Squire of Carlovain

SQUIRE OF CARLOVAIN

CHAPTER 3

"A Pack of Ruffians"

By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM

"Innkeeper! Innkeeper!" came the rough voices from downstairs. Andrew awoke with a start. There was a weight on his arm, he turned to see wide-awake eyes staring into his own.

"Welcome to our establishment." Andrew heard his mother's voice calling out heartily. "Andrew! Andrew! Come and see to these men's horses, four of them!"

Andrew felt a hand on his arm when he started to arise. He turned. "Majesty?"

"Remember that they may not be my friends." the King warned him. "Lord Montaigne is foremost among the French rebel lords, him and his younger brother, the Bishop of Heslov. My life is in your hands."

Andrew smiled and rested his hand on that gentle cheek. The King had been brave throughout, now a trace of fear had entered his eyes and his voice. "Your life is safe." He said. "But I must go quickly."

Andrew dressed and went downstairs and through the tavern to the front of the inn. Four men, all burly, brawny brutes wearing nondescript clothes. Probably Lord Montaigne's men.

"There you are. Son, these men's horses need watering, but don't put them in the stables, until they decide whether or not they will stay for the night. For now, just water them."

"Yes, mother." Andrew said. He went out and led the horses to their watering trough, already filled and waiting for the horses. The horses' saddles were all of fine leather and quality. They were from the livery of some nobleman, that was certain. No poor farmer could afford such workmanship. But they bore no mark other than that of Carlovain itself, nor were the horses, all gelded stallions, branded other than with that of the royal stables. That was no reassurance, most horses of the nobility came from those stables and the royal breeding grounds; it was a major source of the King's personal income. But noblemen usually were prompt to place their own house brand next to the royal brand....

Done with the watering, he took the horses back to the hitching post and tied them back into their place of waiting, and went back into the inn, somewhat puzzled that the men had chosen to go indoors on this hot day, when the outer tables were all empty and the cool breeze, beginning now with the sun just above tree-top level, was welcome. Even with all doors and windows open, the building was hotter than the outdoors just at the moment.

But they were inside, seated at one of the tables, and his mother was drawing them four tankards of beer. Andrew realized in looking at these men two things, first, that they were all of Neresterii blood, hearty and well-fed, brawny and arrogant. The black hair and dark eyes of the Neresterii, but all were clean-shaven, showing young faces. One bore a small white sword-slash on his cheek, not disfiguring, but visible. Another was a good head taller than the other three, and proportionately big, and looked able to out-wrestle anything on two or four legs in a head-to-head bout. The last two appeared to be brothers, perhaps even twins, for they had the same sharp nose with long jawlines, the same forehead, the same strong, trained and shaped body.

The second certainty was that these men were trained swordsmen, beyond a doubt. Andrew's training at the hands of his own father, who before his accident had been an instructor of swordsmanship for the royal guard, had shown him what to look for, these men handled the swords hung at their waist with the ease of long familiarity, and moved with the grace that comes from long training in practiced movements very akin to dancing. Andrew went past them and over to the counter, where his father's sword was kept in case of need. He wanted to be near it should trouble begin.

His mother had the four tankards on a platter and was taking it over. She approached their table and served them as well as she could, for their legs were sprawled out, taking up a great deal of room. In order to place the last mug on the table while dodging the legs, it was necessary for her to lean a fair way toward the man with the sword-scar. This pointed her rather ample posterior right at one of the two brothers who, smirking, made a quick move toward her nether region with his hand.

"Awk!" his mother shrieked and the mug went right over the man she was trying to serve, landing on his midriff and legs.

"Serpents of Satan!" the man swore at the unexpected bath and jumped to his feet. His comrades laughed heartily.

"Oh, sir, I'm so sorry!" his mother quickly apologized. "Please, sir, let me clean you off!" She took the dirty rag she had over her arm and dabbed at his stomach, then scrubbed. "I'll bring you another beer as quick as I get you dried off, sir."

He watched her rub at his stomach for a moment, and then said with a smirk, "Better for you if you rubbed harder, and lower down!" All four men laughed at this.

His mother was used to serving such as this man, and she laughed. "Oh, sir, you could do better than an old hag like me."

"Perhaps I am not feeling very fussy this evening." the man persisted and took her hand and forced it to his groin, looking at Andrew as he did so.

"Sir, I'm a married woman." his mother protested. "Please, sir, let me go!"

"Nay, I shall not." the man replied. By grabbing her this way and persisting with her blunt refusal, he had crossed the line of simple bar-play, and into the realm of insult. Andrew could now speak up in honor.

"Sir, I must pray you leave my mother alone." he said.

The man turned. He was broad-shouldered, strong and his movements quick and practiced. His sword whispered as it pulled from its sheath. "And who are you to tell me what I may or may not do." he challenged.

Andrew selected a line from his father's reminisces of past bouts of honor, paraphrased it for his situation. "Speaking as her son, I say you have no honor. Speaking as a man, I say you have no taste."

"Trevish, leave the lad be." one of the brothers said. "You wouldn't want to see your own mother being pawed by someone, now would you?"

"I'll grant him the right to stop me, if he can." Trevish said, furious at the insult Andrew had delivered.

"Would you fight an unarmed man, Trevish?" the big man said.

"He can borrow one of your swords to defend his mother's honor." Trevish said hotly. "Assuming he knows how to wield one."

Honor. This meant not a fight to injury or death but, according to the Code Duello of Carlovain, would be to first-blood only. "No need for that." Andrew drew the sword from behind the counter. "I have my own."

This drew a sort of soft "ooh" sound from Trevish's three companions. And as usual, by mutual consent, the battle paused at this point for a business older and more important than honor--bets!

"What do you think, Edwar?" said the first brother.

"I think he handles that sword very well for a peasant." the other brother said. "What say you, Adomeh?"

"I think a wager would be in order, if you'll give me two-for-one against the boy." the big man said. "Five silver pieces from each of you against five of mine. I like the way he holds that blade, though he is young and obviously green." The much larger silver piece they spoke of was worth nearly half as much as the gold piece; this was a sizeable wager they were speaking.

"Loan me the five, Derevan, and I shall be in it with you." Edwar said.

Derevan sighed. "You never could handle money, brother."

"Fortunately, you handle it well enough for both of us." Edwar said without offense or rancor. "And do you really think this muck-hauling son of the she-pig can defeat Trevish, even when he's blinded by this red mood of his?"

"Agreed." Derevan. "Very well, the money is cast. Adomeh, you have a wager."

"Perhaps I can cast my own wager in this?" Andrew ventured. He did this to help rattle his opponent. Wagers by the combatants was not required, but to do so spoke of your own confidence in the outcome.

"The lad is bold." Adomeh said. "What, do you wish a piece of my wager?"

"Nay, rather a wager to all of you. One silver piece of my own against one from each of you that not only will I draw his blood before he does mine, but that it'll be with a matching scar on his other cheek."

"Andrew, you know we can't spare that kind of money." his mother said, having withdrawn to one side. Custom kept her from stopping him from the fight, which after all was only until blood was drawn - killing in a fight of honor was deemed murder under Carlovain law - but a bet was something else.

"Mother, stay out of this!" Andrew said desperately. The men laughed.

"I'll fetch your father, I will." his mother said. "Gambling our silver on this foolishness! Well, you won't take it out of our till, it'll be from your own pouch. Pay your gambling out of your stable tips, young man, the money you were saving against your wedding day, see if I care!" She stomped off into the kitchen.

The men laughed again, and Trevish laughed hardest of all. "Young lad, I'll offer this much of an apology before we cross blades. You're right that your mother is a poor candidate for a bed-mate. So I'll give you a wager without money behind it. If you can cut my cheek as you promised, I'll not only pay your mother Cocteau's Fine as compensation for the insult, and offer her my humblest apology to go along with it, but I'll also crawl into your bed tonight and you may do with me as you will." "Cocteau's Fine," named after the hapless nobleman who had first incurred it, was law by King Phillippe III; any nobleman who insulted a commoner paid five gold pieces to the commoner in compensation. In practice, it was hardly ever paid out, and certainly never as a result of a ribald act in a tavern!

"And if you draw my blood?" Andrew said suspiciously. It was one thing to place a wager, to help rattle your opponent. But this gamble....

"I'll still apologize to your mother though without the pay. But you will be in my bed instead." Trevish said with satisfaction.

"So that was why you propositioned the old hag." Adomeh said in the tone of sudden comprehension. "I thought you had a better eye for the lad than his mother."

Trevish grinned. "These country folk need persuasion. Though when you do get them within your covers, they are usually better than their city kin."

Andrew was aghast. The entire action against his mother had been to create this, to put him in this position! But he could not refuse to wager at all, having already advanced the intention to bet! He could only haggle over the terms.

"I must cut your cheek, but you can cut me anywhere." he stalled. "That is hardly a fair bet."

"Very well, I must cut your right cheek before you can cut either of mine." Trevish said, selecting the more difficult of the two cheeks to be cut (an opponent's sword would be aimed mostly at the left side except in a back-handed cut). "But if I cut you anywhere elsewhere, or you cut me, the bout is over and there shall be no bet. Done?"

Andrew recognized the tactic, to put the bet into the realm of unlikely events was in effect backing out of it. Win or lose, they each need only NOT strike the cheek of the other (a difficult stroke to make deliberately, the arm was most often the point of first-blood) and the bet was off. Good. Now, try to catch the man off-guard. The bets were done, battle was permitted to be joined.

"Done!" Andrew said and lunged at him with the same motion.

The man parried his blade easily and after a few swift clashes of metal, caught Andrew's blade on his guard. "I say, he has learned well." Trevish said casually as he held Andrew's blade in thrall. "Who taught you the blade?"

A flash of metal which Andrew barely parried in time. He had to move back a few steps to recover and now he was the one trapping Trevish's blade on his guard.

Realm of the impossible, indeed! Trevish had only set him up the more. He had bet with Andrew feeling certain he could accomplish the task!

His body was not yet out of the wager.

He decided not to reveal his father's name in this, lest this hot-headed man try to fence his father as well. His father was lame and arthritic from the injury he suffered when Andrew was six years old. "A former fencing instructor at the palace of the King." Andrew said instead. This was true, he left out only that the instructor was his father.

"Ah, does he teach there still?" Trevish said cavalierly, trying to make this bout appear easy, though in fact Andrew had him well-matched and hard-pressed.

"Nay, he was crippled by a fallen horse." Andrew said. He made a quick arc, but Trevish matched it and again they locked guards. In this brief flurry, Andrew spotted his efforts to strike quickly at Andrew's arm and body. By drawing first blood other than on Andrew's cheek, he would both win the wager and cancel the bet with Andrew about being his bed-mate. A shame in a way, this man was hot-headed but quite handsome...

"Indeed." Trevish said. "I thought I recognized Master Falin's teachings in your parrying movements. He also taught me my first lessons with the blade, when I was at the palace. But I have learned much since then."

Andrew swirled and darted his blade at Trevish, and only Trevish's ducking of his head back let him avoid the bout-ending cut. Now Trevish lost ground and was almost back at his friends' table, and they clashed and wove and clashed again. There was an almost hypnotic quality to this near-tedious back-and-forth, and Andrew knew better than to let it lull him into a pattern, for Trevish could then break his guard by breaking the pattern.

When Trevish tried in fact to do this, Andrew was ready for him and Trevish's blade missed him and they turned a quarter ways about. Trevish was now facing the kitchen door and Andrew heard his father's "ka-thump, ka-thump" of footsteps behind him. Yes, let his father see how well he was trained, see him holding his own against this trained soldier.

And he almost lost the bout, as Trevish's blade darted at him. It cut Andrew's left sleeve, but not a bit of his skin, and Andrew pressed the attack.

"Ha, I have drawn first blood and need not apologize!" Trevish crowed.

"You never touched my body." Andrew retorted and continued the fight.

"Trevish?" came the voice behind him. "Trevish, is that you?"

"Master Falin?" Trevish said, stunned.

"My boy, it is you!" his father said.

"Good to see you again, sir!" Trevish said, distracted and lowering his guard briefly in his surprise.

A quick cut from Andrew, and Trevish had the slash on his face, matching the one on his left, as Andrew had promised him.

"And that is indeed the end of this bout." Andrew said, holding his blade straight up and down.

"What?" Trevish said. He had not felt the cut of the razor-sharp blade.

"Is that a fly on your cheek?" Adomeh laughed. "The lad has won."

"No fair!" Trevish protested. "I was pausing the bout while greeting an old friend."

"No, we lost the wager." Edwar said. "Don't you agree, my brother?"

"Oh, most assuredly." Derevan agreed. "Trevish's blade has met its match, nay, I say it has met its superior."

"If you need a loan to pay Cocteau's Fine to the mother while you apologize, I'll lend it you." Adomeh said. "I have a sudden windfall, it seems."

"But this is not fair!" Trevish scowled and stamped almost in a tantrum.

"Still the bad loser, eh, Trevish?" Andrew's father said. "Always picking a fight and then not wanting to admit you lost, that was you in your youth. Haven't you learned better yet?"

"I will see his arm, at least." Trevish said sulkily. "If there is blood, then I did not lose the wager, for the bout was to end at first blood."

Andrew showed his arm, though this meant removing his tunic. His father acted as a de facto judge and scanned his son's bicep. "Not even a dry cut." he said at the end. "You missed the blow entire."

"Very well." Trevish said reluctantly and reached for his pouch. It was heavy, holding a great deal more than five gold pieces to Andrew's eye.

Andrew's mother held out her hand, grinning delightedly, and he counted out five gold pieces into her hand. "Ah, this will pay the Church tithe in full." she crowed, clutching them in her fist. "Sir, at this price, you may insult me as often as you wish."

"Now the apology." Andrew's father said sternly, like a school-master.

Trevish blushed and nearly stuttered. "My dear woman, I have behaved abominably toward you this day, and I offer you my sincere apologies."

"You do it while down on one knee." Andrew's father prompted him.

Trevish knelt down, pouting.

"Now say it again, and properly this time."

"My dear woman, I have behaved most abominably toward you this day, and I offer you my true heartfelt and sincere apologies."

"He ought to get it right the first time, he has to say it so much." Adomeh observed drily.

Trevish cast a dark look his way.

"Yes, he always did have a temper on him." Andrew's father agreed. "Have you stayed within the royal guard, Trevish?"

"Yes." Trevish said. "It is the only life for me." He took the rag from Andrew's mother, the one with which she had soaked up the beer and put it to the cut on his face, wincing at the pain from the beer it contained as he did so.

"Then why do you not wear the uniform?" his father asked.

"The land is in rebellion." Trevish said. "Lord Montaigne has set himself up on the throne of Carlovain. He thinks because his family owns Heslov that they should own the crown as well. The King has fled, and we seek him here in Lord Montaigne's own lands while they seek for him in the east, where the loyal Lord Dentremon holds sway."

"And how do you stand in this?" Andrew said. "Do you declare for the King?"

"I might ask you the same question." Trevish flashed back at him.

"I say for the King, and none other!" Andrew flared in return.

"And so say I!"

"Hear, hear! For the King!" came the sound from the table.

Andrew looked at them carefully. It was a risk, and if he was wrong, he would die this day. But he trusted these men, despite what had just occurred. "Then you may serve your King well." he said. "For his Majesty is in this very building, upstairs."

"What?" Trevish said.

"What?" his father said.

"It's true." his mother chipped in. "Lying in Andrew's bed this very moment, and not a shred of clothing on him as well."

"He did have his cloak with him when he arrived." Andrew said. "And I presume his horse is somewhere about, though I haven't seen it."

"The King is here?" Adomeh said.

"Yes." Andrew said and raised his sword. "Have you now a change of heart?" he said ominously. "This sword can cut deeper if I wish it to."

"Nay, not I!" Adomeh said. "And your blade does not compel my tongue though I salute your skill. But we must get the King away, swiftly. Lord Montaigne's soldiers are all about these lands, conscripting men for his army. They'll remember you, lad, quickly enough you may be sure, if they know your skill with a blade. And they'll search this place anyway, looking for men who would hide from his conscription. They'll find him for certain."

"They know of this place and of my son." Andrew's father said grimly. "You may be assured of that."

"I'll go and tell His Majesty that he is with friends." Andrew's mother said. The coins jingled in her skirt pocket as she walked.

"Well, we must make plans." Andrew's father said. "Though first I must question how the King of all Carlovain can be brought into my home and into my son's bedroom without me knowing of it."

"You were asleep, Father." Andrew said. "Mother had me come get your best clothes for him to wear and you were asleep. I decided not to wake you."

"He may have the clothes, and gladly." his father said. "It will aid in his disguise." His father looked out the open door of the inn, spread wide to let the air into the tight room. It also let in the sun's rays at this moment, which was still well above tree-top level. "And it is near midsummer's day. Let the night come quickly." he prayed. "While it shines, the King is at risk." The King stepped into the tavern, in his father's suit which was slightly too small for him, and from the smiles on his face and Andrew's father, they recognized each other at once.

"Falin!"

"Sire!" and the embrace they gave each other was of old friends.

"This is indeed a meeting of old friends." the King said happily. "Trevish, do you remember Master Falin?"

"I do indeed, Sire." Trevish said.

"Sire, may I present to you my son, Andrew." his father said.

"We...have met already." the King said. "It was he who brought me into your inn, and not knowing me, save that I was in distress. I am glad to count him among my friends."

"Rest, Sire, and I will bring you ale and finish the fixing of dinner." his mother said. "Any guests we are going to get will arrive soon. You'll all hide here for the night, and start first thing in the morning. Night-time may obscure you, but it obscures your enemies as well, and anyone camped by the roadside must wonder at the emergency that takes you riding in the darkness, and will stop you. You are safer in the daylight. Andrew, you should put the horses into the stable. And Majesty, where is your horse?"

"But a short distance into the grove behind your inn." the King said. "Tied to a large oak tree that stands apart from the others around it for a small space. It had grass the creature could nibble while it waited, so I gave it a long tether there."

"We know that tree. Andrew, go fetch that poor animal first." his mother said.

"Yes, mother." Andrew left the jolly crowd behind and performed his chores. And when guests arrived, he would be busier still.

But the road remained empty. Not a single guest arrived at their inn, though they sat and talked, the other men of the Palace and its goings-on, and Andrew listening raptly, though his mother made him serve them throughout.

Nightfall brought a blessed coolness with it, and with it as well came fatigue for Andrew. He had always to arise early to care for the horses and help the visitors get started on their way.

Yawning, he said, "Forgive me, but I must get to my bed now. Sire, you are safer to remain in my room, for the window lets you out into the back yard, where you may get away." And they could share the bed, small though it was, he thought to himself.

"A good idea." the King said.

"Andrew, you take the last room upstairs, then." his father said. "Margaret, put some decent coverings on Andrew's bed for the King."

Andrew was boxed. How was he to join the King in his bed without causing a scene?

The King saw his distress and stood, motioned him to one side. Andrew went, though it earned him curious glances from the men as they did so. "Lad, you shall sleep alone tonight." the King whispered to him. "Kings must always learn discretion, and even my trysts must have as few witnesses as possible. It would not do to let my guards know we have slept together. You understand, do you not, lad?"

"Yes, Sire." Andrew sighed.

"Later, perhaps, we can arrange things once again. For now, go to the room and sleep and make no effort to join me later. I want you, lad, but it cannot be tonight. And you are too young for me to make you my unofficial consort even if we had total secrecy. You are only beginning your life. Live it, and we will see how things stand when I return to Carlovain with an army at my back."

Andrew had to admit the sense of all this. He took the King's hand and this time the King let him kiss the back of it as a subject should, and Andrew walked the front stairs to the upstairs rooms. They had four such rooms, and he took the last, and smallest, of the four, and there disrobed completely and fell into the soft bed.

He truly was tired, and his body reasonably quiescent. He had had the afternoon of glory, and that should be more than enough for any man. First the joys of the initial embrace, then the gift of himself to not just any man, but his sovereign Lord, who was not only his King but a very adept and competent, gentle lover. It should suffice any man, such an afternoon as he had had.... He slept.

He heard the door open and the figure enter. The Moon was not entering the window, he saw only shadows. The figure closed the door gently and came to his bed. There was the rustle of clothing removed, and a metallic clank that was not a money pouch, for that jingle came immediately after. A sword, then.

And the figure was lifting the covers and entering the bed. As the warm, sweet-smelling form slid next to him, it whispered softly. "I am here. Do with me as you will."

So the King had come to him after all. Andrew sighed happily. "My will is that you do with me as you will, for my greatest happiness comes from your pleasure."

"Ah? Very well, then, for that suits me well." the figure said. "Though I confess when we fought, I did not think you relished such a role."

"What?" Andrew said, louder than he intended.

"Shh!" the figure said. "I am honorable enough to come pay my debt to you, but I don't wish the fact known wider than it needs must be. Your parents aren't so far away from us, remember, for this room must hang over part of the kitchen."

"Trevish?" Andrew asked. "Is that you?"

"And who did you think it would be, Adomeh, out of gratitude for his winnings?" Trevish said, paused, then in comprehension. "Ah! Well, I'm not surprised. The King does love to hang about our barracks both more frequently and at later hours than a sovereign should. His companionship with us was part of his downfall. Phillippe I was wise to take a Neresterii wife, but I wonder if his successors were equally wise in their choices. The French no longer consider him to be a Frenchman despite his name. His advisors all suggested he immediately take a French wife to help restore the balance. That may yet end this rebellion if he will." Trevish looked down at him and Andrew could just see the cocky smile. "Well, politics has no place in the bedroom, even though in the palace it often occurs for just that very reason. I see that my mistaken identity has caused you to give a unconsidered response. I renew my offer to you, for payment of my debt in full. I am here, do with me what you will."

Andrew looked at the shadowy figure lying next to him, remembered the broad, strong body that had opposed him in the tavern below. "And I say to you again that pleasure should be shared, not taken. Give yourself to me as I shall give myself to you, and we shall both have won."

"You are indeed fortunate." Trevish said.

"In what way?"

"You inherited your father's sense of honor, but not your mother's sharp tongue." Trevish's hand went down Andrew's chest, circling and caressing, but ever lower, until soon it captured Andrew's manhood and pumped it up firmly erect. "Nor that body of hers, feh! Graceful as a dung wagon, it is!"

Andrew sighed and his hand found Trevish's own hard rod, and they wielded their arms in harmonious motions. Andrew thought how but a few hours before, these same arms had wielded hard metal capable of cutting the life from each other, now they held hard flesh and wielded them in the greatest celebration life could offer. It was meet, a true conclusion of the circle.

He was no longer Trevish's foe, but an ally.

Trevish gave a sudden gasp of audible pleasure and then his lips pressed against Andrew's fervently. Andrew gave Trevish this subtle mastery over him, let himself be kissed hard, prolonged and passionately, while his free arm went up to encircle and touch Trevish's broad, muscled back.

"Ah, the moment I saw you in the yard, I wanted you." Trevish sighed when he ended the kiss. "As my comrades talked, I only thought of how I could bring you into my bed. I am indeed sorry for my actions on your mother, but the thought of you had brought me into my need as she wiped at me, and I had to conceal its source in some way."

"This apology weighs more with me than any you could buy from my mother's hand." Andrew said.

"Then let my hand and mouth apology more freely." Trevish said and he scooted back to kiss not Andrew's face, but now his neck and shoulders. Still their hands plied their magic upon each other, and Andrew groaned softly at the soft lips, the firm hand, the questing lips, the pulsating hand.

"Ah, cease!" he begged as he pried the fingers loose from his shaft of masculinity. "I shall burst if you continue, and let us prolong this somewhat."

"Ah, indeed." Trevish pivoted in the bed and now Andrew's hand was pulled loose from Trevish's heated rod, and Trevish plied both hands and his lips over Andrew's body the more. That tongue of his was everywhere at once, it seemed, tasting and conquering him like the speediest cavalry riding over the gentle plains of his chest and stomach. The probing tongue went into his navel, and Andrew groaned again at this minor penetration of his body.

"Ah, if you are mine to command, then turn your body this way that I may lavish my own attentions upon your body." he gasped out.

Trevish obediently, eagerly turned and Andrew made no pretense of tasting Trevish's body or ministering to thighs or abdomen, he reached for the thick pole of manhood that stood there, proudly erect and topped with an arrow-shaped glans, and that arrow sped into his mouth and buried itself into his throat.

"Gah!" Trevish groaned. "Uh, uh, oh! Ah, country lads are the better by far!"

"What else is there to do in the long nights?" Andrew retorted. "We have no theaters and few parties to attend." He then returned to engulf Trevish's cock once more.

"So you come home and make love instead." sighed Trevish. "Yes, yes, indeed! Ah!"

Andrew wondered if Trevish intended to simply lay there and enjoy his attentions, and was about to prompt Trevish in his own desires, when Trevish's hand took him once more and then guided Andrew's pud into his mouth. Andrew gasped. This was no untrained man paying a debt reluctantly. Trevish was wonderfully attentive and skilled, his lips and tongue lapped fervidly at Andrew's prong and thrills of lightning prickle coursed through his body with every stroke.

Andrew's blood pounded within his temples, and he seized Trevish and rolled him over to lie beneath Andrew and Trevish gulped and choked as Andrew's thick prick was buried to the very base. Not so competent after all, though he seemed to take inspiration when Andrew made a valiant effort and returned the compliment, taking the entirety of Trevish's pud into his mouth and down his throat, where it throbbed hungrily, angrily tumescent.

Trevish gagged and released Andrew with a hard turn of his head. "Nay, lad, be not so rough!"

Andrew released Trevish's own prong, and said to him fiercely, "Are you not mine to do with as I will tonight?"

"I am." Trevish said.

"Then return to your duties." Andrew said and took Trevish down to the base once again.

Trevish took Andrew's cock in his trembling fingers and returned it to his mouth and Andrew, heedless of Trevish's comfort, again jammed it all the way in. Trevish held on as well as he could, but was forced again to release it.

"Well, then, if you cannot bear it at this opening, we shall use the other."

"I could not take it." Trevish said in some fear. Andrew relished this emotion from Trevish, the cocky fighter who had planned to use him unmercifully was now at his mercy. His blood-fever pounded within him, and this compliant soldier was his until the dawn! He would not relinquish this mastery for a second more.

Andrew turned and knelt at the foot of the bed. "Raise your legs and pay your debt."

"Pray, sir, I beg of you." Trevish said.

"Are you not to do with as I choose?"

"Aye, but...."

"Then raise your legs."

"Oh, be gentle, please!" Trevish whined as he obeyed. "I have little skill and none with the size of yours."

"That pulls naught with me." Andrew said and pulled the ankles to lie on his shoulders and then pressed the long, thick legs back onto Trevish's chest and stomach, where they lay helplessly writhing.

"Let me guide you in, sir." Trevish said as he reached, found Andrew's spit-slicked organ. "And let my hand also guide your speed."

Andrew gave him this mercy, barely, for Trevish's hand was a poor match for the pile-driver cock with his legs to power it inwards. He pushed his cockhead into Trevish's ass, and Trevish groaned, and now only his four fingers were holding back Andrew's cock.

Andrew pressed inwards, and Trevish's littlest finger gave way and Andrew took the half-inch it gave him. With the little finger splayed out, the ring finger had little leverage, and it took slid out to join its neighbor, and Andrew gained nearly another inch. The middle finger was even less able to withstand the onslaught and then the index finger alone held back Andrew's lustful thrusting into Trevish's body.

Trevish moaned, a long, slow sound, and his hand fell away, and Andrew's balls promptly slapped against his buttocks.

"Now you are mine." Andrew declared. "Now your debt can begin to be repaid."

"Ah, mercy." Trevish begged.

"There shall be none, for you would have given none to me had I lost." Andrew said.

"Nay, I would have been gentle, I swear it."

"We shall see about that later, perhaps. Let the next wager of whatever kind we make be the same, and we shall see."

"Done." Trevish groaned. "Only pray hold off a space before you begin your thrusts. My body burns for you, but there is also pain this moment."

"I shall hold." Andrew said, panting down into Trevish's face.

A short time, and Andrew felt the tight hot interior release slightly. "Now?" he queried.

"Now, my lord, now." Trevish gasped. "Only pray, gentle!"

But Andrew had waited all he intended to. He pumped into Trevish and Trevish's bowels accommodated him entirely, he became a rutting beast upon Trevish's prostate body, and Trevish groaned lustily in response. "Oh, oh, yes, yes, oh, ah, ah, ah, ah!" he said, with increasing volume.

A brief noise outside, and in entered Adomeh, sword in hand but otherwise unclothed.

"Here, what is this?" he said.

"Get out of here." Trevish snarled. "Haven't you seen a man pay off his gambling debt before?"

"Yes, even such a debt as this," Adomeh admitted. "But I was unfamiliar with the sounds of Trevish giving voice to pleasure. He is usually so silent!"

"Permit me the dignity of enjoying my degradation." Trevish said haughtily.

"Agreed. And my pardons in disturbing your tete-a-tete." Adomeh said and withdrew.

"The clumsy oaf!" Trevish sniffed. "Sharing a bed with him is like lying next to an insomniac bull. Now, fuck me once again, my country stallion! Harder, harder!"

"Gladly." Andrew panted. He pumped lustily into Trevish, who now matched him thrust for thrust, until Andrew felt his blood pounding still harder, becoming a roar in his ears and before his eyes, his pleasure built inside of him until it encircled his universe, and with sounds of anonymous joy escaping his lips unbidden, he reached the summit of passion and burst outwards like the wall which is the cannonball's target.

Groaning, he sprayed his seed into Trevish's bowels, and Trevish groaned in his turn as the hot flood entered him, and then Andrew felt the hot splashes of Trevish's seed upon his stomach and chest, and one arm which held Trevish's leg in place. He could not tell which was the greater, the heavy bursts which now flowed out of Trevish's anus onto Andrew's slapping balls, or Trevish's own wildly scattered load which seemed to be hitting absolutely everywhere at once.

Done, he collapsed on top of Trevish, resting his entire weight on the captive soldier, and Trevish let him, for was not Trevish's body his to do with as he would? Andrew felt his sweat on his brow, his brow touching Trevish's temple and there smearing and combining with Trevish's to mingle into a solid stream that trickled down over Trevish's ear and Andrew's forehead to the bed beneath.

"This is the fate of a man who insults my mother." Andrew said at last, his words breathy from his still heaving chest. "Mark you do not do it again."

"I am certain of this much." Trevish said.

"What is that?"

"If I must lose such a bet, you were a good one to lose it to. What if I had bet the same with the homely peasants that are the usual occupants of these lands?"

Andrew smiled and kissed the cheek, ridged with the angry cut that he had put there. "I thought you would not have made this bet, except as a means to ensnare me in your clutches. But it is now I who have you in mine."

"But you promised me pleasure for pleasure." Trevish commented. "When shall I have my turn at you?"

"Whenever we make the next wager." Andrew reminded him.

"Then I shall have to come up with one soon." Trevish said.

"Yes, but tomorrow." Andrew said, yawning.

"Tomorrow we leave with the King." Trevish reminded him.

"Take me with you, then." Andrew said.

"Nay, I cannot, not on such a journey." Trevish said. "Only the King's Guard may accompany him in such a journey of danger."

Andrew was still. "Then wake me before the first light." he compromised. "I would use you body once more before we must part entire."

"That I shall do." Trevish said. "You may take my word as bond on that."

And Andrew permitted his body to sleep once again, to dream of glorious battles where he was the conquering hero, and the grateful populace all looked like Trevish, his companions, and the King of Carlovain. And their gratitude turned into the ministrations of lust.

Would that life itself mirrored such dreams, he thought even in his sleep.

END OF CHAPTER 3