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Sep. 19th, 2012 07:38 amWhen I was in the monastery of St. Vulmar, in Samer, these many years ago, I had a reputation for gambling despite my religious training. Indeed I am a monk, or rather was, by training if not vocation, though I do not think any holy order would take me now.
But allow me to preach a little sermon if you will: perhaps they shall call it the Sermon of Vengeance. Vengeance drove me from the monastery (well, vengeance and a fat inheritance; don't let them tell you monks are not a greedy lot in this day and age) when my father was killed. That death remains unsatisfied, but there is nothing to be done about it now. At any rate, it was vengeance which eventually drove me from my native Boulogne, as well, and into the arms of the English.
In England, it was the vengeful temper of that good King John, my friend and patron, which granted me thirty galleys to attack Normandy, his holdings there having been recently lost. The king's vengeance, and my own, drove me to spill even the blood of my own countrymen, as I chased them down the coast of Normandy and about the islands of the Channel, driving them from Jersey and Guernsey, and from this blessed isle of Sark where I make my home. We are all English now, so I am told.
They say I am more myth than man these days, and truly perhaps it is so. It is good sport to be a pirate in the Channel, to prey on rich merchantmen with the blessing of the King. But there is a high price for such things.
Trickery and wickedness, it is true, I learned after my father's death. I learned to lie and sneak and flatter that I might make my way in the world. But I would not have been so spurred were it not for other knowledge already acquired when I reached the monastery as a young man. I have studied the dark arts, you see, the wickedest magic in Spain, at the knee of the masters of Toledo. I have learned the summoning of demons and the binding of souls. Did you think my rule here in the Channel was simply an accident of fate? The devil keeps me, my friends, him and his black vengeance, and so long as I am in the favours of England the devil will see ships delivered wholesale to my piracy.
They say that none live long who live ill-intentioned. I believe I shall prove them wrong, but at the end of my days the devil will collect. Thus, meanwhile, I will live happily and do as I please. I will have food and gambling, music and wine, and rob the merchants at my leisure. It is a good life, while it is to me.
Now, if you pass through Boulogne on your travels, for surely you seem uneasy to rest here, ask about the disposition of the man Hainfrois de Heresinghen. If you encounter him and do him ill you will have done me a great pleasure. And you may say to him, if you act, that you were sent by Eustace, the Black Monk, whose father he slew so many years ago.
The Devil and I will thank you.
Well, it's talk like a pirate day, not talk like every pirate day.
But allow me to preach a little sermon if you will: perhaps they shall call it the Sermon of Vengeance. Vengeance drove me from the monastery (well, vengeance and a fat inheritance; don't let them tell you monks are not a greedy lot in this day and age) when my father was killed. That death remains unsatisfied, but there is nothing to be done about it now. At any rate, it was vengeance which eventually drove me from my native Boulogne, as well, and into the arms of the English.
In England, it was the vengeful temper of that good King John, my friend and patron, which granted me thirty galleys to attack Normandy, his holdings there having been recently lost. The king's vengeance, and my own, drove me to spill even the blood of my own countrymen, as I chased them down the coast of Normandy and about the islands of the Channel, driving them from Jersey and Guernsey, and from this blessed isle of Sark where I make my home. We are all English now, so I am told.
They say I am more myth than man these days, and truly perhaps it is so. It is good sport to be a pirate in the Channel, to prey on rich merchantmen with the blessing of the King. But there is a high price for such things.
Trickery and wickedness, it is true, I learned after my father's death. I learned to lie and sneak and flatter that I might make my way in the world. But I would not have been so spurred were it not for other knowledge already acquired when I reached the monastery as a young man. I have studied the dark arts, you see, the wickedest magic in Spain, at the knee of the masters of Toledo. I have learned the summoning of demons and the binding of souls. Did you think my rule here in the Channel was simply an accident of fate? The devil keeps me, my friends, him and his black vengeance, and so long as I am in the favours of England the devil will see ships delivered wholesale to my piracy.
They say that none live long who live ill-intentioned. I believe I shall prove them wrong, but at the end of my days the devil will collect. Thus, meanwhile, I will live happily and do as I please. I will have food and gambling, music and wine, and rob the merchants at my leisure. It is a good life, while it is to me.
Now, if you pass through Boulogne on your travels, for surely you seem uneasy to rest here, ask about the disposition of the man Hainfrois de Heresinghen. If you encounter him and do him ill you will have done me a great pleasure. And you may say to him, if you act, that you were sent by Eustace, the Black Monk, whose father he slew so many years ago.
The Devil and I will thank you.
Well, it's talk like a pirate day, not talk like every pirate day.
