Date: Fri, 15 Sep 2000 00:38:57 EDT
From: Tommyhawk1@aol.com
Subject: Knight of Carlovain, Chapter One

	THE KNIGHT OF CARLOVAIN, CHAPTER ONE
	"The Sword of Heslov"
	By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM

Heslov Hall
Early Autumn, 1475*

	"And so, Your Lordship, if you could but speak to the King about
this..." the petitioner asked Andrew urgently.
	"Yes, yes." Andrew stood up, indicating the audience was at an end.
The petitioner, a small-time fuller from Heslov, stood as well.  "The King
is quite aware of your situation, I assure you, but shouldn't you speak to
your Guild about this instead?  Or the Council of Heslov?"  Andrew was
wearing a large flowing white tunic embroidered with the device of the
Duchy of Heslov (argent, three inverted and abbreviated chevrons gules)
over his red tights and a red nobleman's cap; both were confounded
nuisances but expected of his rank.  He always changed out of the large
flapping tunic after the morning audiences into more comfortable garb, but
in the mornings, he must show off his rank in Carlovain society; it kept
him at an advantage in his dealings.  Not that this particular merchant was
worth it, he wore a plain tunic and pants, clean and neat but hardly good
quality; this merchant was as poor as his family had been so many years
ago.
	"They are one and the same." the fuller whined.  "And they are my
competitors and have larger businesses than mine, so why should they give
me any aid?  Only an edict from the King can prevent this seizure and
corruption of the business.  I'm being driven out of my trade by
unscrupulous practices...."
	Andrew seized the fuller's arm and escorted him to the study door.
Wenren was there, and he recognized this position, he took the fuller's
other arm and led him away, who walked with him but with his head back
towards Andrew still talking back even as Andrew shut the door.  "And I
have attempted to speak to the King, but his Royal Chamberlain is the
brother of...."  The door was shut and the spiel ended.
	Andrew paused, looking at the thick sheaf of papers spread out over
his desk, and then snatched up the privacy-cherub from the desk where it
functioned as an impromptu paperweight and took it with him in his hand
down the hall to the entryway of his private chambers.  The sunlight of
morning through the row of windows on the wall opposite his rooms made
small rectangles on the floor beneath him, the angle of their slanted edges
forming an impromptu sundial, remarking that he had yet another hour before
midday and could shut his doors to this endless line of petitioners.  If
only they could bother his father instead of him!
	But even were his father not very ill, these men would seek him out
instead, the very happy news that he could now call upon the King at his
convenience had rapidly traveled the circles of gossip.  He was "back in
the King's graces" and worse yet, "favored of the King" which meant that
anybody who could not get a royal audience through the proper channels
would invariably come calling on Andrew to attempt to arrange an audience
by the back-door method.
	He'd had a lot of the smaller merchants of Heslov ask for his help
in the last several days, and he did intend to speak with the King about it
as soon as he returned from his trip to the shipyard at Fediresta.  But
that would not be for another fortnight.  It was odd, as if all of Heslov
were in an uproar simply because the King had absented himself for a month.
It DID bear looking into, and he was surprised the King's ministers hadn't
yet.  Ah, they probably were but saw no reason to mention this to a bunch
of small merchants.  This last fellow smelled of the fuller's yard, he
doubtless took his turn with his walkers trampling out the cloth to flatten
it and pound in the dye, his bare feet thus stained beyond any amount of
washing to repair...but then he had said as much during the meeting, "I had
ten walkers when I started my business five years ago, now I have four and
must help the walkers myself...."
	Andrew reached the door and tapped on it the signal for his servant
there to open it and see to him.  Jerret did so, and Andrew smiled at the
plain face of his loyal personal servant.  "Jerret, how many more are out
there?"
	"None at this time, Sire." Jerret alone among the staff called
Andrew "Sire" instead of "young Master," for Jerret had sworn personal
loyalty to him instead of his father as the rest of the staff.
	"Then hang up my cherub for me and bring me up some wine." Andrew
said in relief.  "I'd rather spend some time on the books for the rest of
the morning, for I must investigate the northern hemp fields this
afternoon."
	"Yes, Sire." Jerret said, taking the small square piece of wood
colored with a cherub and hanging it on the hall door.  A decorative item
in itself, it indicated that Andrew did not wish to be disturbed.  Jerret,
of course, was permitted entrance, as he had for some years.
	Andrew smiled and went to his papers, tearing off his tunic
gratefully and sitting down at his desk bare-chested.  His family's
finances were doing well, his mother handled it even before his father's
illness, but his father, or he as his father's agent during his illness,
was expected to approve and sign all the papers, for his mother had no
authority to do so. So his job was mostly to read them over and then sign.
Crossing his mother was an unpleasant event, he had done it on occasion
with some of her shadier dealings (his mother had no conscience, that was a
fact, some of the things she intended were actually dishonorable), but it
did require him to actually read and think about the documents, not just
affix his signature and seal blindly. His father was in bed ill and had
been for some weeks, so the duty fell upon him.  He kept his mind strictly
driven away from his father's illness, and dismissed it now, too painful to
think about overmuch.  (His father was being eaten by worms from within,
the physicians told him, and had not much longer to live--no, drive it
away!)  To the papers on his desk, then...this first item was simple
enough, a contract to provide rope to the royal shipyards at Fediresta (the
King was in the process of adding five large ships to the tiny Carlovain
Navy, so the shipyards there were currently a flurry of activity).  For the
ropes, his mother had negotiated a fair price, a little cheaper than he'd
prefer, for the peasants, who had to work separating the fibers from the
stalks and weaving it into ropes with their fingers, which were toughened
with thick calluses and yet still bled at times from the prickly, coarse
fibers; these peasants worked only for a share of the profits per a
long-standing agreement, but since this customer was the King, he'd let
this one slide....
	The serving tray with wine arrived, a goblet was already half full
and a flask of wine stood on the tray as well.  Andrew took it up and drank
a hefty dose of it, glad to see that it had been properly watered, he
wished refreshment and not oblivion from his drinks.  Though he'd noticed
with concern it seemed to take more and more to let him get that relaxation
he craved from his wine; he drank it too often these days.
	Jerret's hands went to his shoulders, unbidden but welcomed, and
began to massage his shoulders.  Jerret made up for the lack of his thumbs
(lost during the rebellion of Lord Montaigne some five years before) by
plying the heels of his hands with a strength most men could not match, for
the heels of his hands had been forced into service as replacement thumbs.
	"You pore over these books too much." Jerret said softly.
	Andrew smiled.  "That is true, but with my father abed I have no
choice."
	"Your father is beginning to cough up blood." Jerret said.  "Won't
you pay a visit to him this day after lunch?  He asked for you."
	"Then I shall go to him now." Andrew said.
	"He sleeps now." Jerret said.  "After lunch will be time enough."
	Andrew sagged back, throwing his head back and looking into the
loyal, patient face, and smiled.  He earned a smile back from those
upside-down lips, and the hands plied their magic over his body, removing
the tension, releasing the pressure...and adding one of their own.
	Jerret was unsurprised to see Andrew's tights rise out, their usual
morning tryst had been aborted due to an early-morning caller with letters
bearing the royal seal (none from the King and none for Andrew personally),
and he obligingly turned the massaging pulses of his hands into more erotic
strokes of his palms and fingers, plying his smooth, warm hands over
Andrew's chest in well-practiced circles, bringing Andrew's body alive.  As
his hands reached downward, he knelt so that his armpits were now touching
Andrew's bare shoulders, and his face now only inches from Andrew's face;
Andrew reached and kissed his servant, who returned those hungry lips with
strong devoted fervor.
	"My friend, my dear friend." Andrew sighed when Jerret's hands
released him so that he could bodily swing his lord's frame from under the
desk with his hands upon the chair back, tugging him out and clear,
kneeling at Andrew's feet.
	Andrew let Jerret untie the string at his waist, a string of thin,
strong fibers, releasing the tights so that Jerret could tug them down.
Jerret merely freed Andrew's cock from the confining cloth of well-combed,
soft, richly-dyed linen, then with Andrew's manhood proudly erect, he
grasped this firm pillar of potency and brought it to his lips, let his
tongue play upon the enraged cockhead, moistening the spongy tissue, which
soaked and swelled with the velvet caress of Jerret's tongue, Andrew
groaned and his hands reached and imperiously grasped Jerret's head and
thrust him down onto his cock.
	Jerret grunted, but accepted the rough intruder into his mouth,
coating it with warm wetness that swarmed upon Andrew's shaft, a swirling
mixture of foaming passion that gurgled upon his skin and sent a thousand
separate sensations racing along his cock.
	Andrew released Jerret and let him now ply his well-known skill at
his own pace, relishing the adept lips that wrung his cock of every
possible iota of excitement, so that Andrew's cock boiled, massively and
arrogantly alive, he felt his world receding into that single shaft of male
flesh buried within this dark, warm, loving maw before him.
	Jerret looked up into those burning eyes before him and knew them
well.  Without a word or sign from Andrew, he stood and quickly stripped
off his own white tunic and red tights (of a cloth as fine as Andrew's and
only the less involved, more sparse design and the plainer-cloth tights
beneath distinguished the garb of the servant from his master) to stand
naked.  "Where does My Lord wish me?" he asked simply.
	"On the desk." Andrew panted.  "Push the papers to one side, so
that you will not stain them with your body's oils."
	Jerret obeyed and bent over the desk.  Andrew took Jerret's ass as
was his right and privilege, pressing into the compliant anus, feeling it
open docilely for him, that familiar warmth and hot tightness upon his cock
sending a circlet of sensation that traveled with Jerret's sphincter down
Andrew's cock to bury itself in his pubic hair, a tight constriction at his
base there, the warmth of Jerret's buttocks upon his thighs, and the hot
moist interior of Jerret's body engulfing his cock; Andrew just paused and
enjoyed this simple intimacy, this body which was his so totally, that he
could take as he would, when and where he would.  Only when the King could
manage to take time to visit did Jerret recede into the background, and
never did he begrudge his lord such a lover in competition for his
passions.  After all, the King had many duties, and when he was gone,
Andrew turned to him again, and only him.
	Andrew began now to fuck Jerret slowly, feeling that tunnel of soft
moistness as it clung and rippled about his cockshaft with each plunge into
and each withdrawal from Jerret's body, and always that tight clasp holding
his cockhead tightly, never letting an awkward movement of his make him
lose that warm domicile for his prick.  Andrew took full liberty with this
firm grip, sending his cock first with pedestrian simplicity into Jerret's
body, then as his passion burned within him the more, he began to vary his
thrusts, pressing his cock to one side and relishing the feel of Jerret's
bowels upon his cockhead as it brushed its way into his body and then a
stroke that changed angle in mid-thrust, so that Jerret's prostate was a
nub of hard marble upon the soft glans of Andrew's dong, he pumped and
thrust into Jerret even more now, speeding up his strokes, feeling his body
tingle with the pleasure of this fuck, so that the entire area of his skin
was lit up from within, feeling the pure joy of sweat breaking free from
his pores to form a slickness to his body, so that his hips as they
impacted Jerret's equally moist-dappled buttocks, made a plump sort of
popping sound with each touch, he bent his knees and now plowed Jerret from
below, pushing upwards into Jerret's compliant ass, and Jerret groaned in
appreciation, for now Andrew's cockhead and shaft were a constant caress
upon his prostate, and he was being given pleasure in being fucked by his
lord and sire, he let his lips drop the sounds like pearls that struck a
silver tray, liquid notes of desire that rung with joy upon Andrew's ears.
	"I think you like this way the best." he gently chided his servant.
	"Oh, yes, Sire, you bring my body such joy in this embrace." Jerret
panted.
	"Well, then I shall pause." Andrew said and he stopped in mid-fuck.
	Appalled but squelching it, Jerret simply said, "As My Lord
wishes."
	"I wish you to turn over, so that I may look into your eyes as I
love you." Andrew explained.
	Jerret grabbed the desk as well as he could and Andrew lifted him
up and pivoted him upon his cock still imbedded in Jerret's ass like a
piglet on a spit over the roasting fire, and Jerret's face and body was
flushed as red as that cooking pig is in its early stages, the red it
attains before deepening to golden brown, this red bedecked Jerret's face,
and Andrew reached down and kissed this scarlet-tinted cheek, tasting the
hot need of his servant's body, feeling Jerret's legs encircle his own not
to compel him but to offer him a more authoritative purchase inside
Jerret's quivering bowels.
	"Pray, Sire, I beg you to take your pleasure with me once more."
Jerret gasped out.  "Tarry not with your manhood inside me, for it wrings
my body worse than any rack in a dark dungeon.  I need you, My Lord, for I
know no joy greater than this moment of service to you, and would ask
nothing else from my life or heaven, if it were possible that you never
withdraw from me."
	"I shall prolong this time, then." Andrew smiled as he looked into
Jerret's eyes, seeing the trust and the devotion there, diving into it and
letting that devotion churn his body as it would, he began to thrust into
Jerret harder now, belying his promise to extend this time of lovemaking,
and Jerret did not protest this lover's betrayal, he groaned with
uninhibited passion and, as he would in these moments, even dared to
encircle Andrew's body with his arms and pull him down onto his own body,
so that their chests kissed each other, their nipples brushed across each
other, greeting each other like ships that pass in the open sea as they
continue on to their separate destinations.
	Andrew hunched at Jerret now, letting his passion describe his
actions, he made no pretense of finesse now, but delved and plunged his
servant's body as it would, giving his need free reign, and his body
electrified the way it is when a storm is just breaking overhead, and the
hairs on the body stand up and declare the primal force far stronger than
it, when the human body denies intelligence and stands one with the
universe, the many invisible threads that bind the universe together
declare themselves as the strings of the puppeteers, and the mind is forced
to ride along as passenger in the domain it holds sway over so long,
compelled to realize that it is not king but merely a minister of the
realm, and now the true master has returned and claimed the land once more.
	So Andrew's body quaked in the change of leadership, his muscles
clenched and roiled of their own volition, a hundred abortive rebellions or
exhortations of loyalty, and then his body fell into the new order and with
it...a sense of completion.  His climax was ready to take hold of him.
	Now he drove his body on to faster speeds, Jerret's melodic groans
were spurs to his passion and thrilled his ears, his eyes feasted upon the
gentle lover prostrate beneath him, the skin of his body declared happily
every touch upon it by Jerret's sweat-slicked own, those arms that kissed
his back, those hands that rubbed gently at his skin as they rhythmically
contracted and relaxed in time to Jerret's grunts of pleasure, the legs
that clenched upon his thighs at the back, his entire body was now totally
one with the universe, it pulsed in tempo with the music of the spheres
that guided stars and planets above, that moved the clouds through the sky
and turned the sun in its gigantic half-circle across the day, there to
extinguish itself in the endless sea, and dark and lightless travel back to
return the following morn.  In this oneness with life, in this moment when
all of existence is resolved into a single and familiar equation, in this
moment, the body must release itself, and so it did with Andrew, he felt
his mind absorb the power, focus it, and using his penis like a cannon,
fired the power in a salute to being, a tribute to eternity, an ovation to
the vastness that is life, and Andrew reeled with the explosions within his
brain, he pumped his loads of shot into Jerret's waiting bowels, and Jerret
clenched tight to Andrew as he always did in this moment of his triumph,
when he had again brought his lord and master joy, Jerret groaned a long,
low groan and Andrew felt the salty packets of Jerret's jism burst out to
splash over him and wash across his stomach and lower ribs, filling the air
with a heavy salty raunch that filled Andrew's nostrils and announced the
end of the fray in the manner of a trumpeter's solemn tones at the
conclusion of a tournament.
	Sweaty, exhausted, Andrew held Jerret tightly still and savored the
last remnants of that supreme moment of being, taking his nectar of
gratitude from Jerret's lips and imparting his own libation of thanks in
return.
	"Ah, My Lord, you pleasure me so." Jerret sighed after a time.
	"And you, my gentle valet, as always, are my perfect foil for this
bout with our swords of manhood."
	Jerret chuckled at the conceit.  "Would that all battles could be
fought thus.  The cost would not be as dear as the ones with steel and
pain."
	"Mayhaps, one day, that shall be." Andrew said.  "We shall bathe
after lunch and then work up a new sweat in my exercise room before I
venture out onto the fields."
	"As My Lord wishes."  Jerret's tone reminded Andrew of all that was
left to be yet done in this day, and he sighed.  Such precious and few
moments are left over from the toil of living, no matter what your station
in life.
	Andrew dressed and walked out of his study behind Jerret, and
looked again at the sunlight on the hallway floor, it was close as it could
be to noon; it was a wonder the bell for luncheon had not yet tolled.  He
chose therefore to go out the door of his private quarters into the common
rooms (Jerret discreetly removed the cherub from the door to return it to
his desk and there straighten the papers he had cast awry, with no need
from Andrew to be told to do this).
	Going down the curving staircase of the central hall that connected
all wings into one wholeness that was the house, Andrew heard noise below
him and smiled, went toward his wife's quarters.  This entire wing was
devoted to the family's living area, he entered the lower floor which was
twice the size of the second floor (he had a veranda which he could enter
from his study or his bedroom, a wonderful place for lounging about with
friends in the hot summer months, as its northern exposure let the building
itself provide cooling shade, and it looked out onto quiet fields and woods
excellent for sports hunting).
	This lower floor was his parents' quarters, and his wife lived here
with their son as well.  They had the garden just behind the house for the
child to play in quietly, and this is where he found his wife and son,
along with two of the servant's children who had been brought in to play
with him.
	He didn't bother to speak to his wife, who was a Neresterii lord's
oldest daughter and heir, even though he bore her no resentment or ill-will
for her existence in his house, for they had early established an
arrangement which had worked well and she had found her own lover for her
bed, a rather rough, rude man from the stables, to whom he was polite as he
could manage (the man was an utter ruffian, but at least he was
Neresterii!) and merely stayed to watch his child at play.
	His son was nearly two and a half years old, and was already steady
and agile on his feet; he was playing at combat with the two older boys,
who were smart enough to realize the benefit of being a lordling's
playmates and the lifetime of position this would win them, for they were
coaxing him on in their battle but being careful to never go too far or
worse, to win!  More of the butler Wenren's family; they were loyal to
Andrew's family in this residence as they had been to his predecessors'.
Indeed, you might say that they more than he truly lived in this house, for
he was often called away to the palace or to other places for days or weeks
at a time....
	"Papa!" his son had seen him.  Andrew smiled and went out to greet
his son.  His boy rushed to him with his wooden foil's point an unwitting
hazard threatening to stab his eye out; he had to duck it to let his son
come into his arms.
	"How are you doing today, son?" he said.  "Having a good battle!"
	"I'm trouncing these scoundrels!" his son said in mimicry of his
favorite mock-scorn for his son's playmates.
	Andrew looked up at the boys, ages eight and six.  Used to this
look of query, the elder said, "He's getting quite good with the foil, my
Lord.  I think it is time that you brought in a swordsman to teach him."
And us, was the unspoken words there.
	"My father wants to teach him." Andrew said, a bit curtly.
	"Yes, sir." the boy lowered his head.
	Andrew bit his lip and then raised up.  "I watched you at your
play.  While I do appreciate your kindness in your attentions to my son, if
he doesn't fight properly, I expect you to show him the errors of his way
by winning from him.  A man who only thinks that he is a swordsman is in
fact an utter fool."
	"Yes, sir." the boy said, and a small smile crossed his face.
	"Teach him slowly, but teach him." Andrew chided gently, and let a
small smile show on his own face.  "I wish a son, not a monster, for my
heir.  A few losses at play when he is careless shall aid in this."  Andrew
turned to his son.  "Well, you get back to your play, my boy.  I have to
leave the house this afternoon, but we'll sit and talk after dinner.  I
promise."
	He always made a few hours each day for his son at that hour when
he was home, so his son willingly let him go with another hug and kiss, and
the boys returned to their play.
	Andrew turned and went back into the house.  He'd see if his father
was awake before he looked for his luncheon.  His father couldn't die yet,
not when Andrew's son was still so young and wouldn't remember his
grandfather!  He just couldn't!  It'd leave the child with only his mother
and grandmother, and with him away so much, how could the child grow up
properly?
	His father had been moved to a room in the first floor on the
opposite wing, so that he could get the benefit of the warm autumn sun in
these days.  To get to it, Andrew would have to walk through the main
area....
	Inside the main foyer, Wenren was talking to two men.  Seeing
Andrew, Wenren said, "Young Master, these men wish to see you."
	"The hour is past for my audiences." Andrew said.  "Tell them to
return on the morrow with a more appropriate dispatch."
	"My Lord, we have a gift for you." the man said.
	Andrew recognized these men, they had demonstrated their "petite
cannon" for the King some five months prior.  "You!" he said, enraged.  "I
told the King that I would permit you to stay on my lands only if you were
never let within my sight!"
	"And we would have obeyed had it not been for this." the man said,
hoisting the oilskin, oblong thing with an arrogant confidence he did not
deserve.
	"I want nothing from you!" Andrew snarled.
	"Not even this?" the man unwrapped the item, a beautifully wrought
sword, of a style no longer made.  This was a sword of the old Neresterii
nobility, Andrew recognized, a relic rather than a weapon.
	"What is it?" Andrew asked dubiously.
	"We were given it for polishing in our shop before bringing it to
you.  My Lord, this is the Sword of Heslov."  The man didn't refer to the
town or the duchy, but rather a valiant and near-legendary warrior who had
successfully fended off Julius Caesar's rather abortive invasion of
Carlovain.  Indeed, this duchy and the main town of Carlovain were named
after the warrior and his famous sword, rather than the other way around.
	"The Sword of Heslov?" Andrew had to approach these men, these evil
men.
	"My Lord, we have not been properly introduced to you ere now." the
man said.  "I am Florentine and this is my assistant Benedetto."
	"Yes, yes." Andrew said.  "But this sword, if it is in fact the
Sword of Heslov, then how is it that you two have laid your knavish hands
upon it?"
	"We have it only to bring it to you." Florentine said hastily.  He
was a middle-aged Italian man, round-faced and broad-nosed.  "It was
brought to us in secret by a monk who asked that we give it the treatment
to restore its luster, a mere days' work, and then bring it to you with
this message."  Florentin handed Andrew the message with a flourish; Andrew
said it bore the special sealing wax of highest secrecy.  "And so we have.
Remember our loyal obedience when you are in need of our work."
	"So you have no reason of your own to speak with me?" Andrew said.
	"Only that, now that we are here, we would ask you to hear of our
work."
	"Tomorrow." Andrew cut them off.  "Wenren, for now, take and place
the sword above the mantelpiece in the main hall.  It belongs in a place of
highest honor.  I'll discuss with my family if we'll leave it there or
arrange a display elsewhere."
	And Andrew turned on his heel and left these two men still
expostulating in his wake.
	Andrew went back to his quarters (Jerret spotted his need and
closed the door behind Andrew and barred the way) and in his study again,
took out and read the note.  It was short.
	"Greatest danger to Carlovain from our misguided brethren.  May God
grant that you may come to us at our main house of Merlemagne forthwith.
	Yours in Christ, Brother Edmegen of the Thorns."
	A Merlemagnist monk wanted to see him?  But then why...?
	The Merlemagnists were an old society, older than the Christianity
of Carlovain; they had adapted to the new religion, but many of their
customs predated it.  They would have been trusted by the fleeing
Neresterii lords to safeguard this precious relic from the French hordes
who were plundering their country.  They must have thus hidden the Sword of
Heslov for nearly a century, for it had vanished from sight at that time.
It would be the most precious, cherished relic to them.  Why send it to him
as a gift...except to show how important the message was?
	More important than the Sword of Heslov!
	He could leave for Merlemagne this very afternoon and be well on
his way before nightfall.

	END OF CHAPTER ONE

	*[Postscript: You may wonder about the generality of the dates I am
giving you in this story.  The calendar in use in Carlovain at this time
was appallingly inaccurate--they divided the year into the four seasons the
same way we do, then divided the seasons each into four months of twenty
days, thus creating a calendar of 320 days which was useless for most
practical purposes.  Imagine celebrating the "rite of spring" in mid-winter
and you'll see the inadequacy of this calendar.  Various lords and kings
would attempt to even out the calendar at irregular intervals by adding
days or months to the calendar without changing it otherwise.  Toward the
time of this story, even legal documents of the time would carry an
explanation after the month by the use of such phrases as "the blooms of
the pea plants had released their perfume" or "when snow first tasted the
ground by night and departed with the sun by day."  While adding a rather
charming poetic turn to otherwise mundane documents, it also leaves
historians floundering in frustration to identify the times of early
occurrences in Carlovain history.  Carlovain adopted the familiar Gregorian
calendar in 1796.]