Chapter Text
The tavern was a squat, square two-storey building made primarily from sandstone stacked and slotted together like pieces from a child’s toy. Small pointed arched windows lined the top floor the entire way around the building, many with shutters thrown open to let in the evening’s dying light. To the building’s left sat the stables, constructed of the same sandstone but lacking the heavy terracotta tiles, sporting what looked to be a roof wrought of heavy wood and iron latticing. Two stable boys reclined lazily on a pile of hay just outside the stable’s entrance, a small wooden board lay between them – dicing the night away most likely. Hearing the approaching horse, both boys stopped their game; the elder of the two threw his hand into the air and called across the yard.
“Ciao, cavaliere!”
So that’s what they think I am, a knight.
Smoker sighed heavily, it seemed that these southerners also coveted those who lived their lives dedicated to the ideals of chivalry, whatever that meant. Smoker barely knew himself, knighted only through sheer luck.
Chivalry was less a set of rules, more so an unmoulded lump of clay given to each man or woman stupid enough to commit to the cause. Once in your possession, chivalry could be manipulated, pushed, pulled, prodded to fit your desires. Most would claim they followed courtly ideals, but they always concealed something darker, meaner, violent. Of course, most knights came from within the courtly sphere, those who had anything they desired – money, power, and influence were their partners from the womb, growing with them from the crib and beyond. Smoker was one of those without, what the tales liked to call ‘knights errant’ and what reality named hedge knights. Most called the road their home, the only roof over their heads the open sky, if they were lucky perhaps a kind stranger would open their barn – but never their homes. Smoker was one of the lucky ones, crafting a name for himself in the service of varying lords. Tournaments, war, dirty-work there wasn’t anything he’d turn down, a name paid good money and money meant survival.
It was money that had sent him over the border, Smoker had heard tales of the fractured states which populated the southern peninsula, each one richer than the last, or so the tales said. Smoker had never travelled to this region before, all the information he gathered was hearsay at best, pure fiction at worst but beggars cannot afford to choose, and though he wasn’t a beggar yet, choices were costly and Smoker couldn’t afford mistakes. He knew the states ranged from vast kingdoms to small but fabulously rich city states, headed by swaggering magnates whose wealth lay in their vast banking networks. It was to one of these lords Smoker would attempt to ingratiate himself, unlike kings these lord’s web of influence snaked beyond the borders of their cities, stretching across the continent into other cities and kingdoms alike. They could buy success and destruction as easily as the common man bought a loaf of bread.
There were many cities and many names, but only one had stood out in Smoker’s mind, the city of the Dome they called it, named after the magnificent new Cathedral at its heart. Fiorentina was her true name, and her lord, a man known as Il Coccodrillo – The Crocodile.
…
The tavern was Smoker’s final stop before he descended into the valley ahead, down into the city and into the reptile’s den. Right into the belly of the beast, Smoker chuckled to himself. No risk, no reward or so they said.
“Ciao,” Smoker returned, pulling his horse to a halt just ahead of the approaching boy. “I require a room for the night, and my horse to be washed down and fed.”
The older boy shot him an incredulous look, now he’d gotten closer Smoker could see pox scars dotted across his ruddy face. The boy’s nose also sat slightly crooked, Smoker guessed he liked to scrap.
“I can see to the horse, but for my lack of tits and skirts I can do nothing for your need of a room.” The stable boy gestured towards the tavern doorway, “You’ll need to ask Federica.”
“You like to talk back, boy?” Smoker grunted, looking down his nose at the young man in front of him. He wasn’t in the business of intimidating children, but correcting manners was never out of the question.
The young boy paused, Smoker could see his dark eyes contemplating his next move, it was obvious he wasn’t chastised often.
“When a question is asked, it always demands to be answered whether you want to or not.” Smoker lifted his right index finger and waved it in the vicinity of the boy’s nose. “Your crooked nose suggests to me that talking back when it is not required is perhaps a habit of yours.”
The boy’s eyes widened, his mouth opened as if to respond but nothing but hot air came out. He met Smoker’s gaze one last time before calling out to the younger boy, who still sat amongst the hay.
“Francesco! Fetch some water and cloths and start soaking some oats.”
Immediacy wasn’t in Francesco’s vocabulary it seemed, but he eventually climbed up from his grassy resting place and scurried into the gloom of the stables. The older boy turned back to Smoker, taking the horses’ reins into his hands. As he did so Smoker swung his leg over the horse’s back, dismounting with an audible gruff as his feet hit the cobbled yard.
“For the stable, wash down and oats it’ll be one silver, you can pay Federica,” the stableboy said flatly before leading the horse towards the stables.
Smoker nodded in acknowledgement, leaning down to rub his knees, which burned like hell. God what I would give for a long soak in an incredibly hot bath, and God what I would do for a smoke, he mused before hobbling as best he could towards the inn.
Inside the tavern a fire burned low at the very back of the common room; what looked to be a boar was turning on the spit, juices spitting and sizzling in the heat. The air was thick with varying aromas from the fatty roasting meat, fresh rushes clearly spiked with sage and lavender, warm treacly ale and sour spiced wines. The rooms circled the outer perimeter of the building on a raised floor, supported by thick wooden beams, hugging the walls like limpets.
Patrons were spread between long sharing benches and more intimate round tables. Smoker headed directly to the bar, ignoring the muttering of guests as he passed. He guessed they didn’t get many dishevelled knights visiting, let alone those with a shock of bright white hair who weren’t hurtling into old age and retirement. There were a few figures behind the bar, a large, slightly rotund balding man heaving casks, a woman of middle-age with dark hair wrapped on top of her head busying herself with pouring mugs of ale and jugs of wine. A younger woman, hair red as the fire burning in the hearth, which was tightly curled which hung to just below her shoulders was out amongst the benches, clearing empty tables. Glancing up she noticed Smoker approaching and whistled to grab the attention of the other woman.
The dark-haired woman finished pouring a round and lent on the bar, eyes firmly locked onto the newcomer.
“Ciao, what can I be doing for you,” she said.
“I was told to enquire with Federica about rooms, I require one, nothing fancy, and a bath. I also owe you a silver for the care of my horse,” Smoker replied.
“All that I can do, it’ll be one florin plus the price for the horse,” the woman leaned forward, a smirk slowly creeping across her face. “You’re not as old as you look, might be that you’ll want some company for that bed, and perhaps the bath” she purred.
Smoker’s face remained impassive.
“Maybe I would but not from you. I’ll take the bath now, hot, and I’ll have a cut from the boar and a dark jug of ale to wash it down once I’m finished. The food I’ll take in my room.”
Smoker reached into a small leather pouch at his waist, retrieved two silvers and one gold piece – he hoped this would pass as a florin – and put them in front of the woman. She placed her hand over the coins and pulled them into her palm without further inspection.
“Suit yourself,” she shrugged.
Straightening up slightly she bellowed to the red-haired woman.
“Agnese! Take this man to the baths, see that his water is hot. Once he’s done take him to a room.”
“Si Federica!,” Agnese called, as she made her way towards the bar.
She slung the empties in Federica’s general direction, before turning and walking towards a small anteroom. Agnese looked back and gestured to Smoker.
“Come.”
Smoker gave once last glance at Federica, whose eyes roamed up and down his body one last time before turning back to her task. He caught her eye before she did so, and winked.
I’ll give her something, at least.
Ducking through the small doorway, Smoker followed Agnese into the ‘bathhouse’ – it was hardly a house, rather a cramped, rectangular space made of the same sandstone and wood as the tavern. At the back of the room was what Smoker guessed to be the bath, a high sided, perhaps marble structure. Steam rose lazily from the water’s surface, perfumed with spices Smoker had never smelt before. A few moments later, a small, scruffy child crawled out from a pocket underneath the bath, hollow cheeks dusted with soot. Agnese looked over her shoulder at Smoker and seeing the palpable confusion on his face and smiled.
“The boy is reheating the hypocaust; you wanted hot water did you not?”
Smoker narrowed his eyes but said nothing.
Agnese gestured idly to the bath, “That’s the bath, obviously.” She then turned to two smaller, round tubs. “And those are the cold baths, if you fancy…” She paused, a sparkle in her eyes, “feeling, well, a little stimulated.”
It had been a while since Smoker could say he’d felt anything more than a deep, occasionally throbbing ache in his bones; it had been even longer still since he could remember any feelings of pleasure – in any form.
God, what he’d give to have a cigarette right now - the warm embrace of heavily scented water on his body, and the tendrils of smoke stinging the back of his throat.
That remained a dream, for now, at least he the bath. Returning to the present, Smoker noticed Agnese had left.
A little privacy at last, he mused.
Sitting on the edge of the bath, he yanked his boots off, wiggling his feet as he did so – it felt good. It didn’t take long for his clothes to follow suit, unceremoniously dumped in a heap. It was then, that Agnese returned, holding various linens in her arms as if a newborn. She stood almost dumbstruck, though she couldn’t hide the fire in her eyes.
Desire, more like.
Smoker couldn’t understand what she saw in him – he was a sight, that much he knew. His face had darkened considerably on his journey south, gold like a good cask of mead, his hair, already whiter than it had any right to be, bleached by the sun. Smoker was a large man, broad shouldered, well-muscled – wasted slightly from lack of use, and lack of real food. Coarse white hair sparsely covered his chest, snaking its way down his torso ending in a thick shock at his groin. Unconsciously, his hands moved to cover his cock, it wasn’t that he was prudish or frigid, she was, well a young woman.
Agnese waved a hand, and chuckled. “I’ve seen it all before, cavaliere.” She took a moment, looking him up and down once more, “and I like what I see.”
The tension in the room wasn’t thick enough to be sliced, but it certainly had a tangibility to it. Smoker’s gut twisted slightly, he couldn’t tell whether it was from embarrassment, desire or both.
“You’re still staring, is it too hard to get a little privacy,” Smoker said bluntly, with a slight gravel in his voice.
He looked at Agnese again, properly this time. She had a small, round face with eyes the shape of a walnut but the colour of chestnuts. Her lips curved like a bow, blushed pink. Smoker’s eyes weren’t drawn to her face though, as lovely as it was. Instead, they lingered on the curve of her breasts, and her nipples taut beneath the thin fabric of her dress. He became aware of more saliva filling his mouth and swallowed quickly. His eyes continued their journey down Agnese’s body, stopping at the soft roundness of her lower stomach, then moving lower still to imagine what lay between her legs.
“Looking, cavaliere, looking…it is hard not to look when you like something…Besides, your mouth may say no, but your body…” Agnese’s eyes drifted slowly towards his groin and the hand that still covered it. “But your body, says otherwise.”
He’d been trying to ignore the growing heat in his loins, and the tightening knot in his stomach. Smoker gritted his teeth in frustration, and climbed into the bath. He submerged himself fully, before sitting on a small lip that ran around the bath’s edge.
After placing the linens down on a wooden cabinet, Agnese opens one of the small draws, rifling around for a few moments before retrieving a rough looking rag, a bar of soap and a few small vials, probably containing some form of oils. She sauntered back to the bath, placing the new wears onto the ledge, before crouching down behind where Smoker sat. He could feel the warmth of her breath at the nape of his neck, and could smell the faintest odour of mint. She ran her hands over his shoulders, pausing to massage his muscles as if she were kneading dough for the morning’s bread.
It felt good, so fucking good.
Smoker felt himself almost melting under her touch, an audible groan almost falling from his mouth. He didn’t hear Agnese chuckle, but he felt a hot burst of air brush past his ear. The massage stopped, but her hands continued moving, caressing his chest. Her right index finger traced lazy circles around his nipple, before grabbing it between her thumb and forefinger and squeezing quickly. Smoker bit his lip, stifling a moan. He was hard now, painfully so and couldn’t ignore it. He glanced over his shoulder at the young woman.
“Get in.”
Agnese didn’t need to be told twice, unlacing the front of her dress and letting it fall to the floor. As she climbed into the bath, Smoker got a glimpse at the hair between her legs, fierier than that on her head. As she straddled Smoker, she cupped his head in her hands, before pulling him in for a kiss. His lips met hers hungrily; his tongue flitting across her teeth before forcing itself into her mouth. Agnese sighed in response, her left hand holding onto Smoker’s shoulder to steady herself, her right hand reaching down to grab his cock just under the head. Smoker sucked in his lower abdomen in response, eyes rolling back into his head. He pulled away from the kiss, breathing heavily.
“Harder.”
It was a command.
Agnese immediately responded, tightening her grip, thumb pressing deeper into Smoker’s growing hardness. The pressure…the pain was euphoric. Every new movement stirred the warm water that surrounded them re-releasing the varying scents hidden within. It was akin to sensual overload, but Smoker couldn’t and wouldn’t complain, it had been a long, long time since he’d felt anything this good. Grabbing Agnese by the waist, he shuffled backward slightly to a firmer position on the perch. Once he was comfortable, he leant his head down to plant small kisses on the woman’s shoulder before grazing his teeth along her collarbone; Smoker knew she liked it, her grip faltering ever so slightly. Pulling away from her neck, he looked up at her through his eyelashes. She looked down at him, cheeks flushed red, a line of spittle, as thin as spider’s silk hanging from her lower lip.
“Fuck me cavaliere…”
Her breath caught in her throat as Smoker placed a hand on her inner thigh, running it upwards to caress her folds. Agnese’s breathing was rapid now, she was desperate and he liked that. As quickly as he thought he was in control, Agnese quickly took back the reins releasing her hold on him and slapping him in the face. Unexpected, but not unwanted. His cock throbbed, her sudden need to be in control brought him much closer to the edge, and he wasn’t going to waste his first good orgasm in months on some water, as nicely scented as it was. Smoker didn’t give Agnese time to think, readjusting himself and her, he lowered her down onto him. A shiver ran over Agnese’s body as Smoker pushed his way inside her, holding himself there for a moment, savouring the warmth of her body around his manhood. Agnese responded by pushing herself down further, grinding herself against the base of him. She drooled now, panting in his ear.
“Now…fuck me, hard.”
It was a command and he was happy, oh so happy, to oblige. Smoker started to move his hips slowly, rhythmically pulling himself all the way out, before pushing all the way in. Agnese had completely melted, fully consumed by ecstasy.
“Hold…my…shoulders,” Smoker panted through gritted teeth.
Agnese came around from her passion induced stupor just enough to wrap her arms around Smoker’s neck, resting her head in the space between his neck and shoulders. Smoker wrapped his left arm around her waist; his right hand tracing the small of her back and the curves of her thigh before finding its intended target, the soft, spongey bud between her legs, pressing his thumb into her, moving it in concentric motions.
Agnese responding immediately, her walls closing in tighter around him, nails clawing into his skin. Smoker resumed moving in and out of her, starting slow, increasing in intensity, pushing himself closer and closer to the edge before pulling back. It didn’t take long for his steady rhythm to falter, he continued to rub at Agnese’s clit, guiding the woman to her peak and he wasn’t far behind.
Moments later, Agnese drove herself onto him, head thrown back, body shaking uncontrollably. Smoker was innately aware of the lines of spit running down his back and as Agnese tilted her head forwards he could see her chin glistened like dew caught in the light of the morning sun. Her eyes were glazed, pupils shot so wide, the light of the candles danced within them. Seeing her so weak, so completely spent was enough to take him to the edge and nudge him over. A few quick, hard strokes and he came inside her. Agnese rode him through his orgasm, bringing herself to her peak again.
“Mmhmm,” she sighed before releasing her hold on Smoker’s neck, wiping the drool from her chin, un-straddling him and climbing from the bath.
Smoker looked over his shoulder at her, she seemingly paid him no mind, drying herself off with some of the linens she had brought in earlier. Once she decided she was dry enough, Agnese climbed back into her dress, lacing up the front and slipped back into her shoes. She looked at him once more, that familiar smirk playing on her lips.
“I thank you for your…largesse. I will fetch you fresh linens and will see that food and drink are taken to your rooms.”
Scooping the cloth she’d used into her arms, she turned on her heels and headed towards the exit calling out to Smoker over her shoulder.
“Until next time, cavaliere.”
Smoker groaned, pushing himself off the edge of the bath’s lip and disappearing under the water.