The Laird's People 1301

“'E Laird's people bairn Jews quicker 'an wood!” The Messiah's unkempt lousy beard brushed Ignatius' sleeping face. “'Ave yeh bairnt a Jew to-day?!”, the Messiah screamed at a still drowsy Ignatius.

Ignatius swatted the crazy Jew's face and was tempted to use the fiend's fire. Then he saw the merchant in his cheap inn room's crooked doorway and he eased up. “Have you found me a ship?”, Ignatius grumbled.

“Aye.” said the merchant with more than a little bitterness. “And way're goin' with you.”

“Si,” Ignatius nodded, “But why the change of heart?”

The messiah cackled and spread his arms wide. “Cause your Laird 'ecided 'E was gonna bairn 'e crop of 'e Jewish people and 'e did strahk-” The merchant ended the Messiah's rant with a harsh glance.

“Shut up, brother,” he said coolly and looked straight at Ignatius. “Eddy decided to draft all male Jews into his army. So, all the people who hate Eddy or hate Jews or maybe hate both came up with the great idea o' killin' every Jew they could find.”

“The only Jews left are Eduardo's or are on the Thymenes already. Maybe there's some security in a hole ya just can't get here. I don't know. But we have a clan-brother who ain't doin' so bad in Valencia, so we're going to play the poor cousin to him.” The Merchant grinned and produced the rosary beads from a pocket. “And we'll have the protection of the Mother Church the whole way.”

Ignatius' eyes watched the rosary beads closely. He would have to nab those back, a priest without his rosary beads was.... a disgrace. The Merchant noted Ignatius' interest in the beads and said quickly, “But we'd best hurry to the Thymenes. Our man has little time to waste. You can't in his business.”

-----------------------------------------------

Samuel Axe could feel no pain. His legs bore gashes from his time as a beggar, cuts made expertly for appearance and avoidance of a limp. His back was as scarred as the Grandmaster's though he was only an initiate.

But he was not a leper, no, his condition was a mark against his mother's honor for birthing a bastard or, as the Order said, a blessing from God himself. The Order had made quick use of his..... blessing.

Samuel threw a blood-soaked rag upon the upside down Cross. He was done with his prayers for the day. He exited the small penitent chamber, wiping his sweat and sandy hair from his face.

The Knight-Brothers were sparring with Initiates. Samuel was still learning the Order's way of fighting, with sword and whip. His hands were used to nothing more than a dagger, but he could take a blow better than any other on the sparring ground. Dedicants sat by the side of the sparring grounds, light blows with light whips upon their fresh skin. Samuel sat beside them, the blood running down his back a symbol of his strength and devotion.

A Knight-Master, lean, strong and bloodied with hooked scars upon his face, entered the grounds and called all to order with a crack of his whip and a bellowed “God wills it!” The Knight-Brothers put down their sparring arms and stood at attention.

The Knight-Master cracked his whip once again and the Initiates and Dedicants came out of their haze and awe to stand at attention. The Knight-Master spoke, the scars upon his cheeks twisting in odd patterns, “Our King and Honorary Brother Edward has called out for muster from all the Orders of his realm. As we're the only Order worth the blood God gave us,” The Brothers gave out a loud resounding “God's Wounds!” and raised their fists, “....he's called out a muster from us.”

“Raise your fist if you'd like to break pagan's faces for Edward.” Every fist shot up, even among the fresh Dedicants. The Knight-Master looked at the fresh young backs. “Next time, Dedicants. Anyone Initiated may go to fight.”

Samuel had his fist up. The Knight-Master inspected the best of the sparring grounds, Knight-Brothers all, then came to inspect the Initiates. He took a look at Samuel's rended back and said, “You'll do.”

Samuel was ready to kill for the Order that judged him blessed. He got his equipment, cruel whip and broadsword, had holy water sprinkled upon his back, and joined the other Leatherbacks for their march into the cold gray city of Lugdim.

-----------------------------------------------

Ignatius skulked behind the Jews in penitent's cowl as they nimbly traced the redlains and alleys. A Proctor stood at the end of one of the alleys and Ignatius ambled past the tongueless man almost without a care. The Jews waited for the silent enforcer to leave their sights and then ran forward.

A procession of flagellants passed behind one of the redlains, the crack of their whips and their cries of exultant pain echoing down the redlains. And then, they were upon the Thymenes.

“I ain't got much time in 'is business.”, the boatman grinned as Ignatius and the Jews boarded his small rowboat. The Jews laid down flat and Ignatius pulled his cowl tight as the man started to push his boat into the Thymenes.

“So, a padre and two enanos? I been doin' the Orim trade for a long time and ain't never carried such queer cargo.” The boatman kept rowing, down the Thymenes. The stirring of the water brought out a smell Ignatius wished he could avoid. To be back to the clean waters of the church!

But Ignatius grinned under his cowl nonetheless. “Eduardo seems able to draw all of his enemies into the same net.”

The boatman spit into the water. “Ain't that the truth? Makes me damn sorry I hauled his podder's ass up here....”

Ignatius looked up incredulously at the grinning boatman. “You carried Alphonse to Lugdim?”

The boatman pulled his oar up from the water and gave pause. “Aye. Back in the Northern Crusade. Sneaky bastard didn't want to land with his men, wanted to avoid most of the battling and take all the glory later. So he hired the youngest, firiest, fastest damn smuggler on the Channel trade.”

The boatman resumed rowing. “He hired me. I was usin' my old captain's name at the time though, so maybe I misled him a bit. But that bastard deserved to die. The captain, not Fonze.”

Ignatius looked back at the bottom of the boat and tried to pull the cowl tighter against the smell. “I don't believe you, but you sure can spin a tale, smuggler.”

“Hell, don't believe me. But I'm not the youngest anymore, but I'm still the firiest. And I got better tales.” He pointed at the Merchant. “He's my brother, believe it or not. And my mother is a giant. Biggest damn woman you'll ever see, not that you'll ever see her.” He gave the sign of the Horned Cross without missing a beat with the oar. “May He rest her soul.”

Ignatius laughed nervously. “What about you, Jew? What say you?” He pointed a lone finger at the Merchant, cowering under the boards.

“He gives no lie about being my brother..... but I cannot tell you of the size of his mother.” The Merchant gave a sideways glance to the boatman and grinned a Jewish smile- crooked, greedy, controlling.

An annoyed gurgle came from the none-too-far-off shore and Ignatius shot a quick glance towards the the sound. There was a Proctor, pastoral staff in hand. But it seemed he was annoyed at the smell and not the boat with fugitives. Funny. Ignatius didn't think the man could smell, what with his lack of a tongue. That peculiar asceticism always unnerved Ignatius..... even if it was one of God's Wounds.

The boat kept moving down the Thymenes and the boatman kept talking of his tales, of meeting with Kings, of fighting in armies, of capturing and raping young ladies. Ignatius drifted in and out of the conversation.

“I got two sons in Orim, y'know.” The boatman said it loudly, as if knowing that Ignatius was paying him no mind.”

“Really?” Ignatius answered, listening as he had been just to avoid offence.

“Well, only one of 'em was a rightful son. Other took the bastard name of Bull. Both named John like me 'ough.”

“Bastard name?” Ignatius had never heard of such a thing; bastards in Orim went without a name or posed as nephews.

“Septs, from the stars. Old Gods, you know. But I treated him like a real son. Just had to keep up appearances. Got no quarter from the wife or him over all 'at.”

“Their tales would make you laugh even harder. 'Eir Jew friend tells me my Bull nearly owns Orimmo and is about to be made a duke or somethin'. He's a bastard an' he'll outrank his father!”

Ignatius knew of the street gangs of Orim, although it had taken him a blink to connect Tauros to Bull. He knew of the man.

“And my rightful son, younger fella, John Brydges just like me, done become a captain like I did. And 'e's fighting the Hada de la Sur.... if'n 'eir Jew friend is right. Doin' better 'an is father, if Jew's gold rings true.”

Ignatius nodded solemnly. “Those Elves, I think, are why I have been called back to Orim. Everyone knew me as the Hada Killer for a time.... but it was really no difficulty. I'm not a martial cleric.” And even the gold did not make Ignatius any more enthusiastic about having to fight any Elves.

“Oh, elves, I know elves. Strangled one up in Old Skany and....”

Ignatius quit listening and drew his cowl tight against the smell, hoping the real ship was close.