Chapter 11: Dressing our Finest

Returning to my quarters, I decided I’d present the soldiers with a royal figure, a tincture of normalcy. “Doll me up, girls! We’re going to give the soldiers a good time.”

“I’m sorry, what?” asked El, looking worried.

“It’s time for princess power!”

“Did you have more ale after playing with the sword?”

I smiled. “That’s a great idea. But first, let’s dress in our finest.”

“Oh, so that’s what you mean!” They finally clued in, the girls first stripped off my clothes – I had to stop my natural urge to resist them – and redressed me in the fluffy princess costume, what these people considered top shelf pretty.

The prince must have wanted the soldiers familiar with me, protective. It was becoming apparent that I needed them on my side to play this game the way I wanted to. I didn’t want to be the cute little princess married off to some old, disgusting duke. Power. I wanted power. So that dukes and generals wouldn’t – couldn’t – turn their backs on me in a meeting. Only the power of a military at my back could prevent people like the dowager-regent from dominating me. I saw that now.

Anyways, I identified with the soldiers. All wage slaves, effectively, are soldiers for their wealthier, capital owning masters. Except these men had less of a chance than I did where I came from, less freedom, probably not much choice in serving and potentially dying for the crown. Respect and ale were their dues.

Although if this were a game – even more so. Then they were NPCs. Not sure that deserved respect, but it certainly removed the free will problem. In that case, it meant some pre-decided interaction that would automatically gain me their allegiance.

Strategically, both meant dolling up and giving them beer. Getting pretty for the boys. Something I’d imagined I’d hate but found myself oddly enjoying as the ladies in waiting choose the brightest, cutest colors. Reds and deep blues, clothing matched make-up. In the mirror, the dress contrasted with my dark hair, but went nicely with the highlights. I looked cute. It was like a carefully orchestrated cosplay. The only thing I lacked was a parasol, but it was nighttime anyways and I had a beer cart to pull.

As it turned out, we didn’t have to pull the cart. We were given a driver, dressed in court fineries, and a mule to do all the hard work. Truthfully, the driver looked ridiculous, shiny green leggings, dark green overcoat, fluffy hat with a laughably tiny visor. But we all looked ridiculous, and everyone seemed to like it.

There was also a boy to dip a large spoon or ladle or whatever they called it here into the ale, fill the mug and pass it on to the men. I dismissed him, making Sapphire do it. She scowled a bit, so I told her, “You’re much prettier than he is. We don’t want our soldiers thanking little boys for their liquid happiness, do we?”

That got a smile out of her, “You are a bad, bad girl!”

The boy sort of tagged along anyways, hand on the cart. Probably a package deal. We didn’t shoo him away and he ended up doing small things for us, fetching mugs from the soldiers, and giving them to Sapphire, sometimes passing them from her to me, and so on. I caught him sneaking a few sips.

Morry and Tread, my ever-present protection, walked alongside the cart, Morry making small talk with the driver who, really, was mostly walking and leading the donkey. I told the boy to keep their mugs full, too, so he’d have something to do. More ale to sneak.

Sapphire, radiant red hair waving in the wind, smiling flirtatiously, drew the ale, passed me the cup, I handed it to the men, warm and smiling, touching their hands as I did so. We moved the cart from tent to tent. Lots of ‘Your Highnessing,’ and ‘my princess’, mixed in with some ‘thank-yous’ and a few ‘ma’ams.’

But no shared comradery. When I touched their hands, they were nervous. I smiled into their eyes, they shyly looked at the ground. A campfire of men, laughing at dirty jokes and conquests of war and bedroom activity, grew quiet upon our presence. It seemed I was mistaken. My clothing and royalty were an impediment to socializing with these men. So much for dolling up.

And then an opportunity came. At the next group, someone whispered, a touch too loudly, “Wonder if that princess will share her wine, eh? Or anything else?”

I brightened up – any chance to give wine away! “El, this gentleman wants wine. Fetch him a bottle.”

One of the soldiers smacked the back of the upfront man’s head, growled something. He stood up, wringing his hands, “Uh, begging my pardon, Your Highness.”

“No, not at all! I was waiting and waiting for someone to say something normal! All this,” I waved up and down at my dress, “is just so-”

“Pretty,” stumbled out the mouth of a wide-eyed younger soldier, who quickly clamped his hands over it while turning red in the face.

The group went silent. I approached their fire, away from the cart, trying a new tactic. Gesturing and raising my voice, “So, a wizard, a priest, a nobleman and a boy were being driven across enemy territory. Suddenly, the driver screams, ‘the enemy is upon us!’ He jumps off the wagon, unhooks one of the two horses and rides off as fast as he can.

The wizard says to the other two adults, ‘there’s only one horse remaining, and the boy has so much life left ahead of him. I think we should give him the horse so he can get to safety.’

‘Screw the boy!’ shouts the nobleman, making his way to unhook the horse.

The priest immediately asks, ‘do you, do you think we have time?’” I stopped talking, waited, looked from man to man for any sign.

The men stared at me for an uncomfortably long time, each holding their empty mugs. For a moment, I wondered if ‘screw’ didn’t have the dual meaning it does where I came from.

Then the one who ordered the wine burst into laughter, “It’s always the priests fucking the little boys, eh!” The rest of the men loosened up, joined in the laughter, even the embarrassed young soldier.

El finally came back with the wine and handed it over to the man. He took the wine, stood up and uncorked it, pouring it straight into the ale mug he’d just finished, “I’ve got one for you, Princess!”

“Let me grab a mug, too and please, do tell!” I waved at the little boy, straggling along with us, and he ran and got me a mug of ale from Saph.

The outspoken soldier walked near the fire, to stand between the circle of men and myself. “There was this farmer’s wife. None too bright. Why, she once mistook her husband’s cock for an udder! Imagine his surprise,” laughter from the men, I joined in. He went on, “As it happens, she found herself pregnant. But it was a painful labor, and the midwife was called in. ‘Ma’am,’ she says, ‘I have to take a look at your privates and ensure the baby is coming along.’ The farmer’s wife replied, ‘check the other side, too, ma husband uses both.’”

They all burst out laughing and I joined in, despite the joke. I quickly put mug to mouth and drank to cover up any missteps, forcing mirth into my eyes.

As we moved on, pouring ale from tent to tent, we started getting a following. The louder men, happier men, even a few of the shy ones, started kind of tailgating us. They walked behind our cart telling each other stories and jokes and I made sure to refill their beers as I could, in between serving new camps.

In the mirth, I could hear retellings of the joke I’d told – and some campfires even asked for it, having heard of it by then. I’d inadvertently created a party.

Oddly, and for me uncomfortably, some soldiers were asking for my blessing. Or favor, as they called it. For the upcoming battle. This involved them getting a kiss on the cheek and a whisper of luck, although most also kissed my gloved hands.

They were dirty, this was war in a land without showers, but in the backdrop of all the sweat and latrine and animals, their musk blended in. And the ale was effective in erasing any disgust I might have had. The more I gulped down, the more fun this crazy party became and the more ale we handed out to whoever asked. The men, they got their kisses. Only, only on the cheek, though!

***

“Young lady, just what do you think you are doing?” asked the incredulous dowager-regent.

I tried to look all innocent, but swayed a touch from the alcohol, “Why, providing ale and comfort to our soldiers.” The man holding my hand, about to kiss it, let go and slipped away into the crowd without looking at the dowager.

She looked at the line of soldiers waiting to be given favor, many watching our exchange earnestly, “Well, I think you’ve done more than that! What a mob! These men should be in resting and giving care to their place in this world for tomorrow they meet whatever fate awaits. And you incite them to drunkenness! Imagine the state of our army tomorrow facing against those who’ve had a good night’s sleep.”

She did have a point, but a large part of me was necessarily and naturally against her. “Well-”

The dowager walked past me, to the man steering the mule. “You will return this ale wagon to the stores. This alefest is concluded.” I was pleased to note the unhappy stares and dirty looks directed to the dowager from the soldiers. Hopefully, they’d remember which of us was on their side. Or, failing that, who got them drunk.

“And you two!” Her wrinkled anger bearing down on my semi-sober guards, “you can barely stand! Not fit to be part of the royal escort, just look at you.”

“Hey now,” I started, “I was-”

“-don’t you give me that, young lady! You won’t be taking on excuses for grown men. I’m rightly going to deal with this.”

“Ma’am,” Morry started, “we are-”

“You are to return to your lodging. You’ve done enough for tonight. I have sober guards waiting at her highness’s tents.”

I tried to give them a smile, but they didn’t waver in their focus on the dowager, saluted, and marched off. I turned to this elderly woman, always interfering, “You will not be punishing my guards.”

“No doubt you’ve taken a liking to them.”

“What?” That floored me.

“A young girl,” she walked ahead, “with too much influence and not enough supervision. Why, that’s going to change. Starting tomorrow.” The dowager marched us and the ale cart back to the provisions area. A few bold men dared ask for another helping, but her long, dark stare drove them off. In the distance behind us, I heard the prince laughing and genially admonishing the soldiers to return to their campfires and consider the morrow.