Year 487 Summer Campaign

[Valka]

Valka was very distracted by the apparent disciplining of Felix. She had used his fascination with her to get them there though she hadn't known this was how he would be treated as a result. The woman barely held back her tongue, worried that any mention of him or even speaking in general would only make things worse.

[Intrigue 14 vs skill 8 - failure.]

[GM Craig]

[PM sent to Rodric]

[Artaigne]

Artaigne was clearly not surprised about the rude treatment from these romans, he had come to expect no less, especially if the Praetor was the example that they had to follow.  However, there did seem to be something out of the ordinary going on here, and he put his mind towards trying to get a handle on it.

Courtesy roll: 2 vs 6, success.

[GM Craig]

[PM sent to Artaigne.]

[Artaigne]

The Irishman was about to do something rash.  He could only pray to Christ and his saints that it would work and that Cedwyn would be inspired to forgive him.  Stepping forward slightly he bows to the Praetor and speaks, "My lord Praetor, may it please you to accept the gift of my captive and his potential ransom.  While I may have bested him in battle, his offense is against you and your lands, and it is your right to claim him."

Artaigne stayed down on a knee to see what reaction his gesture brought...silently he hoped that his companions would follow suit, but he wasn't about to speak for them.  He may be brash, but he was not presumptuous.

[Cedwyn]

Cedwyn kept an outwardly calm demeanor but inside he was kicking himself. Of course, the Praetor would likely desire their prisoners.

"Sir Artaigne has the right of it, Praetor. I likewise offer my prisoner to you as a gift."

[Geoffrey]

"Praetor," Rodric said before stepping forward and giving the man a slight bow.

"Sir Rodric of Fault." he continued formally introducing himself.

"It is true, in our culture it is customary, at times, that prisoners of battles be offered the chance to return home should a fitting sum be paid for their return.  My personal belief extends that custom only to soldiers who fought honorably on the battle field, not the filth such as these that have been raiding pillaging the country side.  Sir Cedwyn however is far more merciful than I.  It is one of his best qualities and one of his worst.

Regardless of our beliefs and customs, we are not in our lands, we are guests, if I may be so bold to use the term, in yours.  Here it is your customs that we should bow to.  The crimes these men have committed were on your lands and as such should face your laws, your justice, not ours.  You are the authority here, they are now your prisoners to do with as You will."

[Arne]

Arne listened to Artaigne, Sir Rodric and Sir Cedwyn, and nodded his own assent, despite the fact that he wished he could've ransomed his prisoner and sold his trappings for much-needed money.  "Yes, that is proper."  Thumping his closed right fist against his heart and then extending the arm outward in a Roman salute, he said, "My prisoner and his trappings are, of course, yours to do with as you see fit, Praetor.  These filth were raiding your lands, after all."


OOC:  Ummm, I'm not sure if Arne's prisoner is still alive.  I recall that one of them snuffed it from their wounds.

[Valka]

Valka was loath t so easily give up her prize but pride and greed but would not lend a hand to a successful mission here. She spoke only as loud as the others, feeling it necessary to speak mostly because even Arne had.

"This one surrendered when I could not be bested. He is the one that gave us the information. And He too is yours to do with as you see fit, Praetor."

[GM Craig]

The apparent change in your collective intentions causes a mild transformation in the Centurion King. As some of you noticed, he was on the verge of exerting his authority in uncomfortable ways. Now, however, he seems somewhat mollified. He looks particularly at Artaigne for a moment.

He then nods at one of the knights. "Claudio, deal with the prisoners. But..." he extends a hand at Valka's prisoner, "keep that one."  One of the men, and several soldiers, haul away the Saxons. You feel certain you will never see any of them again.

He looks you all over once again, his glance lingering on Artaigne.

"I am left wondering of the leadership and organization of Uther's band, but despite the lack of leadership it seems Roman ideals of courtesy and honour have rubbed off on your barbarians." He pauses a moment. "Tell your king that I will visit him when I have the leisure time."

He nods at a man in Roman leather armour. He then looks to another man in a shining metal breast plate, who approaches the throne. The two of them go into the tent. Several of the others follow them in.

The man in Roman leather armour steps forward. "Sirs. I am Llyr, the Praetor's senior squire. If you will come with me, I can offer refreshment, shelter and hot food. Grooms will see to your mounts, and have them ready for departure at dawn."

[Cedwyn]

Recognizing they were being dismissed and given the minimal time to recover from travel, Cedwyn politely replied, "Thank you, Llyr. We would welcome that."

[GM Craig]

You are taken to a tent near the edge of the camp, but still within the sentries. Inside there are sleeping pallets, and a roast joint sits steaming on a table.

It is certainly not comfortable conditions, but not much worse than you would expect in a field camp. The Centurion king is at least meeting the minimum requirement for hospitality.

Llyr bows. "Your mounts will be ready by sunrise. Good night." He then withdraws without being dismissed.

You are left on your own.

[Arne]

Roman ideals of courtesy and honor! Courtesy!  Ha! It was a good thing that the howl of derisive laughter had only been in his mind upon hearing the Praetor's statement.  If I had the same "values" as that man, either Sir Cedwyn or Sir Rodric would have had me impaled on a spear by now.  If my own people didn't give me eagle's wings first . . .

As the squire left the tent to them, Arne caught the others' attention with a silent hand gesture.  Pointing to the tent walls, he cupped a hand to his ear and then put a finger to his lips.  The message, he hoped, was simple . . . be careful of your words, for others may be listening.

[Cedwyn]

Cedwyn nodded. They were strangers...nay...foreigners here. Outsiders and clearly the Romans had a very low level of trust. They were almost certainly being watched.

"I believe our embassy is close to its end. On the morn, we'll return to Lindsey where King Uther holds Court presently," the last was said for the benefit of any ears outside the tent. It was not secret information but would be good to have it known. They'd not been able to give the Praetor that detail in his abruptness.

[Arne]

Arne nodded, then chuckled.  "I would like to see the surprise on the raiders' faces when the Preator comes after their ships."  His eyes took on a predator's gleam.  "It would be far more enjoyable to be there in the thick of things, though.  Sir Cedwyn, I shall take first watch in case some Saxon assassins decide to become bold."