by Smith, Skye
The town of Paris was more like two large villages, one on each bank of the river and spreading out from the bridges that connected the island to each bank. They did not look much different from the many towns they had visited in the past week. The palace, however, was unique. It was like a town in one building.
The folk were also different. Whereas in England most noblemen had taken to wearing colorful clothes, while the noblewomen still dressed in the muted garbs that would not offend in a convent; here in Paris, the noblewomen were more colorful than the men, and even the market women were colorful.
Being peasants, Raynar and his men were not admitted to the great hall, but nothing and no one could stop Gesa from walking behind Bertha. Of course, she was dressed as a noblewoman, and the only way to distinguish her as being different was that she carried a light courtier's sword on a sash around her waist. Her hand never left the hilt.
The bowmen were told that the introductions and presentations would take hours for such a large group, so Raynar had them spread out and keep their eye on the costly possessions still in the carts and now surrounded by strangers and stable hands.
* * * * *
The presentations were eventually completed and so the travelers were organized and shown to their quarters. They now remembered their heaps of possessions in the carts and set about having them transported to the safety of their rooms. Philippe led Bertha to a quiet table in a quiet corner of the hall so they could talk in low voices. They had met before many times back when Philippe was a ward of Robert's father, but this was their first meeting since being betrothed.
Gesa hovered close by and thought them a good match and was pleased at their similar ages. Bertha was eighteen, and Philippe twenty. Perhaps because of her hovering she came to the attention of a young nobleman with a wary eye and a sword designed for battle, not for court.
"I am Count Fulk of Anjou," he said pleasantly and clicked his heels and bowed to kiss Gesa's hand. The count was older than Philippe, but certainly not yet thirty. His face looked much older though, due to scars that had taken too long to heal. He was swarthy and strong-looking, and his manner was that of a warrior, rather than a courtier.
She curtseyed as she had practiced with Claire and said, "I am Gesa of Spalding, Your Grace. One of the bride's ladies."
There were two young French ladies standing behind the Count and they laughed mockingly to each other. The Count gave them a hard stare and the laughter turned to snickers. "I notice that you wear a sword in the king's presence."
"As do you," she replied easily.
"But I am allowed, as I am his closest friend and therefore his most personal of bodyguards," Fulk said, "but you are neither. Perhaps you should surrender your sword at the door like all others have done, or perhaps you should leave his company."
"No thank you, that will not do," replied Gesa.
"It was not a request, lady, it was an order."
Gesa stopped smiling at him. "The woman with the king will soon be your queen. I am her closest friend and therefore her most personal of bodyguards. I will keep my sword, thank you, though I envy the size of yours." She said it with difficulty in her hastily-learned French, and the giggles from the women behind the count turned to shocked laughter.
"Ah, you are a connoisseur of fine swords.,then. Perhaps soon you will allow me to show you mine, in private. Perhaps tonight you will join me with Philippe and these other ladies for some wine and light entertainment."
What with the chattering of the other women, and the complex French verbs, Gesa felt that she must be missing some of the meaning, but understood that she was being invited to join in some form of wedding celebration. "I will be pleased to join with you," she said clumsily and left it at that, for the other women were now in hysterics.
When Philippe and Bertha had finished talking, they kissed gently and then a page showed her to her quarters. Gesa stepped warily shoulder to shoulder with her. "I don't like this palace," she told Bertha. "It has too many corners and too many doors with hidden rooms behind. I feel it is haunted by the evil done here over the centuries."
"Don't scare me with your stories," Bertha complained. "It is to be my home, and I must have the confidence to enter any room, and any circle of folk, and be a presence."
* * * * *
* * * * *
The Hoodsman - Courtesans and Exiles by Skye Smith
Chapter 21 - The courtesan spy in Paris in September 1072
That evening, Gesa was shown to the royal quarters by a page. The king was seated on a chair, while Fulk was standing talking to the same two women who had been with him earlier. The page disappeared without a sound and she was shut into the room. She paraded forward in what she thought was a regal gown which had been re-stitched from one of Claire's. At the reception, unfortunately, it had caused twitters and snickers from the women of the court.
She curtseyed her best to Philippe who smiled at her appreciatively. "You," he said, "now I place you. You were the woman who stood on her saddle and galloped through the streets to announce the arrival of my bride. Well done."
At these words, Fulk swung his gaze to Gesa, and broke off speaking to the other women. He walked towards her, reached down to her sash and drew her tiny sword, inspected the blade, and laid it on the table. "The bride is not present so you have no reason to carry that." He looked her up and down. "A Frisian maid for sure. Hand me your other weapons." Gesa made no move.
"Then I will search you for them," he said. First he took the homespun bag from her shoulder and poked through it and put it on the table. He stepped in front of her, reached forward, and squeezed her breasts.
"Those are weapons every woman carries, but I cannot hand them to you," she mocked him, but did not struggle nor strike his hand away. She reached into a hidden pocket inside the sword sash and handed him her throwing knife. He fingered the blade gently and gave a low whistle and then placed it beside her sword.
"She must know your reputation," laughed Philippe, "to come so well prepared." Now that Fulk was busy with Gesa, the other two women had moved and were now pressing themselves against Philippe. One giggled and said something in a low voice that made the other, and Philippe, laugh.
Gesa blushed and took a deep breath to strengthen her courage. "I have already been told many things by the women of this court about both of you men," she said as she moved towards Philippe. She unceremoniously pushed one of the women away from his side and replaced her there, and began to caress his face with her already-aroused breasts.
The fabric of her bodice was thin and he could feel their softness and their warmth against his cheeks. "These women have never been trained in how to pamper a man," she told him, and then said to the woman on the other side of Philippe, "against his face fool, press your breasts against his face."
She was bounced out of her place by the other woman who did not want to be outdone. Philippe had begun moaning softly at the sheer pleasure of having his face caressed in such a way. She looked down at his lap and was pleased that her plan had worked. He was erect. She kneeled before him and loosened his britches so that she could pull his manhood out from the folds of stiff cloth. The other women gasped, but whether in shock from her forwardness, or because they had never seen one, she did not know, or care.
She caressed the shaft with her hand and put her mouth close and blew hot air up and down it. A pearl of liquid emerged from the head and then another so she licked them and tasting them. Philippe’s moans became longer and lower. The other two women were looking on in fascination.
She reached for Philippe's cup of wine and the cloth it was standing on, and she dripped it slowly over his cock catching the overage with the cloth so that it did not stain his fine fabrics. He suddenly winced and shifted his position, so she put the cup down on the floor before he could spill it. He was gasping for breath so she backed away and stood. The other women had backed away as well, and now she grabbed them both by their arms and dragged them away from the ki
ng.
"Get thee gone," she ordered them, "Now!" and pushed them towards the doorway. After a few steps they resisted and one said, "Fuck you, milk maid" or words to that effect. Gesa slapped her and then said in a steely voice, "In a few days you will be bowing to your new queen and seeking her favour. I will be at the queen's left shoulder and within earshot. If you wish to be welcome in her court, you will leave this room and leave it right now."
The women looked at her in disbelief and did not move. "In a few years we will be countesses," one said, "we do not take orders from milk maids, slut."
Gesa stepped quickly to the table and turned back to them now holding her sword which she pointed towards them, with the fine blade glinting in the bright candle light. "If you do not understand those words, then listen to these. Get you gone now, else you will be running through this palace naked. And then who will marry you?"
With a quick but controlled slash, she cut the support from one shoulder of the woman’s gown and that side of the gown flopped down to reveal a breast. The woman looked down in disbelief and then saw the sword flash again, and turned and ran for the doorway with the other woman on her heels.
The sword was suddenly wrenched from Gesa's grip and she was enveloped by Fulk’s strong arms. "I have had enough of your rude manners, wench," he said as he pushed her face down across the table. While holding her down with a heavy hand in the small of her back he began to bunch and pull up her flowing skirts.
"Very nice," he said, "Philippe, look at these legs." He pulled the fabric higher and said, "Oh, my, very nicely shaped."
She felt his free hand squeezing her bared bottom, and then she heard what could only have been his sword belt hitting the ground and the rustle as he loosened his own britches.
The two women, eager to watch this uppity bitch being raped by Fulk, had turned and were coming back into the room. Philippe threw his cup of wine at them which missed them but rang out loudly as it careened off a stone wall. After a quick look at the wine stains on their gowns, the two disappeared through the door with a slam.
"Sire, please do not let him violate me," Gesa pleaded to Philippe. By turning her head sideways she could just see Philippe, but Fulk was hidden from her view by a small mountain of the bunched fabric of her gown. She could feel him though. He had begun to caress her between her legs. Her voice raised in pitch. "He has not told you all. I am your bride's lady, her friend, and her personal guard."
She felt Fulk positioning his cock ready to push into her. "Oh, please stop him sire! I came here to check your cock for sores or diseases before you bedded my lady. I am sorry that I tricked you, but how else could I have achieved it?"
Fulk was waiting for something, for it would take but one movement for him to plunge inside her. She could see Philippe watching Fulk with a wide smile. "Sire, I tasted you and you have healthy seed. It is sweet and salty as it should be, and I found no lesions or sores, but when you flinched from the sting of the wine, I realized that I had missed something. That was why I sent the other women away. I need to inspect you in private."
Fulk was pressing into her now and she squirmed to put his aim off. "In private, without the entire palace wagging their tongues."
"Stop it, Fulk," ordered the young king. "Leave her be, and back away. You've had your fun."
Fulk backed away but then moved around the table to face her. His cock seemed very large, but perhaps that was because it was so close to her eyes.
"She likes tasting. Let her taste me." Fulk leered at her.
"You!, You - get that thing away from me!" she yelled. "From what the court women say about you, you must carry every disease known to sailors." He grabbed her head to hold it still, so she grabbed his shaft with her left hand, and he smiled at her, assuming that he had won. Instead, she reached out with her right hand along the table, found her throwing knife and grabbed it and pressed it carefully under his shaft. "One wrong move and you are a gelding." she whispered hoarsely.
Philippe laughed long and hard. "I have lived to see it. I have lived to see the great Fulk bested by a girl. Leave him be, girl. He will keep his distance from you, I promise. Now pull your skirts down, and come here and talk with me."
"Perhaps I should score it just a little," she said staring into Fulk's frightened eyes, "to keep the women at this wedding safe from him." He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, but stayed absolutely still. She waited a moment, then gave his shaft a few gentle squeezes and let it go. She stabbed the throwing knife into the table, and the resulting sound made Fulk visibly wince.
Gesa took a few moments to stand and push down her skirts, but faced away from Fulk and towards Philippe to do so. The king was staring at her legs, so she slowed the covering of them to give him time to admire them, and then when his smile was at its widest, she made her delights disappear from view. After some more smoothing and tugging, the gown felt right again and she took hesitant steps towards the king.
"Why I winced," explained Philippe, "when you washed me in wine, was not due to my cock. I was surprised by your move, and rolled slightly away and brushed my leg against the leg of the chair. I have a wound on my leg that is not healing as it should. It hurt, so I winced."
She again kneeled before him and between his legs. "Show me your wound, sire. I am a healer at Robert's court. I may be able to help you." His cock was still free of his clothes and was still fully erect, probably from watching her struggle with Fulk. There were some more pearls on the head and she licked them off and gave him a saucy smile, and then slowly pulled his britches and leggings down, being very careful when she came to the area of the wound.
Once the clothing was out of the way, he tried to roll to one side so that he could show her the wound, but she could not see it well enough. She stood, pulled him to his feet, and led him to the table and had him lie breast down astraddle it, as she had been just moments ago.
It passed through her thoughts that she was alone in this room with two men who were naked from the waist down and fully aroused. The chances were slim of her leaving this room without first being ploughed by both of them. "Oh well," she said to herself philosophically, "that is no different than during harvest festival with the village men."
The wound was a sword slash on an angle across the side of the calf. It was a nothing cut that should have healed in a few days. Instead, it was hot to the touch and red around it, and weeping from white cankers. "Have you no healers in this palace, then, that you let it go this long?"
"It was nothing. A graze while practicing the sword. It was but two days ago. It has festered quickly. Too quickly."
"Two days," she said thoughtfully. "Who gave you this wound? Did he intend it?"
"It was an accident. I was practicing with a tall Norman, the captain of Queen Mathilde's guard."
"The Conqueror's wife, Count Robert's sister, that Mathilde?" she asked.
"The same. She is here from Normandy for the wedding."
"Is she friend or foe?" she asked as she reached for her throwing knife and wiped it and dipped it into the wine jug. There was silence. "I ask, because this accidental cut was accidentally too shallow to bother to show to a surgeon, and was accidentally made by a poisoned blade."
Fulk came closer to watch over her shoulder and she could feel him slowly rubbing his member up and down the silk of the back of her gown. She ignored it and listened as he said, "A poisoned blade? The captain? Not possible. He is a knight of the old school." He remained watching and pressing as she opened and drained one of the cankers onto a corner of a cloth. She bent her head to smell the discharge and then held it above her head so that Fulk could also smell it.
"That is the smell of the corruption of weeks, not days," she told them, and handed it to the king to sniff. He chose not to, so she explained, "I need to open the wouund again, clean it properly, and then apply a salve that will draw the poison.
"Fulk," she said impatiently, pushing his member away from her clothing before it could cause stains, "br
ing my bag closer, and then hold him down so he doesn't buck with the pain and cause me to make the wound worse."
"Fulk!" yelled Philippe, apprehensive but trying not to show it, "put your britches on first. I don't want you playing priest around my back side."
It took time to ever so carefully slice open, cleanse, flush with wine, apply salve, and tug the sides of the wound together with stitches. She worked slowly and carefully, trying not to hurt him and trying not to do anything that might allow the poison to spread.
"What kind of poison?" asked Fulk.
"Something that would kill in a common way that many had seen before and all could believe was accidental. The bowmen I ride with use pig shit on their points for vengeance killings. They don't aim to kill, they aim for a deep wound, too deep to cleanse. Pig shit is best, but the shit of any meat-eater will do as well, if the wound is deep enough."
"And innocent enough if noticed on the blade," hissed Philippe through his gritted teeth. "There is shit everywhere in the training yards. It gets on blades through no fault of anyone."
"You are lucky sire," she said, "to be an accident it had to be shallow. Only the shallowness has allowed me to draw the poison. If the wound had been deeper, like an arrow puncture, only your god could have saved you from a painful death."
She wrapped it loosely in a piece of silk torn from her underskirt. "I will have to check it twice a day until the heat is gone from it. I would prefer it if Count Fulk were not present. Perhaps we should have Bertha assist in his stead, so she can measure how grown you have become since your last meeting."
"Your name is Gesa, yes?" asked Philippe. "I am sorry for allowing Fulk to go so far towards raping you. You may not believe me, for you did not see our signals, but our intention was only to frighten some respect into you."