"KNIGHT OF CARLOVAIN, CHAPTER FIVE
"Promises Made"
By Tommyhawk1@aol.com
Andrew wore a smile of triumph as he dressed for the ride to Fediresta. He wore not the stained and torn clothes in which he had arrived, his family had discovered his note and sent a rider with a package of clothes and other travel necessities after him, which had caught up to him on the prior evening. He put on the fancy red tunic with its cuts that were designed to let his shirt bulge out of it at the elbows and waist and neck, giving him an aristocratic look. He strode out to the stable and noted the monk readying the mule for his own use, and his smile slipped, his pride in his manipulations revealing themselves for the scoundrely acts that they were.
It was Brother Eserel, of course, who had once been Renaud, son of the Count of Fediresta. He had spoken to Brother Edmegen, the leader of their monastery (the Merlemagnists eschewed the title of "abbot" for such men and changed them among the senior monks on a regular basis) and made some rather rash promises to consider (but only to consider) building the cathedral Brother Edmegen had shown him in order to compel Brother Eserel's attendance as a purported guide to the trail.
Renaud/Eserel turned to see him and then turned back. Andrew started to approach him and then decided against it; they would be days upon the trail, he would have his chance. He chose instead to turn away, wait until Renaud would have no choice but to be in his close company. He could not keep up this furtive avoidance of him upon the road!
He had not needed the guide, for a sizeable group was going with him, mostly poor farmers that he would quickly outride, but a young nobleman was also going with him as far as Lesleran. Frankly, this nobleman made him uncomfortable, though not for fear of his life. He was Charles, the brother of poor Marcel who had died so terribly in the civil war which had brought Andrew his duchy and title of noble rank. Andrew had been spared by the loyalist attackers as their known ally, while Marcel had been brutally butchered, so it was with disquiet but no guilt that Andrew met the eyes of Marcel's older brother.
Charles was fairer-haired than poor lost Marcel, nearly blond, and his frame was larger and more robust than Marcel's had been. He wore a dashing blue and pale-blue parti-hued tunic and tights with only a bit of gold piping in it here and there. If there was any resentment in him at his brother's death, he did not show any of it to Andrew, greeting him upon sight with a hearty, "Ho, Sir Andrew! Are we well-met, kinsman!"
Andrew smiled at the Neresterii greeting, "We are well-met, kinsman!" He returned the proper formula and they gripped each other's forearms as nobles should.
"We are to journey together, then, I am told." Charles said, smiling broadly.
"I am bound for Fediresta." Andrew admitted.
"The King shall be glad to see you, I am certain." Charles said, "Though I understood that your father's illness had prevented your traveling with him. How fares your father?"
"Poorly." Andrew admitted. "But my business is more than the King's company, I fear."
"He shall be pleased, just the same." Charles said. "What brought you to Merlemagne, your father?"
Andrew avoided the question rather than lie. "I may ask you the same."
"My mother has been poorly, and there are herbs here that only they grow." Charles said, distracted by the query. "I travel here to make sure the herbs are as fresh as possible."
Left unsaid was that the monks permitted the public to pluck the needed herbs in the garden up to a certain measure in exchange for their labor; Andrew quietly disregarded the sunburnt skin and reddened cheeks that told that Charles had had to labor like any peasant in order to obtain the herbs, for the Marquis of Lesleran was not wealthy. Titles and noble blood were no guarantee of a life of idle luxury; a polite person ignored it when a member of the gentry was forced to stoop to common labor.
"We travel with a motley group." Charles said, looking about. "Shall we outdistance them on the trail?"
"I needs must, for my travel must be as swift as can be." Andrew said. "I shall be glad to have you beside me."
"Your horse, Sir Andrew." the urchin of the day before brought out Andrew's horse.
Andrew reached into his pouch and handed the child double the agreed-upon fee. "That is for fetching my friend's horse as well." He said. "Do you know which one it is?"
"I certainly do." the lad took off, toward the stalls where the less genteel horses were kept.
Charles' smile was broader when he realized he would not need to reach into his small store of coins for a stableman's tip. "We shall ride then as we will." Charles said. "Two gentleman out in the world, and two sharp blades for any footpad that may cross our paths."
"Three." Andrew said. "I have...asked for a guide for the trail to Fediresta and a monk shall accompany us to show the way."
"The way is broad and well-traveled in these more fortunate days." Charles said.
"Nonetheless, I wish him with us." Andrew said firmly.
"Very well." Charles said. "I only hope it is one who is hale and not a feeble, white-haired, half-shorn burden."
"He shall not be." Andrew said.
Perhaps it was the fact that Andrew was not alone, but Renaud stepped up to them. "I am ready, my lords." he said humbly.
"Your company shall be most welcome upon the trail." Andrew said to Renaud, wanting to say so much more but later...later! He had to have privacy.
They rode out as the sun finished rising over the horizon, but before it had yet cleared the trees, still only turning the mountains north of them to gold but leaving large shadows across the fields. They left the cultivated area and were among the trees before the sun could touch their faces, and now the sun was only a series of parallel shafts of golden beams that reached through the dense foliage here and there, turning the heavy forest into a surreal place, where the dew sparkled still upon the leaves, the birds busily turned over fallen leaves to get at the fat worms that had crawled up to the cool feast of rotting vegetation, there to turn it into the rich mulch that fed the trees that made the leaves that fed the worms which fed the birds that rested in its leaves and sang their melody to the accompaniment of the gently hissing breeze stirring the branches about.
"Aah, a day like this makes a soul glad to be alive." Charles said heartily to Andrew.
"It is a golden day." Andrew admitted. "We should enjoy it, for there shall be few more before winter comes. See how the leaves already are touched with the yellow that shall consume them before they fall?"
"So shall winter consume us all, one day." Charles said somberly. "As it did my brother."
Andrew looked at him. "You know that I was there when your brother was killed?"
"Yes, I have heard how you betrayed the rebels from within." Charles said. "Turning against your own kaserin."
Stung, Andrew said vehemently. "I was with the rebels as a spy from the beginning, and I betrayed no one but traitors to the rightful King against Lord Montaigne's insurrection. Had I not sent a warning to Winseran Point, he may have killed our sovereign!"
"And you are proud of this?" Charles asked him seriously.
"Nay." Andrew said, his anger forgotten. "There are times it weighs very heavy upon my soul." He made sure that Renaud was riding nearby. "And should my kaserin but say the word, my life is his to take as he would."
"Know you what became of Renaud?" Charles asked. "His family knows nothing of him."
Andrew could not but help cast a look back at Renaud, his face shrouded and silent on the mule behind him. "I know nothing I could say for certain." he dissembled. While not entirely a lie, it was not the truth.
"You should take the chance to get shriven." Charles cocked his head back towards Renaud when Andrew looked at him, startled.
"I...do not think that this one is a priest." Andrew said.
"One must seek mercy wherever it can be found." Charles said. "Come, let us leave behind this crowd about us and exercise our horses. We shall pause but a short ways up the trail and let you catch us up." He called to the other riders about them.
Andrew would have protested this, but Charles had kicked his heels and his horse was galloping on ahead. With little choice, he spurred his own horse into a full run. His own horse was able to overtake Charles' less well-bred animal after only a short distance, but Charles did not ease the pace and made no effort to speak to Andrew. They rode on quickly, across two small streams (Andrew wondered if one of them were the same stream where he and Renaud had fought off the footpads, but their road was yet north of the one they had taken on that ill-fated day; though it would rejoin that road before long) and kept up this heavy pace for nearly a half-hour, until their horses snorted and Andrew noticed that Charles' steed was foaming heavily at the mouth at this sustained gallop.
"Let us stop soon." He said to Charles.
"There is another stream but a short way ahead." Charles said. "It is where the Merlemagne Road joins the Fediresta Road. We shall tarry there for our retainers to catch up."
Retainers. Andrew thought. He had none here, unless you counted Renaud's unwilling participation in this ride, and Charles had none that he had seen. But it was a chance to stop, he said nothing, and was grateful to see the small brook ahead, a shallow draught that they splashed through with sprays of silvery water all about, and then on the other side was a well-established campsite that none used at this early hour of the day.
He joined Charles in first watering his horse at the brook, then tethering it to the hitching post some other had built for general use.
"Come, let us go a short ways into the bush beyond." Charles said. "I would speak without ears that could hear other than yours." But they were alone here.
Mystified further, Andrew followed Charles further on. Well inside the forest, they found a small space where the canopy was opened and a small green had chosen this place to blossom, and there Charles sat upon the ground, his chest heaving with the exertion of the long ride. "Now that we are private." he said, panting. "Tell me what you plan."
"I know not what you mean." Andrew said. Did Charles know of the plot against the King? Was he sounding Andrew out, thinking that Andrew would betray anyone?
"I know that you did not need a guide for the Fediresta Road." Charles said. "And I recognized Renaud as well as you in the person of Brother Eserel. By the blood of my dead brother, tell me what you intend to do with him now that you have lured him away from the sanctuary of the Church?"
"You do me great wrong!" Andrew protested. "I only wish a chance to speak to Renaud once again. To..." His eyes dropped. "To beg his forgiveness and if need be, to face his blade without raising my own. The only way he can shrive me is with the sword he wears outside his robe."
"And if I choose to take the right of vengeance for my brother?" Charles asked.
Andrew looked steadily at him. "You I would fight." he admitted. "I grieved for Marcel, but it was not my hand that murdered him, though those same hands that took his life saved my own. But say the word and this plot of grass can be our battleground." And Andrew's sword sang a soft tune as he drew it from his scabbard.
Charles looked up into Andrew's eyes. After a time, he smiled. "I but wanted to take your measure." He said. "I told my father and brothers that Lord Montaigne would never make a king. As for myself, I can hope that my older brother dies before he has issue and so I may inherit Lesleran; Marcel did not even have that faint hope. Not that I wish my brother Louis anything but the best of health. So long as I have a home and food and clothing, I can live as I do now."
"Marcel's desire was for land." Andrew pointed out. "Do you not dream of your own lands?"
"As you now have in plenty?" Charles asked. "Tell me, you have one son. Do you intend to have more?"
"I hope so." Andrew admitted.
"And if there is a second son, will you be happy?"
"Of course."
"Then will you cut your land in two to give him a portion?" Charles asked.
"I could give him the lands up north, leaving the southern half to my first son." Andrew mused. It was a thought frequently upon his mind. A single son might take ill and die, to ensure the line, he should have at least two more sons. That was the common opinion among the nobility, three sons, in case one is taken by plague and one by war, there is one yet remaining. And daughters, as well, to form alliances with the rest of Carlovain. But then the matter of their inheritance came immediately up as a problem to be solved in its stead. And so was the lot of Charles a foregone necessity, young nobles with no land and no titles.
"That would repeat the error of King Clovis." Charles commented. "Dividing up your lands until they are worthless to all. Are not the lands of Carlovain small enough, Where a man can scarce ride for a day upon his land without he passes onto his neighbors, that you would cut it smaller still?"
"But don't you wish a family?" Andrew asked. He realized that his sword still stood naked in his hand, he returned it to its sheath unblooded.
Charles smiled. "For some of us, the need is less. Our hearts...lie elsewhere."
Andrew recognized that smile, and felt one grow slowly upon his own face. "Your brother Marcel was my friend." He said. "And more than that."
"I know that the King has not bound you to him as his catamite." Charles said the rather offensive word without rancor. "And I know of the manservant you keep constantly about you when the King is not with you."
"He is a great comfort to me." Andrew agreed.
"But he is a mere commoner." Charles protested.
"So was I when the King's arms first went about me."
"But he remedied that when he could. For your son's sake, you cannot."
"True." Andrew let Charles play out his gambit.
"You should have a lover of noble blood." Charles said.
"Have you someone in mind?" Andrew asked. He sat down next to Charles, close enough that their legs touched as they stretched out upon the still-green grass.
"Perhaps one who is doomed to live forever upon the generosity of others." Charles said. "When that one is from a family that has more than enough retainers of the blood for its small land to carry."
"I could not promise." Andrew said. "My heart is not something I give to all that I meet."
"Can you promise me a few days of pleasure, then?" Charles said. "Freely given and freely taken, before I return to my hermit's bed alone at Lesleran?"
"That I can promise." Andrew smiled.
"Then I shall take that, and with pleasure." Charles said.
Andrew rolled onto his side, to find Charles meeting him there, and thus on their sides their arms found their ways about each other and their lips met . Charles' breath was as sweet and clean as the ocean breeze on a spring day, redolent of promised rain to bring the crops to life. Andrew inhaled this moist promise into himself and sent his tongue in to test the waters there.
Like a leviathan rising from the deeps, Charles' tongue met and clashed with his and so they fought their battle after all, but not with cold steel, but with warm tongues that touched and jousted with each other not in anger or death, but in gentle strokes upon each other.
Charles' body was strong and firm; no life of luxury for this noble's son! Andrew felt the weaker for his years away from the labor of the inn, though he had kept up his regimen of exercise and with the blade. But there is a brawn that only sustained physical labor can give, muscles that are created not for vanity but for need, muscles that now wrapped around him in ardor.
Andrew felt the fine cloth under his fingers and longed to undo them and taste that body, but there was time enough now only for a fleeting pleasure. So he settled for letting his face trail across the soft cloth, lowering himself down the broad chest and onto the flat stomach, Charles' hands clinging to him still though now distended, and then they were not clutching him but pushing him down, until his face was below the shirt and there were the ties of Charles' hose, light blue and deep blue where they met, and a leather binding that he needs must untie, which protruded upwards in eager anticipation of its lot.
Andrew's fingers found the ends of the simple tie and pulled it, and then there was the tugging of the cross-lacing below, and then the cloth was releasing its burden and he could tug it apart and the cloth then released with a rush of warmth and musk, the bulky prong it had kept captive.
Andrew let this long prick caress his cheek; he could give this much dalliance to the moment, he held it to his face and nuzzled it, feeling the bulk and the warmth of Charles' turgid manhood that pulsed hotly against his constraining hand. He raised up his head and guided the bulbous head into his mouth and tasted the rich meaty flavor of the glans, and then Charles' work-roughened hands fastened upon his head and thrust him down to impale his face upon the thick shaft.
Andrew let his mouth water freely upon the fleshy pud that now lay buried within his mouth and throat, held there as Charles groaned his joy, he lavished his moisture upon it, so that when Charles relinquished his grip upon Andrew's head and he rose up, bringing the foreskin with his lips to envelop the bulging cockhead, it did so with a foaming lubrication of saliva that bubbled inside of Andrew's mouth in place of the enormous cock that had left it.
Charles' hands left off their role of captor and stayed on his head as friends, and Andrew began to nurse this long dong, his lips making wet sucking sounds as he plied his skill back and forth.
"Ah, ah, uh!" Charles groaned as Andrew nurtured the rising tide of heat and passion within his stiff manpole. "More, my gentle knight, more, I can imagine no greater delight than to remain forever within this glen of our pleasure. Ah, ah-huh!" he spasmed and contorted.
Startled by this rapid onslaught, Andrew brought his lips into play full-force, he began to stroke Charles' pud with his mouth, and Charles groaned the louder, his body began to hunch upwards at Andrew's suckling lips, not wanting to leave his mouth for the slightest instant, and this motions were his undoing for whatever increase of pleasure they gave to Charles, for he grunted only the more fiercely, and then at a moment when his gyrations caused Andrew to lose grip on the succulent dong, Charles' load burst out and splattered Andrew's face with the first heavy explosion of his climax.
Andrew grabbed quickly at the lost pud, and a second load shot past his cheek, raking it as it went from lip to ear, and then he had the errant cockhead and he clutched it again with his lips and now the hot seed poured within his mouth, and he sucked down the salty portion of human nectar, feeling the trails of jism upon his face crawling down to drip off his beard like so many slugs upon a stone in the garden, Charles' grunts now turned to heavy breathing and the flood ceased and he was sucking dry now the exhausted tube of its last dregs of human joy.
"Forgive my eagerness." Charles gasped out when his voice would again heed his command. "I have been too long without a companion, I fear."
"You should do as I, take on a servant." Andrew suggested as he rose up to his knees and wiped the stains from his cheek with his sleeve and back of his hand.
"And how would I, without the wherewithal to pay him?" Charles said without heat or shame. "I am more likely to play the role of servant than that of master, as fate has played its hand upon me."
Charles' hand found and cupped Andrew's crotch, and Andrew felt a smile birth itself on his face. "Do we have time yet for your repayment of this debt, then?" he asked.
"There is time enough, with my speedy and disobedient body's betrayal." Charles said. "I fear my skill shall not match your own, but I shall give you my all."
"That is all any master could ever ask." Andrew agreed.
Charles got onto his belly and crawled to Andrew's waiting crotch. His fingers were lithe and eager upon the lacing, and Andrew felt his cock surge with anticipation at this brawny nobleman's attentions. When his dong flopped out, limp still but rising up as it breathed free air, Andrew looked down and saw the tawny-colored head cover his cock, and then the warm lips enveloped him and he threw back his head, clenched his throat muscles and a long, low moan escaped his lips. He was covered with warmth, he felt the thrill of the moist tongue that cupped his shaft along its length, the heated breath that hissed around his cockhead on its way out through the nostrils, and that tongue reached out despite its burden and the tip lapped at Andrew's balls, and he moaned once more, and his legs weakened and he fell back onto the forest floor, grass blades touched and tickled his cheeks on either side as the breeze moved them in gentle waves of welcome, making a soft rustling of applause as the wind clapped them against each other.
With Andrew prostrate beneath him, Charles hoisted both his legs up to drop them onto his sturdy back, his arms wrapped around Andrew's thighs and he worked Andrew's dong with the expert skill of a milkman working the cow's teats.
Such a peculiar sensation arose in Andrew from regarding Charles' servicing of his prick, a combination of the docile nature of the servant and the equal regard of the nobleman. It was as if all that he had ever desired in a lover, yet had never quite had before now, were in this one sun-haired cock-worshiper at his groin. He sucked at his teeth, remembering the flavor of that succulent jism as it poured into his mouth, and loved it in retrospect more than before.
Pleasure was washing over his body in waves from Charles' adept ministrations (this was no clumsy stud who had languished alone, he was bringing Andrew's joy to a head quite capably), Andrew sighed and rode this wash of desire to the tune of the singing grasses upon which he lay, feeling safe and secure, and alive in a world filled with kindness, and the sun was warm upon his brow.
Charles released Andrew's pud with a gasp, and then returned his attentions to it, this time bringing his hand into play, working it with his hand and his mouth at the same time, the firm fingers wrenching his foreskin around and around his shaft as his lips tugged it up and down and Andrew groaned with the pleasure this brought him, groaned with the surfeit of desire, groaned with the very joy of life, and his groans rose up within him of their own choice, and he felt his passion rise with the sound, following rather than preceding it, and in that gentle billowing of his lust, he found his peak and his cock sprayed into Charles' mouth, pure energy pouring out of Andrew and into Charles, for as Andrew felt his strength fleeing from him with the climax, Charles seemed to take power from it and worked him the harder, so that his mouth and his hand were a never-ceasing pulse upon his cock, clutching him, draining him, emptying him completely....
Andrew roused and realized that he had come close to loss of consciousness in the pleasure of the moment. How long it had been since that had been his body's response to a lover? Longer than he dared think, for it required trust as well as a total exhaustion of his passion's juices. But Charles, the brother of Marcel, had brought him to this.
Done, Charles rested his head upon Andrew's bared crotch, the sticky pud jelling against Charles' cheek.
"Ah, Sir Andrew, say that I may accompany you to the King at Fediresta." He begged shamelessly. "I would not return to my hermit's bed now, not that I have found you, and you have enriched me so."
"You may come with me." Andrew said willingly. "To Fediresta and back to Heslov or wherever my path leads me. We shall travel together."
There was the nicker of a mule and the two arose hastily. Pulling his tights back together, lacing it rapidly and sloppily, Andrew hurried after Charles. It was either Renaud upon his mule, or someone else, who may take the untended horses and ride away.
But it was Renaud, who looked down upon them, and Andrew felt like a naughty schoolboy caught in a prank by the stern schoolmaster. "We...found a quiet spot." he explained as a child does to the master.
But Charles was unabashed. "Well, now, our guide has followed us, rather than we him." he said heartily. "Come, let us stride our mounts once more and travel onwards."
Andrew dawdled as Charles got upon his horse and took off, and Renaud was by his side.
It was his moment, there would be none better. Andrew took a deep breath. "My kaserin...." he began.
"Call me not that." Renaud said stiffly.
"Renaud...." Andrew said, hurt.
"Call me not that, either." Renaud said. "I am Brother Eserel of the Thorns. It is all that I am, and all that I wish."
"Yet I remember when you were something more." Andrew said.
"That...was another life." Renaud said. "I died that night upon the King's floor, and was born again in the care of the Merlemagnists. They are my family now and they have named me Eserel."
"Renaud....Brother Eserel." Andrew corrected himself. "I have tricked you into coming with me only that we may talk. And if necessary, to die upon your blade. I must know what you...what you are these days, he who was once my kaserin, my love, and my life." Andrew looked, but there was no kindness left in those eyes, they were forbidding, cold.
"The bond we formed was broken before the King's blade ran me through." Renaud said. "For a promise can only hold together in the hands of one who keeps his promises."
"I...I know my grievous fault and acknowledge it." Andrew said dolefully. "I would have given much to avoid it. But I could not, not and save the kingdom as well."
A sharpness to Renaud's edges softened somewhat. "I was foolish then, I avow." he said. "I thought that a word was all it took, and that a person could build their life upon a word."
"But promises broken can be mended. Let me make it up to you some way, in some fashion." Andrew said.
"You have already found a way." Renaud said. "But keep your sworn word to Brother Edmegen."
"My word?" Andrew was puzzled.
"He told me that you have pledged to build his cathedral at Heslov, the one which has been his dream since his first days as a novitiate."
"I...." Andrew thought back over his conversation. He had said no such thing! Yet...when Brother Edmegen had spoken of him giving his word, he had not denied it. "Very well. I have promised to build his cathedral, that...that large cockleshell, so that the common man may worship within." He said. "It shall take most the rest of my life, but I pledge that it shall be built."
"I am pleased to hear it." Renaud said. "I shall hold you to that word, even in front of the Holy Throne of Judgment Day."
"I shall." Andrew said again. "I swear it."
"Then I shall tell the judging Angel that the promise to me is the only one I have ever seen you break. And that I have forgiven you your broken promise."
Charles rode back up. "Come on, my new love, come on, Brother Thorn!" he called out. "We must tread the miles aplenty before dusk."
Andrew and Renaud rode after Charles this time. Andrew looked at his two companions. Renaud was changed in some deep way, he realized now. That cut of the King's sword as it plunged into his vitals had severed something very deep within Renaud, which had never healed. Or was it the betrayal of his kaserin, of which people whispered about him to this day, even more so than that he was the lover of the King?
And Charles, too, was acting differently. As if they had done more than pass a joyful time in the meadow. As if....
And Andrew saw then his fatal error. Charles had shown himself Marcel's brother for true! Like Marcel had when they had shared a room together, Charles had turned Andrew's kindly words offering to let Charles accompany him into a pledge of more. A poor noble's younger son, he was the gravest danger to a scion like Andrew, one who would leech onto Andrew and live at his estate and could not be driven away with honor, perhaps for the rest of Andrew's life and beyond. The King suffered through a double-score of these fellows, living in his home and eating his food and needing clothing, sustaining themselves by everything from gambling to petty larceny unless the King was generous to them with his gold in its stead.
And now, Andrew had one who would move in with him. With how many more to follow?
"Come on, Andrew!" Charles called out joyfully. "What a wonderful day to be out riding! Let us enjoy the day!"
Andrew could not help but smile. He had been lonely in his lord's manor. Were food and some clothing and a bed and some coppers now and then such a high price to pay for constant companionship? And good fellowship such as these words promised?
He looked again at Renaud. And having a healer living in the house would be a goodly thing as well. Even though that would cost him a cathedral! "Shaped like a cockleshell." he muttered, shuddered at the thought of that round monstrosity rising up and the people knowing it was he who built it, he who would be buried within its walls one day beneath the founding stone.
Renaud then smiled at him and a bit of the old Renaud was in that smile. "True. But we shall work to make it beautiful." He said in response to Andrew's outburst.
Andrew smiled and they rode on. Only the three of them were together on the road now, the others had been left far behind.