[Pendragon Side-Quest] - 487, On Cymric Neck a Saxon Yolk

Pendragon: Tales of Chivalry and Sorcery is the place to go if you want to play Pendragon. Cpt._Funkotron will be your GM, with assistance from CarrieVS.

Re: [Pendragon Side-Quest] - 487, On Cymric Neck a Saxon Yol

Postby CarrieVS » Mon Jul 09, 2018 11:34 pm

Paraphrased from Discord:

They realise they are being followed, and shorty after that their pursuers catch them up. A thegn with a number of warriors. Leogan thinks he can talk to them. Eliver and Miles agree, though prepare themselves for a fight if it does not go to plan.

Their guide lowers his hood and gives a long introduction. The two knights do not understand the language, but try to make out what they can. The word "Leogan" never crosses his lips, but a few other names do pop up in the conversation. "Hengest", "Rowena", "Wyrtgeorn", "Cerdic", and "Aethelswith". He shows them the runes on his sword and walks among the Saxons giving them gifts, and the patrol seems to warm to him. He turns to you "They're escorting us to Camulodunum"

"Well if they don't mean to do us harm, we can't object too strongly to that," Eliver says.

Miles looks suspicious. "I suppose not."

"They think we're merchants, so try not to look too noble" jokes Leogan

"Do they understand British at all?" Eliver asks in a lowered voice, though Leogan's remark suggests they don't.

"Not a word of it, these men are a day off the boat if they're a minute."

Along the way, Leogan continues to wax philosophical. You pass by a farmstead, and it allows for him to do so at a cross section illustration. A ceorl and his boy are swordfighting playfully with a pair of sticks and shields, while nearby dark-haired women in shabby dresses do the laundry, and a few dozen yards away a saxon woman perhaps the ceorl's wife, directs a few fieldhands while they bale summer hey.

"You see, I think this is why your "king" has so much trouble in conquering them. In Logres, it is one man in a thousand who is chosen to be a master and a warrior, here every free man is the master of his own land and a warrior in it's service. Every fence is a rampart, every shed is a keep. Individually no match for a knight of course, but ten thousand free saxons add up. Their Thegns and Earls are leaders, not owners. Which is a curse in it's own right. I don't think the kings could stop their people from raiding if they tried. They have no written language, and their laws are simple, barbaric, and have no regard for slaves or foreigners. I think there is much for Briton and Saxon to learn from eachother, but woe betide the British if it is done under a saxon king." as he says this, they pass near a hanging tree, with a priest hanging from it.

"I'm not sure how much happier the Saxons would be were it done under a British king. You're probably right, we could learn a lot, but 'could' and 'can,' leave alone 'will,' are two different things."

"Perhaps a mixture of the two then" he remarks wryly.

"Perhaps. But then, they tried that a generation back, and came to no end of grief. Though I suppose Vortigern's son by his Saxon bride never came to be king. It was Vortigern himself, and he British."

"Vortigern and Rowena had many sons, and their day has not yet set." he says darkly. He says something to their saxon escort, and gets a response. "I've asked them if we can pass through Eleachstead on the way to Camulodunum. I'm afraid I must leave you there, my business is in the town."

Eliver thanks him for his good service and assistance thus far.

"Fare thee well, Sir Eliver and Sir Miles."

They reach Eleachstead. It is a small estate with clusters and hamlets dotted around, and the chief farmstead in the center, surrounded by a ditch, rampart, and palisade. Many of the peasants working the fields appear to be Cymric slaves. Eliver approaches one. "Hello there! Can you tell a couple of travellers what place this is, and who owns it?

"Thegn Eleach is our master, and this is Eleach's stead."

"A few years ago it was called Westmeadow."

"Just Eleachstead now."

While peasants, granted, they don't appear to be much worse off than their own peasants back home. "What's your business, traveller?" asks one.

Thegn Eleach? It's obvious now it's said that way what the name of the place signifies.
Another El, this one a Saxon. Or... Eleach doesn't sound so very different from Elaine. He didn't say specifically that Eleach was a man... And if what he's beginning to suspect is the case they're not like to be in any danger from the inhabitants of Eleach's Stead. But they must tread carefully until they know whether or not there is a Saxon Thegn Eleach who may have Sir Elaine in his power in some fashion. "We're headed to Camulodunum, but passing by here in hope of meeting someone I know. Tell me, has your Thegn Eleach a wife, or perhaps a woman warrior in his service?" That ought to find out something.

The man laughs. "You must not know Eleach. She hasn't got a wife, but her husband is the Gerefa, their word for our bailiff."

"She's a briton, like us"

"Then she's who I've come to find. I know her by a different name."

"Go ask at the hall"

"Thank you."

They carry on past the palisade and towards the hall. They hear her before they see her. "Eliver!" he feels himself lifted up a few inches into the air, with powerful arms wrapped around him from behind, and a woman's chin on his shoulder.

"Elaine!" He lets his big sister hug him for a few moments, then shoves at her arm,. "Alright, put me down now. I want to actually see you." She does, and he turns round and embraces her in return. "Are you well? I didn't do you any great harm, when I... when we met last?"

"Well you were a lot stronger than when I'd seen you last, but I'm a big girl and it takes a lot to kill me. I'm more sore about my ship than my wounds" she appears to be happy and healthy, dressed in a fine Saxon tunic and a fur cloak, her hair done back in a braid.

Eliver smiles, but not quite whole-heartedly. He is glad, more than glad, to see her safe and well, no matter what else. But it seems his sister really is with the Saxons now, and doing better for herself than she'd have hoped to do at home. Good, of course, that she's apparently been well and happy all this time, but he'd hoped to bring her joyfully back home...

"I think we've a lot to talk about. I've news from home, and you owe me a good story after making me come all this way. " Miles is standing back a little way, not wanting to intrude on their reunion. El grabs him by the arm. "El, this is Sir Miles of Wylye, a very dear friend of mine. Miles, Sir Elaine, my eldest sister. Or must I call you Thegn Eleach now?" The Saxon name seems very strange on his tongue. "I think I'll stick to El. It does well enough for either."

"....Pleased to meet you..." Miles says.

"How do you do, Sir Miles? Come on inside both of you, you must be starving, I'll tell you all about it. Gwen! Go fetch the other girls and start supper, we have honored guests" she takes them inside the hall, a large building of simpler construction than manor halls back home. It has only one story, divided between the hall proper with a ring of tables and benches around a firepit, and a walled private quarter in the far third of the building. A few Saxon warriors are already sat around the fire drinking mead. A little boy, about two, is playing by the bedroom, and runs up to his mother. She heaves him up as they sit at the head table, his little arms around her neck. His hair is blond. On Cymric neck a Saxon Yolk.

"This is your nephew Rolf"

"Rolf." Eliver reaches to tousled the little blond head, with a genuine smile. His nephew, Elaine's child. No matter what else. Miles pokes Rolf in the belly and makes a face at him.

The child laughs delightedly. She puts him down and he runs back from where he came. "It's the Saxon name for Robert." She smiles at Eliver. "Well as you know three years ago I was on contract at Camulodunum, and as you may guess it wasn't very long before I was out of a job. I was captured by one of Cyning (Kyoo-ning), King, Aethelswith's captains, an Aetheling, Prince, named Cerdic. Instead of killing me or ransoming me, he offered me a place in his service. He promised me my own hall and stead if I served him well and the Saxons conquered Caercolun, and, well, I accepted. And he was true to his word.

"Prince Cerdic is a great man, half Briton himself, son of old Vortigern, or Wyrtgeorn as the Saxons call him. He carved his own much larger stead about halfway between here and Colchester, Camulodunum, but no one's actually seen him in about a year. He's travelled far they say, from Rome to Norway to Ireland and back. Rumor has it he may have been off seeing the sights of his old father's kingdom. Anyway, I took dear Godric as my husband and here we are. I've a son, ten hides of land, fifteen spears at my back, and up until a few months ago I had my own ship, although I suppose that can't be helped."

Rome to Norway to Ireland; the phrasing Elaine uses jogs his memory. The names she mentions, too. Well.

"Well, I'd come here thinking you'd be happy to hear Woodford would keep us both now. We've had some good fortune the past year or two. But being household knight to your baby brother doesn't quite measure up to ten hides of land to call your own." He smiles again, wistfully. "You're happy, and well, and what else matters? I could wish you were just as happy in Salisbury, if wishing was ever going to change anything.

"And I'm beginning to think Leogan" he lets out a snort of laughter, "had a point. About Saxons and Britons. Tell me, this Cerdic, he's green eyes and untidy hair, has he not?"

"He has, handsome devil too. Why, have you met him?"

"He only guided us here from Salisbury, and left us practically upon your doorstep. He must've known everything from the start. And to think I spoke of Vortigern's son to him! Now I understand his reply. And other things. He called himself Leogan - I don't wonder he didn't own his true name. The son of Vortigern might not find himself overly welcome amongst most Britons. But I reckon he's a good man, whatever grief his father might have caused."

She giggles. "You might have figured it out sooner if you'd known any Saxon, brother. Leogan means falsehood"

Eliver laughs too. Then he starts relating he news from home. With three years to cover it takes a while, even restricted to the major points. Alicia's marriage - though not the entire story of that - and her little daughter "not much younger than your Rolf." Moreid's children - two more born, another on the way, since Elaine was last at home, but poor Aiden gone last year. Cousin Persi being called the best sword in Salisbury now, and Sir Roderick's own champion, and lord of half the hundred after his marriage. And the scandal of his other marriage.
"And if you'll believe it, your brother is a famous slayer of monsters." He tells her about the Beast of Imber, and the Sword Lake business last year.




The journey home is uneventful. Elaine's men escort them back to Logres, so there is little fear of trouble from Saxon patrols, and as they're no longer in such a hurry they ride the long way back, around the Thames valley giving Silchester a wide berth.

As Eliver approaches home he begins to ride a little more slowly.

His mother comes hurrying almost before he has got off his horse. She greets him warmly and says nothing else, but he can see the disappointment in her eyes.

"We found her," he says. "She's safe and well."

"But she's not coming home?"

"No."

Once again, there's a lot to tell. How they found Elaine, how she's now Thegn Eleach of Eleachstead. That she has a husband she appears to love, and a son named for his grandfather. Anwen smiles at that.

"But she is fighting for the Saxons now?" Sir Crispin finally asks.

It can't entirely be denied. "But I can hardly begrudge her her happiness, when she never held it against me that my birth put her out of her inheritance. And her lord is as much British as he is Saxon, and seems to care just as much for Britons. I hope his ambition won't cause as much heartache as his father's did, but he's been nothing but good to her, and earned her loyalty."

"His father? Who is this lord?"

"Cerdic ap Vortigern."
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