Squire of Carlovain

Squire of Carlovain, Chapter 17

"Reunions"

By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM

Andrew was glad of the tiny cabin, small and cramped, it nonetheless permit him to shut out the outside and be alone with his thoughts, for he could not deal with both at the same time.

It wasn't the world he had thought it was. He had grown up with his father and mother at the inn, listening to his father's tales of glory and honor. How, then to reconcile that with the unmitigated butchery that was taking place here. In the interior of Carlovain, he knew that, perhaps even at this very moment, some peasant family was meeting ruination, rape and murder at the hands of the French rebel leaders. Yet were their hands so much more dirty than those of the loyalists, who slew these young French men? Every call he heard came first to his ears as a death cry, and only second as what it was, that of the fishermen calling out to each other. They were returning now to their harbor, wherever that was.

After a time, Trevish came into the cabin and sat beside him. "I knew you would not be sleeping." he said simply.

Andrew turned his eyes upon Trevish. "How many of them were spared?"

"About half." Trevish admitted. "I knew that would be, for no lord risks his first son in such a venture, but would keep him close by himself at home or in the field. It is the younger sons, those without prospect, who would be sent to the court and the chance of the grant of land that would bring."

"What of Renaud?"

"I don't know." Trevish said. "Who is he?"

"The second son of Count Ratisbon."

Trevish smiled. "Then I am sure he will be spared, for the Count is very rich. It is the poorer lands that will mourn the loss of their children and kindred."

Andrew felt a certain lifting of his heart. "I intend to ask for Renaud's release." he said to Trevish. "Once I see the King, it is the first thing I shall ask."

"You played the part of his servant too well." Trevish said. "You forgot to keep your heart safely locked away."

"He saved my life, when we were both attacked by robbers." Andrew said, showing Trevish the scar on his arm, a large, tuckered and evil-looking purple thing. "I had fallen and he sprang to my side, his sword warding us both. Then he nursed me back to health, he and Marcel." Andrew covered his arm again. "Marcel is dead now, because he was the eighth son of the Marquis of Lesleran, and so would not fetch a decent price."

Trevish pursed his lips and frowned. "I am sorry to hear that. I would have had them all spared if I could. But remember our position. Most of Carlovain is now under the control of the rebel lords. What is left is poor and crowded with refugees. We shall all be tightening our belts this winter no matter what the next few days will hold, unless you have the power to eat heartily while watching and listening to the sounds of hunger all around you."

It happened, sometimes. Three times in his life, Andrew and his family had lived through lean years, bad harvests, a shortage of coin. Lord Montaigne had paid for grains out of his own pocket to carry his lands through three-year period of famine, importing it from who-knew-where. Whatever crimes of cruelty and treason you had to lay at his doorstep, lay this there as well, like a rose atop the corpse of a murderer.

Andrew sighed. "I am struggling to remember why we are doing this." he admitted.

"We do it for the oath we have taken." Trevish said. "For Carlovain, and for her King, that was my oath. For you, the King has taken you as his squire, and deserves your loyalty above even my own."

"And he has it." Andrew sighed again. "I can do nothing else. But I wish we were back at the inn, when our duty was clear and our enemy clearly known."

"You will remember, when you see the King again." Trevish said, rising. "We will be in port in another two hours or so. Until then, rest."

Andrew lay down and tried to do just that. There was nothing he could do just now.

At the shore, though, he broke away and went to the prisoners, who were being herded into a storehouse or meeting house of some kind at the tiny village. Inside, he looked around, squinting in the dim light of the single torch that lit its interior. "Where is Renaud?" he called out.

"And who are you?" came the retort of one of the Neresterii guards. Then his eyes dropped and squinted at the emblem Andrew wore, and comprehension lit his face. "Ah, my humblest pardon, your Highness." He actually used a Neresterii word which meant "member of the royal family," for the Neresterii clans were considered to be extended families; Andrew thus held the title legitimately, though he had never thought in those terms. "Pray, sir, come in and see if he is among the prisoners that did not die beneath our blades."

"If he died, I shall swear a personal vengeance upon the man who did it." Andrew named an ancient right older perhaps than civilization, the right to revenge the death of a kinsman or friend.

"We shall find him if that is so. But, ah, your Highness, do not waste Neresterii blood on this scum." the man protested. "We shall ransom them all once winter has arrived, and until then, they shall receive ample food and water. We can't even lop off their hands because of the ransom, which is a fate better than the way they have served our kind. They attacked my village and I know not if my wife and son are alive or dead, for I have had no chance to look for them and no word of them, and I am far from alone among such men who fought this night, with bitter memories and fury in our heart. If a man thus avenged his dead, can you fault him?"

All this time, Andrew was looking at the faces, the same men who had so boisterously laid their hands upon him and Renaud the evening before, and who now looked at him with shock of betrayal, or scorn.

"Where is Renaud?" he demanded at last.

"We don't know. He isn't here. Maybe they'll bring him in on one of the other boats." one of the nobles said. It was the very same man who had set up the unique wager between Andrew and Renaud. "And if we did know, we would not tell it to scum who betray their own masters."

Andrew flinched, and then stiffened. "Given that I speak to those who have betrayed the oaths given to their sovereign, I shall not answer in kind."

"Who are you?" the nobleman asked. "I would know the name to tell my children, so they at least may seek your blood despite the oath of peace I shall have to give."

"He called you Your Highness." Another said, with something akin to awe.

"Yes, tell us who you are, for the sake of the friendship we once knew."

Andrew rose up straight. "I am Andrew, son of Falin, and the chosen squire of King Phillippe V. When rebel swords rose up against him, and his own house were among his foes, it was my blade that held them off. He is now nearby, and you shall all have to stand before him and confess your crimes and swear your oaths of permanent exile for the sake of your lives."

"Is that why you seek Renaud?" one nobleman asked sullenly. "Did you make love to him and exchange your kisses and sweet words with him before and after, only so that now you can stand and hold the blade at his throat while he begs for his life?"

Andrew found his throat muscles bunching up. Not knowing whether he was about to erupt in rage or in tears, he turned and left the building. He would have stayed just the same, but he had scanned every face of the pitifully few surviving men; and Renaud was not there.

He haunted the quay for the rest of that night. Some of the boats had cast adrift during the night and only now in early daylight came home to rest. They had prisoners, some of them even from a second ship which had been similarly waylaid the evening before. But none of them were Renaud.

He would have stayed throughout that day, but at breakfast time, Adomeh came to get him, and he was forced to travel with them back across the strip of land that was Winseran Point, to meet the King, riding in a nobleman's open-air coach, though the weather again threatened rain and had a distinct chill in it as well. Winter was approaching fast.

In his travel, Andrew saw first-hand the suffering of the civil war upon the citizenry, at a village through which they passed. It bore its share of refugees, every farmhouse had its share of suffering peasantry, women and children, and men with stumps instead of hands or wounds of battle, for the Neresterii care for their own. Andrew had to listen as they came out and begged for alms as he passed. Were it not that the guards who rode with them callously chased the beggars away before they could get near, Andrew would have gladly opened his pouch and given away his few coins. But he never had the chance.

He learned during the ride that three of the eight ships of Lord Montaigne's fleet had been sunk that night and its occupants seized or killed. A fourth had been slightly damaged, but had been in the process of taking sail when found, and so had blithely sailed away from the chisels and bars of the submerged Neresterii fishermen, possibly never discovering their near-brush with death. None of these were the "Lion's Paw" which would have held Lord Montaigne, and the other two had held only Montaigne's soldiery, and so few prisoners were taken from there, the rest given to the blade and the ocean. More blood upon his hands.

Sleep, when it came at last, poor as it was in the moving, jolting carriage, was a blessing.

His next sight was that afternoon, at the harbor at Winseran Point, as they topped the final hill and began the long trip down to the ocean once more, for Trevish roused him and pointed.

Much like Heslov in its situation, being at the very base of a large cape, Winseran Point (the small town and peninsula bore the same name) was shielded by the cape from the western winds and the worst brunt of the storms which came out of the North Sea. Still, it was a poorer harbor than Heslov boasted, poorer in some ways even than Gullsport.

It had "Dulicen's Claws," which here were large reefs out in the harbor, covered with gulls and seals in loud, squawking, barking profusion. These reefs actually overlapped out in the harbor, with a space between them that a ship had to carefully sail between, in order to enter or leave the harbor.

But the harbor itself was empty and the reason was easy enough to see. Out on the ocean in the middle distance, sailing their way, were four ships he recognized easily, having seen them day after day for a long time.

Lord Montaigne had also arrived.

"There are Montaigne's ships." Adomeh said casually, for he had also seen them.

"Hadn't we better make haste to help fight them off?" Andrew asked, casually as he could. He had had time to think and remember which side he was on. Besides, Renaud was not aboard those ships. He was no doubt bobbing somewhere out at sea or washed ashore. Somehow, he didn't think of Renaud as dead; Renaud, who knew the sea so well. He would make shift and survive somehow, Andrew was sure. Correct or not, it freed his heart for the battles to come.

"No hurry." Trevish responded. "He is sailing into a trap, and we want him to come into the harbor. Everything has been arranged to make him think we have abandoned the harbor entire." And indeed, the town itself looked deserted.

They had a long trip down the hill toward the town, plenty of time to watch this protracted drama. Watched as Montaigne's ships came up to the entrance, watched as they struggled to turn their tubby little ships about, struggled to send them one by one into the harbor in close order but without stealing the wind from each other.

After a time, Andrew said, "The 'Lion's Paw' will be first into the harbor. It is Lord Montaigne's own ship."

"Good." Adomeh said with satisfaction. "Watch Lady Dulicen strike once again for Carlovain."

Andrew did, mystified. Did they have those submerged fishermen there? But they couldn't keep up with a ship under sail, even the small sail these ships had on; they moved faster than any man could swim.

The "Lion's Paw" entered the narrowest part of the passage, and appeared to ram something.

"The Lady Dulicen has him in her clutches." Adomeh grinned.

"Can the next ship stop before ramming her from behind?" Trevish asked.

"Close as they are, I doubt it. Ships are not so easily turned from their course. The sailors must climb the ropes and redistribute the sail before they can even begin a turn and even then the currents of the passage can be...ah!"

The caravel behind the "Lion's Paw" collided with the "Paw". The other ships were veering, but had no place to go inside the narrow passage, they were forced to furl their sails entire, blocking each other as they stopped, nearly broadside to the passage and facing each other, prow to prow.

And now Andrew saw what he had thought to be the seals on the rocks to be men dressed in sealskins, who now rose up and sent arrows flying over the decks of these hapless ships.

"Only question now is whether the signal was sent in time." Trevish said. "If not, we may yet have to fight those who swim to shore."

Indeed, men could be seen diving, or falling, into the water. This sight didn't bother Andrew, for this was combat clean and clear, and warriors on both sides had a chance, at least. It was the sheer butchery of the attack on his ship which had repulsed him. So he watched as arrows flew thick through the air, thick enough to see even at this distance as shadows that lashed at the riggings and decks of the hapless ships, and now they were within a quarter-mile of the harbor, and men were coming out of the buildings where they had been hiding and deploying, more men to fend off the assault on Winseran Point.

"There they are!" Adomeh pointed out to sea.

Andrew looked, but could see nothing. "Where?" he asked.

"There, along the horizon. See the sails?"

Andrew did, though he hadn't recognized it. Some six ships were headed their way. "Who are they?"

"Danish ships, with troops aboard." Trevish said, grinning, enjoying the look of surprise on Andrew's face. "Our King has taken a wife in England, but it was the daughter of Christian, Luise. The King of Denmark has been looking for allies to help him consolidate his hold over the Swedish nobles, and it appears that King Christian knew of Montaigne's plot enough to send letters of authority to his ministers in all directions where the King might flee. So, the Danish Ambassador in England sought him out, and the King parlayed the wedding into a promise of immediate military aid. In return, we have to send our own soldiers to Sweden next year to help the Danish King put down his own rebellion, which has been raging for many years now."

Andrew sighed happily. "So Carlovain has found an ally after all." The King had done as he had prayed, he had worked a miracle of alliance in England! A thought occurred to him. "But what of the English?"

"They have their own problems, with their War of the Roses churning up their countryside, the Lancasters versus the Yorks, Red Rose versus White Rose. Our King wouldn't know which to marry, a daughter of Duke Edward or King Henry, both who now claim the throne. Henry is back on the throne just now, but who knows how long that will last?"

"I...hadn't known anything of it." Andrew was puzzled. Was the entire world in rebellion? Was there no sanctuary anywhere in the world for a man who was tired of war and sought only peace?

"Living at court, you have to stay abreast of this sort of thing." Adomeh assured him. "Otherwise, you won't know who's most likely plotting against our own King! Get someone to speak with you about politics very soon."

Meantime, the battle waxed bloodily upon the ships. Now the "seals" were casting lines up the sides of the ship, and trying to wend their way over them hand-over-hand, to do battle upon the decks. But many men had tried and none yet made it, blades cut the ropes, and arrows from the ships sent them all down to fall into the water where they churned and thrashed, and died there or not as fate would have it. But they did not fire totally unhindered, for now catapults sent their rocks onto the ships. Andrew had heard of these weapons of war, once a catapult was "sighted in", it could be deadly accurate, and of course they had known just where the ships would have to stop. The "Lion's Paw" bore the brunt of these balls, and now the catapults were sending fire-balls onto the decks, and the mast and sail were now ablaze. And men were now making it across the ropes onto the decks.

The two ships behind the "Paw" and its sister were turning about. Maybe they would make their escape into the open sea and maybe not, for the Danish fleet was hard upon them. But Andrew saw no more of it, for their wagon dropped the final distance and now they were hard upon the town, and buildings blocked their way.

This town was small, only a handful of buildings here did not abut upon the harbor. But it was to one of these, a house larger than the others, that they made their way. Andrew saw, tacked over its front door, the flag of Carlovain and his heart lifted. Soon he would see the King once more. And the Queen? No, royal weddings took time, perhaps the King had not even seen his bride yet and would not until spring. Were Andrew the King of Denmark, he would not yet send his daughter to Winseran Point! Only royal promises had been exchanged, no doubt.

Wait, there was a woman of finery standing in the doorway. Was that their new Queen? She was rather dumpy, older-looking. Would the King have married such a woman?

Then she saw him and cried out, "Andrew!"

"Mother!"

Andrew jumped out of the still-moving carriage and over in a single one-handed bound from a flat stance, ignoring the slight twitch his right arm muscle (that scar!) gave in protest at this, and ran to embrace her.

"Oh, Andrew, my baby, my darling!" his mother cried out, and Andrew couldn't have cared less at the chuckles this evinced from the guardsmen.

"Mother, mother!" he said, and finally, fearing his heart would burst, he stepped back so that only their forearms were still interlocked.

"Ah, aren't you fine-looking in that livery!" his mother said. "And don't worry, while we were in England, I had some clothes made up for you, right along with the King's new wardrobe! Can't have you running about town in the colors of a rebel, now can we?"

"No." Andrew said. "We can't have that. But I see you bought clothes for yourself at the same time."

"Ah, I was lucky in that a noble lady of England was in hardship and had to sell some of her gowns. I took her entire lot, for we were of a size."

"And father, where is he?"

"Inside. Where else should the King's steward be?" his mother said with pride.

"Steward?" Andrew said in disbelief.

"Aye, he has rewarded our family greatly for our aid in his hour. But he has said repeatedly that he holds back the greatest reward for you."

"Me?" Andrew was abashed at his proclamation in public, though inwardly his heart swelled with pride.

"And who else do we owe this victory today?" his mother said. "We'll have Lord Montaigne as the King's prisoner by nightfall, I doubt not, and the honor of that comes straight to you. But come inside and let's get you out of those clothes, for they are soiled. The King is at the harbor and will be until the rebel Lord Montaigne is brought to him in chains."

Andrew went in. The house boasted some ten or twelve rooms and was no doubt the house of a clan leader. Andrew's father was seated at the fire speaking with several men, and Andrew called out, "Father!"

His father left the group and his chair and limped to meet him, though Andrew's own legs made that but a mere step or two. His father, though, perhaps mindful of the group with him, kept the greeting short and dignified. "Ah, son, it's good to see you once again." his father said. "You have done well. My friends, I present to you my son, Andrew." And Andrew had to grasp each man in the warrior's grip, for these were all Neresterii lords, leaders of all the clans, though all men of advanced age and gray hairs, explaining their absence from the harbor. They were imposing-looking nonetheless, and Andrew became very conscious of his unkempt state.

Done, he waved off his father's gesture to a seat by the fire. "My thanks, father, but I am weary and soiled with the travel. Mother says I have clothing awaiting me, and I could use a bath if I can find it, to wash away all this salt water upon me."

"A bath, indeed." his father said genially. "But return when you are done."

"Yes, father."

Andrew went back to his mother. "He is happy and looking well." he said to her.

"And why shouldn't he?" his mother said with her old fire. "He is the King's Steward, and for him, that means he sits by the fire and drinks and talks about old days. I am left to deal with the house, and he is annoyed when I interrupt him to get permission to do some task he should do himself."

Andrew smiled. "I wouldn't fret overmuch about permission, mother, for if I know the King, he chose my father as steward in order to get your services."

His mother looked offended, and then laughed. "That or revenge for the days we traveled to England, for I kept up the pretense he was you and gave him errands to run. Well, it would have looked remiss if I had not and it kept the nobles we had with us on the boat from looking at him too carefully. You don't expect a King to fetch water for others now, do you? A little of that and they never looked his way again."

"I know the King feels safe in your hands, mother." Andrew said. "With your eye on the kitchen, no poison can make its way into his food or drink."

"Then I intend to use you for his food-taster." His mother retorted, laughed again. For all her complaints about her duties, she was happier than he had ever seen her, so he laughed along with her.

She showed him to a room where a bath had already been prepared. "Here, you take your bath and I'll fetch your clothing for you. I have it in boxes downstairs."

Andrew looked about the large room. "Is this where I'll be staying?" he asked.

"Where else?" she said. "The King's squire sleeps at his master's feet, of course." She gestured to the tiny bunk at the foot of the large bed.

Andrew saw the large, soft bed, the lack of other bedding in the room, and a warm feeling arose in his stomach.

He bathed, dressed, and now in the green and gold livery of Carlovain, and his new clothing fitting him much better (though still the tunic-and-tights as before, they had a more modest cut to them), and went down to join the group at the fire once more.

Over the hours that followed, much of his worry and indecision left him. Not that he no longer loved Renaud, but it was easier to keep that love in abeyance until he had word of Renaud's fate. Who knew how many days that would be? Until then, he was here in the royal court of Carlovain, treated as an equal by the highest lords of his land, and knew that these days would go on, and on. Gone was the uncertainty of his days at the palace-cum-Lord Protector's house, the worry that he would be discovered, the pain at knowing Renaud's loyalty was contrary to his, this was established, he need not pretend, he need only be who he was once more.

The mood at the group was hearty. These six ships were only a first offering from Denmark, more would arrive as they could be found and outfitted. Ships laden with food and supplies were also bound for Carlovain, and would arrive within the next few weeks. With Danish aid, famine would be lessened, and with Lord Montaigne's eminent capture, the rebellion seemed already dead and forgotten. So it was a merry gathering, and Andrew lost all track of the time, lost in tales of ancient Carlovain and the proud, unfettered joy of men who had never known French rule as other than a fate that had happened to others.

"The King has returned, and is in good temper and high spirits!" came the cry from outside. Then inside came a young lad of some ten or twelve years of age. "The King has returned, and is in good temper and high spirits!" He sang this out as a litany, over and over again.

And the King was! He swept in with a grand, happy gesture and the men at the fire rose to meet him with their words of praise. Rain had just begun to fall outside, not the tempest of a storm, but a proper shower at the end of summer, slow, healing rain. It only speckled his cloak in dark spots, and added to his otherwise-plain appearance, for he was girded up for battle, with breastplate and helmet.

He doffed his helmet (it wasn't a face-concealing item, just covered his head's top and sides) and gave it to his mother. His eyes lit upon Andrew and he grinned in welcome. "Ah, my squire has returned to me, and covered with honor."

Andrew stepped up, his heart again pounding within him. "My heart is glad to see you again, Sire." he said, and started to kneel at the King's feet.

Arms caught him before he could do so, and the King embraced him heartily, the cold metal almost bruising Andrew's ribs.

"My comrades," the King said to those who had entered with him and were waiting, somewhat impatiently, for they could not brush aside the King and most were still out in the rain. "I give you Andrew, son of Falin. He is my squire, and a finer and braver lad you'll not meet again for many days. I was glad to honor his father and mother for their aid, and now I can honor the son as well."

The men gave a proper, though wet, cheer, for the rain was begun in earnest.

"Come to the fire, Sire, and warm yourself after your exertions." Andrew said. "How went the battle? We know naught save that we were victorious."

"And you deserve the honor for that more than we." the King said, as he permitted the servants to strip off his cloak and armor, and finally moved into the main room, and his many retainers followed as well, now rather soaked with the rain.

Andrew saw the servant approaching with the King's cup, and intercepted and took the plate from the lad's hands, seeing resentment on the young face at this usurpation of his duty.

Andrew presented it to the King. "Now I may begin my duties in earnest, Sire, as your squire and body-servant." he said.

The King took the cup. "And it shall be the shortest servitude this land and this world has ever seen, for your duties as such end now." he said.

"Sire?"

"Fetch me my sword from my scabbard, for I shall knight this valiant son of Carlovain this very moment." the King pronounced.

"But this cannot be!" Andrew protested, drawing a frown from the King. "Sire, I would not presume beyond my station. A knight must be a landholder, that was decided long ago, and I have not a single square foot of land to call my own. Pray, being your squire is the highest of honors; I am content." Almost alone of the lands of Europe, in Carlovain only nobility could become knights, though commoners could become, and remain the rest of their lives, squires such as Andrew.

The King smiled. "And do you think I came to this meeting, knowing you were here, empty-handed? I said I would honor you this day, and I shall. First, I must present your father with a gift."

His father, still seated despite the situation and the positions of everyone showed Andrew it was a long-held prerogative, got to his feet. "How have I earned more this day from you, Sire, than the honor of serving your house which is more than sufficient?"

"I gift the son through you." the King smiled, pulling out a paper from his waistband. "Falin, I hold in my hand the surrender terms of Lord Montaigne and his court. From him I exacted a cruel price, I have seized his fief of Heslov, his largest holdings, leaving him only his smaller fief in the east which he gained through his mother, and he is to be banished to there and forbidden to leave that small land for the rest of his life."

The King handed Andrew's father the parchment. "Falin, in my most desperate hour, you and your wife protected me and gave me shelter. Time and again over the course of many days, you risked your own lives to keep my identify safe. I have remembered every one of those times, and in gratitude, I bestow upon you the Duchy of Heslov, excepting only the lands immediately in and around the town of Heslov, which I intend to bestow upon their town council, setting them free henceforth from any seigneurial rule. Even without the town, the revenues of this duchy are in excess of two hundred thousand gold pieces per year." The King handed the papers to the stunned man. "Welcome to the peerage, Lord Falin."

"I...I thank thee, Sire." Andrew's father stuttered. His face was bewildered, uncomprehending. Andrew's mother came up beside him and helped him bodily back to his chair, her own face about to burst from the wide smile it held.

The King then turned his smile upon Andrew. "And now I can properly honor Lord Falin's only son. Kneel, my beloved and best friend."

Andrew knelt and the cold steel was laid upon his shoulder. "I dub thee Sir Andrew, and I appoint you my personal bodyguard. From this day forward, I command that you are to never leave my side, day or night, until I release you from this duty."

Andrew saw the slyness in the King's smile, and endeavored not to match it. "I can imagine no fate more genial, Sire, than to be always with you."

"Good." the King said. "Now I am fatigued, for it has been a joyous but difficult day. Though I do not wish to join you this night, let the wine flow freely and let the joy rebound from all the bells throughout Carlovain. Send out messengers to all lands, and tell the men in the field to take the surrender of their opponents with generosity and kindness. It is my command that the entire land of Carlovain know of this victory before the end of ten days' time. Now I shall retire and rest. Come, Sir Andrew."

Andrew left behind the loud and raucous party happily. Only two servants accompanied them, and even they left them at the door to their room, at the King's gesture of one careless arm.

The King turned, smiled that wonderful smile at Andrew. "Did I not tell you I would arrange it?" he asked. "Now we need only remain discreet outside the walls of this room and my room at the palace when we return. But I do not lay any permanent claim upon you, if you wish another, but tell me and I shall release you, for the day or the year, as you list."

"I cannot imagine wishing any other." Andrew said, and then, only then, remembered and cursed his fickle heart. "Only, Sire, there is one among the rebels for whom I would beg mercy. I know not his fate, but I plead for your intercession." As he had sworn, he dropped to both knees in supplication.

The King let a small frown crease his features. "I know you were among the rebels for many weeks. Has your heart already a claim upon it?"

"Not an exclusive claim, no, save that we have known each other long and well." Andrew told of his relationship with Renaud, holding back nothing, knowing that lies would only arise later to harm them, showing the ragged scar upon his arm at the right time. "And so, Sire, though he has been a true rebel throughout, I could not bear to see him sent into exile. Can you find some way to spare him, for his only true fault is that he is the second son, and without a fortune to claim for his own."

"Few shall be sent into exile, save as I have exiled Lord Montaigne." the King assured him. "Though in each case I shall insist upon a punishment for all the rebel lords who took the field against me. I must tell you this in confidence and forbid you to mention it to any until the right time." The King paused and looked at Andrew.

"No word shall pass my lips, even to my father and mother." Andrew swore.

"Fortunately for your friend, the loyal service of Marcus Dentremon gives me an means which will let me spare Renaud without comment, as if unintentionally. I intend to force all rebel lords to abdicate, as circumstances permit, in favor of that of their second son, or if none exists, to that of their younger brother. Thus I take the lands of dear, loyal, old Lord Dentremon and bestow them upon the loyal Marcus instead of the rebel Jean. The young lords at Montaigne's court did little or nothing to harm me; I shall deal with them effectively by this and probably earn their loyalty as well, for I was never blind to the costs of primogeniture. So Renaud will find himself in possession of his father's lands as the new Count of Fediresta, though that is another town I intend to set free before long." The King raised his arms. "And now, my friend, can you come to me with a free heart?"

"With all my heart and soul." Andrew said with vast relief.

And he gave himself over to his sovereign's blandishments. The King had indeed exerted himself much that day, he had a strong, musky smell to his body, not unpleasant as such, but fulsome and lubricious. It gave the wise, cultured King an aura of the male animal, as if to deny the civilized clothing and genteel manners by declaring that beneath that veneer, there lived a savage, even brutal chieftain. Andrew felt himself submerging in that scent, giving himself over to it, surrendering to it entirely. He semi-knelt, bending his knees so as to lower himself (for he and the King were nearly of the same height, and this was not to be permitted!), and place himself in submission.

The King's chest heaved strongly and his fingers trembled with desire as they worked their way over Andrew's body. "Ah, my dearest, most loyal friend, how long I have waited for this day to come to us again. I found myself unable to take my pleasure anywhere, your face would rise up in front of me, and my desire for the man would fade clean away. If I can only share a portion of your life, let it be this portion, for a time, and I shall be grateful."

"My own gratitude to you is beyond my words to speak." Andrew said. "I can only again avow my loyalty to you, and promise from this day forward, your interests are primary in my heart."

The King's hands became insistent now upon him, Andrew sighed as he felt the King tug upwards on his tunic, the green tunic with yellow trim and bearing embroidered upon one breast the vine-and-spear of Carlovain, his proper garb, his at last, and yet he gave it up gladly, as his own hands found purchase upon the King's chest and traced out his own emblem, the King's tunic also green with yellow trim, but with the vine-and-spear covering his entire chest and abdomen.

Andrew found his own passions rising as the King's hands came down to rest upon his bare shoulders, and now he found the titles vanishing, he was a man with another man, and this was no place to be concerned about protocol! He reached down and found the bottom of the King's tunic, pausing only to palp the twin, ample buttocks as his hands perchance found themselves there, and the King groaned at his touch, and Andrew rutted them together, their crotches clashing, and he now lifted the King's tunic over his head and tossed it into one corner, stripping his sovereign of his decorum with the tunic, and now their lips met and they kissed again, fervently, as equals.

Andrew reached down to kiss and suckle one nipple, and found that intoxicating aroma waiting for him there once more, he again drank in a submissiveness with the scent, he knelt entirely now, subjugating himself, not as subject to king, but on a more elemental level, turning himself over to this man, to be done with as this man willed.

An armpit beckoned, with its powerful odor, the source of the nectar which flowed out of this man's body, and Andrew rose up only enough to let his hungry, questing lips find and suckle the soaked hairs there, drinking deeply, in and doing so, melding them into one being.

The King's hands imperiously pushed him downwards and Andrew found himself at the groin, and dove for the bulge he found there, so ample and corpulent, there was more of the scent there, pouring out of the King's manhood, and Andrew found the thin cloth soaked with this essence of maleness, and he drank eagerly of it while he tugged at the tights and, freeing this tube of masculinity, he placed it into his mouth and sucked it clean of its richness, the turgid pole rising up to heavy, thick tumescence, and his motions now became a bobbing movement, and he was rewarded with each motion by groans of deep, heartfelt joy!

"Ah, ah, the bed." the King gasped out.

Andrew grinned up at the passion-softened face and his only response was to help the King out of his tights, with the soles sewn on as were his own, and then to shuck his own before following his lord and laying himself on the bedding.

So soft, so rich! Andrew had never felt its like before, the very clouds he watched in the skies must be like this, softly beckoning and gentle to the skin. He felt as if he were floating, as if he had indeed lain himself upon a captive cloud brought down to earth and shaped to this use.

Upon this bedding, the King's body was a sunken brown form, only the very front of it available to him. That is, until he clambered atop, and the bedding accommodated the two of them, pushing away from its possession of the lithe body, making it accessible to him once more.

Andrew again kissed those lips, so soft and warm upon his own, and now the neck, for he intended to lick this body clean of its day's exertions, give it the bath it had foresworn for this pleasure, and he licked like a hungry dog licks out its plate, and like the dog obtaining therefrom every morsel.

The King groaned as he plied his tongue in this way, and the hands again rose up to Andrew's shoulders and forced him downwards, and Andrew gave himself in obedience in this, and as the hands pushed him down, so he squirmed, tasting as he went, but always obeying those imperious hands, and soon enough, he found himself at the tiny tucker of navel, which he delved into and drank from this well, and then into the deeper bush below that, again suckling the moisture of strength from the hairs. The cock itself was weeping gratefully, and Andrew, seeing this, rose up and with his tongue touched that bead of clear joy, and lifted up, the bead becoming a rope which bound them together, cockhead to his tongue-tip, and Andrew lowered himself again and sucked the reformed bead free of its purchase.

And now he enveloped the King's manhood, hearing a gasp of pleasure wrung from his sovereign's lips, and he stuck at its midpoint, paused, worked up saliva, and drove it deeper, for he could not rest until he had all of it, until he covered His Majesty's nakedness by taking it into himself, bringing him thus a figleaf of covering.

Finally, he had it all, the balls nestling his chin, the pubic hairs tickling his nose, and he felt a surge of triumph as he held it thus, feeling the hands battering helplessly at his head, trying to force a movement, but this time he was entrenched and could not be moved.

"Ah, mercy, mercy, my beloved." the King gasped after a time. "You have won, I can only beg clemency and pray you to release me once again, or if not, to do with it as you would, only pray, my gentle, sweet, cruel lover, do not keep me entrapped thus!"

Andrew raised up his head, leaving behind a thick coating his saliva and throat mucous on the King's prod. "Only a little trick I learned while with the French rebels." he said. "Now, my liege, I can impale myself upon you and then it will be my turn to plead for mercy, not for withdrawal, but for deeper and more vigorous entrance."

The King sighed as Andrew moved up and, sitting on the bed, now too soft for his purposes, but he managed and, before he was forced to rest upon his knees instead, had managed to place the ample prong into his body, and when he lowered himself onto the soft bedding, he felt the rigid pud slide totally into his body. Andrew sighed and lowered his body down onto the King's, to kiss him once more.

And while kissing, the King rolled them both over, holding Andrew firmly in his arms, and now he was atop Andrew, and he gave a true roar of energy and he humped and plowed Andrew's buttocks with a fury not to be believed of the gentle, kindly King of Carlovain, his legs holding his body entirely in the air by his toes, Andrew bent into a near half-circle, his anus uppermost, and the King's cock imbedded therein.

Andrew groaned out his pleasure and appreciation, and felt a silly grin paste itself over his face as he gazed up into his King's glazed, bestial eyes, and the King's face managed a smile of its own, and the smile became a snarl and Andrew was plunge-fucked once again.

"Ah, yeah!" the King grunted. "I'll fuck you so hard you forget your rebel lover entirely. You'll never crave another pud again so long as I have this one to give you in the night!"

"Yes, yes." Andrew moaned. "Take me, take me completely, for I am yours, my Lord, I am yours and only yours!"

The rigid tool was a pile driver in his ass, as if he were being hammered ever deeper by this wide pole, the way he had seen men once drive in a post for a house, by a weight they raised and dropped onto the top of the pole, sending it ever deeper and firmer into the earth, so he felt now and here, and the King's pole was as hard as that rock and he was ramming Andrew with it, each thud of power sending its own discrete wave of pleasure as it surged past Andrew's prostate, and Andrew gasped, felt his face flush, and he groaned, jerked in his regal lover's embrace, and he exploded all over both of them, his come flying out haphazardly, in a heavy flood that soaked them both utterly, and the King's snarl became a fearsome grimace upon his face, and his motions became even more brutal and rough, and then Andrew felt the hot pud in him become painfully hot, and he groaned in his coital post-passion which still had not utterly released his body, his breath still coming in ragged pants, and he groaned anew at this rut, and the King groaned, spasmed, and fell heavily upon Andrew as he pushed his prong in to the very hilt and held it there once again, as Andrew barely felt the seed pouring out into his ravaged body.

The King was atop him, a heavy weight, his breaths stroking Andrew's cheek, his chest heaving against Andrew's own, and Andrew raised his own sweaty arms to wrap them around the King's back, and hold him closely.

"Now, my gentle, my loyal retainer, I have possessed you once more." the King sighed happily. "Perhaps I cannot let you have others as I had intended. I shall think more on this, and let you know."

"Your pleasures are my command, my Sire." Andrew said. "And my sole desire is that you keep me for your own."

"I shall be able to sleep now." the King said. "You may go down to the party now if you wish, for I am safe here."

"I shall not leave your side." Andrew said firmly.

The King smiled. "Then extinguish the light that we may sleep somewhat despite the noises of the victory party below us."

Andrew rose and stepped over to the candle which stood on a tall pole near the center of the room. No table-candle, this was huge, and too high even for him to stand on tiptoe and blow out, for it had not one wick imbedded in the wax, but six separate wicks all burning at once, giving out a strong light. Think of a candle with all dimensions increased five-fold, and you'll see somewhat the candle Andrew saw. He saw hanging from a chain near it the largish cone of the candle extinguisher, and reached to take it out of its holder.

As the chain rattled, another sound came from nearby. Andrew dropped the extinguisher and dove for his sword. It was fortunately only a step or so away, but Andrew grasped the scabbard as he landed on his chest, rolled and arose in the same motion, drew the blade.

"Who is there?" He called out. "You enter the King's presence by this stealth? Stand and show yourself, for there shall be no mercy if you raise the slightest hand against the King's life!"

A shadow pulled itself from the curtains by the window. "It is not the King I came for." the dark figure said menacingly.

The man stepped forth. He was filthy, his clothing tattered, blood oozed from a fresh wound on one bared arm which was missing a sleeve, and Andrew saw the sleeve had been sacrificed to make a bandage for the arm. The wound there must have been grievous, but it was the man's left arm, and his right bore a naked, equally dirty sword.

"I did not come for the King." the man said again. "I came for the traitor to my own house, and it is not assassination I seek, it is revenge! Stand and defend yourself, scum!"

Andrew gasped. As the figure advanced on him, intent on his life, he barely remembered to raise his guard, his entire being gasped out in a single word of recognition.

"Renaud!"

END OF CHAPTER 17

TO BE CONCLUDED NEXT CHAPTER