My name is James the Boastful, though that is not, as such, my given name. I was called, in all of its simplicity, "James" at the time of my birth - said event having taken place on the twenty-sixth of March in the Year of Our Lord Eleven Hundred and Sixty-five. My mother's name was Demnova. Of my father, I know next to nothing.
      My maternal grandfather, Cedric the Cawper, was of Saxon descent. His wife, Marguerite, had strong Norman blood flowing through her veins. They were my real family, and it was from them that I learned why my mother resented me so much.
      At the age of thirteen, my mother was sent by her parents to join a nearby convent. This was, by no means, done out of cruelty on their part. Instead, they saw it as an opportunity to get my mother properly educated and keep her safe from the invasions that plagued the English shores at that time. While en route to her destination, the caravan, with which my mother travelled, was attacked by a marauding group of bandits. All of the men-folk, who doubled as guards, were overwhelmed and killed straight away. The women, who would have preferred the fate of their male companions, were not so fortunate.
     Each of the women was raped repeatedly and then murdered, as soon as her purpose had been fulfilled. My mother received a shallow cut under her chin, due to the leader's dull knife, and managed to feign death. She was the only survivor.
      My mother was found, a short time after the attack, by a patrol of the king's guards. They took her to the convent, which was not too far away, so that her wounds could receive proper attention.
      After my mother had returned to full health, the abbess refused to accept her into the novitiate, by order of the bishop himself. The bishop proclaimed that my mother had been raped because she, being a woman, carried the Eternal Sin inherent in her sex. Furthermore, she had broken her vow of chastity, as she had allowed herself to be raped. In death, my mother would have been a saint and a martyr; by living, she was condemned as a whore. The Church did see fit to retain the money that my grandfather had sent ahead, to ensure my mother's place in the convent.
      My mother was escorted back to my grandparent's home, in Wareham, by the king's guards. A short time after her return, she discovered that she was with child. She wanted to terminate the pregnancy immediately. My grandparents forbade it, saying that it was against the ways of Christ and was murder.

Birth and Early Childhood

     So, when my mother had barely turned fourteen, I was born in one of the upper rooms of my grandfather's place of business, The Gold Serpent Inn, which was located in Lower Wareham.
     My mother recovered rather quickly from childbirth, I was told, and went to work as a serving girl in the Gold Serpent. As far as I know, she is still a serving wench, in some tavern in Wareham, to this day.
     Practically from the day I was born, I began drinking beer and ale. As a matter of fact, my first word was "beer", and my grandmother used to give me some, while I was young, to get me to go to sleep at night. That probably explains why I favour such spirits as much as I do now.
     When I was four years old, my mother finally married. His name was Murdour, and he was a retired sergeaunte in the town guard. He was a large, burly man with dark hair that appeared to cover him from head to foot. At the time, he seemed like a giant to me.
      I remember back when he was courting my mother; he was actually quite nice to me. He used to take me to see his friends at the barracks, and to watch the parades through town. Shortly after he married her, though, things began to change. My mother often lied about me, saying that I was her younger brother. I can only surmise that Murdour did not discover the truth until after the wedding. He took to drinking heavily, becoming an abusive old drunk. Though he never laid a hand on me, I could tell that he resented me - the bastard offspring of a tainted bride.
     When I was six years old, my grandfather died quite suddenly. One minute he was lugging a keg to the bar; the next minute he was lying dead on the floor. Shortly afterwards, my grandmother took ill and died of lung fever. I was alone now. Mother continued to ignore me, and I was always in fear of my stepfather. Like many children my age, I took to the streets. The only things I ever got from my family after that was an occasional roof over my head, and barely enough food to survive.
     The Gold Serpent Inn went to my stepfather, who quickly sold it to my dead grandfather's rival. The money was spent, just as quickly, drinking and gambling with his military friends. In order to make ends meet, my mother had to work at the Gold Serpent under the new, cruel owner - who would insist that she give the customers, as well as himself, anything that they desired. In short, he became her pimp.
      I remember those nights, when she would take men upstairs to her bed. Since we only had one room allotted to us, I was forced to lie in the corner and try to block everything out. I must have only been about eight years old at the time.
     My stepfather would be gone for days at a time; then, he would appear drunk, and be looking to lie with mother. She would try to fight him, but he always managed to beat her into submission. I would cower in the corner, hoping that he would just ignore me. I remember feeling upset.....about being so young and small. Even though my mother never wanted anything to do with me, I still loved her and hated to see her suffer.
     It got so that I tried not to be home when he was there. During the day, I would stay on the streets - begging and stealing. It was about this time that I formed my own gang, The Urchins. I would leave the money, that I had stolen, laying around where my stepfather would find it. Of course, he would go off on one of his binges and leave us alone for a few days.
     It was during that same year that my brother was born. Luckily, he looked enough like my stepfather and was immediately accepted by him. He actually stopped his ill behavior for a while, but, within a matter of months, he started again.
      My stepfather came home unexpectedly early one night, and he found my mother with a customer. The customer managed to escape with his life - and little else. Stepfather went insane. He began to beat my mother mercilessly. I jumped on his back, stabbing him with a small knife that I had swiped somewhere. I did not kill him, though. In fact, it only seemed to make him angrier. He threw me against a wall, which knocked the wind out of me.
      Blood was running freely down my mother's face where stepfather had pommelled her. He was bleeding from the small wound in his back. As I lay dazed against the wall, he just smiled at me as he pulled the knife out of his back. I knew that he intended upon killing me. He staggered closer and raised the knife. I managed to get my feet underneath me and scrambled between his legs. I ran out the door and disappeared into the night. I also swore an oath that night that I would return one day and kill him. I was only nine years old.

In the Service of the Fool

      I decided to join the army, preferably as far away from Wareham as possible. I left for London, begging and stealing every step of the way. It was along the way that I fell into the company of some travelling entertainers. I had tried to steal the Fool's pouch, while he was sleeping against a tree outside their camp. Never, before or since, have I been surprised.....for, quick as a snake, he seized me and threw me to the ground! He was not a large man; on the contrary, he was short and thin, with flecks of grey in his beard. For some reason, which he never explained, he pitied me and invited me to join the troupe. He informed me, though, that I was not going to get a free meal, and that I was expected to work for my keep. I accepted and, for the first time, had a real paying job. I carried his clubs, other juggling supplies, and miscellaneous equipment in his pack.
      In addition to being a juggler, the Fool was also a magician, storyteller, and minstrel - a jack-of-all-trades, but master of none. I also discovered later that he was a capable swordsman as well.      The troupe was actually quite small, but it seemed large to me at the time. The leader's name was Master Fravs. His main job appeared to be complaining about everything. He acted as our narrator and announcer, as well as being the only true thesbian in the group. I later found out that he had performed plays in several royal courts, and that he had a flair for the dramatic.
     There were two dwarves in the troupe, Hob and Dweorg, who performed acrobatics. I never spoke with them very much, as they usually kept to themselves.....always working on their routines.
     There was a Scotsman, Fergus fiz Alpyn, who played the muscle man. He also coached the combat sequences that took place in some of the plays that were performed. Fergus was actually quite a swordsman, for a man with only one hand. I found out later that he used to be a mercenary and adventurer. I never did find out how he lost the hand, though.
     Most of my days were filled with endless walking, packing, and attending other duties as befitted my mentor, the Fool. His name was Patricivs - Vir Rervm Mvltarvm; I simply called him "Sir", although he always seemed to wince when I said it.
     The best part of my journey, apart from watching the performances, was when we made camp at night. After dinner, Patricivs would pull out his lute and sing around the campfire. He would sing of brave heroes, fair maidens, and evil monsters. The real treat came when he would put away his lute and tell me stories that he had read or written himself. I would listen endlessly to tales about Artvrivs Rex and his Knights of the Round Table, the journeys of Odysseus, and the adventures of Aeneas. I always enjoyed the story about the fall of the great city, Troy - due to the unfaithful Helen, warring gods, and a large wooden horse. After a time, I began to learn the art of storytelling myself, as later became apparent in my stories about my exploits.
      Patricivs also had a great hatred of the nobility in general. One night, he passed out from drinking too much wine. Fergus told me that Patricivs was, in fact, the eldest son of a noble family somewhere near Dover. He went on to say that Patricivs felt that he did not belong in court, so he gave up his birthright to travel amongst the poor and oppressed, trying to ease their lives of suffering with his stories and music. At one time, Patricivs had even been a knight and fought in the Second Crusade. That is where he collected most of his stories.
      I stayed with the troupe for about a year. Filled with tales of heroes in my head, I decided that it was about time that I moved along and became a hero myself. I had learned some swordplay from Fergus, and he was impressed with how quickly I learned the art. It was during my time with Patricivs, though, that I developed my quick wit and positive outlook on life. Little did he know how much he had changed my life. He gave me a gift more precious than gold; he gave me the gift of laughter.

In the Army of England

     Alas, when I arrived in London, I bid them farewell and enlisted in the king's army. On the fourth of January in the Year of Our Lord Eleven Hundred and Seventy-six, I entered the training grounds of the army, where I was to begin my new career. Since I showed some skill with a sword, my age did not present a problem. I had also filled out over the past year, so I looked a little older than my true age. I was given the standard issue: padded tunic, leather helmet, shield, crude sword, and spear. I then began my training, which consisted of endless drills and marching all over London. I became very proficient with my weapons, but my actual combat experience merely consisted of hauling drunks out of the better taverns in the city. All in all, it was very boring and not at all what I had expected.
      I also learned to drink and gamble heavily. I would like to say that I was a model soldier, but I was not. It was during this time of dubauchery that I earned a nickname, which would remain with me for the rest of my life.
     Our unit was ordered to participate in a tournament, sponsored by the king. The knights would fight amongst themselves, and the commoners [like myself] would compete against other units in the city. Since it was a tournament, we were allowed to borrow armour from the armoury. As luck would have it, I managed to get my hands on a suit of old leather armour. It had tasses tied to it, in front and back, to protect the thighs; it also had a solid piece riveted in front, to protect the groin.
      Feeling every bit a hero at last, I strode onto the List Field to await my opponent. While I was waiting, I chanced a glance toward the Ladies, who were seated in the Royal Box. They were laughing, giggling, and [most importantly] pointing at me. Thinking that they found me attractive, I bowed graciously and went to ask one of them for a favour - to wear in the upcoming fight.
      I approached with confidence, hiding my anxiety. As I came within a few feet of the box, one of the Ladies said, "Thou art indeed feeling boastful today, M' Lord!" I looked down to where she was pointing, only to discover that the riveted piece was standing straight up. I simply laughed, and asked for a favour from the kind Lady, which she eagerly gave me. I ended up winning the tournament, escorting the Lady to the Victory Feast, and receiving my award [the honourary title of Lord High Torchbearer to the South Gate's Knight of the Night Watch]. The title that I won never took root; however, by the name, James the Boastful, I was known from that day forward. Unknown to the knights present that day, the Lady, Quiche de Lorraine by name, awarded me with herself later that night.

Mercenary and Adventurer

      It seemed that my military career was off to a good start, until a year later when I assaulted a superior officer. Rather than spending time in the dungeon, I took the option of leaving the army - taking my weapons with me. I found out later that the officer died, due to complications from the injuries that I inflicted upon him. The previous deal that I had struck with the authorities was now null and void; I was now wanted for murder. I decided to become a mercenary and left England for the mainland.
      During the next eleven years, I roamed the world - whether in the company of other mercenaries or alone. I fought for whoever paid the highest price, regardless of political or religious affiliation. Sometimes I fought for the good, somtimes for the not so good. Such was my lot in life.
      I managed to travel as far as China and the mystical islands of Japan, located on the far side of the known world. Along the way, I learned about other cultures and religions. It was these experiences that prompted me to question whether Christianity was the only "true religion".
      During the lulls between wars, I fell back on criminal activities, in order to sustain my income. I became wanted by the authorities throughout most of the civilized world for smuggling, extortion, promoting prostitution, and various "insult crimes" against the nobility. As such, I rarely returned to England; if so, it was always in disguise.

My Capture/The Third Crusade

      In the Year of Our Lord Eleven Hundred and Eighty-nine, I was in England - tending to some business dealings of questionable legality. It appeared that England, France, and the Holy Roman Empire were in the process of mounting a Crusade against the Muslims again. As I had aided the Muslim army that had captured Jerusalem two years before, I had somewhat anticipated this and had come back to reap what profit I could. My luck ran out, though, when I was arrested by a local sheriff and sentenced to be executed for my various crimes. As was common practice with criminals, the Church made me an offer to fight in the Crusade under King Richard I of England. When victory was complete, I would be granted full amnesty. Considering the alternative, I chose to go back to the Holy Land - this time, as a Christian.
      It was at this time that I met Berand o Bangor, a fellow criminal who struck a deal with the Church. As we proved ourselves in battle, our independence increased; eventually, we were allowed to come and go as we pleased. Together we organized some of the other criminals into a mercenary group called Mercenaries Advocating Death, Discord, and Distruction. We began smuggling - arms, armour, anything of value - to both sides of the conflict. If the Muslims could meet our price, we would manoeuver an occasional battle or two in their favour. During these times, I adopted the garb, customs, and language of the Muslims.
      After raising enough money, I bought an Associate Membership in the Order of the Knights Templars. This afforded me some protection from the numerous enemies that I had incurred during my stay in the Holy Land. As an Associate Member, I was not bound to the vow of poverty.
     In the Year of Our Lord Eleven Hundred and Ninety-two, King Richard III of England made a treaty with al-Malik al-Nasir Salah al-Din Abu 'l-Muzaffer Yusuf ibn Ayyub ibn Shadi, the Muslim leader, and began pulling his troops out of the Holy Land. This was largely due to the rumour that King Philip II Augustus of France, who already abandoned the Crusade over a year before and returned to his homeland, was planning to attack England. Berand led our group of mercenaries back toward England, while I remained in the Holy Land to finalize some business negotiations.
      Berand sent me a letter with the following news: King Richard I had been captured, while en route back to England, by Duke Leopold of Austria; the king was currently being held hostage by Emperor Henry VI of the Holy Roman Empire - until a huge ransom was paid; the king's brother, Prince John, was in the process of seizing the English throne; and the coup de grace - as no complete victory was achieved in the Holy Land, the Church refused to grant any of us amnesty. With all of these unfortunate events at hand, I donned my disguise and set sail for England.

My Return Home/The King's Ransom

      I met with Berand and the rest of the members of our mercenary group in Rochester; from there, we proceeded to London. Berand told me how Prince John and his bully boys, the robber barons, were cracking down on those of us with criminal records. Those captured were being executed like never before, especially if they were veterans of the Crusade under King Richard I. We gathered together what remnants of the English criminal underworld, that we could find, and held a meeting. Due to its relatively central location, we chose the Kingdom of Jerusalem Pub in Nottingham as the meeting site. Attendence was better than expected. The only person that did not grace us with his presence, and proved to be a major disappointment, was the local boy - Robin of Locksley, now known as the outlaw, Robin Hood. We were all in agreement that criminals had more freedom under warring and crusading King Richard I, than under the tyranny of Prince John. While we could not agree with the central philosophy of Locksley ["Steal from the rich and give to the poor"], we did agree with his idea that at least a portion of income should go toward the English king's ransom demand. Once we were in agreement as to what that percentage of income would be, our plan [taken, in part, from Locksley] was set in motion.
     The rumours of war with the French were no longer just rumours, and King Philip II Augustus of France began amassing his troops to attack England. During the next year and a half, we succeeded in raising a large part of the English king's ransom [to which was added Locksley's portion, and that of other contributors].

Return of the King/War and Peace with France

      In the year of Our Lord Eleven Hundred and Ninety-four, Emperor Henry VI of the Holy Roman Empire released the English king from his prison aT Trifels Castle [located on the border between the Holy Roman Empire and Lorraine]. On the twentieth of March, King Richard I landed in England at Sandwich . By the twenty-third of March, the clergy and people alike conducted the English king in a grand procession through the city into Saint Paul's Church. The forces of King Richard I of England advanced soon thereafter to Nottingham, which was to be the last bastion of resistance by Prince John. The defenders submitted to the English king's will within three days, begging for his mercy. With the English throne secure, the stage was now set for the war between England and France. The battles raged on both sides of the English and French borders. The potential for mercenaries and arms dealers appeared very promising, at first, but was not yet to be. Despite the early French victories, King Richard I of England retaliated with his usual strategic genius and had King Philip II Augustus of France suing for a truce by early to midsummer.

The Marquis du Paris/More Adventures Abroad

      Ironically, later that same year, Berand and I chanced upon a French spy in the town of Newmarket. We assisted him in a few confrontations with the English nobility and soon became business partners. The English king spent the next year and a half restructuring his kingdom and negotiating with King Philip II Augustus of France, with the occasional show of force by one side or the other. By the next year, this French spy began referring to himself as the "Marquis du Paris" and "the richest man in all of France". It was becoming apparent that he had gone completely mad. Our group of mercenaries, under the total leadership of Berand, [since I was consumed with business arrangements in the Middle East] was spending more and more time in the French court than it was in Britain

My Return Home/The French Army