The door opened letting in the cold wind and mist of a late autumn night. A lone figure wrapped in a travelling cape stepped through the sill. The richly embroided hooded cape identified him as a man of means, the long sword along other weapons thrust in his wide belt and his large frame identified him as a warlord and a man not to trifle with. When he shrugged his hood on his shoulders, his bearded handsome but scarred face seconded the impression.
The inn was empty but the innkeeper behind the bar and a serving wench cleaning the tables. The visitor chose a table, and holding his sword aside sat down. The innkeeper hovered near the big man using a dirty cloth to throw bread crumbs on the floor. "What's yer wish, sire?
"Food, wine and a bed for the night." He fished a coin from a pocket and threw it on the table. "Here's a talent for yea troubles my good man."
The innkeeper pocketed the coin eagerly. "We're almost with no food for such as you, sire, only a stew and some bread, but we have good wine and the bed is of fine hay if I may say so."
"Good. It will suffice." He nodded to the serving wench that was busy pouring wine from a barrel. "And a bed warmer?"
"This ain't a brothel, good sire. What the wench does is her business. Sometimes she takes with a guy and others not. You will have to ask her by self."
"I will."
The wench put in front of the traveler a bowl of steaming food and a wooden spoon. A wooden goblet full of dark wine was set near his right hand. She brought a bread loaf and breaking it in half offered it to the man.
The traveler gazed firmly at the woman. She was wearing a dark grey dress long enough to sweep the dirty floor, the bodice elevated her breasts increasing the cleavage, her long neck held her pretty but dirty face framed on top and sides by a nest of unkempt red locks. Her skin, where the dirt permitted to see was milky white and spotted with freckles. Her quick blue eyes tried to avoid the warrior's grey-steel ones. Unnerved by his stare she tried to throw the bread on the table and leave, but he grabbed her hand in a steely grasp.
"What's your name, pretty wench?"
"Linda, Sire. Please release my arm you're hurting me..."
The big man didn't take heed of her plea. "How much for a night in the hay, pretty Linda?"
"I ain't a whore, Sire, please release me..."
He forced her nearer. His eyes burned holes in her face. "How much, little one?"
"Five talents Sire. Up in front."
He released her and grabbed the spoon. "After I dine, you'll come with me. If you're any good you'll get half a talent. If you're very good, you'll get one talent. If you're a lousy lie, I'll wallop your backside until you think it fell from your skinny body for being pretentious and pricing yourself as a princess. Nay, I wouldn't pay a princess five talents. And consider yourself lucky that I don't wallop you any way because you asks for payment up front from a knight."
He immersed the spoon in the bowl and proved the stew. He nodded to the innkeeper. "Not bad, he growled. Taking one of his knives from the belt he cut a slice of the bread and started some serious wolfing of the food. From time to time he gulped the wine wiping his lips with the sleeve. He didn't pay any more attention to the serving wench.
She scurried to the kitchen. "What a dirty bastard!" She spat to the innkeeper. "See if I go with him!"
"Calm down, Linda. Be a good girl and don't give this squire any trouble. I know his kind. He is capable of giving you the switch and then use his sword on my neck only to be nasty. Go there and open your legs pretty nice for him. It ain't like you hadn't done that before. And look at him, you could do much worse."
Linda looked at the huge man slurping his stew. "I prefer to lay with a pig."
