Chapter 31 - Breakfast for a baby boy

            Raymond’s dream left him troubled and he passed the rest of the night fitfully despite his luxurious surroundings. He rose and dressed himself in one of Alexander’s finest doublets – a padded grey jerkin emblazoned with large pearls – and delicate grey hose, so finely woven as to be almost translucent. He strode down to the kitchens. Woe betide the serving staff if his instructions had not been carried out to the letter.

            However, upon his arrival in the great cavernous stone chamber, he found nothing at which he could complain. The other servants – until so recently his peers or indeed his superiors – bowed their heads respectfully. And if Mistress Olwen betrayed a certain truculence in his presence, that was of no great significance. He stored away the observation with a mental note to admonish her for her insolence at a later date.

            There, as he had commanded, in the centre of the room stood a newly fashioned item of furniture: a tall wooden high chair – of the kind in which infants are traditionally seated. However, this particular chair would be too large for any child. Moreover, at both arm rests and leg rests were placed wooden manacles, of the kind that could be found in any rudimentary set of stocks in any town square.

            “Is it all right?” asked Mortimer anxiously. “My father was a carpenter, you know, but I’ve not had much chance to practice of late.”

            “It will suffice,” Raymond told him. He turned to the rest of the cowering staff and asked with a smirk, “Can you guess who is going to be put into it?”

            They all knew. It was as inevitable as day following night. Mistress Olwen sniffed her disapproval but dared say no more.

            “Where is Baby Will?” sneered their new Steward. “Come along now, don’t be shy.”

            Mortimer sniggered as the servants parted and Will – damp diaper still encircling his middle – shuffled forwards.

            “You’re still in your piss-stained nappy, then, goat-shit? Why of course you are. I’m the only one who can change you out of it. Maybe we’ll do that after breakfast. Maybe I’ll leave you in it all day long. Now, hop up into your high-chair!”

            Will clambered onto the wooden chair. He’d had to piss himself again in the night, so now both the nappy and the seat of his tights were truly saturated. He pulled a miserable face as he sat down, the wetness pressing against his bum a constant reminder of his humiliation. His cheeks reddened. He didn’t want to make eye contact with any of the other castle staff.

            “Lock him in place!” Raymond gestured to Mortimer and Humphrey, and they sprang to do as they were told, one on each side, fastening first Will’s wrists and then his blue-hosed ankles to the sides of the chair. The wooden manacles secured, Will could struggle all he liked, but he had no hope of release.

            “You may all begin your meal,” commanded Raymond, and the ravenous servants flocked and settled around the long wooden table and benches to begin their repast of bread and porridge.

            Finally, Raymond turned his attentions to Will. “You are to be given a greater honour than you deserve, goat-shit. I’m going to feed you myself.”

            Will’s face fell in dismay. Far from feeling that this was a great honour, he knew it would only mean further humiliation at the hands of his nemesis.

            “Do you have Will’s special breakfast recipe specially prepared, Mistress Olwen?” Raymond enquired with excessive mock-courtesy.

            Muttering under her breath, the fat cook handed him a pewter bowl. Raymond sniffed it elaborately.

            “Hmmm… that smells completely … disgusting!”

            He tipped the bowl towards Will so that the blond lad could see its contents: a greenish-grey sludge of a fairly thick consistency. Indeterminate lumps floated in it and it looked distinctly cold and unappetising.

            “I ordered Mistress Olwen to scrape her larder for only the oldest and mouldiest ingredients. We must be careful. Common goat-herds like you are unused to the rich food of the aristocracy after all. We mustn’t upset your baby boy tummy now, must we?” He patted Will’s belly just above the waistband of the  nappy.

            The other servants had by now finished their own breakfasts and all their attentions were fastened on the forthcoming entertainment that they knew Raymond was about to provide. Their new master selected a small wooden spoon from the dining table and dipped it into the congealed goo. Humphrey licked his lips in spite of himself. His permanent state of hunger meant that he’d have been prepared to try it anyway.

            “Come along now, baby boy,” cooed Raymond as he propelled the spoon towards Will’s mouth. “Open up for brek-brek.”

            Will clamped his mouth shut, determined not to give Raymond the satisfaction of feeding him the foul-looking gunk.

            Raymond tutted. “Naughty boy Will doesn’t want to eat? That will never do.” He did not slow the approach of the utensil but rather than inserting it into Will’s mouth, he smeared its contents across Will’s cheek and closed lips.

            It smelt of old beans and peas, thought Will as it dripped slowly from his face onto his fine blue tunic.

            “There you go. You’re going to have to eat it all you know.” A second spoonful, this time wiped across Will’s other cheek and nose. Some of the puree went up his nostrils.

            “What a mess you’re making!” exclaimed Raymond. “Clearly goat-shit baby boys like you never learn proper table manners!”

            Will heard a chuckle from Mortimer, and it was plain that his humiliation was proving some welcome entertainment for his colleagues. He continued to keep his mouth firmly shut, but the blob of bean that was stuck up his nose made this harder to do. And then as the third spoonful approached his face, Raymond said sharply, “Now this one is going in your mouth, bitch!” and gripped Will’s nose with his free hand. Will gasped in pain and surprise, and as he opened his mouth, Raymond rammed the spoon inside and tipped its unpleasant contents onto Will’s tongue.

            Will spluttered as the lumpy fluid went down his gullet and the other servants laughed at his discomfort.

            “Come now, goat-shit. I know you’ve had worse in your mouth!”

            Raymond continued to feed him, sticking to his promise that the entire contents of the bowl would have to be consumed before Will would be set free. However, he became even more careless as he went on. Dollops of the green gunk ‘accidentally’ slipped from the spoon and onto the fine blue fabric of Will’s tights making him flinch as the cold goo seeped through his hose and onto his legs. Raymond made sure he leant his hand on Will’s muscular thighs to ensure the mashed up vegetables were rubbed in. A particularly large spoonful was carefully tipped onto Will’s groin, so that a green stain blossomed over his hosed crotch: not that Will could feel anything through the thick wadding of his diaper.

            “Nearly finished!” declared Raymond, “just the dregs to go now!”

            And with that, he upended the bowl over Will’s head. Will cringed as the cold gunk slowly dribbled down his blond hair, down the back of his neck and into the collar of his tunic, into his eyes, over his pert nose and pooled around his pretty pink lips.

            Raymond took a step backwards to examine the page boy anointed with the green gruel: his blue finery ruined and his tights saturated with the rotten food.

            “Why what a mess you’ve made, goat-shit. Look at you, sitting there in your big wet nappy. Not able to feed yourself properly. Your delicious breakfast has gone everywhere! All over your face, your clothes, your tights! I think maybe you’d better stay here for a while to think about what a disobedient little baby boy you’ve been and how you’re going to change your behaviour if you don’t want to make your Master angry in the future!”

            Raymond turned to the other staff and glowered at them. “Don’t you miserable lot have work to do?”

            There was the scuffing sound of benches being pushed back and, like fearful rodents, the servants scurried about their daily business.

            Raymond turned to the red-faced Mistress Olwen. “Leave goat-shit here for an hour or two. Then get him cleared up and sent about his daily chores. I’ll want to play with him again this evening.”

            Later that morning, Raymond was once more in attendance on his royal master. What would the capricious beauty desire from him today, he wondered. All became clear when it transpired that the Prince’s loyal bodyguards had returned to the castle in the early hours of that very morning.

            The travel-weary brutes were summoned into the Prince’s presence to be informed of the new state of affairs.

            “Since he displayed more aptitude for protecting my royal person than either of you lumbering freaks, I have appointed Raymond my Chief Steward and right-hand man. You will obey him in all things and regard his orders as my own.”

            Odin, in particular, widened his eyes as the implications of the change in Raymond’s station sank in. He was no fool, and clearly knew from experience the folly in questioning the Prince’s whims, so he remained silent. He gazed at the new Steward, proud and imperious in his fine pearl-laden doublet and shimmering sheer hose; a far cry from the struggling and unwilling fuck toy whose sweet tight arse he had enjoyed these past few weeks.

            Raymond met his gaze: his deep, dark eyes unfathomable. Both men knew that what had happened between them in the past would not be forgotten, and each recognised in the other an adversary of whom they would need to be wary in the future. But for now, all was smiles and good nature.

            “Of course, your highness,” grinned Odin insincerely. “I wish young Master Raymond every felicitation in his sudden and unexpected elevation.”

            Raymond did not speak but gave the Viking a curt nod instead.

            “Excellent,” said Felix.

            “How did your ‘expedition’ go, Odin?” Raymond asked politely.

            Odin bared his teeth. “His Highness can now be assured of the loyalty of the local peasants. In every village we passed, at least one of its residents is now lighter by one hand.”

            “We have a big sack of them if you want to see, my liege,” added Ulfgar conversationally.

            “That won’t be necessary,” muttered the Prince, his face blanching. “And now, for today’s entertainment. As the forest is now a safe place for me to venture, I shall go hunting today.”

            Raymond had already observed that the Prince was dressed in his riding leathers. Long black boots snaked their way up the royal legs, exposing a mere hint of cream hosiery at the top of his thighs.

            “You will ride out with me, Master Raymond?”

            “It would be a pleasure and an honour, Your Highness.

            It was midday before Will was finally released from his high-chair.

            “I’d have done it sooner,” confessed Mistress Olwen, “but just between you and me, I don’t dare give that young man cause to get any angrier with you and me than he is already. Now I know Master Alexander had his – fancies. And I can’t say that I approved of them none either, but at least he had a wise head on his shoulders. He always made sure the castle ran like clockwork, and he kept his fun and games in proportion. But there’s a kind of cruelty to young Raymond. Always has been! He used to like setting fire to beetles as a lad. And I fear for what will happen to us all now he and that young Prince Felix are in league with each other. I don’t reckon he considers any of us any more significant than those poor insects he used to fry!”

            This monologue continued as Will was stripped of his gunk-covered doublet and hose. She wiped the dried pottage from his face and made him bend over the sink so that she could rinse the lumps of food from his matted hair.

            “I wish I could do something about that,” she gestured to the yellow-stained nappy fastened around Will’s hips. “But it’s padlocked in place, and I can guess who holds they key!”

            Will blushed in shame. In spite of all the other degradation he had endured since coming to live at the castle, he wondered if he would ever become accustomed to it. Here he was, stripped naked and made to stand in a dirty nappy in front of an old woman he barely knew. He’d given up all hope of ever reclaiming his dignity and his self-respect.

            “Master Yorick’s wardrobe store is sorely depleted, young Will. Those Viking brutes pillaged it when they first came here, but I’ve managed to find you a couple of things to wear whilst your own clothing is washed. I don’t know if they’ll fit you but they’ll have to do for now.”

            She handed him a plain grey tunic, and a pair of white tights. He pulled the tights up as far as they would go, but it was obvious that they were too small for him. Even had he not been wearing a bulky nappy they would not have fitted, but as it was, the gusset loitered half way between his knee and his crotch, and the waistband only made it about part way over the diaper, exposing a large area of cloth. It highlighted even more clearly that he – a grown adult well past puberty – had been diapered. Equally, the tunic was too small. It would not fasten over his chest, and displayed most of his bare, smooth torso.

            Mistress Olwen sighed as she too recognised how inadequate Will’s new apparel was. “Ah well, it will have to do,” she shrugged.

            Will slipped his white-hosed feet into his own black pumps, and disconsolately went on his way.

            He knew that he should join Mortimer straight away, and help him to clean the clogged gutters at the battlements of the castle, but Mistress Olwen’s mention of the key that was needed to free him from his nappied cage gave him the spur he required. Raymond’s position in Prince Felix’s affections seemed assured. He hoped and prayed that the barbaric Odin would not, as Raymond had speculated, come seeking him as a replacement victim. But even if he did, being ravished and violated by the brute would not exactly give him the required opportunity to replace the damning dungeon key which he had stolen from Odin’s key ring. He had to get rid of it.

            Will hurried to the empty dormitory, and fumbled around in his straw bedding until he found the iron key. He checked furtively around him, and waddling more than ever, due to his damp nappy and too-small tights, he made his way into the centre of the courtyard. As discreetly as he dared, he checked over each shoulder, and then dropped the incriminating evidence into the well. Down it tumbled, until he heard it hit the water far below with a satisfying “splosh”.

            He breathed a sigh of relief, wiped the rusty residue of the key against the stone wall, and waddled on his way.

            He would have been more anxious had he noticed in the shadows a small pair of beady eyes observing him with keen interest.