Re: To March for God - Updated 15/11
Quote:
Originally Posted by
ybbon66
So to summarise so far - scabby unwashed Saxon lad, tags along as some ragtag to Noble Normans. Befriended by a Norman who probably had his brains addled with one to many bashes to his head. Go to Rome. Saxon lad is overcome with awe at a few stones laid neatly together. How's that?
:D
The summaries of ybbon66 are fascinating, intriguing, astonishing, and almost hypnotic! :eek:
Now I would like to propose to our ybbon Optimus Maximus....:shifty:...to give us the summaries of the following books:
- The Gospel (The life of the rabbi Jesus in the accounts of his followers).:innocent:
- Epic of Gilgamesh (Probably the earliest work of literature, a Mesopotamian guy who does a lot of things, who goes here and there, who kills this and that.) :hmm:
- The Iliad (the siege and the fall of Troy, a small town on the beautiful coast of Turkey) :)
- Beowulf (a crazy Anglo-Saxon story about a poor abnormal psychopath killed by a ferocius Saxon serial killer) :shocked:
Please ybbon at least the Gospel, please.......:popcorn:
Re: To March for God - Updated 15/11
There's a challenge, but somewhere other than poor old (:grandpa: old!) Rex's tale. A Creative piece in it's own right.
Re: To March for God - Updated 15/11
Quote:
Originally Posted by
ybbon66
So to summarise so far - scabby unwashed Saxon lad, tags along as some ragtag to Noble Normans. Befriended by a Norman who probably had his brains addled with one to many bashes to his head. Go to Rome. Saxon lad is overcome with awe at a few stones laid neatly together. How's that?
:D
Well I could have wrote it in that fashion, but it would have been rather short:tongue:
Quote:
Originally Posted by
Shankbot de Bodemloze
Sounds like a Whale Riders Journey but just with different peoples! :surprise:
Rex, I joke, I joke. :innocent:
Well all these stories are on a theme! Lets face it, its the usual lad goes to war, fights a lot of evil baddies and then (hopefully) ends up victorious. :)
Quote:
Originally Posted by
Diocle
The summaries of ybbon66 are fascinating, intriguing, astonishing, and almost hypnotic! :eek:
Now I would like to propose to our ybbon Optimus Maximus....:shifty:...to give us the summaries of the following books:
- The Gospel (The life of the rabbi Jesus in the accounts of his followers).:innocent:
- Epic of Gilgamesh (Probably the earliest work of literature, a Mesopotamian guy who does a lot of things, who goes here and there, who kills this and that.) :hmm:
- The Iliad (the siege and the fall of Troy, a small town on the beautiful coast of Turkey) :)
- Beowulf (a crazy Anglo-Saxon story about a poor abnormal psychopath killed by a ferocius Saxon serial killer) :shocked:
Please ybbon at least the Gospel, please.......:popcorn:
ybbon's take on the Gospel - is the world really ready for that :hmm::laughter:
Quote:
Originally Posted by
ybbon66
There's a challenge, but somewhere other than poor old (:grandpa: old!) Rex's tale. A Creative piece in it's own right.
Yes please do it elsewhere and stop spamming my thread ;) Oh, and your actually a lot older than me ybbon :) well a few years anyhow... :laughter:
Re: To March for God - Updated 15/11
I read this awhile ago but failed to comment. Sorry about that. Liked the story very much. I hope our hero faces some action before he heads to the Holy Land. Rome can be a dangerous place...
+ rep when able.
Re: To March for God - Updated 15/11
Quote:
Originally Posted by
Scottish King
I read this awhile ago but failed to comment. Sorry about that. Liked the story very much. I hope our hero faces some action before he heads to the Holy Land. Rome can be a dangerous place...
+ rep when able.
Thanks SK, glad you liked it, I haven't been able to update anything this week, work has been manic - I will write an update at some point though I'm sure. :)
Re: To March for God - Updated 15/11
And the Journey continues :D always pleasant to read your updates Rex. Though considering that I am about to read them.... ;)
Ill give feedback in minutes!
Re: To March for God - Updated 15/11
Chapter 2 – the watcher
As Wilfred walked along the road that led under the archway of the massive walls, he took in the sheer scale of the stonework that would have at one time enclosed the entire city. He studied the workmanship intently, even trying to decipher some of the scratched writings and drawings that was dotted on the surface of the stones, some carved by skilled artisans whilst others had been scrawled by generations of Romans and pilgrims, some of which was almost anatomically impossible.
After a while he gave up, although he had a very basic ability to read this was beyond him, meanwhile at his shoulder Francis seemed to be oblivious to the walls they were walking under. A puzzled Wilfred asked his friend a question ‘I thought you would have enjoyed this, you know the walls and everything?’
The Norman shrugged in return ‘well I’ve been through this city gate three times now; it’s beginning to lose its appeal. Besides when we get to the heart of Rome you will see some real sights. I can see you are still struggling with your reading perhaps I can help?’
Wilfred meaningfully patted his sword ‘I don’t need to read or write, I have this, if the lords don’t bother I don’t see why I should either. Books and writing and stuff that’s all for monks!’
Francis looked at his young friend with a pained expression ‘don’t be a fool, they don’t learn because they are either too stupid or lazy, you on the other hand are neither. The Romans and the Greeks were educated men, and since the civilized world has fallen out of their hands and into the hands of barbarians the world has taken a severe turn for the worse, most of those dolts think that an education means that a man can fart in two languages!’
The young Saxon laughed at his friend’s crudity it was so unlike him, but he could sense the frustration that lay behind his friend’s witty remark, he would let Francis teach him to read, after all that was the only real way to shut his friend up.
All the while the men had been talking and taking in the sights they had been heading in the general direction of the Forum Romanum and the coliseum that lay in the heart of the city. As they approached the main sites of Rome Francis veered off and headed towards the Tiber, the river that lay at the heart of the city, ‘We must cross the river here Wilfred, I must take you to see the Castel Sant’Angelo my friend, it was built by the Emperor Hadrian as a mausoleum, but its now a monumental fortress, plus there is a small market here too, we can pick up a few extra provisions.’
As the men crossed the bridge across the Tiber, Wilfred could immediately see the Castel Sant’Angelo before him. His jaw dropped open in astonishment; he had seen the simple castles of England, with their wooden mottes and baileys, but this fortress was in another class. Wilfred strained his neck to look upwards and almost fell backwards as he took in the soaring building that almost touched the sky. Seeing his young friend’s slack-jawed expression Francis laughed and pointed away from the building and back across the bridge over the Tiber. ‘Just wait to you see the coliseum my friend, it makes this building of Hadrian’s seem like a child’s toy! Before we head there lets check out the market its not too far.’
Dragging the still astonished Saxon behind him Francis forged his way through a growing crowd of people that were either on their way to see the sights of the city or were heading to the market for their victuals.
A pair of hazel eyes watched the two foreign warriors closely checking for tale-tale signs of a bulging purse or a loose piece of jewellery. The eyes had watched for some likely mark all morning but so far had had no luck in sighting a potential victim, now perhaps he would have a chance though he would have to be light on his feet. Still it was not a challenge that Vittorio would shirk from, after all he had to make a living. He watched as the two men entered the market area, they were too engrossed in looking for food and beating off the attentions of trinket sellers to notice that they were being closely followed.
Vittorio tailed the men through the market, waiting for one of them to make a purchase, so that when he opened his purse or money bag, he could move quickly to snatch it from the man and head down the back alleys of Roma where no bumbling soldier could catch the best pickpocket west of the Tiber. It wasn’t false pride he knew he was the best; he normally made a very good living from his daily work.
Vittorio studied his prey with intent; the younger man was tall, perhaps around six foot tall, fair haired, blue eyed and a Northerner. Not a Frank, or Norman, possibly an Englishman or even a Dane? The blond youngster was just going from the stage of youthful beanpole to manly physique, the muscle beginning to be honed by practice with weapons of war. The smaller older man was dark haired but fair skinned, most likely a Norman or a Frenchmen, He was marked by war, he had a fine scar that ran from the left side of his face over his cheek and down under the chin, like he had been ripped with a dagger. He carried himself with the assured walk of an experienced soldier, his frame compact and solid, in fact the perfect blueprint for a man at arms.
The Roman knew men and he knew that these two could be trouble, but then that was half the fun! He could hear the two men talking, and even if he didn’t understand what they were talking about he could see what the younger one wanted to do, as from the end of the market a pretty maid had caught his eye. A honey trap! Vittorio recognised the woman immediately, she would lead the unwary, stupid or lustful away from the market for a set of street toughs who would then beat or even kill travellers, sometimes they even leaned on the pickpocket for his day’s takings if they had had an unsuccessful day themselves.
The pickpocket trembled in rage he was about to lose his day’s takings, and this time he hadn’t even been shaken down for them! Already the woman was flashing a leg or a bit of chest at the two men, the younger man seemed ready to run after her as she walked tantalisingly away from the market down a darkened alley, however the older man seemed more reluctant was pointing at their purse and shaking his head. At last the younger one seemed to give up trying to convince his friend, he patted his sword hilt as if too say ‘I’ll be fine’ and strode purposefully after the woman, who flashed him a saucy smile in reward.
From where he was standing Vittorio heard the older man mutter a curse in Italian! How intriguing? The older man walked after his friend shaking his head with a resigned expression on his face, heading down the same alleyway. The pickpocket hesitated a moment longer and then followed swiftly after the men, perhaps he could help the street gang and share in the pickings, not that Giuseppe the leader of the thugs would be likely to give him any coin. Vittorio entered the darkened alley a few seconds after the older man….
Re: To March for God - Updated 03/01
The dangers of Rome. This should be interesting! Another awesome update!
Re: To March for God - Updated 03/01
Quote:
Originally Posted by
Scottish King
The dangers of Rome. This should be interesting! Another awesome update!
Thanks SK I appreciate the feedback as always :)
Re: To March for God - Updated 03/01
Ah a twist. Vittorio to become more ragtag on the road to Jerusalem - assuming they get out of Rome!.
I liked this " education means that a man can fart in two languages!’" - so let's see, England, Ireland, France, Germany, Holland, Belgium, Denmark, Norway, Italy, Canada, USA, Singapore - places I have probably farted (well I've been there so it's a given really :D ) very multi-lingual myself :)
Re: To March for God - Updated 03/01
Quote:
Originally Posted by
Ybbon
Ah a twist. Vittorio to become more ragtag on the road to Jerusalem - assuming they get out of Rome!.
I liked this " education means that a man can fart in two languages!’" - so let's see, England, Ireland, France, Germany, Holland, Belgium, Denmark, Norway, Italy, Canada, USA, Singapore - places I have probably farted (well I've been there so it's a given really :D ) very multi-lingual myself :)
Well I hope you liked it, yes I thought that a little bit of British 'toilet humour' would go down well, if you'll pardon the pun :tongue:
Re: To March for God - Updated 03/01
:blink: And update, for sure?
:surprise:
Good work mate, I can't wait to see what the darkness of that alley will bring...
Re: To March for God - Updated 03/01
Quote:
Originally Posted by
Shankbot de Bodemloze
:blink: And update, for sure?
:surprise:
Good work mate, I can't wait to see what the darkness of that alley will bring...
Who knows what it shall bring...it all depends on where my mind wanders....:tongue:
Re: To March for God - Updated 03/01
Rome during the middle age was less dangerous than today, this for sure! :yes:
Good work RA! I'm with them in the darkness of the 'suburra'...may God protect them! In the end they are at work for Him, for the Big Boss Himself! :shifty:
Re: To March for God - Updated 03/01
Quote:
Originally Posted by
Diocle
Rome during the middle age was less dangerous than today, this for sure! :yes:
Good work RA! I'm with them in the darkness of the 'suburra'...may God protect them! In the end they are at work for Him, for the Big Boss Himself! :shifty:
I went to Rome last summer myself and had no problems, but I know what you mean, still its not a patch on London for villainy :laughter:
Re: To March for God - Updated 03/01
Chapter 3 – the unknown mark
Wilfred’s only thought lay on the buxom maiden who had flashed parts of her amply proportioned anatomy at him; although he could hear Francis calling out warnings in both Norman and Saxon, the lad paid him no heed. However as he began to walk further into the dark alley, with the buildings almost leaning over him and touching the other side of the street and the light of day was almost expunged he had his first misgivings that something was not quite right. He busied himself by avoiding the excrement of both human and animal that lay in the street.
Sensing his hesitation the woman stopped for an instant and pulled out both breasts, teasing Wilfred in a husky seductive voice she pouted at him ‘Amore mio, vieni qui da me e mostrami che sei un uomo!’(1) The young Saxon did not have a clue what she was saying, but the look on her face and her exposed flesh was enough to send him strutting further into the alley like a stray cat on the prowl.
He did place his hand on the hilt of his sword however, and just as he reached almost into the furthest reaches of the alley and was beginning to have second thoughts, the woman stopped walking and leaned on the side of a wall, and slowly began to hitch up her skirts; again she looked at the young man with a seductive grin on her face that would have raised the dead ‘Ora bello, fammi vedere cosa sai fare, dai non essere timido!’(2)With his sights fixed on the rising hem of the harlot’s dress, all thoughts of safety left the mind of the young Saxon; he moved towards the woman and prepared himself for some fun.
Just then Francis came into sight and with a shouted warning drew his own sword, ‘Wilfred, watch out there’s a footpad behind you!’ spinning on his heel, Wilfred just had the chance to avoid a swinging cosh that would have crashed onto the back of his head, the man who swung it was a foul smelling small man, with the pox-ridden face of a rat, the swing though it missed his head crashed into his shoulder numbing his sword arm. The woman snarled at Wilfred and went for a concealed stiletto knife that was hidden under her skirt, as she went for the blade Wilfred forgot all his previous amorous thoughts and head-butted the woman square on the nose which gave off a satisfying crunch, sending her crashing unconscious to the ground, as her knife fell on the floor Wilfred placed his right boot on it to stop anybody else picking it up and then managed to draw his sword with his numb right arm before transferring it to his left hand.
Wilfred turned away from the fallen woman, confident now that there was only the small man left to contend with ‘Right come on then you scum!’ but as he faced back down the alley from where he had entered it he could see at least half a dozen men closing fast on Francis from behind, looking down at the other end of the alley he could see it was a dead end, there was no way out, and all the doors on the street were firmly locked, no cry for help would be answered here, they were trapped, and it was all his fault.
As for the rat faced man he had scuttled back down the alley and had met up with his compatriots, with his arms gesticulating wildly he pointed back down the alley and at the prone form of the woman.
Before Wilfred could shout a warning he could already tell that Francis was aware of the men closing in on him, the Norman had given a contemptuous look at rat-face as he had ran by him, deeming him unworthy to slice open, at least for the moment. Wilfred marched swiftly towards the older man as Francis stood facing the closing pack of street wolves with his sword in his hand and a ferocious look on his face.
Vittorio was the last man to enter the ally, unseen by the others he stayed in the shadows and watched with interest, his original plan to pester Giuseppe for a share of any loot was looking less profitable as he saw that Giuseppe’s woman was flat on the ground and that the two soldiers were side by side with swords drawn, this could be a costly rumble and as such the gang leader would want to keep all the cash to recompense for any losses. Vittorio was now just a spectator.
Slowly the gang formed a semi-circle that began to close the gap between them and their adversaries, from his position Vittorio could see Giuseppe’s bull like form at the centre of his men, he held a short sword in one hand and a dagger in the other, most of his men were armed with either a cudgel or a dagger similar to their leaders. Vittorio smiled this would be good, if the two soldiers knew how to use their swords it might be close, their swords against superior numbers.
The gang leader held up the hand with his sword in and the gang stopped a couple of feet short of the foreign soldiers, Giuseppe pointed at them both and motioned with his own dagger across his throat, ‘Cosa ti immischi vecchio pazzo? Pagherai per questo! Tu e il ragazzo siete già morti!’(3)
To the surprise of Wilfred and the rest of the people in the street Francis replied in the same tongue, ‘Via feccia, siete morti, sarete presto cibo per i pesci nel Tevere!’(4)
Whatever was said was enough for the gang leader to give an animal bellow of rage and head straight for Francis, his sword and dagger whirling away in mid air like some battle crazed Northman of old. The rest of the gang followed their leader hoping to swamp the soldiers with numbers alone. As Giuseppe reached Francis, the Norman neatly stepped to one side of him and brought his blade down with a ferrous smack that was met by the short sword of his enemy, the Italian’s blade snapped in an instant, leaving him with just a dagger to defend himself with, Giuseppe moved fast for a big man however and brought his dagger across with his left hand and raked it down the left forearm of Francis, and for a few seconds a tattoo was exposed on the inside of the lower forearm of the Norman, as with a hiss of pain Francis backed off from the Italian to try to use his sword once more, aiming a swing at the head of the gang leader who ducked beneath the length of steel. Both men edged away from each other, Giuseppe backing still further away and motioning rat-face and another man forward in his stead.
Meanwhile in the recesses of the alley Vittorio was puzzled over the tattoo, he had only ever seen one other identical design and that was on his own arm in exactly the same place, a mark that was placed on him as a small child that he had no knowledge of. He made his mind up on the spot, he could not let the man be killed, he would aid him. If only to find out more about the mysterious mark they both bore. He drew a short concealed mace from behind his back, and moved quietly but quickly down the alleyway.
Wilfred had been busy himself. He had already ran one howling idiot through the gut and finished him with a swift downward thrust to the throat. But that left three men each trying to beat the range of his sword by taking wild swings with either cudgel or dagger. He looked over at Francis but saw that his friend had his own three men to deal with, this did not look good. Added to this was the fact that he was fighting left-handed, his Father being a taskmaster had made Wilfred learn to fight with either hand, but it still felt unnatural to him.
Vittorio could see that both of the soldiers were busily trying to keep themselves alive, he was within killing distance now, and he knew who he should kill, he looked at Giuseppe who like the rest of the gang had his back to him, he would have to kill the man then the rest of the gang would be easy meat. Once he killed him there would be no turning back, the streets would turn their own back on him and he would be an outcast and most likely a target for revenge, but he ached to know the truth about the tattoo, he nodded to himself, yes he must know. He gripped the mace tightly and moved like lightning across the dirty cobbles of the street and with a mighty swing crashed the weapon into the side of Giuseppe’s head; the head seemed to cave in like an over-ripe water melon and the big man crashed to the ground with a resounding thud.
Francis didn’t know who the man was, but he was glad of his appearance, using the distraction of the new attacker he spitted his sword right through the stomach of another of the street robbers, leaving rat face to shout out in alarm at the other three surviving men facing Wilfred, ‘Guiseppe è a terra! L'ha steso quel traditore di Vittorio! Accopperemo questi porci dopo, ora dobbiamo cercare altri uomini!’(5)
Francis and Wilfred watched amazed as the men that had been so vicious and determined in their attack mere moments before, ran like startled hares as soon as their leader had been killed. Warily Francis walked the few feet towards their saviour to thank him; Vittorio placed his mace on the ground to show he meant no harm and rolled the sleeve of his shirt up to expose his tattoo.
Francis looked at the mark wide eyed….
Wilfred stared at the mark then at Francis; he had not seen the same tattoo when Francis’s clothes had been ripped earlier.
Francis spoke to Wilfred first ‘we must leave here, right now and get back to the encampment, I will explain there.’ Turning to Vittorio he spoke to him in Italian ‘Grazie per aver salvato il nostro fratello la vita, ma ora ti prego, vieni con noi, prima che gli uomini tornare!’(6)
Vittorio nodded and followed the two men as they left. The older man had called him brother what did that mean?
...........................................................................................................................................................
...........................................................................................................................................................
(footnotes/translations)
(1) My love, come to me and show me that you're a man!
(2) Now beautiful, let me see what you can do, don’t be shy!
(3) Why do you meddle old fool? You'll pay for this! You and your friend you're already dead!
(4) Street scum, you're dead, you will soon be food for fish in the Tiber!
(5) Giuseppe is down! The traitor Vittorio did for him! Run we will get these pigs later, we must fetch more men!
(6) Thank you for having saved our lives brother, but now I beg you, come with us, before the men come back!
Re: To March for God - Updated 24/01
Who needs Assassins Creed anyway!
I like the Italian, but does this mean we can expect some French? Greek? Arabic? Hebrew? if they make it to the Holy Land you could have made a rod for you own back.
Re: To March for God - Updated 24/01
Wow! Nice plot! The gang and the fight! I like it! Do you see? Rome, ancient whore! always the same, always identical to herself, but I repeat: today she is more dangerous.......
Great work here, and now I'm intrigued by the tattoo....what's happening?.......good story, and we're not even in the Holy Land!.......+rep.
Re: To March for God - Updated 24/01
Quote:
Originally Posted by
Ybbon
Who needs Assassins Creed anyway!
I like the Italian, but does this mean we can expect some French? Greek? Arabic? Hebrew? if they make it to the Holy Land you could have made a rod for you own back.
Glad you liked it and thanks for the rep, I thought I would try something new, hopefully it helped with the immersion a little :) As for all those languages, I think that our friends will all be using English before long!
Quote:
Originally Posted by
Diocle
Wow! Nice plot! The gang and the fight! I like it! Do you see? Rome, ancient whore! always the same, always identical to herself, but I repeat: today she is more dangerous.......
Great work here, and now I'm intrigued by the tattoo....what's happening?.......good story, and we're not even in the Holy Land!.......+rep.
Thank you Diocle firstly for the great feedback and rep but much more importantly for helping me with the Italian passages - it is much appreciated and rep is on its way to you my friend :)
As for the tattoo will shall see eh ;)
Re: To March for God - Updated 24/01
Chapter 4 – A tale told
The Italian looked around the small tent he now found himself sitting in, his hazel eyes flicked nervously between the two foreign soldiers as they sat opposite him, he glanced here or there at the canvas walls of the small tent noting that it was patched and battered in multiple places, Vittorio was not to know that Francis had taken it on campaigns with him long before Wilfred and he had even been born. Francis had smiled reassuringly at the pickpocket and had spoken to him in a calm and measured tone, much as an experienced horseman would do to a startled young colt. The Norman spoke to him in the same fluent Italian as he had used in the dark alleys of the Subura, when the three men had ran full pelt for safety all the way through the heart of Rome, sure that if they stopped to take their breath for even a second that a horde of roman villainy would have descended on them. Francis had held his hands out in an open and friendly gesture ‘Please my friend, don’t be concerned for your safety, my friend and I owe you our lives, our stupidity would have certainly got us killed, if you had not have been around we would have been food for the crows.’
Vittorio breathed a small sigh of relief, he had after all by making the decision to kill Giuseppe, cut himself off from the life he had led up to this point in time, and much more importantly he would now be seen as a traitor by the men of the streets, he would now be classed as worse than a mark, worse than an enemy or a sheriff’s man. His life would be very short lived and his death no doubt extremely painful, unless these two men could offer him a way out, inwardly he cursed himself for intervening and turning his back on the streets he has always known, even as the curiosity to find out about the mysterious tattoo on his arm burned away at his innards.
Meanwhile Wilfred sat looking at both of the other men with a shamefaced expression clear for all to see on his face, although he wanted to know about the mysterious mark that both men shared, he had bitten his tongue in obvious embarrassment, far too guilty to speak out loud, after all he may not understand what the men where saying, but he knew damn well what they were talking about. His youthful indiscretion and lack of self control had almost got them killed, that was until the hooded Italian had intervened and brained the hulking great brute that had lead the gang of footpads that had wanted to slit the soldiers throats.
Wilfred looked at their saviour; he struck the young Saxon as a very unlikely looking sort of hero, if anything he looked even more desperate and degenerate than the gang had been that had tried to rob and kill them. Like most men of Rome, he was small in stature, the Norman Francis was only a little taller, but much more solidly built, honed by years of training and war. This man was wiry; a creature of the streets that had no doubt lived on his wits for most of his short life so far no doubt. Here was a man who lived hand to mouth, Wilfred was sure that the Italian would be no stranger at all to going without food for days on end. With that thought firmly implanted in his head, the Saxon got to his feet and crossed the small tent to where the provisions were stored in a small wool sack, pulling out a small saexe out of the bag; he then proceeded to carve a large helping of cheese, bread and meat for them all to share. He crossed back over the tent and chose to hold the food out to the Italian first whilst with a small friendly nod of his head he sought to encourage the man to take the lion’s share of the offered victuals.
Vittorio looked at the blond youngster and smiled his appreciation, his stomach growled loudly and angrily with anxious anticipation of its first meal in two days, the small man laughed with embarrassment, and with that suddenly any tension that had been in the tent evaporated as the men chuckled and then dived into the food that now lay between them on the hard packed earthen floor. ‘Thank you’ it was the only English that the Italian knew and the words sounded strange as they rolled off his tongue, but he could see the blond youngster’s smile broaden with delight.
The older Norman looked at the two younger men and studied them with a small sense of satisfaction, perhaps these two could get along, which would help if the Italian was going to stick around, and Francis wanted him too, it was a long time since he had seen the mark on another living being. He would need to explain the mystery of the tattoo to both of them, but in doing so he would be placing his and their lives into more danger then fighting off a band of scruffy ruffians presented. There was another problem, could he really trust them? The Saxon after all was only a recent friend and as far as Francis could tell a reasonably devout Christian, and as for the Italian, Francis was still not sure why he had waded in to assist them in their scrap in the first place, the tattoo must have surely been the only reason why the man had decided to intervene; there could be no other logical purpose to his actions. But that still didn’t mean that he could trust him, after all the man was most certainly unaware of his past and had spent a lifetime living on his wits, perhaps he would seek to betray Francis, the Norman shook his head to clear it, no, he would not, because he wore the mark too, that was enough to ensure his silence, once the young man knew the truth.
Francis shrugged any lingering doubts aside; he had spent to long learning how to read a man and to assess their reactions to any given event for him to have any unfounded misgivings now. His gut instinct told him that he could trust Wilfred with any secret, and that the Saxon would put friendship before anything else and as for the Italian, although he didn’t know it he was already in great danger just by being who he was.
The three men ate in companionable silence, this gave Francis further time for him to order the thoughts in his head and ready his tale. He would tell the men one at a time, as after all the men did not share a mutual tongue. He opted to speak to the Italian first, after all the man had a right to know who he was. Francis finished a mouthful of cheese, swallowed down and then spoke to Wilfred, ‘Wilfred, can you leave us alone for a few minutes? I would speak to him first about the mark we share. I promise I will tell you as soon as I have finished with the lad.’
Wilfred nodded at his friend; he was in no position to argue, as he had after all placed them in danger. The man did deserve to know about the mark, although it still puzzled him that his Norman friend had been so secretive about it. Getting to his feet and wiping crumbs off his clothes, he looked at Francis ‘I will go for a walk around camp. I will be back in thirty minutes, would that be sufficient?’
Francis nodded ‘Of course, see you in a while lad.’
Wilfred turned on his heel, lifted the tent flap and left without any fuss.
Francis waited a few seconds and then took a deep breath, he motioned to the pickpocket with a small wave of his hand to turn his attention away from the food he was busily munching and spoke in Italian ’what’s your name my friend?’
The Italian replied ‘My name is Vittorio, and yours?’
The older man nodded, ‘my name is Francis. I have a story that will explain why you have that tattoo. Are you interested in hearing it? Perhaps you could tell me a little about yourself first?’
‘Of course, why do you think I helped you get away from Giuseppe’s men? I’ve always wanted to know about this thing’ Vittorio pointed down at his arm, were once more he had rolled up his sleeve to expose the inked sign on the inside of his left forearm. ‘I was a foundling; the mark was on me when I was left on the steps of a church at Saint Urbino, I don’t know who my parents were or were I am from. What I know is this, I was told I was about two years old when I was found, and the priest that found me would scold me if I did not hide the mark, he never told any other priest about me and I was hidden most of the time in the crypt of the church until I was old enough to know that the mark was something to conceal, the old priest would never tell me why I should hide it, but I know he was afraid of it!? I ran away to Rome as soon as I was old enough to find the answer, but I’ve always been too afraid to share my secret.’
Francis nodded his head in a sage like manner ‘the priest did the right thing, whoever left you there must have known that the old priest was a good man first and a Christian second. The mark you wear, or I should say the tattoo, is a gift, a precious gift that marks you out as better than the milling masses of Rome, or any other city come to think of it.’
Vittorio shrugged his shoulders, ‘If it marks me out as something special than why should I hide it?’
‘Because if certain men became aware of your existence they would kill you in less than a heartbeat, and these men are trained killers, not street thugs. You would not stand a chance against them, though you might if I train you. Let me tell you the story and all will be clear.’
Francis took a deep breath and began ‘in the days of the old Roman Empire it found itself besieged by barbarians on all sides; and with the Christians finally wresting control of the Empire from the pagans, those very same pagans that had conquered the known world and then ruled it successfully for generations. At first the Christian rulers were managing to run the empire adequately, even allowing pagans to continue to practice their beliefs. There came a time however when the Christian Emperors persecuted the pagans and the empire began to crumble from within. Things however took a turn for the worst for the followers of the Christ, when the latest in a line of Christian Emperors died and there was no one left to succeed him, a pagan then took control of the Empire once more, this man was called Julian. Julian turned out to be the best thing that could happen to the Empire, Rome experienced military victories as in times past, the economy grew and people began to prosper, once more pagan rituals were celebrated openly and with joy. In time Julian took his army and faced off against an Empire in the east, there he was slain by a soldier in his own ranks in the pay of the Christians.’
Vittorio listened intently, taking in every word in the hope of finding out about his own mysterious past.
Satisfied that the younger man was still paying attention Francis continued ‘with the death of Julian, once more the Christians were in the ascendancy, in time they became the power you see today, classical pagans, the men who worshipped the true gods of Rome, in stark contrast were at first driven to the edges of the civilisation they had founded and then in the end destroyed. Apart from one small group that is. Julian was thought to be childless, he wasn’t. His descendents fled to the extremities of the empire and thrived in secrecy, until when betrayed from within their own bloodline, they were once more persecuted and then hunted down and virtually destroyed as their pagan ancestors had been. Somehow, some of them managed to survive generation after generation by concealing who they were from the world around them. I am a descendent of Julian, as are you, that mark identifies you as such. There are men in the church who would seek to destroy you, not only for being a pagan, and the tattoo marks you out as such whether you believe or not, but also because of your bloodline, after all you have a claim on this land that you sit upon, and that is a threat to the Church’s power, both spiritual and temporal.’
Vittorio was dumbfounded, the old priest had told him about Julian the apostate! Now it would seem that the old emperor’s blood was in his veins! He looked down at the mark on his forearm, just as Francis rolled up his own sleeve and pointed out its meaning.
‘This, the N stands for Nobiles andthe I for Iulia, this it Latin, which I would hazard that the old priest did not teach you for your own safety. It stands for the Nobles of Julian, in reality, the Sons of Julian.’
Francis stretched his back and stood up, it was now time to tell Wilfred, but just how would the young Saxon react?
