Vincent smiled as well, "Naturally." He took another gulp, "Although, I am not particularly partial in which order they come."
"What I wish to understand is how you learned how to fight," Pip kept his eyes closed, though he could feel the man's gaze rest on him, "I mean…I heard about your little skirmish with Ladislaus a month or two back and how you beat him."
The Wallachian paused, "…You want me to share my knowledge with you? You're naught but a castle guard. What good would you do?"
Pip opened his eyes and narrowed them, clearly insulted, "In times of war, any man can take what he can get, however little it is," he insulted back.
Vincent laughed bitterly, "My, you're salty, and I happen to know more than a little."
"You strike at me, I counter you. Blame my quick mouth," Pip reached for Vincent's mug and took a swig.
"Cheers," Vincent mockingly rose his imaginary glass, pointing out the fact that Pip stole his drink, "If it serves you well to know, then by all means, I will teach you. I think I understand your intentions."
"You may think you do," Pip wiped his mouth with his sleeve and watched a drunken man stumble about the room.
Vincent nodded, "You aim to be a soldier someday, not a lowly guard…not a man-at-arms. That life is too boring, too mundane. No, you want the lifestyle of the brave and daring, of the ones who never live long, but live well. You crave excitement, struggle, battle…glory."
Pip's eyes lit up at that last word, "Is it that obvious?" He whispered.
The Wallachian's expression softened slightly, "Yes. Many times have I seen it in my men. Many times have I taught them. Many times…" His eyes unfocused, as if recalling a memory.
"So you will teach me then? In private?" Pip eagerly asked.
Vincent blinked and made an attempt to smile, "And so I shall."
The drunken man stumbled straight into their table and caused the legs to collapse inward. Vincent and Pip jumped up fast enough to dodge the bumbling idiot, but the soldier did not catch his mug fast enough as it tipped over and onto his pants and boots. Pip cackled hysterically as the liquid settled into a nice stain that suggested Vincent had wet himself.
The Wallachian cursed to the heavens and grabbed the drunk by his collar, picking him up clear off the ground with his feet dangling. His red face and heavy eyelids blinked and rolled around confusingly as he gripped Vincent's arm for support, the room spinning out of control.
"You would do well to clean this mess up now, peasant," Vincent growled, but the drunk only giggled and burped uncontrollably.
Pip snorted and shook his head, "Perhaps we should just leave this bloated, ail-swilling mountain of belches to the owner," He nodded to the man now walking over who was suited better than the barkeeper who had called him.
The man gruffly swore in a familiar language that Vincent almost could not believe his ears, "Macaristandan nefret ediyorum. Please, let him go. I will deal with this mess, sir," He waddled over.
Vincent, fist ready to plunder, loosened his grip and dropped the man back down to the table and spat on him instead, "Would that I had owned this tavern…"
The guard opened the door quickly, before Vincent had a chance to change his mind and run back in to kill the drunken man, and closed it shut. Vincent regarded the owner carefully as the door was closed, wondering if he should inform Pip of the fact that the man was Turkish. Thoughts of traitors amongst the Regent flooded his mind as Vincent considered that the owner could be in disguise. But something about the owner made him calm, reminded him of his uncle, Bogdan. As more time passed, Vincent felt it harder and harder for him to mention it, and decided that he would investigate the man at a later date. They both turned away from the tavern and squinted as the sun's light attacked them.
"Ugh…" Pip shielded his eyes, "Perhaps it was not in my best interests to drink while the sun was still up…" He reached for his empty stomach.
Vincent ignored him and inhaled the crisp air as he closed his eyes. Without even concentrating, he could smell the dirty clothes, the butchered meats, the manure, the steam from boiling soup, and the smell of horses all in one scented breeze that tickled his nose. He opened his eyes and looked the village over. Most of the men were either stretching leather for saddles and bridles or hammering away at a sword in their shop.
The castle and its walls were always a looming barrier in the near distance, but he watched in awe as men smeared wattle, woven sticks and reeds, and daub, mud and clay, in between the wood to strengthen and seal the houses being built. All of them were of half-timber construction with wooden beams, usually oak. Ground floors were packed earth and had one working fireplace that contributed to the heat as well as light. The workrooms of the merchants, smithies, and tailors, were on the ground floor of their houses.
There, the horizontal wooden shutters were opened out toward the street. The bottom shutter dropped town to serve as a counter upon which to display items, and the top shutter opened as a kind of awning.
Vincent ambled around the bustling streets in mild curiosity, although one eye was always fixed on his surroundings and on Pip. He wasn't about to be ambushed again by angry Hungarians who disliked him.
Picking up a fine piece of pottery from one such shutter, he glanced around the shelf and examined the other vases. They all had a sort of swathed neck and a rounded pot, which looked like it was partially glazed. He even saw markings of the beginnings of decorations sketched into it. In all, it was a fine piece of art, and it even had a handle. He glanced around and saw no merchant. He leaned over the counter and looked inward to the fireplace. No merchant.
Vincent was about to place the piece of pottery back on the shelf when someone with small hands snatched it from him. He turned around to face whose quick fingers had been able to pluck it out of his grasp and looked straight into the eyes of a stunning maiden.
She had long black hair, piercing green eyes, and porcelain white skin. So struck was he by her that the man didn't even notice her angry expression targeted specifically at him.
"Just what were you about to do with that?" she suspiciously asked, "I saw you looking at it fondly. Don't get any ideas of stealing it."
Vincent frowned at her obvious jump to a conclusion that he was a thief, "I would not hastily judge, fair Lady. I am a soldier of Hungary–"
"And you think soldiers don't steal?" she laughed, "What a sheltered mind you have."
Vincent gritted his teeth, " –But more importantly, I am a knight and advisor to your Regent."
Her bright green eyes lost their mockery in a second, "Er…I see…um…"
"An apology would be acceptable right about now," Vincent growled and took a domineering step toward her.
But instead of cowering in fright as he expected, she scoffed at his blatant action and stepped forward as well.
"A knight with an attitude does not make me cower in fear. I have seen my share of dishonest people, knights included, and that is the reason I reacted to you with such hostility. I apologize to people who deserve it, not to people who demand it," the young woman brushed aside one of her black locks and narrowed her eyes at him.
Glancing around, he noticed that a crowd had gathered and begun to watch them curiously. Pip stayed back, but watched on amusingly. He clearly had no inclination to help Vincent out with this problem. Vincent turned back around and debated whether or not to strike her in anger.
"And as long as we're continuing introductions, I am part of the Regent's Court. So your own apology for speaking to me in such a harsh tongue would be appropriate right about now," she challenged.
Vincent blinked twice and realized that her garments were of fine make. And the forest-green dress she was wearing with hooped sleeves slit down the middle was far too embroidered and far too elaborate to be a merchant's daughter. She had to be from the castle.
"Indeed, you are," he cleared his throat, suddenly feeling slightly embarrassed, "I do apologize for my offensive manner, my Lady."
Sh
e nodded, "I bet you are. But those hollow words are a useless formality one must say if even the slightest nerve is out of place within a conversation. There is no need to really apologize; I was the one to judge incorrectly first as it is, my good sir." The Lady curtsied.
Taken aback by her confident wording, he smiled, "Consider it accepted. But I would know your name, first."
She chuckled softly, "I'm sure you would, and it is a pleasure," she evaded and leveled her arm up for him.
Vincent delicately closed his fingers around her fingertips and kissed, never taking his eyes away from hers. Accepting the fact the he would not draw out her name with his charm, he settled on openly, though furtively, looking every part of her over.
She watched him quizzically as he so formally treated her, "…You would be?"
"Sir Vincent Ramos, of the House of Drăculești," He stood back up only to bow gracefully back down.
The young Lady took a step back from him covertly, though he noticed, "Oh, I see. I've…heard of you," her voiced seemed to forewarn.
His spirits fell once more, already anticipating a lecture of what kinds of wrong he was doing to Hungary; but instead of slowly watching his reputation being graded to nothing, she smiled and playfully bumped his arm.
"Don't look at me like that. I am rather impressed at how you've managed to, at every corner where you could have turned around, continue to surprise the crown in your determinedness to remain loyal."
He double took at her words and laughed, "I'd be lying if I said to you that most people believe what you just said. They believe I am still plotting against Hungary in my own secretive way. And although it is tempting, and although I do hate Hungary, I hate my brother and what the Ottomans did to me more."
She stood there silently for a moment to process his words and then began to nod.
"I understand," she ran a self conscious hand through her hair.
"Do you?" Vincent asked dubiously.
She circled him with evident curiosity, "There are always traitors amongst us, always bloodshed, always warring between two factions that refuse to see eye to eye, wars in the name of religion, in the name of land, or title…No one's intentions are ever pure. This is something we must live with everyday, a reality we must accept. So, when you ask me 'do I understand?'…"
The soldier stood still for his inspection and chuckled wryly, "Intriguing."
The Lady looked at him intently, her green eyes watching his every move, and she noticed his fascination with her immediately. His predatory gaze did not escape from her, but what shocked her slightly was the fact that she met his gaze with her own, equally rapacious. She shook herself in a chiding manner, reminding herself that there were more important things to do than flirt with a man she hardly knew, "But enough of this banter. I have things to buy in the market. I have a schedule to finish, and you have an advisor to report to." She ceased circling him, and felt guilty for leading him on.
Vincent audibly groaned, "Must you remind me?"
She gathered up two baskets, laughed, curtsied to him, and began walking down the busy street, "Surely it isn't that bad?"
He inhaled deeply as he blatantly looked her figure over, "Were you my advisor to whom I needed to report, I would arrive early by half of an hour."
She scoffed and rolled her eyes, "Flatterer!" she shouted over her shoulder, and continued on her way out of his sight without looking back.
Vincent looked her disappearing image over until she was swallowed into the crowd of people once more. She was more than he could handle, clearly. High-powered…like a certain fair maiden soon to be betrothed and married. He sighed happily, swaying for a moment from the absence of her powerful aura as he regained his strength and turned around to see a grinning Pip. Instantly, the man was on him.
"I don't understand women…" Pip walked up and shook his head.
"Nor do I. But they understand us," Vincent laughed bitterly.
The guard played with his imaginary long hair and batted his eyes girlishly, "'Flatterer'," he stated in a high-pitched voice, "Quite a trap, that one. And she's got you in a thick trance."
Vincent frowned and reached for his sword, "You may test your mettle now, guard, lest your pride burst completely out of your chest, or do you fear that I might win after such disheartening mockery?"
Pip's eyes widened shamelessly, "Make fun of you, good sir? My soon-to-be comrade-in-arms? Perish the thought! My dear Wallachian, I aim only to make you laugh."
Vincent's body began to relax, "…You called me Wallachian…not Ottoman…" He noticed.
Pip shrugged defensively, "Well, y'know. It is probably just rubbing off on me."
Vincent grinned and chuckled knowingly, "Fair enough, Court Jester. Then see me off to the castle. It is about time I report to my duties."
"You mean to Lord Leroy Rodriguez?" Pip elaborated.
"No, I mean to the head cook of the castle," Vincent stated in deadpan sarcasm and began striding off as he shook his head.
"Grouchy, grouchy, grouchy! Be with me long enough and we will yet rid you of that temper, my good sir! Just you see!" Pip jogged merrily to keep up.
"Please," the artist growled, "If you move one more time, I swear I will mess up your beautifully shaped nose!"
Richard's eye twitched. She had sat there, compliant with what the man had wanted for the past four hours, without any food or water, without talking, and practically without breathing. She was beginning to get restless, digging her fingers into the carved wood of the chair until a nail bent backward. The pain kept her alert, God forbid she move and ruin the painting so the artist would have to start from scratch. However, with the looks he was giving the princess now, it wouldn't be long until he crumpled up the sketch and kicked the canvas completely off of the easel.
"Can I not–"
"And NO TALKING!" He screeched as he angrily pinched the bridge of his thin nose.
He was a lanky man, just beginning to bald, with sickly withering skin, and a mouth that was ever pressed into a hard and frustrated thin line. His long spidery fingers gently caressed his pencil as he delicately traced an outline of her figure. The man bit his tongue that protruded out of his mouth a little in concentration as his black beady eyes flicked from Richard's face to the sketch he was attempting to draw.
Walter watched on intently, though he occasionally drifted in and out of sleep as he sat atop a lavishly decorated sofa a few feet away. Richard could not look at the artist; women were never painted nor sketched looking at the viewer, so she decided that her focal point would be Walter's familiar and calming face. He would always throw her encouraging expressions, though she sensed their underlying amusement at her inevitable squirming and impatience. When he woke up next, he exchanged a look of rueful empathy.
Matthias, who was previously sitting with Walter, had stood up to inspect the drawing. His face scrunched disapprovingly and he pointed to a spot.
"You're doing her eyes all wrong. They should be smaller because you have to make room for her massive ears," he giggled.
"MATTHIAS!" Richard bellowed. He stuck his tongue out at her.
"Don't be rude!" William hissed, "Richard, you look beautiful," she reassured and sat back down next to the artist, enraptured at each delicately placed mark.
"Just think, Richard. You will be painted in no time and will be able to eat all you want," Walter yawned and relaxed into the pillows once more, completely, and happily, abusing his time off.
"No," Matthias disagreed, "I hope it takes at least four more hours before he finishes!"
The artist whimpered softly at that, as if he could not bear another four minutes.
"You giggle now, young prince, but when you have to pose for your own, do not come crying to us, for Richard and I will be laughing," Walter tweaked the little boy's nose affectionately.
Matthias sat there gawking at his manservant for a moment before shrugging and belly-flopping onto the sofa once more in a fit of giggles, uninterested. William
chuckled.
"Remind me, why are we doing this?" Richard managed to say between her teeth.
Walter looked at her expectantly, as if she would certainly know exactly the answer, "Umm, the artist will paint your portrait, of course. You will exchange portraits with Victor so you know what the other looks like before the wedding. It's also a gift of sorts, so either we can hang it in our halls, or he can in his."
Richard's eye twitched once more. She had barely been used to the idea of attaching herself to another person, let alone someone she'd never even met. Richard always thought that if she ever got married, it would be to someone that she would have known over a longer period of time than just a short conversation with her father three weeks ago.
She audibly groaned, "He better be–"
"How many times must I ask you, my Lady, NOT TO SPEAK?" the artist's vein in his neck bulged with every heated pulse.
The princess's eyes grew wide for a moment at the ugly sight, and William flinched, but their cool seeped in as she grinned –the first grin in four hours–, "As you wish, my fellow paint-stroker."
He rolled his eyes and moaned, "The Regent better pay me double for what I have to put up with!"
Richard scoffed, "My father better start to pay me for this hogwash bullsh–"
"Richard!" Walter raised his voice, "Please, keep your composure," he laughed nervously at the artist who trembled with rage, hoping to diffuse the situation.
"If I hear one more word…" the artist threatened, "I will leave this room."
Richard jutted her chin out indignantly and pouted.
Ana, one of the ladies-in-waiting, ambled toward them with fresh sheets for Richard's bed and began piling the old ones into a basket. Her plain and simple brown attire with a delicate flower hair piece pinned to the side of her auburn head along with her ever-present smile created a warm atmosphere about her instantly. Jusztina, another Lady-in-waiting who dressed to impress, walked in with two baskets filled with fruits. Her green dress with hooped sleeves slit down the middle accentuated her long and skinny arms including her well-placed shoulders and beautifully shaped neck.
Trapped with a Way Out Page 14
