Story : The Three Lions Inn
From Ars Magica
Contents |
Ambrosius
On the 18th day of April, the Sabbath, in the year of our Lord 1220, the weather in the vale of Stretton was fair and fresh. A spring breeze ruffled the grass, carrying an earthy smell.
Watling Street, an old roman road, ran southwest from Sarop down the vale, which was flanked on the north-western side by the Long Mynd, and on the south-western side by number of hills. Across the vale from Church Stretton lay Caer Caradoc, Helmeth Hill with Willstone Hill rising behind it, Hazler Hill, and Ragleth Hill, whose sides bore more of the same forest which hugged the base of the Long Mynd. In the past, the vale had been entirely covered by forest, but now a broad strip had been cleared, and the road was lined with fields.
The manor proper sat well back from the road, at the end of a broad and deeply rutted track, beside the manor's church, a sturdy stone building dedicated to Saint Laurence. At the junction where a track led off toward the manor and church, was a long, low building, in front of which stood a tall post bearing a sign with three lions; a reminder to all who passed by that Stretton-en-le-vale was now a royal manor.
Inside, the Inn of the Three Lions was warm from the heat of the cooking fire, the occupants, and the bright sunlight. The main room was busy with people sitting on benches as they ate meals from trestled tables. The travelers dined with an assortment of knives, and drank weak ale from cups of leather or clay.
Beneath one of the tables, the Innkeeper's dog sat amidst the rushes strewn on the cobbled floor, watching as the tavern maids bustled hither and yon with trays laden with platters. Upon spotting travelers through a window, one of the servants shouted across the din and clatter to the Innkeeper, a portly man, who ambles in an easy fashion over to the door, to greet the new arrivals. As the Innkeeper looked up, he saw a couple just outside one of the open windows, the woman apparently calling after an older boy who had stopped to pet a stray dog. The man, by the looks of it, the boy's brother, the Innkeeper thought, had a patient smile on his face and turned to the young lady and spoke softly into her ear just before turning and pushing open the door to enter the Inn. There was something about the man, plain as he may appear, that the Innkeeper did not like. It wasn't anything that he could put his finger on; it was just something that made him uneasy.
The brown haired young man pushed his way through the door and, glancing around, made his way to the empty end of the table near the cold hearth. He was dressed in a pair of tanned breeches and off-white wool shirt. His waist was girded with a belt of leather with brass discs of some type. On his feet he wore typical walking boots, though the breeched were tucked and the seam was wrapped with some type of fine steel chain. His shoulder length brown hair was pulled back and secured into a horses's tail with the same fine chain. Over his shoulder, he had slung a heavy bag that clanked slightly as he set it down by the trestle. It was clear, from the way that he looked to the timber ceiling with a sigh of relief that he had been walking quite a distance before alighting upon the Three Lions.
Behind him came the young woman, modestly dressed in a simple kirtle over her undergown, though the kirtle was mudstained from the road. What could be seen of her face beneath the wimple was open and appealing and intelligence sparkled in her eyes. She dragged the young boy with her, he was apparently more interested in something outside, but she remonstrated with him sternly, "Llewys, there is a time and place for that, and this is neither. Sit. Conjugate 'to love' now."
With a sigh, the boy began, "Amo, amas, amat ..."
The Innkeeper watched the man intently. The closer he got and the more he saw, the more uncomfortable he became. The uneasiness didn't abate - in fact, it had grown more certain, more palatable; much like grease solidifying on the top of a stew. This was not a feeling that the Innkeeper had experienced often, but his Inn was a popular one, and he knew that his instincts were seldom wrong. This man could be trouble; and trouble was something he intended to prevent. The Innkeeper saw one of the serving maids heading for the table dodging this way and that through the rowdy bunch of men at the tables near the bar counter. He had a bit of trouble catching her eye, but he did, and waved her off. He'd tend to this visitor himself.
The Innkeeper made his way through the patrons and stopped in front of the man's table.
"Welcome da-the Inn o'the Three Lions," he said without much enthusiasm. "What cin I do fer ya?" All the while, the Innkeeper was searching the man and his possessions again. Something about this man was a threat; something was not right - why couldn't he figure out what it was?
"Salv…er," Ambrosius looks briefly around, "I mean to say, thank you. I'm Ambrosius ex Verditius. I would like a room for my brother and I, er… myself…er, me, and a room for my Alicia. She’s, ah, my brother's tutor, you see. We’d love some bread and stew, if you have any left. We’re really very, um, you know, hungry." The man held up his hand with a few coins, but the Innkeeper did not move to take them. With a shrug that seemed to say "As you wish," the man set the coins down on the table.
The Innkeeper looked down at the coins for a few moments before deftly scooping them into his hand. "It'll be a bit before its ready," he said, turning to make his way back to the bar. The man noticed that he stopped twice on the way back - once to speak to one of the serving girls and once to speak to a man in a chair against the wall; a man sporting a royal crest upon his breast.
There was only one chair in the room, and the Bailiff lounged in it at an angle, with his head propped up by one hand and a goblet of wine loosely held in the other. He gazed into the red liquid as he gently swilled it around; lost in his memories. The Innkeeper began to address him, and he looked up with a start. A scowl passing across his face upon being disturbed, which quickly melted into a vague look of concern as he heeded the Innkeeper's words. He looked the man, and then spoke briefly to the Innkeeper, who glanced nervously back at them.
With a wave of the hand, the Innkeeper was dismissed, and reluctantly headed back toward where the strange man sat. "Our Bailiff bids you welcome to Church Stretton, and kindly asks where your company is bound for on this fine day." A happy and welcoming smile spread across the Innkeeper's slightly chubby face; a well practiced mask from years of working as a host. In less boisterous surroundings, Ambrosius might have noticed the contradictory, nervous rigidity of Innkeeper's body that would have betrayed their true feelings.
“I was hoping to meet a young lady here - what I mean is, I am supposed to meet a young lady here by the name of Mnemosyne. Mnemosyne ex Guernicus." The Innkeeper's expression soured ever so slightly before he recovered. Ambrosius didn't appear to notice. "You haven't seen her yet, have you?" Ambrosius reached down into the bag at the table leg. Iron clanked on iron as he rummaged around and eventually produced a folded parchment, creased and dusty from riding unprotected in the satchel with his meager smithing tools. "The seal - VAE! The seal broke off! It must be in here, somewhere" Again, Ambrosius rummaged through his backpack. "Ah, here it is!" He held out the letter and the seal to the Innkeeper who eyed them both warily, but made no move to take either.
Usually a very attentive man, the Innkeeper could only hope that he was off his game this day because of the oddness of this man Ambrosius, but it was until the man held out the letter and seal that he noticed that Ambrosius’ right hand was very badly scarred, as if it had been dipped in molten steel. If he hadn’t already had the shivers, he’d have them now, for certain.
"I suppose I can just fix it later, er, ask her to fix it when she gets here." He paused for a second or two, looking up at the Innkeeper expectantly and then stuttered, "But, I'm sorry, you asked where we were bound for. Well, we are bound for, uhhh, well, here, I guess. We are looking for a home!"
The Innkeeper nearly blanched at this last declaration. As he tried in vain to produce a kind reply, he caught some of the odd glances being thrown at Ambrosius by those sat close by. "Roan!" he called across the room to one of the serving girls, "Put out some tables in the west room." He turned back to Ambrosius and said "If you'll go into the room next door, I'll have the girls bring your supper directly. There is barely any room for you to swing your elbows here." Upon having said that, he swept away toward the Bailiff to report Ambrosius's answer.
Roan, the barmaid, entered a door to the left of the entrance, and a room very much like the one they currently occupied lay beyond it. She set about placing trestles, lifting heavily scarred, wooden tabletops onto them, and once that was done, noisily dragged some long benches across the cobbles.
Mnemosyne
Two horses trotted up to a halt outside the inn. One was ridden by a large man wearing a leather helm, scale hauberk and carrying a mace hanging off his belt. A long spear was strapped across his back, but he he did not look very relaxed on the horse. The woman with him seemed even less so, riding side saddle with evident discomfort and a slightly greenish tinge around the gills. She was clad in a grey woollen dress and a travelling cloak with a hood. Both had travelling bags slung over the horses's backs.
"This is the place, mistress," said the man. "We're here at last." He swung himself gratefully down the ground and came around to help the woman down.
"Thank you, Geraldous," Mnemosyne said, thankful to be off that awful beast. She staggered slightly and the shield grog grabbed her arm to support her. As she found her footing, he quickly released her. She gave him a nod of acknowledgement.
"Are you well, mistress?" Geraldous asked.
"Well enough," she said grimly. Then relented somewhat. "I don't think I have anything left in my stomach to worry about and we're here now." He nodded and offered to see to the horses. Mnemosyne unslung one of her bags, with her most valuable possessions in it, and entered the Three Lions.
As she entered, she was greeted by a girl in a grass green gown. Her enthusiastic smile, beer-splashed clothing, and the rather large earthenware flagon of weak ale she held, all marked her as one of the barmaids. "Hello madam, and welcome to our Inn. What can I fetch for you?" she said with well-practiced ease.
Through the open doorway behind her, Mnemosyne could hear Geraldous talking to the inn's stablehand about their horses.
"An ale to start off with," replied Mnemosyne looking around at the inn's patrons. "Something to wash the taste of the road from my mouth." The serving girl nodded a little less confidently. Something about this woman made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up a little. As she turned away Mnemosyne stopped her with a gesture. "Oh... and I arranged to meet some companions here. Do you know if any of them have arrived yet?"
The barmaid took a slight step back, so as to not be quite so close to Mnemosyne. "Well, most folk arrived yesterday, and are taking leave from their travels on account of the Sabbath. 'Part from this man here," she said, gesturing to a man seated not far from the door, "and the Bailiff an' his men," now pointing across to the far side of the room, "I can't say I know."
Across the room, the Innkeeper could be seen talking deferentially to a man seated in a high-backed chair. Nearby, at a small table placed close to the head table, were seated four men who could scarcely be anyone other than the Bailiff's men. As Mnemosyne watched, the Innkeeper finished talking with the Bailiff, and began picking his way back across the room to greet another fresh arrival.
Mnemosyne had originally intended to arrive here a couple of days ago, but she had not been able to make as fast progress as she had hoped. For one thing, she was not an experienced rider, and for a second, it appeared that travelling on horseback made her feel wretched. The speed they had been able to make had been limited by frequent stop offs to throw up and recover. She was most glad to have arrived finally.
Seeing the Innkeeper approach, the barmaid scurried off to fill cups and dodge wandering hands. "Welcome da-the Inn o'the Three Lions," he said while gazing past her at Geraldous, who still stood outside talking with the servant, "What cin I be doin fer ya, my dear?" Evidently this was his stock welcome, and not one he seemed to be tiring of. "Something t'settle your stomach, per'aps, or a quiet room?" He had a look about him as though he suspected something was amiss, but was sufficiently distracted by the large, armed guard, that he failed to give any thought to whether Mnemosyne was the type to avail herself of the house, and then abscond without reimbursing him.
It was then that Roan emerged from the door beside the Innkeeper, and said "The rooms prepared..." and halted in mid-sentence upon seeing Mnemosyne. "We've some more guests," he said, gesturing to Mnemosyne and Geraldous. "Why don't you fetch a dry towel, and some warm water for this lady, and tell Master Verditius to go through."
Mnemosyne had not been paying the innkeep a great deal of attention as he whittered on. Instead she had been surveying his patrons. The baliff had got the once over carefully, but she was pleased to note that he seemed to be ensconced in his chair and in no hurry to move. Sometimes, small town officials could be rather inconvenient when it came to strangers and asking questions which were none of their business. She was also pleased to note there were no clergy in residence either. They were other potential trouble-makers. In fact, the only person of any real interest seemed to be...
"Did you say Verditius?" she asked sharply, turning her piercing gaze on the innkeep and pinning him to the spot. He babbled for a moment, his speech filled with irrelevancies. He did however confirm that he had heard correctly, which was all that Mnemosyne really required. The odds that one of the Founders had come back from the dead and had chosen to stop here as rather remote. The odds that there would a different member of House Verditius here than the one she had been in communication was significantly better, but still fairly slight. This had to be Ambrosius - or at least she hoped so. In addition, she spotted the young fellow who could be the brother he mentioned in his last missive.
"Bring everything along to room as well," Mnemosyne ordered in the manner of one who is used to giving orders and having them obeyed. "And make sure my armsman has what he requires and knows where I am, when he finishes with the horses." With that she dismissed the innkeep from her mind and breezed past him to approach the man sitting at table, notably wrapped in links of chain. She glanced at the young man who had stopped his conversation as she approached, and at the woman he had been talking to. She thought she had heard a snatch of latin as she had approached. Had he been proclaiming his love for her? He really did not seem old enough.
However, it was the man who held her attention. Although he was fairly non-descript, accessories not included, Mnemosyne felt sure that this was one of her kind. There was the low spark of recognition she felt whenever she was in the company of one with the Gift - or at least she thought there was. Sometimes mistakes were made over such things. She felt sure that given the place and date this was not one of those times though.
"Ambrosius ex Verditius?" she asked bluntly, cutting straight to the point as she stopped infront of the table. Spotting the recognition and his words of affirmation, Mnemosyne gave a cool smile and introduced herself. "Mnemosyne filia Hironius ex Guernicus. Salve sodale. I suggest we move to the room you have apparently had prepared for us and continue this meeting in more private surroundings..." she said in latin.
Phaedrus
When the regulars have finally setled down after the previous stranger's arrivals, two other dusty travelers come through the door. As has become their habit the last few days, Phaedrus tries to be as inconspicuous as possible while Warren talks to the Innkeeper. Now being "inconspicuous" with an unhooded Kestrel on the shoulder and carrying a traveling pack is an interesting proposition...
Phaedrus had trouble making out much of what Warren said. Stepping closer he heard the Innkeeper's voice rise above the background noise; "Indeed, and not two hours before yourselves. We shewed them into this room here." As the Innkeeper said this, he knocked twice upon a door, and then opened it a little. "Excuse the intrusion, but there are two men here who say they know ye."
Marcus
The church bells rang the sexta hora, noon, and shortly thereafter a figure came out of the Church of Saint Laurence up the road from the Three Lions and began to make its way down to the Inn. The man, for man it was, was spotted by one of the household of the Inn who hailed him cheerfully, "Ho, Brother Marcus! Come for a drink?"
"Aye, Hugo, that I am," said Marcus in heavily accented English that betrayed his Irish origins. He came closer and shook his plain brown habit to knock the dust off it, "Many travellers today?"
"Oh, a few," said the lad. "And some very strange ones, indeed. Himself has put them in the back room, so they don't scare the crowd. They are a strange lot, a man with a hawk, a woman with a bodyguard who looked sick, another man with his brother and a tutor - a woman tutor!' The lad shook his head at the strangeness of the world.
"Really?" said the monk with a strange expression on his face. "We are all God's creatures, Hugo. I should perhaps attend to their needs." With a little wave, he entered the Inn. Though he had only been in the village for a day or two, he waved at several of the locals and paused once to ask a man about his son's illness before reaching the back room. He stepped through, closed the door behind him and spoke in Latin, "My name is Marcus Severus, sectator Jerbitonis." Then he moved forward to join his sodales.
Bedo
It was near dusk, when the door swung open, and a large blonde young man, dressed in a plain long tunic, tied up by his belt, showing worn breeches, and solid, old boots. entered. Over he wore a full hood, hanging well down his back. With him came the slight, familiar smell of oxen, and from outside could be heard their lowing.
He peered quickly around the inn, spotted the Innkeeper, and headed straight for him, a worried look on his face. He introduces himelf, quite loudly "I'm Prees, a carter from Chester, and I'm working for this man Beddows, a Welshman, see. He's looking to stay here overnight, so I'm looking to see if ye've a place, food, and somewhere that I may rest and water the team." He drops his voice slightly and continues "He's a bit odd, mind, but he can pay, and he's been no trouble on the journey south so far. He's been keeping himself to himself in the back of the cart mainly, mind, and spent last evening making notes in a large ledger book he carries." He stops, as if trying to remember something, then continues, a bit louder. "Oh, and he said he's to meet someone here, a Mr Nimmosson, or somelike. He said they'd probably be needing a quiet corner to meet, and was most insistent that we travelled on today to make it on time, despite it being the Lords day tomorrow when I'll have to travel back.
As Prees continued arranging things with the Innkeeper the door had opened quietly, and another man could be seen standing just outside the door, watching and listening. Better dressed than the carter, his long tunic hung down below a shorter, belted overtunic, and he wore a foreign-looking cap, with a point overhanging his brow. He was of slight build and dark haired, by appearance a clerk, but his clothes were of a better cloth and cut than would be expected. He looked quickly around the inn from the doorway, looking at each group in turn, but waited before entering until one of the maids caught his eye and, shivering at the draught blowing in from the road, waved for him to enter and close the door.
The barmaid appraised the man, and arrived at a not terribly complimentary picture. "Welcome," she said flatly, "if you're one of them that the group in the back room be expectin' then you can go through," she raised a finger and pointed, "that door there. If not, then sit yerself by the fire'n I'll be along in a minute to see to you." Her matter of fact manner could have been due to a long and hard day, but as she turned to leave, he thought he caught her mutter "... never rains, but..."
The room was emptier than it had been before dusk, but it seemed no less noisy as the ale did its work. The other patrons had pulled stools and benches over to the snug, though more for the light of the fire than for the heat it cast into the room. Three men in the corner, however, drank by the light of a candle, and kept very much to themselves; from a glance about the room, it appeared to be a mutually agreeable arrangement.
Longinus
Shortly after dusk the door swung open yet again. A brown haired man with the tough look of an experienced mercenary pushed through. He scanned the poorly lit room and then turned over his shoulder and muttered something unintelligible before advancing into the room.
The inkeep approached to welcome the latecomer but as he opened his mouth to give his usual welcome the mercenary forestalled him with a hand and headed directly towards the relaxed figure of the bailiff, still in the rooms sole chair. Before the inkeep could take offense at this rudeness his attention was distracted by the entrance of a dazzlingly white robed figure with a deep cowl. As his dog jumped to its feet and started barking the inkeep realised with a sinking feeling that no wool was ever that white and no traveller was ever that clean. Even more suspiciously the robed man seemed to have no intention of lowering his cowl.
Caught between the rude mercenary and the strange robed figure the inkeep looked at one then the other and giving up cursed in the direction of the dog. All three ignored him. "Ain' 'ere for touble, thah" grunted the mercenary, showing a gummy smile to the bailiff. "Da lawdlin' hath a meetin".
The bailiff cocked his head, studying both of the newcomers. "Aye then. See me tomorrow if you are staying longer than one night."
Regathering his composure the inkeep gestured to the back room. "I b'lieve yull be wantin ta join the gatherin in the back room? I'll have the gurl bring bread and broth."
The mercenary looked back at the cowled figure and without a word they both moved toward the door to the back room. The inkeep shuddered behind them. White robes or not, something wasn't right with that one.
Eirlys
A bit before sundown, there came a knock at the entryway. With curiosity and a bit of suspicion, the barkeep looked up from the pitcher she was filling; no one knocks at the front door of an inn, especially not when the door is open! She hastened to the entry out of curiosity.
Standing there was a woman, deeply engrossed in a heated, whispered argument with... some sort of large weasel? The woman's comment of "I'm just trying to be polite!" was nearly drowned out by the animal's "Look, you just don't knock at an inn, you just walk in, so don't make a fool of us!"
Caroline the barmaid nearly fainted; in fact, she swayed a bit where she stood. A man she hadn't noticed before reached out to steady her. Once she regained her composure, she made to thank him, but he had already withdrawn and was standing a bit away from his female and beast companions, looking on with a bored expression. Caroline turned back to those odd companions.
The woman was standing with the beast around the back of her neck, with head and tail curling around her shoulders, almost like a living shawl. Where before, they were both facing each other and whispering fervently, now they were both facing forward with enormous smiles on their faces. Caroline couldn't tell whose expression was more predatory: the beast's, or the woman's. She cleared her throat to speak, but found that words wouldn't come. With a muffled gasp, she dropped her pitcher and shuffled into the kitchen as quickly as she could.
"See, I TOLD you that you were going to screw things up by knocking," the weasel-like creature admonished.
"Me? You're the one who scared her by talking!" she replied hotly. "Mundanes don't have polecats who can talk. Stinky weasel."
"Oh, like *I'M* so scary just because I can talk-- Miss Walks-on-Hooves. I bet your grammar scares them more than my clearly enunciated and verbosely verisimilitude speech." He preened a bit, where he perched.
"'Verbosely verisimilitude speech'? And you're commenting on MY grammar?"
A tap on the shoulder caught the woman's attention; her silent companion gestured towards the flustered-looking man before them.
The innkeeper cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Ah, miss..." his eyes glanced down, to where one shaggy hoof was protruding out from under her long linen shift, "My, ah, esteemed lady..." his eyes glanced back up over the doorway nervously, then back to her: "Perhaps I can show you to a room? And one for your manservant here?"
The dark-haired woman nodded her head graciously. "Why yes, that would be lovely," she replied.
"If you'll follow me, then..." As the man turned his back, she stepped through the entrance, and craned her neck to see what the old man had been looking at; there was an old iron horseshoe nailed carefully over the entryway. "I told you I needed to knock," she whispered. With a gesture and a mutter, the woman walked through the room, leaving behind her a lonely-looking doorway with a bronze horseshoe nailed above it.
The Innkeeper walked over to the fire, and lit and candle. With a chubby finger poked through the metal loop of the holder, he proceeded to lead her across the room, to a sturdy oak door. Pulling it open, a narrow set of stairs could be made out by the flickering candlelight. With a nod to Eirlys, he began to ascend them; his bulk blocking out most of the light from the candle. He winced at the sound of Eirlys's hooves upon each and every stair as they climbed, imagining the folk in the bar below staring toward the staircase in puzzlement.
Eirlys was shown to a small room, which was fitted with two tall cots that almost entirely filled the room. "You an' the young master can take either cot, but if you'll be retiring early, I'd suggest the far one, as having people clamber over you isn't the nicest way to be woken. We're full to the rafters tonight, what with the new party downstairs coming along today."
Had Eirlys not been raised by the fae, in fantastic surroundings, she might have been alarmed by the reaction of the Innkeeper. He seemed to be taking her hooves, and companion, in his stride. Behind his back, the fingers of his other hand worried a ragged bit of thumbnail, as he vexed himself over the his hellish predicament.
"Are you needin' ought?" Caroline called up the stairwell, more to check if the Innkeeper was intact than out of any desire to fulfil her duties. He stepped away from Eirlys, perhaps a little too quickly, and, poking his head out into the corridor, replied "No, no.. I'll be down by and by." Looking at Eirlys once more, or rather, looking at the weasel on her shoulder, he continued, "is that all, or can I leave you in peace?"
