YPA: Your Privacy Assured/YPA.ISO/text/droit1.sty

Text File | 1995-02-09 | 20.2 KB | 345 lines

                           DROIT DU SIGNEUR
                                   by Lysander

To the reader:
     This story is not meant to be an accurate representation of
medieval life.  From the information I have, it was not uncommon in
some places for a nobleman to have the right to take any woman he
wanted.  It was something of a pre-industrial eugenics program.
(There have been many periods when people have tried to improve the
race through selective breeding, before and after Darwin.)  References
are made in the story to Moors and Saracens.  In this context, Moors
are the Arabs residing in North Africa and the Iberian peninsula, and
Saracens are the Arabs in Eastern Europe and the Holy Lands.  Heinrich
has spent almost all of his young his life fighting Arabs, on Crusade
to the Middle East and as part of the centuries-long campaign to take
back Spain and Portugal.  After the death of his grandfather, he has
returned to the Holy Roman Empire (modern-day Germany, for purposes of
this story), as the only living male heir, bringing with him a dark
young woman and a retinue of foreigners.
     I have purposely avoided referring to any actual historical
figures, so, naturally, all the characters have life only in my
imagination.
     If you are a Muslim or a Christian, upper, middle, or lower
class, a man or a woman; please do not assume that I personally
believe in or condone all the things I write about.  It ain't none
of it real, folks.

     Part One is meant to be an introduction to the main characters
and the basic storyline.  This episode is NOT explicit, but future
episodes will be VERY EXPLICIT and, in some instances, may shock some
-- though if we all went around being totally unoffensive, we would
never get past "Mary Had a Little Lamb."  This is the only warning that
I as the author will provide, since I am striving for a seamless story
(bowing to the time restrictions of electronic transfers).
     Now, let me put this soapbox away.


Part One

     Kirsten grunted and gave a last mighty shove.  The heavy wooden
yoke fell into place on the rack, and wobbled a few moments as she and
Leni collapsed on the stable floor in near exhaustion.  She never
wanted to plow another furrow in her life.  All the men and most of
the women were needed to get the last of the harvest in before winter
came.  Old Mother Maude said this one would be the worst in many
years.  But the strips still had to be plowed so they would be ready
come spring, so she and Leni and the other young women had had to do
it.  Usually, one man could handle the team of oxen, but Kirsten was
small and unskilled.  She was more suited to baking and spinning than
plowing.  Even with Leni, or perhaps because of her, the plowing still
took all day, but they had gotten it done.
     She looked down at her hands.  There were blisters on her thin,
nimble fingers, where she had handled the plow.  They felt fat and
useless, like they were someone else's.
     "You'll have to have lotion for those hands," Leni said, watching
Kirsten flex her fingers.  "Tomas'll not want to wake up thinking it's
Ralf that's caressing him."  Leni giggled at her own boldness.
     Kirsten blushed, herself.  She was not as experienced as other
girls about what went on between a man and a woman.  Some of her
friends had talked about seeing their parents "doing it" like the
sheep or dogs, but Kirsten refused to believe Leni's mother and father
-- her own adopted parents -- behaved like that.  Indeed, since Leni's
father was the blacksnith and therefore a well-off man, she and Leni
had their own room and had never seen Gustav and Gretchen do more than
kiss and caress,
     "Don't worry.  When I kiss him, he'll know I'm not Ralf."  She
clicked her teeth at Leni and smiled to cover her nervousness, but her
face was still rosy pink, up to her pale blonde hair.
     She was excited, of course, but she was even more nervous.
Tomorrow she would be married, and it was about time.  After all, she
was almost sixteen, as well as she could reckon.  But Tomas had waited
until his grandfather died to post banns in the chapel.  The old goat
was a right bastard, Tomas said, but he needed those fertile strips of
land if he was going to feed himself and a family.  It was that or
depend on his father.  The fine linen dress her mother and
grandmother, and probably her grandmother's grandmother, had been
married in was all mended with the best thread she could afford and
drying on the fence outside Gustav's smithy.  The dress and a few
pennies were all that were in the small cedar chest that had saved
Kirsten from the fire that had taken her parents.  Tomorrow night she
would wear it for the first and last time, she thought, which thought
also reminded her why she was nervous.
     Tomorrow night, her wedding night, she would spend in the castle.
She looked through the door up onto the low hill where the stone
fortress sat, casting its shadow on the field where the sheep grazed.
She shivered in silent dread.  Droit du signeur, they called it.
Filthy and barbaric, she thought it was.  It was a right not much
practiced by the nobles in these parts, but one that could not be
denied.
     Weddings were held in the castle's chapel, and the festival
afterwards took place in the bailey, or in the great hall if it was
winter or raining.  And then, after nightfall, the bride was taken up
to the bedchamber of the lord of the estate, and deflowered by the
lord.
     That was what awaited Kirsten tomorrow night.  It almost brought
her to tears.  How could she sacrifice her virginity to someone other
than her husband?  It didn't seem a very Christian thing to do.  But
Kirsten well knew her place.  It was her lord's right to be the first
to take her, and she was not someone to go against the rights of those
God had placed above her.  She would just throw back her shoulders
and...No, that wouldn't do, she thought as she glanced down at her
firm bosom.  Oh, what was she to do.
     As though she knew what Kirsten was thinking, Leni put an arm
across her shoulders and kissed her cheek.  "Don't worry on it, dear
heart.  It'll be over in a night, and you'll be with Tomas the rest of
your life."  She sounded so motherly, Kirsten had to laugh, despite
her mood.  A girl smaller and younger than she, trying to comfort her
like a grandmother to a toddler.  She laughed at least until she saw
Count Heinrich riding up to the castle gate, with a brace of bloody
rabbits hanging from his saddle.

     In one of the outer fields, Tomas leaned on his scythe and mopped
his brow with his patched and rough sleeve.  He too could see Heinrich
on his bay stallion.  "It ent right that.  No man's got a right to
another man's bride."
     Ralf planted his own scythe and looked for a moment at the young
man.  "No it ent right for a common man to take another's woman.  But
the Count up there, he ent no commoner like us.  Things is different
for folks like him.  Always was, always will be.  But I reckon I
understand how you feel.  After all, a year agone it wouldna mattered.
The old count woulda just put her in a soft bed and himself in
another.  What with his 'war wound' and all."  His weathered face
cracked in a wide grin, showing his crooked yellow teeth.  It was well
known that the "war wound" old count Heinrich had suffered from was
the shrewish wife, given to him by his duke for bravery on the field.
     But Heinrich the younger had no such impediment.  His lady seemed
to care little about the count's activities, so long as her own tastes
were taken care of, with a seasonal trip to the prince's court and the
latest Florentine fashions.
     "If he lays a hand on Kirsten, then count or no, I'll wring his
bloody neck.  On my gran's head, I will."
     "Aye, likely it will be your gran's head, and the rest of your
family's as well.  But you wouldn't get off so easy as that, boy."
     "Listen to him, Tomas," said Otto, who had just walked up.  "My
own Hilde was born nine months after my wedding night, to the day.
She favored her mother more than anyone else, so no one knew if she
was mine or Sir Albert's.  But I'll tell you this, boy, we had a good
thatched roof, and a bit of meat in the pot come midwinter, when most
everyone else did without.  And when the sickness took her and my
Ruth, Sir Albert made sure they both had good wooden coffins and deep
graves, frozen ground or no."  He walked back off to his own row,
sniffling and muttering.
     Tomas just took up his scythe and went at the barley with a
vengeance.

     The fires at either end of the great hall were slowly dying down,
but Kirsten was still flushed.  She had danced with every man at the
feast, save for the minstrel and Count Heinrich, but most of all, she
had danced with Tomas.  Tomorrow, she would finally share his bed, but
tonight....  She would just treasure this last hour before she had to
go up to the count's chamber.
     Tomas sat beside her, his hand in hers, staring at his feet and
trying to moisten dry lips.  Suddenly, he turned to her and pulled her
face near his.  "Kirsten, love, let's run away.  Let's go to King's
Ford, or even to Bromburg.  Let's get away from this place, from this
man."  He shot a dark look at Heinrich, who stared back with calm dark
eyes and whispered something to his lady.
     Gustav had suggested they do that, and even offered her the small
amount of gold he had saved up, as long as they took Leni with them,
for she would be married within a year, he was certain.  Leni and her
mother had managed to get the blacksmith drunk and home before he made
a scene and got himself in trouble with the count.
     Gustav and Tomas were much alike.  Like most men, they could not
accept the world for what it was.  Kirsten was a woman grown, now, she
had to have the strength of a woman.  She gripped her groom's hand
more firmly.  "Tomas, what would you do in Bromburg; what trade do you
know besides farming?  And where could you find land besides here?
We've both of us got family here, and if we run away, we'll never see
them again."
     "But I just cannot bear the thought of you with him.  You are MY
wife now, and no man worth the name would let another--"
     She put two fingers to his lips, then kissed them.  "We can't do
anything about that, Tomas, so try not to dwell on it.  Just remember
that you are the one I love, that I have always loved."  She kissed
him again, tenderly, then deeply.  "That I always will love," she
whispered.

     "They seem to love each other, don't they?" Heinrich murmured to
his wife.
     The dark-haired, dark-skinned woman with the regal features
glanced from the minstrel over to the newly-wedded couple. "Yes, they
do."  She noticed the cold eyes of Tomas over the rim of her goblet.
"You'll watch that young man, if you are wise, love.  He looks like
one to try something foolish."
     Heinrich grinned, like a fox, or possibly like a wolf.  "If he
tries something, we'll simply deal with him the way we have all the
others.  Besides, a lover in the dungeons can do wonders to improve a
young girl's...willingness."
     Esmerelda grinned back and made to refill his goblet, but he
stopped her pouring.  "Not too much.  It's a long night I have ahead
of me."

     It seemed like the festivities had only begun when Count Heinrich
placed his hard hands on Kirsten's shoulders.  She noticed the white
scars on his tanned flesh, the marks of a man who lived with a sword
in his hands.  "Well, my dear, it seems most of our guests have
departed."  A drunken snore from some old peasant punctuated the
lord's statement.  "In one way or another." Bright teeth broke through
his thick dark beard as he grinned, in friendliness it seemed to her.
"Say goodnight to your husband, my dear," he added, firmly.
     "Goodnight, Tomas."  You won't do anything foolish?  Tomas just
grunted and swallowed another half-mug of ale, refusing to look at
her.
     Kirsten took Heinrich's offered hand and let him lead her out of
the great hall.
     "Don't be overly concerned about the young man...Tomas, isn't
it?"  Heinrich said as they ascended the narrow stairway.  "Just let
him get himself good and drunk and tomorrow he'll be as docile as a
sheep."  He stopped suddenly and pulled her up onto the stair he was
standing on.  "But if he is angry with you for some reason tomorrow --
and some men can be -- know that you may seek refuge here, until he is
reasonable again."  She could not meet his eyes, so she stared at the
bright silver medallion on his chest, a giant cat of some kind, in
mid-leap.  When he saw she was not going to respond, Heinrich
continued leading her up the winding stairs.
     The door to his bedchamber was open and they walked in.  The
walls were covered in tapestries of forest scenes and fanciful
creatures.  A maid was just turning down the blankets on the great
bed, which looked to be very, very soft.  Kirsten followed Heinrich
across the room.  She gazed intently at a tapestry of the Ascension,
which seemed to glitter in the flickering candlelight.  Golden
threads!  That single wall hanging contained more gold than she had
ever seen in her life.  She suddenly tripped on something on the
floor.  Looking down for the first time, she saw that a tapestry even
lay on the floor, instead of the rushes she was expecting.  She jumped
back, afraid to walk on something so beautiful.  "One of the treasures
I acquired on Crusade," Heinrich commented, noticing her expression.
"Pretty isn't it?"  He held out his hand again.  "But not as nearly as
lovely as you, Kirsten."  Kirsten blushed and a small smile tugged at
her lips.  She took his hand again and followed him to his bed.
     It was indeed as soft as it looked, but she sat only on its edge.
He asked if she cared for more wine, and she shook her head.  He
dismissed the maid, but in a language Kirsten had never heard.  She
bowed and left, closing the door behind her.
     "Now my dear, I know you do not relish my touch on this night,
but believe me when I say that I mean you no harm, and only want to
make this night as pleasurable as possible for both of us.
     Kirsten refused to look at him.
     "Tell, me Kirsten, are you a virgin?"
     "Yes, my lord," Kirsten replied indignantly.  Did he take her for
some harlot?
     "And do you believe your Tomas has never been with a woman?"
     "Never.  We have been betrothed since we were little.  We have
always known we were for each other and no one else..."  She jerked
her hand to her mouth, too late to stop the offending words.
     Heinrich merely grinned indulgently.  "My dear, a young woman's
first man -- or a youth's first woman, for that matter -- should be
someone experienced in the ways of love.  It is a time that makes one
much too nervous to give much pleasure to the other.  To get the full
pleasure of the experience, you must have a teacher as well as a
partner."
     "Yes, my lord."  But it was obvious she was unconvinced.
     "My dear Kirsten, I..."  The door burst open and the maid
interrupted him, babbling something incomprehensible.  But Heinrich
was on his feet and had pulled a sword from somewhere, placing himself
between Kirsten and the open door.
     Immediately, Tomas rushed into the room.  The servant threw
herself between him and her master.  With a strength born of rage,
Tomas threw her aside.  Brandishing only a cudgel and his knife, he
lunged at Heinrich, who had the scars of a man who lived with a sword
in his hands.
     "Tomas... NO!!" She screamed, but too late, he was down.
     She ran to his limp form and cradled his head in her arms.  She
felt along his body for the wound, hoping against hope to save him.
     "Don't worry, I hit him with the flat of the blade.  He'll have a
headache and a bump, but nothing more serious."
     Kirsten didn't believe him at first, but there was no blood, no
visible wound anywhere she could see.
     The maid was already coming to.  Heinrich went over to check on
her; half her face would be an ugly bruise for a few days, but she
seemed to be otherwise unhurt.  Guards came running up the stairs and
into the room, looking ashamed, and hungry to punish whoever had made
them look so foolish.  "Take this man to the dungeons," Heinrich
commanded.  "Tell my wife I am unhurt.  You two help Rosa to her
chambers, gently now."  He turned to Kirsten and looked at her darkly.
"Do not leave this room, I'll be back shortly."
     He turned to go, but she grabbed his arm.  "Please don't hurt
him, anymore.  You won't... do anything to him, will you, my lord?"
     He pulled his arm away firmly.  "I haven't decided yet." He left
her alone.
     She threw herself on to the bed and screamed into a pillow.
Tomas, you idiot, if you've gone and gotten yourself killed, I'll
strangle you.  The logic of her thought struck her and she began to
laugh, quietly but hysterically.  A widow on her wedding night.  She
would be laying him in the ground before she ever took him into her
bed.  Gradually, the laughter turned to sobs, then gentle tears.  Oh
Tomas, Tomas.  Don't leave me.
     It seemed like days before Heinrich came back to the bedroom, but
she saw the candles had only half melted.  "Is Tomas alright?"
     He looked down on her.  He pulled a cloth from his tunic and gave
it to her.  "Dry your eyes, Kirsten, he is well.  Whether he remains
so depends upon you."
     He's still alive, thank God, still alive.  Depends on me?
"H-how, my lord?"
     "Your young husband has committed a serious crime, Kirsten.
Attempting to murder his lord, in his own bedchamber."
     "But -- but he was only trying to protect me."
     "Protect you?  From what?  I certainly had no intention of
hurting you, and this is the safest place for you to be short of the
castle of the Emperor himself."  He sat on the bed beside her.  "Be
that as it may, I am willing to put the blame on too much drink and
the excitement of the day.  But only if you give yourself to me,
willingly, and do whatever I tell you without hesitation."
     "My lord?"  This is what she was expected to do in any case.
     "Oh, of course I will do nothing to harm you, and I promise you
that I will try to make the experience as pleasurable as possible.  Do
you agree?"
     Tomas will not be hurt?  I will not be hurt?  "I agree, my lord."
     "Excellent, excellent.  Well, I know it has been a hectic night
for you.  I'll leave you do get some sleep.  We will talk again in the
morning."
     "Tomorrow, my lord?  But aren't you going to... Aren't you going
to... take me... tonight?"
     "No, no.  We have a two whole weeks to take care of things like
that."
     "Two weeks, my lord?  But I thought... You said that...."
     The count smacked himself in the head.  "Ah, where is my head!  I
must be more tired than I thought.  Of course I can forgive your young
man for assaulting me, but he also struck two of my servants and a
guard.  The guard is expected to take blows for his lord, but I owe my
servants protection, so he must be punished for.  Two weeks of
confinement.  Any other man would get a month turning the millstone
for each assault.
     "Just be thankful I am a forgiving man, Kirsten.  The penalty for
assaulting one's lord is death."  He closed the door, and locked it
from the outside.
     Kirsten tried to stay awake and worry about her fate and Tomas's,
but the excitement of the day, and especially of the night, had
exhausted her.  She fell asleep on the softest bed she had ever felt
and dreamed of nothing.

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Note from WCFF's TextOp: This is all we have received of this dandy and
promising tale as of February 6, 1993. If you know the author, please en-
courage contact and much, much more!
                                        (Friar Dave)