Scene Two - Fosterling Hold

It was the last hour of darkness, a slight glow along the horizon hinting at the coming dawn. Still too dark to make out any features in the stone cell, but there were few to see even in full daylight when the sun squeezed through the narrow gap that could be a window, or a viewpoint for a  keen eyed bowmen to defend the keep.

Breath condensed into huff from the sleeping bodies scattered across the room, each huddle under whatever blankets they could find, grab, steal from their neighbours. Wulf sat huddled under his ragged covering looking up towards the night outside, eyes hardly focused, listening to the sound of his companions.

"last day of fosterling you little rats" Caarg had said as he shut and bolted the heavy doors of the holding room after dishing out the slop that passed as evening meal in the Fosterly Hold.
No-one tried the doors, they were heavy and well bolted from the outside.
"keep you rats safe" Carg would mutter through his broken teeth and half shaved face.
All the fosterlings had tried the door at some time in their years at the Hold, some from babe and others like Wulf for only a few years. But pull, tug, kick, scratch was all the same to the heavy oaken beams.
Tomorrow was the start of his tenth year, or so Caarg told him... all the lads in the room were of an age - some taller, some more thickset, some weak and sickly. All of an age...
He knew that there were other rooms in the Hold, rooms with other children crying themsleves to sleep. Other rooms with children who were younger, but all of an age.

Wulf remembered his first year at the Hold, the wide stone hall they lived in then was more airy than this current room. That was before they separated the girls from the boys..

Tomorrow was his last day of fosterling...
His breath rose from his lips, cold and wispy, and he watched the first glimpses of the dawn in the distant sky...

"Last day I'll be wet-nursing you rats" Caarg had said...
"Thank the Gods for that!!" Gork had muttered, just loud enough for the boys to hear. Carg looked with bleary eyes at the laughing boys and cuffed the nearest lad - Samwell on principle, sure that someone was making fun of him. Samwell took the blow well, falling to the ground, but years in the hold had taught them all how to take a blow, roll and feign enough pain to avoid the second blow... Caarg had seemed satisfied that his authority was intact and shuffled out of the door....

Less than an hour and the door would open again, and each would walk out into a new world.
Less than an hour to the Prentissing.

Gork said that he would be chosen by a great Knight and taken to squire, and one day be a knight himself and lead the warband...  Gork was taller than the other boys. Maybe a few months older than most of his companions, certainly a leader amongst the ragged band. Few wanted to challenge him, his fists were tough and he wrestled like a wild animal - biting and gauging. Many a time he had to be pulled from one of the other boys for a suspected insult or believed words spoken behind his back.

Wulf had felt those fists, and had curled into a ball to reduce the impact of the kicks from those bare feet. He was smaller than Gork, but more important he had no wish to step into Gork's place. He did not want to watch every night to see who was trying to take usurp him as leader. He saw no need to challenge - Wulf kept his head down and let the others fight over their place in the pecking order.

But when it came to food, Wulf would stand his ground - he would not starve in the Hold as some of the weaker lads had.  The daily scrabble for food was his only battlefield. He had no wish to be top of the pile, but he was quick of foot and swift with his hands. Get in quick and get out safe was his unspoken motto.....Survive!! get through to the end of the week !!

Wulf had no real aspirations for the coming day. He knew from the whispers in the long cold rooms that once a year all the residents of Fosterly Hold who were nearing their 10th birthday would be paraded in the great courtyard of Fosterly Hall. He had peered through the slits that served as windows only a year ago to see the thirty of forty children led out and lined against the wall, so the Great and the Good, the Rich and the Bored, the Wize and the Curious, and a few artisans could examine them without having to stand int he sun.  He could still remember the aroma of the roasted  pig in the Courtyard as the Prentisses were told to stand, speak, walk, lift iron bars, any act that took the fancy of the Great.

What had happened to those last year he wondered.. Some might find themselves in the big houses, kitchen thrall, the luckier maybe working in the warm, others tilling the fields, most of the girls were probably now working in the brothels - some of the prettier boys as well. All Wulf knew was that Gork would certainly not be a great knight...  That was for some Lordling....

Wulf hunched his shoulders, dropping his left slightly so he appeared to have a slight deformity in his spine, and curled his toes on his bare left foot. The pulled foot would soon turn to cramp and give him a more authentic limp. He pulled the blanket closer and blew into the cold air.
Less huff now he thought. The air is warming up out there. It would not be long now he knew... He would not be crying like some of the boys, but his limp and his slight stoop would make him less attractive for the heavy work or the brothel. He did not know how he knew this, but his act had kept him out of most of the beatings and quarrels in the hold....

A jingle of brass keys at the door as the old lock was turned. A creak of the iron hinges as the massive oaken door swung open..  

"Right you little Rats - lets be having you" roared Caarg as he swung two large buckets of cold water onto the floor - kicking the door shut behind him.
"Better have clean little rats for the Great and the Good"

Survive thought Wulf - make it through to the end of the day, make it through to the end of the week....one step at a time... He shuffled forward with the others...

Scene One - of Ale and Tales

Three in front - one, maybe two behind...  I need to even the odds!!

"Friends - it was just a jest.. surely we can resolve this with a jug of ale ?"

Quite proud of his voice control.. there was not a hint of the chill of terror creeping up his back into his vocal chords...

He shifted the lute to his right hand and waved it away from him... giving every appearance of openness and vulnerability..

The largest in front of him, a swaggering brute dressed in old boiled leathers, a rusty chain shirt and and boils on his left cheek - half hidden by an unkempt beard that had every sign of being pulled out by the roots whenever it annoyed its keeper thrust his face towards him...  a sour stench of rotten cabbage and cheap beer.

"Well little man - me and my comrades are have gonna have to rip your tongue out of your ears and tie it round your lute and stuff it right up your trumpet"  he seemed pleased with his turn of phrase. and given other circumstances Wulf would have applauded his choice of words..there was a poetic ring to the phrase...

He moved slightly to his left - not too far .. he did not want to bump into the unknown predators behind him, but his movement now meant that Boils was directly in front of him and blocking the approach of the others...

He didn't dare take his eyes away from those leering down at him ...

Where the hell was Thorgrimm...  he had got him into this mess ..

But now it seemed that Thorgrimm had little wish to include himself in the troubles of a travelling Bard who had chosen the wrong song to sing...

Thorgrimm, Northman, six foot six tall, broad of shoulder, wolf pelt covering his hand knit chain mail shirt, Thorgrimm who travelled the high road alone and not with known allegiance... Thorgrimm who kept his story to himself... and Thorgrimm..  last was seen pulling one of the wenches onto his lap and explaining the best way to weigh her breasts.....

"Please Gods !! don't let him have taken a room with her while I was singing... it was only a few verses!! He was never that fast before.."

In reality - he could not be sure - he had only met with the Northman a day before and had little idea of his habits - only a respect for his abilities with his matched Dane axes, sword and shield..... and the hope that he would come to his aid ...

But now it seemed unlikely and his only hope was in a silver tongue and a nimble brain... two skills that he had honed through many years as he made his way through the Bard's guild.....

"I think your friend needs some help" giggled Aleesha as she tried to twist out of Thorgrimm's arms.. a half empty jug of ale swinging from her left hand as she used her right to push his from her breast.. Her grubby cotton shift hung open at her front but the leather belt at her waist was pulled in tight and showed her young figure at its best. She ground her body over his groin as she played at escape...

"Friend ?? Let the Gods take the little fellow !! He got himself into it - I have better things on my mind" and his face thrust into her cleavage making her scream with laughter...

Boils made his move - a clumsy charge with outstretched hands where the bard's throat had been a second before. The casual move to the left had drawn Boils in that direction while the lute in the right gave Wulf the balance he needed to duck under his arm - holding his breath at the under arm stench he kicked back with his left foot - hard into the back of his attacker. The kick was good - caught the charging man in the bottom of his spine adding to the momentum and piling him into the one or two attackers that had been behind. Wulf did not turn to count them. He still had two in front of him, though the element of surprise was now his.

Their view had been blocked by the mass of Boils so they little expected to find the elderly minstrel dodging between them.

Wulf swapped the Lute to his left hand reversing it so that the base of the instrument was protected behind his arm, and lowered his right shoulder to barge into the chest of the the first attacker. As large as Boils, and no prettier, his eyes were bloodshot and drunken spittle exploded from his mouth as his wind was knocked out of him. Like a long lost lover he opened his arms to catch Wulf in a bearhug but the bard had once again side stepped and using the neck of the lute in his fist as extra weight - he stabbed his fist into his throat...

"Damn.. that is going to hurt and stop me playing for a few days!" he thought as he held on tightly to the instrument with aching fingers.

Only one more he thought as he twisted in a full circle - bringing the lute around so the iron band that had been welded to the rear of the sound box caught the third adversary in the shins causing a surprised yell through broken teeth. Swinging the lute on its strap he swung it back into his right hand and held it like a bat waiting for a ball - and as broken teeth raised himself the iron   band struck him sharply over the back of his head.

"Three" thought Wulf as he carried forward without stopping or looking...

The whole attack had taken only about 7 seconds - not much longer than he had been able to sing his song.  A bad choice he knew now - but he had not seen the sigils sewn into the filthy cloaks of drunken mob in the corner or he would not have chosen to sing the Lay of Llangoren, a bawdy song concerning the Queen, several dark elves and an aubergene......

Normally a guarantee of a coin or two and a jug of ale ... he wasn't to know that the rabble were pledged to the Queen as well as being well in their cups!.

"Only a few yards to the door" he thought - "I am too old for this!!! A man should have a little respect when he is  nearing his 60th nameday"

Still not looking back to see what havoc he had caused, or how near his adversaries were he made through the smoke and stale air towards the large ill fitting wooden door, heavy and beer stained, hoping that it would open easily.

Thorgrimm watched the ruckus out of one eye.. while his hands remained actively involved trying to keep a wriggling Aleesha firmly on his lap and juggling his ale.

He watched as the old man, surpisingly sprightly on his feet weaved his way passed his attackers. Six foot tall when standing upright, long silver hair falling to his shoulders and a head band of tooled leather about his head bearing a silver emblem of a wolf, stomach a little portly, showing signs of many good meals and time spent in taverns and Lord' banquets..  his shirt a little threadbear with signs of many roadside repairs, and patches on his leather trews suggesting that times were not quite so good at present.

He was quite impressed with the turn of speed from the old man - but they had been travelling for a day and the old bard continued to display unexpected traits... But from his vantage point it was clear that the fellow would not manage to open the door before he was engulfed by the five Queen's Men..

With a sigh he dropped Aleesha uncermoniously to the floor - and stood - ale in hand and walked into the narrow gap between the crude tables filled with boisterous and drunken customers who were now beginning to take notice of the chase...

One group, looking like sea-farers with wild tattoos across every part of available skin started banging mugs on the table in rhythm, shouting "Fight!! Fight !! Fight"  The refrain was soon picked up by other tables.

Throgrimm stood up and stretched as the first of the five bumped into him with a curse. Ale splashed from Thorgimm's tankard into the face of one of the chanters..

It was difficult to say who appeared the more angry - the chanter - spluttering as he stood turning the table over as he did so, or the first of the five who found himself brought to a sudden stop as he hit the wall of chain and leather and steel that was the fully armoured Thorgrimm - now clearly six foot six, and well armoured with a Dane axe to his side and sword sheathed at his left. His girth suggested too many good meals at one time, but it would be a fool who assumed that his weight was only fat - there was the clear sign of the warrior about him... the way he stood, large but balanced. The way only a professional fighter, or one who lives by the sword and the axe.

The five were brought to a stop like a set of dice against a wall. Thorgrimm turned and looked at them - though probably the same height as Boils, he appeared to tower over them as he said in a deceptively quiet voice "You spilled my ale"

"What of it - I am going to turn that squeeker into mush"  yelled Boils as he started thrusting his way through his comrades.

Thorgrimm stepped slightly to his left, as the ale covered man finished turning the table over his companions - who were now rising to fight each other...

Boils started to pass Thorgrimm as a grip of iron took him by the throat and half lifted him from the ground...

"You spilled my ale" He said again - in the same quiet voice....

Boils felt himself turned towards the angry table group - and an earthen ware jug smashed down upon his head and Thorgrimm dropped him into the melee....

Broken tooth wanted none of the big man and backed off with his companions back to their table - the fighting still carrying on around Boils and spreading through the other end of the tavern.

Thorgrimm leaned across to where Boils and his band had been sitting and picked up the earthenware jug still full of ale and turned to leave the room. Picking up his Double Handed Dane Axe, almost as tall as he, he sauntered towards the door, giving Aleesha a wink as she sat cursing him on the floor....

Wulf had just managed to lift the heavy rope handle and was tugging at the door to open it inwards as Thorgrimm reached out and swung it open with ease. Wulf grabbed a loaf of bread and some cheese from a platter on the nearest table - the occupants never noticing as they watched the chairs being thrown around the room... They both walked into the chill of the evening..

As the door closed behind them they could hear the barkeep shouting for order, and the ominous crack of the barkeep's sap hitting skull as order was  restored...

"You took your time" said Wulf as he tore a lump out of the bread and handed it to Thorgrimm.

"I never liked that song" answered Thorgrimm as he handed over the jug of ale...  "you cost me a woman"...

"Nah - we'll sleep in the barn - she'll turn up later" answered Wulf...

"Unlikely" said the glum Thorgrimm thinking of his last view of her cursing him as she sat on the floor with her shift around her thighs"

"Trust me she'll come...  and her friend ... I spoke with her ... I'm Der Vollsanger"

....