Lannouac

[BrazenFellow]

It did not start well. A mere ten meters from the shale shoreline the boatswain let the stern turn oblique to a wave and his boat was swamped, overturning as the next wave broke over its gunwales and dumped its human cargo into the ocean. Unladen save for their sailor's knives and leather jerkins, the boatcrew struggled ashore in the flesh-chilling surf and walked up and down its length collecting their oars as those washed ashore. The men at arms and archers, clad in hacquetons, mail hauberks and in two cases, plate mail, simply disappeared under the surface as neatly as if they had never been there.

Guillard joined Alun on the slope, tossing a livre coin in one hand. Without looking he seemed able to catch the coin every time as it tumbled earthwards, no mean feat in the breeze that whipped the waves to stiff iron-grey peaks. "Fewer bowmen."

Alun spat and replied in his resonant voice. "Fewer bowmen, aye, and what do we need them for? Barely going inshore." He was mean-tempered because he was chilled and damp and he liked neither state of being, and all too often - in Guillard's opinion - ignored that his home on England's west coast near Eire was all too often far more unpleasant than the Breton coast. Lannouac was a few kilometers up the coast. The mouth of a small river spilled discoloured water into the littoral waters under the boats they had debouched from and everything seemed grey, the sky, the armour, certainly the waves. Alun's disposition.

The second-last boat pushed off from shore with the soaked sailors aboard and Sir Guillard rejoined his party of fifty men at arms and twice that of archers armed with the long English bow. They were laden with arrow bags, for Guillard had long ago learned the only way to discourage the French - or Bretons, or Normans for that matter - was to drown them in the white-fledged long-shafted arrows that had to come endlessly or the mounted men would run rampant through the poorly armoured archers. Lannouac was not a large village, it was not a particularly rich village, but it was close to the coast and it would be worth sacking it to harass the Breton nobility. A half-dozen men went forward cloaked against the light rain that began to fall, scouting along paths as the main body moved in one dense, grey pack. Alun was well forward, with the scouts.

He had a clean-lined half-Saxon, half-Celtic face with black hair. His beard, beginning to become rather noticeable after the last time he had shaved two days ago, was shot through with streaks of reddish gold he was unaware of, as nobody had mentioned it to him and he had never seen his reflection. Under his cloak he was broad-shouldered, his chest and back deeply muscled, arms thick and legs thicker still, with a trim waist. His skin was pale as befitted his heritage, only his hands, face, and neck tanned as befitted his profession. He carried a needle-pointed spear, with a hatchet thrust through his belt. A Saxon scramaseax hung from the rear, the haft jutting from behind his right hip. He was good at this, moving quietly beside the archer William.
William froze suddenly and shifted silently behind a tree. Alun froze in place and held his spear low, parallel to the ground just above the undergrowth, knowing that if he were to move too quickly whatever was so close to them would see him. Depending on what it was, that could be most unpleasant for them both.

waiting with his heart in his mouth, he listened to the rhythmic footfalls grow closer still. That he could hear them at all over the sound of the light rain on leaves and branches meant that whoever made this noise was already too close for comfort. A deer walked past, regarded the half-hidden archer and crouching William with an oddly detached look, and then bounded away with its white tail held high. Alun glanced at William, their eyes met, and the quiet Englishman shrugged and jerked his head back towards Lannouac. They moved on. Before long, William unstrung his bow to save its string from the moisture that would sap its power and Alun took the lead.

And an hour later, arrived overlooking Lannouac just as it began to grow dark. William crept back to report to Sir Guillard while Alun kept watch on the village, eyeing the villagers working even as the sun began to dip beneath the horizon. A full moon was rising, and in the waning light Alun counted at least three women who would probably be accompanying the raiding party back to England. He also counted a dozen men of fighting age who were strongly built fishermen, and knew there would be more of both inside the two score of buildings surrounding the marketplace and small wooden church.

[OOC: Please note that this is closed for Monique_Minx and myself. If you're female and interested in RP'ing with me at some other point you're welcome to PM me. I am sure that the superlative Monique_Minx would welcome your attention lads and lasses, provided of course that you demonstrate some tact.]

 

[monique_minx]

She should’ve been picking berries and hard at work before the sun went down but Vedette couldn’t help herself as she ran through the fields with two of her female friends; Nicolette and Vivien. The men chased after them as the women hiked their skirts up and giggled, yelling taunts at them in thick, fluent French.

“Come on Antoine! Tis truly a miserly day on earth when you cannot catch a woman!” Vedette squealed out in her laughter, her hat had barely clung to her head this far and now it flew off into the wind, allowing Antoine to catch it. The young man grinned and sped up, his bare feet pounding on the soil as he sought to capture the taunting maiden.

“Hurry Vedette! Hurry!” Nicolette cried out in a fit of laughter, the three ladies tiring as they laughed far too much, “he’s going to catch you!”

“Look out Nic-” But that was as far as Vedette got before Antoine had caught her and tackled her to the ground, Nicolette following her in a tumble of legs and arms as the four rolled into a heap. Vivien and Raoul had toppled over a few feet from the rest of them.

Antoine wasted no time in pinning Vedette’s wrists and clambering atop of her. She couldn’t stop herself from laughing as a mischievous grin crossed his lips and he leaned down close to her.

“I said I would catch you Vedette and I am the victor! I believe I deserve payment for such a triumph?” He said in the tone of a conqueror.

“So you do Sir!” Vedette smirked as she managed to calm her giggles somewhat, “but I fear you have simply ruined my dress! I have nothing to wear to the ball with you!”

Antoine chuckled, “Whatever you wear is fine with me miss. You could wear nothing and I would find you irresistible!”

Vedette burst into laughter all over again, managing to wheeze out a few words in between, “Of that…I have…no doubt Sir!”

Antoine leaned in close as she slowly calmed, he came within a hair’s breadth of his lips touching hers when the village bell rang; signalling the end of the outdoor chores. Antoine pulled back and stood up, holding his hand out to her as she took it and he helped her to her feet.

“Another day Vedette…I will capture and conquer you highness.” He released her hand and gave a low bow, that he treated her as royalty gave her endless amusement.

Vedette curtsied in return, her dirtied and torn skirts spread elegantly, “And we shall see Monsieur. I still have severe doubts about you catching me again. Had I not been laughing so hard, you’d have surely had your work cut out for you.” She winked and tossed her long crimson curls that tickled at her lower back as the pair parted ways at last.

Antoine watched her walk off for a long while, he loved how her hair shined in the setting sunlight and the glow in her sparkling emerald eyes; he was smitten but she was a forbidden fruit and he knew it. Antoine sighed and trudged off toward home whilst Vedette made her way to her own little piece of the village. She walked in the door with an elated sensation which was dashed quickly at the sight of her father’s livid face.

“The bell rang! You’re supposed to be here to help your mother cook dinner and yet I hear you’ve been out in the fields; playing around with that young hooligan again! You’re supposed to be working, girl! Earning your keep and learning what you need to keep a husband happy! You have an arrangement and I’ll be damned before you ruin everything! Now get into the kitchen and help your mother!” He barked harshly at her.

“Yes father.” She muttered as her face flushed with humiliation and she scurried over to start chopping vegetables, murmuring a quick apology to her mother who didn’t seem annoyed in the least anyway.

Once dinner was cooked and eaten, Vedette hurried to clear the table and fix her father a glass of wine. She sighed as she emptied the jug into the kiln-fired clay mug, they had run out and now she would surely take the blame for it. It was her job to pick and crush enough each day to make money and wine for the family, her father had lost his ability to be of use to the family with the loss of his leg which wasn’t to be spoken about for reasons unknown to her. Still she was frustrated at being the sole provider for the family, thankfully she had no siblings and her parents were now too old to conceive anymore children but it was trying on her. She ought to have been married off years beforehand but now she was to keep working and her fiancé would send for her when he was ready. They’d never even met!

“Father, your wine.” She said softly so as not to invoke another abrupt and rather loud lecture from him, he murmured a quiet thanks as he was lost in the latest messages received at the village about the war effort.

Vedette wandered off to her little room and proceeded to change, tugging her dress free and putting on her bedclothes. She marvelled at how her body had changed over the years and wondered absent-mindedly why she had suddenly ceased to grow some years beforehand. Not that it bothered her, she was certain that if her breasts got much bigger; she’d topple over with her lithe figure trying to hold them up! She slipped between the ragged, discoloured and occasionally itchy sheets, her hands clasped in a quick prayer out of habit before she drifted into a dreamless sleep.

 

[BrazenFellow]

Stamping his feet to work the kinks out of his legs, William restrung his bow now that the light rain had stopped. The ends of the bow had been carefully steamed and pressed until they bent in the opposite direction the bow did when it was tensed; its string was whipped about the point where it met each arrow's nock with woman's hair to keep it from fraying, and Will was careful never to leave the bow strung too long. Alun had a certain appreciation for the weapon, having seen massed archers in action many times before.

His damp haubergeon rustled as Alun shook his arms to warm himself up. The taciturn Englishman seemed to have paired himself to Alun and for his part, Alun didn't mind this. He stood near enough to Sir Guillard to hear his orders, decided carefully upon and given after the man had listened to the reports of his scouts and carefully approached the village himself to see the lay of the ground. Two score of archers would depart now and hook around the village to position themselves in an abuscade along the main road, to delay or even destroy any potential reinforcements.

The remaining archers would scatter to the flanks and screen as the men at arms, Alun and a half-score of archers included, pushed through the center to pillage. The goods would be split into three even piles from which the blocking party, the flankers, and the main force could take their shares, decreed Guillard, to the muted approval of his subordinates. He was a fair man, unlike others who would have used their gently born position to allocate themselves a greater share of the plunder. As the blocking party left, Alun crept forward to where he had waited earlier and William silently joined him. The village looked docile, wonderfully peaceful, and both men looked forward to returning to their own peaceful homes. The English technique for keeping their homes peaceful was to upset the order of their enemy's homes, and it worked remarkably well.

Clanking and jangling behind him, the main force arrived. Sir Guillard crouched in the grass beside him, bared sword in his hand. Alun pulled the leather sheath from the tip of his spear and thrust it into a pouch at his side. William trapped an arm-long white-fledged arrow between the forefinger and thumb of his left hand as the mass of men began to approach Lannouac.

Nemesis had come to Lannouac. A dozen of the men-at-arms carried unlit torches in their left hands, to light from the embers of cooking fires and from fireplaces. Striding quickly through the field where Vedette and her nubile friends Nicolette and Vivien had frolicked earlier, William and Alun were between the first set of houses before Guillard roared a war cry he had first heard on the Scottish border at the night sky, slightly modified to fit his locale. "If you hate the French, let them hear you!"

As one, his men bellowed and began running forward. William kicked a door in and Alun was inside before the door had time to finish getting out of his way. He spotted a squat shape coming towards him from the far end of the house and something bright in its hand. One quick jab, a twist of the wrist, and jerking the spearpoint back seemed to resolve that problem as it shuddered and fell flat. He hunted into the corners, finding nothing else worth killing and left the fishmonger's wife be before stepping back outside, where William had slung his bow and brought out his sword. The first rush of Englishmen had passed them by already and Sir Guillard was at the rear of this, herding them forward after they'd knocked a house open. Torches were lit, now, glimmering on bared steel and chainmail, making the blood look unnaturally dark.

William ran up the street with Alun following, bypassing howling soldiers. The flankers were bursting into houses now, two men storming inside while a third held their bows and his own, to keep them from becoming an encumberance. Their huge archer's strength made short work of any opposition and valuables were quickly thrown out into the street along with dazed and screaming women. Those who resisted were quickly run through and left to die alone in the darkness. William kicked in another door and Alun was through it, William following instantly. For the first time the quiet Englishman did more than grunt an acknowledgement, he screamed a challenge at anybody in the house in a voice that seemed far too deep to come from his short frame, and disappeared into a side room. Alun, in the doorway to that room, heard a muffled curse; "-ya one legg'd bastard!" and then the cleaving sound of steel on flesh, and he turned to storm into another room. William cleared out the rest of the house without waiting for Alun, which was fine with Alun, as he had his own problems.

These problems consisted of a tall, lithe redheaded Frenchwoman who didn't seem particularly frightened by him or his gore-drenched spearpoint. He ran the tip through her shift to pin her to the mattress, careful not to hurt the girl - not yet, anyways - and smacked her hard across the face to stun her before she could put up much in the way of resistance.

 

[monique_minx]

Vedette couldn’t quite figure out what had woken her, she blinked in the darkness and tried to get a handle on her surroundings. The first thing that caught her attention were the village sounds; it was not silent in the least. There were shouts, cries and screams. Vedette could make out just one word that some of the French villagers were crying out - the English.

She sat up quickly but no sooner than she did, her bedroom door was thrown open by an English soldier. Then a ripping sound as before she knew it there was a spear through her night dress which left her immobile and stuck to her bed.

“Porcine en anglais! Sortez! Prenez votre lance avec vous!” Vedette screamed in French just as he made his way across the room to her and soundly backhanded her across the face.

Vedette flung sideways with a cut off screech, she clutched her face in utter shock and started to blink rapidly, trying to hold back a flood of tears caused by the pain in her cheek. She fell back onto the bed as her tears ran down her face in silence.

“Place…do note hurt my papa…” She said in soft broken English, uncertain of her words as she spoke after hearing the Englishman scream in her father’s room. She knew he was angry and figured it had to be her father who’d caused it but he couldn’t fight even though he was an honourable man and put one up anyway.

She looked up at the outline of the English soldier in her bedroom and her hand wrapped around the spear as she subtly tugged at it, trying to pull herself free without him seeing it but the spear would not budge and she couldn’t use both hands without him noticing so she let it go. Vedette then started to wriggle to the side of the bed opposite the spear, trying to rip herself free in an almost painfully slow manner. Thread by thread the shift started to tear down and she knew she’d be practically half naked when it ripped but it didn’t matter. She couldn’t let them kill her or her family and she needed to do something.

 

[BrazenFellow]

"William!" Alun had his head cocked to one side, hands gripping his spear's shaft tightly as he called over his shoulder. This kept him from seeing Vedette's attempts to free herself. There was a nasty pause and Alun was about to jerk his spearpoint free when the stout Englishman answered.

"Alun! I'm all right. You?" William sounded to be on the other side of the house and the clatter of furniture on floor and the crashing of pots stopped for a moment so the two could carry on their conversation. Alun had a mental image of William glancing around himself looking for plunder.

"I'm good! Found a nice treat here." There was a thump and the sound of tearing fabric as William found something else to search.

"Is that right, lad? Good for you. Some one legged French bugger came at me but that wasn't too hard, only having one leg and all."

Alun returned his attention to Vedette, shook his head sadly and took hold of her with one hand, twisting the neckline of her nightdress together and thrusting her down onto the mattress. He put held up one finger and wagged it in front of her. "None of that, woman. You probably don't want to go running around out there, end up raped in the dirt, you would."

Both men could hear Sir Guillard outside, bellowing for his men to reform in the village square and begin firing the thatched roofs of the houses. "Will! Go on when you're ready!" Alun heard his shouted acknowledgement and jerked his spear free of Vedette's clothes, carefully ennunciating the Norman French his tutor had whipped into his unusually educated head.

"I think you're going to have to stay with me now, miss. And what should I call you?"

 

[monique_minx]

Vedette watched as the man in her room and another somewhere in her house had a shouted conversation, she concentrated as she caught words here and there which were useless to her without knowing what the other words meant. She continued to slide across the mattress until suddenly a hand came down and wrenched her back toward the spear by the front of her night dress. She gasped and looked up at him as he spoke to her as though she were a small child caught stealing an apple.

She heard the English shouts from outside and watched the soldier twist his spear free and pull it out. She was shocked when she heard his careful French tongue, finally words made sense to her.

"I think you're going to have to stay with me now, miss. And what should I call you?"

“You can call me whatever you like but I am not going anywhere with you!” She spat in quick, angry French as she folded her arms, “This is my home! You should be such a proud Englishman for attacking a wine making village! We are peaceful people and you are a disgraceful, dishonourable pig of a man!”

She spat at his feet and somersaulted backwards over her bed, when she got to her feet on the other side of it; she flipped the bed over in front of him and dodged to the side, trying to make a run for the door and cursing the fact that no windows were cut into her bedroom walls. Her nightdress had a large hole on her upper thigh and wasn’t particularly warm for outside but better that then having some English soldier thinking she was going somewhere with him!

 

[BrazenFellow]

Amused, Alun watched this spitfire rage at him from above folded arms. She had the sort of face that, had she a proper lover, might encourage her man to tease her until she spat fire at him, whereupon she would be informed just how good looking she was when her temper coloured her face. He didn't bother moving when she literally spat at him, and began grinning when she displayed her agility for him.

Idly he wondered where she had learned how to do that while he took a single step to the left and held the butt of his spear low and towards Vedette to tangle her legs. When that didn't quite work he dropped the spear and punched her once in the sternum with his mailed fist, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her bodily against his front. Glancing to his side he saw he was safely clear of the kicked over bed and dropped to the floor, gripping her hard enough to hurt. Once there he wasted no time in jerking himself onto his side and pinning her down.

"As to being disgraceful, is it so honourable that the French raid the eastern coast of England constantly?" French bitch, he thought, and gave her another open-handed smack for good measure. He considered adding that he was proud, because Alun was good at his job and that is why he fought in Sir Guillard's warband. Guillard was outside watching his men at arms carry the spoils of the village back towards the boats, or in the case of the winecasks, roll them back. They wouldn't fire the village until they were leaving, so as not to alert any nearby villages or garrisons until the last moment. They'd throw corpses down wells and knock down stone walls as well. Lannouac would be slighted.

 

[monique_minx]

Vedette managed to half jump, half stumble as he surprised her by trying to trip her with his spear. She avoided that only to have him punch her in the chest with an armoured fist, she gasped and clutched at her torso in pain, it stopped her in her tracks. He pulled her against his front and held her there before suddenly dropping them both to the floor.

Vedette tried to wriggle away in spite of her pain but he held her there; making her cry out in agony. He pinned her there and she pressed herself into the floor hard, trying to get as far from him as possible.

"As to being disgraceful, is it so honourable that the French raid the eastern coast of England constantly?"

She opened her mouth to retort as his open hand slapped hard against her face, she yelped and cringed, trying to move her hands to clutch at her wounded cheek. She was stunned and bruised but still she squirmed beneath him.

“Get off me! I never did anything to you, I’m not a soldier! You’re so damn strong for hitting a woman are you not?!” She yelled indignantly into his face and spat on his cheek, her body writhing into a seizure state as she tried to free herself from his weight.

 

[BrazenFellow]

Now well and truly confused - for Vedette should certainly know her place better than this - Alun held her in place despite her spastic writhing. Her actions and attitudes suggested someone much higher born than any in this coastal village should be; a valuable captive. Not quite as valuable as a knight or other minor noble, but still worth ransoming.

That is, if there was someone who'd consider her being worth ransoming and typically, women were not ransomed. They were usually considered spoils of war.

He pulled an arm free from underneath her and held her down with one hand planted between and above her breasts, just below her collarbone. She had such odd attitudes; a woman should expect to be beaten in circumstances like this, especially if she fought back.
Her drive to resist made her unique and, despite having work to do, Alun felt a familiar pang between his ribs, just below his lungs. It worked its way up into desire and he noticed again her long legs and lithe body. And, of course, how good she looked in her rage.

"For Christ's sake, shut your face, woman." Realizing her English was not what his French was, he rephrased in their lingua franca. "Tell me your name and be quiet. It would be a waste to leave you here to burn when we fire the village."

 

[monique_minx]

He held her firmly in place, moving his hand to press on her chest and ceasing the majority of the fight from her. She was tiring in any case and his hand pressing her down was making it difficult for her to breathe. He spoke something in English which made her look at him confusedly as if she were asking him to pick a language and stick with it. Soon enough he remembered and translated it into French which made her squeal indignantly.

"Tell me your name and be quiet. It would be a waste to leave you here to burn when we fire the village."

Vedette hesitated then and stopped moving, “F-fire the village?” Her mind started racing as he so easily mentioned burning her and her home to the ground.

“Vedette…” She said softly, “My name is Vedette.” Clearly her mind was elsewhere as she spoke, she cared very little as to whether or not he knew her name.

“You’re…not really going to…please don’t! Lannouac is peaceful, I swear it! We have no soldiers or armouries here! The people are not wealthy, we have nothing of value to you!” The young woman rambled desperately, her concern for her friends and her parents was priority one to her and she did not yet know what had happened to them.

 

[BrazenFellow]

Alun sighed, now exasperated. "That's not the point, Vedette." He lifted her roughly, by the collar of her nightdress, as he rose to his knees and then to his feet. Her height surprised him, he hadn't noticed before. Nice change, he thought, not having to look down to look someone in the eye. He guided her out of her room and through the ransacked interior of her house, to the door. Beyond the door the English voices were loud and torches flickered. A shower of sparks rose into the sky as the first thrown torch thumped onto the thatch roof of the village's westernmost houses.

There was considerable plunder, occupying most of Sir Guillard's men as they stripped Lannouac of supplies and anything valuable. A small herd of frightened women was guided back towards the boats, who'd become wives or whores in some noble's court. Alun kept his mailed hand on Vedette to keep her from bolting and to keep another from claiming her.

"Alun!"

He turned, hailing Sir Guillard in kind, jerking Vedette around roughly to keep her under control. The nobleman looked over Vedette and nodded appreciatively. "A nice prize, Alun. Take command of the rear guard. There's more here than we thought."
"Sir," Alun acknowledged. He grinned, in jest. "Even shares?"

Guillard tipped his head back and laughed, pushing his coif back to reveal hair plastered to his scalp with sweat. He scrubbed his scalp with his fingers, still laughing. "Ah, Alun. You funny bastard." Alun grinned proudly and recovered his spear from William. Other houses took to the flame easily and he dragged Vedette along to keep tabs on her as William guided him towards the rearguard, men who crouched behind brush and hedge to keep careful watch for Frenchmen riding hard to save Lannouac.

 

[monique_minx]

"That's not the point, Vedette."

Vedette wondered what the point was when he started to haul her to her feet with a firm grip on the front of her night dress. She gasped in pain as she stood, feeling her abdominal muscles contract around the bruise he’d given her with his mailed fist; her sternum was screaming in protest. He dragged her from the ruined place that she once called home, her eyes darting frantically for anyone familiar as she stumbled into the night behind him.

She almost cried as she took in the disaster that had become of Lannouac, she watched some of the village women herded away as they clutched at each other frantically. Someone called to the man holding her and he twisted, almost jerking her clear off her feet. Her hands gripped the arm holding her as she tried to regain her balance.

After a short conversation with someone she assumed was a commanding officer of the English, he dragged her to the far end and she groaned, more than tired of him pulling her bruised limbs around like a rag doll. Vedette looked around in the dark as the torches started to hit the thatched rooves of houses in the village, she watched her home go up in bright orange flames as she searched in vain for her parents, dread welling up in the pit of her stomach.

He pulled her behind some brush, she was confused by this but far too distracted in her search. Besides that, she was avoiding looking at the soldier with the firm grip on her clothing. Finally she gave up and just crouched there, staring cold hate into his eyes.

 

[BrazenFellow]

As the mouldy thatch caught, there was pungent smoke that created a small haze over the burning building. This haze expanded laterally, joining with the rest of the smoke until finally the thatch had smoldered long enough to dry out and let the drier thatch underneath take the flame, which ignited with a sudden crackle and lit the underside of the smoke plume with stark yellow light.

Then the beams caught the flame, held it close, felt the hot wind of the updraft rushing towards the fire in the roofing, and added their noise and fuel to the conflagration. What remained in the houses, shops, and storerooms began to burn next. There wasn't much the English didn't take. Corpses of the former inhabitants roasted in the heat, then burned. The English herded their burdened captives towards their longboats, away from the acrid stink of burned thatch and charred flesh. To keep at least some of their forces' hands free the women who had been taken were being used as packmules.

Alun didn't bother looking behind, except one quick glance to ensure he had something solid behind him to keep him from outlining himself against the flames of Lannouac. A building collapsed with a roar and spewed a stream of defiant sparks into the sky. He kept his spear head low, to prevent it reflecting the light. The archers nearby likewise had the lethal tapered bodkin heads of their arrows low to the ground, arrows nocked and strings at the quarter-draw for an instantaneous response to any threat. An hour passed silently, then two.

William ran through the streets of the burning village, carrying himself over corpses with his long-legged stride, bow held by his side and the other hand on his unlaced arrow bag, keeping it in place. He stopped at the far edge of the village, blinded by the flames. "Alun!" he called.

"Alun!"
"William?" Alun shouted into the darkness, not turning his face towards the fired village. "We going now?"
"Yes!"

He turned his head to the left and right, calling out to the men on both sides of him. "Let's get a bloody move on then, back to the boats lads." Dragging Vedette behind him with one hand wrapped in her collar, he went up and down the line repeating his instructions to ensure that no man was left, though in the harsh jangle of mail and the sounds of clattering weapons and boots he doubted any man would not take the cue to leave. Joining the last few men at the rear he released Vedette's collar.

"Go on," Alun instructed her, "follow them back to the boats." He stayed a few paces behind her, occassionally turning around to check their rear. As they moved off into the trees, the Briton admired the clean lines of Vedette's back, hips, and long legs. He talked to her with a conversational tone with his deliberate, carefully pronounced French. He talked simply to be talking as tension began to drain out of him, he was already imagining warm bread and beef by the fire in his stone-built house.

"We'll get you back to England, then decide what to do with you. Can stay in my home or perhaps you'd rather I sell you on. I'm sure I can get a fine sum for you. I have horses that need replacing, you'll fetch a courser's price I'm sure."

 

[monique_minx]

It was chaos. There was simply no other way to describe it; utter chaos. Lannouac was burning to the ground while Vedette was tugged around like a rag doll, his mailed fist curled tightly in her collar. It was restrictive and she often stumbled as he pulled on her. Her dress was not meant to take such brute force and the fabric weakened under his grasp, threatening to split in half. Finally they began to march back to their boats and she was desperately searching the darkness in vain, hoping for someone, something to stop this.

"Go on, follow them back to the boats."

He told her as he released her and she stared at the ground as she started to follow the soldiers, her bare feet was becoming quite sore as they slapped the dirt. She glanced back at the burning village, she knew it wasn’t far to the coast and Vedette bowed her head in silent respect for her home; it was already gone and she knew deep down she probably wouldn’t see it again. There was nothing for it, if she didn’t do as he told her then she’d find herself on the wrong end of a spear.

"We'll get you back to England, then decide what to do with you. Can stay in my home or perhaps you'd rather I sell you on. I'm sure I can get a fine sum for you. I have horses that need replacing, you'll fetch a courser's price I'm sure."

His French caught her off guard again and she registered his words, fury dawning on her face. Vedette balled up her fists and her feet hit the ground harder as she started to stomp in her anger. He did not just compare me to a dog?! She screamed angrily inside her head.

“I’m sure a dog would find you a better price, surely no buyer would want a slave who desires to rip his eyes from his sockets! Not to mention the fact that if I stayed with you, I would surely go through with that threat, you’re pathetic!” She spat her words furiously and wrapped her arms around her chest protectively as the large English boats came into view.

Vedette looked back again to see the orange light fading slowly from the sky, the fire was running low on fuel to burn and she felt a little sick as she thought of the corpses of her friends and possibly family that were being cremated long before their time back there. She blinked back tears and lifted her chin as she continued to stride to whatever awaited her ahead.

 

[BrazenFellow]

What seemed chaotic to Vedette was quite normal and ordered for Alun, though of course there was the tension of being on enemy soil. This tension was gradually replaced with relaxation and exultation at a raid successfully concluded with every pace they drew nearer to the boats by, though this was in and of itself quite dangerous. Because of it Alun was amused rather than infuriated by Vedette's accusations of cowardice and other insults, and he fully expected her to calm down as she began to come to terms with her fate.

But when she kept her head up and back straight the Englishman knew it would not be quite so simple. Her defiance, and this seemed odd to him at the time, aroused his interest more than he thought possible: she was certainly a good looking girl, but so were dozens others and in particular Anne, the raven-haired and always-willing tavernkeeper's daughter in his home village. He mildly observed of her latest threat: "I am sure you will try, try and fail much like your men failed to protect you." Feeling jubilant as the Channel's surf broke around his feet, Alun swung Vedette roughly into a longboat with the other widows and village girls and joined the four men guarding them to keep them from interfering with the rowers, which had happened before. In his jubilation he taunted her in his Norman French. "And it's a sad state of affairs when someone as pathetic as I," he rolled his eyes, "and mine," he gestured at the guards and the men still on the beach, "can dance ashore any time and do such things to France."

The crossing was certainly anything but calm. They had gone too far up the coast, too far by far too much, as the flotilla's captain observed to Sir Guillard. The waves thumped the flat sterns as they travelled back down the coast, making landfall a week after they'd left France, when water and more concerningly, ale, mead and wine, were beginning to run low. The provisions taken from Lannouac would fetch no gold, silver, nor copper in the bellies of his men, so Guillard bet on an early safe landfall and denied his men permission to crack open the casks.

They came within sight of a series of piers, stuck out into a river mouth like obscene fingers. First one half of the flotilla and then the other disembarked their men and plunder, giving the women whom Alun guarded ample time to view England's coast, identical to their French coast. The view from the water was bound to be unfamiliar to them, for the French as well as the English believed it to be bad luck to have women aboard ship for any length of time. In the strengthening light of the dawn, Vedette and the others were herded ashore where one by one, they were picked off by the men who'd claimed them and scattered to the wind over England's lush countryside. The men went home with their portion of plunder and their pay, for it certainly cost too much to keep them together. Alun, an odd creature - a minor noble - stood watching the others depart until just Sir Guillard and his band of personal retainers who remained.

Vedette, now tied by both wrists to the frame of a wooden cart drawn by a single horse, was within earshot of Guillard and Alun as they parted ways. "... commanded the rearguard most ably, I shall tell him," promised Guillard, for which Alun thanked him as effusively as decorum and his considerable pride permitted. To ensure his safety, Alun belted a nicely balanced arming sword about his waist, uncovered a kite shield and slung it across his back for easy access, and set his spear across his legs as he took his place on the wagon. He left ahead of Sir Guillard and headed west down a rutted road.

"Don't run, Vedette," he warned the girl. "You'll not get far here and there's far rougher treatment than I'll give you for someone who looks like you in these parts." As if on cue, the dirty shapes of looters disappeared into the brush that crested a hill a short distance away. Alun noticed them and superstitiously touched the neck of his haubergeon. "Like them. Too stupid to know your value.

"So what is it you did in the village? What was it called?" A victor safe in his own homeland, he felt secure enough to indulge in conversation.

 

[monique_minx]

"I am sure you will try, try and fail much like your men failed to protect you."

Before Vedette could retort, he gripped her hips and roughly lifted her into the long boat. For the first time, Vedette felt a great barb of fear; she was being taken from her home, her own country and straight into enemy territory; not good. Alun kept close to her and continued to taunt her in French while they sat in the boat.

"And it's a sad state of affairs when someone as pathetic as I and mine can dance ashore any time and do such things to France."

“It is indeed…” She muttered quietly, casting her eyes out over the ocean sadly as she felt her stomach lurch with a sickly feeling; she’d never come home again.

She was no stranger to sailing but some of the other women were vomiting their seasickness, much to the disgust of the soldiers which made Vedette grin; let them suffer a woman’s presence on board. She loathed that they thought of her as a spoil of war, she was not wine nor gold nor something to be bought and sold like a dog and she would prove to be a painful prize if it was the last thing she did!

When at last they arrived on England’s shores, the women were herded off the boats and claimed by various soldiers. Alun was sure to keep her nearby at all times so Vedette was hardly left with a choice. He soon shuffled her into a wagon and roped her to it neatly near the front, her wrists bound together and a rope tied around them to secure her to the wagon. She tugged on them vainly while Alun spoke to his commander in English she couldn’t understand. Vedette groaned and vowed to pick up the stupid language if it killed her. Soon enough he clamoured aboard the wagon and took the reins in hand, balancing his spear carefully as he whipped the horses to start off along some dirt track.

"Don't run, Vedette. You'll not get far here and there's far rougher treatment than I'll give you for someone who looks like you in these parts. Like them. Too stupid to know your value.”

Her eyes roamed to where he was gesturing and she felt a flush of embarrassment and anger, “Yes, heaven forbid you’d not get your sordid price for me!”

He ignored her and continued, "So what is it you did in the village? What was it called?"

“Lannouac.” She said quietly, seething that he didn’t even know the name of the village he’d attacked!

“I stomped and picked grapes for wine during the day and took care of my family through the evenings. They counted on me for various things.” She said idly, “And I had friends whom I adored…not that it should matter to you now, it would’ve been worth something to know the lives you and yours destroyed before you attacked a harmless wine making village!” She spat viciously and pulled hard on her restraints, stopping only because the rope burnt her wrists and marked her savagely.

 

[BrazenFellow]

Alun was rolling his eyes as soon as Vedette opened her mouth for yet another diatribe. He ignored her again. For him it was all relatively simple; the French quite often did as he had done to them along the length of the eastern coast, and he would return the favour when his liege-lord demanded his services. Until then he lived as a mostly-free man. Soon the wooden axle began to squeak, then squeal. As Vedette jerked her bound hands around, the axle began to screech. To prove that trouble came in threes, the second carthorse began to hobble. He sighed.

"Vedette: Shut up." he said over his shoulder as he dismounted.

Stroking the flank of the horse lightly, he tenderly worked his hands down along its leg until it obediantly raised the hoof. "Good girl," he began, plucking the stone out and throwing it to one side. "Good girl." He worked his way back up the leg and along the back until he was standing alongside the head, outside the yoke. She nuzzled his cupped hands, looking for a treat. "Stop that. I've not got anything for you yet." He smiled at the horse and raised his voice so Vedette could hear, now speaking French. "Don't pay any attention to our guest. She's not in a very good mood and doesn't mean anything she says," he taunted the Frenchwoman.

There was nothing he could do about the axles without a great deal of rendered fat and patience. This road certainly wasn't the place to stop for any length of time. He stepped up onto the seat and then over it into the wagon's loadbed. He sang in English; "A woman, a dog, and a chestnut tree, the more they're beaten the better they'll be," as he stooped to take Vedette by the ankles and hauled back hard, straightening her out and jerking her off the loadbed until the rope cut cruelly into her wrists. He knelt, laying a shin across her knees to keep her in place. "Stop fucking thrashing about," he said, then repeated himself in French. He unwrapped another coil of rope, wrapped it about her magnificiently shaped calves and tied it at the ankles, leaving the remaining rope where it lay to act as a weight. "Don't try my patience."

From her new position, Vedette could see the sky - when it wasn't covered by tree branches growing over the road, anyways - and the sides of the cart. When Alun stretched, she'd be able to see the leather jerkin he wore belted over his mail, and the back of his head. "And I suppose you're not any use to man nor beast if you can't speak my language," he said over the noise of the axle and the steady clacking of hooves. He patted the rail of the cart so she could see it. "Tombereau. Cart."

 

[monique_minx]

"Vedette: Shut up."

Vedette glared at him but fell silent as he dismounted out of curiosity, she craned her neck to see him picking the stone out of the horse’s hoof tenderly. However as he raised his voice and spoke to the horse in French, she huffed in protest and squirmed.

He moved and spoke in a sing song voice in English as he walked over to her, her forehead creased in frustration with a clear feeling that he was antagonizing her or something. She yelped as he grabbed her ankles and pulled them out from beneath her. She struggled and screeched as the rope cut into her wrists mercilessly. He spoke in English and then again in French for her to understand.

"Stop fucking thrashing about."

She yelled multiple insults in fast French at him as he bound her ankles and had her stretched out, her night dress riding up somewhat.

"Don't try my patience."

“Bastard!” She spat plainly and looked away from him, wriggling uncomfortably in the load bed.

"And I suppose you're not any use to man nor beast if you can't speak my language.”

Vedette stiffened visibly and declined to respond, her eyes only shifting to him when he spoke again.

"Tombereau. Cart."

Vedette nodded in understanding and shot the word back at him in English, “Ca-art!”

 

[BrazenFellow]

Her accent made Alun smile. From 'cart' he progressed to 'railing', 'rope', 'knot', 'tree', 'sky', and 'goddamned whoreson bandits'. With two roadside brigands sprawled messily on the side of the road, Alun set his bloodied spearhead where Vedette could see it and let the blood drip onto her midsection. From this he progressed methodically to 'road', 'horse', 'girl', 'boy', 'man', 'woman', and by the time they hove into sight of Alun's stone-walled home they had covered a considerable piece of the English language. They had also passed what remained of the day and much of the night.

Shaking the stiffness of the road from his muscles, Alun dismounted the cart and unharnessed the horses. He led them away and stabled them by himself. He was well liked by his tenants and servants mostly because he didn't rouse them from their hard-earned rest at ungodly hours such as this, when the light of false dawn began climbing into the sky from the horizon's grey edge. Horses didn't care about half-rotten apples quite the same way that humans did and Alun treated both carthorses to one each before returning to the cart.

"Hello Vedette," he said amiably, then proceeded to ignore her as he unloaded everything from the cart. His soldier's muscles made short work of the job, unloading his share of the spoils and leaving them stacked in a neat pile by the cart, which would be left in the courtyard overnight. He crouched above Vedette's lithe frame, stinking of horse, sweat, ocean, smoke and blood. His mail jangled harshly as he took the precaution of pinning Vedette's arms with one hand, reaching up and freeing the rope that secured her bound wrists to the cart's sides. He freed her legs next, keeping a hand on her knees to keep her from kicking at him.

"Would you like to sleep inside or outside tonight?" He pulled Vedette to her feet and braced to support her if she started tottering on unsteady legs. "It really is your choice and depends mostly on how civil you decide to be."

 

[monique_minx]

Vedette repeated his every word though she was a little annoyed at having to do so, she still wanted to learn. Her English was limited and pretty awful to begin with, she knew she would have need of it now more than ever. When they arrived at his residence, Vedette was left with little choice but to wait as the cool air washed over her skin.

He said hello to her when he returned at last, she refused to respond as he went about unloading the cart. Finally he crouched above her and her nose wrinkled at the stink of his sweaty skin, he needed a bath after this to be sure. He freed her wrists from the cart but they were still bound together, his hands moved down to her ankles and untied the ropes that kept her attached to the cart. She almost snorted as he kept them pinned to ensure she didn’t kick out at him.

As he spoke, he pulled her to her feet, bracing her as her legs struggled to hold her up in that instant. She stepped off the cart with difficulty; having her hands restrained was a hindrance she was unaccustomed to.

"Would you like to sleep inside or outside tonight? It really is your choice and depends mostly on how civil you decide to be."

She bit her lip anxiously, the temperature was starting to dip and she didn’t want to be the dog sleeping outside. Still, she felt like a traitor to her own country for admitting a weakness to the cold.

“Inside.” She said stiffly, looking down at the flagstone ground, “Please. I’ll be civil.”

She didn’t know what to call him or what else to say, she trusted herself with such few words as she attempted to be polite to him. Vedette took a deep breath before she finally lifted her eyes again, looking at him and trying to wipe away the hatred and hurt she’d felt from this man while she hoped to be sleeping in a warm bed this night.

 

[BrazenFellow]

"Good girl." He took her by the damaged collar of her nightdress and led her inside through a stoutly built stone passageway optimized for the defence of Alun's fortress home. The starkness of the stone walls and wooden floors was relieved with a mix of stiff, thickly woven tapestries - some finely made and others far cruder, created and hung to defend against the intrusion of the night chill rather than serve any decorative purpose. The floors were carefully hewed and fitted planks of oak, smooth under bare feet and a decided rarity. Alun hated the smell of rotting straw and refused to strew his floors with it as was the mediaeval norm.

A grinning man passed him and jerked his head downwards in a brief show of respect. He had two horse blankets thrown over his shoulders and held a coarse brush. His broad Saxon face was unlined and the young man wore an ancient scramaseax at his waist with his hair cut to shoulder length and pushed back behind his ears. His beard was hewn to fit the contours of his jaw and his nose had clearly been broken and awkwardly reset. Alun clapped him on the shoulder. "You warhorse. How have you been?"
"Recovering from that sickness, Alun. Better now by far."
"And how is my cousin progressing?"

Pierce pointed at his nose. "Good sword arm." His grin revealed even, white teeth and then he began to pay attention to Vedette, as if noticing her for the first time. "This is new," he said.

"New servant, I think. Mildryth can explain her duties when she learns more English. Her name is Vedette, if you need to shout at her. I need food, Pierce."

"I'll tell Mildryth. There's a banked fire in the north hall hearth, still. We'll talk after I take care of the horses?"

"No, Pierce. Get your rest. I'll talk to you in the morning." Alun handed him his spear. "Clean the head and rack it. I'll take care of the rest today."

Pierce dipped his head again and disappeared down the dark hallway. Alun addressed Vedette in French. "That was Pierce, my right hand man. A good man. Do as he says." He pushed open a door and walked through a hall partially cluttered with benches and tables towards the dim glow emanating from the hearth. He crouched, building the fire up and seeming to ignore Vedette while he did so. "Go," he told her, "explore the hall. We hold any events here, usually I eat here with the others. Don't trip over any benches."

 

[monique_minx]

"Good girl."

He gripped the collar of her tattered night gown and she tried not to drag her tired feet as he pulled her into the house. Vedette marvelled at the stone walls and tapestries adorning the passageway he led her through; the only stone building in Lannouac had been the town hall and she shuddered to think of how the fire would have ravaged it. How Paris soldiers would have ridden in to find the torched remains of the people and many of the women missing, the town in ruins and the tracks that led to the shoreline. She hoped France retaliated and ripped a hole in England for it but somehow she knew her little town mattered not, it would be mourned for a day perhaps but then the nobles would move on with their lives and forget those who were lost. Her friends and her family; decimated.

Vedette’s eyes and mind were torn back to the present by Alun’s strange English tongue and she stood there with her chin held high, unable to understand much of what was being said. She couldn’t help but notice the other man’s gaze befall her, his gesture unmistakeable to the French woman; he was asking about her. Alun replied to him and she caught her name which confirmed what they were discussing, she bowed her head until her chin touched Alun’s fist and raised it quickly, blushing at the brush she had with him. Alun handed his spear over and the other man nodded respectfully as he left them in the hall. Alun turned to her then and spoke in French while she hid her awe of his easy bilingual abilities.

"That was Pierce, my right hand man. A good man. Do as he says."

Vedette nodded stiffly, she didn’t like how much of an order that was and as much as she tried to remind herself of just how much was at stake; she still couldn’t accept that this was her place in life now. He pushed open a door and led her through a vast hall cluttered with furniture and a grand fireplace at the end of the room. He released her and knelt, proceeding to build up the fire while he practically ignored her, Vedette’s eyes darted nervously around the hall.

"Go, explore the hall. We hold any events here, usually I eat here with the others. Don't trip over any benches."

Vedette turned anxiously, surprised by his voice and more surprised by his order. What was there to see? It was a huge empty room filled with tables and benches. Still she wanted to put a little space between her and Alun so she walked around the room; inspecting the walls and floors while her mind spun with all that had occurred. She couldn’t fathom the reality of having to stay here let alone never seeing her family again. Vedette sighed, almost grateful that hard work was nothing new to her; she’d taken care of her family for longer than she could remember. She knew she’d be little more than an unpaid servant here; she was a slave to her enemy. Most of all she just wanted to collapse, it had been a long day and a longer night than that; her feet were cold and screaming bloody murder over her having walked so much barefoot.

Her sternum held purple bruising beneath her torn night dress which was irreparable now and little more than a throw away. The collar was half ripped off, the gaping hole on her upper thigh was evidence of where Alun’s spear had held her a captive of her own bed and the top two button had vanished somewhere along the journey which left her cleavage far too lewdly exposed for a lady. Still, this was of little concern to Vedette, she was simply tired and cold.

“Bed…Uhhh s'il vous plait?” She asked nervously, forgetting the English word for ‘please’ but proud to have remembered what she hoped was ‘bed’.