by Hall, Ian
I thanked him and bid him farewell.
The Portmaster’s Office proved busy, and I had to jostle and push to get inside. “Who’s in charge here?” I shouted above the heated conversations.
“Who’s asking?” someone said, and a round of laughter ensued.
“I come from the King!” I replied, and silence fell across the room like a shroud.
“Who said that?”
“I did,” I said, pushing my way towards the source of the questioner; an old, small grey-haired man, who looked like he’d had a sample of every foodstuff brought ashore. “I am Richard DeVere, tutor to the Prince of Wales.”
“Sire.” He nodded his head. “Henry Fitzwilliam, Master of the Port. How can I help you?”
“I need passage out to the Spanish ship in the bay.”
He grinned. “We’re not exactly sure what she is yet, sire. We won’t be allowing anyone on or off before we establish that fact. She’s keeping her distance right now.”
“I’ll tell you exactly who she is.” My amateur dramatics from Bulkeley High School helped considerably. “She’s the ship that’s carrying the Princess of Aragon to marry Prince Arthur… your future queen!”
“Oh shite!” He looked alarmed for just a moment, then regained his composure very quickly. “Clear the room! Everyone outside!”
Despite his considerable bulk, he moved very quickly, and the room was ours after just a few moments.
“The Spanish Princess, you say?”
“Yes, Princess Catherine of Aragon.” We looked at each other for a moment. “I need to get out there, hopefully with someone who can speak Spanish.”
“Oh, I can get that going,” he said, rubbing his chin. Flakes of dandruff fell like snow onto his chest and the floor. “Princess Catherine, you say? Hmph.”
Again, despite his size, this man had a control over his dominion. In minutes, he had the dock clearing, soldiers and sailors driving the onlookers away from the edge of the wharfs, and back towards the town.
I watched from the doorway of his office as the crowd reluctantly gave way to the pushing and shoving of the officials.
He eventually waved me forward, and led me to a wiry, weasel-like man, who he introduced as Del Sandro, a Spanish merchant settled in Plymouth for many years. He looked nervous.
The Spanish Galleon sat in the middle of the bay, masts bare, and two anchor lines stretched tight against further movement. Our rowboat set off with ease from the wharf, but in seconds the choppy waves hit us, and we pitched violently in the breeze. It must have taken us half an hour to cover the short distance, the ten rowers sweating and grunting with every pull of their oars.
Fitzwilliam pointed to the right side of the Spanish ship. “Get us leeward,” he said to the man at the tiller. “Out of the wind.”
A line of faces looked over the side of the ship as we reached the comparative shelter.
“Who are you?” A man leant over farther than most. His voice held a Spanish accent, but sounded perfectly understandable.
“I am Richard DeVere, tutor to Prince Arthur. I am sent by the King to witness the safe arrival of the Princess Catherine.”
I realized that if I’d been wrong about the identity of the ship, I’d be made fool of to the highest degree, but I reckoned that Norfolk’s information had been correct, and the hundreds of onlookers testified to the rarity of a Spanish ship in these waters.
The man above disappeared, and soon a rope ladder with wooden slats got lowered to our boat.
Considering the pitching of the boat, I reckoned I made a good job of grabbing the rope and pulling myself aboard.
The crowded deck felt quite intimidating. The man who’d spoke earlier stood just a few feet from me. “I am Captain Constantine Ortega, my English is no good.”
I introduced a frightened Del Sandro, and through him asked that we see the Princess, just to verify her presence and her state of health. Heated Spanish phrases flew in the air between them.
“He asks why you do not trust the emissaries of Spain,” Del Sandro said, obviously paraphrasing.
“I need to vouch for the Princess’s safety, I need proof of her arrival, and I need to witness the state of her health,” I said very distinctly, looking directly at Ortega as I spoke.
This led to messages being relayed back into the crew and obviously below deck. It took a few minutes before a rather grand-looking man waded through the sailors.
Clad in black from head to foot, a large sword by his side, and two knives forced into his belt, this certainly had been a theatrical entrance. He walked to within two feet of me, then planted his feet apart and placed his hands on his hips.
“I am Don Anonstro Vantionado. I am also tutor to the Princess Catherine, daughter of Aragon, Crown Princess of the Glorious Spanish Empire.” He looked at Del Sandro, who had almost faded from view he looked so pale. “I give you my word, the Princess is well. That is all you need.”
To a normal emissary, this might have stymied the negotiations, but I had one advantage.
I stepped forward, placing my face six inches from his, our chests almost touching. This would normally have led to some fighting, but like I said, I had one advantage. My breath wafted over his face as I spoke. “You will listen to me, Don Anonstro Vantionado. I need to see the Princess. Once this is done, then I will leave. But I will not leave this ship until you let me see the Princess Catherine.”
Okay, he paused altogether far too long for me not to feel just a tiny bit apprehensive.
Then he caved.
“Follow me.”
I passed the shocked captain, and walked after the burly ‘tutor’. Once below deck, I passed along a few corridors, then he knocked at a large wooden door.
On hearing a reply, he walked in, and stood to one side.
The Princess stood in the centre of the room, her ladies on either side.
She lowered her head, then curtseyed low to the ground. The movement flowed and she appeared quite graceful.
I bowed as low as I’d ever done, hoping it would pass Don Anonstro’s critical gaze.
“Your Majesty, I bring greetings from his Highness, Prince Arthur, Prince of Wales. He asks if you are well, and looks forward to meeting you in person.”
Don Anonstro translated for me, and she rose to her feet.
She looked pale, but not uncomely. She had a kind of girl-next-door kind of cuteness about her, and certainly not that different in appearance from Mistress Eleanor. Her mouth and nose were small, and not the dark-haired Latino beauty I’d expected; her hair was light brown, and swept back from her face severely. Her dress looked magnificent, glittering jewels sewn into every possible position. I made a mental note to get Arthur some new duds.
Princess Catherine turned to Don Anonstro and began to talk; a light, lilting Spanish that oozed class, sophistication, and proper diction. She had a nice sounding voice; another plus to report back.
“The Princess accepts your greetings and extends greeting of her own. She is glad to be in England, and cannot wait to meet the Prince Arthur in person. The joining of these two great nations must not be delayed any longer.”
I bowed again. “Your Majesty is most gracious. I will return to Prince Arthur with high praise indeed.” I turned to Don Anonstro. “I am grateful for your part in letting me see the Princess.” I bowed, and backed towards the door.
Tracing my route back up to deck, I soon climbed back over the side with a still-terrified Del Sandro. Once ashore, I thanked Fitzwilliam and quickly left town.
By the time I got back to London, night had descended on the town, and I repeated my feeding pattern of the previous night. The feeding without sex as part of the operation felt kinda weird, but I knew that if I’d taken another hit from Lady Jane so quickly, she’d have been unnecessarily weakened by the double-whammy in two days.
Elated at my successful mission, I sought the privacy of my bedroom, and despite my recent feeding, fell asleep instantly.
The ne
xt morning, I wondered how to tell Norfolk of my discovery, but soon found out I didn’t need to. News circulated around the Palace of the Princess’s arrival and our imminent return to Richmond Palace. We would then leave to meet the Princess as soon as a royal ‘caravan’ could be assembled.
October 6th, 1501
Hurry up and Wait
After two hours of rowing on the Thames, once back in Richmond, the palace proved to be already in uproar.
I gleaned from heated conversations that the coaches that we travelled in from Ludlow Castle were not good enough to give a proper ‘showing’ to the Princess, so we had to wait for King Henry’s own coaches to arrive before we could pack for the journey.
I wasn’t all that concerned, as I had a few steps of my plan left to hopefully put into place before Arthur’s now immediate nuptials.
The coaches hadn’t arrived before evening, so after dinner I found Mistress Eleanor, and told her of her part in the night’s adventure.
Then I made sure I ‘bumped’ into the Prince before he retired for the night. “Your Grace, I would like a private audience with you this evening, in your bedchamber.” I leaned close, looking around as if to ensure we were not being overheard.
His brows furrowed in immediate unease. “In my bedchamber?”
I nodded. “It concerns the Mistress Eleanor. It is a private matter, and I cannot bring myself to even talk about it here, where we can be overheard by the King’s spies.”
He suddenly became animated, looking around. “Yes, I agree. I will await your arrival, Master DeVere.”
I leant closer still. “I will be there just before you go to bed. Wear only a nightshirt.”
My God, I sounded like a pervert, a child molester, a pedophile. But the Prince showed no signs of alarm.
“Very well,” he said, nodding.
So, without a timepiece to measure the passage of hours, I judged my timing, walked to the Prince’s quarters, and suggested to the sitting guard that he fall asleep.
Then, a single knock at Eleanor’s door had her following me down the corridors, the same diaphanous nightdress shimmering behind her in the yellow candlelight.
On entering the Prince’s bedchamber, Eleanor lingered outside at my instruction.
“Your Grace.” I covered the distance between us, and lifted a scarf to his gaze. “I must blindfold you to begin with.”
He looked alarmed. I stood close, and my breath would be making some impression on his subconscious. “Very well,” he said slowly.
Once I’d tied the scarf, I brought Eleanor inside, standing her in the middle of the room. Then I blindfolded her, too. The sight of those wonderful titties inside her gossamer nightdress almost distracted me, so I wondered what effect she’d have on the fifteen-year-old Prince.
When I loosed his blindfold, he immediately looked at her and gasped. Standing with her arms by her sides, her shoulders proudly back, the material stretched between her hardening nipples; she looked magnificent.
“Mistress Eleanor wishes to thank you for keeping her from a terrible betrothal.”
Prince Arthur nodded, but kept his gaze on the girl.
“She wishes to offer a kiss of gratitude.”
At that, the Prince instantly looked less alarmed and more interested.
“But, of course, she needs your permission, Your Grace, we cannot force you to accept the kiss.” I hoped that my wording got the right idea across.
And, of course, he nodded. “I give permission,” he said meekly. Then stood in place, waiting.
“You will have to approach her, Your Grace,” I said. “She cannot see you.”
He gasped a small outlet of air, then seemed to gather himself, and slowly walked the three paces between them. He stood slightly taller, and bowed his head, their lips barely touching. Then she moved, put her arms round his neck, and the kiss began.
Prince Arthur’s eyes closed, and I moved to the couple, positioning the Prince’s hands on her almost bare hips.
“You will be King one day,” I said, standing so close that my cheeks almost touched theirs. “The name of King Arthur will again be cheered from the people. As King, you will sire many sons. You will bed many, many women.”
He attempted to nod, but I saw Eleanor’s tongue working between them, and the kiss slowly ramped up to a full make-out session driven by the delectable Eleanor.
“In a few days you will slip into bed with a Princess.” I stayed close. “You will kiss her; just as Eleanor kisses you now. Your hands will move down to her bottom.”
I waited. And waited. Damn it if I had to do it for him. I took his hands, and despite his slight resistance, I placed them firmly on her ass. Then I put my hands in the middle of their backs, and pushed them firmly together.
Arthur moaned into Eleanor’s mouth, but they remained in the embrace.
After a minute or two had elapsed, I tapped Eleanor on the shoulder, and she moved backwards, pushing herself from Prince Arthur, who, to his credit, didn’t seem to want the moment to end.
“Mistress Eleanor thanks you,” I said, and I led her away. I didn’t look back properly, but I caught a glimpse of his expression; a slow grin effusing all over his face.
All according to plan.
I led Eleanor back to her room, thankfully meeting no one, and pushed her inside. She turned immediately, jumping up and down on the spot. “How did I do? How did I do?”
Well, I found it difficult to answer, her jiggling breasts had caught my attention, and the rubbing of her nipples on the thin material had caused them to swell further, causing a seeming inability for my eyes to leave their vicinity.
Grinning from ear to ear, Eleanor advanced on me, still dancing, still captivating my gaze. “Cat got your tongue, Master DeVere?”
I knew she had that ability, and for a moment, I wondered if she used it on me, then I remembered her recent mouthing’s on the Prince and realized that she probably felt already turned on by the contact.
My hands rose automatically to cup her breasts, my thumbs rubbing over her pointed nubs, and from that moment I found myself unable to refuse her.
The King’s coaches arrived the next day; three fine carriages painted in dark purple and gold. Pulled by only the blackest horses, even I felt suitably impressed. But of course, as soon as they arrived, the horses were unharnessed, fed, groomed, and pampered.
But if I expected the coaches to be packed as quickly as the rowboats down the Thames, I would have been desperately disappointed.
By the end of the day, despite my feeling of imminent departure, we still slept in Richmond palace.
The next day began with a heavy shower of rain, which not only dampened the spirits of the caravan’s participants, it also sent Prince Arthur back to bed with a hacking cough, so my plan had little chance of further advancement that evening. Princess Margaret and I smuggled food from the dinner table, and sat by Prince Arthur, making certain he actually ate it.
Once again, the lack of rainfall the next morning found him much better, and able to walk in the gardens of the palace.
“I do have a question to ask,” he said, once we’d been left alone to ‘study’. We strolled in the more wooded part of the grounds, where deer were often seen and hunted by the royal guests.
“Yes, Your Grace?”
He frowned slightly. “Was the Mistress Eleanor a willing participant the other night?”
“Of course, Your Grace.” I smiled at his interest. “Mistress Eleanor is, like me, particularly interested in Your Grace’s education.”
We walked for a moment in silence.
“Would she like to visit me again?”
Inside my head, I jumped for joy, and gave myself so many high-fives that my hands began to ache. “Why of course, Your Grace. Would tonight be too soon?”
I could see his heart leap, his expression became almost smug. I felt for once that he exuded a kingliness of his own; a confidence driven by the effects of love.
At that, Linac
re arrived, and although he spoiled the mood for me, the Prince still maintained a very satisfied expression. “The King will arrive on the morrow,” Linacre informed us, probably expecting Arthur to lapse into depression. “We must prepare for his interrogation.”
So I watched in silence as the Prince got led away, but he managed one backward glance to actually smile. I stood like a proud papa.
So that evening, like a ghostly statuette in white, Eleanor stood in the center of the Prince’s bedchamber and kissed him again.
After a few moments, Prince Arthur’s hands proceeded to Eleanor’s ass of their own accord.
“There is one other position to be enjoyed,” I said after some time. The Prince broke the kiss with obvious regret.
“Yes?” He kept his hands on the girl, which pleased me considerably.
“Well, when two participants in nuptials approach the bed from different sides, the first embrace can be awkward. You would be lying on your side, with only one arm, one hand to caress the Princess.”
The inclusion of ‘real life’ into these periods of education were intentional. Again, the chances of the Prince actually falling in love with Eleanor were high, and I felt it important to keep at least part of his mind on his new bride.
Like a director at a tiny film set, I encouraged the two to get into the bed, and begin the kiss anew. We tried with Prince Arthur approaching the bed from both sides and, encouraged by Eleanor’s girlish giggles, he soon picked up the fun in their play-acting. Prince Arthur actually looked like he enjoyed life for the first time.
Once they had both nuzzled each other from different sides, I reminded the calmly cavorting couple that the night was passing, and I had to return the Mistress Eleanor to her room ‘for propriety’s sake’.
Their parting kiss looked as poignant as any I’d like to have on film, and both lovers gave the other longing looks as they parted across the room.
I needed another participant; Eleanor seemed to be getting to him. These nuptials with the Princess Catherine could not come quick enough.
“You will return to me immediately, Master DeVere,” The Prince said as I ushered Eleanor out of the door. “I have questions.”
