CHAPTER V - Path of the Tavern-Warrior
Feeling a deep sense of rage and loss, I sought refuge in the worst possible place. I went to The Black Sheep Tavern at the docks of Drentwych, where many dangerous ruffians spent their free time and hard-earned wages on cheap whores, cheap liquor, and gambling. It was a place seldom visited by men and women of reputation. In fact, only a hardened criminal or a man with a death wish would ever want to visit the place — and I wasn’t a criminal.
The Tavern was poorly lit, with a few torches attached to the walls and a fire under the kettles. A pig was roasting there, filling the poorly-aired room with smoke. Yet the warmth of the Tavern proved an allure I could not deny, for it was an especially chilly night outside. A gap-toothed barmaid greeted me with a smile. Though I found her unattractive, I allowed myself a nervous half-smile in return. Behind her I met with the suspicious expressions of the patrons, as more than one dangerous-looking ruffian sized me up with his eyes. I clenched my teeth and gave them all a challenging glare. The danger excited me and I welcomed the prospect of a brawl. I wanted to be lost in an ocean of oblivion, for violence to provide me with sweet release. So I sat down and joined a game of cards at a table of cutthroats. One had a tired looking whore sitting on his lap; she reeked of stale ale, amongst more foul scents. The knave fondled her intimately as he leered at me, boasting of his conquest.
“Are ye going to deal me some cards or what?” I asked one of them, as I sat and waited impatiently to be included in the entertainment.
“Got anything to wager on?” The ruffian holding the tarot cards asked.
“Just deal the bloody cards,” I spat impatiently.
“He’ll pay up later,” added the sweaty thug with the whore on his lap. Seemingly convinced, the dealer dealt me some cards.
“You go first,” I told the third player, a skinny, toothless man in rags, as I wasn’t sure how to play the game. He began, and by the third round I got the hang of it. As I was playing, however, I noticed a shadow looming over me as someone approached from behind my back.
“What do you want?” I spat, without turning, trying to erase any trace of fear or insecurity from my pose.
“Say, aren’t ye Adam, the smith’s boy?” He asked.
“What of it?” I admitted.
“Heard you’re a pretty decent brawler,” he replied.
“I assume this is going somewhere?” I replied impatiently, obviously not pleased with the direction in which this conversation was heading. The patrons at the table started laughing.
“Tis’ a fierce one!” Remarked the whore-lapped brute, and laughed.
“I wanna see how good ye are! There’s even coin to be made if you can beat me,” said the man behind my back.
“Very well,” I resolved, as I got up and turned around. I’ll beat him senseless, get paid and get some respect for once in my life.
He was a bit taller than me, and clearly stockier. His hard face hinted that this wasn’t to be his first brawl, and he showed no trace of fear. My stance was more feral as I leaned forward like a predatory beast. The patrons around were taking wagers. I turned my attention to him fully and we locked eyes. He raised his hands to protect his face and I did likewise. Then out of the blue, I kicked him in the groin, felling him. All those Angles and Saxons — they’re quite big and strong, but they don’t kick or know how to defend themselves against lower body blows. And the Albions, they’re just miniature wimps. As he grabbed his crotch I turned back, a very content smile on my face, and sat down. The patrons at the table all cheered and laughed. The whore winked at me, silently promising something I didn’t care to sample, even though I was a virgin. I knew I had humiliated him, but it served him right for trying to pick a fight just to see who’s stronger. I took up my cards again, pretending to be at ease, and watched his shadow carefully.
As my adversary arose from the floor, trying to gather whatever dignity he had left and retaliate against my dishonorable blow, I elbowed him again in the groin before he managed to strike, felling him to the floor once more, and winning yet another round of applause from my audience. He was carried outside by his friends and I had coin with which to wager.
Later that night my new-found buddies retired one by one to their lodgings, leaving me with a few more pennies than I had started off with, which wasn’t hard, considering the fact that I had started with none.
Intoxicated with a fatal combination of sleep deprivation and cheap ale, I was seriously considering a career in gambling as I left the Tavern. I swaggered left and right as I made way to Ivar’s smithy, even half preparing a speech to recite when I got there. This was why I didn’t see my assailants coming — all I heard was a sound of rushing feet before a heavy blow to the head stunned me. I dropped like a log to the ground, feebly trying to defend my face with my hands. My assailants proceeded to strike me with a thick wooden branch and a hail of kicks, until I lay in a pool of blood and vomit. Though I never got to see their faces, I made a fair assessment that I’d been accosted by my adversary from the Tavern, and his friends.
As I laid there in the mud waiting for death to claim me, I could not suppress the laughter in my belly. The irony stung me too damned much. Of all the ways I could have died, this had to be the most meaningless. To be beaten and left for dead in the mud on account of a tavern-brawl. When I was done laughing, I tried calling for help, but it was too late. I was half frozen and my voice too weak to be heard over the sound of the rushing wind. My body grew numb and I resigned myself to oblivion, and fell asleep, only to wake very much surprised and in pain.
The first thing I saw as I opened my eyes was a golden halo which I mistook for that of an angel. I smiled, stupefied; what else could I do?
“You’re awake!” A familiar feminine voice called. As my vision cleared I realized that the golden halo was in fact Ingrid’s golden hair. My heart raced with excitement.
“...Ingrid!” I exclaimed.
“Be quiet, Adam,” she replied, and changed the cold rag on my forehead.
“I’m sorry,” I continued.
“Shh,” she murmured as she placed a finger on my lips.
‘Ingrid,’ I thought to myself as I allowed sleep to claim me again. ‘I’ve got her back.’
When I awoke next it wasn’t as pleasant. This time Ivar’s frown replaced Ingrid’s smile, his frown deepened when he saw my stupid smile.
“Happy now?” He asked sternly.
“What?” I replied.
“Are you happy you scared her half to death?” He asked.
“No,” I replied, surprised and angry he would think that of me.
“So what was that all about?” He asked. Before I could answer he continued, “You go off trying to get yourself killed, so she’ll find your bloody carcass in the morning when she’s going to gather water!”
“No, I got into a brawl!” I protested.
“You always get into a brawl, that’s no excuse! If your mind is set on death, find a more convenient spot,” he replied.
“I’m sorry,” I answered.
“Sure you are,” he said dismissively. “Now you listen here boy,” he added in stern tones. “You’re gonna recover quickly now, even miraculously so, then you’ll say your pretty farewells to both me and my daughter, and you’ll disappear— go someplace else. And my daughter will never know what went between us, understand?” He demanded.
“Yeah,” I replied.
“What was that?” He asked.
“Yes, Master Smith,” I corrected myself, as the full implications of his words settled in. I am dead to him, and can have no hope. I felt my eyes sting.
“Adam ...” he began in softer tones. “Look, I do what I do not out of spite for you, but out of a dire need to protect my daughter,” he said.
“Protect her from what? Am I such a lowly vermin?” I asked, full of pain.
“No, boy, you’re not vermin,” he said apologetically “But you don’t understand. You’re not of our people. You’re low-born, and if I was to endorse your marriage, it would ruin our reputation,” he explained.
“I understand I’m not of your people; my own people would’ve treated you the same,” I replied. “So I hold no grudge against you for it,” I continued. He snorted at my statement.
“Then do the honorable thing and leave, our blood cannot mix,” he said. I stared at him for a moment, looking into his eyes. I clenched my jaw as I made my final decision. I strained a bit to sit up, and then gathered myself, fighting nausea, and got up on my feet. I couldn’t manage to stay on them for more than a moment and had to retreat back to bed. I stayed that way for a couple of days, pretending to be asleep whenever Ingrid came by. Once I regained enough of my strength I said my farewells to Ivar and left.
I couldn’t bear the thought of being near Ingrid yet so far away, and I had no strength to fight further with Ivar. All I really wanted now was peace and to be left alone. I suffered two days confined to a place where I did not want to be, relying on the kindness of a man who did not want me around. As soon as I was able to be up I found my way back to the Tavern, and as I walked in, I clenched my jaw, straightened my pose, and did everything in my power to hide my sickness and injury. The Tavern was nearly empty at this hour, so I sat at an empty table and ordered myself a meal and some ale. My game partners entered later that evening and were surprised to see me. They waved and joined my table.
“You look like hell,” the skinny ruffian commented.
“Tanks,” I replied and ordered some milk. I needed to keep sharp for what I was about to do. Finally, they entered, my enemy and his buddies. I smiled as I saw their stunned expressions, feeling my body come alive with an inner fire that staved off the ache in my joints.
“Take it outside!” The bartender barked as I got up, ready for a brawl. My enemy and his buddies nodded agreement and turned to leave, and I did likewise. My own companions were quick to follow, catching me by surprise.
A moment later we were all outside forming a circle in the mud, joined by the patrons and sailors passing by who stopped to watch the action.
“Caught me by surprise the other day,” I commented venomously, through clenched teeth, to my enemies. I then caught sight of Ivar, who had also joined the crowd, though further back.
“You fight dirty,” my enemy replied.
“Put yer fist up and quit yapping,” I replied as I positioned my fists to protect my face. And so the fight began.
I storm-paced to my enemy, locking gazes with him; slightly intimidated, he failed to respond as I smashed his face with a left swing. He feebly jabbed me with his right, too stunned to put any real force behind his blow. I ignored his jab and proceeded with a right swing, then a left. He spat some blood and teeth as he fell backwards to the ground. I dropped onto him, taking only a moment to mount him as he struck at my kidneys. I once again ignored his blow and proceeded to pound him left and right, left and right, until his face became a mash of blood. Someone lifted me off of him as I tried to lay another blow.
“He’s almost dead!” Called one of his friends. I lunged towards him, showing him my bloodied fists.
“You’re not!” I roared as I charged him. He managed to place his hands in-front of his face as I gave a straight punch with all my strength. I hit his arm, which bounced and hit his face, injuring his nose and sending him to the ground. I fell on top of him as other arms tried to grab me. Another punched me from behind and I turned my face — still mounted on my adversary, to block a kick aimed straight at my face. I responded with a direct punch to his groin while the short distance gave me a favored position. Then someone threw pot at one of my adversaries. As the pot hit his chest I turned to see who threw the projectile. I saw one of my card buddies holding a chair and charging towards one of my enemies.
When the brawl ended I sat with my buddies drinking ale, wiping our bloody faces, and boasting our victory. The only sour moment that evening was Ivar coming to our table.
“So this is what you want for yourself,” he said. I turned to him. “To be a tavern drunk and a brawler,” he continued.
“I am what I am,” I replied tersely as I turned back to the table and sipped my drink. I tried to bury my face behind my mug to hide those treacherous tears which sought to appear on my face.
“You can be better than this!” Ivar protested.
“I don’t want to,” I replied, and with that he left. We resumed our drinks and our boasts, though I lost all satisfaction from both.
‘Why did he have to come and ruin the one bit of solace I had won for myself?’ I asked myself.
Finding no answer, I resigned to a bed I was offered by the bartender.
Come morning I felt both better and worse. On the one hand, I wasn’t sick anymore. It seems booze and brawls keep the disease-demons at bay. On the other hand, I was sore all over from far too many blows. I forced myself to get up and bought myself a meal, paying with the last penny.
A man stood above me as I ate my breakfast. I peered at him from my right eye, because the left was swollen shut. He wore a soldier’s uniform with chain mail and leather armor and had behind him several foot soldiers. His boots were shiny; I coveted them.
“Adam?” He inquired in a commanding voice.
“Yeah,” I replied sternly, though deep inside I was worried that he’d come to arrest me.
“You’re charged with disturbing the peace,” he said.
“Who laid the charges?” I asked, feeling my heart race in dread of incarceration.
“You know who, you bloody broke his face,” the Sheriff replied. I laughed as he mentioned a broken face.
“T’was a bloody good fight,” I replied and got up in a non-threatening fashion.
“Indeed,” he replied as he motioned me to start walking and followed closely behind. My legs shook and I worked to hide it every step of the way. I wanted to go to prison with dignity.
“You know …” the Sheriff said when the barracks were in sight, “… we could use someone like you.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, too frightened and angry to attribute any meanings to his words.
“I mean …” he began, “… there’s really no reason for you to walk in as a prisoner when you can be a soldier instead.” The full implication of his words suddenly became clear to me. I’d heard the rumor once that some hardened criminals are given the choice to be soldiers instead of going to prison.
“Enlist me,” I replied, smiling. This is how my short career as a tavern-brawler ended and another career as a soldier began. I dreamt of becoming a Chevalier and marching on Jerusalem, conquering it from the hands of Al-Hakim bi-Amr Allah.