Morgana's Handmaid and the Creature of the Dungeon

by Purple Hazel

  We napped in the heat of the afternoon, under the shade of a big tree, and when it eventually came evening time—like I assumed he would—my lover hopped up to return to the caverns. Come nightfall no doubt, he’d have to make a report to the court of King Arthur about my condition. Had I confessed? Had I perished? I wondered about what he might tell them or for that matter if he ever reported anything at all.

  With the noise I’d made those many days in the dungeon, the good citizens of the castle must have assumed I’d died a horrible death! Yet I wondered whether anyone else in the castle really gave me another passing thought after that. Frankly, I suppose they forgot all about me within a matter of weeks.

  Night fell shortly after his departure on that first evening, and the sounds of the forest at night greeted my ears. I was safe inside the cottage, locked within its walls and with vines obscuring its view from the nearby deer trail. The last rays of sunlight faded away and my new home was illuminated by nothing more than candles and the dying embers of a fire I’d made to boil water throughout the day for cleaning. I truly felt more secure and at peace than I ever had. What’s more I had nowhere I needed to be, and no place to go to the next day. No one was expecting me. No one was requiring my presence. Essentially, I had nothing to do for the rest of my life except love my man and take care of our little home. The feeling I had that first night—it was so incredibly blissful and liberating. I can’t begin to describe it to you now.

  I was finally alone, and slept peacefully in our bed only to await his return, come the dawn. Of course I knew and understood the simple rule he gave me earlier that day before we left. Be there at this cottage each morning when I return, or I’ll never come back again. That’s what he’d said to me in the dungeon; and sure enough, when he finally did come back, right around sunrise the next day, I was already up and about working, cleaning the cottage.

  When he arrived I made us a breakfast out of some trout he’d trapped in a little pond deep inside the cavern. He’d brought them home so I could cook them for us. I picked some wild berries nearby, and we had a fabulous meal together. Then he slept for hours in our bed, snoring peacefully like a contented child…or perhaps like a man who finally had no more pressing concerns in life.

  Meanwhile I returned to cleaning the old cottage which was in disrepair after so many years without a woman’s touch. God, there was so much to do! Filth, dust, grime, and layer upon layer to clear off nearly every object that had an exposed surface. There was not a clean pot, utensil, table, chair, or shelf in the whole place, when I’d arrived. Everything I touched got me dirty as well, so I simply worked in the nude for the most part and then bathed in the afternoon while Alguin slept. I was quite a busy girl. Exhausted by midmorning, I finally had to join him in bed after my bath, and we napped next to each other. Blissful and peaceful; my man and me, we slumbered together in a loving embrace.

  Come evening time we made love passionately, and then in a flash, he was off to work again at the castle. Myself, I returned to knitting new dresses to wear out of materials I found in the cottage, feet propped up by the fire while I drifted off to sleep. It was pretty much the same the next day after that as well, I can tell you. Next day was pretty much the same thing too; and so it was the day after that. That’s how we lived from then on you see… for many years in fact… and it was a great life! Such a happy existence really…

  Time passed, measured and remembered only by the changing of the seasons and not much else to go on. No calendar. No planting season. No Holy Days to observe. Over the years, I grew a garden so we’d have fresh vegetables. I trapped rabbits and raised chickens so we’d have fresh eggs and stews to eat our vegetables with. I knitted him sweaters to keep him warm, and fitted rawhide pants to cover his muscular legs.

  At night, the wolves would howl, and I’d imagine the sounds of prisoners screaming deep within his dungeon. But I tried not to think about my dear Alguin when he was at work. How could such a gentle giant like my dashing lover be such a terrifying dungeon master? I guess I never quite understood that about him.

  There was a difference you see, betwixt me and his first wife Allora, in that I’d actually been to his dungeon. And unlike most of his other captives in that horrible place, I enjoyed going back there with him on occasion.

  Of course, about the only confession he wanted to extract from me, when I pretended to be his latest prisoner, was of my total love and devotion to him. That he succeeded in “extracting” from me every time. We simply waited until nights when he had no prisoners to torture, and after I’d get a little cleaning done around his cave, we’d go enjoy playful pursuits in his torture chamber! It must have terrified those poor people up in that castle above us, because I would scream with unbridled passion whenever he brought me over the edge—time and time again—with his fervid lovemaking.

  Utilizing practically every machine or device and using many of his tools of pain and discomfort, we got rather creative with each other. Occasionally he’d secure me bent over inside stocks, just like when I was pilloried in the town square!

  I’d told him of that horrifying night in the stocks fearing constantly that men from the village would try and molest me in the darkness while I was vulnerable. Yet he took that fearful memory and turned it into a sexual fantasy for the both of us. Once locked in place, he went around behind me to spread my legs, and penetrated me while standing up, thrusting deep into me while I was well secured in the device. He’d slowly increase speed and velocity until I exploded in orgasm; and he’d keep going until I came off a second time, too, bellowing and grunting and gasping and crying out until the sound reverberated like demonic spirits had been awakened from the very depths of the earth. Once more my distorted, desperate, orgasmic cries must have sounded to folks up there like hell itself had cracked wide open beneath their feet.

  Yet there was so much more that I didn’t know about my nearly relentless lover—my insatiable ogre—who seemed to lust for my body almost daily and seemed to have identified in me the very person who could accommodate his full sexuality. In fact, during the years we spent together, I learned quite a lot about my new man and his past. Alguin actually came from a village not too different from my own! He told me how he was a rather large child and as a young boy.

  “I’d get pick’d on by older kids for being hefty around the middle and larger sized than others. Then as I got older I grew into a very tall youngster. Soon I was a head taller than most every youth my own age. Boys feared me and my growing strength; but once in a great while some fool would try confronting me and I would shove the boy to the ground.”

  Boys older than him often wanted to pick fights to prove themselves and see if they could best him. Sometimes Alguin lost—most times he won—but from those formative years Alguin learned the harsh reality that to lose in personal combat often meant having to suffer abuse at the hands of the victor. Fearing that he’d most often be defending himself from being bullied, Alguin learned how to fight and how to do it well.

  “Over the years,” he told me, “I also began to see how men instinctually have to battle with each other to establish order of rank. It helped me to better understand things such as rivalry and war.”

  Alguin explained it thus: “It’s a part of our nature—to compete that is—and those who master the process of seeing where other men properly fi…within the order of society…can often become great leaders.” Alguin felt that only through force or the threat of force, can the natural instincts of men be quelled—or at least temporarily contained. However, those men who can grasp this and manipulate it can often rise to power. That I understood completely, because I’d seen it with Arthur at Camelot.

  In Alguin’s experience this came true over and over again. First of all, the place he came from taught him to live with and expect almost constant turmoil. As Alguin jokingly put it, “I come from the very west part of the western part of our lands.” Dumnonia is the title the Romans gave it, using the name of one of the ancie
nt Celtic tribes. The old Celts had their own name for it though. They called it Kernow, or Cornwall as we call it now.

  Arthur himself was born in the northern part at Tintagel Castle. Well, that is, he was conceived there, if you know the tale of Uther Pendragon and Igraine. Gorlois, who was Duke of Cornwall, secured his beautiful wife Igraine in the castle with their young daughter Morgana while he was campaigning against Lord Uther. The two had clashed over land in the past, and eventually had agreed to let Gorlois rule the area if he would swear fealty to Uther as king. This he did and his forces laid down their arms, albeit temporarily. Peace was tentative at best, and soon tensions between the two warlords boiled over when the often-volatile Lord Uther fell madly in love with the wife of his new ally!

  Now I’m not surprised at all that Lord Uther went to war simply because he wanted to sleep with the man’s wife. Given the king’s violent nature, such conflict was perfectly natural. Not being one to accept a situation he wasn’t satisfied with, Uther became overcome with lust for the woman. Mad with desire for her, he enlisted the help of Merlin the wizard; and though I’m sure Merlin may have had his reservations about assisting in such skullduggery at the time, it was said the wise old magician disguised Uther Pendragon as Gorlois so that Uther could return to Tintagel during the night posing as the Duke.

  Somehow Uther managed to fool the castle guards by altering his helmet to appear like the Duke’s. Then he imitated his manner, and put a caparison cape on his horse that was black with a white cross. In this way he snuck into the castle. Meanwhile the real Gorlois was out attacking Uther’s camp.

  Uther eventually made it through the castle into Igraine’s bed chamber; and whether you believe Igraine really thought it was her own husband or not, well… who really knows, right? All I can assume is one thing led to another, and the rest you probably heard. They conceived Arthur!

  As for Alguin, he learned the ways of a warrior from an early age. Plucked from the masses of young peasant boys as soon as he was old enough to wield a weapon, Alguin told me he was immediately recognized for his mighty strength and ability to move quickly.

  “I also had great stamina and could fight in the front lines with otherwise shaky or timid troops,” he stated confidently. “’Twas amazing,” he then mused, “how I survived those days, what with all the blood, the death, and the hell surrounding me.”

  Such a comment was so ironic coming from a man who regularly tortured prisoners in a dungeon. But then again, how could I understand what it must have been like to experience the chaos of mortal combat and the fear of excruciating death? Alguin told me one day about life as a man-at-arms in the army of the local Duke, and it explained a lot about the man I loved.

  “Most armies that I ever serv’d with, wast made up of untrained peasants who wast lightly armed and downright terrified of battle.” As he explained it, the local lord would occasionally be called upon to muster an army made up of men from his own lands. Therefore to find a man like Alguin, who was tall and strong, meant he’d be ideal for the lord’s personal bodyguard once he had learned the ways of hand-to-hand combat. Best of all, if the lord could place a giant like Alguin in the front line it might intimidate an approaching enemy.

  “I learned fast how to fight and fight well. In campaign after campaign I distinguished myself, hacking and chopping through enemy lines and butchering three or even five different men whilst my comrades kept the rest of the enemy engaged.”

  Alguin’s prowess and fearlessness gave confidence to his fellow soldiers, and at first Alguin found himself placed in the front lines to keep the rest of his fellow troops from fleeing in fear.

  “Early on,” Alguin went on to say, “I learned to disable enemies instantly. I was usually taller than everyone I faced in combat, so I used a two-handed bodkin, which with my gangly arms, meant I couldst hack downward on top of the skull of an opponent at a safe enough distance that spears wast futile when wielded against me. If a foe attempted to thrust at me, the bodkin came down and lopped off their head, terrifying the enemy’s comrades. If the opponent tried to rare back and block with his shield, my sword would crash down, dislocating the man’s shoulder. I would then follow with the butt of the sword’s dudgeon into the man’s face, rendering him helpless. I’d wade past the crumpling soldier while my fellows behind me would deliver the death blow to the injured man.”

  Alguin compiled quite an array of armor from his successful battles. Each time he’d survive an engagement, his lord would let him have pieces of armor from defeated knights who’d perished in the day’s fighting. Soon, Alguin had a helmet to protect his face, head, and neck; as well as protection for his chest, his legs, his hands, and his arms. Eventually there were few places on him where blades could cut his flesh. Indeed most of the scars I found on him had come from his first campaign when he’d endured so many wounds. Once he’d survived a few battles, his military accoutrements had grown. Besides that his arms were still so incredibly long! Enemies found they couldn’t get close enough to wound him. But, oh, the scars he had from those who’d lost their lives trying!

  War and battle, you see, only proved to Alguin that raw power and the use of it to quell disturbances is all that men truly respect. He spent the first ten years of his adulthood being a device of destruction for powerful noblemen, a trained beast for the devouring of their enemies. His moves in combat were fluid and seemed to anticipate an opponent’s.

  In actuality, Alguin had learned that to be able to anticipate an enemy’s next move, one must “give” the enemy something to attack and then exploit their vulnerability. He loved telling me about it; and we both enjoyed it even more when he’d demonstrate playfully what he used to do to his opponents.

  Oh, the fun we had playing naked in the yard out front of our cottage! We’d bring out lids from stewpots to use as shields, sticks and gardening tools to use as spears, then Alguin would stage a “duel” to show me how he used to fight in combat. I was always up for it; even knitted myself a crimson cape to wear; and fashioned a helmet out of an old leather blacksmith’s apron that Alguin fetched for me from the castle. He’d teach me his tactics and then bid me to perform them with him in mock battles.

  I loved pretending to be killed in combat, crumpling to the ground as though defeated, then pulling him down onto a blanket in the grass to make love to me; laughing and giggling all the while…

  That’s the cape over there, by the way. See it? Hanging from a nail behind you? I made it years ago, but it’s still in decent condition. Had to repair it a few times. Used it to cover myself in the fall more than once when I travelled down to the village. It’s served me rather well over the years.

  Faded a bit, I guess. Just like its owner. Used to be bright red. Now it’s a dingy shade of pink. Keeps me warm though. Keeps the chill off my shoulders in the evenings.

  And that walking stick over there? Why that used to be my spear when we’d stage hilarious battles with each other on warm afternoons. The lids from stew pots have long since been lost to time. Served their purpose then rusted away, much like my bones and flesh. But we had so much fun in those days. Alguin was so wonderful to me. You can’t imagine how much I miss him…

  Chapter 7

  Tale of Allora

  But there was a seriousness to what Alguin was teaching me; and indeed my lovable giant shared my beliefs about war and battle. There is no honor in it for either the victor or the fallen. The harsh reality to warfare, in Alguin’s opinion, was that most enemy armies he faced were little more than untrained rabble, gangs of ruffians, or terrified farmers pressed into military service.

  “To send untrained troops into combat is to throw them away,” he believed. They simply had no chance! But most leaders felt it was important to outnumber the enemy and intimidate them into yielding the field.

  “’Tis is a fallacy,” he would say, “and usually leads to the wholesale slaughter of inexperienced soldiers caught in the ensuing melee.”

  Alguin by way of com
parison preferred leaders who utilized a small band of skilled warriors to keep the peace. Such an approach indicated to Alguin that the nobleman wanted to preserve lives. In his experience the mere threat or display of superior force was often enough to quell insurrection.

  After a few years campaigning in the summers, the feudal lord that Alguin served decided to bring Alguin into his loyal bodyguard; and this is where Alguin stayed for the rest of his time in his lord’s service. Alguin was then no longer a front-line man-at-arms. He would only be deployed in situations where the lord wanted to deal a death blow to a wavering enemy; or in defense of the lord’s personal safety.

  Eventually however, Alguin’s unit of personal bodyguards had to seek new careers as mercenaries. You see, Alguin’s lord had sided with the new Duke of Cornwall who had succeeded Gorlois after his death. But the political structure holding together the lands of Cornwall had since crumbled. No king—and no central authority—meant chaos and constant battling amongst the squabbling nobles. Eventually, the now landless warlord found himself working in the employ of any nobleman who could afford him. This was during those unstable years following the death of Uther, when the country suffered.

  Alguin and the other twenty bodyguards were all that remained of the big army that once served in combat; with the peasant conscripts having long since gone home to their farms. This elite unit fought its way across the country in campaigns almost every year, hording money from battle-pay and pillaging, only to spend it each winter on wine and women, awaiting another opportunity to campaign next year for someone else.