Date: Wed, 31 Mar 1999 14:44:40 +0900
From: Andrej Koymasky <andrejkoymasky@geocities.com>
Subject: Soul in Cellular 04

----------------------------

THE SOUL IN THE CELLULAR

by Andrej Koymasky (C) 1999
written the 3rd of February, 1995
translated by the author
English text kindly revised
by MiMu

-----------------------------

USUAL DISCLAIMER

"THE SOUL IN THE CELLULAR" is a gay story, with some parts containing
graphic scenes of sex between males. So, if in your land, religion,
family, opinion and so on this is not good for you, it will be better
not to read this story. But if you really want, or because YOU don't
care, ore because you think yo really want to read it, please be my
welcomed guest.

-----------------------------


4 - ADELBERT

It has become like an intoxication, wether the story about
reincarnations was true or not, what the mysterious voice in the
telephone told him fascinated Eugenio. So, as soon as he had a little
free time, he was taking his cellular to hear some new stories.

"Hey, what will you narrate me this time?"

"Stop shouting at me, you are deafening me!" the voice answered.

"What's that, today you even got ears?"

"You never heard about witticisms?"

"Souls have also sense of humor?"

"Sure, at least I have it, and I think that other souls also must have
one."

"But... tell me, we humans do communicate by speaking, writing and by 
other means, but what about you souls?"

"We can't, unless through the body with which we become one, and with 
another human being. But that's not directly. Apart form the special and
 partial communication for very short instants during sexual unions of
two  beings, as I yet told you."

"But can two souls stay in the same object, between one incarnation and 
the following one?"

"I don't know, possibly yes..."

"In this case you cannot communicate?"

"I don't know. Why do you have to ask me questions I don't know and that
 I can't answer?"

"All right, all right. Well, then, tell me who you were in the...
twelfth century."

"Adelbert. I am born 1127 in Reims. My father is a tailor and he mainly 
makes clerical clothes and vestments. As a small boy, having a fine 
voice, I become one of the little choristers of the cathedral choir.  I
like music and singing. And I like the dress I have to wear when I sing.
 I am a nice boy, slender, and I have blond hair and green-hazelnut
eyes.

Singing and clothing, from these boyhood years on, will always be my 
passion, beside men, of course, but this will come later. Until I'm
thirteen  I am in the choir, but then my voice changes, becomes strange,
so I have  to stop singing in the cathedral. But I like singing and I
realize that my  tone-deaf cockerel voice is suitable to sing the
popular ballads and that people laugh and appreciate  me. I like being
the center of attention. I learn to play the lute  to accompany my songs
and I learn more and more new songs. All of this  is lot more fun than
the Gregorian chant. At sixteen my voice finds a new  balance, and my
repertory now also contains love  songs. In reality I still don't know
love. But the love songs, those I certainly  know. All day long I help
my father making clothes, and during my free  time I sew elegant and
precious clothes for myself, someway personal  in style, even if I just
use clippings and scraps left over from the vestments  we usually make,
but anyway they are fine. In the evening, or on holiday,  I sing. A nice
life, after all. I grow up serenely, cheerfully...

When I'm seventeen Marvel comes to Reims. He is a troubadour, an 
itinerant minstrel. He wanders from Court to Court, earning his living 
with his songs. I meet him because he comes to see my father, asking 
him to sew him new clothes. I'm fascinated by him at once; he is 
beautiful, not tall but with a perfect body, a sad but sweet smile, his 
hair at shoulder-length, soft and bright like silk, eyes with an intense
 look. My father tells him that he has no time and moreover he doesn't 
make clothes of the kind the troubadour wants, so I ask my father if I 
can cut and sew it. My father says yes, if the troubadour accepts a boy 
to do it... Marvel accepts and I'm grateful to him. I ask him what dress
 he wants, and he asks me to see the clothes and to tell him the prices:
he  is going to decide after he saw them, and concerning the model, he
will  be inspired by the kind of cloth he chooses. While he is looking
at the  clothes, he he compliments on the dress I wear. So I just show
him the  other clothes I made for myself: he seems struck and says I
have talent.  I am pleased. He chooses the cloth, explains the model to
me. I take his  measurements.

Then I ask him if he would let me hear his songs. He says  yes and
invites me to the inn where he lodges, the same evening. I go and, 
thinking I can possibly ask him to teach me something, I bring my lute 
with me. When he sees it, he asks me if I'm able to sing, and wants to
hear  me. Then, sitting near him under the inn pergola, I intone one of
the songs  I know. He listens to me attentively. Then he puts his hand
on my leg in a  friendly gesture and tells me that he liked that song
very much. He asks me  for another song. While I play and sing, his hand
lightly caresses my leg, it is  pleasurable. His hand shifts on my leg,
upward, and I feel a heat spreading  within me and I start to get
aroused. He seems engrossed in the music, looks  at me smiling and
continues to lightly caress my thigh...

When I end, he pulls  away his hand to clap his hands. I feel something
like an emptiness: his hand  gave me a faint sense of pleasure that I
now miss. Then, he takes his viola  and starts to play and sing. I'm
completely fascinated. When he stops, I  ask him if he wants to teach it
to me. He willingly accepts. While I'm  learning, like to encourage me,
he sometimes puts his hand back on my  thigh and I like the feeling.
Finally I thank him and go back home. The  following evening I go again
to meet him and we sing again. Again, his  hand touches me from time to
time, lightly, pleasurable, warm. He asks  me if I'm tired, it is
late... I say no. He caresses my cheek and tells me  he likes me very
much, and that he would like to have me as his pupil...

He asks me if I would like to play the viola. I say yes, so he makes an 
appointment for the following evening, promising me he will teach me. 
It is not easy, my fingers seem awkward... I'm getting discouraged. So, 
he makes me stand up, comes behind me and takes my hands, to teach me 
to hold the viola properly, he guides me. It is almost like an embrace,
I  feel the warmth of his body against my back, it is a splendid
sensation.

Instinctively I lean against him and feel his arousal. And then he
whispers  to me that it's me who has this effect on him, that he likes
me. I feel  troubled, it is the first time someone tells me such things.
Now it's him  to push against me, to hold me tight, and his tongue
lightly brushes my  earlobe. I am really embarrassed, but quiver with
pleasure. I feel my  braguette swelling. But he leaves me alone, sits
again and resumes his lesson.  The day after he comes to the shop to
have his first fitting. He pulls off his  clothes and I look at him in
awe. He wears my basted cloth.

While I touch him to mark the points which I have to take in to make it 
really close fitting, I feel him lightly quivering and I notice he is
getting  aroused. He sees the direction of my eyes and smiles. And he
repeats  that it's me who has this effect on him... Even if I jerked off
since four  years, I didn't yet have any sexual intercourse of any kind.
I never got  aroused by anybody. But now I'm getting aroused. He
undresses again  and puts his own clothes back on. He smiles at me
conspiratorially while he rearranges his erection constraining it in his
clothes.

This evening I'm again at his place. Now, the hand that he lies on my 
thigh has a completely different meaning for me, and I immediately get 
a hard on. He moves his hand lightly, going up a little, I desire him to
go  up more... But it doesn't happen: we bid farewell as usual. But that
night,  for the first time, I jerk off with an image in my mind: Marvel.

When it is time for the second fitting, I'm fully conscious of my desire
for  him, and it is difficult for me not to touch him on purpose. He,
again, gets  a hard on. And as a result, I also get aroused. I'm
kneeling in front of him,  I'm checking where I have to remake the
sewing to avoid antiaesthetic creases,  going up from his ankles to his
thighs, and I become aware that I have to  touch him right there, on his
swelling. I try not to let myself go, to only  touch lightly, but I feel
it throbbing. He puts his hand on mine and pushes  them hard against his
basket. I blush, I tremble. He crouches in front of  me, takes my face
between his hands, looks me in the eye and slowly  approaches his face
to mine. He brushes my lips with his lips, he lightly  touches them with
the tip of his tongue and I close my eyes and quiver.

He whispers to me that this evening he will not wait for me under the 
pergola, but upstairs, in his room. I go, my lute in my hands, almost 
as an excuse towards myself, but I perfectly know that it will be of no
use,  this evening. He welcomes me, takes the instrument from my hands
and puts  it near his viola on the table, then he drives me towards his
bed and makes  me sit on its edge, then he sits near me. He takes me in
his arms  and I let myself go against his chest. He caresses my face and
tells me that  he likes me very much, that he is happy to have me there,
with him. I'm  in emotion. He caresses me, at first in a light way, but
then with more and  more intimacy. I'm aroused. My breath becomes heavy.
He kisses me on my  lips and it is not the light kiss of the afternoon
anymore. He makes me lie on  my back on the bed. I clutch at him. He
conquers me... It is no use giggling,  Eugenio, I'm not saying this in a
physical sense, I mean that he fascinates me.  That I feel strongly
attracted to him, that I feel like having discovered  paradise. I'm
saying that I fall in love with him, that suddenly my whole life  seems
different to me, so beautiful, luminous being near him.

Therefore I wonder, if he will leave, will my life become once again
grey?  Before I never felt my life being grey, but now... I would like
to never finish  his clothes to make him remain longer in Reims. All day
long I can just  think about him. After supper I run to his inn, to be
with him.

He comes for the last fitting. This time we openly caress each other,
the  fitting takes more time than ever, the dress is perfect, fits him
nicely, he  is happy and kisses me. He tells me that he waits for me
this evening,  our last evening. When I go to his place, I am tense. We
make love,  but after that, I burst out crying. He is surprised, he
embraces me, he  cuddles me and asks me why I'm crying. And I tell him
that I don't want  to lose him, I don't want to part from him. He
caresses me and asks me,  then, why I don't go away with him; he will
turn me into a skilled  troubadour... I look at him, amazed, happy. I
immediately accept. He  will leave town the following morning at dawn. I
tell him that I'm going  to my home now, I will bundle out my few
belongings and will come back  to him, so the following morning we will
leave together.

Back home, I  tell my parents what I decided: I want to become a
troubadour. Therefore  I will leave with Marvel. My mother cries, my
father tries to dissuade me,  but I take my best clothes, my lute and
I'm ready to join him. Then my  father gives me some coins. I embrace my
parents and go back to Marvel,  to the inn. I sleep near him...

The following morning at dawn we are  already on the road. I feel so
lighthearted and happy! We chat, he merrily  tells me a thousand of
things, I listen to him enchanted, fascinated. Even  the road seems
wonderful to me, not only because it is late spring, but  mainly because
I'm walking at his side. He tells me that we will ask for  hospitality
in the castle of Chalôn sur Marne, where we will perform our  songs. I
tell him that I'm not so skilled yet, but he insists, telling me that 
my rustic songs could also be interesting for the castle people.

The Lord  of Chalôn welcomes us: he already knows Marvel and he wants to
listen  to the new songs in his repertory. Fortunately we are lodged in
the same  room. We remain at the castle for one week and I'm enchanted:
it is the  first time I've entered a castle, I'm able to observe it's
life so close.  The only one thing that annoys me are the glances of
some pages and  knights toward Marvel. I'm not worried about the womens'
glances,  because I know that he doesn't care for them. But he sleeps
every night  with me, so, naively, I'm reassured. He buys me a nice
viola and I'm happy.

Naively, I say, because when we stop at Troyes' castle, I discover that
in  reality he doesn't need to wait for the night to go making love with
one  of the knights. By chance, in fact, I catch their conversation and
the  knight makes a date with him, saying 'as always, in the same room'.
 I feel betrayed, I feel like crying, but all day long I say nothing.
When  we are in our room, at night, he approaches me to make love, but I
push  him away. I don't make a jealousy scene, I don't grudge him that,
I am just  sulky. And he explains to me that this is a troubadour's
life: 'Why do you  think we are so appreciated, so in demand? Because of
our songs, of  course, but also for this: because we are ready and
available to go in  bed with whom asks us! And you too have to learn
this rapidly, if you  want to be a troubadour!'

I'm shaken. I feel twice betrayed. But Marvel  knows how to take me and
little by little he makes me get over it. But it  is not anymore like
before, a dream has been shattered. I follow him from  castle to castle,
until we reach Tournus' castle. We are together since  six months. He
tells me that we have to find a castle where they will  allow us to
spend at least the coldest months. Winter is the most difficult  season.
I have to decide to play my part also. In other words, to  go to bed
with whom asks me. It had yet happened that somebody tried  to bring me
in his bed, but until now I succeeded in clearing out skillfully.  So,
at Tournus, I have my first experience with another man. He is the 
Count superintendent, a married man, about forty years old, stout,  I
don't like him. But possibly right because of that I finally accepted.

A kind  of... I don't know how to define it... desperation, perhaps. If
I have to do  something I don't like doing, it is all the same to do it
with somebody I  don't like... Marvel is now astounded for my
indiscriminate yes: he tells  me that I'm not presumed to always say
yes, and that between an  'always yes' and an 'always no' there is a
middle way... But I don't listen  to him and, in the same way I have sex
with others, I now have sex with  him. Without passion, quite like a
kind of unpleasant duty to which one  has to submit.

In spring, after crossing Lyon, he decides to go towards Lausanne, and I
 decide to part company with him and to continue instead towards the 
Savoy. Unlike I hoped, I expected, he doesn't insist to remain 
together, he let me go my way without the faintest protest: this is the 
last disappointment he gives to me. My viola and my lute at my 
shoulders, two suitcases in my hands, I take my way..."

"Suitcases? In the 12th century already exist suitcases?"

"I said so, but really they are two wide bags of strong hemp, that
rather  can resemble to the gym sacks that today's sports men use, a
kind of wide  saddlebag, but made for travelers on foot, where I keep my
clothes.

Passing from village to village, I stop in the square and I start
playing,  just to pass my time. People stop, appreciate, and somebody
starts to  give me an egg, a fruit, even some coins. Marvel never wanted
to sing  for the common people, he said he was not a ballad singer. I,
on the  contrary, think that, even if I'm not at a castle, I can earn
something that  way. In another village, the innkeeper offers me free
board and lodging if I  sing for his guests, and that gives me a new
idea. Anyway, I also show up  at the castles and often I'm admitted.
Here, I sometimes receive as a gift,  beside the money, some old clothes
of the nobles which I, always having  scissors, needles and thread with
me, adapt. And now, when I understand  that I have aroused somebody's
desire, I only accept if I like him.

So, I arrive at Chambery castle. While I'm waiting at the gate to know 
if my hospitality request will be accepted, I see a slender man's figure
on  a small balcony up on the top, who gives me an impression of
elegance  and sadness: he is still, looks far away... I ask a soldier
who is he: he is  the youngest son of the Count, the soldier says, and
everyday he stays  there for a long time. I tell him that he seems sad
to me, and the soldier  answers that the boy suffers from melancholy. I
am admitted. The  superintendent examines me, he wants to hear some of
my repertory, he  tells me the wage, not high but I accept. He assigns
me a small room and  tells me to prepare for dinner this evening.

You have to know that one of  the things I've learned from Marvel is the
adaptation of songs: if, for  example, the original song is about two
towers of a castle, they can become  one or four or whatsoever,
according to the castle where you are. If the  coat of arms of the lord
you sing about, is in the original song red with a  golden lion, it can
become green with a silver sword, if that is the coat of  arms of the
Lord hosting you. And if the maid the song is about has blond  plaits,
they can become black if the lady of the manor is that way. The 
audience is more interested and pleased that way. Changes can sometimes 
be extemporaneous, if you are skilled enough, but they are often
carefully  prepared in advance...

In the evening, admitted at the Count's table, I'm introduced and
welcomed  with evident pleasure: there are the Count, the Countess, his
eldest son with  his wife, and the other children, the second is a boy,
the third is a girl, and  the youngest; then the superintendent with his
wife and some knights and  dames. We eat, then I start to sing. The
youngest son, Philibert, listens  absorbed, but I can't see him smile
even once. He is a nineteen year old  youth, pale, with a gentle but
deeply sad air, beautiful. I feel incredibly  attracted towards him.
Besides my court and love songs, also my popular  song, sometimes a
little licentious, have success and amuse the noble  audience. But
Philibert doesn't laugh. When I go back to my room, I can  only think
about this young man. A song comes to my mind, "The maid  at the
window". I think about modifying it, so that, except for the title, I
can  sing about her without any feminine or masculine terms and to
change the  knight going to meet her, in a troubadour: a message that I
hope the  young Philibert will be able to catch..."

"But then, also the others can catch it, can't they?" Eugenio objected.

"Not necessarily. The skill is in making subtle allusions, so that the 
interpretations can be various. This evening, in the hall of the Count, 
I sing. I announce the title "La Pucelle e la Fenestre" and start to
sing.

'There, near the great tower, at the window the gentle soul awaits, day 
after day, who knows what...' And when the unknown knight  arrives,
whose name is Amour, that is 'love', I instead sing about the the 
troubadour whose name is Belami, that is 'nice friend'. And when in the 
original she lets her small handkerchief fall by the window, I change it
in  a glove. And I look at Philibert who, as usually absorbed in
listening,  doesn't seem to understand that I'm singing for him. The
following day,  while I walk in the castle court, I see him again at his
small balcony.

Then, I stop below and start to sing again the song 'La Pucelle e la 
Fenestre'. In the evening I sing to my audience other songs. But the day
 after, I wait until Philibert again comes out on his small balcony, and
 again I sing "La Pucelle". And this time, to my delight, from the 
balcony falls a gold embroidered glove. I take it and slip it inside my
jerkin,  I look up to the balcony, but it is empty. But the signal is
clear. I go back  inside the castle and go upstairs, my heart is in my
mouth, to the young  man's room. I knock at the door. His voice tells me
to enter. I bow, and  hand him his glove. He thanks me, saying it did
slip from his hands and,  taking it, our hands brush. He then asks me if
that song was for him.

I say yes. He thanks me and, for the first time, a ghost of a smile
seems  to light up his expression. I tell him that he is really
beautiful when he  smiles and he lightly blushes. But smiles again. I
caress his hand on  impulse and he grasps my hand and squeezes it
lightly. I take his hand  to my lips and breath a kiss on it. Philibert
looks me straight in the eye  and I, in a whisper filled with emotion,
repeat to him that he is so  beautiful...

He barely smiles, caresses my face, gently pulls me to him.  I take him
in my arms, I keep him tight, I lightly kiss him on his lips. He 
quivers, and reciprocates my kiss, but in an intimate way. Then, in a
low  voice, he repeats the song's words: 'did you know me, troubadour?' 
'No,' I answer with the song words, 'but my heart knew you and guided 
me to you.' 'What is your name?' 'My name is Love' I answer right with 
the words of the song. Then he kisses me again and asks me, changing at 
this point the words of the song, if I want to be his lover. My body
that  adheres to his body answers him, and I let him feel my desire and
savour  his desire. We caress, we kiss and slowly we lower on the fur
carpet. Our  bodies search each other, our hands slip under the clothes
and soon we  are both grasped by the whirl of passion. But as I try to
go beyond our embrace, feeling prey of a strong desire, he gently stops
me and says:

'Not yet, give me some time to believe that all this is true.' We stand
up  again, setting our clothes back in order. He makes me sit near the 
window. I ask him why he appears every day at the balcony, why he is so 
sad. He tells me that, when he was fifteen years old, he knew love for
the  first and only time, in the person of a young vassal of his father,
but that  the youth had to go to war, and never came back: he was
killed. And  from that day on, he fell ill of melancholy. I tell him
that life continues,  and that I would do anything to make the smile
return on his beautiful  face.

It is him who, the very night, when I'm just back in my room and start 
to undress, knocks at my door. I open, just my underpants on me. He 
enters, locks the door, comes near me and caresses my bare chest. The 
candle flare reflects in his eyes and I feel lost in his look. I pull
him close  to me, I caress him, kiss him. I start to undress him, I
gently push him on  my bed, I climb on him and start to kiss him all
over his body. He quivers,  lightly moans, closing his eyes. We are
finally naked and I gaze at him  full of desire. But he, again, even if
he is aroused at least like me, stops  me, gently holds me against him
and sadly whispers: 'You also will leave...'  I kiss him and tell him
that I'm falling in love with him. 'But you will also  go...' he
repeats. I tell him that, if there is a way, any way, I willingly  stop
here for him. He caresses me, and asks me to swear it. I swear.  He
kisses me, but then gets out of my bed and dresses again. I beg him  to
stay. He shakes his head no and leaves my room. And I feel completely 
lost for him...

The following day I hear the Countess say that she considers sending 
Philibert to Rome on pilgrimage, hoping that her son can recover there.

Then, on the spot, I invent that I too had the intention to go to Rome 
and offer myself to be part of her son's convoy. The Countess seems to 
favourably consider my offer: she says that perhaps my songs can 
contribute to give him serenity, and offers me a pay for all the period
I  will accompany him... it is set. Shortly before supper, Philibert
stops me  in a corridor and asks me if it is true that I will accompany
him to Rome.  Yes, I confirm him. He seems happy. He whispers to me he
will wait for  me, that night.

During supper the Count talks about the pilgrimage and about who will 
escort his son: eight knights, two prelates, six servants... The
Countess  tells that I too will be on the convoy. The Count asks me if I
really want  to, and my yes includes me in the convoy. The departure is
decided: the  time to prepare everything, to send some messengers to ask
the lords of  the lands we will cross for authorization for passage and
hospitality, and  to wait for the answers to fix the itinerary.

This night, I go upstairs to Philibert's room. He is waiting for me.  He
asks me if I really love him. Full of emotion, I answer him that I want
to  belong to him, forever. He caresses me, we embrace, we kiss and
when,  intertwined on his bed, our bodies search for each other, he
let's go all  hesitations and finally we unite. Ah, it is so splendid!
And for the first  time I see him smiling with happiness. Afterwards,
while we are dressing  again, he says to me with a serious expression:
'Don't betray me, don't  disappoint me, or I will kill myself'. I then
take his dagger which is on a  cabinet, I unsheathe it, kiss it and give
it to him, telling him that I belong  to him and that, if I ever will
disappoint him one day, he has to kill me  with it. He too kisses the
blade and sheathes it again. We both know  that this gesture has the
value of an oath. In the period that precedes  our departure, during the
day, each time we meet we have deep and  conspiratorial glances for each
other. And during the night we have hours  of intense and tender love
that make me feel the happiest man in the world.

During the day Philibert has still his sad expression, but in our times
of  intimacy he more and more often smiles and this fills me with joy.

We leave. We climb up the Moria valley, we pass the Alps and
notwithstanding  it is full summer, the nights are cold, but not for us
who sleep together.

I wonder if the others of the convoy know what ties us... We go down the
 valley, towards Taurin, a small town still enclosed in the square of
ancient  Roman walls, then we go down to Pavia. Along the itinerary,
open protected by the  knights, I always ride at Philibert's side, and
he seems the more serene the  more we proceed towards the south. Then
come the two prelates, followed by  servants with the luggage.
Everywhere we are received with courtesy, and I  repay the hospitality
with my songs. And always the valet's small bed is put  at the foot of
Philibert's bed, for me. I always ruffle my bed's sheets, to give  the
impression, but in reality I always spend the night in Philibert's bed
and  every night we make love. I feel, I deeply love him, and he also
lets me feel  his love that seems to strengthen day after day.

We are guest of the Luni's  Sire, and the noble seems strongly attracted
to me. I try to resist to his close  court and I warn Philibert, asking
him to leave that castle soon. He  understands, accepts, and takes his
leave of Luni's Sire. We resume our way,  but after less than half a day
of journey, we are attacked by a group of outlaws.  Everything is clear
to me as I realize that their aim is me, in fact they  capture me and
run away. So I'm brought back to the Luni's Sire who,  at my refusal to
bend to his desire, shuts me in the castle dungeon.

But  Philibert also understood the truth. He wants to free me by all
means, but  his knights make him understand that they certainly have not
enough power  to make themselves heard. I'm chained in the castle
dungeon, but I don't  intend to bend to the Sire's requests. Philibert
has not forgot me. Being guest  in a nearby monastery, he tells the
Abbot about my kidnapping and about the  Luni's Sire's sexual greed for
me and asks him for help to free me. The  Abbot says that he knows about
the 'vice' of the noble man, but that he  doesn't know how to put a
remedy to the situation. Philibert then asks him  to lend him some monk
habits: they will disguise and make them think that  they are monks on
pilgrimage to the sanctuary of Saint James of  Compostella, and they
will ask for hospitality in the castle.

The Abbot,  to save them from speaking with their strong French accent,
sends with  them also three real monks. They are received in the castle.
Before leaving  the following morning, with the excuse to comfort the
prisoners, they  persuade the chief of the guards to let them go inside
the dungeon. Philibert  succeeds in freeing me from my chains and gives
me a habit to wear, while  he puts a bundle on my pallet feigning my
shape, and we go out. They don't  realize that now there is one more
monk, and we reach, safe and sound, the  monastery. Philibert gives back
the habits to the monks, we mount our  horses and gallop towards the
south, hoping we can leave Luni's land before  the Sire realizes my
escape.

We reach Lucca, we are safe now. Philibert is happy. We continue our
journey  and pass through Siena, then Viterbo and at last we are in
Rome. After  visiting all the basilicas and having payed homage to the
Holy Father, we  resume our way back home, to the north, but in Siena we
deviate to  Florence and Bologna and we resume the 'Francigena Road' in
Piacenza.

Philibert is completely transformed: he is cheerful, happy. His love for
me,  my love for him have brought about the miracle, even if the
prelates, of course,  say that the merit is to the Pope's blessing. We
are back to Chambery in  mid autumn. The Count and the Countess at once
notice the transformation  of their son and are happy. When Philibert
asks them to allow me to remain  at the castle, they immediately accept
his request without raising any  difficulty. Three years later, the
Count decides to entrust to his youngest son  one of the castles he
conquered in the Transalpine land where he is widening  his possessions,
so we move there. Philibert invests me to knighthood.  I have to choose
my standard. I choose it with a white glove in a sky blue  field. The
bishop of Pignerol blesses my standard, my spear and sword,  and I'm
invested to knighthood."

"And they lived happily ever after..." Eugenio commented with a smile.

"Yes, you can say that. At least until 1164, the year when an aisle of
the  castle where Philibert and I live collapses and we both die. While
we are  making love..."

"A wonderful death..." Eugenio said.

"Bah... not fast enough not to see terror in my Philibert's eyes while
we  clutch at each other. Death is often a dramatic experience,
especially when  it is violent. Sometimes it can also be a sweet
experience, for..."

"But, what is the reason of all your subsequent reincarnations? What is
the  reason of life, reincarnations or not?"

"The reason? Who knows it? I started to exist in my first incarnation
and  my... self-consciousness was empty. I started to think after my
first parting.  Reason? There must be one. I think it is my enrichment,
my completion  perhaps. But if it will happen, how it will happen, I'm
not able to tell you."

"But, you souls are indestructible?"

"Sure, we are not substance, not force, not energy... I'm not subjected
to  the laws of physics."

"Yes you are, as you are attired by metals and by fertilized cells. Is
it not  a physical law that attracts you?"

"I say attraction because I have to use human concepts, but it is not a
force,  a field of forces... It happens. How? There are still many
things I don't  know, I don't understand, even if I know and understand
much more of any  life I lived, and each time a little more."

"Yes, all right... your tales are more interesting than those
discussions."

"It's you who starts them. Don't complain, after."

"Ok, ok. What do you narrate me, now?"

"I can tell you about the time I was a Frenchman, in the times of the
French  Revolution..."

"But have you never been somebody famous?"


*******************

ROLF

"Famous?"

"Somebody who is also in the History books."

"Well, yes... I was Rolf, the Viking, or Dane, or Norseman chieftain as
you  prefer to say, and the first Duke of Normandy..."

"Never heard about him."

"Because you don't know history. It is the time just after the Danes
besieged  Paris. At the times of the siege I think I am fifteen years
old. I fight  with the  soldiers since my coming of age, that is three
years after my puberty. Since  one year I'm the squire of the group
chieftain, the strong Dubel, a man  about thirty years old, a formidable
warrior and a formidable lover."

"How did you become his lover?"

"In the most simple of ways. I am the son of one of his men, he notices
me,  so he takes me as his batman and right the first night, when he
lies down,  makes me undress, kneel between his powerful bare thighs and
he tells me  to suck it..."

"And you?" Eugenio asked amazed.

"He is our leader, he is the strongest warrior, I admire him, my father 
recommended me to obey him completely... so I do it without any
hesitation.  Rather, I feel him getting aroused and I feel honoured
having been chosen  by him for this intimate service, amongst the
several batmen he has. Then  he bodily turns me round, mounts me and
fucks me..."

"Didn't he hurt you?"

"Yes, he is really well endowed. But a viking doesn't complain. I feel
he  likes me a lot and I'm proud of that. I become his official lover."

"Official? You mean that everybody knew that? There is no problem in the
 relationship between two men?"

"Absolutely not. He is married, as everybody, he has children. But we 
vikings are known, in our raids, to mount  our enemies' girls or boys.
And it is normal for an adult warrior, when he is  far away from his
family due to war, to have a boy lover, precisely a batman,  that he
trains in the weapons' use and war."

"But he also had other batmen, that is lovers..."

"Of course, he is the strongest warrior, the most admired one."

"And weren't you jealous?"

"No, even because little by little he becomes affectionate to me and
prefers  me to all the others. And now that I'm used to it, I like it
and I'm happy  when he calls me to his pallet. While we besiege Paris,
we built a steady  encampment, with poles, stones and earth, from where,
on our horses,  we ride through the fields, forests, plains and villages
to get food. We kill  whoever resists us, we pursue the youths and,
having caught them, we mount them."

"You too?"

"Of course! Even if I always choose men. He, Dubel, doesn't make any 
distinctions, he takes whatever he gets. But then, we also often end up
doing  it together, he and I, before going back to the encampment with
our plunder.  At last, we decide to leave Paris, that still resists, and
to find a land for us,  to settle nearest to the sea, that remains for
us an important landmark.  Dubel founds a village for his men and their
families. Notwithstanding  that he is now reunited with his family, and
in the meanwhile I have also  married, he doesn't renounce me and we
often make love together. His  sons have died in war, therefore Dubel
adopts me as a son to succeed to  him after his death."

"But he continues to fuck you..."

"First of all we are lovers, right? Well, after a long serial of
challenges,  Dubel controls more and more of the neighbouring Norsemen's
villages,  who become his allies or that he subdues. I am at his side
for the  administration of our growing estate. I too have now a
batman..."

"Didn't you make love with Dubel anymore?"

"Sure I do, but I also love to have a handsome boy on my bed to please 
me. Rather, once while I am taking my batman, he enters, sees us, gets 
aroused, comes to me and takes me. I really like that double sensation a
 lot, so sometimes we do threesomes again, with me in the middle..."

"You are a real pervert..."

"No, I just enjoy life. When Dubel dies because of a wound he received 
in a challenge that he won anyway, I assume his role and continue to 
widen my influence in the area. I know we need to be united if we want 
to resist to the France king who tries to chase us back to sea. I
fortify the  village, that now is rather a small town, and start to
build my castle. I am  now a man, I must be around thirty years old..."

"How is that you, always so exact about dates, are so approximative
now?"

"Because I still don't know the calendar. I can give you the exact dates
only  after 911, when I sign a treaty with King Charles III the Simple,
who  recognizes me as Normandy Duke and entrusts all the Normandy land
to  me, and I recognize him as my king. To ratify the treaty, the king
wants  a group of noble Norsemen to go to live at his court, and a group
of noble  Francs to mine. While we discuss the various points of the
treaty, I meet  the eldest son of his Palace Master, a young Franc,
seventeen years old,  really wonderful, and I feel a strong liking for
him. So I ask the king to  have him also in the small group of nobles
who will come with me to my  castle. The king accepts, but asks that
amongst my men stopping at his  court, there is also my second son.

So it happens. I go back to my castle with my small group of
guest-hostages.  A period of peace starts. I want to conquer the young
Angilbert, to whom I  took a fancy..."

"Didn't you simply mount him as you vikings used to do?" Eugenio 
ironically asked.

"No. We are becoming civilized, and he is a noble hostage. Moreover I'm 
not only interested in having sex with him, I want him to become my
lover.  I like him, he is learned, gentle, beautiful. I start to
discretely court him,  I always want him at my side. I have the feeling
he likes me. But each  time I try to reach some degree of intimacy with
him, he seems to escape  from me.

I feel more and more attracted to the young Franc and I can't understand
 why he, who anyway seems also attracted by me, escapes me each time  he
understands what I would like to have from him. So, one day, I decide 
to speak with him frankly. We are alone between the tower battlements 
admiring my land and the nearby sea. So I tell him about my love for
him,  about my desire. He smiles and says he did understand. Then I ask
him  why he does always escape: perhaps he doesn't like me? Or he is not
 inclined to men's love?

He answers that he, more than willingly, would be mine, and my heart 
gives a start in my chest, but he adds that I have my batman, my wife, 
that I have also occasional adventures... He will be only for the man 
who oaths him fidelity. I make him remember that I'm the Lord of all
this  land and that I recognize to be superior only king Charles. He
smiles  like to a slow witted child and tells me that he is not asking
from me  fidelity as a Duke, but as Rolf, as a man. He says that as a
Duke he will  always obey me... and also as a lover, just if I have
nobody else.

To me this is like a challenge. If that's the price he asks me to be
mine,  he will get it. First, I make a gift to my batman and I send him
back to  his family honourably. Then I order to my wife to go to live in
 our castle in West Normandy with our children. Then I summon Angilbert 
and tell him: "Now there are no more obstacles, accept to be my lover." 
He asks me to take him in my bed room. He locks the doors, slowly 
undresses in front of me, looking at me with a sweet smile. I feel
burning  with desire, he is of a god-like beauty. He says: "Here I am,
do with me  all you want, as you please." I too undress, I draw near
him, I caress him  like in a daydream. He becomes aroused.

I take him in my arms, rise him against my chest, take him to my bed
where  I lay him down. He looks at me with desire filled eyes, smiling,
awaiting.  I go to the bed, hold him tightly against me and start to
enjoy his fresh and  strong body. He offers himself to me, so at last I
start to push my way  inside him. I am quite amazed: I used hundreds of
asses in my life, I took  hundreds of boys and youths and men... and yet
it is something different,  something new, incredible. I slowly invade
him, and he welcomes me inside  him. He gives himself to me transported
with delight. He really wants me, he not  just lets me have my way with
him. He caresses all my body, he kisses and  licks all parts of my body
he can reach while I move in and out of him. He  makes me feel how much
he does like having me inside him. He is tender,  passionate, he is able
to read my desire in my eyes and to promptly answer  to it, or rather,
he knows how to stir up my desire... I don't regret at all the 
sacrifices and renounces he asked of me, on the contrary, he plentifully
 repays me.

His way to make love, refines my way to make love. Francs at this time
are  a lot more civilized than we Norsemen. Angilbert is so sensual, and
even if  he receives me in him, he remains so manly... He is sensual, he
makes me  discover the intensity and beauty of a total donation, he
always gives  himself to me, and yet, I feel that he... owns me. And
notwithstanding  my pride, and I have a strong pride, I must admit, I
feel happy to belong to  him. I never thought that loving, and having
sex, with another man could  give such an intense pleasure and such a
strong feeling of being complete at last.

I love his way to take care of my body, I learn from him how to give,
and  receive, the maximum of pleasure, how to transform each love
encounter  in a living poem, in a real paradise. Sex, I discover thanks
to him, is not  just fucking, it is a lot more. He cares so much about
me as no wife, no  batmen could have cared. He is really living for me,
but now I am also  living for him. And not just when having sex, but all
day long. And my  days are radiant.

We live together, happily, for eleven years. I have now white hair, he
is  a mature man, and yet we continue to make love like the first time
he  gave himself to me. I feel like an old man, nowadays, but when he is
in  my arms, when I am in his arms, I still feel like a young man. As he
often  says to me, I am his stud... I never get tired of making love
with him.

But then I fall ill. When I realize I'm near to my end, I summon my
eldest  son into my presence and I make him solemnly swear, in front of
all my  vassals, that he will treat Angilbert like a dear brother and
like the most  precious of all his subjects. My son swears, and I read
in his eyes that he  is sincere, so I close my eyes, and finally I can
pass away, in peace. It is  the year 922, 12th of June, in the
afternoon."

"Another romantic story..."

"What's up, don't you like them?"

"Yes... and this Rolf, first Duke of Normandy, is the most famous person
 you ever was?"

"Eh, yes, you have to be content with that. But I have been also the
lover  of more famous men, if you want I can tell you..."

"Yes, but not now, tomorrow. Now I'm a little busy..." Eugenio answered,
 bid farewell to the voice and closed his cellular.

-----------------------------

CONTINUES IN PART 5

-----------------------------

In my home page I've put some of my stories. If someone wants to read
them, the URL is

http://www.geocities.com/~andrejkoymasky/

If you want to send me feedback, my e-mail is

andrejkoymasky@geocities.com

---------------------------