His camp was up beyond the Long Way at the very north end of the campground. He had put in for it early the previous year and hadn't been surprised when everyone let him have it without question. It was to hell and gone from the shopping, the store, even the battlefields, but it was secluded and very dark in the evenings. On a clear, moonless night, he could sit up all night long and watch the stars and planets wend their eternal way across the sky.
For years he had concentrated on his pursuit, his obsession with astronomy. And at The War he could practice it. His camp was a period camp -- authentic on every possible detail from his raised Viking a-frame to his campfire to his meals using only preserved or freshly killed meats. The only inauthentic touch was an invention for stargazing, for tracking the movements of the stars in the heavens. He had designed it himself. It stood on a ground 10' square and was 7' high at the top. It was a very standard structure with angled poles at each corner and an 8' square frame at the top. And it was of black canvas, pure black walls and roof.
When it was shut, no light could enter, for the doors overlapped and tied to the posts. And even during the day, it was dark. The only light that could enter would come through the roof, for that was another flap that could be folded back to allow a (modern) telescope to look up and out. He often had wished that he could afford a period telescope, but they cost far more than his limited budget could afford. He shrugged each time he set up his viewing dome and allowed himself the pride of an inventor & owner of a dome that no other possessed.
He often spent all day cooking and relaxing in camp, his days passing slowly & leisurely. Only in the evenings did he leave, and then only to visit camps where period activities took place. Among his favorite leisure activities were gambling, drinking, singing, and whoring. One of his favorites was the Inn of the White Horse, a camp set up as a tavern. There he had often spent pleasant evenings playing draughts, hnaftafl, and kegls -- a form of bowling. And he won more often than he lost, including tonight.
He had bet heavily before, often dropping enough to buy many flagons of ale, but tonight he had decided to play the ultimate game, to wager his freedom. He had never felt the thrill before of putting it all on the line. For he was a remarkably independent man, used to be his own master, and other's as well. He was a true master of all situations he was in, but he decided to see what the other side of the life was like. So, he engaged a skilled kegls player, a wench who played every evening ... flirting, gulling, and then often taking her victims all evening long.
She intoxicated him, her fiery tresses below her shoulders, her green eyes flashing with laughter, her intelligence and skill obvious in all she did. She was tall, too, taller than the usual girl he went for. She was a challenge, both physically and mentally for him. And he had both won and lost against her at kegels and knew there was at least a 50% chance she would beat him. So he offered her his challenge:
One match, ten frames, winner takes the loser for one night of slavery.
She looked at him and was immediately aroused. She had played him before, sometimes ending up on top, sometimes losing, but she had often beaten him as the stakes rose and they drank more and more. Her skills became sharper as the evenings progressed, while his seemed to wane. She had regularly watched him and was bothered by his arrogance, his self-assurance, his authority. She could think of nothing better than to defeat him and take him as her slave and lover for a night. For she heard enough to know that he was a good lover, inventive, powerful, enduring. And she needed that type of man to bring her pleasure.
She played recklessly, seeming to hurtle herself down the ramp with the ball. The pins flew everywhere and she built up a seemingly insurmountable lead. But he came back, carefully aiming to keep deadwood on the platform, to gain the extra points they gained him. And gradually, imperceptibly, he caught her. Finally, in the last frame of the last game, they were tied. She took aim and rolled her final ball -- the pins clattered and fell -- a strike, all the pins on the floor, the platform swept clean. She was elated, for only the most fortunate shot could even duplicate the feat, let alone surpass it. He took a deep breath while looking her square in the eyes.
His gaze held hers as he rolled the ball. As his ball rolled noisily down the ramp, she looked at him and laughed, picturing the proud, almost arrogant baron on his knees before her, serving her dinner, morsel by morsel, sip by sip. The pins shook as the ball dropped onto the platform. And then they fell, rolling everywhere. A strike. As she looked, agonized, all rolled off the platform save one which clung precariously and settled to lie on the deck, dooming her. She groaned and he guffawed. He gave her a large goblet of wine and whispered in her ear, "As agreed, sweetling, next Wednesday, at 4:30, before Kingdom Court."
* * * * *
She walked the path carefully, slowly, considering her situation. She did not have to go to his camp. She could easily forget the whole stupid idea. After all, there were over 10,000 people in the campsite; he certainly would never try to force her to attend upon him, to be his slave. However, she felt a drive, a need to go on. She soared with the possibilities, to have an experience she had never had before.
When she arrived at the campsite, she stopped momentarily ... a gate stood before her. It was a simple log gate with runes carved into the lintel. She could not read them, but she sensed it was the name of the camp. "Egilsstad" he had said to her. Yes, that would be the first word, but following that was a string of words, each break marked by a • . The door was almost completely closed. No noise came from within. She called out, "Baron Egil? Hello, the camp?"
No answer. Only the bright sunshine and the soft buzzing of bees. She slowly pushed open the door and slipped inside. The door noiselessly slid back into place. She looked about her. The 3 tents were positioned in a semi-circle around the firepit which smoldered even now. All stood on walls, 4" wide by 12" high. All were A-frames, each with dragon's head framing pieces on the front edges. The center tent had elaborately painted dragon's heads, gold and red. And then there was a slight noise behind her.
She turned and found herself looking up at him. He was taller than she recalled in the tavern, at least 6" taller than her 5'10". He was dressed in a soft leather jacket over a linen shirt, a pair of cross-gartered red wool pants and low boots. His hair was pulled back into a braid, yet it hung to his waist. She longed to run her fingertips through it. She sighed inwardly, thrilled by his appearance. His blue eyes seemed to burn, but he laughed softly. "Welcome, my slave. Is this how you greet your Master?"
