rose in the air gasping for breath, his toes no longer touching the floor. Baer brought him in close, nose to nose.

"You are a dead man," he said softly, "if you ever come near St. Malo again."

His left hand reached out for the knights right arm. With a vicious twist he broke the man's right arm at the elbow. The man howled weakly through his mostly closed throat.

"You are no knight," Baer informed him quietly, "For no knight would so dishonor a lady."

He walked to the front door, "Someone open the door. NOW!"

Antonio the baker, just entering saw the sergeant and his victimi approaching and held it open. Baer threw the man out of the tavern where his ass hit the cobblestones just before his head. The man lay there unmoving, completely knocked out. Baer smiled thinly and nodded to the baker who quaked at the door.

"Thank you, baker," Baer turned back to the Pole, "Good job, Lucjan. The Free Company takes care of it's own."

He turned to the crowd at large, "If that....man...is seen again after he wakes up in St. Malo his life is forfeit. No one is to give him succor. Am I understood?"

A series of nods from the veterans. The newcomers looked to them and then back to the sergeant. Their nods were quick in coming as well.

"Thank you," Christine nodded to the Pole and Baer.

"You are welcome," Baer nodded in return before making his way back to the recruiting table.

The noise level in the tavern started to rise again as Grizzly once more sat down to process another recruit.

 

[merrick]

Oct 12, 1450: St. Malo – The Twisted Sole - Late Afternoon

Gaston and Gunther exchanged looks. Gunther asked, “We’re in? Just like that?”

Captain nodded. “Just like that. Of course, you can be out, just like that. A day or two with Baer will determine that.”

Baer swung around in his seat and gave them his best humourless smile.

Captain continued. “Find some quarters and have an ale. Get to know your new comrades. The serious work will begin tomorrow.”

Just like that. Apparently all it took to join the fable Free Company was to turn up and ask - and not get laughed out of the room by the Captain and his formidable assistants. Gaston had known mercenary companies who worked like that. Either they were desperate or they had a policy of working the new recruits twice as hard to encourage the dead meat to drop out by itself. By the queue of recruits, the Free Company wasn't desperate. Still, for the moment, this was the first time he could remember being ordered to drink on his employer's time, and he was happy not to let the Captain down.

He left the Captain's table (without saluting, but the Captain was talking to a big Fleming and didn't seem to expect it) and crossed over to the bar. Catching the server's eye, he called for wine for him and Gunther. (He owed Gunther from the morning and hopefully the Company would pay). Then he turned to survey the room.

"Which do you think is our unit?" Gunther asked from beside him.

Gaston considered. There was a cluster around a table near the Captain - looking more like a band of rogues than any soldiers Gaston had ever seen - but they were centred on the other veteran sergeant, and appeared to be a chosen group. To the other side of the room was a middle-aged man with the gear of a knight, talking to another cavalryman, two strangely-dressed foreigners with funny twisted bows and - Vive Dieu, was that a Mongol?

A commotion erupted at the other end of the room. A drunken fool was harassing a lady - the only woman Gaston could see in the inn, apart from the serving girls. Gaston was wondering if he should intervene when a young man with a shaven head and the approximate build of a mountain strode across the room to administer a brutal beatdown that had Gaston wincing in sympathy. He spoke some heathen language as well. It occurred to Gaston that the taproom of the Twisted Sole might just be the safest place for a woman in the whole of northern France - assuming the woman in question had the nerve to stay there for more than about three heartbeats.

"I see skirmishers and cavalry, but no inf- wait a minute." A man with the build of an archer and the dark looks of a Weshman had just come through the door and was talking to another man with a longbow. Longbows on your side were always good news, and Gaston was a firm believer in staying on good terms with his archers.

Taking the wine, Gaston headed over to them. "Gaston de Valence, new post with the infantry. Working with you maybe?"
The younger one just looked blank at that, so Gaston repeated the introduction in French.

 

[Valdemar]

October 11 Noon, the Inn at Le Mans


Frederik nodded,

“Sage advice Maitre, I am not well versed in the arts of artillery.

However, my employer already enjoys the services of a number of experienced gunners and apprentices. It is the skill of a Master of Arms as it is they are in the market for, one to lead and educate the current force, and to expand it.

The assignment would carry the full status of Maitre d’Artillery and have great finances to expand.”

He sipped his wine,

“the employer is not a Royal House, I’ll grant you that, but there is not a spot on their reputation, it is indeed what legends and myths are made of.”

He leaned closer,

“Imagine that. To be able to build your own division, your very own force, you will have free hands.”

He leaned back and threw up his hand,

“But off course, if you’d rather follow the lead of others, to fall into place in somebody else’s regime. That is your choice and I’ll have to accept it.”

He lifted a large scroll, rolled up tightly, out of a bag by his chair,

“I was about to offer a two yéar contract, possible renewal and a substantial bonus if you succeeded in building an artillery wing. I guess Switzerland is my next stop.”

 

[unmerged(109735)]

October 11th, noon, at an inn at Le Mans

Jean smiled amiably at his host across the table. “You do have a way with words, master Hviid, I grant you that. An employer of the substance ‘legends and myths are made of’, you say. And without a spot on his reputation.”

Master d’Aulon leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chin. “You have made me curious as to your employer’s identity. You see, money is important, but it’s of course not everything. If it was just for the money, I could go to Turkey for a few years and return as rich as a prince, but who would want to live among the heathen, let alone serve them?”

“No”, he repeated, now leaning forward in his chair, close to Frederik, “there are other factors as well. Building up an entire artillery wing from basically scratch, for an employer of high repute, with a free hand and generous pecuniary means at my disposal – now that’s a task that might just be able to tempt me away from Dijon. I will admit freely that the town has lost part of its appeal since…”

Jean leaned back again, the hint of a shadow passing over his face. No, he would sully the memory of his family by making their loss an instrument of base bartering. D’Aulon shot the Dane a short inquisitive glance. Hviid’s face was impassively composed, his features quietly polite, his mien giving away nothing. With a little smile, Jean resumed: “I’ll be totally honest with you, master Hviid. I am very good at what I’m doing, and I love my work, and I love my position. Until very recently, I would have given leaving Duke Philippe’s employ not even the most passing of thoughts, but presently I am not so sure anymore. The task you set before my eyes and the means you promise me to have at my command for carrying it out are tempting, and maybe you need not travel on to Switzerland at all. But please understand this: Even though the position you offer is attractive, I am ill prepared to take employ in Sweden or Ireland or somesuch dreadfully backwater place, and I am even more loath to work for Muhammadans. If you want to propose I do so, you have to be aware that your employer would have to surpass my current salary by far, by very far indeed.”

He finished his little speech and seeing that his host made to answer lifted his hand to stop him and added: “Please, master Hviid. I ask you to show me your hand. If you want me to earnestly consider your attractive offer, you will have to tell me who my employer would be, where I would be expected to live, and what he is prepared to pay. I assure you my complete discretion wether we come to an agreement or not.”

 

[Alfred Packer]

Taking the wine, Gaston headed over to them. "Gaston de Valence, new post with the infantry. Working with you maybe?"
The younger one just looked blank at that, so Gaston repeated the introduction in French.

Gunther's French was weaker than Gaston's, so while he followed, he maintained enough distance to not require his participation in the discussion. He was contemplating his new bosses. The captain was but a stripling, but the other officers treated him with respect, and that mattered. Baer he liked right off. This was a company that would not be rousing useless peasant anger. Another point in their favor. The way the Pole was handled spoke well of company discipline.

Gunther always chose his employers with great care and he was quite pleased with what he'd seen thus far. His eye picked up a nervous looking young archer, probably the fellow's first contract, so he decided to play the 'old hand' for a bit.

Patting Gaston on the back, Gunther walked over to where the young man. "So, lad, do you feel as uncomfortable as you look?" he smiled as he scratched his illustrious muttonchops with his free hand.

 

[von Streusser]

October 12th - St. Malo, The Twisted Sole - Late Afternoon

Bogdan had been about to introduce himself, or more accurately, foist such duties upon Mihai, when the Pole had gone rushing across the room into the middle of a ruckus. In fact, the Moldavian's mouth was half-open at the time, and he didn't bother to close it as he turned his head and tracked the man's movement. As the Pole lit into the drunken knight, Bogdan's shoulders slumped, his jaw slid shut, and he closed his eyes. With a sigh, he looked down at the table and shook his head.

"Well, the boy certainly knows how to make an entrance. Just wish he didn't need a translator for it." At that, he pushed himself away from the table, and walked over to Lucjan.

Mihai, meanwhile, snapped off a few quick translations for Baer and the Pole, then returned to his conversation.

"...my father was the lord of a castle, many years ago, but we had some trouble with some villagers across the border that went violent fast, one thing led to another and I... deemed it prudent to leave after my father's death. I have experience in fighting, been around quite a bit... Mercenary isn't the right term, but I have been paid to fight" said Lasko.

The young Moldavian nodded. "You may find your story resonates with a number of the men here. The Master and I were forced from Bukovina when the Turks gobbled up our homeland." He pauses, looking uncomfortable. "Among other circumstances" he finally adds, quietly. "After that, we started fighting for hire. Nothing else we could do, really. But you'll find all sorts here...disinherited, landless, or just craving excitement. Many victims of violent misunderstandings, too. You'll probably fit right in, Lord Sagarra" he says with a smile.

A few tables over, Lucjan is surprised when an arm is suddenly placed around his shoulders. Turning his head, he sees the man who was just introduced to him as Bogdan. "Bogdan Viteazul" he says, with great emphasis on the second word, as if anyone from east of Berlin ought to know the significance of such a moniker. He then launches into Polish. "You, my friend, definitely know how to make a first impression. Come on, sit down, have a drink." Releasing Lucjan in the general direction of his table, Bogdan unsteadily bows towards Christine and Baer. "Madam, are you all right?"

"I'm fine" she says curtly, lacking the patience to deal with another drunk.

"I'm glad to hear it. I'll take care of our new friend from here" he says towards Baer, tottering after Lucjan.

The infantryman growls. "Then we may all be in trouble."

Arriving back at the table, Lucjan is motioned into an empty seat. Bogdan proceeds in Polish. "The lad there is Mihai, he attends me. The two of us fought alongside a number of your countrymen against the Turk, and picked up your language then. I hope Polish is acceptable, because my Lith is not so fantastic. The fellow next to him is Lasko Sagarra. We're all light cavalry. And you've already met Lieutenant Kent, head of the heavy cavalry, and to whom you've been assigned. The boy" he said, gesturing to Mihai "will be happy to accompany you whenever you need a translator. Just don't monopolize his time, someone's got to look after our horses too."

The younger man nodded from across the table. "A pleasure to meet you, Lord Lucjan. If there's any way I can be of service, you need only ask." His Polish was clipped and accented, but understandable. "That was quite a show you put on there. I'm sure the officers appreciate your restraint."

"I think we need another round of drinks!" barked Bogdan, waving to a passing bar maid.

 

[Valdemar]

October 11 Noon, the Inn at Le Mans

Without showing his tripumph Frederik replied,

“It is in St. Malo.”

He handed the scroll to the Burgundian.

“It may well be that you will want to talk exact prize and details with the Captain himself, but it certainly offers the challenges and position you seek.”

He smiled widely,

“Captain is head of the Free Company. Mercenaries by name, so much else in reality.”

He proceeded to produce a heavy pouch,

“Travelling money, should get you to St. Malo with me and back if you chose not to accept Captain’s offer.”

He dug into the food again,

"When could you possibly be ready for departure?"

He chewed for a moment, then continued of handedly, as if asking the Burgundian what he would like for dinner,

"I'll need to do some trading at the local market, any particular goods, even in small quantities I would be well of to purchase on behalf of your new employer that would benefit your trade?"

 

[The_Hawk]

Rhys eyed Gaston and Gunther appraisingly as they approached. He gave them an approving nod, one veteran to another. Gunther's less-than-proper number of eyes clearly marked him as someone who had seen battle before. Shifting to his good leg, he said, "ap Gruffyd." He gestured at Tylo. "And this young man... well, I don't know who he is, but he needs to take better care of his weapons. Know any German?"

Without waiting for an answer, Rhys eyed the equipment of the pair, and their builds. "Infantry, I take it. Pikes?" He grunted mirthlessly as he glanced over at the ruckus created by Baer breaking the arm of a man covered in blood -- not a wholly atypical sight, at a Company-occupied tavern. "Enjoy your new Sergeant," he said, with a subtle nod toward the big German. He flagged down a waitress and grabbed a tankard of mead. "I remember back when he was a lovable guy -- always used to play with the children. Don't know what happened to him." He took a swig, enjoying it for a long second before swallowing. "Things change," he opined, pensively.

 

[unmerged(109735)]

October 11th, noon, at an inn at Le Mans

“The Free Company, you say? I’ve heard of them, and I seem to remember that they have a very good name for mercenaries.”

So he had recalled correctly – this Frederik Hviid was indeed a mercenary, even though you wouldn’t have guessed at first glance. Jean shoved his plate to one side and spread out document his host had handed him on the table. With the practiced ease of a man of the letters he went quickly over the lines of neat handwriting. A tiny outfit with pitifully few cannons as yet, just two coulverins and one that might either be a veuglaire or a more modern serpentine, that he couldn’t tell from the statement of bore size alone. That was disappointing.

But the promised working circumstances were far from it. The Free Company had set up a foundry at St. Malo, and the contract promised sufficient means to cast a good number of new pieces. These mercenaries must either be exceedingly wealthy or else determined to invest heavily into the modernization of their regiment. Even the salary did match the one he drew from Burgundy and even surpassed it by one tenth. And there was the promised bonus.

Jean liked money as well as the next man, but he was not especially greedy. The offer was good, and the money adequate in view of him having to leave his safe and prestigious employment. No need to haggle.

He looked up at Frederik Hviid once more, slowly nodding. “St. Malo is not Dijon, but at least it is France. Your offer does look very enticing, master Hviid. I think I shall come with you to St. Malo and at least take a look at your guns myself. I am under the impression that you would like to depart as soon as possible?”

Past the food in his mouth Frederik replied: “We are in no special hurry, but why waste time?”

“Yes, why indeed”, Jean said. “Well, I can be ready to travel early tomorrow, if that suits you. And as to the ‘goods benefitting my trade’ I can indeed think of some thing or other one can never be oversupplied with. Tell me…”

And Jean began questioning Frederik as to the details of the scant artillery wing of the Free Company. He would at least go to St. Malo and have a look at this opportunity for a challenging and lucrative employment.

 

[Alfred Packer]

Don't know what happened to him." He took a swig, enjoying it for a long second before swallowing. "Things change," he opined, pensively.

Gunther considered his words about Baer, reserving comment, but commiting it to memory.

"Gunther and Gaston, and yea, pikes...well, Halberd usually, but yeah." He nodded towards Baer, appreciatively, "well I can see why he made sergreant. Seems like a lead from the front sort."

Gunther switched from his less comfortable French, "I do speak German, born speaking it, in fact." He absently reached out and touched the young man's bow before continuing in German, "and ye really need to learn to care for these things properly. You won't have work long without a weapon and if it fails you in battle," he shrugged, "you won't be around to collect your pay."

 

[Lord Durham]

Oct 12, 1450: St. Malo – The Twisted Sole - Late Afternoon into Evening

Lochlan kept his gaze on Ox as he heard the story. He looked back at Nigel first and then once again to Ox, "You wanting to join too?"

The large man just nodded his bald head without saying a word. Nigel stepped in for him, "As I said, he does not speak much. Can't read or write either. The poor man was shunned from his village. I met him on the road from Calais. No idea what he meant to do here in St. Malo, but he's been a fine traveling companion."

Lochlan simply nodded at the story causing Nigel to perhaps show his eagerness, "May I presume our services can be used, sir?"

The ranger paused as one of the recruits, a one-eyed man who had indentified himself as Gunther, bowed stiffly toward Captain. He chuckled and shared a look with LeClerc. A moment later he turned back to Nigel and Ox. He sized up Ox again. “Ever use a pike?”

The big man shook his head. He made a wide sweeping motion with his huge arms. “Axe, and sword.”

“Axe and sword are good, but you must learn how to wield a pike. Are you willing?”

Ox scratched the back of his bald head. “Aye.”

“Then you will report to Baer when training begins. He’s the ugly one beside me.”

The big man nodded, his face breaking into a large smile.

Lochlan returned to Nigel. “And you will report to Nikolai, the old geezer at the end of the table. Nikolai reports to me. Welcome to the Free Company.”

Nigel smiled and bobbed his head, “Thank you sir. You won’t be sorry, sir.” He slapped Ox on the small of his back. “See? I told you.” They walked away.

* * *

"Next question!"

The man Dietrich had a booming voice when we wanted and this impatience took Captain somewhat by surprise, forcing him to sit upright. He leaned forward and stroked his beardless chin with one calloused hand. “Knowing the region is useful. Your experience is useful. Your motives are troubling. Revenge is understandable. We have all been down that path at one time or another. But I see it consumes you. So, my question is, can you take orders? If yes, you’re in. If no, well, revenge can be a lonely bedfellow.”

* * *
Lochlan dismissed the recruit before him and watched an exchange between Lim Hui and a young man with mild curiosity. He raised an eyebrow when the lad removed his shirt to show off a wiry, thin physique. A flashed signal to Lim-Hui and the Chin sent the young man his way. “Well, that’s one way of attracting attention, I suppose. Not as dramatic as throwing up on someone’s boots, though.”

Baer shot him a glance.

Lochlan hid a smile. “What is your name?”

“Jack. Jack Harrington.”

“I see you’re good with a dagger.”

The boy nodded.

“I suppose you have no combat experience?”

The boy shook his head.

“Can you take orders?”

The boy nodded and flashed a brilliant smile.

“You know the meaning of stealth?”

“Very much—sir.”

“Good. I can use someone of your size. You will report to Nikolai tomorrow. Get you into some proper gear, too.”

The boy nodded his thanks, and then all heads turned when Christine shrieked, “How dare you!”

* * *

Baer sat down heavily, dusting off his hands. He nodded approvingly at the Pole. “We have a good one there. Too bad he wasn’t infantry.”

Lochlan slapped him on the back. “You can’t have them all, Grizz.”

Captain said, “The line’s thinned. Not too many left.”

LeClerc reached for an ale. “And not a bad haul, if I do say myself.”
__________________

 

[redwolf]

Oct 12, 1450: St. Malo – The Twisted Sole - Late Afternoon into Evening

Lim Hui’s eyebrow shot up slightly at the use of the word heathen but he kept silent until Jack had finished speaking before replying in a cold voice.

“The first thing I suggest you learn in the Free Company is to forget the word heathen. In the Free Company, we are all brothers, regardless of religion or race. If I hear that word again, you are out of the Free Company. You understand me?”

Jack kept silent as he nodded. Lim caught a signal from Lochlan, nodded and then continued speaking, “As it is, I can see you have some … talent…. That might be useful to the Company. You see that man over there. His name is Lochlan. He’s in charge of the Rangers. I think he will have some use for you.”

The sharp sound of a slap echoed across the tavern followed by the crashing sound of a table being overturned. Lim Hui looked around for a moment for the source of the sound before he realized that it was Christine that was in trouble.

Lim started pushing his way through the crowd to get to Christine but it was over by the time he had gotten through. As he pushed through the last of the people in the way, he was just in time to see Baer toss the drunk knight out of the tavern.

Lim’s eye narrowed as he realized that the knight was still alive. He was about to take another step forward when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around to see that it was Wihelm holding him back.

“Let me go.” Lim growled as he tried to get free of Wihelm’s grip.

“No way Lim. I know what you are planning to do. It’s over, just let him be.”

“He touched Chen’s wife. He deserves to die for that.”

“He got his punishment already, let him be. This is St Malo, Lim. We are strangers here and I get the feeling that the locals don’t really like us very much. If you are going to kill a man on the first day of our arrival, it will just give the locals a worse impression of us.”

Lim gave a growl of frustration before he took a deep breath and force himself to calm down, “Damn you Wihelm but you are right. Killing him will not be a good idea.”

“Now that you have straightened out your thinking, let’s get a drink.” Wihelm waved for a bar maid as the two men made their way to where Lucjan was sitting.

Lim took a seat beside Lucjan, “I want to thank you for saving Christine. She is the wife of one of my closest friend and I won’t know how to answer to him if something had happened to her.”

Lim waited for Mihai to translate to Lucjan who then replied in his own language. “Lucjan says rescuing a lady in distress is something any true knight will have done.”

Lim Hui nodded and then he frowned as a thought came into his mind, “You know, he is going to have a problem if he cannot speak English. How is he going to execute commands in battle if he cannot understand any of the commands?”

He turned to Bodgan and Mihai, “Since you two can speak english and his language as well, you might want to consider giving him English lessons, make sure he at least knows the basic commands.”