J.O. Dickingson

Travels with Nicolau Ribeiro

Chapters 9-10

I was awakened the next morning by old Three-finger Duarte with much pounding on my door and such shrill yelling at the top of his lungs I feared the ship was capsizing. With my head pounding ferociously, my eyes feeling as if the backs of my eyeballs were being pierced with needles, and my mouth feeling like someone had ripped out my tongue and left a dirty wool sock in its place, I struggled into my clothes and stepped out on deck, immediately shielding my eyes as the glare of the morning sun, just breaking the horizon, sent shards of pain shooting through them. Never had I seen the sun so bright.

"Well, come along," old Three-finger Duarte shouted in my ear as if I was deaf. "The cook is waiting on you for help. He already has two poached eggs, nice and soft with the yolks and whites all slimy and runny like you likes 'em, and is frying up a couple smoked herring just for you."

My stomach heaved and cupping my mouth with my hand I raced pell-mell for the side of the ship and leaned over and heaved.

"Why, lad, what is wrong? You not be feeling well this morning?" he asked, placing a hand on my shoulder, his voice grave with concern. Before I could respond, he and the crew burst out laughing. "Well, do not worry, I was joking about the eggs and kippers." Just the thought of poached eggs and the smell of frying kippers caused my stomach to heave once more and I turned again and leaning over the ship I emptied what was left in my stomach, which was a clotted, slimy white drool not unlike the egg white of a poached egg, which caused me to continue heaving even though there was nothing more to bring up. "But the cook is awaiting ye. Perhaps a bowl of gruel will help settle that stomach of yers after yer finished with yer offering to Saint Nicholas of Myra." The crew all laughed again as I fished out a handkerchief and wiped my mouth and, red-faced, headed for the galley. I was sure I would not be able to eat a thing, and I did not relish even just being anywhere near food, but I had my duties, and at least I was out of the glaring morning sun. That small comfort was small indeed for as I entered the galley, the cook greeted me loudly, the entire crew seeming to have come to the conclusion I had gone deaf, and with much clanging of his pots and pans that set a ringing bouncing in my skull. Never do I recall ever seeing him grinning so happily to see me.

When I sat down with the others to break my fast some time later, Father did not find my condition as funny as had the rest of the crew. He chastised me over the state I had been upon my arrival at the ship last night and I was much chagrined, though for the life of me I do not recall having encountered Father upon my return, and to be truthful, I do not remember anything about my return at all. I was reminded that was no way for a knight of not one but two orders and for the king's special envoy besides to behave, and severely reprimanded for my most undignified behaviour as a member of the crew of the Theresa del Morau, and the son of the captain. Though his words and look were severe and his voice sincere, I noticed when he thought I was not looking a twinkle in his eyes and slight curl to his lips and he and Uncle Paolo exchanged glances behind my back, as if, despite his words, he was proud of me. That I did not understand until many months later, at a time I thought I would never see him again.

In addition to my regular duties, Father had me climb the rigging and help the crew check and grease all the pullies and lines and then sit out in the sun and check all the belaying pins for cracks. At first I thought it was punishment for my drunken behaviour the previous night and I was thankful he did not know the worst of it regarding that night or surely he would have disowned me and had me put off the ship, or worse, had me given twenty lashes and sent back home in shame. Giving the matter more reasoned thought as the day progressed, I thought of him more kindly. My extra duties were nothing out of the ordinary. We were going to catch the morning tide on the morrow and there was much to do to ensure the ship was seaworthy, especially after it had been sitting in dock for so long, and every crew member was pitching in and helping. Besides, I was the youngest and lightest of the crew, and the most agile. It was only logical that I be sent aloft to check the rigging, and as for the pins, it was a tedious job and one more suited to a cabin boy than one of the seasoned sailors. The strenuous work and the breeze off the ocean helped clear my head besides, and I slowly realized that Father probably knew that was something that I needed besides and I paused in my duties to thank my Lord for having blessed me with such a father.

The next morning we drew anchor and drifted off with the tide, and as soon as we were clear of the harbour and other ships we raised sail and caught the morning breeze blowing off the land from the northwest. I was feeling much better, physically anyway. Mentally and spiritually was a much different matter. The questions that had risen in my head the night of the party at the Borja apartments rose again, and now having nothing to distract me and being clearer of mind, I had to give them heed.

Having spent every Sunday since I was born listening to Father Francesco's sermons until I began voyaging with Father and Uncle last May, his sermons and admonitions were the first to come to mind. We were all sinners, each and every one of us, even Mother and Father, having been born in sin and our souls carrying the weight and guilt of the original sin. Jesus had died for our sins, for which we must give thanks each and every day. And we must forever be on guard for Satan relentlessly tempts us, forever lurking in the shadows and watching and waiting, playing on our weakness, for we are all weak. We all have a tendency to evil, a depravity inherent in every one of us because of Adam's original sin. If Father Francisco was right, and I had no reason to believe he was not, everyone I had ever known believing him up until just these past few weeks, and certainly at least everyone whom I held in great respect and trust, Father and Mother and Uncle Paolo particularly, believing what he said, then what I had done my last night in Rome, and what I have been doing since that dark night in the Kongo with the young black devil whom I know now was most certainly Satan's minion, was wrong, and the result of my moral weakness, and everything I had done, seen and heard was explainable.

All men are sinners, from the Holy Father and Princes of the Church to the lowest of scoundrels and wanton whores, both male and female. None are safe from Satan's temptations and one has to guard daily lest they fall into wickedness. Is that not the history of mankind, from Adam to Judas Iscariot? Is that not the reason for the downfall of entire nations, from the Canaanites to the Roman Empire? If entire cities like Sodom turn away from the Word of God, then what chance has one mortal man, no matter how pious? If not for the pervasiveness of sin and evil, why else would a pope seek sexual favours and reward those who would satisfy his carnal lust with money or position, or deny his fellow man freedom and subject others to his will? Why else would a Prince of the Church offer his body to others in return for benefices? Why else would a cardinal who would someday be pope have congress with another male, and a priest have congress with boys? Why else would boys be drawn to other boys? Why else would a person succumb to the pleasure of the flesh and abuse himself, and engage in the most degrading acts with fellow males? Because they were all born sinners and carry with them the guilt and shame of the Original Sin.

How many times had Father Francesco reminded us we must forever be on guard against Satan and we must turn to the Lord for our protection? How many times has he reminded us we must pray constantly to the Lord for forgiveness and guidance, and must regularly and dutifully confess our sins? If the Holy Father and men of the cloth fall to temptation, is it any wonder then that I would fall victim to my own lust? Is it any wonder I am unable to resist the pleasure of my own hand, and that I delight in the pleasures of the flesh with other males when those far better than I succumb? Of all those I know only Father and Uncle would never do such vile and unmentionable things. They are constant in their faith, and practice it, praying in thanks for our meals, praying for guidance, for forgiveness, in thanks for the blessings bestowed upon us. I mouth the words without giving them thought or meaning, and more times than not I neglect totally my evening prayers. No wonder the Lord has forsaken me. I am a sinner. It is the nature of man.

Or is it? There are those who said it was not, men of high intelligence, men of high respect and of great power. I have met them. I have talked with them. According to them it is man's nature to lust, to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh, not because of any original sin, but because it is his nature as a man. And because it is the nature of men, it is only natural and to be expected that a man would engage in that lust with others of his own sex. To do so is natural, not a sin. It is not something one needs to seek forgiveness for. It is something of the highest of values, something virtuous and honourable. Only another man is worthy of having sex with a man, one with a wise and virile heart. Men have sex with men, boys with boys, and men with boys because it is their nature, and it is something good, and it is something right. If that is true, if it is good and right, then no wonder popes and cardinals and priests do it. It is because it is good that the clergy engaged in orgies in the heart of the Holy See, openly before God. It is something a normal, decent human being does. Man ruts like an animal in heat because man is an animal, and it is normal to rut, and honourable to rut with fellow men. After all, it feels good and it makes others feel good.

If that is so, then why do I feel guilt and shame? How can feeling good and making others feel good be wrong? One cannot deny that when one has a stiff, throbbing member, it dictates what the mind thinks and what the body will do. Nor can one deny when the heart is in love it controls the mind and the body. I can attest to both, for I have lusted, and I have loved. But, when the cock grows limp, and the mind is no longer blinded by love, reason takes over, and guilt and shame reign. Why? Because Father Francisco is right and Plato is wrong. I come full circle to where I began. All I know is that I am a God-fearing, mother-loving son, and I lust for other boys.

Round and round I go with no resolution to my questions or my shame. Had there been a priest onboard the Theresa del Morau, I could have asked him for answers and to explain the inconsistencies I have witnessed myself within the church, but there was not. In the absence of a priest, Father lead us in our morning and evening prayers as we gave thanks for the food on our table, and lead the service on Sundays, but I could hardly approach him concerning the matters weighing me down.

We did have three Jews on board, Rabbi Abraham of Beja and the shoemaker Josepe from Lamego, the two envoys King João was sending to Cairo, and Josepe's seven-year-old son Adão. I had encountered the latter two on my journey back from Madrid and had saved them from the Spanish Brotherhood who had captured them. The three had kept to themselves while onboard, had left the moment we had arrived in Rome, and only returned the night before we were to depart. The older man, Rabbi Abraham, frightened me with his abrupt manner and constant scowl, as if he was angry with everyone and everything, and the few times I did see him on deck he was studiously reading his Bible and did not so much as look up or acknowledge me as I passed. Josepe seemed a decent enough sort despite being a Jew, and he had offered his services and repaired the shoes of the crew without accepting any payment even though King João had paid for his passage, and he was a father and seemed to be very good to his son. I was still wont to approach him. Even though he was a religious man, he was a Jew and his beliefs different from Christians, and anyway, everyone knew Jews are not to be trusted. After all, it was the Jews who were responsible for the arrest and crucifixion of our Lord Jesus. Father Francesco reminded us of that many times in his sermons, almost as often as he reminded us we were sinners.

For four days I was unable to think of anything else and for three nights I tossed and turned worrying about my soul and fighting off the temptation to satisfy myself by my hand as the memory of my last night in Rome haunted me. When I finally drifted off to sleep on the fourth night, I had a most erotic and most vivid dream. It began with Ahmar and myself having sex first in my bunk and then on the rooftop in Dzayer, but then his face blurred and when it came back into focus it was the face if the Venetian Romano and we were in the Borja apartments kissing and caressing and I was feeling extremely aroused and anxious. Then at some point I saw my countryman Fabião, the castrati, standing and watching us and I walked over to him and began to kiss him and I reached down to hold his member but instead of looking like a normal penis his was sliced down the length like a roll. I placed my penis in it and thought how it was like a sausage roll I had in the market in Dzayer, and I thought how wonderful it would be to have my penis sliced open like a roll so others could put their penis inside my penis. I found it so arousing I began to spurt and his penis being sliced open it could not hold in my milk like a boy's ass can and it gushed out and over my nuts and down my thighs, and down his thighs, he of course not having nuts.

I awoke with a start and it took me a few moments to realize I was lying in my bunk. Despite the strangeness and impossibility, it had all seemed so real and I lay there thinking how it had seemed to be actually happening and how real it had been, right down to how aroused I had felt and how the ending had felt just like when I released my seed. It was then that I slowly realized my groin and thighs were warm and wet. Swinging my legs out of bed and lighting a candle, I cautiously raised my nightshirt and was horrified to find it and my lap soaked with my seed. I immediately stood up and taking my handkerchief tried to wipe off my groin and thighs and mop up the slime that had soaked into my nightshirt, and to my horror, had even dribbled in spots on my bed sheet. Never had I shot so much seed at one time, and it seemed hotter and runnier and stickier than ever before. It took me a long time to wipe it all up and when I was done my handkerchief was a sodden, sticky wad. Hiding it under my bunk, I lay back down. The wet spots where my seed had dribbled seemed very cold and wet. It took me many candle marks to fall back asleep. I had barely dozed off when I awoke with the ship's bells. I hoped it had all been a dream, but to my dismay my nightshirt was hanging up beside my bed where I had hung it up to dry. Even more to my dismay it was still damp and had a large yellowish spot right in the centre.

I spent all of that day fretting over what had happened and wondering what I should do about it. Had I caught some disease that caused my seed to leak out of my testicles at night? Was what I had found upon awakening my seed or was it something else? Pus? Was I injured inside from my wanton behaviour? Slime from some lover's disease? I knew nothing about such diseases. I had not lain with any of the whores, male or female, that night in the Borja apartments, but what did I know about Romano? Though he seemed innocent and pure, perhaps he had lain with whores before that night and was as diseased as they were. I worried all day, and that night I feared going to sleep lest it happen again. I lay there awake with my heart high in my chest as I thought of every possible thing that could be bad. Suppose it was a disease? Father would find out. What would he and Uncle think of me! I would rather die than they find out. Maybe that would be the end result of the disease. Worst, maybe my member would simply fall off. Many candle marks went by before finally sleep claimed me, and it seemed like only seconds and it was time to get up.

To my horror my penis was fully erect and it would not go down. New fears assaulted my mind. Suppose whatever I had caught had caused my penis to be in a constant state of erection! How could I go about my duties without others noticing? How could I concentrate on my duties with it feeling like it did? Suppose it was the result of having spurted so much seed the night before? Suppose I had spurted all my seed that night! Perhaps I had spent it all and had none left. I would never be able to have children of my own! When I went to piss, to my horror I could not for the longest time, and then when I did at first it hurt the opening, but the pain subsided and at last my member went soft.

I fretted all that day. I knew nothing about lover's diseases, but the more I thought about it the more likely it was that it was the cause of my problems. Romano had seemed innocent and inexperienced, but I had no way of knowing for sure if he was, or if it had been an act. It was very possible that he had felt the same way as I had when we had seen first Cardinal Parmense and then the fat, painted whore approaching us, and had pretended innocence in the hopes of having sex with me rather than either of them. It was even more likely I had picked up something from those I had sex with while in Florence. Michelangelo was particularly aggressive when it came to sex with other males, and so was his friend Francesco. They could have easily dallied with male whores and passed on some disease to me. That it was Leonardo was even more likely. They had claimed he had been arrested for seeking the services of a whore had they not? That had been many years ago, but he still could have picked up something, or he could still be seeing whores without anyone knowing and had picked up something more recent. I cursed myself. It could be any number of men or boys that I had recently had sex with. How could I have been so stupid?

It was also possible I had damaged myself, especially my last night on shore. I had been drunk, and cannot remember much of that night except for spurting my seed repeatedly and powerfully. Perhaps I had come too often, or too hard. Perhaps I had damaged whatever controlled the flow of my milk, and now I could no longer control it! Perhaps whatever causes one's member to become hard had become damaged, or even worse, what caused it to soften again had become damaged. I knew nothing about the bodily functions of one's sexual parts. I layed awake for hours once again that night.

The next morning I could barely crawl out of bed and I could not concentrate on my chores so great were my fears, and several times cook hollered at me and gave me a whack on the side of the head for daydreaming. Finally he asked if I was sick, and I said perhaps I was, and he angrily asked if that was so what was I doing in his kitchen and ordered me to see the ship's doctor. I knew I should but I did so reluctantly considering the nature of my problem, and when the doctor asked me what was wrong, I was most embarrassed and did not know how to respond. He asked again, irritated at my hesitance, and when I still could not answer he looked at me, and then roughly asked if I had visited a harlot while I had been ashore. I quickly put his mind at ease that I had not, and when he asked me again then what was wrong, I told him about waking up with an erection.

He studied me for a few moments and then gave me an accusatory look. "Have you been having impure thoughts?" I admitted I had. "Perhaps an arousing dream or two?" I nodded. "Youth," he snorted. "You need to work harder. Sweat your lust out of your body. And when you go to bed, recite the scriptures until you fall asleep. Think only pure thoughts from dawn to dusk and put out of your mind all thoughts of women. Have you been touching yourself?"

"No!" I responded emphatically.

From the look he gave me he clearly suspected I lied but I was the captain's son and he did not challenge me. "Do not. It is unhealthy. It will make your flesh more sensitive to touch, and will weaken the muscles that hold back a man's seed. It is an illness of the mind, and a weakness of the spirit. Wicked thoughts and practices cause an imbalance of the humours of the body and can cause a man's seed to flow when he is asleep and sap him of energy." He gave me another suspicious look and though I tried to look innocent, I suspected he somehow knew. "Hard work, and pure thoughts," he admonished, wagging a finger at me before dismissing me. As I headed up the gangway, I heard him muttering something about how today's youth was weak and immoral compared to when he was young, which, considering his age, I figured had to be very long ago. That night I had another erotic dream, and fortunately I awoke before I spilt my seed. The next morning I was so exhausted from my lack of sleep, and from the spilling of my seed earlier that week I suspect, I could hardly stay awake and the bosun whom I was helping sent me to my cabin for a nap. I could not sleep, and as I lay there I wondered if this was God's punishment for my behaviour, and what I could do in retribution. Unable to go to Father, I made up my mind and sought out the only other man I could think of that might be able to help, Josepe the Jew. He was, as I had suspected, on the forecastle deck working on a pair of shoes. As I approached, he looked up, nodded, and returned to his work. I was uncertain how to begin. I, like the rest of the crew, had purposefully avoided our passengers, being Jews and all.

"Where is Adão?" I asked, not knowing how else to begin our conversation.

"He is taking his lessons with Rabbi Abraham," Josepe replied, looking up at me cautiously and with a hint of curiosity.

Inhaling deeply, I stepped up closer to him and whispered, "Would you mind if I ask you a personal question?"

He gave me a smile that barely curled the corners of his lips and motioned for me to sit beside him. "I wondered how long it would be before you ask."

"You did?" I asked, it being my turn to be cautious, and curious. Was my depravity that noticeable? I glanced at my hands guiltily. They bore no evidence of my habit. Was the sex that pungent that he could smell it on me even though it had been days since I had done anything?

"I was not in Castile buying leather as I had said."

Castile? Leather? It took me several moments to realize he was talking about the reason he had given for being in Castile when the Household Guard had found him and his son hiding in the bushes and had brought them to Prince Afonso.

"I was on a secret mission for King João. He had received rumours that the Castilians were responsible for a number of deaths along the border and were making raids into Portugal. It was not the first time he had sent me on such missions," he added, seeing my look of skepticism. "Who would suspect a simple shoemaker to be a spy, especially accompanied by his son?"

"You risked your son's life to spy for King João?"

"The risk was minimal. It was highly unlikely a man with a young son would be suspected for being a spy, and we were never far from the border. Unfortunately I did not count on the single-mindedness of the Brotherhood, or the dislike of the Castilians for those of the Jewish faith."

"But you are Jewish?"

"Yes. All the more reason not to suspect I would be a spy for King João. Your people are not so fond of those of my faith either."

Justifiably, but I saw no reason to explain it. "Are you a shoemaker?" I was beginning to think of everything as a lie.

"Oh, yes. These are not the hands of a spy," he said with a smile as he held up his calloused fingers.

"So you are on a special mission to Cairo also?"

"Indeed," he said, the corners of his mouth curling ever so slightly again.

Our conversation had not gone at all how I had rehearsed it going. My plan gone awry, I did not know how to get back to the topic I had intended on discussing.

"You are troubled." I looked up at him, uncertain what he meant, and uncertain how to respond. "I have heard you are a very observant and intuitive boy, and I have seen evidence that tells me that is the truth. But I too am observant, which is why King João has selected me for his special missions, just as he has selected you. Is it because he has sent both of us on a secret mission that you are troubled?"

"No," I replied, though that did disturb me. To my shame, I admit it was foolish and selfish, but I was prideful and it made my own assignment less important. Josepe waited for me to continue. If I was going to find answers, there was only one way to do so, and that was to come right out and ask. I inhaled deeply again and caught myself before I wiped my sweaty palms on my breeches. "What does your faith say about sex?" The question was a lot blunter than I had planned and I prepared myself for the worst.

"So, you too have noticed the depravity of the leaders of the Holy Roman Catholic Church," he said with a sadness in his voice. "Knowing how observant you are that does not come as a surprise. They have become so blatantly debauched one would have to be deaf and blind not to notice it." He paused in thought for the longest time and I wondered if he had forgotten my question, or if he found the topic so offensive he was reluctant to speak on it. He finally moved over and motioned for me to sit beside him.

"Just as your beliefs and commandments are written down in your Bible, so are those for the Jewish faith written down, in scrolls we call the Torah. It is stated in Leviticus, a man shall not lie with another man as he would with a woman. It is to'eva. To'eva means… deviating from what is normal. This prohibition is part of the Noachide Laws. It is further said in Leviticus, do not follow the ways of Egypt where you once lived, nor of Canaan, where I will be bringing you. Do not follow of their customs. They had many wicked customs, women marrying women, men marrying women and their daughters. All sex that does not involve a man and wife for the purpose of procreation is an abomination. It also says in the Torah, Lo tikrevu legalot ervah. You shall not come close to another person for the purpose of committing a sexual crime."

"So, if a man were to say have congress with another man, or a man and a boy, it is a crime, and they would be denied heaven?"

"Such a thing is not a crime, it is simply unnatural. It is an offense for which the death penalty is prescribed only if the two are caught doing it, and it is witnessed by two others, and the men warned it is a crime and they continue. If they do not continue, then no crime has been committed. And if a person does teshuva he will be forgiven."

"Teshuva?"

"Repentance. He must cease his behaviour, regret what he has done, apologize to God, and make a binding resolution never to do it again. If he does these things, he is seen to be forgiven by God. I am told the church fathers in the Vatican do all these sinful things, openly and willingly, and say it is natural, and have no inclination to repent, though this is just what I am told. I have not seen it for myself."

"I have," I admitted.

"Then I can understand why you are confused and troubled."

"Suppose… suppose a man, or a boy, were to spill his seed… without the presence of another?"

"Ah, the Talmud tells us of Onan, who spilt his seed on the ground rather than impregnate his brother's widow. We are told that whosoever emits seed in vain deserves death. This includes all acts that are not for procreation, whether with another or alone. Leviticus, in the Law of Moses, also states that any male having a flow is ceremonially defiled, whether he be awake or asleep, and even if such flow is blocked by stopping before it happens. In such a case one must wash his body with water, his hands, his feet, his face, and entire body as soon as it happens, and then again, seven days later, and on the eighth he must bring to the priest two pigeons or doves to sacrifice, and then he will be forgiven."

"Our faiths are not that different, though I do not know about the pigeons or doves."

"That is not surprising. Our faiths stem from the same God."

"I thank you. You have been most helpful," I said as I got to my feet.

"I am glad. If at any time you have more questions or confusion on such matters, I would be willing to help if I can." I nodded in thanks, and turned to leave. "At your young age," he said, causing me to pause and turn, "having a flow while asleep is not unnatural. Your body is becoming an adult. I would not worry about it. And should it happen while awake, that too is not unnatural. You are young and unmarried and the pleasure great. When you feel the temptation, work hard and keep your hands busy and pray to God for strength. If adults and the most holy of men succumb, how can one expect a boy to resist? God understands and provides us with an ablution."

I nodded my thanks and turned again, too embarrassed and ashamed to trust my voice. Returning to the galley, I began pealing potatoes for our evening repast, much troubled by our conversation. One thing that did strike me was the similarity between not just Christianity and Judaism but also the similarity with Islam. I recalled once again the conversation I had with the Moor Mustafa the night before we headed to Pisa. He too had mentioned the destruction of Sodom. "Verily, ye approach men with lust rather than women-nay, ye are a people who exceed." I recalled his stern, angry voice as if he were speaking beside me. "What! Of all creatures do ye come unto the males, and leave the wives your Lord created for you? Nay, but ye are forward folk." The words are different, but the names and places are the same and the meaning identical. He had even mentioned that touching yourself, istimna he called it, was forbidden. Yes, there are differences. That the men of Sodom who lusted after the male angels had wives I do not recall Father Francesco ever mentioning. But that is a minor thing. Perhaps Father Francesco had not felt that fact important, or had assumed we would know that, or perhaps I had slept through that part of his sermon. "When a man mounts another man, the throne of God shakes." Father Francesco and Josepe the Jew did not say that specifically about what Mustafa called liwat, sexual activity between males, but they implied it, just as they implied that sex between males meant not just between adults but also between boys, and between men and boys.

I worked very hard that day, and the next, and the four days after that, doing not just my chores but asking cook if I might do something extra, and when I was done, going on deck and helping whoever I could find that could use an extra pair of hands. Although I had no interest in swordplay, I asked Father if there was anyone onboard that could teach me how to use the sword I had received when I had been knighted, and to my surprise, he named Uncle Paolo. I had no idea Uncle even knew how to use a sword. So, after the day's work Uncle began to teach me, and after my lesson I would practice until I could no longer hold up the sword. Each night I fell into my bunk totally exhausted, and to my relief, I had no more erotic dreams and no more occurrences of a nocturnal flow. For that I was glad for it would be impossible to find a pigeon or dove in the middle of the sea, though I had wondered if substituting a seagull if I had to would be acceptable to God. On the fourteenth day of our voyage, Uncle advised me that Father wished my presence in his cabin.

When I entered, I found Father sitting behind his desk looking most serious, and sitting beside him, looking even more sombre was the Jew Josepe, and beside him Rabbi Abraham, who always looked like he had just bitten into something sour. My heart sank. Josepe had to have told the rabbi about our discussion regarding sex and the rabbi had to have told Father. Jews! I should have known to never trust them. Uncle arrived a few minutes later, looking like Uncle always looks. Nothing ever seems to bother Uncle. It I were accused of murder he would still have that reassuring smile on his face and that "do not worry, everything will turn out fine" attitude. Knowing I could never lie to Father, I inhaled deeply and prepared for the worst. Fortunately, I did not blurt out a confession in my nervousness. Father got right down to business, as was his nature, and it had nothing to do with my earlier conversation with Josepe.

"If this wind keeps up, we will be docking in Cairo in another two days. There are many things expected of us, and we have a limited time to do them all. These are dangerous and unsettled times, and this will not be the most hospitable port for any Portuguese citizen, Jew, or Christian. I would like to conduct our business, both official and unofficial, as speedily as possible and be on our way back to Lisbon. For that reason, I would like to propose we pool our information and share whatever we discover while we are here, and at the same time divide up our duties so each can focus on one thing instead of wasting time with all of us doing the same thing."

"A wise decision, Captain," said Rabbi Abraham. "I fully concur. I do not trust these Egyptian Arabs and their Mamelukes. They would just as readily enslave a Jew or a Christian as they would a black man."

Father nodded agreement and continued. "Our official reason for being here is to unload our consignment of wine and wool from Portugal and to pick up a supply of spices and silk to take back home. All was previously agreed upon between our two countries, so that should be a simple matter. Three-finger Duarte is well versed in such transactions and knows sufficient Arabic. He will not be easily duped, nor will he require our presence, so I am turning the supervision of the exchange of cargo over to him to free us for more important and clandestine assignments.

"Though I propose we focus on different things, I am expecting that each of us will keep our ears and eyes open for any information that will be of help to the others as we pursue our individual tasks. I will focus on determining the possibility of a sea route to the south as an alternative trade route to the east, while my brother Paolo will make discrete inquiries about a route by land that might be accessible to non-Arabs. In that all of us have been charged with finding what we can about King João's envoys Pero da Covilha and Afonso de Paiva, Paolo and I will talk to the local merchants and sailors, Rabbi Abraham and Josepe can talk to the local Jewish population, and Nicolau can talk to any young people at the city's university and library who might know of such things, and to any possible contacts through the two orders in which he has been inducted, though I suspect they will be few in number and difficult to contact. I have also asked Mustafa to seek out any leads among the Arab population."

"Mustafa?" I asked, blurting out in my surprise.

"Yes. You sound as if you disagree, Nicolau."

"Well, he is a Moor. Can he be trusted?"

"I think he has adequately proven his trustworthiness."

"He has?" I asked, again surprised.

"He helped save the life of Prince Afonso though he owned him no loyalty and could just as easily have made his escape when you freed him. He has performed his duties on this ship admirably, not once slacking even though he is receiving no pay. And perhaps most important of all, he saved us from attack by the Barbary pirates." "He did? But he admitted to me telling them we were going to Cairo."

"But omitted the fact we were first going to go to Rome, which he was fully aware of. So we had unchallenged passage north across the Mediterranean with the pirates furlongs to the east where they were expecting us to be from his information. And, in case they did not believe him and were watching us, he did warn us of their presence."

All that Father said was true. I had not considered that Mustafa had purposefully sent the pirates off in the wrong direction, assuming that he had expected us to be sailing east along the coast. I had misjudged him and would have been shamed had he not been a Moor.

"Now, as for searching for the Kingdom of Prester John, again that is something for all of us to inquire about, but Josepe has the advantage of being able to contact Jewish gem merchants in Cairo without arousing undue suspicion so that is something he can focus on. Similarly Rabbi Abraham has the better contacts that might be able to tell us about the status of Jerusalem, so he shall direct his time and efforts on that. You can follow up on both with any Christian contacts you might make as a knight of the Order of Saint John of Jerusalem and as King João's personal envoy to Jerusalem," Father continued, looking at me. "That you can combine with your main focus, inquiring about any artifacts from Egypt or the Holy Land. You have the knowledge for such things and your questions as a youth would raise less attention than the same questions coming from merchants such as Uncle Paolo or myself, or from devoutly religious men such as Josepe or Rabbi Abraham.

"Of course two obvious groups that might have information of relevance on all these matters are the local criminals, and local politicians. The first are dangerous and very skilled at what they do. My advice is to report whatever you might learn about them to me and we will together decide on the best course of action, if any. As for the politicians, most I am sure will not want to have any dealings with anyone who is Portuguese, Christian, or Jew, but there are always those whose greed is greater than any patriotic or religious obligations. If any of you hear of such men, as with the criminal population, find out all you can about them and report them to me and again we will together decide on a course of action. Nicolau, do not under any circumstance attempt to contact either yourself. They are a dangerous and unreliable sort and need to be dealt with carefully." Father inclined his head and raised his eyebrow to emphasize his point and I knew this was not something to disobey him on.

That afternoon and for each day following, Father had Mustafa give us lessons on Arabic, enough for us to get by on. The language was, I found, much different from Portuguese, Castilian, or Italian, all of which are very similar and make converse among the three relatively easy. Father, Uncle and the Jews found it most difficult and struggled with much frustration and required much practice. During one of our breaks while the adults practised, I thanked Mustafa for his efforts and asked why he was helping us.

"Your father and uncle have treated me fairly," he responded. "And you saved my life. When we reach Cairo I will be done and my debt to you will be paid." There was no kindness in his voice, and as thankful as I was, I felt no endearment toward him and would be happy when we reached Cairo and we parted company. He was, after all, a Moor, and there is no real difference between a Moor and the Arab heathens we were about to be mingling with.

It took us another four days to make port, not two, a southerly wind blowing us off course and causing us to have to constantly tack to the south. Upon our arrival, Three-finger Duarte got immediately to work and the rest of us split up to carry out our assignments. Father was most reluctant for me to venture out on my own, but where I had to go and who I had to talk to required it. Mustafa assured him that due to my many hours spent above deck and in the sails the sun had adequately darkened my skin that I could pass as a northern Arab. Uncle also observed that my many hours of handling the rigging and of sword practice had hardened my muscles so that one would think twice before engaging me in a fight. Father of course had no recourse but to agree, but insisted that wherever I went I take my sword, feeling that its mere presence would be a deterrent to any cutpurse. Cairo was a large city spread out on either side of a wide, muddy river that left its deposit in a sandy delta at the mouth of the river. I was told Cairo was the largest city west of Cathay, having before the black death reached a population of a million people. I could not imagine that many people living in one city, and as it was, despite hundreds of thousands having been killed by the plague, which was still claiming the weak and the elderly, it was still uncomfortably crowded to me. It was also, I must admit, frightening, especially surrounded by people who looked and dressed so different and whom I could barely understand.

I was most unsuccessful in my efforts the first day and returned to the ship as the sun set weary, sore-footed, and discouraged. The second day I fared no better. Uncle, on the other hand, had achieved the first of our goals. Upon returning to the ship and heading to Father's cabin to report to him, I found Father, Uncle and the two Jews sitting with a heavily bearded, darkly tanned man of about Father's age whom they introduced as the missing Envoy Pero da Covilha. He had arrived in Cairo only a day before we had and Uncle had been directed to him upon taking to some camel herders about trade with the east.

For the rest of the evening he enthralled us all with the tale of his travels. Disguised as Moorish merchants, he and Afonso de Paiva had travelled from Rhodes to Cairo and then on to El Tor, Sukin and Aden where they separated, Afonso de Paiva heading south in search of the land of Prester John and Pero da Covilha heading east across land and then in an Arab dhow to Cannanore and Calicut where men worshipped many gods, some with heads of animals and others with three heads and six arms. From there he travelled back west and then sailed down the coast of the dark continent to a land called Sofala where people were as dark as midnight, ignorant but strong and hardworking, an excellent source of slaves, and where he saw many strange animals, including one the size of a horse but spotted and with a neck the length of three men standing on each other's shoulders. He then sailed back north up the Red Sea and crossed land to Cairo, returning two years and three months after he had left. He spoke of finding the origin of the eastern spices, some of which we had not yet heard of, of burning deserts of sand stretching from horizon to horizon, and of salt lakes that were bitter to the taste and so full of salt a man could float on the surface and never sink. If he were not Portuguese, I would have thought him a liar, or insane. As it was, he had consumed several tankards of rum by the time he had told us of the fanciful spotted creature with the impossibly long neck and I had to question the reliability of the tales he spun but of course I was too courteous to do so. Upon being asked about a sea route to the south, he told Father it was eight hundred furlongs from Cairo to the Red Sea, across a land of low sandy and stony desert, three large salt lakes, and salt marshes. He had heard, however, of a powerful pharaoh many years ago who had a canal built to connect the Nile and the Red Sea at a place called as-Suways. Upon hearing this, Father was most eager to travel up the Nile to check it out and Covilha agreed it would be worth it and offered to accompany him, warning him though that such a trip there and back would likely take them a week. Father was hesitant to be separated from me for such a length of time, but Uncle encouraged him to make the trip and assured him he would look after me. Father at last agreed, but stipulated that upon his return we would sail back to Lisbon regardless if we had achieved our other missions.

Arrangements to travel up the Nile were made the next day with their departure to be the morning after. Covilha turned over his notes to Josepe for safekeeping along with a report on his findings, including the possibility of a sea route to the east. Upon their return, he said he would supplement his report with any findings he and Father made and give them also to Josepe to return to King João as he then planned on heading south to Abyssinia in search of the land of Prester John, despite having heard that very day of the death of his companion Afonso de Paiva. Rabbi Abraham expressed the wish to accompany him part way on such a journey before returning to Portugal himself.

Wishing Father a safe journey the next morning, I headed off on my own mission, envying Father his exploration and my head filled with the wonders Covilha had told us about, even of fanciful long-necked horses and lakes you could not sink in, and dreams of making my own discoveries some day. Such were my daydreams as I strolled the market that day until I became aware of a commotion behind me. Turning, I saw a slave trader who had been making his way through the market with his captives in tow, a group of boys between the ages of twelve and sixteen, in an altercation with a wild-looking man who apparently objected to the sale of human beings. As the guards accompanying the slave trader intervened, one of the slaves took advantage of the confusion to break away and headed directly toward me. As the slave trader called for someone to stop his runaway merchandise, I automatically drew my sword from its scabbard, not to stop the slave, as I too found the idea of men selling human beings abhorrent, but to prevent any of the guards from capturing him, an absurd idea considering my skill and their numbers.

The slave, a boy no older than myself, dodged around me, and to my surprise, yanked my sword from my hand and charged across the market, scattering sellers and buyers alike now that he was armed. Cursing, two of the guards pushed past me in hot pursuit, and I turned and raced after them in pursuit of my sword. Although the boy was young and agile, the two guards were determined and strong and soon caught up to him. The boy turned and met them fearlessly, having severed the leather binding his wrists with my sword. I had to admire his courage and his skill in using the sword as he fended off the two of them. Realizing he was not going to be able to beat them as they backed him up toward one of the stalls, he suddenly turned and made a break for it, attempting to dodge between two camels. Unfortunately one of the skittish animals kicked out, kicking him in the leg with a resounding crack and knocking him to the ground.

The slave trader arrived moments later, furious and out of breath. When he found out what had happened, he became even more furious. He spoke so rapidly I could not make out what he was saying, but it was evident even to me that a slave with a broken leg was not a good thing. Snapping something to one of the guards, he looked on angrily as much to my surprise the man raised his sword and with one sweep, cut off the boy's head. It was so sudden and so cruel I could only stand there and stare, too shocked to react to the sight of blood and the boy's severed head. The trader wheeled around and began to shout at me, evidently blaming me for the turn of events. Slowly realizing I did not understand a word of what he was saying, he stepped up to me with a puzzled look and studied me closely.

"You are not from Cairo," he observed, speaking slowly.

"No."

"Where are you from?"

"The north."

"Where in the north?"

"The foothills," I replied vaguely. "Caucasia." It was a response Mustafa had advised should I be stopped and questioned.

He said several more things, which I did not understand, and then something to the guards, and I suddenly found myself bound and being lead back to the other slaves. Despite my protests and struggles, I was taken along with the others to the citadel at the top of a hill overlooking the city. The individual receiving us was clearly not pleased and kept glancing over at me as he and the slave trader talked and as I tried my best to explain in Arabic that I was not a slave and protested such treatment. He was appeased only after the slave trader showed him the sword I had been carrying and turned it over to him. The agreement concluded, the slave trader and his guards left, the iron portcullis was slammed down, and we were ushered across the courtyard and into one of the low, squat buildings.

After forcing us to strip and bathe, we were given clean clothes, a plain, coarse, wide-sleeved shirt, baggy, grey trousers, and sandals, a uniform of sorts as we all received the same, and were split up. Bewildered, and admittedly frightened, imprisoned and surrounded by people I did not know and barely could understand, I cannot now recall much of those next few hours other than I was shouted at, pushed around, struck, and ignored. After our evening meal, a tasteless gruel of ground mullet and goat's milk to which had been added fatty chunks of mutton, we were left on our own and everyone immediately formed groups, the older and experienced forming one cluster and the younger another, and of course those who knew others or spoke their language forming groups within each cluster. That pretty much left me alone. As I stood there staring about hopelessly and still in shock, I was approached by a boy of the same age as myself who introduced himself as Dzhokhar, and as an Adyghe, or a Circassian, neither of which meant anything to me. That plus the fact that neither of us knew much Arabic quickly became apparent. That, along with being the same age and being there against our will, was enough to form a bond of friendship between us.

So began my new life as a kuttabiyya, a young Mameluke slave boy. Through Dzhokhar I learned that slave traders had a thriving business of capturing young boys to the north and to the east and selling them to the amirs, or in our case to the Sultan himself, to be trained as soldiers to serve in military posts or as guards. Boys who were captured were skilled in the use of the bow or spear or in horsemanship, and had or were about to reach the age where they could produce seed because, Dzhokhar said, such boys were young enough to be moulded into whatever it was they had in mind for us, yet had enough experience to have the aggressive and warlike qualities our future buyers were looking for. Those being trained here at the citadel were grouped on the basis of similarity in age and being from the same geographic area, which is why I had been mistakenly placed with Dzhokhar. The citadel, I learned, contained not just the slave barracks, but also barracks for the sons of the rulers who were receiving basically the same training though in separate schools, training grounds, barracks for the guards and instructors, a soldier's barracks for the royal guard as the palace buildings were on the same grounds, and several major religious buildings.

Arising at sunrise, we knelt for morning prayers, the first of five sets of prayers from sunrise to sunset which we were required to memorize and recite. After a simple meal of ground millet and milk, we were escorted to our classroom where we spent the morning learning the Arabic alphabet and learning to read, speak, and write the Arabic language by studying and copying their holy book, the Qu'ran. In the afternoon until the sun set we received lectures about the Moslem faith, Islamic law or shari'a, and Arabic history, were taught medicine and especially treatment of wounds, which came easy to me and I enjoyed, and were given lessons in archery, spear throwing, and in my case since I had a sword, swordplay. Others received training in using the lance and the mace and older boys were taught horsemanship. After our evening meal, again plain and simple and usually a stew of indeterminable and tasteless content, and our evening prayer, we went to bed. The next morning it was all repeated.

Of course every chance I had I tried to explain what had happened at the market and that I was not a slave, and of course every chance I had I tried to escape, but we were closely watched, in part so the newer slaves such as myself would not escape, and in part so the younger and newer slaves, like myself, would not be abused by the older slaves. Our guards, the muqaddam al-tibaq, were all older men, and, I learned all eunuchs. They were all very good at keeping us confined, and for the most part keeping us separated from the more experienced slaves, though there were a few who were lax in that regard, and I suspect enjoyed the torment of the younger boys and the depravity and cruelty of the older boys. With each passing day the more desperate I became to make my escape, certain that Uncle would be frantic with worry, especially after having given father assurance he would look after me, and I quickly began to get a reputation, for my constant attempts at escape, for my defiance of those in authority, and for my protection of the younger boys, for I could not stand by and see them abused by the older boys. The boys in my barracks saw me as a hero of sorts, all of them being fierce fighters themselves, one of the reasons they had been captured in the first place, and so admiring my courage and determination, and the older boys in the senior barracks saw me as a threat and a challenge.

There was one boy in particular, a boy of sixteen by the name of Bayed, who had it in for me, constantly teasing me right from my first day of captivity for my poor speaking skills, thinking me slow-witted, and for hanging around with the youngest boys, thinking me immature. For whatever reason he had it in his head that I was a Kurd, whom Dzhokhar informed me were warlike, nomadic tribes from the north but south of his own country. I suspect it was a rumour started by the slave trader who had captured me. I quickly realized that besides having a strong prejudice against these Kurds, Bayed was jealous, jealous of my popularity with the younger boys and admiration of the older ones, of my courage constantly trying to escape despite the daily whippings I received for doing so, of my good looks, he himself having a face that reminded me of a rat, and of my skill with the sword. He pushed me around, constantly challenging me to fight him, knowing being bigger, older, and stronger, that he had the advantage. When I refused, he took his frustration out on one of the younger boys, knowing that would provoke me into fighting him. He was right of course, and each time I came out the worst of it, and each time the eunuch guards punished me.

With each passing day I became more frustrated and more depressed. On the night of my fourth day of captivity, a particularly rough day, Dzhokhar tried to cheer me up.

"Being a Mameluke soldier, one of the ahl-as-saif, people of the sword, is not a bad thing," he reasoned. "A Mameluke soldier is much respected and to serve in the army or as a guard are honourable professions. One who works hard and does well can become free, even become Sultan over all the land. In what other land have you heard of that? And, if you are lucky you might be apprenticed under a soldier who will not only train you to be an excellent fighter, but will also love you and bring you much pleasure."

"Love me?"

"Oh yes. Many boys and their trainers become lovers."

"I thought sex between those of the same sex was forbidden and a thing despised."

"Oh no. Not among the Mamelukes. Not between a boy and his trainer. It is an honourable and most desired thing to have a lover, to experience true love between one man and one boy, for such is a special love, even better than love between a man and woman. And it is not at all like being a concubine. That is not true love between a man and boy. I would rather be dead than that," he concluded with a shudder.

"You would rather be dead than what?" asked Bayed, stepping out of the shadows. Neither of us had seen him lurking there.

"Someone's concubine," Dzhokhar responded.

"That is better than being a Kurd. I would rather be dead than a sheep-fucking Kurd," he said, glancing at me. "What are you doing talking to him anyway? You a Kurd-lover?"

"No," Dzhokhar said sullenly. Bayed jerked his head and Dzhokhar reluctantly got up and left. With a smirk at me, Bayed turned and followed him.

The next morning Dzhokhar avoided me. He was also walking strangely. Finally I managed to get him alone and asked him what was wrong. He tried backing away, saying it was best he not talk to me, and for me to leave him alone. When he tried to push past me I reached out and grabbed his arm and twisted him around and he winced with great pain. Pulling up his tunic, I discovered his ribs were badly bruised. He claimed it was the result of a wrestling practice, but finally admitted Bayed had beaten him the previous night. He was quite fearful and asked me to forget it and not do anything about it, and when I persisted he finally broke down and begged me to leave him alone. I knew there was more to what he had told and pressed him to tell me, much to my shame pushing him to his breaking point until he sobbed that Dzhokhar had raped him, and had threatened that his friends would do the same if he continued to associate with me. I became so angry I was ready to attack the bully then and there but Dzhokhar held me back and I realized it would be foolish. There was little chance I would beat him, and no chance that would change anything, and every chance that things would just go worse for Dzhokhar. Perhaps if I had acted on my impulse, my future would have been different. On the other hand perhaps my fate was already determined regardless. I do not know.

My anger simmered and built up inside me until late that afternoon as I watched Bayed prancing about the practice field and bragging what he had done until I could take no more. Having some skill with the sword, unlike my companions, I was placed with the older age group for practice, the only time I was near Bayed. As we took a break, I suddenly broke formation and charged toward him in challenge, which he eagerly accepted. We were at it before the trainers could stop me, and then the one in charge decided that if I was so foolish, he would let Bayed teach me a lesson. Bayed thought he would also, but neither took into account my rage. I will not belabour the point lest one think I was a braggart. The end result was that Bayed suffered a severely cut left arm and a broken leg and I would have killed him had the trainers not managed to intervene. Needless to say, the captain in charge was extremely angry, but I could tell at the same time reluctantly impressed with my ability, and, upon learning the cause of my attack, was angrier with Bayed. I was not so severely punished that night as I thought I might and suffered the lashes for my actions with the satisfaction of knowing Bayed would not be troubling any younger boys. The boys in my barracks practically worshipped me for my actions.

The next afternoon I was called from my studies and taken before the Captain in charge, an older soldier retired from active duty in the field. A tall, muscular soldier in his late twenties was sitting with him. From my little knowledge of the language, I gathered that he had come for Bayed, having been watching him, and as one of the best boys in the citadel, had been expecting to take him on as an apprentice in the field. He was not pleased to learn that Bayed would be laid up with his injuries for at least a month, likely longer. The Captain was not pleased either. For one, he had an injured slave he had to treat, one who's value would be lessened because of his injury and because of his rape of a younger cadet. For another, he had another cadet who was reluctant, uncontrollable and constantly trying to escape and who was going to require several years of language and combat training.

The two reached an agreement that satisfied the needs of both. I was turned over to the Mameluke soldier as an apprentice, taking the place of Bayed. He had an apprentice of at least some demonstrable skill and the required aggressiveness he was looking for though considerably younger than normal, and the Captain was rid of a troublemaker certain to bring him grief as long as he was at the Citadel. My new master and trainer, Usama el Hasan ibn Fuad, lead me out on the extra horse he had brought with my hands tightly bound though I had been given the leather armour and shield of a full graduate along with a bow and quiver of arrows and the sword I had arrived with. He said not a word as we headed out of Cairo to a camp of Mameluke soldiers on the outskirts of the city. Leaving it up to me to dismount with my bound wrists, he lead me to a tent which was obviously his. Pounding a stake into the ground, he tethered me to it. When he returned some time later with our evening meal, he still said nothing and handed me the plate of food, a fresh bun and I had to admit a tasty mutton stew, which I ate with my wrists still bound. After our evening prayer, he laid a blanket on the ground for me and said the only two sentences he was to say to me since we had left the Citadel. "Get a good sleep. We leave with a caravan for Jerusalem at dawn." If I was ever to see Father again, I was going to have to make my escape that night!

10. The Holy Land

Waiting until my captor's breathing grew slow and deep, I ever so carefully pulled on the stake to which I had been tethered but to no avail. It being pitch black in the tent I could not make out my captor but I stared in his direction nonetheless as I ever so slowly squirmed over to the stake and pushed on it, trying to loosen it, but it did not budge. Listening for the slightest change in his breathing, I turned around and pushed at the wooden peg with my feet with all my strength. It remained solid. Desperate, I began digging at the base as best I could with my bound hands but the ground was packed solid and after what I figured had to have been a candle mark I had barely made a shallow indentation. I tried to wiggle it loose again, and again pushed against it with my feet. It was no use. I tried rubbing the leather cord binding my wrists against the peg, hoping to wear it through, but the stake was too smooth, and I could find nothing else within reach sharp enough to do the job, Usama having hung our weapons on a peg in the tent beyond my reach. I finally fell asleep defeated and dejected.

It seemed like I had no sooner drifted off than Usama was shaking me awake. It was still pitch dark in the tent, which perhaps was fortunate or he would have seen the evidence of my attempts to escape during the night. I once again tried to explain to him how I had come to be in the slave quarters in the Citadel but he abruptly cut me off and told me if I continued he would gag me. I had no doubt that he would. After a quick meal of boiled millet and milk and our morning prayer, we saddled up and headed out with a half dozen others ahead of the caravan. We stopped only briefly once to allow the horses water and a chance to rest. The trail we were following was well-travelled and packed, resembling more a road than a trail, and we made good time. As we sat down for our evening meal, I heard one of the guards comment that we had travelled probably five hundred and seventy furlong. Following our meal, Usama set up a target in the desert and I practised until my arms were so fatigued it took my greatest effort to raise the bow and pull back the arrow without my arms quivering. Several other guards and their apprentices were practising nearby with maces or spears. After our evening prayer we retired to his tent, and to my surprise he did not bother binding my wrists or tethering me. I immediately began to make plans.

"One of the reasons we are hired to accompany caravans is because cowardly thieves try to slip into the camp and steal the horses and camels in the night. To steal a man's horse or camel is a most serious crime in the desert, even more serious than the killing of a man, which is what will happen to any thief unfortunate enough to be caught," he observed, his back to me. "Extra guards are posted after dark with instructions to kill anything moving on sight." I put my plans aside. Usama el Hasan ibn Fuad was not the type of man to lie, or to bluff. Had he known my thoughts or was he making conversation. He was not the type to engage in idle chat.

As we headed out the next morning, I was surprised to spot a familiar face. With his long, white beard and bushy eyebrows and scowling face and pale complexion, it was impossible not to spot him in the crowd of dark-skinned black-bearded arabs. What was Rabbi Abraham de Beja doing in the middle of the caravan? I was never so happy to see anyone in my life. One thing for certain, I did not expect to ever be so happy to see him. The trail we were following crossed the plains bordering the Mediterranean and remained as wide and as solidly packed as the day before and again we made just under six hundred furlongs. During the day I had come up with a plan, and as soon as we set up camp that night I kept an eye on the latrine trough that had been dug just beyond the camp. Seeing the figure I was waiting for, I got to my feet just as Usama announced this evening we would practise spear throwing. I motioned toward the trough and he nodded. Hurrying after the rabbi, I quickly stood beside him.

"Rabbi Abraham, I am so glad to see you," I whispered though there was nobody near to hear us.

He turned and looked at me quizzically, and then surprise and awareness came to his face.

"Nicolau! I did not recognize you. This is indeed a surprise. Your uncle has been worried sick over your absence. We all thought you killed. What in the name of the good Lord are you doing here of all places?"

As I began to explain my capture, he interrupted me and advised that if I did not have to I should at least pretend to be using the latrine. I quickly pulled out my member and quickly flushed with embarrassment, which was foolish for the rabbi certainly had no interest nor inclination to look at a young boy's penis. As I began urinating with great self-consciousness, I quickly related my tale.

"We had best return to the campsite," he whispered. "We do not want to raise suspicions. There will be plenty of time for us to talk on our journey."

"You were talking to the priest," Usama observed upon my return. I nodded, there being no point in trying to deny it, at the same time my mind scrambling for a reason. "He trying to convert you to Judaism?" I nodded again, thankful for Usama coming up with a reason for me. "Tomorrow as we ride, we will talk about the only true faith, that of Islam." With that he tossed me a spear and we headed off to practice along with several other guards and their apprentices.

We practised until the sun set and again my arms were fatigued.

The next day, true to his word, Usama spent the day talking about Islam and his god Allah and reciting quotes from their holy book, the Qu'ran. The day was spent much as the previous two days as we continued along the plateau bordering the Mediterranean. As we prepared camp that night, riders were seen in the hills to the east but they disappeared when scouts were sent to investigate. Extra guards were posted and Usama and I again spent the time remaining with weapons practice, this time with my sword.

"You are quite good with the sword," Usama observed. "Much better than I would have expected for a boy your age." It was not much as praises go, but then Usama was not much on conversation and even less on praise so I took what I could get. It did help soften my disappointment in not having had an opportunity to speak with Rabbi Abraham that evening. I was awoken in the early hours of the morning by harsh shouting and swearing and the clash of swords. Usama grabbed his sword and was out of our tent before I was even fully awake. I was uncertain what I should do, and most frightened, but I decided it would be best if I joined him. By the time I got my sword and headed toward the commotion, it was all over.

"I am pleased you joined me," Usama said as we headed back to our tent. "It shows you have courage. You must learn to be quicker on your feet though," he added, "or you will find the battle coming to you in your tent." If he suspected the reason for my delay, he gave no evidence of it. As we lay back down, he explained that there had been a party of bandits who had tried to steal the horses. "Now," he said, "there are five less of them." With that chilling thought we closed our eyes to sleep.

We continued on our way the next morning, the dead thieves left spread out beside the camp as a warning to those who had escaped. Usama continued his lessons on the Islam faith and explained to me shari'a, the law based on their beliefs that they followed throughout those lands occupied by the Moslems. In the later part of the afternoon the trail began to swing to the east and climb in elevation and Usama observed that by tomorrow night we would be in Jerusalem, or Al Quds, as the Arabs called the city. My heart leaped in my chest in panic. I had to talk to Rabbi Abraham. I had no idea what his plans might be once we reached the city and I had to discuss with him my escape. After setting up our tent, I excused myself to use the latrine trench and I stayed as long as I could but Rabbi Abraham either did not see me or he chose not to join me. That evening was spent again at arms practice, the lance and the mace, along with several others with us apprentices matched up and sparring against each other. The others were older than myself by two or three years and all bigger and stronger, but I was more agile, and must say without wishing to sound like a braggart, more skilled, though by the end of the session I had my share of bruises and cuts. Usama was a tireless taskmaster, but a good instructor, and I actually found myself looking forward to our practices, if not the scrapes and the exhaustion I felt when we were done. After our prayers, I excused myself to use the latrine trench again, purposefully weaving through the camp in the hopes Rabbi Abraham would see me or I would spot him but to my dismay he was nowhere in sight.

Arriving at the trough, I had no sooner taken out my member than a figure stepped up beside me, causing me to jump. It was the rabbi. He apologized for startling me and I said that he hadn't and I was just getting a more sound footing beside the trench. I doubt if he believed me, and afterward I felt bad, and foolish, lying to a priest and thinking I could fool him. In that we had little time, he quickly told me what had happened when I had not shown up back at the ship. Uncle had gone in search of me that very night, despite the danger to himself, and he had organized the crew into search parties as soon as the sun was up the next morning and had gone searching again despite having had no sleep. They had searched every day to no avail. He reported that Mustafa was particularly tireless in his efforts to find out what had happened, staying out most of the night with some of the more nefarious citizens of the city. Uncle was frantic and out of his mind with worry and with sorrow. When four days had passed without word they had to come to the conclusion that I had met with foul play though Uncle stated he would never believe I was dead until he saw my corpse himself.

During this time the rabbi had learned about the caravan travelling to Jerusalem, or Yerushalayim as he called it, and he could not pass up the opportunity to travel to the city, not just for his own personal and obviously religious reasons, but to carry out his mission from King João besides. Knowing Father, whom they had estimated would be returning the evening of the day the caravan was heading out, would want to conduct his own investigation regarding my disappearance and that he would extend it for as long as possible, Uncle Paolo had given the rabbi his blessing, knowing there was nothing more the priest could do in Cairo. Estimating the journey to Jerusalem to be five days and five days return, and figuring the caravan would remain there three days maximum to sell their goods and pick up new wares, Uncle Paolo said he would try to convince Father to stay for two weeks before journeying back to Portugal in case the rabbi changed his mind about going south with da Covilha and wished to return to Portugal. He figured given how Father would feel regarding my disappearance, Father would readily agree.

As we headed back to the camp, Rabbi Abraham said not to worry. We had a little more than a week yet to convince my captor to release me, and if we could not convince him I had been inappropriately enlisted into the army, Father would readily buy my freedom. "In the meantime, you are under the protection and care of a good man. I have made inquiries, and from all reports this Mameluke who has taken you as an apprentice is a strict but not a cruel master." I returned to my tent much relieved and happier than I had been since my capture nine days past.

"You have been gone a long time," Usama said as I arrived at our tent. It was said as an observation, not as a question or accusation, but I knew it was the latter two nonetheless.

"I, ah, got turned around in the dark and headed in the wrong direction."

"I thought we were making progress turning you into a soldier," he said disapprovingly. "In the dark a good soldier knows he should follow his nose, not his eyes."

In the pale light of the moon I could see a faint smile that did not match the gruffness of his voice and I had to smile also. Rabbi Abraham had been correct. Usama was a decent individual, for a heathen arab. The prospects of him agreeing to grant me my freedom, or at least negotiating my freedom with Father was very good. For the first time in many days I slept well and woke looking forward to the day.

Our trail continued to climb but we made good time and arrived at the edge of the city that evening, the caravan camping at the edge of the outer wall and the merchants we had been guarding preparing for their trading the next day. I had thought that we would have a break from our duties, but we were still required to guard the camp, not from marauders, but from thieves and vagabonds from the city. So to my disappointment the next day Usama and I remained in the camp and patrolled its borders while he continued to lecture me on Islam and shari'a and to drill me on the use of my sword.

During one of our breaks in practice, he asked how I had come to possess such a fine weapon. I could hardly tell him I had received it upon being invested as a knight of the Langue of Aragon, Order of Saint John of Jerusalem. I instead said it had been a gift, from my father, and in that it was really a gift from the Holy Father it was not totally a lie. I added that my father was actually a merchant, and again attempted to explain to him that I had been wrongly captured by a slave trader right there in Cairo and included in a company of slaves that had been purchased by the Emperor. Unlike the eunuchs at the Citadel and the previous times I had tried to explain my situation to him, he did not stop or interrupt me.

"You are not from Cairo, nor an Egyptian," he observed when I had finished.

"No."

"Then it does not matter. Anyone who is not an Egyptian or a free Mameluke is a potential slave for the Emperor or the Princes, amirs and beys who rule this land. The nationality or occupation of your father is of no matter." Before I could respond, he got to his feet and we resumed my training.

To my delight, those who had gone into the city the day before now took our places on guard duty and we spent the day in the city. Jerusalem is an ancient city straddling a cluster of hilltops and valleys called the Har Yehuda. Although the city was drab and dusty and crowded and many of the buildings showed signs of damage and repair, the result of the many invasions and wars over the years, I walked in awe just being in such a holy place where so many events in the Bible took place, perhaps even walking in the very same street as had Jesus and his disciples so many years ago. The walled city is divided into four very distinct quarters, the Christian, Jewish, Arab and Armenian with the market, the suq, lining the main street running through the middle of the city.

We of course visited the Dome of the Rock, a huge building with a gold dome, and the Al Aqsa Mosque, both over thirteen hundred years old, on the site where the Moslems believe their prophet Muhammad ascended to heaven. On the same hill is the Temple Mount, or Haram esh-Sharif, where it is believed Abraham almost sacrificed his son Isaac. In our wandering we came upon a stone wall five or six men tall at least, before which on this day I witnessed several dozen black-garbed, bearded men swaying back and forth and chanting Jewish gibberish in that high-pitched voice of theirs they use when praying. Usama explained to me that the wall, called the Wailing Wall on account of what I had just witnessed, was all that was left of the temple built by King Herod, the temple itself having been destroyed over fourteen hundred years ago.

Nearby was the hill of Golgotha where Jesus was crucified and buried and where the Christians built the Church of the Holy Sepulchre three hundred years before the Moslems built the Dome of the Rock. Although no longer a Christian, Usama climbed up the hill for a closer look and to take in the view of the city from the top. I felt most strange standing there looking out at the sprawl of drab buildings and realizing I was standing on the very hill that our Lord and Saviour had been crucified and buried, and my arms turned to gooseflesh as the thought crossed my mind.

As Usama began talking to an inhabitant of the city, I spotted an individual, a Dominican friar it appeared from his robes, coming out of the Church. Taking advantage of the opportunity that had presented itself, I approached him, and finding he spoke Italian, I revealed myself as a knight of the Order of Saint John of Jerusalem, showing him my sword as proof. He was most astounded, and most dismayed that I had been enslaved by the Mamelukes, but apologized he was unable to do anything to free me. I thanked him for his concern, and asked only that if he might, he relay to the Holy Father having met me, and through him or his order, let my father know I was alive and well in the chance that things did not go as I was hoping.

"I will most certainly do both, my son. I am here on a pilgrimage, and am most eager to return to Rome. Never have I seen such a collection of all manner of abominations gathered in one place as this. Saracens, Greeks, Syrians, Jacobites, Georgians, Maronites, Turkomans, Bedouins, Assassins, Druzes, Mamelukes, and the most accursed of all, Jews. Only the Latin Christians long with all their hearts for Christian princes to come and subject all the country to the authority of the Church of Rome." (1)

With that I fully agreed and would have exchanged impressions of the Holy Land with him more but unfortunately Usama had finished his conversation and called me to join him so we were unable to converse further. We returned to camp that afternoon and for the remainder of the day Usama instructed me in the finer details of horsemanship. I took to my training with a lightened heart, having found much joy in finding and talking to someone who was a Christian, even if I was beginning to question the morality, and I dare confess, the teachings of the Holy See and had no close ties to those of the Dominican order, and encouraged that in one more day we would be returning to Cairo, and hopefully my freedom. So it was that I did not mind remaining in camp the following day and took to my training with such enthusiasm and effort that Usama was most pleased and complemented me on my improvement. To be truthful, he was a good teacher, and a good master, strict and stern but always encouraging and constructive in his criticism. Had he not been a heathen and I a slave, I would have enjoyed his company.

Arising early the next morning, we helped the merchants load their camels and break camp and we headed west, away from the city. Usama and I joined several others as advance scouts and spurred our horses along the trail, alert for any marauders intent on relieving the merchants of their hard-earned cash and newly obtained goods. The trail and the surrounding hills somehow seemed different to me but then there had not been anything remarkably distinct about them on our travel to the city and I paid it little thought as I concentrated on looking out for thieves, because that was my job, and because they would just as readily kill a reluctant slave boy as a loyal Mameluke soldier or a fat merchant.

Spotting movement up on one of the hills, several of us spurred on our horses up the ridge. To my relief the riders were a family of nomads simply passing by, heading for a lower elevation and warmer climes. Looking back up the valley, I observed that the caravan looked very small from our vantage point, and, in fact, looked half the size I had expected. Usama laughed, and said that was because it was, half the size that is. The caravan had split, and half was returning south to Cairo while the other half, which we were escorting, were taking their new goods north to Damascus!

I stared down at the line of horses and camels in dismay, my heart heavy as lead in my chest. North to Damascus? I had never even heard of Damascus. What of Rabbi Abraham? Was he also travelling north with us, or was he on his way back to Cairo without me! And what of my escape! It would take the rabbi five days to reach Cairo. It would take Father five days to travel to Jerusalem, and who knows how many more days to Damascus, and then that amount of time to return to the Theresa del Morau. My hope of rejoining Father was shattered! A great sorrow enveloped me and I remember not the remainder of that day. Even the chance encounter with the Dominican friar and the fortunate conversation I had with him about informing my father incase my plans went awry did nothing to comfort me. (2)

"Why so sad?" Usama asked after our evening prayer as we spread out our mats for sleeping.

I could not tell him that my plans on escaping or negotiating my freedom had been thwarted. He had been allowing me more and more freedom with each day and if I told him of my clandestine efforts to leave he would surely bind my wrists and tether me to a stake at night like they did to their horses so they would not wander. "I miss my father," I replied honestly.

"I understand," he said, and I looked up at him, surprised at the concern and understanding in his voice. "I missed my father too, when I was first captured. And my mother and sisters."

"You were captured?"

"Yes," he replied, just as surprised that I had not known. "Of course," he said as he realized the reason for my puzzlement. "You were not that long in the Citadel, nor are you from Egypt."

"No."

"Well, all free Mamelukes, soldiers and rulers, were at one time captured and began their new lives as slaves. Slave traders roam the hills and steppes to the north and to the west and east seeking young boys, boys of twelve to fourteen years of age, sometimes younger, sometimes older, boys who are fierce warriors and with brave hearts and strong bodies. These boys become slaves and are taught the true faith, that of Islam, and of the one true god, Allah, and of his prophet, Mohammad, may Allah bless him, and are trained to be soldiers and guards and are sold to the amirs and the Princes who rule this land, or to the Sultan himself. I am one such boy, and was the same age as you when I was captured near my home of Yerevan."

"You were captured and made a slave?"

"Yes, fourteen years ago."

"But you just purchased me, did you not?"

"Yes, I am now a free man. Because of my services to the Sultan, he has granted me a small piece of land, and I can now purchase my own slaves to guard it, though for now I must earn a living the only way I know how, as a guard myself and as a member of the Royal Army. If I am successful, I will become a commander of ten, and then a hundred, perhaps even an amir-i-nuyan, a commander of a thousand, or even a bey. Perhaps," he said with a smile, "some day I will become Sultan."

I recalled Dzhokhar saying something like that. "A slave can really become Sultan?" I asked incredulously.

"Most certainly. Egypt has been ruled by former slaves for many years, centuries."

"And these former slaves buy more slaves to serve in their armies and as guards?"

"That is correct. How else can they replace the men in their army or their service who have been killed or injured, or increase the size of their armies to frighten off their enemies?"

"By having children who become soldiers like their fathers? Or hiring men who wish to become soldiers?"

"Sadly, that is beginning to happen more and more frequently. It was much better when sons of soldiers could not become soldiers, and sons of the amirs could not become amirs upon the death of their fathers unless elected. In the old days they did not recruit from the Egyptian people for such positions either. There was no favouritism then, and not so much corruption. Fortunately most still stick to the old ways, but things are changing." (3)

"So you did not always follow the Islam faith?"

"Oh no, I was a Christian before I was captured. But, Allah be praised, I have seen the falseness of that faith."

"All Egyptians are Moslems."

"Oh yes, for a very long time, hundreds of centuries."

"But not all Egyptians are Mamelukes."

"Oh no, only the rulers, and the military."

"And how do the Egyptians who are not Mamelukes feel about this?"

"Most believe the Mamelukes are a blessing from Allah, sent to look after them."

"And you feel this way?"

"Certainly. We are much trusted and admired and held in great prestige. At first it hurt to be away from my family and friends, but with the passage of time it hurt less, and I see now that my capture was a blessing from Allah, for my life today is much better than it would ever have been in Armenia as the third son of a tribal chieftain. You will see. Your hurt will grow less too. But enough talk. It is time for sleep." (4)

As I closed my eyes, I had much to think about. Christians who were thankful they were converted to Islam? Slaves who became freemen and purchased their own slaves? Slaves who could become governors and even the ruler of the entire country? It was like some bizarre world where everything was the opposite to what you believed and were accustomed to. No matter what he had said, one thing I knew: my hurt of being separated from my father would never lessen. As I thought of Father and Uncle and the very real likelihood I would never see them again, tears came to my eyes. As I tried to stifle my sobs, Usama shuffled over and put his arm about me in comfort. A master comforting a slave? It was while pondering that final contradiction that I fell asleep.

Damascus was not as far away as I had anticipated. We arrived at the city walls the evening of the next day. That night Usama talked again of his boyhood and his boyhood home, I think welcoming the opportunity to talk about things he could not talk about with others, and again as we lay down to sleep, he placed our mats side by side and I fell asleep with his arm wrapped about me. The next day the merchants conducted their business. We visited the Umayyid Mosque where we said our noon prayers and then returned to our camp to continue my training for the afternoon and evening, there not being much of interest for either of us in the city. That night, as the previous two, we lay side by side, for warmth and for comfort as the temperatures were dropping close to freezing at night. As I was about to doze off, I snuggled back into the curve of his body, and felt his arousal press against my backside, rigid and hot.

I immediately pulled away in surprise and in embarrassment, embarrassment for myself having felt his member in such a state, and embarrassment for him for surely he had to know I had felt and understood his condition. As I lay there, I realized that he must be wondering what was going on in my mind. From my reaction he had to be assuming I had pulled away in disgust, and in fear of what his intentions might be. Nothing could be farther from the truth. I had not found his arousal disgusting, nor was I afraid. He had treated me with nothing but kindness and respect and I had no reason to believe that would change. I knew I should settle back once again as if I had noticed nothing and as if my initial response had nothing to do with my discovery. Too much time had lapsed for that to be believable. Yet to do nothing was wrong too. I lay there in indecision, and before I could resolve the problem I fell asleep.

In the morning, I was told the caravan was continuing north to the city of Palmyra. Although two-thirds as far as the distance between Jerusalem and Damascus, Usama figured it would take us a day longer, the trail being less travelled and climbing as it skirted the dry mountains to the southwest of the city and followed the edge of the vast desert extending to the east and southeast. Nothing was said of the night before, and he acted as if nothing had happened. I, however, could think of nothing else as we saddled up and headed out and throughout the entire day. We rode all day and had only a brief time for swordplay before night fell. As we spread out our sleeping mats, I had to broach the topic.

"Back at the Citadel, Dzhokhar said that it is the custom of Mameluke soldiers to lay with their apprentices."

"It is common," Usama admitted, "but it is not compulsory. It is all part of the code of the ahl-as-saif, the men of the sword as we are called. It is part of furusiyya, the code by which we live, the code of courage, generosity and loyalty, the bond that unites us all as men of the sword. The bond between soldier and patron, or between royal soldier and Sultan, khushdashiyya, begins with the bond of loyalty and trust formed between teacher and recruit. Sex between teacher and recruit is evidence of that bond, one of many indications of such a bond."

"But you were once Christian."

"That is true."

"Did not your priests in your land tell you it was an abomination in the eyes of the Lord for those of the same gender to lay with each other?"

"You are Christian?"

"Yes. I have been taught that sex between men is a sin and an abomination in the eyes of God."

"It is what you have been taught. Is it what you believe?"

I had to pause before responding. "I do not know." I could not lie to him.

"Our priests told us as yours told you. Such lies and oppression of the true nature of man are only a small part of why I turned my back on Christianity and embrace the one and only true faith, that of Islam."

"But I thought that Allah felt as God, and Moslems feel as Christians about man laying with man."

"Perhaps some imams and khatibs, preachers, but not the common man, and not the ahl-as-saif. The balls of preachers are wrinkled as prunes and dried up from lack of use and they would have all men go without sex as do they," he said with a smile, "but men of the sword live by their balls, and the balls of the ahl-as-saif are always ripe and full. Besides, Allah is a forgiving god, not like the God of the Christians. He only asks that if man lay with man he do so privately and not openly, and that they engage willingly, not by force and in the streets like the men of Sodom."

"Then for a Mameluke it is not a sin for two men, or a man and a boy, to lay together, or spill their seed together?"

"We are told in the Qu'ran that man shall not lay with man as he does with woman. A man lies with a woman for one reason, and that is to make children. A man lays with a man for pleasure, the pleasure of producing seed, and for arousing the other to produce seed. He does not lay with man as he does with woman, out of duty to make children. The pleasure of producing seed is too great to be limited so."

"And this is part of khushdashiyya, the bond between soldier and Sultan, and between soldier and recruit."

"This is correct."

"But you have not lain with me."

"It is… an expression of the bond, but not a requirement. There are many soldiers who do not lay with those they teach, though there are many more who do."

"You do not desire to lay with me because you have no desire to lay with boys, or because I do not arouse in you the desire?"

"Oh, I do find pleasure in laying with boys, and a man would have to be dead below the waist not to desire you. You are bold and aggressive, strong and skilled for your age, and a handsome boy, all the qualities a Mameluke soldier values and finds arousing. I have made no advance because I know what happened at the Citadel, and I would not force you to submit to me, and would not want you to think I was using my position as teacher and master or my strength to force you."

"What happened at the Citadel was wrong. Bayed was a bully, and he raped Dzhokhar just for being friendly to me. He did not deserve that. And it was not right that he was forced to engage in sex regardless of the reason."

"You are right. No boy or man should be forced to submit to another sexually."

"It was common at the Citadel. Some of the eunuchs ignored what was happening. Some encouraged it."

"Huh, the muqaddam al-tibaq," he spat. "They are filthy dogs, freaks, despised by all, men and women. They allow the rapes because they have no balls themselves and can never know the pleasure of producing seed."

"If they are so despised, why are they allowed to be guards and teachers of young boys, not just slaves, but sons of the Sultan?"

"Because they have no balls, they have no lustful desires of the flesh so there is no fear of young boys being molested by them. Besides, because they are feared and ostracized by all others, they are extremely loyal to their masters and would never consider such a thing. Loyalty is an essential quality in a guard."

"Loyalty is a great value in any man."

"True. Though I know you are no Circassian as I had been lead to believe, I did not and still do not know what country you are from. I did not know until now that you were a Christian and so until now I did not know your feelings or that of your countrymen regarding those of the same gender engaging in sex together."

"I am not against it, done willingly. I have lain with other boys," I confessed, feeling a great sense of relief and comfort being able to admit and discuss such things that I had been keeping secret and holding in shame for so long.

"And has a man penetrated you?"

"No," I admitted. That I had done other things with men I did not think need be mentioned. "Not because I would be against such a thing," I found myself saying.

"Then perhaps it is time to correct this deficiency in your training," he said with a slight grin, and I was not about to disagree.

We had been sitting on our mats and facing each other as we talked. He now reached out and pulled my loose linen shirt over my head, the two of us having removed our leather armour upon entering our tent for the night, and then he removed his, leaving the two of us only in our thongs. Sitting behind me, he began to massage me, my shoulders, my back muscles and my upper arms, squeezing and releasing my muscles, pressing down on them and pushing his fingers along them and then back. It was not unlike what he had done at times after a particularly strenuous exercise, or what I had seen other soldiers doing to each other after a long day's ride except we were in the privacy of our tent and were wearing nothing other than a thin linen cloth wrapped about our waists and looped between our legs for the purpose of cleanliness. The tightness in my muscles quickly disappeared as my blood flowed through them and warmed them.

Still sitting behind me, he reached around and began to massage my chest, pressing his fingers down firmly and massaging in a circular motion. Bending his head, he kissed the back of my neck gently and whispered in my ear, telling me to close my eyes and relax, to inhale and exhale deeply and slowly and to concentrate on the loosening of my muscles. I did so and a feeling of calm filled my body and my limbs felt weightless. His fingers, moving in tight circles, caressed my chest and down over my ribs and back up, and then circled my nipples, the circle wide but ever so gradually becoming tighter and tighter until his fingertips ever so lightly stroked my nipples, sending tingles of arousal through them. He continued ever so slowly and gently and continued to kiss the back and sides of my neck and my cheeks until my nipples were hard and tingling with arousal.

Slipping around so he was sitting in front of me, he began to caress my back with the same firm, tight circles and he kissed my face gently, his lips and beard barely touching my flesh. He kissed my lips with the same gentle, feathery touch, and my member began to stir in the cloth binding it. As it slowly began to swell, he once again began to caress my nipples, sending sharp ripples of arousal through them and through my chest. I began returning his kisses, trying to be as gentle and slow as he was but nowhere near as rhythmic. Feeling I should be doing more, I raised my hands and touched his chest with my fingertips but he took them and lowered them and told me to just concentrate on the feelings passing through my body, that to please a man a boy had to first feel the pleasure of lovemaking and that there would be plenty of days to come to reciprocate.

It felt strange and uncomfortable just sitting there and having him caressing and kissing me, but I did as I was told and concentrated on the feelings of warmth and calm pulsating through my flesh, and the growing arousal radiating out from my now firm and irritated nipples and from my swelling member as it pressed against the cloth wrapped about my loins. Sitting cross-legged before each other, he began to caress my thighs, again ever so slowly and gently, but as his fingertips passed over my inner thighs my member ached and began to swell even faster, pressing against the linen strip between my legs. Continuing to gently kiss my face, my cheeks, my eyelids, my forehead, my lips, he slowly untied my thong and lifted the narrow cloth up and lay the front end over my crossed legs and the back end over my sleeping mat, exposing my member which stood up between my legs eagerly and proudly.

He ignored my stiff member as he continued to caress my thighs, spreading his fingers wide and stroking my thighs from knee to crotch as he continued to kiss me. At some point he loosened his own thong but when I have no idea in that I kept my eyes closed and concentrated totally on the feelings passing through my body, and particularly on the throbbing of my now erect member and the ache about the opening as the desire to spurt my seed began to grow stronger. It was not until he told me to lie back and he supported my back as I unwrapped my legs and lay back that I opened my eyes and saw he was also naked, and also erect. Of course it was not the first time I had seen his member, the two of us having used the latrine trench side by side and the two of us washing our bodies in front of each other in the privacy of our tent. It was the first time I had seen it erect of course, and in the condition of arousal that I was, so that was much different. He was large, much like Leonardo da Vinci whose cock had been the largest I'd seen until now, two hands long and so thick my fingers and thumb could not touch when wrapped about it, Usama a little longer but a bit thinner, and his cock a darker colour.

Reaching over and taking a bottle out of his saddlebag, he opened it up and pouring a small amount of its contents into the palm of his hand, he smeared it over his cock, causing it to glisten in the candlelight. It was, he said, the oil from a plant that grew in the west part of the dark continent and that looked much like the palm trees that grow in Cairo and in oases in the desert. Having me lie on my back and raise my legs and throw them back over my head so my backside was raised off the ground, he rubbed his oily fingers against my butthole and then inserted the tip of his littlest finger in my anus and twisted it and then slowly sunk his finger up my ass up to the last joint. He then repeated with the next finger, and then the next, until he had inserted each of his fingers one at a time. His last finger, his pointer finger, he pumped in and out of my ass half a dozen times, giving me much pleasure.

Then, kneeling behind me, he placed the tip of his oiled member against my hole and told me to push out, which of course I knew from being fucked by Ahmar and Michaelangelo. Ever so slowly I felt his bulb press against my opening and ever so slowly stretch it open. Inhaling deeply, I pushed out with all my strength, not just to lessen the strain on my anus but because I wanted to make it less painful for him, knowing from my own experiences how painful penetration can be when one is putting all his strength into inserting the most sensitive part of a man into another. I had not reckoned with the oil he had used, and despite his size and my comparative inexperience in being penetrated by another, he slid his knob into my rectum with relative ease, and then continued to ease his cock into my body until my balls were nested in his coarse hairs, like a pair of dove's eggs he said with a smile, and his own huge, hairy balls were pressed up between my thighs

As I looked up into his eyes, he smiled down at me with reassurance, and with pleasure. He was to tell me later there were many positions for the act we had engaged in, many of which he would teach me, but this was his favourite for it allowed the two participants to look into each other's eyes, which he said, were windows to one's soul. I had only engaged in this position once before, when Cardinal Giovanni de'Medici had eagerly spread his legs and I had fucked him face to face. I had not had any thoughts about the eyes being windows to the soul at that time, being more concerned about the pleasure pulsating between my legs and my certainty that my soul was condemned to hell at the time.

Insuring I was comfortable, he inhaled deeply and began to fuck me. Or, I think, more appropriately, we began fucking together. I was as much aware of him inside me as I was aware of my flesh surrounding his stiff, throbbing member, and as much aware of his pleasure as my own. It was unlike anything I had previously experienced. With Ahmar, the first to penetrate me, it had been exciting and lustful and unknown, the mystery and novelty of it all overwhelming all else. With Michaelangelo, the only other to have known me this way, it was contained, more intellectual than physical somehow, perhaps because of the company I had been keeping. With Ahmar there had been a sense of forbiddance and a sense of love for each other, the love that forms between two good friends. With Michaelangelo there had been more a sense of it being a right and more about physical pleasure.

With Usama it was different. There was a sense of love also, the love that exists between a pupil and favourite teacher or between a beloved master and apprentice, but also the love that exists between close companions, between brothers united by choice, not by having a common parent. As he eased his cock in and out of my body, he leaned forward and kissed me gently, on the forehead, on the cheeks, on the mouth, and I returned those kisses. He was my master and I a slave in training, he had taken me with him by force and was keeping me with him against my will, but still I felt a love for him that was more than physical attraction. I could sense the same feelings coming from him, which is probably why I felt the way I did. It was strange to feel that way about another, especially a male, and especially an adult. It also made our sex so much different.

Unlike Ahmar and Michaelangelo, Usama paused frequently, prolonging our lovemaking fourfold. We did not build up to a peak and then pause for our passions to subside, but rather we built up to one peak ever so slowly, pausing frequently to delight in the pleasure pulsating through our union, not to wait for it to lessen. His cock and my rectum throbbed in unison, becoming one flesh so I could not tell which was his and which was mine. My anus burned with pleasure like the rim of a man's bulb burns when stroked. My rectum throbbed warmly and sent pulsations of warmth through my groin and up my cock, which was firm and throbbing also despite not being touched. The pleasure he was feeling having his throbbing cock surrounded by my hot, moist flesh was matched by the pleasure I was feeling having his stiff, hot cock throbbing in my body, and by the pleasure of my own throbbing member.

Slowly our breathing became more laboured and our flesh grew flushed and damp with sweat from our exertion and from our passion. I inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of his manliness and of our sex deep into my lungs and he thrust his cock deep into my body. I exhaled with a dizzy pleasure as my member jerked and ached to spurt a load of seed. His breathing was laboured also, and as I wrapped my arms about his chest and my thighs about his hairy legs, I closed my eyes and threw back my head in ecstasy like I had never felt before, feeling as if I was floating in the air, held up only by the rigid, throbbing cock up my ass. I gasped and panted for breath as if we had been a candle mark at swordplay, and in a sense I guess we were, the swords being those of flesh and jutting up from between our legs, not held in our hands.

As his bulb sank deep up my rectum I felt it brush against something deep inside me, a little marble that sent pangs of desire up the core of my cock and caused the tip and rim to burn. Inhaling deeply, I pressed my buttocks against his groin in desperation, needing to shoot my seed. He began to fuck faster, ramming his cock up my ass and driving me back against our sleeping mats, and then drawing his cock out almost the entire length and then ramming it back into me. I worked my anal muscle in time, grasping his cock as it withdrew, relaxing as it sank back in. He was gasping for breath also, inhaling my scent and his mingled together, and he bent his head and nibbled on my neck, his coarse beard brushing against my cheek and against my shoulder.

Inhaling more deeply yet, he shuddered and arched his shoulders and I could feel a hot flood up my rectum and I knew he was filling me with his seed. The thought of that and of his immense pleasure caused me such pleasure that I felt a twitch deep in my groin and as I felt the familiar burn racing up the core of my swollen cocklet I arched my back and whimpered with ecstasy as I too shot my seed. It spurted out of the tip of my swollen cock with a burning ferocity and with such force it flew through the air and struck the hollow of my neck. Spurt after spurt shot through the air as spurt after spurt of his shot up my rectum. I spattered his chest and mine, my thin, watery seed landing in creamy globules on my smooth chest and oozing down my ribs. Gasping for breath, we inhaled the warm air scented by our seed, a musky, fungal fragrance that clung heavily in the air, blanketing our hot, perspiring bodies. Pressing his naked body against mine, he held me close, my seed a sticky paste between our bodies.

Our breathing still laboured, we clung to each other as our spurts lessened in force and volume and we lay there in a dazed bliss, his stiff cock still up my ass and basking in his seed, my stiff cocklet pressed between his stomach and mine, my hot seed gluing our flesh together. We kissed briefly, teasingly, and tongued each other's cheeks and lips, our tongues darting in and out like the tongues of adders. We lay there united, for the longest time, our passions slowly ebbing away until our breathing was normal and the blood in our veins ceased to pound. At last he drew up and eased his cock out of my body. It was semierect and smeared with his seed and my ass slime, and the hairs on his chest were matted with my seed. My rectum felt empty without his cock stuffing it, but I could feel his thick wad deep inside me. My own chest was smeared and sticky with my own seed, a puddle of creamy white still in the hollow of my neck and my short hairs matted with my cream. As we glanced at each other, we did not have to express our pleasure.

Awaking the next morning, I felt embarrassed about what we had done, and not knowing what I should say or do, I kept my eyes to the floor of our tent as we dressed and began to pack our belongings. As I glanced out of the corner of my eye and our eyes met, he smiled broadly at me, his dark eyes bright, and I returned the smile, knowing that he too had been thinking about the night, and had found as much pleasure in it as I. As we headed out on the trail that morning I felt surprising buoyed despite the fact we were moving farther and farther away from Father and the likelihood we would ever see each other again was growing slimmer with each passing day. As we ate with the other guards that evening they seemed somehow more friendly and more jovial, and I often caught the younger of them glancing at me, and when I caught them they flashed me a knowing grin. I slowly began to suspect why and I blushed, causing the others to grin all the more broadly and engage me in conversation all the more eagerly. Up until that night they had largely ignored me.

"Did you tell anyone about last night?" I asked after our evening prayer and as we lay out our sleeping mats. "I mean, you know, about what we did?"

"From the squeals you made it was hardly necessary," he said with a grin.

"The squeals I made?" I asked as if indignant, though I could not keep the smile from my face.

"All right, we made," he confessed. "In the quiet of the night one did not need the ears of an owl to hear. Besides, if any did not hear, they could not miss the obvious from our smiles and the spring in our steps today."

That was very true. We made love again that night, and to me it was even more pleasurable and more unbelievable than the previous night. As I lay there afterward, I could not help but marvel at how good it had felt, and how good I felt. Yes, I could still feel a nag of guilt and a feeling of sin, but it was faint and far away, as far away as Father Francesco back in Viano do Castelo. The following evening we arrived at Palmyra and set up just outside the city wall. Usama and I were on guard duty for the first part of the night, but when we retired to our tent we made love again for the third time, for just as long. The next day we accompanied the merchants into the city and helped them set up in the market. Why a thriving town like Palmyra had become established in the middle of the desolate Tadmorean Desert, I did not understand. Dry, barren mountains to the north, west and southwest cut off the Mediterranean coast while to the south and east extended a dry, flat desert, the dark reddish-black volcanic rock giving it a foreboding look.

I was told by one of the merchants that Palmyra was an ancient city dating back before the birth of Christ, supposedly established by King Solomon himself, and at one time silks and spices from India were brought up through the Persian Gulf and then up the Euphrates River to the east. Mounted archers used to protect caravans as they made their way from the river through the passes and wadis of the eastern desert to Palmyra. The silk route had long ago shifted north but the mountains to the northwest of Palmyra provided it with agriculture and pasturage so it was still an important trading centre for those who wanted to make the effort, as were the surrounding fonduqs, the smaller trading communities around it. From the briskness of the business going on, I could see why they had made the effort. That afternoon we investigated the ancient Temple to the Sun built to worship the heathen god Baal, and the Great Colonnade, rows upon rows of towering stone columns, one thousand and five hundred of them and eight furlongs long I was told, from the time when Palmyra was a major city state under the Roman Empire, still standing over a thousand years later though now in ruins below a massive grey mountain.

That night Usama taught me the way the ahl-as-saif, men of the sword engaged in oral sex. We began with kissing and caressing, but unlike the previous nights, with me taking the lead rather than him. I had learned much and was determined to show him how much I had learned from him. I kissed him ever so gently, on the forehead, on his bearded cheeks, on his lips, and I caressed him with a feather-light touch, massaging his shoulders and his back, caressing his upper arms and his broad, muscular chest, ever so gently, and then barely touching his nipples with my fingertips, and then with my lips as I ran my fingers over his flesh lightly in ever tightening circles, beginning by running under his muscular breasts and along his collar bone and then moving in smaller and smaller concentric circles until I reached the darker circle about his nipples, which by then had become erect with arousal. I concentrated most carefully on what I was doing, causing him to observe that I had the look of seriousness on my face as has an imam at the height of his sermon, causing us both to laugh.

I ran my fingers through the thick mat of hairs on his chest and nuzzled and kissed his muscular breasts. I kissed and licked and sucked on his nipples, first one and then the other, causing him to squirm with delight, and, I noticed, causing his cock to begin to swell. I teased his nipples for the longest time, doing so slowly, allowing him to delight in the arousal but not so slowly as to make him anxious to continue, and as I aroused him, I found myself growing aroused though he had done nothing to me and had just sat there allowing me to arouse him. It was such that I learned the great pleasure that comes solely from giving another pleasure.

I followed the thick trail of hair over his thick, muscular abs with my fingertips and my lips and I ran my fingers though the thick bush of curly hairs at his crotch, curling his dark black hairs about my fingers. By this time his cock was erect and standing upright and eager. I caressed it ever so gently, barely touching it as I ran my fingertips up the shaft and over the deep purple-red bulb, he, like all good Christians, being circumcised and his bulb exposed. I was most careful to avoid the tip and the rim of his bulb, knowing how sensitive they were, wanting to build up his desire slowly. I then replaced my fingertips with my lips and my tongue, running both up his thick shaft and teasing his bulb and he commented how my lips were like the smoothest of satin. He was breathing heavily by then, and so was I. I reached down and cupped his large, hairy balls, now damp with sweat and hot with arousal. I caressed them gently, rolling the eggs inside their rough, bumpy sack and gently massaging them with a feather-light touch of my fingertips, causing his stiff cock to jerk with need and for the first of what he called his special honey to ooze out of the tip of his cock.

He had me touch it with the tip of my pointer finger and smear it over the tip. It was clear and sticky, like the white of an egg. He had me bring the tip of my finger to my tongue and I delighted in the faintly sweet taste of his nectar. I continued to roll and massage his balls and another droplet of his special honey appeared at the tip of his cock and he had me bend over and flick it off with the tip of my tongue, causing still another droplet to appear. So I sampled a half dozen droplets of his nectar until my mouth was filled with his sweetness, and then under his guidance I licked his member, beginning at the base and running my tongue up the shaft and then along the rim of his bulb to the tip where more nectar oozed. His cock was slightly salty, causing my saliva to flow more freely, and soon his shaft was glistening in the candlelight with my spittle.

He then instructed me how to go down on him, slipping my lips over his knob and breathing through my nose, ever so slowly easing my lips down, slowly so as to allow him the time to savour the delight of having me envelop his knob with my lips, and allowing me time to become accustomed to having his cock filling my mouth and breathing at the same time, besides the time to delight in taking him so. I slowly continued down his shaft, it being too long for me to take without taking it down my throat, which he said was possible but which I would learn to do some other time. Tightening my lips about his shaft, I sucked on his cock deeply, sucking the air out of the core, and I slowly eased my lips up until they were wrapped about only his knob, and then I slowly slid my lips back down, continuing to suck all the while. Feeling his rigid flesh throbbing between my lips I was filled with delight knowing that I was the cause of the pleasure pulsating through his member, and my own smaller but just as rigid member throbbed with the same lust as was pulsing through his veins.

I inhaled deeply through my nose, filling my lungs with the musky, mushroom fragrance of his sweaty balls, and my mind spun dizzily with the majesty of it. I sucked on his cock with an enthusiasm that only lovers can know or appreciate, for I was not doing so out of my own lust or for any ulterior motive. I wanted only to please him. From his laboured breathing I was evidently doing so, and that increased my own pleasure and my own lust. With gasping breath, he told me to watch for a tremor on the underside of his member just below his bulb which would signal the release of his seed. Seconds later I felt it and to be sure he announced it was going to happen. His cock throbbed more forcefully than before and then he began to spurt, his hot, thick, bitter milk striking the roof of my mouth and the back of my throat. I began to swallow his thick slime instantly and automatically, and as I felt his slime ooze down my throat I shuddered and to my surprise began to spurt also.

Spurt after spurt erupted out of his cock, so fast my mouth filled with his slime, and at the same time my cock jerked and wagged as it began to spurt, spraying his thighs and swollen, tight balls with my thin, watery seed. I swallowed his slime and my mind spun dizzily with delight and with the powerful release of my own seed. The tip of my cock burned with pleasure, just as I knew the tip of his cock was as I sucked eagerly on it. We were both breathing heavily and as the spurting of our seed subsided I resumed easing my lips up and down his shaft and sucking, sucking out the remainder of his seed, and I reached down and squeezed my still stiff cocklet and milked out the rest of mine. At long last, I eased my lips off his cock and looked up at him and we looked at each other numbly, our faces flushed with our arousal and our minds clouded with the exquisite pleasure. Usama was to tell me later that for one to shoot his seed while sucking another's member was a sign of the pleasure the one doing the sucking was feeling, and the mark of a true love.

The next day word came of raids by the Ottoman Empire to the north. As members of the Sultan's army, we were duty bound to join and support those already in the fight. So we left the merchants there in Palmyra and rode to the north in to the mountain country. We rode hard until the sun was about to set and were up before the sun the next day and continued on our way. It took us four days of hard riding, constantly climbing in altitude and the temperatures becoming colder, often hovering just above freezing at night. Along the way other Mameluke soldiers who were stationed in smaller garrisons or who had also been serving as caravan guards joined us until upon reaching the walls of the ancient city of Aleppo where there was gathering an army to drive back the invading Ottoman soldiers, we were a hundred strong.

That night, for the first time since our lovemaking at Palmyra, we again had sex, this time Usama doing to me what I had done to him. As he undressed me, kissing and caressing me at the same time, we discussed the three choices, having it performed on oneself, performing it on another, and doing it to each other at the same time. Each, Usama explained, had a different purpose and brought a different pleasure. Having it performed on oneself, as I had done to him, allowed him to focus totally on the pleasure I was bringing him, and the pleasure I was getting from sucking his cock. By being what he said was the passive partner, he had been able to focus totally on the pleasure of his own arousal and his ejaculation, and to receive delight in the pleasure he saw I was feeling through my actions and the pleasure in my eyes, pleasure evidenced by the fact I had ejaculated my own seed without my member being touched.

Tonight, he said, as the passive partner, I would experience those things that he had the night in Palmyra. He, on the other hand, as the active partner tonight, would be able to focus on the giving of pleasure, on the pleasure of my arousal and my ejaculation. When two people truly love each other, he said, whether it be husband and wife, or soldier and apprentice, the giving of pleasure is equal to receiving pleasure oneself, which I knew from our previous experience. Also as the active person, he explained he would be able to experience the pleasure of giving another pleasure. He said that by focussing on another's cock and bringing it pleasure, the active partner was able to experience his own growing arousal and desire generated not by being stimulated himself, but from seeing the pleasure he was bringing another.

That, I admitted, was difficult to understand, but Usama assured me before the night was done, I would. By this time he had stripped me and removed his own clothing and was caressing and kissing my chest. I sat there and inhaled and exhaled slowly and deeply, concentrating on the pleasure his fingers and lips were bringing me as he instructed, but also nervous and worried, worried that I might become overly excited and spurt too soon for as soon as I knew we were going to engage in sex that night I had become aroused and eager to begin. As he caressed my chest in concentric circles as I had done him, he observed that caressing a young boy's smooth, hairless chest was a delight much unlike caressing a man's more muscular and usually hairy chest, and that for a man to caress a beardless boy was arousing for him as it should be for a young boy to caress the hairy chest of man. Knowing how aroused I had become caressing and kissing him, and imagining him feeling the same arousal caressing and kissing me, caused my cock to twitch and ache for the spurting of my seed.

He of course saw my reaction and laughed, nothing escaping his eyes. He told me with a grin that I was obviously already beginning to understand, and that I was what the Hebrews called a kharman, a lustful man. I quivered as his fingers brushed against my swollen nipple and sharp pangs of arousal shot through the irritated flesh and my cock jerked again, the bulb feeling the same pangs of pleasure pass through it even though it had not been touched. I confessed to him my fear of ejaculating too quickly and ending the pleasure before he had even begun to feel his, and how aroused I was already feeling and us having just begun. He observed that was the pleasure of engaging in sex with youth, that unlike older men we were so quickly aroused and our bodies so eager to perform. He said to worry about it would only make it all the more difficult to control and that I should forget about it. If it happened, it happened, and being young and my balls ripe, I would be ready to do it all over again in less than a candle mark. He told me instead of thinking what was ultimately going to happen, to concentrate only on the pleasure I was feeling then, not the pleasure I knew was coming, and to put my faith and trust in him.

Certain that thinking of the pleasure he was bringing me would only hasten the end, I did as I was told. I concentrated on the tingling arousal of my nipples as he gently caressed them and then kissed them and nibbled them and as his coarse beard brushed against my chest and against my irritated nipples. Fire shot out from my nipples and through my chest, and my cock twitched and ached with the same irritation. I concentrated on that pleasure and the uniqueness of being brought that pleasure by a man.

He continued down my body as I had continued down his, his lips skipping along my own abs, not so firm and rippled as his but from my strenuous exercise onboard the Theresa del Morau and from the military training I'd been receiving, I was developing a firm abdomen. He continued on to my curly hairs, which were still sparse but had been getting thicker with each passing day, much to my pride and delight. He cupped my balls and caressed them, rolling the eggs inside their sack, and he raised me up and kissed them and sucked on them, and I squirmed with delight as I felt his rough beard against the sensitive inside of my thighs. He kissed my thighs, knowing full well how sensitive they were, causing my cock to twitch like crazy. I ached to squirt, but I ignored the demand as I concentrated on the pleasure from my thighs.

He of course eventually got to my demanding cock, and as I felt the heat and moistness of his mouth envelop my swollen flesh and saw it disappear between his lips, I was sure I was going to shoot, and in fact could feel the pressure beginning deep in my groin. He clamped his lips down tightly just below my bulb, so tightly it was almost painful, and the desire to spurt suddenly disappeared. He did not move for a long time, but finally he continued to ease his lips down my shaft until his lips were pressing against my curly hairs and just above my balls. He began to suck gently on my swollen flesh and slowly drew his lips back to just below the bulb, and then he eased his lips back down. He worked his lips slowly, constantly sucking on my tube. As I looked down and watched him sucking my cocklet, I imagined it must be what it would look like watching it entering and withdrawing from a woman's cunt, which I have been lead to believe is surrounded by hair, much as a man's mouth is surrounded by his moustache and his beard. It was only a momentary thought, for there could be no comparison between fucking a woman and being sucked off by a man. "A virile heart…," came to my mind and I thought back to the other oral experiences I had experienced.

This was nothing like anything I had experienced, with other boys or with the few men that I had sex with in Florence. I thought back to what Usama had said, about how the active partner focussed on bringing another pleasure, and as I sat there and watched this man, twice my age, eagerly sucking on my cock in his desire to bring me pleasure, I understood what he had meant. His sole purpose was to bring me pleasure, to arouse me and cause me to shoot my seed, his own pleasure limited to the pleasure of bringing me pleasure. I understood, for that was how I had felt doing this to him. This was so different from what I had witnessed in Rome. In true love, one did not seek one's own pleasure, but rather one sought to bring another pleasure. With that insight I lay back and concentrated on the pleasure this man was bringing me, and I realized that at least a candle mark had gone by since we had begun, and that through all that time I had been erect and my cock throbbing with pleasure and desire. I inhaled deeply and delighted in the throbbing of my swollen flesh and the tingling of my bulb.

In time I felt for the first time the tremor on the underside of my member below my bulb, quickly followed by the more familiar twang deep in my groin, and I barely had time to warn Usama before I felt the burning flow of my seed as it raced up the core of my swollen cock and began to spurt out of my cock and into Usama's mouth. I inhaled sharply with the immense pleasure as my seed spurted out of me and into his mouth and he began to gulp down my offering. He was drinking my seed! And then I felt something hot and wet strike my thigh and run down my leg and I realized that he was shooting his seed, that he had come just as I had the night I had sucked him off, from the sheer pleasure of having brought me pleasure. I gasped for breath as understanding passed over me.

The next day we entered the city of Aleppo. It too was an ancient city, and a huge city. It had been and still was a major hub, connecting the cities and towns to the south through well travelled roads to the cities to the northeast and northwest through a network of caravan trails. It was a major centre trading the goods brought in from the spice road to the north with the goods brought up from the Holy Land, the market a bustling place filled with wool, cotton and silk merchants, gold and silver smiths, and sellers of tooled leather goods and of intricate and beautiful carpets. I admired one in particular, a mauve carpet of soft wool interwoven in an intricate design with yellow and silver thread, and seeing my desire, Usama purchased it for me.

That night we lay upon it as we prepared to make love, and I expressed my worry that we would stain it with our seed, and Usama laughed and said it would be an appropriate 'baptism'. That night we engaged in the third version of oral sex, the two of us doing each other at the same time, both acting as the active partners, and both in a sense having the experience of passive partners. It was, as Usama explained, not a higher level of engaging in sex, but a third version just as equal as the other two, just different. It was, he said, of a higher level only in the sense that it took an experienced man, or boy, to be able to concentrate not just on the pleasures of having another arouse him, but also on the pleasures of arousing another. Some Mameluke soldiers and freemen, he said, take pleasure only in having young boys please them, but much more take pleasure both in having boys bring them pleasure, and in bringing young boys pleasure. He was a boy himself not that long ago and being trained just as he was now training me, he observed. The idea of him having been a slave and pleasing another man, his master, and him now being the master with his own slave was somehow an erotic thought that sent a shiver of arousal through my body.

What he was doing to me was also sending ripples of erotic pleasure through my body. As he had said, making love to each other was totally different from just me sucking him, or just him sucking me. We caressed and kissed each other as we had done separately the previous nights and I tried very hard to match his love making in speed and in tenderness. It was different from the times Ahmar and I had aroused each other as we did not try to pace ourselves, both of us being eager to experience the pleasure, and especially the pleasure at the end. I found myself constantly having to slow down and to concentrate on the pleasure I was feeling instead of thinking of the pleasure to come. I had much to learn about patience, and what he called, enjoying the moment.

As I twirled his chest hairs, he caressed my smooth chest, and as I brushed his nipples with my fingertips he brushed mine. I massaged his back as he snuggled down and kissed and sucked on my nipples, teasing them until I was squirming with the arousal causing them to burn. I in turn kissed and sucked on his nipples, causing them to become firm, and I forced myself to concentrate on just his nipples instead of continuing on down his body to what was really my object. We gradually built up the desire in each other, and I took his lead, resisting the urge to caress him lower until he made the first move. As his fingers caressed my thighs and cupped and rolled my tender eggs in their sack, my fingers did the same to him. It was very strange feeling his fingers playing with my balls while I played with his, a pleasure that I find difficult to explain, a pleasure that was more than just physical. I can think of nothing more erotic than a muscular, handsome, bearded young man and a young, smooth-skinned boy, naked and locked in each other's embrace and playing with each other's most private and sensitive orbs.

Of course by then our members were fully erect and when he finally slipped his fingers about my cocklet, which by then I was proud to note was a hand long, a man's hand, I eagerly slipped my hand about his. Whereas I grasped only half of his as I wrapped my fingers about the base, he grasped my entire member, and whereas my fingers and thumb barely met, his thumb overlapped his fingers by at least a knuckle. It was most erotic looking down and seeing my cocklet in his hand and his thick cock in mine. We then lay down on our sides facing in opposite directions so that his head was at my crotch and my head was at his. As I felt the heat and moistness of his mouth envelop my stiff cocklet, I leaned forward and opening my lips wide, slipped my mouth over his bulb. The idea that he was sucking that most private and special part of my body while I was doing the same to him sent a tremor of pleasure and excitement up my cocklet and caused the bulb to tingle.

As he eased his lips down my now throbbing member, I eased my lips down his, knowing I would never be able to go as far down as he could but determined to go down as far as I could. I inhaled deeply and the nutty fragrance of his crotch and meaty taste of his cock caused the first of my own special nectar to ooze out of the tip of my member. Instead of worrying about it or trying to fight back the growing pleasure I was feeling, I concentrated on it, on the delight of producing that special, sweet nectar, on the even greater delight of knowing it was caused by him, and of the greatest delight of all, knowing that he was at the same time savouring the taste of my sweet nectar and of my boycock. Another globule of my special honey oozed out of the tip of my cock, and I felt his tongue flick it up eagerly. That he was enjoying it was obvious as I felt his cock throb hotly in my mouth and a globule of his own clear honey ooze out of the tip.

I immediately clamped my lips about his bulb and sucked the sweet offering into my mouth, and I savoured the unique taste of that precious fluid. His own lips clamped below my bulb, to cut off the growing urge to spurt, and we both lay there motionlessly, our cocks in each other's mouth as we concentrated on the combined pleasures of sucking and being sucked. I understood then what he had meant about needing experience to be able to enjoy both pleasures as my mind jumped from one to the other and back again. He laid there for an unbelievably long time, but finally he began to suck and work his lips up and down my cock once again and I copied his actions. Never had I imagined I would lay with a man with his cock in my mouth and mine in his and find such pleasure in it. It was not just the physical pleasure of having one's throbbing, itching member sucked, nor just the mental pleasure of sucking another's cock and knowing the pleasure you were giving, but a greater pleasure yet, the pleasure of engaging in one of the most intimate acts two males can engage in. That he was twice my age added to the eroticism for me, and I knew that being half his age added to the eroticism for him.

We sucked each other slowly and paused frequently, enjoying the pleasure that only two men, or a man and a boy, can share and appreciate. I could not stop from thinking that many considered what we were doing a sin, many thought it something dirty, and many felt our age difference made it immoral, and that made it all the more arousing. I sucked deeply on his cock and worked my lips up and down his shaft with eagerness and delight, knowing my actions would cause the release of his seed, and that knowledge was as pleasurable as the burning of my nipples and of my knob. I looked forward to the spurting of his seed with as much anticipation and delight as I looked forward to the spurting of my own. The spilling of our seed was not in vain as Josepe had said, but was an expression on our love for each other.

I concentrated on that, and on the pleasure I was feeling, and on the pleasure I knew I was giving him, pushing aside any fears of ejaculating before him or of disappointing him. The pressure built up in my loins and I knew it was building up in his, and as his cock throbbed hotly in my mouth and his balls began to swell, my member throbbed hotly in his mouth and my nuts began to swell also. Man and boy, we were united in that pleasure only those of our male gender can know. Our breathing became more laboured as we approached that peak of ecstasy, and I stretched and arched my back as I felt the tension grow until at last I felt the twitch deep in my groin and my seed begin to burn its way up the core of my member. At the same time I felt the tremor on the underside of his cock just below his knob and I knew he was about to shoot his seed too.

As I squirted, I shuddered with the delight, the tip of my cock and the rim of my knob burning as if on fire as spurt after spurt erupted from my body. At the same time his seed began to spurt into my mouth, filling it quickly with his hot, slime, the sharp, unique, bitter fluid more delicious than the sweetest wine. We spurted forcefully and voluminously, filling each other's mouth with that slime that only a man can produce and that would never see a woman's womb. Our balls were drawn up tight at the base of our cocks as we emptied them, and as we eagerly swallowed the sacred seed from each other's body. My mind spun dizzily with the thought of him drinking my seed and of me drinking his and I swallowed down his slime and eagerly sucked on his cock for more like a starving baby sucking on its mother's breast. Snorting through our noses for breath, we clamped our lips tightly about each other's cock and sucked relentlessly, draining each other's balls of that precious, life-giving cream.

It was a long time after we had finished spurting and our breathing had returned to normal that we released each other's member. Swinging around so we were facing in the same direction, we embraced and our lips met in a long, passionate kiss, and as I tasted my cock and seed on his sticky lips and he tasted his on mine, I could not imagine ever feeling more satisfied than at that moment.

Author's notes:

1. This observation is from a description of Jerusalem by Felix Fabri, a Dominican friar who had visited Jerusalem in a pilgrimage to Palestine in 1482.

2. Rabbi Abraham of Beja, Josepe de Lamego, Pero da Covilha and Afonso de Paiva, all mentioned in this and preceding chapters, were real historical figures. The first two were sent by King João of Portugal in search of the latter two and they did meet up with Covilha in late 1490 in Cairo where it was learned Paiva had died. Covilha sent a report on his travels and findings back to King João with Josepe, and Rabbi Abraham travelled with Covilha to Aden where Abraham was sent back to Portugal with further notes while Covilha continued on his way to Ethiopia (arriving there in 1493.) Nothing more is heard of Abraham after leaving Aden so if he made it back to Portugal is unknown. In this fictional account Rabbi Abraham heads back to Cairo on the day Nico heads north to Damascus, expecting to arrive back in Cairo in five days in time to alert Nico's father of his son's situation. Unbeknownst to Nico, a winter storm delays the caravan so the rabbi does not arrive until the evening of the seventh day, having missed Nico's father and uncle by twelve hours, the Ribeiro's having left that morning with Josepe for Portugal, it being 21 days since Nico's disappearance. Upon the rabbi's return to Cairo, he and Covilha head south as history recorded.

3. The Mamelukes of Egypt, Levant, Iraq and India were a unique occurrence where slaves could end up holding powerful military positions and positions of great political power and even attain the rank of Sultan. Political and military positions were not hereditary originally, nor available to the common Egyptian citizen, and hence the need to capture young boys and convert them to Islam and train them to become soldiers for those governing, who themselves were former slaves. In time this changed, resulting in nepotism and favouritism, and was one reason for the downfall of the Mameluke Sultanates.

4. Armenia was at one time part of Assyria and at one time an independent Kingdom until it was conquered and became part of the Roman Empire. In 301 it became the first Christian state in the world. It was conquered by the Turks in the 11th Century and converted to Islam and then was later conquered in turn by the Mongols, the Ottomans and finally the Russians.

5. The practice of pederasty was common among the Mamelukes though historians have never found sexual attraction was ever a reason for capturing and enslaving boys (who were captured for their warlike qualities and potential as soldiers as stated in this chapter). However, Mamelukes as a rule limited pederasty to these slave boys/apprentices in training and did not extend the practice to include boys who were common Egyptian citizens.

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