Connecticut Vampire in King Arthur's Court

by Hall, Ian

  “What do you want, Strangiero?” she teased me.

  My lust boiled over, and as I pushed on her body, she retreated to the wall of the cottage. As I grabbed her arms and forced my tongue into her mouth, the door behind her gave way, and I found myself tripping over onto a hard, straw-filled bed.

  As she lifted her dress below me, and opened her legs wide, my hunger could be controlled no more. I opened my trousers quickly and thrust myself directly into the boiling cauldron of her sex, plunging deep inside in one single stroke, then without delay beating against her pubic bone in some kind of a frenzy. I’d never been so turned on before, never been so desperate for release, never been so lost in the red-heat of just fucking.

  She held my head above her, watching my expression, seemingly taking pleasure in every beat of my frantic rhythm. Then, just as I neared ejaculation, she set my head free, and offered her bare, white neck. Man, I tore at it like I’d not fed for centuries. I sucked incredibly hard on her, making her gasp in pleasure, sending her warm blood coursing down into my belly in large gulps.

  I came hard, my penis on fire inside her, climaxing like never before, her legs locked behind my thrusting thighs.

  Then she tore my head from her neck and held me away. “Careful, Strangiero, don’t take too much.” I snarled at her, baring my fangs, wanting more, but she solidly stood her ground, maintaining her control over me until the heady fury of my feeding had calmed.

  Slowly I regained control of my body, gently relaxing, slowly letting my weight fall on her. “I’m sorry,” I started, but she held her finger to my bloody lips.

  “I started it. You needed to feed, I had fed this morning already.” She nodded to one side.

  Only then did I see the other young girl on the bed; fast asleep, never having been disturbed.

  I disengaged my dick from between her legs and stood up. She shifted forward until she sat on the edge, then leant forward, wiping my messy penis with the fabric of her dress.

  “How do you feel?” she asked.

  I nodded. “Better. Much better.” Then I remembered the caravan. I had no idea how long I’d been gone. “But I have to go. I am bound for London with the Prince Arthur.”

  “Ooh,” she cooed. “You do live in high places.”

  “Madam, I would have you join me.” And I knew for a fact that, at that moment, I meant it.

  But she shook her head. “It does not work. Alas, the King’s punishment for disobedience is far too great, and happens far too often.” She gave me a very questioning look when I buttoned up my flies. “I wish you well in your high places. I survive here quite nicely.”

  I looked at the girl, still fast asleep. She looked pretty cute, and showed a fair size of breast under the thin coverlet. “So I see.”

  “Come back and see us sometime.”

  “I will.” I turned to leave. “What’s your name?”

  “Ah. I am simply called ‘wisewoman’.”

  Then the shimmering happened; not crazy bad, but enough that I could see and feel it. The world shook, the building seemed to vibrate, and I held my hand out to the lintel of the door for support. Only for a few seconds, yes, but it happened. Somehow by screwing a vampire, I’d changed time.

  “Did you feel that?” I asked, my face flushed with concern.

  “Oh, I felt it, my lover.” Her eyes shone with the lust we’d shared. “You gave me quite the plowing.”

  I shook my head. “No, I mean, did you see the shimmer, just then, the shaking, the house trembling?”

  She shook her head, and at last I knew that only I could witness my changing time.

  Unsure whether to kiss her goodbye, or simply wave, I turned and left the cottage. A few minutes walking, and I stood by the coach, just as the Prince and Princess arrived.

  Perfect timing.

  Isabella, the rotund Duenna, gave me the most disgusted look. It wasn’t until I got into the coach and settled down, that I realized I smelled considerably of sex.

  Ah, well.

  The closer we came to London, the slower the coach was forced to travel, as the ‘multitude’ grew more numerous, wanting to get a glimpse of the Prince and his betrothed.

  Inside the coach, despite Isabella’s disapproving stares, we had a very pleasant day. Arthur and Catherine actually began to exchange words, stilted, yes, but still communication.

  By afternoon, after a stop for bread and sliced meats, we actually had to have three guards walking by each side of the coach to keep the hands of the peasants away. I’m certain Arthur gained some sense of self-worth from the procession.

  And, of course, by evening, we still hadn’t actually gotten properly into London, never mind reach Westminster Palace.

  No inn this time, though. We stayed the night at Heston House, on the west side of London. Three stories high, it had rooms for everyone, and a dining room large enough to seat most of both parties.

  In the morning, I got pulled from my place with the young couple. It seems that this would be the fantastic entrance to London, and a new, white carriage had arrived to carry just Arthur and Catherine.

  I didn’t mind. I rode that morning, glad to be out of the confines of the small carriages, happy to be fed, feel good, and know that tonight, I’d have a chance of furthering my plan.

  With the Lady Jane and Eleanor at Westminster, I felt confident I’d be able to sort something out.

  The crowds were bigger yet, so again, the progress as slow as molasses at Christmas.

  Constant cheering. Constant calling of the betrothed couple’s names, shouts of “God save the King!”

  I lived the moment of a Cecil B DeMille blockbuster, and enjoyed every second of it.

  As I passed the cheering happy faces, I recalled the previous morning’s dalliance with the ‘wisewoman’, and determined to repeat it, but perhaps on a less frenzied level. Having found another vampire gave me a new dynamic on this time. I had others like me; I had allies in the field, so to say.

  At times the crowd pressed close, and I had to fight hard to retain control of my horse, a skittish mare.

  Then, as the sun began to fall from the cold blue sky, the spires of Westminster Palace rose from the London houses, and I soon rode inside.

  I felt full of energy, and my mind raced with thoughts of my ‘plan’, and how I would advance it tonight, with only a week left before the wedding.

  Then the Duke of Norfolk appeared in front of me. So lost had I been, I’d not noticed him approach. “Master DeVere?”

  “Yes, sire?”

  “The King would see you in his apartments after dinner.”

  “Yes, sire. I’ll make sure I’m there.”

  He patted me on the head like he would a puppy, then walked away.

  My plan might have to be delayed, again.

  November 7th, 1501

  Waiting on the King

  Well, the person who coined the phrase, ‘waiting on the King’, didn’t joke around.

  After dinner, I expected a full one on one, then back to my room, and get on with the plan.

  When I arrived at the King’s apartments, a wholesale audience seemed to be happening. It seemed that a hundred people had been told, to ‘present themselves’.

  One by one they were called to his throne, and some got a minute of his time, others got more. Details of the wedding, pastries, foodstuffs, fabrics to be hung on the approaches; you name it, they talked about it.

  But by the time we got to just a few of us left, the matters had shifted priority. Security for the couple, the betrothal bed, the identities of the witnesses, the new beefed-up security for Ludlow castle, the projected new home for the couple.

  And of course, I got to wait until the very last.

  “Master DeVere,” the King said, motioning me forward.

  “Your Majesty.” I bowed as low as I could get, then let him talk.

  “I hear that you have been a tutor to the Princess Catherine?”

  “Yes, your Majesty.” I frowned.
“I thought I had your permission?”

  “Oh, yes, yes. How do you find her?”

  “Attractive, delightful smile, quite the sense of humor, and without doubt very intelligent; quick to learn.”

  “Excellent.” He motioned me closer. “And the other matter?”

  “Progressing, Your Majesty.” I tried to be both direct and slightly vague. “The Prince has expressed a keen interest in his new subject.”

  “Excellent, time passes quickly.”

  “Yes, your Majesty.”

  Then he motioned me gone, like the unwanted lapdog that just farted. I wondered just exactly what the heck I’d actually been waiting for; a right ‘royal’ waste of time.

  But it had taken many hours to get through all the audience, so the bedchambers were dark and quiet when I eventually got to my room. Not that I fancied a sexual dalliance with either of my partners; the ‘wisewoman’ had taken care of both my lust and my need for blood.

  When I awoke the next morning, rain hammered on the dirty glass of my bedroom window. The day outside looked grey, dreary, and cold, with cloud almost touching the spires opposite. I dressed slowly, contemplating the next move of my plan; letting Arthur witness me taking the Lady Jane. Debating whether I should tell Jane of her audience, I lay back on the bed, conjuring the scene in my head; us on the bed, Arthur behind the heavy curtain. It wasn’t exactly the most complex of ideas, but it seemed to be all I could do.

  I didn’t want to go outside, as the rain fell incessantly, so ate a small breakfast, and walked the palace, earwigging as much as I could without being obvious about it.

  The wedding seemed the only subject of conversation.

  From Westminster to Saint Paul’s Cathedral, Prince Henry would ride with the Princess, both on pure white horses, a distance of perhaps two miles. Once they’d arrived, Prince Henry would lead her up the long aisle to a waiting Prince Arthur. After the wedding, the newlyweds would ride in an open-topped coach, back to Westminster.

  Someone put a figure of two hundred thousand as the expected turnout to line the route. It would be spectacular.

  “Master Richard!”

  I turned sharply to see Princess Margaret running towards me. Her face looked full of fear and worry. “You must come quickly,” she hissed, grabbing my arm.

  The simple fact that she’d ran proved an indication of how important she’d assessed the situation.

  “What’s wrong?” I walked briskly towards the stairway up to the rooms. “Is it the Prince?”

  “No!” she snapped. “It’s your charge, Mistress Eleanor. She’s taken suddenly ill. I’ve had everyone looking for you for ages.”

  When I got to her bedside, I pushed past the other ladies in waiting, to find Eleanor lying still, her eyes closed. Her breathing sounded shallow and slightly ragged. “How long has she been like this?”

  Lady Jane, opposite me, held her hand. “We found her like this. When she didn’t attend the Princess first thing, we came looking.”

  A cup lay on a shelf at her side. “What’s in the cup?”

  Jane looked, then shook her head. “Nothing.” She put her nose to the rim. “That’s strange.” Then passed it over the bed to me.

  I couldn’t put my finger on the smell, but it had a slightly ‘burnt’ aroma. It triggered a memory that I couldn’t quite put a finger on. “Do you think it’s poison?” I asked.

  I turned to the other ladies. “Get me some soap and water, quickly.”

  When they’d returned, to everyone’s amazement, I grated the soap bar with my knife and forced the shavings into Eleanor’s mouth. When I’d washed it down with the water, it took only moments to get my result.

  She convulsed, then opened her eyes, and threw up, turning her head towards me, emptying the contents of her stomach onto the floor.

  “I don’t know what that stuff was, but hopefully we’ve got it out of her stomach.” I held her head, aiming her away from my legs. Eleanor retched some more, then fell back onto the pillow, seemingly exhausted.

  Slowly she opened her bloodshot eyes. “They made me drink,” she wheezed, her voice shallow and weak.

  “Who did?”

  She looked up at me, and I could tell she hadn’t much strength left. “The churchmen.”

  I thought about the King’s audience last night, the apparent uselessness of it, and wondered if it had been a distraction, just to get me out of the way, to enable the King’s spies to get to Eleanor. I shook my head as the facts didn’t make any sense at all, then turned to leave the room. “Make sure she gets rest, and plenty of clean water. No one else gets in here, right?”

  The ladies all nodded, even Princess Margaret.

  I scoured the palace, looking for anyone remotely resembling a ‘churchman’, but without any luck at all.

  I checked in on Eleanor every hour or so, but each time she slept soundly. Only once did I find Lady Jane by herself, and informed her of my intended assignation with her that evening. She smiled very sexily, and batted her eyelashes to such a degree, that I just wanted to throw her over the prostrate form of Eleanor and take her then and there.

  “My chamber,” I said as I walked backwards towards the door. “Way after dinner. Late enough that no one is around.”

  “Yes, Master.” She curtseyed slightly, still flashing her eyelashes at me.

  Mentally going through tonight’s plan, I found myself standing in one of the palace’s high archways, looking out onto the internal courtyard, the rain still beating down, making small conversation with Thomas Linacre.

  Three men, their horses’ hooves clattering on the rain-washed cobbles, rode into sight. As they neared the archway, servants rushed out into the rain to hold their horses. I recognized one as the Duke of Norfolk, but the other two were unknown to me, although one looked familiar. Through the haze of rain I watched them approach, then to my horror, the stranger looked up, and I found myself looking at no other than the double of the vampire who I’d spun with, so many months ago.

  This man looked the spitting image of Keith Fallon, from Boston, New England.

  Fair enough, his hair looked considerably longer, and a full beard hid most of his face. I stared with trepidation as he walked out of the rain.

  Then, as he looked at me, I caught the instant of recognition on his face.

  I’d been right all along! My archenemy from Connecticut had indeed followed me into the past.

  “Ah, Master Linacre, Master DeVere.” Norfolk grinned as he ducked out of the rain. “Well met. I bring new friends from distant lands!” He smiled at his own joke.

  Fallon stepped forward, smiled in his usual smarmy way, then bowed to Thomas and me. “The Baron of Exeter. At your service, gentlemen.”

  A Baron? I’m glad Linacre had more wits about him than I did.

  “Thomas Linacre, sire, and Master Richard DeVere, both tutors to his Highness, Prince Arthur, Prince of Wales.”

  I bowed slightly, keeping my eyes leveled on the stare of my old enemy.

  The third man introduced himself, but to be honest, I didn’t hear a word; my head spun with hate and loathing against the man to my front.

  We’d been matched against each other so many times; I could hardly restrain myself from throwing myself at him, running him through with the sword at my side. I’d never really thought much of him since landing in 1501, never really considered his fate, I’d just assumed that the time-travelling thing had just happened to me, and he’d somehow remained in the future.

  Then Norfolk walked away, taking Thomas Linacre and his new friends with him, leaving me open-mouthed, looking at their retreating backs.

  I found I could hardly put one cogent thought together.

  I needed a distraction, and I needed it quickly.

  Without much consideration, I walked out into the rain, and suddenly felt much better, the large raindrops on my forehead both refreshing and calming.

  As I let the water relax me, I caught sight of two men clothed in long black
robes; churchmen, their heads bowed low against the rain, and in deep discussion. I followed them at a vampire run, halving the distance between us in seconds, then they disappeared into an arched doorway. Again, I ran, following their route. Inside, a short corridor led to an airy hallway. Stairs rose in to directions, the clergymen walking to the left. I could now hear their conversation quite clearly.

  Nothing. Well, nothing of note. I followed them for ten minutes, but they talked of nothing else but the religious ceremony in Saint Paul’s on the fourteenth.

  After that, I gave up on them, and when I’d regained the courtyard, the rain had almost stopped. Birdsong broke the patter of lazy raindrops, and the cloudy sky above seemed to split in two, giving up a glimpse at the deep blue beyond.

  Then Keith Fallon, right in my face.

  Hands in the air, smiling. “I suggest a truce,” he said. “We are not enemies here.”

  “Says you,” I chirped petulantly. He seemed to always bring out the worst in me.

  “I have no beef with you here, DeVere.” He shook his head as if he actually expected me to believe him. “My two years have been very well spent, and very profitable.”

  I wondered if I’d heard him properly. “Two years?”

  He nodded. “Well, almost; a year and nine months. I have achieved considerable advancement in such a little time.”

  I counted the months. “But I’ve only been here three months, no more.”

  His eyes narrowed. “That’s quite bizarre.”

  There seemed no reason for him to have lied. “So we got thrown back to different places, and at differing times. Where did you land?” It seemed so easy to put all our differences behind us.

  “On a beach in Cornwall. You?”

  “Castle on the Welsh border.”

  He thrust his hand between us, looking for mine. “A truce?”

  I paused slightly, then with some reluctance shook it slowly. “For now.” Despite my hatred of the man, I needed a long conversation with him rather than fighting him. “What do you remember of the times? The Kings? The succession?”