Re: The Machiavellian Adventures of Princess Eleanor
“Her Highness’ party has been sighted, my lord.”
So soon! Fulk’s heart sped. Carlisle wasn’t ready – he wasn’t ready. “Finish scattering those herbs with all speed,” he ordered. “Clear away everything else. Make sure all the servants turn out presentably. Remember, the bed needs taking off her baggage train and setting up immediately, and try to do it without her notice.” Oh Jesù, how bad did that sound?! Fulk brazened his slip out, gesturing at the fireplace. “Put some sweet smelling logs on the fire, and more in the basket. And-”
The steward bowed slightly and suggested, “And otherwise do all else to make this place fit for a princess in the least time possible, my lord?”
Fulk caught himself, and smiled ruefully. He must look like a panicking bride groom. “Yes. That would be appreciated.”
“Very good, my lord.” The man bowed and, after delivering a flurry of orders, departed the chamber. His voice could be heard echoing down the stairwell, still demanding this and that. The town council had not been wrong when they recommended Godfrey to him as suitable for his needs.
Carlisle’s castle had been on a war footing for a month. That did not make for the most pleasant of environments. Until new people had been drafted in from the nearby town the castle had been severely understaffed, hampering Fulk’s efforts to make the place as presentable as possible. Eleanor would not mind if the place were still rough around the edges. She would not complain. She would bear it with the same stoic acceptance that she had borne his announcement that she would have to remain in Alnwick with all its ghosts while he claimed Carlisle. Knowing how much that unquestioning obedience had cost her, Fulk was adamant that all would be as good as he could make it now she could join him. More than that, Carlisle was his in a way Alnwick could never be. Alnwick had been a politically motivated handout, a gain for the King of Scots. Carlisle had been offered to him - in good part - in recognition of his abilities and loyalty. He wanted to be proud as he displayed it to her.
Any amount of preparation would do him no good if he were still standing here like a sheep when Eleanor arrived. “I will buy you some time to finish setting all up here once my lady arrives,” he promised the servants as he settled his new cloak about his shoulders and fastened the brooch.
By the time he reached the gatehouse the heavily guarded party was within hailing distance, and it was not long before he was helping Eleanor down from her palfrey.
“Greetings, my lord,” she said, regarding him from under lowered eyelashes. “I thank you for your help.”
Fulk placed one hand at his back and made a courtly bow. “Greetings, my lady. Your presence brightens my life.”
“You exaggerate most kindly, my lord.” She shot him another demure look – this one with a spark concealed in it. “I cannot tell you how relieved I am to be back under your guiding hand. Now I can resume my proper place, following in your wake, thinking no thoughts but those you have given me, living only to make you happy and bear you copious amounts of sons.”
Fulk knitted his brows. “Have you taken a knock to the head?”
Eleanor affected an expression of pure horror. “Blessed Jesù, no! Worse – I have been the unhappy host of a extremely pious abbot trying to scrounge money for his foundation.” She caught hold of Fulk’s arm none too gently. “I swear, the hours of well-meaning preaching I had to endure would have sent a lesser soul quite mad!”
Fulk began to walk her towards the hall. “I hope you were polite to him.”
“Very,” Eleanor growled. “And after he had prattled on about how women should behave I demonstrated my attentiveness by informing him I could grant him nothing, not so much as a promise to bend your ear favourably on the matter.” She smirked. “It is not a wife’s place to influence her husband nor dispose of goods. It is for her to listen to his wisdom, and abide by his decisions.”
“I shall have to speak to this abbot, ‘loved, and have a word with him about placing dangerous ideas in your head.”
“Please do.” Eleanor leaned her head on Fulk’s shoulder as they walked. “I have identified another abbey nearby which he considers to be his rival. I began work on a new altar cloth for them.”
“My heart, have I told you that you’re devious and vengeful?”
“Not in the last week,” she answered. “But then I have not seen you these past eight days.”
Fulk stopped, cupped her cheek in one hand. “I love you, my dear little wife.” After a kiss he turned to the keep with a flourish. “Now, let me show you Carlisle.”
The tour he gave was a condensed one, avoiding areas he knew were still a mess and keeping far away from the private rooms. His new people had done worthily by him, and it was a pleasure to introduce them to Eleanor. She liked what she saw, he knew it, and in that knowledge was able to relax. As the tour progressed it became less about showing what he had won for her, and more about the future potential.
Reaching the end of what he had planned, Fulk halted at the door leading out onto the keep’s roof. “Close your eyes.”
Eleanor quirked an eyebrow. “You wish to make it easier to push me off the parapet?” She obeyed with the warning, “If I start to fall I am pulling you with me, and you may be sure we shall land with you on the bottom to cushion my landing.”
“Heartling, we only cleaned the bailey yesterday. No one wants to do so again today.” Fulk opened the door and guided her carefully out onto the parapets. He led her to the eastern side. “There. Open your eyes.”
This view was one he’d been entranced with since his arrival. The town was visible, sitting within its walls, smoke drifting lazily from hundreds of cooking fires. On past that was clear land, and the road. Here and there other fuzzy lines of smoke rose to the heavens, tiny settlements scattered about wherever people could make a living from the land. Acres of land, all attached to the castle and his new lordship. On many miles further, invisible to the eye, and after a large tract of land under the control of others, lay Alnwick and Fulk’s other holdings.
Fulk said softly, “The sum of our achievements. Peace. Wealth. A position of power and very great trust. Safety, of a sort.”
“Not bad for a crook-nosed knight and a gooseberry.” Eleanor returned her attention to the view, mantle pulled tight about her against the wind. “Not bad at all.”
Fulk stood behind her, wrapping his arms and cloak about her, resting his chin on the top of her head. “When I think of where – and what - I was but a year ago, I cannot believe my fortune. Even three months ago.”
Eleanor leaned back into him. “And all because you swore service to a woman you did not believe was a princess but knew to be an assassin, in the hopes of being well-paid.”
“It’s a wonder I wasn’t killed.” As he said it he wished he hadn’t. It still astounded him what she had done to save his life. A princess of most noble lineage, pleading for his life and paying for it with blood. Eleanor still flinched from letting him see her back despite her promise to try not to, but he’d seen the curved, buckle-shaped scar on her shoulder and knew without doubt that it was definitely from one of the wounds he’d tended that first time in Woburn.
“I think you saved my life more times than I yours.”
Fulk forced a jovial tone. “Who’s counting?”
Eleanor twisted to look up at him. “So, who did you steal that cloak from?” She fingered the edge near her shoulder. “Juniper green wool, and wolf skin lining. Very nice. Very warm.”
“I didn’t steal it, thank you very much!” As the chance was there Fulk kissed her on the forehead, and on the tip of her nose, and finally on the lips. “The previous lord left it behind in his hurry to flee the country.”
“Well, that is alright then. I should hate to think the north had corrupted you into becoming a robber baron.”
“It’s corrupted you into being polite to clergymen.”
“No, I was always like that.”
“I suppose you were,” Fulk agreed. “It was everyone else you were sour towards.”
“No,” corrected Eleanor, “it was you, you great rusted lump! No one else annoyed me quite so much.”
“Ah well.” Fulk judged that sufficient time had passed to finish turning the private rooms into the haven he wished to present. In any case, it was cold and the view would be here later. There remained one thing it would be well to settle before they returned inside. “There is a man amongst the prisoners I took. He’s … unusual. I want you to find out what he is. In fact, look the whole lot over. It’s possible he is drawing attention so someone else can hide in the group.”
“Who is he and what makes you suspicious?”
“His name is Ranulf. He is too well-spoken, too educated to be a simple man at arms. He claims he was a novice and left before taking vows; he reasons for why are varied and unbelievable, and he makes no secret of knowing them to be so. It’s probably nothing; I swore they would all die if one of them attempted to decide me. Someone would betray one who put them all at risk.”
After a bit Eleanor nodded, once. “I shall do what I can.”
Fulk stood back from Eleanor. “Come. Let’s go inside. There’s one last part of the tour.”
Eleanor dug him in the ribs as she caught hold of his arm. “You mean you think your servants have finished clearing the whores out of your bedchamber, correct?”
Fulk pulled a face. “It’s the scent of their perfume I’m worried about. That lingers.”
“Well, at least that shows you are using a more exclusive class of whore.”
“If I’d known you would be so forgiving I’d have kept a couple of them on permanently.”
“Oh, stop it! Before I begin to wonder if there is a grain of truth in it.”
Fulk opened the stair door and bowed as he held it for her. “My lady gooseberry.”
Eleanor went past in a swish of skirts.
“Where’s my thanks?” Fulk asked as he hurried after her.
“I believe I left them in my luggage.”
Fulk planted his fists on his hips. “I shall beat you later if you keep this up.”
“You are all talk.” Eleanor spared him a backwards glance – and stuck her tongue out at him.
“One of these days,” Fulk sighed.
“So long as it is not today,” came the rapid interruption. “Tomorrow never comes, after all.” Eleanor stopped by the door to the solar. “I expect you want to go first?”
“Yes.” Fulk cleared his throat with a self-important cough. “Right. My lady, my most dearly beloved wife and gooseberry, scion of most noble blood, light of my life, heart of my heart, source of my woes, fountain of my troubles, emptier of my treasury, and warmer of my spacious bed, it is my honour, nay privilege, to present to you our rooms.” Fulk opened the door, silently vowing to hang the servants from the battlements if they had failed to follow his instructions.
Eleanor stepped in. She looked around. She looked around once more. “I am afraid I do not see anything special,” she apologised. “It looks like any other solar.”
Fulk breathed a private sigh of relief. “That, ‘loved, is the point.”
“It is?”
“You did not see the place when I arrived,” he said darkly.
Eleanor turned away from the hanging she had been inspecting. “If you do not tell me I am going to be busy finding out for myself.”
“It looked like a thieves’ den which had then been ransacked by a professional gang of looters, caught fire, hosted a brawl which splashed blood up one wall, and finally become the lair of a pack of incontinent hounds.”
“How … homely.”
Now it looked like any other solar. Fresh rushes with scented herbs mixed in scattered over a clean floor, quality furniture, a couple of hangings on the freshly whitewashed walls. The sole flaw in the set-up was the shield that had been propped in one corner. Ostensibly it displayed Fulk’s coat of arms in a touch of warfare-for-all-the-family pride. In reality it hid the dark patch where blood had sunk into the flagstones and resisted all attempts to scrub it away.
Fulk opened the door into the other room and took a quick peek to be sure all was well. “The bedchamber is similarly commonplace. Except for the waiting meal, steaming bathtub with space for two people, and a certain very comfy bed bestowed upon us by a king.”
That’s it, I am nowunemployeda full time writer. Reading. Writing. Gaming. As much of all three as I want, and I have several years worth to catch up on. Weee! The last month was so bad I don’t miss my shop or job; I’m simply pleased it is all over. It was like watching a loved one die of an incurable disease.
That worked quite decently. A few more weeks and I expect Eleanor will be complete. Updates should come more rapidly now I have more time to work.
Ancel has taken to the name so well I have to stop and think to remember what he used to be called. I have the names for most of the other important characters, know nearly all of the storyline, and am mainly doing research while waiting for the remaining loose ends to sort themselves out. I might be able to begin writing as early as next week. Should I write with the same oomph that I’ve currently got in its early phases I should have the whole first draft done in several months; this one’s going to end up the same size as a normal book, not War and Peace. I have decided this one is going to be written from the very start with the intention of sending it to agents once it is complete. It’s perfectly suited to getting a new writer a foot in the door. Unlike my other sprawling, hard to categorise works. Straight up historical fiction, one of those ‘real events and people as seen through the eyes of an invented character plus obligatory romance’ types. Whether it gets into print or not, I know this story is going to work! It burns brightly, has life, verve, takes everything I have learned and applies it, uses everything I like doing and takes them to the next level, is controllable, restrained, focused, and really, completely and totally is froggy writing™ on taken to the next level. Not to mention this will be my first major chance to play with editing, revisions, chapters and other such finish touch tools. It’s impossible to convey just how excited I am by ‘Ancel’. But … it’s probably unfair to talk about it much. I won’t be posting any of it on the internet.
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Originally Posted by Dayve
Re: The Machiavellian Adventures of Princess Eleanor
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