The Free Company and the Last Bastion of Empire: Book IV

[unmerged(6777)]

Dec. 5th, 1438 - Rhodes

Renaud had been furious to discover that some of his men's pikes and short swords were missing after the transports had been unloaded. It made no sense. One of his own sergeants had checked and confirmed the contents of every crate, and details of his men had been assigned to regularly open them and polish their contents. He was absolutely certain that every single weapon had been present and accounted for at the time that the ship had docked.

After dicussing the problem with Alv, the two commanders had gone to inform lieutenant LeClerk and - since she fortuitously happened to be there at the same time - the Lady Annette. A new inventory was being conducted, and Renaud had confidence in their abilities to track down the weapons if they'd been misplaced or, if there was a more sinister reason for their disapperance, to track down those responsible.

Renaud pushed the thoughts from his mind. He had more important things to do.

Though the majority of the company's men would shelter in tents for the time being - unless Captain informed them that he intended to make Rhodes their perminent base of opperations - he had been assigned the task of putting together the necessary buildings to house the essential command structure, mess halls, and even some barracks for the officers.

He began collecting men and issuing orders, conscripting randomly from pretty much all of the company soldiers he encountered. He grabbed about a score at a time, indiscriminently, resulting in some curious mixes of people working together - infantry with cavalry, Frenchman with Bedouin, Moor with Welshman... Renaud didn't care. He had a task to accomplish and, whether they liked it or not, they were going to do it.

"You Roos?" said a voice from behind him.

He turned to see the man he'd heard identified as 'Omar', the leader of the Moors they'd picked up along their voyage.

"Yes. Lt. Roos."

"I've been told to report to you for duty, sir."

Renaud's eyes narrowed. Told to report? That was strange...unless... "Unfortunately, Omar, I have only one pressing task left. You and your men will go over there and dig a latrine trench four feet wide and eighteen feet long."

By the man's sullen expression, Renaud knew he had guessed correctly. It might teach Omar a lesson for whatever he'd been caught doing. He'd be a lot sorrier if he found himself assigned to empty them of their contents a few weeks from now.

He turned back to watch all of the men's progress. Though he was not an expert, it looked marginally possible that a rudimentary camp would be ready by nightfall.

 

[Lord Durham]

December 5, 1438 - Rhodes

The massive oars disappeared from one side of the galley, pulled back into the bowels of the ship with a slippery wet sound. The port side oars cut the water gently, swinging the ship about until it was parallel to the dock. Sailors tossed thick ropes to a few assembled dockworkers, who proceeded to loop the lines around large posts, then pull the ship in until it nestled gently against the wharf. A plank was lowered and the passengers began to disembark.

Constance held tightly onto Robert, her land legs unsteady - left somewhere in Taranto. After several months at sea, the firmness of solid ground felt strikingly odd.

Five representatives from Rhodes waited with serene patience, allowing the harbormaster to organise his domain. Captain recognised one of them; a Castillian knight named Sir Franco. Two chaplains and two sergeants flanked him. Placing his hand on her arm and squeezing gently, Captain left his wife to approach the men. Recognition flared in the eyes of Sir Franco.

"Robert of Brandon. I dare say after all these years that age has not changed your appearance."

"Those same years have been doubly kind to you too, Sir Franco de Salamanca." Captain casually took in the Knight's simple black habit, adorned with a white eight-pointed cross splayed across the breast.

The knight inclined his head, then introduced his associates. "May I present Father Petronious, Father Holmes, Sergeant Antonelli, and Sergeant Guiscard. I give you Robert of Brandon, one time Knight of the Order."

Captain nodded to each man in turn. The clerics bowed piously, their outward appearance friendly enough. The sergeants reacted with cool detachment. "Father Petronius, I believe we have met someplace, though I cannot remember where."

The aging cleric's eyes crinkled in mirth. "God works in mysterious ways, my son. I would say the same. Perhaps we have."

Sir Franco craned his neck, "Where is the leader of this band? In truth, the messenger arrived only a few days ago, and I am still somewhat surprised that we have allowed the landing of so many..." He paused as he saw the first of the Mongols staggering down a plank. "... men."

"That would be me."

The Knight's eyes grew wide. "You? You are the man they call Captain - the Captain of mercenaries, at that. Your choice of professions has intrigued me, Robert."

Captain wasn't sure how to gauge that. The Knights would never be mistakened for rowdy party-makers, they were more concerned with the higher duties of God and the welfare of the sick and injured. That, and ridding the waters of pirates and infidels. He inclined his head. "That is indeed me."

"Well, this grows exceedingly interesting. The fame of your band has reached even this isolated place. I had no idea its leader would be one of our own."

"As mentioned, the Lord works in mysterious ways." Captain winked at Father Petronious. "When may I meet with Grand Master de Ripa?"

The Knight's countenance became solemn. "I regret that our Grand Master passed on this past year. Our new Grand Master, Jean de Lastic, is presently occupied with other matters. However, he has bid me to help you settle until it's such time that he can attend you."

Captain nodded. "I have already informed my men they will camp outside the walls"

Sir Franco inclined his head. "Most thoughtful." He looked at the Mongels milling on the wharf, then saw the Moors and the Bedouins as their ships prepared to disgorge them. "Very thoughtful, in fact. Now, who is the delightful lady?"

Captain held out his arm, and in a few moments Constance joined them. "This is my wife, Constance de Jolie." He made introductions.

Constance could be quite behaved if she wished. "Sir Franco, I have heard so much of the Knight's Hospital. Could I avail myself upon you to see it?"

The Knight's face split in a grin. "It would be my pleasure, Madam de Jolie. We shall take the Knight's Way at once, and after I shall show you and Robert to your quarters."

Captain made to protest, but Constance had already accepted the proffered arm of the Knight Hospitalar. They climbed the steps that led to the grand cobbled road that ran the length of the city. Captain glanced back at the men and shrugged. His Lieutenants would know what to do, and if they didn't, it was a good time to learn.

* * *

Late Afternoon

After a tour of the Hospital, Captain left Constance to oversee her accommodations. He set off by himself along the Knight's Way toward the landward gate. On a whim he cut left on a side street and walked until he reached the location of his old quarters. He had no intention of dropping in, so after a quick look, continued on his way. It was at that point he was joined by Frederik.

* * *

Late Evening

The camp was well underway when Captain returned. He glanced around at the bustling crowd of activity, searching for something in particular - something out of force of habit. At first he wasn't sure and it nagged at the back of his mind. Then he realized what was missing. Where was his tent?

Moments later he spied Lochlan standing with Sergeant Alv, checking a list and deep in conversation. His appearance almost startled them. "Where's my tent?"

"Captain?"

"My tent. Where is it?"

"Er, we thought you'd be staying in the city."

"You thought wrong. Sergeant, can you see to it?"

The diminutive Norwegian handed the parchment to Lochlan and ran off, rounding up men. Jacques came over, accompanied by Roos. They all exchanged looks.

"Well," Captain asked. "What's wrong?"

Jacques took a deep breath. "We seem to be missing some weapons."

"Missing some... weapons."

"Yes, sir. Swords and pikes..."

"Pikes? Have you checked the holds?"

"Several times, Captain."

"Have you talked to the Moors?"

Jacques knew he wasn't referring to Yusuf's men. "Yes I have. They claim innocence."

"Well, ask them again. Where would they ever hope to sell the stuff? Rhodes isn't exactly your typical town. And how in God's name could we lose pikes? They're bloody 12 feet long!"

Lochlan held up a hand. "Easy, Captain. We'll sort it out."

"Right. I have a meeting with the Grand Master tomorrow morning. After that we'll have a general meeting. That will be a strategy meeting."

"Are you going to tell us what it's about?" Roos asked.

Captain thought briefly of Frederik and his mention of contacts. "No, not yet. All will become clear soon."

Roos sighed, "Very well."

"Put the Moors on latrine duty, for old times sake."

Jacques coughed and looked at Roos. "It's already been attended to. Want to go watch and laugh?"

 

[Syt]

Late evening, December 5th

Armin and Pedro were among the first to raise their tent in the slowly growing encampment. They had settled themselves in, surrounded by the men who had been put under Armin's command. Timothy and Kerim had helped with unloading the ships, and so Armin and Pedro had set up their tent, too.

The sun had set, and the four had dragged their equipment to a campfire between the tents and were checking if everything had made it to Rhodes intact. Satisfied, the four noticed all their belongings to be in the shape as when they had stowed them away.

They sat down and fed on bread and some wine, which Timothy eagerly feasted on, glad that he could for once keep a meal inside his stomach.

"The Knights of Rhodes are very pious people. I want you to behave - they are not too forgiving", said Armin. "They are fanatics when it comes to matters of faith. Kerim -"

The Nubian, in the dark only perceivable as two white eyes, looked up.

"I think it might be better if you stay in camp. Those Hospitallers can sometimes be pretty... shortsided." Armin rubbed his scar. "At least they were once."

Pedro took the word. "I think it's better if we tell the people, too."

"No, I'll hold a little speech to them tomorrow morning", replied Armin. He had lectured some of them for straying away after disembarking and made sure they'd stay in camp the first night at least, checked their equipment and went to sleep early. He had appointed watches for the night, and the men were doing as told without much complaint, many of them tired, anyways.

Timothy was busy munching and so didn't notice how one of the men ran up the four of them and almost knocked him over. "Sir, Sgt. Schauenburg", the young man said breathlessly.

Armin grimaced, waving his hand. "Skip that 'sergeant' part, that's just Armin."

The young mercenary didn't respond to that and instead went on, "I overheard some officers taloking - I think Lt. Jaques and Sgt. Alv. There's some unrest among them - there seems to be equipment missing."

"What do you mean - missing?"

"Several crates of weapons seem to have been lost?

"Lost?" Armin raised an eyebrow, then looked at his companions. He nodded. "Alright, I'll check with the others to see what this is about. Pedro, Timothy, make sure that the men keep quiet and that this rumor doesn't spread."

Armin went to search Alv who he suspected to be near the preliminary command center of the camp. And indeed he was there, asking some soldiers if they had seen anything. The German joined them.

"Have I heard correctly?", he asked.

"Depends on what you heard", Alv replied.

"It was a tale about some crates of weapons having gone astray. Hard to believe, I think."

The Norvegian looked at the skinny mercenary with the long face. He couldn't stop thinking of a rat. "Why is that?"

"Well, after all, such crates must be pushed over board somehow. When you do that at sea, there's too many people watching and hearing a splash. So it seems more likely that the crates were secretly brought off board, maybe secretly, hidden in empty supply chests that were echanged for laden ones."

Alv nodded. "That could well be. But who might want to do something like that?"

"Someone who would get good money for that cargo? Someone who carries no sympathy for our assignment? Who has been payed by the enemy?"

Alv pursed his lips. He didn't like it, but he had to agree that this was very unlikely to be an accident.

Armin stepped closer. "Indeed I have observed how one of the galleys' captains behaved rather strangely. I don't know his name, but I could point him out. In one of the ports, about half way to here, I noticed him meeting with quite outlandish folk, and the light in his cabin burning late at night when I had risen to catch some fresh air." Armin layed his finger to his lips. "But please, don't draw quick conclusions from my observations. There may be a perfectly reasonable explanation."

Alv nodded. "Yes, of course."

Together, they went to seek their commanders to see if some news had arisen in the meantime.

 

[Norgesvenn]

December 5th, 1438, Rhode. The Free Company Camp Site

Alv pursed his lips. He didn't like it, but he had to agree that this was very unlikely to be an accident.

Armin stepped closer. "Indeed I have observed how one of the galleys' captains behaved rather strangely. I don't know his name, but I could point him out. In one of the ports, about half way to here, I noticed him meeting with quite outlandish folk, and the light in his cabin burning late at night when I had risen to catch some fresh air." Armin layed his finger to his lips. "But please, don't draw quick conclusions from my observations. There may be a perfectly reasonable explanation."

Alv nodded. "Yes, of course."

Together, they went to seek their commanders to see if some news had arisen in the meantime

****
Alv caught up with Jacques near the tents. From afar, he noticed the Moors digging latrines. Hopefully, no-one had accused them of theft. Pride was strong amongst them, Alv knew. Being in the Portuguese navy had made him meet both Berbers, Moors and even black people.

"Lieutenant DeClerc, sir...", Alv said quietly.
"Alv... oh, please, don't call me lieutenant when the men aren't present..."
"Right. Jacques. I spoke with lieutenant Schauenburg..."
"Sergeant Schauenburg..."
"Sorry. Well, I spoke with him about all the missing weapons. Have you looked at the inventory lists?"
Jacques nodded.

"We're twenty-five swords short. How many pikes, I'm not quite certain..."
"Right. Twenty-five swords is quite a lot. These are high-quality swords, light to the grip... I can understand how they'd be valuable". Alv rubbed his chin. "I'll have a look around. I speak some Greek, some Latin and French. I'll get by..."
"Now, be careful. And stay out of the hair of the Hospitallers!"
"Bah, they've never been hospitable to me!"

****

Being an insomniac, Alv didn't really miss lying in a tent, listening to Enrico and the others snoring. Enrico had less than politely declined Alv's request for help, and demonstratively gone to the tent to sleep.
"A tad early, isn't it?"

Alv went down to the docks again. He recognised a few of the Cyprian's crew, standing near the ship.
"Hello, fellows. I'm Alv of the Free Company!"
"We know who you are. What do you want?". The sailors' tone of voice indicated that debating wasn't what they usually did. Or that their debating technique involved the use of fists.

"Just a question... who were those assisting us unloading the cargo?"
"Dunno. They're locals. Probably spending their earnings in some inn over there. Even the Hospitallers fear to patrol those places", a scarred sailor said, his rancid breath coming right towards Alv's face, as the man hunched over him.
"Thanks! I'll have a look", Alv smiled.

The sailors gave him an unfriendly stare, but left him alone. He heard mutters of "midget" and "little bastard" behind him.

****

Alv was no longer a stranger to inns. He'd been to Cyprus, but he'd never been to Rhodes. But the inns at the harbours were similar. Lawless, loud, rowdy. That the man next to you carried a blade was a certainty. Whether he'd slit your throat was what was uncertain.

"I'll have a pitcher of ale, please", Alv shouted to the barkeep. Music was pouring from a nearby player, where some incompetent fool was raping a lut, while the others were singing a sing-a-long. The song did not honour the Virgin Mary.

Alv was listening, and moved across the room, trying to pick up some conversations.

"... the bastards will pay me good money for it, so why not? I get only a small fee for busting my hump carrying the cargo..."
"Sound thinking! You buy the next round?"
"Forget about it! I'm going home! I'm leaving this God-forsaken place tomorrow...".

A huge man stood up, and unsteadily walked towards the door. Alv excused himself to a few sailors, and put his pitcher down. He was in luck.

Pursuing a drunk is not difficult. Alv stayed in the shadows, and stalked the huge man towards what had to be a boarding house. It was time to strike. Alv drew his sword, and quickly strolled up to the man, and gave him a good thump in the back of the head with the flat side of the sword. The man fell to the ground, groaning, and hit the cobblestone. It sounded like a small earthquake.

*****

Alv was sitting astride the man's chest, and slapped his meaty left cheek.
"Wakey, wakey!", he hissed.
"What the h.... get off me!"
"Not a chance, my good man. Who'll pay you good money for the goods you stole from us today? Huh? Huh?". Alv slapped the man again, and put the edge of the sword to the man's throat.
"Your choice... you talk, and I might let you go and enjoy a long life, or you die here and now. And I'll dump you in the ocean. No priest will give you the last rites. You will go to hell... what will it be???"

"Damn you!". Tears sprung to the man's eyes. "I'll talk... I'll talk. Don't kill me!"
"Then talk!"
"A man approached me this morning. We were having a break. Said there'd be good money if I took some crates off your ship. Crates with weapons..."
"Who was that man?", Alv said, pressing his sword harder.
"I swear! I don't know. He was... foreign!"
"I'm a bloddy foreigner. Arab, Moor, Turk, Italian, Byzantine?"
"I think... I don't know. He spoke Greek. Fluent Greek. He looked like... from Anatolia, perhaps... Balkans. I don't know!!!"

Alv rose.
"Get up! And walk three paces ahead of me. You'll be seeing my commander and our officers, and the Knights of St. John in the morning!"

"Whew... that was lucky!", Alv thought. If the man had decided to throw him off, Alv wouldn't have had a chance. He hated being in physical contact with an adversary. He poked his sword in the man's huge behind.

Soon, they arrived in the Free Company camp.

 

[TheF]

December 5th, late evening, the Free Company campsite

Fyrsil was one of the last to set up his tent because there was so much to do that he had forgotten about his own tent, but now that it was set up, he thought it would be a good time to find a nice campfire to meet up with some of his fellow mercenaries. He had gotten to know so many people that he was still a bit bewildered.

He heard someone sing in Welsh at a nearby campfire and he decided to join in. When the song finished a man on the other side of the fire, whom Fyrsil quickly identified as Frank Verbeeldt, began to sing a song. Even though Fyrsil couldn't understand the words, he liked it. When the singing came to a pause, Fyrsil introduced himself to the person sitting next to him.

"Greetings, I am Fyrsil ap Faolan ap Owain, I do not recall speaking to you before, may I ask, what is your name?", asked Fyrsil.

"I am Hendrik Johan, Baron of Apeldoorn."

After half an hour or so of exchanging tales of their respective pasts, Hendrik Johan's tale of his past was long and involved and he could tell it in a great way. Fyrsil's story was remarkably shorter and thus he asked:

"Are you in the cavalry? If you were in the infantry, I think I should've met you earlier."

"Alas, I would be in the cavalry, but I have no steed!"

"That can be helped! As I said I use the longbow, however I arrived on my trusted horse Gorwydd, it'd be a shame to have him sit un-used in the stables of Constantinopel while you fight unmounted. "

Hendrik Johan was silent for a few moments as Fyrsil awaited his reply. Fyrsil did feel a bit awkward about lending his horse (which had been his faithful companion on his travels) to a relative stranger.

Ah well, he thought, the Company looks after it's own.

 

[Rictus]

Vincent cursed fluently as the tent collaspsed in on itself once again. With another pair of hands, he would have already had the bloody thing up an age ago, but without...well, this was what happened when you went without. Sighing, he began to reassemble the pieces anew and mentally debated the merits of asking to bunk in with some of the other soldiers. They seemed nice enough, if a little wary of him and his the company he used to keep.

He frowned again, considering two pieces of his tent. Yes, he admitted to himself, he did miss Toothy's company. he missed the banter between them, he missed the fact that they could share almost anything together. But...this was different. The Free Company like a massive extended family he'd never met who'd all be willing to offer hospitality and their bread - probably out of politeness - but Toothy was that irksome brother type who you had a love-hate relationship with.

He did miss him.

His thoughts were interrupted when a determined Alv strode into the camp, prodding a massive man forward.

"Vincent!" He called out, upon spying the former rogue, "look after this bastard for a while, until I get an officer. Keep him here!" The Norweigan propelled the man forward with a boot while Vincent hurriedly drew his sword and aimed it at his captive.

Alv stomped off into the darkness.

"Christ, what am I going to do if he tries to leave?" Vincent muttered, looking up into that mountain of flesh.

 

[The_Hawk]

December 5th, late evening

Having finally seen to the last mooring line, the Cyprian hobbled down the gangplank of his flagship. Considering the long day, he looked surprisingly jolly. He encountered a handful of his crew loafing on the dock, and was surprised to spy Alv's back receding into the deepening shadows of the evening. He looked to his crew.

"What did he want?"

"Th' Company 'as some arms missing, Cap'n. 'e's lookin' inta it."

"Who's he suspect?"

"The deck'ands, methinks." The sailor shrugged.

The Cyprian nodded, satisfied. "As long as it's none of you rabble." He allowed a moment to pass before flashing them a crooked grin.

"Maria," he shouted over his shoulder, "you're in charge tonight."

* * *

The Cyprian shadowed Alv to the inn, which proved tougher than he had expected; the youngster was quite aware of his surroundings. Fortunately, the Cyprian knew the terrain. When they arrived at the inn, the old pirate slipped down a side alley to the back, and knocked at the kitchen door. After a brief argument with the innkeeper's wife, he managed to gain access to a dark back corner of the inn. He spent quite some time sitting in the shadows quietly. Finally, he watched the drunken oaf apparently responsible for the thefts boast of his accomplishments, and then vanish into the night, Alv in pursuit. Convinced the younger man could handle it, he left, taking a different path deeper into the city.

 

[unmerged(9046)]

Tomas twitched nervously. He had never been away frm his parents before and now here he was heading off to war. Part of him was a man, part was a scared boy. He could never show that part to the others.

After he had finished his duties that night, he gravitated over towards the tavern. Even though it wasn't his Dad's tavern, it still seemed a spot of stability in his life.

He found a quiet corner and nursed a drink. He would watch and see who came in....

 

[Faeelin]

December 5th, late evening

"So he’s had you digging latrines?” asked Yusuf. “In this weather?”

”That’s right!” responded Omar. “Surely, My commander, you will go find this upstart Clerk and scold him thoroughly.”

”Perhaps I shall,” replied Yusuf. “What were you doing, anyway, which caused so much trouble with him?”

”We were helping Lady Constance unpack.”

Yusuf scowled. “Let’s go find LeClerc, and see what he says.”

Selim piped up. “Good idea!” He shuffled his feet for a moment, and said, “I’m sure we can find him in the town.”

”Wait here for a moment, as I must fetch my loyal rafiq.” Noticing their gaze drift towards the chest in his tent, he continued, “And if anything should happen to go missing, remember how Moors treat thieves. It goes hard, for mercenaries who lack hands.”

Yusuf, Omar, and several other of the Moors from Messina walked out of the camp. Despite Omar’s urgings that for the purposes of their general well-being, Moors should not walk around in the dark, on the Isle of Rhodes, armed, Yusuf had insisted. Walking towards the entrance to the camp, he came upon one of the common soldiers pointing a sword at an enormous brute, who had a headache, as much from a hangover as from anything else that had happened to him.

“Well, well,” wondered Selim. “You don’t see this everyday."

 

[driftwood]

Evening, Free Company camp

Later that evening, Jacques decided to take a break and see how the Moors were doing. If they had made good progress, he was considering allowing them to call it a night and finish tomorrow.

When he got to the latrines, he found the half-dug, with the shovels thrown willy-nilly about the trench.

They're going to be on latrine duty until we reach Samarkand at this rate! he thought.

Shaking his head in pity for them, he went back into his tent, where he continued reading his papers.

 

[EmprorCoopinius]

Ducking his head down, Severus pushed the tent flap out of the way and stepped inside. A small cot was against teh back "wall", as well as a rickety wodden table and chair which someone had scrounged up from...somewhere.

Loosening his waist belt, he slid his spathion off and set it against the table, followed by his helmet. Setting up camp had indeed been a long process, all the more so because he had to shelter and provision hundreds of horses as well as men. One perk to being in the infantry, you only had yourself to take care of. Still, the horses had all finally been brushed, walked, fed, watered, and stabled, and he finally felt he could take some time to try and get some rest. Just as he was thinking that, he saw Alv walking a beast of a man through the camp at swordpoint.

Curious, he stuck his head out and watched as he handed him over to an infantryman, and stalked off. Could this have something to do with the missing arms? Belting his spathion back on, Severus strode out of the tent and over to the soldier guarding Alv's prisoner. The man was quite drunk.

"Soldier, any idea why the Sergeant has you guarding this man?"

The man jumped at the unexpected voice, and turned.

"No sir, he went to look for an officer...." he trailed off.

"Well, one's found him. I'll watch this man, go find the Sergeant, I want to know the story behind this one."

The man looked sullen, and drunk as Vincent walked away, and he made a stagger as if to leave. Severus kicked him in the belly swiftly, which had the desired effect of doubling him over, but the undesired one of making him empty the copious amounts of alcohol he had drunk onto the ground. The smell of bile was disgusting, and Severus grabbed a handful of the man's tunic and wrenched him a few feet away from the sickness.

"Sit quietly fool, and wait."

 

[Norgesvenn]

December 5th, Evening. Rhodes

Alv swallowed hard a couple of times before approaching Captain's tent. He brushed aside a guard, and said as clearly as he could:

"Captain?"
"What?!? Some people are trying to sleep, Alv!"
"I think you want to see the culprit behind the missing weapons, sir..."
"All right, all right. Give me a moment"
"Busy, are we?"
"Shut up!"
Alv suppressed a snicker, and winked at the guard.

****

Captain and Alv strode purposefully towards the place Alv had left the prisoner with Vincent. A guard had been ordered to find and if necessarily wake Lochlan and LeClerc.

Alv was somewhat suprised at seeing Severus keeping watch over the hunched prisoner.
"Eew... what's happened?"
Severus shrugged.
"He threw up..."
"All right", said Captain impatiently. "Who is this person?"

"Who are you?", Alv said.
The prisoner groaned, and spat more bile on the ground.
"I'm just working on the harbour... I carry stuff!"
Alv leaned close, trying not to notice the foul stench emitting from the man.
"No, you're not! I know your type! You know what; I might teach you something from my homeland... it is called 'Blood Eagle'... It involves me cutting your ribcage open, and bending all your ribs into the form of wings. Then leave you to die!", Alv hissed into the man's ear.
Captain and a newly arrived Lochlan pulled Alv off the man.
"Easy, Alv! What's up with you?"

Severus looked long and hard at the prisoner.
"Where are you from?", he asked in Greek.
"I am from Kos".
"Liar. You're not from Kos... you're from Crete, I think..."
Captain stood himself beside Severus, with an eager Alv and a more relaxed Lochlan just behind him.

"Tell me... who are you working for?", Captain asked.
"I don't know who he is! I told the midget that!"
"I'm no midget", Alv said and slapped the prisoner. "Now, who do you work for?", Alv hissed. His spittle hit the prisoner's face.

Captain shook his head. "He won't budge... better go and heat up the cattle prods and irons...".

The others noticed a wink, and nodded.
"Why can't I just give him 'Blood Eagle'?"
"I'd be happy to teach him some Byzantine confession techniques... you know, we have our own blend of..."
"Why don't we just tie him to two horses and let them stretch him a bit?"
"Perhaps we could let the Moors have him?"
"They've dug a latrine... I'm sure he'd be more cooperative if we let him smell that for an hour..."
"I've brought my knives... just let me cut him! Please?"
"The Byzantine interrogation is very efficient. Just boil some water and..."

"ENOUGH!". The prisoner cried out in despair.
"I will speak. I am Greek. I come from Crete, but I am in the service of the Venetians. My employer found it... pertinent... that your jorney was sabotaged. Unfortunately, stealing the weapons was all I could do, as the captain of the ship was far more attentive than I had hoped. My orders were to sink your ship..."

"But why the lies at the tavern?", Alv wondered.
"He was one of the hands down on the docks. He saw me. I had to pay him a handsome fee to get out of my hair!"

The trick had worked. But this was indeed disturbing news. The Venetians turning against the Free Company. Sforza wouldn't like that.

 

[unmerged(6528)]

December 5th, Evening. Rhodes


"ENOUGH!". The prisoner cried out in despair. "I will speak. I am Greek. I come from Crete, but I am in the service of the Venetians. My employer found it... pertinent... that your jorney was sabotaged. Unfortunately, stealing the weapons was all I could do, as the captain of the ship was far more attentive than I had hoped. My orders were to sink your ship..."

"But why the lies at the tavern?", Alv wondered.

"He was one of the hands down on the docks. He saw me. I had to pay him a handsome fee to get out of my hair!" Having finished his confession, the prisoner slumped over.

Lochlan sighed, this was going to make everything a great deal more difficult if they couldn't trust the Venetians. In fact, it put the whole contract at risk, and Lochlan could tell from the expressions of those around him, that everyone was coming to this realization quickly.

Captain gestured, and the officers silently followed him towards his tent.

 

[HJ Tulp]

5th of December, late evening,

HJ was sitting at a campfire, as always listening to Frank Verbeeldt. It was remarkable how Frank digged up another song each evening. he was sitting besides a man.


"Greetings, I am Fyrsil ap Faolan ap Owain, I do not recall speaking to you before, may I ask, what is your name?", asked Fyrsil.

"I am Hendrik Johan, Baron of Apeldoorn." HJ answered

After half an hour or so of exchanging tales of their respective pasts, Hendrik Johan's tale of his past was long and involved and he could tell it in a great way. Fyrsil's story was remarkably shorter and thus Fyrsil asked:

"Are you in the cavalry? If you were in the infantry, I think I should've met you earlier."

"Alas, I would be in the cavalry, but I have no steed!"

"That can be helped! As I said I use the longbow, however I arrived on my trusted horse Gorwydd, it'd be a shame to have him sit un-used in the stables of Constantinopel while you fight unmounted. "

Hendrik Johan was silent for a few moments and HJ answered.
"I would be honoured to ride on your horse. When we are in Constantinople and I have money, I will buy a horse, but if I can't find one, as i said, I would be honored to ride on your horse.
What do you think of the theft of the swords and pikes?
I'm glad they didn't stole my battle axe. I has been in my family's hands for decades."

 

[TheF]

Hendrik Johan was silent for a few moments and HJ answered.
"I would be honoured to ride on your horse. When we are in Constantinople and I have money, I will buy a horse, but if I can't find one, as i said, I would be honored to ride on your horse.
What do you think of the theft of the swords and pikes?
I'm glad they didn't stole my battle axe. I has been in my family's hands for decades."

"I can imagine that, I am also glad that I didn't put my sword in the cargo bay. It was my grandfather's sword in the Scottish Campaign of 1385."

"I hope the officers will catch the guilty party.", Hendrik Johan said absent-mindedly.

"I hope so too.", said Fyrsil.

"Who was your grandfather? If I may ask?"

Fyrsil had no ready answer, he tried to start a sentence a couple of times but he couldn't find an answer.

"Ah, a touchy subject, forget that I asked"

"I will tell you when the time is right."

 

[Lord Durham]

December 5th, Evening - Rhodes

Captain gestured, and the officers silently followed him toward his tent. When they entered they found the accommodations rather Spartan and had to content themselves with standing around. Captain glanced back out and called two men over to stand guard. Satisfied, he turned to the assembled officers. He eyed each in turn. "The Venetians, is it? It would appear that members of the Council of Ten - perhaps the Doge himself - has decided to work behind Sforza and Guillaume's back."

Lochlan stroked his chin, "It could be, but my take is that they hired some real amateurs. I mean," The Ranger jerked his thumb in the general direction of the prisoner. "The guy outside claims they were going to sink the ship, but stole weapons instead. All they had to do was wait until night and fire the whole thing. "

Captain shrugged. "Assuming they got past the guards. The real question is, how many more are there, and are all of the Venetians in on this. My guess is that it's not the case, otherwise loose lips would have informed us long before now."

Roos asked, "So what do we do?"

Jacques shook his head. "I would say 'do nothing', at least for the moment. The Cretan has to have some accomplices. We have to determine who they are, and more importantly, how many of the Venetians can we trust? They have some 20 ships, after all."

"Jacques is right." This was Severus. He stepped forward, his eyes narrowing. "However, I have a idea." He waited until he had their undivided attention. "This Cretan is being paid, correct? I'm willing to bet that his loyalty doesn't extend past money. Well, let's pay him more and use him to flush out the rest of the conspirators."

"Why don't we just torture the names out of him?"

"Why ruin the tool if we can bend it to our own needs? Right now his fellows likely don't know he's with us. If they see he's missing for any length of time they'll go to ground. It's important we turn this man quick and root out the others before they suspect anything."

Captain looked around. "Spoken like a true Byzantine. Any other ideas?" There were none. He went to the tent opening. "Sergeant Alv!" Moments later the diminutive Norwegian was inside the tent. Subconsciously he went to stand beside Roos. Captain outlined the plan to him. "You think you can handle it?"

Alv slumped, "I suppose so."

Captain waved at the officers, "Alv, tomorrow morning we have a meeting with the Grand Master, so I need your help on this. Use whoever you need among the enlisted men."

Alv seemed resigned, "We'll need the bear on our side first."

Captain nodded and looked to Severus, "That's where our Byzantine friend comes in."

Severus looked properly mollified. He spread his hands. "Our reputation in these clandestine matters is vastly overrated."

Jacques snorted. "Right!"

Captain cracked a smile. "Sing me a ballad, Severus. Let's get on this. Our meeting with Jean de Lastic is just past daybreak. Alv, now what is it?"

"I thought the Countess was here."

"She's in town as the guest of Sir Franco. You're imagining things - again."

 

[driftwood]

Late evening, December 5th

As the other men filed out of the tent, Jacques hung back.

Captain glanced at him. "Was there something else?"

Jacques looked unusually awkward. "Ah, yes, I ... there ..." He sighed. "Let's just say, you might want to thoroughly wash Constance's personal items. Or buy her new ones." He made a hasty exit, leaving Captain to wonder.

 

[EmprorCoopinius]

December 5, late night, Rhodes

Severus looked properly mollified. He spread his hands. "Our reputation in these clandestine matters is vastly overrated."

Jacques snorted. "Right!"

Captain cracked a smile. "Sing me a ballad, Severus. Let's get on this. Our meeting with Jean de Lastic is just past daybreak. Alv, now what is it?"

"I thought the Countess was here."

"She's in town as the guest of Sir Franco. You're imagining things - again."

Suppressing a small smile at the Norweigian's discomfort, Severus bade Captain and the other officers good evening and dipped out of Captain's tent, crossing the campground back to his. Snatching a leather purse from his table, he walked back to where the Cretan was still sitting, holding his stomach and looking green. He looked up when he saw Severus and Alv approaching, and cringed slightly.

Severus knelt next to him while Alv stood a few feet away, murmering softly.

"You know, if it were up to me, I'd let the Norweigian loose on you, That Blood Eagle he described...it intrigues me. Do you think your heart would keep pumping blood once your ribcage was opened up? Like a water fountain. It would be something to see."

The man inhaled sharply, scrabbling at the mud trying to move backwards. Severus clamped a hand on his shoulder, freezing the man in place.

"Please, please, no......don't let him...I'll tell you where the weapons are. I'll return them! I'll bring you more!"

A dark stain began to form on the front of the man's trousers, and Severus leaned closer, disgust evident in his features.

"Look at you. Begging and crying like a woman. Not even enough dignity to keep from soiling yourself. I might just let some of the Mongols entertain you. Interesting people, Mongols. I imagine if they had their way, they would just tie you to four horses, and let them run. Quite painful I understand."

The man this time only whimpered, his hands digging deeper into the muck.

Sighing theatrically, Severus let the purse drop into his hand.

"Unfortunately, I'm not in charge,. Our Captain has decided that you may be more useful alive than dead. Great humanitarians, those Englishmen. How much were you paid?"

"S....s....six gold pieces...."

Severus shook his head, and made as if to stand up. "Lying in your situation is quite stupid my friend. Oh well. I'll just tell the Captain you tried to escape."

"Nooooo!" the man screamed, trying again futiley to crawl away. Severus wrenched his hair this time, bringing his face back close to his. "Four.....four gold pieces...I swear it on my mother's life!"

Severus appeared to consider this, looking at Alv for a long moment, then looking back to the wreck of a man on the ground. Opening the purse, he dropped ten gold pieces in the mud.

"I want to know who hired you, who helped you, where the weapons are, and whoever gave you the information about our ships. If I don't hear from you in a day, I'll assume you've decided to run. Then I will catch you, and Satan himself won't recognize you when you get to Hell. Now go."

Standing, Severus watched as the man collected the scattered gold and staggered up, fear evident in his eyes. Bowing repeatedly, he beat a hasty retreat from the Company camp.

Smiling ever so slightly, Severus turned to Alv. "See if you can't find someone to shadow him. Fear has a nasty habit of wearing off once a man has time to reconstruct his bravado. I'll tell Captain our mole has been let loose."

Nodding, Alv disappeared into the night towards the scout tents, while Severus walked back to Captain's to give him the report.

 

[Lord Durham]

December 6, 1438: Rhodes - Morning

The senior Company officers walked the cobbled road of the Knight's Way, their heavy boots ringing off the stone with a hollow echo. A bitter morning chill frosted their breath and brought a chuckle from Roos. "Feels just like home."

Rhodian sergeants and their charges watched the group with wary eyes, but kept to themselves and muttered quietly. Lochlan watched one particular knot of men. "They look like Auvergnese. Pleasant lot, just like those at the Siege of Orleans."

Jacques mumbled, "Maybe they were there and remember your handsome face."

The Helvetian glanced up at the Byzantine, then said to no one in particular. "He's still grinning."

Captain shrugged, a gesture almost lost under his cloak. "He got the Cretan on our side. I'd be grinning too. Now, only time will tell if Sergeant Alv can do something with him."

"Well, there was certainly no lack of volunteers."

They rounded a corner to face a large stone keep. At either side of the massive wood door were two sergeants. They eyed the mercenaries with professional eyes.

"These guys mean business. Doesn't anyone smile around here?" Lochlan pulled his cloak tighter.

Severus lost his grin and answered in dead seriousness. "They spend their lives fighting Turks and pirates. There's probably not much time for merriment."

Captain announced the group to the guards, and moments later they were ushered into the great hall. Seated at a large rectangular table were several Knights, each bearing the markings of their own 'tongue'. At their center was a man Captain had never seen before. The Knight was regal almost to overbearing. He nodded at a squire who rushed over, then proceeded to seat the Free Company officers. Minutes later he returned with watered wine.

During this time the knights and the mercenaries stared hard at each other. Finally, the central Knight looked at Captain and said, "You are Robert of Brandon, son of John of Gaunt." It wasn't a question.

"I prefer to be called Captain. You are Grand Master Jean de Lastic."

"Indeed. Who are your men?"

Introductions were made around the table, though the atmosphere continued to remain professional. During that time a pair of squires walked in with a large rolled parchment. They unrolled it on the table to unveil a map of the immediate area encompassing Rhodes and the southern portion of Asia Minor.

"Well Captain, I believe the floor is yours."

At that moment a door opened to reveal a sergeant escorting the crouched figure of a shuffling Joneaz. The man moved carefully to a vacant seat, nodding in recognition to the Grand Master.

Captain took a deep breath. "From previous correspondence you are aware of our mission." He waited for a subtle acknowledgement. "To date we have gathered near 3,000 men and some 40 ships. It is my intention to invade Teke and take them out of their alliance with the Ottoman."

There were surprised exclamations from both sides of the table. Captain pressed on. "We know their army isn't large, and we know much of it's tied down while they dance with the pirates along their southern coast. I feel a quick landing near the capital will give us the element of surprise needed to force their surrender. It will serve the dual purpose of removing a sea-borne source of supply from the Turk and provide a buffer to you, in case the Sultan should look your way."

One of the Knights cut in. "And why would the Sultan look our way?"

Severus' voice was clear, "Because if Constantinople falls, then only Rhodes will remain to block further expansion west."

The Knights regarded one another, ill at ease. A chair creaked, and the Grand Master made to speak. "And what do you require of us?"

Captain nonchalantly tapped the table with his fingers, "Your men and your ships."

 

[driftwood]

December 6th - Strategy Meeting

The Grand Master drummed his fingers on the table for a moment.

"The Ottoman navy has been growing larger and more competent of late. Even the Venetians will now grudgingly admit that they cannot be ignored. A heavy move towards Antalya and Teke leaves Rhodes vulnerable."

He said this in a very calm tone for one worried about his base - he was clearly prodding to see how fully the Free Company understood the situation.

Jacques looked at Captain and spoke. "If I may, the Turkish navy will be establishing a blockade of Constantinople, both to cut off re-supply by sea and to prevent any reinforcements from landing at the critical point. They will be thinking of Teke as an offensive asset, not a defensive liability."

He draws his finger down the top of the map, some distance below Constantinople, around to Teke. "By the time they know we are threatening Antalya, the siege will be underway. So they will be faced with several unpleasant options - moving some or all of their navy down to the southern coast, possibly allowing reinforcements or supplies into Constantinople; facing a fleet of unknown size with a relatively untested navy, where defeat means that Constantinople will have to be taken by assault; and either splitting their army to march and relieve Antalya or losing Teke as an ally."

He looks at the Knights. "No matter what they decide to do, they must either split their forces, losing their numerical advantage, or abandon their main objective, the siege of Constantinople. The Sultan also must know that the more time the Emperor has, the more likely he is to find allies to help him fight the Turk."

The Grand Master drummed his fingers once more. He still had not shown a reaction one way or the other. "An ... intriguing ... analysis, M. LeClerc."