Carlisle Castle, Ward of the North.

[Gandalfus]

He sighed.

I already know the state of the church, my lord. They have been wealthy for the past... Well, as long as anyone can remember. The only thing I really need to look into is how much they are collecting, the reliability of the bishops... Accounts and the like.

[Mors Vigilia]

Carlisle grunted and nodded.

You have asked me all that you wish?

[Gandalfus]

He nodded.

Yes, my lord.

[Mors Vigilia]

The same questions that you asked Lord Leicester?

[Ace_General]

de Clare stands and says

Well nice meeting you my lord, but I think I shall take my leave

[Gandalfus]

The same questions that you asked Lord Leicester?

He shrugged.

Maybe. Depends how they respond to my questioning. Information, and all that.

[Mors Vigilia]

de Clare stands and says

Well nice meeting you my lord, but I think I shall take my leave

Carlisle blinked at the man before turning over the mutton in the coals and brushing off some ash, as if to emphasise the rudeness of the situation.

Very well.

He shrugged.

Maybe. Depends how they respond to my questioning. Information, and all that.

Carlisle's fingers began to drum rhythmically on the chair again.

And how did the Earl respond?

[Gandalfus]

He smirked slyly.

Similar to you, my lord. Although at first he mistook me for some rabble rouser, or the leader of a rebel movement.

[Mors Vigilia]

Walter gave a small embarrassed smile, remembering his first impression of the Knight. Carlisle swigged from his cup and carefully eyed Sir William once again, as if checking for tell tale rebel signs...

Most unfortunate... Very well then, you have leave to write your letter.

[Gandalfus]

He bows, and leaves.

[Mors Vigilia]

Carlisle yawns before draining his cup and setting it aside.

Walter, see that I am informed when he leaves.

[Mors Vigilia]

After Sir William had departed the city (I assume), Walter returned and gave Carlisle a nod.

Your horse is saddled at the gate, Richard. Should I send to Lord Leicester and let him know that you are on your way?

Carlisle shook his head slowly.

You read me too well, Walter. I may go to Bedford too after I hear what Leicester has to say, I'll return here to the castle after.

With that, Carlisle retrieved his things and headed towards the castle gate.

[René Artois]

After weeks of fruitlessly travelling the land, trying to find some work but usually ending up stealing what they needed, from houses, markets and even a few unarmed travellers who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, Roger and his little sister trudge on through the landscape. He wasn't proud of what he'd done, but he wasn't going to let her starve, and she was already skinny as a rake. So still they went on slowly, towards Carlisle.

[Mors Vigilia]

The few people they saw were not that much better off than the pair. The difficult transitional period from Scottish to Norman overlords still loomed uneasily upon Cumberland, with Carlisle the only somewhat bountiful place within it due to the Norman migrants now making their homes here. Before Roger and his sister lay the forked road ahead. Down the left path lay the city of Carlisle, overlooked by the motte-and-bailey castle that lay at the end of the right path, the last homely place before the Scotish border.

[René Artois]

Deciding the town looked like a bit of a dump, Roger decided to try his luck at the castle. At the very least he could scrounge some food from the kitchens, after all, what kind of person could turn away a sweet and malnourished little girl and her somewhat rougher looking brother. As they approached the gate Roger wiped his muddy face with his sleeve, which it turned out was not much cleaner. They reached the gate and he stopped, standing there and admiring the castle, trying his best to not appear as if he was up to any kind of mischief. It wasn't as big or strong as the one at home, though from his view it was just as looming. Roger's sister rolled her eyes and tugged on his tunic, putting on a brave facade whilst surreptitiously taking a step sideways to hide behind him.

[Mors Vigilia]

With their attention fixed on the castle the two failed to notice someone coming up behind them until Roger felt a bony grip upon his shoulder...



Excuse me, boy, I need to get past.

The old man spoke in Norman French, indicating the castle with a flick of his hand as his intended destination.

[René Artois]

Eh?
Roger replied, turning around in a startled manner.

[Mors Vigilia]

The castle?

The man - Walter Fitzwilliam - then repeated himself in English, being quite familiar with the language as a tutor and a scholar.

You are in my way.

Though he would rather not inconvenience himself with the indigenous children, he was not an unkind man.

[René Artois]

Castle... your castle?
Roger spoke with a glimmer of hope...

[Mors Vigilia]

I am steward of this castle, yes.

Walter was about to say that it was not technically his castle but the glimmer in Roger's eye made the old man unwilling to disappoint him.