The Machiavellian Adventures of Princess Eleanor

[woad&fangs]

It was an excellent ending. I loved the banter between Eleanor and Fulk as well as the overall tone of "good bye". I'm not sure what else to say. I'll miss checking this thread every day, hoping for a bit more.

[Ludens]

The tone was very well judged. I like it. I agree that it makes for a better end than the one you described.

Farewell Eleanor and Fulk. It's been a long journey, but it was worth it.

[furball]

At a loss for words. Will miss you.

[Death is yonder]

A piece of literature that drags me out of the stressful world at least temporarily, masterfully crafted, the wonder of words. The whole personality of the story summed up in the last few tens of lines.

Farewell.

[Peasant Phill]

And so ends the daily task of checking for updates.

I liked this end better. Angering York wouldn't feel like an ending, merely an indication for a sequel.

[Ciaran]

So that is it, the epic is at the end. And an epic it is, in more than one sense. 775 pages in Word, almost 4 million characters and almost five years of writing. That, however, pales compared to the sheer brilliance of the story itself.

My congratulations for actually finishing this story - a feat I yet have to accomplish, actually .

I honstly wonder what you´ll be doing next, and what it feels like, after five years of plotting, designing, imagining, to finish.

[frogbeastegg]

Heh. I forgot to come back and post the day after. Bad froggy! Perhaps I can blame it on my feeling somewhat lost without the story to work on? It's more a product of my sieve-like memory I think.

Thank you all

Picking up from a while ago, I did consider the two comments about what I might write. They sort of merged together into one very neat paragraph ... and then petered out. A lady mage nearly setting her host's hall on fire because she reflexively fireballed a spider that crawled into view on the table. I like it and I can't for the life of me find anything to do with it. I have a vague notion that she acquires an apprentice from this incident somehow, and resumes her travelling - wherever it was she was going and for whatever reason. The section is sat on my macbook, written and waiting to see if anything comes of it.

I want to write something with a Saxon setting. I have had a seed of a story for a long, long time now. A Saxon lord, most kindly described as an anti-hero and more honestly as a right nasty piece of work, dying in a bloodfeud as the opening and then the story loops back to explain how and why that happened. That would require a lot of research (neat; I already have most of the books and need an excuse to bury myself in them) and a more mature writer. As a story it's as hard as steel and coloured by blood; I'm not at the level where I could do it justice.

And of course there is Ancel. He's not destined to appear on the internet. There must be something I can work on at the same time, else I shall be left writing in total solitude.




Returning to those potential short stories I mentioned at the end of the last post, the story about Nell and her sister is the one which is currently prodding at my attention. Might have it in a state where I can start to write this week. It's a short one by my standards, three posts at the max. It's got a name too: The Third Sister.

I'm just not sure. We've got an ending here, loose as it is. It works, it fits. 'The Third Sister' gives a glimpse several years into the future and it contains things which thus far are left totally open to the reader's own imagination. You can imagine whatever you like about Hugh's two pending children at present; do you want to be told? Ditto about Nell and Fulk's relationship. About whether Trempwick set Adele up or not. And other things - once you've got the official answer then you have got the official answer.

Silent's story is the same thing but far stronger as it's set further ahead and based on more important events.

I don't know if it's a good idea or not.


Karolus, Stephenson's 4 books are amongst the top 50ish books of my to-read pile. Sounds bad until you remember that I have ~700 books yet to read, probably more. The top selection of books are the ones I would like to read soon; it's a very flexible category to say the least. I could read any book from it tomorrow, and on the other side of the coin some have been there for years now. Books get added in all the time, sometimes titles slip out into the general mass, and frequently I skip over those urgent books in favour of one that I previously wasn't expecting to read for a long time. I confess I am something of a chaotic reader; try as I might to plan ahead I always choose my books based on what I feel like at the time.

[furball]

Are short stories from Eleanor's past totally out of the question? I realize she was only late 6 or early 7 when she went off with Trempwick, amd I realize it's the grown-up Eleanor that probably talks to you these days. But she's so cute in the Prologue and first chapters!

[Ludens]

The third sister sounds intriguing, but I think it would be better to close the story here and now, and start on something else.

[frogbeastegg]

Furball, the difficulty with young Nell is that she doesn't do much which I can write about. Day after day, year after year of the same thing with few good events about which to shape a short story. After Trempy's very early victory in their battle of wills matters carry on along the same pattern until Fulk appears and the familiar pattern no longer applies. She or Trempy need to tell me about something special; I've already used the scant handful they have already imparted.

The difficulty with that, Ludens, is that the only other ideas I have are either intended for a publication attempt, embryonic, or somehow unsuitable. Anything which looks like it will turn out to be large is right out - there is no way I am doing anything even 1/4 of the size of Eleanor as a serial!

[Braden]

Froggy, this really needs to be somewhere stored as either a word or .pdf document.

I started copying your works to .pdf a few years back but lost my PC and have only just got back here...so how many pages are we talking about now?

Mainly for my wife, who is a significant English History buff and avid reader thereof, any chance this could be put out there?

[frogbeastegg]

Third Sister is growing decently in my mind. A few more details to pin down and I shall start writing. I'ver been taking a bit of a break and spending more time on my reading and the odd game or two; after 5 years of constant writing a couple of weeks off seems fair.

There have been some requests on the two forums for a PDF or similar of the story. I've taken a bit of time to look at what I have and the result isn't much use.

I have a partially complete Word manuscript that weighs in at 6MB, is missing the ending, and is full of forum code and other junk that makes it hard to read unless you're a frog. It also contains a batch of my notes and lines I didn't use.

I have a fully complete Scrivener manuscript. It's only going to open with Scrivener and it's also a large file, split into many different sections, full of coding etc etc.

I can export the Scrivener doc to a different format. That puts the seperate chunks back together in order, and leaves all of the coding and odd formatting. Again, it's always a large file size for a document.

Some pieces of the story are scattered around in seperate files. This applies mainly to the short stories and comedy bits I posted in between segments of the main story.

I don't have any PDF software and that wouldn't help with the state of the text anyway.

I don't have any kind of file hosting, it's too large for me to email to anyone, and I don't want it on some public download site because then who knows what will happen to it.

Removing the coding and formatting it so its readable for someone other than myself would take me crazy amounts of time. I'd have to re-do the format job I did on every single post of this story, basically. Months of work if I dedicated several hours to it each day.

Not the answer people were hoping for, I know. My best suggestion is to go through the thread and make a saved version of each page, then number them in order and store them in a dedicated main folder. The version on the org is only 33 pages long compared to Paradox's 96 because there are fewer comments.

[Braden]

No problem Froggy. Plenty of dedicated Eleanor fans here to put that work in!

As for PDF software, not needed...I use websites that convert word docs to PDF for free. Plenty of them out there, we'll use them.

The old copy i have in PDF is all prettied up and has Eleanors likeness on the front (from your own suggested rendition).

Will try and upload it tomorrow as a zip file somewhere so you can have a look, not complete as you've kept writing whilst I've been away...for shame...but it'll give you and others ideas I hope.

I'll finish my copy when my workload slackens

[Braden]

I’ve retrieved the Word version I have on file from…erm…2 years ago and that stood at…

In Verdana 9pnt font…

SEVEN HUNDRED AND SIXEEN PAGES!!

…and it would seem I’ve got a few more entries to add to that Froggy. Once I’ve done, I will move it to a PDF version (thank you Office 2007 for free “on site” Word>PDF conversion) and find out where I can store it off site for people to download free of course.

Now, I’ve just got to find out where I stopped copying ! lol

[Beskar]

I think after all the sentences Eleanor speaks, they should be ended with: " 'kay. "

*runs away from the Frogbeastegg*

From what I read so far, has been good.

[frogbeastegg]

Heh, for those who didn't/can't get the reference, Beskar's post is a dig at an arena discussion. I was playing Star Ocean: The Last Hope and one of the characters was driving me utterly batty with loathing. Saying 'kay at least one per line of dialogue was but one of her many irritations!




Anyone still around and still interested in reading 'The Third Sister'?

I think the break from writing combined with the fresh material has done me a power of good. It's flowing onto the page like the main story did in the old days and the prose is more varied and more lively than the leaden stuff that comprised large parts of the wrapping up.

[Ludens]

Anyone still around and still interested in reading 'The Third Sister'?

If you've decided on writing it, sure. I would like to read it.

[furball]

Definitely interested.

[Death is yonder]

[Peasant Phill]

Write away.

I'm sure many of the Eleanor addicts check this thread now and then to see if nothing was added.

[frogbeastegg]

Good to see people are still around

At this moment in time I have 1 opening scene at 5 pages, finished except for one or two tweaks I thought of on the way home from work, and 1 half finished follow up scene at 4 pages. The ending scene is concrete in my mind and only needs writing. The parts in-between are present in varying degrees of detail in my mind; the missing parts will fill themselves in as I go.

I'm considering how to post it. It's definitely not going to be that long, there's simply not enough material to support anything more than a few posts long. I'm currently thinking 5: 1 opening and set up, one meeting, one doing, one settling, one ending. A sedate, measured posting pace would be nice. I'm doing a lot of reading at the moment, and Dragon Age: Origins is now out and needs to be played to death. One post every two weeks maybe. Or I could wait and post the whole thing in one go. Seems a bit wasteful that way.

[frogbeastegg]

Those of you who wish to keep your own idea of what happened after the end of Eleanor should look away now. Don’t peek. The very first line settles one of the big hanging “What will …?”s of the of the main story, and the answers only keep coming after that. They are not answers that some of you will like, although at this point in The Third Sister each answer raises a dozen more questions.

This is part 1. I still believe 5 parts will handle it, the same outline I posted previously. The plan is to post one part each Sunday … we’ll see how long that lasts. Fingers crossed all will be well as I do have good amounts of the story ready written.

And now, with no further ado, it’s roughly 3 years since the end of Eleanor and the third of the three surviving sisters is about to re-enter England after more than a decade …

The Third Sister

The King of England bore a whooping golden boy-child on his shoulders and was himself letting voice some exuberant war cries as he trotted about the nursery, his son lashing out left and right at imaginary foes.

Eleanor paused in the doorway, resting one hand on the stonework for support against a weight which struck her in the heart.

As Hugh turned in his loop about the room he caught sight of her and halted abruptly. Young Arthur’s cries of joy faded. The boy pointed at her with his wooden sword. “Who’s she, Daddy?”

Hugh lifted the boy down and set him on his feet, one hand resting possessively on the child’s back. The lines of care and responsibility that time was starting to etch into his face returned as the last traces of light-heartedness cleared from his features. “Arthur,” he chided gently.

“Who is that, father?”

“This is your aunt.”

Eleanor stepped into the room proper and tried to smile. “You will not remember the last time I saw you, you were but a babe then.”

Arthur raised his toy sword again and looked up at his father, his expression as grave as only a child could manage. “Is she the bad German one? I won’t let her say anything bad!”

Hugh ruffled his boy’s angelically blonde locks, his hand so large in contrast to the small skull yet so gentle. “No. This is your aunt Eleanor.”

The wooden sword drooped to the floorboards and the young prince enquired, “The one we don’t talk about?”

Yes, the one they did not talk about. Eleanor took a step back. “I came at the wrong time. I shall go and change to fresh clothes and rinse away the dust of my journey. Call for me once you are ready.”

“My summons was urgent, therefore there is no wrong time.” Hugh knelt before his son and braced a hand on his shoulder. “I must go now. Can you finish the battle yourself?”

The boy drew himself up to his full height and saluted with his sword. “Yes, father! I’ll defeat all our enemies!”

“I shall come to hear the report when I am able.”

As they left the room the prince’s attendants stepped out from the shadows where they’d been keeping out of the way, clucking and fussing over the boy. Arthur himself watched them go, his gaze full of curiosity and Eleanor heard him start to ask questions about this aunt of his.

“He is growing well,” Eleanor offered. Praising children to their parents was one of the safest conversational gambits mankind had invented.

Several paces later Hugh answered softly. “He is the core of my heart. He and his siblings, and their mother.”

Safe? Safe as the track through a marsh! Truly there was a curse on their bloodline. Eleanor asked the tactful question, “How is Constance?”

“Well,” Hugh replied immediately. “She is recovering her strength gradually.”

There grew an uncomfortable gap in the conversation. Should she ask after the twins born last month? Should she pursue the ‘but’ that hung on Hugh’s words like a funeral banner?

Hugh clutched the proverbial nettle himself. “They say she will bear no more children. It was far from an easy delivery and she was damaged on the inside somehow, that is why there was so much blood. She was blessed by Heaven to survive, and both children also, and for that I thank God with each breath. I will not ask for more.”

Rumours had flown wild about the country about the lengths the lord king had gone to seeking intercession on the behalf on his labouring wife once it became clear matters were not going easily. Most common were those Eleanor placed some credence in. That he had knelt and lain in unceasing prayer for nearly an entire day and a night, refusing to eat or drink or relieve his discomfort in any least way. That he had promised the building of a hospital for the poor with beds for five hundred in London and another with room for two hundred in Winchester. That he had torn his clothes from his back and mortified his flesh with a lash until he was beyond hope of healing cleanly.

As Hugh pushed open the door to his solar he blocked her path for a heartbeat and examined her face. “My back is now a match for yours,” he said, “and I would have carved out my heart with my own hands had I thought it would aid her.” He stepped to the side and let her pass. “And they are both mine. Do not doubt that for an instant. I know my own flesh and blood when I behold it, and I know my wife. Constance would never betray me.” He waved the servants away and closed the door hard enough for it to slam. “Never!” In a shaking, quieter voice, “I will kill any man who says otherwise.”

Waltham’s solar had changed little since her father’s day; Eleanor took the seat near the fireplace that she had occupied on previous visits that would – God willing – be more momentous than any she would see again in her life. “Only ignorant fools place any credence in that old nonsense. I have had my agents busy saying as much wherever there is an audience to hear.” Folk wisdom had it that twins were made when a woman lay with two different men and conceived by both. A queen rendered barren and more dubious blood - a cursed family indeed, and that with saying nothing of her own marriage.

“One fool is one too many.” Hugh covered his face with his hands. “I nearly lost her, her travail was such that she will not conceive again, and for gratitude they cast doubt on her honour!” His words were muffled, the pain in them was not.

Was this why he had summoned her? Eleanor hoped so, the other possibilities were so much less appealing. “Then you must place the matter beyond all doubt.”

Hugh’s hands dropped to his sides. “I will. Indeed I will. Once her strength is fully recovered I intend to swear before full witnesses the most binding holy oaths that they are mine, and she will swear likewise. My son and my daughter, and I will not have them doubted. The planning of the ceremony is in the hands of the Archbishop of Canterbury.”

“Will I see them?”

The heaviness lifted from Hugh’s features. “Yes. Constance rests in our bedchamber, Edward and young Constance with her. She will not let them far from her side.” A smile had grown on his face bringing with it an echo of the joy as he’d played with his son and heir. “They are beautiful and perfect, and thriving, and no one beholding them could say other.”

Again pain struck Eleanor in her heart. The love radiating from her brother, the delight, the fulfilment piled fuel on the fire of her own failure, and the light of that fire illuminated sharply the condition of her marriage. “I am glad for you,” she murmured.

Hugh settled in the chair near hers. “I summoned you here because I require something of you.”

And that … could not be allowed. Eleanor pinned him with a glare that had been sharpened by years of commanding.

Eventually he dipped his head and conceded the point. “I would ask for your help. I know I have no right to command it.”

Eleanor prayed that he would not say anything that related to their sister Adele as she answered, “And that would be?”

She might have saved herself the bother for he immediately replied, “Someone must meet Adele when her ship lands and I would have that be someone I trust to make an assessment on her condition. I can make no decision on her future until I know if anything may be salvaged.”

“Why me? You have others who could do this.”

The corner of Hugh’s mouth twitched into something that might have been a smile had it not died in the moment of its birth. “Are you not the expert on troublesome sisters?”

Eleanor slouched lower in her chair. “I did not marry a king, get caught in adultery, resulting in both of my sons declared bastards and barred from the succession, and spend a decade locked away in the dreariest castle in my husband’s kingdom.”

“No,” Hugh agreed. “You did not.”

“She would be a prisoner still had not her husband died.” The heir was an adult son sprung from the king’s first marriage and his loathing for his fallen mother-by-law was virulent enough to be well-known throughout half of Christendom. Shoving her on a ship and pointing her back to England had been one of the first official acts of his reign. Warning of this intent had reached Hugh’s ears by urgent courier, dispatched when it became apparent that the old king’s illness would be his last. The period before the new king’s coronation and assumption of his full power had brought just enough time for the message to arrive and this meeting to be arranged; the ship might land any day now.

Hugh crossed his legs and stretched them out towards the fire to warm. “You will do it because you are the only one available for the task who is aware of the … Trempwick connection, shall we say?”

Eleanor sighed. Trempwick. Not quite three years since he entered Repton’s gates and still he influenced matters often enough to make it feel as though he had not been caged. Always the influence came from the past – that much she had achieved. “You believe I can learn if Trempwick did arrange her fall to keep her and her sons from consideration for the succession? I should love to know how you think I might manage this.”

“I have faith in your abilities,” he answered blandly. He ran a fingertip over the scar that sliced through his brow, a habit when disquieted he had never lost after acquiring the wound at the battle of Alnwick. “Tell me, who else would you deem able to judge in so delicate a matter? And who fit to judge one of our blood?”

No one. That was the sad, proud answer. “Very well.”

Hugh nodded. “Good. Meet her ship when it lands, escort her to me and learn what you may. I intend to remove to the county of Warwick; it is time and past time for me to hold court and sit in justice in those lands again.” He held up a finger. “Mark that I shall not meet her before I know what I shall do with her. She is in disgrace and shall not be blessed with admittance into my presence until fit judgement may be delivered.”

For all that Hugh had changed he hadn’t changed one whit. “If you say so, brother dear.”

He scowled at this long-disliked epithet. “Having you meet her will do her no honour either. Your low standing again makes you suitable again in addition to the other qualifications.”

Eleanor smiled tightly and rose. “As you say, brother dear. I shall leave you free to return to your son; I must make arrangements if I am to travel again so soon.”

“Wait,” Hugh commanded. He paced a ponderous circle about her, brows furrowed as – no doubt- he laboured to wrangle unpleasant thoughts into words which would not break his sense of protocol. “Your husband did not accompany you on the journey here.”

Again the stab of pain. “No.”

He came to a halt between her and the door, hands clasped at the small of his back. Always a bad sign. “It has reached my ears that you no longer live with him.”

Try as she might Eleanor could not look him in the eye. “Not recently, no.”

“You will explain why.”

Using anger to smother the guilt and the heart-soreness she forced herself to look back up. “Must I be subjected to your meddling?”

“You must, my darling sister!” He took hold of her shoulders – the first time he had touched her since that difficult day when he had learned she had been named heir by the arse in the crown. “What you do affects us all. Rumours are spreading like fire in dry grass, each more unsavoury than the last. Tell me, or I shall learn for myself!”

Eleanor slapped his arms away from her, bitterly aware that he allowed her to do so. “You may assume the rumours are lies.”

“Did he mistreat you?”

“No.”

“Has he dishonoured you in some way?”

“No,” Eleanor answered again, through gritted teeth.

Hugh threw up his hands. “Then what possible reason can you have for not living under his roof?”

The oldest reason and the hardest. “He left me.”

Hugh’s eyes glittered dangerously. “That low-born churl dared?! I shall kill him for this insult!”
As if that would help! She choked out the admission, “It was my fault. Not his. I displeased him.”

Brows knotted together, Hugh took a sharp breath. “Then you will go back to him and you will please him, oh sister mine. I will not – cannot! – have it said that you were unable to keep that wretch contented, or that you grew bored of him and seek a fresh toy, or any of the other foul spewings that fill the air each time you or he are mentioned! This marriage of yours cost us too much in the making and more in the maintaining; I will not permit it to do us yet more harm in its faltering!”

He had hit her. She had angered Fulk badly enough that for the first time in their marriage had he raised a hand to her in full earnest, slapping her once and then walking away. She had not seen him since. “I cannot go back,” she said, half pleading and knowing he was right.

“You can. You will. By the end of this month you will be living under his roof and you will both make an appearance of normality or you will both face consequences you will have no taste for.”

To say a word more would only display her wounds further and that she would not do. Not to this man and his brood of perfect children and his radiant fatherhood and all his loving contentment. He would understand nothing. With an effort she mastered herself and when she opened her eyes they were dry, and her posture disdainful. “I will leave today. There is still some hours’ light to travel by and I must move swiftly if I am to have what I need before I meet Adele.” Scornfully she added, “I do have your leave to do I deem fit in this matter most intimately tied with my business, brother dear?”

“Should you intend those vague words to refer to your spymaster’s dealings, then yes, you may assume so. Should you mean instead the matter of your husband, no, you may not. We cannot afford it.”

Eleanor gave him a filthy look. “The former. Of course.”

“Good.” He shifted sideways and cleared her route from the room. “Your husband and yourself will attend court no later than one month from today. Everyone will see that you are amicable and that the rumours were over nothing more than a brief-lived quarrel such as may be found in any marriage.”

“And you, brother dear, will have your bastard son at court for that time. I desire to see what he is like.” With that she stalked from the room.






“It was William, third of that name to rule England by God’s grace, who first took an interest in Edward the Confessor. This interest culminated in the canonisation of the king as a saint, and his adoption as the patron of the royal house. The cathedral at-” Trempwick’s dictation cut off once he spotted her, and he dropped into a bow that was deeper than required for a humble man meeting a princess of the blood.

Eleanor moved to the writing desk and took the work in progress from the scribe, and flipped through the pages. “Still engaged in history, I see.”

“It is a labour I have found some pleasure in,” Trempwick replied modestly. “Shall I send my scribe to fetch refreshments for your Highness?”

“You may.”

Time had provided Trempwick with the beginnings of the tonsure he had refused when first sent to Repton. His hair had silvered, his face gathered a multitude of fine lines, and there was not quite so much spring in his step. Other than that … “You have changed little enough since my last visit, Raoul.”

“Little and much, as do we all, dear Nell. You too have changed much … and little.” He smiled across his manuscript at her as he tied the work away. “For one, you said the same the last time you were here.”

“Like the last time I am here because I need something of you.”

The former spymaster bowed again. “How may I serve, my lady?”

Nowadays it was easier to keep a feel for Trempwick when she did not look at him; when working from voice and words alone there was less conflicting information then when one could see the scholarly man standing on the edges of graceful old age. Voice alone he might be as he had always been. Eleanor moved to the scriptorium’s window and looked out at the herb garden blooming with late summer splendour. “Adele has been sent back to us.”

“So time has done what quiet diplomacy could not.”

“You will not convince me that my father tried to rescue her.”

“I shall not,” he replied, a touch of humour in his tone. “Because he did not.”

“He attempted to mitigate the harshness of her captivity.” On each of her rare visits to Repton they had spoken a little of her father, and she had read Trempwick’s life of the king and the private work on the man underneath the crown. She had a greater acquaintance with her father in death than she had ever had in life.

“Yes.” A soft rattling indicated Trempwick had begun to gather up the quills lying on the desk. “For a second point on the same matter, rescue implies she was a victim.”

“And was she?”

“That depends greatly on one’s point of view.”

“A simple answer as ever, Raoul.”

“I should hate to disappoint your Highness.”

Eleanor looked back over her shoulder and arched an eyebrow. “I should hope so. Consider the consequences the last time you disappointed me.”

“Ah, Nell, I disappointed myself. Although I still maintain that I came that close to victory,” he held up thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “I should have managed it if I had not-”

“Lost,” Eleanor interrupted. “Blundered. Made many mistakes. Grown over-confident and blind. Reached too high for your position. Dabbled with things you aught never have touched.”

“But should I have discovered my enjoyment of writing histories had I not ventured my hand?”

A tap at the door, and the monk let himself back in. He set his tray down, bobbed a courtesy and left them again at Eleanor’s dismissal. She poured herself a goblet of wine which she raised to her lips and then set down again untouched. “I desire to know the truth of the matter.”

“Should I give it will you believe it?” Trempwick poured his own drink and settled himself in the window seat, denying her that escape from the truth that this particular lodestone in her life was growing old and that the day would come when he would no longer be here even for these limited meetings. “You have held a view to be truth in your heart for these many long years. Events at your father’s death only reinforced that.”

“Tell me and I will judge.”

“From the day you first heard the news you have believed Adele to be innocent, have you not?” Trempwick picked at the rim of his goblet with a thumbnail. At last he said, “Nell, she was not. All I needed do was make certain the letters were discovered.”

Eleanor bowed her head. That belief she had indeed held all this time, a flickering candle fighting a gale. Best that the light be extinguished now. “She was always idealistic, and there was such a difference in ages.”

“Sweet Nell, all my information indicated that Adele’s husband treated her with the utmost consideration and kindness. He may have been a mature man but he was no dotard or unfit glutton. She shall not be allowed that excuse. Unless there was something hidden behind closed doors I could see no reason for her to betray him as she did save motives like base lust.”

“Would you say the same of my mother?” she challenged.

“You know I would not. I have said many times that William gave her cause and enough, though he was my friend and it still after all this time pains me to say it.”

Trempwick had become too comfortable, Eleanor decided. Locked away in the same place with mostly the same people, wasting time on his histories and subject to the occasional demand for information from her. It was time and past time to shatter the pattern of his existence and exact something more of him. “You will shave your head into a tonsure and pose as my personal confessor when I go to meet my sister.”

He was quiet for a very long time. “What if I am recognised?”

“Who is there to recognise you? We shall encounter no notables on this mission, and I shall not take you to court. And, master,” she said the honorific sarcastically, “do you expect me to believe you can no longer stand in the background if you so wish?”

“No, your Highness. I do not.” He spread his hands, a gesture of helplessness which oh so very nicely displayed the two crooked fingers he had to remember her temper by. “But your Highness knows I have found a place here and am content in it.”

“Her Highness knows that your joints creak and ache in the cold and a lengthy journey may not hold the relish it once did. Her Highness knows you must protest in order to preserve your seeming of having grown harmless.” Eleanor moved to stand over him, placed her hand under his chin and pressed his head back so she could see his face. “Her Highness knows you are afraid to return to the world, to face what you have lost and have become accustomed to blotting from your mind. Do you think they still talk of you Raoul? Do you fear they do not? Can you stand to see the peace Hugh has brought this land? You will leave and taste the world which you have lost, and know that you must return here and in the returning experience once again the sense of confinement that you had when first you arrived.” She released him.

Trempwick smoothed a hand over the bald patch on his crown. “Can you not believe it is the tonsure which comes hard, dearest Nell? A man’s hair is precious to him when it begins to thin.”

“I can believe you have evaded a tonsure for long enough that it would now be a humiliation to wear.”

“There is no mercy in you, sweet Nell.”

“Should you attempt escape, my guards will kill you without hesitation. Play me false and you will find yourself dead the instant we are away from questioning eyes. Serve me well and I may find other work for you.”

Trempwick’s back straightened a touch. “Work?”

“You might put your penchant for the written word to use decrypting and encoding messages.” A minor concession yet one which would grant him access to the flow of information … information she wished him to see. It went without saying all of his work would be checked down to the last quill-stroke of the final letter.

“And what do you require of me?”

Eleanor did not hesitate, the journey here had provided all the time for consideration that she needed. “Adele must take vows and enter a convent in penance and it must appear to be of her own will. You will help me to expose my sister, should she insist on her innocence as she did while imprisoned.”

“You wish her out of the way.”

Eleanor answered that with a level look. Words were unnecessary. The variety of cut-price husband that represented Adele’s sole chance at remarriage would bring no good and much potential complication to their house.

Trempwick gave a low whistle. “No mercy indeed.”

“She made her bed and lay in it and now must needs live with it, indeed as do we all.”

“Speaking of beds, how fares your own?”

“The feathers are in wont of replacing,” Eleanor said tartly. “Make such preparations as are needful for your disguise. When I see you at dinner I expect to see a harmless old priest, as unremarkable as a sprout of wheat in the middle of a field.”

[furball]

Thank you! So great to have more to read.

I just have one kind of major problem, and one minor one:

1) Hugh has a bastard son? "'And you, brother dear, will have your bastard son at court for that time. I desire to see what he is like.' With that she stalked from the room." I can't find the page in this forum's story where this is mentioned.

2) Bear with us, Froggy. This is a long story that was told over a long time. Some of us don't remember much specific about Adele, so anything you can exposit for us during this new tale will be much appreciated.

Thanks again, and all the best to you in your new dealings with these characters who must be crowding your mind with their lives and desires. :)

[frogbeastegg]

There's going to be a lot of 'catching up' information seeded throughout the story. If there's anything people want to know as they read I'm open to questions. Most should be answerable without spoiling something.

Hugh’s bastard son is about 5 months younger than Arthur, give or take a couple of weeks, and was conceived during the civil war. When Hugh headed out into the field to start besieging Trempwick's various supporters he decided it would be beneficial to his reputation to take a mistress. Remember at that point it looked like he could not produce a living child thanks to Trempy murdering his newly born son and inducing abortions for the other, unborn ones. After a couple of months campaigning together Hugh was perceptive enough to notice the lady was showing signs of early pregnancy, whereupon he made promises about the child's future and hers and settled her in a household where she could live in peace. He's kept those promises; Hewelin and his mother live in good style in a quiet manor, and the boy has been acknowledged freely by his father.

The boy's name hasn't (yet) been mentioned anywhere. He's been lumbered with the name Hewelin by his mother, a name which is a diminutive form of Hugh and might as well mean 'little Hugh'.

Adele is the sister who stands between Eleanor and Hugh in terms of age. Older than the executed John, and the child born after Hugh. She's the third surviving sister out of the original four; Rowena died long ago. A dreamer and idealistic, as devoted to the concept of courtly love as Scottish Anne, she was sent off to marry a Spanish king at a young age and infamously got caught in an adulterous relationship thanks to the discovery of some letters. The scandal exploded across the court and nothing could be done to hush it up. Consequentially she was locked away, her two children declared to be bastards and sent to a monastery, and that was that. In the original story Eleanor was torn between believing her sister innocent and thinking her guilty but justified; she had no real information to go on, only memories and scandalous rumours. Outside of Eleanor's POV Adele was always mentioned in an ambiguous manner.

From time to time the idea that the women in this family have bad blood was held over Eleanor's head, and Adele was part of that proof. Very early on her fall was partly responsible for Eleanor's dim view of men, love, marriage and anything relating to them.

Was she set up by Trempwick? Was she a poor young thing married to someone old enough to be her father, looking for a bit of love and zest? Or was she a more knowing player?

[Prince Cobra]

Well, there is no need to restrict yourself to only 5 updates. I see big potential in this story. It is clear Eleanor took much from Trempwick and if there is a man, who played the role of a father, it is him. With the predictable gap between her and Fulk, I think the relations with the ex-spymaster will be more mature. Hmm, I wonder if Eleanor will find a lover... For obvious reasons, it won't be Trempwick. The story with the 'slut' sister is an interesting hint for that, I think.

[Death is yonder]

Well, there is no need to restrict yourself to only 5 updates. I see big potential in this story.

An update full of suspense indeed. The story looks like a beginning of something anew though, as if the first chapter of another flowing tale.

Also, it is nice to get back to reading a sequel of sorts to the story, it fits in very nicely, although some things were not instantly clear, such as the mention of Hugh's bastard son, which was pointed out earlier.

[frogbeastegg]

Well. The schedule’s kind of, er, shot.

You see, I went to view a couple more houses and unexpectedly found one that’s pretty much perfect and affordable and in great condition! So I’ve found myself taken up with working out what furnishings I’d need and how much I need to set aside for that, council tax bills and other misc necessary expenses, deposits, mortgages, research to ensure that there’s no hidden disaster about the property, and all the other things it’s wise to do before making an offer.

So, um, I’ve not written much in the last half of this week, and when I sit down to try my mind is full of plans for where I can put bookshelves. Gah! The house even has this little 3 walled room off to one side of the living room which will fit a computer desk and chair and nothing else. Perfect for writing in when I don’t want distractions like shelves full of tempting books to read. It’s like they knew what I would need …

I have most of a scene written for the next part, most of my work thus far has been on later scenes so I’m a bit stuck. I can’t say when I’m going to be able to post something next. Hopefully within the next week. It’s going to depend a lot on how tomorrow goes; I expect to be making an offer for the place and formally requesting a mortgage so I might get buried up to my eyebrows in forms and stress, or I could be left hanging around waiting to hear what’s happening, or I could be left bidding against another buyer or heaven knows what. This first time buyer business is rough.

Bookshelves galore, and peace and quiet, and a little writing room, and a nice view over fields. What more could a frog ask for? Other than some ninjas to send in so no one else can buy it first!

Sorry

[furball]

Good luck! Home-buying is exciting! (and scary)

Never bought a house in England, so I can't offer much advice, but I noticed you mentioned a mortgage. Shop around and read the fine print. :)

[frogbeastegg]

The man Eleanor met for dinner bore himself humbly with his head down and his shoulders curved, and dressed for that fine line between rich and poor that rendered one unremarkable. His hair had been cut short so it made his cheekbones more prominent, his jaw-line stronger. To solve the discrepancy in tanning between his natural bald patch and the freshly shaved scalp he had rubbed a light brown die into his skin, and carried the effect to his hands and all areas of skin which might be revealed if his cassock fell awry. Posture made him seem shorter, smaller. Combined with the natural effects of age the disguise would pass muster provided he met no one who had known him in his former life, which was the most which could be hoped for at such short notice. He bobbed a courtesy and drew a cross in the air. “God greet you and bless you, your Highness.” His accent was faintly Italian, that of a man who had left his country as a youth and not returned.

Eleanor indicated that he should serve her at table, and that she would like to begin with the chunky vegetable soup. “You will do. It is most fortunate that we shall encounter no one who knows you, however.”

Trempwick filled her bowl with the thick wheat porridge and set about slicing bread for her. “Had I more warning I should have grown a beard, and perhaps my hair. It has been long since any saw me with hair to my shoulders, and it grants a better appearance of change to my features.”

“I pray it does not rain and wash your dye away.”

“If it does then you may rest assured that God does not wish me for a clergyman. This particular blend stains the skin persistently; I shall be scrubbing thrice daily for a week to be rid of it.” He carved slices of beef and scattered the bits over the top of her plain wheat pottage. Once he had finished preparing her meal she gave him permission to sit and organise his own meal.

The exchange of information had one dominated, or perhaps characterised, their relationship. Restrictions, exchanges, misdirection, outright lies, and the occasional bit of truth. Still did in many areas. Others, yes in others spymaster’s games had become entirely absent. Together they had realised that if there were no straight honesty in their meetings neither would trust a word the other said. And so Eleanor said openly, “Fulk left me.”

Trempwick deliberately placed his spoon back down in his bowl. “I said I would kill him if he made you unhappy. I meant it.”

“Hugh said the same yet now he is most concerned with pressing us back together.” Eleanor knew she was being unfair; Hugh had only taken that line when she said she had not been mistreated.

“Nell, I suspect your brother knows the same truth I do.” He reached across the table and clasped her hand. “If you wished him harmed then he would be. Should we be so bold as to take the wretched man’s correction into our own hands you would be furious.”

Eleanor gave his fingers a squeeze and winkled her hand out from his, not without a shade of regret. Since Fulk had left she could count the number of times someone had physically touched her without needing double digits. Lonely was an understatement. “That he left is my fault. One should not insist on telling a man something he does not wish to hear, and then be fool enough to repeat it a second time.”

Trempwick made a quirky, funny little noise in the back of his throat. “Dearest Nell, change man for person and I shall agree. Otherwise, not so much.”

Almost she smiled. “I love him. I miss him. I want him back. He is avoiding me and …” She shrugged helplessly. “I do not think it wise to catch up with him before he is willing to allow it.”

“So that is the end.” Trempwick sat back and adjusted his belt to rest more comfortably on his midriff. “Return to the beginning for me, darling Nell. It is not polite to make a man my age imagine his way through the intricacies of your quarrels.”

“We still have no heir.”

Trempwick pressed his fingertips together and held his hands up to his face, covering nose and mouth. His index fingertips pinched the bridge of his nose. “I have this unfortunate inkling …”

“Fulk refuses to discuss the matter at all. He makes excuses, says we still have time before we need to find an answer, that it is not important.”

“And you, aware of the fragility of life and succession, beg to differ.”

“He needs an heir to his title, I to my work. All we do might as well be for naught without one.” Eleanor twisted her wedding ring around on her finger, not really aware that she was doing so. “And he needs a child. I see the way he looks at our friends’ children – the longing he tries to hide. The lack of a child is – is like a lack of some piece of his soul.” That restrained hunger reminded Eleanor of the way Hugh had been before Arthur had been born, and look at her brother now. When with his children he was a new man entirely.

“I do have this terrible inkling.” Trempwick dropped his hands. “Nell, please tell me that you did not suggest ignoring the agreement you have with the bastard and risk throwing your life away merely to produce some mewling bundle that fouls itself.”

“I am a failed wife in more than one sense.” After so long of keeping silent finally speaking her suspicions felt almost therapeutic, like the draining of pus from an infected wound. “Either I have been most fortunate or I am barren. It has been three years. Those methods are not fully reliable – if they were I would not have a husband, for his mother was using the same when she conceived him.”

Trempwick’s mouth pressed into a flat line. “Nell, you do not want to die to find out. Or so I most deeply hope!”

“No, I do not want to die. And I would never ask that of him. It would be less cruel to ask him to cut my throat. At least then he would not spend months worrying if I would live or die.”

“Well, that eliminates my worst fear. That leaves my second worst.” Trempwick placed his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Please tell me you did not suggest that the man get himself a bastard.”

“It is the sensible solution,” Eleanor replied stiffly.

The former spymaster promptly buried his face in his hands. “Christ.”

“Tell me a better answer and I shall adopt it gladly.

“Nell,” Trempwick interrupted softly, “Nell, beloved Nell, that is an astonishingly bad idea on account of the tiny little fact that the man loves you!” He grew louder as he went until he was close to shouting the last part and halfway out off his stool. With a deep breath he sat himself back down. “You must have known what that suggestion would do to him. And to you!”

Eleanor slapped the tabletop. “And I know what the current state is doing to him – to us! We have been arguing for months, and with every day of it the injuries build and it becomes harder to let go and be glad of each other. He refused to consider all else more reasonable.” Eleanor’s voice quavered, “Tell me what else I am supposed to do.”

Trempwick let out a very long breath. “I do not know, my dear.”

“There must be an heir. Moreover he will not be truly happy without a child. When he is unhappy so am I on his behalf, and only more so when his unhappiness comes through marrying me. He will not consider taking another man’s son as his heir. I cannot give him one. Our marriage is slowly being torn apart by the lack.”

“A bastard cannot inherit. It goes against the law.”

Eleanor cocked an eyebrow. “Inherit, no. Be named as the successor to lands and titles, yes.”

“And you believe you could bring this about?” Eleanor’s answer was in her lack of one. Trempwick grimaced. “Well, one supposes there is a certain theme. I sought to make a queen, you an earl.”

“The first time I suggested it he bade me to never speak of it again. The second he walked out.” Eleanor was once again toying with her wedding ring. “I should not return to him until he wishes me to, and until there is an answer there can be no true healing between us.”

Trempwick countered, “The longer you are apart the harder it is to return – and the more others will interfere. The church will get involved, your brother, eventually everyone you speak to or go near will start to give their opinion. It is not acceptable for a married couple to live apart, still less so a pairing so unusual.”

“I know.” Eleanor heard the frustration in her own tone.

“And so you do,” Trempwick agreed, somewhat apologetically. “You will have gone over everything in exhaustive detail, and gone over it again after that.” He ate a bite of meat and chewed thoughtfully. “Nor shall I tell you what stresses the breeding and existence of a bastard would place on your marriage.”

“No, you shall not.”

“But I shall tell you this: such things are never as bearable as one might think where care – let alone love! – is involved.”

Eleanor placed her cup back on the table with a thunk. “How many matches are blessed with complete fidelity? And how many are happy? I think you will find the latter figure to be far higher than the former.”

“Nell, dearest Nell …” Trempwick sighed. “No, you do not want to hear it. You already know and have no patience left for repeats.”

“Wives are expected to tolerate wandering in their husbands.”

Trempwick kept his peace for many minutes, their meal was all but complete by the time he said in a low voice, “You might stand people sniggering behind their hands at your inability to keep his attention and to provide a child. You would gradually crumble under the personal aspects. Wondering what he thought of the other woman, what they did, how they did it, how much he enjoyed it, how you compared, whether his feelings for you had altered-”

“Enough,” Eleanor commanded. She knew

“And each time you set eyes on that child you would be reminded that he had strayed, broke his solemn vow to you and set you to one side-”

“Enough!”

“You would wonder how that child would look if it had you for a mother, if he would love it more or less. And what if it were not a son? Then there would be need for another. What if Fulk decided he could not return to fidelity?”

Eleanor slammed a hand onto the table, making the dishes rattle. “Enough!”

Trempwick subsided with a faintly smug expression. “You see? You are not so sanguine, and at this point it is a mere suggestion and not a reality you must live with.”

“The reality I must live with is one of a man I love being unhappy because of me.”

The former spymaster laced his fingers together. “Nell, my dear Nell, have you considered how deeply this suggestion prickles a man’s pride? To be told to break his word, discard the honour he has worked to guard-”

“Raoul,” Eleanor interrupted softly but in a tone which brooked no argument, “I know. And you may be assured that the very fact I give the possibility more than the fraction of a moment’s thought that it would take to dismiss it speaks of how very concerned I am.”

Trempwick conceded defeat with a nod. “Give Fulk time. He is not a complete fool, and he is aware of the need. Give him time to come to his own conclusion – and then respect it. Remember, he married you knowing children were unlikely.”

“I wish he would talk to me.” Eleanor saw Trempwick’s hand begin to move as though he’d once again touch her; she rose and wandered away from the table before that could happen. Human contact and warmth was not a longing she was prepared to give any rein. “About anything else, he will talk. About this subject, I am fortunate to get a curt dismissal.”

Trempwick looked ruefully at the hand marooned midway to where her own had been. “Likely because he himself is struggling and does not know what to say. Give him time.”

“I have little option at present save to wait.” Eleanor narrowed her eyes. “I have a sister to greet and remove.”

Trempwick turned about on his stool so he could sit leaning back against the table with his elbows resting comfortably on its edges. “If I had said Adele was as innocent as driven snow it would have made no difference, would it?”

“My sister, to spare us both the mincing of words, is by reputation a feckless, selfish adulteress and a traitor to her adopted country. She is a mother who abandoned her children - sons no less - and who gambled their futures away for her own carnal gratification. She is a lousy judge of men, her lover proving unable to die with any semblance of courage or dignity. What is more she is a failed plotter, a loser in the grandest of games, someone with no understanding of the scale of risk against potential reward.” Eleanor frowned. “Or so the world has judged her, and so she will be known until the day of her death and long after. What does it matter what manner of person she is? Like a smashed pot which is missing a piece, there is little to be done with her save tidy her away and attempt to salvage some little use from the sound parts.”

Trempwick touched his fingers to his brow in a salute. “So speaketh the spymaster.”

“She is my sister,” Eleanor said vaguely, attention mainly returned to Fulk. “I shall do what may be done to make the inevitable tolerable - should she cooperate.”









That’s part of what was intended to be the second update. I shall have to move on the same ‘when ready’ basis as I did for the main story from here on. Exhibiting uncanny timing (the very week I started posting again! What were the odds?) life’s got too busy for me to predict writing time.

I got the house. Now all I need to do is hire a solicitor, get a mortgage, have the place surveyed, pay for it, furnish it – a little list which will take weeks, much running about, and untold stress. And here I was, looking forward to my first quiet and lazy “I’m not working in retail so I’m safe from Christmas” December in over 4 years, hehe!

Oh yes – WOOHOO!!

[Ludens]

Congratulations!

Good luck on getting your house ready. I am guessing you'll need it.