THE KNIGHT OF CARLOVAIN, CHAPTER ONE
"The Sword of Heslov"
By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
Heslov Hall Early Autumn, 1475*
"And so, Your Lordship, if you could but speak to the King about this..." the petitioner asked Andrew urgently.
"Yes, yes." Andrew stood up, indicating the audience was at an end. The petitioner, a small-time fuller from Heslov, stood as well. "The King is quite aware of your situation, I assure you, but shouldn't you speak to your Guild about this instead? Or the Council of Heslov?" Andrew was wearing a large flowing white tunic embroidered with the device of the Duchy of Heslov (argent, three inverted and abbreviated chevrons gules) over his red tights and a red nobleman's cap; both were confounded nuisances but expected of his rank. He always changed out of the large flapping tunic after the morning audiences into more comfortable garb, but in the mornings, he must show off his rank in Carlovain society; it kept him at an advantage in his dealings. Not that this particular merchant was worth it, he wore a plain tunic and pants, clean and neat but hardly good quality; this merchant was as poor as his family had been so many years ago.
"They are one and the same." the fuller whined. "And they are my competitors and have larger businesses than mine, so why should they give me any aid? Only an edict from the King can prevent this seizure and corruption of the business. I'm being driven out of my trade by unscrupulous practices...."
Andrew seized the fuller's arm and escorted him to the study door. Wenren was there, and he recognized this position, he took the fuller's other arm and led him away, who walked with him but with his head back towards Andrew still talking back even as Andrew shut the door. "And I have attempted to speak to the King, but his Royal Chamberlain is the brother of...." The door was shut and the spiel ended.
Andrew paused, looking at the thick sheaf of papers spread out over his desk, and then snatched up the privacy-cherub from the desk where it functioned as an impromptu paperweight and took it with him in his hand down the hall to the entryway of his private chambers. The sunlight of morning through the row of windows on the wall opposite his rooms made small rectangles on the floor beneath him, the angle of their slanted edges forming an impromptu sundial, remarking that he had yet another hour before midday and could shut his doors to this endless line of petitioners. If only they could bother his father instead of him!
But even were his father not very ill, these men would seek him out instead, the very happy news that he could now call upon the King at his convenience had rapidly traveled the circles of gossip. He was "back in the King's graces" and worse yet, "favored of the King" which meant that anybody who could not get a royal audience through the proper channels would invariably come calling on Andrew to attempt to arrange an audience by the back-door method.
He'd had a lot of the smaller merchants of Heslov ask for his help in the last several days, and he did intend to speak with the King about it as soon as he returned from his trip to the shipyard at Fediresta. But that would not be for another fortnight. It was odd, as if all of Heslov were in an uproar simply because the King had absented himself for a month. It DID bear looking into, and he was surprised the King's ministers hadn't yet. Ah, they probably were but saw no reason to mention this to a bunch of small merchants. This last fellow smelled of the fuller's yard, he doubtless took his turn with his walkers trampling out the cloth to flatten it and pound in the dye, his bare feet thus stained beyond any amount of washing to repair...but then he had said as much during the meeting, "I had ten walkers when I started my business five years ago, now I have four and must help the walkers myself...."
Andrew reached the door and tapped on it the signal for his servant there to open it and see to him. Jerret did so, and Andrew smiled at the plain face of his loyal personal servant. "Jerret, how many more are out there?"
"None at this time, Sire." Jerret alone among the staff called Andrew "Sire" instead of "young Master," for Jerret had sworn personal loyalty to him instead of his father as the rest of the staff.
"Then hang up my cherub for me and bring me up some wine." Andrew said in relief. "I'd rather spend some time on the books for the rest of the morning, for I must investigate the northern hemp fields this afternoon."
"Yes, Sire." Jerret said, taking the small square piece of wood colored with a cherub and hanging it on the hall door. A decorative item in itself, it indicated that Andrew did not wish to be disturbed. Jerret, of course, was permitted entrance, as he had for some years.
Andrew smiled and went to his papers, tearing off his tunic gratefully and sitting down at his desk bare-chested. His family's finances were doing well, his mother handled it even before his father's illness, but his father, or he as his father's agent during his illness, was expected to approve and sign all the papers, for his mother had no authority to do so. So his job was mostly to read them over and then sign. Crossing his mother was an unpleasant event, he had done it on occasion with some of her shadier dealings (his mother had no conscience, that was a fact, some of the things she intended were actually dishonorable), but it did require him to actually read and think about the documents, not just affix his signature and seal blindly. His father was in bed ill and had been for some weeks, so the duty fell upon him. He kept his mind strictly driven away from his father's illness, and dismissed it now, too painful to think about overmuch. (His father was being eaten by worms from within, the physicians told him, and had not much longer to live--no, drive it away!) To the papers on his desk, then...this first item was simple enough, a contract to provide rope to the royal shipyards at Fediresta (the King was in the process of adding five large ships to the tiny Carlovain Navy, so the shipyards there were currently a flurry of activity). For the ropes, his mother had negotiated a fair price, a little cheaper than he'd prefer, for the peasants, who had to work separating the fibers from the stalks and weaving it into ropes with their fingers, which were toughened with thick calluses and yet still bled at times from the prickly, coarse fibers; these peasants worked only for a share of the profits per a long-standing agreement, but since this customer was the King, he'd let this one slide....
The serving tray with wine arrived, a goblet was already half full and a flask of wine stood on the tray as well. Andrew took it up and drank a hefty dose of it, glad to see that it had been properly watered, he wished refreshment and not oblivion from his drinks. Though he'd noticed with concern it seemed to take more and more to let him get that relaxation he craved from his wine; he drank it too often these days.
Jerret's hands went to his shoulders, unbidden but welcomed, and began to massage his shoulders. Jerret made up for the lack of his thumbs (lost during the rebellion of Lord Montaigne some five years before) by plying the heels of his hands with a strength most men could not match, for the heels of his hands had been forced into service as replacement thumbs.
"You pore over these books too much." Jerret said softly.
Andrew smiled. "That is true, but with my father abed I have no choice."
"Your father is beginning to cough up blood." Jerret said. "Won't you pay a visit to him this day after lunch? He asked for you."
"Then I shall go to him now." Andrew said.
"He sleeps now." Jerret said. "After lunch will be time enough."
Andrew sagged back, throwing his head back and looking into the loyal, patient face, and smiled. He earned a smile back from those upside-down lips, and the hands plied their magic over his body, removing the tension, releasing the pressure...and adding one of their own.
Jerret was unsurprised to see Andrew's tights rise out, their usual morning tryst had been aborted due to an early-morning caller with letters bearing the royal seal (none from the King and none for Andrew personally), and he obligingly turned the massaging pulses of his hands into more erotic strokes of his palms and fingers, plying his smooth, warm hands over Andrew's chest in well-practiced circles, bringing Andrew's body alive. As his hands reached downward, he knelt so that his armpits were now touching Andrew's bare shoulders, and his face now only inches from Andrew's face; Andrew reached and kissed his servant, who returned those hungry lips with strong devoted fervor.
"My friend, my dear friend." Andrew sighed when Jerret's hands released him so that he could bodily swing his lord's frame from under the desk with his hands upon the chair back, tugging him out and clear, kneeling at Andrew's feet.
Andrew let Jerret untie the string at his waist, a string of thin, strong fibers, releasing the tights so that Jerret could tug them down. Jerret merely freed Andrew's cock from the confining cloth of well-combed, soft, richly-dyed linen, then with Andrew's manhood proudly erect, he grasped this firm pillar of potency and brought it to his lips, let his tongue play upon the enraged cockhead, moistening the spongy tissue, which soaked and swelled with the velvet caress of Jerret's tongue, Andrew groaned and his hands reached and imperiously grasped Jerret's head and thrust him down onto his cock.
Jerret grunted, but accepted the rough intruder into his mouth, coating it with warm wetness that swarmed upon Andrew's shaft, a swirling mixture of foaming passion that gurgled upon his skin and sent a thousand separate sensations racing along his cock.
Andrew released Jerret and let him now ply his well-known skill at his own pace, relishing the adept lips that wrung his cock of every possible iota of excitement, so that Andrew's cock boiled, massively and arrogantly alive, he felt his world receding into that single shaft of male flesh buried within this dark, warm, loving maw before him.
Jerret looked up into those burning eyes before him and knew them well. Without a word or sign from Andrew, he stood and quickly stripped off his own white tunic and red tights (of a cloth as fine as Andrew's and only the less involved, more sparse design and the plainer-cloth tights beneath distinguished the garb of the servant from his master) to stand naked. "Where does My Lord wish me?" he asked simply.
"On the desk." Andrew panted. "Push the papers to one side, so that you will not stain them with your body's oils."
Jerret obeyed and bent over the desk. Andrew took Jerret's ass as was his right and privilege, pressing into the compliant anus, feeling it open docilely for him, that familiar warmth and hot tightness upon his cock sending a circlet of sensation that traveled with Jerret's sphincter down Andrew's cock to bury itself in his pubic hair, a tight constriction at his base there, the warmth of Jerret's buttocks upon his thighs, and the hot moist interior of Jerret's body engulfing his cock; Andrew just paused and enjoyed this simple intimacy, this body which was his so totally, that he could take as he would, when and where he would. Only when the King could manage to take time to visit did Jerret recede into the background, and never did he begrudge his lord such a lover in competition for his passions. After all, the King had many duties, and when he was gone, Andrew turned to him again, and only him.
Andrew began now to fuck Jerret slowly, feeling that tunnel of soft moistness as it clung and rippled about his cockshaft with each plunge into and each withdrawal from Jerret's body, and always that tight clasp holding his cockhead tightly, never letting an awkward movement of his make him lose that warm domicile for his prick. Andrew took full liberty with this firm grip, sending his cock first with pedestrian simplicity into Jerret's body, then as his passion burned within him the more, he began to vary his thrusts, pressing his cock to one side and relishing the feel of Jerret's bowels upon his cockhead as it brushed its way into his body and then a stroke that changed angle in mid-thrust, so that Jerret's prostate was a nub of hard marble upon the soft glans of Andrew's dong, he pumped and thrust into Jerret even more now, speeding up his strokes, feeling his body tingle with the pleasure of this fuck, so that the entire area of his skin was lit up from within, feeling the pure joy of sweat breaking free from his pores to form a slickness to his body, so that his hips as they impacted Jerret's equally moist-dappled buttocks, made a plump sort of popping sound with each touch, he bent his knees and now plowed Jerret from below, pushing upwards into Jerret's compliant ass, and Jerret groaned in appreciation, for now Andrew's cockhead and shaft were a constant caress upon his prostate, and he was being given pleasure in being fucked by his lord and sire, he let his lips drop the sounds like pearls that struck a silver tray, liquid notes of desire that rung with joy upon Andrew's ears.
"I think you like this way the best." he gently chided his servant.
"Oh, yes, Sire, you bring my body such joy in this embrace." Jerret panted.
"Well, then I shall pause." Andrew said and he stopped in mid-fuck.
Appalled but squelching it, Jerret simply said, "As My Lord wishes."
"I wish you to turn over, so that I may look into your eyes as I love you." Andrew explained.
Jerret grabbed the desk as well as he could and Andrew lifted him up and pivoted him upon his cock still imbedded in Jerret's ass like a piglet on a spit over the roasting fire, and Jerret's face and body was flushed as red as that cooking pig is in its early stages, the red it attains before deepening to golden brown, this red bedecked Jerret's face, and Andrew reached down and kissed this scarlet-tinted cheek, tasting the hot need of his servant's body, feeling Jerret's legs encircle his own not to compel him but to offer him a more authoritative purchase inside Jerret's quivering bowels.
"Pray, Sire, I beg you to take your pleasure with me once more." Jerret gasped out. "Tarry not with your manhood inside me, for it wrings my body worse than any rack in a dark dungeon. I need you, My Lord, for I know no joy greater than this moment of service to you, and would ask nothing else from my life or heaven, if it were possible that you never withdraw from me."
"I shall prolong this time, then." Andrew smiled as he looked into Jerret's eyes, seeing the trust and the devotion there, diving into it and letting that devotion churn his body as it would, he began to thrust into Jerret harder now, belying his promise to extend this time of lovemaking, and Jerret did not protest this lover's betrayal, he groaned with uninhibited passion and, as he would in these moments, even dared to encircle Andrew's body with his arms and pull him down onto his own body, so that their chests kissed each other, their nipples brushed across each other, greeting each other like ships that pass in the open sea as they continue on to their separate destinations.
Andrew hunched at Jerret now, letting his passion describe his actions, he made no pretense of finesse now, but delved and plunged his servant's body as it would, giving his need free reign, and his body electrified the way it is when a storm is just breaking overhead, and the hairs on the body stand up and declare the primal force far stronger than it, when the human body denies intelligence and stands one with the universe, the many invisible threads that bind the universe together declare themselves as the strings of the puppeteers, and the mind is forced to ride along as passenger in the domain it holds sway over so long, compelled to realize that it is not king but merely a minister of the realm, and now the true master has returned and claimed the land once more.
So Andrew's body quaked in the change of leadership, his muscles clenched and roiled of their own volition, a hundred abortive rebellions or exhortations of loyalty, and then his body fell into the new order and with it...a sense of completion. His climax was ready to take hold of him.
Now he drove his body on to faster speeds, Jerret's melodic groans were spurs to his passion and thrilled his ears, his eyes feasted upon the gentle lover prostrate beneath him, the skin of his body declared happily every touch upon it by Jerret's sweat-slicked own, those arms that kissed his back, those hands that rubbed gently at his skin as they rhythmically contracted and relaxed in time to Jerret's grunts of pleasure, the legs that clenched upon his thighs at the back, his entire body was now totally one with the universe, it pulsed in tempo with the music of the spheres that guided stars and planets above, that moved the clouds through the sky and turned the sun in its gigantic half-circle across the day, there to extinguish itself in the endless sea, and dark and lightless travel back to return the following morn. In this oneness with life, in this moment when all of existence is resolved into a single and familiar equation, in this moment, the body must release itself, and so it did with Andrew, he felt his mind absorb the power, focus it, and using his penis like a cannon, fired the power in a salute to being, a tribute to eternity, an ovation to the vastness that is life, and Andrew reeled with the explosions within his brain, he pumped his loads of shot into Jerret's waiting bowels, and Jerret clenched tight to Andrew as he always did in this moment of his triumph, when he had again brought his lord and master joy, Jerret groaned a long, low groan and Andrew felt the salty packets of Jerret's jism burst out to splash over him and wash across his stomach and lower ribs, filling the air with a heavy salty raunch that filled Andrew's nostrils and announced the end of the fray in the manner of a trumpeter's solemn tones at the conclusion of a tournament.
Sweaty, exhausted, Andrew held Jerret tightly still and savored the last remnants of that supreme moment of being, taking his nectar of gratitude from Jerret's lips and imparting his own libation of thanks in return.
"Ah, My Lord, you pleasure me so." Jerret sighed after a time.
"And you, my gentle valet, as always, are my perfect foil for this bout with our swords of manhood."
Jerret chuckled at the conceit. "Would that all battles could be fought thus. The cost would not be as dear as the ones with steel and pain."
"Mayhaps, one day, that shall be." Andrew said. "We shall bathe after lunch and then work up a new sweat in my exercise room before I venture out onto the fields."
"As My Lord wishes." Jerret's tone reminded Andrew of all that was left to be yet done in this day, and he sighed. Such precious and few moments are left over from the toil of living, no matter what your station in life.
Andrew dressed and walked out of his study behind Jerret, and looked again at the sunlight on the hallway floor, it was close as it could be to noon; it was a wonder the bell for luncheon had not yet tolled. He chose therefore to go out the door of his private quarters into the common rooms (Jerret discreetly removed the cherub from the door to return it to his desk and there straighten the papers he had cast awry, with no need from Andrew to be told to do this).
Going down the curving staircase of the central hall that connected all wings into one wholeness that was the house, Andrew heard noise below him and smiled, went toward his wife's quarters. This entire wing was devoted to the family's living area, he entered the lower floor which was twice the size of the second floor (he had a veranda which he could enter from his study or his bedroom, a wonderful place for lounging about with friends in the hot summer months, as its northern exposure let the building itself provide cooling shade, and it looked out onto quiet fields and woods excellent for sports hunting).
This lower floor was his parents' quarters, and his wife lived here with their son as well. They had the garden just behind the house for the child to play in quietly, and this is where he found his wife and son, along with two of the servant's children who had been brought in to play with him.
He didn't bother to speak to his wife, who was a Neresterii lord's oldest daughter and heir, even though he bore her no resentment or ill-will for her existence in his house, for they had early established an arrangement which had worked well and she had found her own lover for her bed, a rather rough, rude man from the stables, to whom he was polite as he could manage (the man was an utter ruffian, but at least he was Neresterii!) and merely stayed to watch his child at play.
His son was nearly two and a half years old, and was already steady and agile on his feet; he was playing at combat with the two older boys, who were smart enough to realize the benefit of being a lordling's playmates and the lifetime of position this would win them, for they were coaxing him on in their battle but being careful to never go too far or worse, to win! More of the butler Wenren's family; they were loyal to Andrew's family in this residence as they had been to his predecessors'. Indeed, you might say that they more than he truly lived in this house, for he was often called away to the palace or to other places for days or weeks at a time....
"Papa!" his son had seen him. Andrew smiled and went out to greet his son. His boy rushed to him with his wooden foil's point an unwitting hazard threatening to stab his eye out; he had to duck it to let his son come into his arms.
"How are you doing today, son?" he said. "Having a good battle!"
"I'm trouncing these scoundrels!" his son said in mimicry of his favorite mock-scorn for his son's playmates.
Andrew looked up at the boys, ages eight and six. Used to this look of query, the elder said, "He's getting quite good with the foil, my Lord. I think it is time that you brought in a swordsman to teach him." And us, was the unspoken words there.
"My father wants to teach him." Andrew said, a bit curtly.
"Yes, sir." the boy lowered his head.
Andrew bit his lip and then raised up. "I watched you at your play. While I do appreciate your kindness in your attentions to my son, if he doesn't fight properly, I expect you to show him the errors of his way by winning from him. A man who only thinks that he is a swordsman is in fact an utter fool."
"Yes, sir." the boy said, and a small smile crossed his face.
"Teach him slowly, but teach him." Andrew chided gently, and let a small smile show on his own face. "I wish a son, not a monster, for my heir. A few losses at play when he is careless shall aid in this." Andrew turned to his son. "Well, you get back to your play, my boy. I have to leave the house this afternoon, but we'll sit and talk after dinner. I promise."
He always made a few hours each day for his son at that hour when he was home, so his son willingly let him go with another hug and kiss, and the boys returned to their play.
Andrew turned and went back into the house. He'd see if his father was awake before he looked for his luncheon. His father couldn't die yet, not when Andrew's son was still so young and wouldn't remember his grandfather! He just couldn't! It'd leave the child with only his mother and grandmother, and with him away so much, how could the child grow up properly?
His father had been moved to a room in the first floor on the opposite wing, so that he could get the benefit of the warm autumn sun in these days. To get to it, Andrew would have to walk through the main area....
Inside the main foyer, Wenren was talking to two men. Seeing Andrew, Wenren said, "Young Master, these men wish to see you."
"The hour is past for my audiences." Andrew said. "Tell them to return on the morrow with a more appropriate dispatch."
"My Lord, we have a gift for you." the man said.
Andrew recognized these men, they had demonstrated their "petite cannon" for the King some five months prior. "You!" he said, enraged. "I told the King that I would permit you to stay on my lands only if you were never let within my sight!"
"And we would have obeyed had it not been for this." the man said, hoisting the oilskin, oblong thing with an arrogant confidence he did not deserve.
"I want nothing from you!" Andrew snarled.
"Not even this?" the man unwrapped the item, a beautifully wrought sword, of a style no longer made. This was a sword of the old Neresterii nobility, Andrew recognized, a relic rather than a weapon.
"What is it?" Andrew asked dubiously.
"We were given it for polishing in our shop before bringing it to you. My Lord, this is the Sword of Heslov." The man didn't refer to the town or the duchy, but rather a valiant and near-legendary warrior who had successfully fended off Julius Caesar's rather abortive invasion of Carlovain. Indeed, this duchy and the main town of Carlovain were named after the warrior and his famous sword, rather than the other way around.
"The Sword of Heslov?" Andrew had to approach these men, these evil men.
"My Lord, we have not been properly introduced to you ere now." the man said. "I am Florentine and this is my assistant Benedetto."
"Yes, yes." Andrew said. "But this sword, if it is in fact the Sword of Heslov, then how is it that you two have laid your knavish hands upon it?"
"We have it only to bring it to you." Florentine said hastily. He was a middle-aged Italian man, round-faced and broad-nosed. "It was brought to us in secret by a monk who asked that we give it the treatment to restore its luster, a mere days' work, and then bring it to you with this message." Florentin handed Andrew the message with a flourish; Andrew said it bore the special sealing wax of highest secrecy. "And so we have. Remember our loyal obedience when you are in need of our work."
"So you have no reason of your own to speak with me?" Andrew said.
"Only that, now that we are here, we would ask you to hear of our work."
"Tomorrow." Andrew cut them off. "Wenren, for now, take and place the sword above the mantelpiece in the main hall. It belongs in a place of highest honor. I'll discuss with my family if we'll leave it there or arrange a display elsewhere."
And Andrew turned on his heel and left these two men still expostulating in his wake.
Andrew went back to his quarters (Jerret spotted his need and closed the door behind Andrew and barred the way) and in his study again, took out and read the note. It was short.
"Greatest danger to Carlovain from our misguided brethren. May God grant that you may come to us at our main house of Merlemagne forthwith.
Yours in Christ, Brother Edmegen of the Thorns."
A Merlemagnist monk wanted to see him? But then why...?
The Merlemagnists were an old society, older than the Christianity of Carlovain; they had adapted to the new religion, but many of their customs predated it. They would have been trusted by the fleeing Neresterii lords to safeguard this precious relic from the French hordes who were plundering their country. They must have thus hidden the Sword of Heslov for nearly a century, for it had vanished from sight at that time. It would be the most precious, cherished relic to them. Why send it to him as a gift...except to show how important the message was?
More important than the Sword of Heslov!
He could leave for Merlemagne this very afternoon and be well on his way before nightfall.
END OF CHAPTER ONE
*[Postscript: You may wonder about the generality of the dates I am giving you in this story. The calendar in use in Carlovain at this time was appallingly inaccurate--they divided the year into the four seasons the same way we do, then divided the seasons each into four months of twenty days, thus creating a calendar of 320 days which was useless for most practical purposes. Imagine celebrating the "rite of spring" in mid-winter and you'll see the inadequacy of this calendar. Various lords and kings would attempt to even out the calendar at irregular intervals by adding days or months to the calendar without changing it otherwise. Toward the time of this story, even legal documents of the time would carry an explanation after the month by the use of such phrases as "the blooms of the pea plants had released their perfume" or "when snow first tasted the ground by night and departed with the sun by day." While adding a rather charming poetic turn to otherwise mundane documents, it also leaves historians floundering in frustration to identify the times of early occurrences in Carlovain history. Carlovain adopted the familiar Gregorian calendar in 1796.]