Squire of Carlovain

SQUIRE OF CARLOVAIN, CHAPTER 10

By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM

"An Evening's Entertainment"

"Well, Renaud, who have we here?" came a rather scornful voice that roused Andrew from his slumber.

Andrew woke and saw a face to match the voice, a man some years older than Renaud, perhaps in his early thirties, dressed much as Renaud had been, but that his cap sported a large feather, his tunic was bright red where Renaud's had been a medium brown, and his face, with its larger nose with flaring nostrils that nearly made a beak, with his eyes sunken back into their sockets, the thin lips that were raised up in a sneer.

Andrew had no idea of the right way to act, and chose to act as a commoner would when confronted by a noble who was a total stranger but of obviously high station, he arose from the bed and assumed a deferential posture, not kneeling, but rather with his head lowered, he said simply, "My Lord." and left it at that.

"This is my new valet and bodyguard, Andre." Renaud said. "Andre, this is my uncle, Ernaud. He will be accompanying us to the palace."

"Nay, do not call it a palace." Ernaud said. "Since it holds our Lord Protector, who has sworn fealty to the Grand Duke of Burgundy, it cannot be a palace, but rather is merely the Lord Protector's house. And when do valets share your bed, and in such attire?"

"How I treat my servants is none of your concern, my dear uncle."

"They are when it is my family's money that pays for the servant." Ernaud said. "My brother does you more honor than you deserve in agreeing to sponsor you at the Lord Protector's residence as he does. Though getting you out from his table was probably a large incentive for him, as the Lord Protector will have to feed you henceforth."

"If money is the problem, then you should be glad that you will not need to pay for another bed for him when we arrive at the...Lord Protector's residence. I intend for him to share my quarters, where he may protect me more ably."

"It is true that a man at risk should keep his guard close by." Ernaud said. "Though why any should trouble with your life is more than I can guess. And his sword is not close by."

"I was not aware my Master's life was at risk here in his own home." Andrew said, daring to speak now he knew the ranks involved. "But if I must defend him against you, I shall do so." He had moved quietly during the two noble's conversation to get near his clothes, with the intent of dressing, but now he merely took the sword in its scabbard, able now to draw it. Ernaud was armed, after all.

But Ernaud merely laughed. "I only came to wake him so that he may prepare for our feast tonight. We leave for the Lord Protector's house early tomorrow. My noble friends are arriving to travel with us. They may as well see my young nephew while they are at it."

"Then you have awakened my Master, and may continue about your duties, since they are undoubtedly many and arduous." Andrew said in the sparring courtesy his father had taught him along with the blade. Adeptness at this speech was often enough to deflect a challenge, rather than precipitate it, for using it showed you were confident enough to back your words with your sword.

"Yes, your many duties, uncle." Renaud said. "Let us not keep you from them any longer."

And it worked this time, as well. "My duties are at least that of the family that owns this land." he snarled. "Not that of a younger son who has not yet earned any responsibilities."

"As do I, you have two elder brothers, Ernaud." Renaud reminded him. "Thus we share the same chances of inheritance of the lands of Ratisbon, which is none."

Ernaud flushed, and left the room without further talk.

Andrew understood now the basic insecurity of these two men that showed itself in such undisguised aggression. Primogeniture was absolute among the nobility, and younger sons' only true hope of prosperity lay in having their elder brothers dying without issue. Until that happened, they could only be leeches and hangers-on, stewards or errand-boys for their elder and titled relatives. Renaud with his lineage had the blood but no titles to back them up. He was destined, if not for the priesthood, a common expedient for getting rid of younger sons, then to be a mere member of a crowd of retainers, trying to survive by such means as gambling and perhaps even a modicum of petty thievery. Andrew, with his father's inn that would belong to him one day, had a better financial prospect than Renaud; in fact, his father the Count might even refuse him permission to ever marry, leaving him to breed by bastards or not at all. Certainly no nobleman would offer their daughters to him willingly.

No wonder he had seized this opportunity to go to the palace, and the rebellion. It was his only hope for land to call his own, and a legacy for his children, and for children. Were it not that Andrew's kinsmen and King were the likely suppliers of this legacy, Andrew could have had sympathy for Renaud, and found more than a little seeping into his heart even so.

"We should bathe, my Lord, if there is to be a banquet tonight." he settled for saying.

"Indeed." Renaud said. "If you will fetch up the water, we can cleanse ourselves here in our chambers. You may wear your other clothes for this duty, and save your guard's uniform for tonight."

Andrew did as he was bidden, though obtaining even a few gallons of water proved difficult, the little house was overburdened by many men seeking mere drinking water. This area of land boasted but a single well; Andrew had to take two buckets from the limited supply to fetch up the water, and solaced the deprived peasants by promising to return them as soon as he could. They muttered, but didn't resist him, and he returned upstairs with two buckets fully loaded with fresh water.

Renaud had laid out a large, shallow basin in the middle of the room. The pitcher that went with it rested on the floor nearby, the contents of a small cabinet in the room. He smiled when Andrew entered and said, "You may bathe me, and in recompense, you may use my commode and soap for your own bath afterwards."

"Yes, My Lord." Andrew said. He had bathed horses, it wasn't so different to bathe a person. The same principle applied, to soak the sponge and use it to moisten down the body, then to run the sponge over the body, adding the soap as he went and working up the soapy lather, and when clean, to use the rest of the contents of the first bucket to rinse Renaud's body, alternating this with the sponge to rinse him clean. By such stratagems and careful usage, a single gallon could wash a man's body entirely.

"You have a saving disposition." Renaud noted at Andrew's cautious plying of the water. "You shall have half the water for yourself, untouched. I expected you to make do with my leftover."

"I would have used it all if I had needed it, but a man has little hair to trap the water." Andrew said. "A horse requires much more than this to wash him clean."

"So you washed me as you would a horse?" Renaud asked, smiling slightly. "I thought those circular motions were familiar to the look, if not the feel."

"If I should do it differently, I shall." Andrew said. "I wish to please you, My Lord."

"You please me." Renaud said, reaching a damp hand up to Andrew's cheek. "Now hand me the towel from the commode and take your own bath."

Andrew had to step gingerly as he ferried the basin back to rest near the commode, for the basin now was nearly half full of water. He placed the bucket of water atop the commode, then stepped into the basin and lifted the sponge.

Renaud had dried himself and now lay, still nude, upon the bed and watched him. Andrew looked at the pale, thin form on the bed, this body which had pleased him, the smiling mouth that had plied itself so agreeably and wonderfully upon his manhood, and that and the trickle of water and his own lust, combined with the rest of a few hours' sleep, was sufficient to cause his cock to rise yet again.

Renaud watched, smiling broadly at Andrew's excited condition, and his own cock sprang up, a stubby pillar, and he reached down and idly scratched the base of it while watching Andrew. There was an intimacy to this, even though several feet separated them, in their regard of each other's unclothed forms, Renaud's laid out in display, Andrew's wet-gleaming body offered in return as his hands plied the soapy sponge over himself.

Done, his entire form covered in soap, Andrew turned to pour the rest of the water into the pitcher, it would pour more easily from there than the bucket.

"Here, I shall rinse you." Renaud said, rising from the bed. "I would not have you sloshing water about the room."

Andrew let Renaud pour the water over him, closing his eyes and enjoying the feel of the water, such blessed relief in these hot days, inside this hot house. Renaud seemed to have learned from Andrew, for the entire pitcher was used, but it was sufficient to cleanse the soap from his entire body.

"Ah, you have not cleaned properly." Renaud said. "I shall have to teach you how to bathe, my mignon."

"Yes, My Lord." Andrew saw the flash of fire behind Renaud's eyes and was unsurprised at the still-soapy sponge's path of travel, which was straight to his crotch, there to wrap itself in moistly-dripping foam about his shaft and pump up and down along its path.

Andrew moaned softly as Renaud's hand massaged his cock with the clutching, somewhat-abrasive sponge softened by the slick oiliness of the soap into a hundred small fingerlets grasping his foreskin and plying it over his glans until it throbbed with rising need. And then the sponge was dropped carelessly into the basin with a liquid plop-and-splash.

"Ah, My Lord." Andrew said. "My Master, please. Let this not be an end of it, I beg of you."

"We are not ending." Renaud assured him. "We are but beginning again. The second taste of a thousand delights we shall share in the days ahead. But this feast is new and I still hunger greatly."

"And I burn as if I have not made love in days." Andrew sighed. "We have time enough to sate ourselves once more?"

"I think. If not, we shall be late. None shall notice our absence, I think." Renaud said. "Now, if you will step out of the basin as you are, without reaching for the towel."

"I am in your hands." Andrew said as he obeyed.

"That you are." Renaud turned him around and guided him backwards towards the bed, and then pushed him down so that Andrew fell, still wet and dripping with the water of his bath, upon the mattress of straw topped with a layer of goose-feathers under the ticking, to make it languidly soft and supple beneath him.

His soap-whitened cock was towering above him and Renaud clambered aboard while giving the slimy tower wide clearance. "Now, my young stable-boy, it is you I shall ride instead of the horses you keep." he said.

Andrew wasn't overly surprised that Renaud took him without overdue difficulty, for his talents before had shown him to be no stranger to male-male lovemaking. Even the amount of soap was just right, it eased the way without cascading overmuch onto Andrew's balls, though they got soaked with the lather that was pushed off as Renaud's ass pressed down onto Andrew's cock, until he rested with Andrew's full length inside of him and Andrew felt Renaud's ass like a burning sheath about his cock. This was nearly the only contact of their bodies, for Renaud squatted over him, both feet nearly flat on the mattress.

"Now, I must rest a space." Renaud panted. "For you are the largest I have yet ridden in this way. A true stallion for my pleasure."

"You may gallop or canter as you will." Andrew said, his breaths ripped from him as his body concentrated instead on this whitely-burning column of fire about his maleness. "Only I pray you shall make this journey as swift as you can, for I cannot bear this o'erlong."

"Then let us start with a walk." Renaud teased, moving slowly. "For I would not overheat my horse too soon. The journey is a rough one and shall take all your strength."

Andrew grimaced; it was all he could do to make his body hold still while Renaud's warmth released and recaptured his schlong, sending the sensations as discrete signals through his body, weak and underpowered, they stalled and were left pulsing all over his body, tingling in his stomach, his chest, his arms, his legs, a dozen separate areas of mis-directed desire obstructed and abandoned as new signals were seized upon in Renaud's next movement in hopes they would be greater and better able to make the trip.

And Renaud continued under Andrew groaned out a long, slow moan, and took that as his signal. "Now we bring your speed up to a trot." he said. Now his body moved quicker on Andrew, and now the signals speeding down his cock and up his spine were continuous, but just barely; it was more like they stalled, to be impacted by those behind them until, like a sequence of marbles on strings colliding, the foremost finally made the trip, powered not by itself, but by all those that had come behind it. But at least they were arriving, timid and failing, but present and eagerly seized by his brain.

"Oh, Master, please!" Andrew said. "Give your steed his head and he shall not fail you!"

"Nay, I am the rider here." Renaud said to him. "I decide the pace and the path."

Andrew moaned. This young man had nothing better to do with his time, for his talents for anything worthy of his station were not needed. He could spend the entire day and night prolonging this if he wanted to, and Andrew...Andrew could only let him! He might not be imprisoned for refusing this game, but he would at least be dismissed from service and the King needed his eyes at Montaigne's house. For the King, for Carlovain, he had to learn to love this!

"Ah, Master, pity!" He gasped out. "I was born to run, permit me this!"

"Nay, not quite yet." Renaud said. "A good horse's spirit must be reined but not broken entire. You are still yet chomping overmuch on the bit. I must break you in more."

"Ahhhh!" Andrew said, not a sigh but a moan. "Let it be as you will."

"Ah, my fiery stallion, you have obeyed and now shall be rewarded. Time now for the canter." And now Renaud shifted so that he knelt atop Andrew's body, and Andrew felt Renaud's inner thighs upon his legs, and from this more secure purchase, Renaud began to bounce up and down upon Andrew.

Now the signals to his brain were enough, the backlogged pleasure signals were soon reconnected and the stream flowed smoothly, not only to his brain but to all his body, which responded with a tingling excitation all over his skin, so that his very fingertips were like part of his cock, his entire nervous system pulsing in tune to the motions of Renaud's warm, vibrant ass upon his prong.

Andrew's eyes no longer remained closed in searching of desire, now that it was his in abundance, his eyes opened and he saw Renaud's cock, neglected and angry red at the tip, weeping clear ooze from the slit and he reached up with one pleasure-clumsy hand to grasp it. Renaud seemed surprised at the action, he gasped and groaned and his body clenched and froze as Andrew pulled firmly on the drippingly-pouting pud.

"Ah, what are you doing, my steed?" Renaud gasped out.

Andrew's body was freed, for Renaud had become motionless, and he reached up and grasped his lover and rolled them over. "Your stallion has seized the bit in his teeth and now holds control of the bridle." he said as he continued to pump Renaud's cock. "And now I may gallop as I will, and you can but hold on for your life in hopes I shall not throw you off."

Andrew was nearly as bestial as a horse in his lust, he began to hump powerfully into Renaud's clutching ass, and Renaud's only response was the widened eyes, the mouth falling open in slackness borne of shock, then the groan that rose from the very depths of his soul and burst forth of its own accord, and Renaud's legs wrapped about Andrew's hips and thrust back against him, matching Andrew's lust-driven rapid thrusts with his own.

Andrew pounded Renaud's butt in a frenzy, heedless of the needs of gentleness, bruising both himself and Renaud with the powerful thrusts of his hips as he fucked the young nobleman hard, Renaud responding only with fingers that clutched on Andrew's back, the nails like an eagle's talons sinking into his flesh, and Andrew let out a yell at the pain that involved and that sensation of bright pain, mixed into the waves of pleasure pouring over his body, becoming pleasure in its turn, and Andrew was his cock and his cock was his life, and he groaned, exploded into Renaud, as if his cock had burst open and was spraying about in all directions inside Renaud's clutching ass. Renaud gave a strangled cry and hot jism sprayed Andrew's chest and poured upon his fingers, soaking him entire. Their cries of joy mingled in with each other's, until Andrew was unsure which of them had made which sound, they seemed to be coming from one throat, for they rose and crested and diminished together, until silence recovered its ground and coated the room once more, and they both sweaty and hot and exhausted upon the bed.

Andrew was still catching his breath, vaguely aware he was resting all his weight upon Renaud, and was recovering enough to lift himself off when he heard the voice, "Well, Renaud, you seem to know one way to earn your bodyguard's loyalty."

Ernaud had returned, walking into the room with its door without a latch, and was standing nearby, surveying them. Andrew was silent, it was Renaud's duty to respond to this relative's obnoxious behavior.

"I prefer to think that I know how best to use his skills."

"Mayhaps that is why you chose him." Ernaud said. "As for his skills with a sword, we shall have to see about that. Our guests have arrived. Do try to join us later, if you want to meet them."

There would be trouble tonight, Andrew realized. And it would not be directed at Renaud, that was equally certain.

Dressed once more, clean and composed, they went downstairs to the dining hall, which had been covered with soldiers' gear when Andrew had last seen it, now it carried victuals of various kinds with men seated and some already eating. This was not a grand feast, but merely a large meal prepared for many diners, the food was not up to the quality of the guests from their appearances. As this was not a formal dinner, the Dame Ratisbon and other females in the house did not appear, but ate in their own quarters; there were only men at the table and serving the diners.

Many young noblemen were there, each with their own retainer. Andrew took his cue from the others, standing behind Renaud's table, ready to respond when called, but otherwise ignored entirely. Even the serving was done by others, not himself. He learned that Ernaud's retainer was Nesvil, who sent many angry glares Andrew's way, which Andrew chose to ignore entirely, pretending to not see him, or at least not recognize him.

By listening to the table talk, Andrew found that none of these young men were the heirs to their various estates. All were like Renaud, bound for the capital of Heslov in hopes of earning a title by some stratagem while there, or at least living better on the country's bounty than they did at their various houses.

By a prolonged talk between Renaud and Ernaud, to which he listened carefully, worried that Ernaud would mention what he had seen earlier...but Ernaud never brought it up, even indirectly...Andrew learned that Ernaud was the Count's youngest brother, Dame Ratisbon's third son (but seventh living child), while Renaud was the third son of the Count. Andrew realized that this made Renaud both inferior in station to Ernaud, but superior in lineage to the Count's estates Ernaud was the steward of the Count's eastern lands, but that could change at any time. Renaud had hope mostly of replacing Ernaud one day, usurping Ernaud's own children (if any even existed). This explained their hostility to each other.

The meal was interminable. After the diners had eaten their fill, the servants brought them all small portions of the table's leftovers, things that they could pick up with their fingers and eat where they stood. Andrew was given a piece of bread and a chunk of meat, somewhat thick with gristle, but by then, his stomach threatening to growl audibly, he ate it without complaint, stuffing the meat into the bread through a hole poked by his finger, to make it a one-handed meal.

Ernaud had returned to taunting Renaud. "As my nephew hopes to gain some glory at court, we have taken the precaution of assigning him a talented swordsman for his retainer. I am told he gave quite a show at the practice of the house guards earlier today. Isn't that so, Andre?"

It took Andrew a moment to realize he was being spoken to directly. "It is true I have only arrived at this estate today." he said.

"You are being modest." Ernaud said. "I'm told you defeated one of our regular guards without even trying."

"That would be overstating it." Andrew said. "Your guard acquitted himself most honorably in the exchange."

"But I heard a different account. You slashed him right across the seat of the pants, leaving a most interesting scar, I am sure. I haven't heard which guardsman it was that fought you, though."

He was lying, Andrew realized. "There is a simple way to find that out." he said.

"Really? And what is that?" Ernaud hadn't expected this confrontation from Andrew.

"Simply bring in all the guards and ask them all to drop their trousers and bend over for you." Andrew said. "The one I struck such a blow should be easily seen thus, provided you don't mind the somewhat unique view in order to learn the guard's identity."

That got a loud, boisterous laugh from the table, all around. They had been drinking heavily.

"That would be a sight you would not see again for many moons." one of them called out, bringing on a new barrage of laughter.

"Yes, yes, bring in the guards, and let us find this scar!" another called out.

"Right!" "Yes!" "Bring in the guards! Let's have a row of asses right along here!"

"Hold!" Ernaud said. "I have another way."

Now it was Andrew's turn to be caught off-guard. "And what would that be, My Lord?"

"You can fight my retainer, right here." Ernaud said. "Strike him the same blow and we'll be able to view that sort of mark without having to wade through the rest of the scenery."

And this had been his plan all along. Nesvil knew of it, as well, from the way he grinned.

"I would never reject a duel to first blood, sir." Andrew said. "Though as I recall, the guard I fought had to be physically restrained by his comrades, since he refused to honor first blood."

"Then we'll forget the Code Duello!" Nesvil growled. "I'll fight you to the death, right here and now!"

And that, too, was part of the plan. Nesvil had smarted under the scar left by their earlier duel, and now planned to exact a revenge. If they fought to the death, any blows other than the final one would be ignored. Given Nesvil's strength, Andrew could be crippled for life in the process.

"Nay, it is against the laws of Carlovain to battle to the death for honor." Andrew said.

"Ahh, but we now use the Code Duello of the Grand Duchy, which permits it." Ernaud said triumphantly. "I see no barrier to this."

There was to be death here, this night, then. Andrew realized. His father's teachings rose again. Anger your opponent. Anger clouds the reason. Anger him and remain calm yourself.

"Since the objective is to see the scar." Andrew said. "I shall now reveal that your retainer was the house guard whom I fought earlier today. He need merely lower his trousers and you may all see his scar. It should be a straight line nearly across both buttocks, and probably still red and angry, for the cut was quite deep...."

Nesvil was on the same side of the table as he, and he growled in anger and charged down the line. The guards between them, of many houses, scattered from the path.

Get height over him, son, his father's voice said. Climb on the table!

When you're fighting for your life, use all your tools. That came in the voice of Vedron.

But where is the honor here, O Vedron? Andrew asked as he stood still, waiting, letting Nesvil come to him, exhaust his air reserves while he marshaled his own, strove for the calm plateau of a fighter.

A fighter uses the weapons that he has. The sword is neither good nor evil, only its wielder may be that. Honor lies not in the blade, but in the heart.

Andrew jumped up onto the tabletop between two of the diners. They reacted belatedly by hastily diving out of the way. Nesvil was upon him.

Loud noises surrounded Andrew, but he had ears only for Nesvil, eyes only for the blade, and Nesvil's face. The eyes of a fighter will lock upon the part they intend to strike. Observe the blade, observe the eyes. When they fasten tight, the blow is coming, shift your watch to the blade.

Andrew saw the blade arm drawing backwards, Nesvil's eyes on his, then flicker down to his midsection. A jabbing strike was coming. Andrew jumped as Nesvil stabbed at him, one foot on each of the two massive chairs vacated by the noble diners, and then on down and onto Nesvil, both feet striking him on both shoulders.

Both men tumbled, and Andrew struck a pillar, which dazed him, numbing his left arm. He fought right-handed, but the left...the left arm was used for balance. And now it was not in top condition.

Andrew got to his feet, and Nesvil charged him. Andrew barely caught the blade not on his guard, but on his own blade, the two swords at right angles to each other, Andrew's parallel and Nesvil's upright, trying to split him from head to sternum. Nesvil held the blow and continued to press down.

Andrew stepped back and stepped back, but Nesvil pressed onwards each time, not giving him the chance to break the lock.

And now Andrew's back was to the pillar which had been his nemesis earlier. Nesvil continued to press onwards, grinning evilly.

But Andrew no longer needed his feet for balance, he kicked upwards and Nesvil's groin was struck by Andrew's leg.

But not a damaging blow, not proper contact with Nesvil's crotch, and Nesvil clamped his legs together, pinioning Andrew further in place.

Nesvil laughed then, a vicious laugh. And now his blade was scant inches from Andrew's forehead.

Andrew brought up his other foot, bracing against the pillar with his back, and this time Nesvil's crotch received Andrew's foot flat-on in a stomping-like motion.

Nesvil crumpled in pain, the blade-lock broken. Andrew used the last moment of his balance, of his position between Nesvil and the pillar and he slashed as Nesvil's blade flew aside.

And Nesvil's blade fell to the floor, along with Nesvil's hand, wrist and upper arm. Andrew had cut off his hand entire.

Andrew fell onto the floor, and crawled backwards, scraping with his heels on the floor and getting away from Nesvil. Nesvil was bellowing and the crowd, which had been cheering and bellowing, was suddenly silent.

Nesvil pressed his severed limb into his sternum, and reached down with his left hand for the sword.

"Don't do it!" Andrew said, his blade at Nesvil's neck.

Nesvil looked at him, animal rage still, but now with a dazed incomprehension setting in.

"Don't do it, Nesvil, I beg of you. I've done all I can to let you live." Andrew said. "I don't want to kill you. Surrender, and let us get you to the doctor."

And the rage filled Nesvil's eyes and he scooped up the sword, fumbling for the guard, for his severed hand had still not released its final grip. "A-a-a-a-argh!" he bellowed, a tremor ruining the unmitigated rage it should have held.

A fighter must use the weapons he has. Andrew slashed at Nesvil's unprotected, undefended neck and Nesvil fell onto the floor with a dull thud.

Andrew raised his sword, blood rivuleting down the edge, blood as brightly red as Ernaud's tunic, and said to the assembly in general and Ernaud in particular. "Tonight's entertainment is at an end. I trust I have sufficiently amused you. I now suggest that you all get a good night's sleep and prepare for tomorrow. May all your dreams be of the lands and titles you shall win at the court of Heslov."

Renaud's hand clasped Andrew's shoulders. "Come, my brave guard." he said softly. "We must rest as well."

None of the gathered nobility present, most of the families of eastern Carlovain represented there, would meet his eyes as Renaud led him from the room.

END OF CHAPTER 10