The Duke's Dark Secret (Historical Victorian Romance) (10 page)

Eyeballing the grocer who appeared close to death, William ordered, “Pack the vegetables into a strong sack and deliver it to the cookhouse with the order to make fine soup for the town’s needy.”

“That’s very kind, my Liege. Right away”

Beatrice felt humbled by William’s actions. “They will appreciate your good gesture.”

“It was not my gesture, but yours. I need to change my way as I’m tighter than an otter’s bottom.”

“How do you know how tight a... never mind.”

“I was reliably told by my taxidermist.”  William could still sense the eyes of the town on him. “Do you think once the peasants get their soup they will stop looking at me like my horse just shit on their doorstep?”

“It’s not your fault, nor is it theirs. They’re just weary. The last Baron was known for his bad temper and punishing taxes.”

~

The pair arrived at the moat lawn where a fenced ring had been constructed. A crowd had gathered and cheered the pig handler who opened the gate of the pen to release a large pig into the ring. As the pig snorted and patrolled his space, William asked, “So explain... what is this so called sport?”

“Basically, it’s a penny to enter and the first one to catch the pig takes the winnings at the end of the day. If there is more than one winner... then it’s the one with the quickest time. But hardly anyone ever catches the pig... It’s easier to find an honest Norman.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”

“Oh my Lord!” Beatrice covered her mouth with her both hands.”I’m so sorry, my Liege. A mere slip of the tongue.”

“Don’t worry, I have plenty of English jokes. My favourite is, what do you call a useful Englishman?”

“Well, it’s certainly not Peter.”

“Norman.”

“My answer was better.”

While Beatrice struggled to contain her giggles, William slumped his shoulders then shook his head.”I did tell you Normans didn’t have a sense of humour.” He then noticed that the crowd was cheering his name. “Why are they cheering my name? Have they found out about the soup already?”

“No, the pig is called... William.”

“But I’m called William?”

“Yes.”

William ground his teeth. “That’s more than pure coincidence... isn’t it?”

“Well, it is a common name.”

“Not in pig circles it isn’t. I mean, it’s not up there with Porky, Smoky or bloody Sizzler. Is it?”

“I thought you told me you didn’t have a sense of humour?” Beatrice watched as William took off his rich robe. “What are you doing?”

“Right, I’m going to challenge.”

“Are you sure? You will get filthy, risk making a fool of yourself or even injured.”

“I’m a fine specimen of a man. All I have to do is keep it on its flank for three measly seconds, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, how hard can that be?”

William noticed the pig master asking for participants and placed his arm in the air while shoving his way through the crowd. The pig master felt shocked and shouted over the excited cheers of the audience. “My Liege?”

“I see your pig is called William.”

“I swear to God that I did not name it in your honour. It’s my father’s name. He... was a pig farmer.”

“I want to prove that there is only one William in this town.”

Fearing for his own safety as well as the Baron’s, the pig master uttered. “Are you sure you want to enter? It can be dangerous, my Liege.”

“Damn it man. I’m as sure as a man can be.”

“OK. Then you’re first.”

The pig master opened the gate and Baron stepped into the ring. William faced down the greased pig who seemed more interested in searching the floor with his snout. 

The word had spread and it seemed the entire town had now gathered to watch the surreal event of a Baron tackling a pig on a muddy field.

William rolled up his sleeves while he slowly walked up to the pig.  “Easy boy, I’m not going to hurt you.” As William steadily closed in on the pig, he slowly opened his arms. “Now there we are, I just want to give you a hug, old boy.” He then stopped with only half a step between them.

The crowd drew its breath as they watched William inch closer towards the pig. Yet the pig hadn’t flinched the whole time.

But with no warning the pig scampered.

William pounced but hit the muddy turf with nothing to embrace but muddy ground and the mocking of the crowd. Embarrassed, he lay motionless.

Finally William cracked, “The little bastard.” Wiping the dirt from his face, he climbed to his feet. “Time to get serious.” He glared at the pig. “You’re going to be on my plate before this day is through.”

To the cheer of the crowd and the sound of his own battle cry, William raced towards the pig.

In an effort to reduce the escape routes, William shepherded the pig towards the fence. Remaining light on his feet he tried to judge the direction of its escape.

Once again William threw himself at the pig. This time he landed on top of the hog and wrapped his arms around its body. He rode the pig backwards with its curly tail tickling his face.  But the grease aided the pig’s struggles and William lost his prize.

On the churned ground William pulled dirt from his mouth once more. He then spat towards the mud as he gingerly picked himself up. The crowd remained silent as if they did not know how to react to the Baron’s plight. William then shouted, “Who wants roast pork tonight?”

William’s rallying call caused the crowd to become raucous. He then approached a worried Beatrice in the crowd before offering his muddied hand. “Help me out here.”

“Me?”

To a mixture of wolf whistles and cheers, William helped Beatrice over the rickety wooden fence.  Beatrice stared at a mud covered William. “I don’t know if I should laugh or cry?”

“What’s life if you can’t laugh, Bea?”

“I can laugh. But maybe we should just admit defeat here?”

“Normans never surrender.”

Beatrice glanced at the angry hog. “But that’s one hell of a pig.”

“Just imagine it glazed with honey and stuffed with onion and garlic...Not to mention the succulent smell of it roasting on the fire.”

“I can taste him now.”

“Then let’s get him on our plate.”

The pair targeted the pig in a pincer movement, forcing the hog to make a dash in between.  William made one last dive. This time he took the hooves from under the hog, tackling to the ground.  But once again he could not grip and risked letting the pig escape through his grasp. However to the delight of the crowd, Beatrice swan dived on the wrestling pair.

The pig laid in submission. The battle was won. William and Beatrice the winners. 

Pork dinner’s all around.

-

Matilda sat on her wooden stool weaving the tapestry on the vertical loom. She took her eyes off the bobbin to take a glimpse at the smiling Beatrice who was preparing the wood dye. “Stop smiling you... you’re making me jealous.”

“Sorry.”

“I wish I was as young as you.”

“You’re only a year older... I think it’s not your age your age that you regret, more the fact you have a husband and three children.”

“Don’t tell them that.” Matilda continued to weave the bobbin. But from the corner of her eye she could still see the big smile on Beatrice’s face. “You can’t stop thinking about your adventures with the Baron can you?”

“No, I can’t.”

“It was quite a spectacle, I admit.”

“Do you think his feelings are true for me?”

Matilda breathed a heartfelt sigh. “I have had my say and do not wish to upset you more.”

“I’m not a naive girl, I do feel there is something there.”

“I believe him to be nothing but a March hare.”

“But what if he loves me..? How could that be wrong?”

The back door opened and Peter stepped in from the dark. “Randy little bugger, aren’t you..?’’ He leered at Beatrice. “Sorry, I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation. You women should gossip quieter. Such words could get you in trouble. ”

“I told you always to use the front door, Peter.”

“That’s what all my women say.”

“You have a cesspit for a brain.”

“Regarding you, the Baron and love? Love doesn’t come in to it! Do you think William would marry you? Of course not. Stop such girlish fantasies of princesses riding unicorns. Normans marry for land and wealth.”

“But...”

“There is no buts, Bea. I suggest you complete the work, take the money and be done with him. In fact, you know what? Normans are so wicked, I would go as far as to say this...”

Beatrice felt close to tears. The excitement of the pig chase seemed like distant memories. “What?”

“The Baron will use his love to get out of paying for all the work... afterwards he’ll lock you up in the dungeon forever.”

“Don’t say that, you’re scaring me.”

Matilda stood from her stool. “Enough, Peter. You have made your point. Now off into the night with you.”

“I came to ask if my top is ready.”

“I said leave.”

“I’ll take that as a no.” Peter turned to face the tearful Beatrice. “I tell you this because I want what is best for you. I may work for the Baron, but I do not like him.”

“All you do is make my eyes burn with tears.”

Matilda shooed Peter towards the door. “I said leave.”

“Good night to you both.”

“Good riddance, Peter.” Matilda waited until Peter had closed the door behind him. She then placed a hand on Beatrice’s shoulder. “Although his way with words is harsh, Bea, I’m afraid Peter’s warnings should be heeded.”

“But what can I do about William’s advances. I don’t want to make him angry. Just imagine what he could do out of spite.”

“That’s why you should tell him early. But first pray and hope that he will take it like the gentleman you think him to be.”

~

William nodded with satisfaction as Peter hung the tapestry on the wall. He placed a hand on Peter’s shoulder while his eyes gorged on the intricate floral patterns woven into the deep red and royal blue. “Finally some colour other than bloody grey.”

              “Yes, my Liege.”

              “That Beatrice...”

              Peter closed his eyes as he stepped back. Her name resonated deep within. “Yes, my Liege?”

              “For a commoner, she is a talented woman.”

              “Indeed she is.”

              “Educated, good looking.”

              Peter stooped down to pick up his box of tools. His voice strained under the weight. “She is all those things.”

              “Could almost be Norman.”

              “Could be. But she isn’t.”

              “That nun must have been a fine teacher.”

“Mother Agnes was a wise old woman.”

William scratched his neatly trimmed beard. “Beatrice’s parents, what were they like?”

              “Honest hard working folk. They ran the workshop before Beatrice. ”

              “So I believe.”

              Peter sheepishly asked, “Why do you want to know so much about Beatrice?”

              “I might risk sounding foolish, but my heart beats to the sound of her name.”

              “But she is a commoner.”

              “I don’t listen to what people will say. Nor do I care for such words. I never have and never will. Beatrice is a good woman even if we were born with different privileges.”

              “My  Liege.”

              “I know all about what you will say. I care not to listen to you anymore.”

              “I fear what may happen.” 

              William spat his words. “I do not have to justify myself to you anymore.”

              “One last thing.”

“What is it?”

              “I advise you to take her to Eden Bridge.”

              William opened the door and gestured for Peter to leave. “What the hell is that?”

              “A stone bridge that crosses a wide but shallow river. It’s on the old Roman road north to Carlisle Castle, a distance of about five miles from here.”

William slowly closed the door over. “What’s so special about the stone bridge? Beatrice doesn’t look the sort appreciate Roman engineering.”

“Our forefathers called the valley Eden, as it is rich with meadows, fruit bearing trees which give the area a heavenly scent.”

William nodded with satisfaction. “Sounds quite a place. I shall visit one day.”

“It’s a holy day tomorrow. Take her. Legend has it that if you take your lover there, and kiss her on the bridge then all your troubles will pass and you will be entwined by bliss forever and a day.”

              William let go of the door latch. He then stepped toe to toe with Peter. “Why would we being together, be of interest to you?” He leaned forward so their noses met. “I thought you had feelings for her? What have you got planned you little shit shoveller?”