Burgundy: Origin of the Free Company: Book One

[Rictus]

Edward was at the rear of his regiment and poised on the brink of the hill, watching with idle interest as, despite the horrendous situations they were all in, they still managed to laugh at life. It was fascinating.

Below him, the Auvergnese army spead across the valley floor like locusts and were heading his way, though they were barely held in check by Lochlan and his group, while the cavalry continued its stalemate.

In the distance, he could still the fires started by Forster and Sagan, and that brought a thin smile to Edwards lips. It had been a long day and his shoulders and legs cried out at him to rest, he took a seat just off the muddy main road and stretched his legs. It looked like things were going to settle down for the night, and for that, Edward was thankful.

_____

OOC: Edited it a little,to comply with LDs post (that follows this one)

 

[Lord Durham]

June 25 - Evening


Ivan Razkov was a stubborn man. He was extremely stubborn when he was tired, and frighteningly so when angry. His obstinacy and dedication to his craft was almost his undoing as the enemy came dangerously close to overunning his position. Only Captain's sudden appearance and reminder that he was of more use alive than dead forced the huge man to reluctantly join the retreat. As it was the withdrawal was perilous, with only the timely arrival of Sagan's Cossacks to ensure their safety.

Now safely ensconced in the new hospital that Mohammed had diligently erected, Ivan stood at the entrance, his view of the valley and opposing hills unimpeded by the height of their new location.

On the opposing hills across the valley the Auvergnese army continued its cat and mouse game with the Company cavalry and bowmen. It was a game that had been played for over half a day, but he could tell it was winding down. Ivan knew both sides were exhausted. Man only had so much endurance. With a deep sigh he stretched, his massive frame cracking as weary bones protested. Slowly shaking his head, he turned to face the carnage.

* * *

Captain had given over his Andulusian to one of the camp boys for safekeeping. The poor beast was lathered with exertion and the mercenary leader had no wish to kill the beast from overwork. He had found a flat rock that gave him a good view of the valley and allowed him to direct the final stages of the withdrawal from there. The crossbowmen were positioned on the forward slop of the steep incline, backed by the infantry. As the Welsh slowly worked their way up the rocky incline they were directed to the rear of the camp where hot food was in preparation. The cavalry were still gathered on the valley floor, waiting for possibly one last Auvergne attack.

It never came. As light faded the enemy settled down into position, and the Company cavalry slowly picked their way back to camp.

Last of all came the scouts. Captain observed with gratitude as they climbed the steep incline, the posture of their bodies betraying utter exhaustion. Most of them had spent their last arrow, and he made a mental note to see about refills. Lochlan, Scherer, Sean and Ash passed close by, their faces haggard and weary. Captain nodded in silent thanks.

Sometime later, as darkness neared, he felt a presence beside him. A hand slowly slid into his, and with a tired half smile, Captain and the Countess faced west to watch the sun sink below the hills. They were safe, for the moment.

 

[Barkdreg]

Barkdreg was exhausted, for half a day he had been fighting the Auvergnese. His armour was dented and his white robe was torn and splattered with blood, luckily most wasn't his. He only suffered a few minor scratches where the chains of his armour had penetrated his leather jerkin and bit in his flesh.
His right armp felt numb, swinging a large sword one-handed was tyring. He had the bad luck that his lance broke after missing some
peasant conscript. The battle had been long but not honourable.
The Auvergne army seemed to be devoid of knights. Mainly peasnats and mercenaries. Just as well really, five to one is bad but would be worse if the five where knights.

***************
Nice job everyone!
I didn't have time to write large posts because my week-ends tend to be hectic.

 

[unmerged(4007)]

Sean had been among the first of the Company today to fight, he was definitly among the very last to come off the field. As he passed the Captain, he noticed him check the modified quiver he carried his bolts in and see it was empty. What he didn't know was when he killed the last Auvergne with his dagger, the blade had snapped. His sword's blade was notched in one place, but not badly. His armor was bloodied, he has taken a number of superficial scratches from near misses by swords and arrows. But he was healthy, if tired. Hearty, if haggard. And in high spirits, if discouraged that all the honor gained today had not bought them victory.

He looked back down the hill at the Auvergne, and he knew they had to be spent as well. Two major battles, perhaps half their forces thrown at the company and its rag-tag reinforcements, and the majority of these were either killed or wounded so badly as to be unusable in future action. The Captain planned for defence, and this was wise. But Sean knew in his heart the day was done. He cleaned himself as best he could, and then went to see the Captain about their arrangement.

 

[unmerged(7095)]

Night - June 25

Don Diego walked towards the officer's area to report on how his squad had done. He was pleased with how his men had done. Much better than when they were part of that Burgundian rabble. The Free Company's high morale and sound strategy had done wonders for his men's own morale.

Arturo had told him how suprised and grateful the Scouts and the Archers had been for the relief. He'll have to make sure to introduce Arturo to the others so that he doesn't end up with an arrow or a sword in him.

Casualties had been suprisingly low. João had received a glancing blow on the side of his head, but he had been the worst. Don Diego credited it to good strategy and the fact that they had joined the battle late when the Auvergnese were tired and demoralized by not being able to win a desicive victory over the numerically inferior Free Company.

He'd forgotten how fun that hat was. He would have to continue wearing it, at least for a while longer. Maybe he and Bloomfield could talk Lochlan, Schurer, and the other Sergeants into obtaining similar hats. Doubtful, but it might be humorous to see if Bloomfield would suggest it.

 

[Forster]

Forster's men had done well that day. Since returning they had continued to harry the Auverne force from the flanks, wheeling in, throwing spears, pulling back. Once out of spears it was a rush with an axe, mace or short sword, whatever the man was armed with. They would try to sweep in from the units rear or flank, but more often then not the enemy would have warning, so the cav unit would wheel back out away from the pole arms. Still, the stress of the constant attacks must have been wearying to those hapless foot soldiers. He was lucky that the heavy cav was too busy concentrating on the Company's heavy horse.

His men were beat, and once they closed on the night lager, he gave his sergeants orders to make sure the horses were taken care of first, then the men would have a chance to rest. He went off to report to the Captain about the destroyed supply train. He really didn't think the Auverne soldiers would be able to fight again. They would be too busy trying to find food, cooking utensils, and other things soldiers needed to survive in the field. He was sure there would be no salvage from the burned out supply train. He thought an attack by the company, charging down the hill, might just break the enemy force in the morning.

 

[Sgt. Bloomfield]

9 pm

They all had trouble keeping their eyes open. Captain, Clerk, the Countess and the Lieutenants and a couple of knights were gathered in Captain's tent.

It was Bloomfielde's turn to report. "I was pleased with the Spaniard. He can stay on. His 50 men or so make up for my casualties, although my regiment might go a bit above 300 if a few of the wounded recover. The scouts were a great help, especially on the retreat. I am making Sean O'Glaigh Sergeant, if he doesn't prefer to stay with the scouts. With Alberic, Mortlock, Rosenkrantz, Guildenstern, Diego, O'Glaigh each taking a 30-man squad, I still have three vacancies. I am considering Sambucco, Grappa, and Campari: all good corporals and Italian veterans, but wanted to ask for input. I think our infantry regiments behaved with remarkable discipline and flexibility..."

 

[Lord Durham]

OOC: Dagnabit Bloomers! Ya just beat me. Thank God for the edit button.
This takes place just before the good Sergeant's post. The three Irishmen I introduce are blasts from the past, but they will be treated as NPC's, unless a certain person is reading and wishes to drop in the odd guest post

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


June 25, 1419 - Evening


As Captain and the Countess approached the camp from their rocky promentory their hands unclasped and drifted slowly apart, until only their fingertips touched. By the time they came within sight of anyone they were several feet apart.

The camp was a collection of tired, burnt out soldiers. Many had collapsed on the first ground they could find, not bothering to remove armour, or even find a bite to eat. Elsewhere campfires burned with a fervor, casting a ghastly red pallor over gaunt faced men.

Captain poked his head into the hospital tent and saw Pishtaco tending to some of the wounded. "How you holding up?" Captain asked.

Pishtaco gave him a haunted look. It took moments for the small, scarred man to nod in the affirmative.

"Look Pishtaco, get some rest. Where's Ivan."

For an answer Pishtaco jerked his head at a corner of the tent. Captain peered in and saw the huge Russian collapsed in a deep sleep. Captain felt movement at his side and the Countess brushed past. She rooted around until she found the man's bearskin and gently placed it over the sleeping form. Then she went to Pishtaco and said a few words.

Captain left the tent and almost ran into Sean. The Irishman regarded him with weary eyes. "Cap'n darlin, I be wondrin' if I kin goes to the village like we discussed."

Captain scratched the back of his head. "Not in that state. Get something to eat, then get some rest. This might not be over yet." The Irishman slumped, his disappointment visible. Captain put his arm on the man's shoulder. "You did magnificent today. All of you did. There will be time, trust me. I may need you yet."

The sound of footsteps on rock drew their attention. It was Lieutenant Forster. Behind him was de Bloomfielde with several men. "Good to see you Forster. What can I do for you?"

"Well Captain, I managed to luck onto their supply train earlier today and set it afire."

The mercenary leader raised an eyebrow. "Is that where that smoke came from. That means our dear enemy..."

"Is probably starving and low on supplies right about now." The Lieutenant finished for him, a huge grin splitting his face. "Perhaps a timely assault in the morning is in order."

Captain nodded. "Perhaps. Get some food. I need to assess our own damage first." The light cavalry commander turned to leave. "And Forster? Well done, old friend. Just like the old days."

"It was at that."

When Forster left de Bloomfielde came up, excitement on his visage. "Look who straggled into camp, Captain." He staepped aside to reveal three large men. Beside Captain, Sean groaned. Then realisation dawned. "Ristard? What the hell are you, Conchubhair and Seamis doing here?"

The Irishman shrugged, his eyes travelling to Sean in an appraising manner. "We were with the losin' side Cap'n, then we's hear that's the mercenaries are runs by you yourself. So's the three of us decided to strike out to find ye."

Captain smiled. "Glad to have you back. The timing couldn't be better. De Bloomfielde."

"Captain?"

"Grab the Lieutenants and meet me in my tent."

 

[Misha]

June 25, 1419 - Evening

Sir Greystoke shook his head. It looked like the Auvergnese had no intention of pressing the issue any further today. The harrying attacks of the Company cavalry & bowmen had been effective. The enemy would have to wait until tomorrow if they wanted to test the mettle of the Free Company.

The tall knight signalled his men to withdraw to the point Captain had designated for camp. Losses in the Heavy Cavalry had been light, but the men & mounts were exhausted. As always, their heavy armor was both boon & bane. No doubt young Misha would have a busy night of it, readying them all for another day of combat.

Sir Greystoke was tired himself. But he had no time to rest. Undoubtedly Captain would wish to speak now with his knights & his Lieutenants. It was essential that all those in command had a firm grasp upon the new tactical situation.

The tall knight took off his helmet & ran his fingers through his short-cropped brown hair. As his grey eyes stared off into the approaching twilight, Greystoke thought about the coming night & the following dawn. Tomorrow would be a stern test for the Free Company. And the time to start to prepare for that test was now.

Sir Greystoke spurred his tired mount onward. "No rest for the weary..." mused the veteran knight.

 

[unmerged(4007)]

Sean slumped against a tree 100 yards outside of Captain's tent. He was disappointed, but the answer was what he would've given, and he knew it. He also had heard a rumor that he was up for Sergeantcy if he wanted it. Well, that would almost bring him back up to the rank he held among the Auvergne, but nothing like he held in Florence. Still, the pay even at the lower rank was better than anything since Florence, and the company was much better...even when one didn't think about Christina.

Sherer came up to him and slumped to the tree alongside him. "Rumor says you're up for promotion."

"Only ba' thin' abo' this cam' is wor' passes 'roun it too quick." Sean said with a smile.

"What'll you do?"

"What'd ye do, Sergin' darlin'?" Sergeant smiled at that, obviously he was one, so there's little doubt what he would do. "Well, I'll hate to lose you. If you go. By the way, why haven't you picked up your little distraction?" Sherer said with a grin.

"Cap'n said I need to wait for tomorrow. I donna blame him. I'd have said the same. A shame I canna talk to her tonigh', yes. But, (covering a yawn) I doubt I'd hav'bin much conversation anyway." Grinning back. "Do ye thin' we'll be fightin' 'em tomorrow?"

"I don't know. Their baggage train got hit agan, you know. Third time today, counting ours. This one was the worst of all. Captain might want to take advantage of that in the morning."

"Maybe, but I thin' unless the odds get evened somehow, it'll be a lotta blood fer li'l gain. St Onge is agressive, but na stupid. He'll be shrewd on the defense, now that he knows he be on it. And all he wants is to keep his seige. He'll forage food if he has to. I dou' we'll be able to gi'em a big enouf knock to throw off the seige. Not seeing the great worth of our allies in battle when they be led by anyone of their own land. Of cour' orders are orders, and I'll do me par' to try to giv'em that knock if we git'em."

"Good man Sean, get some sleep. I'll be sure you're kept off duty like we agreed, only way you won't get to go rerieve the Lady tomorrow is if battle calls." Sherer stood up, and slapped him on the shoulder.

Sean fell asleep as soon as he strode away.

 

[unmerged(6528)]

June 25th 9:30 pm

Lochlan stirred the fire, idly he wondered where he was even getting the energy to breath. "God." He thought. "I have'nt been this tired in, no I've never been this tired." He looked over at Scherer who was dosing, and Ash who was either doing some ritualistic praying, or he had managed to fall asleep sitting cross legged. The rest of the scouts were in similar states, most had drifted off to sleep, a few were eating, but without energy.

He smiled, thinking he'd save them the trouble of getting up, he dragged himself to his feet and headed tot eh command tent. On the way he passed a snoring Sean, several passed out scots, and countless others just slumped on the ground.

As he reached the captains tent, he had to kick the sentry awake. The man swore at him, and then opened the tent flap. He motioned Lochlan in, and the scout nodded his thanks to the tired man.

As he entered the tent he noticed that the lieutenants were there. He waited til the Captains attention settled on him. Then he spoke quietly.

"I figured I should check in and find out if you want us up at any unholy hours tommorow. Since Scherer and Ash are already asleep I figured I'd find out.

The Captain regarded Lochlan for a few seconds, but with an intensity that Lochlan could feel. The Captain raised an eyebrow.

Giving the Captain a sardonic half smile, Lochlan inclined his head his head so far it might have been a bow if he had'nt straightened so quickly. Shaking his head in understanding, he turned to leave the tent. But he paused at the tent flap, and he turned meeting the Captains powerful gaze with his own.

"Sir, I just wanted to say..." He paused. "After the way you held us together after those cowardly bastards routed, I just wanted to say..." He paused again. This time He blinked and his eye's lost the glassy look they had. and they hardened to a ice. "the scouts'll be ready whenever you need us."

With that he ducked under the tent flap, and looked for an untaken length of ground.

 

[Storey]

June 25th night

Alberic had just checked his sentries and now had the luxury of being able to sit down and rub his tired feet. His men had done well that day with only one man dead and several others seriously wounded. Alberic had only a few cuts and scratches which were less than he gave himself when he shaved. Across the fire sat the new sergeant Siego, Biego, Diego, he couldn't remember his name but the man and his men had fought bravely. Might as well get to know him he thought.

"Buno tardes amigo. Hablo English?"

The Spaniard had a amused look on his face. Alberic tried again. he concentrated on his choice of words which caused his face to twist into a knot and managed to say.

"No speke espano mucho bueno, porfabor. Hablo French?"

Don Diego smiled and replied.

"My name is Don Diego and yes I speak French as well as English a little German and of course Italian. I understand you are called Alberic and have a gift for music. I would be a pleasure to hear you play sometime."

Alberic beamed and took an instant liking to Don Diego

"It would be a pleasure. Do you play an instrument?"
And the tired men talked late into the night.

 

[Sgt. Bloomfield]

The Captain's Tent

"The answer is no."

"But, Sir, I have set my men to fletch new arrows. We have a good supply of bolts, and if the action won't last too long, we should be able to make do."

"Send your men to sleep. We are not attacking in the morning."

"Sir, respectfully, Sir Greystoke here and I agree that we can have most of the heavy cavalry on the field very early indeed, in good fighting order. Forster's men are ready, and the mounds are not too tired, We have almost two infantry regiments that were not involved in a fighting retreat and must be passably rested..."

Captain did not want to have this discussion. But in his tent every lieutenant of the Free Company could speak his mind. Forster, Sir Greystoke, Barkdreg, Seraphim were leaning forward, looking at Captain intently as he rubbed the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. Then he looked up and said, "Edmond?"

De Bloomfielde yawned. He was thinking of conquest of another sort. "Well, Captain, since you ask. I say it is with battles as it is with women: You choose them carefully. Once you've chosen one, you do everything to win it. Once you've turned your back on one, you get the hell out of there. I will choose a pretty whore over an ugly duchess any day. This action in the morning that they are proposing: It is an ugly hag of a duchess. If we win, who would fucking care? The Auvergners are going to retreat whether we defeat them or not. Now, the city of Dijon in a day or two, that is a pretty a piece of ass as any I've seen, if you take my meaning..."

There were protests from other Lieutenants and sneers from De Grecy and Greystoke.

Captain silenced them. He frowned. Then he said, "Bloomfielde may not have a way with words. But I happen to agree with him. I will not fight a battle that I do not have to fight, simply because I can win it. I doubt very much that the Auvergners are going to bother us, and if they do, I want them coming to us and not the other way around. There would be many dead, no loot and little or no change in the situation. Jean is not paying us a bonus for glory. Let us gather whatever remnants of the Burgundian army we can find. I am nominally under the command of General Moreau and must wait to speak to him. So let's hear no more about an attack on the Auvergners."

He paused as if making a calculation in his mind."Seraphim's regiment and two squads of De Grecy's will be ready half an hour before dawn. The knights and Forster's and Sagan's cavalry will join them. I will inspect in person. If the Auvergners don't come we can all go back to sleep. Bloomfielde, your regiment will post all guards and piquets after midnight, and I want at least one party of your scouts sent out before daylight. Forster or Sagan, can we have mounted scouts out looking for Moreau at first daylight?"

Everybody mumbled assent.

"All right, that's it. Get out."

As they all shuffled out of the tent, Captain pointed at Bloomfielde, and said, "You, stay."

Bloomfielde stayed, putting on his honest-Sir-'twasn't-me face.

"Listen, Edmond," Captain said when the other officers had gone, "I approve of O'Glaigh's promotion. I think the scouts are proving very valuable. O'Glaigh seems to have fit right in and perhaps he could lead his own squad of scouts. Think about it."

Bloomfielde nodded and grinned, relieved that the Captain apparently hadn't found out about the two casks of brandy after all. "Yes, Sir," he said.

"And ugly duchess, Edmond? The ugly duchess? What the hell were you thinking, man?" Captain shook his head.

"Me? Thinking, Sir?" Bloomfield clapped on his hat, and walked out of the tent, laughing.

 

[unmerged(2540)]

Outside the Captain's Tent

De Crecy had had his wounds tended by Achmed in the hospital, among with many of his men. Some had died on the trek there, but all in all, it was not a bad day for de Crecy. he had managed to make it for the Captain's meeting, and had heard of the plan espoused by Captain. He had hurried out afterwards, to gather two squads and prepare for whatever was planned. He silently wondered whne he would see the face of his children again. He hurried on his way...

 

[Lord Durham]

OOC: I'll be wrapping this chapter this evening. The post takes place around midnight game time in case anyone wants to fit something in.

Quick question: how's your download time for the thread? I'd like to squeeze at least another chapter here unless there are major concerns.

To save clogging this thread could you answer by PM? Thanks.

 

[Lord Durham]

OOC: Ok. It's unanimous. No one's having access problems, so I'll do another chapter here and ask down the road.

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

June 25 - Midnight


General St. Onge stared at the campfires across the valley. Faint sounds of conversation sprinkled with laughter would reach his ears if the warm summer wind shifted the right way. He grimaced in disgust. 'What the hell did they have to be so happy about?' he thought to himself. 'Their parent army is crushed and they face a stronger foe right here, on this hill.' He paced, his angry scowl never leaving the mercenary camp. 'They were lucky! That's all! If Bouchard hadn't been so inept then the victory would have been complete!' He stopped and swore, "Damn you Bouchard! Good thing you're dead! I would've killed you myself!" The patrolling guards looked askance at their general and shrugged it off. They'd seen him in one of his moods many times before.

One of the guards stopped at a noise, then let the man past when he recognised him. The man approached the general.

St. Onge took one look. "You! What are you doing here?"

"I'm afraid I've got urgent news, mon general."

* * *

The distant sounds of metal clanging, horses snorting and men shouting was hard to ignore. Captain was immediately awake, one hand reaching for his blade. Outside there was movement as men rushed by the tent. He threw on a cloak and stepped out. Cocking his head to listen, it dawned on him the sounds were coming from across the valley. He stepped around the tent.

The enemy was on the move. Captain looked at the sky, and the quarter moon stared back. It was dead of night. Were they coming this way? A night attack?

The lieutenants were cajoling the sergeants, who were shouting at the men to gather in formation. Even injured de Crecy was up and about. Captain shouted, "The fires! Build up the fires!"

Soon the various campfires had been refueled and burnt brightly, lighting the hilltop and partway down the slope. They waited.

* * *

In the darkness it took almost an hour before Captain realised the enemy was retreating. He gathered the lieutenants together.

"Something's up, or they wouldn't be leaving in the middle of the night," Seraphim commented. "Should we follow them?"

Captain shook his head. "Let them go. Whatever's happened has to be to our advantage. We'll scout tomorrow morning. Keep the guard rotation up, just in case."

* * *

The man wasn't sure what was happening, but the confusion was a possible opportunity. Since coming back with the Company he had managed to lay low and stay out of sight. He had even avoided the battle. He saw no reason to chance getting killed.

In the distraction caused by the enemy on the opposite slope, he began to prowl, sticking close to the shadows. Suddenly one of the men he was looking for ran past. As he followed he came to a sudden stop and turned away. 'Where did he come from? He was with St. Onge's men last time I saw him.'

Slowly backing behind a tent, the man disappeared from sight.

* * *

Sean O'Glaigh felt a slight tingling on the back of his neck. He stopped and looked around, but the shadows were much too deep to see anything. He shrugged and went on, putting it down to an overactive imagination.



End Of Chapter Four

 

[Lord Durham]

CHAPTER FIVE - The Fall of Orleans


June 27, 1419 - Morning


Buckeye sat high in a tree, his lanky frame hidden among the swaying branches and broad leaves. Dijon lay in the distance, surrounded by burnt out farmhouses and barren fields. The enemy had been extremely brutal in their foraging.

He had been there since dawn, watching, and as time progressed he began to smile. By mid-day, when he reported back to his squadmates, the gangly woodsman was virtually beaming.

* * *

The second day after the battle of Dijon the Company had remained in position on the hills. Foraging to the west was plentiful, and Captain felt the men deserved the rest. Arrows and bolts were still scarce, though scavenging parties were out in full force. The Moors and several other enterprising squads volunteered to visit the battlefields and collect weapons, quivers and lots of bright shiny things. Captain agreed and sent the cavalry out on extended patrols. There were a few confrontations with Auvergnese foraging parties on the first day, but that ended soon after.

Ivan and Pishtaco made their case with Captain that the wounded needed time to rest, and there were many men that still required proper attention. It wasn't hard to convince the mercenary leader.

As it happened, by remaining where they were, the Company became a rally point for the remains of the Burgundian army. Every hour brought in fresh stragglers, many looking for comrades and news, while others had rediscovered their nerve and lost honour.

General Moreau was never found, though his carriage lay smashed on its side.

* * *

Sean O' Glaigh whistled a merry tune as he topped a hill. Down below was the village that held Christina and the camp followers. With an eager stride he continued on.

* * *

It was late afternoon when Buckeye returned to the camp. He found Captain outside his tent sitting on a rock talking with the Countess. Now there was a high-born if he ever saw one, the scout thought to himself. Captain's a lucky man, if he ever wakes up.

The Countess spotted him first. Her pause made Captain turn. He waved Buckeye over. "Yes?"

"The enemy, Captain. They's gone."

"Gone?"

"Yessir. Packed up and left this mornin', they did."

Captain looked at the Countess. "Well I'll be.." He stood up and began bawling orders.

* * *

Pierre rode into camp just as the sun set. He slipped hard from his horse and proceeded to massage his ass with numb hands. Finally he asked to be brought to Captain.

Captain and the lieutenants were gathered in his tent, discussing the turn of events, when Pierre was led in. Clerk fetched the man a goblet of wine.

The small man took it and downed it in one huge gulp.

de Dloomfielde asked, "How in God's name did you find us?"

Jean sans Feur's seneschal smiled. It was a thin-lipped smile. "It wasn't hard. Everyone's talking about the band of mercenary's that stopped the Auvergne army.

Pohlman was eloquent. "Huh?"

"Word gets around quite fast with the peasants. They pointed me straight to your positon."

Captain said, "Well, obviously you've come this way for a reason."

"Yes. The Auvergne army is retreating back to their borders."

Seraphim laughed, "Tell us something we don't know."

The small man looked annoyed. "Okay. Jean de Pressey is marching here."

de Bloomfielde chortled, "So they didn't turn tail because of us? Well, I'm pissed!"

"He left a covering force to carry on the siege." Pierre looked around, then slumped to the ground. "I've ridden hard these past few days."

"Edmonde, move that.... ass of yours, and give the man your seat. So what now, Pierre?"

"My Lord the Duke desries your presence in the city. He wishes to thank you personally. He feels your men deserve a short rest."

The soldiers standing within earshot of Captain's tent wondered what the sudden hooting and hollering was for.

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

OOC: Let's say we pick up the story two days later, on the 29th, at our favourite tavern. We have a couple of days of R&R before it's time to move out. The Chapter Recap will be up shortly. Enjoy.

 

[unmerged(4007)]

Arriving at the villiage

Sean came to the villiage, and the Lady Christina was waiting in a deep red dress.

"Tis good to see ye again, me..Christina." Sean said sheepishly, in his somewhat halting, Irish-accented French.

"It's good to see you as well." She said, as she walked gracefully toward him. He thought that the flowers would spring to life around her as she walked.

"So did ye git som' rest Christina?"

"A little, not too much." She answered, though she looked as if she had slept quite well indeed. "I was worried." She admitted. "How did the battle go?"

"Ver' bloody. We won a lo' of glory, bu' nay the ba'le. But somethin' be goin' on with the Auvergne. They lef' this mornin'."

"Left Dijon?"

"Dinna kno'. We be seein' soon I suppose." Sean said with a grin. "Well, shall we be gittin' ye back to yer Sister?" Holding out his hand to her.

"Yes, we should." She said smiling and putting her hand in his, as they began to walk back to the camp. After a while she asked, "Why did you say I remind you of your wife?"

"I dinna know. Maybe 'cause ye'd ask yer questions the sam way. The way ye looked a' me when ye asked abou' me life. Jus' li'l things like tha'. But I o'er that comparison."

"Oh, well then I guess we have no hope then. The only thing that I had in my favor was how like your wife I am." She said with a smile.

"Nay, me lady, ye have me attention because of who ye are now. And I'm glad fer it. I donna thin' it be fair to comparre you to her, or her to you."

"Why not."

"Because ye be two differ' people. And There'll always be part of me that remebers her. But tha' doesna mean ther' canna be a place fer ye either."

"That would please me." She said with a smile as the two walked on...

 

[unmerged(6528)]

June 29th

"The strangled virgin?!" Lochlan turned to Scherer. "You've got to be kidding me. The owner must've been drunk."

"Hey c'mon, don't worry about it. The place does have a bit of atmosphere." Scherer replied, then he turned back to where the men were setting up the camp just outside of town. "Besides, I could really use a drink."

"Ill second that." Lochlan said. "Lets see if we can stir up anyone else's interest in that fine idea of yours."

 

[unmerged(7095)]

June 29

Don Diego gathered together with some of the other sergeants. He heard Lochlan and Scherer talking about a strangely named tavern.

He approached them and said, "The Strangled Virgin? How crude. Tell me this: Do they have any good wine? The Germans, they are sadly deficient in that area. Since I left Castille, I have not encountered any wine that meats my approval. Is French wine good?"

Scherer sputtered, "You were in Germany and bothered with the wine? The best ale in the world and you asked for wine?"

"Ale is fine, when the moment is good, but for the pure pleasure of the drink . . ."