Return Pt 04

Author's Note: If you are an historian especially of the Medieval Period of Europe and the Middle East please do be aware that I have taken some serious liberties with all sorts of things, especially the time the story is set in, the people, the battle tactics and the politics so please accept this as a work of complete and utter fiction and not a new and butchered version of Medieval history. Thanx

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We sailed on the tide, just as the sun rose on a fair day with a stiff breeze at our backs, headed for Spain and my sojourn there as ambassador to the Spanish Court. I looked back at the wharf and waved at Iron John and Lady Jessica. My wife Lady Esme was "too ill" to bid me farewell, still angry over the fact that the queen had slept in her room while visiting and that I had stormed into her bedroom on our wedding night and found Lady Jessica eating her pussy. To add insult to injury, I fucked Lady Jessica while she was still head down between Lady Esme's legs and then left with out further discussion. I had little or no doubt that Iron John would head back to my estate and fuck any woman willing and able including my wife before returning to report my exile to the king. Despite Iron John's reassuring words about hot and willing Spanish women I was reluctant to try out my luck without carefully testing the waters. The example of the previous Ambassador, Philip of Euston being killed in a duel over a nobleman's wife weighed heavily on my mind. I thus very cautiously presented myself and my credentials to the King Carlos, king of Spain on my arrival at his capital and received a warm welcome from him and his court. Iron John had been right about one thing, the Spanish women were beautiful and exuded a dangerously alluring sexuality while somehow professing their faith in the Almighty.

I have just met my household staff when Claudio Gomez a comrade from the Crusades arrives to welcome me and to guide me around the palace. He is here he says to introduce me to the "important" people and to meet the "special" people. The "important people" are ministers of various functions with whom I will have to interact to carry out my duties, which at this time seem to be fairly minimal which is a bad thing because it would seem that I will have more spare time than is good for my health and well being. The "special" people are mostly veterans of the Crusades, many of whom I had met at one time or another, others are new to me, but all are welcoming and friendly. Also a bad thing because they sound like a rowdy mob and describe some seriously dangerous and hair raising escapades they had taken part in. When I raise the topic of the late Philips duel and the cause of it there is a quite a bit of reticence amongst the "special" people but the impression I got was that Philip had not been a "special" person, had not fitted in well, had flown way beyond his social level and gotten involved in some risky business that no one seems to be willing to discuss.

"But" said Claudio "You are not a stupid person. You will know where not to tread and there are women interested in meeting you. Your name is already known in the right circles."

"And the wrong!" mutters someone sotto voice.

Court intrigue is apparently rife and rival factions fight political battles throughout the palace.

My first official function is to attend a banquet hosted by the king and queen to welcome me to Spain. I am seated at his table, a rare honour for a foreigner.

"Possibly to make up for Philip dying in that duel with Ronaldo." Claudio speculates. "A put up job! Ronaldo and his wife Celia are libertines of epic proportions. They are always involved in orgies and everyone knows it. Ronaldo is one of the very best duellers in Spain. In the world! Very dangerous. Maybe you should stay away from Celia? Hmmm?"

The duel is starting to sound far too similar to that which I had fought in England. Precipitated by the king and his advisors to execute a troublemaker.

"This Ronaldo? He the chief adviser to the king?"

Claudio nods and rapidly changes the subject. What was Philip up to that got him into a duel with the kings chief advisor I wonder. I just hope that Claudio is not in a faction. I'll have to investigate. I just hope that someone will educate me before executing me. I do not want to get involved in a faction fight. Not my job I mutter to myself.

After the kings welcoming speech I bow to him then turn to address the table.

"I would like to thank everyone for their warm welcome. I will do my best to improve my shaky Spanish and I am sure my time here will be fruitful for both of our great nations."

"You need a pillow teacher!" remarks a woman. She has bright sparkling eyes, red lips and long lustrous black hair. I immediately have images of her red lips wrapped around my cock and my hands tangled in those lustrous curls.

"Maybe I need to be cautious about pillow teachers. They often mete out harsh punishments. I need to be able to escape punishment for misgendering a noun or something awful like that."

"You have already misgendered nouns twice so far! You need to be careful."

"I will find an old and placid teacher for the moment I think!"

"What a pity. I had expected more bravery from you."

"Ma'am. There are old soldiers and brave soldiers. Seldom are there old, brave soldiers. However, the more experience you have the braver you are. So soon I will be composing passionate prose in Spanish!" which speech caused the the king to laugh and clap.

"Leave him alone Celia! He is cautious and polite, but equally a dangerous man. We are told that he won a duel with an enraged husband over a straying wife. And he did it mostly unarmed. Quite a feat I would say."

"A dangerous man indeed. And his reputation in Jerusalem is unsullied too. He got out before the fall of Jerusalem. Leaving others to bear the indignity."

This from a big, dark man sitting next to Celia whom I assume is Ronaldo. He seems to my dismay to be looking for a fight. I smile at him.

"I was recalled by my liege lord because my father had died. I had no choice in the matter. If I had not been summoned home, maybe Jerusalem may not have fallen. You do know the old saying, "for want of a nail a shoe was lost, for want of a shoe a horse was lost, for want of a horse. And it goes on and on until the whole army is lost. I was but a single sword that was not there. Not a platoon of soldiers. But idle speculation is pointless now. Jerusalem is lost and Saladin is master there. He is a brilliant leader of men and under him the Muslims will be a fearsome force. Solid, unbreakable unity on our side is absolutely essential."

I bow to Ronaldo and then the king and sit down hastily.

"Well said Lord Robert. Unity will indeed be essential." The king smiles and turns the conversation to boar hunting and I am able to fade into the background.

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"Phew. That was neatly done." Claudio sitting on a bench on a balcony over looking the city. "Ronaldo was really looking to test you. I do believe you passed muster. He looked impressed. As was the king."

"And little Innocentia next to me got all flustered while you talked. I was quite quite jealous." Roberto a small wiry man with a drooping moustache grinned at me over a cup of wine. "You coming boar hunting with us tomorrow?"

I am frantically trying to think up a good excuse not to go when Claudio wraps his arm around my shoulders, gives me a squeeze and shouts; "Of course he is!" Then he looks at me. "Don't worry Lord Robert, I have all the equipment you need. Trust me!"

"If the king is going,you need to go." Angelo on the other side of the table. "Bad form not to make an appearance. Just stay back until you understand the game." Everyone around the table nods sagely at this advice and drinks another cup of wine. I on the other hand discovered early on in my life that alcohol and the resultant hangovers did not enhance my performance when participating in dangerous activities. A hugely embarrassing incident involved tilting at a watermill when roaring drunk comes immediately to mind. It wasn't really the embarrassment of being unhorsed but it was the millers battle equally not to thrash me and not to laugh at my embarrassment. Actually I shall always be grateful to the man. He made me stay and help fix the damage I had wrought. When I complained to my father about the miller, he burst out laughing, thrashed me soundly and then made me pay the miller for the costs involved. It was the millers parting comment that has guided me since then. "Don't blame your self. Blame the alcohol."

When I returned from the Holy Land I granted the ageing miller a small stipend for his sensible words. Thus it was that when I saddled up, clad in leather armour and brandishing a boar hunting spear I was vaguely tired, but not hung over, like most of my fellow revellers. And from that days experience I learnt that I would rather face a charge by Muslim soldiers than that of one enraged boar. The size of the boars is awe inspiring in itself but armed as they are with long, vicious tusks they are a formidable force. But it is the shear unreasoning ferocity of the boars is what makes them such a trial of courage. The other issue is that they hide in deep thickets and have to be chased out into openings in the thicket to be engaged with, another dangerous occupation.

Boar hunting spears are short thick poles with a sharp pointed spear head. A hands breadth below the spear head are two wings sticking out at right angles to the haft. I wondered about the wings until the king speared a boar and in its fury the boar forced its way up the spear pole until the wings stopped the spear penetrating any further. Without those wings it could very easily have forced its way up to injure the king. As it was the wings stopped the boars progress allowing others to dispatch it.

"Small!" the king snarls and looks disgusted. "Let's continue till we find a worthwhile boar!"

The boar looks more than "worthwhile" to me but everyone seems to think that the boar is not "worthwhile" so we move deeper into the thicket. Suddenly there is a wild and terrible scream and an enormous boar erupts from the thicket with its one tusk is covered in gore. It brushes the kings bodyguards aside and heads straight towards the king. The only person between the king and the boar is Ronaldo, I am the next closest, but off to one side. Ronaldo thrusts his spear into the boar. It continues to charge and Ronaldo is being pushed back so he jams his spear haft into the ground. It halts the boar for all of three seconds, then the haft of his spear snaps and the boar starts forward again. I am at the boar's side and totally uncertain what to do. However the boar is moving toward the king and there seems only one thing to do. I run at the boar with my spear out like a jousting lance aiming for the left hand side of the boar's ribs, hoping to pierce its heart. My speed and weight force the boar sideways and the spear penetrates the boar's ribs and obviously finds its heart because it staggers a few more steps forward and then collapses, ripping the spear out of my hands. It still seems to be alive so I pull my dagger out and thrust the blade between the boar's ribs. The boar shudders and stops moving. I look at Ronaldo standing, dagger in hand between the boar and the king and we lock eyes.

"Well done my lord Ronaldo, you stopped the boar getting to the king."

He looks at me and then smiles.

"And you had nothing to do with the stopping of it? You ambassadors are a crafty lot!"

"I just finished the job, my lord. You did the stopping."

"He is far too diplomatic for you Ronaldo! Well done both of you! Now this is a worthwhile boar. It has given us a good days hunting." I am relieved that the king considers this monster a "worthwhile" boar.

The man who screamed seems to have been forgotten by the king and his party so, as the others leave to return to the palace, I go back and find him lying in a pool of blood, a huge gash in his stomach.

"Please. Someone. Please slit my throat! The agony, I can't stand it." The men around him seem paralysed with pity, rage, helplessness and fear. He sees me and looks directly at me.

"Please my lord end the pain."

I have lived through this before and it is never easy. I kneel by his side, take his hand in mine and murmur the prayers I have heard the priests murmur over the dying. He closes his eyes and somehow from somewhere summons a smile.

"Thank you."

And I thrust my dagger into his heart. He shudders and is still. I get up, walk into the bushes and throw up. Someone thrusts a wine skin into my hands and I drink. I drink to forget, I drink to ease the pain, I drink for oblivion. None of that comes but his friends escort me to my horse and ensure I am safely seated.

"Thank you my lord." Someone says. I can't look at him and I can't acknowledge the thanks so I just ride away with another death on my conscience.

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I go to the barracks and find the master at arms who finds me sparring partners. At first he cautiously sends out new recruits, but slowly ups their experience level till I am sparring with veterans who push me to my limits which is exactly what I want and need.

At the end of my last bout with a small, powerful and dangerous fighter he says loud enough only for me to hear:

"We know what you did my lord. You, alone among the nobility went back to look for him and did what needed to be done. We are grateful. We will not forget."

He turns and walks away without a backward glance.

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The exercise has rid me of the alcohol fumes and helps to partially banish the memory of the dying man so that by the time I need to dress for the huge celebratory banquet the king has organised, I am bruised, tired, but alcohol free and in a reasonably good mood. The problem is that fighting makes me incredibly horny. I realise that Lady Jennifer was the last woman I had had sex with and that I now crave a woman. Any woman will do, but I am cautious about trying my luck with any of the noble women after what happened to my predecessor. I am also reluctant to seduce one of the commoner women who act as servants around the palace as that always feels like rape to me. I make a mental note to ask Claudio about sex workers which seems to be the safest solution to my lust problems.

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"Forgive me Father for I have sinned."

"How long since your last confession."

I have to think hard and cannot remember so I come up with a compromise position.

"Just before I left England. Three weeks?" Leaving the time open to debate.

"How have you sinned my son?"

"I killed a man who was in terrible pain. There was no other option. I do not ask for forgiveness for that. What I do ask for forgiveness for is saying the prayers associated with the Last Rites. I am not a consecrated priest but I could not let the man go without some comfort."

"I see no sin here. I have already heard the confession of men who could not do what you did and who praised you for what you did. The prayers for the Last Rites? The Almighty will judge you accordingly, but I find no sin, just compassion."

"Thank you Father."

"Say twelve Hail Marys for such a long time between confessions and for the sins you will commit at the banquet tonight."

I swear I could hear laughter in his voice as he said that.

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I meet the "special people" before going to the banquet and find that they are already well on the way to drunkenness and I get bombarded with questions and commentary on the boar hunt. They are pretty much of a consensus that I am now a person of great standing in the palace with Ronaldo showering approval on me. They also say that the queue of women wanting to spend a night with me has now at least doubled, if not tripled in length. I ask about sex workers and am loudly ridiculed. The consensus again is that I could have practically any woman in the palace, someone even blasphemously suggests that the Abbess of the nunnery might just spread her legs for me if I asked. I smile and cautiously drink a cup of wine with them, making it last till we go to the banqueting hall which is already raucous with music, laughter and shouting. Suddenly silence descends and the king and queen enter, we all rise and wait for them to sit before sitting ourselves. There is an empty place at the high table and the king looks around, sees me and beckons me forward.

"What are you doing sitting down there? You are one of the heroes of today's hunt. Come, sit with my wife and I and enjoy the feast!"

I bow and sit at the high table. What else can I do? Sometime in the evening Ronaldo looks at me.

"You do not drink much. Why is that?"

I have had enough wine to make me just slightly reckless and so I look at the king.

"With your approval your majesty, may I tell the table the reason for my habit of drinking little wine?"

"Only if it is really funny!"

The king has been drinking so, despite my lack of ability as a joker I suspect I might just get away with my story.

"Very well your majesty. I hope I can make you laugh with my story. I was sent to the crusades by my father to try to calm my mad cap escapades and the story caused by imbibing too much wine was possibly a major reason for his decision. I was young and wild, and I had a serious taste for wine. Now one day after draining several cups of wine, I must admit that I lost count at about three I decided to practice my jousting. I thus persuaded my groom against his better judgement to saddle my charger and help me up on the horse. I have always found that a horse grows far more difficult to mount after three cups of wine. I am still not sure why."

This last comment causes much laughter and I begin to think that not only is the high table listening to me but most of the banqueting hall.

"Speak up!" is shouted from the far tables which just confirms my suspicions.

"So I set out, lance in hand and jousted at anything that moved. Tree leaves, tree trunks and gate posts. I found that by closing one eye and riding slowly up to the target I could usually hit it. The smaller the target, the slower my approach."

I have to wait for ribald commentary and laughter to subside. "Too true!" comes from somewhere.

"Then I saw it. The water wheel that powered the flour mill. It moved slowly and regularly round and round as the water flowed past. A perfect challenge. On one spoke of the wheel there was a new metal bracket that was bright and easily visible. In my imagination I saw the breast plate of a challenger. I had by this stage conjured up a beautiful woman for whose honour I was jousting and there was my ultimate challenge! Hit that target and the woman would be mine."

Ribald laughter erupts from the hall. I see the king laughing so hard he has to wipe his eyes. Wine is great stuff, it makes a bad joker seem brilliant.

"So I closed one eye!" Here I put my hand over one eye, pretended to hold a lance with the other and for verisimilitude I sway gently as if battling to remain seated.

I have to wait for the laughter to subside before continuing.

"Then I spurred my trusty charger into a gentle amble, aiming the tip of the lance at the moving silver breast plate. Sorry bracket. I was nearly there! I nearly had the challenger off his horse when the target moved a hands breadth to the left. "Fiend!" I thought to myself and adjusted my aim just before I struck. Which is when things started to go wrong. My challenger, sorry the water wheel imprisoned my lance tip and then kept on moving under the weight of the water. I held onto my lance manfully, but alas I was unhorsed."

There was a roar of laughter and so I waited again.

"But being unhorsed was not the worst of it. My lance still stuck in the water wheel picked me up off my horse and dumped me in the river which was cold, wet and muddy. As a result my father sent me to the Crusades, but what was worse than being sent off on the Crusades was seeing the miller standing on the river bank, trying to look angry but failing and instead laughing at me. Completely damaging my dignity. I have since treated wine with much respect."