Date: Sun, 18 Jul 1999 03:34:40 EDT
From: Tommyhawk1@aol.com
Subject: Squire.of.Carlovain.Chapter.9

			    SQUIRE OF CARLOVAIN
				 CHAPTER 9
			"The Young Nobleman's Pet"
			   By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM

     Andrew found himself riding with the King's enemies, seemingly of his
own free will, about to become a mercenary in the employ of Count Ratisbon.
His mind reeled at the many turns his life had taken in the past few days.
Adomeh and Trevish seemed totally unconcerned that they may soon find
themselves hacking away at their friends in the thick of battle.

     They ended up back at a surprisingly small house which was teeming
with people, some soldiers in the house livery of Count Ratisbon, but many
more dressed as they were, in rough peasant's clothing.  The peasants were
resigned to their fate of going into battle, and many were engaged in mock
combats, wielding the peasant's weapons, the scythe, the pitchfork, the
rake, anything was better than nothing when your life was at stake!  They
taught themselves because no soldier bothered to teach them; they were
deemed fodder for the blades and nothing else.  Many others practiced with
the stave, and Andrew watched one pair who did exceptionally well at it, to
the point of jumps, whirls and flourishes, an exhibition of the things you
can do with a stave, in fact, and remembered his own poor showing against
the one wielded by the guard in Dentremon's dungeon.  He determined to take
a chance to study it if he could.
     But he was with the group of soldiers, who had ordered their captives
on foot to the sides, but kept their three with them.
     "Come on, we'll go see the captain." the soldier said.  "He'll either
sign you up or force you into the ranks.  I couldn't tell you which."
     "We'll take our chances." Adomeh said.
     "I don't see you have any choice about that." the soldier grinned a
mean smile.
     Adomeh and Trevish laughed back at him, and Andrew wished he could
manage such a carefree attitude about all this, he settled for a wide
smile.  He felt like he'd made a face at the soldier, but it seemed to
work.  They rode toward the captain, who was in the field, teaching a few
men some technique with the sword.
     "Ah!" Adomeh said.  "Just the right place for us."
     "You want to join the Count's house guard?" the soldier said,
astonished.
     "It sounds better than marching through the fields, does it not?"
     "Oh, they'll march as well, but will probably be hiding in the back
when things get rough." the soldier grunted.
     "Sounds wonderful to me." Trevish said, ignoring the insult.  "I'm
very good at running when the odds call for it."
     "I well believe that, seeing where you were when we caught you." the
sergeant riposted.
     "Ho, sergeant!" the captain hailed him, seeing him, and calling a halt
to the practice.  "What have you here?"
     "Three impressioned peasants who have the infernal gall to declare
themselves mercenaries." the sergeant said.  "They have swords, but they
surrendered to us tamely enough."
     The captain laughed.  "Well, then, we'll put them to a test.  If they
can wield the blade well enough, we'll take them as mercenaries."
     "What about positions in your house guard?" Adomeh pressed.
     "The house guard is composed of families loyal to the Count for
generations." the captain said.
     "Oh, then you don't choose them for skill with a sword, then?  I
thought they were handling them rather poorly."
     The assembled soldiers muttered.
     "Though I do have to say they're the prettiest bunch of lads I've seen
for a while." Trevish added, with an insolent smirk.  "They add in grace
what they lack in skill.  Do they also perform ballets in their off-duty
time?"
     Now the mutter became a growl.
     But the captain only laughed.  "And you want to join them, so what
does that make you?  I concede that members of the house guard are selected
by Dame Ratisbon, the Count's mother, and she has been steered awry by a
pretty face more than once."
     "So take us to this Dame Ratisbon, so that we may pose for her."
Adomeh said.
     "No need for that, since you must first pass my own tests first." the
captain said.
     "Very well." Adomeh said, flipping one leg over the horse's head and
then sliding down to the ground.  "Shall we match blades?"
     "I would be honored.  And for your comrades, hmm, Nesvil and Celebar
will do, I think.  This is a duel, first blood only.  Cripple them and I'll
have your head."  He didn't specify whether he was cautioning his men, or
warning Andrew and Trevish of the consequences.
     "Done." Adomeh said.
     "We promise not to hurt your boys overmuch." Trevish put in.  He had
picked up on that as well, and used it before the captain could clarify.
     Andrew stumbled getting off the horse.  God, he was still sore after
yesterday's long ride.  The warm bath had helped, but the riding since had
worn most of that away.
     "I doubt my men will have any trouble with this stripling." the
captain said.  "Where did you pick him up, as an orphan from a foundling
home?"
     Andrew stretched, carefully choosing a swordsman stretching exercise
taught him by his father, and then drew his sword with a flourish.  "Which
one of these is mine?" he said simply.
     "That stripling is the son of a former royal sword-master, and who has
been his exclusive pupil since he was old enough to wield a sword." Trevish
said.  "I was hoping to take the weaker of your swordsmen, and leave the
stronger for him, in fact."
     "You are too kind." Andrew bowed.
     "Not at all." Trevish bowed in return.  "My pleasure, for I know you
need your exercise."
     "Enough of this nonsense." Nesvil grunted.  Andrew knew him by name
only because he had responded quickly to it, stepping forward, while
Celebar was in the rear and had to come forward.  Nesvil's face was...rough
and craggy, like a block of granite given human flesh.  It had been
handsome once, perhaps, some ten years ago.  Now it was cruel, with a dark
shelf of overhanging eyebrow and deep-set, black eyes.  Neresterii blood,
indeed, but in this man it had been twisted by fortunes into this dark
being.  "I'll deal with this boy and send him crying back to his mother for
a change of diaper."
     And Nesvil's sword, which had been drawn stealthily during all this,
lashed out at Andrew.
     Good thing his father had taught him to watch the man's blade as well
as his face.  Andrew saw the determination, flickered down to see the sword
pulling forth, and he was able to match it with his own, caught it on his
own blade.  But the blow was strong, Andrew's body was sore and did not
respond well, he was forced to drop down to one knee from its force.
     Andrew riposted by letting the blade free to fly over his head and
then cut beneath, forcing Nesvil to jump his lower part backwards, leaving
his jaw and face foremost in his posture.  As Nesvil straightened up, he
lost ground, and Andrew was able to rise to his feet once more.
     Nesvil stepped forward again and they locked blades again, a short
period of push-and-pull, in which Andrew held firm, and then Nesvil
released the blade-lock and they had a brief flurry of slash-and-parry, in
which only Andrew's ducking of his head kept a blow from landing on his
neck.
     "Nesvil!" the Captain shouted.  "I said no damaging blows!"
     "Have no fear of that." Andrew said.  "I won't hurt him unduly."  By
saying this before Nesvil could, he seized the commentary of the captain
and enraged the warrior, who actually roared and charged at Andrew like a
bull.
     His father's teachings held him well, Andrew knew the counter to such
a tactic, he darted out of the way and as the man passed, carried by his
own momentum further than he had intended, Andrew got him on the seat of
the pants with his blade.  He slashed the man's trouser's wide open, and
marked the pair of hairy buttocks with a fairly deep slash, and his bout
was over.
     But nobody had told Nesvil, who bellowed in pain and rage, and turned
and came back to him.  Andrew had begun the move to the end-posture, but
returned to his guard in time to capture the blade which was pressing down
trying to cleave him from his crown down to his neck in one hard blow.
     "Nesvil!" the captain called out.  "Nesvil, stand down!  Now!"
     But Nesvil pressed the attack, and finally, Andrew feeling his body
giving way under the constant, hard pressure down, brought his knee up as
high as he could, combining this with a jump into the air, and the knee
caught Nesvil under his chin.  Andrew fell and rolled and managed to regain
his feet with the momentum of the roll.  But there was no need, Nesvil was
down now, the combination of Andrew's blow to his chin and the arms of
three of his comrades.
     "Come now, he drew your blood first." one of them chided Nesvil.
"Dueling rules."
     "Let me up!" Nesvil raged.
     "A poor loser." Trevish said.
     Andrew looked around.  Celebar was standing with one hand clapped to
his forearm.  Adomeh and the Captain were still at it. "Indeed he was." he
agreed.  "Though if he had combined that strength of his with skill, I
should have lost entire.  It was like fighting an armed bull."
     "Should have had you fight the Captain while Nesvil fought Adomeh."
Trevish observed.  Adomeh in many ways was fighting like Nesvil,
overbearing the captain by force of strength, to lose ground as the captain
showed various skillful extractions to the process.
     "Ho, Adomeh, enough!" Trevish called out.  "Either call for peace or
finish him off!"
     Adomeh was grimly gritting his teeth, Trevish's words turned that into
a smile at once.  "Shall we, sir?  I would hate to wound you when battle is
so near at hand."
     The captain was confident enough to smile in return and take the
neutral position.  Adomeh did likewise, and then he and the captain
exchanged a warrior's handshake, hand to the other's forearm.
     "Welcome to the house guard." the Captain said.  "You three will make
a most welcome addition."
     "Very good." Adomeh said in return.  "Where do we bunk?"
     The captain laughed.  "Wherever you can find bedding.  You can see our
numbers exceed our lodgings."
     "I saw it, indeed.  Adomeh agreed.  "We shall settle for our meals,
then.  After we discuss our salaries."
     "There'll be no need of that with this young one." a female voice
said.
     Andrew turned and saw a figure well-shrouded in a cloak.
     "You fight well." the female voice asked him.  "But can you handle the
more routine duties of a house?"
     Andrew looked at Trevish and Adomeh, and got encouraging, even
desperate, gestures of their heads.  "When my father retired from the royal
guard, he became an innkeeper, and I have spent my life working with him in
his inn.  We had noble visitors on a regular basis." Andrew answered
honestly.  "While I know nothing of the more genteel requirements of a
great house, I can at least promise to deal well with the day-to-day
duties."
     "Excellent." the woman said.  He still could make out nothing of her
features, her age or countenance or anything at all.  "My grandson Renaud
travels to the palace and needs a guard that will function more as a valet,
but must be ready with steel should the occasion require it.  Also, you
must be physically appropriate to grace the royal halls.  Yes, I think you
would do quite well."
     "As you wish, Milady." the Captain said.  "What of these others?"
     "They will do well enough for the regular duties back at the house."
the figure said.  The cloak covered her well, Andrew could not tell from
the voice or concealed body the woman's age or anything else about her.
"But this one will make a fine personal servant for my grandson, after we
clean him up a bit."
     "What of my comrades?" Andrew asked.  "There are three of us and we
ride together."
     The woman pushed back her cloak's hood, and now Andrew saw she was the
oldest woman he had ever seen, much older than hiss own mother, though
heavily powdered and made up until she seemed nearly a puppeteer's
creation, animated but not alive.  "You show your ignorance of noble life
already." she smiled and even this came across as artificial, faked by
unseen hands.  "Or you would know that any nobleman may take but a single
servant with him into the palace.  Only the King is permitted more."
     "But..." Andrew turned back to Trevish, who smiled.
     "Go, Andre." Trevish said, emphasizing the French pronunciation of his
name.  "You will stand with our new Lord Protector.  I would not let our
friendship prevent you from enjoying such a chance to advance your career."
     "Then I accept your duty." Andrew said.
     "Come with me." and the woman, restoring her hood to cover her face,
despite the heat of the day, led him away.  Andrew followed, smelling the
raunchy mix of perfume and unwashed, sweating body, that emanated from her
trail.
     He was led to the largest building, and from there to upstairs, where
he was turned over to the ladies' servants.  They produced silken garments
from a trunk (one of many in the room, Dame Ratisbon was apparently
traveling a long distance given the amount of her luggage) and soon Andrew
was given his new livery.
     He had never worn hose before.  He was now obliged to replace his
comfortably loose peasant's garb with these tightly-woven tights that clung
to his thighs and legs like a second, and ill-fitting, skin, fitted with
leather soles to replace shoes.  There was no room for his money pouch
inside this, he had to sling it around his waist, outside the tights but
under his tunic.  The tunic itself was equally tight-fitting, and dyed in
rich tones with the Count's colors of yellow and black.  Upon this tunic
was embroidered the Count's coat-of-arms, a gaudy and overwrought golden
lion attacking a rabbit of natural brown tones.  It struck Andrew as very
appropriate for a family that had won its way to nobility by the rapine and
blood of his ravaged ancestors.  The tunic itself came only to a bit below
his groin, covering his crotch and buttocks only so long as he stood
upright.  Its best feature was a proper leather scabbard for his sword,
also decorated in ornamental designs of gold thread.
     He then permitted the servants who tittered oddly as they looked at
him, to cut his hair in the court's style, his own hair now truncated until
it was as short as the King's.  In the style of servants, too, his sides
were clipped very close to his scalp, so that he appeared to possess only a
"beret" of hair on top of his head.  They permitted him to see his new hair
in a mirror, and he grimaced.
     "Don't you fret." one of the women said to him kindly.  "All the young
retainers in court wear their hair like this.  Your old hair style was
strictly for commoners."
     "At least I had hair." Andrew grumbled.
     "He's ready for you to see him, Young Master, Milady." one of the
other women called out the door.
     Dame Ratisbon entered and behind her a young man perhaps a few years
older than Andrew, but no more.  His own garb was that of nobility and high
fashion, the widely flowing tunic which hung down to his knees, and below
that the hose, and feet shod in ridiculously long and pointed shoes, which
may explain why he also walked with a large cane that he held by the top
knob, though not resting any apparent weight on it.  He also sported a
small, crafted beard in the King's style as well; in fact, looking at him,
Andrew was painfully reminded in many ways of the King, who he hoped was
now well on his way to safety in England.  But this man was younger, and in
some way, more arrogant and artful in demeanor than the King, the
difference between the master of the realm and one who simply aspired to be
master.
     "Here's the one I chose for your valet." Dame Ratisbon said.  She had
removed the cloak entirely and now stood revealed in her clothing, high
finery indeed, blue with a white front to it that went the full length of
her gown, and a heavily embroidered headpiece with veil that trailed over
both her shoulders.  She carried a fan which she kept constantly before her
face, like a veil.
     "Isn't the uniform a little too small for him." the man countered.
"It looks as if he were squeezed into it."
     "He is larger than I expected, I agree, Renaud." Dame Ratisbon
responded.  "But we'll get him a new outfit when you get to the castle.
We'll have the King's tailors sew him up a proper, and fancier tunic.  But
this will have to do for now."
     "It's the figure he'll cut until then that worries me." her grandson
responded.  "You, what is your name?"
     "Andre, My Lord." Andrew bowed deeply and the ladies behind him
giggled again.
     "See how your servants laugh at the fit." Renaud said, frowning.
"Surely there is another that we could choose which would fit the suit
better."
     "It was not the fit we laughed at, Milady." the oldest woman said.
     She must have made some gesture for Dame Ratisbon's face lit with
comprehension and then she said, "Andre, raise both your arms up."
     Andrew did and Renaud frowned.  "And that is too much.  I won't have
my guard and servant indulging in such nonsense.  Take that out right now."
     "What?" Andrew asked.  "My money pouch?" he reached for the bulge of
the pouch at his right side.  "I have no place else to wear it."
     "You know I don't mean that!"
     "He wants you to remove your codpiece." Dame Ratisbon said.
     "But, but I'm not wearing one." Andrew stammered.  Many noblemen,
knowing the way the tights revealed everything, would stuff their crotch
with rags or metal pieces, designed to make them appear more well-endowed.
He had been forced due to the hose's tightness to wear his own manhood
high, but as for stuffing anything in with it, it hadn't occurred to him.
     Renaud snarled and took a few quick strides toward him.  "You expect
me to believe that..." And Renaud's hand landed squarely on Andrew's cock
and balls and squeezed, hard.
     Andrew grimaced, and Renaud's face turned to consternation and his
fingers felt out Andrew's maleness, running along the shaft of his cock,
feeling out its dimensions as if in disbelief.
     "It's not a codpiece, dear." Dame Ratisbon said, her fan up to her
face to conceal all but some animatedly sparkling eyes.  "The lad is
just..." a substantial pause "...fortunate."
     The servants giggled yet again.
     "Another good reason to get him a new costume rapidly." Renaud said.
His hand, still on Andrew's crotch, made a definitely caressing gesture and
a hint of a smile lit Renaud's face, which vanished as he turned away.
"I'm hungry now, Grandmother.  May my new servant go down and fetch us up
our luncheon?"
     "He may as well begin his duties now." Dame Ratisbon said.  "Marie,
take Andre with you and show him the kitchen.  He has only worked in a
tavern before now."
     "Nay, my family owns an inn, Milady." Andrew corrected her.  She
scowled, and he realized he had gone too far.  "My pardons, Milady."
     "I'll let it be...this time." she said.
     "Come, Andre." Marie said.  She was the eldest of the women.  "I'll
need you with me to fight off the soldier's cooks to get our lord and
lady's portions.  The kitchen must feed the ranks as well.  We shall choose
the best, and they won't want to give it up to us."
     Andrew did well at serving the luncheon, both by dint of his work at
the inn and by watching Marie serve Dame Ratisbon.  Renaud and Dame
Ratisbon ignored him entirely but for brief comments for more wine or
similar services.  After that, they were dismissed for their own meal and
Andrew hurried down along with the women servants.  He had to find Adomeh
and Trevish.
     There were rude catcalls among the ranks of the house guards as Andrew
made his appearance, for his livery was far more elaborate than theirs,
lacking both the embroidery and the fine cut of the cloth, and looser pants
substituting for the hose Andrew wore.  Andrew semi-expected it and ignored
it, searched for his comrades.  Seeing them, he went over.  Each of the
tables possessed a large container of stew, and Andrew only needed to fetch
a bowl from a stack nearby.  There was no silverware nor did he expect any,
you ate the stew by tipping up the bowl and slurping it out as best you
could.
     "Well, you are decked out fit to serve a Lord." Trevish said as he sat
down.
     "Yes, and I feel a proper fool." Andrew agreed.  The three were not
alone at the table, he had to speak to Trevish in riddles and hope to be
understood.  "I...I had expected us three to remain together."
     "It would have been nice." Adomeh said.  "But you will be happier
where you are.  And you might be able to do us some service there.
Dropping hints to the right ears or" he looked intently into Andrew's eyes,
"hearing something of value."
     "And you can mention us when the occasion requires, so we can join you
later on, perhaps." Trevish agreed.
     Andrew understood their intent looks.  He was to be a spy.  "It is
true that, given how close I will be to the Lord Protector, I might learn
many things I would not learn in the field."
     "And we'll be in the field to advise you from there." Adomeh said.
"We will get messages to you, some way, never fear.  Just go and do your
duties and wait to hear from us.  We'll write when we know where we'll be
assigned."
     "You're going to the Count's house." one of the other men said.  "I
thought you knew that.  Though when the Count takes the field against the
rebels in the north, we'll march with him, mostly to protect him and his
base camp."
     "That is what we expected." Trevish said.  "After all, it's a
mercenaries' rule that it's a mistake to get hurt in battle."
     "Verily, I expect you three will run at the first sight of trouble."
the man said.
     "It is not cowardice to flee in order to fight another day instead of
ending up as fly-food." Trevish said.  "And if you doubt my skill with a
sword, I can arrange a closer demonstration for you."
     "I'll trust your courage when I see it in action." the man said.
"I'll concede you're better with the sword than I am.  I can bow to your
superior skill without granting you all the virtues of Heaven in the
process."
     "You may rest assured on this point." Trevish said tightly.  "When the
time comes to strike a blow, we'll swing without stint against the foes of
Carlovain.  And if I must lay down my life to do so, I shall."
     "You'd best finish your meal and return to the house." Adomeh said to
Andrew, who was taking in this exchange wide-eyed as he slurped from the
bowl.  "And don't worry about Trevish and me, we're old hands in the field
of battle.  Keep up your daily sword-practice, to keep your skill honed and
ready, and wait for word from us."
     "I shall worry every day until I hear you two are well-disposed."
Andrew said.  "For there are evil days ahead and I fear for all those I
care about, not just you two."
     "I'm sure your mother and father are safe." Adomeh said.  "As well as
their traveling companion."
     "I sincerely hope so." Andrew said.  "If I get word on their safety,
I'll make that part of my first response to you."
     "We'd appreciate that."
     Andrew had done what he set out to do, he gulped down the rest of his
bowl of stew and, seeing that no more stew was left in the main bowl, was
forced to let that one small bowl be all his lunch.  "I'll return to the
house, then and watch out for my new master." Andrew said.  "I won't leave
his side after this, though if you get word to the house before we leave,
I'll try to come meet you."
     "Good fortune." Adomeh said as Andrew got up.  They embraced, then
held each other's forearms, a soldier's farewell, then Andrew did the same
to Trevish and turned his back on his friends.  He did not look back as he
walked, for now he must concentrate on being the best spy for the King that
he knew how to be.
     And if he learned that which would restore the King to the throne, he
would die to get that information delivered into Adomeh's hands.
     Andrew went back in and a maidservant was in the kitchen.  "Ah, there
you are." she said.  "Your Master is calling for you.  You had best hurry,
he sounds impatient."
     Andrew hurried upstairs and found Renaud waiting in the room where he
had served their meal.  "There you are, Andre!" he said, sounding
impatient.  "Where were you?"
     "My apologies, My Lord." Andrew said. "I was outside with the house
guard, saying my farewell to my comrades.  I shall not leave your side
again."
     "See that you don't." Renaud said.  "I am going to lie down for a
time.  Come with me to my room.  I want to instruct you on the rituals so
that I and my friends don't have to watch you bumbling about at court."
     Andrew felt the house was terribly hot, but realized that Renaud had
no real choice as to where to nap, the shady areas outside were covered for
a long ways around with the collected motley army of Count Ratisbon.  "Yes,
sir." he said.
     Renaud walked out and Andrew carefully followed him, but not too
closely, as he had seen servants doing for the nobles.  Renaud's comments
puzzled him, for he had never noticed that the servants stayed long about
the visitors at the inn; rather they would take their lords upstairs and
come down immediately afterwards, rarely going upstairs again until the
following morning.  Perhaps Renaud intended to instruct him on other
matters.
     Renaud went into his chamber, and Andrew was pleased to feel a
distinct breeze coming in the open window.
     "Now, your duty will be to stay by my side at the palace, and to be
ready to spring to my defense should any assassin enter the room.  This is
not a duty you'd have back at my own home, but we are about to enter the
place, which is bound to be full of intrigue, so I want you used to being
with me right now."
     "Yes, My Lord." Andrew said.
     "Good, now come help me undress.  You might as well be useful as long
as you're going to be about me all the time from here on."
     Again, this was all new information to Andrew, but he didn't feel any
comment to that effect was wise at this time.  Renaud was probably just
testing his boundaries, setting up a mode of subservience by Andrew, once
that was established, he would not insist on such minutiae.
     The top garment, for all its billowing cloth, was a tunic nonetheless,
a tie about the neck released enough room there to let Andrew lift the
large, silken cloth over his head.
     "Now, you straighten it carefully and drape it over the clothing rack
there, so it may air out while I slumber." Renaud required.
     Andrew did as he said, giving it a fold down its length, and then
placing this over the rack.
     "Now come remove my shoes." Renaud said.  He had sat down on the chair
next to the bed.  His upper body, revealed, showed a form somewhat thin but
muscled.  Renaud had not spent his hours in labor, but had exercised in
some fashion, for his shoulders were cleanly rounded, his stomach taut and
smooth, his chest with pronounced pecs and arms bearing long ellipses of
biceps.  Those would come from a proper knowledge of the sword.  Andrew
wasn't surprised to see Renaud had a sword-fighter's body; he would have
been shocked had Renaud not known the blade since honor could call for
defending your word and perhaps even your life with the sharp, heavy steel.
     Andrew came back and found the shoes had a rather complex lacing to
them, perhaps to help hold this preposterously large shoe in place, for it
extended out half again as long as Renaud's foot. Andrew knelt and worked
the tie loose, noting how it was tied so that he would be able to retie it
for Renaud should he have to.  He was still very sore from the
horse-riding, and he leaned on over to rest on one hand while he untied the
shoe with the other, wondering if Renaud would protest this movement.
     Renaud reached up with his cane and used its tip to lift up and push
aside the flap of tunic covering Andrew's buttocks.  Andrew wondered at
this, but chose to pretend he had not noticed this action.  It could have
been mere idleness from a bored young man.  He undid the first shoe and,
thus undone, it came off very easily, sagging where the toe was stuffed
with something, cloth most likely.  A preposterous item of footwear only
the nobility could tolerate....
     The cane returned to rest on Andrew's flesh, now plying itself into
the crevice of his buttocks, and sliding back and forth there as Renaud
reached up with his now-bare foot to contact Andrew's crotch.  Andrew was
surprised to find Renaud's toes as agile as his fingers had been in the way
they caressed and stroked his cock.
     "The other shoe now." Renaud reminded him.
     Andrew had frozen with the movements, lost in the sensations.  Andrew
turned his trembling fingers to the task of undoing the other shoe, his
manhood awakening even at this insolent touch, even with the harsh, cold,
polished wood of the cane now being angled to where it just touched his
ballsac as it slid back and forth.  He fumbled the knot loose and unwound
the tie, his fingers feeling large and clumsy, his cock demanding that he
pay attention to this pressing invader of foot playing with it.
     "You can see why I thought you wore a codpiece, can you not?" Renaud
said softly, nearly whispering.
     "Yes, My Lord." Andrew said.  "I have never worn this sort of garment
before.  Mayhaps I am wearing it wrong, I know not."  He was beginning to
breath heavily, between this posture, his activity and the rising urgency
of his desire.
     He had the shoe loose enough, he tugged and slid it off, baring the
other foot.  Now Renaud wore but the hose, clad from waist to ankle only.
     "Now hold as you are." Renaud commanded and rose so that he was
standing astraddle of Andrew, so that Andrew's head was between his legs.
And that cane continued to press against his tender flesh encased in the
tights, which did nothing to obscure his body, he may as well be naked
below the waist in this position....
     Renaud stepped over to stand at Andrew's waist, and he bent at his
knees to lower his body down so that he nearly sat atop Andrew's back, and
poised thus he rubbed both his hands over Andrew's buttocks.  Andrew sighed
with pleasure.  Even here, even now, the touch of a man's hands could
excite his senses and inflame his procreative urges.  So what if this man
were an enemy?  He was a man!  And if Andrew was to become a spy, where
better could he hide than inside this man's bed?  He need not pretend love
here, lust would do, and lust he had aplenty.
     Renaud reached under with one hand to find Andrew's crotch and now the
fingers were totally familiar with him, this time not seeking to identify,
but to arouse and excite him.  Andrew felt his prong expand, confined
terribly in the tights, but declaring vehemently its need and approval of
the fingers touching it.
     "Ah, that's a marvelous piece of sausage you have packed in there."
Renaud said.  "I shall feast upon it often.  Come, rise up and remove that
clothing at once!"
     "Yes, My Lord." Andrew said and Renaud stepped on over him and Andrew
stood and fumbled with hasty fingers at the confining tunic.  He squirmed
it over his head as well as he was able and, impatiently, Renaud grabbed
the top of the tunic and yanked it off of him.  Now they were both wearing
but their tights, and before Andrew could bring his hands up to remove his
money pouch and untie the top of the tights, Renaud was pressing against
him, the differences in their stations removed with their clothing, now
only two men locked in the desperate embrace of mutual need.
     Renaud's lips pressed against his, and Andrew was pleased to find that
he did not mimic the rather unkempt attitudes of his grandmother, rather,
his skin was clean and sweet-smelling, warm to the touch and vibrantly
alive under his searching lips.  Renaud's hot cock was pressing against
him, burning him with its presence even through the two layers of cloth
that separated them, and he ground back against it with his own, seeking
with the pressure to find some relief from the distressing confining twist
his cock had developed, being stuff flaccid into this tight hose, and now
engorged and pressing outwards as best it could in its cramped quarters.
     Andrew kissed back this young noble's questing mouth as best he could,
feeling the sweat breaking out upon his skin in a hundred small explosions,
the heat of the day and the heat in his veins, combining to ignition point,
and Renaud's hands clutched and possessed his buttocks once more and Renaud
pulled Andrew's groin to his own hard and rutted against him.
     Releasing Andrew's lips, Andrew following him forward at first, Renaud
gasped out, "On the bed.  And remove that damnably tight hose, it conceals
nothing for you, you may as well be naked!"
     "Yes, My Lord." Andrew said and the two men, acting independently but
in concert, undid the small ties and grasped their tight hose at the waist
and yanked downwards, so that together, they stooped and freed their lower
bodies from the cloth and rose again, bare to each other.  Andrew looked
down at Renaud's cock, stubby, perhaps four inches in length, but very wide
and fat in its girth, as if his body had chosen sheer mass over length.
     "Now on the bed, mignon, so that I may pleasure myself with you!"
Renaud said.  "For you are my mignon now, and we shall never sleep apart
again."
     Andrew crawled onto the bed and before he could do more than this
preliminary act, on his hands and knees on the bed, Renaud grasped his
thighs and pulled Andrew's buttocks back towards him.
     "Ah, My Lord, please!" Andrew gasped out.  "I cannot take this so
easily, please!"
     And then Renaud's tongue probed its way and Andrew ceased his protest.
What Renaud lacked in the size of his penis, he had gained back with this
tongue, so long, so talented, it moved upon his circlet of muscles and
probed at it, moving more agilely than any snake, more than any finger
could master, it was a moist, dancing, velvety tip, fattening and tautening
at need, until every part of Andrew's buttocks sang out in the sheer joy at
this stimulation, until Andrew gasped and felt his anal muscles sucking and
tugging at this lithe mouth-muscle, begging it to enter its dark domain and
take its pleasure there.
     And indeed Renaud sent this moist intrusion into him, Andrew's
sphincter embracing joyfully and enticing it deeper and yet deeper inside.
Now Renaud removed his tongue entirely and Andrew wondered at this
intermittent tactic, feeling Renaud's hand brushing his left buttock from
time to time at these pauses, and then Renaud plunged that tongue in until
it felt as if a small snake had crawled inside Andrew, to dance and play
inside, and Andrew moaned a long, heartfelt sound of appreciation for this
wonderfully, wonderfully adept pleasure-giver within him.
     And Renaud pulled it out once again, though Andrew selfishly clutched
this sweet tongue tightly, trying to trap it within him, refusing to
relinquish it, and then Andrew felt Renaud's fat cockhead pressing at his
entrance in its place.  He had lubricated this monstrous beast during his
pauses, and Andrew's muscles had been relaxed by the talented tongue, and
it was only with a bit of pain that his anus expanded to accommodate his
new master's love-pole into him, giving vocal vent to the sensations in a
sigh rather than a groan of pain.
     "Ah, you are no untried whelp, are you?" Renaud panted as he slowly
pushed in deeper.  "This little dark pit of yours has been skewered by
other men's lances before my arrival, has it not?"
     "Just a few friends." Andrew said, feeling somehow apologetic that he
could no longer offer his virginal self to this man.  He had to remind
himself once again that this man was an enemy to the Crown, and that he was
here to pump for information, not....
     But Reynaud was totally inside him now, and began to move with short
motions.  Andrew's prostate was just barely within the reach of this stubby
invader, and so was pummeled rather than stroked with each thrust, a
miniature quarry for this diminutive knight-in-training, which sparred and
punched at it with his lance of love, in many, many discrete touches, which
somehow made the contacts all the sweeter in that they were not sustained
as they had been with his other partners.
     "Ga-a-a-a-ahhh!" Andrew grunted, his voice broken by the movements of
his body from Renaud's pistoning hips.  "O-o-o-o-oh, ye-a-a-a-a-ah!" he
stuttered out.
     "Ah, my mignon, my precious mignon." Renaud moaned.  "I shall never
let you go.  You belong to me, now and forever, even if I must place leash
and muzzle and hood upon you to keep you safe to me."
     The day was hot, and Andrew felt his body now pouring out sweat onto
the bedding below him, dripping from him from a score of rivulets finding
their way down his arms and legs and dropping from the ceiling of his chest
and abdomen to the sheets beneath.  More droplets of sweat flew from
Renaud's rapidly pumping body, and these landed as occasional cold splats
of liquid upon his already-wet back.  These sensations of water all about
Andrew combined with the turbulent sensations racing from his bowels up his
spine and into his brain, crashing there like waves on the shore, and when
Renaud leaned over and pressed his sweat-slicked, hot, heavy body onto him,
Andrew felt not oppressive heat, but rather as if he were in the center of
a volcano, lava flowing about him all around, and he was a rock within this
lava, soft and yielding yet keeping his identity and Renaud groaned, and
the penis inside of Andrew heated to boiling point and cleft him wide open,
so that when the steaming sperm burst into him, Andrew felt his own body
surrender and become one with the rest of the ocean of rock around him, so
that his body heated up.
     But Renaud's orgasm was over before he could surrender entire to this
sensation, and Renaud fell upon him, gasping and Andrew groaned in
frustration at the loss of this sensation, feeling the slick organ slide
from his body and leave him bereft!
     "No, more, please!" he begged shamelessly.  "Please, more, I cannot
stop now ere I burst!"
     Charitably, Renaud pulled his body away from Andrew and shifted Andrew
around until he was now lying upon his back, and Renaud, his hair slicked
down from his exertions, bent over Andrew's long prong and took it deeply
into that mouth, where that magnificent tongue greeted it with the embrace
of a lover's hug.
     "Ah!" Andrew gasped out.  "Ah, ah, ah!"  Renaud's tongue danced
rapidly over Andrew's pud, and Andrew felt his balls churn internally in
harmonic resonance, and then the electric fire within coalesced, to shoot
upwards as if lightning, and with it came his seed, jetting up into the
warmly clutching mouth, pumping into Renaud with brutal force, so that he
choked, gagged, and a burst of Andrew's sperm shot out his nostrils and
back onto Andrew, yet Renaud bore this heavy assault and persevered, until
Andrew lay gasping, quiet again, and Renaud snorted, blowing chunks of
pearly-white sperm onto Andrew's abdomen, and still sputtering and choking,
rose up to lay upon him.
     "I am sorry." Andrew got out as soon as his mouth and tongue would
obey his commands once again.
     "You did nothing." Renaud said.  "I am pleased to have been of service
to you this day, my wonderfully strong mignon."
     "What is a mignon?" Andrew asked.
     "It means a servant who is more than a servant, more than valet."
Renaud said.  "It means that I may keep you in my room with me and none
shall ask more when they hear the word."
     "But what does it mean?" Andrew asked.
     "A mignon is...well, a pet." Renaud said.  "It means you are my
confidant, my confessor, keeper of my secrets and that you bear the key to
my soul.  I shall need that, in the palace, never knowing who I can trust
and who I cannot.  I trust you, my little mignon.  You would not betray me
as those in the palace can, and must."
     Andrew felt ashamed of a sudden.  He had done all that he had done to
be a spy for the King.  To do this, he needed Renaud's trust.  And he had
obtained it, and felt an utter heel for the accomplishment.  Where is the
honor, O Vedron, he called internally.  What have I wrought here today, in
the service of my King and my country, that I can stand afterwards and
declare myself proud and honorable?
     He remembered Vedron's comment, even after he had foresworn revenge,
that his success would cost him much.  Perhaps that was more than a dream,
after all.  Yet even dreams, he knew, had their prophetic power, if not in
inspiration, at least in the way they clarified the mind's inner workings.
Yes, he would what he had to do.  At the moment, that required he be
treacherous.  After all, this man was an enemy of his rightful King.
     "We should sleep now." he settled for saying.
     "Indeed." Renaud said.  "We leave tomorrow for Heslov and the Lord
Protector."
     "Yes." Andrew said.  "You must rest."
     "I shall rest within your arms." Renaud said.
     Both of them naked and still stained with their exertions, as they
were and without any attempt to cover themselves, they lay there and Andrew
surprised himself by falling asleep in his enemy's loving embrace.