by Hall, Ian
Arthur made his way to left side of the bed, and Catherine shuffled past the crowd to the other side. I smiled; at least he’d remembered.
The two gazed at each other across the wide bed.
It was a breath-catching moment.
Then to cap it all, the Archbishop began a prayer, and while one Bishop swung a round smoking orb from a long chain, the Archbishop shook holy water onto the bed, then onto the two teenagers.
Even after seeing Catherine’s naked delights, even I didn’t relish being in Arthur’s position right at that moment.
Two servants lit small candelabras fixed high on the inside of the four posts, then stood behind the pair, lifting their heavy golden robes from their shoulders.
Still staring at each other, the couple lifted the golden coverlet and slowly climbed into the large bed. Many pairs of hands now pulled the curtains closed, the disturbed air making the candles inside twinkle and sparkle.
As the curtains were adjusted from outside, slowly the two teenagers crept closer, until Catherine stopped moving, then lay on her back, staring at the ceiling above.
I knelt, willing Arthur onwards, and he almost reached Catherine’s side, but with just an inch or so remaining, and his hand reaching for her breast, he stalled, lying on his side, looking at his new bride.
My heart went out to them, just inches from my face.
To my shock and surprise, the room had not fallen into total silence; I could still hear muttered voices, several conversations.
The stalled moment seemed to last for ages, and it seemed the outside conversations rose to a crescendo of noise.
Shaking my head in frustration, I reached past Lady Jane’s bodice and I unbolted the trapdoor. Something had to be done, and I felt determined to be the one to do it.
With Jane asking me the proverbial silently worded WTF, I lifted the door high, and crept out onto the pillows.
“Shh.” I put my finger to my lips, as the couple looked upon my interruption with surprise and terror, too frightened to say a word.
I lay on the far side of the Princess, so crept forward, kissing her forehead. “Don’t worry. I’m here to help.” My breath coursed down her face. “You feel good. You feel sexy. You want Arthur to touch you.”
To my delight, she nodded slightly.
I looked to Arthur, again breathing onto his petrified face, sliding my left hand down to Catherine’s chest. “Arthur, she wants you to touch her.” I grasped Catherine’s firm mound through the thin, almost invisible material, and found her oiled breast below.
Catherine gasped, looking up into my eyes, her nipple immediately hardening.
I whispered to Arthur, “Like this, see?”
God, she had good firm nipples.
To my delight, Arthur’s hand reached onto her nightshirt and grabbed her other breast, copying my ministrations, causing Catherine to gasp again, her neck straining, her face nearing mine.
Then, to my utter shock, as we both pulled on the nipples of the Princess Catherine, back in the other room the Lady Jane began to rub at my erection, pulling at the buttons of my trousers. I had to mentally shake my head to bring myself back to my main task.
I reached further down her body, pulling at the Princess’s nightdress, pulling it up her body. “You want to kiss him, you want to kiss Arthur.” Her lips quivered, and I couldn’t help myself. “Like this.” And, our faces upside down, I kissed the Princess, my tongue racing into her mouth with all the reverence of a fox at a henhouse.
With my torso straining onto the pillows, with Lady Jane pulling my dick from my trousers, I lavishly kissed the Princess, slipping my tongue between her now-eager lips.
It all seemed to happen too quickly to comprehend. My rummaging hand suddenly encountered flesh, silky smooth to the touch I had reached the oiled, scented belly of a Princess.
I broke our kiss, her lips reaching after mine, slightly lying on my side. “Kiss her, Arthur, she wants you.”
He needed no further invitation, I pushed Catherine’s face to meet him and as his lips replaced mine, kissing his bride, Lady Jane’s lips covered my exposed erection in the adjoining room, instantly encapsulating my length in the sweet warmth of her mouth.
I felt utterly engorged. I stretched my hand farther, sliding down her smooth skin until my fingers met royal pussy, and Catherine’s legs automatically opened wide.
Oh, my God. I couldn’t help myself. Spreading her lips, I slipped a finger into her folds.
Wetness.
Wetness beyond belief. Catherine of Aragon seemed to be in heat.
As Jane strained on my rod, I couldn’t help but dip my fingers. Two fingers, just once. As I parted the lips of her wonderful cunny, I couldn’t help wishing myself in Arthur’s place.
Then Arthur’s bare leg moved over her, and I recoiled at his touch, moving reluctantly away from his wife, sliding slowly back through the trapdoor.
My last glimpse of the newlyweds were Arthur’s backside, moving in rhythmic triumph, and Catherine’s neck craning, looking at my departing form in a weird mixture of pain, pleasure and wonderment.
As my ass fell onto the pillow in the other room, a temporarily displaced Jane soon returned to her attentions. As she took my penis back into her mouth, I sniffed in triumph at the lingering scent of a Princess on my fingers, then in a mixture of lust and devilry, lay them under Lady Jane’s nodding nose.
“Smell the quim of a Princess.”
My trigger had its intended outcome, and her head bobbed with a speed I’d never seen before, her nose hammering sensuously into my oily fingers. With a last glance at Catherine’s upturned face, I shot high into Lady Jane’s mouth.
I heard Arthur’s cries of ecstasy beyond the paneling, and smiled at a job well done.
Well, two jobs.
As I lay recovering, Lady Jane stayed on task, lifting the trapdoor and throwing herself through the opening as far as she could.
Her ass made a tantalizing target, but I lay back too exhausted to even try.
Then she returned, knife and empty bag in her hands, smiling in her achievement. Slowly we let the door swing closed.
November 15th, 1501
The Wedding Festivities
With no expense seemingly spared, the festivities continued for ten days.
We witnessed dancing and music from all over the known world.
Those interested parties sat through organized competitions in archery, crossbow, and knife-throwing.
A full jousting tournament continued for two whole days, with participants from Scotland, Wales, Ireland, France, Spain, Holland, and Italy.
I never attended everything, I’m not sure anyone could. But the royal couple seemed to do more than most.
On one of the occasions, Arthur approached me, and said with a certain twinkle in his eye, “I thank you, Master DeVere.”
He slapped my back, and walked off, surrounded by a host of fawning minions, including a grinning Sir Gruffydd.
I stood and watched them leave, actually quite happy that I wasn’t in their midst, forced to share this falseness that King Henry had created. While the rich feasted, dined, drank themselves to oblivion, the plebs just yards away starved and died in poverty.
I met with my Lady Jane more than once, returning the favor from the wedding night with some gusto.
I visited Richmond Palace to check on Mistress Eleanor, and regaled her with so many stories from the wedding merriments that I had to actually bring her to court to see for herself. To my relief, she showed no signs of the ‘Arthur love’ malady I’d suspected, but after days in solitary confinement in Richmond, seemed to enjoy every moment of her freedom.
Each evening, however, I paid for her return to Richmond, not wanting to risk an all-out bedtime faceoff between her and the Lady Jane, and also to keep her out of the clutches of the Church, should they still be interested.
The culmination of the whole wedding occasion was a massive masked ball.
Held in the larg
est single room of Westminster Palace, the same site as the huge dinner on the first night, the hall held five thousand easily, with room for dancing and an orchestra in each of the four corners taking turns at playing.
With Eleanor firmly ensconced in Richmond that night, I attended the ball with Lady Jane on my arm, and must admit, I did feel one of the most favored of the male guests. Jane had a new dark blue dress for the occasion, and I sported a new outfit, a green and blue doublet with matching hose. I felt like a horsefly, and she looked simply stunning.
In my time at the court, I had managed to find my way through a few of the dances, and took to the floor more than once.
I saw Prince Henry, dancing with Princess Catherine while Arthur scowled slightly from the raised throne platform, and hoped that everything still went well with the couple. It had been a long two weeks, and since our private tutoring had been curtailed because of the wedding festivities, I determined to find some time alone with him soon.
Sometime later, a courtier arrived by my side. “Sire, the Princess desires you dance with her.”
To Lady Jane’s raised eyebrows. I followed the page to the stage, but found myself not led to Catherine, but to the Princess Margaret. I bowed, smiled, and presented my hand.
Thankfully, the next dance was one I’d learned most of, a ‘fancifulet’, so didn’t make a total fool of myself.
“I am to be married to King James next year.” She scolded me as she smiled around herself at the milling dancers.
I baulked at the prospect, despite her adult proclivities. “But you are only twelve years old.”
“It is my birthday next week, Master DeVere, I may make it to fourteen before being deflowered.” We circled and twirled to the music. “A year older than my mother.”
“You will acquit yourself well, I’m certain.”
“Whatever.” She looked around the room. “Anyway, you have a task to perform.”
I felt well rebuked by her serious tone. “And that is?”
“You must separate my younger brother from his elder brother’s wife.”
I followed her gaze, and found Henry, again having taken to the dance floor with the Princess Catherine. “But I cannot demand that she dance with me. I am not in the social class…”
“Idiot!” She petulantly stamped her foot in time with the music. “You’re resourceful; find someone who can. Arthur is beside himself with rage.”
“Yes, Your Highness.” I smiled inwardly, wondering if that poor Scottish King had any idea what he’d gotten himself into.
“Bow, smile, then get on with it.” Margaret stopped dancing, smiled, and walked off the floor, dragging me with her as escort.
I let her hand go at the raised stage, then set about finding Sir Gruffydd, to see what could be done.
Knee-deep in fawning ladies, he wasn’t too keen at my interruption, but he scanned the floor and saw the problem. “Arthur’s angry, and he’s not hiding it very well.”
“And is Henry playing on it?”
“Probably, you know, sibling rivalry. Arthur’s led a sheltered life, and Henry’s a damn good dancer for such a young boy.”
He set off round the dance floor, and I watched him float like a butterfly, always smiling, always moving, but with sharp wits to guide him, he stood back at my side before the musicians came to the end of the dance.
“Diversion in place,” he said smugly. “I have enough young Lords in line to dance with the Princess, she’ll have all the exercise she requires, and Prince Henry won’t get another chance.”
“Master DeVere!”
I turned, and there, two feet from me, stood Keith Fallon from Boston, Massachusetts.
“Why, imagine meeting you here,” I said with some sarcasm in my voice.
He looked from me to Gruffydd. “Won’t you introduce me, Master DeVere?”
I sighed inwardly. “Sir Gruffydd Rhys, this is an acquaintance of mine, Baron of Exeter.”
They both exchanged bows, a few pleasantries, and Gruffydd excused himself on ‘royal’ business.
“So who’s the floosy?” Keith asked, his face a smarmy mask.
“Who are you talking about?”
He gave a laugh. “Oh, don’t be a fucking dolt, Richard. The cunt you’ve been dancing with all evening?”
To think he’d even set eyes on my Lady Jane set the hackles at my neck on end, and my blood racing. “No one you need to know about.”
“I disagree, old fellow.” He put on a Hollywood English accent. “I think I need to examine that one personally.”
Damn if that didn’t hit the spot. I grabbed him by the collar and flashed him through the crowd, bam, up against the paneled wall beside a group of musicians.
Shit. I’d just done it at vampire speed. The wood behind him had cracked slightly.
Still smiling, he pushed me away, dusted his front theatrically, and shook his head. “Now I hope no one saw that particular display, old boy. You know, one false move here gets you dismembered.”
In that particular moment, I didn’t care. “She’s out of bounds, off limits! Get it?” I spat at him.
“Oh, I get it,” he said, then he turned to walk away. “But you know, if there was to be an incident between us, who are the authorities going to trust? A new tutor to the Prince, or the Baron of Exeter?”
Still seething, I watched him walk away, smiling, making comments to laughing women as he went.
The bastard had got my goat, alright.
I slowly made my way back to Lady Jane’s side. “Is everything all right?” she asked. “You look flushed.”
“Oh, just had to sort out a few problems; nothing to worry your pretty head about.”
“You’re so sweet.” She smiled at me, and I luxuriated in its beauty. I held my arm out and she took it, making me feel the luckiest man at the ball, including the King of England.
But it did make me think.
Lady Jane and I made love that evening in my bedroom. And afterwards, once she’d dozed off, I thought of how precarious my position actually was.
I had already acted against the young Prince Henry, knowing that he could be the actual Henry the Eighth. I had an enemy in one ‘Baron’, although I didn’t know if his title would prove real or not. And I had allied myself with a Prince whose very future held some doubt.
With little thought to my long-term future, I had built myself a proverbial house of straw.
Now I had to rebuild it in wood before someone burnt the first one to the ground, and that meant an alliance with someone other than the Prince. I mentally went through my Tudor rolodex, and came up with only four names, showing me the thinness of the ice I stood upon.
One; the ‘wisewoman’ vampire from a village somewhere in the south of England.
Two; Princess Margaret, who seemed to be in imminent danger of being deflowered in Edinburgh, and then taking over the whole of Scotland.
Three; Sir Gruffydd Rhys, who himself seemed to be far too attached to the coattails of Prince Arthur, and thus had little more armor than I did.
Four; Princess Catherine, who, if Arthur survived into Kingship, would be a great ally, and if Arthur died, and history kept on the same lines as the Tudors on HBO, she’d be Queen under Henry for many years, until she couldn’t give him a son. So I had a breathing space. If I couldn’t rise up the pecking order under Prince Arthur, maybe I could under Henry and Catherine.
But, of course, that premise lay under the initial determination that Arthur was still destined to die young, and I hoped I’d changed history enough not to let that happen. So again, I’d tied myself to an unknown path, as I had no idea if Arthur died young, because my ‘known’ history of the period existed of three seasons of the Tudors on HBO, and a vague memory of a Henry television show from the seventies.
So therefore, if I’d changed history, and somehow kept Arthur alive, I would have no way of knowing at all, until he became King.
Blah. So much for an American education.
&nbs
p; I awoke the next day to an increased level of activity in the palace. The reason took only one question.
It seems that the King’s court would retire to Windsor Castle for the winter, and the new royal couple was to spend the next few weeks at Baynard’s Castle, adjacent to Saint Paul’s Cathedral. The newlyweds’ court would be chosen over the next few days.
Princess Margaret would stay in Westminster to ready herself for her own impending nuptials.
Once a suitable residence had been readied at Ludlow, the Prince and Princess of Wales would retire there for the winter. Knowing its draughty halls and corridors, I could think of nothing worse for the Prince’s condition.
Then, of course, the penny dropped, and I cursed myself for not thinking of it sooner; if Princess Margaret were to stay in Westminster, and then travel to Scotland next year, she’d take her ladies-in-waiting with her.
I’d lose my Lady Jane.
I raced back to my bedroom to find her gone, then searched the rest of the busy palace for sign of her.
The Gruffydd’s voice sounded over my clouded thinking. “DeVere!” I turned to find the always affable knight, walking determinedly in my direction, an opened scroll in his hand. “Master DeVere, you’re to attend the Prince in the nave of the west wing.”
“Is it a private meeting?” I asked.
“No, you’ll be in a line.” He started off, but I caught him by the shoulder.
“Is he choosing his court?” I pointed to the scroll.
“Yes, I’ve got the list.”
“Can I see?”
“I have no reason to keep it secret; you’ll be standing in line with them anyway.”
But of course the long parchment held no mention of Lady Jane’s name.
“I need a name added to the list.”
If he’d had glasses on, he’d have been looking over them, by the look he gave me. “Oh, yes?”
“The Lady Jane.”
“Ah. For that you must first get her released from Princess Margaret, and you’ll be hard-pressed; they’re quite tight together.”
So I set off for the west wing, determined that my love come with me wherever I went.
