Ok here we go. I am trying some new things with this story. My first attempt at a first person story. So please pardon me if there are some inconsistencies. I am not yet sure how long this story will be. I think it will just go till it decides to finish itself. By the way, all the standard rules apply. You know what they are but for those who don't: Don't read if under the age of 18 or whatever the legal age is where you may live, don't read if you think you may be offended by sexual contact, specifically contact between two consenting males and sometimes more. I am not responsible if you get caught by your parents while reading this or if you have an emotional breakdown cause you were so surprised by the content of the story. Any comments, questions, flames, random thoughts, credit card numbers (if you really want to) can be sent to DivineGlow@aol.com. An added warning, there is a model of the Roman Catholic Church in this story. While I have twisted it into my villains, this is in no way representative of my thoughts of the actual Church, nor is it trying to imply anything about the actual Church. Please, please, please, take no offense at how they are portrayed in this story. I say again, please. I just needed a large force that fit the time period to be my villains. There, I'm done, now go read.
Crazy Days, Wild Knights Chapter 1
The life of a slave is actually quite simple. Do what you are told, and you get to eat that night. Anyone who thinks it is anything more than that was obviously never a slave. Me? I have been a slave my whole life. No family, no friends. I scarcely believed I ever had a mother. Just work, day in and day out. I guess you could say I was content. I was still breathing. If only I knew then what I know now. But I guess everyone says that. All I knew then was work. "Clean out that room. Bring these drinks to that patron. Scrub that kitchen floor. On your knees under that soldiers table." You look surprised. I guess I should have mentioned that earlier. I was cursed with having good looks. Why cursed you ask? For the normal person, being attractive is a good thing. For a slave, it's just another way for your owner to make money. I had the long blonde hair that attracted the attention of many lecherous men and women. An odd contrast to my dark brown eyes. They all said how it gave me a mysterious look. But I couldn't argue. If I wanted to eat a cold meal that night, I had better eat the warm but soiled flesh of whoever paid the highest price. For 6 winters I practiced the secrets of carnal knowledge in ways that would make a mistress blush. 6 winters out of the 14 I had survived to that point. And that's when my adventure began....
It was business as usual. The inn was particularly crowded on that summer night. Nothing I couldn't handle though. Back and forth from the kitchen I went in a never-ending attempt to keep everyone happy. Being summer and the fact that I was moving so much; I was fortunate to be wearing the pants that had torn off at the knees last winter. Good planning on my part. My shirt was in a much better condition but sadly it was long-sleeved to a fault. The only shirt not covered in unidentifiable substances. So every moment or so I would have to push the sleeves back up so at least my hands showed. I was amazed that I was able to carry anything at all. This caused a slight dilemma. I really wanted to avoid having to "work" after things died down. Knowing the revealing pants, or at least what was left of them, didn't help the fact. I had a few minutes to rest in the kitchen and decide my fate while one of the barmaids sang. Do I continue to work with the awkward shirt or do I remove it? Removing it guaranteed me a job that night; the results of daily hard labor making my upper body a sight to behold even at my young age. While keeping it on would bring the risk of spilling something. And that generally resulted in not eating.
I heard the barmaid's song end and with a heavy heart and even heavier sigh, I walked back out to the main room with my shirt wrapped around my waist. I faced the body of the shirt forward in a hopeful attempt to distract attention from my southern regions. But in the end I knew it wouldn't matter. I could only hope for a good customer. During my absence several customers had left and more arrived. I noticed the table of Clergy instantly. They are nearly impossible to miss. Several Priests and a Bishop. Its could only mean one thing. Someone was in trouble. Even more so due to the fact they were wearing Armour. This would be the sixth fight I cleaned up this week. Obviously I wasn't the only person to notice, just about everyone's hands had moved closer to their weapons. But I could only ponder the situation briefly before I was back into a drink serving frenzy.
Some time passed before the Church officials even asked for drinks. They normally don't drink before a fight, so either they hadn't found whom they were looking for, or they had and were trying to throw the person off. I brought them their drinks, avoiding eye contact as much as possible. I felt the stares on my back as I walked to the next table. When I glanced their direction in passing, sure enough they were all still looking at me, their faces neatly concealed by their helmets and cloaks. Lord I hoped I wasn't the one they were looking for. Thinking this, I nearly jumped clean of my skin when I heard my name called. It was Barley, the innkeeper, and my owner. I ran over to him quickly and lowered my head.
"Yes Master?" I spoke softly, Barley liked to be the loudest in any conversation.
"Do you know why the Priests are here?" His voice was gruff as always.
"No Master." He looked away from me and over at the table then back to me.
"Stay away from them as much as possible. I don't want my property to be damaged"
"Yes Master." He walked away, his large girth still being felt in the floor as he stepped back behind the bar. I had no arguments with following his orders and went back to work. Must have been another hour or so. The Priests still sat talking quietly about whatever it was Priests talk about. But when a man in dark cloth rose from his table across the room, the Priestly conversation came to a halt. He had attracted way more attention than the others who left. He was the one they were looking for. Priests, who were never ones to make false pretense about their intentions, turned to look at him in a slow unison. After taking one step the man paused and the Clergy rose silently. Not even the slightest noise of Armour. I took this opportunity to find a corner to hide myself in, as many of the patrons were doing the same. This left an open path between the Priests and the dark robed man. I took a quick mental count of the dishes between the two. 'Great. I get to go shopping tomorrow.'
The Bishop stepped forward and stood for a moment, giving the Dark Clothed Man a chance to give up. When no such plea was asked, the Bishop spoke.
"I suggest you come with us quietly, Sinner." His voice had a slight arrogant tone to it, definitely a Bishop. The Dark Clothed Man looked to both sides of him then back to the bishop.
"Sinner? I see no sinners here."
"The Lord does not play games nor humors jokes Sinner."
"In that case would you like to explain why you believe me to be a Sinner?"
"You deal in the Dark Arts and communicate with evil forces and are thus a Sinner."
"Ahhh, and have you any proof of the accusations?"
"We have several witnesses but they matter not, you will stand trial and be judged, or you will die on this spot."
"Did it ever occur to you that I might not be the man for whom you seek?" This caused pause in the Bishop but only brief.
"Then you will have died for the greater good of your Lord, our God."
"So I am damned either way... Well in that case..." The man removed his hood reveling his features. His long, raven black hair fell over his shoulders as if running for freedom. He had less aged features than I assumed he would have. Dark skin, slightly pointed nose, nicely rounded eyes which struck a wonderful color of brown. He was surely from the south. I sat staring when, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a similarly dressed man standing off to the side. I couldn't see all of his face from where I stood, but I did notice a twinge of anger in his lips. My attention was called back to the center of the room when the "Sinner" spoke.
"So maybe I am the man you are looking for. What right do you have to judge me?" The bishop touched the Cross of Rank on his chest.
"The Church and our Lord grant me this right. But I am done debating with you Sinner. Yield now or on your knees begging." The Bishop drew his sword, a blade of obvious fine quality, followed by the four Priests behind him. The "Sinner" closed his eyes.
"And so, as always it comes to bloodshed. So be it. But let the consequences of your actions return to show you the truth."
With out words the Bishop raised his sword to strike. The Sinner, with lightning speed, kicked the Bishop in the gut and sent him stumbling backwards into the table behind him. The four Priests wasted absolutely no time and rushed in. The Sinner pulled a dagger from some hidden place; parrying one attack while kicking another Priest in the head. Somehow the man managed to jump clean of a third attack and catch the blade arm of a fourth. I have seen my share of fights but never have I seen anyone move so fast. He removed the sword from the Priest's grip then tossed the sword one direction and the Priest another, into his fellows. Sadly it was the sword of the Bishop through the man's shoulder from behind that brought the amazing display to an abrupt halt. I considered that quite odd. The Bishop threatened his life yet only hit a non-vital area. There is no way he missed. He wanted the man alive for whatever reason.
The humiliated Priests gathered themselves up then helped to drag the man outside followed by the Bishop. The man stood no chance, even with his superior skills. Nobody could ever hope to beat Clergy. They would have overwhelmed him. He must have known this. I remembered the other man I saw earlier and looked around for him as the Clergy left. He was still standing in the same spot. The anger he showed was gone and now he wept. I could barely see the tears as the streamed down his cheek. I watched him with fascination for a few moments before his head snapped to face my direction. I still couldn't see his face thanks to some shadows, but I knew he was looking right at me. Fear gripped my heart like a tavern wench grips a bedpost and I quickly ran off to clean up the mess left by the fight.
The next chapter should arrive in about a week's time. For those who know my wonderful sense of time, that means anywhere between tomorrow and several months from now. It will certainly be sooner than later. How bout I pull a Spielberg and make it every two years? Just kidding. Thanks for reading!