Squire of Carlovain

SQUIRE OF CARLOVAIN, CHAPTER 13

"Two Masques"

By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM

Andrew awoke almost as expected the next morning, shouts of outrage and recrimination from Renaud to Marcel. Andrew listened to the row as long as he could bear it--Renaud had remembered everything, and even realized that Marcel had taken advantage of him the night before, though Marcel protested vainly that he had been awakened from a sound sleep by Renaud's hands and did not realize the terms of endearment were anything but aimed at him--and then called out in a brief moment of quiet. "Renaud? Marcel?"

As he had hoped Renaud came immediately to him. "What is it, my little mignon? I am so sorry for having disturbed your slumber."

"Nay, I have slept enough. If you would assist me, I would like to get out of this bed for now."

"Of course." Renaud took Andrew, who feigned a weakness he did not feel, by the arm and hoisting him up, escorted him to the main room's largest table (their room had a large table capable of seating four around it, and two smaller tables that could be used for writing or such purposes, and four chairs, who of which were cushioned, elegant living indeed!) and put him on one of the cushioned chairs. "Would you eat breakfast now?"

"I shall fetch it. I know the kitchen maid who is informed of Andrew's needs by the physician." Marcel said, who had caught on some subconscious level Andrew's intent, and left.

"Sit as well." Andrew said, straightening up. "You and I must talk of last night."

Renaud sat quickly. "I was drunk. I am so ashamed...."

Andrew cut him off. "I did not mean that. I meant earlier, before you had returned."

"What happened?"

"Marcel asked me about you. If you had said anything of him to me. I confessed that you had not, and he then asked me if I would find out what I could, and I promised him to do so. Setting aside, then, what happened last night as your own confusion from the alcohol, and Marcel's desire to possess you, how do you feel about him?"

"Marcel?" Renaud was surprised. "I...I hardly know him."

"But he wants to know you better. As you have seen."

Renaud flushed again. "But he knew that you and I...he knew." he stuttered.

"And I hardly know you." Andrew said.

"I...I see." Renaud said, paused. "I have presumed a good deal, more than I should, I see. I should now ask you how you feel about me?"

Andrew smiled, laid his hand upon Renaud's. "I think that if times were different, I could come in time to love you very much. In time. For now, I will say that I have received some very sage advice, that I should keep my heart free from promises until I can see what the future holds. My dearest friend and master, I encourage you now to do the same. Think of where we are, what we are doing. Our lives may change much in the days ahead and this is no time to be making promises that may prove in the future to be intolerable."

Andrew judged time to steer Renaud's mind somewhat away from what he had just said, lest Renaud make the dangerous connection. "I am a mercenary, who wishes to see the world. You are a young nobleman desiring to possess a portion of land to call your own. How long, then, will our interests be the same, when I wish to travel and you wish only to go to the land you have won and establish yourself? So I beg you to release your claim upon me and accept this much in return. For now, I serve you, and I share with you, gladly, joyously. My blade is yours to command, my Master, my body thrills at your touch and my heart quickens at your smile. Is this not enough for now?"

"If this is all you are able to promise me," Renaud said, "then I accept it with gladness. Would you like to sit in the courtyard? There are shaded trees and benches there, and the morning is already quite warm."

"I should like that." Andrew said. "Only let us not choose a place that leaves Marcel wondering where we are."

Andrew was pleased to see that the breakfast consisted of fresh vegetables and fruits of several kinds, he had had none in days and his body craved them. He ate heartily though in a general, somewhat awkward silence, then excused himself to visit the latrine and waved away all offers of aid, to give Renaud and Marcel a chance to speak alone. As he hoped, they stayed behind and began to talk.

He had done what he could, both to keep Renaud's patronage and to deflect away the too-impetuous, incipient love affair. It would have to do.

He was not told what Marcel and Renaud discussed. Renaud moved back into his bed that very night, and was a gentle lover, while Marcel for his part absented himself for the earliest part of the evening and this was how things remained. During the day, Renaud and Marcel were both absent a good deal, though one or the other usually came to see to his needs from time to time. It was obvious that Marcel's attempt to gain Renaud as a lover had failed, and had cost him a good bit of Renaud's regard in the attempt; for Renaud was friendly but guarded towards him and the pain of Marcel's embarrassment was plain to see. Marcel made no attempt to join Andrew in bed again, and Andrew carefully avoided anything that would seem to be an offer. For himself, Andrew found this life of an invalid increasingly chafing, he wanted to go out and see things in this new place, and his body increasingly became strong enough to make waiting intolerable, he slept less and wished to do more with the rising of each day's sun.

Yet his Master was stern on this point, he was refused permission to leave the apartment, its garden behind and courtyard before, for the full three days. The physician returned at that time and examined him, and pronounced him fit though forbidden to exercise overmuch for another fortnight. Still, two of the bandages, on his right arm and back, were replaced once more with fresh linen which he was to leave on for another three days.

"Would a stroll down into the town be acceptable?" Andrew pressed him in Renaud's and Marcel's hearing. Childish, but he had never seen a large town, and had only glimpsed its activity some days before from the wagon.

"Yes, a slow walk would do you great good, increase the blood flow to your limbs and strengthen your heart." the physician said. "But in the morning. One more good night's rest, for my sake."

"May he visit with the Lord Protector tonight?" Renaud asked, to Andrew's consternation.

"During the affair for the townsmen? Hm...yes, if he will rest much during the visit. No wild dances or exertions with the sword or during the games. Even I have heard of your brave exploits on the banks of the River Tenemon, and no doubt he wishes to hear the story from other lips."

"The Lord Protector has asked to meet with him." Renaud conceded. "He did not tell me of the reason."

The physician left and Andrew faced Renaud with concern. "Why has he asked for me? I am nobody of any importance."

"He has also heard of your fight at the house." Renaud said. "And I have heard that he searches for strong blades to keep near him, for he fears the assassin's blow. He has assured me that he will not attempt to hire you away, for I asked him directly that very question. But if you are near him, then so will I be, and this can only work to both our good, for he has proven generous when the mood strikes him. To others than myself so far, but...I have hopes yet."

"Then we must meet with him." Andrew said with some relief. He had worried that Lord Montaigne would remember him. At the very least, he would remember who owned the inn where he had lost so many of his guards upon his own lands! He dared not announce himself as Andrew, son of Falin, for that name would surely foredoom him upon its utterance!

Andrew lay back upon the bed and thought. A deception was in order, and he had best decide upon the lie now, so that he would not be caught unawares. He was glad now that his father had talked much on his days at the palace, and that he had listened carefully. One of his father's friends of childhood was a man named Desdell, who taught the blade himself for a brief period before his vice of drunkenness had caused his disgrace. Andrew's father had taken his post, and Desdell and his wife had left the palace, none knew where. He would be Desdell's son, then, and trust that Lord Montaigne was equally ignorant of Desdell's whereabouts or progeny. He would claim to have been raised in far-off Salavenan, a Neresterii territory to the far north but part of the King's personal domain (by virtue of the marriage of Phillippe III to his Neresterii bride, the dowry of the queens had always been land). That should be a land mysterious enough to let him tell any sort of tale and be believed.

It only fretted him how quickly he had come to learn how to lie, something his father had always scorned. Still, if he was to serve the King, he had to be secure himself, and it wasn't as if the lie was to his own benefit save to obscure his identity. So he thought, and with that managed to fall asleep yet again. Would he never tire of this warm darkness?

Renaud came for him and insisted on him bathing and well. With the bandages still attached, it was necessary for Renaud to help him bathe, but Renaud's hands, usually gentle at this task, were quick and nervous. This night was important to Renaud. Andrew decided to do him as proud as he might.

He squeezed for the first time in days into his guard's uniform, and grimaced as he looked down upon himself. If he had not seen many others wearing similar clothing, he would have felt a capital fool. As it was, he was certain to blend in, for even a good many of the nobles' sons were not rigged out as fine as he was in this livery.

He walked with Renaud and Marcel but behind them, and felt his stomach kicking, the "worry maggots" as his mother put it. They were eating at his insides. He was off to pay court to the very lord he had met on a half-dozen occasions. If Lord Montaigne recognized him, or any of his guards as their attackers at the inn, his life would be forfeit, as would Renaud's and Marcel's no doubt.

He walked into the house, not by the quite convenient side entrance, but around the house to the front. He asked, and Renaud said in surprise, "We are nobles, and do not use the entrances of commoners."

"Not when attending a festivity, at least." Marcel said in a more kindly way. "We must enter properly, as befits our rank. Besides, we also must receive our masks."

"Masks?"

"Tonight is to be a masque." Renaud said. "It is a party as are all parties, save we shall all be wearing facial masks. A good many of the town's burghers and guild leaders will be present, and nobility cannot properly mix with them without the benefit of masks. It pleases many to take the mask, for they may act with less regard for their titles, and it will also assist you in that you may be introduced to the Lord and speak with him without regard for your commoner status."

"Oh." Andrew said.

"I understand Lord Montaigne seeks to win the townspeople of Heslov over to his cause, for they are wealthy and money is needed to arm his forces. We may expect to see him also make some gesture of generosity to them. If he'll grant them a relief from taxes, they may well open their purses now when he is in most need of it. Now silence all, for we approach the main entrance." Renaud added unnecessarily.

Andrew had never imagined such a display as he saw now, having only the village fetes to compare it with. Those were daytime affairs, but this...there were torches enough to turn night into day! The palace was lit up all over its front, and lights shone out from all of its many rooms!

"A lovely display, is it not?" Marcel asked Andrew.

"Lovely indeed." Andrew said readily.

"It would be lovelier if the house was lit all around, rather than just the front." Marcel said quite loudly, for several were there to overhear him. "But since the front is all that the townspeople will see, I suppose it will suffice."

The listeners chuckled.

"I think it is lovely just the same." Andrew rebutted gently. "Why put on a sight that none may see?"

"We would see it." Marcel said.

Andrew grinned. "But Lord Montaigne need not impress you this night. He could only impress you by granting you land. Anything less would be a wasted effort, and he has enough work just to feed and house his many guests, among which we are blessed to be numbered."

The listeners laughed and one replied, "Well said, young man. And who are you?"

"I am but the servant of my Master, here tonight at his behest." Andrew said. "As I am a man of common stock, it takes little to impress me."

"You wear the coat of Ratisbon." the man peered. "Are you Andre, of which we have all been hearing overmuch praise from this, your master?"

"I am Andre." Andrew nodded with a small bow, the one taught him by his father that a guardsman owed any nobleman, deep enough for respect, but shallow enough to not lower the body's ability to respond instantly to an attack.

"Then you are welcome, for this is truly a commoner's gathering." the man said. "And we must wear masks ere we become soiled by association."

"Then let us fit you out quickly, for you are getting quite filthy with my words even now." Andrew said.

The servants handing out masks were grinning at Andrew's conversational ploys, and the one doing so had started to hand him one silvery-metaled mask, then hesitated and put it back, reached and took out a different one from the box near him. The mask he would have been given resembled very much a pig, but the one given him was quite human. Neither mask obscured the mouth or chin, they were three-quarter masks only, intended to let the wearer eat and drink freely. The pig-mask went to Marcel instead, who grimaced as he took it.

"I should have the better mask." he grumped.

"We can exchange." Andrew offered quickly. "The pig is a noble creature and I am quite fond of them. I would not mind pretending to be one for the night."

"You must love pigs, for you like Marcel." Renaud said and laughed loudly.

Renaud was then given a horse's mask.

"Is your mask that of a donkey, mule, or ass?" Marcel retorted.

"Whichever it may be, I shall wear it with pride." Renaud said.

"I think the servant was commenting upon your laugh." Marcel said. "It did sound overmuch like a horse's whinny."

"Then I shall use that laugh thoroughly through the night." Renaud said. "It will add a touch of authenticity. And if he was commenting upon us, then note again the mask he gave to you. Perhaps you can grunt in the manner you do when lying in your bed at night when you suppose we are asleep." This was an unkind reminder of Marcel's lot, to listen to Renaud and Andrew making love, yet it was naught but truth and Andrew could only extend to Marcel a sympathetic glance.

"I am told the townsmen will be distinguished by cloth masks." a nobleman said as they entered the main hall. We shall observe and know how to behave at least."

If so, none of the townsmen had arrived, Andrew noted. The masks were all of metals, either shiny silvered steel or gilded brass, though paints had been used on many of them. The audience boasted an equal number of men and women, which surprised Andrew, for Carlovain's society was very segregated at the higher levels. Nothing in their dress gave away the merchants, either. This was turning out to be a very democratic ball and if nobleman associated with commoner for the next several hours, he could scarcely be blamed for not knowing the lot of the one he spoke with.

Well, that fitted the concept of the masque, as Andrew understood it. For a few hours, to be free of conventions, free to behave without decorum if that was your list, free to be another than yourself. The peasants had their own version, the Festival of Jollity, which was held on the first day of spring, wherein all rules were held in abeyance and the only rule in its stead was to do what you would. His parents refused to attend the fete and would close their inn for that day to all comers so as to avoid taking inadvertent part, but Andrew had heard many stories of the licentiousness that prevailed at them. He would have gone to the village Festival this year, but his mother had been taken ill, not a pretense at all, and he had stayed home to care for her and the inn's few occupants, disappointed bitterly.

Well, here was his chance. He would have to stay close by Renaud, of course, unless Renaud gave him permission to wander, but other than that, he could do as he would. Andrew noted that the servants and other guards wore no masks, so he was here as guest! Well, then!

They were not announced, but that was in keeping with the tradition of the masque. What use was a mask if everyone was promptly told who you were?

"We should seek out Lord Montaigne." Renaud said.

"Ah, the crowd about him will be heavy this early, most of them commoners. Wait a bit and there will be fewer around to have to tread upon." Marcel protested. "Besides, a dance is about to start."

"So dance." Renaud said with indifference.

"But it is a teslan dance." Marcel protested. A native Neresterii dance, it would be males only and in couples though not intimate; it was on the order of a reel in this respect, though more dignified in execution.

"I am surprised that the Lord Protector allows such a dance here." Andrew said.

"You forget the predominance of commoners tonight." Marcel said. "Do you know the teslan?"

"Of course." Andrew said.

"It is not a strenuous dance." Marcel said. "Will you dance it with me?"

He was a guest here. "If my Master permits."

"Fool." Marcel said in a tone without heat or intended insult. "If you were here as his guard, you would not have been given a mask at all."

"True." Andrew said. "Yet I have promised obedience and will not stray from that."

"Dance, then, if you wish." Renaud said. "I shall find the Lord Protector and gain his attention. Be ready to join me when I am able to speak to him."

Marcel waited until Renaud was away and they were formed up in one of the two lines. "Your obedience to him goes too far, you know." he said. "There are many pleasures waiting for you here, and you should not renounce them while he keeps you as his 'mignon.'"

"I can but obey the teaching of my father and the leanings of my heart." Andrew said. "While I joined with you that one time, I cannot again knowing that it would cause him pain."

"And what of my pain?" Marcel said with some heat. "Lying in my bed while I listen to you two, every morning and every evening. It is unbearable, I tell you."

The dance began and Andrew was happy for that. He was fortunate again in his upbringing, it wasn't that unusual for guests to want to dance, or for small parties to congregate at the inn, so he knew all the dances that were likely to be performed. And this one, the teslan, he knew from his childhood.

Graceful, it was obvious to Andrew that many were using it to show off. That long, athletic bow at the end of each half-turn, for example, that wasn't part of the traditional teslan, but he adapted to it easily enough, though it caused his tunic to rise up above his buttocks at every turn, and it wouldn't slide down properly. The bow came too frequently to warrant the adjustment of his clothes, he was best off pretending not to notice his almost unclothed state. Which was, as he had noted, the intent of that bow to begin with, he wasn't the only male in such a state of dishabille, and the assembly was taking ample advantage of the opportunity.

Andrew finished the dance and said to Marcel, "I would like to sit down now, if I may. I still feel a bit faint." He felt fine, but as he walked with Marcel to the chairs, he carefully and he hoped unobtrusively pulled his errant tunic back down.

"You dance well." Marcel observed. The dance now forming was the neslan, which was a variation of the teslan but for ladies only, later there would be intermingling, after everyone had been able to look over the group and select who they wanted to meet from among them. That was part of what the teslan and neslan were for!

Andrew watched the ladies in their finery, and again was struck by the inability to tell nobleman from commoner here. He thought the elderly woman in a red silk dress was Dame Ratisbon, but he could not be certain. He watched her so carefully, he didn't notice the group approaching him.

"Here he is, my Lord." Renaud said. Andrew would never have known him had he not recognized Renaud's clothing and seen the mask.

"Ah, so you are Andre?" came the voice behind the mask. This mask was a very human-like mask as well. Lord Montaigne, whom he had grown up hearing of as a semi-mythical figure, and seeing but a few times, was now speaking directly him.

"I am Andre, my Lord." Andrew said, standing and bowing.

"Ah, not tonight." Lord Montaigne said, his voice both cultured and inflected. "Tonight we are all equals. I would meet you better later on. The masque will end just prior to the ten o'clock curfew bell, but I am inviting some to remain later for a more private masque of my own. Will you grace me by being among those?"

"I must stay with my Master." Andrew said, looking quickly at Renaud.

"His presence will not be needed." Lord Montaigne said quickly. "I shall only keep you an hour or so, and your quarters are nearby. I have heard of your exploits, and now that I have seen your body, I can well believe them all. Would you show us your skill with a sword?"

"The physician has forbidden me to exercise overmuch, due to my recent wounds." Andrew begged off, fearing another death duel may be offered. "I find I am faint after one dance."

"Another time, then, for that. But do remain tonight."

"As my Lord wishes."

"Excellent. You will enjoy especially the entertainment I have planned." Lord Montaigne passed on, and Renaud trotted after him like an obedient and rather unhappy puppy.

"You have gained the Lord Protector's favor, it seems." Marcel observed.

"More likely I have gained a reputation that he waits to puncture like an overinflated pig's bladder." Andrew said with some regret.

The party though enjoyable, lasted forever, it seemed. Andrew managed another line-type dance with Renaud, though this one paired him up with a young, rather robust lady across the aisle who giggled incessantly whenever he looked at her. Despite the camouflage of the mask, Renaud was obviously unhappy about something, though he would say nothing to Andrew of it despite his questions. Andrew decided he had been as good a friend to Renaud as he could; if Renaud would not speak to him, he would not speak. There was food served in a room off the hall, and service there went on continuously throughout the evening. Andrew was content enough to pretend illness further, for it gave him ample time to watch and learn the ways of this society, which until now he had just heard of. Seeing it was much more enriching.

A bell was rung after a time and a guardsman announced, "The guests must leave now so that they may make their homes prior to curfew and the closing of the town gates. We trust you have enjoyed yourselves."

There was a round of polite applause at this rather abrupt ending--Andrew learned that when the King entertained in evenings, all guests were accommodated for the night as well. Still, he was being invited to stay on, and he watched from the chair he sat in as if to avoid the press of people departing.

Renaud came by. "I must depart now. Pray do not drink overmuch. You can remember which apartment is ours? You have had little time outside of it."

"I will remember." Andrew assured them.

"Remember, as well, that I have described you as having a gentleman's upbringing." Renaud said.

"I shall." Andrew said, taken aback.

Renaud left, and Andrew puzzled. What did he mean by that.

"Are the doors sealed?" Lord Montaigne called after a time.

"They are sealed, my Lord." a servant called.

Andrew looked around at those chosen to stay behind. Several were nobles or rich townspeople, Andrew could not tell which. They were outnumbered more than two to one by the guards who had been in the room since it had opened, unmasked. These were all young and quite handsome, but he expected nothing less inside the royal palace, where pageantry was presumed rather than affected.

"Ah." Lord Montaigne called as he ascended to the throne. "I greet my friends here tonight. I decided upon this meeting when news arrived for me. We have had yesterday our first battle with the loyalist forces. Upon a plain near Paserilov, my forces and the forces of the assembled lords, who numbered twelve hundred valliant men, met a contingent of the guardsmen belonging to the renegade lords Marcus Dentremon and Bernard Chautreaux, and having outnumbered them three to one, given them a sound thrashing, killing near half their number and taking nearly all the rest as prisoners. I have assembled twenty-five of the unwounded prisoners, who are of no value to us and unlikely to be ransomed, and have given them this contest, that they shall entertain you and then you shall choose by lot after taking your pleasures with them which one was the best and that one shall be given a pardon and allowed to live."

There was a general cheer to this news, to which Andrew, aghast, did not contribute. He had heard many tales of how prisoners, both in and out of war, were treated. There were "neck riddles", where a prisoner would be freed if he could answer the king's riddles or ask one the king and his court could not answer. There were contests where the prisoner would have to accomplish some task in order to be freed. It had a long and therefore somewhat venerable history, but...had he been invited to join in this?

"Keep all your masks on, my guests, for I chose the beast masks with this in mind. If you would please me, make sounds like the animals whose mask you bear, for our enjoyment."

Lord Montaigne pulled a bell-rope, and the men were herded into the chamber, naked and not walking as men should, but crawling upon all fours.

"Come, my rutting beasts, and choose your pleasure. Prizes shall be given for unusual ideas and novel treatments. I have chosen a few extra, and the guards may enjoy those who are not chosen."

There were some thirty men in the room, including the ten guards, and they converged upon the hapless men like flies to an open jug of honey. Andrew turned away, could not bear to watch this.

"Andre, are you not going to join the festivities?" Lord Montaigne called to him over the general noises of men braying like barnyard animals.

"I humbly beg your pardon, my Lord, but I would not take a man against his will, even were I not in ill health." Andrew called back.

"But I chose this number so that you would have your choice." Lord Montaigne protested. "Ah, the lot of you, stop for a moment while I pursue this short talk." The men paused in their exertions, and Andrew looked with loathing upon the assembly, men on the floor in various postures, with tunics pulled up and tights tugged down. Yet they were frozen in these poses as if this were some obscene portrait. "Surely your weakness has diminished enough that you would enjoy this?" Montaigne said now in a quieter tone. "Your neighbors have told me of the sighs of lust you and your master emit both morning and night without fail, and sometimes in the afternoon as well."

"My Master has been kind enough to be attentive to all my needs in my illness." Andrew said truthfully. "But I would not put on a decent show for you in my current state. You need a lusty animal, and I find myself short of breath and dizzy upon too much movement."

"Then the prisoners shall select one of their own. Come, this young man is a hero who was recently wounded defending his master's life. Surely one of you craves the feel of that extraordinarily large tool in his fundament?"

Andrew should have realized that these men, knowing they were playing for their lives, would respond as they did, which was to clamor for the privilege. They had to please Lord Montaigne and the assembled lords, and how easier than to cater to this declared hero? And he would then be forced to perform like a trained animal for these men's viewing pleasure.

That thought gave him another argument. "To be honest entire, my Lord, I confess to you the actual illness is bashfulness, born of a rigorous upbringing."

"And this is the man who chose to become a mercenary? Surely the pleasures on the field of battle would encompass pleasure with enemy captives and in the midst of his comrades-in-arms?"

"I thought more on what I would see and where I would go." Andrew said. He was lying on the cuff, and hoping that he would not be overly pressed.

Lord Montaigne sighed. "Ah, well, I am disappointed. I merely wished to see your manhood in all its glory and in performance of its designed function. Your Master while deep in his cups did speak of it quite vividly and worshipfully."

"Perhaps in more secluded circumstances, my Lord, I could oblige you in this request." Andrew said. "Perhaps with my Master, if you will ask him the favor, he would let you observe us in our bed."

"Still, I wished to reward you for your bravery to your Master. In these days, remembering your loyalty is to your Lord and not a King is well worth the price of my coin."

"Then grant the one I would choose his life and freedom, and let me retire with him to a place of peace." Andrew said. "And I shall be well rewarded indeed." He could thus save the life of one loyal soldier of the King. "Though it would please me more if they were all spared in some manner, sent off into exile, perhaps."

"From which they could return as rapidly as the guards I would have to send with them." Lord Montaigne said. "Very well, choose the one you wish, but you must take him as we all watch."

There was no avoiding this. Andrew rose up and walked around the room.

"Take me, young lord." one called out. "I am the only support of my aged mother."

"Then you should not have been foolish enough to abandon her to go to war at all." the noble with him countered scornfully. "If you are going to lie, at least lie craftily."

"I would take this one." another prisoner said, essaying a smile. "And not for any aged mother, but I have an eye for a manly tool."

"Ah, choose him if you must and I'll take another." the nobleman with him groaned. "But choose quickly, before I burst from within!"

Andrew looked about in despair. Who here could he choose? He bore life in his hands, and found the weight grievous.

He felt then a timid hand at his ankle. "Well." he said almost in exasperation at the youthful face below him, raised up to meet his. "What tale will you offer me?" This one had nobody near him yet, though some guards had apparently headed for him in the general rush, stopped before they could capture him.

"None but the truth." the young man said, gulped. "I have never been known to another. Please, sir, if I must do this, let it be with you, for I can see you will go kindly with me."

Andrew looked at the young man, adjudged him to be closer to his date of majority than himself, who had passed it a year before. Looked at the body which had known physical labor in the fields, for it was well-formed and strong. Looked at the horny hands which had born perhaps a scythe in the summer hay bare days before, and then taken up a sword in the dreams of glory in battle. Looked at the face, as yet unlined by life and the filling out of the adult body, remaining yet all unformed like soft clay that could be molded at desire.

The man's hand, emboldened by his pause, traveled up his body.

"Ah, he has chosen!" Lord Montaigne called. "Let the games begin anew!"

Andrew forced himself to shut out the renewed clamor as the young man rose up to his knees, perched his buttocks on his heels as his hands reached ever higher on the skin-tight hose Andrew wore, and found his ample basket crammed abnormally high and there nestled and caressed the abused tender flesh with warm strokes.

There was a roaring in his ears, perhaps the blood rushing through his veins, perhaps the sounds of the men around him, as they vented their imitations of animals, perhaps the groans of the men being violated all about him, perhaps it was the ocean not far away churning with anger at this sordidness. Andrew felt the hands at his tights, fumbling for the small knot at the top to open and free him, tugging hard, eager even, pulling his muscled thighs free of their confinement, the cloth yielding reluctantly as the skin of a young calf still clings to the layer of fat and muscle beneath and must be skinned down to be kept whole, a little at a time, and this was how the tights clung yet to his body.

Andrew waited thus until the tights were past his knees and no longer ensnaring his body, then he seized the young man's shoulders and pushed him away, but only so that he could lower his own body to the hard stone floor and meet those tender lips with his own! They felt, tasted just like the petals of a rose he had once pressed to his lips in a secret moment of affectation. The same pliable, soft, velvety texture met his lips, only these were not cold rose-petals, these were warm and vibrant upon his own, they moved and meshed with his own, and they begged his tongue to extrude and join their company, and when he granted this boon, it was seized and carried off to be ravished in the dark warm cavern of this man's mouth!

"Ah, ah!" Andrew said after a time, freeing his tongue and lips from this hungrily grateful young man, Andrew's cock fully enlarged and ready. "If I am to take you, you would be wise to spare some of your water's moisture to soften the pathway I must travel. But turn as you move, and I will inspire you by my own example and teach you the proper method."

This young man needed no further urgings, he quickly crawled around. As this movement gave him a brief pause, Andrew dared risk a look around.

A young nobleman was rutting upon the man nearest them, this man older and grimacing in pain. The nobleman (or townsman, Andrew conceded) had taken off all his own clothing, and now wore only the pig's mask and he was grunting urgently while he hunched at the captive man, moaning and clutching blindly at the bare stone floor in his pain, teeth clenched, eyes blazing in anger at his mistreatment, but enduring it as best he could.

And Andrew was well satisfied when his partner's body blocked this scene, though now the noise of the crowd had an identified sound, and so all sounds of pain were the man's nearest him from multiple throats, the noises of all animals came from the lusting beast-faced man pumping into him.

Was this Marcel, raping this man nearby, watching with glee as Andrew was once again unfaithful to Renaud? He tried to remember if he had seen Marcel leave with Renaud, and could not. His mind had been on other things.

The touch of rose-petal lips brushed his cock and Andrew remembered his duty to this man instead. He found the tender young prick tumescent and dripping in its joy at being chosen, liquid gratitude to its savior. Andrew tasted that salty gift and felt the young man's tongue do the same to his own cock, and Andrew was surprised to find that he had a weeping head to give this man as well.

He taught this young man by example, how to slather the cock with his saliva, how to work it into the mouth, in stages, letting the spit pave the way for further entrance, and it picking up more on its way. His pupil was adept and talented, and soon he felt his cock was covered in warm slime, and hoping it was sufficient, he released the young man's dripping pud and said, "Now, upon your knees again so I may mount you."

As Andrew moved into position, placing himself behind the young upturned buttocks, he saw Lord Montaigne was nearby, having left the throne and come near to take his vaunted position of watching Andrew making love. A nobleman with a cat's-face mask had reached beneath the royal robes Lord Montaigne now affected, and was sucking on the Lord Protector's prong with obvious enjoyment while he fucked at the man beneath him. Andrew kept his face neutral even though he had the mask, not daring to let his displeasure be shown, and instead turned all his concentration, as he did in battle upon the other man's sword, and turned it now inwards and into his own cock.

He dared not dally, but pressed into the tender young buttocks as quickly as he could, though his mate grunted and protested in pain at every stage. Andrew would stop when the grunts gain in volume, but knowing his audience he dared not wait overlong, but would push in again at the slightest release.

Soon he had his pud buried in the inexperienced butthole to its limit and he paused again a moment there, reassuring his sobbing companion, "That is all of it."

"Take it out!" the man responded, given permission to speak at last by Andrew's own words. "Please, take it out, it hurts! I can't stand it! Please!"

"I shall hold still for a breath or two longer." Andrew said reassuringly. "Your body will adjust to it. Relax, and think on your freedom which shall soon be yours again."

Andrew felt then his hands and arms grabbed and he was pulled down onto the young man's body, his chest against the warm back. "What is this?"

"Hush." one of the guards said, for it was they who had grabbed him. "You shall enjoy this, we are certain."

And Andrew felt the hard prong pushing at his nether regions. Coated in saliva or such substance, it still was large and tunneled into him with a vigor he had not felt in many days, with Renaud's exclusive diet of smaller cock ill-preparing him for this onslaught.

"Guh!" Andrew protested. But he dared not say more, for if the guards had seized him, they did so at the behest of the Lord Protector. He had changed from one of the guests to part of the entertainment, and so he bore the riveting dick as it shoved into him with ill grace and no finesse, until he felt as if he would burst from this turgid invader.

And he groaned anew as the pud fucked at him while he was held in place, and the young man beneath him felt the ravages of a second-hand fuck, for Andrew could do naught but be thrust forward with each savage thrust.

"Huh, huh, huh!" Andrew groaned out as he fucked and was fucked.

"Oh, God, I can't stand it any longer!" a guard groaned and moved around to their front and shoved his ill-washed cock at Andrew's face. "Suck it now, now!"

Andrew felt a hand push down against him and he obeyed it, taking this almost-reeking prong into his mouth and nearly choking on the rancid, wrinkled cock that seemed to be aswim in over-thick foreskin. But it firmed up in a moment's time and now Andrew's head was grabbed by two rough hands and his face was fucked the same as his ass was fucked.

He was stuffed full of cock, his own cock buried in young ass. He could not see anything but the crotch of the man before him, could not feel anything but the naked young body beneath him, the hips of the man behind him, the hands of the guards holding him in place, and his cock, his cock was encased in boiling fire into which it plunged and withdrew without his volition, being pushed in and pulled out by the pole in his ass, so that he was being ridden in this manner, unmercifully.

Despite himself, in spite of his dislike of his position, he was awash in sexual sensations, his body new them well, the warm thrill of his cock as it was manipulated by the tender ass beneath him, his own ass quivering as it was plunged full and emptied again by sheer force, and there was pleasure there as well as his body was touched in this too-intimate way, and there was the noise around him, men were reaching orgasm all about, there was the overwhelming smell of jism in the air as it boiled forth from many different bodies, and Andrew gave in to the feelings inside and outside of him, became a part of it, let it take him as it would, and he reached his climax, groaning as well as he could with the now-hot prong in his mouth plugging his ability to speak, and nearly to breath, and as he crested that mountain of orgasm, he found the pud in his mouth spurting salty, heavy seed into him to cut off even the meager supply of air he had been getting, and felt as well the prong in his ass boil forth with stinging frenzy, and the young ass clutching him tightly while he heard his young protege venting his own lust of the moment.

The halls rang forth with the sounds of the rapture from several throats, until it echoed from every stone and bounced from every pillar, and the sound flickered the many torches that still blazed and in this roar of sound and rush of sensation and overwhelming, overpowering smell of human rut, Andrew crashed back down to lie broken and limp at the base of the cliff he had so recently climbed triumphantly.

Andrew came back to himself fully and was crushed by the heavy weight atop him. The guards had released him and so he was able to squirm his way out. All around him were spent bodies, men lying there until it looked like the room had hosted not an orgy but a battle and these were the victims of the frenzy, casualties to be buried in haste or left to the vultures that came to the cries of battle as if they knew the trumpet calls as well as the soldiers did.

As Andrew pulled himself heavily out from the crush of bodies around him, he got a look at his ravisher.

Lord Montaigne. The Lord Protector looked up and there was no ounce of contrition in that face, rather, a deep satisfaction. "You will forgive me for taking my liberty with you." he said. It was not a request.

"Yes, but I will take this young life I have saved with me." Andrew said as he fetched his soled hose and stepped into them, awkwardly.

"Very well." Lord Montaigne said and looked around. "Ah, Perest, you are handy. Take this young man and cut both his hands off. Our hero wishes to depart now."

"My hand?" the young man said in alarm. "Nay, Sire, I beg you, no!"

"I cannot leave a soldier in full fighting trim." Lord Montaigne said, as if the answer was obvious. "He must be rendered unable to use a sword ever again."

"But if you cut off his hand, you doom him to a life as a beggar, for he will be unable to work at any trade." Andrew said. "And it leaves the enemy with no reason to surrender to you."

"What would you suggest then, oh wise warrior?" Lord Montaigne said mockingly.

Andrew ignored it, knew that he could not prevent any injury at all from being done, and remembered an alternative he had overheard discussed. "You must remove their ability to wield a sword, I agree. But you need not remove the entire hand to do this. The thumb is vital to a sword. Take off the thumb, and he will never carry anything heavy as a sword again, but he should make shift to work as a peasant once more."

Lord Montaigne smiled. "And my kindness will be remembered. Very well, I order it. Take off this young pup's thumbs, and give them to his savior as a memento of his kindness."

Andrew turned to the young man. "I..."

"I am grateful to you." the man said. "For sparing me eight of my digits at least. You are right, I shall learn to use them somewhat."

Andrew pulled his tights in desperation, got them mostly to his waist, and turned to dash out the door. He fumbled for a moment, forgetting where to turn in the darkness, but remembered and soon was once again at the door where he was living.

Utter darkness inside, and he called out as he neared his bed. "Renaud?"

"Hmm?" came the groggy sound. "Ah, Andre, you are back. Did you enjoy yourself."

"If you would grant me a boon, my master, grant that I may never attend Lord Montaigne without you again. I feel filthy and disgusted."

"I knew." Renaud said, rising up and taking him in his arms. "But what was there for me to say? I could not even claim my right to you as my lover, since you had taken your release from me."

Andrew lay inside the comforting arms. What was he to say to this?

"Do you wish now to be captured by me once again?" Renaud asked him.

"Uh...nay." Andrew said. "My reasons have not changed, though I am grateful for the offer of your sanctuary."

Renaud lifted the covers over them. "Then take the cowl of your first oath, my novitiate, and I shall wait until you hear the call of your own."

"Would that I could wash away these sins so easily." Andrew said. "I would seek out a priest in the morning and confess, save that I would also have to promise never to hold you again as well to be shriven."

"Then take my own absolution." Renaud said.

And Andrew felt Renaud's lips kiss his cheek tenderly. It did help, a lot. "I thank thee, kind friar." He said.

"Now sleep." Renaud said. "In the morning, we shall go down and see Heslov."

Andrew lay there a long time in Renaud's arms, and sleep, when it finally came, was a thief that caught him unawares.