The Machiavellian Adventures of Princess Eleanor

[SSJPabs]

So I was checking to see if FBG had updated her Kingdoms guides (I find your specific advice in them unhelpful to me but still find them worth reading for a good overview). As you can tell I'm not someone who posts here and prefers the company boards and TWCenter and ended up stumbling across this story and caught up with it today at last after about 2 weeks of heavy heavy reading.

It met the most important criteria for a story: it made me willing to keep reading to the end!

But I have to agree with Vuk, it strikes me as very obviously written from a female perspective. There's nothing wrong with that of course, authors I enjoy (like Melanie Rawn) do the same thing, but you can never quite get away from the hmm, genderness, of the work in male POV scenes. Other than that, there were parts I thought were well written, and parts that were definitely less well written and I think with a good editor the story could really go into sharp focus.

I'm sure you might be a little annoyed when I say (I think how I would be if some yahoo whose sole interaction with you thus far consisted of criticism suddenly popped up) that my fingers were twitching with a desire to re-arrange and hack stuff out in certain posts. Mostly towards the end of the early parts and the middle part but there are a few places later.

Finally, something I always struggle to avoid in any of my own original fiction, is anachronistic terms. Basically a reference in to something the characters cannot possibly relate to due to temporal differences, like describing a charging knight like a freight train (bear with me on the simile). This struck me whenever you used the term 'git' as at this time the character would almost surely use the full version 'beget.' So every single time I came across I thought "20th century term!" it and broke the spell of the writing. A similar thing happened with words like "prat" (though as an American I have no idea what that means) and on a few other occasions with other words.

Look temper some of this with the knowledge that this is not my particular genre, (romantic historical fiction is probably how I'd class it) so perhaps there are things that I am not getting or missing due to a non-positive beginning.

Well thanks for listening.

[SSJPabs]

PS: Apologies for the spelling errors and other minors errors (i.e. FBE and characters using "get" not "beget). I was (and still am) quite tired when I wrote this and I cannot seem to find the edit post button.

[frogbeastegg]

Eleanor said, “You asked to speak with me?”

Edrik doffed his hat and bowed. “Ah … With your husband, in truth, your Highness.”

“He is not available. I take it you have come to make your recommendations with regard to the land clearance?”

“Yes, your Highness. It needs only his lordship’s decision and then work can begin.”

“Well then.” Eleanor settled herself in the nearby window seat and indicated the reeve should stand at her side. “Tell me your thoughts and a decision shall be made.”

Edrik’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Ah … his lordship …”

“My lord husband has gone hunting. This is the first day he has taken entirely to himself in more than a month – he will not be disturbed for anything less than full scale invasion. I am authorised to deal with things here in his absence.”

“No doubt, your Highness.” The man tortured his hat between his hands. “Only, I was not instructed … That is …”

Hawise stepped in before Eleanor could say something pithy. “You fear to get into trouble.”

Edrik’s shoulders eased, and he nodded. “I would not wish to upset my lord.”

It was not the reeve’s fault. He meant no slight. If she believed otherwise Eleanor would have unleashed a smidgeon of royal wrath on him, a touch sufficient to send him scuttling back from whence he came with his ears on fire. “If you prefer to wait until tomorrow to present your findings to my lord husband, that is acceptable. However, I say again that he has all matters here in my hands.”

“Ah …” The poor man’s hat had lost all dignity; its jaunty trio of feathers were now bent and the velvet was sadly creased. “Well …”

“Allow me to place it bluntly. You may delay and possibly incur my lord husband’s displeasure for that delay, for refusing to deal with me, and for increasing his workload. Or you may speak now, and possibly incur my lord husband’s displeasure for not waiting for him.” Eleanor caught Hawise’s slight frown and knew she had sounded sterner than intended. More gently she added, “Whichever you choose, be assured my lord husband is a most reasonable man. You will not suffer or find your decision held against you in the future.”

Edrik went down on one knee. “I am a humble man, your Highness. I’m reeve of my village and consider that an honour, though it’s nothing to any of good birth. I confess I am overwhelmed. I …” He scratched at his scrawny neck, as though in his mind he could already feel a noose fitted about it. “I am not sure which way to turn.”

Eleanor twisted her wedding ring about on her finger as she thought rapidly. The problem was a common one. A princess on the one hand, a newly raised lord of dubious origins on the other, and the age old question of who controlled whom and which dignity would be trodden on by what. “Come back tomorrow,” she advised in the end. This way she was seen to defer to Fulk, which protected his dignity, and in turn Fulk could assure the man he was not having his power stolen by his wife.

Edrik bowed, and stood. “Thank you, your Highness. I’m sorry. It’s just … Well, normally it’d be clear.”

“Your conscientiousness does you credit.” Eleanor waved him out of the solar before she said something altogether ruder. When he’d gone she slumped back against the wall and massaged her temples. “You know what is most infuriating about this?”

Hawise suggested, “The fact you and Fulk together run into this several times each day?”

“No. Well, nearly.” Eleanor leaned to look out of the slitted window at the bustle down in the bailey. A wagon was making its way through the main gates, piled with sacks and with two youths walking at its flanks. “Were I somewhat lower in rank, or Fulk somewhat higher, there would be no problem. Narrow the chasm but a little – and it would still be wide indeed – and people would not baulk.”

“Your marriage works the same as any other; people are slowly coming to see that. Each person you convince is one less.”

Eleanor scowled. “Easy for you to say. People are not afraid to speak to you in case you are using your husband like a puppet!”

“That,” Hawise said with an infuriating amount of seriousness, “is because I do not have a husband.”

A cushion was at hand and really it was too tempting; as the maid ducked Eleanor sweetly informed her, “I shall find you one!”

Hawise bent to retrieve the cushion and hugged it to her chest. “Thank you, but I should prefer to find my own.”

“That sounds suspiciously as though you have someone in mind.” Eleanor suddenly remembered Hawise asking after Waltheof after Alnwick, and a hundred other such tiny signs which had gone unremarked during the stresses of the past months. Serious maid and serious knight; what a perfect match. “Well, I am sure you will tell me should you find someone,” she said, mindful of her friend’s feelings. What if Waltheof showed no matching interest? This demanded further investigation …

At that moment Aveis burst in, shutting the door behind herself and leaning on it to catch her breath. “I believe this is what you were waiting for.” She hurried across the room, still breathing heavily, and held out a section of cloth with a sample pattern embroidered on it.

Eleanor inspected the pattern, deciphered it, and couldn’t hold back her beam of triumph. “The Welsh are suing for peace. Dated five days ago. Not bad, not bad – but it can be better. It must be better.” She was on her feet, pacing from one end of the room to the other, unable to keep still in her excitement. This was the first proper result from the network she was working so hard to forge out of the remnants of Miles’ and Trempwick’s old systems. “Now, we must see how long it takes for official word to reach us, and we must check the veracity of this.”

Aveis took over the seat Eleanor had left vacant and fanned herself with one hand. “It came with a chapman. At first I thought he was bothering me to buy his rubbish.”

“We hardly want him to stroll up to the gates and announce he has a secret message for me,” Eleanor said absently. Word from Wales to Carlisle in five days! And carried across a network patched together out of two shattered halves. It was a start. A good start. Three days had been the usual time for such a run under Trempwick, two if the people passing word pushed themselves remorselessly. Eleanor ran the cloth through her hands. “You will go back to him and say I am interested in buying sufficient of this border to edge the hem, collar and cuffs of a dress.” As Aveis opened the door Eleanor called, “And Aveis? Be more circumspect, please. I am not so interested in a sample from a mere trader that you need to come running.”

The older woman blushed. “I shall take my purse down with me and buy some things myself. Let people think that’s why I became over-excited.”

“Success.” Eleanor stopped, staring sightlessly at a wall hanging. “The main difference is in birds. We have not as many …”

Hawise looked at her blankly. “Pardon?”

“Messenger birds. Trempwick had many of them. In most instances word flew from one part of the realm to another, literally.” Eleanor broke away from the hanging and from her thoughts to smile at her friend. “At the moment there are large gaps in that coverage; this message here was carried more by horse than wing. It will take money to breed and train more, but it must be done. Hugh will have to fund it; heaven knows I could not afford it myself. And, perhaps, if he will fund certain other things I shall be able to spare enough to give you a dowry so you may pursue your mystery man.”






Eleanor covertly inspected Fulk for damage as he dismounted. He was very muddy and a large splash of blood soaked his left leg, but he was not obvious damaged. He did stink to high heaven, so she kept a tactful distance. “Welcome home, my lord. Was your hunting a success?”

“I took a deer myself. A single spear blow.” He thrust an imaginary spear down at a target, doubtless a faithful recreation of his feat. “And between us we took several more, and a wolf.” He waved at one of the huntsmen. “Hoi! Show my lady the wolf.” Fulk ran a hand over his chaotic hair as if he now realised he looked as though he had been through a hedge backwards. “You may have the skin of that one for whatever you will.”

Eleanor made appreciative noises over the carcass trussed up on a spear shaft, and added a few more in praise of his heroic deeds. Once that was out of the way she was able to ask, “The blood is not yours then?” without appearing to smother him.

“The deer’s,” he replied. He stretched his arms and worked his left shoulder, which Eleanor knew was still prone to stiffness after its wound. “I should do this more often – it’s been an age since I last had chance to hunt. When money permits I shall get a hawk.” He gave his horse a final pat and started towards the keep. “Perhaps you’d like one too, my best beloved?”

“I have been hawking but once in my life-”

“I remember,” he answered, with a sidelong glance. “You were afraid the bird would eat your fingers. It’s part of what you should have had and weren’t allowed by Trempwick. It’s yours if you want it now. Well,” he amended, “ in some months when we can afford it.”

“If it will be in some months then I hardly need make a decision now.” Eleanor softened her words with a smile. “I thank you. I will give it some thought, I promise you. But I have not had chance to give you my own news.”

That got his attention. “Oh?”

Eleanor raised her voice so she could be heard by many of those in the bailey. “We are cordially invited to my brother’s coronation. Those who threatened the peace of the realm have been vanquished and God’s favour for Hugh is now clear for all to see. He shall be crowned two weeks from this Wednesday.” Hugh’s messenger had brought the good news half a day behind her network.

“Two weeks?” Fulk rubbed the bridge of his nose. “We had best sort ourselves to leave the day after tomorrow, or we’ll be hard pressed to make it in good time.”

Eleanor laughed. “See? I told you that if you did not take your chance to relax today you would not get another soon!”

“Victory.” Fulk turned to face the people gathering in the courtyard as the news spread. “Victory!” he roared, raising his fist in the air. “God save the king! God save lord Hugh!” The response was of satisfactory enthusiasm and volume. When it died away Fulk declared, “A feast tonight to celebrate! Food and drink for all who come, right down to the humblest dog boy!” That gathered a louder cheer. Resuming his walk to the keep Fulk asked quietly, “We do have enough for that, don’t we?”

Eleanor gave him an exasperated look. “If we feed the bog boy the wolf and let him drink the worst ale, yes.” Relenting she kissed him on the cheek. “It was well done. A fine gesture which will win hearts for yourself and for Hugh.”










Gah! I had a bunch of unexpected calls on my time, including a lengthy and crappy exam resulting from that job application. Still waiting to find out if I passed …

On the positive side, I think I may have found a way to get the time between the awesome beginning and the equally awesome ending of that Trempwick short story to work. Shall have to see once Eleanor is complete and I try to write it.

The next part will be very long and will be the final part. After 4 years the prospect is quite similar to peering over a cliff edge and knowing you must jump.



Peasant Phill, it is indeed ‘The Prince’.

SSJPabs, let’s tackle the easier bits first.

So I was checking to see if FBG had updated her Kingdoms guides

Ah. Those.

Basically, my boss got addicted to dumping the crappy shifts on me at work so I barely had any time to use for the project. Then I got promoted to manager of my own store, and by the time travel was included I was doing 12+ hour days. Now I finally have time it’s much too late.

This struck me whenever you used the term 'git' as at this time the character would almost surely use the full version 'beget.'

Get is northern English. Git is midland and southern English, i.e. the more prevalent. This kind of variance isn’t uncommon in British English.

A similar thing happened with words like "prat" (though as an American I have no idea what that means)

Brace yourself. Prat is a venerable old word, it’s in written documents over 500 years old and would have been in use long before that. It referred, originally, to the buttocks. Nowadays it’s more often taken to mean idiot. It’s like a medieval version of calling someone an arse.

Finally, something I always struggle to avoid in any of my own original fiction, is anachronistic terms.

I take the view that, as long as there are no freight trains, it doesn’t matter. It’s in modern English therefore it’s anachronistic whatever I write. To be fully correct it needs to be in Anglo-French, middle English, Latin, Langue d’oc, and Langue d’oil. Anything else is a compromise. If I start hurling around words like waltrot no one will know what I mean; context only does so much. As the above shows, accuracy can be present and still considered out of place.

I use the correct words as far as there’s a decent chance of people understanding the meaning. We’ve got braes instead of underpants, a guige strap instead of a shield’s shoulder strap, and so on.

my fingers were twitching with a desire to re-arrange and hack stuff out in certain posts. Mostly towards the end of the early parts and the middle part but there are a few places later.

Your fingers can’t twitch more than mine do. It’s a 4 year long collection of quickly produced, minimally edited scenes designed to tell a novel’s story in an episodic form. The constant need to remind people of things alone accounts for a couple of hundred pages which could be cut right out if the work was to be read in a shorter time. I shall indulge myself after those final scenes go up. :rubs hands gleefully:

romantic historical fiction is probably how I'd class it

Lucky you added the disclaimer about not being familiar with these kinds of stories or I’d have had some kind of breakdown there. A historical romance is a bodice ripper repackaged so the name doesn’t sound so tawdry. Cardboard characters, ultra-basic plot which serves no purpose other than shunting romance and sex scenes about, predictable, usually badly written, often filled with nonsense like people eating potatoes, and just downright bad.

Historical fiction is the term you’re looking for.

But I have to agree with Vuk, it strikes me as very obviously written from a female perspective. There's nothing wrong with that of course, authors I enjoy (like Melanie Rawn) do the same thing, but you can never quite get away from the hmm, genderness, of the work in male POV scenes.

Here’s the tricky one. When Vuk made the same comment he was reading work from an eon ago and the part of the story which is mainly told via Nell’s perspective, so I attributed it to that. You say you have finished the whole thing. Bang goes that idea.

I’m going to have to say I don’t understand what you mean. I can think of a few possible meanings; I don’t want to pick one at random. Especially since one happens to be my second most hated literacy ‘concept’ (and I use that term very loosely) after the idea that fiction has absolutely no value.

So I shall ask you to explain. Give examples if possible.

[SSJPabs]

Will reply more later, but in terms of romance, I was thinking more along the lines of this crossed with this in contemporary language. That said, it actually can't be historical fiction, but it can be alternate historical fiction.

[Prince Cobra]

Welcome SSJPabs. This is a nice alternate fiction indeed.

Wow, I have to catch up again.