Robert of the Roundtable Ch 03

Robert of the Roundtable Ch 03

Robert's first few weeks as a knight

This series is fiction--a mash-up of the Arthurian legend, the medieval rivalry between the Normans (in modern day France) and the Saxon-Celts (in Britain), the Crusades and the interplay of politics and religion in the Middle Ages. Let me warn you. There are many anachronisms--but this is the story of a few unusual men during a time about which little is really known with certainly. Everyone who engages in sexual activity is over 18--although at the time, that would not necessarily have been the case. © Copyright, 2025, Brunosden. All rights reserved.

Sir Robert D'Aqua had just joined the illustrious ranks of the Knights of the Roundtable--the third iteration of that institution, engineered by King Richard who claimed Arthur as an Ancestor. Twenty knights were now full members. In addition, in a surprise move a few days before, the King had announced the creation of another Brotherhood of Knights. These men would not be charged with defending Angleterre, but instead would journey off to the Holy Land to rescue it from occupation. The Holy Land war, dubbed a Crusade, had been requested by Pope Malifacio IV, and most of the kings and rulers of Christendom had responded with varying degrees of enthusiasm, contributions and commitments of fighters. King Richard had stepped up first and cajoled several of his Continental brothers to do the same. So, Angleterre would create and finance an army which would proceed to Normandy where it would meet up the armies formed by the other leaders. They would bivouac and plan and provision there, which might take a few weeks--and leave from Calais by sea, bound for the Holy Land with several stops along the long journey.

Robert D'Aqua, the youngest and newest knight, had been born in Normandy, and being the third son, had sought his fortune in combat. His father, the Duke, headquartered in Calais was now a "distant" relative. Robert is now in his twentieth year, handsome, muscular, popular, a fierce fighter--and like most of his peers, bi--out of custom and necessity. The "rules" of society forbid men to sleep with noblewomen before betrothal and most of the women (and male) serfs and peasants were infected with various poxes. So, with societal "approval", young men were expected to enjoy the sexual companionship of their male friends of equal rank and proven health. This was particularly true within the ranks of the knighthood guilds. Marriage would typically reduce this practice, but not always. Robert had already gained notoriety because of the size of his reproductive equipment which marked him as a natural alpha. He could have had any Knight in his bed, but had chosen Michael. (Actually Michael had chosen him, but as the relationship matures, that is not exactly the necessary conclusion.)

The story continues with Robert speaking....

My knighthood ceremony had been interminable. Both the Abbot and King had been arrayed in colorful silks, each trying to outshine the other; the dimly-lit (and hot) Abbey was filled with the smoke of incense; and, the sermon had been much too long. The ceremony, fashioned as a High Mass sung by the Abbey choir, in a polyglot Anglo-Latin, was nevertheless a political event. The King had decided; the Abbot had followed through and blessed the decision with his words and actions. But, finally, it was over.

I was a knight under the laws of Angleterre, in the eyes of the Church--and in reality, because I had proven myself on the field of faux-combat and trial.

It was now Monday morning, a beautiful late summer day. Michael and I had a date. We had spent Sunday banqueting and in the horizontal celebration of our victory and union in his bed. Both of us were sore and sated. But, we needed fresh air.

We had decided to ride out into the countryside to scout some campsites for the army he was building to go to the Holy Land. We expected several dozen knights, hundreds of serfs conscripted into combat duty, and two or three times that many retainers to prepare our meals, polish our armor, care for our warhorses and march in arms to our command. Our squires had gone ahead and prepared an al fresco meal--and been told to disappear as they heard our horses' hooves approaching. Both of us had been cooped in the stuffy, smelly stone castle for weeks and wanted to enjoy the countryside. (If the truth be known, the "smelly truth" was mostly of our own making--Robert's room smelled like a male brothel--for we had coupled incessantly for days and bathing was a rare event.)

Our squires, mine named Jean Pierre and his named Adolphus, had already become friends. Both had provided regular sexual services to a master, but were no longer needed, at least for the moment, for that purpose. It seems that they might be already consoling each other, commiserating the loss of regular infusions of "affection." Certainly, when together, they were often touching, usually smiling and blushing, and absurdly formal (to cover a sexual attraction, no doubt). When they heard of the intended picnic and adventure, both had been delighted. For several hours, they would be free of the eyes and ears of the castle and together. We had even commanded them to disappear when we arrived. They put together an enormous feast and arranged it carefully beneath a colorful silk marquee in a forest clearing to ensure that we would be engaged together for hours. Then, they had sat to await our arrival. One thing led to another and both were naked and intertwined within minutes. At the sound of our horses, they sprung apart; picked up the clothes they had cast around the tent; and, disappeared from the scene as they had been instructed. I caught Jean Pierre's big smooth arse disappearing into the brush as we reached the clearing. It was glistening in the sun with someone's cum.

We arrived to find a magnificent setting--silk cushions, raised tables laden with food, two ewers of wine--and a large pot of perfumed lard, with the seal already broken, set strategically beside the largest plump cushion. How thoughtful of them to make such arrangements! Knowing Jean Pierre, I'd expect no less--and I'm sure, as was the custom, he had tried out the food (to be sure it wasn't spoiled or poisoned) and the lard (to be sure it was perfumed to my taste).

Earlier we had inspected two large training campsites, both along small streams, one with a small lake. They were wooded and flat. Perfect for the creation of a camp or two with training spaces, firewood, fresh water, bathing facilities and, most importantly far from any cultivated land or village.

We approached the marquee, dismounted and tethered our horses where abundant grazing was available. Then, hand in hand, Michael and I stepped under the marquee. It was like paradise to be freed from the dark, damp walls of the castle. We were alone in nature, listening to the larks and the occasional barks of the deer. A warm breeze floated up from the lake. A fish jumped from the small placid pond nearby. "I think it's time to have a swim, Robert."

"I don't swim, Michael. I've never learned. And we were taught that placing one body in the water risked disease--particularly if we swallowed."

"But, you must. We will be at sea for months. Anything could happen--and frequently the only way to bathe is to dive into the sea. Besides, how did you permit them to name you d'Aqua' if you could not swim?" He stepped up to the cushion and stripped, dropping his riding clothes. Then with the typical bold and bow-legged strides of a confident knight, he moved to the head of the sandy beach, looking into the sun. His silhouette was mesmerizing--a sturdy, muscular hero with broad shoulders and a narrow waist, glistening and back-lit by the hazy sun. What had I done to deserve him? Of course, I would learn to swim--if only to be at his side in the cool clear waters. So I too stripped and walked hurriedly to the water's edge. The pond was indeed crystal clear, not deep--he was already many paces out, but the water was only to his waist. Suddenly he plunged and with long strokes pulled himself quickly along the surface, as lithe as any fish, and totally comfortable in the watery environment.

It gave me confidence. So I waded timidly into the shallow cool water, and when he turned to face me, I too plunged and began to wildly thrash my arms to remain above the water's surface. Seconds later, I felt his strong arms encircle my waist. I turned and gripped his neck as my legs surrounded his life-saving body. He lifted and I breathed. "That is not how we begin, Robert. Now relax and rest. I'm going to flip you onto your back. I will not allow you to go below the surface. Relax. Arms out, Head back. I tried to relax, confident with his hand on the small of my back. I felt him begin to release his hold and began to panic. "Stop, Robert. Relax. You will float without effort. Try again. I think perhaps we'll try something a little different."

He allowed me to stand. Then he embraced me and pulled me into his naked body. His fingers went to my mancunt and quickly opened it. Then he slid his erect cock deep inside. Now, you will not fall, Robert. I am your tutor and your support. You are tethered solidly to me."

Soon he released a bit and placed hands on my butt, allowing my back and head to float. It was enough: a firm grip was all I needed. I was floating weightlessly on the surface, tethered by Michael's cock to his crotch, my legs surrounding him while his spear held me. Had I known swimming could be like this, I would have insisted on learning years ago! Then, he moved a bit and his cock hardened inside. "See I knew you could do it. I just needed to give you a bit of incentive--so you could take your mind off the effort of floating."

"You have succeeded, Sir. I am thinking now about only one very long, hard thing at the moment. And it is throbbing within me."

Of course, my cock responded. It filled and expanded, standing tall over the surface of the water. Michael bent over and pulled me to his chest as his cock continued to fill me. He spread his legs and lifted. I was like a babe in his arms, my weight taken up with the buoyancy as he strode toward the shore. He placed me down carefully on the cushions and knelt into my vee. He wanted to try the "new" missionary position that I had just taught him on the eve of my knighthood.

I lifted my still-wet legs and pulled them toward my shoulders, rolling into position. He bent forward, stretched his arms over my legs and positioned his cockhead at the entrance. He larded it and me. Then he applied the pressure. He popped in and stopped, allowing me to become accustomed to the burn-stretch of his bulb. I could tell he was impatient and not accustomed to forbearance. So I signaled and relaxed to permit his entry. He pushed again and landed squarely on my nut, sending waves of pleasure up my spine. I stared into his eyes, betraying the pleasure that he was delivering. He smiled back, pushed hard into the prostate. Soon he had rocked himself deeply inside and his sacs were bouncing on my globes. Being taken in the lake is indeed an experience. But, I definitely prefer to be taken on dry land by a slippery cock!

Michael seemed to move into a trance, enjoying the contact, the tightness and the heat. Then, he slowly began to pump, reaching deeper and deeper with each thrust. The cool surface of our skins began to heat. He sat back abruptly on his haunches, pulling me into his gut as he continued to pound, using his strong hands to lieft and drop me onto his cock--this time swiping the prostate with each movement. I was cool from the lake, but burning inside with the intensity of his onslaught. Each thrust opened me anew and molded my sheath to his throbbing weapon. His head bent and his lips touched a tit. He sucked it in, sending bolts of pleasure through me. Then he moved to the other and repeated the motion.

He looked up into his face. I saw it in his hooded eyes. And his nose widening for air. He was at the edge. My legs dropped and went around him to hold him tight. My heels pounded and he grunted and groaned. He fell forward, holding me tightly to him. Our chests were close and tight, trapping my cock between us, as he used his powerful thighs to thrust his nether-sword up and deep, over and over. I felt the swelling deep inside. Then the moisture of his precum. And finally, the hot blast of his seed. It was enough. Too much really. My own cock expanded and lengthened, recoiled and began to emit long ropes of creamy cum between our chests.

We froze, enjoying the moment and the aroma of yet another bout of manly sex. Until finally Michael sat back and spread my cum over our chests. I could see the receding lust in his darkened eyes. He slipped out, still semi-hard, coated with his own cum and my mancunt juices. Finally, he bent over and kissed me. "I think we need sustenance if we are to enjoy the remainder of this afternoon." Reluctantly, I agreed and released my hold.

Later we ate from the lavish feast that our manservants had brought and discussed the attractiveness of the site for the army-building task. We languished in the warm sunny afternoon, perfumed with our musk, and occasionally aroused by a stroke or a pinch or a kiss. Twice more we coupled, and once again I demonstrated our Continental genius at finding new ways to enjoy a stiff appendage.

We rode each other in a rollicking mimicry of our regular horseman skills. Uncharacteristically, Michael lost his serious demeanor and seemed to enjoy the ride like a child who had discovered a new and pleasant toy, a personal carousel with very unusual mounts. In fact, he seemed to enjoy being the rider even more than the horse!

Later he remarked that only we amorous Normans could have found a way for men to couple like that. It was the unique position where the "top" was actually on the "bottom"--and where the rider could position himself to maximize the pleasure delivered to his love nut by his partner's nether sword. "Simply genius!" he proclaimed. "I have another favorite position. Robert, you are a teacher and mentor well beyond your years. To the Abbot and the King, you may be Sir Robert d'Aqua. To me you are Robert d'Amour. It reminds me of my youth when we road our stallions without armor--in fact often without clothes, bareback, racing through the woods, using only our thighs to squeeze his flanks and a leather reign to hold ourselves above him. We always finished the rides hardened and ready to perform!"

Recognizing his pleasure at the stimulation of his walnut, I hatched another idea. When next he took me, this time missionary, I plunged two long fingers into his anus and stroked the nut, just as he reached his climax. "Robert, you are a wizard. That was one of the best of my life." Over the next few days, I would indeed be his tutor in bed. By the time we left the castle and moved to the encampment, we would have an entire toolbox of ways to vary our coupling and enjoy each other.

We knew that the leadership tents needed to be apart from the troops and the administration. And so we spent some time planning the encampment map before departing. Our tents would be adjacent, in a wooded copse just off the beach, and facing away from the troops. We wanted privacy and opportunity.

We had been together now for just about a month, but my affection was growing. He was far more than a mentor on the battlefield and a advisor of things about Arthurianton. But I knew nothing about him. So as we languished in the afternoon's coital glow, I asked a few probing questions.

Michael was from a large family in the north of Angleterre, a region invaded many years ago by the Scots from the far north. The Scots had liked what they found--rivers and lakes teaming with fish, verdant green pastures for livestock, tall old trees for ships and masts, and a welcoming native people. So they had stayed. And ultimately, they had become the dominant tribe in those rough lands. Michael's great-grandfather had been a famous warrior, and, later, large landowner. He was fiercely protective of his independence. He paid his dues (mostly with fighting men) to the local king, while making it clear that he was doing so out of a commitment to the welfare of the region--rather than to any obedience owed to a self-proclaimed king. The feudal lands had expanded and prospered--until his father was a king of sort in the north.

Michael was one of five boys in a family of ten. He was the youngest, very fair in appearance, one might say beautiful--the way young teenage boys and girls can be in their glowing innocence. He did not expect any significant inheritance and knew he would be on his own at the age of his majority. His older brothers often picked on him and used him carnally--so he had developed a hard shell and warrior qualities, enjoying the sex, but never admitting it to them. In fact, before he left the north to seek his fortune in Arthurianton, he already had the reputation of a fierce, but loyal, fighter and friend. His brothers by then knew to keep their distance. Many wept, young girls and boys whom he had bedded, when he left. He was the ultimate enigma: a young warrior with a deeply erotic psyche.

Then he continued, "My arrival in Arthurianton had been routine. I faced the same trials that you have just completed. But, it soon became clear to Richard what kind of man I was--a man among men. Richard, whose wife was again with child, was free by custom to seek the comfort of other men during her confinement. He chose me almost immediately, and the two of us spent many nights in my bed. Contrary to what I had expected of a King, Richard was not particularly endowed, but he had stamina and was skilled in the pleasure arts. Even though he is twenty years my senior, I fell for him as our relationship developed into a torrid affair. Later I learned that he had sought me out because I was the only knight larger than he--and he enjoyed being mounted as much as he fucked."

" I didn't realize at the time--young men are so naïve in matters of the flesh, but we were the talk of the castle. Richard was smitten. But, so was I."

"But, an advisor to the Queen had whispered in her ear, providing details, typically exaggerated, but often lurid. Little did we know that she had many spies among the servants who often hid and watched as we violently coupled. Elizabeth feared she might lose the devotion of her new husband to an upstart knight. And so she had begun her campaign to distance, and, if possible, discredit me. She has been my enemy in the castle ever since."

"I was sent off, not in command, in an expedition to subdue Continental interlopers who were threatening to "steal" part of the Kingdom. The campaign had been long and hard. We were undermanned and at a disadvantage. We were away from Arthurianton for more than a year. More than half of the combatants were lost. But, I demonstrated my value. No one bested me with a sword or a lance. And my loyalty and value as a friend were evident on a daily basis. I returned unharmed, with a greater reputation, some say in triumph."

"By then, the King's first son had been born. And Elizabeth was being showered with praise and gifts for having produced an heir. Richard asked her to name any prize--something a monarch should NEVER do, even to a partner in the marriage bed, or maybe particularly to such a partner."

"She had one simple request. 'Give up Michael. Never touch him again. Never permit him to touch you.' Arthur was deeply hurt and disturbed. But, he had given his word. He never touched me again. Although we remain the closest of friends. I would give my life for him."

"A few years after the boy was born, the Queen gave birth to a daughter--but during her confinement, Arthur did not once come to my bed. That was eight years ago. But, on the day that he revealed his promise to Elizabeth, he announced to all the assembled knights that his new daughter (now eight years old) would become my wife when the time came. Elizabeth flew into a rage over the announcement, but she could do nothing. And now, the time has come for the marriage. I barely know the girl--her mother has seen to that. I assume she has been told terrible things about me--and probably fears that I will hurt, defile or maybe even kill her. And I have been sent off on one dangerous mission after another--presumably because Elizabeth would see me dead. I have returned victorious, time and again, and my status within the Roundtable has soared. Meanwhile, her hatred has festered."

"The Crusade is the last of these, and perhaps the most dangerous of all. We may never return from this adventure, Robert. But, with you at my side, I go gladly. And with the expectation that we shall be a comfort to each other. I am so fond of you, Robert."

He rolled toward me, smiled and grasped my semi-hard member. "And I am particularly fond of this weapon. I think we have time for one more bout before it is time to return to the castle." He pulled me on top. "Ride me Robert. Ride me hard and take my seed. That position is becoming one of my favorites. And your arse is one the places where I gladly deposit my seed."

*******

Sir Michael, it turns out, is a genius at the logistics of building a fighting force. He had worked it all out--including the timetable. "We shall need most of a year to train, provision and prepare. At the beginning of next spring, we shall sail for Calais to join with our friends from the Continent. A few weeks later, we will sail for Sicily, reaching it before the end of the summer. It is a Norman stronghold, part of the Norman Kingdom now for generations. And we will be welcome for the winter which is very mild on that island. The following spring, we'll head east to the Levant. So we will be on this mission for at least two years, Robert. Do you think you can stand being with me for all that time? I'd like you to be my adjutant and personal body guard. I can think of no one more suitable--or more likely to please me for such a long time."

I was of course delighted to agree. Two months ago I was alone in the world, driven out into the world by my father to make my fortune. Few had survived such an ordeal. Fewer still had found success as a Knight of Richard's court, the epitome of gallant manhood throughout Christendom. And then Michael had chosen me! I am truly blessed. I shall serve and guard him with my life. And share our seed as often as he commands--or permits.

After the idyllic afternoon, where I had learned so much about my new partner, we had returned to Arthurianton where Michael entered into discussions--really negotiations with the King and the other members of his Senior Council (Michael was one of five knights on the Council). The days were long, and the discussions were often heated as Michael argued for men, logistical support and funding to ensure a successful campaign--while the King and Sir Gilead argued that it was too expensive and would empty the Treasury, requiring more unpopular taxation or threaten the safety of Angleterre itself. Resources were not limitless. We must consider the safety of our island as well as the liberation of the Holy Land. It should not be a choice between everlasting reward and the sovereign safety of our homeland.

Somehow, after Michael's story during the picnic, I had the feeling that Elizabeth was urging those opposed to full support to continue. She had not changed her views. If he returned, he would be her son-in-law, and more or less untouchable. Presumably the next king, if anything happened to her young son--or the regent if Richard died before Henry had reached maturity. And she hated that prospect. Her only son, a lad of ten now, was not developing into a warrior--most likely because, as the only male heir and the lynch-pin to her position, she was coddling him.

Small compromises were reached every day. Progress was slow. And Michael would return to our (it was "ours" now) room each evening, exhausted from the effort. "Robert, I am impatient to begin. All of this negotiating is taxing my strength."

"Let me see about that, Sir." And with those words, I would carefully remove his courtly silks and push him into the padded chaise that we jokingly referred to as his "throne." Then I would kneel before him, spread his thighs and take his growing member deep inside. By then, I had learned every tender spot--the swelling tubes under the shaft and the spot just below the coiled hood. So, as his cock swelled under my sucking, my tongue massaged. Fingers would cradle and lightly squeeze his sacs, feeling the mounting turmoil inside. His movement became more violent, face-fucking me with his steely sword. And finally, when he was rigid and leaking precum, my bow finger would penetrate and poke at his bundle of love nerves. It was almost always the same. He would levitate from the cushion, then drop back as I added a second finger and penetrated deeply. He would darken. And then I would feel the motion of his little swimmers. His hips rose from the chaise, pushing his member deep into my throat as his hands gripped my hair to hold me in place. He would moan in pleasure as his entire body stiffened. His seed and fluid would shoot up the shaft, fill the bulb and explode into my waiting mouth. After the first, I would withdraw a bit to allow him to fill my mouth with his delicious spunk. Occasionally, I even permitted it to spray over my face.

He would reach down and pull me into his lap. And we would share his essence, while his hand grasped and squeezed my own cock, crying out for relief. "You have learned well, Robert. You know all too well how much better it will be for you if we delay your satisfaction. After the evening repast, I shall give myself to you. You deserve it. This impatient part of you will have its moment of glory."

******

At last, the negotiations yielded results--possibly because the Abbot had conveyed a "secret" letter from the Pope to Richard--promising him the comfort of a heavenly eternity if he gave whole-heartedly of the Treasury to the Holy War.

Nearly a hundred ships gathered along the quays of the Thames, to the seaside of Arthurianton. Supplies were loaded. Platoons of men, horses, ammunition, and support all camped on the shore.

The order was given. Priests sprinkled holy water and oil over the prows of galleys and pronounced blessings. The weather was good. And, after all of this preparation, as the tide turned, we sailed for Calais, our galleys flying the colors of Richard, Angleterre and the symbol of the Holy War--a red cross emblazoned on a white field--the same flag that had been adopted by Constantine centuries earlier. We were on God's work.

As we left the Thames and entered the open water, Michael summoned me to his spacious cabin. "We need to 'seed' this venture with our own essence."

I knew exactly what he had in mind. So I stripped before him, and with my eyes asked, "Shall I pitch or receive?"

Michael too stripped and stretched out on his has back on the cot. "Take me Robert. I need your seed, your confidence and your love." He was magnificent in the muscular preparedness for the Crusade as he stretched before me on the narrow bed.

"Sir, you do me honor."

"Tis not honor that I seek. I need your cock, deep and throbbing within me."

I dropped on top of him, and we wrestled in the cool sea air. But even in the coolness, his body was hot and demanding. We grappled, using lips and tongues to suck on various erogenous parts--our ear lobes, our nipples--and then our sacs, shafts and rims. Finally, he surrendered and flipped onto his belly. His muscled arse launched up toward me at the end of a beautiful inverted arch, perfectly positioned.

I knelt behind, larded him by inserting fingers into him and swirling the grease about. Then I did me, and applied the pressure that would yield me access to his tight chute. I held him tight and strained to plunge deep. But he wanted even more. He pushed back into me, and I felt his inner defenses give way as fresh lubrication washed over my rigid nether-sword. He bounced backwards a few times. Then, holding his cock in my fist, I pushed him forward, until I flattened him to the mattress. I stiffened my body and began to pound. It didn't take long. I could feel the fluid moving up his shaft as my own began to gush. Several blasts of cream. As we collapsed onto the thin mattress of the captain's suite on the galley. Our first coupling on the sea; fortunately the first of many.

The crossing was blessed with good weather and favorable winds. We sailed into the enveloping arm of the Gulf of Calais on the evening of the third day. We were greeted with pomp. The Duke himself arrived at the quay to greet us. He showered Michael with praise, and then he turned to me and hugged me, his prodigal son. "Welcome to Aquaterre. All is in readiness for your sojourn. I fear it will be short, but we have much to discuss before my subjects join you in your Holy War. Robert, my son, I am pleased to welcome you home. You should never have left." (Did he think I had a choice in the matter?) "I will leave you to rest and prepare. The banquet is tomorrow night--and the two of you shall sit at my right and my left."

"I have a bit of sad news, however. My oldest was wounded in a skirmish a fortnight ago. He will not be able to travel--and to command our contingent. But, I have selected another capable leader--and he has been advised that you, Sir Michael shall be the commander in chief. You will bear the burden alone, I am afraid."

"Thank you for telling me the news so soon. But, I must tell you Milord, that your son, now Sir Robert d'Aqua, my second in command, has already proven to be a fierce and solid leader. You raised and trained him well. He can easily assume command of your contingent. And I thank you. Until tomorrow then..."

The Duke seemed stunned that Michael had already placed me in conrol of the Continental part of our expedition. But, there was little he could do. His "warrior" older son was incapacitated--by his own words. And I clearly outranked the "comparable leader" that the Duke had found--probably to save his oldest son the risk and danger of the the Holy War. We stood and watched as the Duke departed, leaning on an aide and limping a bit. "I fear that I will not see my father again in this life."

Our stay in Calais was almost two weeks. Michael was anxious to sail for Sicily while the summer winds and weather prevailed, but when we left our ranks had doubled. We had nearly two hundred ships and four thousand troops.

And thus, in early August, we sailed for Sicily, the southernmost outpost of Norman conquest where we would winter and prepare for the final assault on the Levant in the spring.

Michael had avoided the inevitable confrontation with my older brother. He was in command, sole command. I was to lead the Continentals under his direction. And we were in bed together every night at sea, running through the playbook of sexual pleasure.

Somehow I guessed that my father, the Duke, knew of our nights of pleasure. He smiled always in our presence and made suggestive remarks. One time he remarked that the week of my realized manhood in his bed was one of the best times of his life. "You have always been my favorite. You will become a great knight, my son. But, methinks you are already a cherished lover."

I looked past him to Michael, who was nodding in agreement.

TBC

BD

Note: There might be sequels to these chapters--in Sicily and in the Levant, but they are not yet written. Meanwhile, I have another story from the past that I've been editing from time to time. Let me know what you might like and I'll try. Or perhaps, based on readership numbers, this is not a popular story milieu. BD