Date: Mon, 6 Sep 1999 20:41:10 EDT
From: Tommyhawk1@aol.com
Subject: Squire.of.Carlovain.Chapter.16

		      SQUIRE OF CARLOVAIN, CHAPTER 16
		    "Evening of Joy, Evening of Terror"
			   By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM

     Andrew and Renaud fenced in the early morning on the main deck of the
"Lion's Teeth", Andrew now moving with ease and confidence over the softly
wavering deck.  Renaud had promised he would become used to the ship's
movements, and it had indeed come to him with time, and now that he had
been on this ship for five weeks' time, he no longer even felt the lazy
movements of the large ship as it bobbed gently at anchor in the harbor of
Gullsport.
     Andrew had waited first with fear, then with puzzlement, and now
finally with befuddlement, for the appearance of Lord Montaigne and his
armies.  He was to have arrived in three days' time, and that turned into
three weeks.  August was in its third quarter before his many wagons had
pulled into Gullsport, sending the small town from crowded to impossibly
packed, and even then he delayed, preoccupied with mustering his armies,
deciding which forces would embark upon which boats, how many horses would
be brought and how, and other such minutiae.  In the meantime, the town
boiled with soldiers, and the tents festooned the peninsula by day and
their cook-fires lit the shores with a hundred winking yellow eyes at
night.
     It was now the first week of September, and while this had turned out
to be a summer unseasonably warm throughout, the days had begun to lose the
edge of their heat.  The weather was still calm and placid, but a brief
rain had fallen a few times.  Andrew began to wonder if all his days of
worry and fear had been for nothing, that Lord Montaigne had never intended
to sail for Winseran Point.
     Renaud, too, was in increasing despair.  "Summer is waning fast, and
with it, our chances for easy victory." he had said to Andrew and Marcel
two weeks ago.  "The plan is too generally known to be kept secret for
long.  What must our enemies have learned of it and what will they do now
that they know?"  They sat in the main cabin of the "Lion's Teeth", which
had become Renaud's and Andrew's room alone, Marcel having taken one of the
side cabins.  He was visiting them for their nightly drink and talk before
retiring.
     "I would not speak ill of our patron, but I fear that Lord Montaigne
lacks the heart for combat." Marcel had said, as unhappy as Renaud.  "I
think he delays in hopes that victory will come from some other quarter and
he will not have to take the field. "
     "Yet there is no victory by either side." Andrew put in gently.  Alone
with these two, at least, he was an equal.
     "You speak truth." Marcel said.  "That or that the Grand Duke will
supply forces, and we know that none are coming despite the Lord
Protector's protestations of loyalty and allegiance.  As it is, we are
stopped; the Neresterii have fought us to a standstill.  We do not face the
Tenemon Marshes, but there is Mount Livitan, wearing Castle Tiresval high
on her head like a tiara, and all her large family about her, all as rugged
and heartless as she.  We can only scramble among the rocks incompetently
while the Neresterii leap from crag to crag like so many blasted goats,
biting at us from every corner until we are forced to withdraw and regroup,
and so we are stopped as surely as any Caesar ever was."
     So Andrew and his friends waited for Lord Montaigne to show some
backbone, and kept in shape by daily fencing bouts.  Renaud had proved to
be a daunting adversary with the sword, and Andrew found himself usually on
the defensive in their friendly bouts.  Andrew won their bloodless battles
only about once in five or six times, and he had been forced to mend his
tunic more than once when Renaud's blade flashed too near, and bore a dozen
nearly invisible scars from these past weeks all over his body.  His arm
bore still the scar of the footpad's knives, and would until his dying day,
and his back bore, he was told, a circled tucker where the knife had drunk
so deep and long.  Well, a warrior must expect a few scars, and his at
least could be covered by clothing.
     Today's bout was no exception to the general rule.  Renaud maneuvered
him little by little toward the main mast, and there a coiled rope which
Andrew had noted before but had half forgotten, tripped him.  As he slipped
upon the coil, Renaud's blade disarmed him and he ended up on one knee and
Renaud's blade at his throat.
     "Ah, ha!" Renaud crowed as the sailors applauded.  "I win once more!"
     Andrew smiled.  Renaud did so love to win.  He could have cut that
one-in-six to one-in-four, or perhaps even one-in-three, had these been
real bouts.  But he remembered his place as Renaud's servant and held back
many a telling blow, settling for the occasional win, mostly when Renaud
was careless or diffident in his practice.  But this time as usual, Renaud
had won fairly without any such aid, and deserved the praise.  Andrew said,
"I am at your mercy, my lord, and must plead for my life once more."
     "Granted, of course." Renaud sheathed his blade and offered his hand
to Andrew.  Andrew rose and Renaud embraced him and Andrew returned it
easily.  Their days of rampant lust in bed had ripened somewhat, they made
love less frenetically and more expertly, knowing how to please each other.
He now knew Renaud's every mood, the story of his life, his dreams, his
hopes, even knew to the pence how much money Renaud had.  He knew how to
dissuade Renaud from over-drinking, which Renaud fell into too easily, not
out of sottishness, but that he was too distracted by his company and so
drank unawares.  He had taken over the gentle duty of metering Renaud's
drinking, and so Renaud had not been intoxicated for many weeks now.
Renaud had in his turn taught him a good bit about the finer points of
fencing from watching him in their daily practice bouts, and more, Renaud
had shown him the life of a nobleman, teaching him the esoteric etiquette
and practices until Andrew could now move in any company without bobble.
     These days and weeks had been idyllic, and he had half-managed to
forget that he had ever lived any other life, been with any other man, than
he was now, here, with Renaud, his master and lover.  A score of times his
secret had been lying on his lips begging to drop off.
     And each time, Renaud had said or done something to cause him to
swallow it once again.  There was this one, final bar to him giving himself
to Renaud totally, and that was the fact that Renaud was totally loyal to
Lord Montaigne and his cause, and Andrew was secretly committed to the
King.  Yet so long as things stayed as they were, he could postpone the
separation he knew must come, and each day, that separation became more and
more impossible to imagine.  He belonged to Renaud, and Renaud belonged to
him.  How they would keep this up in days to come he did not know, but it
was settled and so must be.
     "Well, my master." he said as he released Renaud from his embrace and
went to fetch the water and dipper for Renaud to quench his thirst.  "What
shall we do this day?  Call upon one of the other ships, or go into the
town?"  He passed the dipper to Renaud and waited his own turn to drink
after the exertion.
     Renaud drank and passed the dipper back to him, waved off the offer of
more.  "Nay." Renaud said.  "I will go and, with my uncle, speak with the
Lord Protector.  It is time and enough time, we go this day not to plead,
but to insist.  We have had word from my father, who is sore pressed with
the Neresterii forces who approach his lands once more.  If Lord Montaigne
does not sail before the Sabbath, we are to take the ships back to
Fediresta for winter harbor there."
     "Your father would join the loyalists?" Andrew asked, hardly daring to
hope, covered his face with the dipper as he drank.
     "He threatens such, but it is only a threat.  Still, the ships are a
blade I am to wield to force our Lord Protector into action.  If we do not
gain landfall in the north soon, we shall not until spring, and famine and
sickness shall decimate our armies in the field throughout the winter No,
he must move now, and move without delay, for victory must come before
snowfall."
     "I see." Andrew was silent.  He had decided upon his day of departure
from Renaud, which would be just before they made landfall at Winseran
Point.  He had swum many times in the ocean waters, enough he felt sure to
make shift to get to land of himself by diving overboard at the propitious
moment, hopefully unobserved.  Otherwise, he would have found himself in
battle, and forced either to fight and kill loyalists, or to turn upon
Renaud.  By fleeing in this manner, he could be away from the fight
entirely.  He did not know how practical his plan would be in execution,
but clung to it as a talisman.
     "What happens on the shore?" Marcel said, peering out into the early
dawn.  "They are striking their tents."
     Andrew rushed with Renaud to the railing and looked over.  "I believe
you are right." Renaud said with satisfaction.  "Now we shall see action at
last."
     And so they were.  Bells were summoning the many smaller boats in, and
they were all coming back out loaded with soldiers.  This was no quick
embarkation, they spent the entire morning and part of the afternoon
bringing out the soldiers and supplies, and stowing them aboard ship.
Andrew found himself moving their belongings into a smaller cabin
below-deck, to make room for the young nobles who were also coming aboard.
Andrew performed his menial duties in despair.  His long time of peace had
come to an end.
     He had talked to the ship's sailors.  If they sailed this afternoon,
they would be two nights at sea before reaching Winseran Point, the second
within its sight.  This would permit them to land a strike force in the
early morning hours, and have an entire day if need be for the battle.
When they sailed, Andrew was one of a crowd of young men at the stern of
the ship, watching Gullsport shrink on the horizon, getting smaller and
smaller but never entirely disappearing.
     "We shall go along the coastline at first." Renaud said expertly.
"Then we shall take the open sea in order to avoid being seen by watchers
from the shore and approach Winseran Point in a more direct fashion.  We
aim not for the cape itself, but for the bay within it."
     "The problem is what we will do in the meantime." Marcel said as the
men began to turn away, bored with the insipid line of green along the
horizon which was their home.  There was nothing more to see.  "We have
this day and the following to sail, and there will be little to do."
     "I am more concerned about the weather." Renaud said.  "Unless those
clouds to the north turn away from us, we shall be landing and fighting in
rain."
     With any group of boisterous men, there was plenty enough to do,
though not for Andrew except vicariously.  As with any gathering, he
immediately turned into servant, and so he was left to fetch and pour for
Renaud and his friends.  He sighed and accommodated his lover-cum-master.
To add to his discomfort, he found the ship, now at full sail, to be again
moving in unsettling motions.
     But this time, Renaud spotted his attempt to cut down on his alcohol.
"Here now, fill my cup." he protested.
     "My master, pray, you have drunk merrily this evening." Andrew said,
though in fact the sun was only just setting.  "For you to continue your
jollity, you should reduce your drinking for a space."
     "He's not only your servant, he's your nanny." one of the nobles jibed
at him heartily.  The others laughed.
     It got Renaud angry.  "I said to fill my cup!" he said harshly to
Andrew.
     "Yes, Master." Andrew sighed and poured the goblet to the brim.  As
Renaud turned with it, he lurched and his goblet splashed a young noble
squatting near him.
     "S'blood, I think your servant is right." the youth protested.  "You
are unsteady on your feet."
     "Hah, I can drink as I will and still out-fence the lot of you!"
Renaud boasted.
     "I may like to see that." the young man responded immediately.
     "Well, I'll down this drink and another like it, while you choose your
champion." Renaud said and gulped at his wine.  It was not a watered-down
brew, but a strong home-made wine bought from one of the nearby farmers,
which was one reason Andrew had been caught trying to cut down his drink,
he had had to do so sooner than usual.
     Renaud choked a time or two as he downed the strong drink, and held
out the goblet.  "Fill it again!"
     "Master, pray, I think only of your health." Andrew protested.  "Do
not do this thing."
     "Are you saying you could outdo me as well?" Renaud declared with the
contorted logic of the intoxicated.  "Would you be the one to cross blades
with me, you who I have had at my sword's tip this very morning?"
     "Yes, yes!" another noble cried.  He had been one of those who had
seen Andre's swordfight back at Ratisbon's house.  "He is our man!"
     "You have declared him a swordsman without peer!" another said.
     Renaud looked about, and a poorly disguised crafty look crossed his
face.  "Very well, we shall cross blades in honor!"
     "But what are the stakes?" another noble asked.  "We can bet amongst
ourselves, but you can hardly make a decent wager with your own servant.
We won't ask him to risk his life or, more likely, risk hurting you, for
mere copper pieces."
     "I would not hurt my master." Andrew protested.  "I beg you to choose
another from your lot for this."
     "Nay, it is worth it to me that I show you the folly of your mothering
attitude." Renaud said, and nearly stumbled.  "Cross blades with me, and if
I win, you will never again argue as you fill my cup."
     "Agreed." Andrew said.  "And if I win, you will let me water your wine
as I will."
     "Done." Renaud said.
     "That is a poor wager for us." said another noble. "We can hardly
enjoy the victory of your resolving this domestic squabble of yours thus."
     Andrew looked around, despairing.  "And what would you have me do to
my own Master?" he demanded.  "I shall not harm him, for that would be
cutting myself in two."
     "We don't ask you to slit his throat." the first noble said
soothingly.  "You know well how to duel to first-blood, which is all we
call for this night.  But we ask the stakes be something which will
entertain us.  If there is no gold between you, then there should be a
task.  Let the master be the servant for the rest of the trip, perhaps."
     "You can hardly tell master from servant as it is." another protested
this.  "They are too closely comrades for that to be entertaining to us.
Yet there is that which they would do that we may enjoy."
     "What is that?" Andrew asked suspiciously.  Young nobles in their
double-giddiness of alcohol and gambling, were likely to ask anything.
     "I have heard you share a single bed."
     "And whose business is that?" Andrew said dangerously.
     "Nay, I do not criticize, but we search for a wager that will
entertain us as well as chastise the loser here.  Have we not all lived our
lives in Carlovain, and have more than one of us their blood in our own
veins?  I know Renaud is half-Neresterii, and I see the combination in you
as well."
     "And what of it?" Andrew pressed.
     "Only that we are aware that Renaud treats you...in the way of
Carlovain."
     "He is a kindly and gentle man." Andrew said.  "I cannot be taunted or
shamed by your calling this to mind, for it holds naught but happy thoughts
for me."
     "We do not doubt it." the nobleman said.  "Any who see how your eyes
pass over each other can tell this."
     "So how does this turn into an entertainment for you?"
     "Only that we would watch the victor claim his prize." the noble said
cunningly.
     Andrew understood then, and sighed.  "I am not a harlot on the streets
to spread my legs in the market square."
     "Yet you spread them at the second masque that night." Another said.
"I was nearby, and I saw it well, how that young man brought your manhood
to life, and a prodigious rod of masculinity it is, and it has haunted my
dreams more than one in a most disturbing manner."  He let the others
laugh.  "I say only that the victor should take the loser, while we
observe.  Surely this will not be anything you have not done already, save
that you do it before us."
     Andrew would have protested further but Renaud, who had spent this
exchange downing the avowed second cup of wine, finished it and cast it
aside, the cup rolling down the planks like a giant, skittering cockroach
and said, "Fine, then, that shall be the wager.  I'll give you a cut to
remain on you this time, and then they will see you thrash in my arms as I
pleasure you.  He does grunt and moan most enchantingly as I plow his
nether regions, rather like a female cat in heat."
     Andrew felt the heat in his cheeks.  "Your words declare your
ineptitude in your cups, from which I have sought to spare you as should a
dutiful servant who has only his master's health and well-being in mind.
Yet if this is the only way I can convince you, so let it be.  And when I
trounce your wine-besotted hide, I'll give you a ride that will cause you
to forget that I have ever given myself to you in all honor and pride, as a
gift that can never be taken but must be presented freely.  And I say for
certain that when it is done, it shall be some time before you find me
relishing your embrace again."
     Renaud sobered at this.  "Andre, I meant no harm in my words of jest.
My humblest pardon."
     Andrew dropped his rage and smiled.  "I know it well, my Master.  Yet
your words prove earnest my desire to keep the wine from you, save in the
holidays when a man may drink heartily and without fear."
     "And I say still you step beyond the bounds of a servant in this."
Renaud said.  "That is all."
     "Were I only your servant, I would agree." Andrew said.  "But you know
me for more than that, my kaserin.  So I say if you would still deny me
this privilege, then you must prove your worth when deep in your cups, and
with your sword as you have claimed.  I accede that you can best me handily
when you are sober.  But you are not sober now, and I say, let us cross
blades and let me prove to you the danger once and for all."
     "Come on, yes!" the group shouted, and others gathered, curious at
this noisy group.  "We shall see this!" "Come on, Renaud, teach your
servant his manners!" "Me, I want to see that tool in action!  My money's
on Andre!"  "Three gold pieces on Andre!"  "Four on Renaud!"
     Andrew let the noise fall from him as a cloak as they moved to the
mid-deck and the men formed a fencing circle with their bodies.  Renaud may
be well-besotted, yet still his form and posture were perfect as always,
and there was not an ounce of wrong angle or tilt for Andrew to have an
opening.
     For this reason, he waited for Renaud to make the first strike, and
Renaud did, and he was able to catch it.  Renaud always started with this
one strike, a high overhand motion, but from there, he was unpredictable.
Renaud immediately brought his sword back and around and under Andrew's
guard, and Andrew had to give ground to avoid the blow, and he parried as
he gave way, and Renaud...Renaud stumbled!
     Hah!  He knew it!  He pressed the attack, for his object lesson to
work, Renaud needed to lose quickly and handily to the very man he defeated
so often in practice.  Andrew pressed his blade hard against Renaud, who
staggered slightly.
     Then Renaud's blade cut under his own and Andrew was barely able to
avoid the bout-ending cut.  He jumped back and Renaud came forward and as
Andrew looked into those eyes, he wondered if Renaud remembered still it
was a friendly match, for gone entire were the twinkles of happiness he
always saw in their practices.
     Andrew decided to treat this as a true danger, he kept his guard close
in and careful, and let many a dubious opportunity go by.  Renaud was now
almost hacking at him, and while Andrew had to keep backing up, circling to
avoid running into the men surrounding him, he saw Renaud becoming
exhausted and weary.  The sword is such a heavy item, even Andrew found a
few minutes' work with it to be wearisome, and Renaud was less muscular
than him and his brain was befuddled with alcohol.  Andrew now ceased to
retreat, treating Renaud to a series of rapid-fire blows designed not to
penetrate his defenses but to weary him further, and Andrew saw the sword
waver as he broke the attack briefly, and an upper-hand jab to be warded
off, a swing around to the underside, and a nick on Renaud's shins and the
bout was over.  Renaud flinched visibly at the cut, which was not deep but
on a tender part of the skin, and Andrew moved to neutral posture while
retreating a few steps, just in case Renaud forgot this was only a
first-blood duel.
     "Hah!  The victory goes to Andre!" the nobles cheered and clapped
Andrew's shoulders heartily.
     But Andrew only had eyes for Renaud, who was a cheerful and generous
winner, but a rather sulky loser.  Renaud looked offended, visibly fought
it off, sheathed his sword after returning the neutral salute, and managed
a smile.  Good enough, Andrew broke into a wide smile and moved to embrace
him.  Those arms felt so good around him once again, he feared for a time
that night that he had lost them entire!
     "Here, a drink for you, the winner!" a goblet of the heady wine was
thrust between them and into Andrew's hands.  "And for the conquered, as
agreed, a dipper of water."
     Renaud hesitated, and then took it in good humor.  "Well, if water is
all I get for the rest of the night, then I shall drink water!"
     That earned him a cheer.
     "That's not all you'll drink this night!" a young man jibed him.
     "Yes, yes, the bet, the bet!" came the general roar.
     "Come, Andre, drink your victory and then take your prize." the noble
who had set up the wager urged him.  "Tonight's entertainment is only
half-done, remember!"
     "Give me a pace to catch my breath." Andrew put him off.
     "Drink, drink!" the nobleman said.  "A hearty draught will aid you in
your bashfulness, for we want to see a most prodigious porking of your
master this night."
     Andrew gulped and drank.  The wine was strong, and he was unused to
drinking much even in these days when wine was always at his elbow.
     "Drink, and we'll prepare him for you!" Arms seized Renaud and
good-naturedly began to pull at his clothing.  Renaud fought them off, but
soon enough his tights were down and fingers were being moistened in mouths
and then jabbed in behind him.  Andrew felt other hands at his own crotch,
and wondered, the fumes of the wine seeping into his nose from the goblet,
if they would also "prepare" him as well.
     He chose not to fight them off, this was a boisterous crowd and all
were Renaud's friends; he had watched that day how Renaud had selected from
each ship who would disembark onto this ship and who would be sent on to
other ships.  If this was a rather rough joke, well, it was also a wager
Renaud had willingly taken and had lost, and an object lesson to him as
well.  Better to go along with it, so long as it didn't get too much out of
hand.
     So he did not protest even when his own tights were unfastened and
pulled down, as noble lips found and suckled at his prod.  He even found
the many hands groping and stroking his body all over to be exciting.  It
was as if they were engaged in a primitive rite here, where civilization
was left behind and the ancient and amoral rut of the Neresterii rose once
again.  As the noble had said, many of these nobles had at least some
Neresterii blood in them after four to six generations, and in every eye he
saw that night, the Frenchman had submerged and the Neresterii reigned
supreme, even here.
     The very rocking of the boat as it dove through increasingly rough
waters from the encroaching storm still well off to the north, this very
movement beneath them made Andrew feel as if he were astride some enormous
beast, the winds and waves were mutters of primal voices, and the breeze on
his face and the hands on his body merged until he could not tell one from
the other, could not distinguish animate from inanimate.  He felt one with
this crowd, a part of its purpose, as if one body were here, and he was its
surging penis, poised to take and mate on behalf of the body politic,
sharing his lust with all of them equally in one being, one essence, one
soul!
     In this state, Renaud had been hoisted up onto a barrel and was being
held in position by his comrades, Renaud now sharing this bestial
gathering, and was not resisting, indeed, he seemed to also relish his role
in this.
     Andrew semi-walked, was semi-carried over to this prostrate form and
he felt his cock, now well moistened, guided by other hands into his
lover's anus and felt the hot, dark warmth envelope him entire.
     Hands supported him, hands guided him, hands stroked his and Renaud's
body, and Andrew, lost in this morass and hardly knowing which parts were
his own body and which were Renaud's or someone else's, began to move back
and forth in this warm chamber which clutched and suckled at him with many
small motions.
     "Ahh!" Renaud sighed.  "Ah, my beloved, my love and my life, I greet
you once again."
     Andrew leaned over and Renaud's arms clutched to him, and Andrew said,
"And I give thanks to you for this gift, and take it gladly."
     "Ah, my love, my beast, my dearest friend, my stallion stud, fill me
with your desire, fill me!"
     As always, these tender words they shared so often in private gave
Andrew back his soul, he touched Renaud now not as bestial ravisher, but as
his comrade and the tenor of his very thrusts into Renaud's bowels took on
a different nature.  It was as if the group around them realized this, for
the hands, the many hands on them still, dropped away and left them one by
one.
     Andrew hardly noticed.  Not for days had he felt such a surge of
passion for Renaud, oh, love aplenty still, but this night, this
circumstance, worked an additional spur to his pleasure, and his body
swelled with his need.  Renaud gasped as Andrew moved in him with a power
he had not exerted for some days, and Renaud's legs wrapped him tight and
Renaud moved under him.
     "Ah, ah, agh!" Renaud wrapped his arms as well and Andrew felt Renaud
clinging to him, pulling his weight up by his arms and legs, while he
fucked him, until Renaud was now wholly touching him, and only Andrew's
arms on the edges of the barrel permitted him to continue these movements.
     And Renaud in his turn took on a more vigorous role, he swayed in his
hold upon Andrew, bringing his body back and forth to impale itself upon
Andrew's prick and then to pull off again, swinging like the leaves on a
tree, back and forth yet never losing their purchase even in the highest
wind, thus it was with Renaud, no matter how he moved, Andrew's pud never
left his moist, clutching interior, but was stroked and fondled with
pulsating, undulating pressure.
     Andrew groaned and rose up completely, his hands went from the barrel
to Renaud's buttocks, and under to his thighs until he had a firm grip and
was holding them both upright, Renaud in mid-air as Andrew fucked at him,
Andrew stepping around to adjust Renaud on his body until they were a
perfectly-balanced unity.
     Renaud was transported as his weight sent Andrew's cock into him to
the very base, and he rose up and sat back down again with many rapid,
lithe motions and Andrew helped him to ride his prong, bouncing his French
lover up and down while his cock sent many ecstatic messages of happiness
by a rapid succession of its electric riders along the highway of his
spine.
     "Ah, ah, hah, hah, hah!" Renaud crowed in brief bursts of joy as
Andrew felt his world blurring and his body changing, not in shape, but in
emphasis, his major input was now not his eyes, which had dimmed and
distorted, but now his cock, which was now a single pole of pleasure, a
surge of joy pouring out of it and over his body, Andrew bowed his legs and
fucked Renaud even harder and Renaud gasped, groaned, and splattered
Andrew's chest as he exploded over Andrew, losing his grips of his legs and
was not flailing them wildly about.
     Andrew felt the hot splashes upon his stomach and chest and his face
flushed, his cock was constricted by Renaud's orgasming, spasming anus, and
he gave lose a loud, hale roar of lust and pumped his spears of jism high
up and into Renaud's warm bowels, Andrew bouncing Renaud on his body like a
toy, and Renaud, his face bright red and his body and arms covered in
sweat, drooped down to cling tightly to Andrew once more, and Andrew
gasped, his body becoming weak with his exertions of desire, and he
staggered back to sit on the barrel which was now behind him and there he
gasped for air and forced his eyes back into focus.
     It took some time for Andrew to see and hear once again, and only now
did he remember the many watchers they had during their lovemaking.  He
felt somewhat abashed and yet proud at the same time, for this had been a
wonderfully exciting, climactic, ecstatic event.
     The nobles were not just cheering him, many of them had overcome their
shyness as well, and were fondling each other, or the sailors and guards
who had also wandered into their group.  Some were taking their partners on
the very decks, while many others sought out private places as they could,
or at least the comfort of the hammocks wherein they slept.
     "Well." Renaud said to him.  "You have won your bet, my kaserin.  From
now on, I shall not dispute you when you tell me I have drunk enough."
     "And seeing how well you fought even with that much alcohol, I shall
be more lenient in my behavior as a mother-hen." Andrew said.
     "I don't believe our comrades are interested in our conversation any
longer." Renaud said.  "Shall we go to our quarters?"
     "I agree." Andrew said.  They had moved to a cabin that was very
small, but its advantage was that it was crowded with just the two of them,
no third person could be fitted in with them.  The cabin they had lived in
for so many weeks now housed some twelve nobles.  So Andrew did not
begrudge the move, and after all, it was only for two nights.
     He saw fires on the shore as they sailed.  He noticed with wonder that
they were alight on the very top of the hill.  No warrior would build a
fire there, it must be a signal.  As he expected, another light of a fire
began to kindle further north.  A message-fire, then, of some sort.
     If it was Lord Montaigne's, it only told of their northern journey.
If it were Neresterii, it only told the same.  Either way, he saw no
benefit in mentioning it to anyone.  He went to the large hammock he shared
with Renaud and which now no longer even encumbered his slumber, he was so
used to it.
     The storm arrived the next day in the early morning.  It lashed them
throughout the morning and afternoon, and Andrew felt quite ill at how the
ship tossed and moved under them.  It seemed at times that the entire ship
would roll completely over, and yet it always came to right again.  For
himself, he felt nauseous at the movement, and stayed in his hammock.  For
the most part, Renaud did the same, admitting that a storm was enough to
bring sea-sickness to even the most experienced sailor.  The ships were
steered to be near land, and anchors were dropped and sails furled, and
thus they waited out the storm.
     The storm lasted until nearly dusk, and the darkness of the storm
lightened somewhat to give way to the diminishing dusk.  Andrew and Renaud
crept out, their stomachs still churning, but the ocean becoming much
calmer, risking the last bit of rain that may still come for a breath of
fresh air and the chance to breathe.
     Andrew looked at the ocean, but mist, though not heavy, was enough to
keep him from seeing very far.  Then he looked at the land nearby.  It was
rocky, stolid, forbidding.  He could not see a single house or ship around
them.  They were alone.  "Where are the other ships?" He asked Renaud.
     Renaud shrugged.  "They will have found their own berths.  One cannot
see very well in this mist, we'll have to wait and regroup.  I am told
we'll regroup at the very tip of Winseran Point tomorrow, and then sail
into the harbor.  It'll mean an afternoon arrival instead of morning, but
we aren't expecting much resistance.  We ought to gain a beachhead and
landfall by tomorrow night."
     "Makes sense." Andrew said.  "Ho, there are some small boats out
there."
     "Fishing vessels, perhaps." Renaud said.  "Though why so many?"
     There were some unidentifiable thunks from below the decks.  Then
shouting, and cursing.
     "What is it?" Renaud called out, and was ignored.
     It took some time, but Andrew came to understand that the ship had
inexplicably suddenly sprung several large leaks.  "It's like the cursed
timbers are jumping away from the hull!" one sailor complained.  "They open
faster than we can plug them!"
     It didn't take long, and soon, the "Lion's Teeth" was sinking rapidly.
This is not the sudden emergency you may think, it takes time for a wooden
ship to sink.  There was time enough to gather everyone together, and plan
for how to evacuate the ship.  Time enough even to send up distress flags
in hopes the fishing vessels would come alongside, as in fact they did,
beginning to steer towards them.
     But the ship would not wait quite that long, for the smaller ships
were some distance away and would be nearly a half-hour in making it to
them.
     Renaud looked at Andrew and Marcel.  "We must take to the water and
wait there for rescue." he said.  "The boats must be saved for those who
cannot swim.  I can swim, as can Andrew.  Can you swim, Marcel?"
     Marcel shrugged, trying to be brave, though he was white-faced.  "I
have swum in the river, of course, but this is different."
     "Yes, well, the water is rougher than I'd like.  Don't fight the
water, let it hold you up.  You'll float higher in salt water than you do
in fresh, but the waves will douse you time and again.  Watch and try to
ride them out."
     Andrew was glad, at least, that save for changes of clothing, he wore
already all that he had, money bag and sword.  He would sacrifice all but
that.  If encumbered, he would sacrifice his money bag.  If more must be
dropped, he'd shed his clothing and scabbard, and swim with his sword in
his teeth, naked!
     He waited until the small boats were away and then at Renaud's behest,
he screwed up his courage and dove for the water, now only some three feet
below the railing.  Then he tread water, to wait for Marcel and Renaud
and....  His foot was grabbed and he was tugged under!
     He was glad now for the many hours he had spent learning to swim in
the ocean.  The water, salty and viciously churning, was not quite the
enemy it had been some weeks before.  He was able to see that it was two
human beings who had dragged him under, and these men had no trouble
staying under the water, for each bore with him a large bag somewhat
weighted with stones around its outside, and with a spout which one
uncapped, releasing bubbles, and offered it to Andrew!
     Andrew took the spout, and in surged air for his lungs.
Understanding, he took a deep breath this way, and then the man with him
did the same, and they then grasped him each by an arm and pulled him
along.
     Andrew did not fight.  These men obviously intended him no harm, and
he saw many more of them under the water, for they had been the ones who
had torn the "Lion's Teeth" apart from under the water.  They offered
Andrew more sips from their air-bags, and with this help, he was able to
stay under the water with them for some five minutes' time as they swam,
pulling him along.
     They surfaced quite some distance from the ship, and Andrew was left
behind by them, treading water and not seeing Renaud.
     The smaller ships were now by the foundering vessel.  "Name yourself!"
came a call Andrew could just hear.  "Who are you and what is your lineage,
nobleman?"
     Andrew saw the bobbing head in the water, heard Marcel's response.
"Pray, sirs, I am Marcel, the son of the Marquis of Lesleran.  Aid me and
my father will reward you."
     "Lesleran?  Hah!  That man has more children than he does land.  There
won't be a ransom to you worth having in these times."
     And Andrew stared in shock as the man in the ship callously pulled out
a sword and hacked at the bobbing head.  Marcel cried out in pain, and the
man flailed at him again, and there was silence.
     "Now, you, who are you?" he called to another hapless refugee.
     "Andrew!" came a shout, and Andrew turned, seeing a ship beside him.
And aboard it, among others, were...Adomeh and Trevish!
     "What?  How?" he asked.  Was this some mad, evil dream?
     "Did you think the Neresterii would be helpless?" Trevish said.  "We
have been watching for your ships for weeks now.  Come on, out of the water
with you."
     Andrew took the hands and so made it to safety while he stared at the
scene.  "What are they doing?  They killed a helpless man!" he said in
horror.
     Adomeh clapped a hand on his shoulder.  "The Neresterii are poor and
their lands have been sorely ravaged by the French lords.  They cannot
support prisoners.  If a man cannot be ransomed, he can only be killed."
     "But...but Marcel!" Andrew said.  "He was my friend.  And
Renaud...Renaud, my master!"  Another dying scream cut through the air, but
Andrew did not see who it was, and dared not search the waters to find out.
     "Who?" Trevish said.  "Andrew, you are no longer with them.  Turn your
back and forget them.  Had they made it to land, they would have killed
without pity, old men, women and children, that is the usual way of it.  Or
did they plan to surrender to us instead?" He cocked an eyebrow at Andrew,
insisting on an answer.
     "Nay." Andrew said slowly.  "But...I have lived among them.  I know
them."
     "We shall not ask you to fight these men." Adomeh said kindly.  "But
there is fighting aplenty ashore for you, and an enemy you do not know so
well."
     Trevish put in.  "You are lucky that Adomeh and I were here and could
tell the men who you were, or you would have met your own death this day as
an enemy of the crown."  Trevish tapped Andrew's soaked tunic.  "We warned
them that a young man with a yellow and black lion on his chest was
actually our loyal friend, and that if they harmed you, we would take it as
a matter for personal revenge.  So instead of stabbing you, they brought
you to us."
     "I...Pray, let me think a while." Andrew said.  "I have lived among
them so long, I must remember who I am."
     Well, who was he?
     "I...I am the King's squire, and a loyal member of the court of
Carlovain." he said slowly, to himself as much as to the others.  "I have
been living in hiding and pretense among the nobles around the Lord
Protector, to gather information for them."
     "And the information you gained was well worth it." Trevish agreed.
"Were it not for your word, spread by us and by the privateer ship you sent
northwards, we would not have had ample time to form a defense.  You, with
your information, gained us enough time to plan all of this."
     "But...but Lord Montaigne delayed." Andrew protested.  "Did no other
word of his plans get out?"
     "None at all." Adomeh assured him.  "Were it not for you, they would
have sprung upon northern Carlovain unawares, and we would have been
hard-put to fight them off, and then to survive the winter after their
raids upon our storehouses.  We should have lost, just as Lord Montaigne
planned.  As for the deaths of your friends, do not take blame upon
yourself for this night's work, for it was a Neresterii lord's son who
predicted that with the storm, you would have to put in to port here on
this side of Winseran Point and guided our forces across the point last
night.  With your help, we may yet win to an honorable victory."  His
friends understood the tearing of his heart, were helping him as much as
words could help.
     Even so, he could not even get this comfort for his soul.  By his
words, this attack had been launched, and so these men's deaths were laid
at his door as surely as if he cut down the helpless men in the water
himself.  Were it a proper battle, he could have held his head up with some
pride and dignity, but like this...!  Andrew looked out as yet another
young noble was found lacking, and killed, this time already aboard a ship
and his body cast into the ocean.  Night was falling yet again.  He did not
know where Renaud was.  It could even have been Renaud's body he saw cast
into the waters, the darkening skies diminished all details.  All the young
nobles, younger sons out to seek their fortunes, how many of them would
survive this cruel valuation on their lives?
     "This is a victory, I suppose, and I can grant that a quick death by
sword is better than a slow death by starvation or sickness." Andrew said.
"I can also grant that a prisoner is a burden we can ill afford in these
days.  But forgive me if I avert my eyes from it, for I have lived and
laughed and drunk with these men, and I am sickened by the sight."  A small
voice reminded him of the treatment Lord Montaigne had given his own
prisoners.  Had he spared any of the hundreds he had captured the day of
the masque?  Or any but the one he had spared at Andrew's behest, less his
thumbs?  And at how many other battles had such callous deaths occurred?
     Andrew dropped to sit upon the low railing of the ship and clutched
his stomach, closed his eyes and moaned.  Such terror!  Why had he ever
wished to be anything more than a stable-hand and an innkeeper's son?  Why,
when his father had told his tales, had he said nothing of all this to him?
     "Go into the cabin there." Adomeh kindly indicated the small square
hut attached to the center of the ship.  "There is a bunk for you to lie
upon.  Rest, for you have done all we can ask of you.  Once we have
finished here, we will return to shore, and you can travel to meet up with
those who are waiting for you at the harbor of Winseran Point."
     "Who?" Andrew asked.
     "The King, for one.  And your father and mother." Adomeh said.  "We
have yet another surprise for Lord Montaigne waiting there.  One which,
with luck, will end this rebellion once and for all, and restore the King
to the throne of Carlovain.  But first, we must capture Lord Montaigne.
Too bad he wasn't aboard this ship.  I hope the others have better luck."
     The King?  Good.  Andrew would be able to go there, and after greeting
him as a loyal subject should, he fully intended to plead on his knees for
Renaud's life.

			     END OF CHAPTER 16

		 THIS SERIES WILL CONCLUDE WITH CHAPTER 18