Date: Sat, 4 Nov 2000 21:01:22 EST
From: Tommyhawk1@aol.com
Subject: Knight of Carlovain, Chapter Five

		    "KNIGHT OF CARLOVAIN, CHAPTER FIVE
			      "Promises Made"
			   By Tommyhawk1@aol.com

     Andrew wore a smile of triumph as he dressed for the ride to
Fediresta.  He wore not the stained and torn clothes in which he had
arrived, his family had discovered his note and sent a rider with a package
of clothes and other travel necessities after him, which had caught up to
him on the prior evening.  He put on the fancy red tunic with its cuts that
were designed to let his shirt bulge out of it at the elbows and waist and
neck, giving him an aristocratic look.  He strode out to the stable and
noted the monk readying the mule for his own use, and his smile slipped,
his pride in his manipulations revealing themselves for the scoundrely acts
that they were.
     It was Brother Eserel, of course, who had once been Renaud, son of the
Count of Fediresta.  He had spoken to Brother Edmegen, the leader of their
monastery (the Merlemagnists eschewed the title of "abbot" for such men and
changed them among the senior monks on a regular basis) and made some
rather rash promises to consider (but only to consider) building the
cathedral Brother Edmegen had shown him in order to compel Brother Eserel's
attendance as a purported guide to the trail.
     Renaud/Eserel turned to see him and then turned back.  Andrew started
to approach him and then decided against it; they would be days upon the
trail, he would have his chance.  He chose instead to turn away, wait until
Renaud would have no choice but to be in his close company.  He could not
keep up this furtive avoidance of him upon the road!
     He had not needed the guide, for a sizeable group was going with him,
mostly poor farmers that he would quickly outride, but a young nobleman was
also going with him as far as Lesleran.  Frankly, this nobleman made him
uncomfortable, though not for fear of his life.  He was Charles, the
brother of poor Marcel who had died so terribly in the civil war which had
brought Andrew his duchy and title of noble rank.  Andrew had been spared
by the loyalist attackers as their known ally, while Marcel had been
brutally butchered, so it was with disquiet but no guilt that Andrew met
the eyes of Marcel's older brother.
     Charles was fairer-haired than poor lost Marcel, nearly blond, and his
frame was larger and more robust than Marcel's had been.  He wore a dashing
blue and pale-blue parti-hued tunic and tights with only a bit of gold
piping in it here and there.  If there was any resentment in him at his
brother's death, he did not show any of it to Andrew, greeting him upon
sight with a hearty, "Ho, Sir Andrew!  Are we well-met, kinsman!"
     Andrew smiled at the Neresterii greeting, "We are well-met, kinsman!"
He returned the proper formula and they gripped each other's forearms as
nobles should.
     "We are to journey together, then, I am told." Charles said, smiling
broadly.
     "I am bound for Fediresta." Andrew admitted.
     "The King shall be glad to see you, I am certain." Charles said,
"Though I understood that your father's illness had prevented your
traveling with him.  How fares your father?"
     "Poorly." Andrew admitted.  "But my business is more than the King's
company, I fear."
     "He shall be pleased, just the same." Charles said.  "What brought you
to Merlemagne, your father?"
     Andrew avoided the question rather than lie.  "I may ask you the
same."
     "My mother has been poorly, and there are herbs here that only they
grow." Charles said, distracted by the query.  "I travel here to make sure
the herbs are as fresh as possible."
     Left unsaid was that the monks permitted the public to pluck the
needed herbs in the garden up to a certain measure in exchange for their
labor; Andrew quietly disregarded the sunburnt skin and reddened cheeks
that told that Charles had had to labor like any peasant in order to obtain
the herbs, for the Marquis of Lesleran was not wealthy.  Titles and noble
blood were no guarantee of a life of idle luxury; a polite person ignored
it when a member of the gentry was forced to stoop to common labor.
     "We travel with a motley group." Charles said, looking about.  "Shall
we outdistance them on the trail?"
     "I needs must, for my travel must be as swift as can be." Andrew said.
"I shall be glad to have you beside me."
     "Your horse, Sir Andrew." the urchin of the day before brought out
Andrew's horse.
     Andrew reached into his pouch and handed the child double the
agreed-upon fee. "That is for fetching my friend's horse as well." He said.
"Do you know which one it is?"
     "I certainly do." the lad took off, toward the stalls where the less
genteel horses were kept.
     Charles' smile was broader when he realized he would not need to reach
into his small store of coins for a stableman's tip.  "We shall ride then
as we will." Charles said.  "Two gentleman out in the world, and two sharp
blades for any footpad that may cross our paths."
     "Three." Andrew said.  "I have...asked for a guide for the trail to
Fediresta and a monk shall accompany us to show the way."
     "The way is broad and well-traveled in these more fortunate days."
Charles said.
     "Nonetheless, I wish him with us." Andrew said firmly.
     "Very well." Charles said.  "I only hope it is one who is hale and not
a feeble, white-haired, half-shorn burden."
     "He shall not be." Andrew said.
     Perhaps it was the fact that Andrew was not alone, but Renaud stepped
up to them.  "I am ready, my lords." he said humbly.
     "Your company shall be most welcome upon the trail." Andrew said to
Renaud, wanting to say so much more but later...later!  He had to have
privacy.
     They rode out as the sun finished rising over the horizon, but before
it had yet cleared the trees, still only turning the mountains north of
them to gold but leaving large shadows across the fields.  They left the
cultivated area and were among the trees before the sun could touch their
faces, and now the sun was only a series of parallel shafts of golden beams
that reached through the dense foliage here and there, turning the heavy
forest into a surreal place, where the dew sparkled still upon the leaves,
the birds busily turned over fallen leaves to get at the fat worms that had
crawled up to the cool feast of rotting vegetation, there to turn it into
the rich mulch that fed the trees that made the leaves that fed the worms
which fed the birds that rested in its leaves and sang their melody to the
accompaniment of the gently hissing breeze stirring the branches about.
     "Aah, a day like this makes a soul glad to be alive." Charles said
heartily to Andrew.
     "It is a golden day." Andrew admitted.  "We should enjoy it, for there
shall be few more before winter comes.  See how the leaves already are
touched with the yellow that shall consume them before they fall?"
     "So shall winter consume us all, one day."  Charles said somberly.
"As it did my brother."
     Andrew looked at him.  "You know that I was there when your brother
was killed?"
     "Yes, I have heard how you betrayed the rebels from within." Charles
said.  "Turning against your own kaserin."
     Stung, Andrew said vehemently.  "I was with the rebels as a spy from
the beginning, and I betrayed no one but traitors to the rightful King
against Lord Montaigne's insurrection.  Had I not sent a warning to
Winseran Point, he may have killed our sovereign!"
     "And you are proud of this?" Charles asked him seriously.
     "Nay." Andrew said, his anger forgotten.  "There are times it weighs
very heavy upon my soul."  He made sure that Renaud was riding nearby.
"And should my kaserin but say the word, my life is his to take as he
would."
     "Know you what became of Renaud?" Charles asked.  "His family knows
nothing of him."
     Andrew could not but help cast a look back at Renaud, his face
shrouded and silent on the mule behind him.  "I know nothing I could say
for certain." he dissembled.  While not entirely a lie, it was not the
truth.
     "You should take the chance to get shriven." Charles cocked his head
back towards Renaud when Andrew looked at him, startled.
     "I...do not think that this one is a priest." Andrew said.
     "One must seek mercy wherever it can be found." Charles said.  "Come,
let us leave behind this crowd about us and exercise our horses.  We shall
pause but a short ways up the trail and let you catch us up." He called to
the other riders about them.
     Andrew would have protested this, but Charles had kicked his heels and
his horse was galloping on ahead.  With little choice, he spurred his own
horse into a full run.  His own horse was able to overtake Charles' less
well-bred animal after only a short distance, but Charles did not ease the
pace and made no effort to speak to Andrew.  They rode on quickly, across
two small streams (Andrew wondered if one of them were the same stream
where he and Renaud had fought off the footpads, but their road was yet
north of the one they had taken on that ill-fated day; though it would
rejoin that road before long) and kept up this heavy pace for nearly a
half-hour, until their horses snorted and Andrew noticed that Charles'
steed was foaming heavily at the mouth at this sustained gallop.
     "Let us stop soon." He said to Charles.
     "There is another stream but a short way ahead." Charles said.  "It is
where the Merlemagne Road joins the Fediresta Road.  We shall tarry there
for our retainers to catch up."
     Retainers.  Andrew thought.  He had none here, unless you counted
Renaud's unwilling participation in this ride, and Charles had none that he
had seen.  But it was a chance to stop, he said nothing, and was grateful
to see the small brook ahead, a shallow draught that they splashed through
with sprays of silvery water all about, and then on the other side was a
well-established campsite that none used at this early hour of the day.
     He joined Charles in first watering his horse at the brook, then
tethering it to the hitching post some other had built for general use.
     "Come, let us go a short ways into the bush beyond." Charles said.  "I
would speak without ears that could hear other than yours."  But they were
alone here.
     Mystified further, Andrew followed Charles further on.  Well inside
the forest, they found a small space where the canopy was opened and a
small green had chosen this place to blossom, and there Charles sat upon
the ground, his chest heaving with the exertion of the long ride.  "Now
that we are private." he said, panting.  "Tell me what you plan."
     "I know not what you mean." Andrew said.  Did Charles know of the plot
against the King? Was he sounding Andrew out, thinking that Andrew would
betray anyone?
     "I know that you did not need a guide for the Fediresta Road." Charles
said.  "And I recognized Renaud as well as you in the person of Brother
Eserel.  By the blood of my dead brother, tell me what you intend to do
with him now that you have lured him away from the sanctuary of the
Church?"
     "You do me great wrong!" Andrew protested.  "I only wish a chance to
speak to Renaud once again.  To..."  His eyes dropped.  "To beg his
forgiveness and if need be, to face his blade without raising my own.  The
only way he can shrive me is with the sword he wears outside his robe."
     "And if I choose to take the right of vengeance for my brother?"
Charles asked.
     Andrew looked steadily at him.  "You I would fight." he admitted.  "I
grieved for Marcel, but it was not my hand that murdered him, though those
same hands that took his life saved my own.  But say the word and this plot
of grass can be our battleground."  And Andrew's sword sang a soft tune as
he drew it from his scabbard.
     Charles looked up into Andrew's eyes.  After a time, he smiled.  "I
but wanted to take your measure." He said.  "I told my father and brothers
that Lord Montaigne would never make a king.  As for myself, I can hope
that my older brother dies before he has issue and so I may inherit
Lesleran; Marcel did not even have that faint hope.  Not that I wish my
brother Louis anything but the best of health.  So long as I have a home
and food and clothing, I can live as I do now."
     "Marcel's desire was for land." Andrew pointed out.  "Do you not dream
of your own lands?"
     "As you now have in plenty?" Charles asked.  "Tell me, you have one
son.  Do you intend to have more?"
     "I hope so." Andrew admitted.
                                                                 "And if
there is a second son, will you be happy?"
     "Of course."
     "Then will you cut your land in two to give him a portion?" Charles
asked.
     "I could give him the lands up north, leaving the southern half to my
first son." Andrew mused.  It was a thought frequently upon his mind.  A
single son might take ill and die, to ensure the line, he should have at
least two more sons.  That was the common opinion among the nobility, three
sons, in case one is taken by plague and one by war, there is one yet
remaining.  And daughters, as well, to form alliances with the rest of
Carlovain.  But then the matter of their inheritance came immediately up as
a problem to be solved in its stead.  And so was the lot of Charles a
foregone necessity, young nobles with no land and no titles.
     "That would repeat the error of King Clovis." Charles commented.
"Dividing up your lands until they are worthless to all.  Are not the lands
of Carlovain small enough, Where a man can scarce ride for a day upon his
land without he passes onto his neighbors, that you would cut it smaller
still?"
     "But don't you wish a family?" Andrew asked.  He realized that his
sword still stood naked in his hand, he returned it to its sheath
unblooded.
     Charles smiled.  "For some of us, the need is less.  Our hearts...lie
elsewhere."
     Andrew recognized that smile, and felt one grow slowly upon his own
face.  "Your brother Marcel was my friend." He said.  "And more than that."
     "I know that the King has not bound you to him as his catamite."
Charles said the rather offensive word without rancor.  "And I know of the
manservant you keep constantly about you when the King is not with you."
     "He is a great comfort to me." Andrew agreed.
     "But he is a mere commoner." Charles protested.
     "So was I when the King's arms first went about me."
     "But he remedied that when he could.  For your son's sake, you
cannot."
     "True."  Andrew let Charles play out his gambit.
     "You should have a lover of noble blood." Charles said.
     "Have you someone in mind?" Andrew asked.  He sat down next to
Charles, close enough that their legs touched as they stretched out upon
the still-green grass.
     "Perhaps one who is doomed to live forever upon the generosity of
others." Charles said.  "When that one is from a family that has more than
enough retainers of the blood for its small land to carry."
     "I could not promise." Andrew said.  "My heart is not something I give
to all that I meet."
     "Can you promise me a few days of pleasure, then?" Charles said.
"Freely given and freely taken, before I return to my hermit's bed alone at
Lesleran?"
     "That I can promise." Andrew smiled.
     "Then I shall take that, and with pleasure." Charles said.
     Andrew rolled onto his side, to find Charles meeting him there, and
thus on their sides their arms found their ways about each other and their
lips met .  Charles' breath was as sweet and clean as the ocean breeze on a
spring day, redolent of promised rain to bring the crops to life.  Andrew
inhaled this moist promise into himself and sent his tongue in to test the
waters there.
     Like a leviathan rising from the deeps, Charles' tongue met and
clashed with his and so they fought their battle after all, but not with
cold steel, but with warm tongues that touched and jousted with each other
not in anger or death, but in gentle strokes upon each other.
     Charles' body was strong and firm; no life of luxury for this noble's
son!  Andrew felt the weaker for his years away from the labor of the inn,
though he had kept up his regimen of exercise and with the blade.  But
there is a brawn that only sustained physical labor can give, muscles that
are created not for vanity but for need, muscles that now wrapped around
him in ardor.
     Andrew felt the fine cloth under his fingers and longed to undo them
and taste that body, but there was time enough now only for a fleeting
pleasure.  So he settled for letting his face trail across the soft cloth,
lowering himself down the broad chest and onto the flat stomach, Charles'
hands clinging to him still though now distended, and then they were not
clutching him but pushing him down, until his face was below the shirt and
there were the ties of Charles' hose, light blue and deep blue where they
met, and a leather binding that he needs must untie, which protruded
upwards in eager anticipation of its lot.
     Andrew's fingers found the ends of the simple tie and pulled it, and
then there was the tugging of the cross-lacing below, and then the cloth
was releasing its burden and he could tug it apart and the cloth then
released with a rush of warmth and musk, the bulky prong it had kept
captive.
     Andrew let this long prick caress his cheek; he could give this much
dalliance to the moment, he held it to his face and nuzzled it, feeling the
bulk and the warmth of Charles' turgid manhood that pulsed hotly against
his constraining hand.  He raised up his head and guided the bulbous head
into his mouth and tasted the rich meaty flavor of the glans, and then
Charles' work-roughened hands fastened upon his head and thrust him down to
impale his face upon the thick shaft.
     Andrew let his mouth water freely upon the fleshy pud that now lay
buried within his mouth and throat, held there as Charles groaned his joy,
he lavished his moisture upon it, so that when Charles relinquished his
grip upon Andrew's head and he rose up, bringing the foreskin with his lips
to envelop the bulging cockhead, it did so with a foaming lubrication of
saliva that bubbled inside of Andrew's mouth in place of the enormous cock
that had left it.
     Charles' hands left off their role of captor and stayed on his head as
friends, and Andrew began to nurse this long dong, his lips making wet
sucking sounds as he plied his skill back and forth.
     "Ah, ah, uh!" Charles groaned as Andrew nurtured the rising tide of
heat and passion within his stiff manpole.  "More, my gentle knight, more,
I can imagine no greater delight than to remain forever within this glen of
our pleasure.  Ah, ah-huh!" he spasmed and contorted.
     Startled by this rapid onslaught, Andrew brought his lips into play
full-force, he began to stroke Charles' pud with his mouth, and Charles
groaned the louder, his body began to hunch upwards at Andrew's suckling
lips, not wanting to leave his mouth for the slightest instant, and this
motions were his undoing for whatever increase of pleasure they gave to
Charles, for he grunted only the more fiercely, and then at a moment when
his gyrations caused Andrew to lose grip on the succulent dong, Charles'
load burst out and splattered Andrew's face with the first heavy explosion
of his climax.
     Andrew grabbed quickly at the lost pud, and a second load shot past
his cheek, raking it as it went from lip to ear, and then he had the errant
cockhead and he clutched it again with his lips and now the hot seed poured
within his mouth, and he sucked down the salty portion of human nectar,
feeling the trails of jism upon his face crawling down to drip off his
beard like so many slugs upon a stone in the garden, Charles' grunts now
turned to heavy breathing and the flood ceased and he was sucking dry now
the exhausted tube of its last dregs of human joy.
     "Forgive my eagerness." Charles gasped out when his voice would again
heed his command.  "I have been too long without a companion, I fear."
     "You should do as I, take on a servant." Andrew suggested as he rose
up to his knees and wiped the stains from his cheek with his sleeve and
back of his hand.
     "And how would I, without the wherewithal to pay him?" Charles said
without heat or shame.  "I am more likely to play the role of servant than
that of master, as fate has played its hand upon me."
     Charles' hand found and cupped Andrew's crotch, and Andrew felt a
smile birth itself on his face.  "Do we have time yet for your repayment of
this debt, then?" he asked.
     "There is time enough, with my speedy and disobedient body's
betrayal." Charles said.  "I fear my skill shall not match your own, but I
shall give you my all."
     "That is all any master could ever ask." Andrew agreed.
     Charles got onto his belly and crawled to Andrew's waiting crotch.
His fingers were lithe and eager upon the lacing, and Andrew felt his cock
surge with anticipation at this brawny nobleman's attentions.  When his
dong flopped out, limp still but rising up as it breathed free air, Andrew
looked down and saw the tawny-colored head cover his cock, and then the
warm lips enveloped him and he threw back his head, clenched his throat
muscles and a long, low moan escaped his lips.  He was covered with warmth,
he felt the thrill of the moist tongue that cupped his shaft along its
length, the heated breath that hissed around his cockhead on its way out
through the nostrils, and that tongue reached out despite its burden and
the tip lapped at Andrew's balls, and he moaned once more, and his legs
weakened and he fell back onto the forest floor, grass blades touched and
tickled his cheeks on either side as the breeze moved them in gentle waves
of welcome, making a soft rustling of applause as the wind clapped them
against each other.
     With Andrew prostrate beneath him, Charles hoisted both his legs up to
drop them onto his sturdy back, his arms wrapped around Andrew's thighs and
he worked Andrew's dong with the expert skill of a milkman working the
cow's teats.
     Such a peculiar sensation arose in Andrew from regarding Charles'
servicing of his prick, a combination of the docile nature of the servant
and the equal regard of the nobleman.  It was as if all that he had ever
desired in a lover, yet had never quite had before now, were in this one
sun-haired cock-worshiper at his groin.  He sucked at his teeth,
remembering the flavor of that succulent jism as it poured into his mouth,
and loved it in retrospect more than before.
     Pleasure was washing over his body in waves from Charles' adept
ministrations (this was no clumsy stud who had languished alone, he was
bringing Andrew's joy to a head quite capably), Andrew sighed and rode this
wash of desire to the tune of the singing grasses upon which he lay,
feeling safe and secure, and alive in a world filled with kindness, and the
sun was warm upon his brow.
     Charles released Andrew's pud with a gasp, and then returned his
attentions to it, this time bringing his hand into play, working it with
his hand and his mouth at the same time, the firm fingers wrenching his
foreskin around and around his shaft as his lips tugged it up and down and
Andrew groaned with the pleasure this brought him, groaned with the surfeit
of desire, groaned with the very joy of life, and his groans rose up within
him of their own choice, and he felt his passion rise with the sound,
following rather than preceding it, and in that gentle billowing of his
lust, he found his peak and his cock sprayed into Charles' mouth, pure
energy pouring out of Andrew and into Charles, for as Andrew felt his
strength fleeing from him with the climax, Charles seemed to take power
from it and worked him the harder, so that his mouth and his hand were a
never-ceasing pulse upon his cock, clutching him, draining him, emptying
him completely....
     Andrew roused and realized that he had come close to loss of
consciousness in the pleasure of the moment.  How long it had been since
that had been his body's response to a lover?  Longer than he dared think,
for it required trust as well as a total exhaustion of his passion's
juices.  But Charles, the brother of Marcel, had brought him to this.
     Done, Charles rested his head upon Andrew's bared crotch, the sticky
pud jelling against Charles' cheek.
     "Ah, Sir Andrew, say that I may accompany you to the King at
Fediresta." He begged shamelessly.  "I would not return to my hermit's bed
now, not that I have found you, and you have enriched me so."
     "You may come with me." Andrew said willingly.  "To Fediresta and back
to Heslov or wherever my path leads me.  We shall travel together."
     There was the nicker of a mule and the two arose hastily.  Pulling his
tights back together, lacing it rapidly and sloppily, Andrew hurried after
Charles.  It was either Renaud upon his mule, or someone else, who may take
the untended horses and ride away.
     But it was Renaud, who looked down upon them, and Andrew felt like a
naughty schoolboy caught in a prank by the stern schoolmaster.  "We...found
a quiet spot." he explained as a child does to the master.
     But Charles was unabashed.  "Well, now, our guide has followed us,
rather than we him." he said heartily.  "Come, let us stride our mounts
once more and travel onwards."
     Andrew dawdled as Charles got upon his horse and took off, and Renaud
was by his side.
     It was his moment, there would be none better.  Andrew took a deep
breath.  "My kaserin...." he began.
     "Call me not that." Renaud said stiffly.
     "Renaud...." Andrew said, hurt.
     "Call me not that, either." Renaud said.  "I am Brother Eserel of the
Thorns.  It is all that I am, and all that I wish."
     "Yet I remember when you were something more." Andrew said.
     "That...was another life." Renaud said.  "I died that night upon the
King's floor, and was born again in the care of the Merlemagnists.  They
are my family now and they have named me Eserel."
     "Renaud....Brother Eserel." Andrew corrected himself.  "I have tricked
you into coming with me only that we may talk.  And if necessary, to die
upon your blade.  I must know what you...what you are these days, he who
was once my kaserin, my love, and my life."  Andrew looked, but there was
no kindness left in those eyes, they were forbidding, cold.
     "The bond we formed was broken before the King's blade ran me
through." Renaud said.  "For a promise can only hold together in the hands
of one who keeps his promises."
     "I...I know my grievous fault and acknowledge it." Andrew said
dolefully.  "I would have given much to avoid it.  But I could not, not and
save the kingdom as well."
     A sharpness to Renaud's edges softened somewhat.  "I was foolish then,
I avow." he said.  "I thought that a word was all it took, and that a
person could build their life upon a word."
     "But promises broken can be mended.  Let me make it up to you some
way, in some fashion." Andrew said.
     "You have already found a way." Renaud said.  "But keep your sworn
word to Brother Edmegen."
     "My word?" Andrew was puzzled.
     "He told me that you have pledged to build his cathedral at Heslov,
the one which has been his dream since his first days as a novitiate."
     "I...."  Andrew thought back over his conversation.  He had said no
such thing!  Yet...when Brother Edmegen had spoken of him giving his word,
he had not denied it.  "Very well.  I have promised to build his cathedral,
that...that large cockleshell, so that the common man may worship within."
He said.  "It shall take most the rest of my life, but I pledge that it
shall be built."
     "I am pleased to hear it." Renaud said.  "I shall hold you to that
word, even in front of the Holy Throne of Judgment Day."
     "I shall." Andrew said again.  "I swear it."
     "Then I shall tell the judging Angel that the promise to me is the
only one I have ever seen you break.  And that I have forgiven you your
broken promise."
     Charles rode back up.  "Come on, my new love, come on, Brother Thorn!"
he called out.  "We must tread the miles aplenty before dusk."
     Andrew and Renaud rode after Charles this time.  Andrew looked at his
two companions.  Renaud was changed in some deep way, he realized now.
That cut of the King's sword as it plunged into his vitals had severed
something very deep within Renaud, which had never healed.  Or was it the
betrayal of his kaserin, of which people whispered about him to this day,
even more so than that he was the lover of the King?
     And Charles, too, was acting differently.  As if they had done more
than pass a joyful time in the meadow.  As if....
     And Andrew saw then his fatal error.  Charles had shown himself
Marcel's brother for true!  Like Marcel had when they had shared a room
together, Charles had turned Andrew's kindly words offering to let Charles
accompany him into a pledge of more.  A poor noble's younger son, he was
the gravest danger to a scion like Andrew, one who would leech onto Andrew
and live at his estate and could not be driven away with honor, perhaps for
the rest of Andrew's life and beyond.  The King suffered through a
double-score of these fellows, living in his home and eating his food and
needing clothing, sustaining themselves by everything from gambling to
petty larceny unless the King was generous to them with his gold in its
stead.
     And now, Andrew had one who would move in with him.  With how many
more to follow?
     "Come on, Andrew!" Charles called out joyfully.  "What a wonderful day
to be out riding!  Let us enjoy the day!"
     Andrew could not help but smile.  He had been lonely in his lord's
manor.  Were food and some clothing and a bed and some coppers now and then
such a high price to pay for constant companionship?  And good fellowship
such as these words promised?
     He looked again at Renaud.  And having a healer living in the house
would be a goodly thing as well.  Even though *that* would cost him a
cathedral!  "Shaped like a cockleshell." he muttered, shuddered at the
thought of that round monstrosity rising up and the people knowing it was
he who built it, he who would be buried within its walls one day beneath
the founding stone.
     Renaud then smiled at him and a bit of the old Renaud was in that
smile.  "True.  But we shall work to make it beautiful." He said in
response to Andrew's outburst.
     Andrew smiled and they rode on.  Only the three of them were together
on the road now, the others had been left far behind.