A Scene at the Commandery of P'eiml
as Sir Alain enters it.
Anuyi the third, near midnight
[Annotated version]
The P'eiml Commandery assembly yard is in chaos, organized chaos. Lit lanterns and silvery orbs cast their light upon the expanse between the flagstoned stables and the older smooth-stoned Chapter House. Fingernail fragments of the Bull and the Ghost look down from the sky.
Irregular lines of kit and provisions range down one side of the rammed
earth and stone yard, while handlers and grooms clot around a remuda of
rouncies arrayed opposite. Further down the picket line, glare-eyed and
wide-nostriled destriers are pegged in careful spacing. Sergeants
good-naturedly curse their gear into order, a few knights try and make
sure everything is correct, and the Master of Horse (P'eiml Commander)
Jarn Tanner strides up and down the remuda, critically eyeing the horses
and whapping his calf nervously with a crop. The place looks like a kicked
beehive.
[Church Knights, sergeantry and support people are preparing a night
march.]
Not an unfamiliar scene actually, since it is one that Sir Alain has gone through numerous times. Although you usually do this on a smaller scale, being from a smaller retinue -- although THIS isn't as big as the Kingsford muster. Call it 40 mounted men with around 10 knights. The barracks hold more, as does the stable, so there are probably twice that number already out right now. The Commandery is going out on patrol, tonight.
As you walk into the area, fresh from the evening's theater, you get a few nods from some
acquaintances made over the years, and a few winks or grins from closer
comrades. Sir Roger Bleys, a northern knight you know whose family is of
modest income and less modest heart, wacks you on the back good-naturedly
with his leather gauntlets as he muscles a sack of horse oats over to his
steed. The mood is one of busy, concerted effort, the moves have been done
a dozen, even a hundred times, yet no one can spare more than a word.
[Nothing to write home about, just a bunch of veteran soldiers
leaving in the middle of the night. It happens.]
Sir Renard Justin, the seneschal (second in command) glides out of a lamplit archway with a groom and a steward in tow. They are matching supplies to mounts and going over the checklists one more time. He sees you as you walk between the men and the mounts, and gathers you in with his eyes. Despite his bulk and age, Sir Renard has always been known for his prissy mannerisms and his meticulous careful gestures.
He looks through a small flat box that is handed him by the steward, and with a little "aha" delicately pulls a thin piece of parchment out, which has a seal on the bottom. With a small flourish from one wedgelike hand, he places the document into your palm.
"I believe this is your next stop, Sir Alain," he rumbles. "With all of
the recent rains, we are stretched out right now, and I can't spare even a
damn horse. As it is you're lucky to keep your beast. You'll understand
that we need a mule from you, but after you get down to Ancaster and find a remount, I don't think you'll
mind." His eyes hold a mild amusement for a second, and then he turns and
moves on to the granary area, "Have a safe journey," he tosses over one
beefy shoulder, leaving you standing there.
["I cannot replace the horse YOU lost (Thistle) from my stock, and
I am taking one of the two mules you showed up with."]
As if you would even think of minding. In the light of the lanterns adorning various gateposts, you can make out the neat black rounded uncial script favored by Sagronian scribes. It is brief.
(The shrewd bastard is charging Belasius! ...Well you are under Belasius' orders after all.)To the Chief Horseward, Ancaster
On this day third day of Anuyi, I, Renard Justin do hereby grant one Sir Alain de Gracie the right to accept and protect as his own one courser from the church herds at Ancaster. Said horse to be fit in limb and sound for service with the debt to be entered against the Landsrue Eastern Priory. Sir Alain is also allowed to require any pack animals which will be entered against his name for surety.
Sir Renard Justin
Seneschal of P'eiml
Anuyi 3rd, 997
A red and white seal of a ship and horse quartered over a tower and crescent adorns the bottom edge of the parchment. This is the seal of the P'eiml Commandery, of course, which reminds you that there are a bunch of Marines not here either. Hmmm. Good security.
A groom (Aylward? Avery?) approaches you -- "Sir Alain, I just thought you should know that your destrier is in fine fettle and seems well-composed after he was unloaded. Perhaps just a bit more fleshed than needs be. His feet are in excellent condition as well. The Leatherer has added another bellyband to your saddle, as we have recently been directed that all war saddles will now have one buckle band and one laced band as a reserve. He has been cleaned and brushed as well."
Avery appears to be somewhat unblemished from this experience, and not for the first time do you wonder at what kind of of man it is who can clean and brush war stallions every day. He does look a bit peaked though. He hurries over to another sergeant to give him some information on another horse.
Ancaster, which is a good three or four days ride from here, if the
roads are good and the fords are fords. South towards Dalriddia, with a
sudden hook off of the main road. The Midsummer Horse Faire is something
to be seen, too bad it isn't soon.
[You now have to journey to Ancaster and pick up your remount.]
From the look of things, this group will be gone in another hour.
Without you.
[You are under quarantain, which means no fun fighting, eating
hardtack, night marches or other Church Knight pleasures for
a week.]