The Chronicle:

Upon my return to the Maris Stella after my visit to Siegsburg, I found three letters from Melisandre and one from Ferdinand, already a few weeks old.  These missives combined left me very uneasy, and I wish I could understand more of what is transpiring in Freiburg, and assist my cousins and my friends.   So close, yet so far...

I had already received a short letter of introduction from Ferdinand before I left for Siegsburg.  He seems to have turned to me for lack of someone to discuss his suspicions and worries with in Freiburg.  It troubles me that my friends seem to be scattered and disunited: from reading these letters, it would seem that Lucas, Juan, Meli, Vlad, and Ferdinand act as if each were alone and friendless, and indeed Baronet Vlad chose to leave.  They keep so many secrets from one another, they barely seem to know each other anymore.

But perhaps it is only distance that makes it seem so.  I cannot go and see for myself, for I must hunt for slavers, and traders bound for Montaigne.  We have had thin luck in that respect: Vendel traders can afford to be well defended.  As for the slavers, we encountered Die Zierlich on her way upriver back from Insel, and she was now flying the Pösen colours.  Due to her Captain's lack of co-operation, I had to fire on her and board her.  We found no slaves, of course.  These procedures sorely offended a choleric man who claimed to be the new Pösen ambassador to Freiburg.  No doubt Tibold Dedrick bought himself the protection of Pösen, and no doubt I will see the repercussions, sooner or later.

After this encounter, I could expect to accomplish little more of my mission on the Roth for the moment, so I turned to the Trade Sea and the steady stream of Vendel merchants bound for Montaigne.  Despite the lateness of the season, there was still considerable traffic between Kirk and the eastern edge of the Horn of Dechaine, which was as far as I cared to take my vessel into Montaigne-patrolled waters.  We nipped at the trade, not unlike Ferdinand's dog Lucacito I must add, but with some success.  The men's mood was improving as our quasi-piratical activities increased their shares of the captured wealth.

Finally, with the festivities of La Noche Divina, Prophets' Mass, and Año Nuevo fast approaching, along with the rough winter weather, I started making plans to return to port.  We did not have time to sail to San Cristobal; Freiburg seemed like the logical haven, little as I had so far liked this city.  I wondered how long wintering would have to be; at least, I would see my cousins and friends.  I finished making up my mind one afternoon when ominous storm clouds started gathering in the east.  We were off the eastern coast of Eisen, where we'd been running ships against the northmost tip of Pösen, but for the time being we were perhaps two hundred miles off the coast, and much further than that from any friendly port.  I set course for the mouth of the Roth River.  The clouds were dark, but with luck the storm wouldn't reach us in its full strength for another day.

The lookout yelled a warning: he had spotted a sail on the horizon, barely visible against the storm clouds.  I took a good look; it was a square sail, of the type used by the Vesten and by Vendel fishermen.  I ordered an eye kept on it, but we continued on our course westward.  Not for long, however – we suddenly found ourselves entirely becalmed.  To the east, ship and storm were approaching with unnatural speed.  I felt a cold shiver that had nothing to do with the weather; we must be witnessing the effects of the semi-legendary Vesten Sorcery.
 

As it swooped closer, we were able to make out the serpent-head prow figure on the vessel.  I have no doubt that in a fair race the Maris Stella would have held her own against the Vesten, but this was hardly fair.  The wind filled their sail to perfection on their best point of sailing, but never breathed near us.  The men were getting anxious.  I had the small arms broken out in preparation for an attack, but I could see as the Vesten ship approached that she also carried more men than we did.  Surprising but unreassuring was the realization that she was also mounted with guns, six- or eight-pounders from what I could judge.

The Vesten serpent ship flew like a demon rider in front of the sorcerous wind, gliding just past us without the slightest breeze ever filling our sails.  Then suddenly the storm dissipated like vapour breaking out in cold air, the Vesten's sail furled, and oars emerged in perfect co-ordination.  The Vesten turned their ship around, rowing hard and fast, and swung back toward us.  We were able to observe the row of decorated shields along the ship's sides, and the wild-looking men bearing arms but naked to the waist in the razor-sharp cold of winter.  They stared hard at us, an assortment of hairy, ruddy, bearded, fiercely scowling warriors.  Those who were not carrying weapons, such as the rowers and sailors, were bundled up as any sensible being would be.  They had not run out their guns and I did not espy any sharpshooters in the rigging.

The Vesten moved just past us, then briskly dropped anchor and retracted oars on the close side to swing around in an arrogant display of skill, bringing our two vessels close side by side.  A tall, hairy man stood on the foredeck; after a glance at our flag, he called out in broken Castillan: "Prepare to receive a party of eight!"  I was mildly irritated, but surely if they wished to take our vessel they would have no trouble, given their sorcerous advantage.  "Who should I expect?" I asked, as calmly as I could.  But the man only repeated his call.  "Very well," I answered, "visitors who come peacefully will not be harmed in any way."

He barked an order in his own language; eight men threw grappling hooks into the rigging and swung across.  All of them were bare-chested and carried weapons, but they held them at rest though they looked alert and watchful.  They lined up on deck in two ranks.  Then on the Vesten ship, a small blonde woman emerged from the captain's cabin and made her way toward the side of the ship.  A gangplank was quickly placed between the vessels and the woman lightly stepped onto the Maris Stella.  The woman walked up to me and asked: "Parlez-vous Montaginois?"  I shook my head.  After a few tries we established Avalonian and Vodacci as common languages; her Avalonian was better than mine but I was more fluent in Vodacci.  It was enough to converse, at least.

"I am Yngveld Olafsdottir, captain of the Revensj," she said.  I introduced myself in turn.  I looked at her honour guard in their unseasonable accoutrements, and offered blankets or furs.  She shook her head.  "No need."  Indeed, furs were passed from the Revensj and the Vesten covered themselves; on the deck of the Vesten ship, the rest of the warriors were doing the same.  I concluded that this must be the way Vesten prefer to ready for battle, and they must have decided now that there would be no battle.

Captain Olafsdottir indicated that she would like to converse in my cabin.  I acquiesced; after checking with her, I had mulled wine, Eisen beer, and hot tea sent for both her men and mine.  Her escort looked very unhappy when she headed for my cabin, but she dismissed them with a gesture.

In my cabin, Captain Olafsdottir said that it had come to her attention that my vessel had been interfering with Vendel traders.  I reasoned that the Vesten was unlikely to take exception at attacks on the Vendel, so I explained the Maris Stella's mission.  She nodded as if that confirmed her thoughts.

"We have received information," she said, "of a Vendel convoy leaving Kirk in three days under the escort of a Montaigne frigate and two Vendel brigs.  The merchants they guard will be carrying food, cloth, weapons, and gunpowder bound for Montaigne.  It is too much for my ship alone to handle, but if we joined forces we could succeed."

I asked questions about the convoy.  None of the Vendel were expected to carry Laerdom sorcerers such as those used by the Vesten, although it was not known whether the Montaigne would use any sorcery.  Captain Olafsdottir revealed that she was herself a practitioner of Laerdom.  I was interested by the prize, but unhappy about the idea of co-operating with sorcerers.  If not for that Montaigne frigate, I would likely have turned down the offer.  But I agreed to this joint attack – warily.

I had never met any Vesten, and only a handful of Vendel before.  I had heard of the fierceness of the war between the estranged sister nations; and my initial look at the Vesten raiders was hardly reassuring.  I feared that they might take things much further than I could condone.  Cautiously, I explained that we captured ships and cargo, but that men, aside from those killed in battle, were ransomed or released in a neutral port; I could not and would not participate in a raid of extermination.

Captain Olafsdottir shrugged.  "We give them a chance to surrender.  They can choose their fate.  Only the criminals, those who are known to have committed atrocities, are not given the choice.  We are at war, like Castille is at war with Montaigne.  We will go after the Vendel escort, and you can take the Montaigne frigate."

This did not seem unreasonable; surely if by some miracle we captured someone like the Butcher François Etalon du Toille, we too would want justice against the criminal.  I was still uneasy, but I could hardly argue against this arrangement.  And the convoy could not fall more clearly within my orders from the Admiralty.

Captain Olafsdottir asked me to take aboard two of her people as liaison, which I agreed to.  Since my cousins were not on board, the Vesten guests could have a stateroom.  With this, the Vesten captain returned to her ship with her honour guard.  Soon after, a tall woman in her forties, and an aged but powerfully built man crossed to the Maris Stella.  The woman introduced herself in hesitant Vodacci as Gris Hallisdottir, a Laerdom rune-caster, and the man with her as Orm Greybeard.  I was not very happy to have a sorceress on board, and I did not let my men know what she was.
 

We sailed with the Revensj for three days.  On the fourth, we closed in on the convoy in the early hours of the morning.  The Montaigne frigate was poised on the outside of the convoy so that we moved inside her path to cut her off, while the Revensj bore down on the Vendel brigs with all her storm-filled might.  It might have appeared foolhardy to take my vessel between the frigate and the merchants, but I had seen that only one merchant would be able to fire, and she had only a couple of small guns that should do little more than scratch us.

We discovered that the frigate had her guns loaded with grape shot, but the initial firing did little more than puncture some of our  canvas.  The merchant was also firing her guns at us, but we concentrated our fire on the Montaigne ship.  I had our first few broadsides loaded with chain shot, hoping to clip the bird's wings.  It worked well, soon her speed was considerably reduced.  Meanwhile, Gris Hallisdottir began tracing symbols in chalk and charcoal on the deck and chanting in the Vesten language.  At her call, the wind filled our sails and stayed on our best point no matter how we manoeuvred.  My hackles rose and the men gave the sorceress wide berth, unsettled.

We pounded the frigate with broadside after broadside of the twelve-pounders uncle Enrique had so thoughtfully equipped the Maris Stella with, inflicting far more damage than we were receiving.  The Montaigne's hull was beginning to be seriously damaged, while most of the hits on us were clawing at the rigging.  Hoping to make this a quick capture I sent a boarding party, but this turned out to be a mistake.  Nearly half of my crew fell in the assault.  We had to keep pounding with our guns until the frigate's hull was breached, for she refused to surrender.  At last, she started taking water far quicker than her men could pump and she began to sink slowly.

We turned our fire to the closest merchant, the one who had been irritating us with her meagre fire.  The Vendel too refused to surrender, and we discovered that she was a tough one.   Her hull was well reinforced and her crew sailed her skilfully.  We fired at her for some time, until I decided that this prolonged action was only going to exhaust what was left of my poor crew.  I took a boarding party, along with the Eisen marines under Johann's command, and Volta for good measure – he would never have forgiven me for leaving him out of it, at any rate.

The Vendel were good sailors, but did not fight as well.  We made short work of the boarding action, and the survivors surrendered at last.  I turned away from my own prisoners while they were being rounded, to see how Johann and Volta were faring.  Johann and his marines were also rounding prisoners, but I saw with horror that Volta was raising his cutlass to cut down men who had already thrown down their weapons in surrender.  I barked an order and had to put all my will in it to get Volta to stand down, but he did – sullenly.  I resolved that I would commend his bravery and skill later when he was in a better mood.

The Vendel merchant secured, we inspected her cargo, which was comprised of firearms and gunpowder.  This very marketable cargo cheered the men.  I turned my attention to the sinking Montaigne frigate, to see about rescuing survivors.  I discovered that she had apparently not had enough ship's boats to carry all her contingent, so the boats were filled with officers while the remaining foremast jacks were desperately trying to patch together some rafts before the wreck went down.  Men who had fallen or jumped in the ice-cold water had died in minutes.  Angered by the selfishness of the Montaigne officers, I ordered all those still on the sinking ship to be rescued but left those on the ship's boats to continue with their own self-serving efforts.

Checking on the rest of the convoy, I discovered that the Revensj had also finished her work; both the escort vessels and all the merchants she had taken on were burning, almost down to the waterline already.  I shivered, and the men murmured, shaking their heads.  We tidied up the Maris Stella as best we could, faced with the gruesome task of paying our last respects to our dead.
 

The Revensj swung 'round toward us and came within speaking distance again.  The man who had spoken Castillan earlier, the bosun Hoskuld Hardrada, came aboard to inspect cargo and prisoners.  He said very little, looked fairly calm, and I began to think this was the end of the joint raid.  Then Hardrada pointed to a young Vendel sailor and announced: "This one.  He be a criminal.  We want him returned."

I looked at the Vendel; he certainly couldn't be twenty, hardly more than a kid.  I asked what crime he had been accused of.  "Cattle theft," the Vesten bosun answered.  My mind reeled, but the slow acknowledgement dawned on me that barbaric countries like Vestenmannavnjar, or Avalon or Montaigne for that matter, gave death as the penalty for cattle theft.  I shook my head.

"I'm sorry," I said.  "I cannot give you a man – a boy, really, knowing he is going to be executed for cattle theft.  You did as you pleased with the vessels you seized, now I wish to do as I please with my prizes."

Hardrada frowned darkly, storms in his eyes.  "We want nothing of the ship or its cargo.  We want one prisoner, a known criminal.  Why you protect our enemies?"

My initial misgivings were confirmed.  Vesten and Castillans do not wage war the same way.  "I discussed this in advance with your captain," I reminded him.  "I told her in advance, I did not hide the fact that men who surrendered would be protected, Vendel and Montaigne alike."  Hardrada insisted, his anger kept in tight but visible check.  I said I would talk to Captain Olafsdottir and beg for some arrangement.

I went aboard the Revensj, under the uneasy gazes of my men and the untrusting looks of the Vesten raiders.  Captain Olafsdottir stood by Hardrada's word; if he recognized the man as a criminal, it must be true; he would not accuse unless he was certain.  She did not believe there could be any mistake.  I asked if some other reparation or blood-price could be offered, but that was turned down.  I represented to Captain Olafsdottir that death was a very extreme punishment, that surely some other sentence could do, but she shook her head.  The only provision under Vesten law was if some relative of the man could be found to take his place to receive the sentence.  Did I want an innocent man to die for the guilty one, even if by chance he had some relative on board the Vendel ship?  In any case, Vendel would not do this; they did not understand The Law.  The captain then pointed out that her raiders could simply take the prisoner by force, and asked, with some curiosity, if this would make the situation more acceptable.

"Please don't," I sighed.

Perhaps she was offering me a mock-battle so that I could save face.  I would know it for a farce, of course.  And would the prisoner's life be worth a real battle, when so many of my men were already being sewn into their hammocks as we spoke?  Did I want to shed their blood to assuage my own conscience?  Surely this was hubris and sin.  But could I give a boy to certain death to save myself and my crew from trouble?

I asked Captain Olafsdottir for a few hours to talk to the boy myself and reach a decision.  She granted me until sundown, some six hours, and asked that Gris Hallisdottir and Orm Greybeard remain on my ship for that time.  I suppose they were meant to keep an eye on me, but I welcomed their presence since I would need an interpreter.

I returned to the Maris Stella, had the prisoner brought out, and asked Gris to translate for me.  I asked if he knew what he was being accused of by Hardrada.  The boy was seventeen; two years before, he had been working for a Vendel merchant and helped repossess farm and cattle from Vesten peasants who could no longer meet their loan payments.  The boy readily admitted recognizing Hardrada, and knew the Vesten wanted to kill him, but beyond that he seemed to me just a frightened, ignorant kid.

After the questioning, Gris approached me.  "Why do you want to keep him from his punishment?" she asked.  I sighed.  It was very difficult to explain my moral qualms to a Vesten.

"I understand that in the eyes of your law this is all perfectly correct, and therefore you need not question it," I said.  "You will be but meting out punishment to a criminal.  But that is not what is asked of me.  I am asked to give a boy to certain death, knowingly, for a crime which I think merits far less severe retribution, committed by a boy who was just trying to earn a living and thought he was working within the law.  For me, it would be murder."

"But it is not murder," she protested.  "He is guilty."

I shook my head.  I did not know how to make her understand.  "No, I suppose it will not be murder on your part," I agreed.  "I envy you the certainty of having the law on your side.  But I will still be committing murder."

I went to my cabin to pray for wisdom.  I considered the options one after the other, vaguely toying with the idea of arming the boy before turning over.  Again, though, this would do little more than give me a face-saving ploy.

I made sure my will was up to date and left specific instructions for the crew and letters for my friends and family.  Then I returned to the Revensj, well before my six hours had passed, and asked to speak to the captain again.  I must plead with her to find some other sentence, or to delay it indefinitely – or refuse to turn the prisoner over.

Captain Olafsdottir listened to me, but I was not swaying her.  An idea was beginning to grow in my mind, however.  I asked her how the sentence was to be carried out; was the prisoner to be drowned, beheaded, hung?  She explained that a sort of council or jury, a Thing, would be convened that night.  If the Thing agreed that the prisoner was guilty, he and his accuser, Hoskuld Hardrada, would immediately fight a duel to the death.  I asked when a relative could step in, and she answered that the relative had to be present already, since the sentence was carried out at once.  There was no time to go ashore and hunt for such a relative.

I thought of the powerful Hoskuld Hardrada.  There was no doubt in my mind that he would kill the boy with ease.

"I will take him into my family," I said.  "He can be a brother, or rather a cousin, I have plenty of those.  I will fight in his place."  I did not know if she understood what family means to Castillans.

Yngveld Olafsdottir stared at me, expressionless.  "You will be killed," she said at last.  "Why do you want to do this?"

I tried again to explain my ethical problem.  "I cannot bargain for my own peace or convenience by using another's life the way the Vendel buy your farms with coin.   It would be wrong, it would be murder for me to give up this man's life simply to save myself trouble.  I do not think it just to kill a boy because he was hired to repossess cattle."

"What of your men, your ship?" she asked.

I shrugged.  "My men have their instructions.  They will return to Freiburg, and Juan will now have his own ship."

"You will fight to the death for a Vendel's life?"

"I will also be fighting for my honour," I pointed out with a small bow.

From this moment on, I was not allowed to leave the Revensj, although no one tried to take my weapons or lock me up.  The Thing would convene after sundown.  After I called to my men to confirm the order, the young Vendel prisoner was also brought on board the Vesten ship.  When he was close he spoke a few words to me, looking bewildered.  Gris was kind enough to translate again.

"What are they saying?" he asked.  "What is this?  I am not your son!"

The difference in our ages was certainly not that much!  I smirked a bit.  "'Brother'," I said, "think of it as 'little brother'."

"You are crazy!" he exclaimed.

"Now, is that any way to talk to your big sister?" I asked mildly

He was dragged away, looking confused and a bit outraged.  But I saw Hoskuld Hardrada heading my way, stomping angrily.  "Why you doing this?" he shouted in Castillan.  "I do not want to kill you!"

"I hate to die," I confessed.  "Are you truly sure there can be no mistake about the boy?"

"No mistake," he said sombrely.

I spread out my hands.  "Then I must fight you.  Unless you can point me to some other way?"

He glared at me, chewing on the ends of his mustache.  "In Vestenmannavnjar, it be different," he said.  "The boy can be thrall to me, or to the family he rob from."

I pricked up my ears.  "Thrall?  Well, that sounds better – while there is life, there is hope."

"But not here!" Hardrada thundered.  "No space, no guard, no work for thrall on ship!  No time!"

I lifted an eyebrow.  "No work?  There is work for everyone on a ship, and as for guards, where would he go?"

"Work for free men!" Hardrada protested with outrage.  "Not work for thrall!  Cannot work!"

I gave him a small smile.  "So the boy must die to spare you inconvenience?"

"He must die because he thief!"  The bosun stormed off.  So much for my attempts to find a compromise – I think my diplomacy needs some work.
 

At last night fell and the Thing convened.  A circle of men assembled on the deck, with a brasero blazing in the centre.  Both the boy Otto and I sat by though not together, observing the proceedings.  Captain Olafsdottir was not present, nor was Gris Hallisdottir.  There was much talking in the Vesten language, and this time no one translated for me.  I could only try to guess at the debates by observing the expressions revealed by the flickering light.  Hardrada spoke often and forcefully; I noticed he was most frequently opposed by a tall, athletic man whose hair and beard were of flaming red.  The Thing seemed to be more or less split in two camps, for I noticed that the same men always seemed to nod approval at the red-haired man's orations.  Twice the Vendel boy was called on to testify, the first time for questions that seem to require only monosyllabic answers, and the second time at more length.  At no point did anyone speak to me or call for me.

The fascination was wearing thin and I was beginning to nod off after this very long day, when the Thing suddenly erupted in louder voices.  I thought for a second there was going to be a fight, but it was simply the circle breaking up.  Men jumped to their feet, and Hardrada walked towards me.  I got up as well to meet him.

"It is done," he said, watching me closely.  He sounded weary – as he had every right to, I realized.  "Many not trust you, they say you protect the Vendel.  I say the boy be thrall.  In the end they agree."

I was touched.  "Thank you for that," I said warmly.

"Will you be thrall in place of the boy?" Hardrada asked.

I thought about that.  "No," I answered after a moment.  "I wanted to save the boy from death, not from justice.  He has his life back now, he can make what he wants of it.  Probably curse my name for the next forty years too."

The bosun nodded.  "Red Thorfild," he pointed towards the red-haired man, "he say you our enemy.  He want to fight you."

I raised both eyebrows.  "Why?" I asked.

Thorfild approached until he was a bit too close for comfort or courtesy and said, in much better Castillan than Hardrada's: "I do not trust you, Castillan.  You side with our enemies.  You wish to corrupt us and sway us from the gods."

"You are wrong," I said.  "I do not side with your enemy.  I fought with the Vesten today.  But I had warned your captain that I would not kill men in cold blood, nor let prisoners be mistreated."

"You are a traitor!" he spat.

"I am no traitor.  I spoke in advance, and I dealt fairly and openly with your captain.  At no point did I do anything underhanded or treacherous.  You are wrong," I repeated.

He loomed.  "I will prove your treachery by fighting you."

I had trouble repressing a smile of contempt.  "Prove by fighting?" I asked.  "You are bigger and stronger than me, you can certainly prove that.  But it will not prove you are right."

"The gods sustain those who are right!" he roared.

I gave him an arch look.  "Then the Vesten gods must greatly favour those who are big and strong.  I have no wish to fight against Vestenmannavnjar.  If your captain asks me to fight you, I will, but I have no reason to raise a weapon against you."

"Fight me or prove to all that you are a coward and a traitor!"

"If I had to kill every man I think is wrong, I could walk from here to the shore on the trail of bodies," I snapped.  I glanced at Hardrada, who was watching me closely.  "This is very clever: either I refuse to fight him, 'proving' his point, at least in the eyes of those who think like him, or I fight against the Vesten, showing him right again."

Hardrada shook his head.  "If you fight him, no one think you fight against Vesten.  They respect the duel."

I pursed my lips, annoyed.  I did not feel a fight against the burly Red Thorfild would 'prove' anything, nor did I feel my honour needed this kind of bolstering.  But I did care about showing the Vesten that I was no enemy.  And Thorfild's simplistic approach, replacing reasoning with brute force, irked me beyond words.

"Very well," I said drily to Thorfild, "I will fight you.  But whether you kill me or not will not change the fact that you are wrong."

"You mock our custom!" he growled.

"No, just you personally," I quipped, my tongue once again faster than my brain.  Surely there was no point in enraging the man further, but I was unreasonably ticked.  He growled again, showing his teeth.

A square blanket was deployed on the foredeck, additional torches were lit, and the Vesten crowded along the edges to observe the proceedings.  Captain Olafsdottir had come out to watch.  On the Maris Stella, my men were bewildered and alarmed, trying to figure out what their captain had gotten herself into this time.   I gestured for them to remain where they were.  I thought fleetingly that if they exchanged bets with the Vesten, I hoped they would pay up in Vendel guilders.  If I had coin to wager, I would place it all on Red Thorfild.

He stepped up to the makeshift fighting arena, stripped to the waist and a great broadsword strapped to his back.  I had my rapier at my side, still a fairly new weapon for me.  Since he had not drawn his blade, I too left mine in its scabbard.  I have never had any training in unarmed fighting, but I can hold my own when I have to.

I stayed on the defensive, waiting to see what he would do, and soon found that he was every bit as quick, skilled, and ruthless as I had thought.  His way of fighting was not elegant but it was very efficient; two rapid blows hit my windpipe, leaving my wheezing and choking.  But I saw my chance and closed in; twice it was my turn to dish him a couple of good blows in the face.  With our difference in reach I had to step in close, leaving myself wide open, but the blows I landed infuriated him.

With a great roar, he reached for his broadsword and swirled it around to cleave me.  I jumped out of the way of the blow, but he cut me on the return, leaving a deep gash in my left shoulder.  I whipped out my rapier and lunged, oblivious to defence; it was clear that he could hit me easily no matter how I parried, so I threw every ounce of energy I had left in attack.  A touch drew blood, and he bellowed again.  He struck at me but missed, though I felt the wind from the blade.  I lunged again – and hit!  My rapier dove into his side and he went down like a bag of flour.  I stumbled back, hardly able to believe my luck and Theus' protection.
 

On the Maris Stella, my men cheered wildly and I found the sound very comforting.  On the Revensj, the reaction was mixed.  Some looked quite pleased, others frowned darkly.  Someone checked on Thorfild and found him to be merely unconscious, which is what I had hoped for.  I had no interest in finishing off the man.  Hoskuld Hardrada approached me, and asked me to join the captain in her cabin.  I nodded; with careful gestures, I cleaned my sword and put it away, then splashed some water to clean my wound and my face.  I tucked my clothing into a semblance of order and followed Hardrada.

The captain was sitting at her table; she invited Hardrada and I to sit down.  I complied gingerly, trying not to jostle my wounded shoulder.  This time, Captain Olafsdottir spoke only in Vesten and bosun Hardrada translated for her.  I do not know why the conversation was led that way.

"Our Oracle spoke, some time ago.  The Oracle bid all to seek one who is willing to die for one not of their kin, one who will fight for belief, and will conquer against the odds.  The Oracle commanded that this one be brought to her.  The Captain believe the Oracle speak of you.  She want you to come back with us to meet the Oracle."

I repressed a shudder.  Oracles and sorcery in heathen lands...  I tried to phrase my refusal as courteously as possible, arguing my mission orders and my duty.  The captain and the bosun exchanged a few words in Vesten, and the bosun got up, walked to the door, and opened it to yell a few words at his crew before returning to sit.  I felt the Revensj's timbers shiver as she picked up speed.  I looked bleakly at the Captain.

"It looks very much as though you intend to take me to Vesten whether I agree or not," I said slowly.

"The Oracle did not request," said the bosun.  "The Oracle commanded."

I sighed, shook my head.  I could see where this would lead.  "Then you had better let me make my way there on my own vessel," I said.  "If you just carry me off, one of two things will happen: my men will try to rescue me, in which case we will have far more death than we need to add to this long day and what remains of my crew will likely be massacred; or they will not try to rescue me and that would be most wounding for my self-respect."  My tone was lighter than I felt.

The captain spoke again in Vesten.  "Only you," Hardrada said.  "Only you come to the Oracle."

I spread out my hands, entreating.  "Let me talk to my men, and sail with them until we reach a suitable Vesten port where they can effect repairs to the Maris Stella.  From there, I will accompany you to see the Oracle."

"You will give your word to come with us?"

"I give you my word."

It seems a lady's word is still good for something.  They agreed to let me return to the Maris Stella, where I found Johann in battle dress, about to lead what would probably have been a very ill-fated rescue attempt.  The men looked very relieved to see me return.  It is heart-warming to know their loyalty.

We are now sailing for the Vesten archipelago alongside the Revensj, at a pace much more sedate than our usual.  Fortunately, most of the damage was taken by the rigging and the hull is intact.  The rudder will need a bit of work, though, and some of the guns need to be remounted after jumping their carriage.  I sent the Vendel merchant vessel under a prize crew to be sold in Freiburg.  The Vendel and Montaigne prisoners were put to work and did not grumble too much, since they would much rather be in our hands than in the Vesten's.  Alas, it looks like La Noche Divina, Prophets' Mass, and Año Nuevo will have to be celebrated among ourselves on board.

I am not at all enthusiastic about consorting further with pagan sorcerers, although I confess to great curiosity.  Curiosity will likely be the ultimate cause of my demise some day, unless some ethical dilemma incomprehensible to those around me does the trick first.  I also have to admit to sinful, smug satisfaction in having been able to trounce Red Thorfild.  Fortunately for me, the ship's surgeon has dressed my wounds so that they are not so painful – the victory did not come without price.

I have updated the ship's log and this journal.  As before, if I should not survive the men are to take the Maris Stella back to Freiburg.  Juan will inherit the ship and my personal possessions are to be divided between Lucas and Melisandre.