Orin The Great Ch. 03

Bartram poked him on the shoulder. Orin had become irritated by his own vulnerabilities and ignored him. The persistent archer poked at him a second time, and a third.

"Stop that." Orin growled.

The archer poked him again, and again, harder each instance.

"If you do that once more, Bartram, I will rip your head off!"

"Subdue your anger, but remember the tone in your voice." The archer said. "There is an ebb of authority there, a powerful force behind those words. If you speak in this fashion before the people of Sleepy Glen, they will know you are a man not to be trifled with."

Orin glanced into Bartram's face, seeing that he really meant what he'd said. Next he looked to Sundri.

The witch stepped before him, clasping her arms around his neck and staring deep into his eyes. "If you kiss a woman in Sleepy Glen, that woman should be me. But if you must kiss another woman, be sure and kiss her like this."

Her kiss started off full, yet when Orin parted his mouth to engage hers, he found Sundri's lips fleeting and pulling away.

"Most men would persist with a woman until she relents and parts her legs, like hounds who've caught a scent and won't let go of it." Sundri explained. "A kiss like that one will let them know that you are no such man, and that it is you, and not them, who will decide how far you are willing to go."

"Don't fall in love with any of them." Bartram gave him one last warning, before he motioned ahead of them. "We have arrived at Sleepy Glen."

A well-worn path led them into a cluster of perhaps a dozen dwellings. These were all single level homes, mostly made of wattle and daub, but a few had a tier or two of stone at their foundations. Their roofs were all of thatch, and no people at all were seen.

That is, until a small mob of children ran up to them, all dressed for the feast and carrying sticks with long, colorful streamers in their hands.

"Have you come for the wedding?" One boy asked.

Bartram replied that they had.

"Then come with us!" The boy announced, and amidst a chorus of small shouts and laughter, the children all hurried off in a single direction.

The trio of travelers followed, watching as the children ran through a small arch set between two of the small homes. The arch was made of wood, decorated with freshly cut vines, and looked to have no other purpose than to direct visitors to a small table that lay just past it.

A rather stout man sat on a stool at this table. His features warmed up immediately when he saw the three of them coming near.

"A good day to you, fellows and lady." The man stood and bowed. "I am the town recorder. I would very much like to ask your names and your place of origin, and your current place of residence."

Orin saw a man of about his own age standing beside the table. He assumed this man would announce the information to the good crowd that socialized before them. In addition to this, he saw that everyone present wore their finest clothes, but none had attire as fancy as his. Orin wondered if perhaps he'd overdressed for the occasion, because his attire could possibly humble the clothing of even the bride and groom. He turned back to the table, watching as Bartram gave the man his details, before the recorder relayed them to the announcer.

"We welcome one master Bartram, who was born on the road, and near no town, and thus his home is the road."

It was an odd introduction, Orin thought, but then again, Bartram was something of an odd man. Only a few heads turned at the declaration. Most of these heads were about to turn back again, until they caught sight of Orin. Their gazes were resting squarely on him, he noticed, and on his fancy clothes.

"Your name and your place of residence, young man." The recorder requested.

Orin gave it, and the announcer's next proclamation was, "Next is master Orin, son of Orenn the Fearless, formerly of Bilge Barrel, but now calling the road his home as well."

Many, many heads were turning now, Orin noted, and quick whispers were being passed around from mouths being covered by cupped hands.

"It's him!" One voice called out, as a single man stepped apart from the rest of the crowd. "I tell you, it's him! It's the man with the Devil's Arse!"

Orin recognized the town crier they'd met on the road. For a moment, the young man wondered if he should strangle Bartram for getting him into such an embarrassing predicament.

All at once, the crowd was abuzz with rumors. Everyone was looking directly at him now, even the children.

He heard Sundri quickly speaking to the recorder, and saw the man gape, before he passed her details on to the announcer.

The announcer cried out, "And we also welcome the Sorceress Sundri, of the Devil's Crag."

Faster than fire, silence swept through the throng of spectators.

Because Orin and Bartram had been standing in front of her, most of the crowd had not seen Sundri yet. Boldly, the witch stepped forward, grasping Orin by the arm and dragging him toward the suddenly apprehensive crowd. Many stepped away to give her a wide berth.

"Be not afraid, people of Sleepy Glen, for this young man is the Devil's Arse no more!" Sundri proclaimed. "Come, come, see for yourselves what miracles I have done with my magical and wonderful powers! Give us your back, young Orin."

"What do you mean to do?" Orin asked, now as fearful as the rest of them.

Sundri did not wait. She turned Orin around, lifted his tunic and vest, and lowered his leggings to expose his buttocks.

The witch pointed at the nearest of the women, a heavyset sort with a yellow dress. "You, step nearer. Tell me if you see the Devil peeking out from this man's arse."

"I do not." The woman shook her head.

"Come closer, I say." Sundri demanded. "Set your hands on this boy's arse, and tell me if you feel the Devil's horns trying to poke through these shapely buttocks. And they are shapely, are they not?"

The woman did indeed agree with this last statement. With some trepidation, but also with some daring, she did step up and place her hand on Orin's flesh.

"Give them a good squeeze." Sundri insisted. "Would you say the Devil resides there?"

"No, I believe the Devil has left his arse in peace."

"You hear it from her own mouth!" Sundri proclaimed to the rest. "I, the sorceress of Devil's Crag, have driven the Devil from this man's arse! Come nearer and feel for yourself what powers I have, strong enough even to drive the Devil away! See it and feel it for yourselves!"

Through it all, Orin tried his utmost to keep a cool demeanor. He really was going to strangle Bartram, he decided, the next time he set his hands on that man.

"Oh, it was a struggle, to be sure!" Sundri related. "The Devil would poke his head out, and I would try to snatch him away, but a few times he was too fast to let himself be caught! Until finally, I did grab a hold of that old horned beast, and I threw him back into the abyss where he belongs!"

Many in the crowd gasped, while others made their invocations to God.

"And now the Devil is gone, and this young man is made whole once again." Sundri said. "But there is much more that I can do, other than to drive the wicked spirits from those they choose to afflict. I can also conjure up miracles, such as this!"

The old woman lifted her arms toward the heavens, before a soft rain of red and yellow flower petals began to drop on the heads of the crowd. The adults were awed, while the children cried out in joy and leapt up to grab at the floating petals.

Seeing that he was momentarily forgotten, Orin quickly rolled his leggings back up to his waist and made his way through the crowd. He soon spotted Bartram at the edge of the mass. The archer was coming toward him with two mugs in his hand.

"Bartram..." Orin said, fully embarrassed and ready to beat the bowman to a pulp.

"Have an ale." The archer held a mug out. "It's made with honey, nuts and spice. The vendor tells me it's been imported from somewhere past the river at Tooker's Ferry."

Evenly, Orin replied, "I care not where the ale comes from, Bartram..."

"Hello, sir." A soft voice spoke out from behind him.

Orin turned, gazing into a pretty set of eyes, belonging to a very pretty girl. "Yes?"

"I... I would see for myself, if the Devil is truly gone from your arse. Perhaps he only hid far enough inside that the witch does not realize he is still there."

"There is no Devil in my arse." Orin told her.

"But one cannot be entirely sure, can they? They say the Devil is as shifty as he is wicked."

"Go on, Orin. Let the girl see your arse." Bartram said in a serious voice, but Orin knew the archer was teasing him.

"Oh, fine!" Orin blew out a breath, before he gave the girl his back and lifted his tunic and vest.

No sooner had he done this, than the girl reached into his leggings on her own and gave his buttocks a good squeeze. A moment later, she was bounding away and giggling like a loon, back to where another two young women waited for her. Apparently, she had been coerced.

"I find this very humiliating, Bartram." Orin said, as he concealed his buttocks from the public once again.

"Oh, come now." The archer chuckled. "What sort of man doesn't enjoy having a woman's hands roaming his backside? Oh, look, here comes another one."

Orin glanced away, wondering if the three girls were daring each other to come to him, but no, it was the bigger woman in the yellow dress that had felt him the first time.

"I'll like another touch, if I could." She said. "To erase any doubts that I may have been mistaken."

Orin lifted his tunic again, and this time, the woman got a good, long feel of him.

Before she left, she whispered into Orin's ear. "The Devil may be gone from your arse, but I wonder if he's gone into your cock. I would like to take a peek at that, if you're willing."

Once she'd stepped away, Bartram confided, "I tell you, that one is hot for you. Oh, and I believe another pair of old geese are approaching you as well."

In resignation, Orin said, "Give me the ale, Bartram. I will strangle you later."

Thankfully, a short while afterward the troupe of entertainers made their way into the midst of the village, and the great interest in Orin's buttocks finally waned. Jugglers, walkers on stilts, and acrobats wowed the bystanders, while jesters elicited laughter from the young and old alike.

Orin found Bartram speaking with another man. Once the man had walked off, he asked, "Have you seen Sundri?"

"She's found another of her ilk from among the locals." Bartram answered. "They're comparing spells or some such thing. This fellow I was just talking to, I've been trying to get him to show us the bows he's selling, but his asking price is far beyond what I can afford."

"Why would you need a second bow?"

"It's not for me, you dolt. It's for you."

"How can I even consider purchasing a bow? I'm certain to have even less coin than you do!"

"Ask Sundri." Bartram suggested. "Promise her a cockle, and I'm sure she'll agree to buy it for you."

"But I like Sundri." Orin frowned. "I wouldn't diminish how I feel about her into some sort of bargain. I would feel as if I'm cheating her somehow."

Bartram shrugged. "Suit yourself. If I were in your boots, I would ask her."

"I'll think on it." Orin sighed.

They heard several of the onlookers clapping and cheering, and made their way to where the action was taking place. A fire-breather had cleared an open area, and was now taking a long swig from a dark bottle. He held a lighted stick out before him. As he spat out the liquid, a great torrent of flame burst forth. It was an incredible sight, so much that even Orin began to clap with as much enthusiasm as the rest.

Also, they saw a strong man who could sit a child on the palm of his hand, and lift him into the air, and who could lift any adult in the village and hold them over his head. They saw a jester who could make lights twinkle in the air before him, and whom they assumed was a sort of minor magician, and they saw a contortionist, a very thin woman, who could bend her body into a pretzel or into a knot, and unbend it again with apparently no discomfort whatsoever.

It was all great enjoyment, and it seemed but a moment before the sun was at its zenith and an announcer proclaimed that the wedding was to begin. The performers drifted away to who knew where, but would return later, as ushers began to arrange the crowd toward one side of the village square.

During that movement, Orin was pushed back by people, or pushed forward. On several occasions, he felt hands slide across his rump, and once or twice he was even groped. He turned to see who had done this to him, but most often it was difficult to tell, as several people were in movement at once. About the only thing he could discern was that a woman, either young or old or somewhere in between, had just fondled him.

Bartram sidled his way through the mass, bringing with him two mugs of ale. "Here you are, Orin. Another portion for you."

Orin took the drink and related what had been happening to him.

"Oh, you've become quite the sensation around here!" Bartram laughed. "As I was waiting for the vendor to fill these mugs, I heard a pair of lasses walk by boasting of having touched the Devil's Arse to one another. I expect this will continue as long as the feast does, but I do hope you aren't put off by it."

"I was embarrassed at first, and hugely embarrassed at that. Now, I don't know what to make of it. I've never had my buttocks given so much attention to in my life!"

"Well, you are a handsome young man, and you have a strong shape about you. Even more, you are a new face in these parts and you wear a set of clothes that are fancier than even what the groom might be wearing." Bartram paused for a drink. "So you see, there are many angles that would make you attractive in the eyes of these women. If I were you, I would enjoy the attention while it is there for you, but I do advise you to be alert for any rivalries among the ladies, or any jealousies from the other men in the village."

Orin thought this over. "Thank you, Bartram. You have turned out to be a good man indeed. I am glad you are here."

"You would be lost without me?" Bartram chuckled.

"Not exactly lost, but I do appreciate your counsel and your friendship." Orin grinned back.

"And I yours, Orin." Bartram nodded back. "For certain, I never thought I would bed a ghost and an old witch, but thanks to being in your company I have done both. I dare say that I found the encounters so agreeable that I may hope to do them again! I think perhaps I will stand here beside you, in the hopes that my buttocks too will be groped."

They both laughed, before they turned their attention toward the space that had been largely cleared off. A local priest stood there, in a robe of white cotton edged in gold, and he held in his hands a staff of blessings. The announcer called out the name of the groom, Master Derek of the Tollson family, and a group of about ten of the man's relatives escorted the happy man over to where the priest stood. Derek wore a robe similar to the priest's, and came to stand humbly before the holy man. The name of the bride was given, Lady Josephine of the Fletcher family. She was similarly chaperoned into the square by her kin, and was dressed in the same sort of robe.

"The robes are kept by the priest and taken out for special occasions like these." Bartram explained. "People in small villages such as this one see no point in purchasing a grand outfit for their wedding, such as is done in the bigger towns and cities. They'll only be using such fancy attire once, after all."

"I have seen some of this before." Orin nodded. In Bilge Barrel, people were married without even having to wear special robes; they only wore the best set of clothing they owned when they stood before the priest.

The priest went on to lend his staff to the announcer, so that his hands would be free for the next part of the ceremony. He took a short stretch of rope of the usual type, and with it he tied a knot around the wrists of both the bride and the groom, to signify the union they were about to enter together. Then the priest retrieved his staff, and set its head, which was carved into the shape of a cross, directly over the knot. He said a few words, blessed the two parties, and the ceremony was soon concluded. A great roar of applause and cheers was heard from the spectators, and as one, the crowd broke loose to surround the newlyweds and to congratulate them.

Again, Orin felt his rump being patted, or slapped lightly, or even being squeezed hard on a few occasions. Now that the young man was aware of it, he could have put a stop to things if he wanted to. He could have reached out to snatch at a wrist or two, and to confront some of the women doing this. He decided not to make a scene of it, however, and he caught glimpses of long brown hair or long blonde hair whisking by right after he felt himself touched. Some of these young women would turn and meet his eyes for a moment, once they were a few yards away, and before they lost themselves in the crowd again.

"They are egging one another on now." Bartram noticed. "It has become a sort of game to see which of these girls will attract you to them first. It has less to do with you than it does with them, and their status with one another."

"Truly, it has less to do with me?"

"I've seen this very sort of game being played out in the halls of the nobles before." Bartram replied. "Women do not boast out loud as men do, but they do gossip and they do have their minor rivalries. They know that you were not in this village yesterday, and that you will not be here tomorrow. What they can accomplish today, however, will be remembered and circulated and talked about between them, and it will be talked about long after you are gone. As I said, it is less about you and more about them."

Orin shook his head. "I suppose I do have a lot to learn when it comes to women. I would much rather have a woman who is straightforward and honest."

"Oh, don't frown upon these ladies too quickly." Bartram replied. "This same sort of game has been played as long as there have been women around to play it. Any place you might go, there will be a few young ladies who are prettier than the rest, or who are more privileged than the rest, and they will do what they can to secure a better future for themselves. What they are doing today is only practice for when it comes time for them to snare a husband."

"I suppose that makes sense."

Unexpectedly, Orin was bumped from the side, and he whirled about to see a woman off-balance and near to falling. With his quick reflexes, he steadied her and kept her upright. The woman had her back to him. As she turned to face him, he saw that her expression was full of apprehension.

"My apologies, master." She said, as she braced a tray of wood full of cookies within her arms. "It was the children that jolted me as they ran, and they've made me drop some of my batch! Cursed hellions they are, sent by the Devil himself to ruin my good day!"

"It is no trouble, woman." Orin said, as he got a good look at her.

She was not very tall for a woman, perhaps a couple of years younger than him, and with hair as black as the night. Her small face was pretty enough, with pronounced cheeks and lips that were full and warm. It was her eyes, however, that held Orin. They were piercing and sharp, as if they could fathom to the very depths of his soul. For a moment, Orin was at a loss for words.

The woman seemed as transfixed as he was, until she remembered the tray in her hands and looked at all the cookies that had swayed over to one side of it.

"Cursed, bastard children!" She scolded. "A full quarter of my cookies are gone to waste now, and will serve nothing better than to feed the dogs with!"