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Post by Grace de Beaumont on Nov 15, 2009 3:23:23 GMT
True to his word, Richard took Grace to what he called a 'real tavern'. She had no idea how he found out the place after being in Camelot for so short a time, but after the evening meal, he led her through a winding array of increasingly darker streets and alleys to this place, The Black Bear Tavern.
As soon as she walked through the door, the odors hit her, a powerful odor of ale, smoke, unwashed bodies, and deeper, fouler scents she had no desire to identify. Grace nearly gagged and brought her shirt sleeve up to her nose. The noise was incredible -- loud, raucous laughter, shouts at gaming tables, shrieks from the serving girls.
Eyes wide, Grace glanced up at Richard but he ignored her, weaving his way through crowded tables. Nearly squeaking in alarm, she hastened to catch up.
"Is.... is it always this loud?" she shouted. A bald man with one eye and rotted teeth turned and leered at her, causing Grace to snatch at Richard's shirt sleeve in alarm. The older man's stride carried them to the far side of the dark, filthy place and to an empty small table. "My boots are sticking to the floor," she whined as she sat gingerly on the stool. It rocked alarmingly, the obvious recipient of more than one brawl by its splintered condition.
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Post by Richard Cabal on Nov 15, 2009 3:35:43 GMT
Richard looked over at Grace when she whined and lifted his eyebrows. Once he had taken a seat he made sure that his sword was visible, hopefully to stop people from taking too much interest in him. A serving wench came close and Richard snatched at her arm.
"Two ales!" He yelled before she hit him. The wench propped her fist on her hip when Richard released her. From the look in her eye, she was waiting for something. Richard passed her some coin and she left.
"I thought ye wanted to work in this kind place? Get some gossip from these louts." This was said to Grace. A lad nearby had been hit around the head by the same girl who had nearly hit Richard. From the laughter and ribbing, Richard suspected the lad had tried to grab her behind.
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Post by Grace de Beaumont on Nov 15, 2009 4:07:55 GMT
Opening her mouth to reply, Grace winced when there was an explosion of laughter from across the room. She glanced over her shoulder before replying. "I didn't know.... th-that is, I had no idea.... Do you really like places like this? I mean.... you obviously knew what it would be like."
The idea that Richard, her father's generally quiet, stalwart man-at-arms would frequent an establishment like this....the very idea made Grace blanch. She warily eyed a man staggering in drunkenness as he lurched close to their table, seemed to change his mind and stagger away. Had Richard ever been so sotted he had to walk like that?
"Have you ever been drunk?" she asked innocently, curious as a child. "I mean really drunk, like that man over.... oh my goodness! He's... he's vomiting!" The wet splat sound reverberated around the room, to the accompaniment of jeers and insults. Grace made a horrified face, turning quickly forward. "Heavens.... has the man no dignity to be seen in public that way?"
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Post by Richard Cabal on Nov 15, 2009 4:43:45 GMT
Richard moved his stool closer to Grace protectively and hid a smile behind his hand in response to her disgust.
"I do not like these places, lass and aye, I have been that drunk." He didn't feel like telling his lady about the one time he and his friends had gone on a tavern crawl. He had been young and regretted it most severely the next day.
"Dignity? Lass, some o' these men probably work in dull repetitive jobs. No chance for something more. Dreams are all gone now, some o' them do not think believe they can have dignity." Their ale was delivered, Richard thanked the tavern wench and took a tentative sip. It wasn't too bad.
"Now little one, watch the wenches."
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Post by Grace de Beaumont on Nov 15, 2009 5:17:37 GMT
Grace blinked stupidly at Richard, then looked back at some of the men about the room. What Richard had said had simply never occurred to her -- the idea that because their real lives must be so abysmal, they found solace and escape in drink and.... this form of companionship was a revelation to her. Grace chewed her lip in thought. A lady such as herself had been brought up in privilege, never wondering where the next meal was coming from, having her pick of fine clothes, having a wide assortment of amusements from riding lessons, music, drawing classes, as well as her education. In all likelihood, none of the people in this place could probably read.
"I hadn't thought of it that way," Grace murmured quietly, greatly cowed. A wash of guilt swept over her for her circumstance of birth. She could have been like these people, rough and crude and completely without hope. But it also reminded Grace of her precarious position in life at the present moment. In a way, she had no more than those around her.
Sniffing delicately at the tankard set before her, the tang of hops was foreign. At state dinners, she had been allowed a very small glass of wine on occasion, but it had been a fraction of what was in the mug. Even the wine had made her ears turn warm. Cautiously, she tasted it, and wrinkled her nose. That would take some getting used to.
Doing as she was told, Grace turned to watch the serving women. What she saw in the next minutes that seemed to stretch into infinity caused alternating turns of blushing and open-mouthed shock. She watched for a long time, and had to take many drinks to calm herself. The treatment the women endured -- and no less, the manner in which they either rejected or accepted the advances of the amorous men -- left her without words, and many was the time Grace had to wet her dry mouth with the disgusting ale.
Finally, she turned back to Richard, feeling much chagrined. "I think I see wha' you mean," she finally said evenly, trying to raise her flagging dignity. "You are right. I donna -- I do not think I should work in a place like this."
Grace hiccuped suddenly, and tried to cover the embarrassment with her hand. Face growing hot, she waved a delicate hand in front of her nose. "It's gettin terribly hot in here." Seeing Richard as if for the first time, Grace's eyes narrowed in a slightly over-exaggerated manner, trying to focus. "There's somethin' I have been meaning to ask you, armsman."
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Post by Richard Cabal on Nov 15, 2009 5:27:45 GMT
Richard alternated between looking at Grace and then whatever had caught her eye at that moment. From the way she was stoutly drinking her ale, Richard judged her greatly shocked and his mission a success. When she finally did speak he thought it might be time to leave to get her some water and heavy food. The lady was slurring.
"Aye I am right but it ain't so hot, lass. Ye're just drunk." His eyes twinkled with mirth and he fully expected Grace to try and slap him. "What is it ye're wondering?" He had half finished his ale and the taste of it on his tongue was good. It was making his head a little fuzzy.
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Post by Grace de Beaumont on Nov 15, 2009 5:48:44 GMT
Mouth dropping open, Grace's back stiffened. "I am not! Just... this stuff doesn't agree with me, is all." Shifting in her seat, she tried to form the words to her question. Two men walked by, one telling a joke to the other. The punchline made Grace turn pale in shock.
She blinked several times to the air before she could remember her question. "Why, tha's what I want to know. Why are you still helping me after all this time? Admit it, you could have dumped me anywhere alon' the way. The de Beaumonts were not your relation. Surely your vow t' my father has been satisfied a hundred times over?"
Richard's glib pronouncement on her sobriety -- or lack thereof -- irritated Grace to no end, and to cover, she peered into her mug. What she saw made her splutter in horror. "There's a....a bug in my cup!" She felt like retching but instead, leapt to her feet. "There's a bug in my cup!" Grace shrieked. "Proprietor! I want to see the proprietor!"
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Post by Richard Cabal on Nov 15, 2009 6:01:11 GMT
Before Richard could answer Grace's question seriously she was on her feet and shrieking for the 'proprietor.' He grabbed her waist and pulled her back onto her stool. His arm wound around her waist securely and his hand slapped over her mouth.
"Shh, ye're a servant. Ye're used to bad food and drink. Forget the bug." Moving his mouth away from Grace's ear he added in a louder tone:
"Ye ungrateful welp!" A few people were looking so Richard knocked Grace's tankard. What ale was left splattered the table, floor and both of them. The tankard itself clattered to the floor. The look he cast whoever was still watching was dark, daring anyone to interrupt. Still rough he pulled Grace onto his lap and kept a tight grip around her waist.
"This is why I'm still with you," Richard went back to hissing in Grace's ear. "To keep yer fool tongue from being cut. I expect a new rank when we have our justice, my Lady de Beaumont of Hwicce." He stressed her correct title, hoping that Grace would understand that without her, he was a man without a place or a reason.
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Post by Grace de Beaumont on Nov 15, 2009 6:36:04 GMT
In full spoiled child rage, Grace fought, kicking and trying to wriggle out of Richard's tight grasp. But the struggle was brief because once Richard's words penetrated -- Shh, ye're a servant -- she froze. Of course, she had completely forgotten herself, and that shock brought with it semi-cold reason.
I'm acting stupidly, Grace chastised herself. A stupid spoiled noble. I'm putting us in danger. She tried nodding around the hand clamped over her mouth but Richard was very strong. Somewhere in the middle of the struggle, he had pulled her into his lap, and now she was awash in a blush of embarrassment.
"Mmph fawry," she tried. He must have sensed her calm for Richard removed his hand from her mouth. "I'm sorry," Grace said again, miserably. "I shouldn't question you on your loyalty, but I'm just trying t' understand. Of-of course you're looking out for your future position.... only natural." She sniffed, trying to keep from crying. "I'm being stupid...."
A large hand came from the right, fisting in her hair and pulling back. "Wha' y' got here, eh?" A deep voice sounded above, a heavily built man's shadow falling over Grace and Richard. "Looks like y' have a lil' bint in need of some learnin'?"
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Post by Richard Cabal on Nov 15, 2009 6:53:53 GMT
"Ye're acting like a noble," Richard answered impatiently. He had little patience when it came to self pity, so many lives would be improved if people would stop it and get on to doing whatever needed to be done. He was about to promise a further explanation afterward when Grace was grabbed.
Immediately, Richard on his feet with his arm still on Grace to keep anyone from claiming her. The man was taller than him, his build much stronger than him. Richard looked the man coldly in the eye anyway.
"When ye train a pregnant dog, ye make sure she knows only one master, aye? This one knows only one master and it shall stay that way." Something in the man's eye made him add, "an' she'll do no work if she's moonin' over lads. Leave her to me." Richard winked at the bigger man, earning a chuckle. The man let Grace go.
"I run some kennels, friend. If you have a taste for huntin', look up Harold of the kennels. Train her well." Harold slapped Richard's arm and swaggered off to cause trouble elsewhere while Richard faked a laugh. He sat down again and kept Grace close.
"I'll explain my loyalty when we get back to lodges, lass." Richard said as if nothing had interrupted them.
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Post by Grace de Beaumont on Nov 15, 2009 13:51:49 GMT
When Richard had stood abruptly, Grace was dumped from his lap unceremoniously to the floor. But she was too frightened to feel affronted, and watched in cowed silence at the exchange between the men. She felt very much out of her element; there were standards and practices that were far beyond her here, undercurrents between the men's words she knew she was failing to grasp. A wave of homesickness took her -- were life as simple as it had been a year ago, she would never have been exposed to this sort of life.
As quietly as she could given her tipsy condition, Grace pulled herself back onto the stool, breathing a silent sigh of relief when the other man left and Richard sat down. She rubbed absently at the wet stains the tumbled tankard of ale had made on her clothes.
"I.... think I have much t' learn," she finally said in a greatly mollified tone. Her fingers touched her brow -- something about the exchange must have shaken her head for she was feeling dizzy. Then Grace sighed in defeat. "Oh Richard, how am I going to get along in this world without you constantly trailin' behind, picking up after my messes?"
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Post by Richard Cabal on Nov 16, 2009 1:06:37 GMT
"Self pity? Have faith in yerself Grace." It dawned on him that it would be good for Grace to settle down in the Winter. The constant movement must be constantly keeping her off foot and unsure, she would never learn about life as a common born that way. What she needed was a life with a measure of independence. One that established her sense of self worth.
Right now, she looked like Naula, his eldest. The thought did not bring a deep longing for his family to come back from the place beyond, but great affection for Grace.
"Are you ready ta go? I only wished for ye to see why I do not want ye working in a place like this."
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Post by Grace de Beaumont on Nov 16, 2009 3:37:14 GMT
Slumping in a most un-ladylike fashion, Grace made a clucking sound with her tongue. "You never had much call for self-pity, did you, Richard? So calm 'bout everything, so sure." Staring down at the scratched and scarred table, she was speaking more to herself than the man sitting next to her. "Never feelin' like you're being watched all the time. The judging eyes just waitin' for you to stumble or break face or show weakness. 'Poise and comportment'..... 'serene acceptance' no matter how infuriating the situation.... an' now this...."
Grace jerked her head back towards the room, the single blond braid bouncing against her back. "This... this new life.... and it's the same thing. Even in a place like this, I must play a part, present a fake persona, dumb down what I am. Be something I'm not. Every single soul in this place is more authentic than I am." Reaching for Richard's tankard, Grace glanced inside and frowned at the few remaining drops. "It could almost drive one to drink."
Pushing the cup away, Grace sighed and sat up, and tried to smile. It came out slightly embittered and dry. "Forgot.... no self-pity. It would probably be a good time to kick me now."
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Post by Richard Cabal on Nov 16, 2009 3:48:43 GMT
Richard stood too and obediently kicked Grace but not enough to hurt her. My poor lass. He reached out and slid an arm around her side. The hug hoped to achieve two things, comfort to Grace and to deceive everyone else to thinking he 'owned' her.
"Hope, my wee lass. Hope. Remember, there is still a fair to go to -- ye can keep out of my sight and frolic like a servant and a noble without a care. An' stop sounding jealous o' me." Full of affection for his mopey drunk lady, Richard pushed on Grace, coaxing her to keep on walking.
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Post by Grace de Beaumont on Nov 16, 2009 4:05:27 GMT
Jostled about by the large man's bearish embrace, Grace tried to scowl at him, pushing away at his side, but she had to suppress her own reluctant laughter. "Oi!" she grunted for the benefit of anyone overhearing as they walked out. "Yer a tyrant, so y' is! See how cruelly he treats me, sur! Cruelly!"
The last was meant for a dirty man with a stained shirt and a sore on his lip, just passing them by. Far from looking sympathetic, the blackguard slapped Richard on the shoulder and said something rude. Others around laughed at her 'predicament'.
Complaining and squealing like a stuck pig, Grace allowed herself to be lead out of The Black Bear Tavern into the much cleaner night air.
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