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Westminster, England, 14 April AD 1067.
Six Months After The Battle of Hastings.
“You get Droit de Seigneur with the estate, D’Austeyn. You are Lord of the High Justice and the Low, with Furca and Fossa. You can hang a man from gallows or drown a witch. Sort out any trouble immediately and kill anyone who puts a toe out of line. But most of all…”
Here Lord Robert paused, looking at me hard with his bright, grey eyes for emphasis.
“…make sure you fuck the women. All the pretty ones, at any rate, yes? You and your men. Let’s have loads of little Norman bastards next year, eh? We have to populate this land with our own flesh and blood as well as conquer it.” His fierce, bearded face split into a grim smile beneath his bent-out-of-shape nose. He rose from his chair in the Great Hall and stood in front of me.
“God speed, Sir D’Austeyn. I expect to see you at Arundel Castle after harvest, with ten limp-cock soldiers for your Knight-service. You’ll be glad for the chance of a rest!” Lord Robert guffawed crudely at his joke, showing his black and broken teeth and winked. He had always been a rough soldier, a fighting man, more at home in the camp than in a lady’s bower, always in the thick of a fight, first in and last out. That’s why I’d follow him to hell and indeed had done so six months back – to the bloody trampled ridge at Hastings, the corpses piled high on each side.
“Yes, my Lord. Thank you.” I knelt to him as expected on the stone floor and took again my oath of fealty, he holding my two clasped hands between his own. I rose and took the parchment roll from the sour-faced, itch-cock priest with his red nose and shaven pate sitting over his quills at the desk, and strode out of the hall with my spurs a-jingling, a sudden gladness welling up in my heart. Reward at last! My own land, a Manor!
I found my young Squire, all of eighteen years old, waiting by the horse lines in the crowded courtyard Bailey, looking pale and anxious. We had both been worried about my interview. There had been rumours floating about the army, quite unjustified of course about the pair of us and some nuns who had fallen from grace after we visited their Convent… fallen quite hard, too. What? I’m innocent, I tell you. I will say no more.
Anyway, I hadn’t been sure about the reception I was going to get, as the King is touchy about upsetting the Church and Lord Robert is quite capable of breaking a man for misconduct.
Stephen was frowning and looked up at my approach. He was slim and almost feminine, with a delicate face and curly brown hair that hid the fact he was as hard as nails, quick and randy as a stoat. I’d seen him butcher two Saxon huscarls in the melee around the shield wall on the blood-soaked grass at Hastings, and within a week fuck three nuns, er, pardon, Messieurs, whores in a row with his 8-inch cock and cum in each of them, one after another. His dear mother in Normandy apparently still thought he was a virgin.
“Stephen! I’ve been given an estate! Our efforts at Hastings have been rewarded!”
The Squire’s moody countenance lightened.
“Really? That’s brilliant! May I ask where, Sir?”
“Some village called… Roi-Gate. A thousand hides and a castle. In the Shire of Surrey, which is south of the River Thames, about two day’s ride away. We’ve got Sergeant Pierre and some of our old Company back, too!”
“Very well, Sir. Is it a good estate?”
“Apparently it’s quite a rich one. It used to belong to some Saxon lord or other who we gutted at Hastings. We ride to take possession immediately. Oh, and Stephen? His Lordship’s express instructions are that we fuck everything in a dress.”
Stephen’s eyes glowed and he grinned broadly.
“Yes. He wants you to put your cock in as many pretty little English cunts as you can catch, Stephen! You’re to screw everything in sight and father cartloads of Norman babies!”
Stephen cupped his cod-piece in both hands and thrusting his hips backwards and forwards obscenely, roared “Ready and waiting Sir!”
Early afternoon, we rode to Roi-Gate, Stephen and I leading, with a conroi of fifteen mounted and mailed men-at-arms at my back, followed by the carts loaded with provender and spare weaponry.
We crossed the Thames at the great wooden London Bridge and spent the night in Croydene, a wretched, squalid dump of a town south of London that has a small Palace, being the summer residence of the Lord Bishop of Southwark. His Lordship is welcome to the shit-hole, is all I can say. The ecclesiastical life not being to my taste, we gave the Palace a miss for lodgings and I slept in a verminous tavern, my men taking the stable and visiting all the beer-shops. They didn’t do too much damage. Some of the men took offence at being charged a groat for bad beer that tasted like stale horse piss at a güvenilir bahis local ale-shop and set the place ablaze and in the uproar they knocked in the doors of some houses and made perfect beasts of themselves with the English women. There wasn’t much the locals could do about it and Lord Robert would approve. We rode out early the next morning, the men surly, dissipated and vicious. I rode scratching my flea-bites and we must have left at least ten pregnant wives and daughters behind us.
“Her tits were bloody enormous…” I let Stephen prattle on about the lass he had taken to his bed after pulling rank on one of the men-at-arms who had dragged the wench from her father’s cottage.
“She was insatiable…”
I concentrated on Roi-Gate. There was a stone castle, of which I was Marshal. My duty was to hold it for Lord Robert and though him, William the King. Apparently it had been built a century and more ago by the English to stop the Danes raiding, a futile effort as it turned out as the Danes had overrun all of England. Their recently dead king, Harold II, was himself half a Dane.
“She was so pleased she’d been fucked by a Squire of noble blood that she sucked me off again just before we left, and stuck her finger up my bum-hole. She was absolutely filthy…”
The men in a column behind bellowed the usual traditional lewd soldier’s songs and their hung over mood improved as we marched. I was glad they were happy.
We saw the towers of Roi-Gate rising above the trees from two leagues off as we crossed the Surrey Hills. The country was fair, being undulating forested hills crowned with light green billows of oak, ash and elm. There were signs of deer and wild boar, good hunting country. There were scattered farms dotted about, but they had a sadly abandoned look. I felt the hair on the nape of my neck rise as I surveyed my new demesne, as this must surely now be my land, my new home! The air was crisp and fresh, the English springtime has plenty to recommend it. The 24 year-old landless third son of a Norman Count finally finds a home for himself. By God, I was going to keep it!
The castle that was at the end of the sunlit street in Roi-Gate was shut up when we approached. It was occupied though: we saw the blue smoke from a fire wafting above the wall. The drawbridge across the ditch was drawn up and the sunlight dappled the green water among the reeds. A heron took flight with a clatter of wings as we arrived noisily on the opposite bank. All was quiet apart from the stamping of our horses and the scrape of metal on chain mail.
The castle was compact, with four square stone towers made of a warm-coloured stone, altogether not more than 100 paces wide and deep. It basked in the spring sunshine on its own island and looked almost welcoming, apart from the front door being shut to us. There was no sign of watchers on the towers or crenelated walls. The moat was not 15 paces wide, but it looked deep. The banks of the moat were home to families of tern and ducks.
A rapid search showed the village was deserted. It was a home to ghosts and the odd cat. Clearly everybody was inside the castle.
I frowned. This clearly would not do. I was being denied entrance to my new home. Somebody else’s home yet, I thought. I was not equipped for a siege. I would have to use charm to win this. I dismounted and sat down on the grassy bank out of arrow-shot to ponder the situation.
I stood, resolved to bring matters to a head. I raised my voice and called across in Norman French.
“Hello Messieurs in the castle!”
There was a sudden flurry of activity at the crenelated wall above the drawbridge entrance. I saw a flash of white and what looked like red, nay, auburn hair. To my astonishment, I was greeted by a woman’s voice in reply, in fair high French, in the tones of a lady who was used to command.
“Are you that brigand Roger of Redhill come to rob and murder us all?”
“Madam, I assure you, I am not. I am Jean d’Austeyne, newly appointed to hold this fair Manoir for the King, I am Lord of the High and the Low, of Furca and Foss-”
“Norman? You are Lord Robert’s man, then?” The voice queried, interrupting. She kept herself out of sight. I was astonished. How did she know who I was and how did she know Lord Robert?
“Oui, Madame”, who is it I may have the honour of addressing and to being of service?”
“We will come across.” My question went unanswered.
The red hair vanished and within a short while the drawbridge lowered to squealing of hinges and the creaking of a rope windlass. Three ladies – for that is clearly what they are – strode boldly across, followed by a rabble of peasants, all women, children and old men. Where were the young men? Dead probably, at Hastings, along with their late Lord.
The ladies marched towards me on the grassy bank of the sunlit moat, the peasants stood around in a semicircle, gaping at us.
I was türkçe bahis faced by a lady – for there is no other word for her – of about thirty-five years, of taller than average height and elegantly dressed and with her deep auburn hair coiffed. I noticed immediately her green eyes and then her stunning face with its high cheekbones and generous mouth, then the deep bosom and shapely hips. Her faint scent was of green hills in springtime after the rain. My face must have expressed my astonishment as I bowed and she curtsied gracefully with a faint knowing smile as she had certainly caught my eyes giving her a quick up-and-down. I barely noticed the two auburn-haired sylphs standing beside their mother – as they were younger peas from the same pod as their mother, two flame-haired beauties that remind me of autumn sunsets. But the mother is a beautiful goddess of the dawn.
“Madame has the advantage of me”, I murmured. “May I beg to make your acquaintance?”
She smiled, flashing white teeth. Diable, here was a woman in a million!
“Ah, Lord Robert said you were a smooth one! I am Elizabeth of Roi-Gate. And these are my daughters” she said, indicating the pair of green-eyed young beauties who appeared perhaps 18 years old, twins as like as not.
“Catherine and Aude” their mother continued, and each curtsied deeply to me in turn. I bowed low to each. Well, of course I did!
I introduced myself.
“So”, she continued, frankly laughing at me, “What are your orders for your helpless vassals, Sir Knight?”
“Helpless vassals, Madame? How so?”
“Mais oui. My husband was Theign of Roi-Gate. He fell last year at the battle and our lands are now confiscated as a result. We are yours to command, Sir.” Her voice was good-humoured, but her eyes glinted strangely and her colour rose to her face.
I ignored the question for a moment.
“You know Lord Robert, Madame? You knew I was coming?”
“Of course, he was my father’s friend in Normandy. My father was English, but he was exiled before I was born. He became a Knight in Normandy, married and I grew up there. He was granted back his lands later by King Edward Confessor, so came back and after his death I was married to my husband here when I was sixteen. Unfortunately my husband supported King Harold against Duke William, so I was widowed and my lands confiscated”, she added somewhat bitterly. “Lord Robert was here a fortnight ago. He said he had a young man in mind to become our protector. It was a case of accepting it or joining a … nunnery”, she spat the last word.
The devious old sod!
“So now..?” Elizabeth said sweetly. The three beauties waited for my command.
“Merde. Merde”, I thought savagely. So much for Lord Robert’s “fuck the women” comment. So she’s an old family friend and by the way, we killed her husband and widowed her last year and pinched her land, too…
Oh wait. Did he mean..? Mon Dieu. Fuck these women in particular? Oho… Perhaps things were looking up after all. I made up my mind I was indeed going to fuck all three of them very soon, starting with the mother…
I bowed again, courteously to them, keeping my voice agreeable and manner courteous and smooth.
“Alas Madame, I have but just arrived. May I suggest you resume your accommodation in the castle until things are more orderly? I shall also stay there with my squire.” I gestured with my left hand to the mob of peasants.
“The villeins may resume their abodes, Madame and get back to their labours. My men will safeguard the village from this brigand of yours.”
“Thank you Sir. We shall avail ourselves of your kindness”, the Lady Elizabeth said, smiling prettily.
I called Squire Stephen over and made introductions. After he had put his eyes back in and picked his tongue up from the floor, I ordered the troops to be billeted in the village. The peasant women had certainly noticed the virile soldiers now camped on them, the first young men seen in the village for 6 months or more and I saw glances and smiles between some of the women and my men. The village women would soon be queuing up for cock. I didn’t think there would be any rapes in this village tonight… The castle was another matter, maybe.
Lady Elizabeth and I, followed by her daughters and Stephen, walked into the castle.
By this time I was anxious to fuck the Lady Elizabeth. I stepped aside and let her walk ahead of me on the narrow drawbridge so I could admire the sway of her hips and to ogle her generous arse, beneath her long dress. I imagined myself pushing my rampant rock-hard cock into her tight bottom hole, making her scream in pain and pleasure as I stretched her wide and buggered her senseless… I knew that very soon Lady Elizabeth’s glorious red hair would be on my pillow, she squirming, squealing and writhing beneath me in my bed, willing or not, I didn’t care. I would soak myself in her sweat and if her two daughters were güvenilir bahis siteleri naked and awaiting for their turn, then so much the better.
“So which one will you have first, Sir?” Stephen asked later, before dinner. We were on the ramparts of one of the towers, looking out towards the Weald and had been discussing the dispositions of the troops for the coming days, but the women were also very much on both of our minds. The sun was sinking behind the hills with a faint red glow that promised another fine day tomorrow, but the air was now getting chilly again as the dusk drew on.
He knew me as well as anyone and surely read my mind.
“The mother, of course. I have invited the three of them to dinner, Stephen, so you will be on your best behaviour. Now then, the plan is…” I outlined what I had in mind as Stephen guffawed.
We sat down to eat in the castle solar, on the first floor of the castle, a private room for the Lord and his ladies. We would usually eat in the Great Hall downstairs in public, but for this dinner I didn’t want to be gawped at by the servants.
I had changed out of my chainmail surcoat and leggings into a grey woollen tunic and fine blue silken hose that had cost me a fortune in London’s Cheapside two months before, but the grey set off my blond hair, or at least the shop-man had said. Red leather shoes with pointed toes and a leather knife belt inlaid with silver completed the outfit. I was les couilles de chien, so Stephen assured me, as you say in English, “the dog’s bollocks”. He was also spruced up in a plain but richly made dark woollen tunic as befitted his status as a man of good family but not yet a knight.
Stephen and I sat at the board and rose as we heard the sound of the ladies’ voices in the corridor.
The ladies entered. Lady Elizabeth had changed into a dark blue dress that was low cut at the bodice, her girdle accentuating both her narrow waist, the flare of her hips – and pushing up her ample, creamy tits that I could now see were speckled with light brown freckles. I could almost have fallen face-first into her cleavage with a “Brrrrrrrrrrr!” Her gorgeous green eyes sought mine as a ship’s lode-stone points north as Stephen and I bowed to the ladies. This time her eyes were amused yet held more than a hint of mystery and magic. Who knew what the night might hold?
Her two daughters were dressed in identical gowns of pale pink, which must have cost a small fortune each and set off their dark red hair to perfection. They were both astonishingly beautiful, yet somehow together seemed somewhat insipid, even colourless beside their mother. I barely noticed them to be honest, leaving them to be charmed and entertained by Stephen who set to with relish, as we had earlier agreed. I sat at the head of the table, Lady Elizabeth next to me and the girls and Stephen at the far end, together.
We ate a good dinner that Lady Elizabeth had ordered prepared, starting with quails, hare and venison, washed down with good Bordeaux wine that I had brought with us. In truth I barely knew what I ate, I was busy devouring her with my eyes. From the end of the table, I heard Stephen’s jokes and the girls’ laughter. They were getting on famously.
Lady Elizabeth and I talked of England, my part in the great battle and growing up in Normandy, but mainly talked with our eyes, hers were now dark green mysterious pools, shot through with amber highlights. Several times she blushed and smiled when meeting my gaze, or when murmuring a reply, fiddling with her hair and pushing stray curls back over her ears. I was in fine spirits as the imminent prospect of getting my leg over always bucks me up and I was overjoyed with my Manor.
The wine was good and Lady Elizabeth encouraged me to drink a little more than I usually do. I like to keep a clear head as too much stops me from enjoying my favourite pastimes, fighting and fucking.
At the end of the meal, with the servants clearing away, I suggested loudly to Stephen that he take the girls onto the tower and show the girls how we soldiers navigate by the stars, an egregious fib as I know Stephen can’t tell Sirius from his elbow. He got up and staggered out and it occurred to me that Stephen must also have had a bit more wine than usual for him. With giggles and backwards glances at their mother, the girls got up and followed him out, their backsides swaying invitingly as they passed over the threshold.
As soon as they had gone, she sat back and glanced at me, the amusement tempered with another expression I had difficulty in reading.
Why did she suddenly have two heads? The room suddenly was feeling very warm and was spinning around me as I tried to rise, but my legs would not take my weight.The rest was blackness as I crashed face first into the table. Lady Elizabeth’s wide smile as I collapsed was the last thing I remembered of that evening.
I woke up late the following morning in my own bed in the main bedchamber in the castle. I was naked and sadly alone.
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