Flower of the Aquitaine Ch. 02

Any meal would have been a blessed relief after a month of so of eating cooked boot-leather garnished with lice, but Prince Adam did himself, and therefore us, proud. Indeed, afterwards I talked with his cook, so impressed was I, and got the recipe. But it was more than that. The meal symbolised our passage from the wilderness that was the Retreat from Moscow to a land that was flowing with milk and honey.

Prince Adam, as we were to discover, was the best of company. What I liked was that whilst, of course, his eyes of lust were on Annette, he did not neglect me; he was a gentleman. His French was perfect, indeed, as I discovered later, he spoke Russian only to his bailiffs and stewards, his preferred languages being French and English, with German a close third. Annette was as taken with him as he was with her. Given our plight, she would, as she admitted later, have "fucked him if he'd looked like the hunchback of Notre Dame"; that he looked like a Greek God was a plus.

We told him the obvious, which was that the French army was in disarray and just looking to get the hell out of Russian territory as soon as it could. All of that he listened to, but I could see from the look on his face that we were telling him nothing new. Fearing that we might lose his patronage (I should have had more faith in Annette's seductive powers, of course) I chipped in with something I thought he might like.

"Highness, we have said we are from Bordeaux, but there are things which might interest you there."

He looked at me as though to say: "Surprise me!"

"Though I am Annette's companion, I am actually the youngest daughter, and only surviving child of the Comte de Bordeaux, and I have connections with the Royalists in our city. The citizens there hate Napoleon and, given the right help, would come out for King Louis XVIII."

As I had hoped, he liked my use of the title bestowed on the exiled brother of the martyred Louis XVI. It established my bona fides, as no one who was not connected with the Royalists would have used the term.

He listened with interest, telling his secretary to take notes for the Tsar. I told him that if only the English would send help via sea, the Allies might establish a presence in the south-west of France from which to support Wellesley's army advancing over the Pyrenees. I could see, with pleasure, that he was taking an intense interest in what I was saying. This was a man for whom business and pleasure both mattered, and he could switch, effortlessly, it seemed, between the two.

"I like your thinking little one. You have contacts there then with whom we could establish a network of spies and agents?"

I told him about Abbé Pierre and the Church.

"So, despite the best efforts of the Godless, you are a Christian, little one?"

I told him I was. That, too pleased him. It would, he said, sit well with his Master, the Tsar.

"We shall talk more. Perhaps you would like to consult my political secretary?"

I knew how to take a hint, and to judge by the way he was looking at Annette, I decided that I would take myself off. He smiled at my discretion, and Annette gave me an approving wink; I always knew what she was thinking and wanting.

I took the Prince's advice and stopped a while to talk with his political secretary, M. Amedeus. "Wolfie", as he asked me to call him, was a wise man. He saw that I had useful information and contacts, so I gave him as much detail as I could. In return he opened up to me about Russian Strategy. The Tsar, Alexander I, was, he said, a mystic and saw himself as leading a Christian crusade against the Godless atheists. This could make things difficult with his British allies, as they simply wanted to defeat the French. Although a German himself, he was, he said, less worried by the Austrians and the Prussians who knew they needed what Russia brought to the fight. He worried about the Austrian Chancellor, Metternich, who was not a man to be trusted, but with Napoleon now in full retreat, he was sure the Austrians would want to back the winning horse - and that was Russia. It would, he said, be a real help if I was able to assist with a diversionary uprising inside France. I felt as though I was able to make a real contribution to the mission of ridding the world of Napoleon.

At length, Wolfie laughed, that funny little ironic laugh I came to know and like so well.

"And here we are, Fabienne, discussing high politics whist my master and your mistress are doing the double-backed game of love." He looked at me: "I don't suppose that you...?"

I smiled. He was the first man ever to show an interest in me that way.

"Oh M. Amadeus," I began,

"Call me Wolfie," he smiled, "the Prince and everyone else does."

If I could have connected to a man it would have been him, and it caused me some sadness to say, with honesty, that it was nothing personal, but I did not lie with men like Annette did, It was typical of him that he should have smiled sweetly, if sadly:

"Thank you Fabienne. I rarely find a soul with whom I can connect like yours, so perhaps we shall just be that rarest of things between men and women, friends?"

Relieved - and happy, I smiled back.

"I think I should like that very much."

He kissed me on both cheeks as a sign of our new-found friendship.

The next few days were a whirlwind.

Prince Adam's report back to the Tsar produced a summons to St Petersburg, and so it was that we were there in time to celebrate the Orthodox feast of the Nativity, which due to their calendar, takes place a week or so after the Christmas we celebrate.

As I stood there with the women, looking across to where the Tsar and the men were, I felt a sense of not knowing if I was on earth or in Heaven. The chanting made my spirits soar, and the incense, which sent great clouds of smoke billowing into the vastness of the Sts Peter and Paul Cathedral, combined with the icons to produce in me a sensation I had never felt before. I had lit a candle, as required, and placed it in the sandbox near the iconostasis, along with many others. As the Patriarch intoned the liturgy and the choir raised their voices to Heaven in thanksgiving, it felt like the barrier between earth and Heaven had dissolved.

As I gazed on the silver icon of Our Lady, it seemed as though she was there with me. At first I was almost scared, but then it was as though she was reassuring me, and I transcribed immediately afterwards what she said to me:

"Little one, all is well. Your mother, your father and your sister are here with me and send you their eternal love. They are proud of you for surviving and they will be with you, as I am, until they meet you again at the end of days. But there is much for you to do Fabienne, so fight the good fight and keep the faith."

And from that day to this, I have tried to do just that.

There have been times when my confessor has asked me why Our Lady did not tell me that my love for Annette was forbidden and sinful, and to that I say always the same thing:

"Because she did not. If she had shared your view, she would have. Do you know better than the Mother of God?"

They seldom like that reply, but it is the only one I have.

The audience with the Tsar was fascinating.

He was not an imposing figure in the way that Prince Adam was. His skin was pox-marked, and his eyes bulged; handsome he was not. But he had a charisma. There was about him the air of a mystic, and it was interesting to me that the first thing he asked me was about how I had found the Divine Liturgy.

I decided to trust him and told him - everything.

He looked straight at me as though to see to my very soul.

"So she spoke to you as well? It is good. She told me to trust you, and I shall. Prince Adam's judgement has been good and is not, well," and here he smiled, "not only, influenced by the beauty of your Mistress."

Annette blushed becomingly and the Prince, used to his Royal Master's ways, smiled ruefully.

After that, I had access through the Prince to the Tsar whenever I wanted.

It was a period of intense diplomatic activity, and Wolfie was a busy man, as was the Prince. The latter needed Annette, who became to him, as he said, "more than a wife." She was skilled at love-making, but she was so much more as well. She studied his moods and tastes and made sure that everything he needed was to hand. It was a joy to see her take care of him.

And yes, I was there to care for her.

Some nights she needed me. Men, she said, even the best of them, and Prince Adam was that, were preoccupied by their own needs. What she liked best was for me to prepare her when that was necessary, or to help her where they had failed.

Men, so it seems from what Annette has told me, can get themselves ready for sexual congress swiftly given the mere sight of the right woman, or the right parts of her, and while Annette was skilled at always being ready when the Prince needed her, there were times when help from me was appreciated. She would smile before we bedded, telling me that after my tenderness and ministrations, her time with the Prince was usually even more exciting and that there were occasions on which, having climaxed for me, she would do so with him - to his evident amazement. It seemed, from what she told me that men were unaware that women too can experience a sexual climax.

We had no set routine, but instinct told me when my darling needed my "fluffing" as she called it. It was often when she was feeling tired at certain times of the month, and I would coax her to where she could be enjoyed while herself enjoying him.

As her sex sometimes needed more lubrication than she produced at such times, I would focus on ensuring that she was both wet enough for congress and open. His member was, she told me, a big one and often stretched her. Now she had only the one lover, her sex lacked that frequent congress which had generally ensured it was open and ready. Being, myself, a woman who found entry into my own wetness difficult, I felt for her, but found ways of ensuring that by the time she went to the Prince, she was ready and open.

Our relationship had begun in the Orphanage with her as my protector, and she was still, for sure, the anchor of our presence at the Tsar's court, but there was a subtle shift as Wolfie and the Prince valued the contacts I had brought them. But what did not change was my love for her. I loved that she was happy with the Prince, who could not have treated her better had she been his lawful wedded wife. There was, of course, such a creature, but we saw her only from afar on formal occasions.

As negotiations to form the final Coalition to defeat Napoleon were underway, Wolfie sent for me and told me that the Tsar had a mission for me. We had gotten into the habit of meeting daily, and both enjoyed the way each other's minds worked, and if there were some flirting there, well what of it?

"We want you to go back to Bordeaux and make contact with your Royalist friends. Wellesley will be coming over the Pyrenees soon, and if we can have an uprising in Bordeaux as we also advance from the East, we think that the swine might finally be finished. It is a big thing to ask, but worth it I hope?"

My only hesitation was that it would mean leaving Annette, but as I told her later, there really was no choice. The Russians had done so much for us, and if we wished to be anything more than parasites on their bounty, it was time to do something for them. It would also, I pointed out, help us when the war was over

I spent many hours with Wolfie discussing what I should do and establishing how the English would support my work. It was entirely typical of him that not once did he patronise me. Unlike so many men, who tell you what it is you are thinking and ought to be doing, Wolfie listened, took me seriously, and made useful suggestions. I felt as though I was part of his inner circle, and as though that was a place well worth being. As it transpired, that was exactly right. He gave me instructions on how to make contact with agents of the English in the city, and kissed me, wishing me well and hoping we would meet again.

On the Friday night before I left on the Monday, I got a note from Annette:

"Adam is not requiring my services tonight. I require yours. Axx'

Life at the Russian Court suited Annette. The Prince, who liked to see her naked form lightly veiled, had given her some marvellous linen shifts which, if anything could enhance her natural beauty, managed to do so. I had thrown a robe over my nakedness, knowing how she liked me.

As she looked at me from the comfort of her bed, I thought again about how fortunate I was. Annette had saved me in the Orphanage, and again now with the Russians. She was as beautiful as she was good, and I was seized with the need to taste her chatte.

Annette, sensing my mood, leaned back on the pillows and, raising her shift, opened her thighs.

"Eat your fill my love."

I have always loved her scent and her taste, and so, knowing that tonight there was no hurry, I savoured the experience. Her lips were swollen and puffy, and as I parted them, better to access her glistening wetness, I doubted she needed much assistance - but gave it her all the same. I dabbled my tongue, licking sporadically along the line of her lips, but stopping before I came to her bud. After some minutes of this, Annette was moaning and accused me of being a tease.

Wet-faced, I looked up at her, smiled, and then rasped my tongue across her bud, pressing it side to side, before flicking it and then, applying my warm wet lips to her there, I sucked on her, hard, creating vibrations which I knew would shoot through her, so, reaching up, I tweaked her hard nipples.

"You, you horror, Fabienne, you know what I need!"

Of course, I did, but as we had time, I had no intention of giving it to her too swiftly.

"No, no Annette, I have no idea what you need," I teased, emphasising the words "no" and "idea".

"You do, you do...."

She whimpered, almost pleading. I liked that, I decided.

"Legs up then, across my shoulders, Annette."

She complied with such alacrity that I found my face plunged into her wetness; she was dripping for me, and the juices were pooling in her puckered rosebud. Daringly, I teased it, gently running my finger around the circumference, occasionally pressing, which made her whimper more loudly.

"No, no, not there, you know where I want your fingers!"

"Oh but Annette, is your chatte not just for the Prince now? Don't tell me you still need to play the common whore and have it filled by me?"

As I teased her, I moved my fingers into the wetness that was the entrance to her treasure, but refused, despite her pushing herself down, to let my fingers penetrate. Instead, leaving them there, I flicked her bud with my wicked tongue, knowing full well what is was doing to her.

"Yes, fuck, yes, I am a wanton whore, I want your fingers in my chatte."

"Is that what your men call it, Annette, or do they call it something disgusting?"

"It's my chatte, you know that you tease, you know...."

And again she wailed as my tongue flicked her bud.

"Oh well," I giggled, "I am not going to do what you want until you beg properly like a whore would for her client!"

"Fuck my fucking cunt, Fabienne, fuck me and fuck me hard!"

Well, how could I not oblige? So I slid three fingers in, making her squelch and squeal. I could feel she was kneading her own breasts and her hand desperately needed to touch her bud, so with my left hand I gripped her fingers and let her guide me and my right hand plundered her treasure. She climaxed in minutes and it was a long, wet and noisy affair with aftershocks.

Raising myself on the bed and leaning on one elbow, looking at my spent darling, she smiled sleepily.

"Where did that come from?"

"Oh my love, do not think I do not know your little foibles. I wanted to give you something to remember me by while I am away."

Annette pulled me to her - and we were not parted that night.

On the Monday I left by ship, bound for London and an unknown future!.