Robert of the Roundtable Ch 04

Robert of the Roundtable Ch 04

Sea Voyage and Sicily

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.

Three earlier chapters in this series have been published on Literotica. There will be a short summary of the three below--and those of you familiar with the story might want to skip itSummary to Date

Robert, the third son of a Norman Duke, was effectively "thrown out" of the castle to seek his fortune--not because he was bad or evil. It was just the custom of the day. The third son always needed to leave the nest and seek his future upon achieving manhood. He had traveled to Arthurianton, where a legendary recreation of the famous Roundtable had been engineered by King Richard.

Robert had to prove himself a worthy knight--and indeed he did with the assistance of another--the famous Sir Michael du Nor--as his mentor. The two men bonded and were soon engaged in repeated lusty sex (which was expected of unmarried young men in Arthurianton--it helped to preserve the virginity of the young noble women until marriage and preserved their "dignity" thereafter).

As champion knights, both men were handsome specimens--tall, muscled, square faced (Michael with a small trimmed beard, Robert clean shaven), and suitably endowed. (Michael had the rep of being the "biggest" knight, until Robert arrived who at least equaled his length, and Robert was even thicker.) Robert was swarthy complected with almost blue-black eyes, black hair with a bit of a curl, and supple reddish lips. Michael, on the other hand, had the complexion and hair color of a Saxon--pale, blonde tinged with red, blue-eyed and thin lipped. Curiously Robert was nearly hairless except for a bit of pubic hair, while Michael had a fine blonde "fur" over his chest and forearms.

Michael was an experienced lover of men with a rep to prove it. He had taken almost all of the other knights, and he had been the paramour of the King when theQueen was "with dhild"--a situation that earned him her hatred. But his technique was almost entirely limited to pumping his phallus into a willing mouth or an upturned arse as his partner knelt on the bed with his thighs spread wide and his head in his lower arms. Although younger, Robert, as a Continental--a Norman, had been suitably trained in the amorous arts, and so he managed to teach his mentor a number of sexual tricks by his family. Michael proved an anxious pupil, and thus their experiences in bed, in the bush, in the lake, over a bench or table--in fact everywhere--became a try-out opportunity for various exciting techniques to enhance their frequent unions.

Shortly after the Robert's knighthood was confirmed, King Richard announced that he (or rather his knights) were going to participate in the next Crusade to rescue the Holy Land. Sir Michael was put in charge, and he chose Robert as his second.

After weeks of bivouac in the woods outside Arthurianton for an army of hundreds, with enough al fesco copulation to perfume even the pristine forest air with musk, the army had sailed for Calais--the location of Robert's father, the Duke D'Aquaterre's castle (at least one of them)--where they spent a few weeks, meshing their forces with those collected on the Continent.

Robert's oldest brother, who should have commanded the Continental contingent turned up absent with a purported war injury. And Michael insisted that Robert command the Continentals (Normans, Flemish, Dutch, Iberians, and even a small group of Teutons) at his side.

The armies set sail in the summer for Sicily--and Robert and Michael who had adjoining "captain" suites on the flagship, "Sancto Spiritu." And in the first days at sea, where the waters were unusually calm, Robert and Michael had spent countless hours pleasuring each other.

By this time, Robert has celebrated his twentieth birthday--having spent just about a year with Michael and in his bed, while Michael is a "senior" knight and a member of the King's Council. He'll celebrate his twenty-eighth birthday on the way to Sicily.

The story continues in Robert's voice....

We had been at sea for over a month now, experiencing rough waters only as we rounded the Northwest coast of the Iberian peninsula--often called Land's End--perhaps because the waters were often treacherous and had claimed many ships and their crews. We had sailed through the famous strait and the giant rock cliffs and were now in the Mediterranean Sea, not the Ocean. Watches were set up to detect pirates, known to prey on ships that strayed too close to the African coast. But, our Armada was so large--now over 200 ships carrying thousands of troops and their support staff. So we didn't really expect any problems. Still all captains were warned to keep a tight formation, to keeps guns loaded, and not to stray too far from the sight of the rest of the fleet.

We (Michael and I and a dozen of our officers) had spent the morning planning the arrival in Sicily, setting rules of conduct for the men--since we would be "camped" on the large island for the winter and their conduct would determine the extent of our welcome--and discussing how we would negotiate with the local Norman self-proclaimed King who would doubtless try to extort vast sums for our food, lodging and care. If there were fewer, no doubt he would have even considered holding one or two of us for ransom.

It was decided that two ships would sail ahead and arrive at least two days before the fleet itself approached Syracusa, a reconstructed, but ancient Roman city, on the Southern Coast, farthest away from the Italian peninsula. One ship would carry the famous Abbot of Northumbridge Abbey, a Norbertine monk, a holy man and with Archbishop's rank. And I, a Norman noble from Aquaterre, now a Roundtable Knight would arrive in the other. Our job was to enlist the support of the local Archbishop before we met with the Raymond, the Norman King. This was a "holy" venture, and the Normans, who professed to be devout Christians, could be exhorted to support the Crusade by adding ships and troops, and, more importantly by forgoing compensation for the winter of the Holy Fleet.

I assumed the tactic might work in part--but the Normans were unlikely to give us everything we wanted. They were Christian, but also practical. Provisioning our fleet would likely remove much of the food they had stored for famine and bring them close to bankruptcy. Their subjects were Christian, and didn't consider themselves to be Italian (and thus Catholic). But it was a form of Christianity that was mixed with tribalism and sorcery. The "King" was effectively elected by the Council--made up of four to five dons. The Don of each clan was the living representative of God to those who farmed and lived on his land, and in most cases the Bishop was his "boy"--probably literally. They would give lip service to the need to liberate the Holy Land, but in substance, we wouldn't see much. So I warned that we needed a Plan B. Michael and I worked that out in secret.

A morning of discussion always had the same effect on Michael. It exhausted him physically. Even more than a full day of battle. He was definitely a man of action, not words. It tightened up his muscles--even more than open combat. And aroused his libido. So, I knew we were in for a momentous afternoon. And I looked forward to it.

After the meeting ended, a meal was served on deck for all the officers. It was lavish and wine-sodden. But finally as the sun began to move into the Western sky, aides helped the attending officers to climb down to their waiting launches. At last we were alone. Michael looked directly into my eyes. Then he ostentatiously yawned and rose to stretch. "It's time for a siesta. Discussion always tires me even more than combat. How about you Robert?"

"I think that I too will rest for awhile."

We headed down the gangway to our cabins, Michael leading the way. He entered his lavish quarters which had been prepared for sex by Adolphus, his "man." The wide bed had white linens pulled back, and I noticed the familiar pot of perfumed oil on the built-in side table. Michael left the door open. I didn't even bother to enter my adjacent cabin. I just followed him into the room, crowded up behind him, and as I slammed the door with my foot, I grabbed him from behind. As was our custom at sea, we both wore only cotton blousy shirts, with small epaulets of rank, open at the neck and draped over, rather than tucked into our calf-length britches. My hands immediately found the hem of his and swooped up inside, perching just under his hard, square-ed off pecs. My thumbs and forefingers each took a nipple and began to tug, pinch and caress. Michael's head turned and I took his lips, tasting the last of the delicious Norman wine we had just consumed. He backed into me and felt my hardness lodge in his crevice. He groaned in the anticipated pleasure. I felt his immediate responsive shiver. And then I let him go. He was ready for his special massage. He was so easy. I had him already.

I dropped my hands to the ties of his britches and unlaced. Then I moved back to his nipples to continue my tease. Being loose the pantaloons dropped to the floor. He flung off his short books and stepped out of the pantaloons, wearing nothing beneath. Then my hands rose, holding the hem of his shirt. He raised his hands and I yanked it off, pulled him tight, and nipped him on his exposed nape. Seconds after entering the room he was naked and relaxing into me. The familiar, but magnificent muscled globes were tight and held out "on offer" to me. I salivated at the prospect. I frog-marched him to the bed and pushed him onto it. He spread instantly into a broad "X" with a hand on each bedpost and feet spread at the bottom. Oh fuck. Everytime. He was so magnificent. He took my breath away.

I stripped too and reached for the pot, pouring the oil liberally over his spine, upper back and of course into his crevice and on his thighs. Using both hands, I worked it all in, relieving knots, and creating desire, as he squirmed in pleasure and emitted moans of acceptance. Then I oiled my chest, carefully lowered myself on top and began the full body massage. My torso slipped up and circled, over and over rubbing his back and my chest together. I felt more knots. So I rose on my knees between his legs and began to press hard on the knots, squeezing them into submission and softening them. Once or twice he groaned when I pushed too hard, but then sighed when the tightness loosened. In this position, my rigid member was sliding along his crevice, occasionally falling and pushing into his balls. He yelped when I did, but responded to the slide by tightening the gluteal muscles to trap my cock just as often.

The knots had disappeared. So I reached up and held his shoulders as I used my legs to move over him, massaging him with my whole body. His stance widened and his arse began to rise from the bed, capturing my long hard cock with each pass.

I could feel the heat. The tense muscles were relaxing--with one major exception. His rigid cock was trapped under his gut. So when I relaxed the pressure and tapped his buttocks, he rose involuntarily. I pushed a pillow under his gut and reached under to pull his dick down between his legs where it had room to expand. Then I backed off and began to lick and tongue his taint and balls, moving up finally to his hole. I pushed into his cleft, deepening my tongue thrusts while sucking on his rim. Michael gasped in pleasure. He loved to be eaten. "Oh, my dearest Robert, you are indeed God's gift to me. I owe him for you. And for that we will rescue his homeland from the infidels."

The massage took perhaps twenty minutes. "I'm ready now, Robert. I'm relaxed enough to enjoy it. And hard enough to enjoy it even more. Put him in, please."

It was time for the interior massage.

He was commanding officer. So, of course I followed orders. I used both hands to raise his hips inches from the bed, aimed my cockhead, and with only seconds of tease, pushed in past the outer ring. As usual, he was hot and tight, but ready to assume an active role. Using his thighs, he pushed back into me and took another few inches. I paused again, with the glans poking his hard nut of passion. He breathed out heavily and noisily--my sign to proceed. "By God, that is so perfect. Right there. Heaven!"

So I released my weight and deepened. Several plunges and withdrawals later, each deeper and more pleasurable than the one before, I bottomed and felt the next barrier. I too was stimulated to the max that day--and so my cock was thick and long--and still had another two inches to be inserted. I pulled back one last time and plunged. The inner door opened and I slid in as my balls bounced happily on his. He whimpered; then he surrendered totally. I held the depth, feeling his chute expanding to envelope my girth. He was totally and completely mine! Then he began the internal massage muscle contractions that I had taught him months before. As I repeatedly withdrew and pounded back in to do the same for him. In a few short months, we had learned to maximize pleasure and developed the muscles and the techniques to pleasure and prolong.

I strained for depth and to enlarge the shaft and the bulb. I wanted him to FEEL as my seed-filled fluid rose along the shaft, expanding the tubes as it moved. One last squeeze by him and I felt the first unstoppable spasm. This was heaven, I was reaching for the stars by plunging to his depths. Other spasms followed automatically propelling my sperm up the shaft and into the head where, after being held for a second, it escaped in an explosion of hot cream that filled his gut. Michael responded immediately. I felt the tension deep in his groin and then the involuntary contractions and the shots of his cum staining the linens below us. "Oh, Robert. You are so good to me. That feels better than anything else in the world. I repeat again, you are indeed Robert d'Amour. Little did I know that when I first saw you and decided that I had to have you that it would turn out that my desire would soon be to be taken by you as often as I take you. It is the way it should be. I love you, Robert."

Then I relaxed, slipped sideways off his back, maintaining my position in his arse as I pulled him into a cocoon. We dozed in the cool sea air. This time he was mine. Perhaps next time he will do me. We don't really keep score anymore. It doesn't matter. And both of us enjoy either role.

Meanwhile in the Norman capital city of Syracusa, Sicilia...

The fleet was more than a day out from Syracusa, and no doubt the forward scouts, disguised as small fishing vessels, had already reported to the King that an Armada was approaching. They had hysterically proclaimed an invasion, but the King had calmed them down. He called his nobles into immediate conference.

He was indeed a wise king who had weathered more than one fleet calling at his kingdom for rest and provisioning--before an invasion elsewhere.

"My cousin, the Duke d'Aquaterre has warned me to expect a visit. I'm not sure he indicated how many were calling on us, but he did say they were not hostile--only seeking winter respite from the Mediterranean's treachery before assaulting the Holy Land in the spring to liberate our Christian brothers and their holy sites from the Mohammedans. We have seen it before, and I would guess we might see it again. I'm surprised he didn't tell me the fleet would consider of hundreds of ships and thousands of men. But, we can deal with them."

"They are Christian men seeking to achieve heavenly paradise by fighting. What unfortunate theology, perpetrated by that godless imposter, Malafacio IV, whom those perfidious Venetians have placed on the Throne of Peter. Thousands will die--and who knows where their souls will fly to after a battlefield death. Methinks it might depend more upon the purity of their hearts than their prowess with a sword which might have taken the lives of so many."

"But, we will work with them. Our goal is simple. We will supply provisions as they need--but at our cost, plus a small profit and only out of our surplus. Without profit, we cannot sustain this island for future Crusades! Their men will be permitted ashore, but with limits that we will set. Perhaps two or three hundred per night. The pleasure district will be busy and pleased, I am sure. Rafael, make sure the proprietors of our pleasure houses know and prepare. They will need more alcohol, and perhaps they should bring some of their girls back from the countryside. The girls won't be needed for harvest for months. Let them know that we will expect our customary share of the pleasure fees."

"The nobles on board, we will entertain at our castle. They are our relatives--however distant--and expect no less. No doubt they will want more. But, let's see. Presumably the gifts they will bring for the occasion will pay for the banquet."

"When they arrive, we shall send word that no one is the come ashore until directed to do so. We will direct our guns at the nearest ships, but inform them that we are taking precautions only. General Roche, please prepare your armaments, but ensure that the gunners understand they are not to fire without your direct order. Any firing from the arriving ships is likely to be blanks offering a salute, not the first shots of an invasion."

"We will simultaneously invite their leaders to dine with us. We must be alert. A fleet this size cannot vanquish us. But, it could do significant damage. And it could destroy our reputation as facilitating the Crusades. Malafacio could ex-communicate us, and the peasants might revolt if he were to do that. I presume there will be many more fleets, equally ineffective--and equally lucrative. Now, my friends, prepare as I have directed."

Robert's voice again...

As planned, the fleet remained at anchor in the far reaches of the outer harbor and saluted with guns aimed to the open sea. Two vessels, carrying the flags of the Crusade, peace and penance approached, with its guns draped in white, approached the inner harbor. I was in command. We anchored and sent word ashore, identifying ourselves and requesting an audience with the King's representatives. The letter was filled with flowery praise of the King, his kingdom, his nobles and his reputation. It brought greetings from King Richard, the senior sponsor of the expedition. And a letter from our Abbot to the Archbishop of Syracusa, promising a novena of Masses for his intentions.

Hours later a small launch approached my vessel. A brief "negotiation" occurred on our ship. (I saw another approach the Abbot's vessel, but never learned their purpose. They were apparently not going to permit us ashore without some preliminary agreements--at least not peacefully ashore.)

It was as I expected. The noblemen among us were invited to a banquet at the castle in our honor in two days. They "requested" that the bulk of our fleet anchor in the outer harbor or farther out to sea. The spokesman, a lowly squire, noted that the inner harbor was small and devoted to the fishing industry, a major pillar of the Kingdom's economy. (This was blatantly false--the inner harbor had easily the space for hundreds of ships and the fishing fleet as well. It was diplomacy. He obviously didn't want us too close with many of our massive gunships.) It was suggested that a "few" vessels move into the inner harbor on a rotating basis to permit the men to come ashore for the evening and night, on a rotating basis. We were asked what provisions we might need, but there was no discussion of payment. Later there would be a negotiation to determine how much we would pay for the winter's sojourn.

The King, in his message, praised our Christian ideals and purpose. But he complained that the last harvests had been bad, and the island was importing more than usual from the fields on the mainland. Food was expensive, and his peasants were restless. They couldn't afford, at this time, much as they might like to do so, to support a massive Crusade. Christian brotherhood had nothing to do with it. But, perhaps kinship might shave a bit from their profit. I didn't agree to anything, but I did accept the invitation to the banquet--although I carefully noted that Sir Michael would inform us when he was available, and indicated that I would need to discuss everything else with the Captain of the Fleet, Sir Michael du Nor, and his staff. We would send word by launch when we were available. Meanwhile, our fleet would remain anchored where they were.

And so the delegation left. The first round had begun. They had set a strong first position. I had expected this and had essentially agreed to nothing. We left the inner harbor, and when I reported to Michael, he fulminated and cursed, "Do they not understand that we are the arm of God? How dare they try to set conditions on us!"

Then he ordered the fleet to fan out, forming an effective blockade of the harbor, three ships deep. We had enough ships to do so--even well out from the land. Any vessel entering or leaving the harbor would come within the reach of our guns--which were then all uncovered and prepared. Surely the fishing vessel spies would report this back to the King. The threat was obvious. We significantly outclassed the small Norman fleet--now bottled up in the inner harbor. We were out of range of their shoreside guns. And we could control all commerce, including fishing. It was a blockade--although not officially proclaimed.

We had moved to the second round of discussion. Michael was still furious after the commands were given. Somehow I expected his next words. "I would speak to you in private, Robert. My cabin, now!"

It was his birthday and he had been preparing to celebrate. Now he had a recalcitrant host--and a blockade to deal with. Somehow I thought that I might be the "beneficiary" of the change in his plans to celebrate his birthday.

When I approached his cabin, he pushed me inside. "Strip. On the bed now. I need relief from these ridiculous petty-kings." I shivered in excitement. When Michael was angry, he was a lion in bed. And, I think that anger actually enlarges his instrument. I hated to see him displeased, but deep down, I relished the pleasurable consequences for me.

So I undressed and dropped onto the bed, planting a bolster under my gut to position my ass for his taking. I assumed missionary was out of the question; he was too angry. He was an animal, and he would use his cock to lash out, to punish, not to express love or to pro-create. Instantly, I felt his naked body and weight pressing onto me. His warm breath touched my nape, followed by his lips and teeth. He bit lightly, several times, establishing his superior strength and ownership, harkening back to the primordial action of a predator lion, taking the neck of its prey to subdue it before devouring it totally.

He released briefly as he knelt between my thighs. I felt the oil dripping between my cheeks. And then, without further preparation--no fingers, nor tongue, he rammed hard and deep. Seconds of pain flashed, but were swept away with the intense pleasure of that first penetration of a large cock--as he dropped his chest onto my back and began to stroke, using powerful thighs. Each pass rammed my nut in this position. Oh, fuck. Sometimes if is indeed great to be taken by force, by an animal, seeking its own supreme pleasure. I could imagine his grimace and I could feel the force with which he was pounding. He struck again and again, deeper and harder each time. Fuck, he must be really angry! I surrendered totally, tried to go limp, to give myself entirely to him and his search for relieving pleasure. Then I felt the deep hold, the contraction of his gut, the stiffening of his legs, the incredible expansion of his shaft and bulb, and the intense heat of his spunk as he filled me with repeated blasts. My own orgasm followed instantly, starting deep in my gut, causing my whole body to tense. I erupted. Almost unconscious from the rapid assault.

But, I was surprised by what had occurred. Michael had fisted my bulb and caught my cum. And at my last shot, he rolled to the side, his cock still pinned inside, and pulled me into his embrace. Then we shared my nectar, both of us licking his musky palm. He had calmed with his ejaculation, and now he was holding me with affection. The aroma of our emission filled the room and drugged us into fatigue--that fatigue which often occurs after intense anger and intense activity. So we napped for a little while. Then he took me again, this time missionary, softer and slower, with love--which brought me to one of the most intense orgasms of my life. He had learned to love as well as fuck. Thank you, God.

An hour later, perhaps more, we heard our vessel dropping anchor. In slumber his cock had withdrawn from my chute, but he had maintained his possession. I was firmly in his gut. His right hand was cradling my warm, moist balls. I thought maybe he wanted another round. But he released me immediately. The sound of the anchor had awakened his need to command. We emerged from his cabin, dressed again, but redolent of recent sex. Arrayed out as far as we could see on the horizon was a triple arc of ships, carefully spaced and in perfect formation. All guns were aimed into the voids between the rows. The de facto blockade had begun. Michael smiled. "Now we shall see where we are. We'll wait here."

Later that night, we celebrated his birthday with a feast--but not with dozens. Just the two of us, wantonly consuming delicacies in his cabin, both of us stark naked, with a glint of promise in our eyes.

Nothing moved in or out of the harbor for the next week. By then, I'm sure that the King knew we were serious--although we had not fired a shot or captured a single vessel. A few days later, a launch approached the lead ship (indicated by Michael's insignia). A single man boarded and asked for Michael. He had been warned the launch was approaching and had decided to don the impressive, full regalia of his Knighthood. (He probably would have mounted if his horse could be brought on deck!) He had asked me to do the same--being unsure whether he would understand the unique Norman dialect of Sicilia. The messenger stood at attention as we emerged from below deck. He wasn't sure of his rank and rights. So he paused briefly; then he looked around and handed the rolled parchment to me, stating that it was a communication from the King to Sir Michael du Nor. "I am told to wait for a response."

The scroll was an invitation for talks--and for dinner, for Michael and those of his lieutenants that he felt necessary for communication and security purposes. That night, two hours before sunset. The King would send his own launch to fetch us. Michael looked at me and I nodded. "I fear that Sir Robert d'Aqua and I cannot both leave the fleet at the same time. He understands your language while I do not. He and I share responsibilities for this venture. He speaks for me. He will be pleased to accept the King's kind invitation, but I cannot. Please convey my apologies. I am sure he will understand. And some of my men have grown restless anchored at sea. So six of our vessels with several hundred men will accompany Robert--and the men will have the evening to enjoy the hospitality of your Kingdom, I am sure. Their guns will be covered. We mean no harm." The messenger understood and so later would the King. Michael did not trust him, and would not expose both leaders of the fleet to capture at the same time in the King's main castle. And he, Michael was setting the initial terms of bringing his men ashore.

Several hours later, I re-dressed in the regalia of a Knight of the Roundtable--absent the armor, but with my gleaming sword. The launch arrived to carry me, our quartermaster, and six men, chosen for their prowess and bravery as our security guards. Our six vessels followed closely and anchored at the wharf as did we.

The negotiations were prolonged--hours long, as we outlined our needs and what we would pay. We argued that with the size of our fleet, we would need a minimum of ten vessels in the inner harbor, with permission for 500 unarmed men to be ashore at any time--and pasture and silage for 200 horses. We agreed on a price--their cost, less a tithe of the total "contributed" for the Holy War. Finally, all was agreed, and we moved to the Aula Grandissima for the royal banquet.

The King presided, with me at his right hand. He knew of my father's reputation and asked about him. I noted we had left him only eight weeks before, but he seemed well, although age was catching him. The King understood. The food was superb, and very different from any that I had had before. We toasted King Richard, King Raymondo (our host), Christendom, the Pope, the Holy War and several other people and places. The wine was wonderful, and I needed to keep my wits. At the end, Raymondo invited us to spend the night in the castle, but we quickly responded that duty called us back to the fleet.

Then he issued an invitation which I was sure we could not refuse. He offered us the use of a grand castle, a few leagues outside the city, one he used for recreation. It was by the sea and at the edge of a large wooded area renowned for hunting. Without even asking Michael, I accepted. I was tired of the tight quarters on the ship--and a castle on dry land for a few months would be welcome. We could probably have our horses there and do some exploring of the countryside.

The launch returned me to the Santo Spiritu late that night. Michael was already asleep; so I went to my quarters and fell into a deep sleep, no doubt enhanced by the excellent wine. All in all, it had been a good day and week. We had accomplished our goal of winter respite.

The next morning, I found Michael in my bed. "I am anxious to here the results, but first you must relieve this condition." He pointed to his rampant erection.

"By mouth or with my body, Sir?"

"By mouth, methinks. It has been a long time. And you owe me for permitting you to enjoy a banquet without me."

"Of course, Milord." As I proceeded to take him inside and give him an oral ride worthy of a a young man, one year older as of yesterday.

A day later we moved with an entourage to the sporting castle, a great old pile of a place, Norman in style, but perched on ancient Roman ruins on a promontory facing the southern sea. I couldn't begin to count the rooms--or the intrigues that must have occupied this place. It was made for secret trysts with hidden doors and passages, spy holes, enormous beds, piled high with feathery duvets and pillows, a conservatory filled with fruit trees and flowering bushes, and colorfully dressed servants to meet every conceivable need--including some that we had not even imagined. The liaisons that these wall had witnessed! And no doubt the orgies!

Michael chose a warm southern-facing room with a draped high bed of kingly size. He dismissed the servants. "Robert and I need to discuss logistics." The servants glanced knowingly at each other. One opened a cupboard and ostentatiously moved a large jar of perfumed oil to a side table. Then they all left, leaving us to our pleasures. And pleasures they were--wrestling naked on silken sheets, as the sun's rays crossed the bed and our hot pumped bodies, until at last, I surrendered and Michael mounted me, his favorite position. He rode hard, pulling me deeper and deeper, as his fingers clutched my nipples and tortured them. Until finally, we both simultaneously exploded, celebrating our good fortune.

So, the winter passed quickly. It was mild and pleasant with just a little rain. The troops were reasonably behaved. And Michael and I grew so close they were finishing each others' sentences--and timing our simultaneous orgasms to within seconds. As March arrived, we were provisioned and ready to sail for the Levant. Soon our idyllic sojourn in this incredible place would be exchanged for the battlefield--or at least the battlements of the old cities occupied by the Mohammedans. We didn't fear it. In fact we looked forward to it. That is, after all, what knights are for.

We were together. In love. In war.

And thus, on the morn of Monday, the eighth of April, Easter Monday, we sailed. And that night Michael and I resumed our nightly ritual of making love and sleeping together in the captain's bunk. We were closer than any couple had ever been before. And I began to wonder if there was a long future for us.

TBC

BD

Author's note: I have yet to write the (next) chapter dealing with the actual Crusade so it may be some time before it appears. However, I have been editing a novella of a more contemporary, but still historic nature, and I will begin publishing the parts in about a week. Thank you for reading. And if there is some specific scene you'd like to read about when the battles begin, let me know. Thanks for reading. BD