From: Lysander@vnet.net (Lysander)

   Reply-To: Lysander@vnet.net

   Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories

   Subject: REPOST: Droit du Signeur part 1 (mf, historical, coerce, intro)

   Date: Wed, 15 Nov 1995 12:12:46 GMT

   Organization: Hardly Any

   Message-ID: <48cp4v$iuk@mindy.vnet.net>

   Author's note: This story as originally conceived began with the idea of
"first night," a salacious practice in parts of Europe (perhaps including
the Holy Roman Empire, perhaps not) which allowed the local lord to sleep
with a bride on her wedding night.  However, it quickly grew in scope and
it soon included even more atrocious examples of Medieval non-history.  I
know I should have pruned them out, but whatever skills I may have as a
writer, I am a horrible editor, so they remain.  Please keep any comments
concerning historical accuracy to yourself and confine criticism and/or
praise to characterization, eroticism and style.  Flames, of course, shall
be cheerfully ignored.

   ****************

   DROIT DU SIGNEUR

   by Lysander

   Part One

   Kirsten grunted and gave a last mighty shove.  The heavy wooden yoke
fell into place on the rack, and wobbled a few moments as she and Leni
collapsed onto the stable's dirt floor in near exhaustion.  She never
wanted to plow another furrow in her life.  All the men and most of the
women were needed to get the last of the harvest in before winter came --
old Mother Maude said this one would be the worst in many years.  But the
strips still had to be plowed so they would be ready come spring, so she
and Leni and the other young women had had to do it.  Usually, one man
could handle the team of oxen, but Kirsten was small and unskilled.  She
was more suited to baking and spinning than plowing.  Even with Leni, or
perhaps because of her, the plowing still took all day, but they had gotten
it done.

   She looked down at her hands.  There were blisters on her thin, nimble
fingers, where she had handled the plow.  They felt fat and useless, like
they were someone else's.

   "You'll have to have lotion for those hands," Leni said, watching
Kirsten flex her fingers.  "Tomas'll not want to wake up thinking it's Ralf
that's caressing him." Leni giggled at her own boldness.

   Kirsten blushed, herself.  She was not as experienced as other girls
about what went on between a man and a woman.  Some of her friends had
talked about seeing their parents "doing it" like the sheep or dogs, but
Kirsten refused to believe Leni's mother and father -- her own adopted
parents -- behaved like that.  Indeed, since Leni's father was the
blacksnith and therefore a well-off man, she and Leni had their own room
and had never seen Gustav and Gretchen do more than kiss and caress.

   "Don't worry.  When I kiss him, he'll know I'm not Ralf." She clicked
her teeth at Leni and smiled to cover her nervousness, but her face was
still rosy pink, up to her pale blonde hair.

   She was excited, of course, but she was even more nervous.  Tomorrow she
would be married, and it was about time.  After all, she was almost
sixteen, as well as she could reckon.  But Tomas had waited until his
grandfather died to post banns in the chapel.  The old goat was a right
bastard, Tomas said, but he needed those fertile strips of land if he was
going to feed himself and a family.  It was that or depend on his father.
The fine linen dress her mother and grandmother, and probably her
grandmother's grandmother, had been married in was all mended with the best
thread she could afford and drying on the fence outside Gustav's smithy. 
The dress and a few pennies were all that were in the small cedar chest
that had saved Kirsten from the fire that had taken her parents.  Tomorrow
night she would wear it for the first and last time, she thought.  Thoughts
of tomorrow night also reminded her why she was nervous.

   Tomorrow night, her wedding night, she would spend in the castle.  She
looked through the door up onto the low hill where the stone fortress sat,
casting its shadow on the field where the sheep grazed.  She shivered in
silent dread.  Droit du signeur, they called it.  Filthy and barbaric, she
thought it was.  It was a right not much practiced by the nobles in these
parts, but one that could not be denied.

   Weddings were held in the castle's chapel, and the festival afterwards
took place in the bailey, or in the great hall if it was winter or raining.
And then, after nightfall, the bride was taken up to the bedchamber of the
lord of the estate, and deflowered by the lord.

   That was what awaited Kirsten tomorrow night.  It almost brought her to
tears.  How could she sacrifice her virginity to someone other than her
husband?  It didn't seem a very Christian thing to do.  But Kirsten well
knew her place.  It was her lord's right to be the first to take her, and
she was not someone to go against the rights of those God had placed above
her.  She would just throw back her shoulders and...  No, that wouldn't do,
she thought as she glanced down at her firm bosom.  Oh, what was she to do?

   As though she knew what Kirsten was thinking, Leni put an arm across her
shoulders and kissed her cheek.  "Don't worry on it, dear heart.  It'll be
over in a night, and you'll be with Tomas the rest of your life." She
sounded so motherly, Kirsten had to laugh, despite her mood.  A girl
smaller and younger than she, trying to comfort her like a grandmother to a
toddler.  She laughed at least until she saw Count Heinrich riding up to
the castle gate, with a brace of bloody rabbits hanging from his saddle.

   In one of the outer fields, Tomas leaned on his scythe and mopped his
brow with his patched and rough sleeve.  He too could see Heinrich on his
bay stallion.  "It ent right that.  No man's got a right to another man's
bride."

   Ralf planted his own scythe and looked for a moment at the young man. 
"No it ent right for a common man to take another's woman.  But the Count
up there, he ent no commoner like us.  Things is different for folks like
him.  Always was, always will be.  But I reckon I understand how you feel.
After all, a year agone it wouldna mattered.  The old count woulda just put
her in a soft bed and himself in another.  What with his 'war wound' and
all." His weathered face cracked in a wide grin, showing his crooked yellow
teeth.  It was well known that the "war wound" old count Heinrich had
suffered from was the shrewish wife given to him by his duke for bravery on
the field.  But Heinrich the younger had no such impediment.  His lady
seemed to care little about the count's activities, so far as the peasants
could tell.

   "If he lays a hand on Kirsten, then count or no, I'll wring his bloody
neck.  On my gran's head, I will."

   "Aye, likely it will be your gran's head, and the rest of your family's
as well.  But you wouldn't get off so easy as that, boy."

   "Listen to him, Tomas," said Otto, who had just walked up.  "My own
Hilde was born nine months after my wedding night, to the day.  She favored
her mother more than anyone else, so no one knew if she were mine or Sir
Albert's.  But I'll tell you this, boy, we had a good thatched roof, and a
bit of meat in the pot come midwinter, when most everyone else did without.
And when the sickness took her and my Ruth, Sir Albert made sure they both
had good wooden coffins and deep graves, frozen ground or no." He walked
back off to his own row, sniffling and muttering.

   Tomas just took up his scythe and went at the barley with a vengeance.

   The fires at either end of the great hall were slowly dying down, but
Kirsten was still flushed.  She had danced with every man at the feast,
save for the minstrel and Count Heinrich; but most of all, she had danced
with Tomas.  Tomorrow, she would finally share his bed, but tonight.... 
She would just treasure this last hour before she had to go up to the
count's chamber.

   Tomas sat beside her, his hand in hers, staring at his feet and trying
to moisten dry lips.  Suddenly, he turned to her and pulled her face near
his.  "Kirsten, love, let's run away.  Let's go to King's Ford, or even to
Bromburg.  Let's get away from this place, from this man." He shot a dark
look at Heinrich, who stared back with calm dark eyes and whispered
something to his lady.

   Gustav had suggested they do that, and even offered her the small amount
of gold he had saved up, as long as they took Leni with them, for she would
be married within a year, he was certain.  Leni and her mother had managed
to get the blacksmith drunk and home before he made a scene and got himself
in trouble with the count.

   Gustav and Tomas were much alike.  Like most men, they could not accept
the world for what it was.  Kirsten was a woman grown, now, she had to have
the strength of a woman.  She gripped her groom's hand more firmly. 
"Tomas, what would you do in Bromburg; what trade do you know besides
farming?  And where could you find land besides here?  We've both of us got
family here, and if we run away, we'll never see them again."

   "But I just cannot bear the thought of you with him.  You are MY wife
now, and no man worth the name would let another--"

   She put two fingers to his lips, then kissed them.  "We can't do
anything about that, Tomas, so try not to dwell on it.  Just remember that
you are the one I love, that I have always loved." She kissed him again,
tenderly, then deeply.  "That I always will love," she whispered.

   "They seem to love each other, don't they?" Heinrich murmured to his
wife.

   The dark-haired, dark-skinned woman with the regal features glanced from
the minstrel over to the newly-wedded couple.  "Yes, they do." She noticed
the cold eyes of Tomas over the rim of her goblet.  "You'll watch that
young man, if you are wise, love.  He looks like one to try something
foolish."

   "No need to worry," he whispered back as he took her smaller hands in
his calloused ones.  "I've dealt with worse than a foolish boy."

   Esmerelda grinned back and made to refill his goblet, but he stopped her
pouring.  "Not too much.  It's a long night I have ahead of me."

   It seemed like the festivities had only begun when Count Heinrich placed
his hard hands on Kirsten's shoulders.  She noticed the white scars that
stood out even on his pale flesh, the marks of a man who lived with a sword
in his hands.  "Well, my dear, it seems most of our guests have departed."
A drunken snore from some old peasant punctuated the lord's statement.  "In
one way or another." Bright teeth broke through his thick dark beard as he
grinned, in friendliness it seemed to her.  "Say goodnight to your husband,
my dear," he added, firmly.

   "Goodnight, Tomas." You won't do anything foolish?  Tomas just grunted
and swallowed another half-mug of ale, refusing to look at her.

   Kirsten took Heinrich's proffered hand and let him lead her out of the
great hall.

   "Don't be overly concerned about the young man -- Tomas, isn't it?"
Heinrich said as they ascended the narrow stairway.  "Just let him get
himself good and drunk and tomorrow he'll be as docile as a sheep." He
stopped suddenly and pulled her up onto the stair he was standing on.  "But
if he is angry with you for some reason tomorrow -- and some men can be --
know that you may seek refuge here, until he is reasonable again." She
could not meet his eyes, so she stared at the bright silver medallion on
his chest, a giant cat of some kind, in mid-leap.  When he saw she was not
going to respond, Heinrich continued leading her up the winding stairs.

   The door to his bedchamber was open and they walked in.  The walls were
covered in tapestries of forest scenes and fanciful creatures.  A maid was
just turning down the blankets on the great bed, which looked to be very,
very soft.  Kirsten followed Heinrich across the room.  She gazed intently
at a tapestry of the Ascension, which seemed to glitter in the flickering
candlelight.  Golden threads!  That single wall hanging contained more gold
than she had ever seen in her life.  She suddenly tripped on something on
the floor.  Looking down for the first time, she saw that a tapestry even
lay on the floor, instead of the rushes she was expecting.  She jumped
back, afraid to walk on something so beautiful.

   "One of the treasures I acquired on Crusade," Heinrich commented,
noticing her expression.

   "Pretty isn't it?" He held out his hand again.  "But not as nearly as
lovely as you, Kirsten." Kirsten blushed and a small smile tugged at her
lips.  She took his hand again and followed him to his bed.

   It was indeed as soft as it looked, but she sat only on its edge.  He
asked if she cared for more wine, and she shook her head.  He dismissed the
maid, but in a language Kirsten had never heard.  She bowed and left,
closing the door behind her.

   "Now my dear, I know you do not relish my touch on this night, but
believe me when I say that I mean you no harm, and only want to make this
night as pleasurable as possible for both of us."

   Kirsten refused to look at him.

   "Tell, me Kirsten, are you a virgin?"

   "Yes, my lord," Kirsten replied indignantly.  Did he take her for some
harlot?

   "And do you believe your Tomas has never been with a woman?"

   "Never.  We have been betrothed since we were little.  We have always
known we were for each other and no one else..." She jerked her hand to her
mouth, too late to stop the offending words.

   Heinrich merely grinned indulgently.  "My dear, a young woman's first
man -- or a youth's first woman, for that matter -- should be someone
experienced in the ways of love.  It is a time that makes one much too
nervous to give much pleasure to the other.  To get the full pleasure of
the experience, you must have a teacher as well as a partner."

   "Yes, my lord." But it was obvious she was unconvinced.

   "My dear Kirsten, I..." The door burst open and the maid interrupted
him, babbling something incomprehensible.  But Heinrich was on his feet and
had pulled a sword from somewhere, placing himself between Kirsten and the
open door.

   Immediately, Tomas rushed into the room.  The servant threw herself
between him and her master.  With a strength born of rage, Tomas threw her
aside.  Brandishing only a cudgel and his knife, he lunged at Heinrich, who
had the scars of a man who lived with a sword in his hands.

   "Tomas...  NO!!" she screamed.  But too late, he was down.

   She ran to his limp form and cradled his head in her arms.  She felt
along his body for the wound, hoping against hope to save him.

   "Don't worry, I hit him with the flat of the blade.  He'll have a
headache and a bump, but nothing more serious."

   Kirsten didn't believe him at first, but there was no blood, no visible
wound anywhere she could see.

   The maid was already coming to.  Heinrich went over to check on her;
half her face would be an ugly bruise for a few days, but she seemed to be
otherwise unhurt.  Guards came running up the stairs and into the room,
looking ashamed, and hungry to punish whoever had made them look so
foolish. "Take this man to the dungeons," Heinrich commanded.  "Tell my
wife I am unhurt.  You two help Rosa to her chambers, gently now." He
turned to Kirsten and looked at her darkly.  "Do not leave this room, I'll
be back shortly."

   He turned to go, but she grabbed his arm.  "Please don't hurt him,
anymore.  You won't...  do anything to him, will you, my lord?"

   He pulled his arm away firmly.  "I haven't decided yet." He left her
alone.

   She threw herself on to the bed and screamed into a pillow.  Tomas, you
idiot, if you've gone and gotten yourself killed, I'll strangle you.  The
logic of her thought struck her and she began to

   laugh, quietly but hysterically.  A widow on her wedding night.  She
would be laying him in the ground before she ever took him into her bed. 
Gradually, the laughter turned to sobs, then gentle tears.  Oh Tomas,
Tomas. Don't leave me.

   It seemed like days before Heinrich came back to the bedroom, but she
saw the candles had only half melted.  "Is Tomas alright?"

   He looked down on her.  He pulled a cloth from his tunic and gave it to
her.  "Dry your eyes, Kirsten, he is well.  Whether he remains so depends
upon you."

   He's still alive, thank God, still alive.  Depends on me?  "H-how, my
lord?"

   "Your young husband has committed a serious crime, Kirsten.  Attempting
to murder his lord, in his own bedchamber."

   "But -- but he was only trying to protect me."

   "Protect you?  From what?  I certainly had no intention of hurting you,
and this is the safest place for you to be short of the castle of the
Emperor himself." He sat on the bed beside her.  "Be that as it may, I am
willing to put the blame on too much drink and the excitement of the day.
But only if you give yourself to me, willingly, and do whatever I tell you
without hesitation."

   "My lord?" This is what she was expected to do in any case.

   "Oh, of course I will do nothing to harm you, and I promise you that I
will try to make the experience as pleasurable as possible.  Do you agree?"

   Tomas will not be hurt?  I will not be hurt?  "I agree, my lord."

   "Excellent, excellent.  Well, I know it has been a hectic night for you.
I'll leave you do get some sleep.  We will talk again in the morning."

   "Tomorrow, my lord?  But aren't you going to...  Aren't you going to...
take me...  tonight?"

   "No, no.  We have a two whole weeks to take care of things like that."

   "Two weeks, my lord?  But I thought...  You said that...."

   The count smacked himself in the head.  "Ah, where is my head!  I must
be more tired than I thought.  Of course I can forgive your young man for
assaulting me, but he also struck two of my servants and a guard.  The
guard is expected to take blows for his lord, but I owe my servants
protection, so he must be punished for that.  Two weeks of confinement. 
Any other man would get a month turning the millstone for each assault.

   "Just be thankful I am a forgiving man, Kirsten.  The penalty for
assaulting one's lord is death." He closed the door, and locked it from the
outside.

   Kirsten tried to stay awake and worry about her fate and Tomas's, but
the excitement of the day, and especially of the night, had exhausted her.
She fell asleep on the softest bed she had ever felt and dreamed of
nothing.

   Copyright 1993 by Lysander

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