SQUIRE OF CARLOVAIN
CHAPTER 9
"The Young Nobleman's Pet"
By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
Andrew found himself riding with the King's enemies, seemingly of his own free will, about to become a mercenary in the employ of Count Ratisbon. His mind reeled at the many turns his life had taken in the past few days. Adomeh and Trevish seemed totally unconcerned that they may soon find themselves hacking away at their friends in the thick of battle.
They ended up back at a surprisingly small house which was teeming with people, some soldiers in the house livery of Count Ratisbon, but many more dressed as they were, in rough peasant's clothing. The peasants were resigned to their fate of going into battle, and many were engaged in mock combats, wielding the peasant's weapons, the scythe, the pitchfork, the rake, anything was better than nothing when your life was at stake! They taught themselves because no soldier bothered to teach them; they were deemed fodder for the blades and nothing else. Many others practiced with the stave, and Andrew watched one pair who did exceptionally well at it, to the point of jumps, whirls and flourishes, an exhibition of the things you can do with a stave, in fact, and remembered his own poor showing against the one wielded by the guard in Dentremon's dungeon. He determined to take a chance to study it if he could.
But he was with the group of soldiers, who had ordered their captives on foot to the sides, but kept their three with them.
"Come on, we'll go see the captain." the soldier said. "He'll either sign you up or force you into the ranks. I couldn't tell you which."
"We'll take our chances." Adomeh said.
"I don't see you have any choice about that." the soldier grinned a mean smile.
Adomeh and Trevish laughed back at him, and Andrew wished he could manage such a carefree attitude about all this, he settled for a wide smile. He felt like he'd made a face at the soldier, but it seemed to work. They rode toward the captain, who was in the field, teaching a few men some technique with the sword.
"Ah!" Adomeh said. "Just the right place for us."
"You want to join the Count's house guard?" the soldier said, astonished.
"It sounds better than marching through the fields, does it not?"
"Oh, they'll march as well, but will probably be hiding in the back when things get rough." the soldier grunted.
"Sounds wonderful to me." Trevish said, ignoring the insult. "I'm very good at running when the odds call for it."
"I well believe that, seeing where you were when we caught you." the sergeant riposted.
"Ho, sergeant!" the captain hailed him, seeing him, and calling a halt to the practice. "What have you here?"
"Three impressioned peasants who have the infernal gall to declare themselves mercenaries." the sergeant said. "They have swords, but they surrendered to us tamely enough."
The captain laughed. "Well, then, we'll put them to a test. If they can wield the blade well enough, we'll take them as mercenaries."
"What about positions in your house guard?" Adomeh pressed.
"The house guard is composed of families loyal to the Count for generations." the captain said.
"Oh, then you don't choose them for skill with a sword, then? I thought they were handling them rather poorly."
The assembled soldiers muttered.
"Though I do have to say they're the prettiest bunch of lads I've seen for a while." Trevish added, with an insolent smirk. "They add in grace what they lack in skill. Do they also perform ballets in their off-duty time?"
Now the mutter became a growl.
But the captain only laughed. "And you want to join them, so what does that make you? I concede that members of the house guard are selected by Dame Ratisbon, the Count's mother, and she has been steered awry by a pretty face more than once."
"So take us to this Dame Ratisbon, so that we may pose for her." Adomeh said.
"No need for that, since you must first pass my own tests first." the captain said.
"Very well." Adomeh said, flipping one leg over the horse's head and then sliding down to the ground. "Shall we match blades?"
"I would be honored. And for your comrades, hmm, Nesvil and Celebar will do, I think. This is a duel, first blood only. Cripple them and I'll have your head." He didn't specify whether he was cautioning his men, or warning Andrew and Trevish of the consequences.
"Done." Adomeh said.
"We promise not to hurt your boys overmuch." Trevish put in. He had picked up on that as well, and used it before the captain could clarify.
Andrew stumbled getting off the horse. God, he was still sore after yesterday's long ride. The warm bath had helped, but the riding since had worn most of that away.
"I doubt my men will have any trouble with this stripling." the captain said. "Where did you pick him up, as an orphan from a foundling home?"
Andrew stretched, carefully choosing a swordsman stretching exercise taught him by his father, and then drew his sword with a flourish. "Which one of these is mine?" he said simply.
"That stripling is the son of a former royal sword-master, and who has been his exclusive pupil since he was old enough to wield a sword." Trevish said. "I was hoping to take the weaker of your swordsmen, and leave the stronger for him, in fact."
"You are too kind." Andrew bowed.
"Not at all." Trevish bowed in return. "My pleasure, for I know you need your exercise."
"Enough of this nonsense." Nesvil grunted. Andrew knew him by name only because he had responded quickly to it, stepping forward, while Celebar was in the rear and had to come forward. Nesvil's face was...rough and craggy, like a block of granite given human flesh. It had been handsome once, perhaps, some ten years ago. Now it was cruel, with a dark shelf of overhanging eyebrow and deep-set, black eyes. Neresterii blood, indeed, but in this man it had been twisted by fortunes into this dark being. "I'll deal with this boy and send him crying back to his mother for a change of diaper."
And Nesvil's sword, which had been drawn stealthily during all this, lashed out at Andrew.
Good thing his father had taught him to watch the man's blade as well as his face. Andrew saw the determination, flickered down to see the sword pulling forth, and he was able to match it with his own, caught it on his own blade. But the blow was strong, Andrew's body was sore and did not respond well, he was forced to drop down to one knee from its force.
Andrew riposted by letting the blade free to fly over his head and then cut beneath, forcing Nesvil to jump his lower part backwards, leaving his jaw and face foremost in his posture. As Nesvil straightened up, he lost ground, and Andrew was able to rise to his feet once more.
Nesvil stepped forward again and they locked blades again, a short period of push-and-pull, in which Andrew held firm, and then Nesvil released the blade-lock and they had a brief flurry of slash-and-parry, in which only Andrew's ducking of his head kept a blow from landing on his neck.
"Nesvil!" the Captain shouted. "I said no damaging blows!"
"Have no fear of that." Andrew said. "I won't hurt him unduly." By saying this before Nesvil could, he seized the commentary of the captain and enraged the warrior, who actually roared and charged at Andrew like a bull.
His father's teachings held him well, Andrew knew the counter to such a tactic, he darted out of the way and as the man passed, carried by his own momentum further than he had intended, Andrew got him on the seat of the pants with his blade. He slashed the man's trouser's wide open, and marked the pair of hairy buttocks with a fairly deep slash, and his bout was over.
But nobody had told Nesvil, who bellowed in pain and rage, and turned and came back to him. Andrew had begun the move to the end-posture, but returned to his guard in time to capture the blade which was pressing down trying to cleave him from his crown down to his neck in one hard blow.
"Nesvil!" the captain called out. "Nesvil, stand down! Now!"
But Nesvil pressed the attack, and finally, Andrew feeling his body giving way under the constant, hard pressure down, brought his knee up as high as he could, combining this with a jump into the air, and the knee caught Nesvil under his chin. Andrew fell and rolled and managed to regain his feet with the momentum of the roll. But there was no need, Nesvil was down now, the combination of Andrew's blow to his chin and the arms of three of his comrades.
"Come now, he drew your blood first." one of them chided Nesvil. "Dueling rules."
"Let me up!" Nesvil raged.
"A poor loser." Trevish said.
Andrew looked around. Celebar was standing with one hand clapped to his forearm. Adomeh and the Captain were still at it. "Indeed he was." he agreed. "Though if he had combined that strength of his with skill, I should have lost entire. It was like fighting an armed bull."
"Should have had you fight the Captain while Nesvil fought Adomeh." Trevish observed. Adomeh in many ways was fighting like Nesvil, overbearing the captain by force of strength, to lose ground as the captain showed various skillful extractions to the process.
"Ho, Adomeh, enough!" Trevish called out. "Either call for peace or finish him off!"
Adomeh was grimly gritting his teeth, Trevish's words turned that into a smile at once. "Shall we, sir? I would hate to wound you when battle is so near at hand."
The captain was confident enough to smile in return and take the neutral position. Adomeh did likewise, and then he and the captain exchanged a warrior's handshake, hand to the other's forearm.
"Welcome to the house guard." the Captain said. "You three will make a most welcome addition."
"Very good." Adomeh said in return. "Where do we bunk?"
The captain laughed. "Wherever you can find bedding. You can see our numbers exceed our lodgings."
"I saw it, indeed. Adomeh agreed. "We shall settle for our meals, then. After we discuss our salaries."
"There'll be no need of that with this young one." a female voice said.
Andrew turned and saw a figure well-shrouded in a cloak.
"You fight well." the female voice asked him. "But can you handle the more routine duties of a house?"
Andrew looked at Trevish and Adomeh, and got encouraging, even desperate, gestures of their heads. "When my father retired from the royal guard, he became an innkeeper, and I have spent my life working with him in his inn. We had noble visitors on a regular basis." Andrew answered honestly. "While I know nothing of the more genteel requirements of a great house, I can at least promise to deal well with the day-to-day duties."
"Excellent." the woman said. He still could make out nothing of her features, her age or countenance or anything at all. "My grandson Renaud travels to the palace and needs a guard that will function more as a valet, but must be ready with steel should the occasion require it. Also, you must be physically appropriate to grace the royal halls. Yes, I think you would do quite well."
"As you wish, Milady." the Captain said. "What of these others?"
"They will do well enough for the regular duties back at the house." the figure said. The cloak covered her well, Andrew could not tell from the voice or concealed body the woman's age or anything else about her. "But this one will make a fine personal servant for my grandson, after we clean him up a bit."
"What of my comrades?" Andrew asked. "There are three of us and we ride together."
The woman pushed back her cloak's hood, and now Andrew saw she was the oldest woman he had ever seen, much older than hiss own mother, though heavily powdered and made up until she seemed nearly a puppeteer's creation, animated but not alive. "You show your ignorance of noble life already." she smiled and even this came across as artificial, faked by unseen hands. "Or you would know that any nobleman may take but a single servant with him into the palace. Only the King is permitted more."
"But..." Andrew turned back to Trevish, who smiled.
"Go, Andre." Trevish said, emphasizing the French pronunciation of his name. "You will stand with our new Lord Protector. I would not let our friendship prevent you from enjoying such a chance to advance your career."
"Then I accept your duty." Andrew said.
"Come with me." and the woman, restoring her hood to cover her face, despite the heat of the day, led him away. Andrew followed, smelling the raunchy mix of perfume and unwashed, sweating body, that emanated from her trail.
He was led to the largest building, and from there to upstairs, where he was turned over to the ladies' servants. They produced silken garments from a trunk (one of many in the room, Dame Ratisbon was apparently traveling a long distance given the amount of her luggage) and soon Andrew was given his new livery.
He had never worn hose before. He was now obliged to replace his comfortably loose peasant's garb with these tightly-woven tights that clung to his thighs and legs like a second, and ill-fitting, skin, fitted with leather soles to replace shoes. There was no room for his money pouch inside this, he had to sling it around his waist, outside the tights but under his tunic. The tunic itself was equally tight-fitting, and dyed in rich tones with the Count's colors of yellow and black. Upon this tunic was embroidered the Count's coat-of-arms, a gaudy and overwrought golden lion attacking a rabbit of natural brown tones. It struck Andrew as very appropriate for a family that had won its way to nobility by the rapine and blood of his ravaged ancestors. The tunic itself came only to a bit below his groin, covering his crotch and buttocks only so long as he stood upright. Its best feature was a proper leather scabbard for his sword, also decorated in ornamental designs of gold thread.
He then permitted the servants who tittered oddly as they looked at him, to cut his hair in the court's style, his own hair now truncated until it was as short as the King's. In the style of servants, too, his sides were clipped very close to his scalp, so that he appeared to possess only a "beret" of hair on top of his head. They permitted him to see his new hair in a mirror, and he grimaced.
"Don't you fret." one of the women said to him kindly. "All the young retainers in court wear their hair like this. Your old hair style was strictly for commoners."
"At least I had hair." Andrew grumbled.
"He's ready for you to see him, Young Master, Milady." one of the other women called out the door.
Dame Ratisbon entered and behind her a young man perhaps a few years older than Andrew, but no more. His own garb was that of nobility and high fashion, the widely flowing tunic which hung down to his knees, and below that the hose, and feet shod in ridiculously long and pointed shoes, which may explain why he also walked with a large cane that he held by the top knob, though not resting any apparent weight on it. He also sported a small, crafted beard in the King's style as well; in fact, looking at him, Andrew was painfully reminded in many ways of the King, who he hoped was now well on his way to safety in England. But this man was younger, and in some way, more arrogant and artful in demeanor than the King, the difference between the master of the realm and one who simply aspired to be master.
"Here's the one I chose for your valet." Dame Ratisbon said. She had removed the cloak entirely and now stood revealed in her clothing, high finery indeed, blue with a white front to it that went the full length of her gown, and a heavily embroidered headpiece with veil that trailed over both her shoulders. She carried a fan which she kept constantly before her face, like a veil.
"Isn't the uniform a little too small for him." the man countered. "It looks as if he were squeezed into it."
"He is larger than I expected, I agree, Renaud." Dame Ratisbon responded. "But we'll get him a new outfit when you get to the castle. We'll have the King's tailors sew him up a proper, and fancier tunic. But this will have to do for now."
"It's the figure he'll cut until then that worries me." her grandson responded. "You, what is your name?"
"Andre, My Lord." Andrew bowed deeply and the ladies behind him giggled again.
"See how your servants laugh at the fit." Renaud said, frowning. "Surely there is another that we could choose which would fit the suit better."
"It was not the fit we laughed at, Milady." the oldest woman said.
She must have made some gesture for Dame Ratisbon's face lit with comprehension and then she said, "Andre, raise both your arms up."
Andrew did and Renaud frowned. "And that is too much. I won't have my guard and servant indulging in such nonsense. Take that out right now."
"What?" Andrew asked. "My money pouch?" he reached for the bulge of the pouch at his right side. "I have no place else to wear it."
"You know I don't mean that!"
"He wants you to remove your codpiece." Dame Ratisbon said.
"But, but I'm not wearing one." Andrew stammered. Many noblemen, knowing the way the tights revealed everything, would stuff their crotch with rags or metal pieces, designed to make them appear more well-endowed. He had been forced due to the hose's tightness to wear his own manhood high, but as for stuffing anything in with it, it hadn't occurred to him.
Renaud snarled and took a few quick strides toward him. "You expect me to believe that..." And Renaud's hand landed squarely on Andrew's cock and balls and squeezed, hard.
Andrew grimaced, and Renaud's face turned to consternation and his fingers felt out Andrew's maleness, running along the shaft of his cock, feeling out its dimensions as if in disbelief.
"It's not a codpiece, dear." Dame Ratisbon said, her fan up to her face to conceal all but some animatedly sparkling eyes. "The lad is just..." a substantial pause "...fortunate."
The servants giggled yet again.
"Another good reason to get him a new costume rapidly." Renaud said. His hand, still on Andrew's crotch, made a definitely caressing gesture and a hint of a smile lit Renaud's face, which vanished as he turned away. "I'm hungry now, Grandmother. May my new servant go down and fetch us up our luncheon?"
"He may as well begin his duties now." Dame Ratisbon said. "Marie, take Andre with you and show him the kitchen. He has only worked in a tavern before now."
"Nay, my family owns an inn, Milady." Andrew corrected her. She scowled, and he realized he had gone too far. "My pardons, Milady."
"I'll let it be...this time." she said.
"Come, Andre." Marie said. She was the eldest of the women. "I'll need you with me to fight off the soldier's cooks to get our lord and lady's portions. The kitchen must feed the ranks as well. We shall choose the best, and they won't want to give it up to us."
Andrew did well at serving the luncheon, both by dint of his work at the inn and by watching Marie serve Dame Ratisbon. Renaud and Dame Ratisbon ignored him entirely but for brief comments for more wine or similar services. After that, they were dismissed for their own meal and Andrew hurried down along with the women servants. He had to find Adomeh and Trevish.
There were rude catcalls among the ranks of the house guards as Andrew made his appearance, for his livery was far more elaborate than theirs, lacking both the embroidery and the fine cut of the cloth, and looser pants substituting for the hose Andrew wore. Andrew semi-expected it and ignored it, searched for his comrades. Seeing them, he went over. Each of the tables possessed a large container of stew, and Andrew only needed to fetch a bowl from a stack nearby. There was no silverware nor did he expect any, you ate the stew by tipping up the bowl and slurping it out as best you could.
"Well, you are decked out fit to serve a Lord." Trevish said as he sat down.
"Yes, and I feel a proper fool." Andrew agreed. The three were not alone at the table, he had to speak to Trevish in riddles and hope to be understood. "I...I had expected us three to remain together."
"It would have been nice." Adomeh said. "But you will be happier where you are. And you might be able to do us some service there. Dropping hints to the right ears or" he looked intently into Andrew's eyes, "hearing something of value."
"And you can mention us when the occasion requires, so we can join you later on, perhaps." Trevish agreed.
Andrew understood their intent looks. He was to be a spy. "It is true that, given how close I will be to the Lord Protector, I might learn many things I would not learn in the field."
"And we'll be in the field to advise you from there." Adomeh said. "We will get messages to you, some way, never fear. Just go and do your duties and wait to hear from us. We'll write when we know where we'll be assigned."
"You're going to the Count's house." one of the other men said. "I thought you knew that. Though when the Count takes the field against the rebels in the north, we'll march with him, mostly to protect him and his base camp."
"That is what we expected." Trevish said. "After all, it's a mercenaries' rule that it's a mistake to get hurt in battle."
"Verily, I expect you three will run at the first sight of trouble." the man said.
"It is not cowardice to flee in order to fight another day instead of ending up as fly-food." Trevish said. "And if you doubt my skill with a sword, I can arrange a closer demonstration for you."
"I'll trust your courage when I see it in action." the man said. "I'll concede you're better with the sword than I am. I can bow to your superior skill without granting you all the virtues of Heaven in the process."
"You may rest assured on this point." Trevish said tightly. "When the time comes to strike a blow, we'll swing without stint against the foes of Carlovain. And if I must lay down my life to do so, I shall."
"You'd best finish your meal and return to the house." Adomeh said to Andrew, who was taking in this exchange wide-eyed as he slurped from the bowl. "And don't worry about Trevish and me, we're old hands in the field of battle. Keep up your daily sword-practice, to keep your skill honed and ready, and wait for word from us."
"I shall worry every day until I hear you two are well-disposed." Andrew said. "For there are evil days ahead and I fear for all those I care about, not just you two."
"I'm sure your mother and father are safe." Adomeh said. "As well as their traveling companion."
"I sincerely hope so." Andrew said. "If I get word on their safety, I'll make that part of my first response to you."
"We'd appreciate that."
Andrew had done what he set out to do, he gulped down the rest of his bowl of stew and, seeing that no more stew was left in the main bowl, was forced to let that one small bowl be all his lunch. "I'll return to the house, then and watch out for my new master." Andrew said. "I won't leave his side after this, though if you get word to the house before we leave, I'll try to come meet you."
"Good fortune." Adomeh said as Andrew got up. They embraced, then held each other's forearms, a soldier's farewell, then Andrew did the same to Trevish and turned his back on his friends. He did not look back as he walked, for now he must concentrate on being the best spy for the King that he knew how to be.
And if he learned that which would restore the King to the throne, he would die to get that information delivered into Adomeh's hands.
Andrew went back in and a maidservant was in the kitchen. "Ah, there you are." she said. "Your Master is calling for you. You had best hurry, he sounds impatient."
Andrew hurried upstairs and found Renaud waiting in the room where he had served their meal. "There you are, Andre!" he said, sounding impatient. "Where were you?"
"My apologies, My Lord." Andrew said. "I was outside with the house guard, saying my farewell to my comrades. I shall not leave your side again."
"See that you don't." Renaud said. "I am going to lie down for a time. Come with me to my room. I want to instruct you on the rituals so that I and my friends don't have to watch you bumbling about at court."
Andrew felt the house was terribly hot, but realized that Renaud had no real choice as to where to nap, the shady areas outside were covered for a long ways around with the collected motley army of Count Ratisbon. "Yes, sir." he said.
Renaud walked out and Andrew carefully followed him, but not too closely, as he had seen servants doing for the nobles. Renaud's comments puzzled him, for he had never noticed that the servants stayed long about the visitors at the inn; rather they would take their lords upstairs and come down immediately afterwards, rarely going upstairs again until the following morning. Perhaps Renaud intended to instruct him on other matters.
Renaud went into his chamber, and Andrew was pleased to feel a distinct breeze coming in the open window.
"Now, your duty will be to stay by my side at the palace, and to be ready to spring to my defense should any assassin enter the room. This is not a duty you'd have back at my own home, but we are about to enter the place, which is bound to be full of intrigue, so I want you used to being with me right now."
"Yes, My Lord." Andrew said.
"Good, now come help me undress. You might as well be useful as long as you're going to be about me all the time from here on."
Again, this was all new information to Andrew, but he didn't feel any comment to that effect was wise at this time. Renaud was probably just testing his boundaries, setting up a mode of subservience by Andrew, once that was established, he would not insist on such minutiae.
The top garment, for all its billowing cloth, was a tunic nonetheless, a tie about the neck released enough room there to let Andrew lift the large, silken cloth over his head.
"Now, you straighten it carefully and drape it over the clothing rack there, so it may air out while I slumber." Renaud required.
Andrew did as he said, giving it a fold down its length, and then placing this over the rack.
"Now come remove my shoes." Renaud said. He had sat down on the chair next to the bed. His upper body, revealed, showed a form somewhat thin but muscled. Renaud had not spent his hours in labor, but had exercised in some fashion, for his shoulders were cleanly rounded, his stomach taut and smooth, his chest with pronounced pecs and arms bearing long ellipses of biceps. Those would come from a proper knowledge of the sword. Andrew wasn't surprised to see Renaud had a sword-fighter's body; he would have been shocked had Renaud not known the blade since honor could call for defending your word and perhaps even your life with the sharp, heavy steel.
Andrew came back and found the shoes had a rather complex lacing to them, perhaps to help hold this preposterously large shoe in place, for it extended out half again as long as Renaud's foot. Andrew knelt and worked the tie loose, noting how it was tied so that he would be able to retie it for Renaud should he have to. He was still very sore from the horse-riding, and he leaned on over to rest on one hand while he untied the shoe with the other, wondering if Renaud would protest this movement.
Renaud reached up with his cane and used its tip to lift up and push aside the flap of tunic covering Andrew's buttocks. Andrew wondered at this, but chose to pretend he had not noticed this action. It could have been mere idleness from a bored young man. He undid the first shoe and, thus undone, it came off very easily, sagging where the toe was stuffed with something, cloth most likely. A preposterous item of footwear only the nobility could tolerate....
The cane returned to rest on Andrew's flesh, now plying itself into the crevice of his buttocks, and sliding back and forth there as Renaud reached up with his now-bare foot to contact Andrew's crotch. Andrew was surprised to find Renaud's toes as agile as his fingers had been in the way they caressed and stroked his cock.
"The other shoe now." Renaud reminded him.
Andrew had frozen with the movements, lost in the sensations. Andrew turned his trembling fingers to the task of undoing the other shoe, his manhood awakening even at this insolent touch, even with the harsh, cold, polished wood of the cane now being angled to where it just touched his ballsac as it slid back and forth. He fumbled the knot loose and unwound the tie, his fingers feeling large and clumsy, his cock demanding that he pay attention to this pressing invader of foot playing with it.
"You can see why I thought you wore a codpiece, can you not?" Renaud said softly, nearly whispering.
"Yes, My Lord." Andrew said. "I have never worn this sort of garment before. Mayhaps I am wearing it wrong, I know not." He was beginning to breath heavily, between this posture, his activity and the rising urgency of his desire.
He had the shoe loose enough, he tugged and slid it off, baring the other foot. Now Renaud wore but the hose, clad from waist to ankle only.
"Now hold as you are." Renaud commanded and rose so that he was standing astraddle of Andrew, so that Andrew's head was between his legs. And that cane continued to press against his tender flesh encased in the tights, which did nothing to obscure his body, he may as well be naked below the waist in this position....
Renaud stepped over to stand at Andrew's waist, and he bent at his knees to lower his body down so that he nearly sat atop Andrew's back, and poised thus he rubbed both his hands over Andrew's buttocks. Andrew sighed with pleasure. Even here, even now, the touch of a man's hands could excite his senses and inflame his procreative urges. So what if this man were an enemy? He was a man! And if Andrew was to become a spy, where better could he hide than inside this man's bed? He need not pretend love here, lust would do, and lust he had aplenty.
Renaud reached under with one hand to find Andrew's crotch and now the fingers were totally familiar with him, this time not seeking to identify, but to arouse and excite him. Andrew felt his prong expand, confined terribly in the tights, but declaring vehemently its need and approval of the fingers touching it.
"Ah, that's a marvelous piece of sausage you have packed in there." Renaud said. "I shall feast upon it often. Come, rise up and remove that clothing at once!"
"Yes, My Lord." Andrew said and Renaud stepped on over him and Andrew stood and fumbled with hasty fingers at the confining tunic. He squirmed it over his head as well as he was able and, impatiently, Renaud grabbed the top of the tunic and yanked it off of him. Now they were both wearing but their tights, and before Andrew could bring his hands up to remove his money pouch and untie the top of the tights, Renaud was pressing against him, the differences in their stations removed with their clothing, now only two men locked in the desperate embrace of mutual need.
Renaud's lips pressed against his, and Andrew was pleased to find that he did not mimic the rather unkempt attitudes of his grandmother, rather, his skin was clean and sweet-smelling, warm to the touch and vibrantly alive under his searching lips. Renaud's hot cock was pressing against him, burning him with its presence even through the two layers of cloth that separated them, and he ground back against it with his own, seeking with the pressure to find some relief from the distressing confining twist his cock had developed, being stuff flaccid into this tight hose, and now engorged and pressing outwards as best it could in its cramped quarters.
Andrew kissed back this young noble's questing mouth as best he could, feeling the sweat breaking out upon his skin in a hundred small explosions, the heat of the day and the heat in his veins, combining to ignition point, and Renaud's hands clutched and possessed his buttocks once more and Renaud pulled Andrew's groin to his own hard and rutted against him.
Releasing Andrew's lips, Andrew following him forward at first, Renaud gasped out, "On the bed. And remove that damnably tight hose, it conceals nothing for you, you may as well be naked!"
"Yes, My Lord." Andrew said and the two men, acting independently but in concert, undid the small ties and grasped their tight hose at the waist and yanked downwards, so that together, they stooped and freed their lower bodies from the cloth and rose again, bare to each other. Andrew looked down at Renaud's cock, stubby, perhaps four inches in length, but very wide and fat in its girth, as if his body had chosen sheer mass over length.
"Now on the bed, mignon, so that I may pleasure myself with you!" Renaud said. "For you are my mignon now, and we shall never sleep apart again."
Andrew crawled onto the bed and before he could do more than this preliminary act, on his hands and knees on the bed, Renaud grasped his thighs and pulled Andrew's buttocks back towards him.
"Ah, My Lord, please!" Andrew gasped out. "I cannot take this so easily, please!"
And then Renaud's tongue probed its way and Andrew ceased his protest. What Renaud lacked in the size of his penis, he had gained back with this tongue, so long, so talented, it moved upon his circlet of muscles and probed at it, moving more agilely than any snake, more than any finger could master, it was a moist, dancing, velvety tip, fattening and tautening at need, until every part of Andrew's buttocks sang out in the sheer joy at this stimulation, until Andrew gasped and felt his anal muscles sucking and tugging at this lithe mouth-muscle, begging it to enter its dark domain and take its pleasure there.
And indeed Renaud sent this moist intrusion into him, Andrew's sphincter embracing joyfully and enticing it deeper and yet deeper inside. Now Renaud removed his tongue entirely and Andrew wondered at this intermittent tactic, feeling Renaud's hand brushing his left buttock from time to time at these pauses, and then Renaud plunged that tongue in until it felt as if a small snake had crawled inside Andrew, to dance and play inside, and Andrew moaned a long, heartfelt sound of appreciation for this wonderfully, wonderfully adept pleasure-giver within him.
And Renaud pulled it out once again, though Andrew selfishly clutched this sweet tongue tightly, trying to trap it within him, refusing to relinquish it, and then Andrew felt Renaud's fat cockhead pressing at his entrance in its place. He had lubricated this monstrous beast during his pauses, and Andrew's muscles had been relaxed by the talented tongue, and it was only with a bit of pain that his anus expanded to accommodate his new master's love-pole into him, giving vocal vent to the sensations in a sigh rather than a groan of pain.
"Ah, you are no untried whelp, are you?" Renaud panted as he slowly pushed in deeper. "This little dark pit of yours has been skewered by other men's lances before my arrival, has it not?"
"Just a few friends." Andrew said, feeling somehow apologetic that he could no longer offer his virginal self to this man. He had to remind himself once again that this man was an enemy to the Crown, and that he was here to pump for information, not....
But Reynaud was totally inside him now, and began to move with short motions. Andrew's prostate was just barely within the reach of this stubby invader, and so was pummeled rather than stroked with each thrust, a miniature quarry for this diminutive knight-in-training, which sparred and punched at it with his lance of love, in many, many discrete touches, which somehow made the contacts all the sweeter in that they were not sustained as they had been with his other partners.
"Ga-a-a-a-ahhh!" Andrew grunted, his voice broken by the movements of his body from Renaud's pistoning hips. "O-o-o-o-oh, ye-a-a-a-a-ah!" he stuttered out.
"Ah, my mignon, my precious mignon." Renaud moaned. "I shall never let you go. You belong to me, now and forever, even if I must place leash and muzzle and hood upon you to keep you safe to me."
The day was hot, and Andrew felt his body now pouring out sweat onto the bedding below him, dripping from him from a score of rivulets finding their way down his arms and legs and dropping from the ceiling of his chest and abdomen to the sheets beneath. More droplets of sweat flew from Renaud's rapidly pumping body, and these landed as occasional cold splats of liquid upon his already-wet back. These sensations of water all about Andrew combined with the turbulent sensations racing from his bowels up his spine and into his brain, crashing there like waves on the shore, and when Renaud leaned over and pressed his sweat-slicked, hot, heavy body onto him, Andrew felt not oppressive heat, but rather as if he were in the center of a volcano, lava flowing about him all around, and he was a rock within this lava, soft and yielding yet keeping his identity and Renaud groaned, and the penis inside of Andrew heated to boiling point and cleft him wide open, so that when the steaming sperm burst into him, Andrew felt his own body surrender and become one with the rest of the ocean of rock around him, so that his body heated up.
But Renaud's orgasm was over before he could surrender entire to this sensation, and Renaud fell upon him, gasping and Andrew groaned in frustration at the loss of this sensation, feeling the slick organ slide from his body and leave him bereft!
"No, more, please!" he begged shamelessly. "Please, more, I cannot stop now ere I burst!"
Charitably, Renaud pulled his body away from Andrew and shifted Andrew around until he was now lying upon his back, and Renaud, his hair slicked down from his exertions, bent over Andrew's long prong and took it deeply into that mouth, where that magnificent tongue greeted it with the embrace of a lover's hug.
"Ah!" Andrew gasped out. "Ah, ah, ah!" Renaud's tongue danced rapidly over Andrew's pud, and Andrew felt his balls churn internally in harmonic resonance, and then the electric fire within coalesced, to shoot upwards as if lightning, and with it came his seed, jetting up into the warmly clutching mouth, pumping into Renaud with brutal force, so that he choked, gagged, and a burst of Andrew's sperm shot out his nostrils and back onto Andrew, yet Renaud bore this heavy assault and persevered, until Andrew lay gasping, quiet again, and Renaud snorted, blowing chunks of pearly-white sperm onto Andrew's abdomen, and still sputtering and choking, rose up to lay upon him.
"I am sorry." Andrew got out as soon as his mouth and tongue would obey his commands once again.
"You did nothing." Renaud said. "I am pleased to have been of service to you this day, my wonderfully strong mignon."
"What is a mignon?" Andrew asked.
"It means a servant who is more than a servant, more than valet." Renaud said. "It means that I may keep you in my room with me and none shall ask more when they hear the word."
"But what does it mean?" Andrew asked.
"A mignon is...well, a pet." Renaud said. "It means you are my confidant, my confessor, keeper of my secrets and that you bear the key to my soul. I shall need that, in the palace, never knowing who I can trust and who I cannot. I trust you, my little mignon. You would not betray me as those in the palace can, and must."
Andrew felt ashamed of a sudden. He had done all that he had done to be a spy for the King. To do this, he needed Renaud's trust. And he had obtained it, and felt an utter heel for the accomplishment. Where is the honor, O Vedron, he called internally. What have I wrought here today, in the service of my King and my country, that I can stand afterwards and declare myself proud and honorable?
He remembered Vedron's comment, even after he had foresworn revenge, that his success would cost him much. Perhaps that was more than a dream, after all. Yet even dreams, he knew, had their prophetic power, if not in inspiration, at least in the way they clarified the mind's inner workings. Yes, he would what he had to do. At the moment, that required he be treacherous. After all, this man was an enemy of his rightful King.
"We should sleep now." he settled for saying.
"Indeed." Renaud said. "We leave tomorrow for Heslov and the Lord Protector."
"Yes." Andrew said. "You must rest."
"I shall rest within your arms." Renaud said.
Both of them naked and still stained with their exertions, as they were and without any attempt to cover themselves, they lay there and Andrew surprised himself by falling asleep in his enemy's loving embrace.