Let Them Eat Chow

[Wilhelm Bosche]

“Well, there's a significant possibility that you'll be wasting another day. I'm not actually sure how far we have to go, but I'll look into that,” Wilhelm answered honestly. The door to the deck was already open, so he went out and looked around.

He hadn't noticed when he came aboard, but now that the sea was all around them, sloshing with its salty whitecaps, the boat seemed much smaller. The horizon bucked up and down in the distance and Wilhelm suddenly clutched the railing.

“First time at sea, eh?” Captain Weiss asked. “Better get used to it. Got another day or so before the pirates are likely to show, if they do at all. Tried to rig up the Red Wake to be a tempting bit 'o bait, but you never know how craven these men might be.”

“Yes, indeed,” Wilhelm said, more nauseated than any dimensional jaunt had ever made him. Beneath the sickness he was somewhat surprised at the revelation that they weren't a simple delivery. Between half-expecting the trick from Elenore and trying to keep anything other than words from coming out of his mouth, he held in his distaste with the change of plans.

“Go on back into the cabin. We've a store of grog that'll settle your stomach a bit,” Weiss said, patting Wil on the arm. “If we run into 'em, you'll know it. Otherwise, just rest up and be ready.”

Wil simply nodded and staggered his way back to the hold. He rummaged a bit through the boxes and pulled out a corked green glass bottle. He opened it and sniffed it, taking a swig before he even tried to report the news. The diluted liquor hit his stomach surprisingly well, and he felt well enough to speak a bit.

“The Captain informs me that we're on a bit more interesting mission than I thought. Evidently it involves pirates, so. . . I guess even Caesar had to start somewhere.”

[Laureolus]

Though she’d loath to admit it to anyone, if Laureola didn’t have to the see the unending sea tuanting her with the lack of land, the boat’s steady rocking was rather relaxing. Resting against the wall of the hold, she had just closed her eyes when Wilhelm returned and starting searching for the grog.

“Caesar started with Gaul, merrily told the Germans to shove it, and then landed on Britannia just to say he did it. If we only had Caesar’s start, “she commented. “He never caught the pirate’s that held him for ransom though. We can consider it a favor it him.”

Laureola peeked with one eye to see what Wilhelm was rummaging about for and saw him take a swig from the green bottle. “Ha. I’m glad I’m not the only person that’d rather be taking a cart to our destination. “

With smirk plastered on her face, she continued. “We’ve heard little about me, I’m rather stuck here. What are you doing here, a scholar delivering supplies and now enforcing law on the seas? The last philosopher I knew could hardly be bothered to leave his libraries or seat in the forum even if I’d stabbed him once already. He wouldn't have let me get away with the ‘civil war builds character’ either,” she laughed.

[Wilhelm Bosche]

It was an interesting question, and one for which the answer could pass quite a bit of time. He pondered where even to begin, but figured the best was still an analogy to what he knew of Rome, though if what the woman said was true, her understanding was somewhat different from his own.

“Well, in the history of my own world, Rome fell. It become decadent and complacent, and the noble citizen legions were replaced by paid mercenaries. The Empire declined from noble men like Caesar Augustus to a series of ineffectual and increasingly insane despots. Gone were the days of noble farmers like Cinncinnatus who cared more for civic virtue than personal power. The fall left a terrible rift in history. Knowledge, technology, and government all were set back centuries and it took the world a long time to recover,” he paused a moment realizing that he had not yet even begun to discuss his own people.

“In any event, my people were a lot like our Rome in its last days. They're complacent, decadent. They've never done a day's work in their lives. Our army was reduced to a group of immature children playing at being soldiers. We increasingly lived by siphoning resources from the far reaches of the world. Eudaemonia, my home, was a fat leech. It wasn't always so,” he pulled the longsword from his hip and held the blade skyward, or rather, ceilingward in the still rocking ship's hold.

“There was a time when we had great men who could stand proudly alongside the likes of Scipio Africanus and Gnaeus Pompey Magnus. One was named Arius Otani Mephisto, who fought a great war for our people and then left to a small scholarly town to retire. Another is an ancestor of mine with whom I share a name, Nijin Bosche Otani,” Wil was nearly side tracked into explaining the difference in naming convention between modern names and Latin praenomen-nomen-cognomen structure, but he steadied himself and continued. “He lead an invasion against one of the lands of Althanas, called Corone, but he was brought down by civil strife. His legacy remains a dubious one, but at least he had the boldness and courage to strike out one last time for empire.”

Wilhelm failed to mention that Arius was in fact part of the civil strife that brought down Nijin. As much as he disliked what his people had become, he still held some pride for their history and would not air out dirty laundry to a stranger who would not know any better.

“In any event, for all those reasons, I left. My people have a means of travel, for which there is no analogy in your time, except perhaps the power of the gods. It is a mighty machine that can move things almost instantly from one place to another, from one reality to another. The lazy, weak government used it for nothing but the slow accumulation of resources. So I took this sword,” he spun it about in his hand, knowing that he had drawn it for a reason. “And I made my way to it, and I made it take me here. Althanas is the grave site of my empire, but I refuse to die with it. I want to learn what makes this land vital, exciting, and full of strife. Mankind is at its best when it struggles, even against itself.”

[Laureolus]

Wilhelm knew how to start his account on a compelling point. While her Rome had yet to fall into complacency reform could only do so much to prop up a cracked column. Those last reforms, the bloody disbanding of the purely provincially loyal legions and the semi-return of the yearly allotment of consular armies, had only put the lion back in the cage before it swallowed its master. They did little to stop the consolation of power into fewer hands with less accountability.

Laureola stood and watched him slowly arc his blade as he spoke, light playing over its unblemished surface like the face of a jewel. She pulled out her short blade and repeated his motions. Despite the care given to her blade over the years the light refused to play the same way. Notches were cut into curved leaf edge, ruining the reflective flat of the blade like it had done to bone and shield of her foes. Its pitted surface refused to let go of the light it seized like she had refused to let go of victory in battle. Two swords with two contrasting sets of experiences.

“You left a world without scarcity, a world without an external foe, a world where men had usurped the power of gods?” She paused before continuing, trying to contain her laughter. “You abandoned Elysium because there was no strife? No struggle? Where Romulus and Remus shared the same city? You came for a fallen empire?”

Unable to hold it in, a peal of laughter burst from her breast. She clutched Wilhelm’s shoulder With her free hand to keep from falling. Taking a breath, she tried to continue.

"During the reforms by Marcus Aurelius, Rome held and fought off the barbarian legions that threatened to consume it. After that the Greeks named a Tenth Muse, a Muse of War. Her name was Fortuna Populi Romani*, and they named every roman citizen her disciple.” Wiping away tears of laughter she looked Wilhelm in the eye. “Even lost in this strange land I’m glad to see another roman in spirit, even one shortsighted as you. I fear that there’ll be more than enough strife to sink your teeth into in any world that isn’t your own.”

*Fortune of the Roman people

[Wilhelm Bosche]

“I'm sure plenty of strife awaits us in the waters off Salvar," he couldn't restrain a grin at the idea.

"I realize how crazy it must sound,” Wilhelm said. In fact, he hadn't really understood the full extent of his madness until he saw her reaction. Almost every creature that ever lived did everything for a chance at paradise, subscribed to backward moral teachings, killed, suffered, starved, just for the barest chance of immortal pleasure. It was that fact that made Wilhelm strange to them, but it was also that fact which explained him. Humans are built to strive and with nothing to strive for, heaven quickly becomes limbo, and ultimately hell. “But I thought if anyone a Roman might understand, and I'm glad you do, at least somewhat.”

He took another gulp of the grog, no longer to settle his stomach. It was still merely afternoon and the ship would be sailing for a long time before it came into the pirates' reach. He knew that if his faculties were fully within his control he would likely stay up the whole night pestering this woman, or pondering the import of his answers alone in the darkness. That simply wouldn't do when cutlasses were drawn and battle was joined.

“I'm going to drink a bit more of this and see if I can't get some rest. You may wish to do the same, but I don't know if you've adjusted to the day-night cycle here yet. I think it's pretty close to Earth's though I haven't measured it exactly. My own people run on twenty-six hour days, and so I'm constantly,” he thought to say 'jet lagged' even though that was an anachronism even in his own language. There were no time zones or airplanes in Architelos, but the phrase still stuck, especially as leisure time lead to increasingly strange sleep schedules. “Well, I'm always out of sorts a bit. I want to be rested when the battle comes, if it comes.”

He finished the bottle with a gulp and pulled out two more from the crate, offering one to his companion. He would finish both if necessary. Alcohol induced sleep was fairly common for a man with such a worrisome and overactive mind. Architelos had plenty of spirits and little consequences for over consumption, so his tolerance was fairly high, especially in his youth. After he had hatched his plan to leave, he spent meany sleepless nights and his stream of wine and liquor stemmed to a trickle. Still, it was a familiar sensation, being rocked to sleep by his own inebriation. The addition of the boat rocking was less satisfying.

[Laureolus]

Sighing at Wilhelm, she picked up the bottle he had just sat down and offered it back to him full as it was a few minutes ago.

“Now you’re going to drink your thoughts away? Ha, you’re not going to find Elysium in your sleep I’m sad to say. Pompey Magnus didn't win his Triumph by drinking his way through the Numidian campaign did he? “Laureola put on a dour face, trying to look as if she were going to continue scolding him. It was too hard to keep up as she laughed and took his offered bottle. “You could’ve done worse in finding a drinking partner though; you’d have run out of drink without me here.”

Before she opened hers she looked at her chain shirt, in terrible shape and covered in the stains of battle, was more importantly still on her back. Being able to take it off tonight would be nice, as sleeping in a soiled suit of rings didn’t exactly sound like an agreeable plan to her. Laureola looked at Wilhelm and sighed again.

“While you try to ‘rest,’ ” the air quotes tangible in her voice, “I need to see about wearing something that isn’t covered in blood. And maybe.... liver?" she questioned as she picked at it. "I can't quite tell what that spot is. At any rate, I’d like to find something that won't scare the pirates away when they come.” She laughed again, heading out to see if she could borrow a spare set of clothing from the captain, or less likely have one made.

[Wilhelm Bosche]

As Wilhelm drifted to sleep, he pondered the day's events, as he always did. The Roman woman's criticism of his solution didn't bother him in the least. He had much bigger worries floating through his mind. How long would he be wrapped up in Salvar before he could return to Uiria? Did he really mean what he said about strife? He wondered if after a few weeks of living a hard life, he might regret his rash decision and spend the rest of his life trying to rebuild a portal to a society that would never accept him. Uiria was a safety net, a halfway point that he could settle for.

Out on the deck, the sun was just beginning to creep beneath the horizon. Weiss was directing his meager crew to bring out lanterns and set them in their places. The captain himself was busying himself with a case that held his navigational instruments. Despite his commanding presence, the old sailor seemed to be having some difficulty with them.

"Confounded things," he muttered, not yet noticing that one of his passengers had come out on deck in search of him. "Where's Artolia when I need her?"

The woman he referred to was a specialist wizard of the sort long used by sophisticated men of the sea. They would forego the standard compliment of fireballs and lightning bolts to learn to conjure favorable winds, navigate by divination, and ward against leaking planks. It had been decided, against Weiss' vote, that placing one on the ship would be too suspicious. No common cargo ship could ever afford one, and one of the principal values of the Ships' Mages aside from their abilities was their tendency to ward off attack.

Weiss turned about, fiddling with an astrolabe and caught eyes with the strange woman he had taken aboard with her stained clothes and palpable dissatisfaction with being at sea. "Ah, excuse me, lass," he said, straightening himself up and tossing the astrolabe aside incautiously. "I hope this is what you've come to ask about, but if it isn't I apologize for insult. You need to get those rags off, especially if you're going to be on deck. A woman on ship will likely frighten suspicious pirates, but a blood-soaked one scares me a bit too. I happen to have a spare gown in the aft cabin, belonged to my navigator. It's a bit showy, but loose-fitting enough that it shouldn't matter what size ye are."

As his words trailed off on unfavorable winds, the sun sank at last beneath the waves. The lanterns twinkled in the twilight, enticing any who could see them to claim the Red Wake as their prize.

[Laureolus]

Going out to ask the captain for a spare set of clothes meant crossing the deck of course. Which still had a commanding view of the open sea, to Laureola’s great pleasure. Maybe not as much of it with the sun almost set, but the ground never turned that violent glistening orange at dusk either. Grunting with displeasure, she slowly crept toward who she assumed was the captain, as he was the only one not scurrying about hanging lamps. The walk to captain seem unbearably slow, her vice grip on every rope and wooden edge along the way making a twenty second walk take several minutes.

Captain Weiss thankfully turned around and put an end to the spectacle going on behind him, to the disappointment of his smug crew who were enjoying the spectacle. He spotted Laureola, casually tossed his instrument aside, and offered her a spare gown if she could make it to the back of the ship alive.Well, he might not have explicitly stated the last bit, but Laureola thought he might as well have. She gave a subdued waved at Weiss, not trusting herself to give thanks without a screech escaping with it, and headed aftward with ropes and railing squeaking in protest. Another reason not to like sailing, they couldn’t call the end of the ship the back, it was the aft.

Two minutes later, on a trip that should have taken 30 seconds, she made into aft cabin. Shutting the door and leaning against it, she let out a muted sigh of relief. Flexing her sore hands she scan with the room, not wanting to linger in someone else’s room longer then she had to be. Spotting what passed for a wardrobe here she started towards it, but Laureola couldn’t help but notice a small grimy mirror next to it. The silver reflection staring back was not someone she had seen starting back at her before. With bloodshot eyes with her matted red hair looking as close to clumps of rust as it ever would she looked more like a crazed Germanic berserker then a legionnaire. Hell, Germanic berserkers didn’t have smudges of bloody mud on their faces… before battle at least. Were it not for battered shield on her back and a few of the rings on her fingers, she’d believe she was one. She turned the mirror over

Turning the mirror over and facing the wardrobe, she opened the rather ornately carved doors to see what she’d be wearing for the night. She greeted the contents of the dour look she had given Wilhelm’s ship before she boarded it earlier. ’Showy’ indeed. Blue as the sky, covered in frills that’d sway about in even a light breeze, and with little clouds and breezes carefully laced into it Laureola didn’t want to know the person that wore it. If the captain didn’t want her to change she’d consider sleeping in bloody wool instead. Shaking her head, she put her shield aside with a soft thump and started pulling the chain mail off. Little tinks erupted around her around, the last of the loose rings come off as she removed the mail. A quick inspection left her grimacing; the front of said mail was mostly useless with several large holes being clearly visible.

Before she could progress any further in changing an alarm was raised outside. She guessed that they’d probably set fire to the ship while fire setting out the lanterns and she was going to drown beside a burning ship. It could have been the pirates, but that would be a streak of luck in what had been a very bad day.

[Wilhelm Bosche]

Wilhelm was still, for lack of a better word, groggy when the same bell that had ushered him into the ship rang out much more fiercely. It sounded an alarm to the sparse crew, a very few men who assembled on deck shortly after the sound. Weiss looked out through a spyglass at what was otherwise a speck on the horizon. Through the crude lens, the image of a battered galleon came to the captain's eye, The Looking Glass. If both ships were in proper fighting shape, the large ship could easily take on the Red Wake. As it was, the enemy sails sagged and much of the wood was rotted or missing. The ship was a shambles, but Weiss' own craft was not much better. A few superficial injuries had been made to the craft before its launch to make it a more savory target, but the genuine weakness was his skeleton crew.

He sent two of them to alert the Red Wake's secret passengers. A man came down into the hold just as Wilhelm was rubbing his eyes and attempting to discern how long he had been out.

"Oi, we've sighted one'a the pirate ships. Cap'n wants you to stay down 'ere until they board, so's not to scare 'em off," he said quickly and then went back topside.

Wil was more than happy to oblige. He sincerely doubted that his presence would frighten anyone, especially in his bedraggled state, but he did his best to ready himself. His sword and buckler lay on a crate beside him. After a stretch and a few moments of deep breathing, he strapped the small shield onto his left wrist and fastened the sword's scabbard to his waist. He pulled the blade out and found it sharp, pristine, and ready for battle, everything that he was not.

[Laureolus]

A few surprises awaited Laureola as she peeked out of the aft cabin. That she wasn’t going to drown beside a burning ship was the pleasant one. The unpleasant one was that if that small group of men was indeed the whole of the crew, by the dim lantern light it couldn’t have been more then twenty men, then fighting off any attack would be challenge. Before she could step out, a crew member broke off and came to her.

“Cap'n says to tell ya that the pirate are gaining on us and could be ‘ere in fifteen minutes.” He paused before the next bit, the nervous tick of his eyes marking him as one of the more superstitious sailors. “Cap'n also says to wait in ‘ere, thinks the bloody lass would scare ‘em off before they got to come aboard.”

Laureola laughed as the crew man gave a nervous glance behind him as he went to get further orders from Captain Weiss. As she turned around to rearm and armor herself, a streak of light glided by her and landed on the desk beside the wardrobe. It seems her eagle companion had had enough of the fresh air.

“Ha, everyone is so nervous about me being onboard they forget to give you a second look.” Shaking her head at the bird, she slid her arms into the mail suit and wriggled her upper body to help pull it down. It wasn’t as easy putting mail on without a helper and it took a solid few minutes of wriggling to finally finish pulling it down, the shadow given off by her companion’s glow making it look like an epic struggle instead of someone putting on a chain suit.

Exhaling in relief, she took a moment to sit down and catch a breath. “Not quite as easy to put that now without someone helping you pull it down, “she continued on with the glowing bird, her left sandal nervously tapping on the wooden floor. “ I could have gotten stuck you’d have just sat there wouldn’t you?”

Seeing that the bird was unlikely to respond she moved over to door, fixing shield to her left arm and sword on her belt, and peeked out again. Captain Weiss seemed to be organizing his men into groups of four, smart considering that they were likely to be outnumbered, and at the same time trying to make it look like they were making some attempt to get away.