Chapter One
DEBTS REPAID

The 12th Day of Threfeldesmor, 3218 (April 7, 1595)
Heslov, Carlovain


Banred saw the Italian nobleman’s wife approaching and tried not to let his eyes betray his astonishment. He had thought his friends were joking when they described what she would look like.

She walked upon shoes with soles some sixteen inches thick, which made her gait so unsteady that a pair of handmaids supported her, her hands on their shoulders on either side. To add to her preposterously fake height, her hair had been braided up into two, curving, almost horn-like spikes on her head adding some nine or ten more inches to her altitude. Perhaps the braids were meant to suggest a halo, though they failed to meet by nearly a foot at their top in their curve towards each other, and they jutted some six inches in front of her forehead as well. Banred could not see what held those braids up, were there wires inside of them, or was it that the braids were simply woven tightly and expertly together?

As if to compensate for the preposterousness of her shoes and her hair, her dress of green silk and silver thread was embarrassingly decollete, the front of her dress was open down to nearly her navel, and she didn’t wear any undergarments, you could see the sides of her breasts at the top of her dress.... Banred looked up (her face was nearly a foot above his due to those shoes) and into her eyes, and blushed. “My apologies, my Lady.” he said to her.

She held a handkerchief of delicate lace in one hand, she lifted her hand and flapped it back and forth in his face, presumably in a gesture of dismissal/forgiveness. “Our fashion in Venice is new to you.” she said.

“Yes. You are gracious, my Lady.” he bowed to her. “I am Banred, a member of the House of Ernben, the fifth Moresta Duke of Heslov, and was sent to invite you and your Lord to visit us at our manor at your convenience. The Duchess wishes to inform you that she is at home on Vedrondays, which is the day after tomorrow and every fifth day after that.” The Italian could not be expected to know the Carlovain calendar.

“Good.” The handkerchief was flapped in his face again, it reeked of some perfume, sweet, too sweet, it was like some sweet liqueur spilled in a forgotten cellar, left to stain and concentrate its nectars, and then you opened the door and the long dead odor of wasted joy pounced on you. “You may tell the Duchess that I shall indeed call upon her this, uh, Vedronday, young Mister Moresta.”

“Nay, my Lady.” Banred said promptly. “Our Clan is Moresta, not my name.”

“Oh, yes, you still have those, don’t you?” Again that damnable handkerchief, she was determined to slap his face with it. He went back two steps in defiance of the courtesy...there were limits to what he’d do for his spending money! “What then is your surname?”

It took Banred a while to realize what she was asking...she wanted his immediate family’s name...and there wasn’t one! He improvised rather hastily. “Nellandrew.” he said. He could claim that without blushing, the prefix “Nell” simply indicated “descended from” and Duke Andrew, the second Moresta Duke of Heslov, had in fact been his great-great-grandfather. True, the duchy had never gotten so close to his family line again, passing to his great-grandfather’s elder brother and off to collateral lines from there, he was simply one of a growing number of family members the duchy rather grudgingly supported...witness them giving him the onerous duty of going out to fetch home visitors for the Duchess! And not even buying him a new jacket so he could cover his tunic, which was becoming embarrassingly threadbare. He would have to humble himself to the Duchess and beg from her enough extra money to buy him a few new clothes if she intended to keep trotting him out in the public eye like this.

The lady stepped up next to him again and this time the handkerchief was drap ed on his shoulder, she then actually laid a hand upon him...oh, Lords of Heaven, the perfume wasn’t in the handkerchief, it was on her! Had she bathed in the foul stuff?

“Well, Banred Nellandrew, perhaps you could show me your charming town on the morrow? I am in need of a...a young man who can guide me about and I know nobody in this...charmingly small city.” Her smile was not quite coquettish enough to be sly, it was closer to a bald leer as she ran her eyes over his face and body. It repelled him utterly.

Still...a guide. He would do it, for a lady would not expect to pay for things herself, he would need money from her given discreetly beforehand to pay for the things she wished, and thus he could keep some of it for himself, for she spoke only Parisian French, not the Nestry-French dialect of Carlovain. “I would be charmed to escort such a lovely lady around our humble estate.” he said. Heslov was not part of the Duchy of Heslov and hadn’t been for well over a century, but no reason for her to know that.

Was this how low he had sunk, to be the pander to a foreign noble lady’s lusts? Would he be forced to join her in her bed and have sex with her, and then to make love to her with words and gestures for hour upon hour as he showed her the few vistas Carlovain possessed? Would he even perhaps find himself dueling with her husband for the sake of a few gold pieces....

Gold pieces! If he had but a small handful of them, he could buy his way into a guild and from there set up a small business of his own by careful use of his free entry into the ducal chambers as part of the family. Was the giving of his body to his simpering lady too much for that?

His only asset was himself, many had remarked on how closely he resembled his forebear Andrew, the man who had won the civil war for the King, and been rewarded by having his father appointed the first Moresta Duke of Heslov. Andrew, he had heard rumors, had also graced the King’s bed for as long as that King had lived. A fine body and a noble heart, that had won Andrew a duchy, what then could the same win for him if he but tried?

Well, he had this body which he worked on assiduously ever since he had aspired in his young teens to emulate his noble forebear, weights that he sweated over for hours and afternoons spent in practice with the sword, until his body had swelled, his chest distended in front of him, his arms which he kept bare beneath a sleeveless tunic when the weather was warm enough showed off the large biceps he had earned, the veins of his arm forced out of the enlarged muscles to form a cable-line protrusion there. And there was his face which he had inherited from his family, clean and regular, with the shining black Nestry hair atop it that he kept clean and combed, but not styled as elaborately as many of his comrades did, for Andrew had been a peasant at his birth, and kept that look throughout his life even while wearing fine clothing. His skin he kept burnished by exposure to the sun in due measure so that even now in mid-spring, he had already a golden tone to his body. He had been rewarded for his labors, too, by his body’s ability to charm his noble male friends, and he had dallied among them as he chose, the delights of the flesh, which unlike wine or foods, were pleasures that required no coin, so he indulged it as often as his body would permit.

Yes, if he chose, he could make love to this woman in an experienced way that would open her purse to him, perhaps enough to get him a position beyond that of ducal flunky. Even though that would mean holding this woman in his arms, sending his manhood into that quivering pool of rank fish-pudding which was her vagina...was that a price too high to pay? He inhaled, to expand his chest for her viewing, and that scent hit him again! Yes, it was! Not this, not yet! Not her! He’d guide her about and take the paltry few coppers he could get that way!

“But for now, you must forgive me as I take my leave of you.” If he didn’t get that hand off of him, he’d vomit all over her stilt-adorned feet!

“Tomorrow morning, then.” she said. “I relish it. Adieu, young Lord Nellandrew, adieu.”

“Adieu.” he said, bowed, and left. An alley was nearby, he ran into it and though it held rotting garbage, the smell was a relief to him as he gagged, though whether it was from her smell or the fact that he had considered embracing her, he was not sure.

“Gardez l’eau!” came a yodel from overhead and he jumped, the contents of a chamberpot landing on the alleyway near him. Another foreigner, he thought in contempt as he beheld the foul mess, a tiny droplet of which had soiled his tights. Carlovainers never dumped their chamberpots so callously, they were capped after use and then carried downstairs in the early morning for proper disposal in the bins that waited for them beside every door...He knew from talking with the foreign dignitaries that Heslov was a remarkably tidy town when compared to Paris or Bremen.

Well, his trip to the docks had been a success; he had a reason now to see the Duchess, which would also give him a chance to request some money from her. He would tell her of his offer to guide this Venetian lady around, it might help to open her hand....

“Banred! Ah, there you are!” he heard the voice.

He turned around. “Fermel?” he said in surprise, which quickly evaporated...that look on this loyal servant’s face was far too common. “What has he done now?”

“They’ve locked him in the guild debtor’s prison, my Lord.” Fermel said. “Oh, sir, you must help me get him out! His constitution is too delicate for that place....” Fermel was in his fifties, his hair streaked with white throughout, somewhat bent by an old accident that left him limping but able to ambulate well enough. He was loyal to his master to a fault.

“As often as he visits it, you’d think he would have learned how to deal with it by now.” Banred said with faint sympathy.

“Oh, but sir, only a single gold piece will buy his freedom this time.” Fermel babbled.

“He already owes me six gold pieces. And if I had a gold piece, I would not be standing in this dreary street with shit on my hose, would I?” Banred said. He looked at the sky. “Besides, it’s nearly dark; they’ll ring the curfew warning soon.” he said. “He will have to manage in the debtor’s prison for one night.” He’d be lucky to make it back to the manor in time, on foot as he was and with a lonely silver piece and twelve coppers in his purse. In the old days, that would have totaled a gold piece, but these were not the coins of his ancestors, but a recent innovation by Queen Delana, an effort to make the currency more flexible. The gold coin had grown, the silver had shrunk, it was now twenty coppers to a silver piece and five silver pieces to a gold piece. The Queen had had the infernal gall to put her own face on the new coins, as well. But she was a vain, silly thing, out for her own glory rather than the good of Carlovain, it had been a foul day when the last of the Phillipian kings had passed away with only her in direct line for the throne....

“But he doesn’t have to stay if you’ll but come with me.” Fermel sniveled.

“I tell you I don’t have a gold piece!” Banred nearly shouted, then flinched as some ladies near him tittered. This made him shout the rest to Fermel. “So I couldn’t loan it to Stevlen even if I wanted to, which I don’t!”

“But you won’t need money to get him out.” Fermel said. “Please, my Lord, for the sake that he once saved your life, won’t you come with me now?”

Saved his life. Aye, he would have been better off had that cut-throat stuck the knife in his back that foul evening. He had been talked by Stevlen (who was his third cousin and currently seventh in line for the Duchy of Heslov) into staying out past the curfew bell and they had been keeping to the alleys to avoid the guard...and two men had blocked their way. Banred’s sword had made them flinch and he was about to dispatch one of them when a third, whom he hadn’t seen, jumped at him from a ledge over their heads...and onto Stevlen’s knife, for Stevlen had seen him as he jumped. The knife merely grazed his shoulder blade as the thief had died and the others fled in fear...and Stevlen had been waving that debt of gratitude in his face without mercy ever since.

It left him in a doubly bad position for, as far as Stevlen was from the dukedom, he was Banred’s best connection for some sort of financial future. Stevlen could be appointed the duchy’s steward in some outlying location, and he could go as an assistant to Stevlen...poor as that prospect was, it was the best chance he had of any life besides that of the Duchess’ errand boy.

“Very well.” he said almost sulkily. “But I don’t see what my going to the debtor’s prison will accomplish.” To get out of the prison was simple; you paid your debt. Until then, you stayed there, and were reliant upon your friends outside to bring you in food and other necessities. It was a desperate man indeed who ended up there without a friend to call upon to either redeem him or send him sustenance; a man could starve to death within its walls though the warder was to visit each week and warn the creditors when a man was in such a desperate circumstance. The problem was that Stevlen had worn out his familial sympathies, he was constantly in debt and this was now his fifth trip to the debtor’s prison. Only Banred’s intercession and loan of the six gold pieces (the reason for his current financial straits) some two weeks ago had saved him. Stevlen’s father, the current steward of Heslov, had simply told Fermel to see to it that he had food taken to him each day in the prison “...and as for the rest, he may do as he will, I wash my hands of him otherwise.”

This was why Fermel had sought him out instead of his father. And the debt of gratitude was enough to see that Banred, with only thirty-two carlettes in his purse, was going back with Fermel to find out how he could redeem a debt three times that size. Well, perhaps Fermel knew a guard who was willing to gamble, Banred had always had a certain luck with cards, he might could gamble the winnings that way....

He could not but help and cast a glance back at the docks and the ships there. Many a man had sought fortune there, seeking a passage westward to the Indies or by going around Africa. Spain and Portugal had increased their fortunes thus; England was trying to do likewise but doing poorly at it and had recently resorted more to piracy against the Spanish possessions already established there; France had its problems with the Huguenots and the Dutch to their south were in civil war against King Philip, a King wished upon them by Spain. Why not little Carlovain, that had less to risk and thus more to gain?

He was stopped briefly by a group of Pilgrims, a group of refugees from religious oppression in England (and why not? Their religious leader was their King and they repudiated such leadership!). Their dress was uniformly drab and unappealing, and the scorn they cast his way to his more colorful clothing, as threadbare and faded as it was from its original orange-and-brown. They were on their way home from worship, the sun must be closer to setting than he’d expected! Would he be forced to spend the night in debtor’s prison, they would charge him sixteen carlettes in rent if he did, half his pocket money!

He risked crossing between the Pilgrims, careful to do so only between men and not a group of their women, who would treat his most unintentional brushing against as a sexual advance. One of the men uttered “Nestry sodomite” at him as he pushed past him, but didn’t do so loudly enough for him to take official notice and he was worried enough about curfew and its fine of a gold piece (possibly why Stevlen was now in debtor’s prison, he realized) to ignore the insult, so typical of a Pilgrim. Why the Queen had permitted them to enter was beyond him, they were such a cheerless, uninteresting people. Still, with the Dutch in rebellion and France not much better despite Henry IV’s attempts at conciliation, Carlovain was the most inclined to tolerate such refugees at all!

His musings had carried him right up to the debtor’s prison’s doors without realizing it. The building was reasonably new and clean, built by the Guilds and a privately run business of theirs. Their guards were often men who had been released from the armed forces of Carlovain for less-than-savory reasons, witness the man before him, wearing the red and white of Heslov’s own ducal guards for his tunic-and-shirt, but wearing gray trousers and thus officially not in uniform.

“My Lord Banred, we are well met.” the guard said.

Did he know this man, in his early thirties, strong and handsome? Ah, the guards were quicker to know the double-score of the ducal family than he was to know the six hundred or so of the guards. “We are well met.” he settled for saying. “I need to speak to the warden.”

“He is waiting for you, my Lord.” the guard said.

“I’ll bet he is.” Banred said. The warden he did remember; he had attended the court-martial. Dorvem had been a captain of the ducal guards until the Duke had learned that a man being punished by him had died under the whip. As the captain had no authority to assign a man more than ten strokes of the lash without ducal consent, and since he had not sought it in this case and since the dead man had clearly sustained at least forty lashes with a very heavy whip, his back a bloody mass of torn flesh and broken ribs (horrible!), the findings of the Duke had been clear. The Duke had wisely asked the men themselves to recommend a replacement, and now Nesvern was their captain, a man of clear ability and popular with his men; their morale had been high ever since.

The guard hallooed his arrival, “Lord Banred has arrived!” And there came the first bell of warning, curfew would begin in less than a quarter hour. He would have to spend the night in these cursed halls or risk the night-thieves again!

To his surprise, he was not taken to the warden but into the halls of the debtors’ cells, a woman’s sobbing was over there, two men cursing on that hand, and the sounds of a brawl somewhere ahead. The guards didn’t care what went on inside the individual cells which were paid for by the creditor, so a man was allowed to bring his entire family inside with him if he chose, and some did. He would ask to share Stevlen’s room with him and thus avoid the twelve carlettes as a boarder....

“Ah, Banred.” Stevlen said as he came up, the noble, carefully coiffed face peering at him between the bars. “So good of you to come here. See, dear Dorvem, I assured you he would be here before nightfall.”

“Just barely.” Dorvem muttered.

“I had to search for him around the town.” Fermel babbled. “When I saw the Venetian ship in the harbor, I took a chance and caught him there.”

“And how were the Venetian ladies, Banred?” Stevlen was relaxed and chatty, unlike the nervous fears emanating from the cells all around him.

“As you described them. I concede my error in doubting you.” Banred said.

“How high were her heels?”

“Sixteen inches, I judge.” Banred said. “And horns that a wild bull would gaze upon in envy.”

“All women have their horns to gore us, my dear Banred, the Venetian ladies are simply honest enough to display theirs in public.”

“Since I will be spending the night here with you, you may as well tell me how you came to be here. Missed last night’s curfew, I suppose?”

“Not at all. I had found a marvelous place to spend the night with a most charming young man and had quite enjoyed myself, when he had the infernal gall to demand money from me. Seeing how I detest the visage of women so much that I refuse to carry our sovereign lady’s face about me like that, I informed him of my poverty and he then summoned the guard with whom he seems to have a ready arrangement for such things. I have been here the entire day without so much as a slice of bread to fill my stomach.”

“You shouldn’t have taken in a catamite if you weren’t ready to pay him.” Banred said. Carlovain had a Prostitutes Guild which, though not a recognized guild as such, did assign uniform fees for services (scaled upon physical appearance and age of the member), so the catamite’s summoning of the guards for debtor’s prison was not astonishing, though unusual; the catamite would have to pay for the debtor’s cell himself. Still, a nobleman could expect to be redeemed in a few days, the price of the cell to the catamite was worthwhile in such circumstances, he supposed.

“But my dear Banred, he didn’t ask. How was I to know that the bulge he sought from me was in my purse and not my hose? Prostitutes ought to be as honest as wives, who proclaim and collect their price tag before you embrace them. Though the price wives charge you is exceedingly high for their services. I think a wife should be hired on a per-diem basis, so much for housekeeping, so much for sex, so much for bearing your children. I daresay she’d be happier and the man would realize a distinct savings as a result; he could rent them for only a single score of years instead of being burdened with them for life. Once he was done, the woman could be sent back to live with her mother, who invariably wishes that the girl had never left to begin with. This would prevent the ignominy of having the mother-in-law move into your house with you, an increase in the household which increases your scoldings ten-fold.”

Banred grinned. “I shall not argue with you the finer points of marriage, since it seems to be something I shall never be able to afford at any price. Instead, let me ask you why I am here, since I informed Fermel that I didn’t have a nycarl to my name and he said that I could get you from this place without a nycarl. Know you someone here we can gamble with?” Banred looked at the warden. “Or is the price of bribery here so low that a few carlettes will suffice?”

Dorvem wasn’t offended, only grinned. “I passed the word to the catamites that any who could bring in the duke’s relative would be rewarded.”

“So you see, Banred, I am here not for my dalliance with the lad, but rather for the purposes of this former captain.” Stevlen said.

“I see.” Banred said. “Well, as you no doubt have realized by now, the Duke is not going to come to redeem Stevlen, and I don’t have the money myself.”

“Actually, what I said was that the next time Stevlen couldn’t pay, to bring him in.” Dorvem clarified.

“But whatever for?” Banred said. “You saw me bail him out with my last nycarl scarcely a fortnight ago. And you know his prospects as well as any. Why persecute Stevlen for the duke’s punishment for flogging that poor soldier to death?”

“Why, to repay the debt.” Dorvem said. “You owe him your life, he said. Wouldn’t you like to repay that debt once and for all?”

“How?”

“By letting me repay the debt I owe your family, my Lord Banred.” Dorvem growled. “I bought this particular debt from the little catamite, and now I am changing the terms of the debt.”

“Very well.” Banred said. “We are in your hands. What is the price you wish, Sir Creditor, for your disgrace?”

“You misunderstand me. It is not the punishment for my flogging that I seek repayment. It is another.”

Banred was again confused. “I am at a loss as to the debt involved.”

The debt of standing guard outside your quarters year upon year.” Dorvem said. “Watching as you grew into manhood, watching as you bestowed your favors upon others, watching from outside your windows as you made love with all candles lit brightly, watching as you chose others, even from my own soldiers, for your lusts. Watching as you always, always chose other than I.”

“I...I never knew.” Banred stammered.

“No, you never looked at the captain whose eyes could not look elsewhere when you were near.” Dorvem said. “For all that I polished my bucklers and trimmed my locks until my fellow officers laughed at my preoccupation.”

Banred struggled to remember what he could of those days. He had scarcely noticed the captain of the ducal guard, some twenty years older than he, a mere lad of fifteen when Dorvem had first came to the manor, and had stayed until his nineteenth year. It must have been those last three years of which Dorvem spoke, for that was when he had discovered the joys of his body and those of his cousins and friends; they had rollicked in nightly uninhibited abandon, each night a voyage of discovery, each afternoon whispered confidences and “I have learned of this-and-that” which of course had to be tried out in the nighttime. And yes, sometimes they had kept candles lit especially for one cousin who (though he denied it still) was fearful of the dark.

Though well-muscled and broad-shouldered, Dorvem was not the most attractive of men, his face was puffy and his nose rounded and broken in some long-ago brawl, his temper had always been uneven and fearsome, he had ruled his troops through fear and cruelty until the time of the fatal lashing which had been his undoing. No wonder the younger man he had been had never noticed him, never noticed that the fire in those eyes had been aimed at him with something other than fury or rage. Well, now that he knew...what then?

“Stevlen?” he asked. “Did you know that this was what he wanted?”

“Nay, my cousin and best friend.” Stevlen said. “I knew only that he had arranged to bring me here for his own purposes. When first he spoke, I intended to offer myself in your stead, but I see now that would have been for naught, his desire is monomaniacal, not genealogical as I had thought. All I can say is that were our positions reversed, I should give myself most unstintingly. But that is the way of the world, the sacrifice of oneself is so much easier when one knows the sacrifice will be refused. It seems to be a cardinal rule of lust, it most desires what it can least have. Were it not so, too many men would be happily married and the catamites would go hungry. And had that young catamite been thus forced to turn to an honest living instead of luring me into this trap, I would not be here and neither would you. But you did ignore this man’s desire for you, so he was forced to resort to this subterfuge which involved me, and so you can see, it was your actions that resulted in my imprisonment, and so your duty is to obtain my release by whatever means you find necessary.”

“Stevlen, I think you could convince a man that the sun was shining at midnight, but we shared the same master of logic during our boyhoods. I’ll merely point out that if you had resisted the wiles of that young catamite, you would not be here and neither would I. Still, if this will make an end of it, both of your imprisonment and your calling upon me for redemption in the future, I shall do it.” Banred turned to Dorvem. “Shall we go back to your rooms, then? I am stuck here for the night, it may as well be in your bed than the straw of these cells.”

“Nay.” Dorvem said. “It was in the halls that I stood then, and would stand now.”

“Here, then?” Banred said in despair. “Shall you take me in these halls and let all within these cells hear me call out in anguish?”

“It shall not be anguish.” Dorvem coaxed him.

“How can it be other?” Banred asked. “If I am not willing?”

“I shall make you willing.” Dorvem said, his lips (they reeked of cheap alcohol) reached for his. They slurried and slathered foamy saliva over his lips. “I shall make you willing, my young Lord.” he groaned and thrust his hips against Banred’s groin, and Banred felt the hard tool inside there, jabbing for him. “My pretty young Lord.” he whispered moistly in Banred’s ear. “To hold you just this once is worth a nycarl to me.”

“Then I suppose you must get your money’s worth.” Banred said bitterly. Those lips were like slabs of moist warm liver on his neck, biting and nipping at him, slobbering upon him, while that hard prod jabbed at him again and again. He felt the cold stone of the wall against his back, he had been pushed there and now those hands were tugging at the lacing of the tunic at his throat, undoing the lace, pulling the tunice over his head, sending his cap rolling down the hallway, and the cold air of early spring bit at his bared flesh, and now the beard was pressing against his chest, Dorvem was nibbling at his nipple...Gods, he prayed, let this but be over with soon as may be! “Oh, Gods, to be sold for a single nycarl!” he groaned.

“Courage, my friend.” Stevlen said. “He paid more than that for you. He paid in many sleepless nights and hours of contemplation, many weeks of unrequited love, years of frustration. Could any man pay a higher price than this for you? Why, it is a princely sum indeed.”

That was true. What would he have to feel to conspire the way this man had? And had he ever been mistreated by this man in any way, though he was cruel to others? Weren’t these hands gentle upon him, loving, caressing him with every ounce of their ability.

The lips sought out his other breast and as they clenched and suckled, he felt his manhood surge into life, powerful, demanding life! He groaned and his arms rose up to return the embrace being lavished upon him.

“Ah, my young Lord!” Dorvem gasped. “Love me, young Lord, this once, and I shall part from you entire. I shall kneel before you and humbly beg pardon, but not now, not now.”

And those hard, horned hands calloused from holding the sword, the reins, the shovel, the whip, those hands cupped now Banred’s basket and sought the outline of his cock, felt the ample size of it, and Dorvem groaned and knelt and Banred’s groin was engulfed in hairy face, and his cock felt the heat and moisture of that mouth, his hose opened themselves easily upon the untying of the string and they slid down his legs and then... “Oh, Gods!” Banred groaned.

Those lips which had drooled so filthily upon his lips and his neck, which had left drips of saliva trickling down his ribcage from either breast, now they feasted upon his prong, and it was a hot, zesty, foaming bath that titillated every nerve ending in his dick, it surged and pulsed in response, Banred’s hands went to that unruly mop of hair and his fingers dug in among the oily strands and clenched there, ready to take charge should the need arise, but for now enjoying the ride as this head was sent plunging down and thrilling his prick to the very base, then running up in almost corkscrew-like fashion, those lips which had been too wide and moist upon him now plied their plump skill upon the velvet of his shaft, pleasure surged and danced along Banred’s body with every movement there, he was being raptured, tortured with desire by a body driven by years of withheld lust now released upon him all at a single moment.

Banred shivered, and realized that part of that was the coldness in these cheerless halls, he withstood it a moment more then said, “Pray, eager and most adept Dorvem, let us consummate this now by letting me do more than receive your blandishments. But pray permit me to replace my tunic, for I am chilled to a point where my body is raising up with frost pox, see how my arms are covered with the bumps? Let me but replace my tunic and shirt and I shall ply your rod with my utmost ability.”

The other guard, the one who had brought him up to Dorvem, laughed, leaning against the wall with one leg crossing the other and toes resting upon the floor, arms crossed on his chest. “Well, Dorvem, you spent your money foolishly, methinks. This young dog is easily put into heat enough.”

Dorvem scowled and turned to him. “Silence, Edlar! He honors me in this. Always he was a young Lord of honor, do not filthy this moment with your sneers.”

“I meant no harm.” Edlar said, but his smile remained as Banred replaced his tunic and then knelt before Dorvem, praying that the man was clean about his body at least. His hands felt sticky, but it could be some treebark placed in his hair.

He smelled the powerful aroma seeping from Dorvem’s crotch as the man clumsily undid his fly for Banred, and then he lowered his trousers and undergarments together and the smell hit Banred’s nostrils. Praise be, it was no worse than he had smelled from his friends at the end of a day of exertion. He gingerly touched his tongue to that cockshaft, eight fat inches of uncut pud, and it was cleaner than he’d feared, dirtier than he’d hoped. Some three days must have passed since his last bath, but it wasn’t worse than that. Some men hardly ever bathed but the warden would be in daily contact with nobles come to redeem wayward sons and Guildmasters come to examine their debtors, he kept himself clean enough.

There was the faintest amount of slickness to the cockhead upon his tongue, a bit of rankness to its flavor, but this was to be done, he needed moisture if this was to be sent into his nether regions, he brought the moisture of his mouth into being and lavished it upon this dong as he suckled on it, Dorvem’s heavy hands clasped upon his head on either side and Banred barely had time to brace himself as those hands began to force his head into rapid motion, jamming that huge thick dong into him deeply, fucking his face hard and the cock heated up on him until he hoped somewhat that this would be all that Dorvem would want. For this reason, he bore it without complaint, the repeated assaults of that heavy pud into his throat, fighting back any gagging and breathing as he could in between strokes.

“Ah, ah, hah, hah, hah...gah!” Dorvem groaned and thrust Banred back so hard he nearly fell upon the floor. “Enough, now young Lord, now I shall take you for my own.”

Well, at least he’d had practice enough, and with some as big as Dorvem was. He’d prefer the comfort of a bed and the ease of a gentle insertion, but this was not to be unbearable. He bent over and lowered his body to bring it to Dorvem’s somewhat shorter height, and prayed that the saliva he had applied over the dong would be sufficient, or that Dorvem would be kind.

The cockhead kissed his anus, touching him diffidently, and he sighed, rested his hands upon his knees and let Dorvem press into him, gently, gently, “Ah, ah, ah-guh!” he gasped.

And he rocked as the thrusts into his anus began, slow, warm and sleek, and he sighed, closed his eyes in the joy of this feeling, a man’s cock pressing against that love-button inside of him, the one which had given him so much joy for so many years. Rocking and loving it, loving the feel even here, even now. Pleasure is as pleasure does, Stevlen had told him once and that seemed to be true

Illustration of 'Explorer of Carlovain #1' “And now the bitch is mounted.” Edlar said. “Perhaps now there is room at this mouth for another of your cousin’s former guards?”

And the clothed groin was shoved at his face, ground into his mouth. “Come on, my Lord, let me feel those noble lips upon my commoner’s prick, for you have been paid for already.”

Banred waited for Dorvem to protest as he had before, but nothing, even when that turgid prick was shoved at him, longer and thinner than Dorvem’s. He looked up into a face handsome enough if a bit thin, the body regal and clean, the body powerful and lovely beneath the face that wasn’t cruel so much as uncaring, as is a soldier taking his pleasure in the field, knowing he may do as he will up to a point because he will not pass this way again. And then the cock was against his lips, and he opened and let it slide in. Best to let this time of mindless pleasure take him entire, he could turn his attention later to how he wished to react to it all. He sucked on the long, thin prong, tasting a surprisingly sweet nectar that wept out of it onto his tongue.

And Dorvem shifted his weight and began to thrust upwards into him, oh Gods, that was doing it, that was doing it for him! He was engulfed in his lust, his body didn’t care who these men were, it only cared that he was impaled by them from both ends, that his mouth and butt were filled with hard, virile dongs, he was being jammed full of male lust that seethed and burnt his lips and seared his sphincter, he was inflamed, he was ignited, he was enraptured! His hand found his prick and gave it a few perfunctory jerks, and his cock exploded like a cannon’s muzzle, he sprayed his seed upon the stone floor, splashing Edlar’s shoes, while his body erupted into climax, and he groaned his joy around that sliding dick in his mouth while his anus clutched and spasmed upon Dorvem’s prick. “Mmph, mph, mph, hm, hmph, mph, mph!” he grunted, his breaths hissing and whistling around Edlar’s cock, a fiery poker inside of him.

Dorvem began to hunch at him harder than ever now, and as orgasm released Banred, it turned its attentions to Dorvem, and Dorvem groaned and roared out his pent-up lust, pouring a copious, heavy flow into Banred’s long-desired ass, the sounds of Dorvem’s joy rebounded down the corridors like the roars of a lion in the ancient Roman arenas must have, bouncing off every wall in constant reflecting, redoubling sounds of ecstasy.

Done, almost sobbing, Dorvem released him.

“Now it’s my turn, young Lord.” Edlar said and as Banred rose up, Edlar turned him roughly around and Banred found his hands upon the wall beside of Dorvem who was leaning against it weakly. Banred gasped as he felt that slim prick dive up inside of him, the way cushioned and lubricated by Dorvem’s sperm that gushed out around it, to pour off of Edlar’s balls and fall in fat splats on the floor. Edlar wasn’t the least bit kind, but Banred was opened up and almost uncaring in the spent energy of his own passion, this was a mere nothing, it didn’t matter, let this other guard take him and be done with it all.

Edlar was far behind them, he fucked Banred while Dorvem caught his breath and Banred’s lust died within him until this was something distant from him, he had a cock up his ass, but his ass was stretched out so it didn’t bother him...no pleasure but no pain. Dorvem tied his pants, wiped his face with his shirt sleeve and said, “Thank you, my Lord, for this moment of pleasure. I shall release your friend and give you pleasant quarters to wait for the dawn together.”

“You are most kind.” Banred said as Edlar’s thrusts rocked his body. That cock was a hot poker in his bowels, this would be over soon.

“I sincerely beg your pardon for my guile in this.” Dorvem said. “It shall not happen the more.”

“And I beg pardon of you, for being so blind to you before.” Banred said. “If you had thought I would welcome your arms, you would not have lowered your honor so.”

Dorvem considered him. “You should be the next Duke.”

“Ah, guh, guh, hk, huk, huk!” Edlar said.

“I am to far removed from the lineage to even hope for that.” he said. “It would take a plague before that could happen.”

“HUK, HK, HK, HK, HK-K-K-KHGHHH!” Edlar groaned and Banred felt the hot steamy jism filling his indifferent buttocks. Ah, that was over with, good.

Those sweating hands clenched and held him tightly not in gratitude but to support their wearer, Edlar rested his chin upon Banred’s shoulder and panted heavily into his ear as he continued to thrust into Banred’s buttocks with his still-hard cock, wringing every ounce of his pleasure from this time. Finally, he was still, holding as his cock shrunk inside Banred.

“If you are quite through with me.” Banred said pointedly. “I should like to pull up my hose once again.”

“Oh, I’m done...for now, anyway.” Edlar said.

“Edlar, these are my guests.” Dorvem said as he turned the key in the lock. “I shall place them in the quarters next to mine and if you disturb them, I shall take it personally. Remember how personally I took things while in the Duke’s guard?”

Edlar blanched. “My pardons, sir.”

“Come.” Stevlen said. “I remember the place well he speaks of. It is next to his quarters as he said.” Stevlen was dressed in clothes of richer origin but just as worn as those of Banred in their age, neither young man had received steady income since their full growth. Stevlen wore a neatly trimmed beard that made a pert triangle at his chin, a rakishly thin mustache reached down long arms to it, the beard followed a narrow trail up until they married his sideburns. Like all those of Nestry blood, his hair was jet black and sleek, his face was devilishly gorgeous with glinting eyes slightly sunken and thus more clever, they shone with intelligence and stealth. Seeing that face, Banred could only smile. Perhaps later this night, he and Stevlen would make love once again, he relished those arms around him even in the confidential friendliness of a shared bed. Suddenly he didn’t regret paying for Stevlen’s release at all. “I stayed there my first three visits to this place, you know.” Stevlen continued as Dorvem led the way.

“Back when your father would pay for your release.” Banred said, hitching at his hose and following as best he could in his state of dishabille. “See how we were reduced to get you redeemed.”

“I didn’t notice you screaming in ravishment.” Stevlen twitched one too-cocky eyebrow at him, that smile was too saucy, too all-knowing, as usual.

“Well, I saw no reason not to take my pleasure as I could under the circumstances.” Banred said. “And now you and I are even, my life is my own once more, the debt is paid.”

“Agreed.” Stevlen said. “But I can place you back into my service easily enough.”

“How?” Banred said. Stevlen was many things, but not into making empty boasts.

“Let us get to our room and I shall explain.” he said.

The room was as pleasant as promised, an ample bed with clean bedding, blankets warm enough to ward off the chill of night, pillows that begged him to rest his weary head. Two large candles would be able to light the entire night if they chose.

Banred enjoyed watching Stevlen disrobe. Those arms were leaner than his own but bore their own beauty, Stevlen was beautiful in the way a cat is beautiful, sleek and refined, every muscle moving as it needed while staying close to the body. Next to him, as always, Banred felt large and clumsy, but those eyes and smile turned upon him, warming him and Banred doused the lights and happily climbed into bed with him, felt those arms around him, the face pressed next to his, expecting kisses and ardor.

Instead he heard, “I have been speaking to those in the Queen’s favor.” he said. “She has reached a decision re the claims of the English to the Americas and feels that a colony there would be in our best interests. How would you like to go with me on the ship to found a fort there for the colony in the New World?”

I have kept these notes to the end for they need to be substantial.

First, thanks to the diligence with which Banred kept his personal diary during this period, and by comparing it to the logs of the “Hope of Fortune” which was kept by its captain by the Gregorian calendar, I can finally give you a firm date for the events in this story and shall do so when necessary. “Threfeldesmore” translates as “Spring’s Left Hand”; so the two calendars were in rough synchronization at this time though whether by coincidence or royal decree I cannot tell. Anyway, Threfeldesmore is followed by “Threfelbin” (Spring Arrives), then “Threfeldorn” (Spring is Leaving) and “Threfeldespin” (Spring’s Right Hand). And so on through the other three seasons.

You see here the first use of the word “Nestry” which is a corruption/foreshortening of “Neresterii” and which name survives for the people of Carlovain to this date in the same way that “Anglo-Saxon” remains to describe the English.

The coinage of Carlovain, which survives in altered form to this date, is the gold coin now called the nycarl, the silver coin which was in much more common circulation and known as the carl, and the copper coins called carlettes. One hundred carlettes equaled five carls which equaled a nycarl. To understand the coinage, you may think of a carlette as buying two eggs at the market or a small loaf of bread.

You see Banred thinking in terms of “Gods” or “Lords of Heaven” (words he used in his diary) and wonder if he is Christian or pagan; the fact is that the Church of Carlovain taught that when Christ was born, he was the result of the One God becoming Three Gods with different realms in which they reigned supreme, thus a division into the familiar Trinity of Father/Son/Holy Ghost, but then denying the “three-in-one” God of the Catholic faith. Carlovain was but one of many regions of Europe engaged in such diversions of beliefs during this period, others include the Separatists (more familiarly known to Americans as the “Pilgrims”) that Banred encountered briefly.

Finally, I must defend Queen Delana somewhat, as she is pictured in this story through Banred’s eyes, and Banred detested her as did most nobles who only wanted a man upon the throne. True, Queen Delana was a mostly ineffective monarch, but she had never been expected to assume the throne and so was quite unequal to the task of guiding men and she suffered much at the hands of unreliable and unworthy ministers. She was but the first of a long run of ineffective monarchs as we shall see in future installments of this series.

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