Stories Thread

[Rowan]

French countryside, 1080

Their luck had held and the defeated band hadn't been attacked by the watching troops. One by one, family by family, the peasants peeled off to see what had become of their little homesteads and villages. In the end there was only a score of more veteran troops left.
"So, what do we do now", asked one of them as they were having a break.
"I was planning on continuing all the way to Paris to take part in the Kings Tourney", replied Alphonse.
"It's a long way to walk, and the roads aren't safe for a lone traveller."
"The news of lord's abdication couldn't have reached very far yet. With luck we could get ourselves horses from one his steadings... it is only our right since we weren't allowed to take our warhorses from the keep. That is... if you want to keep following me. I might have been the master of the castle but alone in the woods we are all equal."
"But what about after the tourney, it ain't cheap living in the capital."

Slowly a consensus was reached: they would form up a company, with Alphonse leading, and offer their services as free lances to a noble that would have them. If they were succesful in the Tourney, maybe even the king would notice them...

[Ituralde]

Outside of Paris, 1080

Gerome rolled over and groaned. Would he find no rest tonight? He deserved rest that was sure.

He was an important man after all, responsible for manning the toll station of his Lord. The sturdy stone building and its outhouse supported the iron chain that crossed the road at this point, which made sure that every passing carriage paid the required tolls to pay for eventual repairs to the road. And also for Gerome, if you took it exactly. While the main building had a spacious common room and also some lodging hardly anyone ever stayed here.

Some said it was due to Gerome, who wasn't a beacon of hospitality, but the more likely reason was that Paris, capital of the Realm, only lay a short distance from the toll station. Short enough that most people moved on to enjoy the adventures of the city rather than stay at the dull toll station.
All the more irksome that the young nobles had stayed for the night since their destination clearly was Paris. For hours now Gerome had to listen to their talking through the night.

They had arrived late the evening before, five young Knights by the looks of them, who had met from half across France if their stories were to be believed.
Said they had an audience with the King himself, as if that wasn't clearly a lie. Gerome was good at spotting those kind of things. Apparently they had some things to discuss before they wanted to move on, to meet the King, and had decided to stay. And they had discussed at great length and often volume. They had laid out parchments on the tables and talked about some Charter and some Oath. For hours they were talking now, quite animated too.

It seemed less that they disagreed, they were just quite fervent at agreeing with each other. And then the topic of their conversation. Chivalry, pah! Those virtues were all very well if you didn't have to worry about putting food on the table for a family of five. Not that Gerome had to worry about that. He couldn't believe his bad luck as suddenly the voices rose once again.

"Now speak after me! I, am a Knight of France! And hereby swear! To fear God and maintain His Church! To serve my liege and..."

Gerome groaned again, he could only hope that they did indeed travel on to Paris as they promised for he was not sure he would survive another night with them staying!

[TheFlax]

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Coop with AussieGiant

Outskirts of Paris, 1080

It was a midsummer day, a cloudy midsummer day. Foul weather was surely coming, but no such thing would dampen the spirits in Paris and all around the city. In a few days time a grand tournament, the likes of which had never been seen in France, would be taking place. Lords ranging from far and wide throughout the kingdom had already arrived at the capital in droves to attend. For many of the nobility, these were days of festivities, but for Constance each day was unbearable. She felt as if all the eyes of France were suddenly upon her, an unpleasant reminder that she was now of age to marry. At least, with all the commotion in the city she was able to escape the oppressive environment of the court.

Riding her powerful destrier and clad in a coarse brown cloak with a bliaud of the same tone, Constance made her way to a nearby forest at a gallop. Once more, she had eluded her escorts, but they were fast becoming more than a match for her. She needed to be cautious today in particular, because for all his love, she was certain her father would approve of the illicit meeting she had planned. Once in the forest, hopefully safe from prying eyes, the wayward princess pulled on the reins of her mount to bring him to a slower pace. In these thick woods, a gallop would be ill-advised and while Constance was not one to shy away from risks, she still possessed some measure of common sense.

Her thoughts drifted to the man she had arranged to meet in secrecy; Alan de Rohan, Duke of Bretagne. Years ago they had met on more than one occasion, as children. Last she had seen him, he had been chasing her through the gardens at her mother's behest. Constance remembered vividly those moments, she had found some of Louis' old clothes and had changed into them. Dressed as a boy, she had fled her protesting mother, only to be tackled down by a young Alan. Those were the times she cherished, old enough to wander about, young enough to remain a child. Now, she was a princess and he was a Duke. Being only four years her senior, Constance was impressed with him and when she had heard he was coming to Paris, she had decided he would be a key to her future.

After a short while, she finally reached the clearing where he would be waiting. With a practiced hop, Constance dismounted and tied the horse to a nearby tree before making her way to the center of the small glade.

Alan was leaning on a tree as she approached, at twenty he was tall, slim and certainly handsome, however he had not filled out physically even though he was fully practiced in the martial aspects of his station. He still seemed more boyish than manly, his personality however was the difference. It was large.

He momentarily thought about her. At sixteen she was already a woman, the young girl he had known was rapidly disappearing both physically and in personality. She was certainly turning out exactly as he had dreamed she would. The rough exterior and tomboy looks did not fool him as it had fooled others. Their physical contact and “rough housing” had receded over the last few years as her developing figure had lead to far fewer places to “rough house” with.

Smiling broadly as she approached, he pushed himself off the tree and, with a practiced flourish of a courtesan, bowed.

“Your Highness, it is most excellent to see you. Your radiance is a sight to behold as always.”

His grin gave the words overly exaggerated formality, something she was familiar with.

Constance smiled warmly upon seeing him and flushed slightly at his compliment, she still wasn't accustomed to those kind of compliments, especially with Louis reminding her what an inappropriate woman she was.

"Duke de Rohan." She said in a mock formal tone while nodding. "The title fits you nicely." The princess added as she appraised him, head to toe.

Noticing the scrutiny he spread his arms wide and look down at himself. His riding clothes were an easy fit on his long frame, the exceptional quality hidden by the plain cut and colors.

“Do I pass?”

She chuckled. "What do you think?"

Laughing at her quick reply he winked at her.

"I'd say I've smashed the pass mark and are making excellent progress towards a distinction by the look I'm getting!!

You're such a charmer my dear, I really need to keep that in mind. Plus the scraps and scratches all over you just add to the look."

Glancing at her figure.

"You could pick up the dress code a little though, this whole peasant revival things being a little over done don't you think?"

"Its more practical for what I have in mind." Constance shrugged.

Tilting his head like a dog unsure of what is going on Alan replied.

"And what may that be my dear?"

From the folds of her bliaud, she revealed a long knife with a jewel encrusted gold hilt.

"My father gave me this, for my protection. I'd like to actually be able to use it."

Alan's face turned serious for a moment, before slipping back into his usual humorous expression.

"If you're serious Constance, then I have to ask. Are you prepared to kill someone? Because if you cannot commit to that then there is no point. Keep in mind this is all about your intent and nothing to do with skills I may teach you."

He was more than earnest in his tone.

"I... Am I prepared to defend myself? Yes. Am I ready to kill a man?... I don't know. Even if I said yes, I don't think I would truly know that answer until I was face to face with that decision."

The young Duke held her gaze for a moment, clearly assessing her response. After a long pause his green eyes sparkled with mischief.

"Fair enough, your brother and father will skin me alive for this you know."

His grin indicated he was not particularly concerned.

For the remainder of the afternoon, Alain began to teach Constance how to fight with a blade, or at least tried to. The girl was as much a menace to herself as she was to her opponent. Using fallen tree branches to spar, she took her branch in a tight two-handed grip and immediately started flailing about wildly, never even coming close to land a blow. It was obvious she was trying to compensate her lack of skill with sheer aggressiveness. As expected, she tired after a time and Alain had little trouble passing through her meager defense to tap her shoulder with his stick.

The other attempts followed a similar pattern, but slowly the young Duke was teaching Constance the proper grip and more importantly, control. By the end of the afternoon, the girl was still largely inept with a blade, but she had caught onto the basics and could probably become at least competent if she practiced more than occasionally. Despite all the effort involved and her repeated failures, Constance was beaming. With a dirty hand she wiped some sweat from her brow and addressed Alain, still panting from the exertion.

"That..." She paused to catch her breath. "That was harder than I expected."

Smiling broadly he replied; "Next time we are going to take a few lessons on footwork and balance. Something you might be more familiar with in these initial stages. A good bladesman or woman must first practice poise and foot positioning before the rest. It will be more like dancing than swinging at a gate with a stick. We will focus on speed and technique rather than strength.

Is that to your liking Your Highness?"

"I think I can manage that." Looking at the fading sun, she added. "I should be leaving now, lest my presence be overly missed. I take it you will be participating in the tournament?"

"Indeed Your Highness, I'm looking forward to see the nobility of France gathered to compete and then begin the first of the new formalized Council meetings.

Your father and brother are making excellent in roads towards ending the petty squabbling and fighting that has held back this kingdom for too long."

Pausing, Alain's face grows more serious.

"Be careful you are not drawn into issues as a method of leverage or power Constance. If you truly wish to have some influence over who you marry I would recommend you be proactive with your father lest he starts to listen to those who whisper in his ear as to their recommendations.

Whether you like it or not, you are of marrying age now, and therefore as daughter to the King, you represent a direct passage to favor and power."

Constance grimaced at the mention of "marriage", but nodded nonetheless at the Duke's words.

"Take care also and I wish you well in the tournament."

She then turned to leave the clearing.

[AussieGiant]

Paris 1081

It was a modest estate by the standards of the young Duke, forty rooms, council chambers for his private business, a training ground and established gardens to ease the eye.

The Duchy's Paris quarters would have to do for the tournament however his trained eye did catch something through a window as he dismounted.

"Pierre Yves, is zat a w'ite sheet in the window or do I see ze 'ead groundmans' arse?"

Pierre Yves, the Duke's man servant, gazed at the second floor window in question.

Clear for all to see was plainly clothed man's very white backside, his trousers were around is ankles and clearly engaged in an act of procreation.

A pause followed by a very dry response.

"I do believe that is a white sheet blowing in the wind my lord. Someone must have left the window open."

A completely nonplussed look etches itself across the Duke face as the rest of his retinue wait to see if the answer will be accepted or not.

Glancing back up at the rapidly moving rear end the Duke says.

"Well w'at are you wait for man? Get up zere and close ze window!! You know I can't stand a drafty bedroom."

[econ21]

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

This is a co-operative story between YLC and econ21

Lending dignity to a vulgar brawl

Reims, 1080

“Mauvoisin - what kind of dumb @*!^& name is that?” the large knight sneered. “You from Switzerland, you @*!^&ing pansy? Or did your mother do the dirty with some visiting Swiss @*!^&?”

Hermant stood by the side of the tavern, watching the drunken knight gesticulate at him - only a few yards away. Hermant was a tall, fine figure of a man but had a kind of sickly pallor which together with his elegant manner of dress suggested a strange, almost consumptive vulnerability. His tormentor - the large knight - was as tall as Hermant, but had a ruddy complexion encouraged by drink and his dominant body language signalled a man capable of great violence.

The large knight was enjoying himself, cheered on by a score of brawny retainers. Only one of Hermant’s men was with him, his squire - a timid looking youngster of only sixteen, who seemed to be clinging to Hermant. Whether Hermant was shielding the squire or the squire was restraining Hermant, it was hard to tell. The rest of the tavern watched the scene warily, but without much interest - obviously, they had seen the large knight hold sway in this fashion before.

The large knight laughed at the approval he was receiving from his men and buoyed on by Hermant’s lack of response, continued his invective: “Lake Mauvoisin in Switzerland, isn’t it? I bet you used to piss in that when you were a kid, did you, you little @*!^&? And then I wager you let your mother drink from the Lake too, eh? You dirty little Swiss @*!^&.”

Hermant waved his hand casually to the side, as if brushing off a lazy fly. The large knight laughed again and turned to receive more applause from his retainers about his great wit. He was only dimly aware of an incoming rush of sound and from the corner of his eye, caught a blur of motion. Hermant had leapt across and grabbed his tormentor, the violence of the attack sending them both hurtling through the tavern, scattering tables, stools and patrons in all directions.

The large knight’s retainers were on their feet. One pinned the Hermant’s young squire and the rest moved menacingly towards the duo that was now rolling round the floor, fists and legs flying.

Suddenly a third knight emerged from the gloom at the back of the tavern to intercept the retainers. He was younger than either of the two brawlers, but had scars on his face that revealed no lack of experience with combat. The scarred knight moved confidently, holding up his hand to the large knight’s retainers.

“Steady lads, let’s not do anything too hasty…” the scarred knight warned.

“Gaeten.” one of the retainers said with a mix of irritation and respect: “This is not your fight - stand aside.”

Gaeten’s face was relaxed and he gestured lightly to the two combatants still rolling round the tavern behind him, locked in a struggle that showed no signs of being quickly resolved: “Lieutenant, it looks like your liege does not need your help. It’s a fair fight. What say you, I buy you all another round?”

The large knight’s lieutenant looked unsure - he had a score of armed men behind him; Gaeten seemed to be alone. There was a crash behind Gaeten and a woman screamed. Gaeten looked at the lieutenant earnestly, gesturing down with his hands: “Wait” and then ran to the back of the bar.

The two brawlers had somehow become separated and the large knight had drawn his sword and was whirling it around the tavern in a rampage. Hermant - unable to draw his blade in time - tried to fend off the blows with whatever furniture was to hand. A serving maid was cowering in fear, the large knight’s twirling blade sending air blowing through her hair.

Gaeten ran to the maid, and pulled her safely behind him. The rampaging large knight strode past and almost imperceptibly Gaeten stuck out his leg to trip up the marauder. For the second time that evening, the large knight was sent sprawling across the tavern. Gaeten moved quickly to bring the maid to safety behind the bar.

In his absence, the large knight’s retainers had been released from their quandary and now were surrounding Hermant, lifting him up and pinning his arms while others helped the large knight get to his feet and retrieve his sword. The belligerent knight ignored Gaeten - his eyes had only been on Hermant and he had been unaware of any of Gaeten’s subtle interventions. He strode towards the captured Hermant.

“Now you @*!^&ing Swiss @*!^&, we’re going to show you some real French hospitality.” Helpless, Hermant looked at the knight with a kind of bemused contempt and then spat a large gobbet of phlegm into his enemy's face. The large knight roared in anger and drew back his sword arm, about to strike.

Gaeten seized the sword arm and spun the large knight round - “Steady, Sir Pierre - you’ve had a little too much to drink. Let’s not do anything we will regret in the morning.”

Pierre, the large knight, took a few moments to understand that the situation had changed. “Gaeten - you know this @*!^&?”

Gaeten looked at Hermant. He had never seen the outsider before and his identity was completely unknown. “Of course, he’s an old friend of the Duc’s - here on some official business or other. You probably don’t want to annoy the Duc by running through his official guest.”

Pierre seemed visibly to deflate. His tensed sword arm dropped. He fired a vicious look at Hermant, who cast back a sickly smile. “You @*!^&!” Pierre spat at Hermant. “Better hope your business goes well with the Duc or you’ll be all mine when you leave.”

Pierre’s retainers released Hermant, who looked casually at Pierre. “When my business with the Duc is over, do look me up. By then you might have sobered enough to be able to take me without needing twenty of your men.”

Pierre seemed to grow larger and started to move, but felt Gaeten’s arm on his shoulder.“Sir Pierre, I offered your men the next round. Please see that they get it and put it on my tab. I need to talk urgently with our guest.”

At that Gaeten quickly hurried Hermant out of the tavern. When they had reached a safe distance, Gaeten stopped. “Please forgive Sir Pierre, his manners are deplorable but he fights well and France needs every blade at this hour.”

Hermant looked impassively and said coldly: “No, France is in the state she is precisely because of men such as Sir Pierre.” Then he managed to break free from his reverie and a semblance of humanity entered into his voice: “I am sorry, kind knight, I have not thanked you for your aid in there. I am Hermant Mauvoisin and I am in your debt.”

“Hermant Mauvoisin?” Gaeten asked with surprise. “I am Gaeten de Rethel - you wrote to me about joining a company of knights.”

Hermant’s eyes lit up: “Ah, brother knight! It is well met indeed!”

“But why are you in Reims?”

“Well, you said that you needed to consult your Duc for permission to join the company. I wanted to make sure the consultations went in my, err, our, favour. I am so glad your Duc agreed to be a patron of the Order and that you will be joining us. After tonight’s display, I cannot think of a man I would rather have at my side!”