The Ing's Men

It was a day that changed history when I finally was passed through the lines and stood before the chamberlain of King Claude in the castle keep of St. Jerome's. The battle had just been won, the castle within a half hour of final capitulation. Soldiers, sweating and running in blood themselves, were still walking among the vanquished laying about where they had dropped, checking for life, and extinguishing it when they found it.

The three of them—the three principle men I was to follow with my eyes and ears and interest for the next half year and more, with them rarely even knowing I was in attendance—were standing there in the flush of victory, leaning on their blood-stained broadswords. They were still heaving and panting under their heavy chain-mail trappings, and congratulating themselves and each other on the penultimate island kingdom gained in their campaign to take all and to bring peace at last to this fecund island. There yet was Cantria castle further east, nearly to the end of the mountain chain and within smoke-signal sighting of the Musselmen coast of Turkey. But the fall of that was a foregone conclusion, and King Claude even now was telling his men, Guy, Duke of Gano, and the other, younger, fairer king's man, Sir Rene deRogair, that they mayhaps would just lay siege to Cantria and starve it out rather than waste more man flesh on seizing it. Sir Rene, always the more compassionate and less bloodthirsty of Claude's key lieutenants, had just been reporting on the horrendous cost of life to Claude's forces that had been the winning of St. Jerome's.

I liked Sir Rene the instant I saw him—and I never have faltered in liking him and respecting him. Nor have I faltered in having sympathy for what I could see at a glance when I was ushered into the periphery of their presence at St. Jerome was his worshipful stance toward his king. And I'm not talking in a religious sense.

I saw the same lustful, wanting desire in the eyes of the dark, bulkier, more menacing Guy for his king and I immediately feared for the golden-haired and serious-demeanored monarch, even loving him then, at first sight in the flesh, as much as his two lieutenants obviously did.

As much as I instantly liked and respected Rene, I did the opposite for Guy. And that initial assessment never changed in my view either. I knew immediately that all of the grief in Claude's life would be a result of Guy's life, and I pledged from that moment—transferring my fealty and service at that moment from Blanche to Claude no matter what livery I wore—never to let Guy alone in Claude's presence if I could help it. Alas, in that I failed.

"What ho?" Claude asked when the chamberlain approached him in regards to my presence. "Who is this and what news does he have of my queen, Blanche? I see he is in the livery of the Vollendam court, although the ride here must have been a difficult one, for his livery is in tatters. She has landed safely in Paphaes, I trust."

The chamberlain murmured to him, and I saw the concern, rising to anger, in Claude's voice. And then he instantly became the king decision maker that had always been his talent.

"I will leave the consolidation of St. Jerome to you, Guy. I must off to Lefkosea"—which I knew to be the king's principle city on the plain between the coasts and the two mountain regions of the island—"to receive Simon's delegation and his demands for Blanche's safe release."

Then he turned to Sir Rene and said, "No matter what happens diplomatically with Simon, upon Blanche's safe return, I want Limonea—and Simon—crushed. You will pick out the best men able to travel, Rene, and move south, ready to pounce upon Limonea at my signal."

Important diplomatic and military dispositions having been made, I was awed and pleased that he had a word for me. He turned to the chamberlain and said, "Blanche's man must be tired from the journey Simon set him on. He looks not even recovered from the shipwreck as yet. See that he is rested here and given clothes marking him of my inner chambers, and then, when he is able, send him on to Lefkosea. You will, I am sure, want to speak with him on the likes and comforts of his mistress, my queen."

The chamberlain after a few terse words for me, told me to follow in Guy's train for now—that Guy's chamber servants were presently in even worse shape than I was and that I could be of use in the next few hours—that he would find some place for me to feed and to rest when Guy no longer needed me.

It was thus that I quickly and fully came to understand the cruel nature and animal capacities of the Duke of Gano. I trust that I learned in a single evening what his close comrade and king hadn't learned earlier and never really would, despite having grown up where the man was a chief counselor of the man who was king before Claude.

When the king, Sir Rene, and the chamberlain had all departed, there remained Duke Guy, who walked with me and several others in his train into the great hall of the castle. There, in the hay at the corners of the room, in the long shadows cast by the torches set high on the chamber's stone walls, the privileged of the soldiers of Lefkosea were making sport, amid great laughter and loud wailing, with the women of the castle who had not been able to steal away. Young and old alike, the women were beset by groups of men, some holding their bared legs wide, others making them to suck, and the most privileged of the soldiers taking first duty between their legs.

This was barbarity that I had never seen nor imagined in the civilized cities of northern Europe. I supposed that this was normal crusade fare, but even with that, I doubted that either King Claude or Sir Rene would have countenanced this debauchery if they had remained on the field.

Some younger men and boys were similarly beset, but most of the captives who remained alive—young and older men, very few left of warrior age—were huddled together in a quivering, heads-down mass in the center of the hall.

Immediately upon entering the hall, and as those in train filtered in, Duke Guy strode to the great table at the far end of the hall and bounded up on it, obviously knowing precisely what he was about at that moment.

Ignoring the man lust in full flux at the edges of the hall, he unbuckled his breeches and lowered them to where he could bring forth a monster bludgeon of a half-hard cock. Holding this erect in his hand, he boomed forth in a commanding voice.

"Any of you captive men who pledges willingness to entertain this tonight will not be killed by my hands. The rest can start saying their prayers now. Let me see the hands."

Only two hands went up—that of a young man, barely more than a boy, and another of a fairly formed man of some more years who was dressed for service in the master's chambers rather than for war.

"Ah, disappointing," Guy growled. "I lust for more than two after a battle such as this. But nothing to do about that."

He turned to the man who appeared to be his closest attendant, a young, chain-mail-clad man of steamy eyes who moved lithely and assuredly through the chamber as of having a special status with the duke. The young man spoke first, showing a privilege that I instantly discerned and marked. I would not make an enemy of this man if I could help it. "How do you wish these two prepared, sire, and what of the rest?"

"The young one horsed, I believe. And the other one on the suspending rod, I think. Find the master bedchamber and set the apparatuses up near that. And have this man," he continued, gesturing at me—indicating for the first time that he even knew I was there, which came as both a jolt and a warning to me—I was to learn that he saw and knew far more than one would surmise—"have this man clean the bedchamber before I arrive. I have the captain of the guards to sort out first. But be quick about it. And be prepared to attend yourself. I feel the victory, and with only two volunteers, I will want to share it with you later."

"Yes, my lord," the younger man said, and I noticed a twitch in his sensually thick lips and a gleam in his eye. "And what of the rest of these captives here?"

"Cleanse the castle of them," Guy said, his eyes looking hard. "We want only loyal Lefkoseans in residence here on the morrow."

I got to the master bedchamber a bit before Guy arrived, so I had time to control the shock and cover my demeanor as I moved around, tidying up from what probably was the previous master's last stand in his inner sanctum. Guy's lieutenant, Guido, who I later had much reason to know intimately and who I learned to be an Italian of a noble but impoverished Venetian family, had already seen to the removal of any corpses and the mopping up of most of the blood. I did have to change the bedding, though, as it was evident that this was where the previous occupant had met his demise.

Before I had reached the chamber, located in a tower ascended to by a stone spiral staircase, I had to proceed through a chamber two flights below the bedchamber—and then again, a chamber that had a single, raised bed in it, with a straw mattress and a rough-textured blanket covering it. The lower chamber is where the two captives had been taken. The youth, already moaning and babbling, was bent on his belly over a saddle stand that must have been brought from the stables, and his wrists and ankles were bound at the base of the four legs. He was naked, his skin a translucent white and silky soft as a baby's.

Across the chamber, a scaffold had been erected, and the older man, also naked, was suspended from that with his wrists tied at the crossbar. In contrast to the youth, he wasn't making a sound. His eyes were roaming the room, taking it all in, calculating.

Guido had managed—miraculously in terms of the time that had been available—to clean his body of the blood of war and now wore a soft, silken, blue tunic, which was open on his chest down almost to his navel and which revealed a well-worked and darkened by the sun body and a profusion of soft, curly hair.

I couldn't help going hard at the sight of him, and I instantly knew that he had this power over Guy as well.

I busied myself in the bedchamber until the sounds drew me down two flights of stairs, where I stood in the shadows and watched Guy at work.

He was naked now. His body was riddled with scars, but it was magnificent in its hardness and bulk. He was in huge erection, his balls heavy and also hairy, as was the rest of his body—dark haired even in his somewhat advanced age. His chest and belly muscles were as if he'd never taken his armor off.

He was breathing heavily, taxed but joyous by the efforts of flicking the hand whip he held in one hand on the exposed and silky-skinned buttocks and thighs of the youth, who was screaming and writhing under the lash as best he could. Four fingers of Guy's other hand were buried between the folds of the youth's butt cheeks and ere he was finished, I am sure I saw the whole fist go in, to the sound of much distress from the young man.

The man suspended across the room was looking on almost with disinterest, his eyes still scrutinizing the scene closely, calculating. Guido was standing by one of the stone columns holding the ceiling up, his eyes hooded, licking his lips.

The youth cried out in evidence of virginity while Guy was working his cock between his butt cheeks in substitute of the fingers and fist. There was no change in the responses of the suspended man, but I saw Guido's hand going to the hem of his own tunic and raising that to reveal a nice, plump, hard cock, which he proceeded to work as Guy brutally fucked the youth.

In all honestly, and knowing I am determined to tell the story fully and completely, I must acknowledge that my hand went to relieve my member as well. But my eyes were on Guido, not on Guy.

After the duke finished, Guido handed him a tunic and, with my attendance—Guy, I'm sure, in his exaltation not even realizing an extra pair of hands was present—it was pulled over his head and he went to supper.

An hour later, the activity below drew me from the bedchamber again and I stole the two flights down the stairs.

The scene was entirely different with the man suspended from the scaffold. The youth was still there, bent over the saddle frame, but he was unconscious—or dead. I knew not which at the time. And, in the end, it didn't matter much.

Guy was already fucking the man suspended in the frame, from the front, his pelvis plastered to the man's uprolled hips. But, although Guy was in ecstasy, he wasn't in control as he had been with the youth. The suspended man had his legs wrapped around Guy's thick waist and he was the one doing the fucking, Guy was just standing there in a half crouch, entranced and trembling, as the suspended man pumped the ducal cock with his channel. He had also lured Guy's lips to his and they were kissing deeply. Guy's hands were locked at the back of the man's head, keeping them close together, seeming to want to merge his body with the captives.

When Guy ejaculated, it was he who lost his balance and fell back onto his buttocks on the chamber floor.

Looking up in wonder, he groaned the question. "You have done this before, haven't you?"

"It was what I did here in the castle," the man answered softly. "I can do so much more unbound. I can fuck you as you have never been fucked before."

Standing, with both Guido and me moving to him, Guy muttered. "This one. In my bed tonight."

"Is that wise?" Guido asked. And, although I don't think Guy heard it or understood it, I could hear the hurt and concern in Guido's voice.

"I see to the night guard now. I want him in my bed when I return. Have him washed first."

"And what of the youth?"

"I have taken him to heaven. Now send him there. It will not be by my hand, though, as I pledged."

When we were alone—at least I felt it was just Guido and me, with me feeling the depth of his grief and anger—Guido commanded me to go to the chamber above and await further command. Two soldiers were untying the youth from the saddle frame. I think I heard a moan, so he must have still been alive, although that knowledge gave me no comfort. Two other soldiers were releasing the man from the scaffold frame and leading him up the stairs, with Guido following them.

I went up the stairs, as bidden to do, and sat on the straw mattress of the cot.

The two soldiers came down the stairs and then continued below.

A few moments later, I heard the sound of a struggle from above and I stood and pressed my fist to my mouth. Somehow I knew this was a time when I must be invisible to actions unfolding right before me. I knew in my heart and head what was transpiring—and why.

Thus I was not surprised—but still shocked—when I saw the captive scrambling down the stairs into the chamber I occupied. Close behind him, though, came Guido. He had a knife in his hand. There was scant struggle before the captive pitched down the bottom half of the stone stairs on his face.

Guido called out and the two soldiers reemerged from the chamber below—where they had been waiting within the hearing distance of a command, for whatever reason they were there.

In seconds, the lifeless body of the captive was gone and only the smear of blood on the stairs remained as evidence that anything at all had happened here.

Guido met Guy in the chamber below. There was silence, followed by Guy's raised voice in anger, which was quickly stifled into calmer discussion as the two moved up the stairs on which I was pulled back to the wall, trying my best to disappear into the shadows of a circular stone chamber with nothing in it but a cot and me.

Guido was telling Guy of the captive's attempt to escape and that he had fallen down the steps and broken his neck in his attempt to elude Guido's restraint in the chamber above. The duke was finding the explanation persuasive.

Guy didn't see me. I should not have been surprised. As he started up the stairs to the chamber above, also conveniently not seeing the smear of blood on the stone stair treads, Guido motioned to me and I followed.

I stood in the shadows of the bedchamber as Guido pulled the soft, blue tunic off his beautiful body and lay down in the center of the master's bed, arranging a bolster pillow under the small of his back and spreading his legs.

Guy stood there, at the foot of the bed, looking with lust upon his young lieutenant. I stepped forward at Guido's gesture and raised Guy's tunic over his head and stepped back, not, I'm sure, having taken Guy's notice at all.

I heard the almost animalistic sound coming from deep in Guy's throat, and he was upon Guido in a flash, thrusting hard and deeply inside Guido's channel, as Guido arched his back and turned his head and bit into the thick brocade material of the bed cloth. Despite what I was sure was a painful entry, I saw Guido immediately start to move his hips, drawing Guy deeper inside him and making his channel make love to Guy's cock—making Guy forget the entertainment that he had anticipated enjoying at this point and that had been snatched from him.

After Guy had ejaculated from the second taking, he rolled off Guido and went off into a satisfied, snoring sleep. Guido rose from the bed and came to me. "Attend me below," he whispered, as he moved toward the stand with the water jar on it.

I went down one flight and sat on the cot. When Guido came down, he was still naked, carrying the blue tunic at his side.

"Turn and bend over the bed and let down your breeches," he said in a low, hoarse voice.

"But, sir," I involuntarily—and foolishly—muttered in surprise.

"Do not question. Do not ever question. Do it."

I turned, unbound my belt, and my breeches fell to the floor.

I gave a muffled cry—as much in ecstasy and want as in surprise and shock—as, holding my hips with his hands, Guido entered me and began to take me in long, strong strokes.

He bent his mouth to my ear. "You want it, don't you? I could see it in your eyes. And it's from me that you want it."

In surprise, I answered, "Yes." I was not invisible to all nobles, I was learning. It was a good lesson. It made me more wary in a court infused with intrigue and treachery such as the Court of Holland never experienced in my knowledge.

"Well, listen and listen good. There is more of this. I doubt you get much. But whether or not I ever fuck you again, remember this. I am the duke's man. Body and soul. But though you serve the queen and the king and the duke, you are

my

man. It is my back—and my cock, if you want more of it—that you watch out for. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I moaned. And I kept right on moaning, not wanting him to stop.