Andrew watched the ladies in their finery, and again was struck by the inability to tell nobleman from commoner here. He thought the elderly woman in a red silk dress was Dame Ratisbon, but he could not be certain. He watched her so carefully, he didn't notice the group approaching him.

"Here he is, my Lord." Renaud said. Andrew would never have known him had he not recognized Renaud's clothing and seen the mask.

"Ah, so you are Andre?" came the voice behind the mask. This mask was a very human-like mask as well. Lord Montaigne, whom he had grown up hearing of as a semi-mythical figure, and seeing but a few times, was now speaking directly him.

"I am Andre, my Lord." Andrew said, standing and bowing.

"Ah, not tonight." Lord Montaigne said, his voice both cultured and inflected. "Tonight we are all equals. I would meet you better later on. The masque will end just prior to the ten o'clock curfew bell, but I am inviting some to remain later for a more private masque of my own. Will you grace me by being among those?"

"I must stay with my Master." Andrew said, looking quickly at Renaud.

"His presence will not be needed." Lord Montaigne said quickly. "I shall only keep you an hour or so, and your quarters are nearby. I have heard of your exploits, and now that I have seen your body, I can well believe them all. Would you show us your skill with a sword?"

"The physician has forbidden me to exercise overmuch, due to my recent wounds." Andrew begged off, fearing another death duel may be offered. "I find I am faint after one dance."

"Another time, then, for that. But do remain tonight."

"As my Lord wishes."

"Excellent. You will enjoy especially the entertainment I have planned." Lord Montaigne passed on, and Renaud trotted after him like an obedient and rather unhappy puppy.

"You have gained the Lord Protector's favor, it seems." Marcel observed.

"More likely I have gained a reputation that he waits to puncture like an overinflated pig's bladder." Andrew said with some regret.

The party though enjoyable, lasted forever, it seemed. Andrew managed another line-type dance with Renaud, though this one paired him up with a young, rather robust lady across the aisle who giggled incessantly whenever he looked at her. Despite the camouflage of the mask, Renaud was obviously unhappy about something, though he would say nothing to Andrew of it despite his questions. Andrew decided he had been as good a friend to Renaud as he could; if Renaud would not speak to him, he would not speak. There was food served in a room off the hall, and service there went on continuously throughout the evening. Andrew was content enough to pretend illness further, for it gave him ample time to watch and learn the ways of this society, which until now he had just heard of. Seeing it was much more enriching.

A bell was rung after a time and a guardsman announced, "The guests must leave now so that they may make their homes prior to curfew and the closing of the town gates. We trust you have enjoyed yourselves."

There was a round of polite applause at this rather abrupt ending--Andrew learned that when the King entertained in evenings, all guests were accommodated for the night as well. Still, he was being invited to stay on, and he watched from the chair he sat in as if to avoid the press of people departing.

Renaud came by. "I must depart now. Pray do not drink overmuch. You can remember which apartment is ours? You have had little time outside of it."

"I will remember." Andrew assured them.

"Remember, as well, that I have described you as having a gentleman's upbringing." Renaud said.

"I shall." Andrew said, taken aback.

Renaud left, and Andrew puzzled. What did he mean by that.

"Are the doors sealed?" Lord Montaigne called after a time.

"They are sealed, my Lord." a servant called.

Andrew looked around at those chosen to stay behind. Several were nobles or rich townspeople, Andrew could not tell which. They were outnumbered more than two to one by the guards who had been in the room since it had opened, unmasked. These were all young and quite handsome, but he expected nothing less inside the royal palace, where pageantry was presumed rather than affected.

"Ah." Lord Montaigne called as he ascended to the throne. "I greet my friends here tonight. I decided upon this meeting when news arrived for me. We have had yesterday our first battle with the loyalist forces. Upon a plain near Paserilov, my forces and the forces of the assembled lords, who numbered twelve hundred valliant men, met a contingent of the guardsmen belonging to the renegade lords Marcus Dentremon and Bernard Chautreaux, and having outnumbered them three to one, given them a sound thrashing, killing near half their number and taking nearly all the rest as prisoners. I have assembled twenty-five of the unwounded prisoners, who are of no value to us and unlikely to be ransomed, and have given them this contest, that they shall entertain you and then you shall choose by lot after taking your pleasures with them which one was the best and that one shall be given a pardon and allowed to live."

There was a general cheer to this news, to which Andrew, aghast, did not contribute. He had heard many tales of how prisoners, both in and out of war, were treated. There were "neck riddles", where a prisoner would be freed if he could answer the king's riddles or ask one the king and his court could not answer. There were contests where the prisoner would have to accomplish some task in order to be freed. It had a long and therefore somewhat venerable history, but...had he been invited to join in this?

"Keep all your masks on, my guests, for I chose the beast masks with this in mind. If you would please me, make sounds like the animals whose mask you bear, for our enjoyment."

Lord Montaigne pulled a bell-rope, and the men were herded into the chamber, naked and not walking as men should, but crawling upon all fours.

"Come, my rutting beasts, and choose your pleasure. Prizes shall be given for unusual ideas and novel treatments. I have chosen a few extra, and the guards may enjoy those who are not chosen."

There were some thirty men in the room, including the ten guards, and they converged upon the hapless men like flies to an open jug of honey. Andrew turned away, could not bear to watch this.

"Andre, are you not going to join the festivities?" Lord Montaigne called to him over the general noises of men braying like barnyard animals.

"I humbly beg your pardon, my Lord, but I would not take a man against his will, even were I not in ill health." Andrew called back.

"But I chose this number so that you would have your choice." Lord Montaigne protested. "Ah, the lot of you, stop for a moment while I pursue this short talk." The men paused in their exertions, and Andrew looked with loathing upon the assembly, men on the floor in various postures, with tunics pulled up and tights tugged down. Yet they were frozen in these poses as if this were some obscene portrait. "Surely your weakness has diminished enough that you would enjoy this?" Montaigne said now in a quieter tone. "Your neighbors have told me of the sighs of lust you and your master emit both morning and night without fail, and sometimes in the afternoon as well."

"My Master has been kind enough to be attentive to all my needs in my illness." Andrew said truthfully. "But I would not put on a decent show for you in my current state. You need a lusty animal, and I find myself short of breath and dizzy upon too much movement."

"Then the prisoners shall select one of their own. Come, this young man is a hero who was recently wounded defending his master's life. Surely one of you craves the feel of that extraordinarily large tool in his fundament?"

Andrew should have realized that these men, knowing they were playing for their lives, would respond as they did, which was to clamor for the privilege. They had to please Lord Montaigne and the assembled lords, and how easier than to cater to this declared hero? And he would then be forced to perform like a trained animal for these men's viewing pleasure.

That thought gave him another argument. "To be honest entire, my Lord, I confess to you the actual illness is bashfulness, born of a rigorous upbringing."

"And this is the man who chose to become a mercenary? Surely the pleasures on the field of battle would encompass pleasure with enemy captives and in the midst of his comrades-in-arms?"

"I thought more on what I would see and where I would go." Andrew said. He was lying on the cuff, and hoping that he would not be overly pressed.

Lord Montaigne sighed. "Ah, well, I am disappointed. I merely wished to see your manhood in all its glory and in performance of its designed function. Your Master while deep in his cups did speak of it quite vividly and worshipfully."

"Perhaps in more secluded circumstances, my Lord, I could oblige you in this request." Andrew said. "Perhaps with my Master, if you will ask him the favor, he would let you observe us in our bed."

"Still, I wished to reward you for your bravery to your Master. In these days, remembering your loyalty is to your Lord and not a King is well worth the price of my coin."

"Then grant the one I would choose his life and freedom, and let me retire with him to a place of peace." Andrew said. "And I shall be well rewarded indeed." He could thus save the life of one loyal soldier of the King. "Though it would please me more if they were all spared in some manner, sent off into exile, perhaps."

"From which they could return as rapidly as the guards I would have to send with them." Lord Montaigne said. "Very well, choose the one you wish, but you must take him as we all watch."

There was no avoiding this. Andrew rose up and walked around the room.

"Take me, young lord." one called out. "I am the only support of my aged mother."

"Then you should not have been foolish enough to abandon her to go to war at all." the noble with him countered scornfully. "If you are going to lie, at least lie craftily."

"I would take this one." another prisoner said, essaying a smile. "And not for any aged mother, but I have an eye for a manly tool."

"Ah, choose him if you must and I'll take another." the nobleman with him groaned. "But choose quickly, before I burst from within!"

Andrew looked about in despair. Who here could he choose? He bore life in his hands, and found the weight grievous.

He felt then a timid hand at his ankle. "Well." he said almost in exasperation at the youthful face below him, raised up to meet his. "What tale will you offer me?" This one had nobody near him yet, though some guards had apparently headed for him in the general rush, stopped before they could capture him.

"None but the truth." the young man said, gulped. "I have never been known to another. Please, sir, if I must do this, let it be with you, for I can see you will go kindly with me."

Andrew looked at the young man, adjudged him to be closer to his date of majority than himself, who had passed it a year before. Looked at the body which had known physical labor in the fields, for it was well-formed and strong. Looked at the horny hands which had born perhaps a scythe in the summer hay bare days before, and then taken up a sword in the dreams of glory in battle. Looked at the face, as yet unlined by life and the filling out of the adult body, remaining yet all unformed like soft clay that could be molded at desire.

The man's hand, emboldened by his pause, traveled up his body.

"Ah, he has chosen!" Lord Montaigne called. "Let the games begin anew!"

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