Date: Mon, 06 Jan 2003 17:32:09 +0000
From: Ganymede
Subject: Ring Around the Rose Chapter 15 Revised

Ring Around the Rose, Chapter 15 Revised


WARNING:


This story contains descriptions of sexual acts
involving a man and MINOR boys. Such descriptions are an
integral part of the story. While the story may appeal to
prurient interests, it is intended to have serious literary
value. If you are under the age of 18, if this material is
illegal in your place of residence, or if man-boy relation-
ships aren't your thing, then exit now and save yourself from
a life of sin!



As a friend recently said: "Everyone has the right to
fantasy. No one has the right to censor an imagination, or
dreams." With that in mind, know that this story is not true!
Further, it is not intended to promote illegal acts against
minors, but to demonstrate that men and boys can love each
other despite the prevalent attitudes of western society. It
is my goal to help readers appreciate that love. The sexual
acts described in the story are the result of my imagination.
I have not performed these acts, and I do not encourage oth-
ers to perform them with minors. If the subject of man/boy
love offends you, if this material is illegal in your place
of residence, or if you are under the legal age for such
material, do not read further!

By downloading this story:

"... you implicitly declare and affirm under penalties
of perjury that you are not a minor or in the company of a
minor and are entitled to have access to material intended
for mature, responsible members of society capable of making
decisions about the content of documents they wish to
read...."

The story is copyrighted under my pseudonym, Ganymede.
A copy has been placed in the Nifty archives for your enjoy-
ment. The story cannot be used to derive monetary gain. The
story cannot be placed in archives that require payment for
access, or printed and distributed in any form that requires
payment either directly or indirectly. Any similarity to
individuals, living or dead, is entirely accidental. My sin-
cere thanks to two friends whose comments have been very
helpful.



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Chapter 15 Dragons Fly From the East.



Amid the smoldering smoke and flickering gloomy light
from the fire, I performed the bloody ritual that initiated
boys. Three boys, no longer children, had killed for the
first time. With the pervading smell of death lingering in
the cold night air, they were marked, each daubed with the
blood of the man whose death had honored them. Death was both
a sacrifice of life and the taking of a boy's innocence. They
had become warriors before their time.

It was with a disturbing sense of déjà vu that I sur-
veyed the scene of death. It had happened quickly, and I was
proud of the boys' responses, yet something continued to
bother me. Certainly, the reputation of the forest for har-
boring those with larcenous intent was known to me, however
the men who had been dispatched so swiftly by my Sanctuary
boys had possessed a measure of skill beyond that of mere
robbers. Still pondering, I dispatched the boys to their bed
of straw in the cart. Before he climbed aboard, Michel turned
and longingly looked back at me. There was nothing that I
would rather have done than join him in the cart, and when
the other boys had fallen asleep, unite with him beneath the
blankets in that special way that brings men and boys
together as one. However, there was much to be done, not the
least of which was quite unpleasant. I did not relish what I
had to do. The task was made worse because I would stay awake
to stand guard throughout the night.

"Come here, Riall," I beckoned to the dwarf who would
seem to have saved our lives.

He approached cautiously, stepping around a large pool
of blood before he joined me beside the fire.

"I thank you for your help tonight."

It was enough for him to think that I was grateful for
his act. I stepped back, turned, watched Michel enfold a
blanket about himself before he settled in the straw. He
glanced again, a willing smile to show that it would not
cause offense for me to join him. I smiled and signaled with
my eyes.

"What was it that you did with them?" Riall inquired
with sly curiosity.

"Ah that, my friend is not for outsiders to know about.
Suffice it to say, you witnessed the ritual of celebrating
the arrival of young warriors in the field. My boys have
killed tonight, and our tradition requires that they are
blooded from their victim's death. The warriors of our kind
believe that there is no stronger bond than that of blood."

He nodded, accepting the explanation. He stumped around
the fire until his hands were warmed. "Why did you not fight,
Sanctuary Master? Are you a coward who saves himself while
pushing others forward, mere boys at that?"

I showed no sign of annoyance for that was clearly his
intention. He had that tendency to get beneath the skin. Like
hives, he could be an unpleasant itch at the best of times. I
addressed him with a calm voice, resenting his intrusion in
my solitude.

"Knowing what may be in store before this quest is over,
I wished the boys to know of death and what it takes to kill
another. Had they faltered or been close to losing, I would
have stepped in quickly, dwarf. As it turned out they fought
with surprising expertise and courage. All they needed was
the chance to use their skill. It was a good time for it to
happen."

"You are fortunate that they fought well," Riall com-
mented. "Your brown-skinned boy fought like a tiger from the
East."

I smiled, appreciating his compliment. As most battles
went, our skirmish could easily have had a different out-
come. However, their success was not a matter of fortune. To
the extent that I had used the dwarf's assistance to effect
escape perhaps, but even that was less a matter of luck than
sheer convenience. I decided not to raise that issue for it
would have meant telling him of my plan. Likely, a time would
come when I would need to draw upon Michel's strength.

"As it turned out, it seems that your ivory-handled
knife was quite invaluable," I said deprecatingly.

Riall considered that and decided that honesty was the
best course. "It's not mine, Master. It belonged to one of
them. I happened on when I passed the fire. You're very lucky
I came along."

"Lucky? Not luck I think," I replied cynically now that
he had brought it up. "Chance perhaps. What brought you to
follow us, Riall?"

Riall's expression of innocent denial was wasted on me.
I was tired and not in the mood to tolerate his games. There
was more to the dwarf than met the eye. Short of statue did
not mean short of brain. He was cunning like a fox, and just
as sly.

"The truth, little man. Unless you care to join four men
in crossing the River Styx. I've heard it's very cold this
time of year."

"I have told you all, Master," he claimed nervously.

"Then perhaps you'd explain how you knew my sign,
Aquarius? A lucky guess? Just one of twelve?" I asked with
undue sarcasm.

A quick glance towards the cart revealed the boys were
settling down. Already they were gone from sight, their bare
bodies seeking the warmth to be found together under the
blankets. I expected they would be fast asleep long before I
had the chance to join my honey-colored boy in the straw.

Riall stalled and tendered a miserable excuse of get-
ting lost. Barely halfway through a long-winded explanation
he yielded to my impatient stare.

"I was sent to help you, Master Aidan. My liege owes a
debt to the Master of the Mount. I was asked to be your
guide, to remain unnoticed but to stay close, should you have
happened to need assistance. However, I fear that I am not as
brave as you, or your young companions who you train in sod-
omy."

I nodded thoughtfully, superficially accepting what he
said. Under any other circumstances, I would have asked what
was the nature of the debt, and more, if only to satisfy my
mind. However, the dwarf had so obviously risked his life to
save us that I did not question further. It was my mistake.

"You were send to guide us where?"

"Why, to find the dragon, of course, though it is long
gone from the Forest of Sonnuit."

"Ah, the dragon. And would you risk a guess as to its
location, Riall?" I asked patiently.

He muttered to himself before he bothered to look up,
assuming a contemplative stance.

"It is well known that dragons always fly from the
east. They are born with the rising sun."

"That is true. But `from the east' alone means very lit-
tle to me since the world is so obviously round. They could
have come a very great distance."

Riall returned an amused look. "It is also true, is it
not, that dragons prefer high places, Master Aidan. Your
search for your fire-breather should surely begin in the
distant mountains."

"I've seen those jagged crags beyond the dawn but once
before, a dozen years ago, or more. Indeed, it's as likely
hiding place for dragons as any other," I agreed. "Tell me,
Riall, do you know the roads from here to there. Can you find
the way to these mountains you speak of?"

He nodded with unexpected eagerness. It was another
sign that I should not have allowed to pass. However, I was
very tired, and my mind was distracted by the muffled giggles
of three boys beneath the straw. It sounded as if they were
having fun. They would tire quickly, but until sleep over-
took them they would seek the pleasure that all boys enjoy
when they are left in private. How much I would have liked to
join them in the exercise of their rigid members. Unfortu-
nately, my next job was to conceal the carcasses of four men.

"We start at dawn," I said perfunctorily. "You will
guide us there, Riall."

Riall accepted my disposition, a statement and not a
question. He nodded curtly for I had given him no other
choice. After all was said and done, he had no choice but to
complete the task that he had been assigned. He started
towards the cart and mule.

"Where are you going, dwarf?"

"Should I not make my bed within the cart?" he asked
with unnerving sweetness. "It's cold out here. I won't take
up much room, and I very seldom fart."

My response was tart. "No. You sleep here beside the
fire, dwarf. Those boys won't need either of us tonight. They
need their rest, and if there's any cock playing to be done,
they can do it alone."

He growled, apparently expecting to have free rein with
them while they slept. Some men are like that. They take
advantage of sleeping boys, for they have no redeeming fea-
tures that would give a boy a reason to find them attractive.
I shuddered to think how many young boys were plundered in
the night by men like Riall. They awoke to find an aching
hole and a mess upon the sheets, their virginity stolen in
the dark. Riall shrugged, not happy, but not about to make a
fuss. He went about the task of making a place to sleep while
I dragged bodies away from the camp and out into the night,
carrion for birds of prey and wolves.

The next morning came much sooner than I wanted. Having
given the matter due consideration, I had not slept a single
minute, but stood guard through the long hours of cold and
darkness. I was beginning to drift into that void of empty
dreams when I heard the first muffled whispers from the cart.

"Your dick is hard, Sandor."

"So is yours, Kadri. It's like a nail, certainly no
longer and just as sharp."

"Stop trying to stick it in my bum, Sandor," the voice
complained.

"Why not? You always like it when I wake you with a
fuck."

"I need to piss, that's why you ass."

"Me too. Only I was going to do it in your bum," Sandor
chortled.

Kadri giggled. "Don't be silly. Hm,- I like it when you
hold me tight like this. I love you, Sandor."

"Ah, love, tis a splendid thing for two boys love each
other. If you wish, my dear Favonius brother, we can greet
the dawn with me fucking in your bum," Sandor mocked. He gig-
gled with his friend. "Come on, be a sport, Kadri. Let me
piss inside you. It's too cold to get out of bed. You can
squirt it out when we get up."

"No way! It will itch all day and the smell is foul."

"So, we stink already," Sandor laughed. "Is it me, or is
it you.? Let me smell between your legs."

"Both of us, I fear," Kadri muttered. A moment later,
"It would be nice to have some heated water to wash our-
selves."

"I have something just as hot," Sandor teased.

"You're gross," Kadri laughed. "I guess we had better
get out of bed or Master Aidan will think we're dead."

"He knows better. He was proud of us last night. I could
see it in his eyes."

"He let us do it."

"What do you mean, Kadri?"

"Once he had the knife, Master Aidan could have killed
them all. I know he could. I've seen him practice in the
court. Instead, he let us fight them one on one. I don't know
why. I heard him talking last night to the dwarf. He said
something about getting us ready for what lies ahead."

"Were you scared?"

"No,- um,- well maybe just a little."

"Me too," Sandor whispered. "I got so hard I thought it
would break right off. It was just like Master Alleyn said it
would be when we fought a man to the death."

"Did you?"

"The little death? Not me. I was so close it ached, but
not close enough to have that pleasure before he died."

"I did." He sounded pleased. "Did you see Michel?"
Kadri murmured.

Sandor giggled. "It would be impossible to tell. He's
always hard for Master Aidan."

"As you are hard for me. But it's not that, Vulturnus
boy. The way he fought was surprising."

"You mean the jumps he made?"

"Yes. How could he have done that? A forward jump from a
standing start is never higher than a backwards leap. He hit
the cart the first time, but then the next time he cleared
that man's head by at least a cubit."

"I saw it," Sandor answered seriously, his voice hushed
so that I could barely hear it. "I've never heard of any boy
going up so high."

"He closed his eyes as well," Kadri confided.

"Huh?"

"He did. I watched him do it, Sandor. I don't think
Michel even jumped that hard. He just soared up,- like a bird
taking off."

"Perhaps it's like the stone he moved?" Sandor thought
aloud. "The levitation that Master Aidan talked about."

I coughed. It was loud enough to wake the dead, or alert
two boys to my presence. I walked across to the cart, leading
the mule by the halter. Both Kadri and Sandor sat up, both
smiling, both alert. The blanket slid lower, exposing slen-
der breast and chests. Above their groins, the blanket
peaked. Those pointed crests were an admirable indicator of
their state. Smiling, Sandor pushed the blanket lower. Both
unwavering youthful spikes were swords of lust, one broad
and curved scimitar, the other weapon having a rapier's thin
blade. I restrained myself from reaching out. All it would
have taken was the slightest touch and both of them would
have welcomed me into their bed. Judging by the bulging veins
I would not have been there very long, however, we needed to
make an early start.

"Good morning, Master Aidan," they chorused.

"There's warm water by the fire, my warrior boys," I
stated as I smiled with amusement at their aroused condi-
tion. "We have no soap, but a thorough scrubbing with your
hands and some sand should accomplish much the same result.
Pay special attention to each other's tender parts. There
may not be another time until those places stink, but with
luck, we'll have beds tonight. And Sandor?"

"Yes, Master Aidan?"

"Last night while you were asleep I wrapped a poultice
of fresh moss around your wrist where I cut you with the
knife. Make certain that you cleanse the wound and I'll apply
another bandage before we leave. By any chance is there
another boy hiding under there with you? A boy of golden
honey and a dagger no bigger than my thumb?"

Kadri and Sandor grinned at me and nodded. A moment
later, both stark naked, they eased their bodies from the
blankets. They slipped agilely down from the cart. As I
expected, both boys, like every Sanctuary boy I had ever
known, they would remain erect until lust was overtaken by
ice-cold water. In Sandor's case, even the tiny veins were
swollen. And poor Kadri, his foreskin was still bunched
behind his crimson helmeted glans where his lover had been
playing with it.

"Go bathe and try to piss before one or both of you
burst your bladder," I chuckled. "Michel, wake up," I said
loudly, shaking his feet.

"Huh?"

A disheveled head appeared, blue sleepy eyes blinking
in the morning light. His long blond locks were in a wild
array. I think I loved him even more like that. Blearily he
rubbed the sleep away, then squinted at me before he smiled.

"So Medusa finally awoke," I teased. "What say my hon-
eyed-lover-boy this morning? What must I do to earn a kiss
from my Miel?"

"Just say please," Michel giggled.

He leaned forward as I came to the edge of the cart. I
whispered in his ear. His sweet lips pressed to mine, sharing
the water of our mouths as our tongues swept back and forth,
merged, then separated once again. I caressed his silky
shoulder, already cooling to the touch. Then, our eyes
locked together, I stroked his cheek. A quick downward
glance convinced me that his penis was no different to his
friends. Indeed, it was so stiff and swollen that the veil
had pulled back to reveal the very tip of the red rose
within. It pulsed, flexing by itself, jumping happily with a
young boy's eagerness to rut. The tiny slit, like a fish's
mouth opened to the chilly air.

"Is there time for us to fuck, Master Aidan?" Michel
requested mellifluously, pleading silently with his eyes.

I shook my head, despite the mutual pleasure that would
have ensued had I agreed. There is nothing that could compare
to an aroused boy in the morning, unless it was a boy who
desired copulating throughout the night. Equally, there was
nothing that I would rather have done than climb into the
blanket-covered straw bed with him and insert my maleness
between his nether cheeks. It would take but a little pres-
sure to enter into that little mouth of pleasure. However,
during the long hours of darkness I had spent lots of time in
silent meditation. It was a time to think and plan my strat-
egy. One thing was certain. The rumors of our existence would
travel faster than the mule. From this point forward, both
saving time and being in disguise were crucial.

Michel grinned and slid from the cart into my arms,
sending a shower of straw onto the ground. He hugged me
tightly, enveloping my body with his naked, silky heat, a
hint of moistness at his heated groin. Just holding him was
enough to make my heart beat at a very rapid pace. He could
feel my stiffness pressing into his lithe brown belly, my
crystal slime excreted like a snail trail upon his glabrous
skin. His own penis, just as unresisting, compressed against
my thigh, hot, and quivering with joy. However, we did not
have the time to spare. Lovingly, I squeezed his buttocks
after sliding one thumb just inside, into that special place
that he had given in love to me. He trembled instantly, hump-
ing harder, his urgency demonstrating what could be achieved
with very little effort. No longer virgin, written on his
face as much as by the rose upon his opening. One good push
would be all it ever took to take him.

I squeezed again, digging my finger slowly deeper into
his lush heat, one last affectionate grasp before I play-
fully endorsed our love with a slap that made him giggle.

"Tonight then?" he insisted. "I want your sacred prom-
ise, my Master Aidan, that you'll fuck me until we fall
asleep?"

"Tonight, I'll make you sore, Miel," I promised.

I sent him off to join the other boys in cleansing his
dirty body. I turned to harnessing the mule, the only thing
that I could think of to divert my hungry lust. I watched
them from the corner of my eye, aware that Riall was simi-
larly entranced by the spectacle of three naked giggling
boys. They chattered, gleefully taking turns to wash each
other in a boy-scrubbing commotion of slapping hands and
flicking fingers, an activity that soon curbed their
desires, if not mine. I would have liked to have taken a turn
both being bathed and bathing all three of them.

Once they had completed their ablutions I brought three
of the dry blankets from the cart to where they stood before
the fire. They were trying their best to warm themselves.
Michel grinned. His normally honey-colored skin was very
nearly pink, while Kadri whose body was the color of cream,
was almost red, but even as I approached he began to pale
again.

"From now on, my warrior boys, we must go incognito."

"What does that mean?" Sandor asked.

"Incognito means we are disguised," Michel answered
promptly. "We must look like someone else, not Sanctuary
boys."

I nodded in agreement and handed each of them a blanket.

"We'll wrap one of these around each of you. If properly
done it will look much like a robe," I said. "With luck, it
will do the trick."

I showed Michel how to drape the blanket across his head
and shoulders, making the folds to form his sleeves. Then,
after surveying the result and making a few adjustments, I
tied a rope tightly around his narrow waist. Finally, I knelt
down and used my knife to trim the bottom so that it did not
drag upon the ground. It was a serviceable disguise, but not
one that would stand a close inspection by someone who was
familiar with the creed.

"He looks just like a boy-monk, doesn't he Master
Aidan?" Kadri teased. "I used to see them at the monastery.
It was close to where I lived before,-"

He did not finish what he had planned to say. Like most
boys whose bodies bore the rose, he harbored unpleasant
feeling about his life before coming to the Mount. Perhaps
like Michel, he had been discarded by his parents. Perhaps he
had been taken to the monastery and found wanting.

"He's supposed to, Kadri," I replied. "But just not any
boy-monk. He's a very special monk. He's an acolyte of the
ancient sect of Greka Droga."

"What's that?" Sandor asked.

I glanced at Michel, wondering whether he would answer
in my place. For once my little genius was lost for words. I
smiled. At last, a victory for the man.

"Greka Droga is a society of priests who have taken boys
as supplicants and lovers. Translated literally it means,-"

"The Greek Way, or perhaps the Greek Road. Is it like
the Sanctuary?" Michel asked curiously. "It sounds as though
it is."

"Yes. However, unlike those who bear the rose both
front and rear, these men and boys aren't warriors. Their
union is strictly for religious reasons, in the service of
their gods."

"They don't make love?" Sandor asked with a smirk.

"I expect that few pairs are celibate more than once a
year," I said in jest. "We who bear the rose, worship the
body and energy of a boy. They worship the spirit that gives
him life. What we share is the love and admiration of the
youthful intellect," I added on a serious note.

The boys laughed, appreciating my crude humor in the
matter of abstinence, a subject of great amusement on the
Mount. After all, it was a fundamental principle on the Sanc-
tuary that boys were born to copulate and not to be celibate.
I attired Kadri and Sandor just as I had dressed Michel in a
makeshift robe. While they hungrily consumed the contents of
the pot, I loaded up the cart. The last thing that I did was
kick the dwarf awake. He grumbled, stumbled, finally climbed
onto the cart to sit beside me for I would not allow him to
ride among the boys who were seated in the straw.

"I've had nothing to eat," Riall complained bitterly.

"Too bad you missed the porridge," I remarked. "The
boys tell me it was quite a feast."

That soured his mood to even worse. I flicked the whip
to urge the mule to move its feet. The cart lurched and we
were off. The road, a stony twisting track, followed a creek,
changing gradually from stagnant pools of rotting leaves to
babbling brook the further that we went. Behind me, the boys
chatted about the battle, sharing thoughts about how they
could improve their fighting. Long before we reached the
next crossroads, they tired of talking and sought other pas-
times.

"What say we play at limericks," Sandor suggested.

He was usually the first to initiate that game. With his
quick wit he generally controlled the game, although Michel
was more creative in his use of words.

"Let's make it harder than last time. Hm,- . You have to
use a double rhyme," Michel added. I smiled, enjoying that he
had changed the rules to suit himself.

"I'll start it off. Okay,- let me think a moment. A dou-
ble rhyme you say? That's much harder. Okay,- Here goes,."
Sandor giggled. "In days of old, when boys were bold," he
began. "Now I pass to Kadri."

"I can't do this with a double rhyme," Kadri com-
plained. He smirked. "And dildoes weren't invented."

The three boys broke into giggles. It was Michel's
turn. He didn't think for more than a few moments.

"They used a stick when they wanted a prick," he said
gleefully. "Your turn, Sandor."

"It wasn't slick, but it was just as thick." Sandor
laughed, slapping Kadri on the knee.

"Blah, trust you to think of something dirty," Kadri
complained. "Okay, here goes. Pity I can't think of anything
to rhyme with splinter except winter." He took a deep breath.
"It might have been cold, but it never got old."

"My turn, right?" Sandor asked. "I have to rhyme with
old, don't I?" he thought aloud. "So if a boy was bold, he'd
never be told."

"To fuck himself with a duck," Michel ended with a
laugh.

"It's funny, but it doesn't make sense," Kadri grum-
bled. "You can't fuck yourself with a duck."

"Have you tried?" Sandor laughed. "There was a boy in my
village who used to catch the geese. Before he sold them, he
used to fuck them so they were bigger. That way they'd lay
lots of eggs."

Michel giggled. Because he was able to complete the
limerick in a sensible way, he was responsible for starting
the next one. He scratched his head.

"There once was a boy in the city of Troy," he began. "I
pass to Sandor."

"Who wanted to put a sock on his cock-."

And so the game went on. One bawdy limerick followed the
next, with all three boys demonstrating a remarkable knowl-
edge of crude words. It was all that I could do not to laugh
out loud at their antics.

After reaching the crossroads and taking the road to
the right that Riall had indicated, I turned to talk to the
boys. They were huddled close together, playing another game
that had come down through the ages, `paper, sword, and
rock'. I let them play a few dozen hands, noting with inter-
est the outcome of each game. Michel's ability was remark-
able, defying probability. The other boys had no chance of
winning unless he was not paying attention. He anticipated
their every move. I wondered if he was clairvoyant. What I
had observed to that point in time suggested that his intu-
ition was of mystic power. It was no different to the skill
he had displayed in fighting the King of Thieves. There were
numerous times that he had acted before his opponent had
moved a muscle. I could not accept the obvious conclusion for
its ramifications were beyond my comprehension. To have such
skills could only mean the work of magic or the intervention
of the gods.

Finally, I stopped the boys and bade them listen for a
while. First, with due seriousness, I forbade the game they
played.

"Why not, Master Aidan?" Sandor demanded. "I owe Michel
no less than twenty pulls on his prick."

"I know you're having fun, but acolytes of the Greka
Droga don't hit each other with bruising punches, slaps and
stabs," I chuckled. `And they certainly don't abuse each
other's cocks."

I considered telling them the real reason, than someone
might discern Michel's special ability to foresee what
should not be known to one and all. Instead I held my breath.
The worst was yet to come if they were to pass unnoticed. I
waited until they settled down from laughing, settling
scores now that their game had been prematurely ended. The
mule plodded slowly onward, sometimes trying to pull the
cart towards a patch of grass. Each time it earned a flick of
the whip upon its back, not enough to sting, but to keep its
mind upon its task instead of food. Riall sat grumpily and
quiet, wrapped within his great fur-lined coat. I recognized
it as belonging to one of the thieves, though who had owned
it prior to that I did not know.

"What do they do for fun?" Sandor asked at last. "If
they cannot enjoy the games we play."

"Instead they sing hymns and chant the words of ancient
verses," I offered with a smile to no one but myself.

"Hymns?"

"Religious songs," I clarified. "Let me see if I can
remember one-.. It's been so long ago since I've heard it
sung."

I tried to hum, producing in turn a crude sound from
Sandor that was more like a pig in slaughter than ecclesias-
tic crooning. Not giving up so easily, I lowered my voice an
octave and tried again. The little mimic responded by repro-
ducing an elephant's mating call. I was beginning to think
that my plan for disguise was in serious jeopardy. Even Riall
squawked and squealed his awful sound that was supposed to
signal laughter.

"You mean like this?" Michel inquired sweetly.

He began to sing. His melodious voice rang through my
head. His chant was exactly right, although the words needed
some refining. Unless someone listened closely, he would
pass unnoticed as a monk. He stopped abruptly, aware that the
rest of us were dumbfounded.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing," I answered.

"That was beautiful," Kadri added. "How did you learn
to sing like that?"

"My mother taught me." Michel hung his head. "She
thought that singing was all that I was good for," he added
sadly. "I think she planned to offer me to the boy choir at
the Monastery of St. Albans."

`But you are of royal blood, Michel,' I thought to
myself. `They would not take a prince among their midst. Not
unless,-'

Michel's voice was loud and clear. Unlike his warrior
brothers he had already perfected the merging of our minds.
Indeed, he spoke into my head, a voice that trembled with
shameful remorse. `My royal lineage matters not a bit,
Aidan. They would have taken me as a eunuch. I know for a
fact that was what was intended for me before I came to the
Mount. There is nothing left for me to lose. I only gain now
that I'm you're lover.'

I shuddered then, feeling a sudden chill along my
spine. Such a thing was done as often to choir boys as it was
to slaves, albeit for reasons of a different nature. His
princely rights would no longer be of issue once he was
unable to produce. A prince was required by canon to produce
what was required for an heir to the kingdom before he gained
the crown. How could I have forgotten? By right of primogen-
iture, upon Etienne's death, the kingdom would have passed
to Michel. However, as a choir eunuch or with Michel living
on the Mount, one of his younger brothers would have to take
the crown. And now, this new information. It placed a very
different light upon my thoughts. The queen had planned for
Michel's emasculation long before he had taken vows with me.
I scratched my chin. This information changed everything,
although I was not certain how it would amend my plan.

I smiled reassuringly, concealing the doubt I felt
within. "Can you teach your warrior brothers how to sing in
praise of their new gods? Or should I say your fellow aco-
lytes?"

"I'll try my best," Michel agreed. He smirked deliber-
ately at Sandor. "But I think he's tone-deaf. All Vulturnus
boy are."

I laughed. "Now we need to speak of names for you and
me," I thought aloud. "Your names must change for it is
likely that even those are known by others besides our-
selves. Michel, henceforth your name is Selim. With the
color of your skin, we need only to color your hair with wal-
nut oil and you will appear to be from the distant south. We
will do that in the morning for I will need to buy the oil to
do it. Kadri, hm-. What shall we call you? How about Drake?
And Sandor? Ah, you're very easy. There's only one name for
such a crude and funny lad who can leap about like an acro-
bat. From now on, we'll call you Dansor, for your dancing."

Michel grinned. "You've played upon our names. Selim,-"
He tried it on for sound, then nodded agreeably.

"What should we call you, Master Aidan?" Kadri asked.

"There's only one name for an acolyte to call his
priest. However, you will call me `Father Daina'," I smirked
with some distaste. "And Sandor, even a single jest will cost
you lunch," I added seriously.

Three boys laughed, then tried their names out.

"What of the dwarf, Master Aidan?"

"Ah, yes. The little man we've called Riall till now." I
was not intending to cast suspicion, but it was as good a
time to warn the boys as any. "His name won't change much,
but his duties will. Henceforth, Riall you're Liarl, the
faithful servant to your blessed priest and three devoted
lads."

Michel's head barely moved, yet I sensed his sudden
wariness that all was not as it should be. That gesture was
enough to cause stillness in the straw.

"No! I'll not serve them anything except my cock
between their pretty cheeks." Riall scowled angrily. "I'm a
man. I don't take orders from mere boys, even Sanctuary
boys."

"Really?" I quipped. "You saw what happened last night
from your hiding place among the trees. You'd dare to annoy
three warrior boys?"

"Humphhhh," Riall grunted. His eyes narrowed nervously.
"I'll do it if someone is around. And only then!"

I agreed. I expect little more from such a man. No vil-
lage idiot despite his size, but resentful of a taller world.
It would be an interesting few days.

The hours passed as slowly as the sun moved overhead.
What had started as a bitterly cold day, warmed gradually
until even the blanket-robes we wore began to prickle
against our skin. For lunch, delayed somewhat for I wanted to
reach Pont d' Agnieu before we ate, was a hurried affair of
cheese and fruit taken while the boys frolicked on the grassy
bank and splashed in the river. Cold water quickly withered
parts that would have grown hard from wrestling, yet that did
stop their hands from straying. I observed among the melee of
naked boys, the smooth-skinned honey lad who had captured my
love. He had joined with Kadri to torture Sandor, much to the
dwarf's annoyance. I gnawed upon my fruit and contemplated
his reaction. It was not unusual for Favonius boys to draw
attention even from the most resolute of men. I watched only
to discover who was the object of his affection.

Having rested and watered the plodding mule, we set off
again. The boys, eager to stretch their legs, walked along-
side the cart. When we were well away from observation, I
allowed them to run and jump, since exercise was fundamental
to their daily regimen. Without it they would surely consti-
pate and in time grow fat and weary. Once or twice I had to
laugh at the antics of the boys, in particular the time when
they simultaneously tossed their woolen robes into the cart
and performed a dozen cartwheels down the road. It would not
be long before Michel was as precise and swift as Sandor.
They returned the same way, breathless and with dirty hands,
but still a long way from showing signs of tiredness.

We made steady progress until dusk, whereupon the mule
decided that it gone far enough and slowed its walk to a
crawl. It would have been faster for us to push the cart.

"We need to find a place to sleep," I said to Riall.

"I know of a place ahead," he mumbled grumpily. "Tis not
so far the mule will die."

His mood had not improved throughout the day and I was
beginning to tire of his pervading petulance. Yet, it was his
interest that I observed in Michel that made my anger show.
How dare that little ugly man lust after absolute perfec-
tion.

"Which way?" I demanded, for we had reached a cross-
roads once again.

He pointed to the left, his eyes avoiding mine. I could
not fathom his intentions. There was far more to him than met
the eye.

"Climb up among the straw my lads and resume your chant-
ing once again," I called out to the boys for they were busy
chasing each other around the cart.

With the cart so high and still moving, it was difficult
to do in their long heavy robes. Without thinking, they
hoisted the blankets up above their waists, exposing hair-
less bodies and tattooed bottoms. I cautioned them to be more
careful in public. The roses they bore between their cheeks
would be easily recognized.

The road to the left ascended up a hill. On the other
side, it quickly disappeared around a bend. Instinct honed
by experience made me tell the boys to stop their chatter and
I sniffed the air. I could not place the scent I smelled, yet
it challenged my senses for it came from far away. Again I
glanced at Riall. He ignored my gaze and pretended to be
interested in the laces of his boots.

"How far is it to this place?" I asked with what I hoped
was a calming voice.

"Not far. Just ahead. You'd best arrive before it's
dark. If I remember, they lock the gates at night and do not
open them till dawn."

I repeatedly tapped the mule upon its withers, encour-
aging a greater turn of speed. I hardly expected the beast to
canter. It managed to get to a pace that resembled a slow
trot, an ungainly gait that jerked the cart from side to
side. After a while we reached a river, spanned by a stone
bridge of seven arches. I stopped the mule. Under other cir-
cumstances, it would have been a very pretty place. Again, I
smelled the air. Not only my nose quivered against the zephyr
of wind that came across that river. Michel smelled as well,
his eyes closed in concentration. The smell was death and
rotting flesh, not strong, but present nonetheless.

"What is this place?" I asked Riall.

"The Bridge of Seven Arches," he answered with a smirk
that left me cold. He found amusement in the strangest
things, or was it that he believed he had control. "There is
an inn ahead. It can be found in that village upon the other
bank. It will take us for the night."

"An inn? I fancy a warm bed and bath, and a hearty meal
of potato stew," Sandor taunted before I had a chance to
reconsider. "I'm tired of sleeping in a bed of straw."

"Me too," Kadri added. "I'd like to be clean and full
for once."

Michel giggled. "It would be nice, Aidan. After all,
you promised me I'd ache tonight."

"So I did," I laughed. "Now remember boys, you're aco-
lytes. Not randy warrior boys with roses between your
cheeks. Be careful of what you say and do. Be silent when you
can."

The cart clattered across the bridge, entering the vil-
lage just moments before they closed the thick slabs of wood
that served as gates. I stopped the cart in a narrow lane,
leaving a narrow thoroughfare for those poor souls who hur-
ried to their homes as the sky turned dark. The boys followed
me into the inn, maintaining the appropriate distance of
four paces to show respect. Riall, I assigned the duty of
safeguarding the mule and cart.

"A room for the night," I announced to the withered hag
who waited at the bar.

"Er rum fer a nat?" she said through a toothless mouth.
"Aye, cud do dat fur tun cruns. Ye at awall. Ha gut a gud
stow fa a sulva crun."

I regarded her with astonishment, trying to decipher
her language. Had she spoken in the Sanscrit tongue?

"What did she say?" Kadri whispered from behind me.

"She said she had a daughter who needed a good fucking,"
Sandor giggled. "I think she wants you to do it, my darling
Drake," he chortled gleefully.

"I can't. I've taken vows of charity," Kadri answered
quickly, doing his best to ignore his lover's insinuation
that he would stoop so low.

"It's not charity. It's chastity," Michel giggled.
"Anyway, what she said was, 'a room for a night?' and then
`aye, could do that for ten crowns.'" He smiled at me, his
eyes blazing with unbridled love for only me to see. "And
then she asked if `we ate at all.' Apparently, she has a good
stew for a silver crown."

"Thank you," I said with mock sincerity. "I'll take
care of you tonight, Selim," I added with a playful wink.

Michel merely smiled back, and lowered his lust-filled
eyes deferentially, as well he should to show respect for his
`Reverend Father'. Doubtless he was anticipating getting
into bed.

"I'll need a large bed, Madam for me and my lads," I
added. "And a place to keep my mule and cart." Only then,
when it was proper, did I mention the servant dwarf who
waited outside in the cold.

"Ah huv sum scrap lus tha shar," the crone snarled.
"Thum bars hud guls yut? Ah cud haf thum fug madarters. Nat
wud be tha cust."

Michel blushed, a strange hue given the color of his
skin.

"What did she say then?" pestered Kadri and Sandor.

"Um,- she has some scraps for Riall if we don't want to
share ours," Michel mumbled.

"That's all?" both boys asked. What she had said had
certainly sounded longer.

Michel shrugged and tried to ignore their question.

"Come on, tell us," Sandor demanded.

Michel glanced at me, his oval face not honeyed but
nearly the color of a well-cooked beetroot.

"She,- er,- well,- she asked if we've been with girls
yet," Michel finished quickly. His shoulders hunched below a
dismal face. "Then,-. she said,- she could have us,- fuck her
daughters. It wouldn't cost anything."

"Ger-roass," Sandor said with exaggeration. "Not even
if they looked like you, Mich,-.Selim. I'm not putting my
dick inside a slit and getting a bitch's slime all over it."

"Me neither," Kadri added, although less perturbed if
only because he had but a naïve idea of what was involved in
breeding.

"You might have to boys, if you want to sleep in a bed
tonight," I taunted.

"Reverend Father, we've taken vows of charity!" Sandor
argued, all the while trying hard to keep a straight face.

"It's still chastity, Danser," Michel corrected once
again, this time with a giggle, "Though t'would be charity
indeed for a boy to do that to one of her daughters."

I laughed. "That's enough my angels." I turned back to
her, holding out the coins to secure the room and meals for
four. "It's time we broke our fast. My boys need to eat,
Madam. Keep your daughters for lads who have not pledged
themselves to the service of a priest," I added to the old
woman. "Besides, they're tired. They'll not be doing any
fucking this night, not least in a woman unless they wish to
risk my wrath."

I gestured toward the open door that led into the tav-
ern's dining room. I entered first, as was my right and duty
to precede my handsome acolytes. Indeed, some priests would
require the boys to wait to eat until they were done, no mat-
ter how hungry the boys might have been. The room was smoky,
with a low-beamed blackened ceiling. There were a dozen
tables, most filled, but the table closest to the huge stone-
blocked fireplace was free. I took a seat that put my back to
the wall, one side to the blazing fire, looking outward to
survey the other diners. Kadri and Sandor took seats oppo-
site, leaving the seat closest to the fire for Michel. He sat
down with a sigh, still clutching the threadbare blanket
around him to hide what was bare beneath. He had noticed the
attentive eyes upon him.

There were about thirty people and a few scrawny hunt-
ing dogs in the room. A quick glance confirmed mostly men and
one or two women. There were a few boys, all but one were
ugly brats bearing the signs of menial labor and mental want-
ing. That single pale-skinned boy who was easy to admire,
wore a thick spiked leather collar around his neck. I shud-
dered. There was no buckle. That ragged-clothed boy was a
slave, his very existence to be determined by his master's
pleasure. He was as young as nine or ten, no different to the
boys who came to the Mount. He was slightly built, not a
runt, but not a healthy boy either. His face was sallow, his
cheeks pale and hollow. His eyes were downcast, abject
acceptance of a lesser role. He served a man whose very vis-
age made my spine chill.

I had seen that man once before. A year ago, perhaps
more. Time had lost all meaning for me since Etienne had
died. Indeed, unless I was mistaken it was before I had taken
Etienne as my mate. Perhaps that was why I remembered him at
all. It had been a momentary meeting, like two shadows pass-
ing before sunset. He traded charms; gems, precious stones
and crystals that were supposed to bring good fortune to the
wearer. His ability to disappear after the sale was con-
cluded was remarkable. I had thought him to be a spy at the
time.

I lowered my head, drew my blanket-cloak closer to my
face, focused my eyes on Michel's slender arms and petit
hands and closed my mind to the milieu about me. How strange
that I never noticed how long and thin his fingers were, like
the fingers of a musician. His fingernails were pointed, not
unlike a women's nails without the lacquer. His hands were
very soft, barely felt when he caressed my penis, yet strong
enough to squeeze the blood from within it if he wanted.

We ordered the stew from a clumsy gangly youth, a surly
pimpled boy whose hair was in need of a wash. He scratched at
fleas, then turned to go. He brought back four flagons of
country cider, plunked them down and left again. I lifted the
heavy pewter and tasted. It was cool, sweet, with just a
tinge of acid. I quaffed my thirst, not worrying about the
dribble that ran down my chin. Michel stared open-eyed at the
vessel placed before him.

"Drink up Selim," I badgered. "Tonight, you'll need
more than water to get you to sleep."

Michel smirked. He quenched his thirst more elegantly
that me, sipping elegantly, tasting every drop. For a boy
whose palate was acquired on cow's milk and the finest wines
from Lombardy, he appeared to enjoy the taste. He would be
lucky if he did not join the companions of Dionysus by the
time his flagon was empty

"Where do we go from here, Reverend Father?" Sandor
asked seriously.

Avoiding the question, I smiled and lowered my head to
confide with them. There was so much noise in that crowded
room that I could have shouted and none beyond an arm's reach
would have heard.

"I don't know about you, but I plan to take Selim to bed
and fuck him until the juice of Ganymede flows again. Of
course, you're free to join us," I added under my breath.

Kadri and Sandor shared a look that made me smile. I had
mounted both of them already. They knew what was in store if
they chose to join us. Sandor shrugged, pretending ambiva-
lence, but clearly interested in my suggestion, for like any
Sanctuary boy, his bottom also needed the occasional filling
by man.

"Master,-"Michel whispered furtively. "That man is
staring right at me."

I did not look. Instead, I casually reached out and
touched Michel's hand. "Not at you my little tease, but me,"
I answered quietly.

"Does he mean us trouble?" Kadri asked. He nearly
turned in his seat, but caught my eyes, warning him to be
still.

I nodded slightly, taking another drink as I did so to
hide my movement. "I expect so," I said when the flagon lid
concealed my mouth.

"Should we leave?"

"Not until we've eaten, Selim," I said. "And here it is.
Our bowls of stew."

The stew was excellent as was the crusty bread, but some
of the contents of the former defied description. I recog-
nized the taste of a shank of lamb, potatoes, carrots, and
red beans too, although like porridge they had lost any sem-
blance to a former vegetable existence. It was hot and nour-
ishing, and for my hungry boys, sufficient to fill their
empty bellies. The bread was warm and fresh, and as far as I
could tell, free from vermin and mouse droppings. The boys
gnawed, slurped, chomped down, and finished off their meals
before I was halfway done. I wiped my lips after taking
another long swig of cider.

"Drink up boys," I suggested. "It may be a while before
you taste a cider as good as this one. The further east we
travel the more we'll find the juice of grapes, or an amber
drink that's made from hops. Some of it is good, but in the
main, I think it's bitter and liable to make the head ache."

Michel burped, yawned, wiped his hand maladroitly
across his forehead. Clearly, Bacchus was already at work
inside his head. His eyes shifted, tried to focus. His head
tilted, swayed, every motion with exaggeration.

"I feel funny," he announced in a ponderous voice.

Sandor smirked. Of any of them, he was the one who I
expected to be most familiar with the taste of Dionysus.

"Drink up, Selim. He's right. This cider is better than
any I have had," Sandor advocated.

I winked at him, at the same time wondering what effect
the cider would have on Michel. Some boys lost all inhibition
when under the control of Bacchus, becoming enthusiastic,
even frenzied in their lust. It would be interesting to watch
him as he was consumed by the fantasies of his mind. His eyes
flickered, his golden hair dancing in the light. He was
intoxicating, even without the drink. I glanced away before
I lost the strength to wait, though it would not have been
the first time that a pretty boy was ravished on that hearth.

Again, I chanced to see the trader of gems and precious
stones. His slave boy was such a pretty boy that even in his
miserable state, the eyes of several men were upon him at any
point in time. Yet, despite his very evident charms, he
finally failed to meet his master's expectations. The boy
was just a little slow in pouring from the carafe of wine.
Indeed, it was a trifling matter, but the man who he called
`master' apparently tolerated no infraction. For his trou-
ble, he was slapped mightily across the buttocks. It was hard
enough to slam the slender body against the table. He trem-
bled fearfully, waiting for the next blow to fall upon his
unprotected rear. The man laughed vulgarly, crudely talking
to his companions about the boy's miserable skinny legs, his
puny pleasure parts, and the utterly disgusting things that
he had done with them.

Without warning, his hand grasped the boy's tattered
chemise, dragging it upward to reveal a pale thin body from
feet to chest. The boy froze in place, bent forward and
across the thick oak table, his thin shirt gathered in dirty
folds. I glowered, recognizing the colorful stripes that
decorated that small behind. Indeed, amongst the crimson,
black and blue, there was little pale skin to be seen. The
boy had been whipped brutally. A few of the marks were red
and raw.

"Ah'll take tha strap to thee agin, ma faggot brat. If
need be, ah'll whip ye till ye bleed," he growled. "But I
warn ye, ye blood wain't stop me pleasure tonight, boy."

Beside me, Michel flinched. His hand trembled. Then
clenched, tightening until his knuckles were white. I cau-
tioned him with a hand upon his thigh.

"Master,- Reverend Father,-." Kadri whispered.

"Hush," I said warningly. "It's not for us to inter-
fere. That boy's a chattel, I am sure."

"Chattel?"

"He belongs to the man. As much the man's property as a
horse and cart," I explained to Kadri. "How he is treated is
none of our concern."

"Like we are yours?" Kadri asked quietly, his head
bowed low to hide his mouth. "For you are our master."

I shook my head. "Were it so, it would be the better for
him. No, this boy is nothing more than a slave, my son. He's
lucky he's still intact, but from the way he's being treated
I'm sure it'll not be for much longer."

Michel regarded me with growing curiosity. "Intact?" he
mouthed the word. I think he understood given what had been
planned for him before he was taken to the Mount.

I nodded. "He'll be gelded before much longer, I fear.
His kind are always cut before their balls drop lower in the
sack."

"Why?"

"To keep him docile. At some point he'll be taken to a
barber or a shepherd who can wield a knife. That's usually
how it's done to slaves when their obedience becomes an
issue."

"It isn't right," Sandor said angrily. "It would be
different if he wanted to make a gift of manhood to prove his
love to someone, or serve a god, but to take his eggs for any
other reason is wrong."

I nodded in concurrence. Indeed, I was not convinced
that service to the Gods could justify the means.

"We must help him," the boys agreed in unison.

Sandor even reached for the short dagger that was hid-
den in his robe. I stilled his hand with a single glance.
Slowly, I stood up, gesturing to the boys to remain where
they were. I bent down and whispered in Michel's ear that
they were to leave in a few moments and to stay in the bed-
chamber no matter what. I would join him shortly.

I swayed, far worse than Bacchus needed to gain my bal-
ance. A little exaggeration never hurt when one wanted to
convey a false impression. I staggered across the room,
using my motion to come close to the table while my arms
flailed around to find support.

I even made a clumsy effort to regain my balance at the
very last moment before I toppled onto the table I was head-
ing for. Of course, it was not the table where the man was
still holding the nearly naked boy, but the one adjacent to
it, a table where three men were playing a game of chance.
Two pewter mugs clattered onto the floor. Then, in pushing
myself up, I toppled back and crashed into the nearby table.
Drunkenly, I managed to regain my balance.

"Damn you! Watch what you're doing. You nearly spilt my
food," a man shouted.

"Go fuck your wife before I find her," I laughed. "What
are you playing friends? Jung-pao?"

"Yes."

"Is there room for another?" I asked.

"What do you have to wager, priest? I'd warrant there
isn't a crown to spare inside your pocket."

"There's not," I smirked. "But I have three pretty boys
who'd be happy to share your bed tonight if I lost."

They laughed. "Boys? What need have we for boys. Not
when there are plenty of young girls to be had in town for a
handful of coins?"

"Ah, but as all men know, the greatest pleasure is to be
found in the nether hole. In that regard, it's also known
that girls are but a poor substitute for boys. They lack the
strength to squeeze a cock."

"That's true," one admitted with a smirk. "I've always
said that the best pussy is a young rump, especially a boy
who hasn't become too loose."

I nodded. "No boys are like these. These boys are
trained to love. They're Greka Droga acolytes. No boy's arse
is better, not even the faggot-boys from the castle in the
sea."

"The Mount? Yes, I've heard of them. It's said they fuck
like tigers even before they have seed to share."

"Imagine that times three and three again," I laughed.
"My boys know how to tame a man's cock. You'll want for noth-
ing when you're done."

"Okay, you're in, stranger. Since you're a priest of
Greka Droga, we'll not cheat you. Let's say a dozen crowns
apiece for the lads for the night. That's thirty-six in all
should you lose the wager."

I nodded in agreement. One of them rolled the colored
cube. Green, red, blue, and back to green. It stopped on red.

"How much?"

"A crown on blue."

"Indeed, you must feel lucky, Priest."

The cube rolled again and landed on yellow. I growled.
The next roll I called it red. It landed on orange. After a
dozen more rolls, I had lost ten of the crowns. The man at
the table behind me, having dispatched his pretty slave to
bring more wine, began to watch with interest. By the time I
was down twenty crowns he was ready to join in. There is
always someone who is willing to take advantage of a drunken
fool.

"Red," I called. The cube rolled and stopped on brown.

"The color of earth instead of blood," one man said with
a smirk as his hand swept out to collect the bets that were
more than what he wanted to leave upon the table for the next
round.

"Or shit," I laughed loudly. "How far am I out?"

"Twenty crowns, plus two. You still have a few squares
to fill," he replied gesturing at the board that was mostly
filled with the silver coins that I had just given to him.

"That much? This time,-. Um,-. Blue."

"Blue it is. And you?" he asked the charm trader.

"Red. But wa say ye increase d' bet. A crown ain't
hardly worth the time fer rollin'."

"Then two crowns per square, " I growled, "doubling
every round."

I rolled what was left of the handful of crowns in my
hand and then placed them all on the table. Inside, the very
thought of what I was about to do chilled my heart. Yet, as
soon as the thought came, I put it aside for I could not
afford to worry further. There was total silence, so quiet
that even the sounds of the fire crackling could e heard
quite clearly.

"Put them on the last four numbers, two each," I
instructed.

Everyone stared at me. And the trader of charms and
human misery? He merely glared for in one fell swoop I had
risked it all. There was only one way for him to get a share.
He matched my coins, and all the others. A single chance in
six times six and six again. Nothing less than the luck of
Pinoche could save me now. Yet I knew the outcome would be
mine. I rolled, with more calm than I felt inside. I was
never very good at the game. Yet, luck was with me once again
and blue rolled to the top. I sighed inside.

"Again," I said. "This time I will choose the color of
the sun."

"Damn!"

I smiled at the charmster with quaint amusement. It
would not do for him to realize that he had been outsmarted,
or what it was that I was really after. The frightened waif
was hovering nearby. His master, not as smart as his child-
slave, scowled damnably, without meeting my eyes.

"Tha's more n' I got," he complained.

"Whose fault is that? Not mine I'm sure. You wanted to
increase the bet," I said with as sincere a voice as I could
manage.

"I,- I ain't yieldin' t' likes `a ye."

"Then surely you have collateral," another man
observed. "Some gems perhaps?"

"Not wid me," he said before he realized that everyone
in the room was listening.

"The brat perhaps?" I suggested slyly. "He has eyes
like emeralds. I'd give a few crowns to have his ass."

"A few crown!" he fairly shouted. His face went apo-
plectic red. "What did ye git for `em whelps of yours?"

"A dozen crowns apiece for them to spread their cheeks.
Your brat is hardly in the same category as Greka Droga boys.
But my friends here are generous so I will be too. Though ren
crowns is expensive for his well-stretched ass."

"Done!"

To cover my bet, he needed every crown he had plus most
of what he gained by the deal he had just made. I rolled with
a foolhardy clumsiness, while never taking my eye away. It
served me well to appear unable to control my hand. The cube
of color tumbled across the table and landed with the yellow
side facing up.

"Sunny side up, I fear," I mocked. "I fancy I win the
table too, since all the squares are full," I laughed.

My hand trembled and I reached to scoop away the coins.
The charm trader reached out and grabbed my wrist.

"No so fast," he said bitterly. "Tha game's not done."

"Tis for you, stranger," I joked. "Unless you want to
sell the brat?"

"Sell him? Wha' fool do ye think I am?"

I shrugged, finishing the counting of my winnings while
he whined. Even after I had repaid the debt of thirty-six
crowns, there was more than sixty left.

"Fifty crowns and nothing more," I said after a moment.
"Even then it's too much for a brat whose balls can still be
seen. It'll cost me another ten to have him gelded. It's
barely worth the trouble."

"But I paid far more than tha'"

I shrugged again, barely showing any interest. He
spluttered and complained, and then as the other players dug
deep into their purses to meet their bets, he agreed with a
curt nod.

"I roll this time. Not ye," he demanded vigorously. "'n
leave the fifty crowns as they are."

"Please yourself," I said calmly. "I figure I have
twelve left to bet. Choose your color."

"Red." He met my eyes. "No,- brown."

"Then I will take red," I said cheerfully. I placed four
crowns on the table. "However, win or lose I must go. I have
to attend to prayer and lessons with my boys."

He rolled. The dice nearly stopped on brown. It tot-
tered them tumbled onto to blue. Red faced up. His expression
instantly darkened. His thick jowls quaked and quivered. His
face was scarlet. I ignored him and stood up. He raised too,
his hand reaching for a jeweled dagger embedded under a thick
black belt.

"Lad's his, fair `n square," one of the other players
said loudly. "I'd not be makin' trouble in the inn. Specially
with likes `a him, a priest no less."

"But! Tha' bastard's cheated." the trader exclaimed in
exasperation.

"I'll take the boy with or without a fight," I said
softly.

I glared at him, my eyes unyielding. It is said that a
warrior who has seen death too often has cold dead eyes. He
slumped back into his seat.

"Come boy," I said curtly over my shoulder for it would
not do to convey the impression that I had intended the out-
come all along.

As I left the room with the boy hurrying to keep up, I
found myself wondering what his name was and what I would do
with him in the morning, for the last thing that I wanted was
another mouth to feed. One thing was certain, he would have
to sleep with Riall that night, less because I wanted to ful-
fill my promise to Michel and make him ache from love, but
simply it would not do to have a servant in the room. Not
that I thought of him as that, but others would. It would
quickly draw attention if he was observed to receive special
treatment by not sleeping outside the inn with the other ser-
vants.

When we passed the door to the outer court, I gestured
for him to go out. He regarded me, obedient yet bleak. The
boy's clothes, what few there were of them, were threadbare
rags. I shuddered to think of him outside in the cold. Still,
he managed a feeble smile, a smile that revealed carefully
restrained recognition. I was impressed for we were strang-
ers in every sense of the word. I could not help but smile
back. Did he know that his life of servitude was about to
end? Could he sense what lay ahead, or read my mind? Michel
could! But we were lovers and it was only to be expected that
our minds had developed the ability to merge at will.

At that moment, a crystal laugh rang through my mind.
Michel was happy. I could hear the laughter in his head. His
words were clear, loving, shamelessly inviting my thoughts,
demanding my body to join with his. It was not the cider
shouting out, but something more bidding of my attention. I
hurried up the stairs, barely realizing that the servant boy
was watching me with tear-filled eyes.

Three flight of stairs, rickety, twisting steep stairs,
almost to the roof then along a narrow, crooked corridor
ducking beneath the thick oak beams before I quietly opened
the door to the chamber that we had been given for the night.
I smiled. The flickering lamplight revealed, side on, the
slender pale forms of two young boys. They were naked, kneel-
ing around a big wooden tub. The other boy, my precious
Michel was sitting in it, bent forward so his long golden
hair cascaded down his face. Kadri soaped his back, while
Sandor, giggling deliciously, reached between Michel's legs
with an up and down motion that implied that part of him was
going to be very, very clean. What a sight to behold after a
long and tiring day. I stood still, just watching from the
darkness. Of the boys I could see, two of them were excited
as only boys can be. Michel, of course, was similarly stimu-
lated but the high walls of the tub hid that part from me.

"Now we know about each other I think it'll be even more
fun when we're together," Sandor announced with characteris-
tic boldness that made me smile.

Without more warning than a sly smirk, he grabbed
between Michel's legs. Instantly, Michel squealed and the
soapy water splashed up and around as the wet boy struggled
to be free. It was in fun as much as from the freedom that
cider brought.

"It's not as if we don't know what to do. We've seen him
in you, but I bet he'll want to mount you while we watch,"
Sandor added with a crude smirk at Kadri.

Kadri giggled, ceasing his languid rubbing. It seemed
that he had already discovered that the act of bathing
another boy was as sensuous an experience as sex itself. I
sensed Sandor's hand in that because they often bathed
together. Michel's eyes lifted up, leering crudely. His head
tilted back, rudely poking his tongue out at both of them.

"He will, you know," Sandor teased. "He'll let us see
his huge dick sliding in your hole."

"Shhhhh!" Michel chided bashfully. "You make it sound
so,-."

"Dirty?" Kadri interjected. "But it's not. It's what
all boys must do to show a man how much we love him."

"I know that. I want him to be inside me so much."
Michel was wistful, his longing evident in his plaintive
tone,

"It sounds as if you have a long night of fucking
planned, honey-boy, so we'd better clean your pretty bum out
properly," Sandor taunted as he fondled Michel's buttocks.
He teased a finger down the other boy's crack.

"Don't be crude," Kadri scolded.

"It's true, Miel. Anyway, you know as well as I do that
it gets messy sometimes, Kadri. Especially with a man.
Because his prick is so much bigger than a boy's, he stirs
your insides up even more. There's a reason why they call his
seed the `little enema of milk'."

"Have you been since you were taken to the Altar?" Kadri
asked seriously.

"Huh?"

Sandor laughed. "He means have you pooped, you dummy?
Have you pooped since you laid on the Altar?"

"Um,-. No,-. At least I don't think so." Michel thought
a moment. "No,- Well I went today while we were walking down
the road, but, well it just a little bit. It was as hard as a
rock."

Sandor nodded. "You're clogged up inside," he said
blandly. "Sometimes that happens with a man, although usu-
ally its runs out instead. I'm surprised Master Aidan didn't
check to make sure you were alright."

"There was no time before we left the Mount," Kadri
interrupted.

"And he's been so busy ever since," Michel observed.
"Does it really matter? I'm sure I'll go soon."

Sandor and Kadri shook their heads wisely. There some
things that a boy learned quickly on the Mount once his vir-
ginity was taken. They told Michel to stand and bend over and
place his hands on the edge of the tub. With Michel's but-
tocks split wide apart, the two boys whispered together,
deciding on how best to do it.

"With water first, I think," Sandor declared. "Then
some oil to tenderize the hole before he gets too sore."

"It's already very big," Kadri observed.

"What did you expect?" Sandor chortled. "It's not like
Asparagus-dick made his rose. He's lucky it's only bruised.
I saw no blood during his mounting, but one never knows if
it's worse than bruising at the rim for it's very easy to
tear the tissue deep within, isn't it Kadri?"

"Perhaps with a stallion-prick, but certainly not with
you!" Kadri rebuked.

Michel started to stand up, but a firm yet playful slap
on his exposed behind stopped him. He glared back from under-
neath his chest as the boys began their preparation. The only
instrument that could be used was a long necked wine bottle
that had conveniently been left beside the bed. Kadri hur-
ried over to fetch it. He saw me standing in the dark and I
hastily raised a finger to my lips to indicate the need for
silence. There were some things that were better left to boys
to teach. He nodded, grinned, raised his eyebrows and
pointed with his finger to the bottle, then his own behind to
make sure that I approved. I nodded back. It was something
that I should have done earlier, but better now than not at
all.

Apparently, Sandor and Kadri were quite experienced in
the flushing of the bowels. It took but a blink of the eye
before the bottle was filled with tepid foamy water. The
slippery soap on the end provided ample lubrication and San-
dor, having placed the opening at Michel's no longer puck-
ered indentation, forcefully pushed it deeper where it was
quickly emptied as he shook it carefully from side to side.
He refilled it quickly and another six cups of water disap-
peared before Sandor plucked it free and commanded Michel to
stand up again.

Michel grimaced, already feeling the stirrings of dis-
comfort within his bulging abdomen. His cheeks dimpled them
pressed in as the first cramp fluttered through him. With the
next one, his cheeks pinched tightly, his body trembling to
restrain the rush of fluid.

"I got to go," he muttered awkwardly.

Sandor and Kadri giggled. "Not yet. It's barely started
to loosen up your stool."

"The longer you hold it in, the better it works," they
said together.

"It,- feels,- funny,-" Michel shuddered.

"Does it hurt?" Kadri asked with concern.

Michel nodded slightly. Another spasm left him rocking
to and fro, panic in his eyes, hands clenched by his sides as
he fought the urge to release his bowels. He waited and tried
to keep the bursts from starting.

I intervened, stepping quickly across the room to take
him in my arms.

"I'm sorry my darling boy. I should have told you what
to expect. I should have been here to do thi for you."

Michel looked up, his eyes imploring, flickering
urgently. "Aidan," he whispered.

He tried to find the words to explain the awful sensa-
tion that was building deep inside him. Yet there were no
words to describe it. Pleasant, yet painful, a pressure that
was, like no other, strangely stimulating but different to a
cock.

"It's okay. It always feels horrid but it's the only way
to cleanse your bowels. It won't last much longer."

I smiled at Sandor. "I think you'd better get the cham-
ber pot."

"There isn't one," Kadri explained.

"What? You've filled his bowels with water. What do you
expect him to do with it but poop it out?"

Sandor and Kadri looked at each other in surprise.

"Oops," Sandor mumbled.

I shook my head, looking around the room for something
to use. Other than the tub, and the rest of us would have to
use it, I could see nothing that could be used. The moment
was fast approaching. I growled. Just seeing Michel's mount-
ing pain conveyed the urgency of imminent death. He gasped as
a cramp far worse than any other made him totter.

"Aidan,-"

He was panicking as well. His fists had whitened knuck-
les as he strained to hold it back.

"Aidan,-. Please,- I have to,-"

"I know. I don't see there's any choice but to use the
tub, my Prince."

"The chamber will smell like the bottom of a sty," San-
dor complained.

Michel made a wry face, a face full of pain and displea-
sure at his ignominy. He started to lower himself, each fran-
tic tremble nearly upsetting his balance. I caught him by the
arm just as he settled onto his haunches, a precarious perch
above the soapy water. I lifted him up, clear of the tub,
clasping his wet shaking body against me as I hurried across
the room.

There was but one window, a small one barely large
enough to need a curtain. With Michel standing nervously,
his little belly swollen out like a pregnant woman, ready to
explode at any moment, I yanked the curtain to the side,
unlatched the window, pushed it open. I held him tightly as I
placed him, seated with his bare thin thighs on the sill, his
bottom hanging out and over the ledge. He cramped again, a
final knotting of muscles around his rectum, and then he
groaned.

I had heard similar sounds on the battlefield when
bloated bodies were split open by horses' hooves. And the
smell was nearly as bad as well. I wondered as it gushed out,
how such a beautiful body could be filled with such a foul
odor. It was over in a few heartbeats. A short, yet seemingly
never-ending squirt. As soon as the final dribble ended, I
pulled Michel back into the room.

Only then did I glance down before I hurriedly closed
the window. Poetic justice, of a sort that not even the best
poets of the ancient world could claim for our chamber was
directly above the entry door to the tavern. Michel's steam-
ing excrement had landed over the trader of charms. I barely
glimpsed what had happened before I pulled the curtain to
block the lamp light from showing. The man was covered from
head to toe, dripping in a brown lumpy substance, that judg-
ing from the horrified expression on his upturned face, he
was beginning to realize what it was.

I turned and laughed, watching with amusement as the
two boys finished bathing Michel. His humiliation had van-
ished as quickly as his bowels had emptied. Now all that was
left for them to do was to rinse away the few splatters on
his buttocks and cleanse his crevice of the remnants. They
finished even as I crossed the room, using their blankets to
towel him dry. Michel smiled at me.

"Does it feel better?" Kadri asked.

He nodded. "I've never been emptied so much or so fast."

Sandor and Kadri shared a knowing look for they had
gushed enough since they had been admitted to the Mount to
appreciate what Michel was feeling. I laughed.

"What's so funny?" Michel demanded.

"I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't laugh, but you should
have seen his face," I answered. I had considered not men-
tioning what had happened, but the man was so deserving of
his end.

"Who's face?"

I explained what happened and the boys engaged in pro-
longed laughter until we were all lying on the bed together
rolling from side to side. We laughed until it hurt, hardly
the sort of thing that a priest and acolytes of the Greka
Drega should be doing. I dispatched all fear that we would be
overheard, for it was likely that the adjoining rooms were
empty. Finally, having regained some control for myself, I
managed to hush them.

With Michel lying over me, I stroked his sides, from
shoulder to hip and back again. We kissed. Quickly. Slowly.
Then long and hard, until our lips tingled with the taste of
love. I licked his nose, suckled on his chin, smooched his
cheeks, tantalized his eyelids with the tip of my tongue, all
the while Michel crooning to me.



The candles flickered as the cold night passed through
the cracks. The lamp, placed above the mantle almost went
out. Sandor ran on tiptoes to search among the packages of
food that the boys had retrieved from the cart. naked and
shivering, arms and legs dimpled like a freshly plucked
goose, hastened back to the bed. He lay down over Kadri,
pressed boy to boy, front to front, began sliding back and
forth. I drew the furs completely over us, enclosing three
naked boys in a cocoon. Soft warmth, whispers fading, hearts
racing.

In the darkness, no sight, just touch, and sound and the
hint of lye-soap from Michel, the slight aroma of fresh but-
ter. Our hearts beat, Michel fast, mine slower, yet coming
together. Beside us, Kadri groaned softly. Unmistakable
sounds. Wetness at they kissed, sucking on their tongues. I
embraced Michel, taking a position to deny escape. Beside
us, the slap of flesh. Breathing deeper. We started kissing,
absorbed in each other's company. Barely hearing muted whis-
pers of love like ours, a love that dared not say its name
too loud. Urgent sounds of the night.



"Fuck me."

Kadri? Michel? Both Favonius boys together. Both want-
ing to be mounted, needing Vulturnus mates, eager to be
taken. I lifted back, applying the slick butter from the oil-
skin packet that Sandor handed to me. Michel's legs lifted
higher, his knees so far above his shoulders that they
touched his ears, his precious bottom lifted up, eternal
offering to his lord and master. His face hinted at a smile
of bliss. There was no other in my life. The past was gone,
forgotten. There was just Michel. Thin arms around my neck,
drawing our heads together. His lips met mine, licking first
to slick the way into his mouth. I bit his tongue, so gently
that he pushed it deeper, then sucking, took the rest. His
breath, a zephyr on my cheek. Urgent kisses along his neck.
His tongue within my ear, stabbing, swirling. Then lips
together once again, trembling with lust.

I glanced sideways and in the darkness of the furry
blanket, no more than a hand's breadth distance, I could
barely see that Kadri was similarly positioned before San-
dor. In our cave beneath the furs, there was isolation, so
unnecessary for people to make love, but comforting nonethe-
less. A dab of butter, smearing in his warmth, turning smooth
flesh to greasy skin. Searching, the crevice parting, find-
ing, probing, entering just enough. He sighed against my
chest. More butter. More smell. He quivered, wanting even
more. My finger levered, breaking through the ring. Like
marriage, possessing him again.

"I love you."

"You feel so good."

"Master Aidan,..."

"Yes, my sweet."

"I have heard Favonius boys speak of stairs. What does
it mean?"

"Ah, the ascent to the Gods."

"That too."

"A reference that few boys beyond the Mount ever manage
to attain. It means to achieve delight beyond the plane of
sanity. To make love until you are mad with lust is another
way of putting it, I suppose."

"When I was with you, when I was lying on the Altar and
the juice of Ganymede began to flow, I thought that I would
lose my mind," Michel murmured.

"Me too," I said dreamily. "But I can think of no better
way to be crazed than by making love to you. We speak of
climbing stairs and ascending to the Gods because repetition
of the act is not unlike climbing up a mountain," I
explained.

"The Gods live on Mount Olympus," Michel ascertained.

I nodded.

"Can you take me to the top?"

I considered that, lovingly stroking his slim smooth
chest. "Perhaps in time, I will my love, but first we must
climb the hills."

He smiled with me, content that even starting up the
smallest hillock would constitute a start to climbing the
tallest mountain of them all.

Michel's arms left my neck, settled behind his legs,
holding his position, waiting. I applied more butter, going
deeply into him where the muscle gripped and held, before it
slackened. Then, two fingers explored that willing cavity,
flexing against the rim. He half-closed his eyes, perhaps
dreaming of a place beyond the clouds. It had not been so
long that I had forgotten the sensation of a man. I kissed
him, sucking on his tongue as I worked to loosen up his no-
longer-virgin hole.

Then, moving forward until my hips confronted uplifted
buttocks I began feeling with the head, sliding along the
chasm as I pressed into my lover.I used my fingers to find
his opening. He winced, still tender from before. There was
soreness around the rose, but I had never seen a more perfect
tattoo. Another week or two before the pain of its making
left him forever. He nodded urgently, eagerly, slipping his
hands down to spread his cheeks further apart, although it
really wasn't needed. The tip of my penis nudged his orifice,
seeking entry once again with a drawn-out sigh.

Michel sighed too, longingly, relaxing, willing me to
enter and partake of his body's heat. So tight, still. Not
like a Sanctuary boy, not yet, but soon enough, I thought.
His anus flexed, embraced, pulled my penis into him. I
groaned, relinquishing my sex, taking him again.

Kadri groaned. Sandor growled, pushed all three inches
into him, jerking back, grunting with the force he used. I
smiled, not seen by any of them as I appreciated the differ-
ence of men and boys. Sandor would be fast. I would be slow.
The pleasure for our partners would be same. My penis crept
into Michel's heated tunnel, stretching him wide. I could
feel his body trying to adjust, quivering, quaking, relax-
ing, closing up again. Two days abstinence has restored some
tension to the ring, but not that much that it would hurt him
badly. Onwards, ever deeper, using little pushes that were
carefully given. He whimpered if I pushed too hard. From pain
or pleasure? It had to be the latter for his hands grasped at
me, pulled me inward. His rose was mine again. I rested.

"Enough?" I whispered in his ear.

My penis was little more than halfway inside Michel;
but it was far enough. He nodded slightly, then thinking,
deliberately shook from side to side. Like me, he needed,
wanted more inside him. Still, I gave him another momentary
respite by easing back before pushing once again.

"Aidan,...." he sighed. Not disrespect, but utter love.

His butter-slick buttocks clenched, gripped, tightened
inwards. His muscle pulled against my penis as he pushed
back. I could not imagine a more wonderful feeling. His hot
ring slid down my shaft, bathing my manhood inside his flesh.
Within an instant we could go no further. His rose had all
but gone inside.

"Michel,..." I whispered in his ear. "You feel so
good."

We rested there, locked like dogs, but as only lovers
can be joined inseparably together. I felt his rectum churn-
ing, grasping, massaging up and down. I closed my eyes,
brought my mouth to his. His tongue stuck out, met my nose,
wetted a pathway to my chin, circled across my cheek until
our lips came back together. I crushed Michel beneath me. A
man inside a boy, experiencing utmost joy. That was the pas-
sion of our love. His arms braced, pulled down, kept my head
from moving. His legs shoved out, almost knocking my arms
away, then clamped around my back. He clung to me, grinding
urgently as I rammed him into the squeaking bed. He quaked
underneath me, groaning, gasping, writhing as my sex began
to move. Each time a deep hard thrust into his rose, no
longer virgin, no longer tight, but needing, wanting more.

"Yes,...." he whimpered. "Oh Aidan,... Yes Aidan. Oh.
Ohhh!"

Michel's legs tightened around my back, his heels pum-
meling my cheeks roughly, but without the violence of an
older boy. His timing was set to match my lunges, gripping
tightly as I plunged and stabbed within him. Already he was
close. But so was I, too close for comfort, too close to
stop. For once, I did not try to stem the tide. Some things
are better left the way that nature intended them to be. My
stake grew thicker, longer, hotter, harder, straining
against Michel's small bottom. Butter made an admirable
coating on my toast, but was little better than axle grease
when put to its current use. Each thrust within his frenzied
rectum made him squirm, then whimper when I retracted. I felt
the heat increase, yet I did not rest so demanding was my
lust. Despite his discomfort, I kept on, gouging into weak-
ened flesh. The peak came quickly with simultaneous explo-
sions, one wet, the other dry and cramping, but no less
fulfilling. I filled his bowels with a dozen blasts, staying
there until my sex was withered and limp, until it flopped
out like a plug removed, releasing hot drool that slowly
oozed from his distended reddened hole. We kissed with sore
wet lips.