The Queen's Bastard Read online

  But the performance was, by the look of it, some time off, and my soused companions were claiming a great thirst. So into the crowded tap room we made our way. Twas then I saw him, my brother John with a buxom bawd on his lap, her arms round his neck, her breasts entirely bared. And one of her nipples was planted firmly tween his lips. His eyes were closed and it was a good thing too, for the lass was neither young nor pretty, her lewd smile revealing a row of crooked yellow choppers.

  I was at first paralytic with indecision, not being versed in the proper manners for a brother extracting a prostitute from the amorous grip of his elder and effecting his return home. I knew well that to cause him embarrassment might get me a pair of properly boxed ears, if not worse. But I had not come all this way to lose him again if he perchance left this inn for a brothel or another drinking establishment.

  My mates were suddenly at my side with a glass of ale in hand, and one for me as well. Trying to appear unperturbed, I pointed out my brother who was now deliriously attached to the whores other nipple.

  “Oi, tis Phoebe has got him in her clutches!” cried Sturdy, his eyes fairly leaping out of his head at the sight of the womans loose breasts. This led me to believe these boys, despite their knowing airs, had little more experience with the opposite sex than I.

  “I hope he knows how to keep hold of his purse while she has hold of his cock, for she is famous for diving into gentlemens pockets and picking them clean,” said Lanky Hair.

  “By the look of him he seems not to care if she does,” I said. “I fear he is so attached to the strumpet I shall not get a word in edgeways.”

  “No problem in it,” said Sturdy. “Phoebe!” he shouted over the din.

  But the whore was too intent to be pulled away from the matter at hand. As I watched, her fingers snaked down tween John’s legs, and the other hand sought his pocket, this under the guise of passionate caresses.

  “Phoebe!” my friend tried again. “You had best come at once, your house is afire!”

  The whore was disengaged from my brothers embrace, stuffing her great bosoms back in her bodice, and out the door in the blink of an eye. I lost no time presenting my self to him, but what with the shock of his recent loss, his ale soaked brain and my altogether out of place appearance, he did not immediately recognize me.

  “John,” I said. “Tis me, Arthur. Your brother.”

  “Arthur,” he replied, squinting at me with a puzzled look.

  “And here are some friends,” I said, indicating Lanky Hair coming up behind with Sturdy. It occurred to me only then that I did not know their names, aside from the epithets I had given them.

  “Pull up some stools,” I told them, “and you can celebrate our family reunion with us.”

  We found out we had saved John from very little at Phoebes hands. His pockets were already cleared out, for he had drunk and wenched and gambled every shilling away since Sunday night last. Had I never come for him, he said, in any case he would have been home on the morrow. But we did spend a pleasant evening dancing drunken jigs to a hornpipe and squeaky fiddle, and later the play was announced to begin.

  We took our places on benches in the courtyard below the stage with all manner of folk — city merchants and their families, publick servants, plain citizens and apprentices. The covered seats in the permanent galleries were reserved for gentlemen with money, but we were never the less content with our arrangements. Twas well known that all the players were men, and boys pretended the female roles. But when the manager took the stage to apologize for a delay in the start of the show as “the Queen was shaving,” it produced such howls of laughter and merriment which continued unabated that the piece, a high drama of history called “King John”, could not be performed past five minutes, as the audience had never managed to contain themselves. But the players, wishing to proceed in some fashion, devised to perform instead a bawdy comedy called “A Sack Full of News” which was more to the taste of the audience. So silly a thing was it that we laughed till we cried and fell off our benches clutching our bellies.

  Later John bade me go home with promises that he would return the next day, for he was in no condition to travel and had already paid for a bed at the Crown that night. He would have asked me to stay but he hoped for one more night of carnal pleasures, tho I doubted he would find much with an empty purse. So I took my leave of him with Martin and Paul, whose names I had lately discovered.

  Only as we were leaving the place did my stomach heave at a terrible thought. In all the excitement we had forgot about Harry — that was Broken Tooth — who was left to tend Charger. And in deed when we found him he was fast asleep and snoring like a ripsaw in wood. Charger was nowhere to be seen.

  We roused him with a good shake and a lot of shouting, demanding to know where my horse had gone. He was much chagrinned, claiming when he grew sleepy he had tied the rein round his ankle so any movement the beast made would wake him. In deed the end of the rein was still tied firmly round his leg, its cut end a testimony to the young mans stupidity or drunkenness, perhaps both.

  We spread out and frantically queried everyone who might have seen the crime, but those citizens who loitered outside the Crown were loath to speak, even if they had seen it, for horse theft was a crime as heinous as murder and punished by branding or hanging. We were therefore reduced to scouring the streets our selves, each of us harboring the secret fear that when we found the horse he might be in the hands of not one or two lousy beggars, but a band of dangerous rogues and cutthroats. In truth my companions might have taken the opportunity to take their leave of me — they could have fled and I never would have found them again. But tho they were poor and rough and not quite sober, they had honorable hearts after all and vowed to stay with me till the horse be found.

  Our first bit of luck came with the sight of a town constable roving the late night streets with halberd and lantern. We queried him and he said he had seen three men on three horses not long before, and they were only remarkable in that two of the mounts were calm and tractable, and one was unruly. Its rider was forced to beat it, as the horse liked to bolt in the opposite direction from which they were headed.

  My heart leapt and pity surged thro me. Someone was beating Charger for his desire to return to my self. Which way was it they were travelling, I demanded to know of the constable, and at what speed and how long past? Toward the city gates, an easy amble, and not ten minutes past, he replied. I shouted out our thanks as we took off racing hell bent down the cobbled thorofare. As I ran I felt a winged Mercury, leaving my friends far behind, for twas a piece of my heart stolen, and for want of my own common sense that he was gone. I prayed as I ran that I would catch them before they reached the town gate, for once in the countryside they might take up a faster pace, and Charger would be lost for ever.

  Then I saw them. Three full grown men, the one on Chargers back a great hulking thing, nearing the gate. In deed my horse was restless, needing the whip to keep him straight and steady, for I kept the softest bit in his mouth, and it must have been hard for even so brutish a man as this to handle him. Never missing a step as I ran, I stole a glance behind to see my friends running apace but clearly winded. They would be no good in a fight, I thought, even if they caught up in time. I looked up to find the sentries on the gate towers, but what I saw made my heart sink — the silhouette on either tower was slumped and sleeping at his post. I thought to shout and wake them, but worried that the horsemen, hearing me, would gallop off and leave me in the dust.

  In a lightning sprint I came up their rear, they never hearing my footfall over the clattering of a dozen hooves on cobblestone. Thirty yards, twenty. I closed the gap and when I could see the white whorl at the base of Chargers tail I cried out loudly, “Ho, Charger!”

  He wheeled round so violently at the sound of my voice that the fat riders neck got a good whipping. At sight of me the horse thief with all his weight and strength and spiked spurs tried to bring Charger about and ride him away. The tw
o ruffians with him were not ready to let a mere boy unhorse their companion who was struggling with his unruly mount, beating him unmercifully. They came at me, the Devil in their eyes and cudgels flailing. I warded off their blows as best I could, but one landed right on my left cheek, and I felt a gush of warm blood run down my face. Then I saw round about me my three comrades and it was, all at once, a proper melee with great shouts and grunts and pummelling, then a scream as Sturdy sank his teeth into a rogues thigh. Now the gate guards were roused and were shouting too. I knew I had to unhorse the fat one, and so I screamed above the fracas, “Charger, levade, hup, hup!”

  My horse, God bless his soul, instantly obeyed the command rearing high on his haunches, flinging his forehands into the air and neighed loud and defiant for good measure. The thief, taken utterly by surprise and unbalanced, was flung backwards, his feet wrenched from the stirrups and thrown to the ground. He landed hard on his back, his head receiving a good crack on the cobbles.

  I leapt onto Chargers back and called out to my friends, “Martin, Paul, Harry, fall back, fall back!” And like a well trained squadron heeding their commander they went clear of the three horses. And then mustering all of my wits, and with the strength gained from the reunion with my best and most trusted friend, I hove into action. I had no weapon but Charger, but we were in deed formidable. With a spirited series of rears and quick voltes, using his hooved forehands as pummels, and sharp yerks to the rear we unhorsed one more ruffian and disabled the other in no time at all. The fat man still lay unconscious and by the time the gate guards had raced down the stairs to assist us, the skirmish was over, the enemies fallen and nursing their wounds. With one look at their faces the sentries plied their locks and chains, for these were men wanted for thievery of every sort, and certainly bound for the city gaol.

  With thanks to us and especial accolades to my gallant horse, the guards bade us good night and led the rogues to their deserved fate. Twas time for us to head home, so I said my goodbyes to my companions whose day of fun and adventure had been as fine as my own. Tho I could not promise that we would ever meet again, I said sincerely that I should never forget their kind assistance locating my brother, good fellowship and brave action in battle. They returned the compliments claiming that I was the most toward gentleman they ever knew, acting not too grand for the likes of them, that I enjoyed a good laugh, and especially was an excellent horseman. With much cherishing and stroking they told Charger what a great-hearted beast he was, and so as I trotted on my high horse out the gates of Maidstone my spirit was as light as an angels, and I felt more a man than I had ever before been. Fourteen, and my life stretched out before me like a highway. I welcomed it with wide open arms.

  I was but two hours from home and my mood was still high despite the gash on my cheek, now throbbing painfully. I thought how lucky I had been not to have my eye put out, but instead be left with a fine manly scar, a testament to my bravery. We had on the journey passed a good many riders on horseback, peasants in wagons and on foot.

  But now ahead I saw a well made cart drawn by two horses, and a lone lady at the reins. I was struck first by the smallness of her waist, her erect carriage as she took the bumps and ruts of the pitted road with a kind of grace. I could not see the color nor the style of her hair, for it was all tucked under a cap. My mind sprung instantly into imagination, painting the portrait of her face. She was young and sweet, the daughter of a rich merchant who had stolen her Fathers cart to run away, for he was cruel and beat her unmercifully. She was determined never to feel his lash again. A young lady unaccompanied on these roads was an invitation to scoundrels and rapists, but dying was preferable to her Fathers house, she would claim.

  By the time I had conjured her name to be Annabelle, and her destination a kind elder sisters house in London, Charger had come alongside her cart. She turned to look at me and my heart seemed to stop beating altogether. When it began again it thumped double time, for this girl was not sweet faced at all. She was nothing less than exquisite. She was in deed young, perhaps my age or a year older, and her skin still wore the freshness of childhood, but the clear hazel eyes bore a knowing beyond her years. In sideways fashion she held my gaze steadily, and as I did not attempt to pass but continued to ride alongside, that shared gaze grew very long in deed.

  “Good day,” I finally blurted out. Her pink bowed lips curled into a smile that did not reveal her teeth. A brief thought, like a slippery frog escaping my grip, made the teeth behind the pretty smile all black and rotten, a joke on me. But when she replied “good day,” her face turned full to me, I saw the teeth were perfectly shaped and white as the wing of a swan. I knew not where to go from there, but knew with certainty that twas not far from this girls side.

  “You have a bad cut, Sir. Have you had a fall … or have you been brawling?” she asked with a frankness uncommon to a stranger.

  “Brawling,” I announced with equal directness, pleased in the extreme that it was no lie. She smiled again and this time twas not my heart that reacted violently, but a bodily organ situated somewhat lower. “A man stole my horse in Maidstone this morning and I was forced to retrieve him by measures more martial than peaceable, tho I am,” I added quickly not wishing her to think me a ruffian, “a usually peaceable fellow.”

  “I do hope you were not wounded in any other way,” she said.

  I found that each word as it left her perfect mouth caused a small pulse in my cock, stiffening and enlarging it with each beat. I moved my hands holding the reins to cover my growing member.

  “You say you are come all the way from Maidstone this morning?” she asked with an incredulous look which left me with the distinctly pleasant impression that my condition and the exploits of the previous night might prove interesting and exciting to this girl … mayhaps even arousing. That I even had such a thought was a shock to me, but I quickly recovered my senses, and asking if I might have permission to ride with her, began to weave my story.

  I delighted her with descriptions of every sight and smell and taste I could recall. Some of my companions clever turns of phrase I made my own, and I even embellished several of the flights of imagination I had conjured, turning them into fact. It made for good telling, this day of mine. When I came to the part where I found my brother at the Crown Inn, the bawd in his lap, I included every lurid detail knowing that should I overstep my bounds she would fix me with an indignant glare, slap the reins and ride away with a haughty chin in the air. This never did happen. Contrariwise, when I said how John had his lips planted round Phoebes nipple like a suckling babe, I saw the young ladys mouth drop open slightly and her own doe soft chest begin to rise and fall a little faster. But twas when I told of Chargers theft and the battle in which I had apprehended him, sending three wanted criminals to gaol, that she turned to me with a look of such enamourment and awe that I swear if I had not striven to keep the horse tween my legs I would have fallen out of the saddle.

  “What a brave man you are,” she said with all sincerity.

  A man, she called me a man, I thought, my heart racing. Did she not see I was only fourteen? I knew that I was tall amongst boys my age, and fairly muscular for all my martial exertions. And in deed I had recently engaged in numerous manly pursuits. What would it serve to tell her I was in truth only a lad?

  “Who are you, and where from?” she asked suddenly. “I know your entire story and yet know neither your name nor your station.”

  “Arthur Southern of Enfield,” I replied. “My Father is Keeper of the Chase there.”

  “Why, I have been there as a young girl! My own Father took me hunting once in that forest. I have never forgotten it.”

  “Then we must surely have met before, as I am my Fathers apprentice. I may have helped you into your saddle, or led your family thro the wood.” I saw her smiling broadly now, clearly pleased that we were perhaps not strangers after all. “And what is your name?” I asked, finally remembering my manners.

  “Mary Willis.
” She turned her face away suddenly and stared straight ahead down the road. “Lady Willis.”

  If she had said she was Lucifers daughter I could not have been more taken aback. She was a married woman! For a too long moment I was speechless, where before I had been a veritable fountain of words. She could not fail to notice my consternation and suddenly reined her horses to a stop. I pulled Charger up too, and we stayed unmoving and silent for what seemed an endless moment. When finally she spoke her voice was lacking its previous boldness.

  “I am only just married to Sir Howard Willis a year now.”

  God, I thought to myself, my heart sinking with pity, an ancient codger for a husband — like Meg.

  “He owns a large property and a fine manor house. His children are all grown … all of them older than me.”

  “How is it he lets you ride out by your self?” I asked.

  “I was visiting my maiden aunt in Oxted for a week, but the manservant who accompanied me there broke his leg yesterday, and my aunt had no servants to spare. She pleaded with me to wait, but my husband gets very cross if I am away too long, so I took this with me.” She lifted up a cloth beside her on the seat and I saw a pistol wrapped in it. “Had you behaved dishonorably back there I would have blown a great hole in your head.” She smiled that utterly flirtatious smile again.

  I thought with chagrin that this girls true story was a sight more exciting than the one I had conjured. “How long before you are home?” I asked, not knowing what else to say. She had quite taken the wind from my sails.

  “I am home,” she announced surprising me again. “This is the edge of my husbands land. The manor is but a few miles further.” I was still tonguetied in the extreme. “Arthur Southern,” she said suddenly. “Would you like to see my favorite spot in the world? Tis not far from here.”