Just as the sophisticated Steward of de Montford Castle had been playing on Will’s mind, the former junior page boy may well have been surprised that he was likewise very much in Master Alexander’s thoughts.
He sat alone in his chambers, his brow furrowed, his elegant elbow resting on the table. The whirlwind of recent events seemed to have abated somewhat. Lord Geoffrey was ensconced with his fellow noblemen, in deep discussion over how to ensure stability in the land. It was true that the King and his beautiful son were not popular, but the last thing this impoverished, exhausted country needed was to descend into civil war.
They would have to decide what to do about Felix. He was at their mercy now of course, but whilst he lived, he was dangerous and a potential focus for rebellion. The question was: did any of them actually have the nerve to kill him? And if they did, would that inspire a rush of sympathy for the monarchy and end in uprising and rebellion? Moreover, the Prince had powerful relatives abroad - not least the Spanish royal family. Would they move to try and liberate him?
Alexander was relieved that such matters would not be decided by him; and with the luxury for once of a little time to attend to his own affairs, he had decided to devote his energies to the pretty blond slut boy who had risked his life to save him.
There was a sharp rap on the door.
“Enter!”
A guard nodded smartly to the Steward, and pushed his prisoner into the room.
“That will be all,” said Alexander. “You may leave us.”
The guard did so, closing the door firmly behind him.
“Well, young Master Raymond,” he began. “How goes your new life in the dungeon?”
Raymond raised his head, his dark curls falling into his almond-shaped eyes and looked at Alexander warily. “I’ve had more comfortable beds.”
Alexander’s eyes flickered to the door of his bedchamber, where only a month ago Raymond himself had been installed.
“I’m sure,” he smiled coldly. “And the Prince?”
He looked back at the bare-chested youth, clad only in his once pristine silver tights, now stained and torn from his time in the dungeon.
“They keep us apart now. I hear him raving and roaring sometimes. It was a particularly cruel decision to leave him in those soiled scarlet tights when you returned him to his cell.”
“Well I didn’t want him to forget his experience too quickly.”
“He may well go mad, you know. It wouldn’t surprise me.”
“That would certainly make life simpler - for all of us.”
Raymond bit his lower lip. He seemed to come to a decision. “And what of me?” he asked, plaintively. “What is to become of me?”
“All in good time, my impatient young buck. Come, take a seat, why don’t you?”
Alexander grasped Raymond’s manacled wrist and propelled him to the cushioned chair.
“Why don’t you kill me now and get it over with?” said the wretched youth. “We both know you’re going to do it eventually.”
“Kill you?” responded Alexander in mock-astonishment. “Why on earth would I do that? That firm piece of boy rump is far too good to waste by killing you! How is it by the way? Comfortable? I do hope so. That cushion was recently stained by a small mishap with some bananas, and they’re a devil to get out of the fabric. I do hope it’s not too damp against your hosed little bum.”
Raymond winced at the memory of how he had exacted his revenge on his former master. “I am at your mercy, Sir,” he said.
Alexander nodded sagely. “Indeed. If you recall, on that occasion, not so long ago, I asked you a question. You chose not to answer me. Perhaps you might reconsider now. I ask again: what did you do with Will?”
Raymond felt a sharp pang of contempt. Still the obsession with that moronic slut! He suppressed the thought and assumed his meekest expression. “If I help you find him, my Lord, will you be lenient with me?”
“Ha! You have some nerve, boy, I’ll grant you that! You’re hardly in a position to bargain with me.”
Alexander seemed to think. He appeared to have reached a decision.
“Very well. I admire your audacity and I accept your proposition. If you tell me where I can find the boy, I will let you leave the palace this very day - alive and well.”
A wild hope leaped in Raymond’s heart. “Do you really mean it, Sir?”
“I swear on both my life and the life of young Will,” came the solemn reply.
“You are the best of men, Master Alexander! The best of men!”
“Then tell me what I want to know.”
“I sent him back to his village. He’s back in the care of his family. His own brother took him in.”
Alexander could not help but laugh. “I had no idea that you would display so little imagination, Raymond! Your worst enemy was at your mercy and you simply - sent him home?”
Raymond shrank a little in the face of Alexander’s scorn. “Will you keep your promise, my Lord?” he whispered.
“I am a man of my word, young Raymond. Surely you know that by now!” Alexander’s walked to the door. He opened it with a flourish. “You will leave the castle today. I have even gone to the trouble of arranging a personal escort for you!”
Raymond turned his head to the doorway and gasped at the man framed there. The newcomer had a mouth stuffed with golden teeth and a black leather patch covering where one of his eyes used to be. The disreputable fellow shook Alexander warmly by the hand.
“My friend! It has been too, too long. You have not frequented the auction for many a month!”
“No, Gregory,” said Alexander, wrily raising his eyebrow. “I’ve had other rather more pressing matters to deal with.”
“So I’ve heard. But it is good to see you back in your rightful place at last.” He grinned expansively. “Now, I know you well enough to know that you didn’t invite me here for my conversation. I understand you want to discuss business. Are you in the market for a new slave boy to entertain his Lordship after his travails in foreign lands?”
Alexander shook his head. “Not this time. In fact, on this occasion I’m selling, not buying.”
“Are you now?” Gregory asked with interest. “And am I to assume that this unfortunate fellow here is the commodity you’re prepared to part with?”
Raymond’s face went deathly white. “No, no. You wouldn’t! You said - You promised!”
“I promised you would leave the castle today and that you would leave it alive - no more, no less. Now be quiet while Gregory and I discuss business.” Alexander turned to the slave-trader. “I want him shipped somewhere far, far away.”
Gregory tapped the side of his nose confidentially. “I have just the place in mind. The sodomites there go crazy for pale skin there – and the younger and prettier the better!”
“Superb. Do you think he will fetch a decent price?”
Gregory approached the bound young man and began to appraise him in a professional manner. He grabbed a clump of Raymond’s dark, curly locks and yanked his head back roughly. “Good head of hair on him. Pretty little nose.” He continued his monologue as he ran his swarthy hand down Raymond’s bare chest and squeezed his groin through his tights. “Nice body. Are his parts all in working order?”
“As far as I’m aware. Is that a problem?”
“Not necessarily. Some clients prefer male slaves gelded, that’s all – makes ‘em more docile. But the procedure is straightforward, and I can whip ‘em off myself at a moment’s notice. Probably better to leave ‘em where they are for now.”
Raymond emitted an anguished gurgle as his genitals were discussed in this callous fashion.
“Is he a virgin?” asked Gregory.
Alexander laughed bleakly. “No, my friend. This one’s arse has had more than its fair share of use.”
“Pity. Virgins attract a premium. Still, there are those who like their boys experienced in the ways of the flesh – indeed, in some cases, the sluttier they are, the more they’ll pay.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” hissed Raymond malevolently. “You wouldn’t dare!”
The two men pointedly ignored him.
“Any signs of syphilis?” continued the slave-trader.
“None that I’m aware of.”
“Good. If you’ll sign a certificate attesting to that fact he’ll fetch a penny or two more. Although if he doesn’t have the clap now, give him a month or two in some of the dives I travel to and there’ll be no disease under the sun he won’t have picked up!”
“You dog!” spat Raymond. “My father was a squire to King Edward!”
“Is he always this noisy?” asked Gregory, taking the opportunity to insert his fingers between the lad’s jaws and make a cursory examination of his teeth.
“Maybe you should cut his tongue off, along with his balls,” suggested Alexander nonchalantly.
“Mouth healthy. Teeth all present and correct.”
In a desperate rage, Raymond snapped at Gregory’s fingers, but the trader was too quick for him and the lad found himself biting at the empty air.
“A little too much spirit for my liking, Alexander,” said Gregory sadly. “I’ll need to muzzle him. It doesn’t look good but I can’t risk my customers losing one of their extremities.”
Alexander spread his hands sympathetically. “You must do what you must do,” he murmured.
Gregory dipped his hand into his bag of provisions and produced a rotting leather gag. Alexander curled his lip. It smelt foul, and over the years it had clearly been employed to silence and subdue countless numbers of disobedient slaves.
“Get that thing away from me!” screamed Raymond, but Gregory calmly slipped the leather ball between Raymond’s lips and fastened it firmly at the base of his skull. Alexander noted with interest that the ball was hollowed out and that he could see straight through the centre into the inside of the youth’s mouth.
“What a relief,” sighed Alexander as the obstruction muted the young man’s fevered protests, leaving him able only to make the occasional muffled grunt. “I should have done that myself long ago!”
“Now, what else is there to discuss?” pondered the one-eyed man. “Ah yes. Transportation. If I’m to understand correctly, you were interested in the most basic haulage options.”
“That’s correct.”
“Small, medium or large?”
“Hmmm…”
“Small is cheapest.”
“Then small it is!”
With a satisfied nod of his head, Gregory excused himself and went to fetch something from the corridor outside. He returned a moment later, explaining, “I anticipated you feeling that way, so I brought a sample along with me for your approval.”
In his arms he carried a wooden packing crate. Alexander raised an eyebrow. It scarcely looked large enough to contain a medium sized dog, never mind a youth of Raymond’s dimensions. “Will he fit?” he asked uncertainly.
“Allow me to demonstrate, my friend.”
Gregory opened the lid of the crate, revealing a couple of inches of sawdust lining its bottom. Turning to the tied-up young man, Gregory hefted the desperate and struggling body into the box. He lay Raymond’s back down against the sawdust, and then, grabbing each of Raymond’s hose-covered ankles, bent the lad’s legs at the knee and, pressing the thighs against the youth’s naked chest, effectively folded the boy in half. Peering into the musty packaging, Alexander watched with interest as Gregory manacled Raymond’s heels to the crate, so they remained fixed in place, pushing against his nylon-clad arse.
Raymond’s eyes were wide with terror. This position would become very uncomfortable very rapidly, and he was fairly confident there would be no opportunity to work out any attacks of cramp that he might suffer whilst he was thus restrained.
As he continued to observe, Alexander noticed a circular hole, around four inches in diameter, low down in one side of the crate, the side to which Raymond’s feet had just been shackled, and coincidentally, in near proximity to the boy’s arsehole.
“And this hole is for…?” he inquired innocently.
“As if you didn’t know, you rogue” grinned Gregory. “It’s a long sea voyage and you know what sailors are like. My lads need some outlet for their sexual frustration. I block it up if it’s a virgin I’m carrying, but if it’s not, it doesn’t do any harm if they want a quick fuck. Do you object?”
“Not at all. In fact I’m tempted to administer a farewell buggering to the tricky little bitch myself.” Alexander’s finger poked at the glory hole. “Allow me to facilitate matters for your hard-working employees.” And, locating the seam of Raymond’s tights, he tore a hole and prodded his long forefinger into the youth’s sweating, vulnerable and not so willing crevice.
Gregory lifted the lid of the crate and handed it to Alexander for further examination. “You’ll notice that a slate blackboard has been fixed to the top,” he pointed out to the Steward. “That’s so that each sailor who sticks his cock in the box can scrawl his name and give the experience a score out of ten. It’s just a bit of fun but it helps to pass the long hours at sea.”
Alexander nodded his head in approval. A thought occurred to him. “How is he fed and watered?”
“Ah,” said Gregory, proudly. “An ingenious invention of my own devising. You see that there’s another small hole bored here in the lid of the crate? This enables a wooden cylinder to be introduced and pushed directly into the slave’s mouth. If needs be, and as in this particular case, through the hole in the middle of the gag.”
“And what do you feed them?” asked Alexander.
Gregory grimaced. “You really don’t want to know.”
“Fair enough. How about fluids? How do you make sure they don’t become dehydrated during the voyage?”
“Well, as you can imagine, fresh water is a precious commodity at sea, so I tend to save that for my crew. In my experience, a few months swallowing sailor’s piss never killed anyone.”
Alexander chortled heartily, and slapped the slave trader on his back. “You think of everything my friend! What about the boy’s own excretions? He’ll need to piss and crap too of course. Do you let him out for those necessities?”
Gregory shrugged nonchalantly. “That’s what the sawdust is there for. Besides, it’s easier to clean ‘em up when we land than risk ‘em trying to jump overboard and drown ‘emselves on the journey.”
“Practical to the last!”
“And speaking of being practical,” he continued, his voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial whisper. “A little bird tells me that the dashing Prince Felix has had a sudden and rather unexpected change of fortune. Should you be in the market and looking for someone to take that particular jewel off your hands, I would be more than happy to oblige.”
“It’s tempting,” murmured Alexander. “It’s certainly tempting.”
“The body of a god, royal blood and reputedly a virgin into the bargain! Why, you and I could retire straight away on what that treasure would fetch from the rich merchants of Arabia!”
“Unfortunately, my worthy Gregory, the Prince is not for sale. Lord Geoffrey is not going to risk allowing that particular beauty out of his sight. He certainly has no intention of packing him off to another country, where there might be a danger of him raising an army against the good folks of England.”
“I understand the reservations of his Lordship,” said Gregory sorrowfully, “but I can’t help feeling it’s a damned shame.”
“Whereas this one,” said Alexander, turning his attentions to the concertina’d lad inside the crate, “well, I can guarantee you we’ll all be very happy to see him transported from these shores, never to be seen again.”
Raymond’s eyes bulged, and once again he attempted to curse them both – which merely resulted in yet another muffled moan.
“What will be his fate?” asked Alexander. “What will the rich Arabian who wins him at auction do with him?”
Gregory considered the question, drawing on his many years of experience in the trade. “Given his youth and looks, odds are he’s destined to be a sex slave. The men out East are barbarians when it comes to boys. They’ll do things to a male that they’d never dream of subjecting their wives to. I wouldn’t put money on his arsehole still being in one piece six months from now. I tell you, your eyes would pop out of your head if I told you some of the things those heathens have been known to shove up boys’ backsides. You name it, they’ll have tried to use it to fuck a lad. What’s wrong with sticking a cock up there, I ask you? Why on earth do people need to get any more exotic than that?”
“Why indeed?” concurred Alexander, concealing a sly smile.
“Anyway, they have a short shelf life out there, male whores. Once they’ve ruined his arse, well, after that, if he’s lucky, he may have a couple of years doing hard labour; if not...” Gregory slowly drew his finger across his throat. Suddenly, a look of consternation crossed his face. “All this I’m telling you, it doesn’t make a difference to you, does it? You still want to go through with the transaction?”
The one-eyed man intruded on Alexander’s train of thought. “What did you say? Do I still want to go through with it? Oh yes. Most definitely. I was just musing over how things might have turned out differently under other circumstances.” If it hadn’t been for the blond lad with the perfect bubble butt, he thought to himself.
Alexander peered into the cramped packing case and took one long, final look at the anguished face of Raymond StClare. “Now, why don’t you seal him up and be on your way?” he said abruptly. “I’ll wait to hear from you to find out how much he fetched.”
Business concluded, Gregory was left alone with the crate to pack away his tools of the trade. He nailed the lid shut, enclosing Raymond in darkness, muffled screams now reduced to wracking sobs.
He could really do with a piss, thought the one-eyed rogue, only he hadn’t thought to ask Alexander where the garderobe was located. He glanced around and shrugged. He reached into his bag and pulled out a curved wooden tube. Feeding it through the hole in the crate’s lid, he then proceeded to wiggle it into position. He slid it through the gap in the middle of the ball gag, and left it resting at the top of Raymond’s gullet. He pulled down the front of his coarse grey tights, stuck his cock into the end of the cylinder and released his urine with a long, satisfied sigh.
He heard the piss gurgling down the wooden tube and flowing into Raymond’s helpless throat. “That’s it, lad. Drink it all up. Every last drop. It’s only the first of such refreshments you’ll be tasting over the months to come.”
Gregory shook the final few droplets from his dick, and put it away. Then, whistling tunelessly to himself, he hefted the crate onto his broad shoulders and carried Raymond down to the cart waiting below.
The bumpy journey to Dunchester took an hour or so. The crate was stored there over night and then, the following day, it was on its way down to the port. Less than a week after preparing himself to become the right-hand man of the new King of England, Raymond StClare was on the ocean, destined never to return to his homeland again.
