539: The Mercenary Life, Year Three

Sir Amadis here...

Do you know, in these parts they have a marvelous way with wine, turning it into a most potent yet flavorful drink? Armagnac, they call it. Whenever we pillage a monastary or town with a distillery I try to grab a bottle or two. When I sip it, I recall the strangely green fields of Faerie, or sometimes the almost-fetid forest smell of Britain, when summer is high and the woods choked with vines, rotting fruit, and earth. I love that smell. Here it's all dry and dust and resinous, even when we're marching through the endless fields of lavender. As I lie here in camp, my head resting on my saddle as I sip a small cup of armagnac and watch Arce, Crespo and Escara play dice, I can still smell the lavender on the leather.

In two or three days, the king says we will be in Bordeaux, in the same place as the largest remaining Aquitanian army. We are all wondering what will happen: will allies show up as promised? Will we win this fight then go home to our wives and children? Or will King Theudis turn his sights on kingdoms and counties beyond the Dordogne?

We've heard that King Arthur and his Round Table knights are fighting the King of the Franks in the north, chasing after a damosel. Everyone says Arthur is after a new wife. What happened to Queen Guenevere? I wonder, are Sirs Gwalchmai and King Edar there, too? Will we march toward Paris after we take Bordeaux?

Julian, my trustworthy squire of many, many years, died from a fever. We buried him under an old oak tree. Sanza's my squire now, but he is hopeless.


Extavias here...

What a trial. We were given our freedom by the suprisingly noble knight of the green fields, in return for our pledge to pay our ransom later. So for the last 3 years we have been selling ourselves as mercenaries on the continent to the highest bidder. I know I am only a squire still, but with all these years of fighting under my belt, id wager that I am a good deal hardier than most of my Leicester brethren even though I am no knight. Some men say that I am finally starting to fill out and gain my muscle and a little mass and thats making me look more like my father Brandegoris, but In reality I will never be as large as my father. I have too much of my mother, Brianna in me. The roman heritage from Caerwent runs fairly strong within me. I am not small, but I am no giant.

Anyway, the most ludicrous thing happened during the fighting. We met up, quite accidently with brave sir Amadis!!!!!!!!!!!! There has been much tragedy these last few years and Amadis gives us a little bit hope and joy. He and CynFyn even made amends, and have accepted each other as fellow candlebees and brothers.

Now we await the " BEEHIVE" 's return as we sit in Bordeaux. We all did very well in the pillaging and bought our freedom, with still s decent amount of coin to aid Count Edar with his financial problems, as was the reason behind our coming to the continent initially. So with Good sir Amadis in tow we hope to be back home by pentecost at least! HAzzaahhh!!!