CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

Alexander, Ard Righ King of Scots, moved leisurely along a line of his troops. He sniffed slightly still not having shaken-off the effects of a heavy cold. Although Lord of a proud, fiercely independent Nation the King of Scots was only 17 years old having succeeded his father, William the Lion, in 1214. Nevertheless inspite of his youth he was sturdily-built with distinctive sandy-red hair. He also had about him an air of determination mingled with sagacity and astuteness that belied his age.

“They say our Kingdom is the Far North” muttered the King. “How they can say we are the Cold North is another matter. I swear I caught this dratted cold since I crossed into England. Hell the weather here in Newcastle is about the worst I’ve ever known. Still they tell me they are hospitable folk here, although I’ve seen small evidence of that so far.”

“They’ll understand how to be hospitable when you’ve clattered a few of them with your sword” snapped a craggy-looking individual to the right of the King.

“We’ve burnt and pillaged over much Sir James” responded Alexander “why how can we make friends of these people? They are potential subjects of ours if we can control these lands. I want trusting faithful people, willing to ride with me with enthusiasm and drive, not cowed resentful enemies within.”

“That’s too high-flown philosophy for me, my Lord” grimaced Sir James “I’m just a humble, down to earth soldier, ye ken?”

“Aye, truly you are, Sir James” sighed Alexander “truly you are! But no matter, what is the news about King John of England? Is he determined to do battle with us?”

“You’ve the right of it there” answered Sir James “I would resent what he calls you as well.”

“And what is that?”

“Why he is set-on running, if you pardon the quote, my Lord, ‘that sandy little fox-cub to earth’”

“So, the King has a sense of humour then. If his own barons are against him he must have realised that the King of Scots would want to intervene. I see great benefit coming out of this. My God I feel sick at heart to think about what my father had to
suffer at the hands of the English. If I do nothing in my life, at least I can exact some recompense for his imprisonment.”

“Well then good Lord Alexander why not teach these local peasants a salutary lesson in manners?”

“No James I’ve told you before my quarrel is not with simple folk but the vicious masters, those who are full of over-weaning ambition. Those I will scold, but not the poor and down-trodden.

“Typical pap from a young kid scarce out of the cradle” muttered a fierce-looking warrior to Sir James.

“Sir Archibald, except that you had served my father faithfully for so many years I would have chastised you heartily for that remark. Remember though I am young in years I have the advantages of youth also including a very good pair of ears that hear the faintest of whispers!”

Sir Archibald inspite of his years and experience blushed deeply and bowed slightly but the narrowing of his eyes suggested that he still held firmly to his statement. Here was no respect of the new age, but an old campaigner with every intention of never changing, determined to die in the breach rather than admit his fault.

“I suggest we have a good night’s rest here in the Castle” announced the King. “It is a substantial building and we will make certain that we are not taken by surprise. In any case it is not a straight-forward England versus Scotland affair, why a good proportion of the English nobility are with us, I should have thought the odds must be squarely on our side.”

Alexander made his own way up the dark solemn steps of the Castle, was it William Rufus or his brother Robert Courthose who had built this new defensive bulwark - hence the name of the locality Newcastle upon the River Tyne. Still, no matter, inspite of his young legs it was wearisome after a day’s campaigning to have to tramp upstairs with no supports to hold onto going in a continuous, seemingly never ending circular route. They were well designed these stairways. In the event of an attacker moving upwards his right sword arm was always constricted and vision round the corner was non-existent until too late.

At last the young monarch reached the room which had been prepared for him somewhat hurriedly. In his short reign so far he had made quite an impression. The son of a hero, albeit one who had promised more than he had actually attained. Still that was often the way of kings, years afterwards reputations could be re-assessed and an air of romanticism would envelop the personality of the long dead ruler. William the Lion would doubtless fall into that category. Why look how quickly the English King Richard the Lionheart had been almost deified, and he had been dead for barely 16 or 17 years. Still young Alexander had hopefully a long life and reign ahead of him, a chance to make a real reputation based on solid achievement.

“Does my Lord require sustenance, possibly a goblet of wine before he retires?”

Alexander held the lighted torch close to the figure that had addressed him inside the room where he was to spend the night. His mouth trembled slightly in a wry smile as he beheld Barrisa, the dark Moorish girl that he had seemingly inherited from his father’s court. She had not long been in the service of the Scots and the young monarch was somewhat vague about her early history.

“I can help my Lord to relax, or at least provide some bodily warmth against the winter’s chill. Your Northern climate is so cold and bitter no wonder you Scots are so hardy, you have to be to survive.”

“Yes but this is Newcastle, English territory in theory” grinned Alexander. “Still I agree with you it’s too damned cold. Can you really ensure that I get a good night’s sleep and am protected against the ague that threatens to wrack my body, God in Heaven this is a pitiless area to find oneself in.”

Barrisa smiled sweetly at the youth and without taking her eyes off the Ard Righ King of Scots drew her hand across her body touching the hem of the light cloak over her left shoulder. With one elegant movement she pulled the loosely fitting clothing away, or what passed for clothing, to reveal her voluptuous form naked to the night air. Alexander gasped inwardly as he gazed with more than appreciation on the pointed curves of her bosom, her slim incredibly trim waist and firm athletic legs. With amused deliberation Barrisa grasped the King’s right wrist and placed his hand on her body. All this time her deep brown, almost coal-black eyes fixed intently on
his face as she poked her tongue ever so slightly between her teeth emitting a low barely audible yet extremely erotic sound. Next she wrapped her arms round the young man hugging him with steadily growing ardour. Moving her face to his right side she flicked his ear with her tongue continuing to murmur in the language of love.

“My Lord” purred Barrisa “In order to get really warm you first must remove those cold clothes of yours. Only when my warm Moorish body is close to your undraped Scottish flesh will you feel the full benefit of my ministrations.”

“Seems a bit illogical” mused Alexander “but who am I to disregard the promptings of such a devoted subject.”

Barrisa laughed out loud and ever so gently led her Lord and Master to the bed awaiting his arrival in the corner of the room. Alexander had had some pleasurable contact with women, being the eldest son of the King of Scots and now actually King he was in a useful position to gain experience of that nature. Even so he was still young in years and he could tell the way that his body trembled in anticipation that this was going to be an evening he would remember for a long time. Almost without realising it he raised his hand to stroke the dark girl’s hair. How tingling to the nerves it was, hard yet of a texture that excited his senses, not like some of the straggling Highland lasses’ hair that he had caressed before. Those dark, dark eyes of the Moor and above all her lovely luscious skin, clear and soft to the touch. His hands began to manipulate her shoulders, a thousand sensations seemed to simultaneously attack the whole of his body as every muscle seemed to stiffen almost to the point of explosion. Barrisa slid from underneath him and impishly pushed him onto his back riding astride him like a soul possessed. Moving her face forward she kissed his neck with almost devilish intensity and superimposed the full length of her lovely dark body against his. It was almost as if she had been trained in musical accomplishments for she gyrated her angelic form in controlled tempo to a heavenly accompaniment of silent harps and lutes. Alexander felt his body no longer his but inspite of his youth and inexperience he began to move as if guided by an unseen hand in conjunction with this wondrous female being.

“Does my Lord prefer the Moorish girl to his cold Scottish subjects?” enquired Barrisa smiling a smile surely conceived in the Temple of Diana Goddess of Love.

“I would give you....” began Alexander.

“Quiet, my Lord” purred Barrisa again” In you current passion you would promise me the World. I have not come for that. All I want is to give you pleasure that you have not experienced before. Tell me, my King, do you feel the warmth of North African shores?”

“My god I do, Barrisa my angel!” gasped Alexander, his body now writhing in joyous union with the Moor.

Barrisa controlled the boy by subtle movements, replacing outright passion with tenderness then slowly but surely moving back into eroticism. It was almost like a dance movement played before the Gods of pleasure. Hedonism took on a new dimension, this was pure love-making that deserved to be placed upon the Altar as an alternative to Holy communion. This was not sacrilege because the bodies of both participants had become sacred things each exploring the very highest senses of the other’s being. This was an exploration the like of which the Greek heroes of old had embarked upon to please the Gods. It was a trial, a testing of the human spirit, a realisation of the Divine Mystery, it was all of those things. Alexander could barely separate what was his own body from that of his delightful companion. He felt that his youthful soldier’s body had been transformed by the silky, velvet touch of Barrisa. Suddenly he felt himself, as if by a magic spell, being propelled through space and time, that could not have been, but the sheer exultant joy of his intercourse with the dark stranger made his mind seem gloriously unreal. A long low gasp escaped from his lips as he exploded into another dimension of attainment and pride, no pleasure on Earth could match it as he sank happily into oblivion.

The young King had difficulty in focusing back into the mundane World. Was it really January in the year of our Lord 1216 and was he really here in Newcastle embarked in alliance with John’s discontented barons against the King of England? No matter he could think about that in the morning, this special moment that he had shared with Barrisa was one to treasure and bring before his conscienceness time and time again. He said something to the young woman, what he was not sure and in any case his mind was utterly confused, that’s what love-making did for you. For some reason he laughed, slightly inanely he admitted to himself, although Barrisa smiled
gently at him and nodded in agreement.

“Will you stay till the morning Barrisa?” enquired the King of Scots.

“Yours is to command, my Lord” replied the Moor. “However, I have various duties to perform and in view of the advance of King John upon Newcastle will my Lord know at what time he needs to rise and confront the enemy?”

“Too true” admitted Alexander “I hear John Lackland has spoken very disparagingly about me, so I must show him that I am made of stronger stuff than that.”

This brief conversation was disturbed when Alexander and Barrisa heard the sound of running feet outside the door. This was followed by a loud banging noise entreating an urgent response.

“For God’s sake who is there?” bellowed Alexander in high dudgeon. “At this time of night, let me have some sleep at least.”

“My Good Lord this is Sir James here” replied a familiar voice outside “King John and his forces have been sighted barely a couple of leagues away we need to arm and decide upon a plan of action.”

“God’s face!” stormed the King. ”The crafty old devil, coming here at this time.”

“It is early morning” interposed Sir James.

“Hell!” thought Alexander. “Had so much time passed since.... well since.... never mind.” The thoughts of the Ard Righ King of Scots were in a jumble, he had to take immediate command of the situation.

“Await for me downstairs, Sir James” he ordered “we will then decide how we can ruffle King John’s feathers. A little fox cub did he call me then? He should remember that as well as teeth and claws the fox is crafty and cunning to boot. This is a moment that I have waited for with some anticipation.”

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