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This story is set in the 16th century but my characters use largely modern words and phrases as the language of the period would make reading a chore. Of necessity , I have taken some liberties with historical facts. This is one of those stories that I started on a whim having no idea where it might lead. I may have got a bit carried away.
It is written in an alternating first-person style. I hope you enjoy it. KD xxx
…..
The High Weald, Sussex, England, November 1542.
Mary:
“Come on, Ruby, not far now old girl,” I called. Ruby, a big heavy cart horse seemed to understand and leaned into the harness pulling the oak sled. Piled on it in forty hessian sacks sat my week’s worth of charcoal production under an oiled tarpaulin. It had been raining for two days. Standing on a platform at the front in my leather cape and wide-brimmed leather hat, I flicked the reins sending water into the air and canted my head.
From the south on the Lewes to Tunbridge Wells turnpike, I heard horses whinnying and the crack of a whip. Odd, the mail coach didn’t run on a Monday and no-one else would be daft enough to try and drive a carriage or cart through this mud and rain. There was mud and there was Sussex mud; dark, sticky, wet and heavy with clay.
The track I was on crossed the turnpike at an angle. Ruby stopped of her own accord and shook the cold rain from her body. To the left, the glutinous road climbed steeply towards the hamlet of Blakeboys. I twisted to my right and looked down the turnpike. Maybe seventy yards away a fine carriage pulled by two skinny town horses slid sideways as the steaming horses fought for traction.
I watched, amused. At this time of year, the wheels on the regular mail coaches were six inches wide with iron studs that dug into the mud. The ones on this carriage were barely two inches wide and vanished into the gloop. The fat driver’s fine deep-burgundy cloak, probably spotless earlier that day, was now half covered in mud kicked up by the horses. I waited. The carriage stopped in front of me, the driver gasping for breath as if he’d pulled the carriage himself.
“You’re gonna kill those horses,” I shouted.
“Mind yer own business, boy,” he shouted back. That was pretty common. My small size, less than five feet, and hair cropped close to deter lice gave me a child-like appearance, or so people said. Any of my feminine facial features were hidden under a caked layer of charcoal dust.
“Where you going?” I called, “Because you’re not gonna get there.”
A face appeared at the window in the door of the carriage. Clean, with wavy brown hair, some sort of red silk neckerchief and a black velvet collar, he looked to be in his mid-twenties. “How far to Rotherfield, boy?” he called.
“About ten miles and I’m not your boy, mister.”
“Will we get there by sunset?”
I laughed, “Yeah, but not today’s sunset.”
“What on earth do you mean?”
“Where you come from?”
“We left Lewes at dawn.”
“And it’s taken you this long to get here? You’ve got the hill up into Blakeboys, then the hill up into Hadlow Down which is two miles long, down to Jarvis Brook, then another big one into Rotherfield.”
“You seem to be managing.”
“I’m not in some fancy carriage, my sled runners slide over the mud.”
“So you could take me to Rotherfield.”
“I could but I’m not going to.”
“I’ll pay you.”
I paused. It would be easy money and I could take some charcoal to sell. “A gold sovereign,” I called. I knew it was absurd, I only earned three in a good year.
“Don’t be utterly ridiculous. I’m only paying this idiot a florin.”
“And it’s not got you very far has it, mister? I’ve got a sled, he hasn’t. A gold sovereign or you might as well turn around and head back to your nice town.”
The man, clearly irritated, sighed and shouted, “I need to get there tonight.”
“Not gonna happen. Ruby’s tired, so am I and I need to unload my charcoal. Be dark in an hour.”
“Where will I stay? Is there an inn?”
“You’ll have to stay with me. Half a sovereign for board and lodging.”
“That’s highway robbery.”
“No, highway robbery is what will happen if you try and travel after dark. Lots of scallywags in these parts.”
Ralf:
I let the curtain fall and sat back in the coach whilst pondering my predicament. Despite being dry I was cold and could hear the rain beating on the carriage roof. What the boy said made sense. I’d been warned in Lewes about venturing into that part of the High Weald, a place of hills and ridges, deep valleys, rivers and dark damp woodlands. The Bishop had said, “You’re mad. Nothing pleasant happens in the Weald. It’s full of poverty, beggars, ruffians and highwaymen.”
I knew that the boy’s demands were outrageous but the potential profits from this venture far outweighed the expense. The boy had me by the balls and knew it. I pulled back the curtain and shouted, “Half a sovereign to take me there and back and lodging tonight.”
“Half escort for the lodging, half for transporting you. One sovereign.”
This boy was smart. “Your dwelling is nearby and warm?”
“Half a mile down that track opposite and it’ll be warm once the fire is lit.”
I sighed and called, “One sovereign then, but we set out at dawn.”
“Agreed,” grinned the boy, his teeth white in his blackened face, “You got any bags?”
I sat on the cart’s load, gripping the securing ropes as the sled bumped and the rain lashed down. My woollen coat was expensive but not designed for a relentless downpour. I was soaked and cold when we arrived at the thatched cottage.
It didn’t seem to bother the boy who stepped down and said, “You go in and light the fire, there’s a steel on the shelf, char cloth in the pot with the lid and kindling in the basket. I’m gonna sort out Ruby and get this sled under cover.”
Shivering, I entered. It was dark and cold but I quickly got the fire going in its big hearth. Then, using spills I found in a pot, I lit three candles. The room was rectangular and surprisingly clean and tidy, with the fireplace central in one long wall, a simple bed at one end and a table at the other with two chairs. In the centre of the room, facing the fire, was a wooden bench. Quickly, the room warmed up and I could discard my heavy coat, placing it carefully over a chair to dry then sat on the bench in my shirt and tight britches. I stood when the boy came in carrying two dead rabbits and six eggs. “I’m Ralf, Ralf Hogge,” I said, “What’s your name?”
He ignored my question and said, “If you stay in those wet clothes you’ll go down with something. Blankets over there. Privvy out back. I’ll make us a stew and unleavened bread. There’s carrots and turnips in that box over there. Sort yourself out then make yourself useful and chop them up. Carrots as they are, turnips will need peeling. Knife in that drawer.”
He skillfully skinned the rabbits and quickly eviscerated them before cutting into chunks and putting into a pot above the fire along with water, the carrots, turnips and a bunch of wild herbs. Then he mixed flour with salt, goose fat and water. Within 15 minutes of entering, he had stew on the go to the right of the fire, a one-gallon kettle of water above and a baking stone warming on the left.
“There’s only one bed,” I said, wrapped in a coarse blanket but retaining my britches and sitting facing the fire.
“Well, I suppose you’d best have that as your paying,” said the boy, “Don’t worry, I shakes it out twice a week. No bugs. I’ll sleep on the floor. It’s how I sleeps out in the woods when my charcoal kilns are burning.”
“Where are your parents?” I asked.
“Long dead.”
“But you can’t be more than, what, fourteen?”
“Born in good king Henry’s year of 1524. Don’t know what this year is.”
“1542, so you’re eighteen years of age.”
“If you says so. Now, hope you’re not easily offended but I haven’t washed for four days so once that water’s hot I’m gonna get the tub down and have myself a good scrub.”
“Go ahead, I’ve got three brothers,” I said.
That made him chuckle as he sat next to me, took his heavy boots off and stretched his small feet towards the fire saying, “So why you so desperate to get to Rotherfield?”
“I need to meet a gentleman to discuss some business matters, an investment.”
“You some sort of money lender?”
“No, I’m in the employ of William Levett, the parson at Buxted, I’m his ironmaster.”
“Ironmaster? With those soft hands?”
“I’ve done my fair share of toil, I was apprenticed to Pierre Baude, the French cannon-maker. Now I’ve come here to manage the parson’s business, to direct others in making cannons.”
“Cannons? I’ve heard of them but never seen one. Why would anyone want to buy cannons up here in the Weald? There’s nothing worth knocking down.”
“Not using, making.”
“You mean those pits, furnaces and hammer mills I see appearing everywhere? Bloody noisy things gets on me fucking tits.”
“Maybe less profanity young man.”
“You ain’t in fancy Lewes any more Mister Hogge. If you don’t like the way we speak up here, best you go back to your silks and bishops, because you won’t last long up here.”
I looked at the young boy. He may be eighteen but still looked like a child. I thought of Joseph and Luke, two friends who enjoyed the company of young boys. It wasn’t to my liking but looking at this young specimen with his soft, slightly pouting lips, high cheekbones and blue eyes, I could see how some might be so attracted. Clearing my throat I said, “So you’re a charcoal maker. On whose land?”
“My land. I’m no ignorant peasant. I’m a landowner.”
Surprised, I said, “I meant no offence. It’s just unusual to come across a landowner so young.”
“Inherited from my grandfather. He took me in and taught me charcoal making and bodging when me parents died of the plague. So that’s what I do now. Charcoal in the winter, bodging in the summer.”
“All escort bayan using a sled?”
“Got a cart for when it’s dry.”
“How do you sell your charcoal?”
“Some I take direct to markets – Heathfield, Mayfield, Uckfield. Lewes in summer. Also, I sell direct to blacksmiths, inns and big houses. People like my charcoal. I make it proper, burns hot, no smoke.”
“Ironworks?”
“None close enough to make it worth my while.”
“But if you could sell to a furnace? All your production, year-round. One customer.”
“Risky. All my eggs in one basket. What if they changed their minds? I’d have lost all my regular customers. And they could drop their price. They’d have me over a barrel.”
“But if you had a legal contract for a fixed period at a guaranteed price.”
“I suppose that could work, depend on where the furnace was. Could end up spending more time travelling than making charcoal. Anyways, water’s hot. Help me get that wooden tub off the wall.”
With it in front of the fire, he said, “You pour the hot in, use that cloth as the handle will be hot, while I gets some cold water and finds my soap.”
“Not much water,” I said, a couple of minutes later.
“Only needs two inches for a good wash,” he said after refilling the kettle and starting to undress, “So what’s this business deal you trying for?”
Watching, I said, “Land, north of Harlow Down. We’re going to cast cannons.”
“So you said, can’t you do that in Lewes?”
“No, we need the resources; iron ore, flowing water to power the bellows and hammer mills, woodlands to provide the charcoal fuel. There’s also clay here to make the bricks to build with. All are present, except the charcoal, in abundance at the site we’ve chosen.”
Unbuttoning his top he said, “And this bloke in Rotherfield owns the land.”
“Precisely.”
“And I bet you ain’t telling him the real reason why you want to buy it.”
“Well no, he’d put his price up.”
I watched the boy turn his back and drop his britches. I shook my head, trying not to gaze at his very white, rounded, feminine-like buttocks. Carefully, the boy discarded his linen shirt and turned back. Shocked beyond belief, I leapt to my feet sending the blanket to the floor and staggered backwards exclaiming, “By all that’s holy, you’re a girl!”
Hands on hips, feet apart, apparently unconcerned at displaying her sexual organs, she said, “Well done, now you can call me Mary. Well, Margaret really. Margaret Henslowe.”
I stared at the creature exposed before me. Her small lithe body, tiny apple-sized pert breasts, flat stomach and triangle of curly blonde hair. “B… but you’re a charcoal maker,” I stammered, “Look at your black hands, neck, face and hair.”
“That’s why I needs a wash. Now, I’ll sit, you use that jug to pour water over me.”
Fascinated and not just a little aroused, I couldn’t avert my gaze as the most beautiful creature I’d ever set eyes upon revealed herself before me. Her short black soot-encrusted hair became blonde, her pale skin emerged fresh, clean and glowing. She stood, filthy water cascading from her breasts and pointed at the kettle. “Now take that, it’ll only be half warm, and pour it over me.”
Mary:
As he poured, I watched him. He really was quite handsome. Even more handsome than he’d appeared in the carriage window. Bare-chested, I was able to admire his muscles. Yes, he’d do nicely. To tease him, I rubbed my breasts, spreading the water and feeling my nipples harden.
“Ohhh…” Ralf moaned, “You really are beautiful. I think you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”
“I know.”
“You know you’re beautiful?”
“No, haven’t got a mirror.” Then I grinned, pointed at his crotch and said, “I meant that I know what you’re thinking.” Ralf looked down at the very obvious bulge in his britches. “Can’t be very comfortable,” I laughed, “Set him free if you want.”
“Free?” said Ralf, “I mean… here?…but you’re naked.”
“Do you believe in God, Mister Hogge?”
“Of course.”
“Did God not create our bodies? Create desire and lust in our minds when we gaze upon each other? Did he not create the world, including all the birds and animals and make them free to act upon their natural urges?”
“We are not animals, we have progressed beyond that. We are civilised.”
“Are we? Do squirrels wage war upon each other? Do the deer of the forest rape, steal and cheat? Do swans poison the rivers and build towns where fields once stood? We would do well to learn from what surrounds us.”
“The church says…”
“The church ain’t fucking here is it? The church abandoned most of the Weald long ago. Not enough money here to make it worth their while. We can’t fund their gold crosses, French wines and fine robes. Yeah, there’s a few churches, but this is a godless land that god ain’t interested in so why should we be interested in god? This is my house and when it’s warm I shed my clothes. You can stand there in your wet britches bayan escort if you want but don’t expect me to nurse your fever. Or you can be like me. Don’t worry, I ain’t going to faint at the sight of your manhood.”
“Just like that? Here, right now?”
“Suit yourself. Hand me that sheet from the shelf so I may dry myself.”
If anything, his bulge got bigger as I rubbed myself. At least he wasn’t looking away. I knew he desired me, half the boys within five miles did, all of them probably. Can’t fight them off much longer. I’d always dreamed of having my virginity taken by a gentleman and now one was looking at my naked body, his cock swelling uncontrollably.
Ralf sucked in air as I stepped out of the tub.
Ralf:
Oh dear lord, what a predicament. I couldn’t possibly comply with her suggestion but I had to do something. My cock was actually painful. Would it be so wrong? I was unlikely to ever see her again. She stood before me looking up, her lips sensual, her eyes full of lust. Her hand on the front of my britches made me jump and her, laugh. She rubbed. Despite myself, I moaned.
“Decision time,” she said softly, looking up and blinking, “Do we sleep separately, or do I throw blankets down in front of the fire?”
So bewitchingly beautiful, such pert little breasts. I felt my resolve melt away. Mary appeared to shudder in anticipation as I stepped closer, cupped her face in my hands, dipped my head and kissed her. She reached up, pulling me down, lips parting. Our tongues touched as we moaned in unison, our bodies and minds full of desire. Her hands roved over my chest and back as I struggled with the belt and buttons of my britches.
Mary sank to her haunches and said, “Calm down, we’ve got all night. Here, let me do it.” Slowly, deliberately, she undid my belt.
Mary:
I knew what the serving girls did around the back of the Star Inn in Heathfield. I’d watched them on their knees, earning a few extra coppers. “It looks disgusting,” I’d said to Alice Baker, “I could never do that.”
Alice had laughed, “You learn to do that and no man will ever stray. I wouldn’t have to do it if their wives did it. You suck a man’s cock, swallow his jizzum and he’ll be yours.”
My plan had formed as soon as I saw Ralf climb from the carriage. He was going to spend the night in my cottage. I knew I was pretty but was also a landowner to boot. A prize for any man around here. But to marry a woodsman, labourer, herdsman, thatcher, stable boy or fellow charcoal maker would be to condemn myself to a lifetime of struggle in this beautiful but pitiful land. A gentleman would take me away to his fine townhouse with servants and a bath with neck-deep hot water. I’d willingly surrender my body in exchange for that. Love was immaterial.
Belt dealt with, I undid the clip and buttons. Could I do it? What would it feel like in my mouth? Would it disgust me? Alice said that some cocks tasted of old cheese and that some jizz made her retch. I’d had seen erect cocks on horses, bulls and dogs, but only human ones behind the inn, from a distance. Tugging down his britches revealed a white undergarment. The line made by his cock was now more apparent. A big thick cock! That was worrying. I could hear Ralf breathing above me, ragged and deep. I ran my hands back up his legs and over his thighs. I bit my lip. Seemingly of its own accord, my right moved across, the fingertips brushing along the length of the bulge. “Ohhh…,” he moaned.
Ralf:
I do believe that I was in a state of shock. My fiancée, Elizabeth Compton of Black Down Farm near Glynde, steadfastly refused to even touch the swelling in my britches. Her breasts were definitely off limits and she would only kiss with her mouth firmly closed. “When we are married,” was one of her favourite expressions.
This beautiful nymph had no such qualms. She’d gone further in two minutes than Elizabeth had in eighteen months. And now, on her knees, she was biting her lip and caressing my member through my underwear. I know I moaned, I couldn’t help it. And now, she was tugging at the drawstrings. As the bow came undone, I found it difficult to breathe. The mellow light from the fire and candles made her slim small body glow. With the backbreaking toil she endured, day in day out, how had she kept her body so blemish-free?
Mary:
I’d expected fear, possibly even disgust, yet as his ridiculously thick seven-inch cock quivered in front of me, I was struck by how utterly beautiful it was. Thicker at the base, pronounced veins ran its length to the bulbous flared head. Why would a woman not want to smother such a thing with kisses? But not yet. The beaten earth floor would dirty my now clean body.
I sensed Ralf’s disappointment as I stood and walked across the room. I think I wiggled my buttocks. I could feel his eyes boring into me. I tried to imagine his thoughts. Hopefully, they coincided with mine. I took my time, letting him see what was on offer. Standing on tiptoe, I deliberately clenched my rear as I reached for the shelf. From there, I took down four more woollen blankets, turned and held them out saying, “Here, move the bench and spread these before the fire.”
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