Arpad

[Eulalios]

Evening; the roof of the Stargaze Tower; clear night skies; 13th day of the Month of Truces, 268 H
You have befriended the astrologer Bleithhian, second son (28) and Sage, whom you know also to be a Wizard-?? willing to converse with you - at night after dinner, atop the Stargazing Tower - about the hidden powers of the world. He is fascinated by your innate magics, as much as by your eastern triabl upbringing, and questions whether you are descended from dragons. Also, he prefers "Blaise," after the fashion of those who dwell along the long and hilly coast that spreads eastward from the mouth of Ebro.

Blaise, my friend, although we are fierce like the mighty dragons of the East, I do not believe I am descended from any such. My tribe has the blood of the mighty stallion running through it.

You are lounging on your elbows, on the roof of the Stargazing Tower, beneath the brilliant white river that flows across the spring night sky,

Arpad, have you heard the story of the horse that eats the world? I only know the name of the story, I have never heard it told. It sounds like something that might be told in your exotic native tongue."

Blaise, you know treasures from many parts of the world, it seems. Have some more drinks sent in and I will tell you a tale both ancient and modern.

<laughs> It is well past the evening prayer, the servants sleep. Here, I will puff on the brazier, scoop a spoonful of grounds, and pour some water from the silver beaker: so... in just a few minutes, we shall have coffee! Now tell me your story, and I'll tell you mine.

(After listening to your tale ...) Blaise begins to talk about his eldest brother, Haroun.

... and not only a fool, but a rough fool, Arpàd, one who breaks whatever he mistakes to be in his way. A good man to send into battle, that is sure, but ... In your tribes, how do they choose a chief? This question interests me, you know why."

His voice shifts and turns quiet at the end.

When the path is clear, it is easy. At other times, there is much bloodshed and weakening of the tribes. In the end, the chief is the one the people will follow. It is sometimes the son, and sometimes a new man who rises through dint of of being a great warrior, a powerful shaman or even a great communicator - if he has a strong vision. There is always a vote of the tribes, but there is often but one man on the ballot. The votes of the tribes are swayed by their own religious and war leaders - and by the elder women, who are very strong amongst us. I'm afraid our ways would not work here, where the populous is so large and diverse, but in the end, there can be no leader if the people do not choose to follow.

The elder women ... <chuckles> ... that would leave me not much hope here, then.

Blaise then sips his coffee quietly, gazing at the stars. After a short silence:

Now get we should to langwich, please? Me how speak your people learn want to.

[enn.in.me]

Let's start with the family - you remember sister and brother I imagine. The parents of course are father and mother. We do not have multiple wives like you here, but there are words for the other women of a chief. For us, we have many words for the different cousins and tribal links - very detailed - that I cannot say in your language. Perhaps with the charcoal here I can make you diagrams.

Long and dull lesson on family/clan/tribe structure follows with much new vocabulary.

[Eulalios]

After a while, Blaise changes the topic. (Arpad - Insight [1d20-1] = 8-1 = 7)

You have asked me a few times, about the Arabs' knowledge of the stars. I do not know it all, but I have visited the schools in Cordoba and listened to teachers and watched them draw. There - you can see the Pole Star, all men know that? ...

and he continues for a while discussing the navigational and magical properties of stars.

This concludes the evening, as after his lecture Blaise rolls from his elbow to a crouched position where he inspects the brazier: "The coals are out." Then he proceeds down the winding stair from the roof, around the inside of the tower wall, along the top of the town wall, to the square and stolid main house. Here your sleeping place is on a pallet among dozens of other retainers - in the foyer when the weather is warm and breezy, in the great room when the weather is cold. Tonight it is cool and breezy. Blaise has his own chamber, up somewhere in the floors above the great room. He heads there.

[Eulalios]

Morning; the Tower of La Zuda; clear warm summer skies; 13th day of the Month of Truces, 268 H
The next dawn is a still summer morning. After the pallets have been placed in the cellar, it's routine for the entire household to proceed the length of the plaza to the Masjíd for prayers before breakfast. As a pagan you are ignored, not required to follow along. However, you are expected to work with the two Gallic slave girls (Pennyroyal and Gwynneth) to get breakfast ready in the copper-ceilinged kitchen at the back of the tower, above the great hall.

Pennyroyal is blonde and curvy, and in the horse clans already she would be a mother. But here in servitude she is childless, and has been in a grim mood with Árpád for weeks. Older, brown-haired, scrawny Gwynneth is, as usual, cheerful. "<Mozarabic>Oh you sweet Árpád, the dishes get me careful clumsy hooves yours with!"

By the time that the worshippers flood down the steps of the mosque at the eastward end of the plaza - a quarter mile away - you and the girls have set out breakfast on trestles under potted orange trees, on the platform before the door of the tower. Breakfast is thin fried strips of goat, along with pancakes, marbly cheese, hefty urns of coffee and tea, and a big red block of quince jelly. Árpád is expected to pour out the hot beverages, while the girls serve the food.

The four eldest grandsons gingerly mount the six broad steps from the plaza, and set down Lord Rafal's litter across the ends of the two trestles, which you have grown accustomed to offset from the table - whether in or out of the hall - for just this purpose. Their grandfather thanks them curtly but in a gentle tone, and gestures to Gwynneth: "<Mozarabic>Five strips of goat, and wrapped in a pancake with jelly, please." To you he adds: "<Mozarabic>Coffee, lad. Black and sweet." The others of the family seat themselves. Haroun seizes your elbow as you pass. He's a burly man, whom you suspect physically and temperamentally capable of taking you apart. His grip is very strong. "<Mozarabic>No sugar. Bad for his health." This is a new thing - the man has never before interfered with his father's instructions.

[enn.in.me]

Somehow I did not subscribe to this post, and so missed that it was being updated - apologies - I do hate to keep the lord waiting for his coffee!

Arpad looks down at Haroun with a quizzical eyebrow raised, and then, taking in his bulk, nods agreement. His back to the table, and in particular to Haroun, he will add sugar to the coffee before bringing it to Lord Rafal. <Mozarabic> Your coffee, Lord, unsweetened as requested by your son. <Mozarabic>

[Eulalios]

Haroun gazes at your quizzical eyebrow with the placid malignancy of a stallion waiting to kick a man's face in. He releases your elbow so that you may turn and do your trick with the sugar. Árpád's passive Sleight of Hand is 10. You deliver the porcelain cup of coffee to Lord Rafal, who takes the cup and pours it carefully into the porcelain saucer, from which he sips after waiting a moment for steam to drift away. The cup and the saucer are part of a shiny white and fragile set that you understand came from far east and years past, possibly near the horse lands of your ancestors' ancestors. Being permitted to handle these precious cups is a signal of trust in your steady hands.

"<Mozarabic>Pfah," says Rafal. "<Mozarabic>This coffee is a bitter drink for an old man. The wise Jew from the Orange Gate, the Christian priest, Walenty's cousin who studied the medicine down at Córdoba, all they tell me: my heart flutters because I have drunk too much. My son tells you leave the sugar out, so that I will not like to drink so much. Thank you. Thank you my son! Your direct manner provokes obedience! - <Magyar>Rider, this is bitter." He smiles guilelessly at you, sets down the cup and saucer, and begins to eat his breakfast roll. Around the roll, he adds "<Mozarabic>Haroun, make sure you tell the Tulaytulah gate, your little brother's soon due home. You, Walenty - have the dhimmi bishop account his granaries. Lady elder wife, for the morning you have the house; lady young wife, you have the grandchildren. Bleitthan, hah ... from your tower inspect the weather, the flights of birds, the planted fields to north and west; forecast the harvest." He inspects his daughters and their husbands, arrayed along both sides the table. Half of them - including Blaise - might have seen your trick with the sugar. None of them give any sign of it. "<Mozarabic>Breakfast is well-laid; enjoy! Give thanks to GOD!"

The meal proceeds without incident. Afterward, as the family rise and disperse to their later morning tasks, Blaise approaches you. "<Magyar>I will the tower climb, and you with me will climb. You show I will to ride where and at <Mozarabic>crops look. <Magyar>See, I learn your language. I my father taught some. But some words I do not know.<Mozarabic> Your people you describe as raiders, do you know even a word for crops? Come, you should tell me it." He turns again toward the Stargaze Tower, which stands overlooking the Ebro River at the corner where the inner wall joins the outer wall.

[enn.in.me]

<magyar> Of course we have a word for crops - when the raiders see farmland, they know that a village is near.<Magyar> Arpad follows Blaise up the tower stairs.

[Eulalios]

Late morning; rooftop of the Stargaze Tower; clear summer sky, stiff breeze from the west; 13th day of the Month of Truces, 268 H
From the top of Stargaze Tower, Blaise points across the Ebro River at squares of plowed and planted land, just now greening with the short sprouts of spring wheat; and other squares, starting to yellow with the taller stalks of winter wheat. The fields stretch across the valley floor and up the lower slopes of the hills to the north. "<moz.>Ride out and look close along at the fields, west of the road and east of the road, go a half-day out looking west and a half-day back looking east. They all look the same from here, let me know how they look close up. Are the plants strong or weak? Are they spotty? Are they rotten? Does your horse like the ripe grain? Wear the family's sash and badge, I will get one from Haroun."

He looks up at you, frowning. "<moz.>What you did with the coffee - that left a bad taste in my father's mouth. From what he said, how much he explained, I think he believes that you mistook what you were told. Shall we go with that?"

[enn.in.me]

<moz> Perhaps this is a good time for me to be away from the house. I will spend the day seeing how the grain grows, and whether it is palatable to the horse. <moz.>

<moz> Tell me, if it is appropriate, why does your brother make decisions that counter your father's desires? If a general can't make the small choices, how can he lead the army? <moz.>

In case it wasn't clear, I meant to make the coffee as it has always been made. I imagine that was clear to you (DM) but just in case.... I (Edwin, and therefor Arpad) am now assuming that Blaise did NOT see Arpad make it to his father's taste.

[Eulalios]

Blaise scowls. <moz.> Big brother gets ... sometimes ... {shrug} I don't know. When was last time you saw your father? He must by now be old as mine, almost? Haroun looks at our father aging, maybe he feels old himself. I think he meant well, really. It was rude of him. I don't think there was any right thing to do with that. Do I make any sense? He leans his elbows on the ancient granite of the Roman parapet, and stares out over the river at the wind-blown fields and the olive trees and almond trees that stretch in shrubby lines along the distant walls dividing fields from fields. <moz.>... anyway, you might's well get your horse. And find the Gaul to go with you, he's a handy fellow and in good with Haroun, as well.

[enn.in.me]

Arpad leaves Blaise staring out over the fields, heads to the stables where he requests that his horse be made ready and provisioned with a day's meal, and starts to ask around after the nameless (?) Gaul, heading first to his usual haunt.

[Eulalios]

Soon before the noonday prayers; street near the Tower of La Zuda; clear summer sky, hot still air between buildings; 13th day of the Month of Truces, 268 H
The stables are between the Tower La Zuda and the Inner (this road doesn't go to) Toledo Gate. A farmer has gotten his onion cart stuck at the corner by the gate and a throng of folk have gathered from just forward of the front hooves of the farmer's panicky ox, all the way past the stables up the street to almost the steps of the dais where you served breakfast, this morning. Realizing you haven't had more than a few snatched scraps of goat meat, you look to your left. Many days a pancakes vendor works opposite the stables, cooking curry-spiced batter on a copper plate over a brazier. Today he is there, his forked and beaded beard waggling as he chatters with a couple of lanky men who look like hostlers.

There is a shout from the front of the crowd, fifty yards down the street near the cart. General turmoil. It is beginning to be a hot, dry summer noontide of the sort that chars folks' wits.

[enn.in.me]

What kind of a shout? Like - hey you're in my way, or like, hey that really hurt and now I'm dying, or...??

[enn.in.me]

Arpad heads towards the cart, the shout and some food. As he does, he casts Mage Armor upon himself, not wanting to be at the mercy of whatever this crowd might turn into. A few muttered words and a small movement of his hands are followed by a brief shimmer in the air - perhaps just a heat mirage - and Arpad continues on his way, putting his scrap of oxhide back in his pouch. "But where is the Gaul?", he mutters in his native tongue.

[Eulalios]

Soon before the noontide prayers; street near the stables; clear summer sky, hot still air between buildings; 13th day of the Month of Truces, 268 H
dozens of ordinary people, + Arpad, a pancake vendor, and a couple of hostlers

There is additional shouting, both Mozarabic and Catalan, and a third tongue you don't know, a language indeed that is unlike anything you've heard, roared out in a deep voice. Then the crowd begins to shift and part to show you a sight: a broad and burly bearded man, barely as tall as your lowest rib, and carrying over his shoulder a woman. A woman unconscious. Townsfolk shout at the scandal of this. The bearded man proceeds heedless toward you, and soon will pass by toward the plaza in case you let him go. Mostly, the crowd of dozens continues to swirl and loudly dispute something about the farmer's onion cart down at the far end of the street. However, about twenty of the nearest people split off from the crowd to follow the burly man and his passenger. Also, a middle-aged and balding man of average build and height, with dirt-stained face and clothes, comes hurrying among those twenty, vying to ... seize? thank? the burly man. He, also, speaks in the language that you don't identify.

[enn.in.me]

Condition - curious. HP: 8; AC: 13; Active Spells: Mage Armor

Arpad looks around for any members of the household guard, or of the household itself, and then slips in with the twenty following the short, wide man. <Moz.> What is happening? <Moz.> he asks of one of the crowd next to him.

Is this a common occurrence in these parts? Has he been warned by Blaise or any of the rst of the family to stay out of the affairs of the commoners?

[Eulalios]

Let's omit <Moz> for speech in the common tongue of al-Andalus.

"We don't know," replies a young man wearing a farrier's apron, tongs and hammer swaying in its loops as he hurries after the burly man. "The big guy stopped the other's cart - him, the thin-haired man, he's the farmer who was driving he cart - and they started yelling each other. The woman was on the cart with the farmer, and got down t yell at the big guy. It was all right a front a the shop. I was shoeing a horse, finished all the hoofs while they were yelling in Hill-Talk, that's their tongue that those mountain folk use for their secrets. Then the woman - maybe she's the farmer's wife? - when the oxen spooked, she fainted, fell down, the big guy grabbed her and headed this way. I want to see what's next, I hope before the call to prayer these heathens settle this matter."

Presuming that Arpad's also a heathen spirit-worshipper, the only warnings he's received have been to not publicly worship idols or do anything else that is haram like eating pig flesh, mocking GOD or the prophet, abusing women, interfering with prayers etc. It's not expected of him to do any of the positive things required of Faithful and dhimmi (e.g., acting to prevent objectionable behaviors), so long as he at least refrains from actively embarrassing himself and Blaise. It would so far be ok for him to ignore this incident.

[enn.in.me]

Arpad lets the crowd drift by him and picks up some pancakes before heading to the house in his search for this missing Gaul. Presuming he doesn't find him shortly, he heads back to the stables and picks up his readied and provisioned horse and heads out the gate to see how the crops are doing. He will ask around for 30 minutes tops before giving up his search. He's just as happy to travel alone. If he crosses paths w/ Ibrahim, he'll tell him what he is up to and upon hearing that S is looking for Blaise, pass back the message that the Gaul is nowhere to be seen.

[Eulalios]

Just about nearly time for the horn to blow; the Plaza; warm and sunny; 13th of Truces
Arpad, and lots of other townfolk

After checking back in at the Tower, where the Gaul is not, Arpad stops briefly in the kitchen for a fuller meal, then heads back out and down the steps to the plaza - where he finds Haroun, the Gaul, and a couple dozen guardsmen finishing up a series of shuttle runs between the Mosque and the Tower. They all are stripped to their waists, carrying stones over their heads as they run. Some are carrying small stones one in each hand, about five pounds each. Haroun, the Gaul, and a few others each carry a single large stone in both hands, maybe twelve or fifteen pounds. The run is a quarter mile each way.

The run ends at the steps. The victor is a smallish fellow, knotty black hair and skin the color of the vendor's spiced pancakes. At the top of the steps, he prances across the dais, shaking the rocks and leaning back to shake his hairy bare chest to the sky.

Haroun, showing his age, is in the back end of the midst of the pack. He scowls at the younger men tailing him. Then he looks at you, and scowls again. "You ..." he looks around. Looks up at the sun, down to the shadows on the ground. "... ARIGHT. Clean up you all." He looks at you again, shakes his head once, and walks up the steps and across the dais to the door of the hall, which dwarfs even his bulk.

The Gaul, on the other hand, walks right over to you with a friendly smile. "You everywhere make new friends, strange horse man. You go to pray in masjeeed?" He's been only a few months here, long enough to show he's clearly slower than you to learn the common language.

[enn.in.me]

"I am not headed to pray. Blaise has asked that we run our horses along the road a half day out and back to see how the crops are faring. I have been looking for you this past hour - the sun is passing towards his peak. If you will pray, pray do so, and then meet me at the stables. Otherwise, let us be off at once."