Scene Nine - The value of the Badge...

"What??  What did he say ??" Vollsanger stiffened as he ran the conversation back through his mind.

Sitting at the gnarled wooden table, a goblet in front of each of them, Colour Sergeant Snatch looked across the table into the eyes of the French Captain, who was seemingly oblivious of any offence he may be  causing..... 

"And in what particular way do you think that I have been disgraced by wearing the badge?" the old bard asked in a quiet voice.... "

"Ees it not obvious?" queried the captain, "You take a great bard", he spoke to the sergeant, " and you enslave him to your troop, you make him less than he was ...  another of your riff raff.."

It was not just his slightly foppish mannerisms, and his annoying accent that grated. His whole attitude wreaked of insubordination and pretended superiority. Captain Caladan, of the Knights of  Dorn, exuded a religious fervour. 

Vollsanger had no real objection to a man's religion. It was a matter for personal choice. After all, he followed the Norse Gods in general and Bragi, God of song and Verse in particular. No, a man's religion was a personal thing...  but not something to be stuffed down another person's throat.

He had seen the Captain fighting in the courtyard during the day and had to admit that he showed a fair amount of skill as he sparred with Captain Marshall. The courtyard of Castle Quarrel had resounded with the clash of weapons, the hearty grunts of the Black Company Leader, and the incomprehensible french exclamations as the flat of a sword caught the red and yellow tabard.

He had skill to be sure, and by all accounts had fought for his Order under the guidance of the Grand Master with honour in many battles. His reason for being in the castle would be known only to Captain Marshall and the Grand Master who had penned the letter that still sat, seal unbroken at the Captain's table in the Officer's Mess. The Captain was a man of order. A time for everything and everything in its time.... No, he would read the letter later - after the banquet...

"Enslave......   Riff Raff...... " The sergeant pondered over the words as though testing the texture of a foul french Fricassée.....

Vollsanger was wearing his normal finery for the evening banquet. A fine woven shirt in light green, what other colour could he wear? with neat embroidery in the collar and sleeves, a boar on one, the mark of the Oathsworn of Dunholme and a fine depiction of a lute on the collar front.  Around his neck hung the numerous necklets, amulets, talismans and  hangings that represent awards and safe passage to the peoples of many lands. About his waist hung a broad leather belt with his music pouch and the Blades of Berkana, the finely matched pair of master-crafted daggers that he carried as a gift from the "Widow". But the most important item of clothing this evening was the black sash that he wore from right shoulder to left hip. The sash was emblazoned with the Death Head of the Black Company Badge.

A badge that had been awarded and was worn with pride. The only Honorary Fully Badged member of the black Company in the annals...  Normally, a recruit would lose his name and his identity - become a recruit with a number. Some may never achieve a name. But if they persevered and proved worthy, then they may be given a name and the rank of private. But each would hold the day he or she achieved the Badge as their greatest day .... regardless of the promotions that may follow ..

Some of the words that the Frenchman uttered were true ... Many who wore the badge would leave the Company feet first. Many would die. Most were not heroes, they did not crave honours, but would fight to the last with the possibility of being mentioned in the Glorious Dead... perhaps a few lines in the annals..  but always to fight alongside their comrades in arms... But to suggest that it was dishonourable....

Vollsanger sat to the left of the Frenchman, also facing the Colour Sergeant. While the Frenchman had uttered his broad statements, arms flailing in latin fashion, the bard's hands had dropped quietly to his sides, and covered the hilts of the daggers..... In one fluid motion he shrugged his shoulders and leaned forward across the table, his body covering the actions of his hands, which deftly eased the two daggers from sheath and reversed them so the blades were held against the forearm. The Blades of Berkana.. Razor sharp, narrow bladed, etched with the Rune of Berkana, an angular "B" on the hilt. Vollsanger reached out his left hand across the table - palm down - the reversed blade held close to the arm and hidden from view sandwiched between arm and table. Hand open, the hilt palmed in a manner even the Company Fool Devilstick Peat would have been proud of...  As the right hand extended behind the back of the Captain, reversing the dagger, point down, with the tip angled to the that point on top of the chainmail where the neck was exposed...

The Colour sergeant could clearly see the action behind the Frenchman, who, with the experience of a veteran fighter sensed the blade and tensed, yet smiled and said "I have no fear of these ? I am a guest and subject to the hospitality of the Company.." He shrugged. An action as annoying as all that had gone before and Vollsanger held himself back...

The bard looked to the Colour Sergeant. Honorary member of the Company. Company Bard... He had a unique place in the Company, but it was not his call. Every part of his being said that the dagger should slide into the 3rd cervical vertebrae, now !! and without listening to another word...

The Colour Sergeant passed his hand over the arm of the Bard who slowly retracted the limb - leaving Snatch ready with a dagger immediately to hand...  There was no doubt that the soldier was already well armed, but the opportunity to have a surprise dagger in hand would prevent any defensive action from the braggard...

Both company men were now fully armed... but the guest was not heeding a word ...
"Eet is always the same with you ...  you give each a death sentence when they come, look at these idiots and pathetic souls... they are the dregs..."

Colour Sergeant Snatch almost bit off the stem of his pipe. Even the flickering candle light suggested that his finely twisted moustache was curling with outrage.. He made his decision... he was a veteran of the Black Company and would neither sully the reputation of the Company by the death of the insolent upstart, nor would he let the insult lie..

He left the blade on the table and rose to his feet, peering down at the French Captain who was still held in place by a dagger at his neck.... He took out his pipe and gesturing with his right hand accentuated each line.

"Dregs??? " Spluttered the Colour Sergeant... his Badge glinting on the sash of bright crimson across his black leather armour... "Dregs .. Pathetic Souls and Riff Raff ??"

The muscles on his neck tensed with anger, his eyes blazed as he addressed the Knight of Dorn ..

"These Dregs are my Privates" He announced in his best parade ground snarl..
"MY Privates!!! They are precious to me ! I look after my Privates. I keep them close to me! My privates are not to be played with by others, or mocked!! I will groom them and nurture them and let them grow. They are Snatch's Privates!!!  They are the Company Privates...  And one day you may find out how precious my Privates can be!!!"

He glared once more at the Frenchman - nodded to Vollsanger - leaving the blade upon the table.

Vollsanger accepted the decision of the rank and placed his own blade alongside its pair... He got up from the table without a word and walked off to find a tankard of ale to wash the bad taste from his mouth..

The Knight of Dorn sat there awhile... I know not what went through his mind...

Next day, after the Tribunal, the floggings went on for an hour. The entire Company was in attendance as penalties were exacted..  Towards the end, a messenger requested the presence of Captain Caladan to the courtyard. Vollsanger had been keeping a surreptitious eye on him - in case he stole the company silver or molested the serving wenches or abused the animals, he had such a small regard for the man, and followed into the winter sunshine..

Captain Marshall was officiating. "Ah. Yes .. Captain Caladan.. Please come forward"
The Frenchman was obviously a little disconcerted, after all, a series of soldiers had just received  a public flogging..
"I hope eet is not for zee punishment  mon Capitan?"
"Of course not dear boy. Front and Center - there's a good chap!"
The flamboyant figure swaggered into the centre of the circle and stood by the Captain who towered above him.
"Right. Captain Caladan. Knight of Dorn. I have read the letter sent by your Grand Master. And it seems that you have been a little excessive in your religious excesses!"
"Quoi??" Sputtered the Knight..  "I may be a leetle enthusiastic - urr..."
"Over - zealous I think is the expression of your Grand Master.." Continued Captain Marshall, hands behind his back in a stance well known to every recruit of the Black Company ...  Everyone knew now that some bad news was coming for the annoying interloper, and even those nursing their wounds were ready to find out what it was...

"Yes indeed. Over zealous !!  Seem that you - Captain Caladan " he pronounced the name with as much disgust as he would use in discussing a venereal disease " have been a bit of a naughty boy .. Tut Tut!!!
Moreover, seems that your Grand Master wants to be rid of you for a period of time ..  and has given you to us for at least a year - if you survive that long!"

"Mais non. C'est n'est pas possible!" Spluttered the Frenchman and lunged towards the Captain. A bad move. He was immediately seized and dragged back as he yelled and shouted in his incomprehensible tongue .. He was held firmly as the Captain explained that the letter from the Grand Master allowed no confusion or alternative interpretation.... the former Knight of Dorn would now be Recruit No 9 - not even a name, but a number until he proved otherwise...

Volsanger leaned back and pondered that this seemed a much better outcome than the alternative considered the previous night, though it still irked him to have let the insult lie..

Having calmed down a little, Caladan, or rather Recruit no 9 asked permission to speak, which was granted.
"Mon Capitan" said the Frenchman, in far more contrite terms than before. He shrugged off those who held him and slowly pulled out his fine French Crafted Axe and held it aloft..
"Mon Capitan.. You see here a fine Axe n'est pas?"
"Indeed I do" replied the Captain
"Well, mon Capitan, would you use this to dig latrines and graves? or would you use a ... what do you call the thing.. urr  .. a Spade??"
"We always call a Spade a Spade in the Black Company - we would use that " replied the Captain...
"Then please Mon Capitan, consider me!!  I am ...    I was  Knight of Dorn ...   I am like this axe...  Make use of me for what I am good at,, I am an axe not a spade"
"Yes. Well. We shall see. We shall keep a close eye on you and see if you have any value.."

The captain looked around and with a glance at his newly promoted  Lieutenant Snatch, wearing his new Veteran Medal, said " Right Oh.. Jolly Good!!  Carry on then .. " and went back to the Officer's mess for lunch...

The Company slowly drifted away, leaving a rather forlorn figure slumped against a wall. Recruit No 9, formerly Captain Caladan of the Knights of Dorn, now nameless until he proved himself sufficiently to be given a name. And then, if he survived, and not all did, he may warrant to a position where he could be eligible to wear the Badge of the Black Company...

"Nothing is certain in this world" mused Vollsanger..  but somehow here in the Black Company there seemed to be a touch of balance and a little fairness...  Perhaps I should write a song he thought as he hummed to himself " My sword is sharp it's here with me - I'm fighting with the Black Company. "

Scene Eight - The Humiliation of Thorvald

It was late in the evening. The fire was burning merrily and the late summer breezes were light, causing a rustle of eaves in the trees around the small glade. A strange group had gathered for mutual protection in the woods, travellers, traders, a couple of sell-swords and two families under their protection.

Vollsanger had arrived fairly late, and been welcomed to the fire after an initial challenge. The lute clearly slung over his back and the long walking staff providing a well known silhouette for many in the region. His long hair (platinum blond not white as he would be quick to remind you)  and the distinctive head band with the wolf calling at the moon...  Yes a Bard was often welcome at the fire and food and mead had been exchanged...

"A Tale, Bard!!  Give us a tale !!! "
It was a common cry after a meal, and the group settled down.

"Tell us of Thorvald" called one ... a popular story. Everyone likes stories of heros.

"Ahh... " mused Vollsanger "Thorvald!!   Of course, He was not always a hero !!"

The statement caused consternation around the fire, as the old Bard knew it would....

"I will tell you of The Humiliation of Thorvald - Or "the man who would not lie down and die"...

It is rare to hear a story of Thorvald that does not include his successes, his prowess, and his heroic exploits…. Even in his later years when Bards tell of his haunted flight from shades beyond the grave, we only hear of strength and honour….

But the rarest tale of Thorvald goes back to his earliest days .. and few are the skalds who can recite the ley of the “man who would not lie down and die…” for Thorvald himself made sure that few knew of his early days, and he, Champion of Norsca, Scorner of Magics, Scourge of Albion never spoke of the days of his youth…

But I, Vollsanger, Skald of the Mountains, teacher of the Oral Lore, confidante of heroes, heard this story many moons ago, told to me by the descendant of a lady who nursed him back to health – I deem she loved him well so I have no reason to believe that there is any falseness in the telling… Though they have never been writ at large… there be no Morkinskinner in my words…. So set your mead, and listen, and perhaps you will live to tell your children of those who made Norsca great…

Thorvald was an impetuous lad … full 16 summers and sure that he was a man …

He had grown fast and true, he was strong in arm and fair in countenance, fleet of foot and many a local lad had found himself at the wrong end of his fists for teasing him about his fiery red hair….
But Thorvald was restless and wanted to prove himself in battle…
He practiced with his weapons – but did not distinguish himself as a scholar – his tutors threw up their arms in exasperation as he failed in his writings, and mages and shamans declared that they had never found any Norscan so incapable of managing the powers that surround all creatures.
But Thorvald did not care.. he knew that his destiny lay in battle - not in study.

Daily he would try to find a warleader that would take him into his host – and he knew that in time he would be the greatest warrior of Norsca …

But daily he was rejected, as being too young, too untried, and told to “wait till you are full grown” …
Until Thorvald found Uthgar by the docks one day .. and hearing that Uthgar was short of men for an attack upon the Albion Shores – presented himself before that Captain of Men …. Now it is true that Uthgar was past his prime in age, and many did say that he was a little too fond of his mead, and there are few to lay testimony to times where his judgement was sound, and it is rumoured that his eyesight was not as keen as an eagle – more akin to the mole which scrabbles through the ground… and it is said that Uthgar had misgivings about taking this young lad into his warhost and setting him as part of his crew… But Thorvald swore that he was a full man of 21 years, had battled many times in the past and offered to best Uthgar’s finest warrior with an axe as test of his strength…

Well, be it right or wrong, Uthgar was in need of men and short in his pocket and needed a successful raid of the Albion shore – so he took Thorvald into his crew and told him to be ready for the early tide the next day…

Thorvald was overjoyed, but was not one to brag… He returned to his room and spent an hour sharpening the blade on his axe.. before sauntering out into the night… He thought himself a man .. and with the prospect of the morning tide taking him away – he sought out Lifa Jorrrensdottir, a lass as fair as the spring, and left at dawn knowing himself to be a full Norscan Man…
Thorvald was not well accepted by the crew – they were old and set in their ways and unwilling to accept the young upstart who claimed to be a warrior but looked like a child, and many a day at sea was spent as Thorvald fought with bullies and tried to keep himself to himself … knowing his day would come….

The Albion shore came to view and Uthgard prepared to land at Sheer’s End
Rumour had it that this area of Albion was well held by a local Albion Lord – who was well versed in battle and magics… but Uthgard had little fear – he was well schooled in the art of pillage and had a crew which had many of the forces of the land at their beck and call … Thorvald stood on the deck with his axe in his hand…

Dawn came .. and Uthgard led his band ashore .. into the morning mists and filed towards the settlement – which was hardly astir, sleepy in their ignorance…

But unbeknown to Uthgard – the sails of his drakkar - dragon ship - had been sighted by the keen eyes of an Albion lookout – high on the hill tops – and even now Lord Albion rode towards them with a full band of his militia… descending upon the Norscans – and Uthgard – in his arrogance had not even put out skirmishers to check the land ….

As Uthgard and his men entered the town square – Thorvald cried to Uthgard “ It is too quiet – it is a trap” but Uthgard would have none of it and cuffed the young red haired lad around the ears saying “Fear not little one… It is only the anxiousness of battle that affects you .. “ We are the masters here – and soon we will be masters of their gold and jewels and their monastery will be burning …”
But as the words left his lips – the early morning mists lifted and Uthgard and his small band found themselves surrounded by Albion forces .. well armed, confidant and supported by priests and wise men……

“Let me at them “ Cried Thorvald – lifting his Axe .. but Uthgard said “ No!!!. Our wielders of power will defeat these …” An he commanded his magic wielders forward…
Great was the battle that ensued… Fireballs rent the air, and bolts of sheer terror ripped the air - men were struck down on both sides – but slowly it became clear that Uthgar and his men were outmatched ….
“Let me at them “ Cried Thorvald – I will cleave their heads from their shoulders .. but around him the men of Uthgar were falling - and Uthgar held onto him as if to keep a shield between himself and the enemy …

Struggling from Uthgar – Thorvald lifted his axe – and found that he was faced with an Albion Mage who muttered incantations and he found his axe ripped from his hand and saw it soar over the heads of the enemy – almost slow enough to catch – but out of his reach …
Lord Albion reached out with his sword and struck Thorvald upon the head with the hilt and all became darkness…

Thorvald woke.. he knew not how long he had been unconscious….. but as he regained consciousness – he saw about him that his comrades had all been slain – in horrific ways….
Uthgar lay by his side ….
He knew not why he was still alive… but groggily he raised his head to see his tormentor…

“And now we test you with the test of Albion “ said his captor…. And brought out two potions in small vials and placed them in front of the two …
One is poison – one has no affect .. Choose life or death !!”
Uthgar – anxious in his pain to ensure that the youngster could not steal his right to life – grabbed for the nearest vial and downed it in one ….. sadly – he retched and fell to the ground … Thorvald looked Albion in the eyes – daring him to be a liar in his words and though he had no need to prove – he drank the vial ….

“So – young pup!!! What magic have you ??” asked his inquisitor ..
“I am Thorvald – and I scorn your Magics!!” spat Thorvald in words that would one day become so well known…
“give me my axe and your best champion and I will show you who is a pup.. “

Lord Albion laughed aloud.. “ So – the pup has spirit !! Well – let us teach him the ways of Albion - until you cry to serve the Gods of Law…”

“The Gods of Norsca are greater than the petty Gods of Law” cried Thorvald – and staggered as they started beating him …
“Give me my weapon you cowards – and I will show you who has the greatest Gods” called Thorvald – but instead they continued to beat and kick him till he was almost dead…
“Leave him for the animals of the forest “ said Lord Albion and they stripped him and left him for dead – amongst the rotting bodies of the warhost of Uthgard… and Thorvald was so near to death that it is no wonder that they thought him so …

But hidden deep inside the young Norscan champion, grew a burning thought,
a burning hatred of those of Albion who had denied him a death with weapon in his hand – but had seen fit strip him and beat him to death like an animal
a burning hatred of those who use powers of the elements instead of fighting with weapons
a burning hatred of those who channel the spirits to bend the mind instead of facing man to man
a burning hatred of those who corrupt the fountain of life to inflict pain and suffering
a glowing pride in himself – who would fight back and make them sorry
a pride in Norsca – and the land that he would return to…

Naked, Beaten, Humiliated, weak … but not defeated!!!

Slowly – he struggled to his knees – and knew that he would return to one day to have his vengeance..
He found his way to a crofters cottage and collapsed against the door ..
There the lady took him in and bathed his wounds and later he found his way back to Norsca…

This is the tale that I heard from the descendent of that lady who took Thorvald in and nursed him to health –

I did not say she was Norse…

The fire had dwindled...  each went to their sleeping blankets .. to dream of the greatest hero of Norsca and like the Gods themselves, perhaps his failings....