The Free Company in Italy - Vae Victis: Book III

[Norgesvenn]

17th of January, Company Camp, Late Afternoon

"It's not like that at all, Alv...", Karim said. Alv looked at him quizzically.
"Well, what's it like, then? Why don't Moslems eat pork? You say it's unclean. I can tell you that if it weren't for hog fat, I wouldn't be alive. Pork tastes good!"
"For crying out loud, a pig eats its own faeces, Alv! That's unclean if I ever knew it!". Karim shook his head in disgust.
From a distance, they noticed Lochlan approaching.

"Look." Lochlan said as they neared their goal. "Seems some of Stroph's men are here as well, good." The ranger paused as they came close enough to feel the warmth of the fire, then he grinned as he saw Alv and Karim engaged in some sort of debate, those two were always going on about something. "Alv, Karim, enjoy yourselves, torture somone else for a change!"

"Torture?" Karim asked hesitantly.

"Yeah, stop torturing me." Lochlan said mockingly, and the two scouts laughed, and settled down a bit.

"So, should we have a look around? See what it's like around here? See what those Italians are like? I must say I quite liked the meal today", Alv said.
"He's ranting again", Karim thought. But he nodded, and gestured to the rest of the scouts to come along.

They walked around in the camp. Alv noticed how ragged his appearance was compared to these Southerners.
"I wonder when we'll be allowed to go into Firenze?", Alv said.
"Why do you want to go there? Unhappy with conditions out here?", Karim smiled.
"Nah, but I'd like to see the city. It's probably very different from Marseilles and other places I've seen".
"A city's a city. Lots of people... unhealthy conditions".
"Spoiler! What've you got against people?"
"Oh, shut it!"

 

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Pietro wandered quickly away from the sound of a thousand sheep being inexpertly slaughtered – hoping that de Bloomielde was a better warrior than he was musician – and found Giorgio trailing along behind him. Seeing a fire a short distance away with a number of men gathered around it, he determined to join them. Councils and formality were fine, but he preferred the gritty and honest circle of soldiers. In his thirty years of service to the Sforzas, he could remember nothing he preferred to a warm fire and some ribald humour…well, perhaps the the warm arms of a woman, but he didn’t think that was very likely tonight.

“Come,” he said to Giorgio. “Let’s make friends.”

The younger man followed his gaze and then fell into step.

"Excuse me," said Pietro as they arrived at the campfire. The officer he remembered having been introduced as Lochlan turned to regard the pair of Italian officers. "My name is Pietro di Benevento, and this is Giorgio di Napoli." He finished, waited expectantly for Lochlans reply.

"Lieutenant, Lieutenant." Lochlan said, nodding to them both. "Lochlan, master sergeant for Lieutenant Serpahim, and scout master," he continued, tilting his head. "You’re welcome to join our fire, but I have to warn you, we don't stand on ceremony here."

Pietro and Giorgio rgarded one another, and then Giorgio nodded. Lochlan shrugged. "I did warn you." he said with an evil grin. He turned and proceeded to half push, and half kick his way into the loose circle of people, when he had their attention, he spoke. "Gentlemen, and the rest of you, we have guests, treat them well, they fight by our side now." Lochlan gestured his welcome.

Pietro decided that this was, indeed, the right fire to have chosen and the grizzled veteran, commander of the foot, suddenly smiled. He shouldered his way between two of the Free Company men and sat down between them, relieving one of his goblet even as he sat and drained it in a single gulp. Ah. Delicious! Beer instead of the wine he’d been forced to pretend to enjoy at dinner.

“Now that’s more like it!” he said. “I don’t suppose you have any more of this stuff do you. Wine’s all very well for the hoity toity cavalrymen like Giorgio there, but I prefer a real man’s drink.

Several men laughed at the young officer’s offended expression, though Giorgio too – considerably more politely - squeezed between two others and seated himself.

“You should meet my Sergeant Galeazzo,” he said to Lochlan. “I imagine that you two have much to discuss, as he is your counterpart in our company. I’ll ask his to seek you out in the morning if you haven’t run into him before that.”

“Now, now, Giorgio,” remonstrated Pietro. “We’re not here to talk business. We’re here to drink! Isn’t that right fellows?”

There was a rousing cheer.

“Now I’m not sure what sort of jokes you northerners tell, but I just have to tell you about the Maid from Benevento. Now it seems there was this maid…”

The jokes, laughter and beer flowed late into the evening, and gradually the two lieutenants began to feel comfortable in the company of new friends.

 

[Sharur]

Scherer grinned, poking the fire with a stick. "Speaking of maids, who here remembers Alberic's story about his maid in Orleans?"

Lochlan stifled a laugh, Diego groaned, and the Italians perked up, hoping to here a similar story to the one they'd just told.

Turning to the Italians, Scherer said, "I don't know if you've met our Sergeant Alberic, but he's quite the character. Him and his rebac. He can actually play decent music, unlike Bloomfielde. Anyway, he once told us this story about a maid of his in Orleans, named Marlene..."

 

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January 17 - Company Camp - Late Afternoon

A medium sized man with square shoulders and thick black mustachios watched as the Sforza wagons were unloaded. Under his direction, the support element's area of the camp was quickly erected. The men joked with each other good naturedly as supplies floated off of the carts at a dizzying pace. Tents went up as if by magic. Bartolemi Braggia's 130 men were well trained. He smiled with pride as they exhibited their efficiency for all to see. As Seargent of the Train, Braggia was directly responsible for oversight of the non-military personnel including the teamsters, quartermasters, medical staff, and clergy. He was also the Sforza company paymaster.

A light cough came from his right side and Braggia turned to see the Free Company's quartermaster standing beside him. At first Bartolemi's face expressed a look of shock which rapidly changed to a lopsided face splitting grin. He embraced Jacob heartily and the two men exchanged chaste kisses on the cheek in the Italian tradition.

"Milo? Milo Cancharello? What on earth are you doing here? I haven't seen you in what...fifteen years...ever since you left Apulia without so much as a goodbye for me, your dear old friend. I still can't believe you got away with selling all those merchants stock in a fictional fig and date trading company. Warehouses in Smyrna and Messina...and they fell for that." Braggio snorted and chuckled...then his face became more serious "I am surprised you came back to Italy."

Jacob smiled weakly and replied in perfect Italian, "That was long ago and far away my friend. Milo has not been seen for many years. Times have changed. I'm known as Jacob Bender these days. Out of the scam business...and serving as quartermaster for the Free Company...having quite a bit of fun too by the way. Do you know someplace where we can have a drink and catch up on old times? First round is on me."

Bartolemi clapped his friend on the back. "Well that's an offer I can't refuse Mi....errr....Jacob. I know just the place in Pontedera. It's called the Prancing Pony..."

 

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After Dinner

“You should meet my Sergeant Galeazzo,” he said to Lochlan. “I imagine that you two have much to discuss, as he is your counterpart in our company. I’ll ask his to seek you out in the morning if you haven’t run into him before that.”

After dinner, Sgt Galeazzo wandered over to his counterpart.

"Sergeant, posso venirlo a contatto più successivamente per discutere il nostro sforzo comune? or if you would prefer, the English "Sergeant, may I meet with you later to discuss our joint effort?"

Lochlan looked over the young Italian, and except for his youth, the man seemed competent enough, at first glance....

OOC: sorry about the tardy response, but I was off on a business trip - hate it when RL interferes....

 

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"....and when she lifted her skirts all he could say was 'that's the best trim I've seen in years!' Ah, ha, ha, ha," finished Scherer.

Everyone around the fire laughed except young Giorgio who obviously didn't get the joke.

Pietro sighed. "I guess, Giorgio, that you've never heard about the undergarments that they wear in Orleans. It's all lace and very prettily trimmed, you see." He gave Scherer a conspirorial wink.

Giorgio faked a little laugh as the rest of the ensemble roared once more. Sensing that he was missing some crucial element of the joke, the lieutenant excused himself momentarily to visit the latrine. "Call of nature," he announced, rising.

"You know, that reminds me of the one about the Countess who was found in flagrente," said Pietro. "You see, there was a countess...I forget where she was from but it was probably Milan...you'll see why in a moment. Anyway, there was this countess and she had the most enormous and perfectly shaped..."

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

Giorgio headed off in the direction of the Free Company latrines which were much closer than his own camp's facilities. Just as he arrived there he saw a shadow in the moonlight and stopped.

"Giorgio?" came a whisper from the figure...

 

[driftwood]

Giorgio headed off in the direction of the Free Company latrines which were much closer than his own camp's facilities. Just as he arrived there he saw a shadow in the moonlight and stopped.

"Giorgio?" came a whisper from the figure...

Giorgio attempted to focus on the darkness, but for some reason his vision wasn't quite as sharp as usual. Giving a stifled belch, he reached for his sword, which for some reason was present as usual. Then again, the wine hadn't been as watered down as usual.

Nicely trimmed? What's so funny about a woman's delicates? he mused, before he focused on the face peering at him from the shadows.

"Oh, hello!" he said agreeably.

The man, dressed in the non-descript patchwork of a Free Company foot soldier, perhaps from the artillery regiment, wrinkled his nose at the smell emanating from the young lieutenant.

"Are you--- nevermind, you quite obviously are."

Giorgio was quite sure he was, in fact, whatever he quite obviously was, so he bobbed his head in enthusiastic agreement. "Where's that latrine?" he asked in some distress, the pressure in his bladder increasing.

The man was digging through a satchel at his side, so Giorgio decided he had gotten close enough to the latrines and let loose with a tremendous "Ahhhh....."

"Oh Christ! Watch where you aim that thing! Listen, Giorgio, I have the letter you were told about."

The surviving brain cells in Giorgio's head perked up at this tidbit and started to spend their precious store of sobriety. "When should I deliver it?" he asked mostly coherently.

The man, wiping his boot on a nearby pile of manure, shrugged. "Whenever. Soon. But don't send your next report back until after you've given it to Captain."

Giorgio nodded and went to grab the letter. Then he flushed furiously and quickly packed himself back up while the other man smirked. Snatching the letter, he declared, "Don't worry. Hey, let me ask you something: how neatly trimmed are the ladies of Orleans between their legs?"

driftwood

 

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January 17th, Early Evening - Company Camp

"Sergeant, posso venirlo a contatto più successivamente per discutere il nostro sforzo comune? or if you would prefer, the English "Sergeant, may I meet with you later to discuss our joint effort?"

Lochlan looked over the young Italian, and except for his youth, the man seemed competent enough, at first glance. But fir st glances weren't everything, and they needed to have a long talk about how These horse scouts, Lochlans own men, and Forsters light horse would work together. "Absolutely, but not tonight." Lochaln said affably. The ranger gestured to the circle of men. "Come on, join us."

"Perhaps I will." The Italian scout said.

"Hey pass some of that awful wine over here Lochlan said, as he caught the remainder of Scherers last joke." As the wineskin was passed to his hand, Lochlan took a long pull. It didn't even matter the wine was bad.

 

[driftwood]

Clerk wandered around outside of the officers' tent. He was usually allowed to attend such gatherings, if allowed was the word. More like nobody notices if I'm there or not he thought disconsolately.

To his surprise, he saw Annette sitting on a tiny, upright portion of a half-buried wall. She was looking up at the moon, which gave an oddly pale cast to her dusky skin. She glanced over at Clerk as he approached, then looked away in disinterest.

Clerk stared at his feet, at the sky, then his feet again.

"Mind if I, uh, join you?" he asked tentatively.

Annette gave the smallest shrug she could. "If you must."

Right, that went well. "No, I don't *have* to, I just thought you might want to, you know, talk ... to me ... or something ..."

Annette pulled up her knees, wrapping her lithe arms stiffly around them, and laid her head upon her arms facing away from Clerk. Clerk felt himself flushing angrily.

"What, you can talk to L-Lochlan? Rest in his arms?"

That got a reaction, at last. Her head jerked up and around. Her eyes blazed with something unidentifiable, but it wasn't good, whatever it was.

"Maybe I don't want to talk to you, or him, or anyone. What are you going to do, force yourself upon me?" She said it in an oddly challenging way, her chin thrust forward, almost as if she wanted him to hit her.

They stared at each other for a moment, both shocked by the outburst.

With a husky sigh, she murmurred, "Just leave me alone, Clerk."

Clerk noddly dumbly. He turned to go, then stopped. "My name's Jacques."

"What?"

"Jacques. That's my name. I haven't told anyone since Captain found me."

Again, something unidentifiable danced across her wet eyes. A cruel sneer spread on her lips and she said, "Jacques? That's a rather common name. Imagine that, a peasant oaf named Jacques..."

Clerk was so stunned he found himself unable to breath for a long moment. At that moment, he wasn't sure he wanted to breath again. Then he saw the emptiness behind her words and realized that lashing out was, for whatever reason, all she was capable of. Feeling his heart breaking under the moon, he turned around and trudged off.

Annette watched him go, feeling uncomfortable sensations. Serves him right ... it's not like he suffered what I did ... he has no right to judge me like that ...

She laid her head back down on her arms, facing the direction he had left. But when her mouth opened, the only words to softly come out were, "Clerk ... Jacques ... come back ..."

driftwood

 

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Niccolo Piccinino had enjoyed the evening...the wine...the food…well, perhaps not the food. It was a little fatty for his refined tastes. Nevertheless, it was a beginning, and he saw the value in the exercise. If the two companies were to work together, they must trust one another, and it is hard to trust a man you do not know.

Having escaped the awful howling of de Bloomfielde’s…well, best not think on that…he had decided to catch a breath of fresh air. He walked for an hour along the River Arno, listening to the idly moving water gently lapping against the banks. He had been born not twenty leagues from here – though few knew it. He had worked the fields with his father and brothers and cousins and uncles…until the day when the condottieri company had ridden through, sacked his tiny village, stolen all their food, raped their women, and beaten half of the population to the brink of death. In the space of a day he had gone from the beloved first son to orphan.

He would never forget the face of the man who had commanded the condottieri company…

His tenure with the Sforzas had taught him that there were alternatives…choices that could be made. It didn’t have to be that way…there wqas still the possibility of honour…and in Muzio he saw great potential ne’r fulfilled. In his son…

No. That was a place that he had best not go.

Returning from the river, he walked among the tents, a feeling of listlessness prevailing over his thoughts and a strange disquiet. Having learned to trust his instincts, he moved carefully with a grace and silence that would have astonished his fellow company men.

And so he came to a place where he saw a young woman sitting on a tiny, upright portion of a half-buried wall. She was looking up at the moon, which gave an oddly pale cast to her dusky skin.

Suddenly she glanced over to her left at a man who approached; then she looked away, giving all appearance of disinterest. Niccolo, however, saw her expression and saw, in it, a mixture of fear and self-loathing…and longing.

Niccolo stayed motionless, watching the scene unfold before him.

The man stared at his feet, at the sky, then his feet again.

“Mind if I, uh, join you?” he asked tentatively.

The young woman gave the smallest shrug she could. “If you must.”

“No, I don't have to, I just thought you might want to, you know, talk ... to me ... or something ...” said the obviously besmitten and distraught young man.

The woman…girl…child…lady?…pulled up her knees, wrapping her lithe arms stiffly around them, and laid her head upon her arms facing away from the man.

“What, you can talk to L-Lochlan? Rest in his arms?” he said, with scarcely disguised anger.

Lochlan? The scout master? A vicious triangle thought the Italian. The youth’s harsh words provoked a reaction, as her head jerked up and around. Niccolo could not see her face, but he imagined that her eyes would blaze... The youth had made a serious blunder here.

“Maybe I don't want to talk to you, or him, or anyone. What are you going to do, force yourself upon me?” She said it in an oddly challenging way, her chin thrust forward, almost as if she wanted him to hit her.

Niccolo had seen that before, and the memory of it, and the days preceding and following it, filled him with an odd mix of emotions. No. Not again!

The two youths stared at each other for a moment, seemingly shocked by the outburst.

With a husky sigh, she murmurred, “Just leave me alone, Clerk.”

The man, presumably ‘Clerk’, nodded dumbly. He turned to go, then stopped. “My name's Jacques.”

“What?” she said, harshly.

“Jacques. That's my name. I haven't told anyone since Captain found me.”

He had baggage of his own, Niccolo thought. Less clear, but none the less poignant.

From where he stood he could see a cruel sneer spread on her lips as she said, “Jacques? That's a rather common name. Imagine that, a peasant oaf named Jacques...”

Inwardly, Niccolo sighed. He saw the young man tense up in rigid indignation. Niccolo began counting, merely to gauge the young man’s capacity for insult. It was a surprisingly long count. Finally he saw the lad take a deep, shuddering breath as though he was starving for air. Then he spun on his heel and left, shoulders drooped and head hung low. The body language veritably screamed the man’s emotions, in spite of the pale moonlight.

The woman, however, watched the man leave, her head and eyes tracking the receding figure. Her posture, too, revealed much. Inwardly, Niccolo sighed again. ‘Young love,’ he thought, and was on the verge of dismissing the entire episode when her heard her say, as a whisper on the wind, “Clerk ... Jacques ... come back ...”

He saw, in her body, her longing, her eys….he saw something…something that wrenched his heart. He saw his sister, his mother, his…no, that was too dark a road to travel. He suddenly realised that he had been holding his own breath and allowed his lungs to greedily suck in air.

Steeling himself, as though for battle, he strode towards her, intentionally making a noise...

To be continued...

 

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Annette jumped, startled by the noise to her left, and saw an unfamiliar figure approaching her. The man, one of the new Italian condottieri commanders who had been present at dinner, was middle-aged and dressed in tight hose and an almost indecently short tunic of the finest silk. It was black, adorned with thin silver brocade, and the only relief from the darkness was the silver and jewelled hilt of a dagger that hung from a belt at his waist.

Niccolo came to a stop beside her and then leaned his back against the wall, looking up towards the moon.

“It is beautiful, is it not, lady?”

She made no reply, hoping that the Italian would go away...and quickly.

“Do you know what we say of the first moon of the new year, lady? We say that it is the moon of new hope and that its light washes away all the sins, trials and tribulations of the old year. It allows us to begin the year with a tabula rasa…how do you say it?...a clean slate?”

Annette looked back up at the moon, and began to think of the past months…a small sob escaped her lips, and she buried her face once more in her knees.

“I have much the same impression, lady. The moon does little other than remind my of what has passed and what is lost. I hate the moon, even as I admire its beauty.”

She managed to stop crying, though she didn’t move.

“I sense a great sorrow in you, lady. A sorrow that no moonlight or sunlight can expunge. It is a sorrow I have seen in many a woman in many a place throughout my career. It is, I think, a sorrow with which I have more than a passing familiarity.”

That got to her. If the man wouldn’t leave when she refused to respond, perhaps he would leave if she vented her anger…not that she really made the decision with much forethought. “Why? Have you raped and tortured many women?” She spat it out at him, seeking to drive him away.

Niccolo didn’t move. “No lady. Never a one. I have, however, seen my mother advantaged and then spitted upon a sword.” He struggled to hold his own emotions in check, keeping his voice level. “I have seen my older sister pinned to the floor and forced to sate the evil desires of many, many men…even as I struggled against them to protect her. I was young, though, and unable to best them; so they had their way and then left her broken and bleeding not half a dozen paces from where they tied me helpless to a pillar. I did spend many months talking and consoling her, trying to draw her out of the shell that she so willingly embraced as it gave her a place to hide from her memories. So perhaps I am not incorrect when I say that I have a passing familiarity with such things. She used to sit, exactly as you are now, and stare at the moon.”

Annette began to cry softly once more, ashamed at having lashed out at the man.

“I will leave you now, lady, as I have learned that the resolution to such things can never be forced or cajoled. Should you wish to speak to me, you may seek me out at any time. Come to any of my men and ask for Niccolo – for I give you a power over me that you may draw some strength from it. My name is Niccolo Piccinino, and to speak it to any man not of my company is to sign my death warrant, so I ask that you use it with great care. Otherwise I am known as Gian Attendolo, and I am not hard to find. Good night, lady.”

With that, Niccolo wandered off towards a campfire where he was sure that he heard the unmistakable sound of Pietro di Benvento telling his famous “Black Sheep of Marche” joke. He needed to hear a few of his jokes right now; for if he didn’t, he would surely cry.

Annette sat for a little while longer, gazing at the moon, and then stood and set off for her tent…

 

[driftwood]

Giorgio hummed to himself as he walked. Meandered, perhaps, would be a more accurate term, but the important thing is that he reached his destination on only the second attempt (if you consider the 10 intervening minutes "the scenic route").

Giorgio blinked in the relative brightness of the tent. Francesco was off to one side, talking with the few officers who hadn't wandered out under the withering assault of de Bloomfielde's "music". This must be how they toughen themselves up, Giorgio mused.

Captain was sipping a glass of wine, lost deep in his own thoughts. Giorgio walked up and stood in front of him expectantly.

Captain blinked. One of Francesco's officers had just set himself right in front of his face. He was disconcertingly close. "Yes?" Captain asked after waiting another long few moments.

"Captain! I have something for you!" Giorgio announced. Before Captain even had time to get alarmed, Giorgio had forced a crumpled, sweaty letter into his hand.

"SHHHH!!!!" he shushed loudly. "It's a secret! Oh ... I don't feel so good ..." Giorgio decided the close heat and bagpipe music weren't doing him any good and headed back out to his friends, Pietro and Scherer, who never laughed at him.

Captain blinked in confusion. With a shrug, he carefully unwrapped the letter.

Captain,

If you are reading this letter, then you are not dead. My congratulations. Since you disappeared in the central Mediterranean, I have been trying to locate you with no success. So, I apologize for the age of this letter; if it has reached you, expect a more up-to-date one shortly.

I have attached two papers, in a cipher you alone should be familiar with from conversations with our mutual friend from the east.

The first deals with events that, in all likelihood, have already unfolded in the home of our supposed Adversary. Only too late I have learned that he is nothing more than the Adversary's dupe; yet the wheels have already been set in motion, at considerable cost.

The second naturally follows from the first: the actions of the true Adversary have elicited a reaction from someone who, if not a friend, is at least familiar to us, from more temperate climes. Should you chance near the Arno, you will undoubtedly be caught up in this reaction, and I would forearm you with certain important facts.

In the future, I should be able to reach you through faster and more reliable means.

Giovanni Milano, 15 December 1422

Two other sheets of paper covered in nonsensical characters followed the letter. Captain quietly secreted them inside his tunic.

driftwood

 

[Lord Durham]

January 17th, Early Evening - Company Camp


...

In the future, I should be able to reach you through faster and more reliable means.

Giovanni Milano, 15 December 1422


Two other sheets of paper covered in nonsensical characters followed the letter. Captain quietly secreted them inside his tunic, glancing quickly to see if anyone had noticed. He wasn't sure, but now was not the time to wander off to translate the cryptic messages.

However, there was someone in the camp that knew his whereabouts, and he had barely landed in Italy. Even more startling, though in retrospect not surprisingly so, was the revelation that former Doge Tommaso Mocenigo was not the man who had betrayed his original company three years ago. What were the words? Oh yeah, "Adversary's dupe".

He casually studied the Company's new comrades, especially Giorgio. He decided the Italian was merely a messenger, and there was someone else in camp calling the shots. Once again, events were threatening to take him along on an uncontrolled ride. First the meeting with Sfroza, the surprise disclosure of their true sponsor, and now this.

Picking up a wine goblet, Captain walked to the entrance and scanned the myriad collection of tents before him. He saw men and women coming and going, others sitting around blazing campfires, people talking, laughing, dancing, singing.

It was a peaceful evening, a calm evening, something that was too rare in the Free Company's rather brief existence. Captain sighed. They would reach Florence in a couple of days. By then he would have deciphered the documents, and perhaps the messenger himself would become known.

Inside, de Bloomfielde finished a brutal rendition of 'I Dance a Jig on his Grave'. Captain was developing a splitting headache, and decided it was time to let his senior officer go wander among the campsites. He went back in.

 

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January 17th, Early Evening - Company Camp

The ranger gestured to the circle of men. "Come on, join us."

"Perhaps I will." The Italian scout said.

"Hey pass some of that awful wine over here Lochlan said, as he caught the remainder of Scherers last joke." As the wineskin was passed to his hand, Lochlan took a long pull. It didn't even matter the wine was bad.

Sgt Galeazzo tentatively joined the Free Company men. However, many long pulls of wine later, the two scouts were much more at ease with each other. Tomorrow, they would have to learn how to trust each other and work together, but tonight they were best friends and brothers.

Sgt. G turned to Lochlan and said,

"Sir, I see that you are a tough bunch and now I now why. Anybody that can listen to such "music" must be hard as rock! When we get back to my home, I will take you to a concerte and let you hear compositions of such sweet meladies that you will cry of your mother to your woman!

Here, I brought you some desertes to melt in your mouth...."

 

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Johan kept wandering about the camp as if looking for something. With the events in Tunesia back in his mind settling down for a drink and some conversation didn’t seem as appealing as before. It was just his way of coping with such an experience.

But it was a quiet night, apart from the sounds made by a verly large camp nearby. It reminded him a bit of Milan, which was perhaps a busy city day and night if you knew where to look. It was why Johan had aquired something of a nightvision, and why he had learned to wield knives well before he became a mercenary. His father would have prefered Johan to learn the way of the sword, as would befit someone who was to make true his fathers dreams and become a nobleman.

But the knive was more practical, as Johan had come to learn quickly in the dark alleys of Milan, easier to hide under one’s clothing. The knife, along with the crossbow, were the assassin’s tools, not because of styling, but out of practicality. Johan would definitly draw the line at using poison. It made him wonder about the difference between an assassin and someone like a Company man, but Johan didn’t thought too long about it.

He found her where he expected her to. He reached out to grab her by the waist, but Socat intercepted and grabbed his hand instead. It had become something of a common greeting, a compromise they had made. For now, it suited Johan fine and they walked side by side, enjoying eachother’s precence..

 

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January 17th, Early Evening - Company Camp

Stroph and the Avergnese relaxed around the fire. After the tensions of the day, it felt mighty good to be able to Eat, Drink and Be Merry. After eating way too much, Tomas belched loudly.

"BRRRRRP, Waz Up?" the young man yelled out to the fire. He then reached out for some more Wlak and happily chomped away.

Stroph was sitting quietly off to one side. He had the "LOOK" in his eyes. Older men who passed by him shook their heads and said "tsk, tsk." They knew that once the look came, the boy was lost forever. Now the only question was how long until Be'cki and Stroph figured this out.

At this time, Bloomfielde began another "quiet" French love song, and the Avergnese began to sing the "romantic" words.

OOC - Note that most of the "French love songs" that Bloomfield and the other French will sing begin with the phrase "il y avait par le passé une jeune dame de… " which translates "there once was a young lady from..."

 

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January 17th, Evening - Company Camp

Lochlan walked casually through the the company's camp. He weaved in and out of the various fires, waving and stopping to talk for a few minutes here and there. But he had a destination, and he didn't let himself get sidetracked for more than a few minutes.

He was looking for someone actually, the same person he looked for every night. He continually tried to get her to open up, he knew she had incredible pain inside of her. Still, it was becoming increasingly clear to the scout that she wouldn't open up to him. He wasn't sure how that made him feel, but he knew he wouldn't be able to deal with the repercussions of such a thing til he knew how she felt for certain.

Then he saw her, beautiful in the moonlight, and looking very much like she wanted to be anywhere but where she was. Lochlan approached her slowly, deliberately making noise. She didn't turn, and he said nothing.

When he reached her he sat down, a few feet from her, his legs crossing, and he leaned back against a rock. Patience was something he was glad he had learned the hard way, or else this might be even worse. A few feet away, the moon shining down on the two of them, neither saying a word.

 

[driftwood]

January 18th, morning, near Ravenna, which is nowhere near Florence, so don't even ask

"Peter! Peter!" the friar called, rubbing his aching back.

He poked his head into the delapidated hut behind the ruins of the church. There he saw the silent man whom he had found, almost dead, at the foot of the Alps several months before. He had given the troubled man the name of Peter, since he was silent but reliable, like the Rock.

Zachary stood up quickly. He had not spoken a word since not long after he had left Bohemia ... not long after the ...

Shaking his head, he shuffled over to the hut wall where his long, thin lance lay. It was the only item he showed any care for - his clothes were mostly in tatters on his body, the fine black garb he had donned for battle against Satan packed away in his bag, while the rotten remains of the wooden crucifix hung feebly around his neck.

"Peter, it is time to continue our journey! I know it is too early in the season for decent folk to travel, but I feel a strange sense of urgency. God has been sending me strange dreams of an impending doom." His brow wrinkled, the creases in his face deepening.

The friar turned his back to Zachary as he spoke, pondering his strange visions at night. He did not notice the larger man's hands tighten in anger around the spear at the mention of God's messages.

"Gather your things, Peter, for we will leave after breakfast. We head south, towards Rimini for now."

driftwood

 

[Norgesvenn]

January 17th, late evening, the Company camp

The sunset was really something. Alv didn't feel tired. Instead, he sought a vantage point near the camp. He wanted to see the sea. It soothed him, somehow. Thinking about how some of the Company members had handled seafaring made him chuckle. Strangely enough, the sentries had saluted him as he left camp. Alv really wasn't used to that sort of behaviour.

"I've lived most of my life without knowing anything at all", Alv muttered to himself. The camp had been very quiet. Karim had already decided to bunk, so Alv had no-one to talk too. The Italians didn't seem too interested in talking to a tiny and ragged Northener like him. He'd have to learn some manners.

Listening to the stories of officers like Scherer and de Bloomfielde, he had picked up a few things, but Alv really couldn't fathom why they talked about cats that often. Stray cats were plentiful, and most of them didn't recognise the name "pussy", anyway.

Lochlan had seemed distinctly different since the assault on the Berber fortress. Supposedly, it had something to do with a woman. Alv praised God that he had never been caught by a woman. Still, he had to admit to himself that he thought about women quite frequently. Never mind that, he thought. He gazed at the sea, the Mediterranean. Those waters. This land. Once emperors and legions had inhabited these areas. It seemed strange that he, a tiny Scandinavian, were to be here.

Alv prayed. He prayed that none of the Company members would be hurt or die on their missions. He prayed that The Good Lord would have mercy upon the Moslem Karim, and finally he prayed for his own soul and its redemption.

Alv wished that he could hear the sound of the waves. It usually made him sleepy. He needed to sleep. His head was heavy, and he still suffered slightly from the sunburns he had acquired so generously all over his upper body in the land of the Berbers. Still, a thought lingered. A woman. A woman. Me, and a woman.

 

[unmerged(9046)]

January 17th, late evening, the Company camp

Sgt. G watched the small Scandinavian watch the sunset. He walked over to him and said...

"Il mio nuovo amico, un giorno vi mostrerò i tramonti dalla mia città natale" which translates:"My new friend, one day I will show you the sunsets from my home town."

"The sunsets are as beautiful as the woman and are more dependable. But come, let the two of us enjoy this beauty and think of home. Maybe on this trip, I will be able to entertain you in my town."