The Naked Countess
By
Cindy May
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011 Cindy May
What was the link between the statue of a naked girl in Coventry and the Countess? After Mavis saved Emily from a London brothel, the only person the traumatised girl trusted was Mavis. Although she adored her husband, the Earl of Shipston, Mavis knew Emily needed love, leading the young Countess into a Lezzy affair that could wreck her marriage. Sex, romance and action in the Cotcote Chronicles.
******
Coventry was going about its everyday life on a market day. Apart from the townsmen, there were countrywomen selling poultry, milk and chickens, so the population was much greater than on an ordinary day. Terrified lest any movement of her head would displace the hair that her maid Aeva had carefully arranged, and eliminate that pathetic protection to her modesty, Godiva looked neither left nor right.
As the groom led the horse north along Broadgate, the sun beat down fiercely on her naked back and buttocks and she could feel sweat rolling down her body. It was a boiling hot day and she was unused to the direct sun on her back, but she knew that fear was adding to her wetness. She could feel the tears trickling down her cheeks.
******
The couple lay on their sides on the bed, kissing one another on the lips, eyes, and nose and fighting with their tongues. Mavis ran her left hand up and down Emily’s thigh, and then slipped her fingers down to Emily’s pussy, running her fingers up and down the slit. Emily shuddered with pleasure.
A moment later, Mavis felt Emily’s fingers tracing a line up and down her own slit, and then an index finger uncertainly pressing between her lips. She slid her own finger into Emily and murmured.
‘That’s right babe, slide it into me.’
Emily needed no further encouragement and slid first one and then two fingers into Mavis’s pussy.
******
They lay there for at least a minute, allowing their breathing to slow down. As his cock shrank back to its normal size, Edward rolled off her to lie by the side of his wife.
‘I definitely should have done this to that girl in London. She might have liked it.’
‘Lord Edward. One of these days, I shall kill you.’
‘Lady Mavis. Every day, I shall fuck you.’
Mavis wriggled round threw herself on top of him and kissed her husband frantically. There was more than a thirty year gap between the Countess who was twenty when they got engaged and her fifty-something husband.
The Beauregard family could trace their line back to the Conquest in 1066, and in France to legendary Charles Martel. Mavis was the illegitimate daughter of the village slut, and not even her mother was sure who had fathered her child.
Copyright 2011 (C)
The Moral Right of the author has been asserted. All Rights Reserved.
This is a work of fiction. With the Exception of Godiva and Leofric, Names, Characters, Places, and Incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to any businesses, is entirely coincidental.
Author's note: Explicit scenes in this work of fiction are confined to characters who are 18 years of age or above.
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
A Cotcote Chronicles Story
The Naked Countess
By
Cindy May
Chapter 1
The Prior of St Mary’s, July 1040
Godiva resentfully concluded that the straw mattress in the guest chamber of St Mary’s Priory was more uncomfortable to lie on than any straw mattress in any other guest chamber she had slept on in the whole of Mercia. She wondered if the mattress in the Prior’s bedchamber was quite as lumpy or as bad, but had a suspicion that the Prior would have seen to it that the best mattress found its way to his room.
It was now pitch dark in the bedchamber as the last candle had guttered to extinction quite a while back. It meant she could grimace each time her husband rammed his cock into her ‘cunte’. Ordinarily Godiva thoroughly enjoyed it when Earl Leofric fucked her, as he was well endowed and an accomplished lover.
The problem was that each time Leofric slammed into her, a sharp piece of straw was driven into her arse crack. It took away much of the pleasure she was otherwise getting from her husband’s vigorous attentions.
She would have liked to tell him to stop whilst she attended to the damn bit of straw, but a noblewoman in Saxon England was brought up not to complain over trivia.
Despite the annoying piece of straw, she was moaning with excitement as her husband rutted away in her. Indeed, she had been making so much noise that Leofric had murmured.
‘Hush, my lady.’
As Leofric and Godiva both knew, the walls of some of the thatched huts that the priories put up for the guests they had to entertain were not particularly thick, and both of them had heard other couples fucking on occasion.
Although it was undoubtedly a sin to eavesdrop on such activities, Godiva remembered how much amusement she had gained from listening to one couple in action. The man in question had been a stolid and censorious Abbot, well known for his robust denunciation of the evils of fornication.
With his vows of celibacy, the Abbot was supposedly immune to the pleasures of the flesh, but Godiva had seen his companion, a well-known harlot, entering his quarters. Like many churchmen, the Abbot was inclined to disparage women. The following morning, Godiva had remarked ‘innocently’ to him how she had heard him wrestling with the devil in the night.
Some months later, a joke had gone the rounds of the household that as the pope had expressed disquiet about the number of women-servants the clergy employed, that parish priests were henceforth to be allowed two wives instead. Monks and canons would qualify for three wives, and deans and bishops for four or five.
After her joke about wrestling with the devil, there was no love lost between Godiva and the Abbot, and she had been the target of a comment to her husband at a banquet.
‘May God omnipotent grant you not to be deceived by woman omnipotent.’
It was a barbed reference to her known influence over her husband. Although she had generously supported the church from her own personal wealth, Godiva had suggested to the reverend father in the presence of her husband that the church needed to support the poor, a sentiment Leofric had endorsed.
When the Abbot made his remark, Leofric had looked at her. Knowing she was quick witted and high-spirited, he had asked.
‘What say you to that, My Lady?’
‘If it were not for the Reverend Father’s vows of celibacy, My Lord, I would begin to fear that he worshipped the weaker sex, when he accords the same virtues to us women as he does to Our Lord. I know, that, I for one shrink from such praise. A woman should be modest and chaste, My Lord.’
Leofric, who had also heard the reverend father in action, laughed and turned to the Abbot.
‘Do you not agree that a woman should be chaste, Sir Abbot, rather than chased and caught by some low fellow in the night?’
Godiva was a pious woman, as Leofric well knew. Her attention when mass was being said and her charity to the poor were genuine, well known, and respected throughout Mercia.
A pious woman was assuredly a good woman, but not necessarily a fun woman, but to Leofric’s relief, Godiva’s piety did not diminish her earthy joy in sex. One of his companions in his younger days had described a peasant woman that they were both intimately acquainted with as a ‘right good fuck’.
Leofric would not insult his lady by saying that to her face, but it described her to perfection. She was a right good fuck, and a pleasant companion as well.
As Leofric fired his semen deep in her cunt, Godiva gasped in excitement.
‘Yes. Yessss.’
Leofric pulled out of her and rolled over to one side of the bed. As soon as he did so, Godiva felt round with her hand for the damnable bit of straw that had tormented her. It was projecting through the fabric of the mattress, so she found it easily, tore it out and threw it on the floor.
Leofric usually fucked her when they went to bed. He would do so again some time in the night, usually after he had gone outside to the stinking latrine where he pissed in a hole in the ground, and in the morning. For a man of his age, and he was seventy two years old, to be able to fuck his young wife three times a night showed he had retained an amazing degree of vigour.
With the damn bit of straw gone, the morning fuck would be more pleasurable, and in the daytime, Godiva might be able to do something to smooth out some of the lumps in the mattress as well. Sadly by the time she had got the bed so that it was fit to lie in, they would be on the move again. From what Leofric had said, Lichfield was their next destination.
With the straw no longer there to torment her bottom, their morning fuck was enjoyable. After they had eaten, the Prior had wished to see her husband, as had the reeve, and there were new taxes to implement.
By mid afternoon, what had started out as a pleasant morning was but a memory. It had begun as a silly tiff, but as Godiva, Countess of Mercia, stood in the Guest Chamber of St Mary’s Priory in Coventry, her face was suffused with red. Even she could not have said whether it was shame or fury.
Her husband, Earl Leofric, had been born in 968AD, so was twice her age. The bible said that a man’s natural lifespan was three score years and ten, but to reach that age with his physical and mental facilities unimpaired in Saxon times, a man had to be as tough as bog pickled oak.
Physically and mentally tough, Leofric was such a man. He was the son of Leofwine, Earldorman of South Mercia, who was respected as one of the few capable men to have survived the bumbling but vicious reign of Aethelred the Unready. The Danish-born King Cnut held Leofric in even higher regard than his father, making him Lord of the Mercians in 1026.
Renowned in his lifetime as a talented soldier, a peacemaker and deeply religious, Earl Leofric went on the serve three further monarchs, Harthacnut, Harold Harefoot and Edward the Confessor.
Mercia included much of modern Buckinghamshire, Cheshire, Gloucestershire, Herefordshire, Oxfordshire, Shropshire, Staffordshire, Warwickshire and Worcestershire. Ruling an area far larger than any modern English county, Leofric’s powers and responsibilities were immense.
With limited communications, it means constant travel, sometimes sleeping in one of the homes Leofric had scattered across his fiefdom, but more often in the guest accommodation that was provided by the priories and monasteries for that very purpose.
It was a gruelling workload for a man half his age, but Leofric had shouldered it for years, and had been one of the most trusted advisers of the king when Godiva had been a child.
After over fifteen years of marriage, Godiva knew her husband was a good man, and she cared deeply for him. In matters of state he was cautious and thoughtful, or he would not have retained his high office for so many years and under so many monarchs, but in his private life, he could be quick tempered and inclined to speak without thinking.
Such traits were common in the fiery Anglo-Saxon nobles that ruled the Kingdom that Alfred the Great had welded together less than a hundred and fifty previously. In so far as the land had a name, it was Angleland, or the land of the Angles. In reality people still thought of themselves as Wessexmen or Mercians.
Godiva herself came from Lincoln, in the Dane Law, her brother being Thorold, Sheriff of Lincoln, and it had been in Lincoln that she had been betrothed to Leofric before she was twenty. Their marriage had been an affair of State, being the union of a high born Mercian to the daughter of a leading family from the Danelaw.
If she wished to talk to her husband, experience had taught Godiva that it was wise to wait until he was in a good mood, when laughter, a little coquetry and a kiss would usually carry the day.
On more than one occasion, she had spoken to him after they had fucked, and were lying together in bed. In common with every Anglo-Saxon, Godiva saw no problems in using the plain Anglo-Saxon terms of Cunt or Fucking. She would hesitate no more before saying them than she would when speaking of an arm or of eating.
It was only later generations that found everyday Saxon words too disgusting for use, perhaps the earliest known appearance of political correctness. In Oxford, which was also part of Mercia, the inhabitants walked up and down Gropecunt Lane without embarrassment.
Just like Market St or Sheet St, the name was descriptive of what happened there. Only an idiot pretended that men did not like to grope and fuck women, and only a bigger idiot pretended that there were not poor women who would offer their cunts for a few pence to a well off merchant or nobleman.
You could buy a slave girl or thrall for a 130d [pence], though a good horse would cost between 200 and 300d. A slave girl might resent being worth less than a horse, but the Anglo-Saxons were a realistic people. A cow was worth between 64d and 88d, so looked at another way, a pretty thrall was worth a couple of cows.
Although an owner who killed his thrall was guilty of nothing more than a sin, for which the church would grant redemption for a modest fee, the fine for raping another man’s female thrall was 65 shillings. This was the same as the fine for seducing a free woman.
Nuns were more expensive, as removing one from a Nunnery without permission would set you back 120 shillings. As a nun came under the protection of the bishop, anyone foolish enough to take things further could expect a hefty fine for the insult to His Grace, and excommunication as well, which would entail more expense.
On balance, seducing nuns was a bad idea. You were much better off buying a slave girl, or giving a few pence to one of the rosy-cheeked serf girls in Gropecunt Lane, or its local equivalent, which could be found in every town, somewhere in the vicinity of the main market and the church.
Although Godiva’s husband had triggered the predicament they were both in by his bad tempered and foolish remark, she knew that she was, in her own way, as headstrong as he was, and the fault was as much hers as his. She owned much of the land around Coventry, giving her a voice in what happened, but her husband, as Lord of the Mercians, was in effect the King’s Regent, ruling his vast province.
Her husband had imposed fresh taxes on the people. As the Earl, he had every right to do so. Some of the money went to the upkeep of the Earl’s estate and to defraying the cost of the Housecarls, or Household troops who formed the backbone of the Anglo-Saxon army.
Armed with a formidable battleaxe that could reach out beyond the shield, and shatter their opponent’s defences, the Housecarls were the fighting edge of the army, which was otherwise made up of semi-trained fyrdmen, who could be called up in time of war. As Earl of Mercia, Leofric had the job of training and financing this fighting force.
Roads had to be maintained. Although everyone was supposed to contribute labour, materials and money, merchants and serfs were adept at dodging their contribution, so it fell on her husband. Money, money, money, that was the problem, and that was what was at the root of their tiff.
Reasonable though the tax demand had been, it was a heavy burden on the poor, and knowing of Godiva’s compassionate nature, a group of peasant women had come to her bewailing their plight.
‘If we pay the tax we starve. If we do not pay we are punished.’
Unlike other parts of Mercia, the heavy clay soil that surrounded Coventry was poor for arable farming. The area was heavily forested and difficult for the peasants to scratch even a subsistence living from. Given that poverty, Godiva had begged her husband to reduce the tax burden.
She had chosen a bad time to speak to him, and instead of seeing the warning signs, she had persisted, going over the same ground again and again, which was foolish. Common sense ought to have told her to stop, but she had the bit between her teeth.
‘I insist that we cut the taxes, My Lord. They are much too high and are causing distress to the poor people.’
‘Insist my lady? Insist?’
A landowner in her own right, Godiva had not learned to be subservient to her husband.
‘Yes My Lord, I insist. I will not take no for an answer.’
‘Pray tell me, if my answer is no what wilt thou do?’
‘I shall ask thee again and again and again until thou sayest yes.’
‘Very well, my proud and stubborn lady. Hear this. Ascend thy horse naked and pass thus through the town from one end to the other in sight of the people and on thy return thou shalt obtain thy request.’
‘How dare thou say such a thing to thy loving wife Sir?’
‘My Lady, thou sayest that thou will demand again and again, until I grant thy fancy. It is no pleasure to a man to have a woman nag him day in and day out, and methinks it is not much more pleasure to the lady to nag. If thou wert an ordinary scold and not a lady, thou wouldst face the dunking stool for such behaviour.’
‘I have given thee a simple way to achieve thy wish. As I say, ascend thy horse naked and pass thus through the town from one end to the other in sight of the people and on thy return thou shalt obtain thy request.’
She glared at him. The conditions he had offered her were insulting. She was of noble birth in her own right. She was not a slave girl, whom a nobleman could fuck whenever it pleased him, or a serf wench to be bought for a few pence in the same way that you would buy a dozen chickens.
She understood her husband well enough to realise that he had spoken in a momentary rage, for he knew that she would never consent to such a humiliating proposal. It was a bluff, but he had made a false move. All she needed to do was to call his bluff, and he would be compelled to retreat. She was amused at the error he had made. Coldly she asked him.
‘And should I be willing to do this, wilt thou give me leave?’
As a married woman, she would need leave of her husband for any major step she took. To ride naked through the town would require his permission and no nobleman would consent to his wife bringing shame on him like that. She smiled at him as she said it, confident that she had won.
The smile enraged him, as it was the smile of the victor. He knew it as well as she did. Leofric retorted.
‘I wilt.’
Now, it was his turn to smile. She was proud and untamed even though they had been married for many years. It was common for a girl of noble parents to be betrothed by the time she was eight years of age. Although she would not lie with her husband until she was big enough, a girl could be a widow before she was ten, and remarry by the time she was eleven.
Godiva, at thirty-six years of age, was slender and gracious, with fine features, and a soft sensuous mouth. She had been briefly married as a child to the Danish Earl Eglaf who died on a pilgrimage to Constantinople. Godiva herself had also been close to death around 1022, and put her recovery down to the force of prayer.
It gave a very personal edge to her compassion and piety, and that, coupled with her looks, made her a worthy consort for the proud Earl. Referred to as ‘the most beauteous of all women of her time’, her blonde hair cascaded down to below her waist if it were not braided in some complex way.
On occasion she tormented Leofric in bed by arranging her tresses so that her tits and her cunt were obscured. He would dive his strong hands beneath her hair to the accompaniment of much laughter. They would wrestle with one another, a battle he always won due to his superior strength. He suspected that even if she had been as strong as an Amazon, he would still have won, as she had no desire to win that battle of the sexes.
However sexy Godiva was in bed, Leofric was certain that there was no way she would make use of the permission he had granted her to ride naked through the town. It was a gesture he could afford to make and the trap she had set had rebounded on her. She would know that and not try anything so silly in the future.
Chapter 2
‘Very well, My Lord, thou leavest me no choice. I wilt obey thy shameful demand and buy with my modesty the well being of the people of this town.’
Leofric stared at his wife in disbelief. She could not be serious! She was a noblewoman by birth and a Countess by marriage. No matter what reward was on offer, no merchant’s wife would parade through the town naked, her body on show to the lustful stares of every man.
Not even a peasant woman would do it, and that was saying something. Such was the poverty of most of the people, that it was rare that a serf girl would not lift her skirts for you to take your pleasure with her if you offered her a coin.
In his younger days, Leofric had taken his pleasure with many a peasant girl in that way, offering them a coin or two, which was a fortune to them, and nothing to him. A few he remembered, but most he had long since forgotten.
Having been stupid enough to say she would take up his impossible challenge, Leofric wondered how Godiva would get out of it. She was still speaking, so was about to find an excuse.
‘My Lord, you insisted that I parade my nakedness on a market day, so that the town will be crowded. The next market day is on Monday, in two days time. I shall meet my Lord’s wishes at noon time on Monday.’
Godiva was flushed as she spoke, as the idea of riding through the town naked was shameful, but there was triumph in her voice. Their marriage was a love match, perhaps even a lust match, as her desire for him and his lust for her were equally strong. He had lain with her on many a night fucking her.
Godiva’s maid, Aeva, was used to their noisy lovemaking, but it could be a problem when they were travelling and had to stay at a Priory, as in Coventry. Thankfully, few Priors were likely to scold the Earl and his lady, so it hardly mattered. Leofric had a hunch that not a few of the brothers in holy orders enjoyed eavesdropping.
Sometimes when they were out hunting on horseback and had left their retainers far behind, he would head towards a coppice, lift Godiva down from her side saddle and take her into the woods. He could never recall her showing any reluctance, although she knew full well what he was going to do.
He would lift her underdress and her gowns above her waist, lay her on the ground and take her much as a serf would take a peasant girl. He had never thought to ask her consent because the desire in her eyes was answer enough.
Those couplings in the countryside, with the smell of earth and grass, were as raw and exciting to Godiva as to her husband. Afterwards, she would ride beside him, her eyes a-sparkle.
Leofric knew that if a woman rode a horse soon after she had fucked, the jolting motion would ensure that her thighs were wet with her own juices and those of her lover. Lift her underskirt up and the wetness and smell of sex were manifest. If there was no one about, he had often fingered her to a climax in that way.
Leofric was well aware that despite her undoubted passion for him and her earthy desire for sex, that his wife was deeply religious, compassionate, proud and untamed. He might fuck her like he would take a peasant girl in the woods, but there was no way he would wish her to ride naked through the town.
When he had driven her into a corner, she had stupidly accepted his challenge. The sparring had been fun for both of them, but it was now time for her to retreat whilst she could do so safely and with dignity. Much though he loved the proud beauty he had married, he was not about to be vanquished by his own wife.
‘My lady, I shall go at once and draw up the charter that thou seekest. When thou hast fulfilled thy part of the bargain, it shall be signed and it shall contain all that thou desire. Thou hast my word upon it, Madam.’
Leofric hurried from the room before his wife could think up some fresh stratagem, and before the flush on her lovely face could melt his heart. As he left the bedchamber, Godiva sat wearily on a bench. Her maid, Aeva looked at her mistress sympathetically.
‘I don’t think that went very well, Milady.’
Godiva shook her head.
‘It didn’t. What am I to do?’
Aeva walked over to her mistress and sat beside her. She was 22 years old, so was fourteen years younger than the countess. Leofric had purchased Aeva at the busy slave market in Bristol when she was ten years old.
It was a good age for training as a lady’s maid, and Aeva had faithfully served her mistress ever since. Although Aeva was a thrall, Godiva was a kindly owner, and Aeva loved her mistress dearly. She had watched the couple paint themselves into a corner and longed to say ‘stop it’, but as a slave girl that was not permissible.
Godiva was crying so Aeva took her by the hand.
‘The master may change his mind, Milady. You know how dearly he loves you.’
Godiva shook her head.
‘I gave him no room, Aeva. He cannot back down, but if I back down, then he will never pay heed to me again. But if not, I must parade my nakedness before the town. Will he want me after that? Will he lie with me again, knowing every man in the town has seen me?’
Aeva looked at her mistress. She was right. It would be difficult for the Earl to treat her seriously if she gave way to him, but if she did not, could he lie with her after she had shamed him by flaunting her body before every man, woman and child in Coventry?
Aeva wondered if she could go to the Earl and beg that she be allowed to ride naked instead. Her modesty was of no importance as she was just a thrall, but she knew there was no way Leofric could accept her offer, no matter how much he might desire to.
‘Milady, I have an idea.’
She jumped to her feet and started to unfasten her mistresses’ couvrechef, which also went by the name of a headrail.
‘What are you doing girl?’
In her excitement, Aeva was brusque.
‘Be quiet, Milady.’
‘Aeva how dare you!’
‘I’m sorry but let me be.’
Godiva could not imagine what had got into her maid. Maybe if she were about to lose the respect of her husband, she would lose the respect of her thrall as well.
Aeva now had the couvrechef out of the way, and unfastened Godiva’s long blonde tresses. She literally had to unwind them, and smiled with relief.
‘Milady, see where your tresses reach.’
Godiva shook her head in puzzlement.
‘Milady, when you sit on the horse, your hair will be long enough to cover your cunt.’
Godiva glanced down. Although she was gowned, it was clear that the girl was right. She threw her arms around Aeva.
‘Aeva, you are wonderful, but what about my breasts?’
‘Take your clothes off.’
‘What?’
‘Take your clothes off, now.’
Godiva stood up and allowed Aeva to remove her linen top gown, her inner gown and finally her underdress.
‘Milady, sit as you would sit on a horse.’
Godiva tried to place herself as she would when sitting sidesaddle. If her hair was not braided, it cascaded down her back, and Leofric liked her hair loose when he bedded her, but except when she played naughty games, using it to cover her breasts, she seldom wore it forward. Aeva brought Godiva’s hair forward.
It would just about cover her, but Godiva looked at her black-haired servant wryly.
‘Leofric says how much he likes my blonde hair, but I wish now it was like yours.’
Godiva’s hair was fine, blonde and curly. Aeva’s hair was a black cascading mass of thick strands.
On Monday morning, when they woke up, Leofric was more caring to Godiva than she had ever known. She loved it when her husband took her first thing in the morning, plunging his long cock deep in her cunt and filling her with his seed. She would feel it dribbling out of her for the rest of the day.
That morning, he asked her.
‘My Lady, dost thou desire a fuck?’
Godiva desperately longed to feel Leofric in her, but the thought that in a few hours she would be riding naked through the town had brought a string of fears with it. What if she leaked her husband’s cum down her legs? She shook her head and Leofric seemed to understand.
Shortly after eleven, Aeva came to the bedchamber.
‘We will need to get ready soon, Milady.’
She saw Godiva had been crying and kissed her on the cheek.
‘It should work all right, Milady.’
Godiva stood up and allowed Aeva to remove her outer linen gown with its baggy short sleeves and smart lacework. The next garment to go was the inner gown, which was plain, with long but thinner sleeves and little decoration. After discarding her two gowns, Godiva needed to sit for a few minutes to compose herself.
‘Milady. It’s time.’
Godiva looked up at her, with tears in her eyes. Aeva whispered.
‘Stand up.’
She took the hem of the underdress and raised it, Godiva holding her arms up so Aeva could remove the dress. She had been naked in front of her maid on many occasions, but never for such a reason as this. Aeva picked up a blanket. Tenderly she wrapped it around her mistress.
‘We must go now, Milady.’
Godiva walked barefoot out of the bedchamber clad in just a blanket. As she walked to the Grand Hall of the Priory, monks and servants tactfully looked the other way. She glanced at Aeva and whispered.
‘My husband, the Earl, will he be there to see me?’
Nervous and distraught, Godiva hoped that Leofric would take pity on her. Aeva shook her head.
‘The master went riding half an hour ago.’
Godiva shuddered. She had hoped that Leofric would not be able to bear her distress, and would release her from this foolish challenge.
Leofric was out riding because he knew that if he saw his wife walk into the courtyard barefoot like a peasant girl, with just a blanket to cover her, he would have cracked. He could not have allowed her to mount the horse or discard the pathetic covering of her blanket.
The reason that Aeva knew the master was gone was that he had summoned her to him, and told he to look after her mistress, as she would need all the support Aeva could give her. Aeva could tell that the Master was as troubled as her mistress. It was out of order, but Aeva took it upon herself to speak her mind.
‘My Lord, why not release the Lady Godiva from the terrible plight she is in?’
‘I can’t Aeva.’
‘Why not?’
A thrall was not supposed to quiz her master, but Leofric answered her question unhesitatingly.
‘If I do so, then I have given in to her.’
‘And if you do not, she must give in to you, My Lord, or do this shameful thing.’
‘Yes.’
‘My Lord, you and the Lady Godiva love one another. As her maid, I know how often you fuck… .’
‘That’s enough Aeva.’
‘No it’s not! The pair of you love one another, and you’re both too stupid to get out of this nonsense.’
‘I know that, but there is no way out. She must give way or do as she has agreed.’
‘You are both fools.’
Aeva stopped abruptly. Telling your master he was a fool would guarantee a whipping. Leofric looked at her for several seconds.
‘I think, Aeva, when this is over that I shall make you a free woman. You have more sense than the Lady Godiva or I.’
‘My Lord, I would rather that you spared my lady this torment.’
Leofric shook his head sadly.
When Godiva heard that her husband had gone riding, her last hope that she could be released from her commitment died. Aeva took her hand.
‘Come Milady.’
She took the frightened countess into the courtyard. Barefoot like a peasant, Godiva walked across the dried mud, straw and animal shit of the courtyard to where a caparisoned white horse, bearing the gold and blue colours of Mercia stood ready for her to ride. A groom stood by the head of the animal. Tactfully he looked away.
A wooden crib had been placed to one side to make it easier for Godiva to mount the animal. Gratefully she climbed on to it and sat on the blue and gold covering that draped the back of the horse. Aeva was standing on the crib.
‘Are you sure, Milady?’
Godiva gulped.
‘I’m frightened.’
‘Why not give it up, Milady?’
‘No.’
Aeva eased the blanket open, taking care that her mistress’s body was screened by her own. She had already arranged Godiva’s locks in the bedchamber so that her longest tresses, from the back of her head, cascaded over her left shoulder. They would discretely cover her left breast and cunt.
Aeva had arranged that the shorter curls on the right would just cover her mistresses’ right breast. The problem was that the slightest breath of wind, or a sudden movement by Godiva or the horse, would play havoc with everything.
Aeva looked at her mistress and smiled.
‘It would have helped if you had dark hair Milady, and if you had lots of dark hair down there, like me.’
Both women knew that Aeva’s pussy bush all but obscured her private parts. Godiva whispered.
‘I know. I wish it were so.’
‘It’s not too late, Milady.’
Godiva was not going to risk disturbing her hair by nodding or shaking her head, so spoke quietly.
‘There’s no choice, Aeva. I have to do it.’
Chapter 3
For several seconds after Godiva spoke, Aeva stood on the crib next to her mistress. Although it was her mistress whose body would be bared to public view, Aeva had to summon up the courage to remove the blanket. Slowly she reached out, and as her hands touched the blanket, she felt Godiva tremble.
She slipped her hands round Godiva’s shoulders and gently gripped the blanket, teasing the ends apart. Taking great care not to dislodge the strategically placed hair, Aeva removed the blanket completely, baring her mistress’s body. As the maid did so, the reality of what was happening hit home to Godiva, and a tear ran down her cheek.
Aeva could hear she was whispering a prayer of St Columba.
‘Alone with none but thee, my God,
I journey on my way.
What need I fear,
When thou art near
O king of night and day?
More safe am I within thy hand
Than if a host did round me stand.’
Aeva knew that Godiva was about to start on the loneliest and longest journey of her life. On impulse, and although it was not proper for a thrall to kiss her mistress in public, she kissed Godiva softly on the cheek.
‘Thank you, Aeva.’
Aeva stepped down off the timber crib, holding the blanket in her hands. She looked up at her beautiful mistress who was about to ride through the town naked except for a few locks of hair that a breath of wind could whip away. Thankfully it was a calm day.
Another of the maids came up to Aeva.
‘Tell Her Ladyship that it’s noon by the sundial.’
Aeva looked up to her mistress and saw the strain on her face.
‘It’s time Milady.’
There was a pause of several seconds, whilst Godiva summoned up the courage to whisper.
‘Very well.’
Aeva walked up to the groom.
‘Lead on.’
He led the horse forward and out of the courtyard on to the lane that ran along the south side of the Priory and Cathedral of St Mary’s. Searing though it had been to sit naked on a horse in the confines of the priory, Godiva knew that the monks and servants would not dare to peep.
To her shame and humiliation, Godiva was now being paraded naked past the house of God that she had generously endowed with gifts. At the end of the lane was the busy Broadgate, which was the heart of the community.
By now, she was trembling with fear. Merchants, traders, and artisans made their living here. Potters, weavers and bakers sold their wares. Stonemasons, leatherworkers and moneyers were to be found.
Coventry was going about its everyday life on a market day. Apart from the townsmen, there were countrywomen selling poultry, milk and chickens, so the population was much greater than on an ordinary day. Terrified lest any movement of her head would displace the hair that her maid Aeva had carefully arranged, and eliminate that pathetic protection to her modesty, Godiva looked neither left nor right.
As the groom led the horse north along Broadgate, the sun beat down fiercely on her naked back and buttocks and she could feel sweat rolling down her body. It was a boiling hot day and she was unused to the direct sun on her back, but she knew that fear was adding to her wetness. She could feel the tears trickling down her cheeks.
The route now lay along Cross Cheaping. The route that her husband had laid down took Godiva over the River Sherbourne, and west along Well Street, so named because the people of Coventry drew their water from the well. Inevitably it was crowded as townspeople and their servants scurried to and from the well.
When Godiva had been on Broadgate, the sun had been at her back so her bosom and cunt were in shadow. As she moved westwards, the sun beat down on her breasts, her cunt and her legs, given the way she was sitting sidesaddle on the horse. The least movement of her hair would now expose her cruelly.
She was sweating which made her uncomfortable. She desperately longed to brush the sweat from her eyes, as it was so irritating.
To do so would be insane as the least movement was likely to disturb the tresses that Aeva had arranged with such care. If so, she knew she could never hope to reposition them, and for the rest of her journey, she would be totally exposed to the eyes of any man, woman or child who choose to stare at her naked charms.
The groom led the horse across Radford Brook and then southeast along Hill Street. The sun now shone down on her face and breasts, and Godiva was sobbing with fear and mortification. Soon the route lay east along Smithford St.
To her dismay the horse stumbled as they forded the River Sherbourne. To avoid losing her balance and falling into the river, she had to grab at the reins with her left hand. Inevitably, this had displaced the tresses that Aeva had arranged to screen her left breast and cunt.
If she were to do anything, she risked dislodging the locks that barely screened her right breast. In desperation she tried, but displaced the tresses from her right tit. To her horror, both breasts and her cunt were on show to any bystander. Frantically she cuffed the hair in place to screen her cunt, although not as well as Aeva had managed. She tried to flick the hair back to screen her left breast.
To her dismay, the heat, her profuse sweating and the tension of being exposed to public view had resulted in her nipples becoming rock hard. She tried to ease her blonde tresses over them but knew she had failed.
The hair covering her right breast was all over the place, and only her forearm screened her. She knew she would have to take the reins in her right hand as she was precariously balanced on the horse. When she did so, her breast would be uncovered, yet the only way to screen herself with her curls was to use her hand to adjust her hair.
Gritting her teeth, she did so, hastily cuffing the locks back in place. As her hair was now sodden from the sweat that poured off her, it tended to stick to her, but not necessarily where she wanted it.
Heading east now, the groom walked the horse towards the top of Broadgate, but instead of turning north to the welcome sanctuary of the Priory, the route now took Godiva south towards Cheylesmore.
A child called out.
‘Mama! Why is the lady naked?’
Godiva’s tears continued to roll down her cheeks, as her ordeal continued. Her lord had said she must cross the town from one side to the other naked, so she had ridden north, then west, and now south. Once more the sun beat down full frontal and she could see her hard nipples poking through the blonde fringe of her hair.
Since the horse had stumbled when fording the Sherbourne and her hair had been dislodged, she had never got it properly adjusted. She desperately wished that Aeva was there to tend her, as she would get everything right. Aeva always looked after her so well.
Wryly Godiva thought how proud she had always been of her blonde hair. The bible said that pride was a sin. It seemed that The Lord was punishing her for her sin of pride. At that moment, Godiva, Countess of Mercia, would gladly have swapped her hair and her station in life with the dark haired Aeva.
Without her maid, she could never have prepared for her humiliating ordeal, and she decided that as soon as she got back to the priory, Aeva the thrall would become a freedwoman.
Near Cheylesmore, the groom turned north, leading the horse slowly through the wattle and daub hovels and cottages that clustered to the south of Earl Street. There were not many people in the street, but the upper stories of the houses were stepped outwards.
In places, one could almost shake hands across the street. Thankfully most of the windows were shuttered, but they had peepholes to admit light and air. Godiva wondered how many pairs of eyes were glued to the peepholes staring at her nakedness.
To all intents and purposes, she was now fully exposed to anyone who cared to look. Her nipples were poking through the damp strands of hair that stuck to her rounded breasts, and her futile attempts to deal with that had dragged the strands away from her cunt. With her bottom increasingly wet, her perch on the horse was even more precarious.
An attempt to drag her curls over her cunt lips had nearly ended in her sliding off the horse. Her cunt was exposed and to her shame, glistening with wetness. She could pretend it was sweat that had dripped on her cunt lips, but however disgusting it was, she knew that the shamefulness of being exposed was causing her to lubricate.
As they turned west on to Earl St, a shutter banged, making the horse start and Godiva jump. Once again, she nearly lost her balance. Wisely, common sense replaced modesty as she grabbed the reins, her hair flying everywhere.
With her hair awry, both breasts and her cunt were even more exposed. She cuffed her hair back, more or less covering her crotch and even managed to get one breast part screened. The groom led the horse on to Broadgate with the sun beating down on her back again.
A serf used to working in the fields in a shirt, or stripped to the waist, would have been browned from exposure to the sun. The soft white flesh of Godiva’s back had never been exposed to the noonday sun. With the slow pace of the ride, her back felt as if it was on fire, adding to her misery.
All that remained now was the short walk along the lane flanking St Mary’s and then the sanctuary of the Priory courtyard.
It had been a searing experience, but not as bad as it might have been. Given the crowded state of the town on market day with people jostling one another, it was often difficult for anyone one horseback or even on foot to push their way through Broadgate.
In one or two places, the streets were so narrow that a bystander could have reached out his hands to her crotch to make Gropecunt a reality. She had expected that there would be hands stroking her thighs or her bottom, but to her relief, as she approached, the people parted to leave a path which a wagon could have navigated with ease.
Whilst she could not look left or right for fear of messing up her hair, she sensed that most people looked down or averted their eyes as she rode by. Like everyone else, Godiva knew the earthy Anglo-Saxon sense of humour only too well. A nation that could apply Gropecunt Lane to a street in reference to what went on there, was capable of crude jokes. Godiva had expected a few earthy suggestions.
Although there was the usual hubbub of town life in the distance, the crowd were silent and respectful as she rode by. It made her perambulation of the town slightly less searing.
Leofric had not told her, but he had sent out word that he wished people to avert their gaze, as the Lady Godiva was making her naked pilgrimage for their sakes. One man who did watch and wonder as she made her way along Broadgate was Leofric himself.
He had assumed that in the hurly burly of the market, Godiva would be swamped by people. He stared in amazement and relief as the rough and ready serfs and the shrewd merchants and market traders averted their gaze from his lovely wife. He watched until she was out of sight and then spurred his steed back to the priory, as he wanted to be present when she returned.
As her pilgrimage neared its end, Godiva was surprised how few of the people had stared at her, although she could not be sure, as looking left and right was only going to disturb her hair. It was amazing how the crowd had parted to avoid her horse being jostled and perhaps panicking.
When she returned to the priory, the faithful Aeva was waiting to slip a blanket around her shoulders and help her off the horse. The rough woollen blanket was torment to her sunburnt back, but the relief of being covered made the hurt bearable. Aeva kissed the trembling Countess, and flicked a tear from her eye.
‘It’s all over Milady.’
Godiva shuddered, and Aeva hugged and kissed her again.
‘You’re safe now, dearie.’
Godiva was not certain if it was meet and proper for a thrall to hug and kiss a countess in public or to call her dearie, but felt reassured and grateful.
Her husband Leofric was also waiting. To begin with, her hair had clothed her nudity, but long before the ride was over, sweat, fear, and the many times she had nearly fallen had stripped that protection from her.
She had finished the ride knowing that her cunt and breasts were on show to any man who cared to look. She wondered how many men would wank themselves to sleep that night dreaming of her cunt and of sliding their cocks into her.
She approached her husband, distraught at what she had been through, but lifted her head proudly. Her voice was cold and remote.
‘My Lord, I have met my part of our bargain. I have passed naked through the town from one end to the other in sight of the people, as you demanded. It is now for you to meet your part of the bargain.’
He looked at her steadily.
‘The charter is already signed. It gives all you asked for and much more.’
‘Thank you my Lord.’
Her voice was distant and impersonal. She looked at her husband for several seconds, causing him to colour.
‘Know ye, My Lord, that the people of the town have seen thy wife’s nakedness and her shame. That which should only be known to a woman’s husband is known to the lowliest serf who cared to look upon thy wife. If thou feel dishonoured by thy wife’s exposure, and say that thou wilt not lie with her any more, it is thy right.’
Her words were harsh and bitter, and Leofric’s colour deepened. He spoke clearly, his voice carrying well beyond the couple.
‘Nay. My Lady, if thou decideth not to lie with your husband again, that would be thy right. I did thee a grievous wrong, and for that I humbly beseech your forgiveness. When My Lady rode forth this morn, it is true that thou had shed the covering of silk, linen and wool. Instead thou wert adorned with the golden raiment of virtue, that no eye can pierce.’
‘I know not how many people of the town gazed upon thy shining raiment, but the town has been honoured by thy fidelity and so have I.’
Leofric lowered his voice so that only Godiva and Aeva could hear him.
‘My Lady, I desire to lie with you if you will do me that great honour.’
Godiva had assumed that no man, and certainly not one as proud as Leofric, would desire a woman who had shown herself naked in the town. When she returned to the Priory it was with the knowledge that her part of the bargain had been met, so that the people need not starve, but with the expectation that her marriage was ended.
As Leofric was about to take his wife in his arms, Aeva intervened.
‘My Lord, Milady. It would be better if you allow her Ladyship put some clothes on first.’
To Godiva’s astonishment, Leofric accepted the rebuke from the slave girl.
‘I apologise, Aeva. Thou art correct.’
He turned to his wife.
‘Wilt thou come with me, Godgivu?’
‘I wilt, my Lord.’
Leofric thought for a moment or two. He used her formal name, Godgivu, rather than Godiva. In the tongue of the Saxons, it means “God’s Given” or “God’s Gift”.
‘Godgivu, my beloved, rightly art thou named, God’s Given.’
Leofric and Godiva walked hand-in-hand into the guest chamber of the Priory, and into legend. Although the silly quarrel that had precipitated Godiva’s naked ride through town could have destroyed their marriage, it survived.
Godiva realised that she was in part to blame for not heeding the warning signs, whilst Leofric was contrite at what he had put her through. Jointly they were to make many more benefactions to St Mary’s Priory and to the people of Coventry. Leofric died on 30 October 1057 at the age of 89, and was laid to rest at St Mary’s.
Godiva, as we write her name today, or Godgivu, had seen her granddaughter Ealdgyth, married to Harold Godwinson, a union that united the two most powerful families of the Kingdom, Leofric and Godwin. In 1066 Ealdgyth became Queen of England. Before the year was out, her husband, Harold, had fallen in battle at Hastings, and the sun had set on Anglo-Saxon England.
After Leofric’s death, Godiva lived quietly, visiting Worcester Abbey to make gifts ‘for the health of his and her souls’. Much of her time was spent at Evesham Abbey, where she and Leofric had built the church of Holy Trinity, and it was here that she was laid to rest after her death on 10 September 1067. She lay not far from Prior Aefic, her father confessor and mentor for so many years, and whose funeral she had attended in 1038.
What was her legacy? The greedy Norman churchmen who accompanied William of Normandy in 1066, soon stole much of the plate and portable wealth that Godiva had showered on churches, priories and abbeys in her lifetime, so it was probably a good thing that she was not there to see such rapacity.
The churches themselves survived, but when a Norman churchman was installed in Peterborough Abbey, Godiva’s younger son exploded with rage. His name was Hereward, and the resultant rebellion against a cruel and oppressive regime added his name to the history books.
The abbeys and priories that Leofric and Godiva had founded or supported so generously survived for almost five hundred years, but fell victim to the piggy eyed and avaricious King Henry VIII. At one time a staunch defender of the faith, Henry broke with Rome over his lechery in discarding wives like most men discard old shoes.
Once the break had been made, and with Henry as head of the new church, the Abbeys were a source of immense wealth to a king who united gluttony, lechery and cruelty with greed. Henry was as devoid of virtue as Godiva had been virtuous.
Coventry Priory succumbed in 1539, the glass from the windows at the West end of the church being mindlessly destroyed, but the valuable lead from the roof was carefully stored in the desecrated building until it could be sold.
Godiva’s great grandchildren were to marry into the Norman elite, establishing dynasties that endured for centuries. Her descendants were to do many remarkable things, but nothing as remarkable as the day that the young Countess gave her modesty for the good of others.
Chapter 4
Close on a thousand years after Godiva, Countess of Mercia rode into history, another blonde countess rang on the doorbell of Cotcote Castle. The village of Cotcote is in the Cotswolds, not many miles from Evesham.
In Godiva’s day, the saintly Prior Aefic of Evesham had played a role in moulding Godiva’s gentle nature, and when the prior was laid to rest in 1038, she had been present at his funeral. It was said that she kept the memory of the Prior in her heart to her dying day.
When she opened the door, the receptionist smiled at Mavis Beauregard, Countess of Shipston. Unlike the ususal ‘plastic’ smile that charm schools taught to plastic receptionists, there was genuine warmth in it.
‘Rach told us what you did for Emily, and it was incredible. Thanks, because she’s an angel.’
Mavis shruged her shoulders.
‘Anyone would have done the same.’
The receptionist, who was wearing a pale lavendar saucy French Maid’s outfit with white lace trimming and a white pinafore, shook her head firmly.
Karen Tait was one hundred per cent certain that you could ask the inhabitants of a city the size of Coventry if they would do what the countess had done and receive the same answer from every one of them, and it would not be yes.
‘I’ll go and find Rach for you.’
‘Thanks.’
As the receptionist walked toward the grand staircase at Cotcote Castle, Mavis watched her butt cheeks wobble, as the ultra short skirt on her dress left the lower part of her bum naked. Mavis smiled and though to herself that she might ask Rachael where the outfit came from.
Mavis, who was in her early twenties, had no desire to wear something like that in public, but thought it might be fun to get one to entertain her husband, Edward Beauregard, 10th Earl of Shipston.
A door which was signed ‘Reception Room’ opened and a couple walked into the great hall. Both were stark naked and by the look of it, the guy was well hung. They walked over to Mavis, the woman saying.
‘Hi. Is this your first visit to the Country Club? If so, I’m sure Karen will take down your particulars and lots of other things as well. My name is Amy McLeod and this is my friend Frank Howden. If you want to come and watch, Frank’s wife, Gloria, is getting fucked in the Reception Room.’
Mavis smiled back.
‘Hi, it is my first visit, but I’m not…’
Amy smiled.
‘There’s no need to be shy dear. As soon as Karen has booked you in, you leave your clothes and any condoms in one of the lockers and join in the fun. With your looks, there’ll be a guy who wants up you within ten seconds.’
Mavis gave a musical laugh.
‘Sounds fun, but I’m here to see Rachael. She’s a distant cousin of my husband.’