King Richard's Man Ch. 02

Note: The castle, town and family Ville-Neuve featured in this story are fictional and should not be identified with any real places or people of that name. Mercadier was a real figure, the captain of Richard the Lionheart's mercenaries, and, by most accounts, a villainous piece of work. In fleshing him out for this story, I have taken historical liberties to fill in the lack of our detailed knowledge of him.

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Normandy, A. D. 1195

Chateau Ville-Neuve was under siege. The town had been occupied and the castle itself was surrounded by the forces of Richard, king of England and duke of Normandy. Though the king himself was not present, the investment of the fortress was supervised by the his captain of mercenaries, Mercadier, himself a legendary warrior.

Part of the town had been cleared by fire to make room for the siege operations. Hurdles blocked the path of any riders who might attempt to escape the siege, or lead a sally against the besiegers. A makeshift barricade had been constructed around the town for the further containment of the besieged and the defence of the attacking forces. A trebuchet was in operation, hailing stones against the walls of the castle with the intention of causing a breach. Some of the stones went over the wall, and it was hoped these might kill the leader of the besieged and demoralize and confuse the enemy. The defence was still too active to bring the battering ram to bear against the main gate of the fortress, but the device was prepared for any opportunity. Incendiaries had been launched against the gate, but so far, to little effect. A mine shaft secretly progressed in the direction of the south tower of the castle with the hope of undermining it and bringing it down. Its fall would provide the besiegers with a way into Ville-Neuve Castle.

Gilles de Ville-Neuve stood with the forces besieging the fortress. From his vantage point, among the tents of the attacking force just beyond arrow range of the defenders, he had twice seen his father directing the counter-offensive from the battlements. The old man was unmistakeable in his customary black attire, a surcoat and helmet over his hauberk of mail. After six years away from home, Gilles wasn't sure he'd recognize his brothers.

It was Gilles who recommend the siege mine to the South Tower. He recalled from his days living in the castle that the tower even then had a great fissure in one side of its wall. Even if it had been mortared, it must still be a vulnerability. To remove support from the damaged wall might be catastrophic to the tower's integrity. Mercadier, who didn't care for advice on siegecraft from an untried soldier, nevertheless approved the plan and sent the sappers in.

Now they were waiting for the opportunity to present itself. If the tower fell, the defenders would rush to secure the breach and the resistance at the gate would drop. Without as many falling stones and cauldrons of boiling pitch to cope with, the battering ram would be free to do its work.

"Ville-Neuve!"

It was Captain Mercadier.

King Richard's mercenary captain stood over six feet, almost as tall as the king himself, but chunkier around the middle and brawnier around the shoulders. He wore a jazerant, a mail-lined and padded coat of armour over layers of leather. He carried his helmet in hand, a cylindrical, flat-topped affair with a rigid face-guard extending over the front, pierced for ventilation. It had been painted black and a stylized skull was emblazoned above the face-guard. On his head was his linen arming cap, which all the soldiers wore under their helmets or mail coifs for protection from chafing. Ville-Neuve surmised Mercadier's sword belt had either been a gift from King Richard or it was taken in spoils from a rich prisoner; it was leather and studded with precious stones. He wore a baldric over his armour that displayed an incongruous mix of amulets to ward off evil and a grisly trophy of war: a dried Saracen scalp.

The man's face was nightmarish. His wispy beard covered a square jaw. An L-shaped scar started over his left eye and curved down across his cheek. Over his right eyebrow, there was a constellation of black dots burned into his skin, supposedly from the melting lead roof of a church he had fired and pillaged.

It was the face of a man who knew he was going to Hell and didn't care.

"Stop daydreaming and come with me, boy." His Norman-French had an Occitan accent.

Gilles followed the older soldier into his tent, where two other mercenaries awaited. He recognized them as Vigeois and Tourigny, the guards who had stood watch over the king's chamber door when Richard granted Gilles a private audience. They had been all attention when the squire left the king dozing in his bed, but they had said nothing. Now they glared at him and grinned lewdly.

Mercadier followed Gilles into the tent, set his helmet down on the ground and sat in one of the stools. He told Gilles to sit down. There were no more stools, so Gilles sat on the ground.

"The sappers are ready to fire the tunnel," Mercadier said. "We're just waiting for the pigs."

Gilles was not well-acquainted with siege warfare yet. He looked confused about the pigs. Mercadier explained that the fat of several dozen pigs would be used as an accelerant to ensure the tunnel props were quickly destroyed. When the tunnel collapsed, the tower above it would crumble under its own weight. Or such was to be hoped.

Gilles nodded. He prayed his plan to bring down the South Tower would work. His standing with King Richard depended on it. An extraordinary amount of effort and resources had been expended on his say-so. The king might not look kindly upon failure, even from a lover.

Gilles was shaken from his thoughts by the realization that all three men were leering at him with undisguised contempt.

Mercadier spoke up. "I hear you had quite the conversation with King Richard a fortnight back."

Gilles flushed with embarrassment.

"How did it go, Tourigny? 'Ram me, King Richard. Fuck my ass. Make me come.' Was that how it went?"

Tourigny and Vigeois giggled.

"So, Nobleman," Mercadier said to Gilles. "You are the king's bum-boy."

Gilles didn't know what to say. He'd sworn on his life not to betray the secret of his fornication with the king. He could not confirm or deny anything with honour. He sat tongue-tied.

"I believe the king would prefer this stayed a secret, little squire. Do you think you are the first? He's had many cast-off catamites, and I've made use of them as well when it pleased me to do so."

Gilles caught the drift of that. He was being extorted into giving himself over to Mercadier, Tourigny and Vigeois to be used according to their wishes.

Mercadier's associates were not an attractive pair.

Tourigny was a sturdily-built character in full mail. He had one eye and an unsightly scar that traveled from his eyebrow down into his unkempt beard. He was missing teeth from the top and bottom of his mouth. Even from several feet away, Gilles could smell his putrid breath.

If Tourigny was unappealing, Vigeois was hideous. He wore an aketon, a padded coat with quilting to keep the sword-resistant stuffing in place. His face bore scars as well, but one cheek was nearly missing, exposing the teeth below in a grotesque grin that showed even when his mouth was closed.

The thought of being used by these men was appalling. They looked bad, they smelled bad.

"Ah, you don't fancy us then?" Mercadier said. "Well, isn't that too bad... for you."

He lifted his jazerant, showing his drawers below. He lifted his ass off the stool and yanked them down to expose himself. He had a massive erection, and yes, it was even bigger than that of the king. Gilles was fascinated despite himself and horrified to find his body responding to the sight of cock with arousal. To be attracted to the handsome king was one thing, but to feel need when he saw this monster's huge dick was abhorrent.

"Get over here and suck. And keep up your appetite because there's two more after me."

Gilles saw little choice. These ruffians were between him and the tent's exit and any one of them could easily overpower him. He braced himself for the task.

A familiar flourish sounded in the distance, but it sounded closer when it was repeated.

"The king!" exclaimed Tourigny.

"Damn the man," Mercadier said. "May he return to the Devil."

The mercenary stood, yanked his braies back up and straightened his jazerant. He reached down and pulled Gilles to his feet.

"One word of this to the king and I'll pull your head out through your ass. You won't enjoy it."

There was a clatter outside the tent as the king's party rode up. There was a jingle of mail and the rattle of spurs.

"Mercadier!" The voice belonged to King Richard. "Mercadier!"

"Yes, my lord," Mercadier responded as the king burst into the tent.

Richard, king of the English and duke of Normandy, stood resplendent in his armour. He was clad in full mail, a hauberk and leggings. Over the mail coat, he wore a belted red surcoat emblazoned with three gold lions. His sword hung in its scabbard at a convenient angle from the additional sword belt. His golden spurs gleamed. He'd evidently left his helm, lance and shield with his squire.

"What in the name of Hell sort of way is this to conduct a siege? The commander and his lieutenants hiding in a tent in the middle of the day and the men just milling about! Vigeois, Tourigny: get out. Ville-Neuve: stay."

The mercenary sergeants fled willingly.

"We want your progress report, Mercadier. The last dispatch said you and Ville-Neuve had isolated a vulnerability in the defences."

Mercadier updated the king about the sappers' success in digging under the South Tower and preparations to set fire to the mine props at dawn the next day.

"God's teeth," Richard swore. "We have hours of daylight left. Take the tower down now!"

"We're waiting on the pigs, your grace."

"Pigs, for the love of God. Don't you have oil for the incendiaries?"

"The pigs burn hotter."

"You're burning wooden props, man, not smelting steel! Pack the mine with kindling and start the fire. We would have that tower down and see that rebel bastard in chains before nightfall! Prepare the men. See it done, Mercadier!"

Richard's voice was raised and Mercadier noted the danger. Even a mercenary captain of great utility and long acquaintance wasn't immune to the Angevin's legendary temper when his blood was up. He saluted and moved to leave the tent.

"And, Mercadier, see that we are not disturbed until the tower falls. We've ridden hard today will take our rest here while our tent is being raised. Ville-Neuve will attend on us."

"Yes, your grace," Mercadier bowed and backed away from his king until he left the tent behind.

When they were alone, Richard walked straight over to where Gilles was, took him in his arms and pulled him into an embrace, leaning down from his full height to kiss him hard on the lips.

"Why, you're trembling. Not for fear of me?"

"No, your grace."

"When I walked in on you and Mercadier's ruffians... that was what it looked like then." The king had dropped the royal "we".

"I cannot say, your grace."

"I'm your king. I command you to speak."

"They knew about us. Vigeois and Tourigny listened at your chamber door when we... did it. They told Mercadier. They called me your cast-off bum-boy. They would have had me take them all in my mouth."

Richard frowned. "Did anything happen?"

"No, your grace. Your arrival ended things before they could begin. You... you saved me."

"From a fiendish fate. I can only imagine what those dogs were like. Mercadier is a great soldier, and he is granted certain liberties in exchange for success, yet still he rises above his station and must be put back in his place from time to time. I shall think on this."

"Your grace, thank you."

Richard actually grinned. "You can thank me properly when I take this fucking armour off. Help me with it, will you? Mercadier is quite efficient when he's angry, and he will be angry at having been thwarted. That tower will be down shortly, I'll warrant. We haven't much time."

Gilles helped the king wriggle out of his hauberk and the gambeson under it. Richard removed his spurs, his mail leggings and his braies himself as Gilles shed his own clothing.

"Look at that young body! White as milk, smooth as silk. It's been a fortnight since I touched it and I've dreamed of it ever since. And those soft buttocks!"

"I've... I've dreamt of you since we were together, your grace."

"We're alone now. When nobody's about, call me Richard."

Gilles could hardly believe he was on a first-name basis with the greatest king in Christendom, much less that he was being bedded by him.

"I'm sure Mercadier won't mind if we use his pallet."

The king took Gilles by the hand and led him over to the padded mattress laid out on the ground. They lay down together.

"I'd have your lips on me, Gilles."

"Yes... Richard." Gilles moved in to kiss his lord on the mouth but Richard stopped him.

"Not like that."

Gilles knew what the king meant then. He had never done anything like that before and he was unsure how to begin, but the king was waiting and that wouldn't do, so Gilles threw himself at the work. He kissed and licked the head of the king's erection and was rewarded by a sigh from Richard. He continued for several moments before engulfing the crown of the king's member in his mouth and swirling his tongue around it. It tasted salty to Gilles and not at all unpleasant as he feared. Gaining interest and confidence, Gilles brought a hand up to assist him in his efforts, stroking the hard dick while sucking on its head.

As time passed, Gilles' jaw began to ache and his tongue tired, but he didn't dare to stop. The king was breathing hard and Gilles knew from his personal experience that such was the way with a man when he was about to come.

When the king began to huff and puff, Gilles knew that his orgasm was imminent and braced himself. He didn't know if would be able to tolerate the taste of a man's seed in his mouth, but for Richard's sake he would try.

The king gave a series of satisfied grunts as he shot burst after burst into Gilles' mouth. Gilles coughed and gagged at first, but contained the load within himself, swallowing fast to keep up with the king's ejaculation. The taste was surprisingly strong to the young man, but it was in no way what he feared. It went down easily enough.

The king lay back on the pallet, still coming down from his orgasm. Gilles lay beside him, wishing the king would handle him. He felt a great need to come himself.

"I can feel your need from here, Gilles," Richard said. "But I must take my rest. Relieve yourself quickly and then get dressed and fetch me some wine."

It was a hard response, but Gilles knew better than to question it. He knew how to touch himself in such a way as to get himself off quickly and he wasted no time, jerking himself with eagerness and desperation until he came all over his belly. The king had watched with interest.

"Here," Richard said. He handed Gilles one of Mercadier's blankets. "Wipe yourself on this. We can't have you sticking to your clothes."

Gilles enjoyed cleaning himself with the mercenary's blanket. Let Mercadier stew in that.

After a moment, Gilles raised himself up and began gathering his clothes from the floor of the tent. He was aware of the king's eyes watching him. Soon, he was dressed again in his light armour. There was a fuss outside the tent.

"Your grace!" A voice cried from outside.

Richard barked back. "I gave orders not to be disturbed until the tower was down! I've heard no quake of stone and shale!"

"Yes, your grace, but scouts are reporting in. King Philip himself is on his way here now with a large relief force to aid Lord Thierry! He's just crossed the river! He could arrive within moments!"

"Damn!" Richard said. "I haven't a fucking stitch on and Mercadier's in the mines. Listen, Ville-Neuve. Use my name to take a horse and the men. Ride to confront Philip. When he sees my banner and knows I'm here, and when he recognizes the combined size of the siege forces now against the numbers in his intelligence reports, he'll turn tail and run. I know the man. If you can rout him before he gets over the bridge at the river, spare neither horse nor man in taking him captive! Succeed in this and I'll make you a viscount! Go now! I'll arm and follow you! Ride! Stop only to send me my squire."

Gilles thought it might be from having a king's seed in his belly, but in that moment his heart was like one of the lions on the king's banner. He had Richard's confidence, in both senses of the term. He burst from the tent and entered the chaos of a camp preparing for imminent attack. It was for him to tame this panic and lead a disciplined force against a regal enemy.

Gilles was determined to prevail in the king's name.