As usual, Paul Baker Colson has had a falling out with his "family" and left them. He wanders into Europa and finds a fairly large town. he enters and, as usual soon finds himself in trouble.
PS Excuse some of the spelling...it's in Canadian English.
She took me by the hand and led me to a room she had in the inn; apparently, she lived there. She mock-sternly told me to remove my armour, etc., and went about the large suite of doing this and that to prepare for my cleansing. There was a large tub, made of brass I decided, in a corner of the room. She walked up to it and pulled a chain hanging from the ceiling near it. Water gushed down from directly above the tub, quickly filling it over halfway. She then repeated her actions and the water stopped. From the tub rose tendrils of steam. She summoned me to her side and removed my rough leather armour and anything else that would hinder a bath. She then told me to get in to the tub. I eased myself into the water; it was hot but not painfully so. I could feel much muscle tightness relaxing.
She got out a ball of what I thought was probably lye soap because it was pink and the shape. I had vague memories of my grandparents using exactly that kind of cleanser.
She lathered me up vigorously and I was amazed to see my skin actually was still Nordic pink under all that dirt. She showed no shyness at all, as she thoroughly cleaned my entire body.
Her hands were busy in a certain area of my anatomy, when I looked up at her and smiled (one thing about travelling with healers, dental hygiene was no problem), saying: "Why don't you get in here with me?"
She scoffed and replied, "You expect me to get into that filthy 'soup'? There is no chance that! Don't worry, my little boy, we'll get to that later!"
I looked at the water; it was pretty gross. So I just let her finish me off as she had planned...washing me, I mean.
She had me stand up, pulled another chain and the tub drained. She wrapped me in a man-sized thick towel. After she had help be dry myself off, she dropped the towel and led me to a medium-size bed, pulled back a few layers of skins and one of linen and motioned me to get in. Once I was lying down, off came her silk robe and she was right in there with me.
Memories of Layna never left my mind back then. But still, Arlene was an obvious professional and I had a very pleasant hour or so with her.
Arlene, as we finished, laid her head on my chest and murmured, "Layna was a lucky woman to have you to be loved by and share intimacy with."
Shocked, I struggled to a sitting position. She pushed me down, gently.
"I'm sorry, Paul, but you have not been shielding your thoughts while you have been with me."
"You were a Oonite?"
Layna had been very forgiving of my past but I doubted all the nuns felt the same way. My sword was over by the door, out of reach.
"Yes, Paul. I left the Sisterhood, years ago because, frankly, I did not enjoy being part of an evil cult. Plus I did not relish the fact that I was expected to be a broodmare for my whole life and have any children taken from me to be corrupted. You have nothing to fear from me."
She had slipped her robe back on and walked over to the fireplace, asking as she went, "Would you like some ka? I can prepare some quite quickly..."
I answered, "Am I not taking up a lot of your, err, 'business' time?"
"My time is my own", she said with a bit of pride, "and I use it as I see fit. Come; sit with me at the table and join me in a drink."
I had put my clothing back on by this point so I walked over to her small table with its two chairs and sat down. The table and chairs were the least opulent pieces of furniture in her suite. I sat across from her, admiring her beauty and obvious intelligence.
She knew I had left my friends behind me but she said she couldn't ascertain the reason why. I replied that I had probably buried it too deep in my consciousness to be picked up easily, even with her skills.
I related how the 15 of us had stood on the British side of the English Channel and Forestmaiden put up her cabin for us, as Yerret said he wanted to talk to us about something quite serious. I jokingly said to Sleeps-in-the-Sun that maybe we were growing to have to think up a new name for him as his nocturnal habits had changed. He gave me a wry grin.
Once we were in doors, Yerret announced: "Some of you already know this but I think it should be known by all. You have been with us for 20 years."
The 11 of us who had been basically dragged to this place by my brother were shocked. It was so hard to keep track of time. The weather was always horrible, most hands were turned against us and we seldom stayed in one place for very long. What Yerret had just told us explain a lot: the aches and pains, the problems marching long distances (except for me, thanks to that damn potion)...all the signs of ageing. 20 years put all of us at just over 60 years of age. Bran was another one who didn't seem to be having any problems but he had, of course, help.
Yerret offered to give us back, with the help of Forestmaiden, those 20 years...in other words, a rejuvenation for each of us. I abstained, quite angrily.
"Get some youth back? What if I want to grow old with dignity...or even die naturally. I hate this place, Yerret! You really think that I want to exist any longer than necessary on this fucked-up Earth? No! You people keep telling us how we can't get home. I would rather die on someone's blade or freeze to death by myself somewhere then be given what you think is such a gift!"
I began packing my bags etc. and they all watched me silently.
"Yes, you all guessed it: I'm leaving again. The bunch of you can stay here with your hopes of our friends getting you back to your Earths, but I'm going!"
And I had. No voices called after me, which stung a little and made me more angry. Yerret had tried to cheer me of my bipolar problems with mixed success. My depressions were less frequent but still deep. I convinced him to leave what I referred to as "my angry manic" moments alone, as they came in handy when there was trouble. Stomping my way across the ice, I realized I was having one of those right then and I'd probably live to regret it.
"Yes," Arlene agreed. "When you reach our age and if Time has been cruel to us, death often seems welcome."
I looked at her face as she bent her head to look at her hands and I could see she had a black eye, cunningly hid by makeup. When she was naked, I have seen other bruises and when she rose from the bed, I could see a pattern of stripes across her back. I figured someone must have used a belt or, worse, a whip on her sometime before then.
A spark of anger flared up in my head and I shielded my mind from her.
She looked sharply at me and demanded, "Why are you blocking your thoughts?"
I forced a smile. "I was just thinking of some depressing stuff and I didn't want it to ruin our conversation."
I left her shortly after that but on the way out I tried to pay for services rendered. She refused it.
"You needed healing of the kind I can give you and I gave it to you free of charge. Now off with you and be a good boy for your Nanny Arlene!" she finished, pushing me gently but firmly out her door.
As pleasant as that had been, our conversation about my vampire-tainted wife put me in a more depressed mood than I had been earlier. I went back to drinking.
The afternoon faded into an alcoholic haze. I could tell the place was filling up as a background noise increased. I had taken a chair facing away from everyone because I just did not feel like looking at them.
At some unknown time in the evening, from directly behind me I heard a drunken voice yell, "Hey, stranger! I would have words with you!"
I got up with difficulty and faced the speaker. At that moment, I was really feeling my age. The speaker was much younger than me and taller and bulkier, also. He wasn't wearing any armour; it looked to me more like party clothes. He had obviously been "partying" for a while already as he had a broken nose which was still bleeding and some bloodstains on his colourful shirt and pants. His fists, which were clamped at his sides, were also sanguine. He was also wearing something that I didn't really think that fit the rest of the ensemble: a rather large sword on his back. He was swaying back and forth almost as much as I was.
I had reached the point of drunkenness where I was emotionally volatile so I snapped at him, "What the Hell is your problem?"
"You owe me some gold, you son of the dead cow! You spent time with Arlene today. I'm the man that looks after her and protects her!"
I laughed, then spat on the floor.
"So I knew someone had been beating her! You're her pimp!"
His mead-addled brain seemed caught off guard by this statement.
He asked, having a hard time not slurring his words, "What's a 'pimp'?"
All the sarcasm I could muster, I replied, "You know what it's like when you step in shit and you want to scrape it off? Where I come from, a pimp is so far down in our society you wouldn't want to wipe the shit on one in case you get the shit dirty!"
It took a second or two for that percolate into his mind, then his face went "animal" and he roared, charging at me. I had been expecting this so I did my best to quickly step aside and give him a solid kick to the ribs on his left side. This sent him flying to his right over a couple of tables. The customers scattered, although he did land on a couple.
We definitely had everybody's attention at this point. Two of them helped him to stand up but he shook them roughly off his arms.
Carefully choosing my words, I said, "If I ever find out that you have harmed Arlene again in any way, I will kill you."
"Ha! Why not do it now, you slippery little weasel? I have a sword, you have a sword...what better time for your death?"
He obviously didn't like me...the feeling was mutual. But we were both very drunk and I was wearing armour. The fact that I was a more practised drinker also gave me an edge, I thought.
I yelled at him, "For God's sake, you idiot! You're drunk and you don't have any armour on! Go home, sober up and call me out some other time. The d-difference between you and me as when you are in the bag, you get stupid. On the other hand, when I tie one on, I get dangerous."
In answer, he snarled and moved towards me quickly with his sword drawn. My katana seem to sprout in my hand as I watched him in advance. There seemed to be at least three of him.
He aimed a slash at my head which I dodged. Then the soul of a samurai must've entered me.
I had never really used my weapon at its full potential until then. I brought the blade down on the top of his clavicle on the right side and the steel cut indiscriminately through cloth, skin, bone, and organs until it hit his pelvis, getting stuck there. He basically fell into two halves on the floor.
Right then, I realized that I had broken the first rule in the Crunk (meaning "crazy drunk") Code of Conduct, q.v. "Never, no matter how well you are trained in the martial arts and even if you have the strength of Tom Henry the Steel-Driving Man, do you ever get into a fight with a man with more than three friends". By the shouts and growls around me, I decided maybe everybody in the tavern were friends of this guy, were so drunk they thought they were his friends or just wanted to stomp the guts out of a man old enough to be their father.
Under other situations, I might've been able to slash my way free to an exit. I just could not free my blade from dead man's skeleton. Then they were upon me.
For the first few moments I gave as well as I was getting but there must've been 50 guys trying to get at me. They finally dragged me down to the floor and beat me viciously. I went in and out of consciousness.
At the terminal point, I saw a heavy boot coming down on my face and I thought, Praise the Lord! I'm out of this place...
But, no! "Just in the nick of time "I was saved once again. This time, it was a totally pure Latin voice yelling out, "You curs! In the name of the Empire, give way! What are you doing to that man? Are you trying to kill him?"
In my semiconscious state, I knew it had to be the Sergeant of the Watch. All the noncoms were Roman and the guards that they lead were natives to the town. Most townspeople feared them and did their best to keep out of their way.
A lot of the men in the room were going "But, but, but..." and other frightened noises to explain themselves. The Sergeant shouted, "Silence!"
Obviously a guy used to giving orders...sounded something like me.
I can hear many feet shuffling around and also that heavy tread of the Watch.
At one point I heard the Sergeant mutter, "A clean, powerful blow for such an old man...but a messy one, nonetheless. "
He harangued the cringing drunks for several minutes but I lost consciousness before he finished. I woke again as several strong hands picked me up and carried me out into the cold night air.
"The Magistrate will find this most unusual," the Sergeant said to no one in particular.
I was freezing but I still kept fading in and out. I noticed by the slight increase in the air temperature that we were inside. I tried to look around but I guess I wasn't supposed to do that...someone struck me in the back of the head and I went into darkness.
I woke to find myself in a great deal of pain and lying on a wooden cot with several blankets on me. The only door was one with bars from floor to ceiling so I knew I was in a cell. I was not alone, however.
My head was on the lap of a woman of middle years. She was trying to get me to eat from a wooden spoon. I resisted for a moment then gave in to her attempts. It was a cross between gruel and bullion. For a moment, I wasn't sure I could keep it down. In the end, I was able to do so. She took her time feeding me then laid my head down on a pillow filled with straw. She walked to the door, banged on the bars with the spoon and a guard, a Frank by his size, opened it for her.
He then slammed it shut and locked it. He stood there staring at me for a few moments, a sly grin on his face.
I lifted my head slightly and said, as well as I could in the dialect, "I bedded your mother once. She was almost as ugly as you."
I was hoping that he would come in and finish me off but, unfortunately, he merely snarled and stomped off out of sight.
There was a following endless time. I was sure I was dying. The woman who tended me was very kind but she never spoke. She fed me, cleaned me when I soiled myself or vomited and did her best to keep the fever down. I think I struck her once while thrashing a nightmare because she had a bruise on her face one time when she came to see me. I told her I was sorry but she just shook her head and went on with her nursing.
I don't know how long it was but there came a time when I awoke and nothing hurt nor was I feverish. I climbed off the cot, did some experimental flexing of different muscle groups and, without thinking, bent over and touch my toes to the first knuckle.
From that pose, I stood quickly up and looked at my hands, felt my face and viewed what I could see of my body. I came to a horrible verdict.
I screamed, angrily, "You motherfuckers! You gave me a rejuvenation! Bastards, bastards, bastards!"
The same guard as before appeared at the cell door. He barked,"Keep it down in there! I got nothin' holding me back from coming in there and kicking your ass!"
I went completely calm. I commented, "I'm surprised you heard me so easily."
"I heard your voice in my head. How'd you do that? And as to why...we couldn't put a beat up old wreck like you in the Arena "
Ah! I thought. I walked over to the cell door. I spoke in a confidential tone, saying, " How I yelled in your head, well, where I come from it's called legerdemain."
He bent his head towards the bars and almost whispered, "Legerde-wha?"
I hissed, "It means 'sleight of hand'. Like...this!"
I shot my hand out between the bars, grabbed the back of his helmet and smashed his head into the iron door. Unfortunately, his helmet did not cover his face. He dropped like a stone.
Broken old wreck, eh? I thought. You fucking little cock-knocker!
I walked back to the cot feeling pretty good about how that had went. I laid down and watched him. He was making slobbering noises so I assumed he was still alive.
Some time past; it was hard to know how long. I heard what I figured was the footsteps of at least three people. It turned out I wasn't wrong.
There were two guards and a very tall man, clean-shaven as most Romans were and dignified. He looked at the guard on the floor then he looked at me.
I waved a hand at the unconscious guard and said, "He was like that when I woke up."
But the fun ended, when the guards open the door. The Roman walked in and I could immediately read him: he was my adjudicator, my so-so defence attorney but all he had for me was contempt and a perfect sureness of my guilt. I knew him to be Quintus Sanctus, fresh from Rome and the tone of his thoughts indicated only a very short unpleasant life for me...
She took me by the hand and led me to a room she had in the inn; apparently, she lived there. She mock-sternly told me to remove my armour, etc., and went about the large suite of doing this and that to prepare for my cleansing. There was a large tub, made of brass I decided, in a corner of the room. She walked up to it and pulled a chain hanging from the ceiling near it. Water gushed down from directly above the tub, quickly filling it over halfway. She then repeated her actions and the water stopped. From the tub rose tendrils of steam. She summoned me to her side and removed my rough leather armour and anything else that would hinder a bath. She then told me to get in to the tub. I eased myself into the water; it was hot but not painfully so. I could feel much muscle tightness relaxing.
