Treasure

by W. A. Hoffman

  The Marquis frowned, but there was little anger in it, only disappointment. “Kings come and go, but there has been a Sable guarding the land of Tervent for five hundred years. Our titles have changed on occasion with the politics of the nation, but we are Gentilhomme and take our duty seriously.”

  “That is a fine thing,” I said carefully, “and I would like not to doubt you, but there is no one here who can corroborate the welfare of your peasants, and in ten years of wandering among the nobles of Christendom, you would be a rare lord indeed compared to all those I have met. And perhaps that is because they frequented the courts and politics, and did not stay on their land to husband it as they should. But to a man or woman, they have proven to my eyes to be wolves ever ready to feed off the sheep in their pastures.”

  The slyness and challenge left him in a prolonged sigh. “It is a sad testament to the state of the world that you, a nobleman’s son, should have only been taught by experience so dim a view of the nobility.”

  Our companions at the table were quiet. Sarah stirred her stew with a thoughtful frown, and Pete and Striker were watching the Marquis and me with interest, as if they were curious what nobles spoke about while dining. Rucker, who had instilled in me as a child the ideals of which the Marquis spoke, was nodding. Agnes was frowning at Gaston, and Gaston had become very withdrawn.

  “And what is your opinion, Gab… Gaston?” the Marquis asked.

  Gaston gave a small smile and sat his spoon down. He did not look at his father, but he spoke in French. “I feel that I will be useless to you as an heir. Though I want very much to maintain the family tradition, and I do feel it is our sacred duty to care for the people, I am only recently able to care for myself enough that it need not be my sole concern, and so that I am able to use my training as a physician to care for others. Those gains are all due to Will.”

  The Marquis looked away with teary eyes.

  My own eyes were thick, and I leaned over and kissed my matelot on the cheek.

  Gaston looked down the table at Striker and spoke in English. “I wish to sail as a surgeon this time. Whether or not I can win the vote is of no concern. I wish to tender my services and have that as my primary duty.”

  Striker smiled and nodded with enthusiasm. “God knows you’re the best we have. And many of the Brethren know it too,” he added with a grin.

  Gaston looked at his father as Dupree finished translating Striker’s words. He spoke French again. “Will and I view the Brethren as our people, and we feel it is our duty to serve them as we can. It is a thing Doucette instilled in me as well, the need for a physician to serve mankind, regardless of war or politics, social station, or even religion.”

  The Marquis met his gaze earnestly. “My son, the more I learn of you, the more I learn how very foolish my fears were.” He nodded, almost to himself, and stood. “Now, if you will excuse me. I am sorry I am ill-disposed to enjoy this lovely food. Ladies.” He bowed and left, waving Dupree back to his seat.

  Dupree sat again, timidly.

  “Well, you will be able to eat now,” I told the man kindly. “I always feel sorry for translators, but you perform a very necessary function. And what I hear of your translation is excellent.”

  “Thank you, Lord Marsdale.” He dove into his food.

  “Pete,” Gaston said quietly. “I have no head for chess tonight.”

  The Golden One smiled and moved his chair so that he could throw an arm around Gaston’s shoulders and give him a quick kiss on the head. “MaybeTomorra Nothin’ll’Appen TaRileThingsUp.”

  “If the Gods would only be so kind,” I said and raised my water glass in toast.

  The others smiled or chuckled.

  I looked to Gaston and raised an eyebrow.

  He nodded as if even that caused him great effort.

  “We must retire,” I said, and grabbed my remaining hunk of the meal cake as I stood.

  “You can take your bowls with you,” Sarah said.

  I poured Gaston’s into mine and cradled it in my hand. “Thank you, thank you all for being such fine friends.”

  “You make things exciting,” Agnes said, as if it were an abstract thought.

  I thought of Mistress Theodore’s words about her husband finding his duties to us more interesting than dealing with planters. I grinned. “Well, at least we perform some useful service.”

  Striker was grinning. “We’ll sail by year end, and then things’ll calm down.”

  “They always do,” I said over my shoulder as Gaston and I slipped out the door, but I was quite concerned that the maelstrom we now lived in would only worsen over the weeks before we could at last escape it.

  We made our way quietly past the Marquis’ door. Lantern light flickered from within between the louvers. I heard nothing, though I paused to listen. I wondered if he had indeed returned to his room or if he had left the house.

  Once we were in our room, I closed the thin doors against the world and set our half-finished repast on a chair. Gaston embraced me fervently. I held him until our hearts, which were racing fast in our quiet bodies, slowed and formed a quiet rhythm that I found quite mesmerizing.

  At last he stirred and kissed me chastely upon the lips.

  “Do you wish to discuss it?” I asked. “Him?”

  He pulled away from me gently and went to light a lamp. The flame showed him frowning, but the expression passed with a sigh when he turned to me.

  “I wish to hear your thoughts,” he said quietly, and doffed his weapons and tunic.

  “He is not a saint you must emulate,” I said as I shed my gear. “He may be a very fine lord indeed, but he still allowed those men to go to their deaths yesterday, and expressed no regret over it in any of the times the matter has been mentioned. Perhaps he did not like them.” I sighed and removed my tunic. “And… I still feel I am a poor ally, because the Gods know I am not a saint.”

  He smirked, but his words were said sadly. “I feel you are a better man than my father.”

  “Thank you, but I am glad to hear that for reasons other than my pride.”

  Gaston nodded. “I do not know how my father truly treats his peasants. I am trying to remember all I can of how I have seen him interact with the servants. He was ever polite to them, but he seemed to treat them as servants. But… I was in the house and saw such things so seldom, and when I was, all was tinged with my being in awe of him, or mad with anger. And, if I was home, it meant something had gone wrong again, and so everything was not as calm as it should have been in the household. So except for when I was so young I cannot remember it clearly, I cannot bear witness to how he rules his house when all is as it should be.

  “I had forgotten,” he said with a wondering shake of his head. “Whenever I was brought before him he always lectured me on how it was a lord’s duty to stand as an example, and in order to lead and shepherd those placed in his care, a lord must be strong. I remember one time I was furious with him, because I felt I had proven I was strong: I had defeated everyone the damn school had sent at me. He, of course, had been trying to impress upon me that I must be stronger than my madness or my emotions, but…” He shook his head again. “My father might have laid the foundation, or at least attempted to, but Doucette made me much of the man I am now in regards to how I feel others should be treated and how I define good and evil. There is much of the monks in here too, and a few others I have met along the way. It is no wonder my father finds me surprising; he does not know me at all. I am a thing he allowed to be shaped by others and now finds he must embrace.”

  His words resonated in my swollen heart. “My father seemed to feel much the same when he met me as a man,” I said.

  Gaston nodded and regarded me with a hopeful smile. “Perhaps we were not raised by wolves at all.”

  I grinned. “We were born of wolves and raised by other creatures, and taught to fear wolves, or at least know them for what they are. And in thinking on that, I feel Rucker is another crow.”

&n
bsp; “And then what is Doucette?” Gaston asked with amusement.

  I shook my head. “Non, you knew him better, and you are far better at this game than I.”

  He snorted. “I feel I do not have the luxury of viewing him from a distance.”

  “What manner of creature is blind to the pain and ways of those closest to it; yet possesses great compassion for those at a distance, and great knowledge?” I asked.

  “Perhaps an eagle,” he said. “I would say a gryphon, because there was much of Pete’s lion-heartedness about him, but Doucette does not fit within our definition of a mythical creature: he did not strive to be something other than what he was born to be. And from what I remember, he came from a family of scholars and engineers: eagles ever watching the horizon but blind to the things in their talons.”

  “You never cease to amaze me,” I said softly.

  Despite what I had told him this morning in refutation of his father’s words, there were times when he was the man I lived to love – the days that I lived for – and this was one of them.

  “You can be the lord that you wish to be,” I added. “You are becoming stronger all the time, and we are learning better ways to handle your Horse so that it carries you where you wish. All that talk of Rucker’s that I should become the Earl of Dorshire so I can do good in the world, well, perhaps the Fates have had you in mind all along, and I will do my good in the world by helping you do yours.”

  His eyes were wet, and he crossed the distance between us to hold me. His mouth covered mine, and we both nearly strangled on our tears and the kiss.

  “I cannot do anything without you,” he gasped when he relinquished my mouth.

  “Nor I you,” I whispered.

  His mouth trailed down my throat to the mark he had made upon my neck the last time we made love – a seeming eternity of four days ago. He licked my martyred skin. I pulled us backwards, seeking support, until at last I found the doorframe. I leaned against it and locked my knees as he continued to bestow healing kisses upon my bruises. As he moved down my body, he turned me a little so that he could reach the mark on my right buttock. I savored the sensation of his tongue on the skin there. We seldom allowed our mouths to travel below our waists: tonight he licked every usually forbidden place he had bit, saving the bruises he had left upon my tender inner thighs for last.

  I watched his progress with fascination and silent panting. I had once had a woman kneel between my legs and offer to lick far more than my thighs, but I had found the mere thought of her teeth closing about my member so appalling I had pushed her away before she could reach it. The sucking of cocks was a thing of lowly desperate whores who had no choice but to offer any and every service no matter how horrid, or highly-compensated courtesans who made damn sure their clients bathed before they offered such carnal delicacies. I had often felt a strange compulsion to kiss or lick Gaston’s cock, flaccid or hard, but I had never dared. I decided I wanted to, and I would allow myself the opportunity as soon as I could get him on the bed.

  And then he grinned up at me mischievously from just beyond the end of my turgid cock and I knew I would not be the first one to attempt such an experiment.

  I held my breath as he gently pushed my foreskin away to expose my dome. I gasped at the first touch of his lips upon the tip, as much from surprise as the sensation. And then he extended his tongue to lick the slit and I lost my ability to breathe. His following licks and swirls about my head slowly sucked the air back into my lungs.

  “Does it not taste horrible?” I gasped.

  He stopped, and I regretted my words.

  “Non, just salty,” he said as if it were a curiosity.

  “This is a first,” I said.

  “Truly?” he asked with wonder.

  “No one,” I managed.

  Oddly, his huge grin at this information did not put me in fear of his teeth. Instead, I quivered with anticipation.

  He fell upon me with relish. His lips and tongue and even his teeth explored the entirety of my shaft, skin, and balls. Each place he found to suck, nip, or probe was a new sensation to savor. And then his hand closed about my shaft to hold me still and he sucked the head into his mouth as far as he could. I fought the urge to thrust, or grasp his head and pull him closer. Then he moved his head to suck me in repeatedly and I could stand no more. As I felt my pending pleasure, I tried to push him away, but he held on and took me deeper and I could not contain myself: I pumped into his mouth.

  He pulled back, my cum dripping from his lips, and smiled smugly.

  “For God’s sake, spit it out!” I hissed.

  He swallowed and chuckled. “It is just salty.” He stood and his mouth covered mine to share just how salty I tasted.

  I did not find it bad. In truth, I found it quite tasty.

  He was laughing as I pushed him back to the bed and upon it; thus he was little help in removing his breeches. His humor fled as I knelt between his knees, and he rose up on his elbows to watch me with great anticipation. I considered his prick, which, as always, had risen straight up to lie against the hard wall of his belly. I grasped the shaft and pulled him perpendicular to his body. I pushed his foreskin away with my lips, so that his head was like a huge peeled grape filling my mouth. I was surprised at how smooth he was under my tongue, and how a thing so hard could feel so soft. And he did taste salty; but also like he did elsewhere, only thick and rich almost to the point of sourness, like the dregs of a good flagon of wine.

  He fell back on the bed and I rose to crouch over him like a feasting animal. I explored with my tongue, finding the precious places that made him gasp and claw at the bedding. Then I took to sucking rhythmically as he had, feeling great satisfaction in making him arch and strain until at last he exploded in my mouth. I decided I liked that sensation almost as much as feeling him throb in my arse.

  I dove atop his chest, and shared his taste with him, and we laughed like children and licked one another’s faces clean like kittens.

  “We will have to add that to our regimen,” I said when at last we sprawled side by side.

  “Daily?” he asked with a grin.

  “Non, I think we will save it for the days we bathe,” I said with amusement.

  “We must bathe often, then,” he sighed.

  “Damn good thing this house has a bathing room.”

  We were still chuckling with pleasure at one another when we placed our weapons, blew out the light, and drew the netting about the bed. We slept in a cloud of contentment and moonlit white linen, like angels.

  We woke languorously to the sounds of the house’s residents gathering in the atrium. I knew Gaston was awake: he squeezed my hand when I encountered his while stretching. Though I was piss hard, I felt no great urge to tryst, and Gaston’s thoughts were apparently elsewhere.

  “We should check on the puppies,” he said.

  I grunted. “We must go to the tailors.”

  “You should see your wife,” he sighed.

  “We should see my wife,” I said, and rolled from bed to relieve myself in the chamber pot.

  “I suppose we must speak with my father,” he said with a feigned lack of concern.

  “Well, he is downstairs,” I teased.

  “What shall we say?” he asked.

  I studied him as I dressed in my buccaneer attire. He seemed pensive yet calm.

  “How are we?” I asked.

  He frowned. “Well enough, but…” He smiled at me. “Things are very easy to see in the cave, with you; but, when I consider walking out into the light of day it all becomes very confusing.”

  I nodded. “I do not want to dine again as we did last night.”

  He dressed as I did, as a buccaneer, and we armed ourselves to go about town. We could see that everyone was in the atrium as we traversed the balcony, and we received hearty greeting from most as we descended the stairs. The Marquis sat at a table with Dupree, somewhat apart from the others, and as I had not seen them arrive and choose their sea
ts, I could not be sure who was avoiding who. I led Gaston to the Marquis’ table and sat.

  “Gaston, Marsdale, good morning,” he said. His tone was light, but his features held a reserve I felt was unfamiliar to them, and his eyes seemed wary.

  “Please call me Will,” I said.

  He nodded.

  “Let us talk,” I said. “In private, please.”

  He waved Dupree away.

  I spoke quickly, and though I had not known precisely what I would say, it seemed to come with ease. “I fled my father’s home when I was sixteen, and spent ten years traveling throughout Christendom living by my wits and skill with the blade and pistol, and languages.” I shrugged. “I have spent too many days of my life… dueling, whether it be with words or swords. I do not wish to do it here. I do not wish for us to be enemies. I do not wish to tell you lies or hear them.

  “We have a very fine life here. We are learning to… heal from our pasts. We work very hard at that. We have endless discussions on matters of the heart and mind that most men would label sophism. It has aided Gaston greatly in controlling his madness.

  “We surround ourselves with people who love us. We try and avoid doing things that trouble us. And to continue this life, because I place very little value on being a nobleman, I am willing to leave my inheritance behind and spend the rest of my days with Gaston. I only maintain the pretense that I will one day inherit because it is useful in dealing with ambitious men, and I can use what little power it affords me to affect the lives of others for the good.

  “Gaston places great value on being a nobleman, though. It is a thing he has thought long lost to him – along with the love of any he might call kin. He wants what should be his by birthright. He is willing to try to live up to the expectations of the title. He is willing to attempt to please you. He is willing to leave the life we have here to accept the duty of his name.

  “Beyond that, he wants his name cleared of any question as to his competence in the eyes of French law.

  “Now what do you want?” I asked.

  Gaston was smiling and he slipped his hand in mine beneath the table and entwined our fingers.