Behind Stone Walls

This was inspired by a visit to Edinburgh Castle on a recent trip to the city. The guidebook had a short section on 'The Moorish Lasses' - two girls originating from North Africa who were brought into the court of King James IV in the first two decades of the 1500s. James IV was a very forward thinking monarch who had ambitions of raising the profile of the Scottish royal family among the courts of Europe. He imported a lot of clothing, decorations and furniture to give his court a cosmopolitan feel. That included the two girls who are the subject of this story, brought in under the heading of 'decorations' to add an exotic look to the attendant staff.

The main characters in this story are real and the tournament referred to near the start actually took place, but the tale itself is a work of fiction. There is absolutely no evidence to support any of the activities described - it is presented purely for entertainment. What is known is that King James IV did have a number of 'illegitimate' children (born out of wedlock) and it is a testament to his progressive thinking (or maybe his unquestionable power) that he not only acknowledged Lady Margaret but allowed her to enjoy a favoured position in the royal household.

As this is a historical tale, I have tried to adopt an older sounding voice without getting too fruity or forensic about it. Forgive any lapses into modern jargon or overdone ancient grammar. Having said that, there aren't many doth's, thou's and hithertofore's herein. The characters would have spoken in medieval Scots, which would be almost unintelligible to modern readers. I'm not a historical linguist and (with all due respect) I doubt anyone reading this is either, so I've made it as readable as possible without going full Braveheart on it.

Outside the historical trappings, this is essentially a story about three young women discovering themselves in an environment filled with strict protocol and religion. So gentle reader, without further ado here is Maggie to tell her tale.

<-O->

I love when spring finally comes and we can get outside again. No matter how prestigious it is to live in a castle, it's like a cold stone prison during the long winter months. A chilling memory of my childhood. This is my sixth winter in Edinburgh Castle - a place I have grown to love and hate in equal measure.

My name is Margaret More. Well, that's the name I was christened with when I was brought here as a child with my sister, christened Ellen at the same time. Our birth names have been forgotten along with our family ties and our home. While Ellen and I remember them well, there is no desire here to know them.

When I call Ellen my sister, that is also a description of convenience. We are not related by blood, but by circumstance. Our childhood was spent in slavery in Portugal. To our knowledge our parents are still there in bondage. Our roots are in North Africa, among the people know as the moors. We are some of the most handsome people in the world with a history that includes the defeat of Rome. Latterly though, the tables have turned and our once proud nation has been conquered and exploited.

We were sold to a merchant by our Portuguese 'owner', who had no use for us, and transported to Scotland along with a menagerie of diverse beasts for sale to noblemen with a taste for the exotic. The animals on board treated us better than the crew and I think our love of horses developed at that time, as we were afforded the stables in the hold as our quarters.

Upon arrival in Edinburgh we were bought into the home of a nobleman who had connections to the royal court and who procured furniture and tapestries for the King, James IV of Scotland. It was as an inventory item such as this that we soon entered the confines of the imposing castle on the hill as ladies in waiting for his favourite daughter, Margaret. It is her name I now carry.

Some might say that we were lucky to experience such a turn of events and I cannot disagree. Life in the royal household obviously has its privileges and we are treated with respect, and even affection, by King James and our lady Margaret. We want for little in terms of clothing and comfort, apart from maybe a solution to the cold drafts that somehow still manage to penetrate the thick stone walls. The huge shift in culture still troubles us at times, but we lose ourselves in our roles and seek enjoyment in the odd rites and manners of our station.

At first it seemed almost impossible. We knew only a few words of English and nothing of the Scottish tongue. We later learned that King James had a desire to increase the standing of the Scottish royal court in Europe by presenting it as sophisticated and cosmopolitan. Ellen and I were suitably exotic for his tastes and he was thrilled to have such a rare presence in his immediate circle. The fact that we were almost illiterate and from the lowest rank in society made no impression on him - to his credit in hindsight. He placed his faith in our governess and gave us the sought after station we now hold. It made him happy to see Lady Margaret in our company, playing, learning and growing up together.

Margaret is a very special lady. She is King James' eldest daughter, but was born illegitimate to the King's mistress, Lady Drummond. Despite that, she was his favourite and he took her into his court and granted her a household of her own within the confines of the castle walls when her mother died young, two years before our arrival. Lady Margaret is three years older than Ellen and I. She is strong and spirited, confident in the favour of her father, forthright but not rebellious. Her strength is matched only by her beauty. She has a round face with brown eyes that offer a steady, inquiring gaze. Her neck is long and elegant and her cheeks placed high, sitting fine above a slightly pointed chin. To her blessing she has not inherited her father's rather large nose - a feature of all Stewart kings it seems when you look at the paintings in the family gallery. Lady Margaret has her mother's smaller nose, with a long bridge that enhances the look of intelligence she gives when she tilts her head back to look down it at people who question her. Her figure is lean and lithe, developed from years of horse riding.

I would like to take credit or our Lady's love of equestrian sports. Ellen and I's affinity for horses developed further in the castle and we were regular visitors to the stables when we had time to ourselves. Margaret followed us and soon proved to be a natural at grooming and managing the sometimes unruly palace mares. Horse riding granted us the freedom to leave the castle grounds and we took every opportunity to ride down the Royal Mile to visit the King at Holyrood Palace, where he kept his household. The palace grounds were our playground, as the castle itself has no grass, nor trees, nor any truly flat ground on which to relax and play. The castle is a stone fortress built on a rocky outcrop. It was our home, but we took every opportunity to leave it.

Our younger days were filled with activities becoming of a lady. Our governess was strict, but fair, and we soon learned enough to fit into court. Our uniqueness was our calling card and we were favoured by many courtiers who derived pleasure from our company. Teachers and tutors came to share the arts of music, sewing, dance and poetry - all the genteel arts of the aristocracy. There were less formal lessons too, and we also picked up skills in the noble art of gossip and intrigue - essential for survival in a royal court. As we were favoured by so many, we were brought into people's confidence and we found we could be of use to our lady in many ways that were not so obviously prescribed.

Life in a royal court is a perilous affair at times. There are power struggles and jockeying for position to access the King and his immediate family. It is a harsh reality, but a royal favour can set up a person for life and a rejection can be devastating. Our position as ladies in waiting to Lady Margaret meant that we received many requests for access to her time and the three of us soon formed a formidable unit, accepting many fine gifts from courtiers in return for a few short hours in her company.

Our role also has a less glamorous side however. A lady in waiting is required to attend at all times of night and day, to manage the household cleaning and laundry, for which we are at least able to command the servant staff. We must keep the house warm and comfortable and ensure the security and health of our lady, rising before her to organise her day and retiring after she is settled in bed. Our accommodation is small, but adequate. Ellen and I share a room on the same level as our Lady, but it is tucked away at the back and has only a view of the battlements outside. Lady Margaret has a suite of rooms, with a separate bathing space and a large salon for dining and entertaining. We are lucky to have unlimited access. All servants must gain access through us or at our bidding.

I have mentioned our early days, spent learning how to fit into the royal household. As we were very young, our early responsibilities centred around being Lady Margaret's companions - playmates if you like, although playing was not something we were allowed to do in public. We soon learned the division of our role - polite and mannered in public, candid and playful in private. Lady Margaret has a sly sense of humour and a cunning mind and we learned our strategies for managing the wide range of courtiers from her. We got so good at it that we were sometimes held in awe by our mere presence.

Despite that soft power, our time spent in private was still our favourite time. When we went out riding, we were always accompanied by a small group of palace guards. These were often older soldiers who had retired from the battlefield and who had a certain wisdom that we enjoyed. A lady is meant to ride side saddle, but in private we bent the rules and rode a horse as a cavalryman would - hitching up our skirts and undergarments to take our position in the saddle. The guards laughed at this but accepted our ability to ride at a gallop along the forest trails out of the city in the parklands in the hinterland. They never questioned it and offered us grudging respect for our skills. To be honest, the ability to ride as a man also offered us a hidden pleasure, as our most intimate parts were in close contact with the strong backs of the horses. For young girls developing into womanhood this was a guilty pleasure that we all acknowledged silently between us.

The King's favour for us continued to grow over time, highlighted by an event when we were about 15 years old. The King had the idea of a jousting tournament with the prize being the 'hand of the Dark Lady'. I was to play the part of a lady of exotic royalty who would be 'won' by the champion of the day. Amid much pageantry and ceremony it was clear there would only be one winner - the King himself. When accepting his prize, he kissed my hand and there was an unspoken hint that, if I was of age, he would claim more than that as his reward.

The banquet that night was an event of high drama, with me arriving to be 'wed' only to be spirited away by an explosion of smoke intended to simulate my rising to the heavens. I had to dash quickly from sight as a smoke bomb filled the room, drawing gasps of astonishment from the crowd in reaction to my 'disappearance'. The court drummer Peter, also of African origin, supplied a rousing rhythm that matched the swirl of the traditional Scottish drums and wood winds. It was a day and night to remember and the first sign that we were growing up.

Over the six years we have known her, Lady Margaret has developed into a beautiful young lady, desirable now, not just for her status, but as a potential catch for the most eligible bachelors in the land. That is reflected in our lady's beauty routine, now including much bathing and pampering with expensive oils, cosmetics and luxurious new clothing. We are allowed the sensitive role of attending to this. Bathing is always something we have helped with, but it has now taken on a new importance - cleanliness being next to Godliness for such an eligible young lady. It is a significant weekly event, requiring a number of servants to heat and fill the bath, which is located in the bathing room next to our lady's bed chamber. The room is always lit by candles with a roaring fire for warmth. The bath is a tall wooden tub, surrounded by muslin curtains for privacy. Only we are allowed to see our lady disrobed and we assist her with washing and apply scented oils to her body as she dries off in front of the fireplace. Her body has developed classical curves, with strong legs from riding, smooth round shoulders and delicate pear-shaped breasts capped with tawny brown peaks. Her skin is a smooth white, contrasting with her dark brown hair. Our own dark hands contrast with her skin beautifully as we bathe her. We admire her as a younger sister admires a finer older sibling.

Ellen and I are also emerging as young ladies in other ways. The misconception that we are sisters, even twins, has not gone away, but in private we maintain our individuality. Ellen is more beautiful than I and is more confident in herself. She is one year older and it shows in her developing body. We are both fit and athletic from riding, our legs especially, long and strong. While our skin is a very dark brown, our features are fine with large eyes and small noses complementing our full, round lips. Our hair is black and tightly curled, cascading over our shoulders in a lively river when let loose. Ellen has developed a sizable bust, contrasting with my more modest, but still well proportioned chest. Unlike our lady, our breasts are capped by dark brown, almost black peaks that protrude forth like little round mountains. We have compared the difference humorously on occasion when she has allowed us to use her bath after she is finished - Ellen and I taking turns to enjoy the lukewarm scented water while our lady chats to us from her bed chamber. We three are like sisters, and we love each other so.

Ellen and I have shared the same room for our whole time in the castle, pushing our beds together each night so that we can sleep together, cuddling for warmth in the cold, stone room. That has never changed and, even though we are older now, we get the same comfort each night in our sisterly embrace. At times we might feel deeper stirrings as our bodies begin to express a stronger opinion of need. I know myself that the urge for contact has started to take on a different intensity, but the simple embrace we have is enough to prevent it from building into something uncontrollable in the darkest night. I must confess that there have been times when I have enjoyed the feeling of her leg slipping between mine while she sleeps and I have pressed gently against her thigh to enjoy the soft stimulation - a mild simulation of the harder pleasure l get while riding. There are mornings when I awake perturbed by the copious amount of moisture on my gown emerging from my most sensitive parts, however I believe it is only nature expressing itself, and I can quickly push it out of my mind in the dawn light as we prepare for the day. I'm sure Ellen experiences the same. It is surely just part of growing up.

The King's attention at the tournament did not go unnoticed and it only enhanced the mystique surrounding us. The additional attention made our power greater and our time with Lady Margaret was increasingly spent planning for the future. There was pressure for her to marry well, and potential suitors were always a topic of conversation. Social events were now an opportunity for our peers to approach us with requests for attention from the young men attending court. Up until recently we have been able to politely avoid any specific meetings that could lead to regrettable or unfavourable unions. The only unions that can be allowed are those sanctioned by her father, who it must be said, has been taking a keener interest of late.

<-O->

I am relating this story from the window seat in my lady's salon. Recent events have created a stir among us and I am taking the opportunity to think about the implications while Ellen gathers the servants and I await their arrival to set up the bath for my lady. We went for a ride to Holyrood today to be received by the King, who wanted to make an announcement that required our presence.

You see, at the recent banquet to celebrate Lady Margaret's 21st birthday, we were approached by our peers in the household of one of the guests, Lord Gordon, Heir to the Earl of Huntly. They sought to set up a meeting with Lady Margaret and their master, one of the most eligible bachelors in the kingdom. In the grand ballroom, with its high arched ceiling and huge open fire, resplendent in flags and tapestries, with food overflowing and fine music playing, it was clear immediately what this meant. We were compelled to comply as it was clear the King had invited his Lordship for this very reason. Lady Margaret spent time talking and dancing with him that evening, then met him again privately the next day for a horse ride in the grounds of Holyrood. Prior to his return to his northern estate, he had asked the King's permission for Margaret's hand in marriage and the King had given his blessing. Such is romance in the royal court. Our lady had little choice to accept, but it is clear she finds her suitor pleasant enough. It will be a workable, and potentially happy, union I'm sure.

The King made the announcement to his household in Holyrood this afternoon and we shared a celebratory daytime banquet in the clear spring air of the garden. The occasion set our heads reeling and our return ride up the hill to the castle passed in a blur. The Royal Mile is the central road in the city, forming its spine between the castle and Holyrood. Despite the concentration of rich markets and aristocratic residences that line the route, it suffers from the same deprivations as the poor parts of the city - they are just better hidden. There are still beggars and thieves present to be wary of and the lack of cleanliness leaves it smelling like a farmyard. We were so absorbed in our thoughts that even those repulsive sights and smells made no impression. Our happy home will be disturbed! Our future is now uncertain!

We ate lightly on our return and started preparing for the evening, hence my sitting alone, looking pensively at the night while activity goes on around me.

There are a number of potentially unpleasant implications that will only be resolved in time. Will Lady Margaret's fiancé take us in with her or will we be left behind? It is clear the King has a deep affection for us too - but maybe he will find another home for us in a place that might be less appealing. Will we have to leave the security of the castle and be condemned to be outsiders in a community that does not share the King's cosmopolitan world view? These thoughts cycle around in my head until Ellen finally arrives with the servants, carrying large cauldrons of hot water from the kitchen on long poles between them to fill the bath - an operation that takes almost half an hour to complete.

Ellen leaves them to their task and comes into the salon, sitting down heavily beside me, rubbing her forehead. "Sister I am tired. Today has been both joyful and worrisome at the same time. Are you happy to attend to our lady this evening? I doubt I will be good company for her."

I feel an additional twinge of worry. It is unusual for Ellen to avoid her duty - she is usually so reliable. She is clearly as deeply troubled as me. I reach out and place my hand on her knee. "I understand. I also feel like running and hiding, but I will help Lady Margaret this evening. She may too have some concerns. It will be good to let her express them to a sympathetic ear."