Morgana's Handmaid and the Creature of the Dungeon Page 11

  This gave us fresh eggs, yes. But from time to time I must admit I worried about having that rooster constantly crowing, since we were supposed to be living secretly; and any hunter or thief of the forest might hear a rooster crowing and know there was a homestead nearby. The chickens were kept in a coop right over where that rain barrel now sits, and the coop also drew attention from foxes, like I said earlier. Their clucking and squawking at night kept me awake one too many times, and eventually I figured they had to go. Therefore one by one I turned them into dinner!

  To be sure, I missed being able to provide my big, tough dungeon master with fresh eggs in the mornings. However Alguin only laughed and smiled patiently when I told him of my decision. I realized he must have gone through a lot to procure those hens and that rooster, but he understood nevertheless. I had to get my rest after all!

  He always seemed to understand my needs by the way; as well as my limitations. Alguin appreciated how important sleep was to me. When he came home in the morning he wanted me to be rested and ready to respond to him. He needed that far more than eggs for breakfast. Some mornings the only thing he wanted on the menu was me.

  No, I never missed those clucking chickens. I made us wonderful porridges and breads. Plus we loved going fishing together and bringing home trout for lunch! Alguin would clean the fish and filet them for me while I prepared a batter to coat them in and fry in our own homemade butter! Yes; fresh butter.

  At one point you see, Alguin acquired a milk cow for me and I learned to make cheese and butter for him - which was a great way to get dairy fat into his diet. As always, Alguin “found” a butter churn. I wisely didn’t ask questions. One morning he showed up with a rather nice one—and I never asked questions how he got it. Within a few days I’d figured out how to use it. Of course even before that I had to learn how to milk a cow. Surprisingly, neither of us had ever done it before—not even me! Sure, I’d gone to see the dairy farmer’s son on occasion to get fresh cheese for my family, but the only squeezing, stroking, and yanking I did there was with him.

  As for the cow we named her Cloey, and she lived with us for several years before she finally took sick one winter and died. After that Alguin would occasionally bring home a bucket of fresh milk from the castle and I’d turn that into cheese and butter.

  During the time we had Cloey however, my favorite task of all was taking her down to the local village to get her studded. This was quite a process, because Alguin and I were supposed to be hiding in the forest never to be discovered. Therefore to get our Cloey inseminated, we had to be careful.

  As usual, my dear Alguin knew exactly where we had to go. He simply donned a robe that made him appear like a Cistercian Monk. I even fashioned a rope to tie around it so that he looked like he was from the nearby monastery. Then Alguin very comically led our gal down to a cattle farmer near the local village and found the farmer’s stud bull.

  As for me, I found a good spot at the edge of the tree line and hid behind bushes watching the spectacle. I’d already enjoyed nearly a year of watching our cockerel brutally mount our poor hens, biting their necks and shoving his body into them. That was an amazing experience. That’s why I was particularly fascinated to see what a bull mounting a milk cow might look like! I wondered if it would also be violent, but on an even grander scale, given the size of the animals. I was not to be disappointed that day.

  Cloey it turned out was quite appealing—by cow standards. But boy did Cloey teach me a thing or two that day about getting her man, without having to try very hard. Looking back, we probably should have named her Ywedelle!

  Seems that the farmer actually had two bulls; and after Alguin had paid him a small fee—a jug of fine ale we’d made—she took care of the rest. She was a female on a mission, and very soon she had both bulls vying for her attention.

  Cloey was the Belle of the Ball that day. The farmer led Cloey into a large field where his cows were, so at first it seemed Cloey had competition. Then the farmer sent in his two bulls. It was so exciting watching the bulls bump and jostle each other back and forth as they approached the group of milk cows!

  As the bulls entered the pasture they walked side by side and seemed to be heading each other off or pushing each other out of the way to get to the cows. I enjoyed watching them battle. Both of the beasts were ugly and spotted, with huge haunches and snarling snouts that had rings through them for leading them around. Grotesque and ugly, snarling and snorting, they seemed like they’d mount anything that had four legs.

  But once they noticed Cloey they increased their pace. From thence forth, it became a contest to see not only who could mate with her first, but also how many times. For some time, the two bulls circled Cloey; who acted completely oblivious to their presence. I figured our clever gal was trying to make them work for it, you see? She seemed so aloof to her suitors, I really had to laugh watching her!

  She had to have known what was coming though. The two bulls finally advanced toward Cloey and each tried resting his head on her haunches while shoving their hind quarters up toward her face. It was a funny dance the three of them did, with the bulls both trying to rest their heads up on her rear and at the same time push away the other bull. Cloey would canter forward several steps and the two bulls would bang into each other, trying to lunge forward to climb up her. This comical display happened several times so that I was reduced to covering my mouth laughing at our milk cow getting those bulls all worked up.

  Eventually one of the bulls bumped the other so forcefully that the second bull yielded the field. The first then galloped back to Cloey. He rested his head on her hindquarters and in one big lunge finally raised up high enough to enter her from behind. Cloey froze in place to receive him; and once the bull paused a moment to take aim; he inserted his penis with one long sliding thrust. Within seconds it was over. The big bull thrust only once, slid right off Cloey’s back, and walked off, leaving Cloey to canter forward several steps to get out from under his incredible weight.

  I thought he’d missed at first! But in reality, once the bull’s penis entered Cloey, he was already climaxing. Wow, I thought. What a letdown! He came so fast!

  After he was expended, the first bull limped away, leaving Cloey alone for a moment. But the second bull was ready for his turn; and thus began the contest. The second bull came over and mounted Cloey next—also a quick ejaculation. Poor Cloey; she couldn’t possibly be getting any pleasure out of this! Both bulls gave off their discharge with one thrusting entry then Cloey stepped forward to shrug them off of her. She only waited long enough for them to aim and enter, then once they inserted and climaxed, it was over.

  But not quite over, I might add. The first bull now wanted another go! He chased her around for a minute or so, then finally corralled her into holding still while he climbed up and drove his long penis into her. Once again with one thrust he was finished and sliding off. The second bull then made his move to even up the score; and with a big move he was carefully aiming his member to ram into her. With a big thrust he was in, out, then sliding off of her.

  The contest raged on and on, with each bull eventually mounting Cloey three times. I could see my Alguin and the farmer laughing and joking about it way off in the distance, too, drinking ale together and enjoying the show as much as me no doubt. The two bulls dodged the other cows in the pasture like trees and continued to move past and around them to keep clear. They wished only to save themselves for the cow they wanted, getting yet another go with Cloey until they finally lost interest.

  After that, we figured Cloey had enjoyed herself quite enough for the day; so Alguin roped her and staggered off the field with our exhausted gal in tow. I met him at the edge of the woods and we walked all the way back home before dusk. Alguin meanwhile was still shaking off the effects of the ale; and Cloey was clearly recovering from having two one-thousand-pound beasts mount her repeatedly. I humorously observed to Alguin that if it had been me, I would have needed a bath afterward! I wrapped an a
rm around my man’s waist and laughed with him on the way back home. What a show we’d seen that day. Oh, how I couldn’t wait for Alguin to come back home to me the next morning.

  Soon enough, we could see Cloey was pregnant, and in a little over nine months, we expected she’d be bearing a calf. That would give us something else to raise and either sell or butcher for the meat. But this also meant lots of milk for me to retrieve each morning. Soon I was “awash” in fresh milk and quite busy with things to do and make with it!

  Butter was pretty easy. Cheese was more intricate but just as simple; and best of all downright fun. I’d take a large vessel of fresh milk that I’d drawn from Cloey, heat it up in a soup pot until it was simmering hot, then remove the pot from the fire. While it was still hot, I’d add in some vinegar to make the cow’s milk separate into curds and whey. I’d keep stirring for a while as it cooled. Then I’d pour it through a lady’s handkerchief. The curds were what remained, so I’d then wrap the cloth around them and squeeze out all the moisture that I could. I’d add a little pinch of salt and carefully spread the salt into the cheese with a wooden spoon.

  Repeating this until I’d used up all the curds, I could press it into a cheese mold that I’d once found sitting around in the cottage. It was left over from the previous lady of the house, I guess. This allowed us to eventually have delicious cheeses that I’d made myself. After covering it and setting it aside, it hardened and could be sliced easily. Alguin could also take one of these cheese wheels with him to work and fatten up a bit in the winter; and at home I made him fabulous porridges out of wheat, barley, and rye grains that I traded for down in the village.

  And as for the village? Well that became a rare but quite interesting experience for both me and Alguin. It’s only a few miles away, and was not exceedingly difficult to get to when I was younger. It was dangerous, oh, yes. Certainly going down to the village was an adventure for us: thick forest and barely discernible trails full of wolves and an occasional bear. We made it into a wonderful experience though.

  Each spring, we’d go down to the village to trade for supplies at the market. I’d disguise myself as an old woman by first covering my head with a floppy hat or raggedy cape, then smear soot on my face to seem haggard and aged. Alguin had not been seen for years there, so no one would recognize him anyway; not in peasant clothing, but we still played it safe and disguised ourselves as much as possible.

  The market visits were so much fun. That’s what got me into knitting again by the way, because I could see the need for decent clothing in the village and that bolts of cloth were offered for sale from the market ladies there. Rarely did these get purchased by poor farmer’s wives, so by default I eventually became their only regular customer.

  This gave me plenty to work on during the winter; and during the evenings while I worked away on my knitting trying to fall asleep alone without my lover; I developed quite a skill creating garments we could sell at the market or trade with. Flour, sugar, salt, yeast, tools, and bolts of cloth were all things we needed and didn’t have an ability to grow or create. Besides, it was safer to trade for them than constantly relying on Alguin to “procure” things from the castle and the town.

  Also we got very good at making ale! Alguin for his part had already been making his own in that filthy dungeon long before I met him. He showed me the basics, then we were off and running as amateur brewers. Ale was something we had plenty of time to make; and in great quantities whenever we wanted to. On holidays, when Alguin did not have to go to work in the dungeon, we’d go down to the town together. I did a lot of trading for supplies like yeast, barley, and wheat grains. However once I found out how to acquire hops, that’s when our beer making business really took off. Hops made our beer more thirst-quenching and aromatic; and soon we found our own beer was better tasting than most everything else available.

  As usual, Alguin was able to acquire the casks I needed for production and storage. I used it mainly for cooking of course and rarely drank it; but brewing ale was easy and lots of fun. It smelled great, too. Once Alguin got me started with the materials and some basic recipes, I was quite fond of making it, right along with turning our fresh milk into cheese and butter.

  Ale required me to boil a large pot of water and dump in some grains. I’d brew them into a wort, sort of like a rich tea. I’d then transfer the wort into a wooden cask where it could cool. After that, I’d transfer the cooled wort to another barrel, leaving behind the used grains. I’d cast some of my bread yeast onto the surface of the liquid, and cork the barrel.

  The yeast, Alguin taught me, would eat the sugars from the wort, and slowly turn into alcohol. The escaping gas would bubble up, but the ale would continue to ferment. The wort would eventually settle down and we could transfer it to yet another cask to filter out impurities and let it age. In a single day’s work I could finish the first step, making the wort and spreading the yeast. After a month plus a couple of weeks perhaps, depending on the time of year, I’d spend half a day on the second step transferring and filtering the ale into a finishing cask. Then in another month or two we had rather good beer to drink. I always had one batch fermenting and aging while serving a second, and soon I was brewing a new one right after that. As always, Alguin helped with every step of the process, and it was so much fun sharing the tasks. Except for drinking it of course. I let him do most of that himself.

  Summer ales took about six weeks to make because the yeast would be very active in the fermenting stage. Winter ales took much longer. But for years we made batches of beer throughout the summer and fall, eventually getting to a point where we had much more than we could ever use or consume.

  So therefore, when Alguin and I would make our way down to the village to trade at the market, we started taking a barrel of ale with us to sell or trade. Or in some cases we didn’t trade with it at all. Sometimes we’d give free mugs of it to passersby, while I sold some of my sweaters and other garments that I’d been knitting.

  The ale was refreshing, and my clothing was popular with the merchants there, so in time our little corner in the market was a rather popular place to gather. Our biggest customers for clothes were usually the other ladies in the market stalls who would trade fresh produce with us in exchange for my handmade items. The ale was something we could simply give away, and had too much of to consume by ourselves.

  However, we eventually started getting orders for the ale too; as its popularity exceeded that of even my lovely garments! Next thing you know we began trading directly with the nearby Inn located inside the village.

  That’s when things got a little too complicated; and for a while I have to admit we were getting ourselves into an enterprise that, when looking back, threatened to expose our true identities. As for myself, I could blend in with other peasant women quite easily, if I made myself look dirty enough. I remained quite beautiful well into middle age you see, and if uncovered people would likely notice. Yet with some dirty clothes and some soot applied to my face and body, it was quite easy to ward off those curious enough to pry. Mainly I tried to look uninteresting, smell terrible, and usually people left me alone.

  I wore dusty raggedy clothing made from Alguin’s used up robes from the Dungeon. They reeked of foulness—kind of like fish, kind of like soot, and kind of like a large sweaty man. I could never smell that bad, no matter how hard I tried! But with a big, tattered robe and hood that covered up my brown hair, along with some fireplace ashes, fish guts, and dusty leaves rubbed into it, I was quite well disguised.

  Then again, it was certainly worth taking the risk! Because trading with the Inn gave us a brand-new adventure together, my Alguin and me. The innkeeper, it turned out, was also a former warrior back in his younger days …

  His name was Bedemer; and he was a large, barrel-chested man who ran the local drinking establishment. By reputation alone, he could control even the rowdiest brood of ruffians. And even if guests did get boisterous and didn’t yet know of Bedemer’s past
, other patrons were typically more than willing to inform them. Reality was that Bedemer was freakishly strong, and that was one of the things I noticed about him after meeting him one day at the local market. He could carry a full barrel of beer over his shoulder or cradle it in his arms like it was nothing more than a sack of flour!

  The first thing that struck me about Bedemer though was that he looked right past the filthy clothing and the greasy soot I’d rubbed onto my face to disguise myself. He only looked into my eyes and kept his riveted with mine the whole time we spoke. I offered him a mug of ale from our keg, and when he snickered that he had no vessel available to partake, I giggled like a teenager—right along with the crowd around us who clearly knew who Bedemer was. I dropped the old woman routine I’d been using and in a soft, husky, and welcoming voice, I offered him my own. “Here good sir, use mine if thou wish,” I said with an impish smile.

  Now of course, he could have and most rightly should have been repelled by the offer, because I looked and smelled horrible! But that warm voice caught him off guard and he grinned slightly as I, without hesitation, dumped out my own mug then filled it to the brim with more. By the time he took it from me to drink from it, his slight grin had transformed into a beaming smile. And when he drank, he made full eye contact with me until he finished downing the entire pint.

  As he tipped the mug all the way back to finish the last bit of it, he kept glaring at me, as though he was seeing right through my disguise. But I didn’t care. I was thrilled with the attention coming from another man. Another hulking giant just like my Alguin!