Chapter 3 - The Long Road Out Of Eden

"Magan," Egon says, "Is a belligerent zealot. I am not beholden to him. I am here to stop Augustine from enslaving young children and forcing his doctrine on others. I would do the same were he a priest of the old gods or a druid." His gaze moves from Calix, to Muireann, and back to Goewyn. "What I am beholden to is the courtesy extended to us by this man and his family. I will help here if I can."  He turns back to Frithgar. "You must swear that there is no merit to the accusations of these other villagers."

"It is as I have said," Frithgar assures Egon, while Goewyn and Muireann argue in the background. "I swear it."

"And we have upheld our part of protecting his family already. If he is too foolish to leave, knowing that these men will  return and will likely keep returning until they have been hung from a tree, then that is his choice. We have done our part, they must now do theirs if they wish for at least my continued protection. This little one at least has her family to protect her from further harm. Mine does not. Every day and night that I divert from saving my brother is yet another day he is enslaved and held in chains. I would think that all of you would understand how terrible that is to not only an adult, but a child!  If you all wish to stay and protect this family who refuse to do their part now, then so be it. I, however, will not. My brother needs me more than this man does." She walks up to Frithgar, jabbing a finger into his chest. "So, what will it be? Will you stay here and subject your family to further torment? Or will you do the responsible thing and depart?"

Hrothgar had stormed off when Frithgar lashed out and accused the large man of hypocrisy. In the frenzy of it all, Hrothgar said some things he now regrets in hindsight. Why did  he care so much about this forsaken home? If an army were marching on the homestead, how could he stop them? What's more, why  would he stop them? There was so much more in the world. Why should he die for a futile cause? After a short pacing around a nearby shed, Hrothgar returned during Goewyn's ultimatum, "She's got a good point. Hospitality is a gift, and fighting off dangers is fine, but this place is doomed. If they come back stronger, who's to say we'll survive, let alone the family here? Sorry to say, but this place is kindling waiting for a torch."

Frithgar stares at Goewyn and Hrothgar in confusion. "...why do you care? I understand him," the man adds, gesturing to Egon, "but why do you two care to the point of threatening and insulting us? Perhaps we will stay. Perhaps we will be forced to leave. That is a decision that my family will make for itself and I don't owe you an answer right now. Not while corpses litter the fields in front of my daughter's home."

"We could've slept cold in the forest tonight, but you gave us a roof and comfort. In my mind, that's worth standing up for you and yours. I am curious if there's a reason to their hatred, but for now I'd like to return your hospitality by at least helping to clean up all...this." Hrothgar spreads an arm over the bloody field. He holds a hand out to Frithgar, "I am sorry for your loss. Small comfort, at least you didn't lose a wife and child while they lost a lot more. Sadly, I don't think we can't stay for what comes next."

Frithgar nods to Hrothgar in gratitude for the aid in moving the corpses and begins to drag one behind the barn. "If they carry anything of value to you, take it. I have little use for such things."

Egon picks up a shield, hefting it in his hand. He slings it over his shoulder with the attached strap. He looks up at Frithgar. "Whatever you decide to do," he says, "I do not envy your choice. I know what it is to be forced from one's home. It has happened to me twice." He sighs, gazing toward the southeast. "You will do what is best for your family. You have made that clear. I hope it is enough."

Goewyn shakes her head at the man, she could go into a long tirade about losing her own home and parents to a raid and having to make do, but she knew it would do no good. Some people are just beyond stubborn. Instead she simply goes back into the barn and gathers her things quickly and exits after a few minutes. "I will be heading into the woods to find somewhere to finish the night in safety. Anyone who wishes to come with me is welcome, those who remain have made your choice. I will return in the morning to hopefully find all of you still alive."  With that, if it is made clear that no one else is following, she shrugs and disappears into the woodline without another word or look over her shoulder. 

The wan dawn light brings neither warmth nor retribution through the mist that hangs in the damp air. A choir of sparrows sings in the trees, while Tiberius paces back and forth between the graves of Caesar and Maximus, occasionally sniffing at the upturned earth and whimpering softly.

Muireann rises early, quietly packing her bag and securing it to Little Thunder's saddle. She brushes a hand along the horse's neck, murmuring softly to him. A soft whine reaches her ears. "I'll be right back," she whispers to the horse. She tiptoes her way out of the barn, peeking out to see Tiberius pacing between the graves of his fallen brothers.  Quietly, she crosses to the dog, kneeling beside him. Imbuing her voice with the magic of the druids, she speaks to him. "Shh, shh, darling. It's okay," she places a hand on the dog's large shoulder, pressing her forehead to his.  

Tiberius pushes his own head against Muireann's in turn and stays there a long moment, before pulling away and softly howling in sorrow.

Hrothgar emerged in the dawn light with a new mail shirt, graciously gifted by a tenant of a newly dug grave. It was snug on the big man, but he voiced no complaints for extra protection. Not wanting to be caught up in the awkward goodbyes to come, he heads straight for the property edge where he can be seen at a distance by the others to follow. 

Muireann, who had started humming in harmony with Tiberius, glances up as Hrothgar walks by. She frowns slightly as he stops at edge of Frithgar and Coelwen's land, seemingly waiting. For the rest of us? Or for Goewyn? It was hard to get a read on the big man, and she leans her head on Tiberius's shoulder, gently stroking the fur on his neck as she hums, watching him wait. 

Goewyn rises with the cool dawn light, shifting slightly beneath her makeshift shelter as she stops and listens carefully for several minutes for any signs of nearby danger before easing herself out and quickly dismantling it. She stows her gear and strings her father's bow before slipping into the underbrush to return to the homestead where she hopes to find the others still alive. Soon she spots Hrothgar waiting at the edge of the property and decides to give the man a little scare, but the briskness of the morning air makes her joints a bit more stiff than normal and so she misplaces her footing. The slight snap of the twig was enough to draw the warrior's attention and she smiles ruefully at him. "I am glad to see you alive. How fare the others? I think we should leave quickly."   Together, the pair return to find the celt, Muireann singing to one of the few surviving dogs. "It would seem that I was wrong, that is good, but I fear any delay this morning could be more costly than we can pay. I would like for us to be gone from here before that man returns."

Muireann's song fades away as Goewyn and Hrothgar approach. So he was waiting for her. She gently kisses Tiberius on the side of his large head, and clambers to her feet. "I have no problem with that. But these animals needed comforting. I am glad I stayed, if only for them." She scratches Tiberius behind the ears.

Egon shifts from his position alongside the barn. "Let us go," he says, nodding. 

Muireann jumps what feels about ten feet in the air, but is only a few inches in reality. Whirling around, her eyes land on Egon, the Kentish man, casually leaning against the barn wall. She lets out a string of Irish curses before taking a breath, switching to Mercian, a language she knew he understood. "Good morning, I suppose. When did you get up?"

"Apologies," Egon says, stroking his beard with a thumb and forefinger as his mouth curls in a small grin. "I've been up for a while." He takes a knee and scratches Tiberius' neck. "Do you often sing to animals? You seem to have a special relationship with them."

Muireann glances down at the dog, her hand automatically and unconsciously resting on his head. She hesitates, but decides that perhaps he wouldn't think her as strange as most. Perhaps. "As long as I can remember. Nature is...more connected then most would think. The gods have granted me a....kinship with it. And with that, comes a kinship with the creatures that reside in this world. I've always been able to talk to them. To have them talk to me. I feel their pain, their joy, far more deeply than any I've met so far in my life. Ever since....." she falters, thinking of the home she'd been taken from, the home that had been reduced to ashes. She looks at Egon with a deep, sorrowful look in her eyes. "Ever since I was enslaved, it's become more important to me than ever. It's the legacy of my people. I've yet to meet any on this island who are blessed with the same."  What I would give to return. But it's all gone now. I can never go back. The thought nearly brings tears to her eyes. 

Egon listens, still scratching the dog's neck. Her gods...Celtic gods had given her power. Calix's god...this Christ, had given him power, too. Both gods had power and had bestowed it on their people. His memories of the previous night surface, and his grin fades. These gods -- his gods, Muireann's gods, the Christian god -- they were all real. They all had power. They all clearly had some affection for their followers. But still, evil won out. Corrupting, pervasive, persistent evil was the true power in the world -- more powerful than any god. The thought was sickening. "You represent your people well, Muireann," Egon says finally, forcing himself to leave his foul mood behind. "Too few see the beauty of the natural world."

Muireann can feel a burning in the back of her eyes as tears threaten to spill once more. She looks at Goewyn and Hrothgar, standing there. Calix, presumably, was still sleeping. Or awake, but not yet outside. She turns back to Egon. "So few understand," she says softly. "Tiberius feels great sorrow for the loss of his brothers. As deeply as you and I feel." She kneels back down, level with Egon and Tiberius. "Live for them, sweetling. Live for the lives they no longer have. They will always be with you." She looks back to Egon. "Though he may not fully understand the words I say, meaning is found in the way in which we speak. The way we move. All beings understand those things. And they understand them well." 

Egon nods, seeing the world through Muireann's eyes for just a moment. Every living thing was a part of her world, from the worms in the dirt to the wolves that roamed the forest. It was a less empty, less cold way to see the world. He envied her for that. Giving Tiberius one final pat on the head, he stands. "We should prepare to move," he says.

Comic Sans said: Muireann's song fades away as Goewyn and Hrothgar approach. So he was waiting for her. She gently kisses Tiberius on the side of his large head, and clambers to her feet. "I have no problem with that. But these animals needed comforting. I am glad I stayed, if only for them." She scratches Tiberius behind the ears. Goewyn nods her understanding. While she felt a sympathy, there was no room in her heart for anything else but the drive to find her brother. Too much had happened to the young girl to feel all the pain that this world had thrown at her. She often wondered how others did it; Magan and the others, worrying about so much more than... she shakes herself out of her self reflection as Egon makes a statement. "Yes, I am already prepared. I wish us to be gone soon."

Around noon, the five travellers pass the town of Calleva, before heading due east for the rest of the afternoon, until the ancient Roman buildings of Londinium and it's trading centre of Ludnen-wic grow ever larger on the horizon. This should be the last night spent on the road, before arriving in Cantwareburh the next day.

Egon gazes out at the landscape. The noise from the busy -- and potentially dangerous -- trading center can be heard even from this far away.  "Let us avoid Lunden-wic,"  Egon says, shifting in his saddle. The two silver armbands in one of his pockets rattle together, and he grimaces. This would be the best opportunity to offload the torcs given to them by the ealdorman of Corinium. "Actually, we had better sell off these bracelets. We'll need silver in the days to come."

Hrothgar glances over at the trade city, then back to Egon, "Something got you rattled in those walls? We can always set up a short ride away and two of us can take care of those and supplies."

Goewyn nods her agreement. "Yes, silver and supplies would be good." She glances over at Egon to see what his response to Hrothgar's question would be. 

"Nothing has me rattled , per se," Egon says, unsure exactly how to phrase this. "But I'd just like to maintain a low profile in Lundenwic."

Muireann, though glad to be on the road again, had spent much of their trek shrouded in silence and sorrow. Little Thunder had picked up on her mood easily enough, every so often glancing back at her, as if to ask if she was alright. Every time, she would pat his neck reassuringly, but her mood didn't lighten. When they stop on the edges of civilization, she blinks herself back to reality. "Have you run into trouble in....Ludenwic.....before?" She takes a moment to sound out the name of the city. 

"Not trouble, perse," Egon says, shifting in his saddle. "There are people here who may recognize me. That would not be good for us."

Muireann nods slowly, noting the man's discomfort. At least she didn't need to worry about hiding. Anyone who might recognize her was either dead or in Ireland. As far as she knew.

Goewyn nods. "Then perhaps as Hrothgar suggested, only some of us go in. Perhaps it would be best that you do not go in at all. I would go, but... I am not experienced with merchants and trade."  She looked at the other three to see if one of them might be a better choice. 

Egon nods, seeing the wisdom of the suggestion. He hands two silver bracelets to Calix. "Sell one for you, one for me," he says.

Muireann looks at the town spread out before them. It was big. Bigger than the ones they'd been to so far. And they were stifling. Too far from the open spaces of the natural world she preferred to any sort of modern civilization. She glances at Egon. "Want some company? I'm not...fond of cities."

Hrothgar beams a skeptical eye at Egon as the silver bracelets pass to Calix, "I'll be there, too. I hear your God is very trusting and asks for your money. Wouldn't want a merchant selling you short then have you throwing money at a church now."

Egon nods to Muireann. "Of course," he says. "We'll wait out here."

Calix takes the bracelets from Egon with a nod, fingers curling around them and wondering vaguely if they somehow feel heavier. "I trust a God who is honored in gold more than one honored in blood." He skirts past Hrothgar, clapping a hand on the huge man's shoulder as he passes. "I hear your gods asks for your virgins. Fear not, should they come for you while we're in there, I'll protect you."

Hrothgar scoffs, then slings his axe before following along. On the ride to the city gates, he pushes the conversation, as much to pass time as anything else. "My gods demand all manner of things, because they seek the pleasures we create. What good is powerful without simple pleasures? If we die and are favored, we join our gods and share the gifts we gave them so long ago. I hear the Christ-God already has everything, so why does he need gold and silver? Is he really so greedy?"

Calix hadn't expected a sincere question and gives Hrothgar a sidelong look. "He doesn't need it. Nor does He ask for it. Our altars are made with it because it is precious, and there is no more apt way to prove devotion than to venerate Him with what we could easily spend. The gold we tithe isn't thrown into a pit once given. The priests and monks use it to spread His word. Money well spent, it seems, for you to have heard of Him at all." His palm passes over the pommel of his sweord before he adds begrudgingly, "And for yours, if you are not favored? What then? No hall of mead and women to ravage? Where do you go then?"

"Sounds like someone is tricking you into giving money to people who shouldn't need money if their people cared for their works. Our sages and priests are given whatever they need in equal measure to what they provide for the people."  Hrothgar carried no outward enthusiasm for the clergy of his own gods. His description was more matter-of-fact. "As for my gods, though, ask yourself what happens to a wolf that has not eaten until it's fat or hunted at the back of its pack. It dies, cold and forgotten, no more useful in death as it was in life. Such is the same with our gods. Woden, Thunor, Frig, all of them demand us to create, explore, fight, and be great in life so we may die sharing our stories with them after. I do not think for what may happen if I die disgraced and forgotten, because I don't mean to."  Again, an oddly contrasting flatness permeates Hrothgar's speech.

As Calix and Hrothgar talk, Lundenwic draws steadily nearer. It's not so much a city with defined edges as it is an overgrown market with dwellings of various levels of quality that have sprung up around it. Already, the pair are passing growing numbers of local peasants as they head for the heard of the wic where the traders' stalls can be found.

Egon looks to Muireann as Calix and Hrothgar ride away. "I do hope they can remain cordial," he says. "It wouldn't do to have them try to kill each other in town."

Muireann snorts, sliding off of Little Thunder's back, patting the horse on the neck. "There are far more who would kill a Christian for less. I'm sure they'll be fine."

Hrothgar moves through the crowd like hired muscle escorting a frail, arrogant lord. Everyone gives way readily enough save for a couple of rowdy young men who freeze at feeling a heavily hand nudge their shoulders aside. Among the merchant stalls, Hrothgar finds one interested in the silver bands. At the first sign of interest, he puts the first move on the merchant, "How much will you give for these?"  It seems less a question and more of a statement.

Hrothgar has stopped at a stall laden with cowhide, sheepskin, cloths and furs. Cloaks, blankets and other items of clothing are neatly folded in piles along the front. Boots and shoes stand in rows along the side. The merchant is a bald, heavy set man with a black lamb-chop beard. He watches Hrothgar warily, but the silver bracelet catches his eye. "Half a dozen tunics for one," he offers.

Calix exhales sharply through his nose in amusement, a scoff he does little to repress as he looks to the man and away from the neighboring stall. If there's anything being a younger brother to many had taught him, it was the importance of value.  "I heard half a dozen tunics and four pairs of boots," he states in his too-smooth accent. "Fair deal."

Hrothgar genuinely smile wide at Calix, clearly showing his worth where Hrothgar would've failed and walked away poorer than he started. "We appreciate you noticing the value of this item, and further appreciate such a generous offer. Need to say, though, this much silver would feed a family for a while. Could you also add four cloaks? Nothing much, just something for sun and rain."  The large man leans over the small surface keeping the three men apart, clearly suggesting without much option for answer.

The merchant's lips twist into something between a grimace and a smile. "You two drive a hard bargain..." he remarks, picking out some cloaks from behind his stall, "but I can work with that."

Hrothgar beams a wide smile, "Great, settled then."  He takes the goods as the armband is handed over and hustled out the door. "Now, food for the road. Anything else?"