Connecticut Vampire in King Arthur's Court

by Hall, Ian

  It seemed overelaborate; I watched as Lady Jane, acting for Margaret, followed Princess Margaret, acting for Catherine, up the long aisle. The Bishop of London called out at every move, reading from a many paged script like a movie director. Then Henry, Margaret, and five-year-old Mary lay prostrate at the steps to the stage. They would lie there for the whole ceremony.

  They practiced the ‘walk’ six times that day.

  Then a churchman of some authority, followed by several others arrived in the Cathedral, walked slowly towards the Prince and his retinue.

  “That’s Henry Deane.” Gruffydd moved close and whispered to me. “The man who tried to kill Eleanor.” I had no need for further instruction. The Archbishop’s cloak looked the most opulent display of wealth I’d ever seen. Even in the dim light of the cathedral, it simply glowed gold and red.

  “Who are the others?”

  “Just every bishop in England,” Gruffydd said. He used no tact to hide the disdain in his voice. “Abbotts galore, and a couple of Spaniards thrown in for good measure.”

  “No wonder they built the stage so sturdy.”

  “They will use this wedding to show the strength of the church.” Again that bitterness. “They have no thought of the couple, just themselves.”

  Then a troop of trumpeters filed in, and assembled at the west end of the church, playing a short fanfare.

  “It looks like our practice is at an end,” Gruffydd said with a smile. “The trumpeters announce the arrival of Princess Catherine from Lambeth Palace. She’ll go through her part now. Princess Catherine is not allowed to see Prince Arthur until the wedding day.”

  Seeing an avenue to see the Princess Catherine again, I lingered amongst the workers when Arthur and his retinue filed out to their coaches.

  I hadn’t seen the Princess for many days, and although her dress was a somber dark green, her face held some color.

  I watched as she too got ‘directed’ by the Bishop for many hours.

  When she made to leave, I approached and accompanied her outside. “How do you fare, Your Grace?”

  “I am well, Master DeVere.” She smiled at her own accomplishment, although her words were thick with a Spanish accent. “And you?”

  “I am well.” We neared the coach, and I supported her hand as she got aboard.

  “You take devotions? This evening?” I could see that she searched for words.

  I shook my head. “I do not, Your Grace.”

  “With me,” She pointed firmly at her chest. “You take devotions! This evening!”

  She’d made her point clearly. “Yes, your Grace. I will attend you this evening.”

  Catherine smiled, her face instantly breaking into beauty. She gave a sigh of relief, then settled back in the coach as Isabella, her Duenna, belatedly arrived.

  I retreated before she could form a scowl at me.

  “What was all that about?” Gruffydd moved beside me as the coaches were driven away.

  I flinched at his question, “I thought you’d left with Prince Arthur’s crowd?”

  “I came back to see what you were up to.”

  I hesitated for a moment, then decided that he seemed about the best ally I had, and I needed to keep him by my side. “The Princess Catherine needs to talk to me, tonight, in her Chapel.”

  “Hmm.” He scratched his chin, his fingers rasping through his short black beard. “I can’t have my men stand guard, they’ll not be allowed inside Lambeth Palace. I can have a few outside if you wish. Nothing too lavish, but they’ll be in the vicinity.”

  “Thank you, Sir Gruffydd.”

  I followed the Princess’s carriages and her guards to the Thames, then was forced to hire a private boat across the river to Lambeth Palace. Just in time, I slipped inside before the gates were barred. Inside the courtyard, it proved already dark enough to hide in the complex architecture. Once the carriages had been put away, and the guards dismissed to the dining room, I zipped around, finding the small chapel easily, and sat outside, concealed and waiting.

  Once the royal party returned to the courtyard, my eyes followed Princess Catherine, accompanied by the obligatory Isabella, and two guards. They approached the chapel, but the older woman stopped at the chapel door, sitting inside the small archway; the grumpy guard for the Princess’s privacy. The two guards stood outside.

  I didn’t even take time to look for another entrance; I just switched to vampire speed and ran past them all.

  Inside the small chapel, Catherine knelt on the stone floor at the main altar; a cowl pulled far over her head, hiding her face and hair. I circled the building twice, using every sense to check for spies. We were alone.

  I made sure my footsteps could be heard as I approached, then knelt close beside her.

  “My Princess?”

  She crossed herself, muttering prayers in Latin. “I am watched.”

  “Yes, you probably are.” After my previous revelations, of that I had no doubt.

  “You know this?” she snapped.

  “The King’s spies are everywhere.” I hoped she’d caught on to that phrase without further explanation.

  “Spies.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  “I must do something.” She sounded quite panicky.

  “Your Grace, you must stay still. Do nothing. You will not be harmed.” I looked over at her, and she’d pulled the cowl back a little. “Do you understand?”

  She nodded solemnly.

  “It will soon be over, when you are married, the spies will leave. I will see to it.”

  “You are good man, Master DeVere.”

  “I try.”

  November 12th, 1501

  Last Minute Instructions

  “Master DeVere!”

  I heard my name echoed down the corridors long before feet pounded near my door.

  My trousers were on and buttoned when the door took a steady pounding.

  “Master DeVere!” More than one voice.

  I opened the door to see two of the Prince’s servants, panic on their faces. “Yes?” I feared the worst.

  “The Prince must see you,” one said, his face full of worry and fear.

  “You must attend immediately!” the second added.

  I pulled on a shirt as I covered the corridors between my bedroom and the Prince’s. I wasn’t exactly in ‘presentable’ dress when I knocked on the door, but certainly more decent than naked.

  “Come in.” I recognized Gruffydd’s deep voice.

  Inside, the Prince’s eyes were red, and obviously he’d been crying.

  “The Prince has a dilemma,” Gruffydd began.

  “A dilemma?” Prince Arthur railed. “A dilemma is when one cannot decide between carrots or peas!” I’d never seen him quite so animated before. “In two days I must publically thrust myself between the legs of Spain, and I don’t know what to do!” His voice rose in volume.

  I closed the distance between us, and got close. “The first thing to do, Your Grace, is to stop broadcasting your situation to the King’s spies who are probably down in the courtyard right now.”

  “I don’t care!” he roared.

  I pushed closer, and saw Gruffydd watching me over the Prince’s shoulder. “You do care, Your Grace,” I said calmly. “I know you do.”

  “But, DeVere, I cannot concentrate on my words in the ceremony for fear of the oncoming night when I take my bride to our bed in public! Outside thin gossamer curtains will await the highest courtiers in the land, listening to our grunting and moaning. I mean, my mother and father will be there, and my grandmother; all standing by my bedside!”

  He stood for a moment, seemingly out of breath.

  Gruffydd joined our close huddle. “The first time, Your Grace, it is only for show.”

  “But they will require blood on the sheets.” Arthur had calmed down, but he still looked distraught.

  “Then we will show them blood,” I said.

  “How?”

  “Your Grace, there a
re many ways to distract an audience in a play, are there not?”

  He nodded, and I caught Gruffydd’s grin.

  “Why, we can put on a show that would leave no one with the slightest doubt that the marriage had been indeed consummated.”

  “You mean to tell a lie?” He looked at me aghast.

  “No!” I laughed. “I mean to give them the result they look for. Let them retire to their spies and let the spies report that they’ve seen the bloody sheets of Prince Arthur!” I placed my hand on his shoulder. “Then retire to your own bed and love her in private.”

  Gruffydd nodded. “It would not be the first time it had been done.” He laughed. “Especially if the girl involved is no longer a virgin; then steps must be taken to prove her chasteness, for the sake of propriety.”

  Arthur paused for a moment, obviously in thought. “But they would know.”

  “How?”

  “They would see my inadequacy, they would see my timidity.”

  “Your Grace, you practice your words in Saint Paul’s, do you not?” He nodded. “And you practice them to perfect them, so there are no mistakes.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Then we shall do the same here. You will rehearse your role for the bedding ceremony.”

  “But we cannot. I am not allowed to see Catherine.”

  I felt suddenly awed at his naivety. “No, Your Grace. Just as Princess Margaret takes the place of Catherine in the practices in Saint Paul’s, we will find a suitable stand-in to practice the bedding ceremony with.”

  Well, at this Gruffydd stood back, grinned, and shook his head. I caught his eye, and saw the ‘whatever’ look. But a glance back at the Prince showed his interest in the idea.

  “It has to be tonight.” Prince Arthur began to pace. “I shall be at the chapel for most of tomorrow evening. It would be wrong to conduct it after my devotions.”

  “Then we shall arrange it for tonight.” I strode for the door. “Won’t we, Sir Gruffydd?”

  He looked both bemused and amused. “Yes, it seems we shall.”

  Sensing that the Prince had been quelled, we both left.

  Sir Gruffydd, running down the corridor, caught up with me immediately. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking you’re thinking?”

  “Probably,” I replied. “Can you think of anything else that could mollify him?”

  He looked around, then shook his head. “Not really. Are you going to use Eleanor?”

  “Unless you can think of another candidate, at least I know I can handle her.”

  “As long as she remembers to keep her mouth closed in confession.”

  “Oh, I think she’s learned her lesson there.”

  So, on the last evening that we could work with, after the hubbub of the evening meal had passed, we assembled in the Prince’s room. In addition to the sitting guard, four of Sir Gruffydd’s men stood outside in the corridor.

  Gruffydd insisted on being present in the bedchamber, and of course, the obligatory Mistress Eleanor clad in her diaphanous nightdress.

  We bolted the door, and I gave my last instructions to our test subject. “Just lie still, and when the Prince tries to arrange you, you let him take the lead.”

  “So I do as he says?”

  “Yes.”

  “And he does what he wants.”

  “Yes.”

  She looked from Gruffydd to myself, then over to the Prince, who sat nervously on the bed in his long nightshirt.

  “Are we all ready?” I asked.

  We all nodded, no sound seemed necessary.

  “Okay, Prince Arthur, off the bed, and watch me. We position Mistress Eleanor on the right-hand side of the bed, the window side in this case.”

  “Why?” Arthur asked.

  “Because you are right handed, you will want to lead caresses with your right hand, and lead with your right leg when you mount her.”

  It seemed best to be frank.

  So I took Eleanor’s hand and walked her around to the right side of the bed, where she got in, getting under the top coverlet. I bowed to her, then retraced my steps, getting in the other side.

  “Now, the servants will draw the curtains.” I made such a motion with my hands.

  “Now, you lean up on your elbow, lean over, and gently kiss your Princess.” I kissed her lightly, but she winked at me wickedly. “You would caress her breasts, perhaps even touch her nipples. Now you gently pull her legs apart, she will probably not resist you, and you mount her, nestling your body onto hers.”

  I’m quite certain that my rough doublet and jeans felt abrasive to her soft thighs, but she made no remark.

  Prince Arthur looked on with some interest.

  “Now it’s your turn.”

  He seemed to have lost all nerves, his eyes on Eleanor’s recumbent form.

  “Okay, out of bed, Eleanor, now both take your positions at the side of the bed.”

  They stood, heads slightly bowed, but I could see that the Prince looked across the bed at her, and there was a bulge beginning in his nightshirt.

  “So now you slowly get into bed.” They did so. “They close the curtains.” Gruffydd and I did the acting. “Now you lean over and kiss your betrothed. You kiss the face of Catherine of Aragon.”

  Well, of course he needed little guiding there, and soon, they lay, faces glued together.

  “Now your hand, my Prince,” I said. “Begin your caress. Her sides, her shoulder, her belly if you feel bold.”

  And, by all means he looked as if he felt bold. His hand did move over her body, and she moaned quietly under him.

  Gruffydd and I exchanged glances, and nodded together.

  “Touch her breast, Arthur. Feel her breast. Feel if her nipple is hard to the touch.”

  He raised his head slightly. “It is, it is.” Then her hand pulled him back to her face.

  I let them couple for a moment or two, then nudged Gruffydd. “Part her legs.”

  He needed no further instruction, obviously buoyed with confidence, he pushed and pulled her thighs apart and I could see his hand between her legs.

  Then, before he needed further ‘nudging’, Prince Arthur slid over her and positioned himself. He rose up on the bed, and looked to the side at his private audience. “She is wet.” He grinned from ear to ear. “Her sex is wet!”

  Then he dropped to her body, and began to thrust at her.

  “What?” Gruffydd hissed at me. “What now?”

  “I don’t know.” I shook my head, unable to look away. “I hadn’t intended it to go this far.”

  “Well, it has.” There seemed to be no recrimination in his voice.

  I looked past Arthur’s shoulder, and saw intense pleasure on Eleanor’s face, so I made the assumption that he must have gained entry.

  “I haven’t a plan for this,” I said.

  “I do,” Gruffydd said, grinning, “I’m not going to spoil his first time.” Then he pulled me by the shoulder, and out of the door. Outside we giggled like schoolchildren who were ‘in’ on a special joke. “I call that a success, Master DeVere.”

  Then I heard a cry from inside, a fair bit of grunting, and a squeal of joy.

  To spare blushes, once the noise had died down for a few moments, we went back inside and separated them, me pulling at Mistress Eleanor, and rushing her along the corridors, past Gruffydd’s stiff-lipped guards.

  Once Eleanor had been placed safely in her bedchamber, I passed the Prince’s room on the way to my own, and met Gruffydd, who motioned that I follow him. He dismissed the guards, then brazenly walked into the kitchen, and pulled a bottle of what I assumed to be brandy from the pantry. “Did we really do what we did?” He uncorked the dark bottle took a swig, and handed it to me.

  “I’m actually quite ashamed,” I said, but the giggles from before resurfaced, and I almost sprayed the contents of my mouth over the newest Knight of the Garter.

  “I think we need to get her out of Westminster, though.” He looked suddenly serio
us. “If the Prince finds ‘love’ in his first woman, we could be in trouble.”

  “Never even think of the possibility of a first bastard,” I added, and we both frowned together.

  “She needs to return to Richmond.”

  “I agree. It’s far too close to the wedding to spoil it with fickle teenage notions of love.”

  I bade him goodnight, and set off for my room, my head buzzing with the quick intake of brandy, and the long day taking its toll on me, too.

  So, the next day, in the midst of the clamor of activity for the impending wedding, I hired a boat, and had it row us to Richmond Palace. Two of Sir Gruffydd’s most trusted men accompanied us, and remained with Mistress Eleanor after I returned to Westminster.

  I’ll admit that I could have run back faster than the two hour boat trip, but, to be honest, I actually enjoyed the slow progress of the return journey. I sat in the back of the boat, and actually relaxed for once in many days. Evening had fallen by the time I stood on the stone steps of the wharfs at the palace. The Prince would be at devotions until after sundown. Somewhere across the Thames at Lambeth, Catherine would be doing the same.

  With the Prince dealt with, I walked onto the London streets, avoiding possibility of contact with the Lady Jane. I needed to feed, and it wasn’t going to be pretty.

  November 14th, 1501

  The Royal Wedding

  Regardless of my personal proximity to the Prince, I had neither rank nor title. I also had neither family nor history to call upon to advance my social position.

  Therefore my place at the wedding proved to be very, very far from the actual stage.

  As I took my seat on the packed bench, smelly strangers on both sides, I wondered if it would be worth the bother.

  The Prince had traveled in procession from Westminster earlier that morning to great applause from the hundreds of thousands of gathered populace. Alone, clad in a purple robe, he sat in a black open-topped carriage, drawn by four gleaming white horses. A huge military guard rode before him. Behind, following at a respectable distance, came the coach of King and Queen, seen so rarely recently. Lords in robes, and knights in armor with pennants flying from long lances, rode behind.