Vârcola Arnfried's Journal: Gilpean 6th

The story continues

Gilpean 6^th,

Time passed quite swiftly so that it was hardly noticed, those days were wholly dedicated to the study of the lineage of Vârcola. Hers was a lineage that had a history that was once among the noblest she was to claim. It had begun with Dorin, who had fought valiantly for Aemiliemagne in his youth. The great baron lost his life in the wars of Darkness, shortly after his seventieth year with his son Dumitru succeeding him, to all his riches and grandness of titles. It was this son, this Dumitru who began the fall from golden-rule over the isle of Teufelburg to that of silver, ere the rule of the barons rusted it seemed to my mind.

The son was a brilliant knight to be sure, and fought no less nobly, in spite of how his nine brothers, four uncles and father all perished in the wars against the Darkness. It was as a cripple that Dumitru returned home, to find his wife a stranger and his daughter nigh on full-grown.

Tragedy did not strike the family quite yet, for there was ten good, long fertile years that followed.  Years spent unaware of the menace that loomed to the north-east of the Gernavian isles, from whence the invading Tavins-tribes from the distant east crossed the sea after the destruction of their home-city of the Band.

To the sea they went, invading many of the locals hereupon the Gernavian isles, with the Lord Dumitru passing away to these sea-marauders. It was this baron though who had rallied the dozens of islands against the pirates, winning a great victory at Dragosulă, where he was killed in the fighting.

After Dumitru, it appears that the baron was succeeded by his daughter. This daughter, I have found a great measure of difficulty in discovering the slightest record of, with her name scratched from the first account I inspected. The second spoke only of her in the barest of ways, communicating the year in which she succeeded her father, her thirty-two years of rule and of her harshness towards those descended from the Tavins who sought refuge hereon the island of Teufelburg.

It was a rather dustier tome that spoke of the lady in greater detail, though some of the record’s words were missing and faded due to age. This record stating in bald terms of how she had impaled a number of her rivals and former allies, to prevent them from gaining ground on those islands nearest to that which her castle lorded over.

In search of more knowledge regarding this lady, I was to sift through another three volumes, about the early history of the castle. It happened that the door opened, or I assumed it must have opened and closed without a sound, so that I did not at once take notice of the other person in the library.

It was not until she spoke that I became, aware of the presence of the Baroness Vârcola, “Brother Arnfried, you seem to have come to enjoy the bountiful volumes of my library.”

I must have leapt several dozen feet in the air. At first I was unable to find her at first, in my search for the lady that is until she stepped out of the shadows near the open window.

“Oh milady, I did not see you come in,” I said startled and though it was not shown or implied, a little irritated that she should have surprised me so. “How long have you stood by the open window?”

“I have not been here for very long,” She replied coolly, allowing me to step past her to close the scarlet curtains, stepping forward to stand by the table, she picked up one of the books. “Ah the ‘History of Teufelburg’, by Brother Benjamin I see.”

“Yes, milady.”

“Hmm, and what is this?” She inquired examining the open book that lay nearest to the chair I had vacated, in my search for the book by Brother Benjamin.

“It is my notes milady, on the history of your island and line,” pointing to the ink-bottle next to it and the feather-pen that had been put into it. “I find that the taking of notes regarding this sort of thing, to be the easiest means by which to recall it.”

“Really now?” Vârcola asked a strange and wide smirk stretching out over her plump lips. It was a hideous grin, as might have belonged on a skull, with her large canines not helping to ease the discomfort she inspired. “Why peruse the volumes, when I may tell you all that one may wish to know of that time?”

Startled by the knowing gleam and tone of her voice, I was to prompt her, “You are familiar with the histories of that time? Did your father educate, on the topic?”

“Quite so brother Arnfried, to the Vârcola naught is more important than our history, for once we were the most glorious and admired of all the lines of the Gernavian islands.” She replied almost haughtily, a hint of wistfulness in her voice. “You may find it difficult to believe, but there were once gay times herein my castle. Once there were lavish balls, fantastical parties and guests from all the isles and even from the mainland who never tarried to be in attendance for any of those events.”

“What of the histories after the fall of Dumitru, I found it difficult to find record of what came after his passing.”

“It was a dark time in our histories, the lord had left two daughters; an elder daughter high-born and pretty who hardly inspired confidence. She was dull in spirit as she was in mind, having only a desire to marry some fool in the local village.” The scornfulness in the Baroness’s voice, when she spoke of the maiden in question so that she almost seemed to come to life from the histories, “Her younger sister though, was cut from a different cloth.”

“Sister? I was not aware that the baron Dumitru had two daughters,” I interrupted started by this revelation.

The lady did not appear at all irritated by this remark rather she seemed pleased by my interest. “Yes, he had two of them; Ileana the elder and Mihaela who was the younger sister. It was the latter to whom, most put their faith into, for she was ever the finer daughter. More beauteous was she, and far cleverer in the ways of the world, than her sister. It came about that at the passing of their father, she was but half a dozen years of age, and so it was she that most turned to. The sisters though did not quarrel, for quite some time.”

“Then what became of them?” I asked in a hushed tone, mesmerized by the tale.

She smiled, “It happened that at the time when she intended to wed, her sister was given over the time of Ileana’s meeting with the youth in question, and had guards sent out. The villager was slain in the name of protecting the Baroness, wherefore she was herself seized by madness and attempted to take the life of her sister, who was rescued by the handsome captain of the guards.”

At the mention of the captain in question, her voice became dream-like. As though reminiscing about a man she had herself once known, and once fancied. “Her sister imprisoned, it was not long before the younger sister, and Mihaela had convinced another of the guards to put her miseries to an end. Crowned the Baroness, she was to do what Mihaela had failed to do and ought to have done some time ago; routed those who had come to take their lands from them, and dealt the traitors’ the traitor’s fate.”

“Traitors’? What traitors?” I was to ask bewildered, and thinking that somehow I had lost hold of her narrative and tale.

Seeing my confused expression, she smiled in what seemed to be a grandmotherly way so that she said to me. “Oh my apologies Arnfried, I seem to have lost control of the story, if you may tell me what part confused you so?”

Feeling a little at a loss to where to go back to, as it seemed that the story had become quite confused around the time of the imprisonment of the elder sister. Not wishing to speak out so, on this matter I in place of remarking upon that part of the tale I asked politely after the traitors she spoke of.

My eyes must have also as I answered her, flitted to the table whereupon my notes of the history of Teufelburg and its lineage sat, now unattended to, so that she followed my gaze.

“Excuse me, my friend,” she said genially with an almost sweet smile on her face, “Do be seated and take the notes which you like ever so much, just as all those of your brethren do! I would have a new record of these lost years written!”

Grateful, and relieved to have not offended her, it was not long before she was once more swept along by the tale of those who came before. “The traitors I referred to, my dear friend.” Here she touched my arm with an ice-cold hand, so that I flinched a little as though burnt. She hardly noticed. “They were those who had come from North-Agenor, and other islands forming amongst themselves into a single-band of ‘Sea-Men’ or Seeleute as they were also called in your tongue. Many were the isles that were subjected by them.”

“What of the chivalry of the northern court? Surely, they sought to do something to put a stop to this conquest!” I objected, though I knew the answer.

She snorted, wherefore she admitted, “Though they were as naught compared to the conquerors who followed after them; the Northmen, who came down from across the Glacial Sea far to the north.”

This part of the tale was familiar to most or at the least many of the details could be guessed at.

“We were made to withdraw, by this time we were wearied and the traitors who had joined the Sea-Men had been properly purged. The resultant nigh on century of continuous war had however, sapped us of our strength.” Vârcola murmured somberly, eyes finding the flames in the small chimney that stood betwixt two of the large mahogany shelves filled with voluminous collections of poetry and histories. “Not all of these Arns as most dubbed them, on account of the north-lands by the name of Arnrige, were entirely undesirable to the locals.”

“How could this be? Did they not sail here from the west, with blood, plunder and the clash of arms in their hearts?”

“Aye, it shan’t be denied, though one of the great chieftains of the second raiding group that came in the life-time of the Baroness Ileana was not wholly displeasing to her.”

“How so?” I asked, startled by this admission and the almost wistful smile that appeared on her thick-lips.

“A discussion for another time Brother Arnfried,” She decided after a moment’s thought, “I should think I have given you sufficient to mull over, and to note down. If you should like, you may inspect one of the green tomes behind you, next to the door on some of this history. As the book in question, is a history of the isle of Teufelburg, with its lord being of the same house as that fool Bjǫrn.”

Later

I did not know at once why she called the Lord Bjǫrn foolish, nor could I quite conceive of why the Baroness spoke with such scorn of the house of Bjǫrn as a whole. However, the vividness and familiarity with which she spoke of days long past, of the history of the castle in which she lived, and of the feuds and deaths of those who had lived there long before my arrival.

Taking note of the vast majority of what it was that she had recounted, leaving no detail out, no matter how small or insignificant. So that when the time came to re-read the great majority of the record made of the history of Teufelburg and of the founding of the Barony, it was only thence that I noticed how the suns had begun to peak on the horizon.

Eyes burning I was to turn about far too rapidly, so that the bottle of ink (one of only four I had brought with me for this journey), was knocked over onto the ground. My mistake was a foolish one and one that in hindsight could easily be excused. It could be excused, quite easily as said, for I had not put down the pen for a single moment since it was first picked up, in order to note down all that was to be told, by the lady Vârcola. I must confess that the first words that were expostulated were hardly ones befitting a monk.

Cleaning up the glass took little time, though the act of avoiding some of the sharper corners took a little more care. Care I was not wholly able to give over to such an endeavour, because of the exhaustion that plagued my mind and spirit.

Hissing from the pain, from the edge of my fingertips where the glass had cut I was to grip the said fingers momentarily. Hurrying to my bedchambers, to find the torn robes I had flung to one side of the room near to the table upon which I had lain several of my personal effects. Tearing a strip of the dark cloth, with which my wound was promptly seen to after hurriedly cleaning it in a bowl of cold water thoughtfully put on a separate table pressed against the left-hand wall, by Klove.

I was to rub at my eyes, wherefore I laid down for the remainder of the morn’, too wearied to properly resist the numbing need for rest, by this time.

“Brother Arnfried,” Klove was to later remark wakening me from my rest some time later, “The Baroness requests your presence in the dining-hall.”

Startled I leapt up a little from the bed, less than pleased to have been awoken in this rather unsubtle manner, by the man-servant of the lady Vârcola. Stammering, I was apologized to for awakening me, in the coldest and most indifferent voice ever utilized by any man, or so it seemed.

“You have thus far slept through the whole of the day brother,” He informed me without seeming at all bothered, “Your books have been closed, and a new bottle of ink has already been supplied for your later usage.”

“Really? You took one of my bottles of ink? Wait, what of the one I accidentally shattered?”

“No brother, I took the liberty of withdrawing some ink and a new quill-pen from the lady’s collection, and have already cleaned the spilled ink and shattered bottle. It seemed the most natural course of action, was I mistaken to have done so?” Klove said in his morbid tones, face as impassive as always.

“Oh well thank you, I do hope it was not too much trouble,” I stammered politely.

“Not at all,” There was a thin trail of disdain beneath the sheen of indifference.

Unsure if I had imagined the scorn, or if it was simply a figment of my over-active imagination, I ate a swift break-fast that consisted of something called Sarmale cu mamaliga si carnati which was to say mince rolled in pickled cabbage with Polenta. My request for the recipe was promptly obeyed, with Klove writing it with a rapid hand that startled me.

His writing was not at all so crude, as you might well have imagined it, for it was neat and well-lined. Amazed, and baffled I was to later store the recipe in my bag, yet before that while the servant cleared the table of all the cutlery and plates, I could resist asking about this phenomenon.

“There was a time, ere my own arrival in Castle- Teufelburg, it was in that time that I learnt to read, write and even sculpt ever so slightly. My mother had been raised in a convent you see, before she met my father, it was she who passed on to me the secrets of literacy, and the lady has seen fit to have it refined.” He remarked with a hint of pride.

“Oh truly? It seems finer than my own writing,” I admitted a little embarrassed, for which he thanked me. Turning to leave, it was only thence that I noticed that the lady had not come down for her own morning-meal. “The Baroness has not come down to eat.”

“To the contrary brother,” Klove said quietly, “She was here before your own descent; it was she who had left instructions for your own breakfast to be prepared.”

Thanking him, I was to return to the library in the hopes to continue my recording of the history of Teufelburg, this work serving well to distract me for the hours that followed. It was as a wound that I had by this time over-stayed my stay, so that I swore when next I saw the Baroness I should convey to her the importance, of the Emperor’s summons.