Scene Four - Prentissed

Scene 4 - Prentissing

Caarg was no more pleased on the day that he managed to free himself of his charges then any other day that Wulf could remember..
They had dutifully splashed water upon themselves and each had made some effort to straighten their tatters and rags, and then Caarg had pulled the wide oaken door completely open and led his charges out from the room that had been their home for most of their lives - down the long stone stairway and out onto the Courtyard....

Caarg held his black horse whip in his hand - but there was no need for its use..    Each of the 37 lads knew only too well the pain that whip could inflict - and today was in some ways a change and a holiday. Not one of them really knew what would happen today. Not one of them knew where they would be sleeping that evening, nor what the future would hold...  It seemed to each of the boys that it could not prove worse than the years on the Fostery Hold... they hoped.

As they came to the courtyard, Wulf could see a similar line of young girls being led from the tower on the opposite end of the square. He could see Lyssa who used to play with him some two years before. Before they were separated. She was turning in to a tall lass, deep red hair and a turned up nose. Wulf had always thought her beautiful, even her sharp freckles across her nose. The others had teased him mercilessly when they were first parted. "Spotface" they called her - but Wulf still thought her striking and sometimes dreamt of her at night as he huddled under his blankets. They could have been a Lord and Lady in a fine Castle or Keep, with servants and squires, and ladies in waiting...  Now she was being led out with the other girls into the shade of the leanto against the wall.

Wulf lost sight of her as he was pushed back against another wall and shoved into line with the other lads.
"Get to the back Cripple"  muttered Caarg grabbing some of the other boys and putting them into line..  Wulf hunched a little more and limped to the rear.
"yes - get back Cripple" said Danto, "If I am going to be picked as Smith I don't want anyone seeing you and thinking I could be weak"

Danto had a good chance of being picked to Prentiss with a smith, thought Wulf. He was a good few inches taller than all of the other lads and already strong in arm. He practiced his strength by lifting the benches and beds from the floor in the Hold. He had determined over a year ago that he would have a proper skill and claimed that his father had been a smith before he had died at his forge, killed, he said, by followers of the Nything.
Wulf dutifully stepped further back. He did not want to spoil Danto's chances.  Danto was probably as near to being a friend that Wulf  had in the Hold. Danto's strength had protected him a number of times when others decided to make fun of the Lame kid, who seemed so nimble at meal times....

At last, Caarg was satisfied with the line of boys and presumably his counterpart with the girls was equally content, as the large bell high in the West tower started to toll. THey all looked expectantly towards the Courtyard entrance where two thralls were turning the wheel to open the giant iron Gates. None could remember seeing the gates open before and each knew that if they closed again today while they were still inside, it would mean that no-one had seen fit to take them for Prentissing - and like as not they would end up turning those wheels just like the thralls.

Life outside may be unknown - but for each in the line it was difficult to imagine that it could be worse than life inside the hold.

One last glimpse of the gates before their eyes were turned down to the ground. Caarg had warned that it would be death or maiming to have the affrontry to look a free man or free lady  in the eye when at the Fosterling...  No one fully believed - but no-one wanted to be the one to test the threat.

Wulf chanted his personal mantra in his mind. "Eyes down to the ground. Move into the background. Don't appear too fresh or youthful or you may end up in a brothel with some of the girls. Don't look too strong or you may end with a lifetime of heavy work as thrall, or rowing in the longboat of some trader."

Danto may prove lucky with his ambition. He had a notice around his neck which Caarg had written. Danto thought it told that he was the son of a Smith and good for the trade. Wulf did not know - he did not have his letters. He had never had a chance to learn. All Wulf knew was that there was no card around his neck to show his skills. He did not think he had any really.. other than dissembling... He was quite good at that... But that would not get him prentissed.

Looking at the ground he could see the feet of those who came to look and to prod. Twice he was told to look up and open his mouth as someone examined his teeth. He knew the rules. His eyes were tight shut as he looked up.  He smelled the stink of sweat and leather... He heard the rustle of rich velvets and the sweet aroma of a pommander. He heard voices raised and voices wheedling, and deals being struck all around him.
He heard Caarg's slimy voice saying "They are all like my children ...  of course I must see them prentissed but for years I have paid to keep them strong and healthy so your lordship would have only the best"
There was a jingle of stel and money passing hands as he heard another of his compatriots taken out of the line and taken away...
He could hear everything, sounds highlighted while his eyes were fixed upon the ground.

Slowly he became aware that there was someone in front of him.
 Too far away for feet to be in his line of vision. He could smell nothing in particular except for the bitter hint of the hot sand on the walkway. He could hear nothing .. in fact that was what confused him most, there was someone directly in front of him he felt sure - but he could hear no breathing, no rustle of clothing, as though a statue had walked from the alcoves and was even now standing in front of him...  

"Tell me of this one" The voice that spoke in front of him was rich and deep in tone. A voice that could be both commanding and courteous at the same time. The voice seemed to pour like honey and it was all that Wulf could do not to immediately look up to see the source of that sound.
"Ain't nothing but a cripple this one."answered Caarg, a little confused, as he hardly expected much interest in the quiet lad who scurried around on his bent foot and kept out of his way.
"But I am sure I can give you a good price for him if your lordship is interested.." He sounded doubtful.
"I am no lord" laughed the Voice, with a resonance of bells and echoes, "I am but a traveller with the Guild.. But if he has a bent leg then he can't run far."
"Oh he wouldn't run from your lordship, urr your Sir-ness" exclaimed Caarg quickly, "All my boys are trained from a young age. They know the meaning of the whip and will be pleased to obey - won't you boy?" The last was directed at Wulf who almost forgot himself and started to look up .. As he opened his mouth to answer - he reeled as Caarg cuffed him around the ear "Eyes down boy !!

Wulf remained silent as he stumbled back to his feet - eyes still downcast.
"Can he move ??" asked the Voice quietly..
"Oh Yes" said Caarg, seeing the opportunity to get rid of the one parcel that he thought would remain. He can get around pretty fast - just a limp. Show him Boy" -
Wulf felt that the whip was out again rather than saw any action - but he limped in a small circle - his left shoulder still hunched over... Not too slow, not too fast - just enough to show that you can't do all the heavy work.."

"He'll do " said the Voice.. "How much??"
The voices of Caarg and the stranger drifted away as they walked out into the sunshine and towards the small booth where the Quartermaster sat with his men at arms keeping talley of the day.

Wulf was left standing against the wall wondering what change his life was to take...
It was half an hour later that the Voice returned..
"Follow me boy!" He said and Wulf dutifully fell into step behind. Now he could see the leather boots, used but serviceable, worn down at the heels but without holes or patches. Heavy britches were above those boots with strips of fur and leather wound around to keep loose material from tangling into the boots.  

No word was made as they found their way to the iron Gates. Wulf dearly wished to look up - to see what those Gates really looked like from underneath - a sight that would be glorious to see - but his knees trembled and his leg hurt and his foot cramped as he limped along. Eyes resolutely upon the floor.

Outside the gates it was hotter than before. No shade was here. the uneven stones of the roadway burned his feet and smells of the huts and shacks that formed the outer ring around the hold smelled of sewage and rotten food. A dog charged up and yapped around his feet but the Voice did not seem to notice - just walked steadily onwards at a pace that seemed just the right speed for the limping boy...

Soon the ramshackle buildings were passed and the unlikely pair headed into the woodlands that surrounded the township. After an hour the Voice said "This seems like a reasonable place" and headed into the woods and into a small clearing,
"Look up boy - you are no Fosterling now - you've been prentissed"

Wulf looked up tentatively. Firstly at the clearing. The trees here were tall and straight and had silver on their bark. The ground between the trees was mossy and quite open. The clearing itself was covered in grass and there was clear sign that a fire had been burned in the past. In fact the Voice was even now rummaging in some undergrowth and pulling out some kindling and a small bundle that looked like clothing.

Wulf had his first chance to see the man who had taken him from the hold. He looked to be about six feet tall when he stood. His clothes were not those of a rich man - but they were serviceable and looked to be light, warm and waterproof though the sun shone strongly today - they did not seem to overheat the wearer. A dagger was in a leather sheath at his side - but no other obvious arms.
Something was wrapped in the bundle that he had puled from the undergrowth which could be a sword or axe - but Wulf could not see. A dark green shirt of a fine weave peeped out from above his doublet leading to the face of a man in his forties. A neatly trimmed beard, brown with wisps of grey, a full mouth and dark piercing eyes. Wulf hesitated to look into the eyes. He had been told to look up but did not want to offend his new lord... His quick glance gave him the impression of depth and darkness and almost a hint of humour...

"Please sir ... to what am I prentissed ??" Wulf hardly dared ask the question - but it blurted out of him ..
"Why ...  to the Bard's Guild" laughed the Voice .. "You are now the prentiss to Gwyddgrug the Bard" ..   The Voice started to put the  kindling together for a fire.
"But.. B.B . but I can't sing or anything " stuttered Wulf..
"What ??" Laughed Gwyddgrug?? " You are not prentissed as a Bard !!!  you are prenitssed as a servant to the Guild .. You will be cleaning and  clearing and doing as you are told.. You a Bard !!!" he smothered his laughter .. "Now get on and make this fire up - and then go and fetch water and start laying out a camp .... And make it snappy or you will feel the heel of my boot!

At least he was out of the Fosterling Hold thought Wulf..  It was the start of a new week....
He never liked to think more than 7 days ahead .. and rarely that far ...

Scene Three - The ley of Thorvald's Bane -

The fire burned high and the light flickered across the faces of those stood and squatting around the heat. Tyng was over and the Lord General and his high staff had moved from the fire leaving his people gazing into the flames...
"Give us a tale of heroes Bard" called one of the warband.
"Aye, a tale for a cold evening" echoed another.
"Here's mead.. give us a tale" said a third thrusting a horn into Wulf's Hand....

"I will give you a tale" said Wulf and stood up, letting his multicoloured cloak shimmering of Autumn Leaves fall to the floor. He stood against the fire and looked hard at his listeners.. then his eyes seemed to glaze slightly as he looked into the far distance, and his voice took on a new form, more urgent, deeper as he started his tale......

"I will tell you the Ley of Thorvald's Bane -
Or
"the tale of a Man who spurned Magic – but died for chasing it"

Thorvald was one of the “Old Style” Norscan men… a hero who walked the lands as the Gods stride the skies… They say he stood full seven feet tall without his wolfskin boots, and could cleave a hammer and axe by left and right hand – like a Giant Windmill – striking all within his reach… some say that the Hammer was Mjollnir itself and I have no reason to believe that such a Norscan Hero would not be blessed by the Gods - particular Thor!!

A leader of men he plagued the Albion coast – finding the weak, timid men of that land unworthy of their women – who it must be said – he found comely (and often), in his raids… and parts of Albion land are still known to have many who favour the thick shock of red hair so distinct in Thorvald’s line…
“Hero Mighty – Hear his Name
Scorning Magic, died in Vain
Norsca Triumph Law Disdain
By Odinsheim – Thorvald’s Bane”
Many tales are recited by the Bards
Of the Night of the Blood Moon – deep October when approaching the shores of Albion – a Storm such as none had seen rocked his drakkar the “Skuldelev” (the Skull digger)– three men struggled to hold the wheel as the boat floundered towards the cruel rocks….. Thorvald strode to the wheel and put his axe and hammer down – braced himself and took the strain – sent the three to reef the sails as he – alone – held the boat – straight and true …the unique Norscan sail allowing it to beat against the wind… strong and true…
30 Souls were rescued from Rann that Stormy night… held by the strength of Thorvald …
“Hero Mighty – Hear his Name
Scorning Magic, died in Vain
Norsca Triumph Law Disdain
By Odinsheim – Thorvald’s Bane”
“I have the strength of Men “ Thorvald would cry.. “ I have no need for Magic things”
“The Gods will strengthen the hearts of man – Courage and hope !! That’s all men need … and a comely wench and a tankard of Mead …”
And yet – in all his raiding of the Albion shores – he heard of something special – an item revered by the fops of Albion, something that gave them hope and strength – that rallied them in time of battle … under the Gods of Law…
“These Gods of the Weak are no comparison to the Gods of Norsca “ Thorvald would say around the campfires… “ There is no need for powers of the spirit – when a Wolf is strong and True … No need of the elements when he has an axe and hammer, no need of a fountain of life – when he is supported by Yggdrasill – which has the very sap and pulse of life running through her …””
And yet – he wondered about this treasure of the Gods of Law.. hidden deep in Albion….
“Hero Mighty – Hear his Name
Scorning Magic, died in Vain
Norsca Triumph Law Disdain
By Odinsheim – Thorvald’s Bane”
At last – unable to stop his impatience – he took the Skulldigger across the waters to Albion shores – 30 strong Norscan Fighters by his side – chosen of Thorvald…. Each a warrior – each disdaining Magic and Occult arts …
Many were the trials and tribulations as they fought their way deeper in to Albion Lands until at last they stood before the triple rings of the Keep – wherein he had heard – the Treasure of the Gods of Law was hidden – protected by Three Guardians.. each with powers from the spheres of magic… each sworn through life and death to protect their charge..
Thorvald Came to the first ramparts and there he faced the first Guardian…
Terrible was the Guardian to behold… Lifting his arms above him he spoke with a voice that passed through the bones and rattled the sinews….
“The Gods of Law forbid you to pass.
I Shamar – am sworn to protect – though life and death -
Leave now – and never return “
Thorvald could feel the power of Spirits building in the air as the Guardian drew on his skills to cast… but Thorvald disdained magic and knew that to a true heart – his strength of mind could withstand the onslaught…“
“The Gods of Norsca are greater than your petty Gods of Law!!!
I am Thorvald and I scorn your magics….
A Wave struck Throvald and his men and as Thorvald struggled to keep upright – he saw his men turning white with fear – screaming and struggling not to run – “I am Thorvald and I Scorn your Magics” yelled Thorvald and took his mighty axe in his right hand and threw with all his might – cleaving Shamar’s Skull and the wave of terror ceased … “
But as Thorvald looked around – he saw Shamar with hands raised in a particular way – right over left – each with fingers split in the middle – crossed as if making the letter “W” the Warding Sign of Law…… a last call to the Gods of Law.. but Thorvald saw that of his followers – a third lay gibbering on the ground.. he moved onwards…
“Hero Mighty – Hear his Name
Scorning Magic, died in Vain
Norsca Triumph Law Disdain
By Odinsheim – Thorvald’s Bane”

Into the second ramparts … there stood the second Guardian ..
“The Gods of Law forbid you to pass.
I Eliazar – am sworn to protect – though life and death -
Leave now – and never return “
Thorvald could feel the power of the elements building in the air as the Guardian drew on his skills to cast… but Thorvald disdained magic and knew that to a true heart – his quickness of mind could withstand the onslaught…“
Stripping off his Chain he took his pelts and dipped them into a vat of water and took the soaking fur over his shoulders
“The Gods of Norsca are greater than your petty Gods of Law!!!
I am Thorvald and I scorn your magics….
Wave upon Wave of elemental force struck Throvald and his men and as Thorvald struggled to keep upright – he saw his men scream as their armour turned to molten metal – screaming and struggling not to run – as the Guardian took air into his hand and formed a ball of fire which struck Thorvald - but his soaking pelts steamed and he stood untouched..
“I am Thorvald and I Scorn your Magics” yelled Thorvald and took his mighty hammer In his left hand and threw with all his might – battering Eliazar’s Skull and the wave of heat and fire ceased … “
And as Thorvald looked around – he saw Eliazarr with hands raised in a particular way – right over left – each with fingers split in the middle – crossed as if making the letter “W” the Warding Sign of Law…… a last call to the Gods of Law..
but Thorvald saw that of his followers – another third lay charred upon the ground.. he moved onwards…
“Hero Mighty – Hear his Name
Scorning Magic, died in Vain
Norsca Triumph Law Disdain
By Odinsheim – Thorvald’s Bane”
Into the third ramparts … there stood the third Guardian ..
“The Gods of Law forbid you to pass.
I Aedino – am sworn to protect – though life and death -
Leave now – and never return “
Thorvald could feel the power of the very earth building in the air as the Guardian drew on his skills to cast… but Thorvald disdained magic and knew that to a true heart – he could withstand the onslaught…“
“The Gods of Norsca are greater than your petty Gods of Law!!!
I am Thorvald and I scorn your magics….
But as he approached – he suddenly was struck with a blindness as if the lights of the world were blown out like a candle.. Pain racked his body and about him he could hear his remaining men scream in pain and agony as if they were being opened up by blades. His hands were empty – hammer and axe thrown… but on he struggled in the darkness…
“I am Thorvald and I Scorn your Magics” yelled Thorvald and with his mighty hands he found the neck of Aedino and choked the guardian till the last struggles stopped…
But as Thorvald dropped the body and his sight cam eback to him – he saw Aedino with hands raised in a particular way – right over left – each with fingers split in the middle – crossed as if making the letter “W” the Warding Sign of Law…… a last call to the Gods of Law..
And Thorvald looked to his followers – and the last of them lay upon the ground – as if they had received the wounds of a thousand cuts and their eyes seared as if put out by burning rods..
Thorvald moved on to the centre chamber and so the bards say – he found his prize – he stole the treasure of the Gods of Law – but all of his men lay slain in the three ramparts ..
He passed the three Guardians – each with hands upraised wit the Warding sign as though they might rise from death to follow him … but he struggled back to the Skulldigger and made his way to Norsca..
Little is heard of the exploits of Thorvald after that time …
It is said that he could not get the treasure of the Gods of Law to Work – some say that it was magic in nature and would not bend to his will – but there are tails of a haunted man – being chased by three throughout the lands of Norsca - and rumours that to allow him rest and sleep at night –
Thorvald buried the treasure in a secret place….

Thorvald was a great hero – one who scorned the Magics – but Bards still hear tales of Thorvald’s Bane …
“Hero Mighty – Hear his Name
Scorning Magic, died in Vain
Norsca Triumph Law Disdain
By Odinsheim – Thorvald’s Bane”

The fire had grown low as Wulf finished his tale and sat. He quaffed from the Horn of mead he held and passed it to his left....   "Aye.. Odinheim" he said quietly - but only to himself - that was his own tale which would not be told around the firepit - at least not by him....