“Here.” The servant who had taken charge of Fulk shoved a couple of chewettes into the bodyguard’s hand, “The master said to feed you and so fed you will be.”
“Whether I like it or not, by the looks of things.” quipped Fulk, biting into one of the meat filled pasties. It was under-seasoned and bland; it appeared that someone in the manor had no liking for even a pinch of pepper. Since he had seen Eleanor happily eating some rather highly spiced gingerbread shortly after they arrived in England he knew it wasn’t her; that left Trempwick as the next best suspect. Fulk swallowed and forced a smile for the benefit of his audience, “Thanks.” He tried to break the ice a little and find out more about the manor and its occupants, “So, you are the…?”
“Steward.” came the blunt, grudging reply.
“It’s a big household then?”
“Big enough.”
“I’ve seen you, a groom, that chap over there” he nodded at a man busy stirring a pan of stock, “is obviously the cook; who else is there?”
The steward eyed Fulk with distaste, as if deciding whether he could be trusted with the information, “One cook, two general servants, the groom, and my good self; that is all.”
“No lady’s maid?” asked Fulk, surprised.
The man looked down his nose at Fulk, “There is no lady here.” he said in a tone that did not invite disagreement.
Fulk wasn’t intimidated in the slightest, “There’s Eleanor.”
“As I said, there is no lady here.”
“Well she is a bit…unconventional.”
The steward brightened, his attitude towards Fulk warming considerably; evidently complaining about Eleanor was one of his favourite pastimes. “They say blood tells, and perhaps that is so, but in her case either blood tells nothing or she’s a changeling. I’m Edward, by the way.”
“You know I still find it rather hard to believe she’s a princess.” Fulk delicately angled for a bite, for confirmation from yet another source.
“Oh aye, she is, more’s the pity.”
Their conversation was interrupted by one of the general servants running through the door and speaking just loudly enough to be heard over the background noise, “The king! He’s left much of his escort behind and he’s almost here!” His message delivered the servant sped away.
The steward grinned, “Time for a spot of entertainment, if Walter can get close to overhear.”
“Entertainment?” repeated Fulk, not understanding.
“The king’s never best pleased with her and he’s got a temper that burns like dry wood drenched in oil. I’ll say one thing for her, she’s got pluck; there are not many who spit defiance in the face of our king.”
“Entertainment?” asked Fulk again, this time with a sinking feeling he knew.
“Oh aye, stick the two of them together and it’s a regular bearbaiting, and unlike the fairgrounds here the bear always catches his prey. We even lay the occasional bet.” He leaned closer to Fulk and whispered conspiratorially, “Since you’re new I’ll give you a tip, but don’t let on to the others that I helped you. If you want a safe wager bet on her saying something snappy; if you want to show off then bet on how many comments she’ll get off before he shuts her up.” Edward noticed the thunderous look on Fulk’s face and hastened to reassure him, “Don’t worry, she’ll survive; Lord Trempwick will see to that, never you worry. When the master talks even the king listens.” The steward glowed with pride, “Our master is a great man, truly great and deserving far more than being stuck here with that…” he snorted, not using the insult out of consideration for Fulk.
Edward made to join the other servants peering out the door for the king, but Fulk’s hand shot out and grabbed him by his podgy arm, “Why do you hate her so much?”
The steward turned back and gave Fulk an apologetic yet mocking smile, as if the answer was self-evident, “She doesn’t know her place; if she can’t be happy with what God allotted her then how can we? We suffer and serve the nobles in the hopes of a place in paradise, but she rejects that along with the tenets of society that are laid out in the bible itself. She rejects God’s will.” In a deeply religious world it was a damming verdict indeed.
Fulk let Edward go and followed him to look out for a glimpse of the king. The man Edward pointed out was dressed in rich clothing and flanked by two heavily armoured knights, but otherwise as a king he disappointing. He was short, just as the steward had said, with limp hair that could probably be called sandy; it was shot through with grey and his crown was balding. He had the build expected of a warrior, but age was visibly creeping up on him and he moved rather stiffly. Fulk felt slightly disenchanted; he had never expected to mix with royalty and now that he was he had discovered that they were nothing like the golden figures of popular legend.
Just as when Fulk and Eleanor had arrived Trempwick hurried out and greeted the king, although with considerably more civility than he had given the princess. Together the two men went into the manor; the knights sat down outside the main door and began to play dice.
“Walter, that’s the second general servant, the young lad, will nip on over and see if he can hear anything.” explained Edward, “He’ll report back later with any particularly good bits.”
“I’m her bodyguard…” said Fulk quietly to himself, no longer paying much attention to Edward.
“Aye, kind of tricky, isn’t it? Got to save face while saving your hide too.”
“No!” protested Fulk loudly, trying to drown out the little voice agreeing fervently with the steward. “I am a man of my word; I swore an oath.”
Edward considered for a bit, “Perhaps, but oaths of loyalty to the king take priority above all others, and you were a soldier, right?”
“Yes, in France.”
“There you go then, you would have sworn loyalty to him when you joined his army. He hasn’t asked you to get involved so you don’t, simple.”
“Yes…yes, exactly so.” Like a drowning man Fulk grabbed the excuse; he was a man of honour and simply doing what he had sworn to do.
Night was beginning to fall by the time Trempwick appeared. Fulk was sat alone in one corner; he had left the group when he had found himself unable to stomach their glee at the royal ‘cockfight’. He had been grimly amused when several of the servants had lost their bets when Walter reported the princess hadn’t made a sound except a few taunts right at the beginning. He had a feeling if Eleanor ever found out about that then she would be fiercely happy, as well as busy plotting revenge.
Trempwick didn’t cross the threshold, standing in the doorway, “The king and his escort have departed.” he informed the servants brusquely, “My thanks for looking after Nell’s pet; I will take him now.” The spymaster beckoned to Fulk, “We will take a short stroll.”
Together Fulk and Trempwick strolled out of the kitchen into the courtyard. As soon as they were out of earshot Trempwick spoke, “I will be watching you, very closely. You had best be the very paragon of bodyguards, or you will answer to me.”
“I understand, and now if you’ll excuse me I’ll take my leave.”
“You are going to look for her.” It was not a question. Trempwick stopped walking and studied Fulk, pinning him with a level, cool gaze. Finally he inclined his head slightly, “If you can find her she’ll not thank you.” Fulk said nothing, meeting Trempwick’s gaze. The spymaster laughed, “Fine, go play hide and seek with your princess. I doubt you will find her, and if you do then I expect to see you running for it with your tail between your legs in short order. Have fun.”
By the time Fulk had scoured the manor house and outbuildings he was beginning to think Trempwick might have been right; there was no sign of Eleanor. On his trip he had collected a few items and gotten a good idea of the layout of the manor, but the main object of his wanderings eluded him, making all useless. Now he stood in the middle of the courtyard, looking around to see if there was anywhere he hadn’t yet checked. His eyes flicked past the corner of the manor house, over the defensive tower; he stopped and looked up, the tower had ramparts at the top. Fulk smiled triumphantly and set off to find a way up.
The roof of the tower was accessed by a ladder leading up to a wooden hatch. As he pushed the hatch open and climbed up onto the ramparts a voice observed, “I should have sat on the hatch.”
Fulk shut the trapdoor behind himself and sat down on it, “Allow me, your featherweightness; I’m a mite harder to shift.” He put a cloth bundle down next to himself and drew his cloak in about him.
“What are you doing here?” Her voice was slightly muffled and clumsy; Fulk couldn’t see why, the night was too dark and the feeble moonlight did a good job of hiding and distorting fine detail.
“I am your bodyguard, I will keep following you, even if you do bite my head off when I finally find you.”
“Ah. Bodyguard. How nice. Go away.”
“No.”
“Get lost and leave me alone before I topple you off the top of this tower!”
“I’m quite comfortable sat here, and like you I thought to bring my thick cloak so I’ll not freeze. I even brought a picnic.” he indicated the bundle. He had stuffed her two wrist knives through his belt next to his own dagger, now he pulled them free, “I also found these; I thought I’d rather be knifed than pushed off the top of a tower.” He leaned forward across the gap between them and placed the weapons at her side, then sat up again.
Eleanor picked up one knife and drew it from the sheath, holding it by the hilt and examining it with a small, bitter smile that died almost as soon as it began, “Toys.” She stabbed the dagger point down into the wooden floor of the roof, “Toys, for all the good they ever do me. Fancy, expensive little toys.” she looked at Fulk, “Why are you here? To satisfy your curiosity and see that unthinkable rarity that our society says never should be - a princess who has been flogged like the lowest serf? Go away before I take you up on your tempting request to be stabbed.” She pulled the knife free of the floorboards and flicked it over so she was holding it by the point, ready to throw.
“I don’t think you will; I think your threats are rather harmless.” While he was almost entirely certain he was right a tiny voice in the back of his mind pointed out that she was an assassin in a bad mood.
The moment drew out; a bead of sweat ran down Fulk’s face. She cocked her wrist, beginning to throw, and he began to wonder if he had made a bit of a mistake. Eleanor sent the knife flying so it buried itself point first in the floor, “Are you always going to be this exasperating?”
“Only when you try to kill me, oh frighteningly furious one.” Fulk’s voice was filled with relief.
“I was only trying to kill you because you are annoying.”
“You know that Trempwick fellow of yours was predicting I’d never find you; he also said if I did you’d soon see me off. Want to prove him wrong?”
“Well…it would be nice to wipe the smug look off his face, even if I do have to tolerate your presence to do so.”
Fulk took that as a very reluctant invitation to stay. “How are you?”
“In the peak of health and more than able to rip your ears off without even trying.”
“Spare me your noble’s pride, oh wonder of wonders.”
“And you spare me your stupid questions, you overgrown oaf.”
“Alright, if you insist I shall forget my offer of my medical skills and drop to plan B, which involves giving you a sweet and telling you a silly story in the hopes of coaxing a smile.”
“A smile will prove tricky; I bit through my lip.”
“I’ve got some balm for that somewhere, hidden amongst all the junk I carry. Standard soldier’s kit and all that boring stuff.” Fulk unwrapped his bundle; it proved to be a napkin containing a small pile of sweet pastries. He selected a flat, spiral of pastry with cinnamon mixed into the dough and handed it to her; she took it after a brief hesitation.
Eleanor ripped off a tiny bit and ate it, wrinkling her nose in mild disgust, “You know I can barely see why they call this a cinnamon roll, there is so little of the spice in it. Posh food on an exceptionally tight budget; the expensive spices are amongst the first things to go, right after gilded food, sugar, and subtleties to astonish us all with the skill of the cook at making inedible, fancy sugar sculptures.”
“That explains the chewettes.” said Fulk, grimacing at the memory.
Eleanor examined the pastry closely, struggling to see by the weak moonlight, “Oh gosh! This one actually has a couple of raisins in it; we must be celebrating something. The extravagance makes me quite giddy.”
“I promised you a story; I think I know one you’ll like more than the usual damsels in towers seducing helpless knights.”
“Oh dear, it appears I have been lumbered with an aspiring bard.” lamented Eleanor dryly.
“Well it seems there was this princess-”
“Let me guess, she was as fair as fair can be and so beautiful she made Helen of Troy look like a hag?”
“Um…probably?” Fulk scratched his chin, “I suppose, since they always are.”
“Wonderful, you are telling a story and you can barely even remember the details. I have an amnesiac aspiring bard; delightful.”
“You just shut up and eat your pastry, dear chatterbox, or you’ll never find out how the story ends.
Anyway there was this princess, let us assume she was appropriately princess looking and generally princessish.”
“What was she called?” interrupted Eleanor again, before finishing the last bite of her roll. She was determined to make his life as difficult as possible; she couldn’t see why she should let him have an easy ride when she didn’t particularly want him around.
Fulk blinked, he knew he should have expected that demand but it still took him by surprise, “She was called…Elizabeth; I always liked that name. Yes, so there’s this Elizabeth and she’s a princess and all that-”
“Yes, I know; you have done that bit a couple of times already. Get on with it or I shall start booing and calling for the next act, you incompetent troubadour.”
“If you would stop interrupting I could get on with telling the story, oh infuriating one! Now, where was I? Oh yes, Elizabeth, princess, blah blah. Right, so one day the king decided she ought to have a knight as her bodyguard-”
“I am not going to request you be knighted.” interjected Eleanor firmly.
“Have another pastry, oh eternally delightful one.” Fulk shoved a fruit tart into her hands, “If you are eating then you can’t keep interrupting! Yes, so this king holds a tournament and announces that the winner will become her bodyguard. Now our Elizabeth is a contrary sort and decides she doesn’t much like this-”
“Sensible girl.” said Eleanor approvingly between nibbles at her tart.
“
Ahem, yes, I suppose she might be. On the day of the tournament she locks herself in her rooms, alone and sulking. In addition to all the famous and skilled knights at the tournament there is a stranger with no coat of arms. He is known only as the Black Knight because his armour, surcoat and horse are pitch black-”
“Boring!” complained Eleanor loudly, “Why is it always black? Do knights have no imagination?”
“Alright, there was a strange knight only known as the Puce Knight, better?” he gave her no time to answer, rushing onwards, “Yes, good. Right, this Puce Knight is a bit good and he wins all the jousts and melees. He kneels before the king and the king says ‘Haha, you are a good chap, bravo! You win, congratulations Mr. New Bodyguard. The princess is off sulking but she will soon come around once she sees your nice puce armour and horse; it will coordinate nicely with her favourite dress!’. The Puce Knight pulls off his helmet and everyone gasps in horrified shock; it’s Elizabeth.”
Eleanor raised one eyebrow, “So this princess managed to suddenly pick up the build of a seasoned warrior, learn to use weapons, find a suit of armour that fits and a warhorse, and go off to fight with out anyone noticing?”
“Um…I suppose she did.” mumbled Fulk, “The bard I got this off was a bit drunk, so it was rather garbled, and don’t forget you made me change half of it. Anyway, it ends with the king taking her side and forgetting the whole bodyguard thing.”
“That has to be the single most stupid, idiotic, rambling, ridiculous story I have ever heard in my life!” Eleanor couldn’t help herself; she started laughing, “You bird brained twit; you had best remain in my employment as a bodyguard – if you run off to seek your fortune as a bard you will be starving in the gutter inside of a day!”
“I aim to amuse, Nell.”
Eleanor’s amusement died instantly, “Never call me that, never. I might have to put it with it from Trempwick but not you.” She saw the uncomprehending expression on Fulk’s face and explained quietly, “My brother used to call me that before he…died.”
“If the name pains you as much as that why does he keep using it? It seems very…” he shrugged, at a loss for words.
The rash words of a long gone child rushed back to Eleanor,
”You killed my brother and I will never forget that.” One of the very few occasions she had let her emotions run away with her about Stephan. Now it was impossible to forget; Trempwick reminded her ceaselessly, part of his ever contradictory nature, one minute helping her, the next reminding her she hated him. “He likes the name and he does not know the effect.” lied Eleanor smoothly.
“Nell seems rather…well, I never had you pegged as a Nell, put it that way.”
“No, somehow I do not suppose I am a Nell; not now.”
Silence fell, heavy and smothering. Several minutes ticked by. Finally Fulk felt compelled to ask, “I don’t understand; why did you do this?”
“Because…one dead man is enough of a burden on my conscience.” she rallied from, her gloom and sniffed, “Don’t think this means I like you, you great hulking brute.”
Fulk grinned, “As you wish, oh guiding light. I hate you too.”
Not so bad this time; it could still use more work but it isn't nearly as half finished at the last parts.
Finally things are really getting going.
PB-DK, I think you will find that is the crack cocaine I include in each story part