Chapter 4
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After another three days of running from boulders and brigands, Percivale twitched with increasing frequency. So did Bors and Gareth. They didn't twitch because of the danger. They didn't twitch because they had been walking for more than a week. They didn't twitch from lack of sleep and proper food. They didn't twitch from the constant pressure of staying alert.
They twitched because of Moxie.
She never stopped yapping. She insulted them hourly because her wedding was supposed to have taken place two days ago. She whined about not having enough to eat and that her wedding dress would have to be altered because of her weight loss. She grumbled about having to walk so far and so fast. She carped on the lack of rest breaks. She bleated about sleeping on the ground. She griped about the heat, the rain, the insects, the snakes, the spiders and several subjects Percival couldn't recall.
"Do you ever think of anyone or anythin' except yourself?" Percivale asked her one night while eating yet another meal of berries and roots rather than disclose their location with a cooking fire.
"Or course not," Moxie replied with a hint of surprise in her voice. "I am noble-born and it is the duty of others to attend to my needs. Especially those who are born un-noble like you three."
Percivale suppressed a caustic remark. He certainly was not noble-born having come from farming stock, but Gareth came from a noble family. Moxie ignored that inconvenient fact.
At least the end of the journey was near. According to his dead reckoning and the maps he had drawn, they should reach Gamel's later today or early tomorrow at the latest.
~ ~ ~
After his unexpected loss to Camelot, a furious Hengist rode back to his fortress north of Lindinium. The players stayed a half-mile behind Hengist lest his wrath fall on them.
Besides his fury, Hengist was also disappointed with his Saxons. He had been confident that his plan to challenge Artie's team early in the spring before the knights had properly trained would bring certain victory. Instead, he had lost just as he had lost for the last fifteen years, ever since he had first reached southern Britain.
Born to a warrior with a small holding in a dreary part of Saxony, Hengist had berated his father for the man's miserly ways. Hengist wanted his father to buy a set of armor and fine weapons. Instead, the old man gave Hengist a cheap, used sword
At age fourteen, Hengist joined a boat crew sailing west. He was the youngest warrior on the boat, but he was bigger than most of the others. Hengist would never forget the agony of his first voyage. He had been hired as an oarsman. Oarsmen spent four hours on a rowing bench followed by four hours of rest. After his first shift, Hengist's hands were a mass of pain from burst blisters. His clothes were sodden from spray and it was cold on the ocean. He shivered and ached constantly. Hengist prayed to Wotan, Loki, Thor and every other god he could remember for a wind that the would allow the captain to raise the sail and not use the rowers.
The boat raided a few villages in the northern parts of Britain, the part many natives called Alba. Most of the loot came from the churches in the villages while the villagers themselves provided a few slave women. Hengist had seen a lone woman at the edge of a village and decided she'd make a fine slave. He went to grab her and didn't notice the dagger she held behind her back. She slashed his cheek. So surprised was Hengist, he didn't chase after her and she fled into the forest. He still had the scar on his cheek.
Despite the pain and the cold, Hengist had the best time of his life on the cruise and decided to start his own crew. His father agreed to pay for a new boat if Hengist promised to leave the family and never return.
