by Hall, Ian
“But not enough to entreat me for continuance?”
“Alas, my Lady, I have been busy with the Prince.” I really did fancy another contest with this pretty young woman, but remembered the long, drawn-out process of divesting her of her clothing.
She moved closer to me. “I have a room to myself tonight.”
Her coquettish smile intrigued me, and I nodded. “I will arrive before midnight. Be naked, warm, and ready for me.”
She grinned widely. “I can think of no other way, Master DeVere.”
She tossed her head grandly, and walked down the corridor. I looked at the sweep of her long skirts, and imagined the milky thighs below them. I took note of the location of her room as she entered, and sighed in anticipation.
With a slight swelling in my groin area, I made my way to the Prince’s room to bid him goodnight.
With the aid of my diet, and Phillipa’s sleeping draught still in its cup on the dresser, he seemed in good spirits. Princess Margaret also called to enquire of his health, and we exchanged a common smile of a job well done.
Giving the Lady Jane more than sufficient time to disrobe, I arrived at her door and knocked lightly. The door opened from within, and I found myself treated to a plethora of candles brightening the room, their flames dancing and waving in the slight breeze from the open window.
“I wanted to see you properly,” she said.
Lady Jane looked absolutely stunning. Her hair had been teased from its normal style, close to her head, and tumbled down to her shoulders in reddish brown waves. A gossamer thin nightdress covered her body, yet seemed to hide nothing. Her breasts seemed more prominent than before, her smile warmer, her hips fuller; I felt indeed captivated by her.
Of course, this time it was my turn to get undressed, but I think I did it with considerable speed. Jane just watched me, her eyes catching the candlelight. Once naked, I crossed to her and rushed headlong into her mouth, loving the scent around her. I pushed her back onto the bed and climbed over her body, my lips finding hers quickly.
“What’s the smell?” I asked between kisses.
“I daubed my body in rosemary oil,” she said with a smile.
“Everywhere?” I looked down at her nightdress, and pressed my hand between her thighs. “Everywhere?”
She grasped my hand and pulled it closer. “Everywhere.” Through the diaphanous material I felt her soft pubis, traced the groove of her lips, then lifting the material from her body, pushed my finger into the moist folds hidden by her hair. “Especially there,” she whispered delightedly, her voice raspy with lust.
Oh boy. I raised myself from her and slid her nightdress upwards. She really did have one of the most beautiful twats I’d ever seen, and as a vampire, I’ve seen a few. For the first time in Tudor England, I pushed my face between a woman’s legs, and it smelled, looked, and tasted sublime.
When I came up for air, the Lady Jane had already come, seemingly in buckets, and she licked and kissed my face clean, her lips and tongue teasing me, loving me.
When I entered her, I felt as if I’d arrived home, into my intended place in the world. And when I’d taken us both to tipping point, I softly sliced her neck open with my teeth, drinking her gently, taking us both higher still.
In the quiet, afterwards, we lay together, both seemingly content with each other’s embrace, both satisfied and supposedly happy in life.
“I think the Prince needs some sex education,” I said at length.
“What?” Jane pushed away from me. Her face had snapped into a mixture of anger and disgust.
“No! No!” I waved my hands at her. “Not with you.”
She calmed considerably, and came back to my embrace.
“I was talking about, maybe finding some way to introduce him to the fairer sex, some way to get him at the very least interested.”
“Richard,” she began. “You are a most interesting person, but sometimes your grasp of English as a language leaves you lacking.”
“I’m sorry. I’m not making myself very clear, am I?”
She shook her head slightly.
I tried again. “The King-to-be is travelling to London to celebrate his fifteenth birthday. When he passes that august mark, his bride will sail from Spain. When they meet, they will marry, and they will share the same bed. Presumably they will have sex.”
“Oh, it is more than ‘presumably, my love,” she said, her face suddenly serious. “The consummation of the marriage will be checked by physicians, both English and Spanish.”
“What?”
“On their wedding night, they will retire to a bed surrounded by the lords and ladies of the realm, and witnesses from Spain. They will draw curtains around the bed, and they will listen until they hear the sounds of joy. Only then will the audience retire, leaving the couple alone.”
I suddenly realized part of what poor Arthur dreaded. “I’m not sure if I could perform under such circumstances.”
Lady Jane slid her hand down to my crotch, and my member hardened. “Oh, I think you could perform just about anywhere.”
Early September, 1501
Richmond Palace
I’d never been so impressed. Even from some miles away, it loomed large on the horizon. By the time we’d got closer, I could count seven pale grey towers.
The palace stood so new in places, scaffolding still stood in place, small figures swarming over parts of the frontage like so many insects.
Eventually, the River Thames stood before us, a hundred yards wide at the palace, the last barrier to our goal. A myriad of boats presented themselves when we arrived, and although many of the heavier carts had to be taken south to a larger barge, eventually we were all transported across the slow, dark water.
Once on the far bank, our caravan dissolved into anarchy. I lost sight of everyone I knew, and scores of servants from the palace milled around like flies, carrying off anything that looked like it needed to be moved. I’m certain that it did contain some semblance of organization, but it looked like pure pandemonium.
Eventually, I just walked along with the throng, making for the impressive towers.
Once I’d passed by the front facade, I noticed just how much of the palace still lay under construction, but I still marveled at the scale of the project. In Richmond Palace, King Henry was making a statement of his intention to stay in power, and I determined to show Arthur the intended longevity of his future reign.
The building also marked a vastly different design than Ludlow.
Far behind us, the Prince’s present quarters in Ludlow castle had been a protective keep; a tower, its walls easily ten feet thick. Battlements ran across the top of every wall. The main halls where the Prince lived stood within a moated castle, within a further extended castle wall.
Richmond Palace presented no defensive properties whatsoever. Every window loomed large and regular, every tower high and obviously thinly walled. No defensive position; it stood a declaration of peace, order, and the will to rule for an age.
At last I caught sight of Phillipa, standing in line with Lady Meacham. I crossed to their side, and bowed slightly. “What’s going on?”
Phillipa shook her head. “I lost all grasp a while ago. We must be presented to the King, but usually we would be allowed to settle in our rooms first.” She pointed ahead. “This jackass seems to think he can hold us all back.”
I followed her gesture. An elderly man, stooped with age, leafed through a large document, slowly allowing the Ludlow line to pass him.
“Who is he?”
Lady Meacham answered, “That is Sir Walter Herbert.” She held her hand to conceal her lips. “He is a longtime supporter of the King. For all his pomp and time-wasting, he is not to be trifled with.” She looked up at me and leant closer. “Be careful here, Master DeVere, careers are made in the King’s court, positions are sought, but lives are halted prematurely.”
When I got to the front of the line, I prepared myself to sweep my breath i
n front of Sir Walter, and practiced my ‘these are not the droids you’re looking for’ speech. But I needn’t have worried; my name appeared in the roll call, and a servant stood by, ready to me to show the way to my room.
Inside, the palace looked both as well appointed as the outside, and also as unfinished. Carpenters worked on every corridor and in every room, and nowhere lay the usual herby mixture on the floor. The floorboards were pristine, and in most places, newly varnished.
The whole palace smelled of wet paint and drying plaster.
That evening a bell rang, and we were roused by servants directing us to the ‘grand hall’ for dinner; there must have been a hundred people at tables. No rough trestles here; proper tables, with polished tops. And no benches like Ludlow; everyone had a chair, and they all matched. I sat beside a few from Ludlow, but noticed many new, fresh faces. I caught a glimpse of Lady Jane across the room, and raised my glass and smiled. She returned the gesture, but I saw little else of her the rest of the evening.
Once we’d eaten, a line of trumpeters filed into the room and played a blaringly loud fanfare.
A couple walked into the room, and everyone fell on knees, dropped to the floor, anything to get themselves low.
Henry the Seventh looked an older version of Arthur; thin, gaunt, long-faced, with a longish nose dominating his features. He also wore a cloth cap on his bowl cut hair. The Queen, however, looked positively radiant, her smile infused the room, and although she paid scant attention to her children, she appeared every inch the English monarch.
Once seated in their raised thrones, there appeared round after round of dancers and jugglers. I caught sight of Arthur on many occasions, always smiling, yet always managing to look slightly awkward, out of place, and ungainly.
His parents paid him little heed.
Once the festivities were over, the royal party retired for a private get-together, and I rescued Lady Jane from a foppish admirer.
Two large, bullish men walked past, and I caught parts of their conversation.
“… setting sail on his birthday, not before.”
“Damnable impertinence, she should have been here now, for the ceremony…”
“Who are they?” I asked Lady Jane after they’d passed from our hearing.
“The tall one is the Duke of Norfolk, and the other one is Thomas Bowyer, the official title of whom I cannot recall. They are the cream of the aristocracy, and have the ear of the King in all things.”
I set to bed on my own that night, eager to find my place in the great building, and tired from the exertions of the trip. We had travelled a hundred and fifty miles, and it had taken the best part of ten days.
I slept well that night, confident that the following day would take me closer to my fate, and closer to the King, who I hoped to meet properly and gauge the reaction to his son, Prince Arthur.
Trumpeters woke us early, and breakfast turned out to be in three separate sittings. Bereft of an official timetable of events, I wandered the grounds of the palace, taking in details of the build, listening in to conversations, enjoying the various accents that permeated the groups of workers and staff of the palace.
For the first time I noticed actual toilets, with running water, although it seems that the actual royal ‘flush’ hadn’t been invented just yet. In my neutral garb, I meandered unnoticed among the general populace, finding some solace in my anonymity, and enjoyed a whole day away from the pressure of the Prince and his duties.
When I neared the palace again, I found myself accosted by Thomas Linacre, who seemed totally overjoyed to see me. “We are to be presented at court this evening.” He stood, looking at me for some form of acknowledgement.
“What does that mean?” I asked, totally unprepared for anything quite so formal.
“We will be introduced to the King, and he may converse with us, he may not. But from this day forward, the King’s spies will have you in their sights, and your movements reported. It is most official. Best dress only.”
“Hmm, Thomas, I only have this outfit, and would find it impossible to procure better before this evening.”
He looked me up and down. “It will suffice; you’re a foreigner, for goodness sake, you will be fine as you are.” He looked around uncomfortably. “I, on the other hand, will be in the firing line; first tutor to his highness. If Arthur does not perform this evening, my head may be on the next chopping block.”
I could see the nervous energy flood from him. He truly seemed afraid of Arthur’s bad showing, and the personal consequences of it.
When he walked away, I set off looking for my charge.
It took perhaps an hour, but eventually found him, on his knees in prayer in the small priory off the library.
I coughed slightly.
Arthur lifted his head from his clenched hands and smiled on seeing me. He crossed himself and got stiffly to his feet. “Well met, Master DeVere. How do you find Richmond?”
“It is a marvelous palace, Your Grace,” I began. “Have you seen the grounds?”
“Alas, I have been inside all day.” He gave that ever-present tired, almost pained grimace. “If I ventured outside, my father, the King, would be informed. I pray for strength to see me through this evening.”
“Try not to think of yourself as subservient, Your Grace,” I prompted, approaching the frail form. I bent close so that my breath could not fail to be inhaled by the Prince. “You are the second most powerful person in this kingdom and it’s about time you started to realize it. You are heir to the throne of England. If your father dies today, God bless his soul, you, Your Grace, as heir apparent, would inherit the crown.”
He nodded, but remained subdued, and I hoped that my vampire pheromones would give him a boost in confidence on some level. He looked at the doorway and sighed. “But if I play one wrong note on the harpsichord, all is lost.”
“You will play your piece without mistake, Your Grace.” I put my hands on his shoulders. “I have full confidence in your ability.” I leant in close, my lips mere inches from his. “You will perform your duties without flaw.”
“Yes, sir,” he said, and once more, tears brimmed in his eyes.
Once I’d left the priory and the again-kneeling Prince, I found myself in a large room, sheaves of drying plants hanging from the rafters. The smell at the door proved most beguiling, and I found myself walking along the rows of flowers and grasses, quite spellbound.
“Lady’s Bedstraw.” A soft voice came from behind, her accent so rich I could hardly make out what she said. “Gets rid o’ fleas. We stuffs the mattresses with that, we grows a whole lot.”
I turned to see an older lady, perhaps in her forties, tying more greenery to be hung to dry.
“So it’s not just to keep the floor dry?” I joked.
“Oh, no, sir.” She dropped the sheaf to one side. “We got Pennyroyal, those kill fleas, too.” She advanced up the room towards me. “I’m the herb-strewer for the palace, though I ain’t got the job properly started yet. I got the herbs, but I gotts ta dry ‘em first. We got lavender, keeps the moths from our clothes. We got meadowsweet, just for the smell, and for you, sir, we got Southernwood, or Lad’s love; we knows that it’s a, how shall I say, a stimulant for the boy parts. Know what I mean?”
“An aphrodisiac?”
“Aye, sir.” She gave a toothy smile. “Gets you going in a heartbeat, sir.”
We shared a laugh, and I gave thanks and walked out. A place for everything.
September 18th, 1501
Royal Audience
I can’t say that I wasn’t nervous, I mean, I would actually meet King Henry the Seventh, for goodness sake.
But of course, when my name got announced, I walked to the throne, bowed, and he almost ignored me. I mean, I was just a different species from another time, and a yet undiscovered country.
I can’t say I felt that disappointed though, it kept me under the radar a bit. When the whole household had been presented, poor Arthur got
trotted out and placed at the harpsichord.
I cringed, as he looked neither comfortable nor confident.
But I needn’t have minded. To my ears he performed the piece perfectly, and when he’d finished and sat back on the stool, looking fully exhausted, the King lauded his son’s virtues for everyone to hear.
“This is my son, Arthur, Prince of Wales!” he bellowed with a tenor voice that seemed to come from a fuller frame. Then he stood, slipped to one side, and patted the seat of the throne for Arthur to sit. The whole audience burst into applause, to which I heartedly added to.
Thankfully the Prince made the short journey without mishap, and sat somewhat timidly on the crimson cushioned throne. He gave a gracious wave, then quite embarrassed looked to his father to quell the crowd’s adoration.
“Tomorrow, my son Arthur will celebrate his fifteenth birthday.”
More applause.
“Tonight, in the custom of Christmas eve, we will give gifts to the future King!”
A line of courtiers began to file into the room. One by one, they laid a huge pile of clothing at Arthur’s feet, including ceremonial swords and knives in elaborate jeweled scabbards.
When they had passed, the King clapped his hands, and Princess Margaret came forward, gripping a small pillow in her outstretched hands. She bowed before the throne, and lowered the pillow for Arthur’s easy reach.
“My Lord.” She bowed again.
Arthur lifted a golden chain of office from the pillow, and at the King’s encouragement, placed it over his head. Henry leant forward and arranged it evenly.
“Prince Arthur, Prince of Wales!” he roared. Again, we all cheered and applauded.
Then it was young Prince Henry’s turn. He presented a similar pillow, on top of which lay a scepter, brightly shining gold, about two feet long. Arthur looked at it in complete delight, almost ignoring his brother’s retreating bow.
Princess Mary then got ushered forward. The small five-year-old walked carefully up the steps to Arthur’s throne, carrying the obligatory pillow topped this time with an ornate broach. She bowed carefully, never letting the pillow tilt, and presented the broach for her eldest brother. The crowd cheered at her poise and her concentration, a marvelous sight for one so young.