Of Pride and Power - 16. Chapter 16: “Play to People’s Fantasies.”

It took five days to reach Hatch Beauchamp Manor in Somerset, five quiet days, where we kept our discussions guarded. It wasn’t fair to Frances but recognizing that she was a flimsily disguised spy had meant that my group of friends and comrades had to be extra careful. I was able to inform Puck, who informed the others about my suspicions regarding Frances along with the potential future connection to me. Puck rolled his eyes at me when I mentioned Elizabeth’s relationship with a different version of Frances Howard. I emphasized that I had actual reasons, beyond a future booty call, like her father being the commander of England’s military under Mary I and the fact that it was better to have a potentially known, maybe even friendly spy, under our roof than someone we don’t know. Plus, if she was sent to spy on me, then she would have a handler, sending detailed reports back to Mary or her allies. It was a good idea for us to know all the intelligence agents within my servants and subjects, so counterintelligence and disinformation could be used more effectively. All of this went over Puck’s fourteen-year-old head, but I knew he would discuss it with Francis, who would understand my reasons.

However, the addition of a twelve-year-old female spy in our midst did pose one unexpected logistical issue for Francis and me. I knew she was watching my movements, probably memorizing important details for her handler, but I did not think she would be watching Francis’ sub-sessions with me. Puck and the triplets understood this act was private, they respected Francis' unique sexual interests. Most people in the modern world of various sexual orientations would shy away from such intimate acts. Moreover, it was the beginning of winter, so temperatures were hovering in the upper 30s on the Fahrenheit scale. Without the body heat of intimacy, a warm fire, and/or heavy clothing, no one would risk long-term exposure. Francis and I had all three winter preparations ready for our sojourn into the woods. Between ordering Francis around, reinforcing our trust with one another, and offering sexual safety in a submissive state, I was probably warping her medieval mindset on what it meant to have sex. Even when I order Francis to fuck my ass, there was no doubt that I was in complete control of the scene as I directed every thrust and edged him with my anal muscles, while facing Francis in a standing version of the missionary position. The standards of intimacy with weaker lovers lying down or presenting their holes for penetration by stronger lovers were still common in modern society, so defying it would be heretical to the Medieval European mindset.

I only knew about her eavesdropping afterward, when I caught her breathing heavily in the bushes after Francis and I finished our session. When I noticed that her body temperature was slightly lower than normal, I discovered that she had been rendered unconscious watching the two-hour-long sub-session. She was blushing fiercely, her pupils were dilated, and her winter clothing was soaked with sweat. Francis carried Frances back to the camp and we covered her with a fur blanket, while Puck prepared some herbal tea sweetened with honey for her. When she awoke, she stared at me.

“You…. she said you were eunuch and weak…you delivered seed onto his face like a man,” Frances whispered with her hoarse voice, “That position…you commanded him like a man…. yet you allowed him to enter you like a woman…”

I sighed, glancing at Francis, then my friends who shrugged at my predicament at explaining what Frances saw, “My dear, you should not have witnessed that scene between Francis Walsingham and myself. He and I share affection through such acts. I am neither man nor woman as you know.”

For the rest of the journey, Francis and I kept our distance from one another, but Frances Howard had lost her initial hesitance around me. She started following my actions, asking me how to do wood carving and the correct way to use utensils. It was a form of hero worship, I suppose. During those days, I couldn’t read her mind, but it appeared like she had a question that she wanted to ask me throughout those days, but she couldn't figure out how to ask. Later, I learned the question was “Can you teach me?”, which was probably one of the aspects within BDSM that she instinctively gravitated towards. While many of the books Jack and I read were directed toward male lovers, some points applied to females as well. Victims of abuse did have a higher interest in this area, primarily to regain some sense of control over their own lives from abusers. I’m not a psychologist, but I would guess that’s why things happened the way they did in the future.

On the fifth day, we reached Hatch Beauchamp Manor in Somerset. Eddie and his younger siblings greeted us. Eddie, despite being eleven years old, presented a dignified appearance, like the little noble lord, he was supposed to be. I got new clothes for him and his siblings. Gold threads on a heavy wool coat, dyed blue, was a good color for him. I also had local weavers and tanners make matching trousers and a pair of light leather boots for him with copper laces, specifically as he had outgrown his original wardrobe. It was a far cry from his revealing Greek chiton and proclamation of wanting a relationship with me.

Eying Frances, with her short hair, 5’7 body, and thick winter clothing, he addressed her, “May I ask the name of this fine gentleman? I had not heard Duke Eli had accepted another ward into his household from London.”

Frances answered him with a bit of spite in her voice, “My name is Frances Howard, you are the son of Edward Seymore, a traitor to the kingdom. I heard of your brother’s crimes in Devonshire and Somerset as well. You should be speaking with more reverence to Duke Eli for sparing your life and allowing you to keep some of your former trappings.”

Eddie withdrew slightly, “I…I’m not my father or brother,” he stared at me with a pleading look, “Duke Eli, did I offend you in any way by wearing these clothes? I swear the mud stain on the trousers was accidentally created when I was assisting Lord Robert Dudley with an errand.”

I placed a hand on Frances Howard’s shoulder, “Eddie is not his father. He did not have your father, Thomas Howard, arrested and put into the tower, Frances. He is just an innocent eleven-year-old boy.”

Eddie added, “Yes, I am sorry Lord Frances Howard, if there’s anything I can do to make amends, I will for such a rugged gentleman.”

I smiled at Eddie, “First, you should address Frances as a lady. I think that might be a good start.”

Being a precocious boy, Eddie couldn’t hold back his surprise, “Wait, he’s a girl? Is Lady Frances like you Duke Eli, neither man nor woman?”

Poor Eddie put his foot in his mouth with that one, Frances stared at him with daggers in her eyes, “No, I am a full woman of twelve years,” she grinned at me, “I cannot be called a Lady as I no longer have a noble rank, my lord. I am no better than this boy with an empty noddle.”

Eddie and Frances began to bicker, so I let them be. Their family backgrounds might nominally make them foes on paper, but they were both essentially equal. Frances’ anger over losing her father and former noble life would pass. Being around the same age, it was easier for them to bond and form a friendship, bordering on sibling relationship. Taking on children from fallen noble houses and helping them develop were normal practices in various feudal cultures, I remembered reading a Japanese historical manga about the life of Tokugawa Ieyasu, the founder of the three hundred -years long Tokugawa shogunate, which mentioned he was a product of such a guardianship under Imagawa Yoshimoto along with other famous Japanese warlords during the Sengoku Jidai, the Japanese Warring States period. In times of chaos and internal strife like these, the best leaders and idealists are forged from the remaining members of the older noble families. Looking back, it was serendipitous that Eddie and Frances started off fighting since I knew Eddie would be my future ambassador, representing the highest ideals of my future kingdom. To act as a counterweight, Frances, diverging from her historical counterpart, became my nation’s best military commander, representing the highest resolve of the kingdom. At that moment, they were just starting a petty rivalry and friendship, but in ten years, they will be helping me on a greater stage.

Most of my group dispersed to check on various things, in preparation for our next journey either to the Cadbury Hill facility or renovated Bristol Castle. Francis and I searched for Robert, which took very little effort. He was directing several wagons full of items, ranging from food to tapestries. As Robert was Jack, I knew my partner wouldn’t just sit back and heal his wounds from the battle at Norwich. He has always been a stubborn guy, especially if he’s trying to do something for me.

Robert had turned and faced us with surprise, frantically trying to order all the wagons to leave for their destination, Bristol Castle, at once.

“What are you doing Robert?” I asked with a grin.

He fidgeted nervously, glancing over at Francis, “You didn’t tell Eli, right?”

Francis shook his head and I glared at him, “Et tu, Francis, you knew he was planning something?”

Francis walked over to Robert, not offering eye contact, “We spoke before leaving Marquess William Parr’s manor. I agreed with his plan for a Christmas fete at Bristol Castle. He needed some sophisticated equipment and technical skills that only a few members of the Coven held, including sheet music from Mr. Tallis in London, whom I believe you met. Most of the Coven and our most trusted fair folk informants will be coming to the Christmas fete in a few days. We’re also extending an invitation to all your soldiers. Unlike most events from Dukes of large territories, this one will allow both commoners and nobles to attend if they’re vetted by Ms. Titania’s truth detection ability.”

Despite being internally happy at their lovely conspiring, I tried to act serious by pointing out all the things that needed to be dealt with, “Seriously, John Dudley is weakened and probably securing a marriage between Guilford and Lady Jane Grey to protect his position, right now. Mary has lost a major military force near Norwich, so she will likely be plotting to enhance her forces, probably with the help of King Phillip II of Spain, her future husband. We’ve exhausted more than half of our stores of munitions at Norwich, we need folks to get back to work gathering intelligence and producing nitrates for explosives, new guns, and upgrading the firepower of our mortars.”

Francis shrank backward in shame, but Robert, having known me for two lifetimes, walked forward and gave me a surprise kiss. I was never easy to please or allowed others to know my real mood at any given time, a side-effect of being raised with parents who hated my existence and a society that didn’t understand that being intersex was different than being transgender or everything else. It was my protection mechanism that Jack, now Robert, knew how to pierce through with years of experience. While Francis would get there, Robert was already my natural partner.

Robert coyly turned around to wave at Francis, “He’s just being a Tsundere, which means, he is in the mood to protest and is secretly glad we did it. He wants us to give a big hug and probably a few rounds in our room before we head over to Bristol Castle.”

Francis stared at me, and I gave a slight nod, which caused my dark-haired dark-clothed sub to hug me like I was his teddy bear or safety blanket. After what seemed like an eternity of hugging on the crisp and frigid grounds of Hatch Beauchamp Manor, we walked hand in hand to our shared bedroom with various servants bowing as we passed. In my time this kind of thing would be a tabloid scandal, but in medieval societies, it wasn’t unusual for people to have several men or several women joining them in bed. Before the 18^th and 19^th century age of “decency and modesty”, many people from peasants to nobles didn’t mind sleeping naked together. That’s a truth many medieval fiction series tend to not highlight, but it made sense. If modern people think about it, a modest family of five or six living in a small single-floor cottage wouldn’t have individual rooms, so they would all be sleeping on a floor packed with hay, dry grass, and dirt near a fire that would necessitate varying degrees of clothing. Plus, for these families to continue propagating, the parents would likely need to fuck in their children’s presence.

Before the sex, I was shocked to discover our room had been redecorated. Jack was not an interior designer and shuddered at references to Queer Eye. His one attempt at a piece of home décor was a mismatched neon green and purple clay mug, which he at first offered to me, then tried to pass on to his mom, who I saw tossing it in the trash. I eventually recovered the Frankenstein mug, washed it, and kept it despite knowing how hideous it was.

While not stereotypically fashionable among gay boys, Jack had real talents through his ingenuity and innovative solutions to challenges. When we were both eleven, I had a problem with my backpack straining my shoulder and back. The thing came from a donation at my parents’ church, one of the undesired ones with the smell of plastic and some Chinese characters on the front that some thrifty parent must have bought on Amazon Prime Day during an impulse purchase. He taught himself how to sow fabric from his old sweaters to create a harness that redistributed the weight across my body. In addition, Jack had improved the weight load of the bookbag from twenty pounds (9.07 kg) to fifty pounds (22.68 kg), allowing us to have future campouts in the middle of the grove.

Inside our room, I noticed the giant bed with a massive wooden frame that covered nearly a third of the entire room, which was quite a feat, considering the master bedroom of Hatch Beauchamp Manor was the size of a modern apartment unit. We could easily fit a dozen people on the bed and still have room for more. There was a black mesh surrounding the bed, where bed curtains would usually be found.

I pointed at the bed, “What were you thinking? We’ll need to crawl from the side to reach the center where the pillows and sheets are.”

Francis was also startled and asked Robert, “This bed is impractical, Robert. What if an assassin were to come in the middle of the night? There’s no way we could protect and guide Duke Eli to safety.”

Robert grinned at both of us, then began describing his creation, “Let me first point out this fact, the bed is surrounded by a nylon-steel composite mesh. Beyond just hiding our activity from outside observers, it also would protect from piercing attacks like crossbows and daggers in common use, along with 16th-century firearms,” he caressed the gray mesh, “If they attempt to cut through our first layer of defense, Francis there’s several drawers above the headrest of the bed, where loaded revolvers are ready for defensive purposes.”

Francis pulled out a dagger and threw it against the mesh, which caught it immediately. He was awed by Robert’s ingenuity and quickly asked.

“Can this material be applied to body armor? We could take London in a week with your creation.”

I was also amazed at Robert’s ingenuity, “I gave the fair folk the chemical formula for nylon to make a durable material for clothing, ropes, fishing nets, and low-cost elastic for industrial production lines to reduce friction. Composite material production is an entirely separate skill and requires a large industrial base to achieve, how were you able to do it in a month.”

Robert laughed and replied to us, “I learned about the existence of your polymer formulas at Cadbury Hill. I knew the production technology would not have made it possible to make something like this in such a short time. I had to use my abilities,” he took Francis’ dagger out of the mesh, then rubbed the blade causing it to change in color, “Turns out, I have a power that can interact with materials that I can touch, sort of like your ability to transfer your experience into others through touch.”

The dagger changed colors and shape as Robert stroked it. From a sharp and shiny blade, it became dull and black. When he handed the dagger to me, I touched the blade and noticed how brittle and hard the metal had become. I recognized what had happened from my knowledge of chemistry and metallurgy.

I considered my partner’s ability, “You introduced oxygen and moisture into the dagger, creating rust through oxidation. Your ability is tied to chemical reactions, right.”

Robert nodded, then took the dagger back in his hand and began reversing the process, “I don’t remember much of my life after you died, but I know stuff about chemistry and physics. It’s probably a form of molecular reaction. Like right now, I am using hydrogen to remove the oxygen from the dagger by exchanging the charged electrons. Iron will be all that’s left on the blade. Essentially, I am acting as a catalyst for various chemical reactions.”

I can imagine the possibilities of this kind of ability, manipulating subatomic particles like electrons, neutrons, and photons could accelerate the development of the world by centuries. It also raises the specter of an uncomfortable reality, if we start to engage in an arms race with the other major technological group in this era, we’d end up with the threat of mutually assured annihilation. The key difference between modern humans and medieval humans is our ability to destroy all life on the planet due to our knowledge of what Robert is doing. While Francis continued to be awed by the magic trick that Robert was pulling, I grew more unnerved due to what it entails about the future of our conflict. Designs of things from the original atomic bomb used in the Trinity test to a late 21^st-century fusion weapon using modern reactor technologies began to appear in my brain, along with the estimated death tolls. Theoretical weapons began to appear, but I refocused my mind to stop the overflow of dangerous information. I can now understand why Dark Age myths considered Robert’s prior incarnation, Merlin, as a wizard. The manipulation of such forces could generate anything with the right molecular formulas or understanding of modern physics.

After Robert handed a shiny dagger back to Francis, he wrapped his arms around my waist, “Did I scare you with what I did, Eli?”

I nodded, “You and I know what that ability could do if combined with mine? I know how to build the damn things with my abilities, and your abilities to alter material can make components. Hell, I’m even seeing worse weapons in my mind that our joint abilities could create in combination.”

Robert understood my concerns, so he tried to reassure me, “We’re not going to abuse it that way,” he kissed me, “Material breakthrough research was spurred by the Second World War, along with atomic technology, but we don’t need to follow that same path in history. Think about the good things our abilities can do for people like the mattress was created with the same kind of composite for its springs. The springs can also be used in the assembly lines that you want for the cooperative guilds. They could produce an assortment of other products that common people would use to keep themselves warm, safe from nature, and have an improved quality of life. Imagine all the good that could be done for humanity, not just the bad.”

I knew he was right, there were two sides to my what-if analysis, like dreams and nightmares. However, despite our desire to avoid such stockpiles, we were not the only ones with future knowledge.

Francis, despite his confusion about our conversation, asked politely, “Duke Eli, may I have the pleasure of reducing your worries.”

Sex doesn’t cure worries, especially for people like us who have lived with so many secrets. However, when the people I love offered themselves to me and I offered myself to them, life seemed easier. All that mattered was what we had at that moment, not the past or future.

Robert smirked, “I have a few more gifts that my ability offered as well.”

He went to a desk drawer and pulled out several intricate glass bottles of dark liquid, which I identified as extra virgin olive oil with my ability. He also brought out a seven-inch glass dildo, an ornate glass butt plug, and condoms. Olive oil was used as a lubricant for various sexual acts by Mediterranean civilizations in antiquity. Glass sex toys have also been around since ancient times, Roman and Chinese emperors with homosexual interests were rumored to have several glass replicas of their favorite male concubines’ penises.

“Are we making Caesar salad?” I joked, then pointed to the other glass objects, “Did you use your dick as a model?”

“I know what you like, so does Francis.”

Sex between more than two people can best be summed up as an exercise in shared pleasure. Even though Francis was not prone to desire reciprocation from either Robert or me, we found ways to include him in our play. I inserted the glass butt plug into Francis’ ass. When Robert was nibbling my ears and Francis was busy sucking my hard dick, I was massaging Francis’ scalp with my hands. While seldom mentioned, the human scalp is an erogenous zone during sex. When Robert was done with my ears and neck, we adjusted our positions so Robert’s dick was facing me, while Francis’ mouth could be directed at my lower back and my ass. Robert’s mouth would be used to play with Francis’ nipples, continuously caressing them with his tongue in the same rhythm as my scalp massages.

Robert’s glass dildo also found a purpose for the first time within my virgin vagina. I never wanted to be a virgin in any way or concept, but the likelihood of pregnancy in my new body made vaginal penetration dangerous as a member of the royal family. Chastity is a highly sexist notion based on women saving themselves for their male lover, despite the reality that women could pleasure themselves with toys like this for centuries. Gay and bisexual men have also preferred chaste lovers, desiring to be the first in their assholes for similar reasons. Chastity is ownership by any other name for the penetrated partner. I may not be a true woman or man, but I don’t want to be owned by anyone, including my soulmate who I would give my life to and he would give me his life.

Robert’s glass dildo gave me a gift.

We changed positions several times over the next five hours of play, the edging and denial of orgasm were something Jack and I had loved to do. Francis was moaning and begging for release as we stimulated every erogenous zone across our bodies from earlobes to prostates. I knew the sex was great, when everyone began shuddering with dopamine and endorphins.

Afterward, Robert, still naked with hardening cum on his skin, crawled out of bed and approached one side of the room where a metal pipe protruded from the wall, along with a single metal lever. A wooden basin with washcloths and bars of soap sat beside the basin. As Robert made pushing motions, I knew what he else must have done.

“You created modern plumbing?” I asked him.

After the twentieth pump, water began to pour in sustained amounts over several seconds into the basin. When Robert filled the basin around one-quarter full, he began soaking the washcloths and smearing soap onto them for our use. While crude by modern standards, the potential for a running water supply with a pump-action mechanism would be a significant improvement.

As he returned to the bed with three wet washcloths and three dry washcloths, he smiled at Francis and me on the side of the bed. When I touched the offered washcloth in his hand, I was shocked to discover that it was warm. The achievement of warm water distribution, a feat that required boiler systems, was not something that could have been easily done, even with Robert’s ability.

Robert answered me, “Not quite modern plumbing, since we and others at Hatch Beauchamp Manor have to use manual pumps. I installed two water tanks that are fed by the nearby running river, once every week through a waterway of Roman concrete. After our consumption, the wastewater can be used for watering plants.”

Like Jack, Robert was too focused on improving things without realizing that he had done something even more important, “How about the warm water? If the servants or the kids see the boilers, it would open up a lot of questions about the advanced technology that should not exist until the late 19^th century. Only the facility at Cadbury Hill has boilers currently equipped.”

Robert shook his head, “No boilers were needed. The heating system is a passive solar water heating system relying on natural sunlight. You would be surprised at what medieval technology can achieve with simple engineering and pipe systems. All this stuff was well within the ability of 16th-century technology with wood, black paint, metal pipes, and concave glass to focus sunlight for heating, it was just rarely used except in the upper classes of society. I had to use my abilities to improve the paint and glass to maximize light and heat absorption efficiency. However, the water temperature will gradually cool off throughout the night as the insulation is insufficient to maintain these warm temperatures like modern solar systems.”

Feeling the warm water on my body, I was impressed even with this limited achievement, “We have steam power and rudimentary internal combustion. We can create boilers in a few years for industrial output, but I would like homes to have a self-sufficient solar system for heating and water, maybe even electrical power. Less reliance on outside sources for energy would benefit society, with far less need for an aggressive foreign policy to acquire energy resources like oil and natural gas. It would also reduce infamous air pollution from the industrial revolution to empower all the people to have such luxuries.”

Francis savored the feeling of the warm washcloth on his skin, “Lord Robert and Duke Eli if you could grant this to everyone in the realm, I believe you will win many converts to our cause. Warm water is a luxury that is seldom provided outside the springs like Bath.”

Robert grinned at the praise, “This is merely the surface of what I have done in the last month. Hatch Beauchamp Manor is our public-facing home. I dared not modernize this area with too many things close to the public eye. Bristol Castle, having been rebuilt recently and heavily garrisoned with soldiers loyal to you Eli, will be far closer to what we’re used to. Not quite the 21st-century standard, but it will be closer.”

With our sexual needs fulfilled and bodies washed, the three of us redressed and proceeded as normal. It was evening when we left the room, and the servants were already preparing table settings for dinner. The three of us wandered the corridors, while Robert pointed to little things, he did to improve the manor from new windows with double frames to fireplaces with a coated barrier to prevent young children from getting too close. Among the rooms with fireplaces, we spotted two familiar tweens. Eddie and Frances had settled down and sat near a fireplace with a game of chess prepared, Eddie possessing the white pieces and Frances the black pieces. Usually, the advantage of the first move should grant the white side a higher chance of victory, but I can already tell that within three moves Frances will checkmate Eddie’s king. There was a piece of paper, ink, and pen on the table as well, which indicated that Eddie had beaten Frances twelve times and Frances had beaten Eddie fourteen times. From the placement of Eddie’s pieces, he was a far more defensive-oriented player, while Frances was a more offensive-oriented player.

Robert asked me in a whisper, “Who is the girl?”

I gave him a cocky smile, “She’s your competition in a few decades if things play out.”

Robert took my hint to leave the entrance of the makeshift room, then directed us to a study a few doors down the hall. We took several seats around a small table. I told Robert about my suspicions regarding Frances, her original history with Elizabeth I, and our journey here. Francis also offered some interesting observations from Frances’ dead mother’s observations about the girl. According to Francis’ ability, Thomas Howard’s third wife, Elizabeth “Bess” Holland, had died in 1547, three years ago. While Thomas Howard had a mistress by that name, whom he met in 1527 and died in childbirth in 1547, they never married due to Thomas Howard’s second Wife, Elizabeth Stafford, reluctance to accept divorce. In this history, Elizabeth Strafford had died at the hands of Duke Thomas Howard according to Francis. English nobility was extremely complicated.

After all that, I told them both, “I will keep my distance from her, she’s likely a spy and dangerous to our plans. I don’t know if we could convert her to be a double agent or just an ally. I still want to help Frances Howard as a friend and cousin. She can stay here and grow up alongside the Seymore children as my wards. When Thomas is released from prison in three years, we will send her home.”

Robert stared at me, “Why can’t you befriend her? She has been through a lot and could use someone trustworthy. You already exposed her to some a scene and suspect she’s been sexually abused during the last three years due to her father’s incarceration. Keeping her cloistered can’t be good for her.”

I frowned as he knew my position of not influencing Frances Howard, “I can’t be close to every kid I encounter, Robert, especially one that has baggage. You want me to have an Isekai harem of teenage girls?”

Robert answered stoically, “Well, think about your brother Edward VI. He’s trying to form close bonds with his male favorites while my father has been forcing my little sisters into his bed chambers as well. He desires to marry one of them off, while Edward needs his boyfriends in the room to help fake it.”

“That is different, I will never be forced to be someone’s puppet for power like Edward. Barnaby Fitzpatrick and the other boys are all close in age to Edward, within three years I believe. He’s not forcing the boys to be his sexual playthings, they are sharing their pleasures with him and helping him,” I asserted.

Robert sighed, “Realistically, Eli. In this era, being exclusively gay was bad, so Edward’s inability to perform penetrative sex was dangerous for him. It’s fine to be bisexual and have occasional relationships if your dick can fuck the right vagina occasionally. If John Dudley knew you could bear children, he’d probably pull a 180 turn on our relationship. He would have me chained to your bedpost, completely naked all day, just for the pleasure of being a grandfather to the future heir.”

Francis shook his head and agreed with Robert, “Duke Eli, the world you come from must be filled with incredibly wise people who do not judge others by their natural worth. Throughout this world, men are judged by their ability to lay the seed for offspring, and women are judged by their ability to bear the fruit.”

I was indignant at this idea, “People are individuals, they are sovereign over their bodies beyond anyone else’s control, no matter what biological process may entail. If a person does not heavily exert themselves, they do not need to sweat or breathe heavily, despite their bodies being equipped for those exertions. We act according to our needs and desires. We obey others according to our common goals and dreams. All this bullshit about natural worth is just window-dressing to keep some people in power and others eternally below them. It’s all illogical and unrealistic to maintain if there’s someone who stands above false natural order.”

Robert stood up, walked over to me, and knelt to kiss my forehead, “That is why we love and believe in you. That’s why Frances Howard will too, if she ever wants to join us. Give her the chance to make that choice, don’t be afraid to be a friend.”

On the next day, we headed off to Bristol Castle with our group of seven: Robert, Francis, Puck, the Triplets, and me. We had arranged for some gifts to be distributed to the children on Christmas Day and I would make it back to Hatch Beauchamp Manor with my group for family dinner. However, for the week leading up to Christmas, I would be entertaining pilgrims of fair folk at Bristol Castle. That was the itinerary I had planned in my mind, but Robert kept surprising me.

When we reached the castle gates, I was surprised at first by the green, red, and blue-colored tapestries that lined the walls of the castle. I knew through my ability that the blue pigment used for the tapestries was organic. As far as I knew from my knowledge of English agricultural and industrial products, the quantities, needed for such tapestries, were only available in eastern England, which was under John Dudley’s nominal control.

Robert smirked, “I asked Ambrose for a favor. He is currently managing my father’s Woad planting and blue dye production at Lavenham in Suffolk. Combined with our supply of yellow pigment from yellow ochre clay, the fair folk were able to create a nice bright shade of green. The red pigment came from red ochre clay. It can’t be Christmas without a few shades of green, red, and blue.”

I stared at the beautiful tapestries of green trees, red-lettered festive greetings, and large blue snowflakes, “Is there a gifted artist among the fair folk? I know for a fact that you’re bad at arts and crafts.”

Robert pointed to an average-looking man, who was walking and trembling nervously toward us, “I think you should meet Nick Bottom, the genius weaver of tapestries, among other talents. He is the reason why I was able to get all of this done. There’s a lot more inside the castle as well.”

When he mentioned the man’s name, I imagined donkey ears on his head. Nick Bottom was a comic relief character in Shakespeare’s play A Midsummer Night’s Dream, along with several other people I knew among the fair folk, like my friend Puck. The connection in the play made me consider a possibility before he came into earshot.

I asked Robert, “Is or was he Titania’s lover?”

Robert shook his head in the affirmative and whispered, “He, Titania, and Oberon supposedly have an understanding about that. He lives up to his surname according to the rumors at Cadbury Hill.”

When Nick reached us, he bowed and mumbled nervously, “My Duke, I…I am so…so…so honored.”

Though Nick may seem nervous and awkward, his work spoke volumes about his artistic skill, “I am honored by your mindfulness and expert work on those tapestries. Robert tells me that you have done other things within the castle as well. I would be privileged to be guided by the creator of those works.”

Nick blushed, “My…My Duke, I only weaved the tapestries, linens, and cloth. Artemidorus sculpted the sculptures. Iago painted the paintings. They are far superior artists than me.”

I was intrigued to see what they had created in the castle despite never being artistically inclined in my life. Tapestries were mostly imported into England from continental European workshops in the 16th century since access to materials and dyes was more plentiful. England had its own Renaissance culture and style during this era as well. While the influence on English noble society of the 15th-century Italian Renaissance appeared to have occurred as it did in my history, England’s Renaissance focused on several areas that the Italian Renaissance did not, such as the creation of miniature portraits, humanist interpretations in dramatic plays, and vernacular musical composition.

Robert pressed on, “Nick, you can curate for Eli and show him what was done in his name. You know the artists and their work; I believe you can point them out and offer their names for Eli. That way he will know who created each piece.”

When we had our meeting in Bristol Castle back in early November, most of the walls were bare or held lighting torches. Now, they were covered in works of art. From sculptures of male and female nudes with vivid depictions of male genitalia and female breasts to detailed watercolor artwork of landscapes of English cities, countryside, and beaches, it felt like I had entered an art museum that I could only imagine from watching movies or YouTube videos.

Furthermore, I was impressed by the number of colorful lights that had been lit across the castle, ranging from emerald green, ruby red, and cobalt blue. It was a risk to electrify the entire castle, but it was part of my ongoing modernization plans, especially if this would become a permanent seat of government as I envisioned. In that moment though, electrical lighting offered a more artistic otherworldly display to its audience. When the fair folks saw these art pieces under the right lighting and atmosphere, we could inspire imagination and provoke new thoughts.

Nick was a great tour guide and named each piece of art, including several of his tapestries that lined the wall with intricate fractal patterns depicting snowflakes, which I enjoyed for their complex designs. The two other artists that Nick mentioned were equally impressive as well, but I was distracted by the latter name in my mind as I knew Robert was as well. When he was Jack in our prior life, he had read the entire collection of William Shakespeare’s plays to me and the modern English summaries. While Puck was not the mischievous lust drug dealer that his fictional counterpart appeared to be, Caliban was a far worse cannibalistic sociopath than his fictional counterpart.

In Shakespeare’s play Julius Caesar, Artemidorus was a minor fortune teller, who tried to warn Julius Caesar about the conspiracy against him. There was a historical reference to this person, whose descendent received dispensation from Augustus for his loyalty to Julius Caesar, including special games equivalent to those held for Gods. Basically, beyond his skills in sculpting the human form, Artemidorus was a very loyal and honorable man. In contrast to Shakespeare’s play Othello, Iago is the infamous jealous villain, who betrayed and caused the downfall of Othello, a dark-skinned man due to Othello’s successes in battle and love of Desdemona. It wasn’t just the overt issues of jealousy I worried about with someone like Iago, but the bigoted attitudes that existed in this era based on ethnicity and nationality would one day become the human-created blight of racism. Of course, Iago had no equivalent historical figure, but his name was the old Welsh derivative of Jacob, so his prejudices and jealousy were meant to represent common views according to some scholars.

When I met the two other artists in the great hall, it relieved some of my stress to see they were just a few years older than me, probably college-aged in their early twenties. Artemidorus had black hair, bronze skin tone, and sharp facial features that hinted at his Balkan ancestry. Compared to Iago, who had blond hair, paler skin tone, and rounder facial features that were more prevalent in Northern European ancestry.

When all three of the artists stood before me, I praised them all for their work and asked them to tell me what they enjoyed about their comrades' creations. I did not want to play favorites or show favoritism among them, which I knew could inspire jealousy and trouble. It was better to have each artist attempt to praise each other, reinforcing their comradery rather than increase their competitive rivalry. While competition is useful and necessary, cooperation is also needed for common goals such as interior design for a Christmas party and showcase like this. As much as Robert had created displays and lit the castle to welcome guests, he didn’t have a common vision for organizing the artists. I did though after seeing what he had made available. However, my first task was to get their consensus.

Artemidorus spoke up first with a deeper voice than I expected, “I thought Iago’s landscape set of paintings with the Somerset farmers planting, tilling, watering, and harvesting crops was done very well. He especially showed off the progression of time with the young farm boys’ growth from childhood during planting to their elderly states during harvesting with specks of snow on the ground.”

Iago blushed at Artemidorus’ praise, then responded in a light tenor voice that belonged to someone much younger, “I thought Nick’s tapestry of the winter sunset landscape with tall dark green trees with detailed branches, bright white snow-covered ground with patches of amber earth, and the blue sky that gradually grew darker as left the sun on the horizon was a masterpiece. He showed the contrast of light and shadow with a perspective that Filippo Brunelleschi would have been proud of.”

Nick rounded up accolades, “I…I hope it is not impudent or suggestive to my Duke, but I enjoyed Artemidorus’s sculptures that showed Sipriotes' transformation. The perfect melding of the human forms that we have come to know into something unknown and far more beautiful as a result.”

One common theme that all three shared was progression and change, which is what I believed should be the theme for this Christmas party. Art, in whatever form you present it, is an expression of something, unless the artist belongs to one of the modernist nihilistic schools that thought a blank piece of canvas, ball of yarn, or block of granite was expressive due to its lack of expression. Thus, I had their works reorganized across the castle and crafted a theme beyond just generic Christmas and early winter images.

I lost count after the first two days of visitors of all the fair folk, who visited the Bristol Castle. They all introduced themselves to me. Some asked me pointed questions about what I would do if I took the throne and others asked me if I could solve their problems from mundane issues like baldness to deeper issues like insomnia. At times, I felt like I was the cross between a priest taking confessions and a mall Santa Claus being asked for gifts. I wanted to be fair to everyone and offered them what I could, including having a list kept for people who needed the hair growth drug minoxidil, which required industrial equipment and chemicals we could not produce yet. Sadly, simple things like relaxation and stress reduction exercises would be enough to stem many problems from hair loss to insomnia. Sadly, medieval lives were stressful and seldom offered relaxation except in these short bursts. That’s why I allowed everyone to eat and drink as much as they wanted. The castle had boilers built in for military and administrative purposes after my gathering a month ago, but there was no way to supply all the visitors with warm water baths, so we offered warm water basins that rationed the boilers’ water use. Many of them broke out in tears at the kindness of warm washcloths when they came into the castle for an audience after traveling so far to meet me. While water was not rare, warm water was a luxury. Seeing the fair folk enjoying themselves filled me with warmth and resolution in my ideals. There was probably a bit of Christmas spirit in the air like in those old hallmark movies where miracles seemed far more possible, along with a healthy helping of alcohol-infused dishes.

When all were greeted, treated to a warm reception, and departed, I spent the remaining time before heading back to Hatch Beauchamp Manor to adjust Bristol Castle back to its original intention as an administrative center and military base. I knew new weapons would be needed such as the 152mm artillery pieces and rapid-fire machine guns for both anti-infantry and anti-aircraft roles. A garage and repair depot would be needed for future wheeled and tracked vehicles, along with underground oil containers and lines. Along with those plans, I sent detailed drawings, chemical formulas, and instructions back to the Cadbury Hill facility to build parts for V1-type flying bombs. These things would require years of work to create, our industrial capacity at the time even with Robert’s help was insufficient without a larger workforce and access to more raw materials.

After all my duties and responsibilities were satisfied at Bristol Castle, I left with my friends and lovers for a quiet Christmas Day dinner at the manor on the morning of December 24^th. We reached the manor near dusk and expected a simple muted greeting by the servants, along with a simple serving of bread and unsalted vegetable stock to hold us over until Christmas Day meals. Even if I were King Edward or Queen Elizabeth, the same treatment would be prescribed for the celebration of Christmas Eve. Most peasants only had bread and water. We were greeted with one last surprise as we entered the courtyard of the Manor. Thomas Tallis had brought a cadre of his London troop and began singing a powerful Christmas Carol to welcome us.

God rest you, merry gentlemen,

Let nothing you dismay,

Remember Christ our Saviour

Was born on Christmas-day

To save poor souls from Satan's power,

Which long time had gone astray.

And it is tidings of comfort and joy.

From God that is our Father

The blessed angels came

Unto some certain shepherds,

With tidings of the same;

That he was born in Bethlehem

The Son of God by name.

And it is,

Now when they came to Bethlehem,

Where our sweet Saviour lay,

They found him in a manger

Where oxen feed on hay.

The blessed Virgin kneeling down

Unto the Lord did pray.

And it is,

With sudden joy and gladness,

The shepherds were beguil'd,

To see the Babe of Israel

Before his mother mild.

O then with joy and cheerfulness

Rejoice each mother's child.

And it is

Now to the Lord sing praises,

All you within this place

Like we true loving brethren,

Each other to embrace,

For the merry time of Christmas

Is coming on a-pace.

And it is,

It was not merely the humble men and boys of the London choir; they were joined by Eddie and his younger siblings along with Frances in a harmonious rhythm. Music above any other art form to me is the most emotive and evocative. I knew why the fair folk came to visit me at Bristol Castle, it wasn’t just for the free food and warm water. Jack had made a quasi-religion around my arrival, so I had no illusion as to who he was mirroring thematically. These fair folk wanted someone to look up to, they wanted a savior from their sufferings.

I know people make Christ-like comparisons about me, just as contemporaries made Virgin Mary references regarding Elizabeth I in my history. There is nothing wrong with wanting to believe in someone who wants and tries to help, but I try to make it clear to everyone to always highlight my weaknesses, my impertinence, and my flaws. I do not desire deification or a cult of personality, nor should my descendants desire such things. Our job is to improve the lives of everyone in our realm, while they defend our ability to do our jobs. We serve and save each other.

For the next two years and a half before the end of Edward's reign, I did my best to help, build, and improve the lives of the fair folk and all those who swore their lives to me. I was not a king, who ruled through proxies that may surpass me in actual power, nor a Queen who must rely on tricks and manipulations to get her way. I became a real Sovereign during that holiday season.