Day 1

The Keep was in chaos with servants running hither and yon to prepare for His Lordship's guests. Earlier that morning a rider had arrived, his horse sweaty from a hard run. A Roman General, the rumors said, passing this part of the country, given leave by the King's own hand. He and his army should arrive by dinner. The kitchens were in a state of near-panic preparations for a last-minute feast. The stables and Keep were no less so preparing to house the General and his officers. Helena ran from the storerooms to the guest rooms more times than she cared to remember carrying fresh linens, pots, and other goods for the guests.

It was on one of those journeys that Lansing, His Lordship's steward, stopped her. "Helena" she could still hear his formal tones in her memory, "His Lordship wishes you to attend personally to any of the General's needs." He paused and stared at her, "You understand His Lordship's request?"

She did; officially, she would be the General's chambermaid but additionally, she was to provide her body for the General's pleasure. It was an honor, really. His Lordship would not have chosen an ugly woman or an ill breed one. It certainly could have been worse - she could have to serve His Lordship himself. At three and twenty and widowed, she was young enough to still please a man's eye and old enough not to be too foolish her circumstances. She was not a virgin, so she did not fear the act and as she was raised with the old ways, she did not fear this christen God that took so much pleasure away from life and seemed to give very little back. Earth and sun provide in this life, if there was another life to come, Helena would contend with it then. She finished stocking the guest rooms and went to the Great Hall to help with the preparations there.

It was all for naught. When the gates opened, only one man rode through them. He was large and powerful and dark in the torchlight of the courtyard. Sir Moreland, the Stable Master himself took the General's horse. Helena was running pitchers of wine to the Great Hall when she saw him arrive. She and Adele stopped and watched as His Lordship introduced his Warlord and the Watch Commanders.

Adele frowned, a bit jealous at Helena's task for the next few days, "We best had put these in. You'll be wanted in the main hall tonight I'm sure."

Helena nodded and moved slowly still trying to get a good look at the man whom she was to serve. As soon as she could, she returned to her own room and took off the rough cloth frock she wore for doing chores. She had one fine dress of soft wool dyed dark blue. The bolt of fabric had been a gift from Adele's brother when he had gone with the armies north. The dress was a little tight now and needed to be let out soon but it would serve its purpose for the next few nights. She went to the Great Hall to see the 'Great Man'. There was a murmur in the Hall unlike the usual noise that a guest set off; in the bright lamplight of the Hall, she saw why. The Great Roman General, Bogud of Mauretania was a moor.

If his like was common for a moor, Helena understood why they were much feared by others in the world: Sir Bogud was as large as a bear. At more than a head taller that His Lordship, he towered above everyone in the room save Sir Gant but he was not thin and reedy like most tall men. He was not fat either and yet he was at least as wide as her arm was long. And dark. Like ale or polished wood, a deep brown color shone from his skin wherever it peeked under his armor. He was not hairy; she thanked whatever gods there be for that. Even his head she saw, when he finally removed that roman helm, was shaved, smooth and deep ale brown. His face was lined but whether from age or care she could not say. The first time he spoke, she was too far away to hear the words only the timber of his deep voice vibrating through her spine.

An insistent poking in her shoulder drew her attention away from the moor; she turned and was handed a tray of meats to set on His Lordship's table. She took them, eager and fearful to take a closer look at him. Deliberately, she approached them in a way that she must ask him to step aside; a harmless intrusion and one His Lordship often used to his own advantage.

Tonight was no exception. "Ah, Helena." His Lordship placed a hand on her shoulder, "Is all in readiness for our guest, Sir Bogud?"

She bowed, "Yes, My Lord. The room has been prepared to receive him."

"And you? Are you" he chuckled lecherously, "prepared to receive him?"

Helena looked as His Lordship in shock, "My Lord!" She glanced at the moor and saw a dark scowl cross his face. She bowed and hurried away. His Lordship's laughter followed nearly to the kitchen. She steeled herself knowing that she was expected to serve His Lordship's table personally and such comments would dog her all evening. She filled a pitcher of wine and headed reluctantly back to the Great Hall. As the evening passed though, it was easy to ignore His Lordship's crude comments because she was catching snatches of the moor's conversation: his exploits in battle, the glories of Rome, his four wives and harem, his army camped below the ridge, beyond view of the Keep's walls but not of its watchtowers. He had come to gather support for Anthony in what would surely soon be a civil war in Rome. Helena knew little of such things but His Lordship and Sir Gant seemed greatly troubled. By the time she and the other staff cleared the plates and remains of the meal, Helena's heart was fluttering. She had felt a shiver each time she passed him; the one time their eyes meet, her heart stopped and when he accidentally touched her hand, flames had coursed up her arm. As soon as she could, she fled to her small room partly to bathe and change clothes but more to hide in hopes that someone else would "service" the moor.

There was a tap at her chamber door. She paused, gathering her reserve. A voice called her name softly. It was Colin, one of the stable lads and a lifelong friend. She flung the door open and threw her arms around him, "Oh, Colin. I fear him!"

He held her tight and for a moment, she felt safe. Still, in her heart she knew, that only His Lordship could spare her this and no hope lay there.

She released her grip on the boy but he held her hands fast. "When you are with him Helena, think of his saddle."

She looked at him with confusion. She knew very little about saddles and had not seen the Moor's when he arrived.

Colin grinned and nodded vigorously, "Yes, yes! You've seen them? All polished leather. Smooth to the touch but hard to sit upon?"

She nodded, still unsure of his meaning.

"The Moor's saddle is covered with silken pillows."

"What does his saddle... ?"

Colin cut her off, "Rare a man rides on pillows, rarer still a general. He's just a man, Helena. For all his size and demon appearance, he's just a man."

She tried to brighten; Colin was a good soul and a good judge of men. The Moor could not be so bad if Colin sued for him. "I'll try. Just a man." She picked up her cap and fit her hair under it. In a few minutes, his pleasure would be over and she could return to the comfort of her room - small though it be. She squeezed Colin's hand and kissed his cheek, "My thanks."

At the door before the Moor's chamber, she nearly lost her nerve. She rapt softly in hopes that he would not hear. She was grieved when a loud firm voice answered. She entered and shut the door behind her.

"How may I serve thee?" She stared at the patterns in the stonework floor, not willing to see the dark face before her.

"Here, girl." It was a command; his voice rumbled low and deep like distant thunder. She shivered and stepped forward. He sighed, "Child, I don't eat little girls and I am very tired. Come here and undo these laces."

Helena looked up then and saw him - not on the bed as she feared but standing by the window. She curtsied out of habit then proceeded to open the buckles and lacings of his breastplate. The musky scent of him struck her as she set the armor down. So familiar yet so different. He took off the cotton shirt he wore beneath - red in color and stained with sweat. She watched him as he washed his face and neck.

"Here." He handed her the washrag, "My back." His skin was smooth and soft, unblemished by bruise or scar. She found herself pleased to wash the day's sweat and grime away and moved without asking to his chest. A light dusting of curly black hairs covered the center of his chest. She gently washed until his upper body smelled of soap and something manly. Suddenly aware of the intimacy, she laid the cloth on the washstand and awkwardly stepped back.

When she looked up at him, he seemed bemused, "I have more to wash. Will you help with all?"

She blushed; she begun to realize that her earlier fear was of herself not the man before her. She looked away, curtsying again to cover her shortness of breath and flushed face. With a pounding heart and trembling fingers, she touched his belt.

He laughed softly, "Perhaps my shoes first?"

Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. He sat on the edge of the bed and she knelt before him to remove his shin guards and the long lacings that held the thin leather soles in place. His feet were enormous, the foundation suited to a man of giant size. She retrieved the washrag and the basin. His heels were calloused and rough, his toes had corns. She caressed them softly as she washed thinking it no wonder that soldiers were so hardhearted if these sore feet followed them all day. She unbuckled the armor protecting his thighs and washed his well-formed legs. She could lose herself in the simple task of cleaning him so long as she did not look up and see under his short armored skirt or smell his manliness so close and so enticing.

Helena had only one lover in her short life, an excellent young man she had wed and who was killed a year later in the harshness of a soldiers' life. She had said yes to him because he was a fine man and respected and one must wed someone but passion had never stirred in her - although she had heard other girls speak of it often enough. She had done her best to be what he had wanted and hoped he would one day provide the same lustful joy to her. 'One day' never came. She grieved him but knew life moved on; even old maids sometimes find love late in life and here in the Keep, there would always be a home for her.