Conquest Chapter 5

Chapter Five

The village of Miller’s Wheel was an old, decrepit little place populated by some of the poorest people in Uther’s kingdom. They were thin and wiry, but hardy people, and they found joy in the simplest things in life. Having a roof over their head and at least one good meal a day was enough to bring a smile to their faces.

“Not a lot of children here,” Gawain noted.

“Would you want to bring a child into this kind of world?” asked Percival, and Arthur was inclined to agree.

“They’re too isolated. They mill the grain for half the northern territory. Why aren’t they more prosperous? Oh…never mind…” Gawain looked away from Arthur sheepishly.

“You can say it. Most of their work is done to ensure my father’s men are well fed for battle. He doesn’t compensate them properly,” Arthur replied.

They kicked their horses into a run until they reached Miller’s Wheel. The ragged looking people were a strange mixture of old, middle-aged, or young adult. Normally a village’s streets were teeming with children, all of them shouting, running and playing, and the very young ones clinging to their mother’s skirts. Arthur saw a total of five children, none under five years of age.

“It’s Prince Arthur!” an older man shouted. Arthur recognized him as the village elder who had welcomed him on his last visit.

The people immediately bowed, though none sycophantically cheered his arrival. Arthur liked that. He respected it.

“Welcome back, My Lord. I am John, the town elder,” he said, and bowed.

“Indeed. I remember you well,” Arthur lied. He remembered the man’s face. He had not bothered to remember his name. He dismounted and faced John. “Have our horses fed and watered, will you?”

“Of course, Sire, at once.”

Arthur reached into his tunic, where his purse would normally be stored, and realized he’d lost it in the time since he’d last been in Miller’s Wheel. None of the embarrassment he felt showed on his face.

“My men and I ran into a spot of trouble with some of Thomas’s people. Now my money is gone,” Arthur explained. He insinuated that Thomas’s people had robbed him without actually coming out and saying it. He had no doubt that some of the lingering welts and yellowed bruises visible on his face supported his story in the elder’s eyes.

“You are the son of the king, My Lord. Everything in the kingdom is yours for the taking by law, without recompense. You needn’t explain to me—”

“I pay my way,” Arthur snapped. He had not meant to be harsh with the old man, but he was tired, cold, and very hungry.

John bowed fearfully. “Of course you do, Prince Arthur. I never thought differently. Go to the Inn, My Lord. You and your men will be taken care of, I assure you—without judgment of any kind.”

Arthur nodded while John called over a few of the younger men and ordered them to care for the horses. They started down the street to the humble, single storey structure that acted as the town’s Inn, ignoring the stares of the dirty townsfolk.

They shouldn’t work as hard as they do and still live in such despair, Arthur thought.

In the unusually silent village work went on uninterrupted by Arthur’s arrival. He was glad to get inside where it was at least warm, if not very comfortable. Simple wooden tables and chairs were nothing uncommon, but these were worn, dry, and splintery where the Innkeeper had not been able to afford to oil his wares over the years.

After taking a seat near the fire the Innkeeper approached. He smiled, revealing blackened teeth, some of them missing, but it was a cheerful smile nonetheless. He undoubtedly hoped to be tipped well from the crown prince of the kingdom.

“Afternoon, My Lord. What can I get for you?”

“We’ll have three tankards of ale, three meals, and three rooms prepared with hot baths.”

“Do you have any beautiful women in this village?” Gawain asked eagerly.

There was a mild look of disapproval and worry that came over the Innkeeper’s face. He quickly hid it with admirable grace. “All of our women are married, save for the maidens who stay at home, mostly. My daughters are quite lovely, but they only do…honorable…work here, I’m afraid.”

“I wouldn’t dream of sullying one of your fair daughters,” Gawain assured him, though he looked quite disappointed that he would have only himself for company and pleasure. Arthur asked for a quill, ink and parchment, and the Innkeeper went into the back to fetch it.

Arthur quickly scribbled out a note and handed it to the Inkeeper. He pressed his ring, which bore his seal, into the dot of wax he used to close up the note, and then handed it back to the Innkeeper.

“Your name?”

“Allyn, Sire.”

“Allyn, I should like a messenger to ride to the village of Northam forthwith. He will deliver this note to . You will be handsomely compensated upon the messenger’s return.”

Allyn bowed and then hurried off to do as ordered.

“The town elder was right,” Percival said, watching Arthur closely. “You could have anything in the kingdom and not pay a coin for it.”

“Like I told John, I pay my way.”

Arthur’s tone ensured neither Percival nor Gawain would attempt to tease Arthur about his obvious embarrassment at being caught abroad without funds.

*****

The Inn was old and creaky, but no one could speak ill of the rooms in which they offered, aside from how small they were. There was room for a small hearth, a bed, and a tub a tall man like Percival would be hard pressed to climb in and out of, but Arthur thought the size of the room a benefit in winter since it was easy to warm.

Arthur climbed from the tub and dressed in the worn clothes Allyn had loaned him until one of his daughters could launder his own and return them. After that he climbed into the narrow bed provided and was delightfully surprised by how soft it was. The fire of the hearth, plus the softness of the bed and the warm blankets were like a drug that soon had Arthur fast asleep.

The dream world was not as restful as the cozy room in the waking world. In his dreams Arthur wandered through a forest of pines, all of them laden with fresh snow. A crossbow dangled at his side, bumping against his leg with every step. Just ahead a young woman with flowing black hair walked with purposeful steps. She was dressed in white fur.

“You there!” he called.

The woman either didn’t hear Arthur, or she chose to ignore him. She continued on and then suddenly turned left, disappearing behind a pine. Arthur ran then, trying to keep up with her.

The dream became frustrating and somewhat frightful then. No matter what he did he simply could not catch up to her. He kept her in sight, but never got close enough to reach her. Finally he stopped chasing her and held up the crossbow.

“Stop or I will fire!”

The woman disappeared without going around a tree. Arthur’s breath fogged the air before him. He could feel the cold of the air in his lungs and on the exposed skin of his face. The dream was so vivid he could even smell the fresh air scented with pine.

“You would shoot me?”

He turned and found the woman in white fur standing behind him. It was Guinevere.

“Of course I wouldn’t shoot you. Forgive me, My Lady. I didn’t realize who you were.”

“Come with me, Prince Arthur. I have something to show you.”

She held out a hand clad with a fur mitten. He gripped it as best he could and followed her deeper into the forest. They pushed their way through a pair of bushy pines and came upon a beautiful lake that had somehow managed not to freeze despite the intensity of the cold winter. The edges had frosted over, and some chunks of ice floated in the black of the water, but it was unfrozen and choppy.

It was not the lake, however, that Guinevere wanted to show him. He pulled him along toward two women who were deep in conversation over another person lying in a bed. Neither woman was dressed for the weather. Arthur quickly recognized one of the two women talking.

“Mother!” he shouted.

“Shhh…she’ll hear you, and then you won’t know the truth,” Guinevere warned.

“But…”

“I cannot do as you ask, My Lady,” Nimue said. Her voice was as heavy and solid as always. Arthur had once found her voice to be alluring and seductive. He’d come to hate it over the years, as he’d come to hate her.

“You would refuse your queen?” Igraine said wetly. She’d been crying.

“I do not want to refuse you.”

Igraine touched the forehead of the third person lying in the bed. It was his sister, Morgan. “Think of Morgan, I beg you,” Igraine pleaded.

“I fear how Uther will react,” Nimue said. “He has already forbidden this.”

“What is this?” Arthur demanded, looking down at Guinevere.

“This is the truth. Don’t turn away from it.”

“Uther is selfish and cruel! He wanted me. When I refused him he killed my husband Gorlois and stole me from my home. He was going to murder Elaine and Morgause—”

“I know of his sins against you and your family. I convinced him to spare your daughters—”

“He banished Elaine! I only retained Morgause because you lied to him about her becoming an important asset to him some day. He spared Morgan because she is his. He raped me, he has been a bane on—”

“I will not hear these lies!” Arthur shouted.

He sat up, gasping for air. Percival stood over him with a concerned look on his face. “What are you doing?” Arthur demanded.

“I’m waking you up. I thought someone was in here trying to murder you!”

Rhythmic thumping noise came from the wall behind Arthur’s head. In the quiet of the night he could also hear Gawain’s low moans and a woman’s higher pitched grunts as Gawain pounded into her.

“What the hell is he doing?”

“Bedding one of the Inkeeper’s daughters,” Percival explained. “The Inkeeper wasn’t lying when he said his girls were beautiful.”

“Gawain swore he wouldn’t sully Allyn’s daughters.”

“I saw them earlier, Arthur. He’s definitely not forcing himself on her. She practically threw herself at Gawain, and when a pretty woman does that he won’t refuse her. You know how he is,” Percival reasoned.

“We had a bargain with Allyn,” Arthur groused. He was still upset about the dream, which refused to fade and go away.

“My Lord, do not take offense, but you are hardly one to judge Gawain for seeking pleasure with a willing woman. After all, you diddled Lady Guinevak twice and almost got us killed for it.”

“I thought she was Guinevere.”

Percival laughed. It sounded too loud in the quiet of the room. “Why didn’t you bring that up to King Thomas when he considered castrating you? ‘I’m sorry, My Lord, I thought I was violating your first born.’”

A grin threatened to pull at the corners of Arthur’s mouth and he very much wanted to be cross. “Go back to your room. I’m fine. Tell Gawain to keep it down, I’m trying to sleep.”

“Do I really have to go in there?” Percival didn’t look happy at the idea at all.

“Forget it, go on back to sleep.”

Percival left after a polite bow. Arthur laid back down, still hearing the knocking bed and the moans of two people in the throes of passion. Soon his cock began to stiffen in response and he wished one of the Innkeeper’s other daughters would offer to come in and keep him company.

With nothing better to do, and fearing a return to the terrible dream he’d just awakened from, Arthur took his cock in hand and began to stroke. His mind wandered to Lady Guinevere and the beautiful body she undoubtedly had beneath all those billowing white furs.

*****

Sir Alymere came through brilliantly. The following evening a swift rider arrived with a large purse stuffed with gold. The messenger Allyn had sent came behind two hours later. Arthur came down to eat breakfast and pay his tab. He kept a close eye on Allyn, who didn’t seem at all upset when he gave tasks to his three daughters.

“You were right, Percival. They’re all exceptionally lovely young women,” Arthur said. Percival nodded in agreement.

“Where is Gawain?”

“He went to make sure we have plenty of supplies in stock until we reach Sir Alymere in Northam. Speak of the devil.”

Gawain came inside, blowing on his hands to warm them from the cold. He took a seat at the table with Arthur and Percival.

Arthur turned his attention back to Allyn’s daughters. They looked to range in ages from sixteen to nineteen. The youngest had hair as black as coal with eyes to match, and she kept glancing at Arthur. Another had dark brown hair and cinnamon colored eyes. She kept her eyes downcast and dried mugs without looking up. The oldest girl had flaming red hair and bright green eyes. She looked at Gawain and licked her lips suggestively. He grinned back and then looked away just as Allyn came around the counter.

“My Lord, may I get you anything else?”

“No, thank you, Allyn. We shall be on our way soon enough. Here you are.”

Arthur handed him five gold coins, and Allyn looked as though he could scarcely believe his good fortune.

“I do not mean to sound ungrateful, my Lord, but two gold coins is the usual rate for three men,” said Allyn.

Arthur thought of Gawain’s adventures the night before with the red-haired beauty, and the pleasure he’d taken at her expense even without her being aware and swallowed with a sense of guilt that he had not felt even when he’d discovered Guinevek’s treachery.

“You deserve it, Allyn. Spend it well.”

The sun was out when Arthur and his men stepped from Allyn’s Inn. John, the village Elder, had their horses ready. The animals looked well-rested and ready to ride. Arthur took the purse Sir Alymere had sent and handed it to John.

“See to it your village benefits from this,” Arthur said. “I will see to it that your people are better compensated for your work in future.”

Disbelief and confusion warred for dominance on John’s face. In the end gratitude won out. “Thank you, My Lord.”

Arthur nodded. He and his men mounted up and then started down the road that led out of the village. As they did, Arthur spotted a young woman who stood with her back to them. There was something in her manner, as though she didn’t belong, but didn’t want to be noticed.

“You,” Arthur called to her. He stopped his horse, Gawain and Percival pulled up behind him and waited, hands ready to go to their swords.

“You, girl,” Arthur said more forcefully. “Do not pretend you don’t know I am speaking to you. Turn around.”

“What is it?” Gawain asked.

The young woman turned around, holding a mortar and pestle, grinding something. Her pale skin and raven hair looked familiar, but her face and voice were not.

“My Lord?” she asked with genuine innocence.

“I thought I knew you. I was mistaken. Carry on.”

She curtsied a bit clumsily and then turned back around. As soon as she did the overwhelming sense of familiarity returned, as though he looked at the back of a person he knew quite well. Arthur spurred his horse on with Percival and Gawain following behind. It wouldn’t make sense to ask her to face him again. He would not suddenly recognize her from his past.

“Arthur, what was that about?” asked Percival.

“Nothing. We must ride hard, gents. I wish to reach Northam by nightfall.”

*****

Northam was as different from Miller’s Wheel as dark was to light. Not only was it five times the size of Miller’s Wheel, Northam was in five times better condition. The people were well fed, many earning a decent wage, and the sound of children were plenty as they ran through the streets with their parents on the way home to settle down for the night.

Sir Alymere greeted Arthur, Percival, and Gawain with much joy but also unfortunate news.

“I’m afraid you will only be allowed to rest a few hours, Sire. I have received word from King Uther that you are to meet him in Willowdale in two days. He has it in his head that you were taken prisoner by King Thomas.”

“Wherever would he get a ridiculous idea like that?”

Alymere shrugged. “I’ve no idea, Sire. You’d best not disappoint him.”

Arthur heaved a sigh and nodded. “Prepare fresh horses.”

“I’ll send along a few servants to tend you as well,” Alymere offered.

“Not necessary. Just make certain we have plenty of supplies. We’ll take a wagon this time. The road to Willowdale is well maintained and easy to travel.”

Alymere nodded. “I’ll see to it. In the meantime please join me for dinner. There is much to talk about and we will have so little time before you must leave.”

Arthur followed Alymere into the modest house he’d taken while on post in Northam. Servants had laid out dinner of roasted chicken and vegetables, fresh bread, and aged wine. Arthur warmed himself by the fire, wishing to get some of the chill out of his bones before sitting down to eat.

“Any ideas on why my father thinks I was captured by King Thomas?” Arthur asked. He trusted Sir Alymere implicitly and knew that if his father had given a reason, Alymere would not without it from him unless ordered to do so by Uther himself.

“He did not tell me, Sire,” Alymere said. He, Percival, and Gawain waited for Arthur to join them at the table before tucking in. He reluctantly left the fire before going to sit with them.

“May I ask, My Lord, if it’s true? Were you captured by King Thomas?”

“Yes, but you aren’t to breathe of it. I had planned to keep this news to myself.”

Sir Alymere frowned. “Why? What Thomas did was an act of war.”

“No, what I did was an act of war,” Arthur corrected. “I crossed into Thomas’s territory, quite by mistake, but that is not sufficient excuse to escape responsibility. I don’t want more conflict, Alymere.”

Arthur suddenly felt weary to his bones and only part of it had to do with all the hard travel in the relentless cold. It was not yet December, but snow would fall soon. War was hard no matter the season, but especially so in winter. Besides, Arthur tired of conquest. He longed for peace.

He longed for a woman who would never be his.

“No one shall hear of it from my lips, nor the lips of my servants, isn’t that correct?” Alymere said warningly to the women who stood silently in the shadows.

Servants were easy to forget because their masters didn’t think of them as people with intelligence and feelings on par with nobility. They were merely a tool to many nobles—something to acquire to service their needs so that they could live in luxury. Alymere never forgot that servants had ears to hear and tongues to wag. Better still he was always civil to those who served him. A kind master inspired loyalty, something Alymere knew quite well.

Conversation quieted, replaced by the scrape of cutlery on plates, the chewing of food, the gulping of drink and the occasional belch. The good food and the warmth of the room soon made Arthur’s eyelids feel as though they weighed a stone each.

“We will spend the night here, Alymere, and ride out before dawn,” Arthur decided. His father could be cross with him later. Alymere smiled and raised his goblet.

“Rest well, Sire. I will see to your traveling needs myself.”

Gawain and Percival went to share one of the rooms downstairs while Alymere offered Arthur his own bedroom, which the prince refused. He opted for the small guest room on the second floor. As he trudged up the stairs he encountered a pretty young maid with dark skin and hair. She favored Guinevere well enough in the dimness of the stairwell and it made Arthur long for the enemy princess so powerfully it surprised him.

“My Lord,” she said meekly and issued a perfect curtsey.

“Your name?”

“Ruth, My Lord.”

“Are you a married woman, Ruth?”

“Widowed, Sire.”

Arthur swallowed. He longed for a warm body in his bed—someone he could easily pretend was Lady Guinevere.

“I would make you an offer, Ruth. Share my bed tonight. You may refuse without fear of reproach. I am lonely, and you are quite beautiful.”

Ruth bit her lower lip, the kind of shy gesture he could never imagine Guinevere doing. “Yes, Sire. I will join you.”

She followed Arthur down the hall and into the small guest room. Her small hands were efficient as she helped Arthur shrug out of his chainmail. Nothing in her movements suggested reluctance to bed Arthur. Her lips were supple, her tongue willing to caress. Her breath quickened and her nipples hardened under his touch, but something felt off about it.

Ruth was there because the prince had asked her to share his bed. Had he been any other man, she may have refused.

“Is there something the matter, My Lord?” Ruth asked, sensing his hesitation.

“You’re only here because I’m the prince. You felt you could not refuse me,” he said.

“I am here by choice, My Lord.”

“How many masters have given you the choice, only to turn on you when you refused? A woman as lovely as you must have met her fair share of vengeful employers, I’m sure. You’re free to go. I will not speak of this to Sir Alymere and I will not hold it against you.”

Her eyes were such a dark shade of brown they were almost black. Her purple dress was sturdy, made for winter work, and smelled of hearth ashes and wood oil. She smiled up at him.

“You are right, Sire. Were you any other man, I would have refused. I am gladdened that you are willing to release me.”

Arthur nodded and waited for Ruth to leave, but she stood looking up at him. She was a short but sturdy woman with a firm, curvy figure.

“Is there something else?” Arthur asked.

“I choose to stay, if you still want me,” Ruth said. She turned and pulled her long hair aside so that Arthur could unclasp the back of her dress. After a moment’s hesitation, he did so. The dress fell away to reveal smooth skin, with small, well-defined muscles moving underneath.

“Blow out the candles and come to bed,” Arthur instructed.

Now naked, Ruth blew out all of the candles. Only the light of the hearth remained. When she slipped into the warm blankets beside Arthur, he found it very easy indeed to imagine she was Guinevere.

“I would call you by another name,” Arthur said. His cock stiffened in Ruth’s small hand.

“Yes, Sire?”

“Lady Guinevere.”

“Tonight I shall be Lady Guinevere,” she said, and kissed him.

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