Prince

Chapter 23

The Vidame De Chartres cut an elegant and rather unlikely figure as he reined in his horse in the neat courtyard outside the Vespers bawdy-house in the old convent of St Mary at Clerkenwell. A lantern burned outside the door. He could have brought an escort from the French embassy, where his father held sway; instead he came alone.

He dismounted, tethered his horse and pushed through the unlocked door into the spacious, well-draped and brightly lit interior.

For a moment he stood in the entrance hall taking in his surroundings. He wore no hat and his head was tilted back as he looked about him, his long dark hair swinging as though it had a life of its own. He stood with his shoulders back, a proud man, pleased with himself, afraid of no one. His doublet of sunflower yellow was exceedingly tight, accentuating his slender, muscled body. He enjoyed beauty, a pleasure that extended to his own appearance.

A woman appeared and smiled at him. ‘How may we help you, kind sir?’

‘I am looking for — ’ he was about to say Monique, but quickly corrected himself — ‘Lucy.’

‘Shall I say who wants her?’

‘Pregent. Pregent de la Fin.’

‘Wait here, master.’

‘No. Take me to her.’

‘I think she is with someone, sir.’

‘I care not.’ He took the young woman’s upper arm in a firm grip. ‘Come, mam’selle, take me to her.’

‘Please, sir, I cannot. She will not allow it. You are hurting me, master.’

The vidame released her. ‘Well, I shall find her myself.’ He strode forward into the great hall and looked about him. Without hesitation, he climbed the stairs.

The unfortunate whore trailed in his wake. ‘Sir, it cannot be seemly to barge in on a lady. She may be-’

‘This door?’ The vidame pushed open a door and peered in. A man knelt over the end of the bed so that his naked arse was exposed. A woman, also naked, was just behind him clutching something that looked very like a parsnip or carrot. The naked man turned at the creak of the door. His eyes met the vidame’s in horror and astonishment and he began scrabbling away to cover himself. The vidame laughed and moved on to the next room.

He was about to go in when the whore who followed him put her hands together in supplication. ‘Sir, please not that chamber,’ she begged.

‘Where then?

‘Along the way. The great chamber.’

‘Very well. You may go, mam’selle. I will not need your assistance.’

He strode to the door indicated and walked straight in. Lucy was stretched out naked, eyes closed. Beside her was a short, fat man with a hairy back. The vidame approached the bed and hauled him up. The man protested volubly, but the vidame ignored him. With little ado, he threw him from the room, tossing a selection of garments after him, and kicked the door shut. He then turned back and stared at Lucy.

Her eyes were open now, shining. She sat up in bed, reclining against a bank of pillows beneath the four-posted canopy, glaring at him.

‘Well, Monique,’ he said. ‘Do you not greet your master?’

‘I have no master. But I will say good day to you, Pregent. Good day and goodbye.’

‘I have come a long way to fetch you home…’

‘And I have come a long way to be rid of you. So I say good riddance, Pregent. I do not know how to make myself clearer.’

He stepped forward. She did not shy away. She had no fear of him. She knew he would not hurt her, nor mark her skin.

‘Did you not yearn for me, Monique?’

‘I expected you, that is for certain.’

‘I will have you back, you know. One way or another. You belong to me, body and soul. By the laws of God and man, you are mine, paid for in gold and in passion.’

‘You paid for a slave. But this land has no slavery, so I am no slave, nor ever will be again, neither to you nor any other man. I would kill you before that.’

‘So you wish your freedom?’

‘I have it.’

The vidame gazed upon her dark skin. He knew and adored every inch of it. He knew its value, too, for he had paid a handsome price for her. Eight thousand Venetian ducats, in gold.

‘I need you, Monique.’

‘Then pay for me, like all the rest. And my name is Lucy, not Monique. Two sovereigns will buy you a night.’

‘Can one put a price on love? Do you know how much I paid for you?’

‘If it was more than two sovereigns, you are more a fool than ever I thought, Pregent, for that is the price.’

‘If I were to free you I would need eight thousand golden ducats.’ He looked around the chamber. ‘You have a fair property here, but a long way from such a sum. How much is in your coffers?’

‘None for you. I take money from men, not give it.’

‘But you are a whore now, so you are used to striking a bargain. You will pay me or come with me, for this Virgin Queen will hand you to me. She wishes to keep the French and their embassy happy.’

As he spoke, the door opened. Beth Evans entered with two men. They were large and powerfully built and wore the livery of serving men. ‘I thought you might need a little assistance, Lucy,’ Beth said.

‘This man is just leaving. Perhaps you would show him to the door.’

The vidame unsheathed his sword and turned away from the men, unconcerned. He held up the bright, untarnished blade so that it caught the flickering candlelight, and he ran its finely honed edge between his perfectly manicured fingers. ‘Do you remember my swordsman’s skills, Monique? Would you pit your poor brutes against my blade?’

Lucy looked towards Beth and the two men and shook her head. ‘Leave him. He would slice you as fine as bacon before you had even touched him.’

The vidame smiled. ‘Fear not. I am leaving now. But think on what I have said, Monique. I would like to say that the choice is yours, but we both know that is really not the case.’ Sliding the blade back into its scabbard, he leant across the bed and kissed Lucy on her exquisite black thigh.