Rabbit Pye

"It is one thing to find myself appointed warden of a village, it is another to find that village out in the middle of nowhere. Though it's quiet, the way I like it, and less of a stench compared to the poor standards of the city, London is an absolute bog pile in summer." His sage green eyes observed the surrounding countryside and the few houses that bordered his view as he stood leaning against the open window. Its shutters were drawn back to allow in the air and the warmth of that mid-March morning to bring a sweet scent of fresh buds and crocuses.
"However, there are no other merchants or craftsmen than the locals trading in simple goods that are too familiar. There are sheep farmers and sheep on the hills. At least I was able to purchase cattle, beautiful white beasts that are secure up at Rookhope." He smiled to himself at the thought of acquiring a good-sized herd of twenty heifers and a bull for a reasonable price. "And there is a warren adjacent to the hall, that should also be a plus, I do like rabbit." Narrowing his eyes he observed a few of the peasants go about their daily routine, dressed in their unbleached linens and thin wool overgarments due to the warm weather.
"Hopefully the early spring will attract several merchants to this morsel of a place, especially as I plan on renting a few more dwellings and one or two workshops. The more people active and able-bodied, the more labor is achieved, and the more coin earned. That daft bugger King Richard, what was he doing draining the working folk through taxes? You can't get money out of dead peasants, the stupid sod! You need to have a balance. If the peasants died of starvation or turned to crime to survive what would you be left with? Nothing but the blasted nobility, and they would soon be starving and be at each other's throats, half the buggers couldn't wipe their own arse let alone grow food and feed themselves....." He ranted quietly to himself. "I could do with a Bailiff to handle the manor, save me writing the fecking accounts, possibly a reeve and a vassal, I wonder if any of my neighbors would be interested in the position. Oh, yes, that old abandoned farm southwest from here would need a cottager with a family. This village could do with a physician, scribe, bronzesmith, or jeweller, candlemaker, I don't fancy begging for beeswax from the local monastics, they can stuff their bees up their arse then pray to their god stressing their penance for all those mucky thoughts and lewd scribbles they scribble in their scribbling books. I'll acquire my own." He said arrogantly. "A Sheriff, bowyer, we are close to the borders. Let's put this insignificant place on the map, shall we?"

Panwic pressed his thumb against the latch and slowly pushed the large oak door open, its hinges creaking with dispute at being disturbed in the peaceful ambiance of the hall. As he leaned in the sun broke through the divide illuminating the dusty stone flagged floor. He rolled his eyes around the scene until they settled upon the dark figure of a man who seemed to be watchful near to another window.
"Begg'n ye parden, me lord." He stepped through placing his feet quietly upon the gritty stones as he dared to enter further into the tranquil sanctuary. "There's folk that wish te see ye." He cleared his throat hoping the lord would respond in a kindly manner after having his peace disturbed.

"Yes, very well." He released a deep sigh yet kept his attention towards his observations as he leaned against the frame of the building. He had been made aware of the visitors by their strident conversation but gave little notice in the cessation of his own duties. What mattered at that time was his submission to the peaceful scene that lay before him. However, it was obvious that business called for his attention, the business of possible employees. He allowed his shoulders to slump briefly as he closed his eyes savouring the peace for one more moment.

{{Jacob and family, then anyone.}}

Jacob frowned at Taisty's words when he said, pava gav, not because he thought the young dark-haired man was being rude, nor because he disliked hearing other languages, but he couldn't for the life of him make out what language Taisty could be speaking. It sounded neither like French, Latin, Anglo-Saxon not the Arabic he had heard and had leaned a bit of with the help of his late wife. Thankfully it seemed that it had not been directed at him but more towards the young, shorter warrior who had introduced himself by his family name, Orrels.

He was glad to know the Pye cousins were looking for employment, with the way his son's head was filled with dreams about becoming a troubadour...he sighed. Not that he wanted to stop the boy from dreaming but successful poets at court who didn't end up displeasing their patrons and getting their head lobbed off at some point or other had a great deal of luck and not just talent.

His attention was distracted running from the corner of the lane. Had the man been running for so long or was he out of shape, Jacob wondered silently. What, wasn't that the same man from earlier at the well? Bon dieu! The really had run a long way and why did the lord not have proper staff to greet them. Still, it wasn't this man's fault. He inclined his head and gave a stern eye to both his children. "Lead the way, my good man." Jacob followed keeping his children close. He let the grey bearded peasant lead the way.

Jacob made his way inside with the twins behind him. He gave a deep respectful bow before Lord O'Clérigh. "Lord O'Clérigh, good day to you. My name is Jacob Lemay, I come to Anglia from Ruen in Normandy with the permission of your king John, allied with our King Philip the second of his name hoping to learn more about the art of jewelry making from Anglia and its neighbours. I would seek to set up a workshop and home if possible in your growing town. My children, Benoit and his sister Rosalie have come to help their aging father." It was not meant as a slight on his daughter to introduce Ben first, simply a matter of custom.

((Ben, Rose, anyone?))

Ben remained completely mute for once in front of the imposing lord with the black hair, beard and pale green eyes. He gave a deep low and respectful bow, but could not find his voice, or worse yet, he was certain that anything that came out with in the tongue of the Angles would sound like garbled gibberish worst than it usually did. He would need a drink after this and a bath. He felt sweat beads dripping from his forehead, He was aware of his father frowning at him as he raised himself, but kept his eyes downcast, not even looking towards Rose.

((Rose, Anyone?))

The slender young woman curtsied graciously before Lord O'Clérigh and then straighten again. She spoke softly and slowly, hoping her use of the King's tongue here would be judged at least adequate. She kept her stunning turquoise eyes lowered when speaking to one of a higher station than herself. "My father speaks true, milord. He wishes to improve his craft as a goldsmith as do I as one of his apprentices." She wanted to see what sort of man this lord was and if he would scoff outright at a woman who wished to earn her place as an artisan.

She stepped back then with Ben and her father knowing it was proper to do so to let the others introduce themselves. She looked towards her father to see if he had judged that she had overstepped, but he gave her a warm smile, before he turned to see who would go next.


((Anyone?))

After hearing the young woman's explanation, Ó Cléirigh turned towards his visitors, his sage green eyes observing them with waxing interest. He strode towards the table that was placed in the middle of the room, the long sable lambswool gown opening with his stride to reveal dark leather riding boots, knee-high and recently made. His black wool hose was cut on the bias with skillful tailoring and a black doublet of the same cloth firmly enveloped his lean but muscular frame. He wore a bleached linen shirt that complimented his apparel, loosely laced to display the upper part of his chest and the fine straight black hair of his masculinity. Lacings of blue silk and aglets of silver concluded the fashion of a prosperous and independent nobleman.
"An admiring art, even the goddess Brigit was adored for such knowledge." He commented. "Passion, poetry, and invention are traits valued yet seldom inspired." His accent was light and clear yet denoted his Irish origins. His green eyes rested upon the young woman for a moment before he surveyed each of his guests then settled upon the armed figure, yet little did he reveal in his expression. "And, you are?"

{{Dragutin, Pyes, ?}}

Dragutin listened and observed intently. It had been some time since he had been in the presence of someone of a distinctly higher class, contrary to someone of equal wealth but more boots-on-the-terrain experience, so he was determined not to make a mistake.

When Rose mentioned her interest in training as an artisan, he looked in her direction. He was impressed rather than his response being inclined to the negative. While it was not the first time he had heard of a woman taking up a skill in anything beyond the household domains, it was the first time that he had seen someone express an interest in jewellery-making. Quietly curious.

Then it was his turn, when the lord turned his intent gaze onto him. Now or never.

He bowed formally, then straightened up. "I am Dragutin Orrels, Lord O'Clérigh." No title. His name alone indicated a mixed origin - part over the seas and northward by many leagues, part here. Whether it was directly through his parentage or a handful of generations back was open to question. He tried to pronounce the man's name correctly, and likely got at least somewhat near to the mark. The effort hopefully going some way to smooth over any mistakes.

"I am travelling... was travelling." He self-corrected. Not as one of the travelling folk but to seek his purpose outside of places more familiar. "I am seeking to root down, to find a place to make a presence and to be useful." Be it through his skills or his weaponry, he was offering both. "I can break and train horses, and make bows," he offered. Then he made a gesture to the weaponry that adorned him. It was openly worn but not within instant reach. He had shifted it just before entering to intentionally be able to make the gesture of not being prepared to attack. Minimising the potential threat that he may register as. "My weapons are at your service, should you need them."

[Pyes, Anyone?]

Taisty shuffled into the room as quietly as he could, stepping to the side and out of the way of the door in readiness of anyone wishing to leave swiftly if the lord was ill of temper. He listened to what the others spoke and found himself leaning to the left so he could gain a better view of the nobleman.
His palms became sweaty and his hands slightly trembled in anticipation, it was one thing encountering a bad-tempered English lord, it was another encountering a Banba lord who often had the reputation of being a sorcerer, even in this modern age. And of course, in regards to Lord Ó Cléirigh and his personal style of dress, he recognized him as a Banba Sith.
"Gabh anseo, a amadáin!" He whispered pulling Crusty close to him, keeping him out of the way of the others. He would wait patiently and quietly until Lord Ó Cléirigh wished for him to speak.

{{Crusty, Ó Cléirigh, Anyone.)

Crusty was paying more attention to the room than its occupants when he was dragged aside. He'd been in a few buildings and even a church and was often impressed by the structure. All that stone and brick piled on top of each other, he often wondered if any were safe after a while but they obviously were if people lived in them.

He was content with his tent or even when he needed to share a wagon in winter. Huddled up among the other families gave him a sense of....well....family. It was the fact that everyone looked out for each other, the sick and elderly would be respected and aided. Those that had lost their parents would be cared for by the tight nit community, and no one would be neglected.

He was not expecting his cousin to grasp him but it did make him notice the presence of the black clad lord. "Draoi!?" He whispered as his mouth fell open and he stared. He sidestepped a little so he was slightly standing behind Taisty.


((Lord, then anyone.))

Lord Mongán Ó Cléirigh's eyes narrowed towards the two that stood away from the others who had introduced themselves. By their clothing and mannerisms, he concluded they were members of the gypsies that had recently made camp on the common land. He was not averse to their presence, so long as they behaved themselves and did not cause any altercations with the villagers. Few people knew of their way of life and often judged them unfairly, yet he was not allied towards that attitude.
He returned his attention to Jacob Lemay first. "There is a workshop and an unoccupied domestic premises south of this manor. It will be adequate to house you and your family. The rent is two pennies every seven days. The agreeable hours of industry are from seven in the morning but no later than seven in the evening, though you may set your activity anywhere in between." Ó Cléirigh inclined towards a chest that casually rested upon the table, opening it he drew out several pieces of paper that had previously been written with details concerning several vacant buildings in the area of the village.

{{Jacob and family, ??}}

Jacob had observed the proceeding as the young warrior with braids in his tawny hair had stepped forward. He seemed well versed in courtly manners and had introduced himself well. He hoped that Lord Ó Cléirigh would hire Dragutin Orrels on either as a soldier or for any of the other skills the young man had as either a horse trainer or bowman."

He remained silent as the Pye cousins moved forth as their turn came, but both remained quiet except for quiet whispered words between them. He had to stop himself from shaking his head at what he judged to be a wasted opportunity. Ah, quel gâchis!He thought to himself, still he hoped the two boys would stick around so that he might have the chance to offer them work himself.

Jacob moved up again and bowed as the Lord Ó Cléirigh addressed him. "Thank-you Ó Cléirigh, that will do very nicely indeed. We will work at the appointed hours and everyday, except for Sunday, the Lord's Day. If it pleases you, I can pay the first week and return the next Monday and so forth each Monday after to pay you." His hands went to his coin purse and he withdrew the two pennies, holding out his hand in payment of the first week's rent.

((Ben, Rose, Anyone?))

Ben tried not to shift from one foot to the other in his restlessness, but he still found himself balancing his weight from left to right and back, giving his stance an odd pendulum motion. He gave a silent nod of approval at the way Dragutin Orrels had introduced himself, but then his face fell at the Pye's lack of protocol. "Ah non!" He whispered in disappointment for the two charming Pyes.

The was a swift and soft rebuke of, "Chuut, Ben!" from Rose and he fell silent only to try to listen to the whispers of the two cousins. All he made out was a word. He formed his lips around it clumsily in silence, trying to articulate, not noticing the sounds were coming out. "Drrrr-aaaaah-eeee?"

((Rose, Anyone?))

Rose gave her brother a scowl and whispered furiously. "Bon dieu, Ben, mais soit silencieux!" The light, natural tan colour of her cheeks became a rosier hue, giving her a healthy look, though it also demonstrated her embarrassment at her twin brother's behaviour. She had dearly hoped that they could get through the proceedings at Banlock Manor without Ben's usual shenanigans, whether voluntary or not.

She kept her head politely lowered in Lord Ó Cléirigh's presence, though her bright eyes still scanned the room as best she could. She kept her deft, slim-fingered hands at her side, though she wanted to fiddle with the sides of her pale, woolen brown cloak. She was glad that her father's request had been met, but she waited nervously to see what Lord Ó Cléirigh would say to Dragutin Orrels, who had impressed her with his presentation of himself and the two Pye cousins for whom she felt sympathy for now.

((Ó Cléirigh, Dragutin,??))

"It is Lord Ó Cléirigh," he corrected the older Frenchman firmly without offering eye contact. Lord Mongán Ó Cléirigh then removed a small salt-glazed pottery bottle, placing it upon the table, and dismissed the cork. An acrid aroma permeated from the black liquid that was contained inside. "You will need to sign this document, and leave the coins beside it." He pressed his index finger against the crisp vellum for a moment then handed over a fine copper nibbed reed pen to allow Jacob Lemay to write his signature.
Without waiting he turned his attention back to Dragutin Orrels. "There are several vocational positions vacant in regards to one skilled in the bearing of arms. As you may have witnessed this is a small village, however, my motivation is to make it prosper and hopefully become a town. Sadly we are close to the northern borders and Border Reevers can be such a pain in the.... warmer seasons." He substituted his originally thought comment due to the presence of the young woman.
"What I am looking for is a constable or watchman. Duties will involve being the custodian of Branlock Hall, and personal escort for when I travel to and from Branlock Hall and Rookhope Castle which was awarded to me as my other personal residence." He was quite proud of the fact that he had been given two places of habitation, however, he believed he was allocated ward over the area due to the troubles regarding the border, and so what he gained in property he had to conserve against raiders.

{{Dragutin, Lemay family, ??}}

Dragutin watched the other exchanges. Not only was he curious, but it was also useful to know who did what in Muggleswick. When he was addressed, his expression shifted to include a slight frown at the mention of Border Reevers. Excellent. "I would be honoured to serve you as constable, if you would have me in such a role." Had the two job titles meant one and the same? Was the Lord using them to refer to the same role? Either way, he wanted to be certain. He reasoned that if he was wrong and it was either or role being offered, then he'd be corrected. He knew what a constable was at least. A shift sideways of a sorts but it still put his skills to use, particularly the requirement of personally escorting and protecting the Lord, and considering defensibility. He'd need a map...

He had made the places where he had temporarily stayed in on his travels subtly more defensible prior to his arrival in the village. While doing so for the hall and for the residences wherever the Lord was was an entire step up from that and then some, he relished the challenge. It also very nicely gave him that sense of purpose that he had been searching for, although he perhaps had not anticipated finding it so soon after travelling.

[Taisty, Crusty, Lemay family?]

Bon dieu du ciel, what was Ben going on about now! He had lost some of his focus as he had spoken to Lord Ó Cléirigh and he had missed something vital. It did not take long for the stern, finely dressed dark-hair lord to remind him. Beads of sweat pearled on his furrowed brow, but it was thankfully covered by his mass of curly light reddish brown hair, so like his son's.

He bowed again and was quick to correct himself. "Yes, Lord Ó Cléirigh, my sincerely apologies." Jacob took the fine copper nibbed reed pen and cautiously dipped it into the black liquid he was used to write with on the vellum parchment. He made sure no excess ink dripped as he carefully formed his letter having been educated in French as well as Latin in reading and writing in which he now wrote and that served as the lingua franca. He left the two pennies next to his signature gently blowing. The waited for Lord Ó Cléirigh to sprinkle ponce or if he did not Jacob would add some if it was nearby before stepping back. He joined his children again and waited to be dismissed.

((Ben, Rose, Taisty, Crusty, ? ))

Hearing the firm tone of Lord Ó Cléirigh correcting his father for having forgotten to address him by his title had Ben quickly clamp his mouth shut, his radiant blue eyes going as wide as a barrel of beer he so currently craved at this very moment. He watched, finally immobilized, and watchfully hoping nothing would go wrong and his earlier babbling would not cost his father and their family their place here in Muggleswick. This time he would not even lay any blame on Rose for she had tried to warn him.

((Rose, Taisty, Crusty, ?))