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Rosette: A Medieval Tale free porn video
Author’s note: The noble ladies of medieval France loved tales of women who had to put up with old and jealous husbands. Sometimes the stories were comic, sometimes tragic, sometimes romantic – but always the bad husbands were outwitted, one way or another. Here’s my (slightly naughty) take on the bad husband tale.
Rosette daughter of Galon was rounding the last corner between the village well and the cottage she shared with her mother and father when two of the Duke’s soldiers, magnificent in scarlet and gold cloaks over gleaming chain-mail, galloped into the street and pulled up between her and the cottage door.
Rosette was a pretty girl – a good deal more than pretty, to tell the truth – with flaxen hair done in a braid that reached past her waist, a fine, slender figure, straight nose with a fetching bit of upturn just at the end, and arched brows above lively eyes that hinted at something more than the usual measure of wit.
The soldiers sat easily on their horses, facing the cottage, and the more senior of them called out: ‘Galon son of Raimbaut! Come and exchange words with us!’
The sight of the soldiers stopped there in front of her cottage filled Rosette with dread, for the Duke’s men did not, as a rule, make social calls on village folk, but rather came always on unpleasant sorts of business such as the collection of back taxes and the doling out of punishments. She set down her two buckets in case she should decide it was a good idea to run.
Galon appeared in the doorway, looking much older than his thirty-five years. Everyone in the village aged quickly, it was a hard life they led. But Rosette thought her father looked older than he had that very same morning, and tireder, and resigned, as if the men had come to lead him to the headsman’s block.
‘I wish my lords good health,’ Galon said, his tone perhaps just hinting at the possibility that it would be no matter to him if they fell down dead on the spot.
The soldier who had spoken first tossed him a big package wrapped in brown cloth.
‘Tomorrow morning,’ he said, ‘Rosette daughter of Galon will put on this clothing. She will wear none of her own filthy rags, and she will carry nothing of her own – not so much as a needle. We will come for her one hour after dawn.’
Without another word the two soldiers turned and galloped out of the village. From the corner where she had paused, Rosette stared, open-mouthed, into her father’s hopeless eyes.
Of course they both understood what this meant. Everyone in the village knew about the Duke. Since his youth – and now he was seventy if a day – he had been known as a cocksman. It was said that he had bedded every chambermaid, scullery maid, and serving wench in his castle. If a shepherdess or milkmaid anywhere in his dominions happened to catch his eye, she could count on receiving a visit from him within two nights. And a pretty girl of the village might at any moment find herself summoned to the castle, kept there for days, weeks, or months, and sent back, sometimes pregnant, sometimes not, but always with her bride-price much reduced. Being unmarried, the Duke had no legitimate heirs, but it was said, with less exaggeration than you might think, that his bastards and their descendants accounted for the fifth part of the population of his dukedom.
The Duke’s soldiers had delivered a crushing blow to the family’s prospects. Rosette had come of age just days before, and all the young men had their eyes on her. Soon they would come calling. Or they would have come, but for this calamity. Girls whom the Duke used and cast off didn’t become unmarriageable, exactly, but they slid way down every young man’s list of prospective wives. Rosette had had every reason to expect that she would marry someone well-to-do, like, say, Durand, the brown and strapping son of a nearby farmer whom she had often imagined holding her in his strong arms. Now it was much more likely that the farmer’s servants’ sons would be paying her visits.
One had, however, to make the best of necessity, and everyone in the village understood that the best any girl could make of this particular necessity was to please the Duke when she came to his bed, and by so doing make herself his favorite for long enough that, when he grew weary of her, as he inevitably would, he might be moved to settle a pension on her that would in some degree make up for her reduced value.
And so, after the sun had set and Galon had drifted off into an uneasy sleep, Rosette’s mother rose from her place beside him, slipped over to her frightened daughter’s bed, and held her, and comforted her, and long into the night whispered into her ear many things that she believed she ought to know about how to please a man. You could not grow up in a rural village without acquiring a basic working knowledge of sex, but there were many fine points that one could not pick up by observing dogs and horses and cattle. Rosette listened, a little amazed, a little alarmed, and a little excited.
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