Date: Mon, 15 Aug 2016 13:28:31 -0400 From: Eff Del <nolitimere156@gmail.com> Subject: Scilio and Artred-chapter 2 Scilio and Artred-Chapter 2 By Eff Del Nolitimere156@gmail.com The big man smiled in delight as he pulled out of the small boy's bottom and sprawled over onto his heavily muscled back. He reached over and pulled the boy over to him so that they were lying chest to chest. "When I first spied you during the raid on your family's village, I knew you would please me, but I never had any idea that you would please me this much. Let us go out and dismiss that charlatan and then go see the thread and needle ladies to have you one of those many colored tunics made." "No Master, that's not how it's done. True Minstrels...especially from the north; begin their careers in plain colored tunics just as you have the women sewing for me now. As they progress and successfully please their hosts or their guests, they are awarded a small patch of colored cloth that is sewn to their tunic starting at the left shoulder and as they are accumulated, progressing diagonally down the shirt to the right hip. As a minstrel accumulates more, the progression begins at the right shoulder. These colors are earned and not cheaply. When two lines cross from the left shoulder to the right, a minstrel will be proclaimed a Bard. The lines of patches continue from left and right shoulder to hip but it takes a very long time. My grandfather was one of the most renowned minstrels in the entire north. He was thrice declared a Bard and he only had a tunic with a triple cross of patches. That man's clothing is completely covered with color and I'll bet that he only knows a few chords on his lute and a few melodies and makes some sort of living fooling people but Master, he is a complete and total fraud." The big man smiled and gently stroked his hand down the spine of the boy lying on his chest. The boy was still young enough that muscle hadn't yet begun developing thus by going slowly, Artred could actually count the vertebrae as he passed down the valley of the boy's back. As his fingers passed the little coxis, he brushed through the tight valley between the boy's buttocks and even flicked gently against the still wet little hole he'd only just invaded. Scillio sighed and reflected upon his short life of slavery. Artred was indeed a ferocious warrior and not given to mercy for enemies and he was a terribly aggressive sexual partner with no interest or concern for his bedmate's comfort or pleasure. Artred was only interested in his own sexual satisfaction. After that was over however, he was tender and gentle. Scilio considered that things could certainly be far worse for him. Aside from that, he realized that despite the fact that he was lying on top of the one who'd had his father killed, he liked this man. This man had kept him alive and just might continue to do so. His father had been a hard man and while he'd never sexually used his little son, he'd never held and cuddled him so lovingly either. He realized that he liked being held and caressed by the warrior despite the consequences. "Come little Scillio, let us get rid of this fraud." Artred began to rise from the bed. The little boy impulsively threw his arms around his Master's neck and nuzzled against the big man. "N-no Master not yet. Hold me against you for just a little longer. That fool of a man can wait." Artred's laugh was very much like a bear's growl as he pulled the little boy tightly to his chest. Despite the fact that his world had turned upside down only a few days ago, the little boy felt safe and protected. If it meant that he would be a slave for the rest of his life, he would be secure, content and watched over. Many worse things could have happened to him. *********************************** The large warrior and the little naked boy walked into the hall together. The man in the multicolored clothing was drinking a cup of wine and nibbling on some sweet cakes all of which the staff had provided under the standard rules of hospitality. The portly "minstrel" smiled and tipped his cup in Artred's direction. "Well my lord, do you require another performance?" "Anything you could perform would be exceeded by this little nine year old boy. You sir are a fraud. I almost feel that I should have you placed under arrest. The rules of hospitality however, require that I feed you and house you. Amos will find you a place to sleep this night and you will dine with the servants in their dining hall. The food will be good I promise you. I feed my slaves well." "But...I am no slave! I am a free man and should dine among free men." "I am the only free man here and you will not dine with me. You will dine with my staff or you will not dine at all. Then you will sleep in the place that Amos has found for you and in the morning, you will break your fast and then leave. You will never return to this keep. Is that understood?" The portly man nodded his head glancing at Scilio with quiet malevolence. "Yes my lord though, I truly believe that if you would allow me another song, I might win your favor." Artred looked at the naked little boy sitting on the window ledge and the child flashed an almost cheeky grin and nodded his head energetically. "Scilio; wine for me boy. Minstrel; prepare your next song." The boy padded off to the kitchen and returned with a cup and a flagon in his hand. He presented the cup on his master's proper side and stepped back. The portly false bard sat down upon a stool before Artred who had taken a seat upon a large chair. The singer said somewhat pompously; "Here now is the sad but lovely story of `Truvilance and Beothane' I hope you will enjoy." He strummed dramatically upon his lute, and suddenly began to sing loudly and lustfully; "The love between Truvilance and Beothane was strong. It was a thing that her father could not abide. He had told her just this morning, she would be a high lord's bride. The man would be there by the weekend. T'was barely 3 days ride. He rode swiftly anticipating with pride The bedding of young Beothane... BEOTHANE! BEOTHANE! Whose love he would never own." The `Minstrel' then strummed furious successions of three chords which he played loudly and powerfully mostly in order to disguise his lack of musical talent. He then continued singing seven verses which ended with the deaths of the two lovers; broken on the rocks below the cliff from which they had jumped together. Scilio stood at Artred's right side and rolled his eyes up to the ceiling before turning to the big warrior and softly asking; "More wine Master?" The warrior turned with a smile and offered his cup. "Minstrel, what is your name?" "I am Bancucous Lord. Often called `Bancucous the gifted' though my modesty prevents me from calling myself that." Artred smiled and turned to Scilio holding out his wine cup. "Are you slipping boy?" "N-no Master! I just didn't want to interrupt your conversation. I didn't think that you'd be ready so soon." The little boy quickly poured into the offered cup and discovered that it was still ¾ full. He looked up to Artred and the big man winked at him. "Well then `Bancucous the gifted', I am lord Artred often called `Artred the cruel' `Artred the fierce' and `Artred the Black'. I have no personal qualms about using any of those appellations because they're true. If I had any enemies left living, they would tell you. Now, that last song was much better than your first." Scillio again rolled his eyes up to the ceiling but managed to stand still. "However, my friend it is was not to the style and standard of this household. I've changed my mind about you though and so; Amos will find you a proper bed for tonight and you will dine with me. In the morning, after we break our fast, a sturdy young donkey will be provided for you as my host gift in order to make your travels easier. The numerous roads between here and the Royal City loop and turn and twist like snakes. There are hundreds of taverns, Inns and Public houses. If you begin a regular circuit, you'll be welcomed at every one of them. You'll receive food, lodging and no doubt, many coins for your music." So much for the harsh judgement of `Artred the Cruel'. He was essentially a kind man. The meal was over and the boy was required to sing. He picked up his lute and sat upon the ledge. He chose not to compete with what the fake Bard had played (which probably, Artred had expected him to do). Instead, he played the haunting song of `The White Boar and Myrianthal'. Just the intricacy of his finger work upon the lute moved Bancucous to almost cower in timidity. He had no such skill. The boy was a flower and he was a weed. Bancucous knew this. In the morning, the two of them stood at the gate as they watched the portly man; mounted on his newly acquired donkey ride away as Bancuous strummed his lute and sang a raucous song in his loud bellowing voice. Besides the donkey, the Master had enriched his purse with a handful of silver. Scillio suspected that the man had also obtained at least two full wine skins so the ersatz bard surely deemed this visit to the house of Artred to have been a very worthwhile stop. "Master, if this boy may ask, why were you so kind and generous to that man when he tried to deceive you?" "Because it wasn't serious deceit and could never have harmed me. I recognized that he had no talent but he was so amusing and his self-indulgent showiness was entertaining. Entertainment and amusement are worth a reward in these days boy. You are always smart to reward the source of your enjoyment. You'll learn that soon as I begin to have guests and you serve as my minstrel. You'll soon build a purse of silver...even gold. That will all be yours to keep. Speaking of that, let us go see to your new tunics and order your minstrel's shirt from the old ladies." As the boy and man walked into the sewing chamber, they saw the four old women seated around a table working thread through cloth and the noise from them was undoubtedly conversation though it sounded more like humming and clicking. The old woman who was obviously, the leader of the group turned to them at the door. "You're too early Artres! Come back later!" "No, I need to speak with you all." The old woman waved them inside. "Just as well, come and look." The big man and the boy approached the table and the other three old women smiled. "This is the plain tunic that you ordered and it's ready if you actually want it today." It was light brown linen beautifully sewn with no decorative stich work. It was truly plain but lovely. "These other three will be ready tomorrow as you directed. They are not extravagant but they have color and style. The boy will look well in them." "These look fine Imeralena, in fact, I think the boy will wear the finished brown tunic now since we're going out upon the grounds but there is another garment I need to discuss with you." The four old ladies cackled at the big warrior as if they knew they could do so with impunity. Eventually, the one known as Imeralena said; "Artres, you are a great warrior and whenever fighting breaks out, I'm glad that I'm in your house and under your protection. The truth is though; you are ignorant about what goes on inside and outside your villa. The walls of this home might as well be made of linen. There are no secrets here among the servants. We've been working upon the boy's minstrel robe. It's over here." She led them to a table that had blue cloth spread over it. It was light blue. Scilio had only seen the sea once but the color reminded him of the sea. The edges from hem to cuffs were in the process of being sewn intricately in dark blue thread. "Lovely" said Artres. "Now here is where you must sew your first patch." He said as he touched the left shoulder. The old woman slapped his hand away. Artres was such a benevolent Master and some of his slaves had been with him so long that they considered themselves family rather than slaves and had no qualms about correcting the man that actually owned them. "Tccch! Do you think that I don't know these things? I was raised in the north and I know the northern ways. I knew this boy's grandfather when I was young and fair. I sewed on two of his first five patches and eventually, his bands of patches became thrice crossed...a bard three times over. He was the finest minstrel in a lifetime and your men cut him down like a common soldier. You think we don't hear things Master?" Artres blinked finding himself on the defensive against one of his oldest slaves. "Imeralena, he was slain because he was fighting like a common soldier! Before two of my men had laid him low, that old man had killed four of my soldiers...four! What were my men supposed to do...sit down and ask him to sing a song?" The old woman turned away muttering quietly; "It would have been better if they had." She took Scillio by the shoulder and guided him to the table. "This will be entirely too big for you boy and that is by intention. You are very young and this garment will hang upon you like a robe but you will grow into it and soon it will fit you like a proper minstrel's jacket and serve you for many years before it will need to be re-made. Now, your grandfather began his first line of patches with a red one and we've talked it over and we believe you should as well." She held up a small red star carefully cut from soft cloth. "This will be your first patch and it shall be sewn upon the left shoulder before you receive this jacket." "Thank you Imeralena. It's beautiful." The brief conversation reminded Scillio of the conversations he'd heard growing up about the warrior bards of the north who led roving bands of raiders and even armies against large enemies. His grandfather was obviously one such and he was proud. Then he remembered how he was captured; a little boy in a loincloth standing in front of his mother and sister holding a spear while all hell broke around them in the village. He'd backed them into a crevasse in the cliff and in his young mind had imagined that a determined nine-year-old boy could hold off a trained army. He'd made one lunge at an oncoming soldier and from the side; his spear was quickly plucked from his hands. Amid laughter, he was dragged across the compound and brought before the man he now knew as Artres who had placed him face down in the dust and put a heal upon his neck. His life had changed after that. "Well ladies, I need that jacket ready by the end of this week because we're having important guests and Scilio must sing. ********************* Thank you for any feedback or comments you can provide.