Because the 1204 fall of Constantinople is what brought Catholicism so far east, most of our DEDEs set off little chain reactions, quiet little tributaries that met up in the central artery of the Fourth Crusade.
This meant several things: first, that young Rachel was invaluable to us, not only as a witch, but as a source of information far exceeding all our documented knowledge. Furthermore, we could rely on her to Send a DOer to that DTAP with uncanny specificity. It also meant that most of our Fighters had to be trained to have at least a basic grasp of Greek (spoken by the native Orthodox Christians of Constantinople), Latin (spoken by the crusading Catholics who were besieging them), and Anglo-Saxon (the most common tongue of the Varangian Guards). They also learned to fight in both the eastern style employed by the conscripted army and the northern style of the Varangians, as well as the various continental styles employed by the wide variety of soldiers from Flanders down to Sicily. There were few actual battles over the two-year course of the Fourth Crusade, but every one of them had been quite the mishmash of styles. I speak from listening to Tristan, who was one of our frontline Fourth Crusade DOers.
While we were growing and thriving in the twenty-first century, the witch network was being built out with astonishing rapidity in many DTAPs. Gráinne, who had taken up with an acquaintance of Francis Bacon (and of the Fuggers, per above), was worth her weight in diamonds, as (rather like Constantinople) late Elizabethan London is, within the time-space continuum of recorded human history, akin to Grand Central Station, especially given that we needed to have KCWs of both Catholic and Protestant backgrounds. Within eighteen months, every DTAP we’d targeted had a Known Compliant Witch who knew Gráinne, or a witch who knew a witch who knew a witch who knew Gráinne. We could safely move DOers from DTAP to DTAP in ways unthinkable before the Chronotron came online. Gráinne—whom I had never met—seemed to enjoy her position of prominence. Unlike most of the other witches working with DODO (whom, it must be said, we spent a not inconsiderable amount of time placating), she asked nothing of us. She was generous and earnest. Our one great blindness, our tragic flaw, is that we never questioned that.
But again, I am getting far ahead of myself.
INCIDENT REPORT
AUTHOR: LTC Tristan Lyons
SUBJECT: Chira Lajani
THEATER: Constantinople
DTAP: Blachernae Palace, 1203
FILED: Day 1787 (June, Year 5)
Sexual assault and repercussions (weregild)
Chira Lajani was on assignment in 1203 Constantinople. Her DEDE put her in the royal wing of Blachernae Palace after sunset. This wing is guarded mostly by the mercenary Varangian Guards of which I (LTC Tristan Lyons) was one, being there for a separate DEDE. Under normal circumstances our paths would not cross.
Chira reports that having accomplished her DEDE she was returning to Basina’s quarters so that Basina would Home her, when she was accosted by a Varangian Guard speaking Greek to her with an accent she has come to recognize as Norman/French. He propositioned her as she was descending a flight of steps leading down from a raised terrace toward the bathhouse entrance in a courtyard below. She turned him down. She is used to being propositioned, especially by the Guard, who consider themselves outside the normal social constraints of the local culture. However, she is also used to being respected when she says no. This VG did not accept her no. He grabbed her as she reached a landing in the stairway and pinned her against a stone balustrade. She resisted. He ripped her robe off of her shoulder so that it fell to the sash at her waist. Although he was stronger than she was and did not require a weapon to overpower her, he reached down with his right hand and drew a seax (long knife) from a sheath on his belt, presumably considering this the easiest way to terrorize her into silence.
Her assailant was suddenly holding her with his left hand only. In the period combat training that is a requirement for all DOers, we are taught to be extremely conscious of when the opponent makes a move for his knife, since that is the single most dangerous moment in hand-to-hand combat. Chira reacted with a wrist-lock technique that forced her assailant to drop the knife. He reached down for it, giving her the opportunity to spin away from the stone balustrade. Now furious and no longer content with merely terrorizing her, the assailant aimed a wild slash at her that produced a shallow but bloody wound on the outside of her right thigh. In so doing he became imbalanced. Chira stepped in and took advantage of this to throw him, planting her left hip under his buttock and shoving hard on his chin. Spinning away from her, he sprawled over the balustrade, balanced for a moment, then fell, plunging approximately five meters onto a wrought iron fence which impaled him. As this was happening he screamed in a way that drew attention all over the courtyard.
Various other Varangian Guards came to investigate, then, seeing the wound on her leg, summoned female servants to come and attend to her. The incident was singular enough that word of it spread through the royal wing of the palace within a quarter hour, and through the entire palace compound in an hour. I heard of it from fellow guards, who were reconstructing what move Chira must have used to get him to drop the knife. On the excuse of needing to relieve myself, I made my way to where she was being comforted.
This was a small antechamber outside the bathhouse. One of Basina’s attendants was there, holding Chira’s torn and blood-soaked dress. Chira was by this time in a fresh robe. She had been washed clean of the blood and her thigh had been bandaged. She appeared shaken. (Although when I spoke to her later, she said she just wanted to get on with her DEDE in hopes of preventing a repeat of the assault in another Strand.)
A contingent of four Varangian Guards appeared in the doorway. Naturally, given what had just happened, I assumed their intent was hostile. I interposed myself between them and the women and placed my right hand on the handle of my seax.
Their leader was Magnus, who was known to me by reputation, being one of the most senior and respected of all the Varangian Guards in the city despite his relative youth (early thirties?) and outlier status as a Norman (most of the VG are Anglo-Saxons, and in this era the Normans and Anglo-Saxons are frenemies at best). He may have recognized my face, but we had never conversed. Magnus is a tall, lean, broad-shouldered bearded man with long brown hair and blue eyes. He entered first, displaying both hands, palms out, in a gesture of peace. Behind him were three other men, I would guess of the same kinship group. They muttered together in what I recognized as Norman French. One carried a pile of men’s clothes; one carried an ornate wooden box; the third carried a small leather bag. All four were unarmed; they must have checked their weapons outside.