Date: Fri, 29 Jun 2001 14:16:20
From: Ganymede
Subject: The Ring Around the Rose, Chapter 6

The Ring Around the Rose, by Ganymede


WARNING:


This story contains a graphic description of sexual acts
between a men and MINOR boys. I do not condone child abuse,
however boy-love as described in this story is an entirely
different matter. If the subject of man/boy sex 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!
You have been warned! Read at your own risk!

Any similarity to individuals, living or dead, is entirely
accidental.

The story is copyrighted under the pseudonym, Ganymede. A copy
has been placed in the Nifty archives for your enjoyment. Feel
free to post it to appropriate newsgroups or send it to your
friends. The story cannot be used to derive monetary gain. It
cannot be placed in archives that require payment for access, or
printed and distributed in any form that requires payment.


THE COPYRIGHT OF OTHERS:

Throughout the story there are poems and songs by others. I do
not claim this work as my own. These poems and songs are included
within single quotation makes. In some cases, I have modified the
original to suit my purposes. Citations and sources have not been
provided because it would interrupt the story. I appreciate the
efforts of Ianthe, who collected and posted this material.


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FINAL WARNING:

If you are under the age of 18, if this material is illegal in
your place of residence, or if man-boy relationships aren't your
thing, then exit now and save yourself from a life of sin!



The Ring Around the Rose, by Ganymede


Chapter 6. Roses have Thorns.



Was there any evil more wicked than those mean-spirited souls
who denied the love of men and boys? I thought of this enduring
question with a sinking heart even as I proceeded at a measured
pace down the Great Hall with nearly a hundred hungry boys. They
were nothing less than boy-gods, four score and sixteen of them,
each unique but possessing the same sublime traits of character,
strength of intellect, perfection of form, and spiritual
integrity to substantiate the possibility of divine inspiration.
Why could people of the outside world not see what was so
patently apparent to me? To my eyes, every one of the boys was
flawless, but in the world beyond the Sanctuary, they were denied
respect and were subjected to hate and ridicule. Here, within the
ancient walls of the Sanctuary, a boys could be what he was
supposed to be. He lived to love and loved to live.

My earlier sense of foreboding still demanded my complete
concentration, although to a lesser mind my apprehension was
seemingly unwarranted, unwarranted that was if one relied on
reason alone. Reason argued that I was surrounded by boys of such
perfection that iniquity and malice had no place among them. Yet,
I silently worried for all of the boys for my senses were
confused by instinctive fear. Honesty required that I admit, if
only to myself, that I worried more for one of them. One boy in
particular had taken possession of my attention. And dare I
admit, also only to myself, that unsettling similarity between
Michel and that other boy, his older brother whose image
sometimes haunted me from beyond an empty grave.

I dragged my rapt eyes away from Michel when we entered into
the Dining Hall and I looked up into the lofty space, beyond the
multi-colored trailing flags. These were the standards of the
legions of brave boy-warriors who had gone forth from the
Sanctuary so long ago that their brave deeds were shrouded in the
mists of memory. The vibrant notes of the choir reached to the
carved and painted beams, reverberated from the smoke-darkened
wood ceiling and filled the hall with the very joy of life. I was
glad that I had returned.

There were two long parallel tables for Vulturnus and
Favonius, and one short table at the head that accommodated
twelve masters. I gratefully took my seat at the furthest end of
the oaken table in the place reserved for me. As the rules
required, the boys were arranged according to Order and age so
that Kadri and Michel sat at the furthest end from me. Across
from them, were Sandor and another short-haired boy who I had not
met. Doubtless, although I presumed this more from his determined
boldness than from where he was sitting, that he was the new
Vulturnus. This boy was the Scorpio who for the next four years
would always sit opposite Michel. That alone gave me cause for
introspection, for it was often said that one boy had in fuller
measure whatever his opposite lacked. What did Michel lack?
Nothing that I had seen. Still, the new boy was certainly
striking in a handsome southern way with his dark complexion and
curling black hair, yet in any idiom of beauty he paled sadly
beside Michel.

At that instant of making a comparison between them, that
honey-colored face I already knew so well, leaned forward and
turned to look directly at me. Was it possible that already our
minds had achieved the common ground that unites a man and boy to
sharing every thought? From fifty paces, our eyes had sought the
other out. I felt uncomfortable, yet I gazed upon him with fixed
admiration. Interest? Instinct? Infatuation? There was no reason
for it except that single worry that confronts every master on
the Mount. However, worry as I might, I could not stop myself
from staring. Could any boy who ever lived be so beautiful as
Michel? His face lacked in no essential detail and his body
equally attained that utter perfection that few poets can
describe. I felt my heart surge. I recognized the tightness in my
chest for what it was. Without more thought than that, I obeyed
the overpowering need to gaze at him and fill my longing.

It was true even then that I vaguely recognized the feeling,
for what man who has ever truly loved a boy could forget what
real love was like. However, my knowledge of him was so limited
that I could not accept why I felt the way I did for him. For
true love to exist, I would know him in body, mind, and soul,
having joined completely and in doing so, achieved that unity of
purpose that is naturally warranted between a man and a boy.
Albeit, there was reason for my apprehension upon reflection of
what had transpired during the night. I knew that I savored his
honeyed flesh in ways that were inappropriate for a teacher. The
pleasure had simply been too great. In showing love to him, I had
transgressed from one role to another. With difficulty I averted
my eyes.

There were two fireplaces at each end, massive fireplaces that
were large enough to take the trunks of trees or roast an ox
should that be needed. On the southern wall were huge stained
glass windows that soared upwards and brought such spectacular
illumination that a person could be forgiven for thinking this
was the place of sacred revelation rather than libation and
nutrition. The scenes were of familiar content, depicting the
great events from past eras when men loved boys without shame. On
the northern wall were tapestries of the same theme, but with
infinitely greater detail incorporated by virtue of the medium.
My attention was attracted to one tapestry more than any other, a
tapestry that had always been of overwhelming interest for as
long as I could remember. How many times had I gazed upon that
patterned fabric and become so immersed in deciphering the
meaning that my attention was distracted from the meal and I
departed from the Hall without dining?

Its origin was obscure. One legend had it that the tapestry
was left at the Mount by a crazed stranger, an elderly man who
arrived one night and then departed. Other tales reputed it to be
the work of a master who had seen a vision and depicted what he
remembered, or that it had been found inside a bronze chest that
had been unearthed during the construction of the Sanctuary.
There were many other stories too, but even more far fetched..

>From where I sat, obliquely to the side and far below the
woven mural, my view was distorted. The scene was innocent art
upon first inspection. Three naked boys, cavorted in a sybaritic
dance about a recumbent man who appeared to be so aroused by
their enthusiastic exaltations that his erection had become
distorted to excruciating proportion. I could not decide what
scene of the classics had been memorialized in thread, yet it
came to mind as something which I should recognize. Indeed, that
was why I always undertook to examine it whenever I was in the
Dining Hall. It had been that way from the first time I had seen
it many years ago, fascinated as much by my unfathomable
attraction, than by its obvious importance for it clearly had
been accorded the place of honor on the wall. The setting was
extraordinary. There was absent the Eleysian landscape featured
in the other tapestries. It seemed to have a craggy mountain as a
backdrop, yet even that was vague and ephemeral. Not so the faces
of the boys, which had intricate detail but because they could
not be viewed other than from far below, were so distorted as to
be featureless.

It was then, as I gazed upward ever aware that Michel
continued to watch me, that the rising sun pierced the windows
and radiated a shaft of light onto the centered tapestry. A
strange sight was revealed. In that instant, the tapestry
shimmered and an extraordinary shape emerged. It was both
perplexing and disquieting. Indeed, my first thought was that the
fever had returned and I was hallucinating. I closed my eyes and
slowly reopened them. The shape appeared from among the craggy
rocks, hidden there until the colored light from the stained
glass struck the woven cloth at precisely the right angle. I
moved my head a mere few inches and the apparition vanished. It
returned again as soon as I restored my line of sight, albeit
fainter than before. The master who was sitting beside me nudged
me gently.

"Aidan, you blanch whiter than the boiled onions we ate last
night. Are you all right?"

I turned away a moment later, wanting to validate the reason
for my shock before I pointed out the apparition to him. However,
it was gone, vanished as it had never existed beyond some fantasy
created by a weakened mind. I took a quick breath, staring at the
scaly writhings that existed only in my mind.

"Aidan?" He nudged me again, then lightly shook my shoulder.

"Pardon?" I muttered. Had I really seen the shape I had been
so shocked by. "I'm sorry. I was thinking of something," I added
hastily. I rubbed my hand over my face to hide the pallor that
was there.

"You must be hungry from having eaten nothing but gruel for
the last few days," he suggested. "A bowl of porridge and some of
this crusty bread will soon fix your gnawing belly. That and a
couple of energetic young boys in your bed will soon restore your
blood pressure."

"I'm happy to say that I've no worry on the last," I admitted
with the boldness that was prevalent among Vulturnus.

"So I've seen and heard. Young Sandor showed his ring last
night when you were done with him," he chuckled. "It was quite a
hole you made in him." He held out his hand and we shook. "I'm
Toran by the way. If what I saw from Sandor's bum, I think I'll
appreciate getting the Favorius boys when you're done with them."

I was not surprised by Sandor's presentation. If the ritual
was unchanged from when I was a boy, he had displayed himself to
all and sundry in the Library soon after he had left my bed.
Indeed, a bench-like device existed for the very purpose of
making an inspection of the posterior portal. The boys called it
the 'mount', not in reference to the act of mounting or to the
Mount itself, but rather because it had a vague resemblance to a
horse. A ring around the rose, especially a large and reddened
ring, was a sign of achievement, and most boys were natural
exhibitors of what was done to them by men. Still, more often
than not, it was a Favonius boy who spread his cheeks and lay
upon the shiny leather hump.

"You're well endowed as well, Toran?" I asked pleasantly.

With little more than a passing acquaintance, I found I liked
the man who would train the boys when I was done. He had a
sparkle in his eye that said 'fun'.

"No more than you are I would say, given what I observed from
Sandor, Aidan. I like them loose, that's all. I tend to build up
to quite a rate and it's far better for the boy if I don't have
to wait."

I smiled, dipping my pewter spoon into the large bowl of gray
porridge that had been set before me. I stirred and then savored
the taste of well-cooked oats and other grains.

"He said he rode you hard, but you were not depleted," Toran
continued unabated. "Because you were still too weak to move.
That's a feat of a lad whose virginity is barely departed."

"That's true. The mind was willing but not the body, beyond
the part that lifted  to the occasion."

We both smiled. Even a man with all his strength could be
drained and left exhausted after a long night with the boys of
the Mount. Keeping an erection through repeated orgasms was a
skill that required many years of training.

"Ah Sandor," he mused. "He's a hot-blooded boy. He's one of
the few Vulturnus boys who are little wretches when it comes to
taking the man. He'll not lie inert throughout a fuck. I imagine
he might have rode you even if you were dead."

"That would be difficult," I smiled. "He has a touch of
Favonius no doubt. However, you are right to say that he is
hotter than most. It's true, young Sandor came before I did. He
was pulling very hard. A moment or two longer inside his tight
canal and I expect I would have filled his tube."

Toran gestured for me to eat before my porridge cooled. I ate
heartily. I ate as a man who had been hard at work all night. I
did not tell him of the fleeting phantom that I had seen on the
tapestry. Indeed, as the time passed, I began to think that my
eyes had deceived me and the play of light and shadow had merely
been accidental. Yet, despite my desire for random patterning,
deep within my consciousness I realized that the image had been
otherwise. There was evil in the offing.

After both men and boys had broken their fast through the long
hours of darkness, the Master rose and dismissed the boys to go
about their activities of the day. As the master who had just
joined, my immediate task was to discover what I was going to
teach beyond the loving night-time role expected of every master.
I gathered all of the junior Favonius boys together and sent them
back to arrange their chambers and clean up from the nightly
pleasures. I went in search of the Master of the Sanctuary. In a
loud voice, he bade me enter even before my knuckles rapped on
the wooden door. I closed the door behind me.

"You look much better this morning, Aidan," he acknowledged
formally. "I've had frequent reports on your condition. The boys
were very worried about you."

I nodded and accepted the chair placed before the blazing
fire, glad that it was offered. The heat made my face glow.

"It seems that I owe one boy a debt of gratitude more than
other," I said candidly.

He smiled. "Ah yes, Michel. He's quite a prince beside the
others," he answered. "A special boy, that one is. I expect that
you are well aware that he has no equal. You squired his brother
before the dragon,..."

I hung my head at that reminder. Already, it seemed that my
memories were fading. Did I love Michel that much? My mind
overflowed with thoughts of him. I saw him with startling
clarity, so different to the haze that came when I tried to
remember what Etienne was like. I closed my eyes and tried to
picture him, yet all I saw was a foggy mist. I shook my head and
tried to clear the gloomy sense that I was unfaithful to the boy
I loved.

"You loved him greatly, didn't you Aidan?"

"You know so why ask?" I replied uncomfortably.

The Master did not answer for the same reason that I had not
answered his last question with an affirmation of my enduring
love. Some things were obvious. We gazed at the crackling log and
waited. He clasped his hands and closed his eyes, finding
strength behind his eyes.

"Aidan," he began after a while.

I sensed his discomfiture. I sat forward and listened.

"Like his brother, Michel is special in a great many ways.
However, he is a boy who is destined to achieve great
distinction." The Master stopped there, thinking carefully before
he spoke. "The augury is not clear,.... However, it is my reading
that unlike his Favonius brothers, he will never leave the
Mount."

I shuddered when the words sank in. Michel would join his
brother in death. The bottom of my belly sank away and yawned in
to cavernous despair. I would have denied the truth of it but for
the image that had plagued from the moment that I had witnessed
the spirited presence on the wall.

"Tell me more, Master?" I beseeched.

"There is little more to add," he replied, shaking his head.
"Three things are clear from the oracle, Aidan. He will bring
honor to his lover. He will avenge you. He will not die his
brother's death."

"What else can you tell me about him?" I asked, suddenly
hopeful.

"What else you need to know of Michel, you can surely decipher
with your own eyes, Aidan."

"He has more shame than any other boy I've ever seen. He
struggles to accept why he is here. Yet of any boy in the
Sanctuary, he belongs more," I blurted out.

The Master nodded. "Do you remember how Michel was dressed
when he entered through the gate?"

I nodded weakly and stared into a flurry of rising sparks,
brilliant like stars as they danced in swirls. The golden embers
held my eyes, like fire-flies in a sea of light.

"My mind is blurred but I seem to remember that he wore the
clothes of noble station. And like his brother, his actions
reveal breeding of high rank and his manner bespeaks of,..."

"Then you have seen enough, Aidan," the Master interrupted.
"Some things are best left unsaid." He placed his hand upon  my
knee. "Let us talk of your teaching. But first, there is the
matter of Sandor, and then the others."

I looked up, startled. "Master, if I need to offer an
apology,..."

He laughed loudly. "For one so young, that boy has a quite
remarkable skill of seduction," he interjected. "He was making
fawn eyes at you on the very first night you were here. And that
was before he was ringed. I'm not surprised he took advantage
when presented with the chance to be mounted by you. It's quite a
feather in his cap you know."

I shrugged. "He a lovely boy. He's endearing and not as
aggressive as most Vulturnus," I said honestly. "I was swept away
by passion I have to say."

"Ha! Me too, I fear, Aidan. Every time I loosened him, I
thought my heart would break. Indeed, the lad has reached a
climax whenever I've goosed him. What's more, he has quite
remarkable control of his inner muscle. I would mount the little
rascal every night if he was willing. However, Sandor's in search
of something that I do not have to give him." He nodded
thoughtfully. "Perhaps he found it with you, Aidan, for I am told
that he had the look of Ganymede when he displayed the signs of
loving. What is more, from all accounts, you opened the door
behind him even wider than his rose."

I shrugged, and then as the idea struck me, I smiled with
growing amusement of the similarity between us. "Perhaps Sandor
found it with another, for he mounted Kadri after I was done
inside him."

The Master chuckled. "Kadri? Of course! Those two are already
close enough to fuck like brothers. So our little Sandor is a boy
lover already? I should not be surprised for I know of some who
have started younger."

He smiled at me curiously. I also knew of a boy had started
younger. My memory of that time of boyhood was not as clear as it
should have been, yet what gaps there were, the Master's smile
restored. No words were needed to point out that I had loved my
first boy the very same night as my rose was ringed. Favonius and
ten years old, he was a dark-eyed beauty from the distant east.
His rose was loose around my immature shaft, but I mounted him
twice before I was done. That a master's sperm dribbled from my
bum while I gazed into his almond eyes was not a matter of
concern to either of us. Boys will be boys if left alone.

"Now, Aidan, tell me what has transpired with Michel. He may
have the look of innocence, but I suspect that hidden within is a
wanton lad."

I looked up quickly to meet the Master's demanding eyes. "He
is indeed," I answered simply. However, from his persistent stare
it was clear that elaboration was in need. "Last night while
Sandor was within Kadri, I gave Michel a place within my mouth,"
I began.

"And his response?" he prompted frankly.

"He seemed content to stay there," I ventured.

The Master chuckled. "I expect he did. I was thinking more of
what he saw beside him."

"He was interested. He asked the usual questions for a
virgin."

"Did you probe his vent?"

"That too." I smiled, remembering. It had not taken very long.
It seemed as if I could still feel his virgin sphincter binding
on my finger. "He climaxed very quickly," I added.

"As any virgin should. Tell me, Aidan, did his portal open
properly?"

I nodded. "He relaxed and took it in his stead. He seemed
quite loose by the end," I answered. I smiled again. "Then this
morning after ablution,... I must tell you that quite eagerly he
reciprocated for without much encouragement from me, the randy
lad sucked and swallowed of his own accord, Master."

"He sucked and swallowed? Are you sure, Aidan?" he asked
thoughtfully. "Of course you're sure." He smiled at me. "He drank
his fill before he ate. No wonder he ate so little when he broke
his fast. The taste was still too strong within his mouth.
However, I am sure you understand that you should not have
favored him before the others."

"I have a debt of gratitude to him, Master, for I am told that
he warmed me while I was chilled and attentive with a moist cloth
when I was fevered. It was the least that I could do."

He nodded in agreement. "More than you know. Although you
should hardly remember it, throughout your ordeal he nourished
you as well."

"Nourished me?"

"You suckled on his prick, Aidan. The water of his loins was
all that kept you from the brink. A man needs to drink, and young
nectar is the best, I think."

"I don't understand," I muttered.

However, I realized even as the words were spoken, what Michel
had done. Few people knew the restorative power of prepubescent
pee. Urine passed by any immature boy could calm the nerves at
the same time as it heightened the senses, but the nectar of a
virgin contained special qualities beyond its aphrodisiac
property. It was well known upon the Mount that a good drink from
a chaste lad could erect the most recalcitrant organ, but the
golden fluid from his bladder could also strengthen the heart in
a weakened man. When all hope was lost it was the medicine of
last resort. I had thought the liquid that passed between my lips
to be gruel. Instead, I had been succored by a divine child.

The Master nodded patiently. With a metal poker he pushed the
log around before replacing the iron to rest against the mantle.
I rubbed my forehead, closing my eyes to repeat the specter that
still haunted me. Should I tell the Master of the vision?

"Now you're better, don't hesitate before you begin to teach
the boys of love," the Master interrupted my silent reverie.
"There are a dozen Favonius boys in your charge who are eager to
learn all there is to learn, and one of them must soon be fully
readied to receive his rose."

"I've only met a few of them," I admitted. "I will have my
hands full. Any one of them would drain a man."

"That's true even if you loved just one boy,... but to love a
boy completely,...." the Master answered circumspectly.

Yet the pause, so slight, had been enough to tell what words
would not. He sensed my feelings for Michel were other than what
should have been. I swallowed guiltily, still tasting the
sweetened oats that filled my belly. I wondered again, had Michel
returned my interested gaze with the greater purpose of revealing
love? Indeed, he had. The look of lovers was there to be seen by
any one to chance to see.

"Master?" I began awkwardly.

"Yes Aidan?" he smiled.

We stopped before the needless admission was made, and neither
of us spoke for a long while. I hung my head low in gloomy
desperation, for there was no respite when a man's heart was
consumed by love that had no place upon the Mount. The boys had
to be trained as lovers and warriors, prepared to be companions
for the men who would take them into battle. To do otherwise was
disruptive and likely to cause a boy excruitiating torment for
the rest of his life.

"What am I to do?" I finally broached.

The Master shrugged wearily. "In time, you fill find the
answer, Aidan. Remember the augury I talked of. Until then, you
should try to hide it." He took a deep breath, reflecting before
he continued. "Remember when I said that Michel is special?"

I moved my head enough to show. He gestured with his hand, a
barely perceived movement that gripped my heart. So little, yet
so much. A gesture could say what words could not. Few people
understood the language of the hands.

"Master?" I managed to say. I wanted to deny that unspoken
demand.

"Aidan,... in time. Now, let's talk of your other role. You
are a warrior with the reputation of a fighter, so it is only
fitting that you teach the boys the art of fighting. However,
Master Keiran has responsibility for the sword and dagger, and I
am well pleased with what the boys are learning in hand-to-hand
combat."

"There are other things to fighting that a boy should know," I
suggested.

He raised an eyebrow and nodded for me to continue. I
hesitated. Too often I had seen boys die because they had not
learned the important lessons of survival. To win, one had to
stay alive. How best to phrase it? It would not do to criticize
the training given on the Mount.

"Master, I am thinking of an area of knowledge that has never
been taught upon the Mount. I believe, although I do not know
this for a fact, that we presume a boy's lover will undertake
certain areas of his training. However, my experience has shown
that a boy needs to understand much more before he goes to
battle,..."

He grimaced as the clock struck nine. "I don't have all day. I
will not take your comment as a criticism of the Mount."

"Strategy, Master." It was too simple.

"Strategy, Aidan?"

"Yes, Master. Strategy," I repeated.

"Hm,.... An interesting thought. How would you teach the boys?
By lessons on the history of mêlée?"

"Some history would be useful for there is much to learn from
the success and failure of our crusades. However, I am also
thinking of a series of exercises where the boys would encounter
strategy at first hand."

"An interesting thought." The Master pondered for a while.
"Mock battles?" I nodded. "Indeed. A very interesting thought.
You could arrange this as a demonstration?"

"Yes, of course. However, it would need to show the art of
strategy as much as any of the skills of fighting," I said
pointedly. "It would bring the skills the boys learn to a
purpose, but stay necessarily within the realm of training."

"That goes without saying. You have my approval, Aidan.
However, there is one condition. We must not forget the subject
that was taught by your successor. Integrate it wherever you can.
Some of our masters can be quite pedantic when it comes to
changing academic curricula."

"I will do my best. What of the Spirit did Master Aleyn
teach?"

He smiled. "A good question, Aidan. He trained the boys to
breath, for the breath is the most obvious symptom of life Its
cessation is the invariable mark of death; invisible and
impalpable. It stands for the unseen mysterious force behind the
vital processes. It is a subject not without merit and one which
you are familiar." He paused momentarily. "Fare well, Aidan. I
have high hopes for your teaching. You will start the strategy
lessons within the week I hope. Oh, and one more thing," he added
when I rose to leave.

His voice lowered secretively, as if others could be listening
beyond the thick stone walls of his private chamber. Suddenly,
there was a puff of smoke and a loud crackle and a myriad sparks
rose up from the fireplace, as obvious an omen as any that I
could imagine. His narrowed eyes darted back to me.

"The oracle clearly instructs us that Michel will be your
lover, Aidan. Do not fear to love him because of what happened to
his brother. Love him completely for you surely will satisfy the
need that exists within you. Open your heart to him, Aidan. In
all things, obey your instinct. Favonius boys are romantic by
nature and the others in your custody will surely understand the
love you give to him is something very special."



I took my leave and went to find my twelve young charges. At
that time in the morning, their spiritual and physical
replenishments having been completed, they had their training in
bodily combat. By the time that I had arrived, the dozen boys
had stripped and put on their black leather armor. The armor was
designed for both attack and defense. From wrist to halfway up
the forearm, each leather brace was fitted with a shining metal
claw that could slash a deep gash in unprotected flesh within an
instant. Similar braces were strapped to each leg just above the
ankles. A metal-studed harness was fastened around the groin with
tight knots in the leather cords to keep the pouch in place in
order to guard the most exposed place of all.

They stood face to face in sweat-streaked dirt-covered pairs,
preparing to grapple with each other again as soon as the master
gave the sign.  He nodded curtly to me and with a wave indicated
that I could observe. Michel stood opposite Kadri. Nearly naked,
he was a splendid sight although he still possessed the softened
form of a new initiate. He eyed his partner carefully, both boys
anxiously waiting for the clap to start.

The beginning signal came when it was least expected. Kadri
darted to his left, punching sideways while he moved about. It
was a strong blow that shoved Michel nearly to the ground. Kadri
sprang back, raising his ankle brace over Michel's unprotected
neck for the death blow. There he stopped, paused and  poised to
kill. A single downward thrust would have severed Michel's head.
He grinned at Michel and then reached down and pulled him to his
feet. Slowly, he repeated the motions, this time instructing
Michel in what to do. An hour passed and Michel's skill grew
until he could match Kadri's efforts with offensive movements of
his own.

The other boys had progressed beyond the sparring basics and
were sweating profusely as they struggled. Two in particular,
Albie and Kiann, were very interesting. It was clear simply from
their expertise that they were the oldest of the twelve. Their
bouts went very long, with uninterrupted kicks and punches that
could have caused considerable injury had the boys not been
concentrating entirely on the fight. Several times, the master
had to intervene and separate them with admonitions not to hurt.
Yet, despite the frenzied fighting, it was interesting to note
the obvious signs of sexual arousal amongst all the boys. There
were bulges under all of the loin pouches at one time or another,
and a frequent glimpse of rigid flesh when the fighting was at
its most extreme and the hard leather protection was pushed
aside. Indeed, there were even some boys who sported persistent
erections throughout the hours of combat, for in that condition
the stiffened organ often protruded beyond the shield
sufficiently to be seen. However, such conditioning was not
unexpected for the connection  between grappling and copulating
was well known.

Kadri and Michel were no less affected, although as juniors
their stiffness usually faded quickly. Eventually, after the
fighting had been going on for quite a while, there came one time
when Michel was thrown to the ground and Kadri straddled him to
keep him down. Since Michel had yet to learn even one of the many
escape maneuvers, there was little that he could do but struggle
ineffectively. Kadri giggled and having ascertained  the master's
permission, he reached for the knotted cord on Michel's hip. As
his fingers deftly unfastened the knot, he teased his friend with
ribald comments, most of which were directed to how hard his
penis was. The master barely glanced at me, his eyes attentive to
the other boys who continued to wrestle, while  also enjoying the
game at hand. Michel struggled frantically as soon as he realized
what was happening. Not that there was any real shame in him
being stripped by any man or boy, but he was expected to redouble
his effort to protect the concealed part.

"Throw him off, Miel," someone shouted. "Before he strips you
bare."

Michel grunted and gave his strength the test. Lying on his
back, there was not a lot that he could do. He bucked and
twisted, but Kadri stayed seated although visibly distracted.
Michel's face reddened as he strained upwards, trying his best to
lift his partner off, yet that effort left him drained. The long
training period and continuous exertion had sapped his energy. He
slumped back exhausted, unable to resist. Kadri giggled and
continued to undo the knot. Michel lay still for a moment, a hint
of a smile at his lips. Just as his loin shield fell away he gave
another shove and pushed with both his widespread legs. The
timing could not have been improved. His exposed sex was rigid.
It was as hard as any penis that I had seen, so hard that the
veins were prominent beneath his creamy skin. His scrotum had
tightened to a walnut half and was just as dark. Still giggling,
Kadri teasingly stroked the little shaft, inducing a subdued
groan and a sudden quiver, enough to show that Michel was close
to climax. Kadri's fingers closed around the small throbbing
organ, slowly moving.

Kadri's up and down motion had been practiced for barely more
than a single month, and he was already proficient at the art of
masturbation. However, to knowledgeable eyes it was still
sufficiently awkward to indicate more training was very much in
order. Nonetheless, his playful rubbing soon had the desired
effect on the boy beneath him. It took a few strokes before
Michel responded. Perhaps he had not expected stimulation of that
kind, but it was not unusual on the Mount. Unarmed combat
enhanced the senses and often led the boys to seek relief from
the persistent hardness between their legs. I smiled, reflecting
that like any Favorius boy, Michel would quickly come to accept
pleasuring from any man or boy who was prepared to take the time
to rub him.

Beneath Kadri's attentive grasp, Michel's body arched and
bucked. His feet scraped through the dust and his body was racked
by sudden tremors. I smirked when I realized that Michel was
experiencing the ultimate pleasure, the overpowering joy that
boys referred to as the victory of defeat. Love making and
fighting had much in common. All told, from start to finish, it
had taken less time than it took to urinate. Michel's pretty face
contorted in erotic grimace, closing his eyes tightly when he
could no longer stand the sensations that were doubtlessly
building within him. A final gasping shudder left no doubt when
the explosion happened. It left him barely able to breath.

Kandri rose up onto his knees, still fondling the pulsing
erection with habitual interest and a faint smile of triumph. He
did not speak. Instead he glanced at Master Devon and received a
brief nod in reply. His hand came away and he jumped swiftly to
his feet.

As soon as Michel had the strength to stand, he clambered
shyly to his feet. He glanced shamefully at me, but I waved and
nodded in approval. There was no shame in what had happened to
him . He dusted off his buttocks and thighs and somewhat
awkwardly, retied the thongs around his waist. Interestingly, his
eyes never left Kadri for a moment. That was indeed a good sign
for it was apparent that he was plotting to take advantage of the
other boy's momentary elation.

Again, Michel adopted the horseback position, legs spread wide
with his feet slightly pointed out. He still watched Kadri
closely as he carefully moved around. At first glance, it
appeared as if he was about to repeat the same mistake as before.
I offered a silent prayer that he would not lose for esteem was
at stake, and esteem was not something that Favorius boys
possessed in great abundance. He had natural grace, the equal of
any boy who had been trained for several years. Each step was
carefully choreographed, dancing with quick jerks back and forth
with unexpected speed and agility. Kadri did not grasp his
situation. Michel repeated the maneuvers exactly as before and as
the training dictated. For the first dozen steps nothing changed.
Then Michel took the initiative and swapped two positions. It was
over in an instant.

Kadri was flipped onto his back and Michel was squatted on his
chest. He grinned gleefully. He hands hovered over Kadri's waist.
He was prepared to exact retribution, but he was not at all
certain if he had permission. I glanced at the master and
wondered how he would respond to the change in program. Indeed it
had been well excuted and it was performed with swift accuracy
and delivered with complete surprise. It was the kind of
intuitive response that made great warriors. Yet, the same
intuition was sufficient to inform me that there was a
considerable hurdle in getting others to appreciate the
possibilities.

During my training I had known some masters were disagreeable
to invention. Indeed, I had battled with the same condition with
Michel's brother. Like any Vulturnus, Etienne performed the
movements with a high degree of precision. It seemed that very
little had changed over the years. Combat was ritualized to the
point of repetition, and while that offered a high degree of
practice, it did little to prepare the boys for real conflict. It
was exactly that problem that I hoped to address with my
teaching. Strategy was simply a way to survive. The boys needed
to learn the lessons of life, of using their strengths to take
advantage of opportunities and of hiding their weaknesses in time
of threat.

Unfortunately for Michel, the master intervened swiftly.

"Halt!" he bellowed.

The master darted across the court, his heated face expressive
of anger. I groaned inwardly, and waited for the diatribe to
begin. Michel looked up expectantly. He thought he had done
something to be proud of. After all, he had applied the lesson he
had just learned with obvious success. Little did he appreciate
that the movements had to be repeated with great exactitude.

"Master Devon, he didn't know," Kadri pleaded.

"Enough! Let him up!"

His voice was raised. I wanted to rush forward and intervene,
yet to do so would only make matters worse. I clenched my fists
and hoped that it would not last too long. I would only be able
to stand so much before I interceded. The master loomed above the
boys,  his countenance growing worse with every breath. If this
was the man who had trained Etienne, he had some responsibility
in his death. When Michel did not move quickly enough, the master
shoved him roughly to the side so that he sprawled ignominiously
into the dust.

"Please?" Kadri whimpered. "He doesn't know, Master Devon.
It's only his first day."

"Speak when spoken too," he snarled back. "What is your name?"
he intoned.

I tensed. The sound of his voice sent a shiver down my back.
Michel gazed up at him, still hopeful for congratulations.

"Michel," he answered proudly.

"Ah, the whelp can speak. Michel, what?" came back at him in a
sly soft voice.

"Michel, Scorpio, initiate of Favonius," Michel answered.
"Sir," he added quickly.

"Stand Michel, Scorpio, of Favonius," the master said as if
nothing was wrong.

I closed my eyes then. I could not bear to see Michel's
despair. He had no idea that he was about to be punished. I heard
the silence begin. The other boys had stopped to watch. I heard
the sounds of scuffling as Michel scrambled to his feet.

"Take off your armor. You have disgraced the Order."

"Master,...." Michel complained. "If I did anything wrong, I
am sorry."

"Bare your bum, boy!"

"Master, he's a virgin," Kadri interjected nervously.

"Since when does that miserable hiatus in passion prevent a
whipping. I don't plan to fuck him, at least not yet. But once
he's got a rose to show he's open, doubtless I'll plow his furrow
long and deep."

Michel lowered his head in shame. It was all that I could do
to stay seated. This master trained by breaking spirit when he
should have encouraged the boys to be resourceful. Experience had
taught me the fundamental lesson that every skill could benefit
by imaginative thinking. This was the strategy that kept me alive
when others died in battle.

Finally, I could stand the silence no longer. I opened my eyes
and looked upon the dismal scene. Michel was naked, his small
pieces of armor lying on the ground. Still, he stood tall with
his shoulders squared and very proud. He would not break easily.
The master scooped up Michel's ankle gauntlet. He inspected the
honed blade, so polished and sharp that it glistened brightly in
the sunshine. He stroked the edge with his thumb. It was razor
sharp and pointed to a curved and very dangerous spike. The
cruel point was as sharp as any rose thorn. Master Devon seemed
thoughtful for a few moments, yet I sensed what was about to
occur. I gritted my teeth. Michel would be hurt by this. I
silently offered another prayer for him to bear up well. The
slightest sign of pain would exacerbate the torment. Again, I
hoped it would be short.

"There are movements to be followed," the master said softly.

I cringed when he brought the jagged point close to Michel's
face. He would not dare strike there, but he would inflict cruel
torture with the thought of disfiguring the prettiest face on the
Mount. Michel did not flinch. Instead, he gazed steadily back
with his innocent eyes.

"And you will follow them exactly," he continued.

The razored edge had moved lower, this time to stop against
Michel's smooth honey-colored belly. I held my breath. In time,
Michel would learn to use the weapon to disembowel with a single
stroke. At that moment, he had to fear for his own survival. The
razor slid slowly to the left and upward. Had there been any hair
upon his skin it would have been removed. The razor stopped just
short of his tiny pointed nipple. Just a fraction further and it
would have been sliced off. I felt my heart pounding and, by
thinking with all my might, tried to communicate with Michel.
However, he did not need to hear what I had to say. He still
stared relentlessly, not shrinking back as many others would.

"Do you understand?"

This was said with the vehemence worthy of a warlord. Eleven
boys gasped as the master's arm suddenly jerked. This time, the
blade ended its swift downward motion just above Michel's still
erect penis. I looked on with amazement. Almost any other boy
would had wilted, and most Favonius virgins would have broken
down and cried, but not Michel. His expression was bland, but in
the simple honesty of his gazing eyes was unrestrained contempt
for a man who did not appreciate a better mind. The master
reached down, his fingers gripping the tiny foreskin that barely
shrouded the little rounded head of Michel's penis.

"You are about to become a warrior, boy," the master said
cruelly. "Warriors do not break rules."

I wanted to shout 'rubbish', but I stilled my tongue and
watched as Michel nodded slightly. The master's fingers tightened
and pulled upwards on the minute piece of skin. He pulled until
the small penis was stretched long and thin. He pulled until
Michel rose up onto the balls of his feet, his entire body
seeming to lengthen as the master dragged upward. Even from where
I sat, I saw Michel's face distort with pain. The muscles in the
master's arm became prominent and then without warning, slackened
as the fingers released the captive skin. Michel slumped and fell
to his knees. One hand swiftly moved to his eyes to hide the
tears that formed. The other hand clamped tightly over his
injured part. He trembled for a moment before he clambered to his
feet. He stood unsteadily, but still defiant before his
tormenter.

The master nodded once. "The lesson is finished for today. You
are dismissed," he said calmly.

He stalked away as the other boys crowded around Michel. I
watched as Kadri reached down and lifted away Michel's small
hand. He said something that I could not hear, but without
question he had reassured Michel that there was no blood to be
seen. When the other boys had moved away, Michel glanced quickly
in my direction. I nodded slightly, hopeful that he could
distinguish my pride. That day he had learned far more than any
of the other boys.