Rodney Broadshoulders walked down the grand hall toward the throne room wiping his hand on his pantaloons, bemoaning the fact that pigeon poop just won’t go away. He stopped in mid-swipe as a portly courtier came through the doors with a little girl in his arms. At first Rodney thought she was a mere child but as they came closer he noticed that she wasn’t built like a mere child. This was a fully developed woman, just extremely short.
“Clarence, oh Clarence,” the young lady muttered, her lovely blue eyes rolling toward the heavens.
The older man stopped and pushed her away. “Listen, girly girl. You can make it the rest of the way by yourself. I’m not risking getting my head chopped off for nobody.” He promptly made a u-turn and entered the throne room.
She lost her balance for a mere moment before regaining her senses enough to stumble down the hall, still fainting away and recovering, all the while repeating, “Clarence, oh Clarence.”
Rodney admired her insistence on giving the impression she needed a man to lean on while the circumstances proved otherwise. However, Rodney preferred tall, statuesque women. When he took the damsel in his arms to kiss her, Rodney didn’t want to worry that he might break her. During his ruminations he had continued to walk toward his destination. When he bumped his tall forehead against the door he realized he had arrived. Carefully he opened the doors and slipped into the room. The queen was in a deep discussion with Lord Steppingstone, and Rodney hoped she would not notice he was late. He was concentrating so hard on being inconspicuous that he tripped over his own sizeable feet and fell on his face. This created quite a thump which reverberated throughout the hall.
Everyone shifted attention from the queen to the large young man ungracefully clambering to his feet.
“Sorry I’m late.”
Steppingstone resumed his debate with Elizabeth. “Yes, yes, that is all fine and well, but we have a national pride to consider here.”
“You do not share my pride in our fellow Englishmen?” she asked sharply.
While Steppingstone continued to protest the questioning of his patriotism, Rodney shuffled his way around the back of the courtiers, excusing himself all the way and continuing to wipe his hand on his pantaloons. His efforts to blend in failed miserably. Finally he reached the throne and stood next to Robin who looked at him in askance.
“This stuff never comes off.” He smiled wanly as he wiped his pigeon poopy finger again.
“How shall we respond to King Philip?” Steppingstone demanded in frustration.
“Has my esteemed brother-in-law requested a response?” Elizabeth was a cool old negotiator. One can only assume she was the star of her school debate team—if she had gone to school and had been on the debate team.
“Not yet.” Steppingstone bowed his head in acquiescence.
“Then no response is warranted.”
“But we should be prepared in the event King Phillip does demand an explanation.” As though catching his wind, Steppingstone raised his head for a new verbal head-on attack.
Though slow-witted, Rodney realized the chamberlain was questioning his queen’s ability to handle foreign rulers, and he didn’t like it. “Queen Elizabeth doesn’t have to explain anything to that Spanish scum!”
“No, young Rodney Broadshoulders,” she interrupted him by raising her hand. “You mustn’t speak so of my brother-in-law.”
“But your Majesty—“
“Don’t tempt my good nature, boy.” Her tone hardened, as one would discipline an aggressive hunting hound.
“How come I get whacked, and he only gets a mild reprimand?” Robin asked peevishly.
Elizabeth pointed dramatically to the young man. “He is impetuous youth. He knows no better.” Then she turned to Robin. “You have been tested by the fires of time. You should know better.”
“It couldn’t be because he’s young and better looking than me?” Everyone in the court recognized this was the Earl of Leicester’s blatant attempt to pull a compliment from the queen, and they were right.
She leaned toward him and caressed his cheek. “Younger, yes, but in my eyes, never better looking.” Without warning Elizabeth reached behind Robin’s head and forced his lips into hers and the next few minutes were spent in a loud smacking tongue battle. Perhaps battle was too strong a description. They both enjoyed it way too much.
“Ahem,” Steppingstone finally grunted.
Elizabeth pulled away and appeared flustered. Taking out a lace hanky she daintily wiped her mouth. “Oh. Ah. Yes. We were discussing…ah..what were we discussing?”
“The Spanish scum,” Rodney offered.
“His Highness, King Phillip,” Steppingstone corrected.
“Ah yes, my noble brother-in-law. What does the scum—I mean, Phillip—want?”
“He has sent his ambassador to convey his thoughts.” The chamberlain bowed deeply.
“Very well, bring him in.”
“As you wish, your Majesty.” Staying in his bowed position, Steppingstone backed up all the way to the door. This he did with great finesse, only bumping his ass into a couple of courtiers. Finally he exited.
Rodney fell at Elizabeth’s feet to grovel. “Oh, your Majesty! Forgive my stupid toungue !”
“Yes, young Broadshoulders, I forgive your stupid tongue.”
As he rose and stepped back, Steppingstone entered, followed by Vacacabeza and Maria. He led them to the throne where he threw his arm towards them in an elaborate fashion and enunciated, “Your Majesty, his honor Senor Alfonso de Vacacabeza and his ward Senorita Maria Fleurette Mortence Hildegarde de Horenhausen.”
Vacacabeza gave a deep bow, but Maria only managed a shallow curtsy, stopped by a rather loud grunt under her gown. Rodney’s mouth flew open. Maria surely must have been the most beautiful woman he had ever laid his eyes upon.
“Your Majesty,” Vacacabeza began.
“My God!” Rodney stumbled forward. “She’s gorgeous!”
The ambassador snapped his head in the direction of the young courtier. “I beg your pardon?”
“You must excuse the impetuous youth,” Elizabeth explained. “He is more knowledgeable on the field of battle than in the royal court.”
“She puts the radiance of my broadsword to shame!” Rodney’s eyes glistened.
“Please introduce us to this young lady.” The queen motioned to Robin to pull Rodney back into line.
“She’s no lady. She’s an angel. She’s—“
Robin put his hand over Rodney’s mouth. “It’s for your own good, lad.”
“This is my ward,” Vacacabeza said. It was her wish to accompany me on this trip.”
“How lovely,” Elizabeth commented with a lilt in her voice.
Rodney wriggled his mouth free. “You can say that again.”
“Once shall suffice.” She kept her attention on Maria. “Tell me, my dear, why did you wish to come to muggy, foggy old England? Surely it can’t compare to the beautiful climes of your native Spain.”
“One of my grandparents came from England,” Maria explained in a perfect English accent. “It was my grandmother on my father’s side or my grandfather on my mother’s side. I become easily confused with genealogies.”
“I love women who become easily confused,” Rodney murmured amorously.
“Shh.” Robin put his hand over the young man’s mouth again.
“We are pleased you have returned to your homeland—at least one of them.”
A gong rang out.
“Ah, time for luncheon,” Elizabeth announced with pleasure.
“Great! I’m starving!” a youthful male voice rang out from beneath Maria’s dress.
The exclamation caught Elizabeth’s interest as she stood. She was about to examine the verbal clothing more closely when Robin uttered one of his inappropriate remarks.
“But I just had buttered buns for brunch.”
Elizabeth carried her scepter with her at all times just for occasions like this, and she whacked him so hard the bonk echoed throughout the hallway. That was why she kept him on her left side so he would be easy to swat under control. On this particular day to her left were Maria, who still walked like she had a pig between her legs, and Ambassador Vacacabeza. Rodney lurked hungrily directly behind Maria.
“I must confess,” the senor said, in a tone that barely passed for pleasant conversation, “I advised my ward against coming to England.”
“May I ask why, Senor Vacacabeza?” the queen asked.
“It should be quite obvious, your Majesty.”
“No, it is not.”
“You can say that again,” Rodney interjected.
“Once will suffice.”
“In Spain, we try to protect the sensitivities of our senoritas,” he replied in austerity.
“Well, we protect those things in England too, whatever they are!” Rodney jutted his sizeable chin between Maria and her legal guardian.
“How quaint.” Vacacabeza smiled ironically. “The functional illiterate allowed in the royal presence.”
Rodney looked at Robin. “Was that an insult?”
“I’m afraid so,” he replied.
“I know words as good as anybody.” Rodney cleared his throat, preparing for a recitation. “This other Eden, demi-paradise, this royal throne of kings, this sculptured isle—“
“Sceptered! Sceptered!” blasted forth from under Maria’s gown.
(Author’s note: Readers are probably becoming curious about who—or what—was speaking from beneath the senorita’s dress. Have patience. All will be revealed in just a few more pages.)
Elizabeth looked around bemused and then shook her head. “Be that as it may, this young lady is here, and she is most welcome.”
An attendant opened the dining hall door and bowed.
“Ah, here we are!” Elizabeth announced with relish. She took Maria’s hand. “Come, my dear. You shall sit next to me and tell me all about your heritage.”
The Queen nodded graciously to the courtiers who had been waiting for her Majesty so they could begin to chow down. Attendants with large trays of assorted meats and fruits began circulating through the room. Elizabeth sat in the middle with Maria on one side and Robin on the other. Vacacabeza quickly took the chair on the other side of his ward which miffed Rodney to no end. He had to settle for sitting next to Robin which placed him inconveniently on the far side of the table from his newly beloved.
(Author’s note: How the person beneath Maria’s gown situated himself under the skirt and the table is left to the imagination of the reader. One must only assume he was a skilled contortionist and therefore very popular with the young ladies.)
Dogs roamed the dining hall looking for bits of fallen food. They must have been pure-bred dogs; after all this was the royal court and mongrels would have been prohibited.
Elizabeth picked a grape and tossed it in her mouth. “So tell me about your grandparents. I am intrigued.”
Maria began to speak in a French accent. “One grandparent came from Paris. One rumor had it that she had been a Gypsy hiding in Notre Dame Cathedral when she was saved from the gallows by my grandfather, who was a heroic knight visiting from Granada.” She looked at the trays and asked in a Spanish accent, “By the way, where are the refried beans?”
“Oh no!” There went that voice again.
“From there they escaped to the Bordeaux region,” she resumed her French lilt. “Where they grew grapes and trained dogs to sniff out truffles. I think that’s where I gained my taste for wine.”
Rodney leaned as far as he could without coming in between Robin and his roasted half a turkey. “I think I’m in love.”
Robin stuck a drum stick in Rodney’s mouth.
“The other grandmother was supposed to be the love child of Martin Luther and a nun, but we have no birth records to confirm this.” She continued her family history in a clipped German accent. “She was raised by a brew meister and his hausfrau in Munich.”
Rodney spit out his drumstick and threw it on the floor. “Does that mean you like beer too?”
A large, rather lean dog snatched the drumstick and began to trot toward the other end of the table. When he passed Maria, a hand from beneath her dress reached out to snatch it. The dog began to growl angrily and pulled away, trying to keep his dinner. The mysterious hand tugged back just as vigorously, causing Maria’s chair to joggle about precariously.
“My English grandfather was reputed to be a famous painter on his way to Cleves when he stopped in for a beer where my grandmother was a serving wench. After he had finished his portrait of the Cleves princess, he came back through Munich, married my grandmother and took her to England with him.” She paused, her eyes widened and her hand went to her mouth. “Oh,” she said in crisp English, “perhaps I shouldn’t have mentioned that.”
“Don’t be so nervous, my dear,” Elizabeth reassured her. “You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know.” She wrinkled her brow as she concentrated on Maria’s chitty-chitty bang bang chair. “You’re as jumpy as a frog.”
The voice beneath her dress sighed in resignation. “Oh, all right. You can have it.”
And the drumstick slide out, and the dog happily trotted away with it. At that time, the chair settled down, and Maria was able to continue.
“I was born after your coronation, and my father brought me frequently to the English court,” she said in her proper English accent. “It was at this time my father became friends with Senor Vacacabeza, who in his capacity as the Spanish ambassador came to the English court frequently. I have many fond memories of my parents, but when I was twelve they both died of small pox. Senor Vacacabeza, as a friend of my family, agreed to be my guardian.”
“How kind of you, senor.” Elizabeth nodded toward the ambassador and smiled pleasantly.
“It was nothing,” Vacacabeza replied with a shrug. “Any good Spaniard would have done the same.”
Maria looked at him with curiosity and asked in her Spanish accent, “Then why was I in a Catalan monastery for five years?”
“Well,” he began slowly, “you hadn’t developed your—your personality yet.”
“And I see she has a very well developed personality.” Robin had a licentious leer on his face.
Elizabeth took a pear—not one of her favorite fruits—and stuck it in Robin’s mouth.
“I wouldn’t mind escorting your well-developed personality around town tonight,” Rodney said, without sounding half as perverted as Robin had in his observations. Perhaps it was his youth.
Robin took the pear out of his mouth and stuck it in Rodney’s, who promptly spit it out so he could display his boyishly charming smile.
“You escort my ward?” Vacacabeza bristled. “Over my dead body!”
Rodney grabbed a large carving knife and stabbed a leg of mutton. “That happens to be my specialty!”
Elizabeth stood imperiously, which caused everyone else to leap up.
“Broadshoulders!
“The journey was fatiguing, and the meal filling.” The ambassador yawned to defuse the tense situation. “It is time to retire to our chambers.”
“Si.” Maria continued her Spanish lilt. “It is time for my siesta.
“I hope she didn’t eat any of those beans,” the disembodied voice said.
Courtiers were beginning to accustom themselves to the strange emanations from beneath Maria’s dress and therefore ignored the comment.
“I must be refreshed for tea time!” Maria announced as a proper English lady.
Elizabeth nodded and turned for the door. “I shall see you then, my dear.”
Maria curtsied. “Thank you, your Majesty.” One look at Rodney brought the French brogue out of her. “Your name is Broadshoulders. How appropriate.”