July, 1461 AD
It was to be the best day of my life. It quickly became the worst.
Kayla and I had deliberately set our wedding day in the summer. The fragrant aromas from the forest would drift to the clearing by our little church where the outdoor ceremony was to be held. Swallows and Marsh Harriers swooped and dived in the clear blue skies and Nightingales serenaded us with their tuneful chirps. Kayla wore the traditional dress of flowers and looked simply beautiful.
My father, Jacob and my mother, Martha had worked long and hard at the preparations. I aided them as much as I could, but with having to cope with my father's share of the field work as well as my own, there seemed no hours left in the day, and King Trigo - to whom we all served - would still expect the taxes paid on time. But finally the wedding arrived and there was no work for the day; King Trigo had been asked his permission for the wedding to take place and had agreed. Reluctantly he had acceded to the day's holiday for the villagers - a traditional gesture that he obviously felt obliged to honour. Two of the men in the village, fearless hunters that I knew well, had captured and slaughtered a stag and, after the ceremony the whole village gathered in the clearing to the delightful aroma of roast venison.
As the women began preparing the wedding feast and arranging flowers on the long tables, a group of my friends bounded over towards me. I was reluctant to let my new bride leave my side, but she had her duties to perform: she had to greet each of the villagers in turn and thank them for their contribution.
"Aye, you're a lucky man, Samual!" cried my friend Daniel as he pressed a tankard of ale into my hand and slapped my back heartily. "Lucky indeed. Maid Kayla is beautiful and, if I'm not much mistaken, ripe for the plucking!"
Cheers and knowing nods and more back slapping came from my friends as they agreed with Daniel. It was well known in the village that Kayla and myself had retained our virtue intact for each other in the traditional manner.
"So, a good night will be had by you tonight then!" Daniel continued.
"By us both, I hope!" I replied trying to put an end to this line of conversation. But Daniel was not to be deterred that easily. In hushed tones he beckoned our little group of friends to draw closer.
"I have heard say that some maidens will even use their mouth's and tongues to please a man! What do you think about that, Sam!"
"I have been witness to some of the same stories," another friend, Harry, added. "And even that some men will use their mouth's and tongues to please a woman, but surely, that cannot be true!"
I had also heard these tales. Kayla and I had even discussed them at some length while courting in the fields. We had both found the idea of these stories quite stimulating and had had to control our feelings for each other. We both vowed that, when our wedding day finally arrived, we would talk more about this subject and possibly allow ourselves to perform some of these acts. The thoughts were thrilling me now as my friend's discussed them and, like many of the others, I reckoned, my cock felt like a rod of iron beneath my britches.
"Come, my friends," I cried, breaking the thoughtful silence, "talk of this will do us little good now! Let us eat and drink, for I believe the feast is ready!"
We dined well on the venison, home made breads and vegetables grown on our rented land. Ale and nettle wine flowed in plentiful supply. My father spoke a long and sometimes tiresome speech finishing only when my mother tugged on his coat belt and beseeched him to halt, scolding him for supping too much of the ale that slurred his words. But he was happy. We were all happy. It was a time to rejoice. I looked once again at my beautiful, flaxen haired bride and gave thanks.
After the feast my uncle, Peter began to play his fiddle. As tradition dictated, I pulled Kayla into the centre of the clearing and began to dance, swaying my body this way and that in time to the lively music. We were quickly joined by other couples and before many minutes the whole clearing was alive with singing, cheering and dancing.
I think it was my father that first noticed the horses, respectfully calling for silence as the King's entourage arrived in a cloud of dust. We all stopped and bowed our heads in traditional reverence as the King manoeuvred his steed to the front. I looked up. I had seen him on only a few occasions previous and marvelled at his presence now. Atop the fine, black steed he looked seven or eight feet tall, almost God-like. His flowing crimson robes bore the Trigo coat of arms that he honoured so proudly. His crown had been replaced by a crimson skull-cap for ease of riding and his regimental sabre lay sheathed in readiness at the flank of his horse.
For several moments there was silence. The villagers dared not speak in the King's presence without his express permission. Finally, the King's first guard, Sir Thomas of Leston, dismounted and broke the silence.
"King Trigo, Lord of the Lands, has come to invoke his rights."
When the silence continued, Sir Thomas continued. "To invoke his right as King and Lord to be First Man'."
I stood rooted to the spot. I could hardly believe this was happening. The King's right as
