by Allen Werner
The Lord of Parthenope was entranced, almost shaking, his eyes hypnotized.
Rugerius groped at Viridian’s left calf muscle with sensual precision causing the girl to whine. He knew where she liked to be touched. “She’s family, father. Not by blood, mind you, not for you anyway. But imagine the perversity, the utter decadence in taking your niece. Focus on it. Concentrate. It is such a rush to entreat evil. Your heart hammers and your cock gets hard. You aim and stab it inside her, fleshing pounding, hips gyrating. You’d be fucking one of your own.” Rugerius’ hand casually brushed up over Viridian’s knee and thigh, a single finger coming to rest on the clitoris. Viridian moaned noticeably. “Come father, she’s ready. We’ve never really shared anything before, took no interest in the same things. This will be our maiden voyage together, our very first father-son affair. Let’s do Viridian. I’ll take the top and you take her bottom.”
Viridian started up into a sitting position, her barbarous mane sprawled out all around her, falling wildly over her shoulders and down her arms, much of it on the floor. “Oh yes, Uncle.” She patted the wood between her legs. “Come and lay on me.”
Gherardus was starting to sweat bullets, an epic warfare waging inside his head.
“I’ll be the bear and you be the hunter,” Viridian added. “I’ll put on a skin and you can chase me. I know you’re slow so I won’t run too fast. When you catch me, I promise not to scratch much or leave permanent marks. You can ravage me and I will howl with longings the likes of which you cannot imagine.” Viridian snapped her teeth and tittered, growling and groaning like the beast she promised to be. “And best of all, Uncle, it will be guilt-free pleasure. No one needs to know what we have done, least of all me. I won’t remember any of this in the morning. I’m so drunk.” She laughed and laid back down, her legs spreading further apart than they were before. “To hell with the chase, Uncle. I don’t want to run. I’m so dizzy. Just fuck me and make me happy.”
Up and through to this point, Gherardus Fabbro had been winning the battle with his lust. It had not conceived to desire. His will was not prepared to step forward and take the girl. But now, it was. Her beguiling petals whispered enticements that made him lean forward – and that was enough. The golden ring on his finger had been gradually growing warmer. It was a warning. As his lust manifested itself, so did the heat. And now the metal glowed, turning amber. Gherardus wondered just how much pain he could endure. His son was correct. It had been a long time, forever it seemed, since his vit felt the warmth of a woman. ‘What harm can come from a single kiss, a king’s kiss. Shall I chance it and suffer it? Will it be worth the pain?’ The dormancy that had been his for so many years, stirred suddenly to life. He let go of his mind and imagined everything Rugeriues tempted him to believe. An erection developed and with it came a brief moment of joy. ‘I shall have Viridian.’
The ring on his finger turned red and burned him to the bone. Gherardus Fabbro suddenly screamed and clutched at the digit. The pain did not stop with that finger alone. It radiated down through the whole hand, up the length of the arm, through his chest until it was coursing through every nerve in his entire body, stinging every muscle, finally reaching down to his loins. The erection softened and shrunk. The pain was exceedingly brutal. The joy was gone.
The three naked figures seated on the floor of Suadela stared at the old man in silent bewilderment. They thought he was having a stroke or something, too much excitement.
As the desire to take Viridian subsided, so too did the burning sensation. Gherardus Fabbro recovered his familiar frown as well as his disappointed countenance. His tired grey eyes no longer cared to look upon Viridian or her glory. They fell squarely on Rugerius. He drilled him with a hate unlike anything he could remember ever espousing, greater than the abhorrence he felt when he killed his own father. His mind and eyes drifted as the thing he wanted to believe was not true. ‘Not my father. My mother. I killed my mother.’ Gherardus was confused on what was left to do or say.
“You’ll not find any answers in there, son.”
Rugerius chuckled and crassly grabbed Viridian between her legs. “Who goes in there looking for answers? Hell, who goes in there asking questions?”
Still clutching his sore right hand, a tear in his eye, Gherardus sighed. He looked around him and admired Suadela once last time, the candelabras and cascading sunlight. He knew now he would never enter this room again. The memory of this appalling incident could not be blanched. Embarrassed, the Lord Commander turned away, his conscience guiding him out into the hall.
Once Gherardus was gone and the door closed behind him, Rugerius Fabbro leapt suddenly to his feet. He had an erection and waved it at the girls. “Alright bears! The hunt is on!”
The red-head was the first to react to the taunt. She dashed back to the hearth for a bearskin rug.
“I’m going to tear off that hide and eat your ass!”
Viridian did likewise, everyone laughing hysterically. “Best prepare yourselves, bitches. I’m going to scratch, claw and eat you! I’ll kill you if I must. Hell knows I will. You have no idea how much I hate bears! I’ll fuck them all up!”
Standing in the hall outside Suadela, Gherardus Fabbro leaned tired against a cool wall, his sixty-six-year-old body still affected adversely by the enchantment that attacked him. He was trembling as he pulled the golden ring from his hand and inspected the finger. It was burned, a carbon ring all the way around the circumference. The whole hand was still numb as well and he could hardly flex it. Delicately he touched the skin with the other hand seeking some sort of tactile comfort. It had been a long time since he last tested the potency of the charm and lusted after a woman not his wife. He knew what to expect when he did it and for a moment, he didn’t care. For once, he just wanted to relive and remember what it was like to be free of this paranormal prison he was confined by, allowing his mind to roam and drift into the prohibited darkness of desire and sin. Now he would have to bear this mark of his error for a spell; and worse, explain the injury to Bertina. It wasn’t like he could hide anything from her anyway. She probably saw the whole thing, watched him stand there and lust after his niece. Bertina was the one with eyes everywhere, seemingly reading everyone’s iniquities, scaring people off with her creepy spooks and pronouncements. And he couldn’t avoid her, not anymore. Every day, it had become his duty to report to her, remove the ring and display his faithfulness. “Fuck.”
An odd biting sound, much like that of a squish, echoed from somewhere up the hall.
The old commander, still hunched over and perturbed, lifted his head and glanced down the hall sideways. Talento was standing at the other end of the corridor, peering around the corner, biting into a fresh peach. He wanted to be seen. He knew the sound of biting the fruit would reach his father’s ears in the secluded halls of the south wing. Wearing an arrogant smile, Talento nodded toward his father and retreated.
“Little fucker,” Gherardus whispered, shaking his head, his shame drowned quickly by a shower of rage. ‘That son of a bitch knew where Rugerius was the whole time.’ Gherardus retraced his steps, how it was Talento that suggested they come up to Suadela and sup, he would send servants with a meal. He then remembered how he had poked the flamboyantly dressed bastard hard in the chest, threatening to kick his ass.
‘I should have laid him out.’
The wrath he felt towards both his sons had one positive effect. It gave him a new lease on life. He straightened back up and walked. He headed for the council chamber, ready to begin the healing process. It was time to get back to business and repair the breach between him and the Greek merchant. Nikitas Manikos was going to require appeasements. The old silver trader had come a long way to fulfill this contract. Tempers would eventually subside and common sense would return. Nikitas was not going to go back to Greece empty handed. He had a reputation to maintain. They both did. It was the way of commerce. There would be more negotiations, more talk. This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
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br /> As Gherardus walked, he was tentative to place the gold ring back on the sore finger, back over the burnt skin. He peeked inside and read his mother’s name etched there – Meliore. He remembered the events that led up to the enchantment being placed on the ring. He couldn’t be too angry about that. The magic was truly powerful and if he had not been wearing the ring when the lust overwhelmed him, the burning would have begun immediately in the groin and the blackening would have spanned the length of his penis. The tempting image of Viridian’s flowery petals tried to flash back in his mind once again but he was too strong for it now. He dashed it away simply enough. Sex was no longer in his stars. There would be no reminiscing or thinking about what if. The gold ring went back on his finger without even a grimace.
Chapter 10 – Settled Things
The surgeon had done due diligence and rendered a verdict. “A severely bruised tailbone,” he announced with confidence. “It shall heal in two weeks, perhaps three.”
Nikitas Manikos refused to acknowledge Medico Alessandro. The proud old Greek wanted to scoff in the surgeon’s face but knew it would do him no good. He masked his disgust and pretended to believe him. No point in exposing the medico as a fraud or even to call him a liar. Alessandro was a prominent member of the Court in Parthenope. It was no secret that he, as well as others, owed their lofty positions at Court to Gherardus Fabbro. Everything was predicated on their ability to continue pleasing the Lord Commander and protect the regions interests. It was the way things were done and Nikitas was not naïve. A clean bill of health had to be rendered despite all evidence to the contrary.
Despite his lack of medical training, Nikitas Manikos knew how he felt, the stinging pain, the crack that ruptured when he hit the floor. This was more than a severe bruise to the tailbone. Something inside of him had twisted, snapped. It was going to take several months to heal if it ever healed at all. Nikita would have to be a thousand miles away from Campania, standing on Greek soil again before finding a medico capable of rendering an honest prognosis he could trust. ‘It is broken.’ Nikitas kept his assessment to himself.
Soon after Medico Alessandro vacated the apartment, a king’s bounty of delicacies waylaid the old Greek. Gherardus Fabbro was in full appeasement mode and did not skimp on the repentance. It was an overt attempt to assuage the injured party and atone for the sins of the son.
One by one, a long and steady chain of comely servants in various states of colorful array, both male and female, filed in and out of the room, gifting Nikitas with shiny trinkets, precious baubles, exotic foods and strong beverages. They saw to his every need, lighting candles and burning incenses, playing music and singing songs. They offered to provide the merchant with a variety of personal services, massages, baths, heat treatments and other therapies, anything he so desired.
Nikitas Manikos was in no mood to appreciate and enjoy the lavish offerings laid before him for the pain in his hip was grave. Nothing dulled it. He downed several powerful alcoholic concoctions and chewed on roots and vetch, seeking an opiate for the hurt. He lay recumbent on a large sofa bed, his left leg elevated, a barricade of downy pillows and soft cushions supporting nearly every inch of his swollen body. He could hardly move and that was a good thing. Every tensioning, be it voluntary or involuntary, triggered a muscle spasm which sent a cascading ripple of agony coursing through his entire being, terrorizing his very soul. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how he would sleep tonight.
‘Do not move settled things,’ Nikitas thought miserably. He had adopted the slogan, the ancient phrase from Master Owain, a former trading partner and the first prince of Gwynedd. ‘Don’t move settled things.’ This philosophy seemed apropos right now, both physically and commercially. ‘Don’t move anything.’
A young comely lad who had been seated beside him, droning a mesmerizing musical selection on a vibrantly painted conch shell, finished his composition. He bowed politely, presented Nikitas with the instrument and slid quietly from the room. It was the first time in nearly three hours Nikitas was alone.
‘I came to Parthenope to fulfill a contract. This marriage of flesh and silver cannot be squandered. We must endeavor to make it work.’ Nikitas could not, however, disremember the distress, the shame his daughter wore on her soul, blood dripping down from her head. The poor girl was in a great deal of pain last he saw her, a large clump of hair torn cheaply away. Nikitas was in no position to comfort her and felt the feebler for it.
‘Anthea.’
Commercial interests had now been tied to her, an anchor of sorts. It wasn’t always a pleasant thought but she was his property. There was no avoiding that cold reality. For the first time, her situation frustrated him. Nikitas loved Anthea dearly. She was a delight, his heart. Every memory concerning her was bound to a joy. ‘But what do I do with the child now? She’s been tainted. I can’t take her home in this fallen condition, spurned and rejected; not after the grand send-off we received. She must wed. There are no other options. She is an asset that must be exhausted.’ He sighed. ‘There is no turning back from this agreement.’
Nikitas unintentionally permitted a devilish apparition of Rugerius Fabbro to slip through his mental net, rise from the dreadful bearskin rugs and haunt him yet again. The inebriated brute stood there shamelessly, his calloused hands stroking his thick, filthy penis, two naked girls pawing at him from either side. ‘It would be so unjust and cruel of me to serve Anthea up to him again. He’s a fucking animal.’
Nikitas was, by nature, a nervous and active man. He loved the outdoors and could pace for hours. There were also a series of reflexive habits he had developed over the years that helped him ease his anxieties in times of crisis. Right now, they did him no good. He could not fidget with his hands, scratch his knees or crack his knuckles. They all betrayed him. He had to lie still, absolutely still. This fact aggrieved him more than any other.
‘How shall I turn this calamity to our favor?’ His body may have been injured but his mind was hardy and toiling doggedly.
‘Apparently Gherardus still wishes to treat with me. He is sending all these servants and gifts. He wants my silver. I’m sure of that.’ A sadness fell over him. ‘Anthea has reached her prime. The girl is twenty-one now. Her value will only diminish.’ This conclusion wounded him at the heart. ‘There must be a way to amend the transaction. It must not be aborted. Don’t move settled things. I must make this work.’
Before nightfall, Gherardus Fabbro was seated in Nikitas’ apartment, attending him personally. The aged men did what all sensible, intelligent men tend to do when faced with calamity. They set aside their personal differences, made peace with past grievances and negotiated anew.
The elder men drank and supped, debated and cajoled. The hours passed and a thousand candles diminished. Eventually they arrived at a solution they could both reckon.
Gherardus Fabbro entertained Talento’s proposal for another option if Rugerius could not be found. Yes, the scandalous rogue lied, knowing full well where his brother was before sending the party up to Suadela to discover him in a state of undress with the tawdry nymphs. But his observation had merit and could not be easily dismissed. Something somewhat radical and unexpected had to be attempted.
“Nikitas,” Gheradus offered with half his heart, the other half still on fire. “Bergus of Brindisi, the well-mannered knight who escorted your lovely daughter through the streets of Parthenope this afternoon, has need of a wife.”
Nikitas was listening with a warm alcoholic elixir in his hand. The pain inflicting his hip had not subsided but his thoughts were a bit dreamier. He took a pause to recall the attractive suitor’s face, the long blond hair, his courteous demeanor and principled civility. The knight was impressive, there was no denying that.
“Sir Bergus is not a royal nor is he of my house but that can be amended. I will take him to my bosom and embrace him as a son. He will be assigned a princely title, appointed a proper station among the ranks, and granted a generous stipend. There wil
l be land, sheep and perhaps some cattle. With this wealth and prestige, Sir Bergus will be regarded a reputable nobleman in Parthenope’s inner circle.” Gherardus licked his dry, old lips. “Surely Anthea will find no offense in this proposal. She seemed rather taken by him.”
Nikitas Manikos agreed.
Gherardus Fabbro ordered his servants to rouse Provost Guidus Salvatore from his slumber to put pen to paper and draft a new pact. Without complaint, the Provost did exactly as he had been instructed, and with haste. The good man performed his duties for Lord Gherardus.
The new contract was officially signed and sealed by Nikitas Manikos and Gherardus Fabbro in the wee small hours of the morning. The settled things were not unsettled.
Come dawn, it was assured, Rugerius Fabbro, the Castellan of the city, would be put out, banished for a six-month period to the isle of Capri. In the cathedral, as the bells tolled and the guests gathered, the Bishop of Parthenope would take his hallowed place before the altar. Anthea Manikos would proceed down the aisle in an exotic wedding gown already chosen for her.
She would be received by a confident and grinning Sir Bergus of Brindisi.
As Gherardus signed his name to the parchment in jet black ink, he imagined how prodigious the knight’s wanton leer would be when first he received news of this arrangement being made in his name. It would be his right, after all, to deflower the young woman from Greece. Something he seemed eager to participate in earlier this day.
‘I only hope the fool is sober enough to stand come the morrow. He is not that unlike Rugerius in his exploits and iniquities. He’s probably drunk and off riding a whore right now.’
Chapter 11 - Wasted
Anthea Manikos was completely unaware of the intense negotiations deciding her fate. She had been granted her own apartment in the palace at Parthenope and decided to barricade the door. Although they continued to knock and rap, beat at all hours, she refused everyone entry. She had not accepted one single gift, not one morsel of food or drink. She snubbed all doting.