by Karen Dales
“I am sorry, my Lord, but I cannot do that.”
“Yes, you can. No go away!” His head threatened to split at his own raised voice, and he groaned in self-induced agony. “Tell the Fidalgo de Sagres I will attend him once I’ve recovered.”
“I am sorry, my Lord, but I cannot do that,” reiterated Pedro, firmly.
“Stop repeating yourself.” Fernando tried to roll over onto his side but thought could not translate into action. Giving up he sprawled on his back. “I’ll see him when I’m good and ready.”
“You will see me now,” boomed a deep resonate voice.
Fernando’s eyes flew open and he froze. His heart throbbed in his hung over sensitive ears. Few things could induce fear in the young noble. In fact he could only recall being afraid twice in his life, and neither of them were when he went to war. The first was when he was six. He had heard his mother screaming in childbed and how her earth wrenching cries were cut short by death. Not even his newly born baby brother escaped death’s clutches. The second time was when he stole his Lord father’s sword to fight a duel, at the age of eleven. His father was so furious that Fernando could not sit for a week. He suddenly felt eleven again and resented it enough to push the feeling away.
With Pedro’s assistance, Fernando managed to sit up and swing his baggy hosen legs over the edge of the bed. Across the room, standing behind a chair, stood Fernando’s father, the Fidalgo Manuel de Sagres, in the splendour of rich dress marred by a face purpled with fury. Fernando sighed, ran a shaky hand through his dark thick locks, and waited. He figured that soon enough his father would start into his usual lecture.
An oppressive silence filled the room, making the servant fidget. If the circumstances were not so severe Fernando would have snickered at Pedro’s discomfort. Instead he had to endure the pain of the door crashing closed as Pedro fled at the order from the Fidalgo and the realization that now father and son were alone together. Not as stocky as his father, Fernando believed he could take him in a fair fight. After all he had youth on his side. He waited patiently as the Fidalgo casually sat down.
“Are you proud of yourself?” Some of the darker purple tones faded into lighter shades of red, yet the anger in the Noble’s voice was barely constrained.
Fernando blinked in uncertainty. This was not expected. A lecture, a sermon, perhaps, but not this.
Without waiting for a verbal reply the Fidalgo de Sagres continued, “Are you proud of how you embarrassed your cousin and his new wife. Not to mention humiliating yourself, your House and me in front of the English crown!” His voice rose to thunderous new levels, making Fernando involuntarily wince in pain. “Answer me, boy.”
Oh how Fernando despised being called that. Grinding his teeth in anger and loathing, he managed a strained reply. “If I have offended I most humbly and respectfully apologize.”
The Fidalgo de Sagres leaned back in his seat, studying his dishevelled son over steepled fingers. “At one time I truly believed you to be sincere and prayed that you would change to become a man that would follow well in my path. I see now that I was wrong.” Fernando blanched at the admission. “Your behaviour last night was the final abomination to this House. I will tolerate this no longer.”
Fernando’s father stood and slowly walked to the door. “From this moment on you no longer are you my son. All your lands and titles are stripped from you. The heir to the Fidalgo de Sagres will become part of your sister’s dowry. Your betrothed, Maria Isabel, will go to his Highness’ brother, Antonio. Take what money and clothes you can scrounge and leave. If you manage to find your way back to Portugal you will find no home.” The Fidalgo de Sagres turned to leave.
Fernando sat stunned as his world was ripped from him, but with the mention of his beloved Isabel, rage boiled within.
“Wait!” Any pain he felt from last night’s revels were inconsequential to what was happening now. At least his father had halted and turned to face him. “You can’t do this to me!”
“I can and just did,” replied his father in all seriousness.
“I’ve apologized.” Fernando was not one to beg, but it was difficult not to keep the supplicating tones from his voice.
Manuel de Sagres cocked his head and seemed to view his son for the first time. Whatever it was he saw filled his dark eyes with sadness for the briefest of moments. “Apologized for what?”
It took Fernando a moment to answer. “For my behaviour last night.” He was not sure what his father was talking about any more.
“You think it is just that,” Manuel shook his head, “but it is more than that, much more. Do you even remember what you did last night?”
Unable to meet the eyes so much like his own, Fernando mutely shook his head. Everything was blank, from the time he left the whorehouse to the horrifying vision of the devil.
“I will not repeat it, ever, and will only say that if the Angel had not been there, it would have been worse. Now, I will leave you and pray that your mother –“
“Maria Terese is not my mother,” came the usual retort that Fernando instantly regretted.
“- will bless me with a son in the fall since now both my boys are dead.”
The door closed without a sound, leaving Fernando to stare at the carved oak. He sat for a long time, unable to move. If he did he would find out that it was not a dream and he so wanted to wake. The thoughts of his lands and titles never meant much except the power to rule. Even his inheritance, now stricken from him, had always seemed unreal because his father was Fidalgo and Fernando always believed the man to outlive him, just out of spite.
Fernando could live without the deprecating games of Court, but what he could not fathom was a life without Maria Isabel de Leiora. Arranged marriages were commonplace, and yet when he first met his betrothed a friendship bloomed into a love so strong that they both counted the days to her sixteenth birthday so they could wed. It was a quarter of a year before what would have been his wedding. Now she was gone. All of it was gone. Fury filled him and his fist flew against the poster, sending a jarring stab of pain.
Cupping his bruised fist in the other, Fernando stood, swearing, and collected what he could. No matter the state of his disgrace he would leave with honour. After shaving, he dressed in his finest doublet of dark blue and clean hose and secured his heavy purse to his belt and his sword at his side.
Yes, I will leave, he thought as he left his room for the halls, walking with head held high. He would have revenge for this injustice.
He did not receive any hindrances in leaving the dark confines of the castle. Servants and gentry alike stared in surprise. They knew what he had done. Now if only he knew. It was doubtful he would find out now.
The bright sunlight stung his eyes as he headed out into the city to find the best way to forget. He passed carters and ware mongers, chandlers and farmers selling late produce, potters and peddlers, until he found what he was looking for – the tavern. This was one of the establishments he could remember. A place to forget.
The door abruptly opened, allowing two off duty guards, in shimmering mail and red, to exit, stinking of stale ale. Neither gave the young noble a glance. Fernando was invisible to their drunken perceptions. He held the weather beaten door open and then entered the dimly lit establishment. Dust motes flickered in the thin rays of sunlight entering from thin windows near the rafters. The smell of the poor mingled with roasting food and ale overpowered Fernando’s senses, yet strangely enough it felt comfortingly familiar.
Busy for this time of day, Fernando managed to squeeze his way past a serving girl with dirty blonde hair and a smudged face, to a lonely table in a darkened corner of the smoke filled room. Dumping his bundle on the chair, he sat in the other with his back to the wall so that he could not be taken unawares. Without a need to ask, a large mug of ale appeared before him. Normally, Fernando would have at least bantered with the wench, but not today. This afternoon he stared into the dark pool and mumbled something about getting somethin
g to eat. He did not even watch as the wench disappeared into the back.
He needed a plan. Maybe if he stayed away for a day or so his father will have forgotten, or at least forgiven. Fernando snorted at that preposterous thought. The chances that the all-powerful Fidalgo de Sagres would pardon him were as likely as Fernando’s chances of getting into heaven. No, he needed to start thinking about his future. Money would not be much of a problem, at least for a while. He absently fingered the heavy purse filled with gold sovereigns. He thought of going back to Portugal and seize Sagres for his own before his father could get home. He fantasized the whole process, not tasting the food before him. It would take more money than his paltry bundle could manage.
Fernando sat the afternoon away, sipping mugs of ale that did not seem to erase his memory. Did he want to stay in England? The thought had crossed his mind. It was a more stable country than his own, but what could he do? Whatever it was it had to be something where he was in charge. That was certain. Taking orders was never a strong point for Fernando. Always in command of something, he was raised to rule. He sighed and finished the last of his fourth mug. He still had no plan.
The light had grown dim with sunset and Fernando only realized how long he had actually sat when another serving girl placed a lamp on his table. The patronage had changed to more boisterous men and women, who, by obvious appearance, were working girls. It was time to leave and find an inn to spend the night, and think.
Fumbling with the knot of his purse, Fernando shrugged off the prospect of paying too much. At this point he could not care and he pulled out a sovereign. It gleamed bright yellow in the lamplight. He knew it would draw unnecessary attention and it did. Several men, mercenaries by their hardened appearance, seated at a nearby table had grown quiet at the sight, but what caught the young noble’s attention was the petite young lady of obvious profession.
Her skin was as pale as any noble Lady’s and her blonde hair sparkled in a living version of the gold he held in his hand. The mysterious and hypnotic air about her only amplified her beauty. Her movement towards him was fluid and graceful in a way that reminded Fernando of a cat stalking its prey.
He did not return her smile as she pulled out an empty chair and sat opposite. He eyed her suspiciously, yet refused to acknowledge her powerful presence in any other way. Her smile faded and Fernando recognized her from the whorehouse of last night.
“I did not expect to see you so soon.” Her voice was rich, seductive and distinctly French.
Fernando scowled, rolling the sovereign across his knuckles and noted that the whore had no interest in the large sum of money rolling deftly back and forth on his hand. He did not reply. Instead he chose to wait. She was beautiful in an exotic way, especially as a frown descended upon her features and she opened her mouth to speak.
A mace crashed down between them, shocking the whore from speech. Fernando gazed up at the weapon’s owner, irritation in his eyes. The mercenary grinned wickedly, exposing rotting teeth. He wore a patch over his left eye and his bald head exhibited the signs of a poor shaving job. Fernando did not like the way he stared at the sovereign and nor did he like the odds if there was going to be a fight. The five men behind the veteran appeared equally dangerous.
Catching the coin in the palm of his hand, Fernando returned the glare. “Can I help you?” He asked coldly.
The whore appeared unafraid. In fact she seemed extremely interested, a peculiar half smile touching her lips.
“Aye, ye can,” growled One-eye. “Give me and me mate yer money and the whore,” he added as an afterthought, “and we’ll let ye live.”
Ignoring the fowl breath, Fernando laid the gold sovereign in the middle of the table, next to the mace, without breaking eye contact. He did notice, though, that the girl actually looked disappointed. He did not know what she wanted, but if it was bloodshed she would not have to wait long. Absently, he lowered his right hand to the hilt of his sword. He was going to enjoy the next few moments.
Fernando shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”
The ring of naked steel reverberated in the sudden silence as Fernando’s finely crafted Toledo sword viciously arched up and then down, severing One-eye’s mace hand from the rest of his body. Too stunned at the surprising speed of the attack, One-eye stumbled back into his mates clutching the bleeding stump and screamed his shocked pain. Fernando stood, his sword ready to defend, his eyes reflecting an inner fire. He had thoroughly enjoyed himself.
“Next time you decide to rob someone you should make absolutely sure that your victim is not armed,” sneered Fernando, grabbing his bundle of clothing. It was then that he noticed the whore gazing hungrily at the dark red droplets glimmering on his sword.
The surprise of her strange attention was all that was necessary for the would-be thieves to become murderous villains. Swords rang out and it was all that Fernando could do not to fall as the men came after him. Tables crashed out of the way and fearful patrons fled while others cheered the unpaid for entertainment.
Down went one man and Fernando took up the fallen sword. With a blade in each hand the odds had turned favourable for the young noble despite the fact that there were still four of them. Years of training came out in his fluid dance, blocking and cutting. He knew that a malevolent grin curled his lips and he only halted his defence when there was no thief standing.
Breathing heavily the scent of death, Fernando dropped the thief’s blade and bent to clean his sword on one of the bodies. Cheering and the clink of coppers being handed back and forth told Fernando that he had put on a good show. Not to disappoint his audience, he sheathed his sword and bowed. Cheers rose up, threatening to thunder down the roof. Grabbing his bundle from where he had tossed it, he escaped into the cool clear night to find the whore before him.
Befuddled at how she managed to appear in front, Fernando glanced back at the tavern and then to the girl who only a moment ago stood in the tavern. He opened his mouth, ready to ask how she had done that, but instead shook his head and pushed past her. Tonight he did not want what she was offering.
Fernando let out a sigh when he realized that she was walking discreetly beside him. Could she not take a hint? Spinning around to confront her and order her away, he found that she had suddenly disappeared. Confusion descended upon the Noble as he searched right and left and found no sign of her. This was becoming unnerving.
Unexpectedly, he felt a firm tapping on his shoulder and he whirled around to find her standing serenely not a foot away. This was too much. He knew he did not have that much to drink. “How the hell?” The words tumbled out of his mouth.
A smile tugged her lips. “You do enjoy killing, non? And you do it well.”
What was this? Fernando had never met a woman like her. He decided to play along. “I enjoy what I do, and I do very well, and if you don’t leave me alone I’ll enjoy doing you.”
At first she seemed surprised by his answer before breaking into peals of laughter. Several people glanced nervously at the two. Unnerved at the uncharacteristic response, Fernando took a step backwards.
“You may try, monsieur, but you will find it impossible.” Suddenly her features became threatening.
Fernando felt the mouse in the game and it ignited his anger. “What do you want?”
“What I want is you,” she stated matter-of-factly.
It was Fernando’s turn to laugh. “I have met many a woman who wanted such, yet none so brazen as to come right out and say it. Unfortunately, you are out of luck for I am in a rare mood not to wish for such lovely company for the night. Now if you will excuse me.” He tried to move past her and stopped as her hand grasped around his bicep in an iron grip. He glared down at the whore, anger growing and vying with pleasant amazement.
She met his glare. “You misunderstand, monsieur. I have a proposition for you.”
“And that is?” He tried to pry her fingers from his arm but could not budge the delicate digits.
“What I
offer is not meant to be heard by mere mortals.” She dragged him off, ignoring his protests, only to let go when they entered a poor hovel not far away.
“Sue foda duma puta, eu vou te-matar por isto!” shouted Fernando, rubbing his bruised arm.
“Assis-toi!” Her command rang hypnotically and she instantly realized why he did not comply. In a softer tone she said, “Sit.”
Strangely unable to resist, Fernando sat down on the cot, mesmerized.
“Ah, now you will listen, n’est-ce-pas?” She began to pace, her cool veneer slipping into obvious nervousness, all the while keeping an eye on the Noble.
“You have something I want and in exchange I will give you what you want.” Disregarding his confusion, she continued, “I noticed that you have a lot of money, money that I need to get myself out of this stink hole and into a place where I can run my own business. Normally I would have just killed you and taken your money, but I see that, even though you are mortal, you have a blood lust that makes me offer you this. In exchange for your money – think of it as an investment in which you may be a silent partner – I will give you immortality.”
Clearly this woman was crazy. “And if I refuse?” he asked, playing along with her madness. Investing in a whorehouse would bring new purpose into his life and generate revenue, not to mention the women, but what she offered in exchange was ludicrous.
She turned to face him. “You die.”
Fernando blinked at the blatant answer. For one so small she had a lot of strength. Hoping to end the insanity he calmly stated, “Then I guess my answer is yes.”
Her smile lit up her face and she slowly approached, sitting on the cot beside him. “You made a wise decision.”
Her kisses were soft. Maybe he could use some company, and he kissed back. The only type of immortality he knew was begetting a child and at this point he could not care less. Her soft lips caressed his cheek, moving to his ear where she gently sucked, sending shocks of pleasure through his body. She worked down to his neck, kissing, licking and sucking. He moaned in delicious contentment, running one hand to cup a breast while the other held the embrace. Yes, this could do nicely. Her lips felt cool against his hot flesh and then he felt searing white pain as she bit deep, furiously sucking his blood into her being.