Into Hiding

Again, Intellectual property of, and copyright held by Jared G. Juckiewicz. Warnings of Violence, Alcohol, Language and Sexual References.

This one be set between the Bear's time in the Holy Lands, and his going into hiding in Scotland. It is in fact set between him leaving Rauda's company to strike north, and his arrival there, and as can be seen, the habits he'll be requiring are coming hard... Inconspicuous he ain't...


(Note. Recent Events are leading to Retconning most of the Accidental Vikingr tales set AFTER Outremer. This falls amongst those. Furthermore, to move more into keeping with the setting, certain character names are being changed. Sir Jared shall be referred to as Jehan, and Sir Javier [Where he appears] as Iuliano. Sorry...)



As the young woman ran into the tavern, she prayed that there would be someone in the low, grimy building who would help her. Her bare feet squelching in the filthy straw covering the floor, she looked around as her eyes adjusted to the poor light. And she knew despair. Everyone in the tavern had the look of a farmer, or a herdsman, a peasant. None of them would stand up to the son of the local Knight. They were too cowed, too beaten down. As these thoughts ran through her mind, accompanied by prayers to the Christ and his Father, and to his Divine Mother, she glanced round the tavern once more. There, in the corner, a man sat, nursing a tankard of mead. He must have brought it with him, for the local Tavernkeep had naught but horn cups and the odd leather stein. His cloak was of some form of thick fur, and she could swear that the slightest glimmer of steel shone from beneath it. Quickly, she scrambled to his side, her feet sliding in spilt drinks, and other, less mentionable fluids. He was sitting alone, and there was a bubble of empty seats around him, so she didn't have put up with the propositions of the places patrons. As she reached him, she dropped to her knees. "Please, Stranger!" She pleaded. "You Must Help Me!" she claimed. He looked at her, and uttered gruffly "I -must- do nothing. I neither want nor need trouble, and you look to be just that." And with that he went back to his drink. Tears streaming down her face, she tried another tact. "I can pay you." She importuned, and he looked her up and down. His eyes took in the rough, ragged and patched, homespun nature of her clothing, her lack of footwear or pouch or indeed any possessions. She didn't even have a belt, her tunic held to her waist by a plain cord of scrap linen. "With What?" He asked, and she stopped short. She hadn't thought of that. A minute or so later, she looked up at him, and, the words coming out strangled by a lifetime of preaching and forced modesty. "My... Body..." She almost whined. The stranger looked at her. He saw how much such an offer had cost her, would cost her, and his face fell. "Well. You're willing to offer as much as that, you must be in need of help. Siddown". And he grabbed her shoulder and forced onto one of the rough stools, dragging it to his side. His eyes seemed to go even warier, as he bellowed to the serving wench. "Two more Ales, Lady. And Quick!". Reaching behind him, he dragged a pack around his side, drawing forth a small pouch of leather, and then forced the pack back. From the pack he drew forth a handful of jerked meat and one of dried apples and pears and grapes. He handed these to the girl. "Here eat. You need it more than me." When the ales arrived he handed one to her. "Drink too. I'll take nothing, and give naught more." With that, he settled to his own, drawing a curious looking pendant from his neck, and dipping it in his ale. It looked a bit like a cross, but upside down, with the lowest arm almost non-existant. He carefully shielded this with arm, and then started to drink his ale in long draughts.
As he was doing this, the Knights son and his cronies, came in. They glanced around and homed in on the girl. As the young man grabbed her shoulder roughly, the stranger looked up at him, and spoke softly. "The lady and I are having a conversation. Kindly wait till we have finished, before you demand her attention." His courteous tone and phrasing were completely at odds with his appearance, his dress, and his prior behaviour. The Knights son, full of the swagger of his position and youth laughed this off. "My Father holds these lands in Fief. I do as I like." The strangers voice grew colder, and he slid his chair back from the table. "I said leave us be. Just until we finish our conversation." The young woman looked on in horror, as the grip on her shoulder tightened, and the young mans two squires moved round to flank the man. "She comes with me. We have... use... for her." The Knights son said, venom inflecting his words. The stranger bowed his head for a moment, and the Knight spoke again. "But, Peasant. We'll be teaching you a lesson first." This caused the stranger to speak again, his voice like brittle glass. "Aye. That You Will." He said camly, and suddenly bolted to his feet. As he came up, his cloak drifted away from his torso. It revealed the pommel of a broadsword, and the fine coat of maille covering his chest. And the badge on that maille, a Black Cross on a Yellow backing, a symbol of the Lords De Bruis, a noble family of the holy lands. With a bellow of "Outremer" The stranger whipped up the bearded axe he'd had propped against his chair, and slammed its haft into the gut of the man on his left. Rolling it over his wrist, he brought the butt down, hard, on the mans collarbone, and heard it crack. One down. The man on his right drew a short poniard, as the young knights son drew back. Well, the man with the poniard fared badly, the axe coming round in the strangers left hand to catch that wrist between head and haft. Meanwhile, the stranger lifted his helm from its prop on the other side of the chair. Swinging it deftly, it connected with the squires head with a sickening thud. Meantime the axehaft twisted, and there was a definite snap as the wrist it had hooked gave in. As the now terrified girl ducked round, as far into the corner as she could press, the stranger approached the young knight, casting helm and axe aside. He even loosed his sword belt and let it, and his scabbarded blades drop to the floor. Unarmed, he strode up to the young man, who had finally managed to draw his own sword. He swung it clumsily, and the stranger knocked it aside negligently, with enough force to dislodge it from his foes hand. He spoke again, with force, and authority. "I Am Sir Jehan, Called Bear or Bearsark, Knight of Outremer, Once in the service of the Lord and Lady De Bruis. As one who has fought alongst the Knights of the Temple, and in the defense of the Holy Lands and the Kingdom of Outremer, I name you unchivalrous, and a disgrace to the White Christ you claim to revere." By the end of this speech, the young man, without quite knowing how, was on his knees, with the strange knight standing behind him, gripping his neck. Jehan gestured to the girl, "Come forward. I'll not harm you. He'll not harm you. And I'll not take your proffered price either." A laugh. "'Tis One Sin I'm not given to. Perhaps THE one sin I'm not given to." When she had approached, he growled at his captive. "Apologise to the lady." When this was not forthcoming, his foot came down, hard, on the prisoners ankle. "APOLOGISE" This gritted out, sounding like barely restrained fury. "Sorry" Came the petulant reply. CRUNCH. The other ankle. "Sincerely." This more polite. "I apologise, milady, for any slight I may have done you." came the still insincere reply, his look promising dire consequences. "Very Well. Lady, fetch my blades, my helm, my pack, and my horse, and meet me outside in a minute. What? You didn't think I'd leave her here for you to... make use off? You must be stupider than you look." And with that he crouched down beside the noble, and whispered in his ear. "If word ever reaches me of you... inconveniencing... another lady, It'll be your skull I'll have the breaking of." And on that note, he found a pile of refuse not far in front of him, and rammed the knights face into it. He then slit the cords holding the mans money pouch, and tossing it lightly to catch it in his hand, left. By that point, the girl had followed his instructions, and when he left the building, he donned his pack, vaulted onto the horse, and dragged the girl up and into his lap. As he spurred the horse on, out of the little village, he pressed the pouch of coins into her hands. "I'll take you as far as you like, but no farther than Stirling. After that, your on your own."
It had felt good. Almost like old times he thought, but then he banished that thought. He shouldn't have drawn attention like that. He needed to hide, to sink unseen into the unwashed masses. There were those in these parts who remembered the Bear not as a Crusading Knight, but as an Outlaw, and a Murderer, and a Heathen Viking.