Читать книгу But For A Penis… - Welby Thomas Cox Jr. - Страница 25

He held her in his arms, noticing that the fragrance which he had remembered was changed, and she too as he looked into her eyes.

“What secret?” he repeated.

“It was wrong of me to send for you,” her eyes filling as she continued.

“Richard, there are so many events…you can’t imagine…it is personally denigrating and I just could not allow you to hear speculation…lies and gossip.” Her voice trailed and she pushed from his embrace.

“Eleanor, I,” he started.

“Please, if I do not get it out now…I may never…I have been a prisoner, ever since…you know…ever since…Richard, dear heart, please sit.” She pointed and he complied.

“Please have some wine, as I tell you everything. I’ll have some as well.” She sipped and looked to him sadly.

“My father is dead!”

Richard rose and reached for her as she motioned for the chair.

“This isn’t easy, you know my devotion…it was at Compostella six weeks ago.

Richard set down the silver goblet…and poured again.

“My love!” He stammered…as he winced from the emotion and the thoughts of the good man and began to whisper words of consolation…words which did not come easy from a man who wasn’t verbal as a rule…an now it was as though his tongue was fixed.

Eleanor, moved to his side and placed a hand on his broad shoulder. He was comforted by the gesture and she continued.

“I knew, as well as he of your fondness and devotion to him…and you must know the feeling was mutual…and Richard, I have been chocking back the grief, no time or emotions for it at this time. Perhaps in a few years I will weep for weeks and thrown myself into the sea of my tears.” She brushed at her gown to compose.

“I did not send for you to share only this news…there is so much more…and perhaps so little which is relevant, and certainly time evades us.” She stared at the barred door and Richard began to stand, thinking that she was asking him to leave.

She motioned to the chair once again and hurried on…”Let me tell you first about how the news came to me and maybe you’ll have a better understanding why I called for you…why I am so frightened for you. You remember when my father went to Spain on the pilgrimage? Well, prior to leaving he placed Sir Godfroi of Blaye in charge here. Sir Godfroi behaved, as a gentleman, as you might expect and was quite kind to me…and we enjoyed the company of one another; it began one morning when we were out sporting…you know Hawking some six weeks ago. Suddenly, a man on a half-dead horse arrived at the gate as we were entering. He gasped out from the saddle that he had news from the battlefield. Quiet surprisingly, Sir Godfroi jumped from his mount and dragged the poor man into the guardhouse and sent the guards out at the edge of his sword. I was shocked…I was ashen I know and my heart jumped as I considered what had just occurred.”

“My dearest darling…what is?”

“Again, I ask patience. I must relate it as it happened. This isn’t easy…You see Richard, I knew that my father was quite ill and I begged him not to go…and now I suspected the worst. In a few moments Sir Godfroi emerged and offered a hand as I had not yet dismounted. I waved his assistance in an annoyed manner. He said there was news from Spain which he would tell me later. I was more than annoyed at this point and I was a little more than suspicious, and I asked to speak to the courier. Sir Godfroi said this was impossible because the poor man had died. I knew this to be a lie since I had seen the man on his feet only minutes before. I broke from the conversation and went to the guardhouse. There I found the man, battered, bleeding and swollen about the eyes as he lay on the floor…dead!

Sir Godfroi had chocked him because I had seen his exhausted face moments before going into the guardhouse, and he was tired but ok. But Godfroi, attempted to make out that the man had the plague. Godfroi immediately posted men on the road going to Spain with orders to return or the men were ordered to kill anyone who refused to return to Aquitaine. He said he had done so as a precaution against the spread of the plague…a clever man covering his ass.”

Richard could stand no more, he jumped from the seat, “What the hell is clever about hiding the fact that our Duke is dead? Our beloved father and friend…our liege Lord, dead in some distant place. And those of us who loved him left to despair and the inability to grieve and pray for his delivery into the arms of the eternal Lord…we kept in ignorance…the man is a tyrant and should be put to the sword>” He grasped the handle.

“Wait…do not be adversely motivated Richard.” She said, “That is what I need to tell you…please drink some wine, take a deep breath.” She lifted her own cruet, and drank more than a sip. “That same day Sir Godfroi took me to the side and told me what I already knew…that I was now my father’s heir. Duchess of Aquitaine, Countess of Poitou. He said also what I did not know, but which I see might well be true, that the moment the news got out to the public, there would be several ambitious, ruthless nobles ready to take and marry me…by force if it was necessary.”

She watched as the young man’s face grew stern and she could see the wheels moving rapidly in his head as he clutched the arms of the chair. She saw his glance and the unanswered understanding…”I know,” his eyes said. An old act by men across the world…hunting down the vulnerable heiress, regarded as meat for birds of prey, prizes to be taken by hook or crook. Even when the women were elderly, unseemly shrews. Lazy men would fight to marry them and come to rule them and their lands…even the smallest estates.

As she studied and read his thoughts, Eleanor went on in a measured tone, “My inheritance is tempting to all, regardless of time or distance. I could not believe it to be so, until Sir Godfroi shared with me the map of locations of those who would come. A vast net stretching from the Loire to the Pyrenees, and its cornfields, vineyards, orchards and tulips are the richest in the world, as all know my father planted well. A prize indeed for any man…” She shifted now and her voice became more strident, “I made Sir Godfroi aware that in the marriage ceremony, the bride is asked her consent and if any man attempted force, the consequences would be shared with God, the Arcangel Michael and to ears throughout our land.”

“And to that, what did he say?”

“He said, after a good laugh, that I was not the first to think there was basis for this ceremonial nuisance. For such a prize any man who had come this far would have salted the priest with sufficient bribes to ignore any acrimony from the bride.”

“The scoundrel!” Richard said.

“He even gave me examples where such a thing actually happened. Once the news was out it would only be a matter of time and merely a question of who could fly so fleet and say such words and be the first with a strong enough conviction to bring about the wedding event. And even after it was over, there would be no lack of others, jealous enough to set into play such activities including bloody wars in Aquitaine. You know as well as I, Richard, how violent our nobles can be, how ready to seize upon any excuse to begin a war. Wars pay bad debt, and in the end Sir Godfroi convinced me with a plan…and I agreed to it. The plan was to stay in my apartments, pleading a slight indisposition, to conceal my grief, and to keep the news secret until he had decided what was best to do and had made a plan which would settle my future peaceably, in normal fashion…and with the dignity which means so much to me.”

Richard’s long legs were stretched forward as he half-sat, half-reclined in the chair and he looked through them as a tunnel providing a vision illuminating a way through the maze Eleanor had painted. He said nothing respecting the fact, ‘she had the floor’.

Eleanor looked at his face, but did not engage the eyes which prompted many questions…most essentially the single thought on both minds. Richard’s own father had been killed in one of the Duke’s minor wars and as a boy, Richard had come into the castle to be trained in the arts of knighthood. He had been first and foremost, her chosen playmate and then her tutor in all the genderless pursuits which appealed to her, and which her loving and indulging father endured. This close relationship ripened, and had been on the brink of intimacy when Richard returned to his own castle at Paullac. But before departing, there had been an unspoken understanding that when she came of age at sixteen, when Richard had won his rights to manhood and upon the return of Eleanor’s father from his pilgrimage to Compostella, a formal betrothal was most likely.

The Duke and Sir Godfroi, had realized that whoever married Eleanor, would become extremely powerful, and he had decided it might be better to take as his son-in-law a simpleton, though well-bred for genetics and even owning a small estate than to deal with a great lord who might become…too great… and whose luck in marrying Eleanor would lead to jealousy among the other suitors. Nor had he, as a kind and loving father, been blind to Eleanor’s affection for this young man whose father had given his precious life for the Duke’s mission.

Now all was thrown in jeopardy by the unscrupulous actions of the man so trusted by the Duke. The mental and physical connection between the two inspired by blood running to the genitals seemed all a part of some dream-state which suddenly seemed diminished upon waking…Eleanor’s father was dead in some far place, resting coldly in some obscure facility she knew not where; she was alone, doomed to select a trusted path through a swamp of shifting policies, deliberate and dangerous schemes and dark intrigues.

Time was short; she must say what must be said, and Richard, her love, must be gone!

“I made a grave mistake, Richard,” she said, beginning to speak in that feminine, shrilly, high pitched tone denoting a hen in heat or a woman uncertain of the truth…or of herself. A voice which said this isn’t really me but I want you to think it is. “I told Sir Godfroi that, although no particular alarms had been sounded because of my father’s illness, you and I were betrothed as certain as our heart’s beat, and with the consent of my father, before he left for Spain. It was nearly true! And I said, ‘If I marry Richard de Vaux, I shall be safe from other suitors, however ambitious; and there will be no cause for jealousy between the great nobles, since he is not of their number.’ I urged him to send for you and let us be married legally, immediately.

Still Richard said nothing. The secret message, the furtive way he had been admitted up the secret stair, was proof enough that this plan had found no favour within the ears of Sir Godfroi.