The Machiavellian Adventures of Princess Eleanor

When Eleanor received her father’s summons she felt sick with fear. She had to be in trouble again, otherwise he never would have sent for her. Incensed with herself she crushed that fear away, not gone but contained. She replaced it with anger, feeble anger still tainted by dread. She had done nothing to upset her father; someone else must have upset him again, someone she would take the fall for. Her fury at the injustice of it all wavered then crumpled before a fresh onset of trepidation. She was still healing from last time, nearly better but not quite.

Trempwick. She had to get Trempwick; he would protect her, as far as he ever could. Trempwick, a sudden flash of inspiration hit her – maybe that was why the king was upset. No, no, couldn’t be. No one spied on the spymaster; no one ever got the drop on him - if he didn’t want people to know what he was doing no one ever found out. He wouldn’t want anyone to know what had happened last night, and there had been no one to see.

Another spike of panic hit her; what was she supposed to do about Trempwick now anyway? She had spent a restless night trying to figure out what his motivation was and she had drawn a blank. Only one thing had she decided for certain; she did not want him to kiss her again. Her feelings towards the spymaster were so mixed she doubted she could ever unravel them, but she unquestionably did not want anything to do with him in a romantic light. Trempwick, however, would be difficult to refuse.

And then there was Fulk.

Suddenly the idea of going back to bed, pulling the covers over her head and pretending the world didn’t exist seemed highly attractive. That had not worked when she was five; it would not work now.

“Well don’t just stand there,” snapped Aveline, “get going. You cannot leave your lord father waiting.”

“If I could I would leave him to wait for an eternity,” returned Eleanor caustically.

“You are a foolish girl, more than foolish. I do not understand what my son sees in you; he should leave you to your well deserved fate and be done with it.”

“Well deserved?” demanded Eleanor incredulously. “You are very quick to talk about that which you do not understand.”

“All I need to understand is my son keeps risking his life and position for you, and he has never had so much as a word of gratitude for his pains.”

That was too true for Eleanor’s comfort. She seized her irritation at Aveline and used it to squelch her fear, then set out in search of Trempwick before her nerve failed again.





In the end she went alone having decided that she was not so craven she would hide behind the spymaster. She never had in the past and she would not do so now. Her pride had always been an essential strength to draw on when fighting with her father; it was in tatters now, and had been ever since she had cried out as his boot drove into her ribs, but it would never heal if she allowed herself to go running to Trempwick for help. She did not want his help, not now, not ever. If she began relying on others to fight her battles she would lose far sooner and more surely than if she fought herself.

She presented herself at the solar door immaculately turned out with her hair pinned up after dawdling on her way up. She didn’t take long enough to exacerbate matters, just enough to make it clear she did not spend her days sat around waiting to be called by him.

William was sat at the solar’s table, a drink in one hand and a chunk of bread in the other. When she appeared he swallowed his mouthful of bread with a grimace, placed his mug down with enough force to slosh some of the contents onto the wooden surface. “You took your sweet time,” he complained. After a bit of consideration he threw the remains of his bread onto the table and pushed himself to his feet.

Now she was here, alone and irrevocably locked into battle her fear was forgotten. There simply wasn’t time to notice it; she was too occupied watching his every movement for warning of an attack, examining his every word and tone for something she could use, thinking of the best way to respond with a tiny hint of bite without overdoing it and getting into more trouble. “I do not spend my life waiting for you to call me; it would not be useful.”

William’s right hand went to his belt, clasping about the band of leather near the buckle in a pose that was both faintly threatening and dominant. “The sooner we conclude the matter I called you here for the sooner you can get out of my sight. I will not be lectured by my spymaster on the import of keeping a truce, nor will I suffer your company longer than required. I am giving you a badge; I am also going to settle a manor on you. I have chosen one near Derby, Allestree.”

The ensuring silence was strained; neither of them really knew what to do next. For nearly two decades they had hardly exchanged a civil word. “Thank you,” said Eleanor eventually, deciding that the king had finished speaking and she would be safe from accusations of interrupting.

“Do not think I am going soft,” protested William so quickly it was obvious he thought he was. “The manor is payment for services rendered; the badge you can thank Anne for. She said a gooseberry would fit you, so that is what you will use.”

He paused, evidently waiting for her to say something. “Thank you,” she ventured again. A gooseberry? Not again! That fruit was beginning to dominate her life. She was not sure what else she could have chosen; a bloodied hairpin with the word ‘surprise’ written under it was out of the question. She was going to go through life, and death too as the badge would appear on her tomb, with a symbol born from a joke about her being short, unpopular and sour.

William cleared his throat then moved the conversation to the safe territory of business, his manner brusque and businesslike, “The manor is already fully staffed and in possession of an experienced steward. You will change nothing; the revenues will be paid to you but otherwise things will continue as they always have.” He glared at her and said balefully, “You do not know how to run a manor and I will not sit idly by while you ruin a good bit of land.”

That was unfair; she should have learned years ago by dealing with the necessary aspects of running her land with the assistance of someone more knowledgeable. It was not her fault she had never been given any land, well not entirely her fault. She would have to see if she could get a crash course from Trempwick; she did not want to be entirely dependant on stewards for the rest of her life, as they would rob her blind if they knew she could not check their accounting and decisions.

But perhaps it was best not to tell her father that she intended to learn. It would start a potential fight; she would appear to be playing into his hands by learning something he wanted her to.

The king’s eyes flicked to the bedroom door; it was closed. “I will give you another manor if you find out how Anne really is; my inquires run into dutiful answers I do not believe.” He hated asking her for help, he hated admitting to being less than omniscient and he hated looking weak – it was obvious in his posture, his tone, even though his words were innocuous enough.

Today was proving to be her lucky day; another manor for doing something she would have done anyway. “I shall do what I can.”

The conversation, if it could be called one, petered out. Away from business they had nothing to talk about and they had been at war for too long to slip easily into the polite nothings that strangers exchanged. In the end William escaped the uncomfortable scene with an excuse about going hawking, leaving Eleanor to wait alone for Anne to finish dressing and emerge into the solar.

When Anne materialized her face lit up as soon as she saw Eleanor. She turned to her two maids and told them, “I shall stay here and talk for a bit, you may leave us.” As the two other girls filed out Anne glanced around, then asked Eleanor, “Where is William?”

“Hawking, or so he said.”

Anne’s face fell. “Oh.”

And that was amazing; Eleanor had not expected Anne to want William’s presence. In an effort to cheer her up Eleanor said, “Thank you for my badge.”

“I thought you might like it, and I did promise. I thought a gooseberry to remind you of him.”

It did; she was not sure what Fulk would think of walking around with a gooseberry sewn on his tunic breast. “Thank you,” she repeated. She seemed to be saying that a lot recently, always filling a gap because she could think of no better. “How are you?”

Anne’s mood immediately became downcast. “It has all gone so wrong. I thought it was going so well and now it is not.” Most people aged when weighted down by worries and unhappiness but Anne did not; she looked even younger, lost.

Not knowing what to do Eleanor stood there uselessly, feeling like a prize ass. She was torn between two conflicting needs; to comfort Anne and to avoid finding out exactly what had caused this reaction. “I know my father can be rather … dislikeable sometimes …” she ventured hesitantly.

“No, it is all my fault.” She blinked rapidly as a couple of tears ran down her face. Her precise dictation broke down as her voice wobbled under the flood of tears, “I didn’t please him and now he hates me. Now I have no one at all because you will leave soon and he’s going to ignore me. Everyone will know he hates me and laugh at me, and I’m going to be here all alone with nothing to do but listen. My grandmother said I’d be cherished but I’m just going to be ignored and hated and laughed at.”

It was on days like this that being an agent didn’t seem such a bad thing to Eleanor, even if she did still have nightmares about her first, and only, murder. But for the grace of God and her own stubbornness she would once have been in the same situation Anne was in now. Somehow the cost of avoiding such a fate didn’t seem so excessive any more.

Reality had finally caught up with Anne. She was in a court full of strangers with only two people from home, occupying a position that attracted attention and gossip like a rotting corpse attracted flies, married to a man who may not be as wonderful as she had hoped, shackled to a new burden of duties and responsibilities that may be too much for her growing shoulders to bear. She was in her own way every bit as lonely as Eleanor.

Eleanor cut across the girl’s sobs and asked, “What exactly did he say?” Since William had asked her to find out if something was wrong with Anne she doubted he would have said anything cruel to the girl. This was probably a misunderstanding, combined with a large dose of shattered illusions.

Anne hiccoughed and sniffed again. “He said he would leave me alone until I am older.”

“Well there you go; that is precisely what he meant. If our king hates someone he is not shy about telling them clearly, take it from someone who knows.”

“But he will still be ignoring me and everyone will know and laugh at me, and I’ll still have no friends. Last night was really horrible, but being laughed at everywhere I go will be worse - I don’t want to be like queen Elise.” More noisy sobs ensued.

Eleanor sighed. What a mess this was, a mess she didn’t really want to be involved in at all. A part of this, the main part Eleanor surmised, was the quintessential problem faced by political wives and there was no real solution; ignored or not either way you lost. Either you were forced to submit to the sexual whims of your husband or you watched as he chased after other women; one was horribly invasive and carried the threat of pregnancy, the other was humiliating to varying degrees. Only a few were unfortunate enough to end up a laughing stock because of their husband’s antics, just as only a handful ended up totally ignored. Queen Elise was something of a legend, precisely because her fate had been unusual.

Queen Elise was famous for being married to king Sven of Denmark, a man who had fathered somewhere in the region of thirty bastards that he cared to acknowledge while never getting around to obtaining a legitimate heir, instead letting the throne pass to his younger brother’s son. He had claimed his wife resembled the back end of a cow. Sven was notorious during his time for his excessive lust; he would chase any woman who caught his eye, regardless of who she was. He had made no effort whatsoever to keep his countless affairs discreet, and just about the whole world had known what he had thought of his unfortunate wife. Even now, nearly a hundred years later, people were still sniggering. The royal family tree of Denmark was still a complex mess today because of Sven’s energetic hobby.

Eleanor searched furiously for something likely to cheer Anne up, anything. The sooner Anne stopped crying the sooner Eleanor could make a run for it without feeling too guilty, leaving someone more qualified to handle the rest. She had to say something to fill the gap; still wracking her brains she began to speak as slowly as she dared, “Um, well … you see … my father is …” Inspiration struck; the honest truth. “ He has no bastards.” Well, there had been a few rumours here and there but nothing much, more the kind of thing people invented to fill a gap. The only persistent tale had centred on a little boy who had died before his third birthday.

On a roll Eleanor found something else to offer. “How many of his past mistresses have you heard of?”

Anne frowned, still sniffling slightly. “None.”

“Exactly.” All that meant was her father was very good at keeping things quiet, but Eleanor was willing to leave Anne to interpret it how she wanted. Even if Anne saw past the surface it was still good news, in a way. People had to have a reason to laugh; the king never gave them one.

Anne pulled herself together and wiped her face on the sleeve of her dress. “So no one will laugh at me, then?” She looked at Eleanor with big, hopeful eyes that reminded Eleanor of a puppy begging for scraps.

“Yes, that is right. You will soon settle in, and then you will feel much better.”

“Can you get my maids back, please? I cannot go down looking like this.” She gestured at her tearstained face.

That was the invitation Eleanor had been hoping for.





Once the maids had been located and sent back up Eleanor started to head back to her guest house, thinking to find Fulk and hear that story of his. A few paces short of her front door a man in royal livery jogged up to her, bowed respectfully and said, “Your highness, the king your father requested to see you if you returned before he left. He will be in the stables, if he has not left yet.”

Left with no choice Eleanor thanked the man and let him escort her to the stables for her second royal audience of the morning.

William was just about to leave, mounted up on his favourite horse with his falcon on his fist. A cluster of hung-over looking noblemen were also mounted up and ready to accompany him. He kneed his horse away from the group so he could speak to Eleanor privately. “Well?” he demanded.

Eleanor made her report succinctly in a tone pitched so it would not carry beyond their ears, “She thinks you hate her; she is homesick and lonely.”

“Hate her? Why does she think that?”

Eleanor’s eyes moved to the audience, although they could not easily hear and they looked innocent enough she knew their ears were straining to overhear. “It has something to do with the time you promised her,” she said circumspectly.

William frowned. “I see. That explains a bit.” He stroked his falcon with the tip of an index finger, smoothing down the feathers where the breeze ruffled them. After a while he looked to the group of men and called, “Falconer, take my bird for me. The hunt is cancelled; I have business to attend to.”

The king’s personal falconer came forward and reached up a gloved hand to take the jesses and encourage the bird to move over. Freed from the need to provide a perch for his bird William dismounted, handing his horse over to his groom. He directed Eleanor to walk with him back towards the keep. “You are surprised,” he stated. “If left this will fester; that would be … a pity.”

As they neared the royal nursery he stopped walking and said, “You need not follow past here. I shall have the details of your new manors sent down along with the design for your badge. Remember, the manors are dependant on your good behaviour; disappoint me and you lose them.” He gave her no chance to reply; without a backwards glance he walked off, slightly faster than was his usual pace, Eleanor thought.







igaworker, Avernite, however did you guess?

I scared Judas! Weee!

A crown would surely make your headache worse, King. That gold is heavy

That is a very good summery of the two daggers, EFrancois. It should help Zeno.

The badge proved every bit as odd as Eleanor had expected. A single green berry banded with the characteristic yellow stripes with a gold crown about its middle, probably intended to make it look less like a boring green blob. Well, there was nothing she could do and now her father had decided on it she had to use it.

Fulk was going to be ecstatic.





It took most of the day for Fulk and Eleanor to get chance to talk alone. In the end Eleanor had to resort to a family favourite; the garden. She declared she wanted a bit of air. Because it was a cool day Aveline wanted to stay inside and Juliana was trapped with her. Fulk ‘escorted’ her over to the garden and left her at the gate before looping around and making his way unseen to the back wall where he could climb over.

They would not be disturbed because Eleanor had told the guards she wished to be alone. As long as they kept their voices down no one could hear them talking, so the guards would swear she had been alone if anyone asked. They made their way to a bench near the middle of the garden and sat down. As they were side by side Fulk speculated about risking putting an arm around her but he decided against it. It might be safe in every meaning of the word but with the story he was going to tell it would not be a good idea.

He began his story with a question. “You remember how I told you about Cicely?” Eleanor confirmed she did with a nod. “Well, as I said that ended when I left for France with my father. After we crossed the narrow sea we made our way to a friend of my father’s in Evrout. He had a small fief at Tancarville, near the coast where we landed. Visiting him was one of the reasons my father had been eager to make the trip; the itch to do a bit of fighting and make some money was only a secondary reason.”

“Mathieu de Tancarville and my father had fought side by side in their youth, in one of the previous wars. They had become fast friends. On my second day in his castle I heard someone crying; I investigated, reasoning I’d nothing better to do. I found a girl sat in the small garden, crying because her pet cat had been run over by a cart and killed. Her name was Maude.” It had been years since he had said that name aloud, and now it felt unfamiliar on his lips. “She was de Tancarville’s only child. He doted on her; poor chap had lost all his other children in infancy. Being the gallant type I am I couldn’t just leave her so I went over and talked to her.”

“Was she beautiful?” asked Eleanor. It was clear she thought she could see why Fulk had remained; in light of his Cicely story he couldn’t blame her.

Fulk remembered golden hair, delicate blue eyes set in an oval face, a mouth that, as the troubadours said, just begged to be kissed. “Yes, she was,” he agreed. Eleanor looked worried, as if she thought he preferred Maude to her. He reassured her, “There’s no comparison between the two of you. She was cute and mild tempered, whereas you’re…” He shrugged.

Eleanor produced her graceful frown, just as he’d hoped. “What? I am what?”

“Annoying,” he said with a disarming grin.

“Thank you, turbot face,” grumbled Eleanor.

“My pleasure, oh dewdrop of delight. Now, back to Maude. I kept talking away, using my nice noble’s manners and all. She barely said a word, even when she did it was no more than two or three strung together. I think the longest thing she said was, ‘My name is Maude.’ I did get a few smiles, and because of that I kept going. She had a nice smile, and I could see she was cheering up a bit. Eventually I took her back inside.”

“That’s when we both found out who the other was; you can imagine the scene – her father thought I was some dreck chasing after his pretty daughter and mine wondered what I’d picked up this time.” Fulk winced slightly. “Ah yes, that was fun.” Maude’s father had threatened to geld him with a blunt knife while his own had complained that one day Fulk was going to get himself killed by a wronged husband.

Eleanor laughed. “I see you come out as the villain in both parent’s eyes.”

“I know – it was so unfair,” whined Fulk overemotionally. His face set into an unconsciously hard expression as the story began in earnest. “Things calmed down when they found out what had happened. We stayed at Tancarville for just over a week. I spent most of my time with Maude, partly because she sought me out, partly because I liked trying to get her to smile. By the time I rode out with my father’s few soldiers and de Tancarville’s levy Maude and I had become quite close.”

“We joined up with one of the local count’s armies, patrolling for French raiders and doing a bit of raiding ourselves. I was disgusted; there was no real fighting and no chances for glory. We were out for the best part of three weeks, finally returning to Tancarville when the army broke up with it’s job done.”

“We’d been back for a few weeks when de Tancarville took me to one side and told me he’d been trying to find Maude a good match; she was fifteen and of an age to marry even to his protective eyes. He had promised that he would give her a say in matters, I told you he was soppy for her, and that she’d kept refusing everyone. Then he stunned me; he said she’d asked him to consider me. He said he’d never heard her string so many words together at once in all her life. He liked what he’d seen of me and he was willing to overlook my bastard’s status because of his friendship with my father. All I had to do was earn a knighthood so Maude wouldn’t be disgraced by the match; nobles don’t marry bastard nothings. A bit of status combined with the promise of my future and my skills would be enough just enough to enable to me to marry into the minor mobility.”

“So, we were betrothed. She loved me and I …” he sighed, some of the hard set of his face easing as he thought back to the boy he had been, “and I loved her with all the fervour of a seventeen year old boy.” He glanced sidelong at Eleanor, uncertain as to how she would react to that. Nothing. Her face was well schooled into neutrality. Already he was losing her. His heart ached and in that moment he was not sure what he would do if she discarded him.

He resolutely fixed his gaze back at the garden ahead of him and continued, his earlier briskness of speech augmented now by a touch of defensiveness. “I wasn’t too happy with waiting; any knight can make another and I was surrounded with them. I’d always assumed I’d be knighted, and I’d always craved the extra status to counter my parentage somewhat. Suddenly that knighthood became an obstacle; it was all that stood between me and what I wanted – Maude, land that would undoubtedly be mine, respectability, the kind of future I’d have had if I’d been legitimate.”

“I kept asking my father to knight me or recommend me to another who would but he always refused, counselling prudence. I was too young, he said, another year and he’d be happy to speak to someone on my behalf. A year would give me time to grow and mature, to make a bit of a name for myself and for the details of my roundabout inheritance to be settled. Maude was a heiress but I should bring something to the match myself, he said. He was still negotiating with his liege to let his land pass to me as a new tenant, with a bit more time I would be his heir in all but name. I didn’t want to hear about time, or prudence or patience. I wanted it all now. We quarrelled; I remember my exact words.” Fulk stopped. When he continued his voice was low, “I told him ‘I will be a knight, with or without your help, faithless bastard.’”

“That was too much; when they left to join the next army they left me behind to cool my heels. I was too arrogant to see anything other than a slight to my skills, to see anything other than them holding me back and denying me my chance. The castle was fairly empty; most of the men were gone.”

Here it came, the bit which still reverberated in his life now, the indirect reason he was telling Eleanor his story instead of continuing to leave it to rot in a dark corner. He spoke dispassionately, as if he were telling of events that had happened to someone else, “One day Maude and I found ourselves alone in the solar; her maid was sympathetic to young love and all that so she vanished for a bit. Aside from that day in the garden we had never been left alone, there was always someone watching from a discreet distance. We’d exchanged a few chaste kisses and the like but being watched is very off-putting. That was the first time there had ever been any real passion involved and it was like throwing a lit torch on a bonfire of oil soaked wood.”

He paused, not needing to say more. He wondered if Eleanor now feared him and what he might do, just as he feared himself. He hoped not. He did not want to see her keeping him at arms length, always afraid the same thing might happen with her.

He couldn’t leave the story there, but to continue was only to get more damning. Regardless he had to go on. “Afterwards we panicked, her more than me but that was understandable. We worked through things; it wouldn’t matter – we would fake the bloodstain when we did marry so no one would be any the wiser that we’d … pre-empted things. Thanks to my plentiful experience with Cicely the whole coitus interruptus thing was nearly second nature to me so I had remembered that at least. It was unlikely there would be any inconveniently timed babies to complicate matters, but just to be sure I would get her some of the herbal tea my mother swore by. So, you see in the end it didn’t matter – no one but us would know.”

It was obvious Eleanor had no idea what half of what he’d just said meant. He wasn’t going to explain; there are some things you don’t talk about with princesses you have an inappropriate love for. At least Eleanor was never likely to get religious on him and point out it was a sin to impede conception, unlike Maude. Her poor confessor would have had to sit through her telling a story he had heard many times before from many people.

“Yes, well I think that maid knew – she damn well vanished the next day too, and the same thing happened again even though I had sworn to myself it would not.” Fulk flushed a deep red. “I was not very well acquainted with the concept of self-control. She was nervous and rather reluctant at being left with me but that soon wore off; a single kiss can spark things off if you get it right, though it honestly was not my intent.” No, this was how he had learned. “The third day-”

“I can guess,” interrupted Eleanor. She had gone slightly pink.

Fulk shook his head. She may as well have the full, unflattering truth. “No, there was one minor difference from the third day on – I stopped trying to control myself and started planning ahead. On the third day I showed up with a bit of fleece and some vinegar and the intention of seducing her.” Explaining to Maude exactly what they were for had been an unforgettable experience; they had both nearly died of embarrassment. “The maid was on our side, I was enjoying myself and I was finally getting somewhere with the idea of pleasing my partner too because I had a reason to care. Besides, we were to be married so it didn’t really matter what we were doing. The only reason we weren’t married already was because everyone was holding me back. That made it their fault, not mine. I had tried to be honourable and they had prevented me; any guilt or blame was theirs, or so I believed.”

“Our fathers were gone for about a week and a half before they sent a man back to fetch me; a sizeable French raiding party had been sighted heading towards Fauville. I was to go out and join them so I could experience a proper fight. Maude was not too happy, but I told her I would return a knight and then we could marry. She gave me a sword that had belonged to her grandfather, the blade I still carry, and told me to use it to win my spurs. I armed up and rode off with high hopes and great dreams.” His tone alone told that those dreams had turned to ashes.

“Our force caught up with the French one just outside Fauville. Since there were only a couple of hundred per side it was more a skirmish than a real battle. I was with the tiny contingent of knights and other heavy cavalry, mounted up and praying devoutly for the glory of a cavalry charge, to sweep down on the French and crush them beneath my horse’s hooves in a wave of glory that could win my spurs and make me famous. The archers skirmished a bit, and the cavalry waited. The infantry lines joined and still the cavalry waited. It was too much; I thought we were never going to see action. I could see my dreams fading away with each Frenchman someone else killed.”

Oh Jesú, the further he got into this the worse it grew. Time to tell her he had lied to her, and to explain why the spymaster had called him the hero of Fauville. “Remember how I told you the story of this battle before? I said a reckless young fool seeking glory started the charge alone. That fool was me. I knew the others would follow me, not wanting to be left out of the glory themselves, and I thought I would get the glory of being the man to lead the charge. I believed the charge would win the battle, and so I would have the glory of being responsible for our victory too. I targeted a group of infantry just in front of us; they were being held in reserve and protecting the right flank.”

“I was shot down by a crossbowman some twenty odd yards from the enemy line, my horse dead and a bolt stuck clean through my thigh. The others had begun to follow me but they too rode into crossbow bolts. There were not many archers in support of our target infantry but then there were mayhap thirty horsemen, so even a few bolts made a big difference. It had been a poor and disorganised charge to begin with and the ground was so muddy the horses had difficulty keeping their feet. It did not take much to put an end to the charge I had begun. That is why our leader had not ordered us forward himself.”

“As the enemy infantry rushed to destroy our beleaguered cavalry my father appeared to protect me. I didn’t know it until someone told me afterwards but he had instantly detached and followed me with the aim of bringing me back. Cavalry don’t do well when they are stopped and mobbed by infantry; I watched as my father was pulled from his saddle and hacked to pieces.”

Fulk smiled bitterly. “The remaining cavalry regrouped and managed a proper charge; the infantry broke and ran. Someone hauled me from the field to the surgeon’s tent for treatment but no one would have anything to do with me after my stupidity. All I had left was my armour and the few bits and pieces in our tent; my father’s corpse was picked clean by looters. I didn’t even go to his funeral – I was in a deep fever because of my own wound. I nearly died.” Miserably he admitted, “Sometimes I wish I had.” Eleanor didn’t say anything; he glanced at her again and found she was looking at him with what might be sympathy.

From that he drew the nerve to finish, to recount the worst part. “Maude’s father was the first person I saw once the fever broke. He told me I was no longer welcome in his lands, the betrothal was cancelled and I was lucky he didn’t wring my neck. I knew then my future had died along with my father. I was just the penniless bastard of a minor knight with some outdated armour, no employment, no friends and a leg wound. The agreement with my father’s liege had not been finalised, and in any case I had proved myself to be undesirable as a vassal, so his fief would go to someone else. I couldn’t go home; it would mean telling everyone what I had done. I couldn’t bring myself to send a message to my mother, not even to tell her I was alive. She must believe me dead.”

“I decided I would go and earn my fortune, get my knighthood and then return for Maude. Once I had restored my fortunes I could contact my mother and she would be overjoyed to see how well I had done for myself. Everything would be alright as long as I could call myself Sir Fulk. Maude and I were betrothed; despite what he said her father would not break that contract. He would never force her to marry against her will, and she would wait for me. With my skills as a warrior and with my education it would be easy for me to find a place with a lord who had not heard of me, then I could soon prove myself to be a desirable vassal. Nothing could go wrong.”

“About two and a half weeks after the battle Maude turned up in my tent; she had come out to find me even though her father had forbidden it. She had heard about the battle, she was not happy but she needed me. Her father had arranged a marriage for her to one of the local landowners; her own judgment had proven so poor her father felt obliged to rescue the situation. Between the known fool and the unknown quantity she chose me. She begged me to save her, to stand on my rights and marry her before she was forced to marry this landowner.” Fulk swallowed, his throat suddenly parched. If he hadn’t lost Eleanor by now then this would be the proving point. It got no worse.

“I refused,” he admitted hoarsely. “I would not let her marry a penniless bastard. I said it was for the sake of her name,” Fulk’s head bowed, “It was for the sake of my own pride. I didn’t want to be overshadowed by her. Before I had not cared, but now I had nothing except my armour while she was the same.”

He looked up again and said urgently, “I truly did not believe she would marry, if I had things would have been different. I was too stuck in my own dream, too stubborn, too insistent on saving my pride. She did not ask again, if she had maybe I would have believed this new match was something other than a bluff.” He remembered the way she had crumpled, the way she had been so hopeless as she had left. He remembered his insistence that everything would be fine; she would not marry and he would be a knight, then he would come back for her. She had known he would not. She must have thought he didn’t want her any more, perhaps even going so far as to think he had been using her all along.

“I heard about the wedding four days later. I never had the courage to find out what had happened to her. She was supposed to be a virgin bride. I did not hear of any scandal surrounding the marriage, but ...” He let himself trail off, not needing to say more. The one person most likely to take exception to her unexpected experience would be the one best placed to make her life a living hell, the only one nearly guaranteed to find out. Her husband. Some women would have had found a credible excuse, but not Maude. Deception was out of the question too; she had never had a deceptive bone in her body. Maude would never think to get her husband so drunk he could barely remember getting married, let alone the fine detail, then splotch a bit of blood from a cut on the sheet.

“When I had healed enough I left in search of an employer; I ended up with Aidney. I have spent most of my life since then trying to become something worth the cost of saving, since the price has already been paid.” Until recently he’d not had much success.

There was a long silence; Fulk waited tensely for her to say something, anything. Eventually she spoke up, “All of this was eight years ago, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Then why do you still expect to behave like the boy you were?”

“I don’t want to risk repeating the same mistakes again.”

“If you never test yourself how can you know if you have learned control or not? Or would you rather always live in fear based on the suspicion that you might not have? Currently loving someone does rather appear to be the death knell of the relationship, assuming there is one there in the first place.” Eleanor cocked her head slightly, looking at him curiously. “So what do you plan to do now?”

That could be understood as an invitation; it certainly was not the disgust, abhorrence or rejection he had expected. Fulk was so relieved his worst fears had proven groundless that he felt giddy. He knew what he wanted to do - the same thing he had wanted to do the night before, and too many times to count before that. They would not get many opportunities like this, alone and safe even from Trempwick’s spying eyes. Oh sod it - why not? She was right; if he never tried he would never know and now she was warned. Surely one kiss couldn’t hurt, not if he watched himself, and Eleanor would be watching too. She was not Maude to stand there almost helplessly, not realising what was happening until it was already too late and they were both swept away by desire. No, she’d probably knee him in the groin if he so much as tweaked any part of her clothing.

He slid up on the bench and shifted the angle he was sitting at slightly so he was facing her. His left hand took hers and clasped it lightly. He sat looking at her for a bit, trying to decide on the best way to approach this. They had so little time every instant had to be special. He hopped to his feet, pulling her up as well. “Now, where were we?” he murmured. “Ah yes.” He stepped closer to her, one had on her waist and the other on the side of her face repeating their pose from the night before.

Once again he leaned down but this time he didn’t change his mind at the last instant; he kissed her delicately on the lips, testing at first but then with increasing confidence and passion. His hand slid from her cheek to the back of her head while the other went round to the small of her back, pulling her closer still. After a small delay Eleanor’s arms went around his neck and she leaned into his embrace.

Finally they broke for air. They stared at each other, rather stunned. Eleanor chewed her lower lip slightly, thinking. “Are you supposed to do that with your tongue?”

“Not according to the Pope. Didn’t you like it?”

“I am not quite sure … perhaps we could try again?” A pretext. She liked it; he was sure.

Fulk was only too happy to oblige.

A few minutes later he pushed Eleanor away from him slightly. “We should get back.” As much as he was enjoying himself Fulk was skating on the edge of seeing if she really would knee him in the groin if he tried something a bit more advanced. Better to err on the side of caution and stop now.

They returned separately, Eleanor by the garden gate, Fulk by the back wall and a long, circular walk back. He returned to the guest house fully half an hour after Eleanor. As far as the world was concerned they had parted ways as Eleanor entered the garden.







So there you go, Fulk’s story … or should I say the main part of it? He does have eight years of missing time, and seventeen years before this. If you’ve been gathering your hints and clues you will probably have guessed much of this already. It’s one of those subtle things, just like Trempwick hinting he might care for Nell. He’s been doing that since his first appearance with the hints getting steadily stronger as time passed.

Fulk's POV there is one of those very rare occasions where I'm painfully aware of being female and writing a male POV with not real clue of what I'm doing.. Yes, well I suppose it is safe enough to assume that at least one man out there is like that ...

Page 187 and they finally kissed


Avernite, how about "Gooseberry: An epic tale of a tetchy princess and her bodyguard"

Thanks, Maccavelli. I wouldn't mind seeing one either. I might see what I can put together in paintshop pro with my abysmal skills. If I get something other than a neon green blob I'll post it.

Nice thinking, Judas. Since her lands are dependant on not upsetting William just how long she will keep them remains a rather significant question.

Poor Nell, she really is embarassed by her badge already. If she heard some of this she'd be mortified. You don't want to make the princess cry, do you, King?

Say any of that to Fulk's face, The Arch Mede, and he'd punch your lights out. He'd then wait for you to wake up so he could tell you he's never had the pox, then he'd hit you again. He's nice like that

Trempwick had been looking for Eleanor that morning but had not been able to locate her. His afternoon had been taken up with business so by the time he found her it was time for them to join the crowds in the main hall. He didn’t seem concerned with time keeping; as soon as he met Eleanor in her guest house he threw his mother out of the room, shut the door and demanded, “Where were you?” Eleanor hadn’t seem him this angry since she brought Fulk back to the manor.

Carefully she replied, “I have been here all day, except for a brief time when I went to get some air.”

“Where?” he demanded again.

“In the garden.”

He said flatly, “You will not go there again.”

“I do not-”

“We will not repeat this exercise again, dear Nell,” once again he twisted the ‘dear Nell’ into a sarcastic, wounding barb, “you will stay where I can find you easily.” When he used that tone of voice there was no arguing, not if you had any interest in your personal comfort for a few weeks. He glared at her for a moment to be sure his point had sunk in. “And now we shall go to dinner, come.” As they made the trip over to the main hall she reflected that she much preferred the more relaxed version of the spymaster, the one she had only seen these last few days.





Trempwick remained cool throughout the first part of dinner; he was sparing with his attention, he barely spoke and tension hung in the air. Eleanor felt wretched; she wanted him to return to the affable person he had proved to be these last few days. She liked it when he was kind to her, she almost craved his benevolence. It was so rare, addictive; it filled a gap she had not even known existed.

She barely touched the lamprey pie Trempwick had placed on their platter, instead watching it cool and congeal. She was not used to all this rich food, and the same could be said of much of court life. It had been a pleasant change at first but now she only wanted to leave. Too much rich food, too much pageantry, too much show, too much wasted time, too many people, the need to play proper princess much of the time, the ever present threat of the king, the way her brother steadfastly ignored her – the list went on and on.

She addressed the silent, ominous figure next to her. “When will we return home, master?”

“Home?”

She clarified, “To Woburn.”

Trempwick’s face lit up with a genuine smile, one which made the corners of his eyes crinkle. “Many would say this is your home, dear Nell. I am … flattered you think otherwise.” This ‘Dear Nell’ had regained the gentle hint of liking. “I thought you were enjoying yourself?”

“It is all …” she groped for the right words, “too much. I do not belong here.”

“But you do belong at Woburn?” He seemed immensely pleased by this.

“More than I do here,” she hedged. She didn’t exactly fit there either, but the sense of being out of place was much less.

“We shall leave soon, Wednesday at the latest. We shall not attend the coronation unless you wish to, or if we cannot avoid it. Four more days, sweet Nell, four more at the most.” Trempwick prodded the cold pie with his spoon; he wrinkled his nose in distaste. “You have barely eaten, not hungry?”

Eleanor shook her head, “Not really.”

Further along the table William stood up; the hall dropped into an expectant hush, thinking he was about to speak. Instead he extended his hand to Anne and then together they disappeared up the stairs leading to the royal suite without so much as a word of explanation. The tranquillity broke, replaced by much nudging and winking, and the more daring made quips about newlyweds and their insatiable passions.

Trempwick leaned to Eleanor and said softly, “Tell me, beloved Nell, truth or deception?”

Eleanor cast her mind back to her morning’s work, factoring in what she knew of both parties, but mostly what she knew of her father. “Deception, I think,” she answered doubtfully. “It is hard to say for certain. I would not be surprised if they were playing chess up there but there is room for doubt.”

Trempwick considered this carefully. “Find out for me, sweet Nell.” His teeth flashed in a quick grin and he became more light-hearted again. “Remember my hobby; looking after beleaguered princesses. Since you do not require saving at this point in time I shall have to turn my attention elsewhere or I shall get bored. You are, as ever, my rescuee of choice, so scream if you need me and I shall drop Anne and come running.”

“Nonsense.”

“Ah, but is it, dear Nell? I have been rescuing you for years now and it has never quite lost its appeal.” He smiled at her in a somewhat odd way before sobering and saying, “I hear you got a badge today, and about time too.”

She still hadn’t broken the news to Fulk. Crossly she told herself that if he didn’t like having a gooseberry stuck on his tunic then it was entirely his own fault – he had started the gooseberry thing, and he had passed it on to Anne. “Yes, it is a little … unusual.”

“It matches the owner, then. I cannot wait to see it.” He looked away from her, at the hall full of people and the trio of jesters capering on stilts in the middle of the hall. His scorn was apparent. “Let us go now, dear Nell. There is no point in remaining; we can amuse ourselves back at your guesthouse with none of this … inanity.”





From his usual place at one of the lower tables Fulk watched as Eleanor and the spymaster slipped out, pausing only to collect Aveline to act as chaperone. Even the spymaster had to be cautious, but Fulk would have changed places with him in a heartbeat. Trempwick would simply tell his mother to go away once they were safely behind closed doors, leaving him alone with the princess but respectable in the eyes of the world. It mattered little that the spymaster would behave as he always did; the opportunity was what Fulk hungered for.

Whatever they were doing it should be him with Eleanor, not Trempwick. Him talking, him playing games, him making her laugh, him spending time with her.

Looking forward Fulk could see no certain way to repeat their earlier opportunity, no way to be sure they would be safe. Behind every closed door there could be listening ears, in every empty stretch of ground there were spying eyes. Even silence could be damning; people generally didn’t sit in the same room saying and doing nothing. Their only real hope lay in whatever missions they were sent on, and even then nothing was assured. Any time Trempwick knew they were alone together he would be extra vigilant. It would only take the faintest of doubts for the spymaster to act; they must always be above suspicion.

Until their arrival at court it had not mattered much if Trempwick was spying on them; the only thing that had needed to remain secret had been their solitary fencing lesson. Now they had to hide two conversations, one gift of a necklace, one gift of a hairpin and a garden interlude which promised great things assuming they ever got the chance to do it again, and all of this from just three days.

Opportunity was not the only issue; there was also the fear of Trempwick seeing a smile at the wrong time, an unguarded look exchanged between them or any one of those thousands of telltale signs. Things always change when feelings are clearly expressed, it was a part of why he had kept silent for so long. Their behaviour to each other was forever altered, if only because now they were trying to seem as if nothing was different.

All he had done in that garden was briefly glimpse what he longed for, a glimpse that would now torture him while he searched for a way to do it again. He would do anything to have her in his arms again, but, perhaps because of that, he still didn’t entirely trust himself. There was far too much at stake; one tiny falter and they would both die. He might not be the boy any more, and Eleanor was no Maude, but still …

“My, you are maudlin tonight,” commented Juliana, a bite of capon halfway to her mouth.

Fulk said nothing, lost in remembering the feel of Eleanor’s lips beneath his own.

He would find a way.





Trempwick stared at the gooseberry and crown design illustrated on the bit of parchment Eleanor had handed to him when they arrived back at her room. “I shall get it changed for you,” he said finally. After some deliberation he suggested, “A unicorn; I think you will find the unexpected joke pleasing. Maidens catching their unicorns are always supposed to be demure, whereas you are decidedly not. So, you shall be declaring what you are and misleading people with what you are not, your cover personality displayed to the world and not a one shall understand it. I do love the irony there.” He chuckled. “Yes, most fitting.”

Eleanor was not entirely happy with Trempwick’s idea but she knew better than to say so. A unicorn would represent a significant improvement over a gooseberry, if nothing else. A stab of inspiration caused her to add acrimoniously, “Make sure it has a crown around its neck, hampering and choking the poor beast even as the world clucks admiringly at how impressive it looks.” At his enquiring look she explained, “The proper princess, strangling the real person.”

“Very nice,” said Trempwick approvingly. “I shall speak to the king, if not tonight then tomorrow.” His face brightened as another meaning to the badge occurred to him. “Unicorn horn is supposed to guard against any poison because the beast is so pure, most amusing. Now, what say you to a game of chess?”

Eleanor’s reply was less than wholehearted. “If you wish, master.” Oh God, not that accursed game again!

“I shall have to see if I can get your game to a better standard, sweet Nell,” said Trempwick. He apparently thought he was doing her some huge favour, even though he knew she hated the game.

Eleanor started to unpin her hair; she may as well lose in comfort. Before she had pulled the second pin lose Trempwick said, “No, leave it.” He stood and picked up the removed pin, then stood behind her and delicately replaced it. “I prefer your hair like this.” And that was a small unexpected thunderbolt from above; he had never complained before, and he was partly responsible for her always having her hair loose anyway. He had never provided a maid to help her with it. Prefer it how? As a weapons cache yes, her hair did work nicely like this but that made little sense, as they were not going back to the hall. It almost sounded as if the spymaster liked the way it looked, as in honestly liked it. Call her suspicious but something was going on here; Trempwick was after something.

Pin replaced Trempwick stepped back. “I shall go find us a chess set.”





“Here you go, bodyguard,” sneered Trempwick as he dangled a bit of parchment in front of Fulk the next morning. “Dear Nell’s new badge. Go on, take a look.”

Fulk did as the spymaster ordered. It was a unicorn, stood still with one foot lifted in the pose called ‘passant’ by the heralds. Unlike the usual design for unicorns this one looked more like a white horse with a horn stuck to its forehead; it had none of the curled, long hair at its knees and its tail was not that of a lion. Around the beast’s neck was a gold crown, worn like a collar.

“I trust you know the legends?” asked Trempwick archly.

“Of course.”

Trempwick laughed. “Remember them well, bodyguard; I might need Nell to catch a unicorn one day. So much as a dream of a single hair, bodyguard, so much as a dream.”

“Do you have reason for this latest threat or are you just keeping in practise?” inquired Fulk with a calmness he didn’t feel.

“I know what you are, bodyguard. Little more than a beast, I do think. I will not let you use Nell like you used so many others.” Fulk would argue the used; as far as he was concerned only Cicely fell into that category.

Fulk forced himself to smile sardonically. “Since you’ve been so busy poking about in my past I’m shocked you’ve not noticed I’ve an eye for beauty. Dear Nell might be amusing but,” he shrugged carelessly, “I’ve never been one for romancing in the dark.” He wasn’t sure if the was misleading the spymaster or not; for good measure he added, “I like her in the same way I’d like a sister, and just like a sister the idea of seducing her makes me feel ill.”

Trempwick backhanded Fulk across the face, splitting his lip. “You will speak of her with more respect, bodyguard.”

Fulk dabbed blood away with the back of his hand; the spymaster hit hard, harder than Fulk would have thought possible. Beneath that dapper exterior lurked the trained muscles of a fighter. Fulk had never seen the spymaster practise, and from what he had gathered nor had Eleanor. Interesting. “I thought it best to make it clear you’re barking up the wrong tree – I’ve a liking for being alive.”

“Good.” Trempwick’s smile was nothing if not wolfish. “Dear Nell would get rather upset if I had to kill her pet; for reasons I cannot understand she likes you.”

“Like a brother, making us a happy little family.”

“Just so,” agreed Trempwick. “Go get your badge made, bodyguard.”





Good for you, Avernite.

Depends what you mean by love scene, Amric. I've seen the term applied to incredibly chaste handholding scenes, steamy sex scenes and everything in between.

Thank you, the_hdk. Welcome aboard.

Scotland. Unicorns. Gah! :glares daggers at big, fat book on heraldry: 647 pages long, 3 1/2 of which are on the unicorn and it doesn't bother to tell me unicorns are associated strongly with Scotland? Thistles, yes, but unicorns? Oh no, that would be too helpful. :growls in frustration: You know, this is why I have taken to fantasy for my book.

The unicorn badge is supposed to be just some throwaway badge no one else is currently using. If it were Scotland's badge (i.e. if I knew it was before I wrote anything about it) Eleanor would know. Since it's too late to change anything, and I have plans for this badge anyway, assume that in this world the unicorn has nothing to do with Scotland or anywhere else unless I say so.