About this story
You play Gurth the swineherd, brass collar at your throat, trading Saxon and Norman words with Wamba the jester while fresh hoofprints fill with rain. The riders are a comfortable prior and a Templar who does not change languages for thralls, and they want the road to your master's hall. Wamba sends them the wrong way. Bois-Guilbert leans down and asks which of you has lied.
Who you’ll meet
Brian de Bois-Guilbert leaning out of the saddle over Wamba the jester on the Rotherwood road, with the disguised palmer reined in at the tree line; the reader plays Gurth the swineherd and never appears.
How it opens
WambaSunset burns through the old oaks and still the swine ignore it.
Your swine rooted among wet leaves and refused every note of the horn.
WambaBlow louder, Gurth; perhaps Cedric's bacon has learned court manners.
The jester sat on a fallen stone, his bright coat mocking the brown woods.
Choose
Use your bells to drive them toward me.
Fangs will gather them if you stop talking.
Cedric will count every missing animal.