Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 {Setting: This starts in "Lassiter Castle" a fictional stone Motte and
Bailey tower like fort on a hill, with a wall around it, and a fighting
yard.  (The Bailey.) Somewhat north of Bristol, the closest major Port with
shipping to the Continent.  On a hill SW of St.  Arilda church, Cowhill
Bristol.  Within line of sight of the Severn "River" though it's debatable
at what point it turns into Bristol Bay.  (Incidentally, nowhere near the
city of Leicester) Basically as a lookout for anyone (Probably Welsh)
trying to invade from the river/bay.
Historical note: The Swiss forces were routed by Burgundy reinforcements
at the Siege of Nancy, in this timeline.  They actually retreated to
Zurich, and drove the pursuit force back with reinforcements from Bern, but
having proven their point, the Houses of Burgundy then took over the rest
of France.  Now, they are in the process of consolidating power, and
driving the Lancaster houses, back out to Normadie.  Which is ultimately
why some of the family is sent to winter with the East Earls of March,
allies of both the Landcasters (Against the Houses of York in London) and

the Swiss Confederacy.

   Unlike Switzerlund, it's a clusterfuck of Angles, Saxons, Normans, and
the few remaining indigenous tribes.  Around War of the Roses, this is just
the Earls of March!  So, they do put on armor in the morning as part of
their uniform, because they might actually be attacked.  The
Lacy/Lasci/Lassiters are a mix of rival/allied families, blending, and
fighting between the 3 main powers that eventually bred modern Brits, and
are invading Ireland.  This one's not real sexually explicit, at all. 
Unless you're turned on by fighting, and adventure like Milne, but I just
wanted to write it.  What erotic content there is is in euphemism, or with
a degree of separation, because they don't write about it.

   Written into the inside of the Illuminated (Title, with a stylized Mural
of a picture) page of a book, and continuing on around the Gloss.  Eine
Engelishe, as she would think it.  Better at writing it than speak it
aloud, mostly from reading it in this book/letter exchange.  Only 1 half of
the correspondence, the other half halfway across Europe, at this point. 
Several months ride, with legs over lake, and river boats, and a ship
around southern Brittain, from the Norman port of Callais to avoid the
Burgundy, but the Channel is dominated by the house of York.  Enemies in
the latter War of the Roses (The white ones) so the independent ship has to
change flags on it's way through, then around Plymouth.  They both know the
trip, so don't write, or talk about it much.

   TWs: Cani, Sade, Sodo, Best, Rape, Blut, and Mort.  Approaching Snuff
territory, with some relatively social and acceptible Pedo-to-EpheboPhilae,
due to the cultural substrate.  Also, some Transvetic fetishism.}

   ;

   Hartmann {MMfdoM}

   "Our lady, Bavard could protect until she took over.  That summer, I
learned more than I had in 2 dozen years.  Over swordplay, and loveplay. 
My father was a woodMann, he hunted as well, but made most of his living
hauling in timber, and carving.  Not a carpenter, which he could do, but
found more money and reknown with his faces, heads, and especially hair. 
He showed me, how to find it in the wood, the threads that flow through it
as hair.  Or water, even blades of grass, and pikes moving through the
fields.

   At home, his Meisterwerk was as a table, no one would sit on, showing
Hannibal driving through the fields of Airolo.  Elephant, and an army of
shields with spears from the top of a stump.  The mountains, and pass down
to Milan, he could see through the doors when open.  All who viewed it
wanted something carved, even so simple as a walking stick, but rooted to
the floor of the house.  He could not bring it with us, but that is how he
could afford to raise me better.

   {He couldn't exactly do the 47 Ronin.  Incidentally, the farthest North
he was supposed to have marched was St.  Bernard's Pass, which is nowhere
near Airolo, so this may be local legend/marketing.}

   In Breinz, on the end of the lake, he started a model of the city which
he did not finish, but I found my kraft in the hunt.  Wilst he looked for
wood, to bring back, he passed in winter to a cough, and fever until he did
not wake up, cold in the night.  My mother raised me as well as could, with
the inhieritance we moved again to Insteltwalden.

   The bay, on a boat, I learned to rock to sleep in it, and she had plants
on the deck.  Over the cabin, instead of a roof, or garden.  There is a
deck, my father did not make it for her, but carved it, before he died. 
She loved the see, and sailed us out here, when the ice was gone, to visit
with the fishers, and loved the village.  We did not fish, but he carved
the fish, and fishfolk.  Fishfrau, as her, at the head of their bed.

   I hanged, as a sausage beside the door, but it made the rocking more
gentle, as I drifted off to dreamlund.

   Then, the Baron came, with his daughter, whole loved the village as
well. One spring, and she was beautiful, I imagined being hers, but not
that I could.  'Twas but a fantasy, but they returned with his fleet.  I
had to pay, to move my hausBoot around the horn, as it has no sails, and I
can not row it myself.  I am not a sailor, as some may think, living on a
boat.  I can fish, but you can not stalk them, as with game.

   I prefer the hunt.  Not the kill, for all the work that comes after. 
Following it down the slope, and fixing it to carry back to town, but I eat
well, fix the furs, and sell leathers.  To the tailer, I knew him from
Brienz, but he came to test the guard, when they came.  He told me he held
back, from beating Bavard because he did not want his job.  Protecting the
girl, her virginity.

   I don't want that duty, either, which put me at odds with Bavard.  It
drove him mad, I believe.  You say mad for Anger, and Insanity?  Yes, first
anger, then murderous rage, he had to be killed.  She beat him, with his
anger.  I saw it, he saw me touching her hair, I was not told, but I knew
better.  I could not resist, with her right there, my eyes refleting in
hers, and the whisp that pulled free from shwertSpiel with Balger.

   Your German is very good, my lady, but your Latan Romansh {Romance
Language, literally} is better.  Bitte, und Baume.  Beautiful, your voice,
light, and sweeter than the lady Alberich.

   Her first time with me, she forced him to kneel in the harbor before
her, and held the edgeless sword to his throat.  Then, she came to me, told
me to run so she could chase me, but not to far.  She lay me down, in
clover left from the spring, but no longer flowered.  For the bees, but it
was by then dark, and we were far beyond the fires of the shore.

   There is a fort, an old stone fort on the spit they took from the Major.
She took my by the hand, and mouth.  You know how to do this?  You never
have before?  Here, let me show you, it is easy.  You will learn, quickly
enough, let me just get this codpiece off.  I hate these things, but as
they say.  I have never been to Rome, but this Angelund is nice enough.  It
is named for the angels?  Yes, you have the mouth of an angel, just milk it
with your hand.  The milk will come.

   Oh, my Yarla, yes.  This is good, yes!"

   {biLingual Note: At some point, I can't help but have my way with words.
I hope I don't have to point out the obvious puns, see/seiMann.  Romench,
no longer living hand-to-mouth, but getting in a bit of a Bind, und sew
fourth...  (Had to get up to Zechs.) I think in puns, can't really turn it
off, usually edit them out while I'm putting in speling erors to
differentiate the authors.  (When they're distinctively literate.) In this
case, it's subtext, with the context of switzerLatin/Deutshbang from being
serially linebanged going all the way back to Carthage.  Not a whole lot of
passes in and out of the valleys, between the ridges and peaks, try not to
think about it, cause I don't have to.  Any way, he's illiterate, but
telling all this to his mistress, an Anglo/Saxon Yarla (Earletess) because
there's not 1 princess.  At some point, she writes it down.}

   ;

   Yarla of Lassiter (fg Mole.  Also, that's her title, not her name.  So,
also Anon.)

   It was sad.  After I read the story of Pestous of Pori, and how she met
her end.  Diving from the cliffs to the low tide, dashed against the rocks
by the waves, as she could not bear her man a child.  Then, he asked after
his lady and I.

   "We met in Zurich.  My father had business.  He hates the Burgundi, and
thought he could find allies in their enemies.  Powerful allies, and
frightful.  He won't tell me, what he has heard of her family, but what
little she has written."

   "Yes, the Baron is.  He enjoys discipline, in his household, army and
navy.  Shameful joy." {*}

   "That is?"

   "I know not the word in Angelic, he enjoys burning people.  Cooking them
alive, and raping them, especially the men.  I did not know he did this, to
Bavard.  They don't speak of it, but I saw him roast a man, on a spit."

   "Over a fire?"

   "The spit, yes.  Not the man, he was bound to posts beside it, so that
the iron spit could be heated, and cook him from the inside."

   "Oh, no.  We do not have words for that." {*} "The raiders, might have
words for that."

   "The Norse?"

   "North of here, the fireheads, the clans of northmen.  They are fierce,
and I read stories about them.  My husband, doesn't let me ous as her
father did."

   "You are."

   "Nearly a score, next spring.  When my child shall come.  In Zurich I
was a dozen, and 3."

   "So, she was."

   "Seven, or eight?"

   "What was she like?"

   "Mean, demanding," her Germann is soft, "Until I satisfied her." From
mostly reading it.  {A history of Bern, and so forth, between letters
smuggled in them.}

   "How?"

   "I made love to her?"

   "How?"

   "With a girl, it is.  It would take a while, to negotiate the words
between us but simply with my hands, and mouth.  She learned to satisfy me
as well, but I already knew how to that."

   "Show me."

   "Now?"

   "I want to learn."

   {* Donatien Alphonse, Marquis de Sade wasn't born yet.  Yes, same
families.  Take the historical bloodlines of Europe, and Amp the Kink gain
up to 11.  Not all of them, but more than enough.  Power CAN corrupt, but
absolute power does.  Absolutely, but when you're born corrupted, you can
only Escalate.  Over centuries, the Alberich are pretty close to the main
line of super-natural Congenital Sadistic Malignant Narcissits. 
Shadenfreude, or eventually to be known as Sexual Sadism, if this branch of
inhumanity wasn't going to be wiped with the rest of them.  (Again, Vesta
with a follow-through by the Moon.  1-2 punch, eventually cooling to a ball
coated in smooth basalt/obsidian with Kessler rings for fucking with the
timeline.) Milna just happened to be raised by a cannibal.}

   ;

   Hart {Mf Preg Cons.  Fantasy, but that goes without saying.}

   "You like the stories." She lay back, fat with child.  We are snowed in
here, I can rent another sledge, and one of their fur footed draft horses
on the morrow.  Right now I have the woman I satisfied.  On her second
child, just weaned, a bawly little brat with it's nursemaids for the night.

   Cold drafty place, on a hill.  Brilliant, with a bailey around it, but
the bed is warm, and I don't feel the need to hike for the fireplace.  Just
heat her up to warm her with her body, with the mulled cider already gone,
and thawing out of my head, shake it, watching.

   "I learn from doing, things." I licked my fingers, "Like this?"

   "Ja," not Da, or a soft D.  "She called me rabbit.  Hartmann ever after,
that first time."

   "She was not your first?"

   "Oh no, there were plenty in Breinz, und Aurnmeuhle.  Interlaken,
between the lakes." I show her "Here?" on her chest.  "It is in the valley,
between many peaks, but not as soft and full as these.  Snow at the peaks,
always, you are without milk?"

   "Mh, yes."

   "Smq, huh!  In the summer, the lake is deep, but not this warm."

   "Mh, uh huh?"

   "So, we must dive in, and come back out, shivering.  On the spit, in
front of the old fort, it is not forested, like this.  But we can warm up,
in the sun, playing on the pebbles.  Running around, faster, and faster
then diving in to swim around, wriggling like fishes, and kicking like
running in the deep waters."

   "AhHH!  Yes, my deer!"

   "Your Stag."

   "Jah, my stag.  NghaHH!"

   "Then I came in, for the hunt.  Took up my spear, and dove back into the
woods!"

   "Oh yeah?"

   "Da, not up here to the peak, but deep into the valley." She had a
child, in her, she would not take another for months.

   "How deep?"

   "This deep?"

   "NjahH!  Deeper."

   "Sometimes I had to go in, and come back out, with a deer."

   "Yes, my deer."

   "Or up to the mountains."

   "Ok yes!"

   "Up to the sky where I could see over the lake!"

   "Oh yes, take me.  Take me there!"

   "Closer to god!"

   "AUJAHH!"

   ;

   The Haunted Abbey

   There was a legend, of course.  Bavard laughed, but growing up in
Breinz, everyone heard the story of the abandoned Abbey, where the dead had
risen, and the gold vas guarded by a Giant.  I told the story that night,
around the fire as the greasy bear meat cooked, and the fur was stretched
over to render out the fat, and smoke the inside.  To set it, it makes the
skin stiff, but keeps it from rotting.

   Leonard de Schneider, and said something about Marsh Mallows.  "Never
Mind," when we asked, but he said she had read about a "Tradition." Where
as when the boy scouts would gather around the camp-fire, and tell stories.
"Ghost stories, and other tales of monsters in the woods."

   Our Lady Milne had read the old ones, but like any where, there were
tales of local superstitions, and I rembered one from the cool alleys,
between walls downtown, divying up the loot we could steel from the shops,
and carts at the market.  We had no bread, and more than enough bear meet.

   "Well, it's simple, really.  Nearby, there's supposed to be an old
abandoned abbey.  There's no princess in this one, but they told of brave
travelers, who took the pass, then came in before the autumn snow fell to
talk of spending the night there.  The abbey overlooks the pass, and is
fortified, but in disrepair.  So, there are gaps in the walls, through
which lights could be seen.  Through cracks in the shutters, the windows
are all closed, and unglazed." Where I am from, Airolo, there were mines
for the crystals to make glass, but even a rich old abbey could not afford
them, or it was abandoned long before Glaziers could be hired to cover
them, so you could look out.

   And it was a monastary, so the Monks may have shut themselves in away
from the world.  So, looking out could constantly tempt them to leave,
explore, or climb up the views to be had.  Overlooking the lakes, the
passes, and the mountains it leads through.  I do not know, this is just
what I heard, but it is a difficult climb, even in high summer, when it is
clear.  From Meiringen to Grindelwald, to avoid the lakes, and tolls on
boats across it.

   I brought a map, but for the Insteltwald lands, we were exploring.  On
the other side from the ridge, but we could not climb over, and the trip
around would be too long.  She asked, "What kind of undead?"

   "From the stories, they speak of the dead Monks.  Or their robes, moth
eaten, and in tatters, but their faces like skulls.  Their wordless moans,
and their magic."

   "What kind of magic?" Her eyes glittered in the light.  I was scraping
off the fat, as it rendered, and blackened.  Dripping into the fire to make
it burn hotter, while Bavard and Milne held out meat to cook on their
edgeless swords.

   "Necromancy, of course.  They said at every turn there were more bodies,
pushing open coffins, to groan, and surround them, but slowly so they
fled."

   "Moaned, or groaned?"

   "Groaned, they said.  What is the difference?"

   "I don't know, go on.  What about the Giant?"

   "Well, he is a giant.  What is to be said?  10 feet high so he had to
duck under the doors to the chapel, but when they opened, the light glinted
from gold within.  The legend is that he robbed travelers, killed them
trying to come around the pass, and avoid the ferry fare from Breinz to
Interlaken."

   She snorted, "Sounds like a fisherMann's tale."

   "Of course, the fishermen make some gold on the side, taking summer
travelers across the lakes." All were out, through the day playing
Navyspeil with the Baron.

   "So, it may be a story they tell, that the travelers don't take the
pass, and spend their money on boats instead."

   "That may be, I hear it around the village as well." I had thought they
had heard it in Brein, and Beorningen, was I had, when they went to sell
fish, and buy supplies.  They told me on the ferry from Beorningen.  While
she knife-fenced with Bavard in the poles for shallows, or pushing off from
the docks so they rolled as they rocked it with their weight.  Moving back
and forth to gain advantage.

   When the skin was rendered enough, we stretched it between 2 rocks.  A
crack between, it might have been one that split in the thaw, but long ago.
So, there was soft earth in between, and even grass I pulled up to fluff
the soil, and lay down as a bed.  By the firelight, it got chilly, but I
stayed up.  She asked why, but I told her:

   "The fire may keep the wolves at bay, but only until it dies down. 
There is a lot of meat here, and a trail of blood from dragging it up
here." To a ledge, or a level spot between the rocks.  "So, we will have to
keep watch, but there is no reason for all of us to stay up."

   "Come help me warm the bed, Bavard." She took off his armor, and layed
out the cloaks to keep warm.  I made a torch with the fat, and went to find
more dry wood, as I heard them.  So much for protecting her virtue, but I
wanted to not sit and watch them, and we didn't have enough wood to last
the night.  Not with the bear fat, it made it burn hotter, and faster, but
I stayed close.  Enough to see the fire light, even with my torch, and tied
a bundle to carry back up.

   When their cries stopped, it sounded like a fight.  Both of them crying
out as if in pain, but he would not truly hurt her.  Again, after he
bruised her arm, and the Baron punished him for it.  Such a strong man, I
had seen him stripped to the waist in the forgehouse, thick with muscle,
and no fat to be seen.  I had good reason to fear him, he could kill me,
but I had seen fear in his eyes.  At the thought of facing his lord, and
tears.  He wept, and sobbed after, for a single bruise, slapping her asside
on the boat with the flat of his massive sword.

   The same one he carried, up the slope, so heavy I couldn't imagine, but
just hung over his shoulder by the crossguard.  There, leaned up against
the tree, I could lift it, but not hold it out.  Out in front of me for
long, as I had seen him, but I decided that is why there is another handle.
By that, and the pommel it is easy enough, but his Speer strike.  He showed
it, throwing it forward, as a spear, and catching it by the pommel.  On the
flat ground, by the shore where the lakBoot was moored, then again.

   On the high ground, where he lured the bear, I could not imagine this.
Held up backward, so the cross was over his head, then throwing it, like a
spear.  This, without being dragged down by it's weight, into the waiting
maw of the roaring bear.  Later, he told the story to the Baron and his
court.  As if he had done it alone, protecting the lady from it, cowering
behind a tree.  Of course, she is no such lady.

   He lied, she went looking for it.  When I found the spoor, and told her
what it was, she ordered me to track it.  She wanted to see such a thing, a
wild bear, the symbol, and namesake of her home city.  She had seen them in
cages, and Bavard balked at the idea.  The danger, but she insisted that we
had 3 men.  The Italian Leonard was there, but went back to tell them we
were spending the night, after the fight.  He did not, kill it himself.  He
killed it, but she held it with Leonard, hunting pikes and shields, with
Bavard between them.

   I loaded my Arbalest, it is powerful.  Powerful enough to drop a deer in
1 shot, if I put it in the right place.  Through the ribs, liver, and at
least one lung if not the heart.  They never make it far, and always leave
a good blood trail to follow, but this bear.  I held the shot, until it
reared, and rather than fall back, Bavard held up his greatsword to take
it. I wounded it, and it failed to crush him.  It would have, easily, if I
had not shot it in the face, and it fell for him to wound with the speer
thrust.

   As did the lady, and the tailer, who could fight.  Pulling it back, he
finally stepped up the slope, out of the bear's thrashing, as did the
shields.  Catching it by the riccasso, the unsharp handle in front, he
flipped it to the blade, and gripped it by the sharp part.  I know not how
he does this, without getting cut, but he calls it Morder.

   Murder Stroke, like the beak on a halberd or luscern hammer, he stabbed
it with the quillon, and punched right through the skull.  Even though it
is not sharp, the end is even rounded, and blunt, but such was the force it
sank in to the side rings, and killed it dead, as if struck down by the
hand of God.

   My lady, you are exited by this?  Yes, the blood rushes to your face,
warming it beautifully.  Your neck, and bosom, Lady Milne was exiced as
this by it as well.  Even when she awoke in the night, by the howling
wolves.  They came for us, for the meat, but I had cut most of it off
before they hung up the fur, and retired beneath it.  Regaining the ledge,
I waited, with my torch re-dipped, and the lether bucket I had used to
catch it smoldering with a pool of fire.

   I kicked that down first.  The trail, up to our ledge to light it, and
scare them.  I heard them, and saw them in the light, but it was thick, and
did nt run down far.  Bavard behind me, "I'll handle them." Pulling on his
pants by his massive sword, I looked, and the fires were going out.  So, I
rolled the carcas down the hill.

   There was not much left but the bones, and a basket full of guts for
them to fight over.  We had the legs, and the larger cuts from the body,
but that kept that busy, all night.  I panted, tired, and the fight or
flight blood left me drained.  So, he finished dressing, and took the next
watch, but they did not return.

   She showed me, this.  It was dirty, but you are clean.  Even back here,
washing off the sweat of our loveplay, but we could not.  High up the
slope, almost to th snow before we climbed back down to camp, but she said
she learned this from the Kreitan.  To preserve her dignity, she was
already open, and greasy, from Bavard.  I needn't have kissed it, like
this. Deeply, to loosen it up.  The bind, it hurts, but so good, and is the
only way a man can make love like a woman.

   Yes, I like it too.  The VenichiMann showed me, but that is a story for
another time.  I am here, now, and does that not feel loose enough?  Yes,
hold still, I will be gentle...

   ;

   Yarla,

   The feast was all right.  Bavard died the way he always dreamed, only
serving me, instead of his Master.  I made him Mine first, and after the
Cretish philator told me about scheifzicken, I tried it on him first.  He
is not the largest, and if he did it, it wasn't my virtue, but then he
could not tell that another man had done it.  He was already in it up to
the Bind.

   Our Lord did it to him, and it hurt.  He wouldn't talk about it, but I
believe he was much younger, as squire.  So, 15, or younger, perhaps when
my age, but I dismissed the Ventian.  He told me ways, it need not hurt,
and one is if he kisses you first.  In the bind, as much as they can make
it wet, as deep as his tongue would go.

   It worked, it didn't hurt.  I made him go slow, threatened to hang his
skin over the fire, and smoke it to hang over the fire if he hurt me.  He
killed the bear.  When I'm bigger, I want one, but I didn't get hurt at all
playing a claw.  The Venitish is a tailor, but fights well with pike and
shield, he says from Pirates.  The sees he is from are full of Pirates he
says.  Corsairs, and Moreans, and the Venifzi all fighting over the waters
of the old Greikes.  He showed us, the Scorpion, he calls it, except the
tail is usually a whip.  A rope whip, great whip, he would need rope to tye
it, but like a great flail, with a night star.  He made one when we got
back, cut a rope in the middle, stuck a sharp peice of wood hirch cut for
him, and tyed a knot in the other end.  A "Monkey's Fist," he called it,
but gripping 3 spikes, sharp on both ends as the beams in a corner.  Only
sticking out, all 6 ends.

   We practiced, the Scorpion, but for the bear Hirsch played the "Sting."
With his arbalest, I finally saw him beat the arms on, string, and load it.
It has these arms in the back, with strings, and claws on the end, and a
stirrup for the foot up front.  On his knee, he braces it, and turns the
back arms to pull the front ones back, and tightened a string on.

   Then, he turned the arms to pull the string back, and lock it, behind
the bolt he put in.

   All steel, the stirrup, the arms, the plates of the side of the wood,
the wheels that wind with chord when he turns them with the arms, and the
knucklebow under the stock he pulls to loose the bolt.  It is very
powerful, and the bear screamed.  I did not know a bear could scream, much
less think I would ever hear it, but from getting a steel bolt in the face.


   Rampant, rather than clawing, stomping, and biting at Bavard's armor,
and sword, he batted at the shaft in his face.  So, the Knight could step
in, stab for the heart, half-step back withdrawing, and catch it
half-swords.  3 handed sword, you don't have to have a 3rd hand in the
middle, you swing from the top, and bottom.  Knocked the Bolt out of it's
skull.  Stuck in the skull, knocked it right out, slamming it's head down
into the dirt of the game-trail, form high ground, overhand, front hand
slipping down to the smaller lugs in the middle of it, and smashing down
like a hammer.  Only it dug in like a back-pick.

   A lucerne hammer has a back pick.  Like a beak, Bavard's sword-guard is
twisted, but straight, like Alacorn.  {Middle ages term for Unicorn Ivory)
Welded back together from the bars around the middle of the handles, or a 2
thirds up it from the pommel, but they have knobs on the ends where they
were droawn out, and wrapped around eachother.  So, it's bigger around than
my thumb knuckle, but that went through the dome of it's skull like a
stiletto.

   I like to think my hart weakened it for him, but the bolt was no where
near there.  It stuck through the snout, and into the eye, but did not go
through.  He brought his leather sack.  Tallow stained leather, from
catching blood for sausage, or fat from the skin when he smoked it out. 
The best work was seing him with his little shafzMesser.  No handle on it,
just metal stuck out the bottom, and curled up so it sticks in the bottom
of his thumb.  And finger tips, feeling under the skin as he pulled it up,
slicing it off the summer fat layer.

   He told us about that, it lost weight in the spring.  So, the skin is
looser, and easier to cut off.  The leftover fat renders faster, for there
is less of it, but enough to cook the outer meat.  He left the loins he cut
out in the bucket, to be covered in the smokey fat.  So they would last
until we got hem back down to town.  He wished he brought this, and that,
all he had forgotten not planning to hunt bear, but he calls it the "Wost
work." It is a lot of work, after the kill, nobody wants to listen to when
he tells hunter stories in town.

   It bores them?  I find them all fascinating, especially all the ways a
man is not like a bear, or deer, or rabbit.  I know, what you can see is
the fur, the legs instead of arms, and the different animal legs.  The
tail, but inside.  My Lord says we are like pigs inside.  Why he hangs hogs
for practice, it's the best way to learn how to wound, and killed
effectively.  In a fight you want to kill, but sometimes, as in Battle, it
is better to wound, especially when you have the advantage.

   It's easier to wound, or you get more opportunities to, depending how
well they defend themselves.  A hanging pig can't but at least they kick,
and move.  So, it is not like poking a sack of flour with a stick, or a
dummy with a wooden sword.  If you have numbers, high ground, or Mobility
as with Cavalry, then wounding is as good as killing 2-3 men.  Now they
have wounded, and it is easier to rout them.  If they flee, you don't have
to kill all of them, and they tend to rout faster with the screams of their
brothers in arms, than with Dead.  Dead temper their resolve, cries of pain
anneal it.  A dead body might as well be the enemy's, try not to step on
it, and lose your footing.  Get pushed out of line, but the wounded.  You
can hear them, over the drums, and commands with enough of them.

   Fear can be a much greater weapon, even than death on the battlefield.
It can save lives by ending it early.

   That's why doesn't like the gamier meats as much.  You can't taste the
pain and fear, the wild musky flavor covers it up.  I can't say whether
that's why I prefer it, but I don't know what bear's fear tastes like.  He
was in a lot of pain, but it's such strong, dark, wild meat, I don't think
I could taste either of them.
{Signed:} Milne Alberich

   ;

   Hartmann

   After we came back, her Lord was told about her fighting, and he tried
her.  The Baron is a Reknowned veteran, and duelist, won his seat in the
Seige of Nancy.  I wasn't Knighted, and was allowed to skip the feast.  Not
the execution, as witness, but with the spectacle of a Knight being killed,
in their fashion.  I was able to slip away.  Rather than going home, I went
out, to deal with the experiences as well as I could.

   I had never killed a man, and thank the Lords he didn't force me to
carry out the execution.  I don't know the word, Warden?  Of the land, like
Sherriff, but only over the game, livestock, and Kennel.  They had one
there, and he discussed, hunting.  Before I left, I would have refused to
hunt mann, like game or drive the dogs if I were able.  Instead, my Lady
made a counter-offer.  For me to act as coriour.  The best, and fastest
rider there, in the Breinz see area, it was said.  I did not test them, all
of them, but they had fast horses, and I was allowed the fastest there. 
Most of them were heavier, stronger, for warhorses in the relative peace
after the Burgundish were driven back out.

   After the war, it did not come here.  Not even supplies nor messages
went through the side valley, around, and across the lakes, it would have
been a waste of time between Bern, and Zurich.  So I hear, I heard about
it, but my Lord saw me sparring with Bavard.  He showed me some things, and
sent me to Bern.  To his Armorer, who Bavard apprenticed with.  When he was
squire, before the Baronet was old enough to start training with his
father.

   This is why I do not trust these families.  The men, I don't know these
Lankasters like the Alberich.  I heard from the Burgundy on my way around
their borders, but had to hide my colors.  The Bear rampant, and snake
coiled under, the spot where the Bear would come down.  From rearing, the
Bear of Bern, but the Alberich.  They're the poisonous viper that struck
fear in the great beast.  The city it signified, riding through there just
in Eonvoy, I could see it.  I felt like a lord, in the worst way, how they
shrank back from me not out of respect, but in terror.

   I don't want people to fear me, and I could feel it.  I am not noble,
was not even raised around them.  The old lord of the Oberlast summered
there, in the fort, but he was a good Duke.  From everything I heard, happy
and content.  He only had a minimal guard, for his family, and most times
they did not even wear swords.  I am a man of peace, I grew up in it, but
the Romanizi had a saying.

   In Latin: Live for Peace, but Prepare for War.  You don't have to look
for trouble, it can always find you.

   Milne looked for it, only she called it Adventure.  I wish I never told
her that story, about the Haunted Abby.  I wish they had not heard of it in
the Monastery in Unterseen, but it was in decline after the Lucern Bishop
came, and the Bernese took over.

   "I read the History of Bern, but it was not in it."

   "Yes, I can not read, but where did you get it?"

   "It was sent, by my girl Milne, before you.  With the last corior, when
she left for the Innerlakes."

   "Between lakes, they are actually outer, or over.  The overland, between
the lower mountains.  Bern is in the foothills."

   "I see.  She sent a map, but it only showed the path, not the
mountains."

   "I have another, in my baggage."

   "Stay, keep the bed warm.  What is, the Baron like, as a man?"

   "Tall, and fair.  Like Bavard, only older."

   "He still fights, and he is 60?"

   "He is?  He has no zilfer in his hair, or beard.  All gold, his son
looks like him.  Only little more than a boy."

   "Why are you afraid, to talk about the Baron?"

   "Because I can't, without remembering him."

   "It hurts to remember?"

   "It's frightening.  Yes, he is a nightmare.  I still have nightmares
about him."

   "Then tell me about Milne."

   "You know her."

   "I knew Bavard too." She rubbed her swelling.

   "Is he?"

   "I believe so, I had no other affairs," she looked away, "With men that
moon, so.  Yes, he would have to be."

   "Your husband."

   "My husband can not have heirs, so."

   "Is he wounded?"

   "I'm, too old for him, but give me that lamp.  I have yet to read
Milne's letters, so I will read them to you."

   "In German?"

   "No, in English."

   I dosed off, not my best language, but I am learning.

   ;

   Flashback (Insteldwald fort.)

   {Casting: Rutger Hauer around 1985.  Which would make Milne probably
Jennifer Jason Leigh at age 13.  As she appeared in 1985, in that movie
with Rutger Hauer.  Multiple titles depending on the country, but "Flesh
and Blood" in the American Theatrical Release I saw first.  Took me months
to dig out that retro-allusion from the basement of my head.  Just for some
idea of what kind of father he is his own Daughter calls him "My Lord," and
is afraid to write his name.}
A Survivor, they say had grown "Fat." Retiring to play at admiral, but
fencing a girl of not yet 14.  They say he went easy on her, but that was
not the fight I witnessed.  Riding in on horseback, leather strap skirt
held together with maille, and tack riveted with steel rolled thin as
paper. Draped over the front pommels of his saddle, as he dismounted, he
braced the left one with his kneeguard, pulling his boot from the stirrup,
and dropped down, helmet cupped under his shield arm, and just dropped to

his knee.

   "Yuh!" Bare-armed, he pushed down on his other knee-guard, and stood
upright.  Scarred, not even a handguard, slashed with scars, and lines
chopped in at the shoulder.  I asked Bavard, about the same one on his. 
From the maille, wearing through the padding.  "Nothing works, we tried
quilted flax under leather, under a rolled edge, but they punish that
shoulder."

   Paudron, he made her a partial suit.  Maille armed, but with the large
pauldron on the shoulder.  Weapon arm, opposite the shield-side, it's
"Better than losing an arm."

   He helped her strap on the shield.  His Estoc, matching his Lord's he
went without a shield.

   He went without the sheild, stood back, and pivoted around, pommel
cradled in his shield hand, draped by the wrist over the top of the right
thigh.

   I can't imagine fighting in partial armor, but he went bare arm first.
His second, Bavard came back, his squire, the Baronette watching from the
platform at the back of the yard.  Court yard, in the old fort, on the nail
of land, wrapped around the Insteltwald inlet.

   Spang!

   "Haha!" He helt the blade on his shoulder, by the quillon, forcing her
to fall back, to pull it out.  Slapped her, back-handed.  "Shcneller!  Ein
soldner schlagensie!"

   "That what it's for?"

   "And downward cuts." He threw his shoulder, and imaginary sword,
parrying.  "The strong attacking side, is weak against the shield side, so
they go for it.  Or try to."

   "Shk!" Points sliding past eachother, she gave, slipping under to push
it back.  "Uhn!" Shield high to bash under her back quillon, lever over his
edge.

   "WhWH!" it spun behind him, side-stepping back.  "Ober!" Smacked her
point down, to stick in the ground.  Dirt, the fort, and the wall are built
on rock, the rock in the nail, but the yard is filled with loose soil. 
"WhCH!"

   "Uhn!" she fell back, and the pommel bounced, swinging free on the stiff
blade, but stopped very quickly.

   She fell back, a side-step, gripping her arm, then her knee gave out.

   "More," he waved her up, then brought the pommel back to rest on his
thigh.  At the hip.

   "This," Bavard stood up, with a tool hammer in his fist.  Gripping it
right under the head, he stepped back, and set the bottom, in his palm,
rested on his leg.  "Is for a Pike, or Banner."

   "I see," I got up, and pulled my knife.  His old one, instead of a
pommel there is a simple cap around the end of the wood slabs on either
side of the steel tongue down the middle.  A pommel would take too much
weight from the tip, which is why the simple guard with Nagel.  It's not a
point sword, it's a Cutter with a point, but he had a short Hammer.  About
the size of his greatsword handle, I can't say which would be heavier.  The
head, or the rest of the doublehander out from there, but he is fast with
it.

   "Turn it, to chop with the back, save the edge."

   It put the ring on the wrong side, so the nail got in the way of my
thumb of bracing in the ferule in the side.  The front of the butt cap dug
into the back of my wrist, so I held it up.  Ox, with my finger pulling in
front of the quillon.  Like this.

   "Good, you do not want to face stance to stance, and you don't have
enough length to take advantage of the SPEER!"

   The edge nearly chopped into the top of my head from him leaning
forward. Bending his leg, and gripping the pommel to straighten out the one
in back, closing the distance between us, and reaching out with the full
lever of the handle, whipping the tip like he showed me.  It bounced off,
whipping back around, and I watched his shoulders.

   The way he taught me, to know he was whipping around the outside.  Weak
side, I twisted my wrist, and out the back of my fist to the flat of the
blade.  Catching his to slide down to the ring instead of the Nagel.

   Only instead of the Blade, he had a hammerhead.

   I gave, instead of facing strength with strength, I let him
follow-through.  Over extended, I twisted, and slapped down, to bounce the
back edge off his arm.

   "Nhngh!" He looked surprised, but grabbed my wrist, and caught the back
edge of my blade between the hammerhead, and his knuckel.

   One handed, he pushed the back edge, the sharp one closer to my face, so
I had to give, back step, and ran into the forge.  Unlit, but he pushed me
back.

   Bent me back, over it at the waist, and he gave my this.  One handed,
holding me by the chin.  Just a cut, down the middle of my right eyebrow, I
could't even twist it, out true.

   I could not breathe well enough to say anything but grunts.  He proved
my point, told me "I can kill you," legally, driving home the point right
in front of his lord.  Once his squire, he forced my to be his.  I swore
it, not at the edge of a knife blade, but right after he taught me a
lesson: "Never try to use a mann's sword against him." So, I carried for
him.  Most of the weapons back, and took his armor off.

   He raped me.  In the mouth, but he gave me the choice.  Which end, but
he choked me with it, in the armory.  Made me eat it, and threatened to
beat my teeth out with his pommel if he felt them.

   So, after he left me, I went to His lord.  I told him, I was not
comfortable with the way he fucked her.

   In the bind, but he strutted around with the bear hide over his shield.
Bragging, and boasting, drinking in the dining hall, and ordering all the
wine brought up from the cellar like a lord.

   I had to charge him, with Poaching.  He said that it was.  Looked over
at her, then accused me in counter.  To leading me to the den, and enraging
it to charge us.  Putting his daughter in jeaopardy.

   He dismissed his court, and took us into the Library.  The old family
took all the books, and they had not yet sent the collection up from birn,
or Milne's.  It became her library, but he took her aside.  Asked her why
she was uncomfortable, fidgiting all morning.  He got it out of her, what
Bavar had done, but she didn't accuse me.  Of being her second, he sent her
to chose a man from examining them that morning.

   I mostly hung out at the smith's shop.  I was in the wrong business, but
the tack room.  For the horses, and the leather part of the armor.  The
Baron wore full plate, in battle, even had armor for the horse, now dead.

   I got a pauldron out of it, in fact her Guard did not need Bavard's. 
Some idea how to use it, not Milanoir, nor Kretan Venifzen, the town-smith
couldn't bend, and fold the bent edges to make another, but Leonard was not
Leichtenaur trained.

   Beat the Baron, though.  In his trial bout, in a tunic, belt, and
breeches.  Estocs, he parried the lord's high, pommel out of his grip,
flipped it back to the quillon, and swung it, like a scythe.  The Baron
stepped back, easilly dodged the tip slashing in front of his protective
thorat, but the Estoc flipped again.  Like a cross, the edgeless blade
slipped through his fingers, swinging up, over, out, and down like a
warhammer.

   "KgsH!"

   The lord stopped it, turning out of ox, and closed.  Half swords,
swining the point in like backhanding with a dagger, but with his upped arm
over it, whole body behind it, pushing him through the turn with his legs.

   "SWERT!" He caught his quillon on the other guard, halfSwords, but
turned the other way, and gave as soon as the point was past his face.  Eye
level, he turned, and tilted his head, but the Baron over-extended, and
took the pommel to his hip.  Stepping back, the Alpinetti tailor, and cross
dresser let go the blade, and twisted the quillon behind the Barron's knee.
Forcing it down hard, unprotcted in the dirt, he yelled out.

   Left knee.  I heard, shield side, so what do you brace the bottom of the
shield on when riding?  The side-pommel, and knee guard, so it doesn't bash
it too much.  When riding, but when fighting, it apparently gets bashed a
lot as well, so he's got a bad case of Knight's Knee.  Forward knee, in
defensive stance, why he had to drop the good one dismounting in
half-armor. Body, skirt, and 1 leg, he can't even wear the sheild side
knee-guard any more, it hurts too much.

   "My lord," he helped him up, "Are you all right?"

   "Take a knee." He winced, but held it back.  "Sir Leonard auf Venifzi."
Then, they threw a real feast.

   "Candy." He stood up.  "Du Candy."

   {Guard Notes: Speer stance is in fact derived from a Parade/Drill
position for Infantry.  Pikes, Standard (Pennant) spear, or Lucern Hammer,
bringing them up from grounded (Set for a Cavalry Charge.) Also a handy way
to hold a greatsword, like an Esctoc in the saddle, your lap is right
there, and you're not fighting most of the time.  The rest of the time,
you're carrying it, or sling it from the saddle.  walking around, you can
rest the back edge on the pauldron, or hang is by the quillion, pommel up.
(Like Bavard did, before being roasted alive on a hot spit.  For
"Poaching," instead of Tax Evasion.  Both to set an example of what kind of
Lords they're dealing with, and to satisfy the particular sadistic leanings
of the Baron.  The Dowstroke, with the palmed pommel gripped in the fist
for maxiumum leverage can be found in Kendo, as well.  As HEMA, they
practice with Estocs, but with a doppelhander, even holding up a Guard, it
can chop down to bash you with your back edge, if you don't support it with
your hand.  If you don't hold the Messer backwards, so the edge can be used
against you, or you can practice knife play without cutting, with the blunt
edge forward.  Similar to the Murder stroke, held by the Riccasso, and the
blade somewhere near the tip.  While you can grip a sharp blade,
"Halfswords" like that, it's another reason to practice, with trainees
holding an unsharpened Estoc.  Not just a training weapon, it still has a
killing point to slip through openings in their armor.  Or drive straight
through the front, and back of infantry body-armor, with a ton/non of
charging knight behind it.  It serves as a good ground weapon against
armor, or sidearm with a saddle to hang it off of.  You can also wear it on
your belt, but it's rather long, and cumbersome.  Why they often hang it
from the shoulder, and hold it by the riccasso, really the best way too,
but you don't usually carry it long either way.  It's a longarm, you carry
one if you think you'll need it like spear, or crossbow, but you really
only need it for practice, or sword fighting through armor you can't cut
through.  Like any other kind of Longsword.  A good balanced one can be
used 1 handed, it's just about light enough, but not for a tweenager,
normally.  Unless it's custom dade for her, at about Bastard lenth on an
adult.  They came in all size from hand and half to bearer sword, as tall
as the fighter, the same overall length of a Polaxe, or Lucerne Hammer. 
Also, that pauldron is a fictional prototype, with no surviving examples.
Eventually developed into a German tilting armor design, over a century
later, but we don't have any of the missing links that I've seen.  Nor is
their any proof that the Estoc developed from the Feder practice longsword,
but it might have.}

   ;

   Milne (TW: NSpoilers.  Also fb/g Insisters.}

   I told my father about the Abbey.  We are Christened, but do not
practice that.  Faith, my father has a Chaplin, but left him in the castle
at Bern.  We follow an older faith, but it's boring, and due to our
alleigence to the Confederacy, we keep up appearance.  Also, it was an
opportunity to scout the valleys.  The passes, though it can not be ridden
around past Grindelwald, I suggested we could expand to there.  It is a way
around to Bern, instead of heading North to Zurich, and Lucerne, so it
means trade, or possibly an avenue of attack, or escape.

   I did not say I might use it to escape, nor tell him my dreams to take
it.  The old castle, that the Abbey was said to be in, not that I believed
the stories of risen dead.  If it is in as bad repair as the ruined walls
are said, it would be at least shelter while we sent for masons to repair
it.  I would not mind a castle, of my own.  For Safety, but a castle needs
Manned.  With soldiers, a small army of men all my own, if it is large
enough.  He could not withold from my guard, to protect me, but with Bavard
gone, and having proven I can fight, he's finally teaching me some things.

   I'm learning more from my Second, Ritter Leonard from Candy.  He's
learning Leithanaur, but he beats it, easily.  "More to fight it.  I learn
schools to beat them, that is my style." He acts the modest tailer, and
merchant, he is a Dandy.  He dresses up when we are alone, and My Lord
considers him safe.  He loves men, or for them to love him, like a lady. 
Not as one, but playing the lady as a man plays the cow for the milkmaid?
Yes, he has a special way, to play the mare, but everyone can take it in
the bind.

   It can hurt, but if you know the proper way, and he does, then it does
not.  I like it well enough, but his island.  His family has a tradition of
Philatori.  Like a knight, and squire, only they have no knights.  Instead
of a squire, they take from the common boys, teach them as apprentice, and
love them.  Like my brother, he is squire to Our Lord, but I told him of
the haunted Abbey, and our Lord agreed it would be a good trip to lead. 
Scout, like Cavalry without a mass of Infantry to attack.  So, lighter, and
fater until it got too steep.

   We left the horses in Grimwald, but it was nice to have him.  My brother
along, and share the adventure with him.  Playing knight, but he had a
pony. Not yet 10, just had his birthday, but a small freilPommel saddle,
and full set of armor.  He wore the helm, breastplate, and pauldron, even
had a hand and half Estoc he could use in both of his small boy's hands. 
The youngest, after my mother died, my father never remarried.  Done
mourning, he just switched to pleasing other appetites after he retired
from the war.

   Riding breeches, he hated.  My huntsman said, in the brush, there are no
roads.  Only game trails, and overgrown with Alpine thorns after the spring
with mo men to clear them.  Also steep, and narrow, so there are not many,
but they would only catch at the blousing of the usual pants, and doublet.
Or scratch his legs under the warSkirt.  You have this, I heard.  Or your
norseMann wear this cloak, Leonard called a Kilt?  Like this, only
reinforced leather to cover the legs, on the cavalry saddle.  So, he sewed
him leather, and made love to him that night.  He said he was so gentle,
and loving.  And fair in the dress.  Wig woven in Breinz from expensive
hair.  It costs a lot to bargain with the family to shear their daughter,
in mourning for them, but they could not afford to pay the Cathedral for
her burial without it.

   He looks like a man in a dress, so I am glad I am not a man for him. 
I'm jealous, that they get to fight, and kill, and take women, but.  I
don't want a woman, I like men.  Real men, like my huntsman.  He's tall,
and dark, and his Romansh accent.  I love to just listen to him, and he is
a great storyteller.  He does not exaggerate, or if he heard, he will admit
when he doesn't know.  How many, how big, or how long.  If he heard, he
told stories, and heard stories, he could make money, but prefers to trade.
"Another story is worth more than even gold, because you can't spend it. 
Pay me in gold, and I will spend it in a year.  Tell me a story, and I can
spend it as long as I remember."

   I love him, dearly.

   Too bad I can't marry him, but if I'm lucky, I can find an Old Lord. 
There are letters, going back and forth to Budapesht.  The Hapsbergs, as
the only daughter I am of course the first, so I must marry up.  My duty
for the family, but father likes the idea of an Old Lord, because he has
more of a life earned, consolidating power with the Habsbergers.  He may
die son, which brings the money to my family faster, but I want one who
already has heirs.  A widower, without the blood to take me, so I have my
choice of affairs to satisfy me.

   My rabbitMann satisfies me.  So much, so I may take him with me.  Or,
help me find My castle, I need a summer home, and I'd rather have a castle
in an abandoned valley than a fort on a lake, surrounded by stinking fisher
boats.  I'm getting sick of fish, we can afford to eat whatever we like. 
My tastes tend to run wilder than my fathers, he likes pork, and similar
meats, even boar.  I like deer, and elk, and especially bear.  That first
one, hirsh was not planning to hunt, so neglected the salt to season it,
but killing it ourselves, it was the best I have ever tasted.

   If you have them, along the March, {Border, but because of the armies
that March in patroll between the forts.  Hence the Earls of March...} do
send your men to get some.  Roast it so the fat cooks out, and fries it,
then slice the meat off thick, so it is as rare as you like it on the
inside.  About the width of my thumb lets you taste it, from blackened to
fried, then warm and raw in every bite.  I like to cook it, and cut it
myself, to get it perfect, to my taste.  I could, stand in the kitchen, and
talk the cook through it, but I am so tired of everyone doing everything
for me.

   I want to do, everything.  I am not a child any more, and finally I have
men who will let me.  My brother is proud of me, away from my father, he
says he hated me as a Lady.  Yes, as did I.  He love Candy, I saw it.  In
the last town, Grimwalden.  We shared a room, with 2 beds, and the rider
changed for him.  Bent over for him to pull up his dress, but I saddled my
huntsmann.  I like this, the rider.  His pommel, and I can feel his chest,
his Herz?  I don't have the books to look up the word here, but his Blut,
beating in his chest.  Faster, and faster, and as I catch up to him, mine
beats louder in my ears than his drumming in his chest.

   HartHerz, also squatted like this he just falls out my bind.  Soft as
Sheifz, another word, we did not use, when we talked about love.  When you
showed me all the wonderful things to feel, mitt aus fikken.  Seifzficken,
my courior should have good enough German to translate, but it is not so
bad, if it does not hurt.  His Herz, trying to beat from his chest like a
Harts, want to grow out my nails.  Pull back the skin, he showed me with
his scharfzMesser.

   The long one is sharp, the meat knife is sharper, but he does not cut
wood with it.  The smallest knife is sharp.  He can shave with it, before
pulling an edge back out on it from leather.  He's pulled the edge over so
many times, it shines with iron.  No stone, he won't use a stone on it,
because it would only dull the edge.  I love that sound, woke up to it
outside the tent this morning, but he is already asleep behind me.  My
brother, and his tailor, any other time he would be my Second, but tonight,
they are quiet enough.

   Strange to see, I had not even wondered how his tastes would run, he was
always just a boy.  War, riding, practicing with his blunt saber.  Cutlass,
his favorite, and riding as Envoy Baronet, he never took it off.  All day,
but in bed he stopped trying to mount him like a hound, and curled up
behind him.  Held the slip in front of him, like a codpiece while he
grunted.

   "Uh, huh!" They should be asleep soon, but I'm running out of candle,
and my eyes are starting to hurt.

   Wonder what I will dream about tonight?

   ;

   Berserker {Incidentally, that's "Norse" (Skandenavian, not Scotts, which
she calls "Norse" in Germann) for Champion.}

   "Hah!" Good morning.  Woke to wash the morning breath out from her cup,
and fed her my cream.  She has played, "Milkmaid." Has gotten rather good
at it, but kommen down sie Motte.  {To the Bailey}

   Met the Lord, her husband, the Jarl.  I do not know these Ranks, whether
this puts them above, or below the Alberich, possibly on the same level? 
Didn't ask, why he only loves her for heirs, not my business.  I learned,
being around these families, not to dig too deep.  I don't like all that I
find buried, but they have brown hair.  Light, and green eyes.  Her's as a
gem, a Beryl {Emerald} whilst his are darker, closer to the shade of a
leaf, overlicht by sie sonne.

   Clear to the wall, with huts, tents, and some houses.  Timbers, a lot of
it around here, I could do with a chase.

   "Hail, SwitzerMann."

   "Zu sprechen sie Deutche?"

   "Nicht mir goot." Close enough to understand.

   "Was is it?"

   "I am the lord's Champion, he asked me to test you."

   "I am not a knight, just a good hunter.  You have a huntsMann?  Do you
ride?"

   "Well, that explains your sword."

   "It's a knife."

   "I bet it messes up, what does it cut?"

   "Wood, flesh, bone.  You are the weaponsMaster?"

   "Ja,"

   "Go get it."

   "I do not fetch for the lowborn."

   "Taunting me, all right.  You boy.  He is your squire?  Yes, send him."

   "What duz et look laq?"

   "Look you.  Here, it's a grossmesser, can't miss it.  About this long."
Over his shoulder.

   "The Falchon." He held up his fists, "2 Hands."

   That Bavard, sure he's an asshole, but he did know his steel.  Made me a
warknife, grossMesser.  Hits like an ax, cuts like a knife, and I am
working on this 2 handed fighting.  Much quicker than my axe.  Does not cut
as good, but with.  "What is that?"

   "My Seax?"

   "Jeah, that.  Can I see it?"

   "A messerMann." He turned, "Ja, there is mine svert unt shield."

   "Schwert, you have fought with the deutcheMann?"

   "Dussack?"

   "Hanger."

   "Why is that?"

   "It hangs on the saddle."

   "For hunting?  Nice!" Like a messer blade, but with a hilt like a
basket. Of iron, but with a steel blade, with a valley drawn down the back,
with a Fuller, and the edge drawn in front of it so it is hollow.  No back
edge to the tip, which curves back, and can not stab.

   Mein can stab, though halfSwertz is best, to put the point where I want
it, gripping behind the edge.  I hold it by the pommel, so he will have to
pass mine point, but with a shield, it is another thing.

   Just sparring, right.  After I fucked his Lord's wife.  "Yeahr!" All
night.  "When ever you are ready," Why don't you go teach that hunterMann a
lesson, maybe give him a scratch?  "Kommen, I won't bite." I won't give him
any more of the defensive advantage, as She taught me, and Bavard taught
her.

   Ox, I let go, and side stepped back.  "Auktz!" Switching from the
riccasso back to grip by the blade, I slapped the cross right over the
steel dome in the center of his "Targe?" Ringing the boss in the center
with the side-ring.

   "Yes," he punched with the iron band, but I dug the Nail into the studs
around the rim, guard catching on the tacks, pinning the leather to the
wood, and skuffed the design tooled into the face.  Like 2 knots, curved
around the sides of the dome, as the new, and dying moon, but I slipped my
hilt off to parry his blade aside, and flipped it back to the grip.

   He went high with the shield, so I circled around.  That side, he can
not strike through his own arm, but I saw it, buckled instead of gripped,
in the center.  Hooked my blade under, and twisted.  The tip, into the back
of the badge, and felt for the belt.  The leather belt, he bashed at my
head with his hilt covered pommel, but I bend, and ducked behind the iron
edge.  Caught the bottom of his grip, I did not see well.  Well enough to
use as the fulcrum, of the lever to saw the rest of the way through the
bottom of his arm strap.

   Put my shoulder into the face, and swung him away, stepping back, 2
steps as it swung just by the handle.  He threw it at me, but I ducked and
parried, then he was at my throat.

   Too high, he stepped under, like a lunge, but stopped short of plunging
it up behind my chin.

   I swallowed, turning mine edge down, but.  "If you kill me, I'll bring
this down next." He can not pull it out of my mouth, and parry high at
once, I can still take him with me.

   He stepped back, Ox.  "You are more than a good hunter."

   "I never said I wasn't." Made the occasional shield, too.  "Can you
spare a squire?"

   "You are not a knight."

   "Until I leave, and you have a smith here?"

   "Yes, of course." He snapped for his.

   "Boy, take this to be fixed." My edges were dulled, particularly the
back of the tip, from feeling around behind the dome in his targe.

   "You cut off my shield, where did you learn that?"

   "We were locked," with that guard, he can not turn his blade, or cut
with the back.  "So, I thought of something, to take away your defense."

   "You were not taught that?"

   "No, but I was taught to make shields." I picked his up, he can tack on
another strap.  "Not like this, how do you fix the leather?"

   "I do not, the TargeWright did."

   "He is as a smith?"

   "He makes shields."

   "I would talk to him then."

   "He is in Bristol," the nearest port, "The pole ax you brought."

   "Just the head, did you go through all of my arms?"

   "I have not seen, such as this?" At the armerie.

   "Bavard, de Munchenmann?  You met him?"

   "In Zurich."

   "Yes, I hear he was there." On the way back from Alsace Lorraine, "He
calls it a Lucserne Hammer."

   "Is like a Bec du Corban."

   "What is?"

   "This, on the back.  Like the beak of the Raven."

   "A bird."

   "A gross, black bird."

   "I have only been past Berguni, not through.  But I have seen this, on
their Halberd."

   "Yes, but this blade."

   On top, "Cinquedea."

   "What?"

   "Hand, size blade, yes.  Give me it, see?  I can grip it here, for
fencing, or as the parry dagger, out here."

   "Why?"

   "For hunting.  See, I push it out, at the end." He had it mounted, and
oiled, and sharpened.  Or did it himself.  "You are a ShwerSchmidt?"

   "ArMeister.  Ja."

   "Where is your forge?"

   "This way.  I have, a boy.  A 'prentice, smith.  You are a hunter?"

   "HuntsMaster, yes."

   "Marshal"

   "You call it that, in Engelish?

   "Anglic."

   I nodded, "How old?"

   "Almost ten."

   "Yes, I can take him hunting, he knows these lands?"

   "And the lake, he fishes."

   "I do not fish," shake my head, "Can't see what I hunt, and I will be
gone before the thaw."

   "He fishes on the ice."

   "How?"

   "Through a hole."

   "Ah." I am old enough to be a Philator.  "Boy, he speak Germann?"

   "He can learn."

   "Yes, he is still young." Look at him.  Pull the hair from his eyes,
dark green eyes.  "Yes, He can show me, where to hunt."

   "Later," he sets him to the bellows.  Having started the fire, he may be
a while.  I walk by the wall.  "What is this?"

   "SpeerTuck."

   "May I, sir?"

   "Go ahead." Like a spada di stocca, with a leaf shaped spear blade.  And
a broad flat bar for the handle, but of iron.  "Can you make this, of
steel?"

   "I can try."

   "Like the Cinquedea."

   "That will be heavy."

   "Yes, with the hammer, and beak.  To stop the boar, when it charges, or
the bear when he rears?  Yes, like that, I can handle the weight.  And draw
this out." The riccasso, "You have fullers?"

   "This is for hunting?"

   "You have lancers, yes?"

   "Of course."

   "Then for lancing.  LanzScwert?" That Munchen, Bavard.  He had too many
weapons.  His squire Kaddie, is overladen bringing them back from his
horse. I would rather have 2, or 3, that do all.  Than one for every fight.
I am not an Armaster, but She calls this the cross-training.  However, with
a boy I may carry more, and it does get cold out in the windy fields at
night...

   ;

   {puNotes: Bavard was a Munchkin, the gamer term.  Basically the Power
Assertive Lawful Evil Malignant Narcissist sword nerds tend to play, in
Fantasy games.  Minmaxer, and so forth, while Hirsh is The Ranger.  At some
point, he has to carry everything, or the horse if he has one.  So, the
opposite end of the spectrum is "Everything you need, nothing you don't."
Which is why he likes multifunction tools he can use as weapons.  Like a
Lucerne Hammer, handaxe, and hunting shield, he hasn't even started on
yet...
This goes slower, because unlike contemporary fiction, or SF
Worldbuilding, I have to keep taking breaks for research.  Especially
translating between cultures.  If you're following along, it'll give you a
chance to search stuff like Anglo-Saxon basket-hilt Hanger, Targe, Boar
Spear Estoc, Bec du Corbin, Lucerne Hammer, Pollaxe (Note speling) unless
you're a late middle-ages armsNerd like me.  There's a warhammer/estoc rest

not unlike what he's dialing in on, for his Swiss Arming Sword.

   Temporal Note: The rest of these chapters (In the Sidelines
sub-directory) take place between The Good Parts (\Parent Directory) and
The Morion.  In parallel, to Milne eventually making her way to the
Mergreve of Pechet (Easter Budapest) and eventually the Black Sea, and
reconnect with the Porean seperatists headed back to Pori.  Sorry if it's
confusing for you to read, I can't tell you how complex it is to write.}

   ;