Purple Monster

The Justice looked from her to the Priest and frowned slightly. The Priest spotted her and looked shocked her a moment but then covered it up.

‘Ah Justice I see you have found my run away’ he said jovilly she blinked rapidly trying to work out what was lie and what was trueth. The Justice looked at her startled, ‘You know this Priest?’ he asked.

She nodded unsure of what else to do.

‘But he is dressed as a Catholic!’ He spat the word.

‘That I am but do not fear I am of the new faith, I was incharge of trying to move his young Lordship there to a more suitable Monestry for his education. As is his fathers wishes.’

‘Rightly so, he shouldn’t have been left there this long, but that does not explain why he was wondering around the English country side at a time when rebels threaten his Magesty.’ The Justice said.

‘Ah well that was my fualt, when I arrived the monestry was already in ruin and I feared the boy dead, after the death of Fitzroy it would have been a bad blow.’ The Preist said, she stared at him wondering what on Earth this was all about. Her father? Who was he suggesting was her father? And way was the Justice nodding and beaming like he was a cat with the sunday roast?

The Priest had mentioned Fitzroy before it ment son of the King when litrally translated, and suddenly things went clink in her head and she understood what the Priest was doing, cuaght in clothing that could condem him he had thought of a story to save his own hide. She was grinding her teeth. The Justice noticed.

‘Ah lad no need to get so defensive, you are lucky to be alive the solders should have killed you and the catholics that survive this wave of massicers will be hunting you down like they did your half brother.’ At these words the Priest paled enough that he should have been transparent to the other two men privy but they were to intent on her, the bastard prince apparent. She blushed.

‘How did you survive the attack?’ he asked her.

‘I.. I.. spoke French?’ she said remembering the solder she’d talked too who’d told her to go home. The two older men nodded at each other in that superior fashion that was starting to really grait.

They slept the night in the court building as the Justices guest in some ways she was grateful to the Priest and in other ways she wanted to scrag him becuase now she had to travel with him to some stupid place in Gloucestershire where another of Henry’s bastards was being educated so she’d with her half brother and wouldn’t that be nice? It sounded dull but she had to admit safe.

Though how the Priest was going to pull this one off once they got to the monestry she wasnt really sure. He’d been given more suitable attire so as not to get linched on route.

The young officer who had hit her was still edgy around her especially on finding out she was an heir apparent, probably worried she’d harbour some great grudge and hunt him down once she was King. There was no way on this Earth that she was going to end up being a female King – she’d have to slope off before things got that far. Surely they couldn’t just magic up another bastard son without someone noticing anyway?

Perhapse the Priest planned to slit her throat in the deep dark forest that stretched over most of the accursed island.

She shook herslef and started to prepare for the journey – all the rags she had become so fond of had been burned as the health hazards they were. She had narrowly escaped loosing her pen, scrabbling in the coat for it and explaining it was a religous relic, they had tried to get her to loose it still as the King had anounced such things to be tricks of the unholy corrupt false church – the Holy Empire.

England it would appear was actaully breaking off from Europe as its own independent country, how well that would work when it still had a Royal blood line mixed and matched with those of the continent she didn’t even want to guess at. Not that it was her problem anyway and she was going to make damn sure it never became her problem. Last time she had got involved with things on the grand scale she had been burnt at the stake for witchcraft. She was staying well out of it!

Kitted out with good supplies and water skins that didn’t make the water taste odd she and Priest set off on horse back to her amazement. Her new status apprently got them alot of perks, she wondered fleetingly where the bill for this lot was going to land and weather in six months time an irate Justice would be sending out a warrent for her arrest. Well she could be gone by then if nessacery.

Her horse was really just a large pony with orange coloured hair, all corse and practicle with a blonde yellow main and tail. The poor thing was decked out in heavy sadle and far too much ornimentation, there were sores on its back from where the saddle rubbed, she felt guilt at ridding it but there was one reason she was still alive and that was – the guilt never stopped her doing what she had to to survive.

The left at an easy trot and compared to how things had been for her this was extravagant luxary. The Priest didn’t say anything to her about his tall tale until they broke for camp that night, most of England was still quiet wild it was being tamed though but they still huddled at the side of the dirt path, compacted hard and worn smooth, this wasn’t one of the old roman constructs that were still the basis of the countries trnasport network but somehting that was there purely becuase enough people used it. But that ment it was an area potential at risk from bandits.

‘I know you are a girl but believe me it would be a good move if that little inconvient fact is not found out.’ She shuddered as she looked into his still blood shot blue eyes. He grinned in an unpleasant way at her and once more she pondered just killing him with her pen and making a run for it. Well if he tried anything she would she vowed but for now he was her best chance of survivial.

They traveled for three days, the Priest was heading to a friends monestry though it was a convert to the new faith and yes there was a bastard of the Kings there, enscounced for his education paid for by the late witch Queen as the blood ties of the aristocrasy were interwoven and far too close to one and other.

He’d been a minor part in a plot that had killed a young man some years before – the young man had be next in line to the thrown through Bastardism. It was all rather stupid really and the country was currently torn by a religous war which was half hidden in the underground and not out in the open where peopl could see who the actual enemies were.

He had disagreed with the assination and had been to all intents and perposes heart broken by it, he’d tuaght the boy and he hadn’t long been married when slow acting poison had been given too him. Shockingly it had been covered up as a consumptive illness to prevent the nation form panicking or the Spanich Catholics thinking they had achieved to much of victory. But the subsequent bastards of the King had been kept secret, only the inner sanctum know who and were they were.

The boys were guarded well and provided for though not apparently by the King but by various other nobles who were close to him. The one in Gloucestershire was the next target but only he had know were the boy was, she worried she’d rescued an angle of death for the boy. The priest said he deplored the death of Fitzroy but for all she knew he was the assine.

By the end of the fourth day they arrived at a place called Overcourt where they were recived again as if royality no one thought it odd that the Priest was exhorsting a young man like this or that the young man may have been a royal bastard. This King seemed abit of a blood line liability if she was honest but she dutifully played her part fearing just how far this was all going to go.

They left in the morning to the near by Monestry. She was already planning her escape when a young novice came to help them with their satchel bags. He was tall and willow, with a guant face, he stuttered alot and tripped over his own feet. He was called Matthew and seemed to be their personal attendent. He helped her down and she felt his wire muscles under his habit. The ghost was there in his features but she had been lonely too long. She smiled coly before remembering she was dressed as a boy!

He blushed and took a step back, then lent forward. ‘The Abbot has put a ban on that so be careful.’ She blushed and then wondered weather the young string bean would be interested in a girl in monks clothing anyway. But his smell allured her, she thought she would glow bright enough to set fire to own jacket.

He lead her through to a small cell with two stone slabs in it – one was made up neatly and precise the other was bear. She lay her things on that one, wondering if sharing a room was going to present some unmountable problems.

‘Who am I sharing with?’ she asked in Latin. He blushed and looked away from her.

‘Me’

She smiled at him again and his face got redder. She didn’t knwo weather to laugh or cry – he thought she was a boy and she was making him nervous. That might not bode well for if she revieled her secret to him.

She shook her head why was she even thinking these types of thoughts. The Priest didn’t stay long other than to introduce her to his friend, a smooth faced man heading into decline but still took alot of care of himself and to her annyance assumed everybody found him irrasistable. His hair was longer than most monks would have it, a fine spun silver hanging down and curlling under his chin, she had the insane impression that he must put it around a tube and steam it to get that sort of curve.

His eyes were an unusual light brown, sort of golden and he still had all his teeth! and they were corroded stumps either they were straight and white and she conceeded he was actualy quiet good looking.

His arrogance was driving her potty though, by the time she’d been in the room with him for half an hour her skin was crawling she had no idea if he knew she was a girl and somehow she got the feeling he wouldn’t care as long as she was willing to kiss the ground he walked on. She loathed him.

He introduced her to one Henry Carey, the boy was about 12 and was so unbelievably ginger, freckles fought for space across his nose. He bowed formally and she almost laughed but cuaght herslef and returned the formality. Then he grinned cheekily at her, ‘So your my half brother are you?’ he asked, self concousley she rubbed the back of her head. ‘Well…’ she begain but was interrupted by vespers.

The first day there dragged and the one person who knew her secret was gone, bizarlly she had become attatched to the old goat.

Posted: Monday, November 9th, 2009 @ 5:17 pm
Categories: Uncategorized.
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