Once a King Pt. 28

Once a King

Part 28: I (Skryba) meet Pawel.

It was an unremarkable event. Nothing that night presaged the relationship that would develop. As I had explained earlier, I knew of Pawel. I knew of his reputation and the rumors about him. He had been a regular, irregular visitor to the village over a period of years. Or, should I say seasons, as he tended to be here when the weather was too awful for military campaigns. He disappeared as March approached.

I was at the only tavern/inn tavern-inn the town had...the business I was to discuss was passed out on the table in front of me. I had barely sipped my pint, and the 'client' was already several sheets to the wind. I was startled, when the inert client was un-chaired, falling limply to the floor, yet remaining unconscious.

"You are too fine a man to waste time on a drunken farmer, who only seeks to sell his pigs for more money in a faraway place." This comment on my livelihood was met by a scowl of displeasure from me. The unconscious client's business could keep Hilda and I warm and well-fed over the better part of the winter.

My scowl was met by his signature "Ha, ha!" I had eyes on Pawel for the first time, face to face.

"I know you, Skryba, YOU will write my story. YOU will make me live forever...or at least, until some fucking war burns all the libraries...Ha ha."

Then he was gone...a whirlwind of a man...a madman, I thought.

I did not see him again that season...they—the famous 'they' of many stories. The Unnamed THEY—said he was hired by a great Captain to fight in some Eastern war...or was it a Northern war? There were always wars. Men like Pawel, were in constant demand. Oh, one could raise peasant levies...but then who would grow the crops to feed the elite. Besides...these seasoned professionals were good for nothing else...expensive, but they did not die in vast numbers, as did the peasant levies and often they supplied their own weapons....

After the season was over, and the foe presumably defeated, or not...but the mercenaries were paid and sent away, so they did not cause trouble in the land of the noble, or king, or lord, whoever paid for the war.

Dispersed, they took their wages with them and enriched other, but still peaceful, lands.

I saw Pawel just as he returned...mounted on a rather-peaceful-and-dull mare. I was in the street, the high road of the village...Pawel did not stop...he yelled over his shoulder..."I have not forgotten you, Skryba...my story still grows..." then he spun his horse around, and with a sober eye...an eye that would NOT be sober for several months, he vowed, "I will have you memorialize me...before this savage calling of mine is the end of me. But I must fuck and drink and sleep to forget the horror, so I can tell you glorious lies. Ha Ha!"

I did not speak to Pawel again for several weeks. His 'fucking and drinking' were private, and caused no scandal in the village. But I would hear the details when I was 'engaged' by him finally.

This time, I was returning home, from the very same tavern—well, it was the only one in town. Through the gathering gloom, I spied emerging into the light that spilled from a small shop still open at this late hour, in violation of town rules, a small figure on horseback.

Before I could make out who the rider was, there was that unmistakable voice...unmistakable because his accent was so strange.

"Skryba...I have NOT forgotten...I will be at your door tomorrow at dawn."

Dawn struck me as improbable, as the tavern was closing, where would he spend the intervening hours?

Dawn came. Hilda was out collecting eggs from our small brood in the henhouse we had, out back past the necessity shed. She was startled by a cheery fart from the shed.

"My stallion (we used our pet names when we addressed each other in private) had too much bad food with bad ale at the tavern last night?" This was followed by HER signature naughty giggle.

With no more thought, she returned to the house to make breakfast only to see me at the table munching on stale bread.

"Who were you talking to my frisky mare? You have ANOTHER stallion. You are a wicked woman." We always teased each other, especially her because of her insatiable appetite for the business that men and women do with each other in private.

Her eyes widened. And she nearly dropped her egg basket.

"Husband...if you are here, who uses our necessity?"

In answer, there was a laugh at the door. "Ha Ha, perhaps I should return at a later time. It would not be gentlemanly to interrupt the mating of a stallion and a frisky mare." He did use another coarser word from his homeland, that I will not repeat here.

Hilda blushed because as a couple, we had the reputation for dullness. At least no one in the village EVER thought of us as engaging in the act of procreation. But I could read this blush, this man, knowing our secret had made her ready for the act.

I rolled my eyes. I knew what would follow, as we could not copulate because of the 'guest'; she would hide herself in our bedroom, lift her skirts and pleasure herself as soon and as rapidly as practical.

"Please excuse me, husband, esteemed guest; she gave each of us a nod of her head in turn...I have business in another part of the house. I assume this gentleman has come to discuss business with the scribe."

"Yes, good lady, I have. And if you please, when you have finished your bedroom business, I could use a little breakfast. I slept rough last night, and have had nothing since the ale at the tavern before midnight."

This established a pattern that would persist as long as I was engaged with Pawel—something in his stories and his manner, would arouse my wife. It is important, reader to know, and please do not misunderstand, Pawel, himself, did not arouse my wife, she was not attracted to him or any other man but me, but he was the only one in her life or, indeed, mine; that was so free with intimate details. The other women of the village, while not prudes, were not sharing those details of their life, at least not with Hilda. It was not that she was disliked by the women, quite the contrary, they held her in high esteem. But that high esteem led them to censor their language when they were around her—remember the prevailing village mood about our private times.

Pawel proceeded to business without any further reference to Hilda, or stallions and mares.

Pawel begins his tale, please reference to Part One of Once a King.. (https://literotica.com/s/once-a-king-pt-01) and following for how the tale was told to me (Skryba)

Many thanks to kenjisato who must be tiring of this tale. I hope I can bring it to a proper conclusion, with his help.

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