by Hall, Ian
“She walks in her sleep,” Arthur said from behind the terrified guards.
“Outside!” I snapped at the guards, waving down their swords. “There is nothing to fear here.”
“But the Prince must be defended,” the one I’d put asleep said as he got ushered past me.
“I will ‘defend’ the Prince.” I grinned at his sense of duty. “How did she get past you anyway?”
His face reddened, and he left the room in silence. “Make sure we are not disturbed,” I said as I closed the door. “If anyone else arrives, the Prince had a nightmare, nothing more.”
The guard seemed too embarrassed to argue.
Turning back to the Prince, I walked to Eleanor’s side. “She seems totally asleep.”
The white covering trailed downwards from her hard nipples, making a spectacular sight in the candlelit room. I could see every curve of her body beneath it, and I’m sure the Prince could, too.
“What do we do?” Prince Arthur asked.
“I’m not sure,” I answered. “I seem to remember that it’s a bad thing to try to wake her.”
“But she can’t stand here all night.”
I put my hands on her shoulders and gave her the smallest of shakes, making certain that Arthur could see her breasts jiggle as I did so. I looked at him, and yup, his eyes were as big as saucers.
Mission accomplished.
“I’ll see what I can do.” Taking firmer hold, I turned her, and pushed her gently to the door. “It’s working.”
Once outside, I pushed her past the guards and down to her room.
Once inside her own room, she opened her eyes and turned to me, jumping up and down in laughing excitement. “That was fun!”
“Shh!” I chided, closing the door behind me. “Keep it down.”
“Oh, Master DeVere, I am so wet down there…” She rubbed herself through the nightdress, and sure enough, the manipulations of her fingers brought a good deal of wetness to the material.
My own manhood surged at such a display. “I can’t be here,” I said, my head already spinning, but also knowing that the Lady Jane possibly awaited me.
Eleanor took my hand, and pushed it between her legs.
To my horror, her fingers pushed mine, sending the thin material into a warm, soaking-wet chasm. I gasped at the sheer wanton display, her moisture, my probing fingers seemingly with wills of their own.
I lifted the nightdress and sent my hand back between her legs, swiftly probing her oily folds with three fingers, knuckle deep, rubbing inside her.
I pushed her onto the bed, and forgot about everything else.
October 3rd, 1501
Westminster and Norfolk
So my plan had gotten a semi-naked girl in front of a fifteen-year-old.
That next morning, in a funk of self-doubt, I imagined the consequences of such an act back in my own time; prison, probably, perhaps a bad story in the local paper, followed by notoriety on the Internet, or maybe even a place on the sex-offender’s list.
But in this earlier time, Arthur would probably be thought of as a late developer. I mean, his twelve-year-old sister had grabbed at my dick, and seemed now to have calmed from her earlier behavior, and settled herself to the fate of going to bed with a thirty-year-old man.
Times were different, and it took repeated happenings here in 1501 to remind me.
One such reminder transpired the very next morning.
I rose early after my romp with Eleanor, and took to the kitchen for an early breakfast, when I caught sounds of a struggle from one of the storage rooms.
On entering, I saw one of the cooks, a grown man, forcing himself on a young kitchen drudge, no more than fourteen. I mean, he thrust balls-deep in this poor girl, his ass going like a train. I pulled the man off and threw him through the doorway, stumbling back into the kitchen. But turning to treat this supposedly poor rape victim, she simply rose quietly, smoothed down her skirts, and walked past me.
She even gave the grinning chef a smile as she passed him.
Different times indeed.
After the events of the night before, of course, the Prince sought me out very early that morning. Under the pretense that we may have to change our tutoring time that evening, as he had to prepare for yet another trip to Westminster, he called me to his side. A nice try at subterfuge, but ostensibly he wanted to talk about Eleanor’s sleepwalk.
He didn’t mention her near nakedness; he didn’t have to, the excitement still lingered in his eyes.
“I will arrange a meeting when you return, Your Grace.” I bowed as the Prince made to leave. “Perhaps a private meeting.”
The inference seemingly not lost on the young man as his face reddened slightly. “That would be very praiseworthy of you.”
I bowed again.
It seemed that all the visitors to the palace did was walk around the gardens, having meetings with each other. I saw very few of the courtiers do any actual work of any sort. Okay, foremen oversaw the various teams of builders, still working on the palace and grounds, but none of the guests seemed to have any purpose at all.
The whole system suited King Henry’s spy network magnificently.
A young page approached at a run. “Master DeVere?” he panted.
“Yes?”
“You are to present yourself at the jetty at noon, sire.”
I felt puzzled. “For what purpose?”
The young boy looked at me like I’d just asked the most stupid question in the entire history of the world. “Why, to travel to Westminster, of course.”
Well, it may have been ‘just’ a trip to London, but I did get a little excited at the prospect. I changed my doublet for my latest acquisition, found a small pot-pie hat to suit, and at noon, assembled with the rest of the court. I knew many of the faces, but had not actually talked to most, and suddenly felt quite out of my depth.
Lady Jane stood nearby Princess Margaret, and although she would be a person to talk to, I wasn’t certain of my welcome after not showing up at her bedroom for a few days.
I nodded and bowed as I approached the group as heads turned in my direction. All in all, more than twenty of us had gathered near the gathered boats; large, gaily-colored rowboats with rectangular lace-trimmed coverings.
Soon, Prince Arthur arrived, and a sergeant at arms began to call from a scroll of names, bringing us forward to each boat. It seems that the royal children were to be separated, and as Henry’s party got called, my name was in the list. Although I sat next to one of the Prince’s tutors, I actually didn’t feel like making conversation; the whole event had caught me, and I cast my mind back to the movies about King Henry the Eighth, and the rowers, and the silly orchestral boat nearby.
Once all had been settled aboard, the rowers soon got some speed going and we set off, the dark river seeming to speed by under their efforts. Soon even the tall spires of Richmond were lost to view.
“How far is it?” I asked to the man beside me.
But it seemed that Prince Henry had the ears of a bat. “Eleven miles as the crow flies, Master DeVere,” he said, seemingly smug at his learned facts. “But over sixteen miles by water. We will take seven long turns.” He spread his arms to the banks on either side. “But see how the people scurry for a look at their future King!” He laughed.
As I focused my gaze at the waving peons, I thought of the distance. Sixteen miles of rowing these boats, and they certainly weren’t light racing canoes; these were wide, sturdy rowboats, and each held eight passengers along with the ten rowers, a weighty payload.
As we passed the boats already on the river, they halted their motions, doffed their caps, and bowed. None seemed to show anything but love and devotion. There would be time for the animosity of the people of the world to grow towards the English monarchy.
Again, I regretted the absence of world history from the teachings in my small-town Connecticut school. I knew so little about past world affairs, that I constantly held my tongue in co
nversations. I only hoped I would be thought of as prudent, rather than just plain stupid.
By my timekeeping and calculations, we sat on the hard wooden seats for almost two hours, but soon we began to see the conurbation of London ahead. The green banks soon disappeared, and houses and industrial warehouses replaced the manicured shoreline.
Westminster Palace needed no introduction.
Set immediately on the side of the river, its walls diving into the water, it was the most impressive set of buildings I had seen in the time. Reminiscent of Richmond, with its tall spires and curving towers, the walls seemed to be almost covered in glass, and there were so many windows. I had already gleaned that both houses of parliament met here as well as being the formal residence of the King and Queen; a very busy place indeed.
We sailed towards the waiting staircases like swans, expertly guided by our pilots, seemingly effortlessly sliding to a halt tight to the tall stone steps.
Caught in the throng that climbed the steps, I was surprised to be met at the top by the Duke of Norfolk, the King’s firmly loyal friend.
“DeVere?” he motioned me to follow him.
John Howard, the Duke of Norfolk, looked a fine athletic figure of a man, obviously well versed in swordplay. His actions and motions belied a confidence in movement that I did not miss. However, his features were roughened by a gruff appearance and a five o’clock shadow of a beard that showed prominently at all times I’d seen him. His dark cloak rimmed with thick ermine swirled at his ankles as he walked away.
I caught up quickly. “What’s amiss, sire?”
“Not here,” he snapped without moving his head. I followed in silence.
We entered one of the palace buildings through a small studded door. Norfolk turned as soon as we stood inside. “The latest ruse? The sleepwalking maiden?”
Now that I had been alerted to the depth of the King’s spy network, I stood ready for such questions. “A complete success, sire. The Prince has now seen a woman, albeit in her nightclothes, but he has already approached me seeking to learn more.”
“You realize that it is a fine line you tread, Master DeVere?”
“Elucidate.”
“There is a fine line between education for its own sake, and seduction for more sinister purposes.”
I nodded. “I realize this, sire, but only live for the well-being of the Prince, and the continuance of his successful reign.”
Thankfully, he seemed content with my answer. “Well said, well said.” He looked around the small foyer. “Now to the more pressing matters. The Princess Catherine has indeed sailed, by some calculations three weeks ago, but the ship has not yet landed in England. She was expected in London this week. As of today, she is already almost a week late.”
Something told me that the Spanish hadn’t been the source of his information, and I began to realize the enormity of the spy networks involved in government. “She sailed three weeks ago?”
“Promptly on the tenth day of the month. There has been some wild weather in the Channel, and she may have been blown off-course, or even, God forbid, lost completely.”
“Oh my,” I gasped. “Where would she land if not in London?”
“Well, if she hasn’t got through to Dartford or Sheerness, then we must blame the wind; not every ship’s captain would attempt the Channel in a storm. Then it would depend on the strength of the wind, it’s been coursing westward, so probably somewhere on the south coast.” He counted on his fingers. “Newhaven and Shoreham would give some respite from a storm, but I would head for Plymouth. It would be on all the Spanish maps as giving quarter in high winds.”
I thought about the information, and considering my advantage in speed, decided to run to Plymouth as soon as I could get away from my duties here in Westminster. “So, my Duke of Norfolk, what has this to do with me?”
“A plain speaker, I like that. The King and I are content with your plan for the Prince’s ‘encouragement’ in female matters, and seek to help. We need a first-hand description of the Princess, maybe a week or more before she and the Prince meet. We need you to prepare the Prince for his Princess.”
“I understand, sire.” I nodded. “It would be imprudent to educate him in a skinny girl if the Princess is huge. Or vice-versa.”
“Exactly.” He grinned. “You scholarly types, and your Latin phrases. Get to it, DeVere.”
I smarted under his tone, but it seemed obvious that the meeting seemed indeed over.
We walked outside, and he bid me good day.
Left alone, I headed for the most likely source of information: the kitchens.
With dinner at six, it took me almost an hour to find someone who knew what room I’d be staying in. I then located Lady Jane, who looked at me a little strangely, then quickly detached herself from her other ladies-in-waiting. “What happened last night?” she almost snapped at me.
“I can explain…”
“Eleanor sleepwalking?” she interrupted. “And into the Prince’s chambers too?”
“Yes,” I began slowly, retracing my proposed apology, and changing direction. “It ended up being quite a mess.”
“I’ll bet.” She almost giggled. “Who would have thought that she’d be susceptible to such a condition? I asked her quietly this morning, but she claimed to have no knowledge of her actions, although she did look a little flushed with the attentions of all of us.”
“Yes, it seems the guard on the door fell asleep.” I grimaced slightly. “He will be replaced, of course. It’s not quite an ‘off-with-his-head’ offense, but he won’t be put in that position again.”
She giggled. “An ‘off-with-his-head’ offense. I like that.” Then she grew instantly serious. “Although the King has spies everywhere, you’d be careful not to repeat that elsewhere.”
I smiled and assured her that I’d be the height of propriety, then a loud bell rang for dinner, and I took the arm of the delectable Jane as a veritable horde of people converged on the dining room.
October 4th, 1501
To Plymouth
After spending the evening with Lady Jane, and gently feeding from her considerably beautiful neck as I orgasmed inside her, I left the room, blaming propriety on my departure. I needed rest and a day of good feeding to make the journey to Plymouth and back. Mistress Eleanor had been left behind in Richmond, and there wasn’t much I could do to further my plan anyway.
To heighten my anxiety, the Duke of Norfolk had raised a fair question; what if Princess Catherine looked significantly different from Eleanor? And if this indeed proved to be the case, could I actually be making matters worse? The Prince had no experience with women. Taking mistresses seemed to be a normal occurrence in this time, but I had to be careful just how he reacted to Eleanor; I didn’t want Prince Arthur actually falling in love with her to the exclusion of his betrothed.
So after dressing myself again, I set out into the streets of London. It took less than ten minutes to find my target; a ‘lady’ plying her wares outside a tavern. In sixty seconds she lay behind the establishment, two small puncture wounds gently closing on her neck.
“You’ll forget all about this,” I breathed over her terrified face. “You came back here because you felt sick. Forget me. Forget what I did.”
Watching to see if I had been followed, I made my way circuitously back to my room in Westminster.
The next morning, I excused myself from the Prince’s duties feigning a head cold, and set off through London.
I remembered the old song about London Bridge burning down, and used the first hour of my journey just to witness it. I first walked north, marveling at the overhanging wooden houses, then turned east along the bank of the Thames. Even from half a mile away, London Bridge lay an imposing sight, although by modern standards, it lacked any sense of planning.
I counted nineteen small, shallow arches, upon which it seemed London’s sprawl had just continued onto the actual bridge itself. When I got to the northern access to the bri
dge, the shops and houses on either side rose so high, and leaned towards each other so much, that only a small tunnel between them remained.
I walked south across the bridge for about half an hour, just to cross the couple of hundred yards of the river. There seemed to be no order, and carts and carriages shared the thin tunnel, often getting stuck in an agreement of which side to pass each other on. I found myself stopped constantly, often making little progress at all.
Bedlam.
When I arrived at the southern archway, I counted twenty-one heads in bird cages hanging from chains, a cruel reminder of the harsh discipline in these primitive times.
And a further reminder to me that my vampirism would not save me from such a fate.
So I set out south, and the further I walked from the Thames, the less populated the area became. Before I’d covered five miles, I’d left London behind me.
I did the journey in fast vampire spurts, checking my direction often, as the road became less and less obvious. In a few hours, I had covered most of the two hundred or so miles, and passed through some of the most glorious countryside I’d ever seen. Autumn had descended on the English woodlands, and the colors in the forests and hedgerows were a constantly changing tapestry.
After reaching Plymouth, I made my way for the docks, and it came as no surprise when I saw thousands of onlookers, finding any position they could to catch a glimpse of a large ship, anchored in the bay.
“What is she?” I asked a man nearby. From his clothes, he looked quite well-to-do, perhaps a merchant.
“Spanish. Came in on last night’s tide.” His words lay heavy with local pirate accent and difficult to understand.
My heart rose. At least she hadn’t floundered in the storms.
“How can I get out there?”
The man laughed. “No chance. They won’t let anyone near.”
“But who would I see to get me over there?”
He pointed to a large whitewashed building. “Portmaster’s over there.”
