Wooing the Lady of the Manor (closed)

Sir John de Cauville dismounted and led his fine chestnut horse over the wooden planks that spanned the small moat, into the courtyard of his new manor house of Eastham. His grizzled sergeant-at-arms, Simon, followed him, as did Richard, his page-come-manservant who was also Simon’s teenage son. Richard leaned forward on his smaller horse and took the reins of Sir John’s magnificent hunter as he strode forward to meet the figure who emerged from the manor house to greet him.

“Go find the stables and see to the horses, lad,” Simon whispered to his son, before dismounting too and following a few steps behind his master. Richard did as he was bidden, leading the three riding horses and the packhorse round the back of the hall to the outbuildings where the stable would be.

Sir John surveyed the hall as the portly reeve hurried up to him. It was quite reasonable for a small manor – timber framed with plastered wattle infill, true, and sat on wooden beams rather than stone foundations, but it wasn’t as small as he’d feared. An H-shaped building, the central portion would be a high-roofed communal hall for manor business, for meals and where the servants and guests would sleep on the floor. Of the two end wings, one would be a kitchen and stores, the other, taller, wing would be his personal quarters. Two storeys as well, by the look of it: storage below for his war gear and other possessions (few though they were) and his sleeping chamber, or solar, above.

The reeve staggered to a standstill in front of him, puffing slightly, and bowed. “My Lord, you made good time. We didn’t expect you until noon. I’m Edmund, your reeve and bailiff.” Meaning he was the village headman and manor officer, though he probably only carried out his duties part time in a small manor like this, working his strips of the fields like the other peasants to feed himself and his lord the rest of the time.

Edmund showed him round the manor house and complex. In the kitchens they met an equally stout woman. “This is Marge, your cook and housekeeper. She’s the miller’s wife and goes back there of an evening.” A little face peeked out from behind her, timid and dirty. She looked about ten. “And this is Grace, the maid and skivvy. She’s in your service full time and sleeps here in the kitchens.” Edmund bent closer and whispered. “Frankly, she’s here because her mother’s borne too many children to feed, and she’s too scrawny and weak to work in the fields with the rest. And why she’s called Grace, I don’t know. Not an ounce of grace in her.”

Next Edmund showed him round the outbuildings: stores, stables, a pig sty, grain barn and a well. There was also a small kitchen garden for vegetables and herbs. He was pleased to see that Richard had already stabled the horses and was brushing them down. A knight’s life depended on his horse and it was wise to see to the horse’s comfort before one’s own as they could be fragile beasts in many ways.

Beyond the stables he could see the church next door. A small, low affair, but still stone-built and solid enough in appearance. He would invite the priest over later.

They returned to the hall, and Sir John sat on a bench at the trestle table that served as the high table. Marge appeared with a lunch of bread, smoked ham, cheese, a vegetable stew and weak ale. As he ate, he quizzed Edmund.

“Who has the manors around us? And what are their allegiances?”

The latter question mattered in this time of strife. It was the Year of Our Lord 1142, and although King Stephen had regained his throne for now, his rival the Empress Maude had slipped through his fingers and remained at large to raise new armies and challenge him once again. Only last year it had been her sitting on the throne at Westminster, until her arrogance had alienated many of her supporters and she’d fled to Oxford.

Edmund reeled off the list. “And the manor to the north, Bastwood, is held by Lady Alanna. She’s a widow, but under the protection of the king, as her late husband was a staunch supporter of King Stephen.”

A possible ally, Sir John thought to himself. It would be good to meet her as soon as possible, to get on good terms. He wondered if Stephen had awarded him this specific manor to look after the lady. They were rather close to the territory of Earl Robert of Gloucester, Maude’s primary supporter and half-brother. King Stephen could do with a network of firm supporters here. And maybe more than a political ally, he mused. If the lady was at all presentable, she might make a good wife.

That evening he had the priest over for dinner. A good man; a simple parish priest with no apparent political ambitions or connections - safe. Then he retired to bed with a head slightly muzzy from the ale he’d drunk, and fell into a sound sleep.

The next morning he resolved to meet his neighbour, the widow. He dressed in his finest maroon riding tunic, with dark blue leggings and soft brown leather boots. A black cloak, held at his neck with a fine silver brooch in the shape of a hawk, completed the ensemble. He was freshly shaven, by Simon (John trusted his veteran sergeant with his life, and that included letting him hold a sharp blade to his neck!). He mounted his chestnut charger, and set off with Richard in tow, carrying a small barrel of Burgundy red wine as a present for the lady.

Within half an hour, he was crossing the rise and looking down on the village and manor house of Bastwood; the busy fields, the smoke curling from the houses, all the signs of a bustling and thriving community. He spurred his horse onwards, down the path to the manor, wondering what sort of reception he'd get.

Lady Alanna of Conté sighed as she helped clean the kitchen after breakfast. She hadn't always been a lady, and it showed as she helped clean the rest of her humble mansion with her maid, a young girl that was barely eleven years old name Tamra. She had grown up as a simple peasant, the daughter of the blacksmith on a small farm, where she had been discovered by one of the king's men and taken to be wed to any lord who would have her. Luckily for her, Lord Bastwood had found her appealing and wed her. He had been a kind man, God rest his soul, even if he had been rather dull in bed. Still, he had cared for her and, after his sudden death barely a year after they were wed, she was 'back in the market' so to speak, having been asked to use her maiden name. Her face darkened at that; 'back in the market' like a common piece of meat, or a mare to be bred.

A deep breath and her delicate features relaxed, her full lips tugging into a relaxed smile as she took in the early morning air, the light breeze coming through the window making her long, loose dark brown hair dance lightly around her torso. Her figure was considered slim for that time, her muscles toned from her work around the mansion and its stables. That was not to say her dresses weren't filled well by her ample bosom and the delicate flare of her hips. Her grey-blue eyes stood out on her creamy skin, her form clad in a simple dark red cotton dress and dark leather boots.

The back door opening in a clamor made her turn around, surprised to see little George, the baker's son out of breath as he tried to talk. By the time the boy had managed to tell her that there were guests on the way, Tamra had made her way to the kitchen, followed closely by Maude, her cook. Aly flew up the stairs to her room, giving herself a quick scrub in a tub filled with cold water before changing into a much more fine woolen dark blue dress and doing her hair in a simple braid, a gold ribbon threaded into her braid. By the time the gentlemen arrived, she was at her door and presentable, her face smooth and not betraying her confusion or her sudden fear as George's father and her reeve and bailiff, Bill, went to greet the gentlemen.

Sir John brought his mount to a stop in the yard in front of the Bastwood manor house. He nodded to the two men standing out in front but his eye was caught by the beautiful woman behind them in the doorway. Her finely woven blue dress was neatly belted round a thin waist, emphasising shapely hips and a superb bosom. The gold ribbon with which her hair was tied up made it likely she was the lady of the manor. No lady’s maid in an out-of-the-way manor like this could afford such luxuries. But she was younger than he’d expected, probably five years younger than him. She must have been widowed young, he thought, feeling for her loss at the same time as he appreciated her form.

“Gentlemen, m’lady,” he greeted them, dragging his attention back to the niceties. “I am Sir John de Cauville. I have just yesterday taken possession of Eastham, granted me by our gracious King Steven,” he added, subtly letting them know where his loyalties lay.

“I beg forgiveness for the unannounced visit, but I wanted to meet my new neighbours. Have I the honour of addressing the lady of the manor?” That latter was addressed to the woman in the doorway, over the heads of the two men, his position on horseback giving him the advantage of height. “I bring a gift – some fine Burgundy red wine.”

“Well hand it over, boy,” he hissed out of the corner of his mouth to Richard. But the young man didn’t move. Sir John half turned and saw that Richard was staring open-mouthed and calf-eyed at the presumed Lady Alanna. ‘Dear God, the boy’s lovestruck,’ he thought to himself, hoping that his own admiration of the woman hadn’t been half as obvious.

Lady Alanna's eyes took in the man that addressed them, feeling herself blush lightly. He looked strong and handsome on his horse, the voice that carried to her ears a pleasant deep tone that made a small shiver travel up her spine. Brushing those thoughts away, she listened quietly as he identified himself as Sir John and his alliegences, a small part of her wondering if this was King Steven's 'subtle' way of pushing them to meet. Smiling a welcome, she walked over to the two men flanking the entrance and placed a hand on either of their arms, giving them a light squeeze. They were there to protect her, as she was more than their Lady, she was friends with most everyone at their village.

"Welcome my lord, gentlemen. It's a pleasure to meet fellow friends of our gracious king. My name is Alanna of Conté. Please, feel free to make yourselves at home. Bill, Morgan? Please help the gentlemen get the horses settled on the stable while I take Sir John inside."

She watched as the two men moved closer and helped the young man with the wine barrel and lead the horses away, her eyes now trained on the knight. "Please come in. I'm sure you'd like some refreshments"

“Thank you, my lady. That would be most welcome. It’s several hours since breakfast and it was a dry dusty ride over here.”

Sir John followed Lady Alanna into her hall, smiling as his eyes tracked the way her body moved within her dark blue dress. He was glad Richard was away round the back with the two other men, making sure the horses were well tended, so he had this sight all to himself.

In the hall, the cook brought out a platter of bread, butter and cold ham, along with some wine. Sir John waited for the Lady Alanna to be seated first, then tucked into the tasty meat. Between mouthfuls he told her of his recent campaigns with King Stephen, how he’d been with the king’s army when Maude had defeated it and how he’d remained faithful throughout the period of Stephen’s imprisonment, being among the first to rally to him on his release and then how he’d been with the force that besieged Maude at Oxford.

“I was only a minor knight in his household. Not a baron or anything. And a second son, so little chance of inheriting my father’s modest lands. But I’ve served the king faithfully and you know how generous he is, despite his faults and his temper. He’s granted me Eastham and I only arrived yesterday. Frankly,” and he smiled, “I suspect the king wants someone who’s completely beholden to him guarding these lands. We’re so close here to the lands of Maude’s man, the Earl of Gloucester.”

“But enough of politics. I’m new to this county. What’s the hunting like here? Do you have a hawk?” He hoped so. He’d love to go hawking with this beautiful woman, as soon as his own hawks came up with his baggage. The woods also promised good hunting of deer and boar, with spear and dog, but that was hardly ladylike, whereas many noblewomen kept a small hawk.

Once they were both seated and she had thanked her cook, Aly listened to his words as she ate, asking him to describe the many places he has visited that she had never seen. It surprised her when he mentioned his humble background, but it was a pleasant surprise, since she had met her fair share of pompous knights going around thinking they're the king himself. She perked up at the mention of hunting, though. It was one of the things she enjoyed doing, when she had the spare time.

"Hunting is excellent on the forest close by. We'd have to be careful of not moving too close to the Earl's lands, but that shouldn't be a problem. As for a hawk, I do have one. Nightspear is in her cage and I'm sure she'd love to fly very soon" she said with a smile as she finished her meal and waited for him to do the same before she got up and picked up all the dishes, handing them over to Tamra. She knew it was something not many ladies of her new station did, but this was her; If Sir John didn't like her behavior then he probably wouldn't have liked her anyways.

Sir John was pleased at her positive reaction to his suggestion. This visit was going exceedingly well.

“Then might I suggest we go hunting in a week’s time? Next Saturday, maybe? My hawks will have arrived with my baggage by then and they’ll be itching to fly again. I’ll bring Richard, my page. He seems a bit slow, but he’s got a real way with the hawks. You could invite any other local lords of manors you think I should meet.”

He’d added this last both to make it clear he was aware of the proprieties and wasn’t trying to get her out alone in the woods, and also because she could be a useful way in to meeting others who shared their allegiance in the county. But it cost him a wrench to do so. He really would like to spend some time in the company of this beautiful widow, getting to know her without the distractions of his peers around. And he wouldn’t be surprised if some of them also had their eye on her, he thought, surprised at the tiny shaft of jealousy that speared his gut, despite having only just met the lady.

The wooden platter cleared away, he stood up from the table.

“Thank you for your hospitality, my lady,” he said. He held his hand out to take hers and kiss it in parting. “I must take my leave now. Unless... unless my lady would care to come riding and show me around her estates?” he added, inwardly cursing the blush that came to his cheeks.

"Sounds great. Though I think its better if we don't invite the other lords..." Aly said as she hesitated and blushed "They make me very uncomfortable. Plus most, if not all of them are more than a week's travel away."

She could feel herself blush redder at the idea of going riding alone with him. She had to admit to herself that she was more than intrigued by Sir John, and wanted to get to know him better. This is not very ladylike thinking... she thought to herself as she controlled herself and smiled at him, blushing lightly as he kissed her hand.

"Actually, that sounds like a great idea. It's a perfect day for a ride" she said as she led him out back to the stables. Noticing the other men were nowhere to be found and probably inside having their lunch, she walked close to her stallion and patted its nose before going inside. Methodically, she prepped for the ride, placing the seat on the ebony animal with practiced hands. Once she was done, she gracefully seated herself and grabbed the reins, leading her horse outside.

"Ready to go?"

Sir John resaddled his own mount, admiring the practised and competent way in which she prepared her horse. He remembered her helping to clear the lunch dishes away too. Here was a lady who was used to looking out for herself, he realised.

He held out his hands, cupped, to help her onto her horse, but she deigned even that help and swung herself into the saddle with practised ease. Sir John followed suit, and the two of them paused for a moment, horses side by side in the yard in front of the stable.

He looked along the road that led down through the village, southwards between the fields and up to the ridge from which he'd first seen the village that morning. Next, he glanced down the track that led from the church to the watermill and the meadows that lay alongside the stream, the grass not quite ready to be cut for hay. Finally he looked at the continuation of the road out from the village to the north, up into scrubland where sheep grazed, watched over by young boys, and woods from which the smoke of charcoal burners' fires lazily rose.

"Your lands, My Lady," he said. "Where shall we go?"

Alanna looked around at their options before turning her horse towards the road that lead towards the woods. They would follow the road to the border and ride until they reached a favorite meadow of hers, where they could rest before riding back to the village. Looking over her shoulder at him with playful eyes, she felt a smile tug at her lips. "Let's see how fast that war horse of yours is, Sir John."

With that she leaned forwards and whispered a word to her horse, the graceful beast following the command immediately and shooting forwards, much to the delight of its mistress. She could hear the beat of hooves on the ground as they quickly passed the fist field. occupied by some sheep and a cow, but she barely noticed, her attention fixed elsewhere. She had come to love this feeling, the village passing her by, the wind blowing past her slowly loosening her long hair from the braid as she rode...

Sir John grinned with delight at the challenge. Her more nimble gelding sped way ahead, Alanna hugging the neck of her horse, wisps of her brilliant hair flying out behind her, mingled with the mane of her mount. Sir John tapped the flanks of his own larger beast and he took a few deliberate steps before accelerating into the trot and finally to a steady canter.

As they sped through the village, past huts with their small garden plots and enclosures for a handful of beasts, she was a good twenty yards ahead of him, but the longer legs of his warhorse started to eat up the difference. By the time they were through the few large communal arable fields that surrounded the village, where the peasants worked on their own strips, growing wheat, barley, oats and beans, he was level with her.

“You see, My Lady, Griffon can manage a good speed once he gets into his stride!” His horse was used to carrying him in full mail armour, with shield, lance, sword and axe, and without that load he could maintain the canter for ages.

They slowed to a walk as they entered the woods, out of concern for their horses as the path become rougher. The slower pace also allowed them to ride closer and to talk without the wind whipping their words away.

It was peaceful here. Although the woods were managed as a valuable resource, as attested by the coppiced trees that provided poles for fencing and wall panels in between these allowed to grow to full height to become heavy timbers for house frames, no-one was working on cutting them at the moment. There were plumes of smoke from where charcoal burners tended their large turf-covered smouldering clamps to make charcoal to fuel the smithies, but these were deeper into the woods and only glimpsed where the trees thinned out. Apart from birds disturbed by their passing, and one boy whom they soon passed and left behind as he watched over pigs snuffling for worms and nuts amongst last autumn’s mouldering leaf-fall, they were alone.

Suddenly a vole darted across the path in front of them, followed by a fox. Too intent on its prey, the fox burst from cover almost straight into the hooves of Alanna’s horse. It panicked and reared slightly, the reins dropping from her startled hands. With his experience as a warrior, Sir John reacted quickly and grabbed her reins in one hand, the other shooting behind her to prevent her from falling back, keeping control of his own mount with his knees. He muttered soothing words to the gelding and rubbed the beast’s neck until he calmed down, then spoke to Alanna.

“Are you alright, My Lady?”

It was only then that he realised how close they were, her left knee brushing his right leg and his hand still in the small of her back.