laneys.info Beware of Yankees, drunks, and loose women.

A soft tap on his arm awoke Markus to a pair of brown woolen pants as he looked up to notice Anthony standing over him, the day's dim light highlighting a smile.

"Going to sleep all day? Get up."

Turning over onto his back, he glanced out through the far arrowslit to the clouded sky and could hear the soft driipping of rain onto the dark stone. "Thought about it. Why," he looked back up to his friend. "Is there something important going on?"

Anthony chuckled and backed towards the door. "Not at all, we're just here in Purbeck enjoying a soft, summer morning."

"Then why the fuss," Markus joked as he sat up, the soreness that he expected in his muscles disappeared quickly as he stretched.

"Get up, lazy, or I'll call your sister to rouse you." Anthony continued out onto the landing. "I'm sure she'd enjoy the hard ride through dangerous territory."

"Yeah, yeah." Markus pushed himself from the warm comfort of his blanket and got dressed, then strapped on his swordbelt as he moved down the stairs to the hall. Within, he noticed most were enjoying a late breakfast and smiled and nodded to him as he entered.

"Well, what do you know," Michael straightened. "He's still with us."

"And where would I have gone, milord," he grinned as he noted Sir Kenneth and his son from Bakony at the far end of the table. "Someone has to ensure your wife is not widowed." A few chuckles rose as he plopped down beside Sir Vincent. With the raising of his pewter cup, he noticed the mood soften a bit and glanced down the table at all the faces who attended the meal, some of whom he had watched grow up and began to regret his comment. "How are things this morning?"

"Good," Anthony began in between bites. "No reports of the enemy but, we've decided to wait another day or so to let our wounded recover before marching south."

"Also give us some time to gain some intelligence from our prisoner," Sir Charles, the acting baron of the town added.

"Prisoner," Markus inquired, surprised as he leaned forward to see the baron more clearly as the middle-aged man glanced to him and nodded.

"In the dungeon as we speak. He was captured on the wall and kept alive. Sir Alfred, the Knight Commander of the Golden Scepter has been keeping the man under his care since."

"I say we hang him by his entrails on the wall as a warning to his smelly companions," the duke of Bakony suggested, smiling. One that didn't gain as much support as he apparently had hoped.

"Their ways are a bit confusing," the deeper voice of Sir Edward, the new baron of Newcastle added. "Their habits are more like women than men," he spat as some chuckled. "Perfumed and bathing more than my mother ever did," he smiled as Markus went back to his breakfast. A bit more information than he needed right now.

"I'd like to talk to him," Anthony stated as he glanced across the table to his brother.

Markus perked up, "So would I".

Michael shrugged his approval and nodded.

* * *

Brown eyes studied the thinly built man, bent forward and nearly singing to himself as hands went to his face, then he leaned forward and nearly touched the ground with his forehead. Soon, he sat up again and continued muttering something that nearly sounded poetic.

"What is he doing," Anthony inquired to the templar jailer now sitting on the corner of a nearby table.

"Sir Alfred is allowing his heathen prayers for now. Make peace with the Dark One before he dies."

"Has anyone been able to talk to him," Markus asked as he glanced back to the veteran for the church.

Chuckling, the older man shook his head. "He's not going to tell us anything," steel-blue eyes glared condescendingly to the enemy that stopped his chants and prompted Markus to glance back to the bearded, tanned face now looking back at him.

"Get me a bucket of water," Anthony ordered and turned back to the cell. "Would you," green eyes glanced to Markus and he nodded, then turned and headed upstairs to the stables, then out the main door to the well. Hurriedly, he pulled the rope upwards, then unhooked the full bucket and carried it back into the dungeon.

"What are you hoping to gain from that animal," the templar chided as Anthony turned to dip a ladle into the water.

"Nothing." He reached through the wrought iron bars with the offering and waited. Soon, Markus stepped closer as the prisoner accepted it, nodded graciously and drank.

Markus glanced to the knight of Arhus, knowing the answer to the question before he asked. "Has he eaten anything?"

"A morsel of bread last night. More than he deserves, if you ask me." Markus knew that in times of war attitudes like this were rampant and ignored it as he glanced back while Anthony dipped the long handled cup again, then allowed the Macau man another drink.

"Maybe, sir, you wouldn't mind bringing me something from the table," Anthony began as he glanced sidelong to the jailor. "I'd like to have a moment with him anyway, if you don't mind."

Lips pursed as the templar mused for a long moment, then nodded as he stepped off the table and headed upstairs. Markus propped the bucket onto the vertical bar at the center of the cell door as Anthony motioned for the sweat covered soldier to clean himself up a bit, making a wide circle around his own face. Grinning, the foreigner moved closer and complied and Markus noted the joy that came with the privilege as he washed his exposed skin, then hair. Soon, brown eyes smiled at both of them and he offered some type of thanks in his own language as he allowed the ladle to fall into the bucket.

"I don't look at them the same way now," Markus thought aloud.

"Puts a different perspective on the whole situation, doesn't it," Anthony agreed.

"Certainly does." He moved to the table and placed the half filled container atop it, then returned to his friend's side. "I wonder if father ever had this sort of situation. He never talked much about those days," he glanced to the son of his godfather. "Did yours?"

Anthony shook his head. "I think he wanted to forget most of that. Can't blame him really," he sighed and gave his full attention to the prisoner. "I know why you invaded us and I want you to know....I forgive you for what's been done." Markus' attention snapped to the auburn haired man beside him. "I'm sure we haven't heard the half of why this crusade started in the first place. Sometimes futures are dictated by men we've never met but, it's of course our duty to follow those orders. Isn't it?" They both eyed the symbol of their anger and frustration these past few months who seemed to indicate some form of recognition of the discussion's tone. He continued to be placid until the familiar footsteps on stone returned and they glanced backwards to notice the templar hand Anthony a piece of bread.

"All that was left," he stated unemotionally.

"Thank you, sir," Anthony replied, then turned and handed the morsel to the prisoner who grinned and received it, then ate. Markus chafed at the angry huff behind him as the templar reclaimed his spot after pushing the bucket aside, wood groaning with the weight as he sat down.

"Waste of good bread that could go to your hungry men, sir."

"There's one here who needs it more," Anthony's quiet tone reminded Markus of Sir Lericanin immediately. He grinned in satisfaction that their upbringing in church hadn't gone to waste at all. Anthony nodded to the black haired man, "Go in peace to your fathers." A statement that gained the prisoner's full attention as they both turned to leave.

Suddenly, the quiet man cleared his throat. "May the peace of the One bless you," the fluency of their language shocked both as they turned around.

"Well, I'll be...," the templar exclaimed.

Anthony smiled. "Thank you, sir."

"My commander, Laith, has the city south of here well defended. He's a great leader among the Jann, our prince hand picked his generals from his own family."

"How many men," Anthony asked.

The tanned face smiled. "Many. If the One has deemed our revenge unworthy of his name, then you will be successful and my brothers will return home. Time will tell that though."

"Revenge," the templar spat. "Hah. How many slaves have you taken and sold to the Sauqiran dogs?"

"Only those that the One deemed so," the prisoner returned confidently. "All transpires as He wills it." A comment that sparked the templar into action. Before they could stop him, the knight drew his longsword and rammed it through the bars into the prisoner who remained motionless, then fell to the floor holding his midsection now bleeding profusely.

"Stay that sword," Anthony yelled too late as they both moved forward to notice the Macau soldier slowly lay his head onto the thin mat and close his eyes.

"Justice served," the templar angrily backed and resheathed his sword, then turned and left them.

"I'm beginning to wonder," Markus eyed the body now laying in the cell. "He had more nobility than some of the knights in this army."

"Yes, he did."