Anonymous

Recollections of a Reluctant Gelder

Andreas, the narrator, tells the story of Eryk the new stable boy. Armand regales the boys with a tale of a page boy, gelded for making mischief with his young mistress

By now, you're probably scratching your head and wondering just what on Earth was wrong with me as a boy? And if you are, you're certainly not the only one. My father figured it out when I was pretty young, and he indulged my idiosyncrasies as much as he could. He could only go so far, though – as far as the limits of our culture at the time. Remember when I dressed Bertrand up like a Noble for our ninth birthday party? Yes, that time. That was the limit. As I said, it was also breaking the law.

I wouldn't find out until years later that Father really understood me, probably better than I understood myself. Sometimes I still wonder if I've figured out 'me' yet?

I was a Noble boy – and I hated it. It didn't make sense to the adults in my life back then, and it doesn't make any more sense now that I'm grown and telling you these tales. Given a choice of banquet night, or sausages and offal with the slaves? Sausages. Elise, or a scullery girl for company? Kitchen every time. School or work? Give me a shovel. Bertrand, or one of those other snots from school like Simeon? Do you really need to ask me that? (Gods, if there was a ever a Noble who should have been castrated, and I'll use the Peasantly-rude word, it was him! Is that even a word?)

Perhaps it all started with Bertrand. While he might not have been the first eunuch that I ever saw, his was the first gelding that I ever witnessed. As little boys, we were aware that some of the men and boys around us, no matter their rank, didn't have pouches containing glands like we did. Of course, at that age, we had no idea what they were even for, much less why one wouldn't have one. These were eunuchs, after all, we were told: Just like women had breasts, and men did not. Men has pricks, while women did not. They were different. Eunuchs were different, still. When you're around five or six years old, that's all the explanation you need. You were a boy, a girl, or a eunuch.

Then there comes a day when everything changes. A day like the one when we were eight, almost nine, and Bertrand gets informed that he's to be gelded – and I'm informed that I am expected to watch it happen. I suppose that was where the confusion set in. Looking back, I can honestly say that that was when the obsession formed, too – my utter obsession with gelding and eunuchs. After all, I'd observed plenty of animal geldings, been taught how to do it, gelded my favorite pony myself, and then watched as Bertrand was gelded.

And I wasn't.

While I have said it before, Bertrand and I were raised together. He was always there, in my mind, and always would be. But from my earliest memories, I can remember that I was the favorite one. In fact, my earliest memories are of Bertrand being treated poorly. I know… but to this day, it still bothers me; irrational as that is? True, he lived in our house, while the other slaves only worked there. In fact, he lived in my chambers with me, slept with me, ate what I did, and was never more than a few steps away. And we were nearly school-aged before anyone bothered to tell me that he wasn't my brother. Children don't grasp the differences in culture at that age. There were things done to Bertrand that weren't done to me: Bertrand's head was regularly shaved, he was given little chores to do, he didn't get as much attention as I did, he sometimes was whipped, and the big one – he wasn't allowed clothing and had to wear a collar around his neck. (That was before I got control of the key, that is.)

Yet all these things stuck with me, and I believe, shaped the adult that I grew into. Would I even be here today, in this line of work, and telling you these things, without Bertrand and all our friends?

It's funny how fascinations begin, I think. I can remember asking Father, when I was very little, why I didn't have a collar. "Because you're a Noble." I remember asking why I didn't have haircuts. Same answer. Why didn't Bertrand have a tunic? Guess what he said?

On and on the list went. To a little boy, it made no sense. I thought it terribly unfair that Bertrand couldn't have clothing or hair, but at the same time, thought it unfair that I didn't have a collar (it was a very nice, ornate one) and I had to sit still having my hair fixed and clothes put on me, while Bertrand sat there, bald and naked, snickering about it. Still, I supposed those things balanced each other out.

It wasn't until we reached school-age that we began to realize that we were very different – at least in the eyes of society. I was a Noble. Bertrand was my slave – not my brother. Not my equal. Of course we knew what slaves were, as we had an Estate full of them. We'd seen them worked and even whipped sometimes. We'd just never made the connection. We were children, after all.

I still remember how we both cried that night, when Father told us that I would be starting school with the other Noble boys, and that Bertrand would not. I would be taught by a professional educator (also a eunuch, his name was John), while Bertrand would be taught by our Overseer, Armand, along with the other younger slaves and contracted workers at home. While we might have been the only Estate giving our workers a basic education, we didn't understand, still, why we were being split up.

It was devastating to both of us.

It also got my school career off to a very rocky start. I wanted nothing to do with it. In fact, it was our instructor who suggested that if having my body servant with me at school would keep me calm and attentive, then Bertrand was certainly welcome to come and give it a go. My instructor was on the verge of expelling me after the first week. In short, I was a very difficult student who received (I thought) more than my fair share of punishments over behavior that I couldn't help.

It was, of course, unheard of – a slave boy coming to the Nobles' school! Then again, Father and our Estate in general were known for unorthodox policies. I might have mentioned that our slaves weren't always collared or chained and were, in fact, treated quite well. As I said, Father even let Armand educate them, rather than keep them 'ignorant and enslaved'. His thinking was, "What if they're free someday and can't even write their names?" Runaways weren't a problem for us, either, and we had no need to brand our slaves. Father also liked to take in contracted workers, especially young boys, with aspirations of higher careers that required them to become eunuchs. Coming to work for us was, as I've mentioned, a sure way to get a boy legally gelded for such aspirations.

Few of the other Nobles understood Father's 'looseness of the purse strings' in the gelding fees, 'luxurious' accommodations, and food expenses for slaves and workers. But as Father always said, and saw it proven true for years, happy workers are more productive workers. No need to train new ones if they run off and get killed. Certainly more than one boy, gelded by Father's orders, later went on to have a good position in the community. In fact, I recall that when I was a boy, all of the memberships of the Provincial Council that were 'eunuchs only' positions were filled by eunuchs that had once our contract workers as boys.

Having Bertrand come to school, though, was only one problem solved. I suppose it was the catalyst in my fierce defense of him, and my first realizations of just how much I loved him. I couldn't stand to see him treated so unfairly, such as not having his day of birth celebrated, or not receiving gifts as I did for the Winter Celebration. I always shared mine with him. Then there was the first time that Simeon harassed him about being a slave, and I nearly made a eunuch of Simeon – with my foot!

"At least I don't have to worry about that anymore!" Bertrand pointed out.

I think Bertrand understood from an early age, though, that he was different. He understood it long before I did, and that still hurts. He never said a word about it. Looking back, I suppose it was what my childish mind perceived as such unfair treatment that made me act the way I did. I'd fixated upon it, even though I didn't even know what that was, just as much as I would later fixate upon gelding.

Isn't that strange? I don't recall one Noble boy that looked at his personal slave that way. All of them were obnoxious, spoiled, unkind brats. (Except Wolfram, and he was a eunuch, recall.)

As you already know, as soon I was old enough and Father decided that I should learn to work and begin my education in handling the Estate, I came up with the idea that I should be treated just like the slaves or workers. After all, they didn't have it so bad, did they? In my young mind, they didn't have hot, itchy clothes to worry about ruining. They didn't have all that hair to get sweaty and cause scalp rashes that needed smelly and painful treatments. And they seemed to enjoy one anothers' company, always chatting, singing while they worked, and of course, their camaraderie such as bedtime stories with Armand!

Remember those?

But when I was around, even though I was a child, all of that stopped when I was to be taught a chore. Everyone seemed nervous around me. There wasn't any talking or singing. I thought it most unfair. I felt like I was messing up their day. I felt like they didn't like me, and just wanted me to go away. My idea wasn't working at all. For one thing, I was an uncollared, intact boy in a decent tunic with funny, girly hair. I stuck out like a sore thumb.

So I asked Armand what to do about it.

"You're the Master, or will be one day, child," Armand told me, "You're a Noble."

There it was again.

And it just wouldn't do.

Why should all the fun stop when I was around? Well, I perceived it as fun, you see. Not all the slaves might have thought that feeding animals, throwing hay or manure, gathering eggs, or whatever was fun – but I did. Anything was better than sitting inside all day, studying, having servants fuss over you, and not having any fun at all. I'd have rather been cleaning my rooms with Bertrand. Or digging a ditch to be a new stream from the big creek. What fun to be butt-deep in cold mud in the summer, or washing show animals!

Things might not have gone as they did, had Eryk not shown up at that time. Recall that he was a 'big boy'. He came to us when he was nine and Bertrand and I were six. Just at the peak of my unruliness. His name was actually Erik, but as I couldn't really spell at the time, it was me who stamped the leather for his contracted worker collar wrong when I was learning to do leather punch craft. I had just learned that the 'Y' can sometimes change places with an 'I', and I thought it looked better. Armand nearly had a fit. Father had found it funny. 'Eryk', freshly gelded and still confined to his bed in the workers' quarters of the barn, liked it though.

"Why, thank you, good sir!" He told me, wincing in pain as he carefully sat up in bed to have Armand put his collar on him, "You did a very nice job on it!"

I didn't know that they'd just cut his pouch of glands off, though. As far as I knew, he might have come to work for us, but he was just sick in bed. Who didn't get sick, you see? We did, sometimes, so it was all fine with me. I hoped he might be contagious, and get me out of school! I was still worried, though, because I'd ruined the collar. I tended to do that a lot at that age. The eggs were usually scrambled by the time I got them to the house, and such other things!

Now I was going to have to cut the leather wrap off, cut a new wrap, coat the metal collar, stamp it all over again, rewrap it…

I remember telling Eryk, in all childish honesty, how sorry I was for messing up his good collar, getting his name wrong, and that I'd go make him a new stamped wrap for it right away. In fact, I was near tears over it. Father was watching, after all, and Armand groaned.

"That boy will be the death of me, yet, Master," he told Father, as they stepped outside, talking.

"I don't think he's catching on…" I could just hear Father saying, "When I was that age… carried him around, watching… since he was a baby… he's very odd?"

They came back in just as Eryk was saying, "Fits just right, and the inside feels nice. I thought it'd be rough and itchy."

"Like my clothes?" I asked.

"You don't like 'em?"

"No!"

"They don't wear 'em, Runt!" Eryk laughed at me, "Children in the village, and especially the Peasants, don't bother with clothes on children in good weather! Or shoes. They cost a lot, get ruined, you outgrow them! Me, I never had a stitch on me but for a cloak when it were colder out, or a work apron! Toughen you up, it will, Runt! Looks like you need it!" He poked my ribs, making me laugh. 'Runt'? That was funny, too!

I still remember what happened next.

"C'mere," he told me, and even though he was sick in bed (or so I thought), he sat up and hugged me. He hadn't had any training in decorum yet, you see. He'd just made some very grave mistakes, too. You can see what they were. "If I have to wear this thing for eleven years, I'm glad you made it so it's comfortable. I was afraid it'd hurt me. That makes it special. Never had anything that someone made, just for me, Runt. Thank you!"

I wouldn't know what really happened behind my back that day for many years; not until Eryk told me about it when he was ready to leave us after so many years. He was the first one of the workers who didn't act scared of me. He told me he liked his collar that I'd made. He even tickled my ribs and hugged me. And he nicknamed me 'Runt'. I thought it was funny, and I liked the freckles all over him. Yes, he showed me that they were all over him! He told me why he'd come to be a stable boy for us, having worked at the livery in town for his family. I told him all about school, Bertrand, the house, and trying to learn things. We were having a good talk.

Then the look on his face changed.

I knew that look: knowing you'd done something wrong and were about to get it.

In my case, it was the look that meant that if I'd messed up badly, then Bertrand was going to get punished for it. Remember the whipping boy idea? Yes, it worked for me very well. I couldn't stand to see Bertrand punished for what I did. It was most unfair.

I turned around to see Father and Armand standing there again, and Father had the small whip in his hand. He was angry.

"Armand, go and fetch Bertrand. Erik, roll over," then he looked at me, "OUT!" He pointed at the door.

It was the first time ever that I remember anyone going against my father, and Armand was the only one who could have done it and gotten away with it. And he did.

"No, sir, Master," he said flatly.

"WHAT?"

"I will not go and fetch Bertrand to be whipped for this."

No 'Master'. Not even a 'sir'.

Armand was on dangerous ground.

It was also the first time I remember seeing my father unsure of what to do. I still remember that short conversation. It was something that you don't forget!

"I will not fetch Bertrand so you can whip him, when no one here did anything what warrants such," Armand told him, "You whip Eryk now, you might kill him, state he's in. Bust that tie, and he'll bleed out. And you know the boy gets hysterical when you hit Bertrand," he nodded at me.

"We cannot have such behaviour…" Father started to say, but Armand cut him off.

"I wasn't finished, SIR!"

Like I said, when Armand raised his voice, even the dogs listened. I think he might have scared Father, even? He was very large, after all. Father just stood there looking silly.

"That collar's the first thing your boy's done right, since you put him to work with me!" Armand went on, "Like I said, he'll be the death of me yet! Maybe literally? No matter. After all, I'm just a slave, and by his contract, you can beat Eryk all you like. I don't think he'll learn much, though, you whipping him for trying to comfort your son? Then again, he might learn something, all right! The wrong something, SIR!"

"This is a serious breach of decorum, Armand," Father told him, but he didn't sound like Father. He sounded unsure, and that scared me. Father was never unsure.

"Eryk doesn't know decorum yet, and there's not much of it when you have me in to lecture about things, is there? Slave in the house? Telling other Nobles what to do better?"

"That's because you run the best Estate in the Province! Everyone knows it, and knows you!" Father told him.

"Then let me run it, sir," Armand finished. He then looked at the both of us. "Eryk, we don't talk to the Family like that. And we certainly don't call them 'runt' or hug them!" He paused. "And you, boy," he told me, "You're driving me mad! What am I supposed to do with you? Any other worker boy or slave, I'd have spanked you by now! Get something through that thick head of yours, even if I have to do it by way of your bottom, just like a new slave boy! But, I can't do that, since you're the Master's son. You're not one of us, you know."

"YOU'RE the Master's son?!" Eryk squeaked, face white with fear. "No one TOLD me!"

"AND IT'S NOT FAIR!" I remember shouting at them, "Eryk liked me, and you're gonna whip him for it?" I was near tears. "Now no one likes me!"

Funny, the things you remember when you're not really trying? At least, I think I said something like that. I haven't thought about that night for years. I'll have to run by the Council Chambers tomorrow and tease him about it, embarrass him in front of everyone! He'll appreciate that. He was always that kind of boy. He's still that kind of man – one who knows right from wrong. Did I mention he still spells his name like that, just like I'd stamped it on his collar that day?

I'd run for the door by then, planning to run to my room and lock the door so Father couldn't whip Bertrand for whatever it was that I'd done wrong. I only made it as far as the fence, though, before I just sat down and cried. When you're that age, and you think you can't do anything right, it's hard.

Turned out, it was Eryk who spoke up for me. If he hadn't done it that day, I might not have gotten the education in working that I did, to say nothing of an education in many other things. If not for Eryk, I might have ended up like Wolfram: a sickly weakling who was stuck inside, pampered, studying, learning to be the perfect little Noble boy.

"Master," Eryk told Father (so he later told me), in a fit of either bravery or stupidity, "If you're going to whip someone, then whip me. I was being kind, he was so upset about the collar. And it really does fit well, sir. I'm sorry, no one told me he was your son, or I wouldn't have even spoken to him, sir. I thought he was just another working boy, in that plain tunic."

"And there's the problem," Armand agreed, "Boy makes everyone so nervous, they can't work. You want him to learn, but you won't let us teach him properly. And what if he gets hurt?"

"Andreas not a slave or a worker!" Father replied.

I guess they both just kind of gaped at him.

Again, only Armand: "Then maybe he needs to be, Master?"

"He's a Noble!" Father countered, "He has everything…"

"Everything – but for what he needs," Armand cut him off, "And you don't see that?"

"Master?" Eryk said he held up his hand. Wouldn't that be funny to see? "How can you teach him to work, sir, like the slaves do, and treat him like a prince at the same time? I've never seen a Noble do a lick of work, sir, no offense! It's no wonder he's no good at it?"

"What are you proposing, boy?" Father asked him.

"If you want him to learn, he can't hate learning, and the teachers can't hate him. That's why Commoner village boys fail in school there, if they hate it. Same with good apprentices, if they have a hateful Master. No offense, sir? But if he has to learn to work like a slave, in order to learn to be a good Master, then he has to be a slave while he's doing it, Master."

"That's not how I learned! I was simply taught, and I learned!" Father retorted, "What would the neighbors think? What if someone sees him? I suppose you think I should geld him, too?"

"Is he a spare son, sir?" Eryk wondered.

"No!"

"Bad idea, then, sir."

"Glad we agree," Father told him, "But now that you know that he's my son…"

"Respectfully, sir, I first thought he was your daughter!" Eryk didn't back down, "And if I'd known that your Estate's reputation was a lie, I would never have come – sponsored gelding or not. I don't understand you Nobles, I guess. You treat your slaves so well that you don't have to worry about branding, chaining, or runaways – but you whip an innocent boy because of things your son doesn't understand? You're going to whip me, for being nice to a scared boy I didn't know, Master? I guess it's gonna be a miserable eleven years, sir. I doubt that my father will think it worth it, and surely send my little brothers off to someone else in a few years to apprentice. He may even challenge you legally, to get me back. And I dare say he'll win."

Of course, the nine-years-old Eryk wasn't so eloquent, but you get the point? I'm the writer, after all. It's my memoirs, and that's what he told me! Nine years old, and telling my father off! I'd have died… Eunuch or not, Eryk 'had some stones about him' – as the old saying went!

He then got up, even though the Gelder had ordered him not to, and said, "Whip me, then, if that's the kind of Master you are."

Father told him that it took a big man to admit when he'd made a mistake. Armand said he'd never made any yet. Eryk said they all laughed at that bad joke. Armand was the big man, get it?

So that was how I got my start with Estate work. Father didn't whip Eryk, and when he realized how it would make him look to the rest of the Province if he did, he quickly changed his mind. He did punish me, though. Or so he thought.

He found me sitting there by fence, still crying.

"It's not fair, is it, son?" He asked.

"NO!"

"You really messed up this time, boy," Father explained, but at least he was explaining what I did wrong. "Your friend explained to me that he didn't know who you were. If he had, he said he wouldn't even have talked to you."

"I thought he liked me," I sniffled. Gods, I remember feeling so miserable. Funny how certain childhood memories come back, or certain hurts just never heal. That was one of them. I suppose that, to this day, I'm always seeking approval for my actions. Hell, by that point, I was even ready to question Bertrand's loyalty.

"Son, they're afraid of you," Father explained, "You're a Noble."

"So what?"

"The 'what' is a big difference, boy! Look at you and Bertie."

"You're all mean to him, especially Grandmother," I reminded him.

"We treat him like the slave he is," Father corrected me, "It's not like he's your brother."

"Yes he is!" I protested. Wasn't he?

"We were afraid that you'd be lonely," Father told me, "That's why we got him and raised you together. I can see now that I was wrong. He should have been put in with the other slaves, and assigned to you only when needed. You've gotten too attached to him. What if we sell him?"

"Then I'll go with him!" I snapped, realizing that if I made Father any madder, he'd just take it out on Bertrand. I started sobbing again. Father didn't say anything else. He just picked me up, which he seldom did anymore, and carried me in to the workshop. He placed me on the bench, where Armand was fiddling with something.

Father then pulled my old tunic up over my head, mussing my hair, and leaving me sitting there naked. He ruffled my hair, and pulled out the silly ornament and pin from my topknot. "You hate that, don't you?"

I nodded. (Styles come and go, and I think all the boys were glad to see that one go!)

Armand then told me to hold still, and I felt something cold and wet on at my forehead. A clump of hair fell into my lap. Seeing as how slaves had their heads shaved once a month in hot weather, usually, or if they got lice, Armand was good and quick at it. He never nicked me once, and I tried to sit very still when I realized what he was doing. I was trembling. My first haircut! Clumps of wet hair fell into my lap, stuck to my back, and in minutes, I was as bald as a hen's egg – so Armand called it. He then rubbed something cold and slimy all over my bare scalp, making it tingle. I touched it, and started giggling. I'd never had a haircut before. It felt so much lighter. I loved it!

Armand washed me off, told me to sit up straight, and I almost wet myself as he snapped a worker's collar around my neck. He'd had to make it special, as we'd never had a worker as small as me before, but for Bertrand. It was even stamped with my name!

"Armand will prepare you a place in Eryk's room tonight, son. You wanted to learn? You wanted them to like you? Well, whenever you wear that collar and get sent to work with them, you'll be one of them! You'll take orders from Armand, or the senior slave in whatever job you're doing. If you mess up, Armand will spank you… or something? It's up to him. You'll still dress for school and leave the collar here. You will come home, do any schoolwork, then you will be collared and stripped, report to Armand, and work until dark. On days of no school, you'll work with him all day long. This is to be your punishment for nearly ruining an apprenticeship for Eryk, putting me at odds with Armand, and being basically a disobedient, unappreciative son. However…"

I waited. It felt like forever.

"You also made me realize the mistake I was making. Perhaps I am too caught up in the whole decorum issue, and worried about how the place runs, and what others think of us. I shouldn't be." He then patted my head. "Thank you. And I'm sure the others will thank you. Now…" he put me down, but didn't give me back my tunic, "Let's go get Bertrand. Pity he cleaned those rooms for nothing?"

"We'll help take care of Eryk, Father," I promised, as we headed on in.

Grandmother saw me and fainted. Mother screamed. A serving girl dropped a platter. The rest of the household staff just stared as Father explained it all.

"HAVE YOU GONE MAD?!" Mother demanded.

"He's being punished. As if you'll miss him," Father dismissed her. You should probably know that boys, once weaned from nursing, were mainly cared for by their fathers and eunuch servants. Men raised the boys, and women raised the girls.

We went to get Bertrand, who thought it was a grand idea. He rubbed my head and laughed, carefully studying my collar.

"Mine's nicer," Bertrand smirked, "It has more symbols on it!"

We were six, all right? We had no idea what those symbols were.

"It's fair now?" Father asked me.

"It's fair, Father!" I hugged him.

That was the first night I ever slept in the slaves' quarters, and Bertrand and I shared a small bed in Eryk's room. He was replacing our old stable boy, who'd completed his work contract and would be leaving as soon as Eryk was healed up in a few weeks. Of course we didn't know it then, that Eryk had been gelded (castrated, for you uncouth folks!), and he didn't mention it right off. He was just sick, as far as we knew, but he wasn't catching. That was all right with us, as I said, since Eryk was a big boy and he knew things that little children didn't.

We had dinner there that night, too. It was the first time I ever had those little blood sausages, and I loved them! Comfort food now, I guess? Mother called them 'slave food', along with hard rolls and fried greens. Armand teased us that the sausages were the cut-off pricks from bad little boys!

Father said that Mother cried most of the night and threatened to write to her own father. Father said he told her to get him another son, since I wasn't turning out well.

The next day, after seeing to Eryk, Armand carried him out to a cot in the barnyard where he could tell us what to do about learning livery service. He'd been doing it all his life, he told us. He also told us that he was in charge of us. "You're not a Noble when you're out here naked in a collar," he reminded me, and that was fine by me. So while we worked on washing and brushing the ponies, Eryk told us about his family and why he'd come to the Estate.

He was the middle boy in his family, and just nine. He had two older brothers, and two younger ones. And his mother was with child again. Of course, being raised on the Estate, we knew that mothers had babies inside them before they were born. We just didn't know how they got in there. One thing lead to another, and since we'd had to help him, we'd noticed the bandage between his legs beneath his prick.

It was Eryk that taught us about sex, making babies, and eunuchs. It wasn't so shocking, really. We'd seen rabbits and cows and pigs do it. We just didn't know why they were doing it. It didn't make sense to us that that was how you made a baby, but Eryk said so, so it must have been right.

"Is your pouch hurt?" Bertrand asked.

"No, the Gelder in the village came and cut it off," Eryk told us, "I'm a eunuch now. When a boy has his glands cut out, then he's a eunuch. You know what eunuchs are?"

"Boys or men with no pouch with glands in it," I answered him. Of course we knew that. You had boys, girls, and eunuchs. We just didn't know that eunuchs started off as boys like us.

"You weren't born without a pouch?" I asked.

"No. You have to cut it off a boy to make him a eunuch."

Well, that certainly stopped us in our tracks!

"Does it hurt?" Bertrand wondered.

"Ohhh YES!" Eryk nodded, "Scrub behind his ears, he likes that," he put in, as I got my new pony out. He was still too young to ride, not broken yet.

"Why do they cut them off?" I asked.

"Well," Eryk shrugged, "Lots of reasons. Sometimes you get the fever where they swell, and you have to get them out. Or hernias. But me, I wanted them gone. There are some nice jobs out there, but only eunuchs can get hired for them. Like some of the really high-ranking military, or their pages!"

"Why?" We asked.

"Well, eunuchs can't make babies, you see. I'll never have any children, since eunuchs aren't able to do, with girls, what you see the animals doing. Eunuchs aren't interested in that, so we don't get married. And no children, so we've more time to work and study. We're different from other boys, and grown up, we're different from men who still have their glands in there. We don't have a family to worry about."

We didn't understand.

"You see, like the animals do it, a man's prick gets bigger and goes into the woman's parts when he wants to mate with her. You ever seen a naked girl?"

We nodded. We'd peeked at the scullery girls when they changed clothes and washed up, and snickered about it. They certainly were different from boys.

"Girls have bits, like boys do, but they're inside where you can't see them, and made different," Eryk explained, "That's why they sit to pee. They don't have pricks like we do. And they have breasts, to make milk, to nurse the babies." That we knew. We'd seen wet nurses.

"But how does putting your prick in a girl make a baby?" Bertrand wondered.

"A man with glands has juice in them, usually by the time he gets his man-hairs coming in around his prick," Eryk explained, "When he puts his prick in the girl's parts, the juice squirts into her, and it starts a baby growing. Nine months later, and it's born."

"How do you know?" Bertrand demanded.

"They teach you all this, before you get to be a eunuch," Eryk answered, "So some boys don't want to be eunuchs anymore, once they know."

"Eunuchs don't get beards, do they?" I guessed.

"No. Very good! They also have boys' voices, never changed, like men's."

"They don't get much hair on them either," Bertrand pointed to his crotch, "And they have boys' pricks. They don't get big, like a man's does. Armand's bigger than anyone, and he has a little-boy-size-prick!"

"That would be because I was just about your age when I were gelded," Armand told us, sneaking up behind the big oak tree. "Mind the mane now, comb it out or it tangles. Good work, boys! Eryk must be a good teacher?"

"Yes, sir?" Eryk told him, thinking he might have made a big mistake.

"We already knew all that, but for cutting off glands, sir," I told Armand. I liked to call him 'sir', instead of him doing it to me. He liked it, too. "But why do they have jobs for eunuchs, just them?"

"Because they got no jobs for boys who ask too many questions!" Armand smiled, giving me a slap to my bare butt. It stung, but I didn't mind. It was in good fun, I could tell. Armand patted my head. Everyone was doing that, in fact. "You learn a lot this way, boy! You'll be a good Master someday, you will!"

He picked me up, sudsy brush and all, getting us both wet, and hugged me then. Armand got like that sometimes. I saw him cry once when a calf didn't make it. He had to have someone else butcher it, he was so upset. He hugged Bertrand too. Eunuchs, like our teacher, we knew, were good with children. That's why they were eunuchs. If they didn't have children of their own, they had all of us. It was fair that way, we thought, and Armand just doted on his trainee boys. We were six, remember?

And Armand hadn't been able to do that before, not with me. My being collared and put to work changed things, and he was now just as free to punish (or comfort) me as he was any other slave boy.

Our next lesson, after bathing, was teaching the new ponies to walk with halters. That was the easy part. Getting blankets and saddles on them was harder. The ponies wanted to walk away. Mine wanted to lay on the blanket. Once the saddles were on, which an older slave had to help us with, the ponies went crazy, trying to buck them off!

"Let them get used to it, give them a treat, and just let them wander," Eryk suggested, as Armand had since turned him over so he'd not sunburn on his front. He also changed his bandage and put ointment on Eryk's burnt scab. "It'll fall off in a few weeks, and I'll be up again," he told us. "It was good of your Father to pay for it and get me this job. Funny, though – it costs more to have me for eleven years than to just buy a slave you can have for probably… forty?"

"FORTY?!" We wondered. That was surely a long time.

"Guess he likes you?" I wondered, "If he paid for your gelding?"

"I hope so!" Eryk smiled. "Everyone said this was a good place to work."

"Best there is," one of the serving girls agreed, as she brought us lunch. She told me I was cuter this way, bald. She told Eryk she thought he looked better with his red hair, and it was a shame about his gelding.

"Did you want to have a baby with him, Miss? He can't do that now?" I asked, and she blushed deeply!

"Little Master!" she gasped. The girls all called me that.

"We don't ask ladies things like that," Eryk corrected us.

"Sorry!"

"No harm done, boys!" she laughed, but did give Eryk a punch to his arm before she left.

"You had red hair?" Bertrand wondered.

"You'll see, when it comes back in," Eryk nodded. We'd never seen a boy with red hair before. Eryk's was actually orange, and Father called him 'Carrot Top'. So did I. He kept calling me 'Runt', and that made Father laugh. I thought everything must have been all right between them again, as I didn't see any whip marks on Eryk.

After lunch, though, Miss Morgana the cook gave him a tonic for his pain, and he slept until dinnertime. We walked the ponies around until then, and mucked out their stalls. That part wasn't as much fun as I thought it would be.

That night, I was asleep in the bunk room right after dinner. I was sore all over, sunburned, and happy about it! No silly clothes, no Grandmother, and no 'icky' fancy food.

School the next morning got me some teasing, though.

"Where's your hair?" all the other Noble boys wondered, as we stripped off, washed up from the dusty walk there, and took our seats.

"And how come you're all sunburned, but for your neck?"

"Looks like he was wearing a slave collar!" another boy laughed.

Thankfully, I was saved by our instructor as he came in and called for quiet. "Lice?" he asked me.

"Yes, sir!" I agreed, and everyone but Bertrand scooted away!

"You can't get it, you stupid boys!" our instructor shouted at them, "That's why his hair is shaved off!"

Of all the boys, Wolfram wanted to touch my head. He had very long blond hair in a tail. He was the new boy in the Province, and missed a lot of school due to being ill. Our instructor often had to take his lessons to him, but it was clear that he felt sorry for him. The other boys didn't seem to like Wolfram much, though. I don't remember if he'd been gelded yet, or not.

Looking back, that was all fine by me. After all, who wants to be around a bunch of spoiled Noble brats? It was funny, though, as they all scratched their heads and kept glaring at me.

"Your father told me about your new lessons at home," our instructor told me, when class was over for the day. "It is… unique training for a boy of Noble birth?"

"I like it, sir," I nodded to him. "I think? Armand says I'll be a better Master, if I learn to be a good slave?"

"Toughen you up!" Bertrand put in, and he was right. He wasn't as soft as I was, since they'd made him work in the house ever since he'd been old enough to walk.

Another good thing about Eryk was that since he was older, he could help us with schoolwork if we got stuck on it. There was also stuff, like history and government lessons, that Common boys didn't get at their school. We shared that with him, and he appreciated it. "It's good, if I'm to get into government or military someday," he said.

A few weeks later, and Eryk was up and about and teaching us how to break the ponies. He was walking funny, he said, because he wasn't used to being a eunuch yet. We both got bucked off more than a few times, and we went to bed bruised and sore. Mother was certain we'd be killed. Father came and watched and laughed at us. He also came to look at Eryk's gelding scar. That was how we learned about it, as the leather tie had fallen off the day before, along with the burnt scab, leaving him with a round, deeply-pink scar. Father said it was normal, and even gave Eryk an extra silver coin for when he got to go home the next week to visit his family and show them.

"You'll be all right, walking around the village, now that you're a eunuch?" Father asked him.

"I've got my special collar to identify me, Master," Eryk winked at me, "And a new way to spell my name! Never had much but a ratty old tunic and work apron, anyway." He laughed. "Besides, can't wait to show those idiot town boys who said I'd never get contracted here! They said I was just dreamin' of being a eunuch! I'll show them!"

I knew then that he and Father would be all right. Father slapped Eryk's bare butt, but laughed. "You certainly will! And just tell those little bastards to come right out here, and we'll fix them all up!" He laughed harder.

"Speaking of, Runt," Eryk told me, "It's time to geld your new pony. You're going to learn how. It's the same thing they did to me!"

We just froze when he said that.

"You mean you want me to cut his glands off?" I gasped.

"You need to learn to geld animals, but remember, it's illegal to geld boys unless you're a licensed Gelder, son," Father reminded me.

As you'll recall, that was my first gelding. We hobbled my pony so he couldn't get away. Hobbles, for you uneducated lot, are wooden bars tied between the legs so that the pony can't run way. All he can do is stand there.

Armand brought us out a leather cord that he'd had soaking in water. It was very thin, but tough stuff. I was to loop it around the pony's pouch, pull it as tight as I could, then Armand would tie it for me. We'd then wait for the pouch to start turning purple, then slice it off with a small, curved knife. Armand showed me how to sharpen it, and Eryk just stood there, clenching his legs, and making faces.

"Bad memories?" Armand teased him, tending to the iron in the brazier for cauterizing the wound.

"Oh, yes sir!" Eryk smirked. His hair was coming back in, too. And yes, it was orange. Very orange.

The pony made a lot of squealing noises, but he wasn't going anywhere, hobbled as he was. Father joked that he should hobble us to keep us out of trouble, as we'd been caught sneaking off to have a swim in the cold pond that filled from the stream from the rocky hills. It was so cold that it made our boy-bits shrink up so badly that we looked like eunuchs! I liked that, though, having all of it up out of the way. That was probably when I started hoping that they'd geld me, too.

Well, that and seeing Eryk and hearing his story.

Armand used a small burlap pouch with two small rocks in it to teach us how to cut. After a few practices, and sharpening the knife again, we were ready. The pony's pouch had gone purple, and he was fidgeting.

"It hurts, trust me, he'll be glad to have them off," Eryk told us.

Father gave me the knife, he and Armand steadied the pony, and I sliced.

If you've never gelded anyone or anything, it's hard to describe what it's like to feel that warm pouch of glands come off in your hand. The gelded one isn't a male anymore. He'll never make babies. He'll always have a small, useless prick. And he'll never be able to mate a female – or even want to, Eryk said. I just stood there, holding Lightning's pouch in my trembling hand.

About the pony's name I finally remembered? No, he wasn't fast. In fact, he was rather lazy! Gelding him only made him lazier, I think, but he was a good pony for a child.

Then he let out a terrible squeal and keeled over! Armand was fast with the red hot iron, and seared the wound. Lightning screamed, or whatever you call that sound when a pony makes it! It was awful. It must have hurt really bad?

Eryk fainted.

I put some ointment on Lightning's wound, and we left him alone for a while. He wasn't supposed to move around for the rest of the day, even though it took a boy at least two weeks.

Father tossed some cold water on Eryk, and we all had a good laugh about that.

I was still holding Lightning's cut off pouch of glands in my hand when Father came over to look.

"You just ended his career as a stallion, son!" he told me, "How's that feel?"

For some reason, my prick was hard?

"F-fine, sir?" I stammered, wondering why I felt so funny.

Later that night, Armand served us Lightning's grilled glands, and they were pretty good! Then he told us a tale about a twelve year old page boy being gelded for doing it with a Royal girl whom he served.

"It was fashionable," Armand began his story, "For the ladies and young girls, harem residents or not, to have beautiful young boys as pages. Of course, boys at your age were no threat to them, sexually. Their little-boy pricks were small, and their glands made no seed. This is not to say that the boys never got up to mischief with their ladies, though! A boy might use his fingers, or tongue, or his stiffened little prick as best he can. For those foolish enough to not cut the boys at an early age, a close eye had to be kept on those whole boys. As they aged, of course, they would mature. The first signs would be growth of the male organs – their glands would enlarge and drop, and the prick would grow. This could be deceptive, in that a soft prick might not look like it has grown much. Let it stiffen, however, and it would soon become obvious that the boy would soon be able to take a girl's virtue, should he grow large enough to penetrate her! This would, naturally, ruin the girl for marriage, as she must be a virgin for her groom. Once torn, the thin bit that guards her treasure cannot be restored, and will surely be inspected before she is given in marriage. Never mind the fact that the boy might then be able to loose his seed within her, and get her with child.

"As I was told the tale by my Master, when I was a military page – cut when I was as young as you are now – it went so: A young girl from a good family, perhaps twelve years old, had a servant boy whom she had had since childhood. Much like you, Andreas, and Bertrand. I do not know his name, but the boy and girl had been together for as long as either could remember. Her father had never had the boy cut, not even his glands, much less his prick. The boy was young, after all, and no threat. But as the boy grew older, and his glands matured, so did his prick. So did his desires. But the foolish women had put their trust in these children.

"One night, the maid came upon the boy, mounted on the girl. 'Take me!' the girl was ordering him, and as her servant, he had no choice but to obey – lest he could be put to death, at the worst. And there he was, naked, atop her, sliding his prick into her treasure… in and out, and moaning in pleasure. Why the maid did not act sooner, we do not know. But as she watched, her lady squealed, making the boy pause. There was blood: the boy's prick had grown enough to break her seal. Shocked, the maid separated them. In fear of their lives, both children wept. The maid, however, herself having been pleasured by the boy's skilled tongue in the past, called for the surgeon. Of course the surgeon, being a man, required escort. With a small bribe, and the promise of regularly seeing the boy in the future, concocted a plan: he would repair the damage as best he could, citing a fall causing damage to the girl's middle. A few hard slaps from the maid to make bruises, made it look real. The Master of the house was sent for, and the story told to him that his daughter had tripped over her gown and landed, unfortunately, on a sculpture which had torn her."

"Did they believe it?" Eryk gasped.

Armand nodded. "They did! You see, before the Master was called for, the surgeon took the page boy, bound him, and quickly cut his glands away. It was a dangerous thing, to just tie them and cut, but the smell of burning the wound would be suspect. Using the boy's blood, he made the girl look worse than she was!

"But before cutting the boy, the surgeon oiled the boy's prick and stroked him, also placing a finger up inside of him to press on the spot that all boys have inside. This way, he could force out any seed that was to be found. It only took a moment, as the boy was young, virile, and so aroused. After all, having just pulled his modest but stiff prick from his lady. The blessing was that the only droplet of seed was clear and watery, having no smell or taste of potent seed. Once the boy was done shivering, enjoying the last time he would ever have those feelings, the surgeon waited for the boy's prick to soften. He then cut him, so that the boy would never do such with a lady again.

"Even though his prick had grown, as no one had paid careful attention to him, without his glands, the boy's prick would remain soft. He would have no seed, and never be able – though he might long to – push his hard prick into his lady again!

"And so it was, with his glands cut away, the new eunuch rested and healed. He spent the rest of his days serving the girl with whom he had grown up with, but was never able to do it with her, ever again. She would be cruel to him, though, ordering him to try – touching his useless prick, kissing it, rubbing against him and reminding him of the interrupted night of pleasure when he had lost his manhood, without ever finishing inside of her. All the boy could do was pleasure her with his tongue then, finding no pleasure himself, as there were no men to have his bottom, and not even a toy, as the ladies were not allowed these artificial pricks for self-pleasure.

"Later, as the girl's suitor had understood her supposed injury, they were married. Assured of her virginity, as such is not taken by an injury, they lived happily with the page. She bore her husband children, and when she was with child, or ill, the husband would use the gelded boy as he might use his wife. While the boy could no longer find pleasure with his own soft prick, he soon learned to find his own pleasure in providing pleasure to his new Master. With a sweet voice, and without beard, many a eunuch boy is the envy of even the most beautiful girls, you see. Not only do they mourn that the boys can do nothing with them, but that many men would rather lay with the eunuch boys! That is not to say that this boy did not lie awake at night, alone in his bed, weeping over his gelding! Surely he did, having known what it was like to enjoy the treasures of a woman.

"And so, children, this is why it is best to geld boys at a young age, before their bits begin to grow. Before their sweet voices break, and long before any beards ruin their soft faces. After that night, of course, the surgeon was kept busy gelding every page boy to be found at that Manor, no matter his age. Many glands went into the fires that night, and some even say, many went to the kitchens."

"WHY?!" We all squeaked in surprise.

"It is said that consuming the roasted glands of a man or a beast can enhance a man's virility!" Armand laughed.

Bertrand then asked him, "Do you think they'll geld us, sir?"

"Why do you ask, child?" Armand wondered.

"Well, we're the only two with glands, other than Master?" Bertrand replied.

That got my attention. He was right! I'd never thought about that before. Being six, you didn't think of such things! And since Eryk was gelded, we figured it must be all right.

"You're only six, and the Master has never had a boy younger then eight gelded," Armand explained. He looked at me. "And since you're the only Noble son, you have nothing to worry about." He sighed. "Although I must admit, I think it might do you some good, young Master!"

The first thing I thought, as soon as he said 'Noble', was THAT'S NOT FAIR!

Armand's story, though, stayed with me. I would often see that boy in my dreams, ashamed of his lost glands, mourning his limp prick, and perhaps being comforted by the girl who had cost him his manhood. Sometimes I would dream that that boy was me.

Sometimes I'd dream that the girl was Elise, though, and wake up with a startled yelp!

"Boy, I'm sure glad I didn't end up like that boy!" Eryk later told us, "I haven't had a stiff prick since I was cut, you know!"

So that was Eryk for you – our first real friend, the one who got Father to approve our work training, taught us about sex, and answered all our questions about anything we couldn't ask the adults. I owe him a great deal. And yes, he got that career he wanted. In fact, he runs the Province now and other leaders come to him for advice. And those little brothers he mentioned? All of them came to our Estate, in time, for their sponsored geldings as well.

I hear that, to this very day, he still faints when he sees a gelding take place? He must not mind it too much, though, because he's arranged to have me geld two wayward orphan boys he took in, as well as four of his young nephews.

And now you know why redheads are so rare in these parts!

A lengthy interlude-type chapter in which Andreas and Bertrand go to another Gelding Day Festival. Their day is cut short, however, when they meet up with two Peasant boys about to volunteer. Will Bertrand talk them out of it?

Our adventures up to this point might lead one to believe that Bertrand and I, and our friends, had an exciting life. Nothing could've been further from the truth. Our ninth year passed quickly, with a minimum of excitement. Not counting the birthday party, remember? Funny, but very few people showed up to our tenth birthday party? I never understood why… Come to think of it, having the party outside with Armand and the crew might have had something do to with it? Of course Wolfram came, as did Elise, but we'll get to that later.

Excitement? Hardly.

Remember how I thought that all those farm chores I had to learn might be fun? Right, then…

"Got old fast, didn't it, Runt?" Eryk would often remind me. This particular time, we were trying to shoe a horse. One of the few stallions that Father used for breeding. He was a fine, black beast that we called 'Warhorse'. And with good reason. The bastard hated everybody!

"This is what happens when you don't geld them early!" Father always told us. Never mind the fact that the hobble had been loose, then broken, and that Warhorse had decided to run off – with me firmly attached to his hind leg, too terrified to let go. If ever Warhorse got replaced, I promised everyone, then I was going to be the one either geld or butcher him!

Things like that were about the height of our excitement, though. Our days mainly consisted of school, work, and the occasional trip into the village. The rare times we went to the Gelding Day festivities were a special treat. But as we hadn't had the need to buy or sell any slaves, and since Armand and his crew were more than capable of trading, selling, and procuring supplies, there really wasn't any reason for us boys to go. That, and Father said it cost him too much money for us to go. We argued, of course. That is to say, 'I' argued. Bertrand, Eryk, and Dieter weren't all that keen on watching geldings for some reason.

There was one other thing, as well:
"I've seen how you get when you see a gelding," Father informed me, "You're just like the rest of that crowd, so excited, your little prick poking out, making a tent in your tunic! You need to find something else to get interested in, Andreas, before you become… strange!" he warned me.

Too late for that, I wondered? There was nothing, and I mean nothing, more exciting than seeing a gelding! To see someone – man or boy – strapped down to that gelding table, helpless, just waiting for the cut that would end his days as a man? And it was free to watch! What was wrong with that? It had been about two years since I'd seen Bertrand gelded, and I still had dreams about it. It had been about one year since we'd sneaked off with Wolfram, in his home Province, to see the geldings there. And I still had dreams about seeing that criminal get his prick sliced off as well! Just thinking about it was enough to make my prick get stiff.

For every Gelding Day we missed, that was another missed chance to see something like that happen. You'll remember that the festivals only took place in good weather, and the one and only other we got to attend was fairly boring. In fact, we didn't stay for all of it. Not to joke, but events of that morning, cut that day short for me. It involved volunteers.

I should probably mention that such didn't happen very often. Technically, the Gelder wasn't supposed to do that, after all. He was supposed to turn in a tax for each new gelding, but the Officers on duty, I supposed, must have felt sorry for the raggedy peasant boys who stepped up. They looked frightened and underfed, but somehow hopeful. How such could have been tolerated then, I don't know. That's one of the things that Eryk and his counterparts in the Council have put a stop to, thank all.

We were right in the middle of this one, though. It was my first time actually interacting with Peasants, and I was quite surprised by them. "Eunuchs I Have Known," remember? Here we go again…

"Don't give them money," Father had always told me, as Bertrand and I were accosted by a pair of the pathetic little things that had been following us around. Actually, this had never happened before. I guess we must have looked unapproachable? "They'll either lose it, be robbed, or their parents will take it. If you want to help them, take them and buy them some food and make sure they eat it. I have business to conduct, so you two try to stay out of trouble!" He then took his leave of us, after giving me enough money to entertain ourselves.

So we did that. But you know how it is: you can't sit and eat while a puppy is sitting there, staring up at you. Same difference.

"Thank you, kind sir!" one of the boys told me, bowing, and almost in tears once they'd been fed. The vendor's countenance didn't sit well with me, however, and when the boys were done eating, I told him about it. I was dressed up, you see. I was a Noble, with armed escort. (Not that Bertrand's little short sword would have done much, but it looked good.) This vendor was a Commoner. I was also his customer. I vowed to never patronize him again, nor would my family, if he had such a dim view of a helpless child. Besides, he was probably serving bits of animals that we'd sold. I could do serious damage to his livelihood if I wanted.

"And what would you have me do?" the vendor demanded, quite brazenly, I thought.

"I'm sure a boy like that would be happy to work just for food!" I sneered at him, not realizing that our 'friends' were still following along behind us at a distance and hearing every word.

"It's awful," Bertand was saying, more aloud to himself than to me, I could tell from the look on his face, "I might have ended up like that. It's just not fair."

"They were envious of you," I had to agree.

"They were staring at my scar, what there is of it," Bertrand nodded. In fact, he didn't have much of a scar. You really had to look for the discolored skin, as Armand's remedies had healed Bertrand up quite well. At first glance, you'd have thought he'd never had a pouch to begin with. "I was mortified when they asked me about it. Why do they always ask if it hurts, Andy?" He sounded stricken. "And why do strange men always stare at me, and look away when I notice them? Do they think I'm up to stealing something?"

"I don't know," I could only sigh. Of course, we'd find out later on just why men liked to stare at boys like Bertrand. Some men liked young, gelded boys, after all!

"S-sir?" one of our Peasant tag-alongs then spoke up, and I felt my face flush. They'd heard it all. How embarrassing! I guess my face turning pink made them think I was angry with them. They looked terrified, as one of them was digging at his scalp. "Beg pardon, we're sorry if we offended you, sirs."

"I'm not a 'sir', I'm a slave," Bertrand corrected him.

"You're much better off than we are, sir," the smaller one put in.

Now what in Hades was I to say about that? The last thing we needed just then was two more slave boys, and it was a pretty sure bet that these two would follow us home if we let them. Just like the last dog to show up.

"Could we be of service to you, good sirs?" the little one asked.

Bertrand snorted. I had an idea. "Come along, then!" I ordered them, using my Noble privilege for once. I took them to the barber's stand, where I spent some of my coins (pilfered from Father's treasury, of course) getting both of their heads shaved and scalps treated, along with a bottle of tonic for the rash to take home with them. Just so you know, shaving a lice-chewed and irritated scalp isn't pleasant for the one being shaved. It hurt them both, but in the end, they were grateful. The barber was perplexed, but he didn't mind the patronage, I'm sure. Other than feeding them and getting them somewhat cleaned up, what else could we do for them? I didn't have enough money to buy enough things to need a porter.

"I only asked, sirs, because we were thinking about volunteering today?" the bigger of them bravely stated.

"For the Gelder?" Bertrand gasped, "He's joking when he says that!"

"There's a tax to be paid, whenever he gelds a person," I informed them, "He can't just do it for free." I remembered Dieter saying that his brother had traded their best cow to have him gelded.

The boys looked crushed. They must not have known this, and from the looks of them, I'd say they'd never had two coins to rub together.

"But why?" Bertrand persisted, "I was cut almost two years ago, and it was the most horrible pain I've ever felt! I wouldn't wish it on any boy!" He looked astonished, I thought. "I still have nightmares about it. You're strapped down, naked, and everyone is watching! It's degrading! And honestly, since you're poor, they'll be jeering and making sport of you!"

"It'd be worth it, if someone would take us in, or just hire us, sir," the other answered, "What the tax collectors take from our family at harvest is most of what we produce, sirs."

That didn't really make sense to me, as our Estate produced a great deal – and we always had plenty. In fact, our stores were bulging.

"If we were eunuchs, someone might give us a job," the other added, nodding hopefully, "Is that how you got your job, sir?" he asked Bertrand.

"Being a slave boy isn't a job," Bertrand reminded him, "It's not as if I get paid, or have a career to advance. I've always been a slave, and that's why I'm a eunuch now. That's why I'll always be a eunuch, and never be any good to a woman, or be married, or have children, or even inherit – if I were to be freed," Bertrand explained it to them, in uncharacteristic heat, I thought. I'd never known that those things bothered him, really, and now they were bothering me.

"But you live in a nice house, and have plenty to eat, sir?" the other asked, and I realized that I'd not even asked their names. Another of those Noble habits, I suppose, that I was always finding unfair. I'd done it, looking down on these two naked and dirty ragamuffins, without even realizing it.

"Elias," – "John," they reluctantly told us.

I suppose that was when my views of gelding really changed. Here were these two boys, following us around like stray puppies, just because we'd fed them and been kind to them. And here they were, willing to sacrifice their future manhoods and make a public spectacle of themselves, just for the hope of a job, shelter, or even knowing where their next meal would be coming from. They were willing to endure that kind of pain and humiliation, and for what? A mere chance?

Gods, it just wasn't fair!

And while it was a festival, just like all the rest, our two 'guests' had sort of cast a pall over it. To us, the crowd didn't seem as lively, the colors of the banners and signs not so vibrant. Even the smell of all the festival foods that one could only find there didn't seem to smell that tempting any more. I didn't even want to stop by the vendor with the sweets. I knew I'd share with the two urchins, and that sweets would probably make them sick. I gestured for the two to follow us, and headed back to the coach where Armand and Dieter were waiting. Armand was checking the coach wheels, and Dieter was mending the top neck string on his work apron.

"What'r you doing back so soon?" Dieter asked. I jerked my thumb at our followers. "Oh!" Dieter realized. He pointed at Armand.

"Are you his slave, too?" the older of them asked.

"No, I just work for him," Dieter explained, "I'm mostly a stable boy and field hand, but sometimes I…"

"You're gelded?" the little one asked, which, as Dieter was sitting there naked, was sort of hard to miss.

"Yes, that's why I have my job, and I…"

"NOT helping!" I jabbed Dieter in the ribs with my elbow, thanking all that Eryk had been dropped off and gone home for his week off. He certainly wouldn't have been much help either, as he was just as big of a supporter of gelding as Father was.

When you didn't know what to do, you asked Armand. For a ten year old, Armand knew everything, you see.

"You do what you can do," Armand told me, giving me 'that look'. "Looks like you fed them, and cleaned them up some? What else is there, Young Master?"

"Armand, I need the travel pack, please," I told him. In it were two not-so-good blankets, Bertrand's spare apron and cloak, and a change of not-so-good clothes for me. Bertrand was, as usual, currently naked but for his collar and wide sash-like belt with carry-along pouches a rucksack. I tended to shop, you see. And after all, one never knew when one would need a change of clothing on the road or have to stop and camp.

"What are you about, Young Master?" Armand asked, as the Peasant boys just stared at him in awe. I suppose he was a sight to see, standing there by the large coach horses, most of him exposed but for what his work apron hid, and so tall and imposing? Never mind that he was also armed, and looked like he could pick someone up and break him into bits.

Actually, Armand wasn't helping, either. I was showing these boys just what being a eunuch could get you, I realized too late.

"Take those home with you, for colder weather," I told Elias, the bigger boy. To John, I gave Bertrand's spare work apron and my old clothes. The tunic was getting a bit short, and I'd surely outgrown it. John could use the undershirt. I hated that thing; it itched. I'd just as happily have gone naked with Bertrand, but without my worker's collar and my hair grown out some (never mind being known in the village) I didn't think I could pull it off. Now, if we'd been at Wolfram's old stomping grounds, yes!

The boys protested, of course. I ordered them to dress, but not before Armand ordered them to a troth and produced a bar of fine soap from the things that Mother had requested. The shocked boys looked totally different when we were done with them. In fact, their skin changed color! They might have passed as a Commoner hanging around with a Peasant, or a Commoner well-off enough to have a servant boy.

"We've never had clothing before!" the little one, John, squeaked in surprise, as Armand prepared him a small bag of this-and-that to take home, telling him, "Just keep the used soap!" they tried on the clothing, then took it back off and packed it in the blankets.

Of course, the boys felt obligated to do something: brush the horses, wash the coach wheels, anything at all?

"I wish we had a working position for you," I admitted, telling them the way to our Estate. "But my Father tends to not pay attention to Peasant boys who wander in and play in the forest or ponds, you see? And there's quite a bit of the lower lands near the road, where it's hilly and marshy, that we don't use. It's all grown up for the wildlife, and Mother's birds and such," I was hinting, "Game fowl, and such? Annoying wild geese?"

They smiled as it dawned on them what I was suggesting.

"Just don't tell anyone else, or we'll have poachers, not that it's poaching if you've permission to be there," Bertrand put in, nodding, "And think about what I told you?"

The boys nodded, bowed again, and finally fled with their treasure.

"Think they'll volunteer?" Dieter wondered.

"They don't have any money," I muttered, "It's just a joke to make the crowd laugh and scare foolish boys who don't know better."

"You can't save them all, child. There's simply too many of them," Armand told me, putting that big arm of his around my shoulders, "But it were good of you to try. I'm sure they'll come fishing, now that they know where to find you."

"Come on, Andy, let's go watch the first gelding, before your father comes back," Bertrand suggested with a groan, "That's sure to cheer you up! Maybe they'll catch a thief, or a criminal like at Wolfram's hometown?"

It didn't cheer me up. You see what's coming, don't you?

"Right, now! Any volllllunteers?" the Gelder drawled the word out, just as he always did, waving his knife about as his assistant checked the table and brazier. I noticed that Will (I think that was his name?) had grown much taller that year.

Normally, there would be Common boys teasing one another, laughter, friends pushing a friend forward in jest, screaming in mock panic, and boys running off to later sneak back and watch. A father or uncle might have paid the Gelder a bit to prank his boy, to point at him, and tell him, "Well, yes, my list here says that you're next, boy? Come on, then? The list never lies!"

This time it was different.

"Me, sir?" a piping voice spoke up, and we looked around to see a small hand raised.

It was a clean hand.

It was a clean hand that was attached to a thin arm that was attached to a bald boy holding a new string-bound wrapper with a bit of my old clothes poking out of it. In his other hand was a small purse with who-knew-what in it.

Damn, there must have been some coins left in the pocket of my tunic, I thought, And he thought those were for them, too.

"Me too, sir?" another voice added, as John stepped up. They'd packed up their clothing as best they could, probably for fear of getting it ruined, and Elias was clutching that new pack like it was a treasure. To them, it was.

"Oh, no," I groaned, feeling Bertrand's hand on my shoulder, and realizing that if they'd had money to buy that pack, they might have something – anything – to offer the Gelder in trade now.

No jokes, no laughter, none of the usual revelry as the bald boys stepped forward. For a while, everyone just stared at them. I was right – they had been mistaken for Commoners. Shaved, clean, naked, ready to go.

"Say, I know you!" the barber then spoke up, having come to watch, "You're those Peasant boys what showed up with that bratty Noble and his slave! I remember your rash!"

"And from whom did you steal all that from, then?" the Gelder demanded, once Elias and John had been exposed as Peasants, beggars, among other things that the crowd whispered about them. Someone had just had to have recognized them, of course. Peasant children always came to festivals to beg. Surely they hadn't begged enough to pay even one gelding fee?

"Say something, or they'll be arrested!" Bertrand hissed at me, "I don't think having a hand chopped off and worked to death in prison is what they have in mind!"

"From me!" I spoke up, "And I'll have you know, I gave that to them! They've been porters for us all day!" the Gelder didn't seem to know what to do. Apparently, it had been quite some time since he'd had a volunteer. Neither did the barber, for calling me a brat. Luckily, the Gelder remembered Bertrand and me, and we could vouch for Elias and John.

"Well, we can't just…" the Gelder began, but I'd paid attention in school. At least, I'd paid attention to the lessons where gelding was concerned. I was going to have make it sound good, as the crowd was watching intently. After all, catching a thief was just as good as a gelding.

"Believe me, good sir, these two are Peasants – and yes, I gave them my old, outgrown things. We've spent an enjoyable day in their company. It's been very educational, for all of us. Under the law, you are not obligated to contact their parents, as they probably don't have any, anyway. Peasant boys, if I recall, may volunteer for your call. I believe the law might tend to look away in certain cases, sir, where payment cannot be made? Should you choose, you could also contract them to work for you until you feel paid off. That, or you might be feeling charitable, sir? I know that I was certainly charitable today, as my purse is much lighter!"

"Please, sir! It's true!" Elias spoke up, offering a handful of coppers from the pack, "He even paid us!"

The crowd was buzzing excitedly at the prospect of volunteers, and laughing at the few coppers that might have bought a small snack. Certainly not enough to pay for even one gelding. I figured that several of them probably remembered Bertrand and I, and recognized us. Small village, really. We all knew everyone else's business. And speaking of, just where was Father?

"You asked for volunteers, good sir?" I reminded him, "You always do?"

"What are you doing?" Bertrand hissed in my ear, "I thought you didn't want them gelded?"

"Trying to get him to make them go away!" I hissed back, "Scare them off!"

"Hello, Bertrand!" Will then waved at us, "You're looking very well? Evidence of how good a'work we do here!"

"Not helping," Bertrand groaned, which got him a few more looks and even compliments.

We then noticed the attending Officers here and there suddenly become quite interested in the shrubbery near the garden area at the center square, and my stomach pitched. They were turning a blind eye, indeed, to these volunteers. Whether out of pity, or whether they just wanted to see two young boys gelded, I never found out. Either way, they were making it obvious that they had no plans at all to confront the Gelder about shorting the Council of two gelding fees that day. I glanced around, and I could see quite a few men and boys in line. Some were Commoners, probably in hopes of a better career, but most were slaves of varying ages in chains. It was that time of year, after all. There was even a slave trader there, handing out fliers to them what could read about his coming auction of freshly gelded 'goods for sale'.

The Gelder was going to have a big day, after all – and the Council would get plenty of tax revenue. No one would miss those two fees, and who'd remember two Peasants anyhow?

"Just get on with it!" someone called out.
"Yes, geld them!"
"Do them some good!"
"Make sure these two don't make any more of their like!" the crowd was buzzing harder, encouraging it. I could already see some of the spectators becoming aroused. Oddly, I wasn't.

"It didn't work," Bertrand told me, as if I couldn't see that.

I motioned the Gelder in closer. "My Father would be quite upset, if this were to go badly, sir," I reminded him, "As all of our workers are always gelded? And I've been learning to cut animals, too. Just so you know, sir? Oh! And my friend, Wolfram? He's running around here somewhere, I wonder? He has a whole tribe of illegitimate little half-brothers from the serving girls, I'm told? It would be bad for your business if Wolfram were to tell his father that he'd have to take all those mixed-class young boys all the way back home to be gelded later on?"

The Gelder got my point right off.

"I expect these two to be treated as well as Bertrand was, sir?" I reminded him with a smirk.

Moments later, and Elias (the bigger and braver) was washed again and being secured to the gelding table. He was painfully thin, and his bits quite small. Will had a difficult time in getting his pouch tied off, in fact, despite a good hot soak beforehand. Still surprised, the crowd just looked on as we waited for his pouch to begin to change color, the sign that blood flow was properly blocked.

"Last time you ate?" the Gelder asked.

"This morning, sir," Elias answered.

"Before that?"

"Not sure, sir," Elias said.

You'll recall, the reason the Gelder asked was to see if he'd need to put a plug in Elias' bottom, to keep him from releasing his bowels all over the gelding table. He didn't, as the boys hadn't had enough to eat in who-knew-how-long to need to have a bowel movement.

"Hurts?" Bertrand reminded Elias, having stepped up to hold his hand.

"It's not that bad, sir," Elias managed, as Will gave him a gag to bite down on. I just stood there, holding the pack of our old clothes for Elias, no doubt the only things that these boys owned in the whole world. Normally, I'd have been excited. That day, I just felt awful.

"You knew they'd come?" the Gelder asked me. I only nodded, but he seemed to approve. "Pity that more boys like you don't throw their weight, or money, around like that. Yes," he sighed, "I think we can get away with two off-the-books geldings today!" He clapped me on the shoulder. "And the little one is sort of cute. Surely someone will want him?"

"Did you get them all cleaned up and ready?" Will asked me, and I nodded, feeling John's hand take mine. "How considerate of you, sir! Nothing worse than having to work with a dirty Peasant. Risk of infection, you see!"

I noticed that John had a stiff little prick as he was then put in the tub for a hot soak to relax his doomed pouch. He was fascinated, (two baths in one day?) trembling, but still grinning as the Gelder declared his friend ready. He craned his neck to watch.

"It's a quick slice," the Gelder was telling Elias, "It's going to sting some at first, then a moment later, the real pain hits you. The burning of the wound is the worst, but you'll probably pass out. Now, Will here has been doing a fine job of late, so he'll be the one cutting you."

Elias could only nod. Bound and gagged and fully prepared, there was no going back for him now. He was about to get his wish of becoming a eunuch boy. I doubted he knew that he could die of it. If the tie were bad, if the cut went wrong, or if he got infected – it was all over for him. And just how good was Will?

So it was that young Elias was gelded. His little pouch came off quickly, but he was brave about it. He tried to not scream, but failed. Being a Peasant boy with no money, his bits went into the fire. I don't think I'll ever forget the expectant look on his face as Will positioned that small curved knife under his swollen pouch. He called it 'the boys' knife', and with good reason. It was just right for gelding small ones. A small knife for a small job.

But it certainly wasn't a small thing to Elias.

He endured the pain just long enough to see his severed glands come away in Will's hand. And when Elias lost consciousness, he was still smiling. I had to admit, I was somewhat jealous. Bertrand looked proud at how well Elias had taken it. There was even polite applause from the crowd. Just before they went into the fire, I noticed how small and insignificant Elias' glands were. It was funny, I thought, how something so small (or being rid of it) could make such a difference for a boy.

His friend, John, was the same way. Yes, another John. Much like 'Simon', you call that name, and half the men in town look around. John screamed, too, but mercifully passed out when he first saw the hot iron.

"Can you believe that?" the crowd was buzzing.
"Volunteers?"
"I thought it was always in jest?"
"Yes, to scare the boys!"
"Never seen a volunteer before!"
"The boys just do it, then run away, for fun!"
"What would make a boy do that?"

"Being hungry, for one thing!" I snapped, at whom, I didn't know. And I didn't care.

The one comfort was that no one had mocked them.

"We'll make sure they're taken home safely," the Gelder told us, as Father stepped up to collect us.

I think he could tell from the look on my face that I was done for that day. Surprisingly, he didn't say a thing until we were back in the coach. I didn't want to see any more that day. I'd not even gotten a stiff prick over it. The roasted, seasoned meat sticks I'd eaten earlier weren't sitting well in my stomach.

"Armand told me what you did, son," Father finally said, "I'm very proud of you both. Well done."

And that was that. I figured I'd never know what would become of those two Peasant boys.

***

About a week later, when Eryk was due back from his monthly visit home, he brought word of Elias and John. It seemed that he'd spotted them clearing brush at the boundary of our Estate, around one of the smaller lakes. There wasn't a scrap of dead wood to be found around the southern tip, and those annoying wild geese were much fewer in number. In fact, with the strip of forest between the lake and the road, no one but Eryk could have seen them as he cut across when he saw the smoke of their campfire.

"I told them that if they fancied fixing up that old stock shed," Eryk told Father, "That no one would mind, sir. I think we might move the sheep and goats to that unused pasture, now that there's someone to watch them?"

"Squatters, hmmm? Well, free labor is the best labor," Father agreed, grinning, since he probably knew that I'd told them to come. Father always knew, it seemed. "Why don't you go down there and see how they're doing? A landowner should always know what's going on, even on the fringes of his land."

"Too soon," Armand put in, "Those boys were cut only a week ago!"

"Right you are, Armand. You should go too."

So we went, collared and in aprons (it had turned cooler). We saddled up the ponies and rode down the way to see our two new squatters. Dieter and Eryk went with us. Armand brought along some tonic and a salve to sooth burns. It was a good thing, too, because it looked like Elias and John hadn't done as they'd been told. I supposed that staying in bed for two weeks was out of the question for Peasants?

The lower lake and stock shed weren't perfect, but it was clear that someone had worked on it. The area all around the shed was cleared of brush, and it had a partial new thatched roof made of the reeds and brush and such cleared from the lake. Most of the tall grass had been cut and put in sheaves, the old scythe in the shed having been sharpened and polished. Dieter figured that the boys must have come that day, and been working from sunup to sundown to accomplish so much. We hid behind a large tree and just watched the naked, shivering boys for a bit. They'd made a trap at the spillway of the lake, and were happily cleaning fish for their dinner.

Our appearance startled them, but they were still happy to see us. They showed us everything they'd done, and it took a while to explain my appearance to them. I suppose seeing a collared Noble boy who actually worked was something of a novelty for them?

"You look like a slave, sir!" Elias laughed, once we'd set them at ease. They had a hard time accepting the fact that we were just a bunch of friends out for a day – not a Master and his lessers.

"When he's collared, the Runt answers to me!" Eryk gave me a playful shove, "Even though he owns the place!"

"And me!" Armand added menacingly.

The boys were astonished at that bit of news, if not a bit terrified. Dieter was looking unsure, though. "Since it's so far from the house proper," he was wondering, "It would probably be a good idea to get these two some worker collars, don't you think? To avoid confusion?"

"Good idea," Eryk told me, "Some Officer might come by on the road and arrest them for squatting. Armand should draw up papers to post in the shed, too."

"Are we gonna be your slaves?" John asked, the hopeful look on his face making me feel sick all over again as he babbled about what all they'd done.

"I think they could work for room and board, Andy?" Bertrand pointed out, "It looks like they're doing a good job here?"

"We'll have to find a couple of your old collars, and rework them," I agreed with Bertrand, "That way, anyone who spots them will know that they belong here."

"But you said you didn't care, sir?" Elias wondered.

"I don't, but the law might," I reminded him. "Stupid law, as if anyone would miss a wild goose if a hungry family ate it!"

Armand then gave the boys a closer look, and he didn't look happy at all. He and Dieter had been right, though: the boys hadn't waited long enough to recover. They were hesitant at first, but did as they were told when Eryk seconded Armand's opinion. After all, they knew what to look for in geldings gone bad with the animals. And there were problems with the boys.

Elias' gelding scar was badly scabbed from bleeding around the burn, and sure to leave a terrible mark that would make our Gelder look bad for shoddy workmanship. You could hardly see the tie, for all the scabbing and hardened ooze. John was much worse off. He had a fever, and his equally scabbed scar was red around the edges and seeping. His prick was even pink, and the tip of his foreskin inflamed. They protested, but Armand was having none of it.

"You two are going to DIE if you don't get care at once!" He bluntly told them, "You've both got infections, and even though your ties haven't fallen off, the wounds might not be closing properly with all this moving around. You could both start bleeding, and John, you've got a bad infection. You have to come and rest until you fully heal!"

"But, sir?" John protested, near to tears.

"That's an order," I added, as Armand picked up Elias, and Eryk took John. Riding wasn't a good idea, not with the condition of their wounded groins.

Armand was not pleased, and he gave the boys 'what for' about what they'd done. I could tell from the look on his face, though, how upset he was. He carefully cleaned Elias' wound and applied a honey plaster, which was good for infections. Elias protested, but didn't have much choice as Dieter and Eryk dragged him off and tied him down to Dieter's bed to recover. We figured it was the only way we could keep him in bed to heal.

John needed a bit more care. After careful cleaning of his wound, Armand decided that his foreskin was going to have to come off. "It's not as bad as gelding," Armand assured him, "Hurts, yes, but easier to do. Not so uncommon, really," he was telling us. "Many peoples practice it, and many religions demand it." He gestured to his own small prick, which was indeed circumcised. "My Master had mine done shortly after I joined the Military as his Page," Armand went on, getting John washed up and ready. "Infections like this, when your unit is out on duty, can't always rely on a physician. That, and some units circumcise the men to discourage sexual activity. Being a eunuch now, John's foreskin isn't really needed. It's mainly for protection of the tip, as well as sexual pleasure later in life. But without the ability to stiffen now, the tip should pull back and protect itself."

He then began rummaging about in his storage cabinet, grumbling to himself, until he found a small, carved wooden tube with a groove in it. "The prick goes in here," Armand explained, as John was secured to the table. John was upset, naturally, and we held his hands while Armand went on: "Once the prick is safe from amputation inside the tube, the extra skin is pulled back tight, and then rolled over the outside of the tube." He fitted the tube over John's prick, then rolled the skin back and then over it. "The skin should be pulled forward, over the tube, as far forward as we can without too much stretching – fetch me that string, boy!" He pointed to his shelf of various 'things'.

"Please, sir! Don't cut my prick off! I'll be good, I promise! I won't play with it, and I won't bother any girls! How will I pee?" John was babbling, as Eryk boiled the string and heated a knife.

"You're already a eunuch, you can't do that anyway!" Dieter reminded him.

"Oh, I forgot!" John pulled a face.

"He's not cutting your little prick off, John," Bertrand assured him, "Just trimming some infected skin."

"Now we tie it off tightly," Armand went on, as John squirmed. "The string is tightened into the groove on the tube, below the skin, crushing it. That way, the bleeding is controlled."

John was crying, but Armand knew what he was doing. It wasn't unusual to have to trim a bad foreskin now and then. He was quick, and his knife was sharp. We were amazed at the amount of skin that he sliced off, just in front of the tight string tie. Into the fire John's foreskin went. John screamed, and Armand bandaged him up with a honey plaster as well. When he was done, it looked like John had a larger prick made of wood with a tie at the base.

I'd turned some to hide my stiff and throbbing prick, once again having those strange feelings at seeing a boy's bits cut on. It was like butterflies inside of me, and something felt tight in my crotch. I thought I might pee, but I was sure I didn't have to. It still gave me the shivers.

Then Eryk, ever the prankster, threw a bucket of ice cold water on me!

"I hope your mother has another boy, so we can geld YOU!" Eryk laughed at me, "If anyone needs it, you do, Runt!"

I thought that I should have been so lucky. Even though I knew why my prick got stiff like that, it didn't make sense to me. Armand called it being 'aroused', but after all, eunuch boys didn't make babies. Women did, and I never got stiff thinking about mating with them. Bertrand just handed me a towel, rolling his eyes and sighing.

"But we've work to do, sir!" Elias was protesting, as Armand ordered our two new boys be kept on bed rest, and stuffed with all they could eat, until he was satisfied with their healings. Armand cracked his knuckles at them and picked up a small whip, not that he'd ever use it. It was obvious, at least to me, that he was on the verge of tears himself. Contracts or not (which Armand would later draw up for Father to sign), slaves or not, Elias and John were now his boys. His children. No one was going to argue with him on that point. When the Overseer declared something worker-related, that was that. Not even Father would question him.

Armand then ordered a few of his men to the old shed, to complete the roofing job that the boys had started.

Those two weeks passed quickly, and Elias and John weren't really aware of them. Armand kept them full of tonics for pain (mostly pure alcohol), and Bertrand and I played nursemaid the whole time. We found out that Elias was from a family of Peasants almost as remote as Dieter's, and that no one would really miss him. Like Dieter, his being gone was one less mouth to feed. He'd often be sent into the village by his parents to beg, with the hope that he'd find someone better off to take him in. Lately, they'd been threatening to sell him to a Slaver if the harvest were bad that year.

John, on the other hand, was an orphan who'd taken to following Elias around and helping him with his work in exchange for what meager bit of food and shelter he could get. Despite their protestations that no one would come looking for them, Armand dispatched Dieter and one of his men to the boys' family with news, as Dieter knew the way.

Our men weren't pleased when they came back. "Nothing that a nice running-through wouldn't fix, sir. And they even had the nerve to request compensation for the boys! 'Wondered where he'd gone? Thought a Slaver might have nabbed him,' they said! Can you imagine, sir?"

Dieter's opinion of them, while sympathetic to Elias' plight, was about the same. We picked up on his meaning at once.

Wolfram, who had just come visiting with the pending harvest season, wasn't pleased, either.

"It's like they've just sold a good woolly sheep, or something?" Wolfram spluttered.

"Not everyone values a good boy, the way some do," Armand reminded him, having finally decided that Elias and John could go back to work at 'their lake'. Before he did, though, he presented Elias with a freshly made Contract collar.

"It's for ME?!" Elias wondered, as the collar locked shut with a CLICK! around his neck. "It's just like yours, Andy!" he crowed, as we'd finally broken him of that fawning, demeaning behaviour of his towards me. At least, when I was working, that is.

"You know you now have to stay here and work, until you're grown up?" I reminded him, which made Elias so happy he cried. "Father will send your family some compensation at harvest."

"Who cares?" Elias just smiled, feeling at his collar, "Do we get to stay in the shed, too, Andy?"

Gods help us…

John, much to all our surprise, was given a slave's collar. As there was no one to claim him, and Elias' parents had no legal rights to him, Armand did just that – claimed him. I was confused, but John seemed happy about it. I noticed the extra symbol stamped onto John's collar, the character that meant 'unsalable'.

Father would later explain it to me: "You see, son, those two boys aren't costing us anything. They were gelded as volunteers, and you encouraged them to follow you home. They're getting their food from the land we don't really use, and they're increasing the sheep and goat herd down there. More pasture land cleared, more breeding, more stock to market, and an improved lake. More meat, more fish, more wool, and we've no cost to keep them, what with them living in that shed. They're taking care of themselves, and making us even more profit in the long run. Why, we didn't have to buy little John!"

"But didn't we just, sort of, grab John and force him to be a slave?" I wondered, "Is that fair, sir?"

"Try and make him leave," Father assured me, smiling, and he had a point, "And if we hadn't, someone else would have. John is better off now, and all the better for his gelding. It's already gotten him a good home, and someone to look after him. A child like him, alone in the world, wouldn't have stood a chance. And if we hadn't taken him, I'm sure that Elias' family would have sold him – and probably to a much worse Master than he has here in Armand. And yes, Armand can claim him, with my approval. It's no different than an uncut slave siring a child."

"But Masters can sell slave children," I reminded him.

"I could, but I wouldn't do that to them. Here, John has care, shelter, food, heat in the winter, and his friends. He's very young, probably the youngest we've ever had, other than Bertrand. He's worth a fortune, too, but more than that, he's a hard worker. Not that Armand would part with him now." Father paused, "And he's happy."

Father was proven right in the long run. Our sheep and goat herd increased dramatically, and we made a small fortune off of the unpaid boys' work. Elias' family was sent less-than-proper compensation for his Contract, but Elias never went back home, and no one ever inquired after him. With a bit of help, he and John expanded the shed and made themselves some nicer living quarters and a small raft for fishing. That unused lake became sort of a getaway spot for everyone on the Estate, now that it was all cleaned up. It wasn't uncommon to find a few other Peasant boys sneaking around, or Elias' younger brother. But as Armand said, some of the larger fish from the neglected lake needed to go. The feral geese certainly did, and the boys were happy to have them to eat. It wasn't like we'd miss the excess from that previously unused bit of land.

We got word later that winter that Elias' parents had died of a fever, and it wasn't but a few days later that Elias' younger brother, Donus, showed up. It was just a matter of timing, or Fate, as Armand called it, that the Military unit in which Wolfram's cousin Zacharias served was coming through on their way for leave and troop reassignments. You'll remember him, from when he'd been in the area and lectured at our school? It was sort of a joke between them that Zach (as we called him) was always after Wolfram to come and be his Page, but when Zacharias saw Donus, that was that.

After healing up from his visit from the Gelder, Donus happily left with Zacharias. He was adorable, Father said, in his Page boy uniform. Wolfram couldn't have been happier. We wouldn't find out about some of the things that eunuch Page boys got up to with their Masters who weren't eunuchs, but Wolfram knew all about it – shocking to us as that was!

"You know the old saying that eunuch boys are better than girls?" Wolfram just snickered, "And Zach's unit isn't a eunuch one! Just their Captain is."

"They do it with their Pages?" Bertrand gasped.

"How?" I blurted.

"You're too young to worry about it, Runt," Eryk told us, but we'd certainly find out later – from Eryk, of course.

As for Elias and John, both of them have stayed with us to this very day. Elias took over managing all things water-related for the Estate, and still lives in that expanded and remodeled shed; it's more of a cabin now. Boys have come and gone over the years, Contracts and slaves, but Elias' door is always open to any Peasant child who might come calling. I've never questioned him when he's requested a child-sized collar, and he's requested many over the years. He still wears a Contract collar, too, and what he's done with his money since we started paying him some years after he came of age, I don't know. Nor do I care. I think he might be using it to feed Peasants.

John remained a slave, never even questioning his status until he was grown. The worst thing he ever had to endure was dodging attempts from Miss Elise's parents to buy him. When John came of age, Armand tried to emancipate him, and it broke John's heart. He wasn't very sharp, you see, and I suppose he must have thought that Armand was going to sell him. Instead, the young man was given a brand new slave's collar, plenty of reassurances that he was stuck with us, and to this day manages all things plant-related. He has this thing about grass, hay, and mowing. I think it might be from when he first came to us, and made all those sheaves of grass at the old shed. For John, the world ends at the edge of the road. I don't think he's ever set foot on it since he was a little boy. And just like Elias, John's never been one to say 'no' to any child.

Miraculously, Wolfram's cousin, Zach, hasn't managed to get himself killed yet. Donus now serves in that same unit, and has a cute little eunuch Page of his own. Not that he can do anything with him, but it's clear that they're very attached to one another.

by Anonymous & Paolo

Andreas & Bertrand & and the crew head to the big Harvest Festival. Miss Elise has an accident with her hair, and forms a plan. The Gelder is busy, and something's wrong with Wolfram

Eunuchworld Editor Paolo's Note: Thanks to Anon for letting me help embellish this part!

The only thing better than harvest time was, as you probably know, the Gelding Day/Harvest Festival! What more could a ten-years-old boy want? A trip to the village, all those stands and shoppes, all that food, and of course – geldings! Men and boys, for whatever reason, strapped down to the Gelder's table and having their pouches of glands sliced off. You never knew what you were going to see! There might be a Common or Peasant boy simply looking for a chance at a better life, a slave of whatever duty, Military conscripts of prisoners being shipped off to the Hinterlands, criminals, and rarely, someone with a medical problem for which gelding was simply a relief.

Those were pretty boring, though. What you really wanted to see was a conscript or criminal, struggling and screaming, even though there was nothing he could do about it! Just the thought of it was enough to make my prick stiff, and make me all tingling inside. I just hoped it wasn't the medical cases, though. Boring…

Apologies to my dear friend, Wolfram, who was a medical relief case, you'll recall. When we'd first befriended him, in fact, he might have been mistaken for a girl. Gelding often had that effect on young boys, and there was still some debate as to whether Wolfram's gelding, or our regimen of therapy (working like a slave boy) was to be credited with his spectacular recovery. Wolfram was more muscular, he'd had all that girly blond hair shaved off, and spending so much time naked out in the fields with us had darkened him (after nearly sunburning all his skin off at first) down to an almost acceptable tone.

More and more, as Wolfram's father was spending most of his time with his second son, Leo, Wolfram was at our place. At harvest time, he'd live with us for weeks on end. He'd even stay through the restart of school, and then we'd accompany him to his Grandparents' Estate for their early Holiday Celebration. You'll recall that there was a great deal of social stigma attached to Wolfram, being a rare Noble eunuch. As I've said, it might be commonplace these days, but when we were boys, it wasn't. Working with us kept Wolfram's mind off of the fact that he simply couldn't be the son that his father wanted – and needed – to carry on the family line and inherit the Estate. Stupid law, which Eryk and the Council have since overturned. What did it matter if you had glands or not, as far as owning an Estate? And if it was "yours," why couldn't "you" just bequeath it to whomever I liked?

To us boys, it didn't matter. It was clear, though, that his father's more obvious affections for Leo had hurt Wolfram. He didn't talk much about it, but his pleas to stay with us made it more than obvious. Father even had a document giving him permission to "manage said boy (Wolfram) as his own son". I suppose it was the same with a man like Elise's father, who had no sons. Wolfram's father had a firstborn who was now a eunuch. And my father had me – a rebellious son who'd rather spend his time with slaves and workers than with other Nobles. I suppose we were all something of a disappointment, or a social embarrassment?

Still, we were children and it was harvest season. Looking back, those were good times. It was a perfect season that year: the weather was warm, the skies were blue, the clouds were puffy white, and we were all busy with our new boys – Elias and John – in the previously unused land around the lower lake. It was turning out to be excellent pasture land, and while it wasn't quite the same as seeing people gelded, there were plenty of late-season lambs and goats to geld. That, and the lake was perfect for goofing off, when Armand wasn't around! Still, we'd had about all of the mowing of tall grass and making sheaves that we wanted for the moment. It was the perfect time to head up to the northern inlet where the really cold water came into the lake. Diving in felt really good, warm as it was, and it was always a good laugh at how that freezing water made our boy-bits shrink up to nearly nothing. Well, in my case. For everyone else, it was just a small, useless prick that shrank so badly that they looked like girls! But nothing could have ruined it for us. Not even Armand yelling at us to get back to work.

Almost nothing.

"ANDEEEEE?"

"What was that?" Dieter wondered.

"Injured sheep?" Elias looked around.

I should have been so lucky.

"Hello, Elise," I groaned, seriously considering seeing how long I could hold my breath if I grabbed a large rock and just sank to the bottom.

"Uhhh, naked boys here!" Eryk reminded us all, pointing to our work aprons, which were currently spread over rocks in the sun to dry.

"It's not like I haven't seen it before! Hello, Bertrand!" Elise waved demurely.

"What are you doing up here?" I asked Elise, who had made quite a mess of her clothing getting there. I mean, who went traipsing around the forest in a good dress? And there was Bertrand, of course not bothered by his enforced nudity, greeting her like the proper little slave boy. I think he just did it to annoy me.

"Andy, are you aware that the other side of the lake is overrun with stray Peasant boys?" Elise wondered, as Bertrand held her skirts so she could wade in the shallows where the smooth pebbles were.

"They're clearing out the grass-fish and eels," I informed her, "Before the pests kill out all the good fish. They have permission, after all, they eat those horrible things!"

"Well," Elise looked up at the sky, twirling her hair around a finger. Something was always wrong when she did that – looked all innocent and played with her hair. "I guess that makes it a bad time for your mother to show my mother and the ladies the new gazebo and boat dock you're putting in down there?"

Recipe for disaster! Ladies, construction, and Peasants! This was no time for dignity. We all rushed out of the water and grabbed aprons to try and head this off. Of course, Elise was giving us all a good look. Scandalous she was, peeping at us naked boys? Eunuchs. Whatever!

"Andreas!" Elise gasped, "When did they geld you?"

"Cold water, Miss," Bertrand explained, smirking.

"Oh, is that what that saying means?" Elise giggled.

"Not that there's anything wrong with being gelded," Wolfram put in.

"Isn't he just adorable?" Elise took his arm, as if she needed more help with her skirts or shoes. I figured that we'd somehow get blamed for her wrecked dress, and what was she doing wandering about up there without escort, anyway? Still, we couldn't wait for her.

Another long story short, as there's a better one coming, all hell was breaking loose at the dock. We could hear it long before we got there. We'd have gotten there sooner, if not for the fact that none of us realized that a girl might have problems running across a log over a shallow ravine. Some shortcut. Fortunately, Wolfram and Bertrand went right off the log with her.

"THIEVES! Making off with MY FISH!" Grandmother was bellowing when we arrived.

What in gods' names was she doing down there? Grandmother hardly ever ventured past the back gardens.

"They have my permission, Grandmother, and they're not your fish!" I reminded her, grabbing her by the arm before she could land a hit with her walking stick on one of the terrified Peasant boys. By rights, they were Father's fish, and since he wasn't there, that made them my fish. Of course, it didn't do any good to try and explain it to her. All she cared about was swinging her stick and shouting very unladylike things at the Peasant boys.

"Filthy little thieves! I'll see to it that you all get more than your hands chopped off!" Grandmother shouted, taking a swing at a poor little boy who was clutching a basket full of those invasive river eels like it was a treasure chest. Smoked eels. Gods, I'd rather eat pony dung!

I had no idea the old bitch was that strong, as she'd jerked her stick out of my grasp, gave me a shove, and swung at the boy. I jumped in front of him (I think, it gets foggy from there), shoved him aside, and took the hit from Grandmother that was intended for him. I was seeing stars.

"Andreas!" Grandmother gasped.

"MOTHER!" Father shouted, coming down the way with some men, "What are you doing down here?" He paused, while my mother and her serving girls, namely Miss Morgana, tended to my head. Hell, if Grandmother had hit that little Peasant boy like that, she'd have broken his skull!

So, there we were: Father and Grandmother were going at it, Mother was beside herself, the Peasants were terrified, Armand had come and was shouting at us boys, my head was bleeding, and then Elise's mother screamed.

Coming up the way were Bertrand, Elise, and Wolfram. And something else? I blinked, but I was seeing double. Bertrand was naked, and Elise was wearing his apron. Well, his apron and a bit of the lacy collar of her dress. Wolfram had her by the arm, and Elise was looking somewhat scratched. She was also looking excited.

"Where's your dress, young lady?" Her mother demanded.
"Out there with a pair of boys!" Grandmother put in.
"A proper lady doesn't go off messing with…" my mother was saying.

Were they really assuming that? "They're both eunuchs, and ten," I groaned. Why were they always so worried about that? I was the only one who could possibly mate with Elise, and… well? Why in gods' names would I want to? Was that all the adults ever thought about? Sexual relations?

"Where's your dress?" Elise's mother repeated.

"Rosebush, Ma'am," Bertrand answered with a bow.

"And you're all cut up, why?" My mother asked.

"Rosebush, Ma'am," Wolfram answered, holding up his small sheaf knife and grinning.

"And what's that… thing… behind you?" Miss Morgana wondered, as the three children parted and moved to show us.

"Rosebush, Ma'am," Bertrand smirked. They all stared at him. "It's a very large bush, you see!"

Indeed, a lengthy piece of the wild rosebush was tangled in Elise's long hair. She was trailing a good ten feet [3 m] of the thick, tough stalks that Wolfram's little knife couldn't cut.

"I fell off the log! It was so exciting!" Elise explained, "There we were, running through woods, over the log, like a bridge! And then…"

"… Dowwwwwn we went," Wolfram cut in.

"They broke my fall," Elise smiled, patting Bertrand's scraped arm.

"Ouch!"

"What's going on here?" Armand then demanded, having heard the ruckus from the barn and come running. He took it all in. "I'll go fetch the tweezers and the salve," He groaned. "Boys, sheaves!" He pointed at us, suddenly all business again, "BOYS!" He shouted at the Peasants, who were still frozen, just taking in all this Noble bru-ha-ha, looking at us if we were all insane, "Keep fishing! I want this lake all clear of eels and grass carp by harvest's end!"

"Yes, sir!" the Peasants all smiled, and happily went back to work.

Grandmother was still livid, though. "They're trespassing and stealing!"

"MOTHER! House – Now!" Father told her, as he was clearly embarrassed at the scene she'd made. "You know nothing about work being done, and…" his voice trailed off as they passed, but not before Grandmother managed a smack with her stick to Bertrand's bare behind as she passed. It had to have hurt, as scratched up as he was. And it was uncalled for. I hated it when she did things like that, and the old bat knew it.

"Knock some sense into him, I hope!" Grandmother sneered at me.

"Your dress?" Elise's mother wondered, as Wolfram held up a scrap, perhaps large enough to make a good saddle-polishing cloth. "Oh!"

"It's all my fault, Mother," Elise explained, as their servants assisted Armand in thorn-plucking, "I wandered on up to where I heard the boys playing…"

"Who were supposed to be down here, sheaving, and not up there, swimming!" Armand growled, yanking a particularly long thorn from Wolfram's behind.

"AIGH!" Wolfram yelped, carefully adjusting the front of his tattered apron.

"It was hot, sir?" Little John whimpered, knowing full well, already, that Armand wouldn't be cross with him.

"And just how did she manage to slip off unnoticed, and make her way to the upper spillway?" Elise's mother asked her servants. I had a feeling there was going to be some punishment there, later. Some of the goats had come to graze upon Elise's wild rose train. Not helping…

"It's not fair!" Elise pouted, as Miss Morgana and the others tried to sort out her hair. I'd seen floral wedding trains, but never the whole bush! It was a lost cause; the rosebush wasn't giving up so easily, and Elise's hair was quite long and thick, "The boys get to have all the fun! And yes, it's hot! Just because I'm a girl, and I can't have a swim with…"

"Not with boys!" Her mother repeated.

"Eunuchs," Wolfram snickered.

"She's going to look like a boy, when this mess is sorted," Armand fretted, despite the goats' help, "Fetch me the shears," he then ordered Dieter.

"You wouldn't?" Mother gasped, as Elise's mother fainted.

"It's either that, or take the rosebush home with her," Miss Morgana mused.

"Oh dear!" Elise smiled sweetly. I could have vomited. I saw where she was going.

In short, the women were near hysterical at Elise's haircut and had to retire to the parlor for cold drinks and fanning. The men were amused. We boys didn't know what to think. Elise, however, was enthralled. I swear, they took enough hair off of her to weave a tunic.

"It's so light, and cool!" she breathed, as it was near to dinnertime when Armand and Miss Morgana were done freeing her of the rosebush. She was looking at her reflection, and feeling at her head, which still bore enough carefully cut hair that wasn't quite long enough to put into one of those ridiculous boy's styles of the day. Thankfully, Bertrand and I and the rest had just been shaved a few weeks before and had hardly enough hair to brush down. One of the Peasant fisher boys had lice, you see. I'd loaned him my cap, and given him a handful of large coppers for his time and bugs before Armand had shaved us all! "You boys are so lucky!" she concluded, brushing the hair clippings from Bertrand's apron.

"You were right," I told Armand, "She looks just like a boy."

Elise sighed.

"Give it a few more years, Miss," Armand quickly added, "And all the boys will be following you around!" He winked at the gang. "Well, perhaps just one of them!"

"Why?" I wondered. Elise smacked my arm. "Hey! Head wound, remember?" I pointed at my bandage, which looked more impressive than my hurt was.

"I didn't hit your head," Elise informed me, sounding put off. "Perhaps I'm not the only one who needs a few more years?" she smirked at me. "You're pretty small, Andy!"

"The water was cold!" I protested, "And now your father will think he has a new son," I countered at her, and realised too late that I'd probably just given her a really bad idea.

"Pity we don't have a harem in need of a spy," Armand mused, "Or that we're not in dear Persia. Oh well! Dinner!"

So Elise had dinner with us, before anyone missed her. She found it quite interesting. "You do this every night?" she wondered, "What are these?" she held up a bit of round meat.

"Sheep and goat kids' stones," I used the crude Peasant term, "Their balls! Makes you virile, Armand says." I gave her a sly look.

"You should eat more of them, while taking a hot bath, then, Andy!" Elise came right back at me. "Do you even sleep out here, Bertrand was telling me?"

"This time of year, yes," I answered, "We work until dark. Then we clean up in here, and work more until we drop over. You know, then we get whipped, like good slaves, and chained up for the night…" I grinned.

"That could be arranged!" Armand told me, leaning over and tweaking my collar. But he was smiling. "Won't you be in trouble, Miss?"

"Oh, no," Elise sighed dramatically, "I'll just whine to Father, cry a bit, tell him how bad I feel about getting the boys hurt and into trouble, beg on their behalf, take all the blame, mourn my hair, and I'll be off Scot-free."

"The boys got themselves into trouble," Armand reminded us, "You just blundered into it, Miss."

"How did we… ?" I started, then stopped, "Oh, never mind!" Of course it was our fault. My fault. It always was.

"Your chances of getting to go to the big Harvest Festival are dropping fast," Armand warned us all.

"I'd love to go the Festival!" Elise exclaimed.

"Girls don't go to the… ohhh, no! Wait right there!" I gasped, but Armand was laughing. Elise was modeling that work apron, looking for all the world like a Common boy.

"She makes a better boy than I do," Wolfram sighed.

"This is a poorly conceived plan!" I spluttered, "It'll never work!"

***

After what seemed like a season of endless work, and waiting forever, it was finally time for the Harvest Festival! Wagon after wagon was loaded. Spare stock was either loaded up, or tied into teams to lead to market. Down by the lake, brush was piled neatly for the small game wildlife for the winter, and firewood stacked by the remodeled and enlarged shed. There wasn't an eel or carp to be seen in the lake, and as a reward, all those hard working Peasant boys were given new woolly cloaks for the coming winter. I told them that I expected them to come back and help Elias and John from time to time, as the stretch of lowland was too much for two boys to manage. They all promised that they would.

"You're learning," Father told me, rubbing my fuzzy head, as we all finished up getting the small caravan to market ready to go. He then pointed to the house. "You, Bertie and Wolfie go and get cleaned up. Boys!" He told the rest, "You too, in the barn. Best aprons, and clean up those collars! I want those heads shining, too. And polish the work boots – I'll not have you going looking like a bunch of naked Peasant savages!" He caught me by the arm. "Good clothes, son, and keep what hair you have!" He warned me.

I didn't need to be told twice. Market Day at the Festival was important. I wouldn't have dared embarrass Father there, not in front of his associates.

Once clean and looking Noble in our green/brown outfits, I outfitted Bertrand with a good apron and an undershirt. Given his pack and belt for pouches, he didn't really look 'dressed'. Well, not like a Noble. But at least he wasn't going naked, being shown off like a piece of property. I knew how that was from my little masquerade at Wolfram's home province, where no one knew me. Bertrand was right – men looked at you, sometimes even touched your arse, smiling, or even offering the adult in charge of you money to 'borrow' you. And it wasn't like Elise's teasing, either. It was scary.

"Father hasn't called for me," Wolfram mumbled, as we finished getting Bertrand situated.

"His loss," I reminded Wolfram, as we headed downstairs to go. We'd been up very early, and the eastern sky was just lightening. The women, who wouldn't be going, weren't up yet.

"Wolfie, what's wrong?" Bertrand asked. Being a slave, I guess, made him more sensitive to things like that. Sure, I knew that my friend was upset, but Bertrand saw more. He always did. He still does.

"Spare sons usually begin to apprentice when they're twelve, and I soon will be," Wolfram told us, "And what with Leo now…"

"BOYS!" Father's shout cut us off, as Armand came rushing to bundle us into the coach with him. He even stuffed Bertrand in, instead of making him ride on the back with Eryk and Dieter. Armand was making one final, somewhat hysterical, check of what looked like chaos.

Father turned to Wolfram. "Your father sent word last night, boy. He'll be very busy with a new and important client today, someone that your cousin, Zacharias, knows from the Military. You're to stay with us until further notice."

"That's great!" I crowed.

"Yes, sir," Wolfram just mumbled. Then he said it: "He doesn't want me, now that Leo's the right age, sir."

"Wolfie, I'll not mince words," Father patted his leg, "Being a eunuch, it's true that you don't have all the rights and privileges of intact Noble boys. Those are stupid laws, I think, for what it's worth. But as long as this Estate stands, and I know I speak for Andreas as well, you will always be welcome here."

"Zach wants me for a Page," Wolfram finally said it.

Father's face hardened. "Boy, if I have to enslave you, I will – just to keep you!"

"Could be worse," Bertrand added, as we exchanged a look. Was Father joking?

"Yes, you could be stuck with Elise," I snorted, having this feeling in the pit of my stomach that she was (given her recent remarks) up to no good. And whatever she was planning, unlike me, she was sure to get away with it.

"Only thing worse than having a eunuch for a son, is having no son at all," Wolfram sighed.

Father didn't speak to that end, but he was looking thoughtful. Something else was bothering me, too – something that I remembered our Instructor saying in class, and what Wolfram had said. As the firstborn, Wolfram should have been the one to inherit their Estate, and Leo should have been apprenticed. As Wolfram was a eunuch, though, that had reversed things. Second son Leo would be the one to inherit, while Wolfram would have to learn to do something else and hope that Leo wouldn't just toss him out, or give him to Zach's Military unit.

It gave me pause, too, in my own fantasies. In fact, quite a bit of reluctance with it. At that time in my life, I'd never stopped to think, nor actually been aware of, the rights and privileges that I'd lose as a Noble eunuch. I'd be in the same boat as Wolfram. Reluctant? Yes. Suddenly.

If I were to be gelded, then by law, Father's holdings would go to my next younger brother, who, at that time, hadn't shown up yet. What would happen to it, then? What would Elise's father do, if he didn't manage to have a son in that flock of daughters? Adoption wasn't unheard of, but it wasn't fashionable for Nobles, either. Boys in search of a home usually ended up with a collar, not a new family.

My worries soon evaporated, though, as we arrived at the Festival. The village seemed to have expanded into nearby harvested fields, with tents and temporary livestock pens set up all over. Claims were being staked on a first-come, first-served basis, with Commoners and slaves working to organize and keep things in order. coloured flags flew on corner posts, and the whole area looked like one huge pasture being filled. Stock was corralled, fees collected, wares unloaded and stacked. Everywhere was a bustle of activity, with vendors already hawking their goods and services, and crowds beginning to form. It promised to be a busy three days, and we would spend the entire time in the tent that a few of the slaves were pitching. Even Elias and John were busy getting the new wethers and a few ewes and nannies into a pen, proud of their accomplishments. Fine, tender wether for slow roasting, after all, was a delicacy that would bring top price.

And there were, naturally, plenty of naked, dirty, ubiquitous Peasant children about. I had to wonder just how many of them, given the crowds from far and wide, and complete with travelers, strangers, and Slavers, would end up missing by the time the Festival was over? I wondered, too, how many destitute parents would happily sell their spare children? I expected to see at least a few of them on the Gelder's table in the coming days, tied down and helpless, being gelded to be packed off to gods-knew-where.

For some reason, I didn't like that idea. Geldings, of course! Just not certain cases, and I had several in mind. I fetched the box of small collars I'd sneaked in, and gave them to John and Elias to pass out to our fishing friends. No one was taking them. I'd relieve them of the false collars later, hoping I didn't get caught.

"Andreas!" someone then called out, and I knew that voice. (Wounded sheep?) Cringing, I turned to see a boy that I didn't know. He was dressed in a rust-coloured and beige outfit and matching cap that hid his short hair, but clearly a Noble. I wondered if he might be a eunuch, as he looked and acted quite effeminate.

"Warmed up yet, Andy?"

"ELISE?!" I gasped.

"Ephraim, at least, for the next three days!" Elise smiled at me, "Just think of me as one of the boys, Andy! Father thought we'd have a bit of a lark, since that go with the rosebush."

"I knew it! I just knew it!" I growled at her, as we were trying to unpack and get set up in the tent. Elise followed me in. Bertrand and Wolfram took it much better than I did. I couldn't believe the nerve of her father! It was a scandal, dressing her up like a boy and passing her off as one! "Poorly conceived! It'll never work!"

"You make a better boy than I do," Wolfram congratulated her.

"Master Wolfram's feeling a bit melancholic, sir," Bertrand added, taking his role seriously. After all, we were out in public.

Elise, rather – Ephraim – said she'd (he'd) not seen Wolfram's father's caravan yet. This was going to get confusing, I could tell! I should have known… It was a big event for 'him', though, as girls weren't usually to be seen at the Festivals. Oh, you'd see them in the more ladylike shopping areas in those parts of the village, but usually for a day trip, and always with an entourage of servants, if not slaves, standing guard while they shopped for things like material, flower bulbs, housewares, and the like. Fine china wasn't what interested Ephraim, though.

"Cheer up, Wolfie!" Elise/Ephraim encouraged him, "I only get to be a boy for three days, you know." At least that got Wolfram to smile again. "So, we don't get to see Gelding Day until the last day of the Festival, I understand?"

We all just stared at her. Him. Whatever…

"You want to see THAT?!" Bertrand squeaked.

"WHY?!" Wolfram agreed.

I just sighed and rolled my eyes. I supposed that being eunuchs, as the both of them were, had given them a different perspective on Gelding Day. Still, my prick was stiff under my good tunic as I thought about it. I wondered if girls might have the same kind of response, you know, in however their girl-bits worked? If boys got stiff pricks, what did girls get?

"Well, just thinking about it, imagining what it must look like, just makes me feel all… tingly? Down there?" Ephraim just came right out and said it. Leave it to her. Him. "Does it make you feel like that, Andy?"

I knew I must have turned a dozen shades of red in the face. It was one thing to ask a eunuch boy about his experience, but for a girl to come right out and ask a boy about his bits?

"He gets… excited," Bertrand nodded, "You'll understand when you see it, sir."

"Lots of men in the crowd get excited," Wolfram added glumly. "Andy, I don't want to go."

"Then you don't have to," Armand stuck his head in, looking frazzled. He smiled at Ephraim.

"You're a scandal!" I told Ephraim. (I think I'll just stick with the masculine version.)

"I know!"

"What's the scandal? Farther east, and around the Gulf, it's commonplace for a man with no son to present a convincing daughter as such," Armand explained, and it clearly didn't bother him at all, "Until your breasts begin to grow, and your hips widen, you could pass as a boy for years!" Armand laughed, more at our discomfort, I think.

"Don't encourage her – him!" I snorted.

"Just tell them you're a eunuch," Wolfram sighed.

Damn – and I thought we'd gotten him over that.

"It hurt him," Bertrand would later tell me, as we hung back a bit from the rest, once we'd finished setting up and were heading into the village proper, "How would you feel, Andy, if you father sent you off to a friend's, then took me – if I were really your brother – to the Festival instead of you? And then he didn't so much as bother to come calling?"

"I'd feel pretty bad," I agreed.

"Bad about what?" Ephraim wondered, having dropped back to see what was keeping us. So Bertrand explained it to him. Her. Whatever…"Andreas, don't you think it's odd, what with all those little brothers he's got, that Wolfie's father suddenly lets him come your place, and doesn't even bat an eye when he finds out what you're all doing? Having him work with you? Then they have you come along for family outings? And when he's home, Wolfram's right back with you again?"

"Do you think they might be planning to do away with him, sir?" Bertrand asked, grinning at Ephraim, and once again immersing himself in the 'slave in public' role. "After all, he's learned a lot from us, his marks at school are good, he's much healthier – and nearly twelve."

"And a eunuch," Ephraim reminded us, as if we needed that.

"He's older, Andy!" Bertrand leaned in to whisper, "He was talking about apprenticing? And he's clearly distraught? What if his father is planning to apprentice him? He knows Wolfie can't inherit the Estate, or have sons, or get married. Now that we've gotten him healthy for them, what if…" Bertrand paused, "It's legal to sell him, you know! And cousin Zach's regiment is in the area! You know how Zach likes him!"

"Wolfram, in the Military?" I laughed, "He'd be killed before they left the Outpost!"

"There are a lot of eunuchs in the Military," Ephraim reminded us, "Just because I can't go to that fancy school of yours, doesn't mean I don't have an education. Father has a library, you know!"

"If Wolfram's an embarrassment, then sending him off with Zach when they ship out would be the perfect way to get rid of him," Bertrand agreed, "Then little Leo takes his place, and their father saves face. No offence!" He added hastily to our counterfeit boy.

"None taken," Ephraim patted his arm. I reminded him that boys didn't do that. We punched each other on the upper arm. "OWWW! This isn't as easy as I thought!"

***

That first day of the Festival really wasn't that much fun for us. It mainly consisted of following Father around, meeting all of his associates that he only saw a few times a year, and listening to them making deals with all the other Estate owners, while showing us off. Armand and his men saw to the business dealings with our stock and wares, and our Contract workers – like Dieter and Eryk – were given time to visit with family. I could have done without meeting some of those associates' sons, too. You know the type? After all, I went to a school full of them.

Wolfram's father had finally shown up, too, with Leo in tow. Leo looked just as miserable as his brother did, though, and the Provincial meeting that involved all of us was a bit awkward. While no one said anything, the fact that Wolfram stuck out like a wounded thumb was obvious. All of the showing off 'the heirs' revolved around Leo. I suppose it was to make sure that we all knew who we'd be dealing with in the future, but really, none of us boys could have cared less. It was dull.

We were all surprised, too, when Ephraim's father introduced 'him'. I wondered if he'd spoken with Armand, as Elise-in-disguise was introduced as his newly adopted son, in fact, a nephew he'd taken in due to family tragedy in another Province. It was legal, of course, but it would take some maneuvering on the part of the Magistrate.

"How hard is it to find a woman that can produce sons?" One of the men laughed, "Maybe you should try a maid or three? I could trade you one of mine?"

"How rude!" Ephraim whispered to me, as we set of to get some lunch after a tedious morning of negotiating over horses, cattle, sheep, you name it…

"You're worth much more than a good milk cow," Bertrand whispered back, and Ephraim punched him on the arm – hard! "I think you've got the hang of it now," Bertrand grimaced.

"They've just been very busy," Wolfram told us, when Ephraim asked about it, "Father says he's had almost as good of a year as we have."

I caught that word: 'we'.

"Wolfie, when you comin' home?" Leo then asked, "I miss you!"

***

So ended our first day of the Festival. Tedious meetings, business deals, and being shown off like a prized bull in show. 'My son this, and my son that!' It was enough to make one want to sneak off. Here we were, with all sorts of festivities and entertainment taking place, and our fathers wanted to go from tent to tent and talk about business.

The second day of the Festival was much better. With all the business out of the way, it was now time to purchase all those things we'd need for the coming year. And there was a lot of it. Mother's list could have gone a furlong, if we'd unrolled it. Fortunately, Little John knew just where to find us plenty of porters. Father just rolled his eyes upon seeing all those 'new and counterfeit' slave boys.

Most of our men, after all, would have to stay and guard our assets. It wasn't unusual to see an Officer hauling someone off for theft, and we all knew where that fellow would end up! What we had was a reunion of our 'lake Peasants', as Father called them, and all too happy to help. They were mightily impressed with John's slave collar, his leather-wrapped wrist manacles that were mainly for show, a pack almost larger than the boy was, and especially his eunuch status. Father didn't even ask where the Peasants had gotten those collars of ours.

"It's the best job ever!" John assured them all, as he'd spent his first day telling other slave boys the best way to wash a sheep and get the best wool from them. He and Elias must have been doing something right, as all that wool had made us quite a bit of money. That, and Armand was irritated that everyone who saw John wanted to buy him. It just didn't seem fair to me, though, that John didn't see a single of copper of any of that money.

"And what does he need it for?" Armand reminded me, "His job is to work, and your job is to take care of him!"

And so we shopped. We returned to the coach to unload. We laughed at John looking like a stranded tortoise when he fell over backwards and couldn't get up. Then we shopped some more. And of course, we ate. When the day was finally done, Armand repeated one of the tales of his homeland to anyone who would listen, which was most of us, plus John's friends. Even Wolfram's cousin, Zach, came; his regiment was the one now on local patrol, it turned out, for the coming year.

***

FINALLY, it was time! Day three of the Festival, the last day – Gelding Day! The event I'd waited for all year long! In fact, preparations had begun after lunch on the second day, as it was to be such a huge event. It always was, the last Gelding Day of the year, but this one was to be even bigger. There were the usual Slavers passing through, of course, but it seemed that events in the far reaches of the Northeast had resulted in a bumper crop of slaves. In fact, I overheard one of the Slavers talking with the Gelder and his assistant, Will, that some were now referring to that area as 'The Slav' Lands'.

"You want blondes, we can get 'em!" I overheard one man saying, which made Wolfram decidedly nervous. He stayed behind with Leo that day, which only seemed to make Bertrand more nervous. The crowds had seemingly doubled in size, and we were all ordered to stick close – just in case. Father would be going with us, as would Armand, as he was looking for someone with a bit more strength to work with stone in refurbishing the fireplaces.

"You'd need a grown man with glands and no prick for that," Father mused, as they were discussing the abundance of willing boys of all ages that seemed to follow Elias and John around. "They could expand upwards, you know, create an upper pasture in the foothills."

I don't even know where to begin, it was such excitement. I suppose this Gelding Day stands out in my mind more than any other, though, because Ephraim was there, and still a bit stunned that 'he' was going to seemingly be masquerading as 'the adopted son' for quite some time to come. That, and the day was promising to be hot. We'd hardly finished breakfast, and already, my clothes were beginning to bother me. I'd gone with only the good tunic and cap and boots, but it barely helped. I was jealous of Bertrand and the others, who'd decided to go with collars and packs only. Eryk, for one, was proud of his eunuch status and could get away with it.

I wasn't the only one excited to be there, though. Ephraim was nearly beside 'himself' with anticipation. "You mean we actually get to stand here and watch them cut off boys' bits?"

"You've never seen it?" some man asked, "What's wrong with you, man?" He asked of Ephraim's father, "You've never taken him to see a Gelding Day?" He then looked closer. "You're not already a eunuch boy, are you son?" He asked Ephraim.

"Late, sir," Ephraim replied, rather slickly, I thought, "All the boys in our line mature late!"

"But when we do!" His father laughed, clapping 'the boy' on the back. It was such a turnabout, to think how he'd treated his 'darling Elise' before the rosebush versus hair incident. A haircut and change of clothes, and he thought he had a son now? The men laughed about it. I was sure that Ephraim would hear plenty more dirty jokes and rude comments before the day was over!

"We won't be having any volunteers today!" the Gelder called out to the waiting crowd, gesturing at the two tables he'd set up. It seemed that both he and Will would be cutting that day, and a boy that I didn't know would be assisting. He wore an apron, but no collar, and seemed to be about our age. I have to say, I was jealous of him! Was he the next apprentice, then? Was he already gelded? Was he going to be, just like Will was? What I wouldn't have given, I thought, as I watched the boy checking bowls to collect severed glands (balls, stones, nuts, seeds, some even called them) and making sure that the various knives and ties were in order. The brazier was glowing, and the cauterizing irons ready.

"We'll be very busy, so pack a lunch!" the Gelder went on, gesturing to where a traveling Slaver had his human wares in a row: a dismal looking line of men and boys of varying ages, all chained together by their collars, and all hobbled. They didn't look starved, though, as sickly and weak slaves wouldn't sell well at all.

"Or buy some lunch here!" the Slaver added. Of course, we'd had cooked animal glands before, but it was obvious that this fellow's culture practiced the art of cooking HUMAN glands! I was appalled; I thought Ephraim and Bertrand both might vomit, as the Slaver gestured to a brining pot near the brazier. I would later find out that he was moving through the lands, from Festival to Festival, on his way back home along the common trade route. Of course, he'd have different customs – but still?

The crowd laughed, then cheered, as the first to be gelded was brought forward. He was a teenage boy, slightly older than Eryk, I thought, and he was just beginning to develop. His glands had certainly dropped, and his prick was probably about half the size of a grown man's. He had just a bit of hair above it, a few wisps under his arms, but nowhere else. He looked as if he'd worked outside all of his life, as he was well-muscled and trim. Like the rest of these slaves, his head was not shaven. In fact, it looked as if some care had been given to their cleanliness.

"Not everyone buys a slave for field work, Runt! Gotta have 'em looking good!" Eryk reminded me, giving me a poke in the ribs. Of course, I knew what he meant, even though I wasn't really sure how relations between a man and boy worked yet. I could imagine, though.

I watched as the boy was unhooked from the others and led forward, the Slaver and one of his men holding him by an elbow each, the boy's hands tied behind his back. The boy looked terrified, and when he got a good look at the gelding table, he panicked.

"Please, sir! Don't! I've always been good!" the boy begged, shaking his head of black, curly hair. His dark eyes were wide with fear, and he was trembling and starting to pant.

"And now you'll be even better!" the Slaver told him, giving the boy's bare butt a slap and urging him forward, "Come along, now? You don't want whipped, do you?"

"N-no, s-sir," the boy choked, but he still had to be dragged to the table. His begging and crying only fueled the crowd, however. Catcalls and whistles, words of encouragement, and laughter filled the air as his hands were unbound and he was strapped to Will's table. He only struggled briefly, then seemed (to the disappointment of the crowd) to just give up. He lay there, staring at the roof, crying quietly.

"These are all for sale," the Slaver was shouting, "Number One here, from near the Southern Sea. Just now fifteen years of age, familiar with men since he first big enough, but never put to a girl! Hard working, trained in field work, and mannerly."

Bids for the boy were being called out as Will tied his pouch tightly. The boy winced, but only whimpered as Will gagged him. His prick was standing straight up, the foreskin pulling back to show just the tip of his prick leaking clear fluid. At his age, he was, no doubt, full of seed already.

"He's sure to squirt, when Will cuts him!" Dieter told us.

"What's that?" Ephraim wondered.

"You'll see, boy!" Eryk laughed.

As soon as the first boy was bound, and his pouch tied, the next was brought forward. Somewhat older and with brown hair, he was built much the same way, but his bits were bigger. This one struggled and screamed, however, seeming to not realize that even if he did make a break for it, his hobbles wouldn't let him run. The crowd would surely stop him and haul him back, jeering and laughing the whole time. Still, he begged and shouted as loudly as he could, which only fueled the frenzy.

"Two at a time," Bertrand sniffed, "Efficient," he looked away. "He might as well give up and have some dignity!"

"You don't have to stay, you know," I told him, even though I knew he wouldn't go. Bertrand's place was right beside me, and he'd always be there. Always has been.

"Thanks, Andy," he whispered in my ear.

The crowd quieted down some as the Gelder and Will picked up their knives. The boys' pouches had turned colour, but the brown-haired one (despite his stiff pick) had wet himself in fear. Their apprentice washed him up quickly, and the crowd again grew noisy as the Gelder selected a plug. He oiled it, then quickly shoved it into the boy's bottom. The bound boy screamed into his gag as the plug went in.

"I'll not have you shit on my table!" the Gelder gave his thigh a hard slap.

Beside me, I thought Ephraim might faint. He'd grabbed my hand and was staring, perplexed. "Oh my!" He breathed, "I had no idea!"

Meanwhile, the plugged slave was struggling at his bonds again, fighting with the plug in his bottom. There were jeers and jibes about how he seemed to like it, and it looked as if he were trying in desperation to move his hips to get more comfortable. A glob of white juice leaked from his throbbing prick as he struggled.

"He loves it!" someone nearby called out, as the Slaver noted the bids.

"They always sell the younger ones first," Armand reminded us.

"Michael, I'll be going first," Will told the young apprentice, who moved with his bowl to position it just below the black-haired boy. Will then positioned his knife, as did the Gelder on his boy.

It was a quick slice, and the first boy's pouch of glands fell neatly into Michael's waiting bowl. In one fluid movement, as the first boy shot his white seed all over his own front, screaming into his gag and pulling at his bonds, Michael turned and neatly caught the second set of cut glands in the bowl. The second boy shot out his seed as well, splattering it all over his front, even hitting the roof pole on his first shot! Michael then dumped the contents of his bowl into the pot of brine.

For just a moment, both new eunuchs lay there, weakly struggling, with the last of their seed oozing from their wilting pricks. The second boy was still struggling with his plug, and leaked out much more than the first. Bids were taken for both, and looking around, I could see many a man and boy with a bulge in the front of his tunic. A few of the teenage Commoner boys already had wet spots, having squirted their own seed into their undergarments. My own prick was hard, I was tingling inside, but nothing like that happened to me. I was just past ten, recall. Still too young for that.

Then Michael fetched two hot irons for his bosses, and the bound boys screamed as their wounds were burnt closed. Both fainted, and Michael moved to help clean them up and unbind them. The Slaver and his assistant then helped unbind them, large men as they were, and carefully carried the fresh eunuchs to a rented stall to recover on a bed of fresh straw.

"They're not going anywhere!" someone laughed.

Beside me, Ephraim was stunned. "Oh – dear – gods!" He mumbled, trembling, and holding my hand tightly, squirming, as if he might wet himself. Herself. Whatever… Still, his face was pale. Bertrand fetched him a cup of water, after calling to Will for one. They had a brief exchange of pleasantries as the next two slaves were brought up.

"First time, boy?" someone asked Ephraim.
"You all right, son?"
"Take slow, deep breathes!"
"Don't faint on us, now!" another told him.

Ephraim finished his cold drink and wiped his face on his sleeve. Very boyish, I thought, as he leaned back on his proud-looking father. "This is all your fault, Andreas!" He punched my arm.

"What is?!" I squeaked in alarm, "That hurt!"

Still, two more slaves were 'on deck', as Father called it. I was just glad that he'd not yet insisted that we leave, but he and Armand were inspecting the merchandise, so to say.

"Where's John?" Armand was wondering, "I sent him to get us a bite before this started!" He was paying close attention to a young man, perhaps twenty, who looked quite muscular. "You ever work with stone?" Armand asked, and the slave nodded.

Armand was looking him over as the next two slaves (older teens again) were being prepared and bound. Both of them were struggling and shouting, and the Slaver ended up thrashing one of them across the butt with a quirt of four strands. The welts he raised on the boy's bottom were sure to add to the misery.

The crowd was loving it as John showed up with two half-eaten mutton shanks, one in each hand. His eyes went wide in fascination as he watched the one slave being whipped and the other tied down.

"Oh, don't be a baby!" John added his jeer to the crowd's, "I'm only eight and I didn't bawl like that!"

This, of course, got John plenty of attention and plenty of offers to buy him. I had no idea that a little eunuch boy like him could bring so much of a price!

"Isn't he darling?"
"How old is he?"
"Listen to the boy!"
"This little fellow was braver than you!"
"How much for the little one?"

"Uhhh, John?" Father asked him, "What happened to my meat stick?"

"I had to make sure it wasn't poisoned, sir!" John smiled.

Armand covered his face and groaned. Father and the crowd laughed.

The boys attend Gelding Day. The Festival runs a day late for the annual Apprenticeship meeting. Andreas gets a couple of surprises, as Elise makes good use of her shorter haircut. The Estate acquires a new slave, and the boys get to train up one of their Noble schoolmates.

Paolo's Note: Thanks again to the author for letting me help!

As the next two slaves were bound and prepared, the crowd near us was still laughing at John and his mutton shanks. I thought Armand looked like he might die of embarrassment. The other boys were laughing, though, and Father thought it was hilarious. Not so long ago, and I'd have feared that he'd have punished John severely. Even the older slave waiting in the gelding line, with whom Armand had been chatting, smiled.

"Oh, come on! You big baby!" John forgot himself in the verbal melee, poking fun at the bound, terrified slaves on the tables, "You'll never get a good Master that way!" Of course, the more John got into it (Elias hid behind us), the more the crowd loved it. Will and the Gelder saw him, and of course remembering him, called him forward.

Come to think of it, I can probably recall everyone I've gelded, too? But that's another story for later.

"Go on, John," Armand groaned again, "As if this could get any worse!"

Father shoved John playfully forward, and Will hoisted him up and turned him all around for everyone to see.

"Here is a prime example of our work, as you can see, clean-cut with no pouch remnants," Will was saying, "You're looking very good, John," Will added, tickling the boy where his pouch had been.

"Thank you, sir!" John laughed, enjoying all the attention, flexing his small arms, and showing off how well, even for a child, that he was filling out. Good food and hard work would do that. "I got kinda sick, but I didn't stay in bed long enough after you cut my pouch off. I thought I might have to come back and get my prick cut off, too, but Armand fixed it."

"And a very nice little prick it is," the Gelder added happily, taking him from Will and passing him back to Father so that a few bystanders could also admire him and make offers. The whole time, I was thinking, Don't these idiots know that all they have to do is ask a Peasant boy, and he'll happily go home with them?

"So when I say two weeks of bed rest, I mean it!" the Gelder informed everyone. "Now, don't you just feel stupid?" He then asked the slave that had been whipped with the quirt, "I remember cutting that little boy! He climbed right up there, all by himself, and didn't fuss a bit! Only cried for a minute, too. Now – if he can do it?"

The humiliation was more than the young man could take, and he broke down sobbing. He was gagged, and the crowd heckled him all the more. The difference was, I thought, that this young man knew what he was losing; John, no doubt, had no idea – and wouldn't, for years to come.

Personally, I think that if you're going to geld a slave, then the younger – the better. That way, the boy will never understand what he's lost.

"What a baby," John just rolled his eyes, as Father put him up on his shoulders to watch. I remembered being that small… once.

By then, the two slaves were ready to be cut. Once again, Michael the apprentice did his smooth movements in catching the severed glands and dumping them into the brine pot. As soon as one pair came off, landing in the bowl, the boy would gracefully spin and catch the other. Ephraim didn't react so badly this time; instead, he just stared in fascination. Both of the slaves squirted their seed while screaming into their gags, and Michael then cleaned them up as before.

"Ha ha! I was right!"
"He squirted!"
"You owe me money!" Were the cheers from some of the crowd.

The Gelder had been right, though: it was going to be a long hot day, given the number of slaves, let alone anyone else. I'd just excused Bertrand to go to the physician's stand next door to get something for his stomach when Father asked, "I suppose you'll not move from this spot all day?"

"No, sir!" I smiled at him, "Unless we have to go?" I wondered if he'd noticed how I'd been staring at Michael the apprentice? What I wouldn't have given to have his job! My prick was so hard that it actually hurt. I had to wonder, did those human glands feel anything like pony glands in your hand? What was it like, touching a man's cut off bits?

"Stay here, then," Father told me, and I almost screamed in delight, "Armand and I have to talk business with the Slaver about this one who claims to know masonry work."

"Andreas?" A man then asked me, and I recognized him as Manuel's father. Manuel was one of my schoolmates, not that I'd have called him or any of the others a friend.

"Sir?" I nodded to him, "Where's Manny?" I asked, hoping he'd think that I actually liked his son. In fact, I started entertaining fantasies of Manuel and several classmates being strapped down there and gelded. And why was he even talking to me? I'd never visited Manuel's Estate, nor he mine.

"They're more interested in the food vendors," Manuel's father shrugged, "I saw your father and Armand here, but it was you I wanted to talk to, Andreas." I nodded at him. "Who's your friend?"

"Ephraim, sir," 'Elise' answered, "I'm, ah, new here! Elise's cousin."

"Pleased to meet you, boy! Andreas," he turned back to me, as 'Elise' sighed in relief that the ruse had worked, "What I wanted to know is what, or more like how, you're doing such work at your place? I saw from the hill, on the way here, that you've done wonders for that swampy ground near the road? And you've so much to sell? Manuel said he thought you had some new slaves on it? How do you afford to keep them all?"

I looked around to see Will and the Gelder pausing to have a cold drink while young Michael cleaned up the tables and checked the brazier. We had a moment, as many of the crowd was going to do the same.

"John?" I motioned to our boy.

"Sirs?" the boy quickly bowed as he came over.

"Finding good help and keeping a slave isn't difficult, sir," I told Manuel's father, "You're just looking at it all wrong." He nodded for me to go on. "The last time we came into town, John and his friend followed us around. We fed them, gave them little jobs, and they sort of just followed us home, sir. Being Peasants, they were thrilled to be offered free run of the lands we weren't using, or didn't have time or manpower to reclaim. I made them a deal – they could take out and keep all the dead wood, clean the place up, get the weed-fish out of the lake, and for room and board in the shed, they could stay there and mind the flock if they fixed up the shed. As for keeping them, they fixed their own home. They know what wild plants to cook, and had goat's milk, fish, and small game to eat. They feed themselves. You see, sir, there are plenty of poor Peasant boys who'd jump at the chance for the food and a decent place to live. That sheep shed was more of a house than John ever had, and he was actually excited when he thought we were making him our slave. John and Elias were so eager, in fact, that they didn't rest up long enough after their geldings, and came and went right to work."

"Wasn't there a fee for the geldings?"

"Usually, sir, but they actually volunteered for gelding," I grinned, "The poor Gelder didn't know what to do! Lucky the Officers let him do it, sir."

"I've seen that your father doesn't bother with chains, brands, or whips? And you've never had a runaway?" He persisted. I don't think he believed me?

"No, sir! Never." I paused. "There is one other thing, though, sir?" He nodded to me. "Attitude has a great deal to do with it. It might be rude of me, but Manuel isn't very kind to, well, anyone, sir. He doesn't really like me, and at school, he and the others are often cruel to Bertrand. Even to Wolfram."

"It's not news, Andreas. Even your Instructor doesn't like my son. We've spoken about it. Manuel had his own servant, but the boy soon ran away."

Big surprise there?

"But where did Manny learn it, sir?" I added, knowing I was on dangerous ground, with the look he gave me, "You see, I felt sorry for John and his lot. All I did was be kind to John, and now look at him! If Father just said so, we'd have all of John's friends at our place. They're just waiting for a fair chance, sir. Our slaves are no trouble, and work hard, because they like it with us. And as for Bertrand, he's more my brother than my slave. I don't order him around, or whip him, and we always get into trouble together."

Well, we did! And we sometimes still do.

"Manuel also tells me that you work right alongside your slaves, Andreas?" He then asked, "You do look more lean and healthy than Manuel, I'll give you that."

"It's what saved Wolfram's life, sir," I told him, "And it gives you an understanding of what it's like. I know how slaves live, so that's why we don't have the usual problems with them. I never thought it was fair at all, sir, and well … I sort of got into trouble once, and Father punished me by making me live with the slaves and workers for a while. I just sort of… stayed with them, I guess? I like being outside. I like the barns, the animals, the field, the forests. You don't get that, being a Noble sitting inside all day. I look at John, Eryk, all of them – not as slaves, but as my family. And that's how we get things done, isn't it, John?"

"Yes, sir!" John smiled, just as Father and Armand returned.

"Your boy here was just telling me how he gets things done," Manuel's father greeted them, "Armand, I think I could use your advice. We've almost as much land as you, but we're not producing nearly what you do."

"Come visiting," Father told him, "Bring your Overseer." He hoisted John up on his shoulders again. Armand grabbed the mutton shank, which was mostly gone by then. "Don't want anyone stealing this one," Father added.

"Bring Manny, sir," I just had to add, picturing him naked and collared and working out in the hot sun with us. He wouldn't last an hour!

"I'll think about it," he replied, just as the festivities resumed.

"Our new recruit is going last," Armand whispered to me, as two younger men were brought in by some Officers. As the Slaver already had four sales deals to make, he happily let the Military men go ahead.

"Ah, some new conscripts?" the Gelder greeted them, "And what have these two done?"

"Theft, mainly. This one," the Officer gave the young man on his right a good shaking, "Adultery! Seems he was having his way with the baker's wife just yesterday when they were caught!"

"Pinching more than a cake, were we?" the Gelder laughed, "I assume the standard punishment?" He called loudly, "For such a crime?"

"Geldings, both – and take this one's prick!" the Officer gave the man another shake. I wondered if he were very old, as he didn't have much of a beard yet? While it might be all right to have more than one wife, or dally with the servants like Wolfram's father did, or even have concubines, one certainly didn't go dallying with another man's first wife!

Both men shouted and struggled, protesting their innocence the whole time. Of course, every Conscript into the Military, especially those headed for the Hinterlands, was innocent. Sure they were…

"She wanted it! She did!" the one accused of adultery shouted, "She enticed me, vile woman!"

I looked at Ephraim – Elise, recall. "I know where babies come from, Andy," he snorted, "You'd be amazed at what we girls talk about while you men are out doing whatever it is that you do!"

"They're going to cut his prick off," I warned him.

"Oh dear! How will he pee?" Ephraim wondered.

"Don't say that! Say something like 'whoa' or 'oh shite' and 'how's he gonna piss'!"

We watched as the young men were hauled in, washed down, and then strapped to the gelding tables. To add to their punishment, both of them had their bottoms plugged. Both became stiff at once, their pricks leaking white fluid as they continued to scream their innocence and plead for mercy.

"Five years serving in a Eunuch Regiment is merciful!" an Officer reminded them, "Or would you rather lose a hand as well, and spend ten years in prison?"

Once cleaned up, the Gelder's practiced hand then quickly shaved them of their man-hair. Will took a bit longer, and nicked his 'customer'. The crowd laughed, watching as the men were shamed. Facial and body hair, were, after all, signs of one's manhood. It was also an easy way to spot a eunuch – no beard. Not even a neatly trimmed one. As they were shaven, their bound pouches began to turn color. Even their sparse beards were taken, and I heard comments that the itching would add to their misery as the hair grew back.

"Most of it won't come back, though," the Gelder advised them, checking them to see that they were ready, "And you won't be trimming your beard so often!" He then took the adulterer's stiff prick in hand. He nodded to Will. It would be the crown to their public shaming, being forced to squirt their juice in front of everyone at the Gelder's hand. Of course, being eunuchs themselves, and as it was their job, no one thought badly of them for doing it. After all, these men were criminals, and ritual shaming was part of it.

It didn't take long for the condemned men to squirt their seed. After only a few minutes of stroking, both of them squirted at nearly the same time. Neither seemed to be enjoying it, either. Despite what Father and the others had said, it looked painful to me. Then again, I was sure that Father would know. After all, he wasn't being shamed, didn't have a plug in his bottom, and certainly didn't have his glands tied off when he'd had sexual relations, now, had he?

"That's disgusting!" Ephraim snorted, as a glob from the man on the left flew by and hit some man's shirt front!

"You won't think so in about five years!" the man who'd spoken to him earlier laughed, as the crowd jeered and clapped. "You owe me money," he said to the man next to him.

"He shot a good eight feet [2½ m]!" the loser complained, paying up.

Then, as the adulterer's prick was still hard, the Gelder quickly tied it, too. He pulled as tightly as he could, and the victim screamed as the tie cinched up close to his body. His prick swelled even more, the veins standing out, and his prick began to turn colors. The tip swelled enormously, frighteningly even, and turned purple. Ephraim looked at it, then at me, wide-eyed, and just shuddered.

"It grows as you get older," I told him.

Will went first, slicing off the pouch of his criminal. Michael caught it neatly, and into the pot the glands went. The rest went into the fire, filling the air with the smell of burning meat. The Gelder then sliced the pouch from his criminal, and Michael neatly caught it. As Will was cauterizing his man, the Gelder then picked up another knife, more tightly curved, and sliced the adulterer's prick off flush with his body! Blood squirted as Michael caught the severed organ, quickly handing the Gelder a hot iron with his free hand. The adulterer screamed into his gag as the spot where his prick had been was burnt closed, and then fainted when he saw the boy hold up his severed member to the cheers of the crowd.

I almost fainted. Michael holding up that severed prick and waving it around? Blood dripping out the end, and the hard prick just wilting in his small hand! Gods, it was exciting! I wondered what it felt like? I'd never touched a prick, other than my own, before. Not even Bertrand's.

"Watch this! I saw this over in Wolfram's home village," I told Ephraim.

The Gelder then grabbed up a long metal plug, very slim and with a bulbous end, and shoved the thin end up into the raw hole left by the criminal's severed prick. He then touched a fresh iron to the protruding tip, heating the rod within the criminal's body. The Gelder then touched up the area with the cauterizing rod, and satisfied that there was no bleeding, treated the wound and bandaged it.

The crowd's roar was deafening. It wasn't often that you got to see a prick cut off.

"He won't be able to have a pee for three or four days," I told Ephraim, "And when they pull the plug, if he can't pee – if the hole closed over – he'll die. It could take a week or more. That's why you don't see the whole of the bits taken off too often. Too many of them die of it."

"A girl has more down there than he does now!" Ephraim gasped, leaning on me in a near-faint, legs clenched, as if in sympathetic pain. I know I was! "You'd think you could get a needle and thread and stitch that up?" Ephraim then wondered.

"He'd bleed out first!" I countered.

"No, burn the worst bleeding spots, then sew up the rest? It would heal faster, wouldn't it?"

"I don't know, I don't know how to sew!" I replied, watching in fascination and some nausea as Michael skewered about four glands from the heating brine pot and sold them to someone.

GODS! He was going to eat them! He was going to EAT them!

They looked a bit like kidneys, actually, and not that much different from calf or sheep glands. Or goats. You name it. I'd had them all. I liked mine grilled with that spicy sauce that Armand made, though. Michael didn't have any sauce.

Funny how I remember that? But no, I didn't try any. I just couldn't. Bertrand had just come back, and upon seeing that, turned a bit green and went right back to the physician, poor boy!

Now I'm hungry…

***

And that was how we spent our afternoon. After a break for dinner, the geldings continued on into the late evening. (We had ribs. The sauce wasn't as good as Armand's.) Vendors weren't even shutting down, and there was talk of the Festival running for a fourth day. They'd not even had time to conduct the usual meeting for those seeking apprentices, or even to get to the local boys slated to be gelded for whatever reason. And never mind the Peasants. They always went last.

We ended up paying the usual price for Mattias, the adult slave that Armand had been talking to. After all, gelded young men didn't fetch as much as gelded boys who'd not so much as sprouted a single man-hair yet. He was twenty, he said, and claimed to know masonry as well as field work. He was well-muscled, and both Father and Armand agreed that he'd retain enough strength for long enough after his gelding to be an asset. Counting all the fireplaces, fire pits, braziers, and walkways, we certainly had enough stone work to be done to keep him busy for years to come. His pouch came off just as neatly as anyone else's, and Mattias held fast to his dignity. Little John encouraged him the whole time, and really spoke well of us. He even offered to hold Mattias' hand while being gelded.

"Going home with that one?" Will asked him, pointing at John.

"Yes, sir?"

"You're the lucky one, then. I'll do it fast and smooth, I promise!" Will assured him.

"Are you a eunuch, if I may?" Mattias asked him, as Will's blood-splattered apron covered his front.

"Yes, why?" Will grinned.

"Just wondered, sir," Mattias sighed. "Let's get it over with!"

"Bite the rag, Matt!" John called.

One swipe of the knife later, and Mattias was gelded.

"Told you, you could do it!" John congratulated him afterwards, when Mattias woke up from his faint.

"Ohhhhh, that hurts … sirs!" Mattias groaned, as Father and Armand helped him back to our encampment. Father had drawn the line at the culinary aspect of the Gelding Day – the very thought of eating all those gelded men's and boys' glands turned his stomach just as much as it did mine. It didn't do much for me, either, to be honest, especially when I thought about Bertrand's pickled glands in that fancy jar on the shelf back home.

"You'll feel better in a couple weeks," John assured Mattias, seeming to have taken right to him. The new slave was somewhat darker-complected, and Armand surmised that there might be some 'southeastern Persian' in him somewhere, given his straight, black hair.

"No idea, sir, I was born a slave," Mattias explained, "Nothing special."

"All my crew is special," Armand corrected him.

"We'll fit you with a collar when we get you home," Father explained, "Armand will take you in hand from there. I wouldn't advise trying to run off, or you could bleed out if that tie comes loose."

"Trust us, we'll help," Elias put in, "Stay in bed!"

"You boys really have it that good?" Mattias wondered, curling up on his pallet, and clearly miserable as Armand fetched him a tonic. Mattias had obviously seen geldings before, and was surprised that he just wasn't laid up and ignored to suffer and heal in private.

"I wouldn't wait a minute to do it again, if I had to!" Elias nodded.

"It's the best job ever!" John repeated, as he started babbling on. Poor Mattias couldn't get away, either. It seemed that our two newest boys had bonded with him. Gelding will do that, I've seen.

As we were all getting ready to turn in for the night, Wolfram's bedroll was noticeably vacant. Eryk and Dieter had not yet returned from their families, and Ephraim had gone home with 'his' father and their entourage. Walking back with them, we'd spotted Wolfram's family's caravan, so Bertrand and I detoured on our way back. Father had accompanied us, recall, as a kidnapping wasn't unheard of. Rare, yes. Possible? We were taking no chances.

Approaching the main tent, we could hear Wolfram's voice: "But Father!"

We stopped just outside the perimeter, they were that loud. Of course the slaves on guard knew us, and even looked embarrassed as Father just waved them down.

"Not a good time, sir," One of them whispered to Father, "The Master's in a rage with that boy!"

"There's no help for it, boy!" Wolfram's father sounded angry, which was odd. He'd always seemed so concerned about his eldest son before, when Wolfram had been so sickly? "You'll be twelve by year's end, and since you're a eunuch, you're going to be apprenticed. You'll be at the meeting tomorrow with all the other boys, and we'll find you somewhere to go and a trade to learn!"

Wolfram was crying.

"It'll kill him!" Bertrand whispered.

Surprisingly, Father hissed back, "Yes, it will!"

"Keep it up, boy, and I won't apprentice you! I'll SELL YOU!" Wolfram's father then snapped at him.

As if there was that big of a difference?

"But Father?" another boy's voice, Leo's likely, cut in. There was the sound of a slap, and crying.

"You mind your place, son! I've got more than one boy to deal with in the coming years, and Wolfram won't be the last to go! If you want to inherit what's rightfully yours, Leo, you'll do as you're told! It's not your place to question me!"

Wolfram was crying. I'd heard it before, too often, and I'd hoped I'd never hear it again. Poor Wolfram just seemed to be one of those unfortunates who couldn't catch a fair shake at anything. And yes, since he was a eunuch and not the Heir, Wolfram could be sold. As wrong as it seemed, children were legally considered property of their parents. In fact, any member of that passel of his little brothers could just as easily be sold as slaves, should their father fancy it. It made me sick to my stomach.

"I'll run away!" Wolfram then exclaimed, and again, SLAP!

"And I'll clap you in irons!" His father replied.

"B-but what ab-b-bout Andreas, and…" Wolfram began, but all it got him was another slap.

"Those two are bad influences!"

Father made a funny sound. Bertrand pulled his short sword, but Father stayed his hand. "No, son, not now. Wait for it. Let's go."

I could just make out the look on Father's face in the dim light of the bonfires and torches. It eased my fears. When Father looked like that, spoke like that, and drew himself up, you knew that he was going to win. He always did.

I'll enslave you if I have to, to keep you, He'd said.

"You'll be easy enough to place, boy," We could just hear Wolfram's father's voice fading, as we set off, "You're very valuable as you are!"

***

We were up early, as the delayed meeting of the village parents with sons to be apprenticed was to take place at sunrise. Some of the caravans had already left in the night, but not all of them. I couldn't stop thinking about Wolfram, though. It just ruined the idea of a fourth day of Festival.

As a precaution, we'd sent Elias and John out in the night to round up their Peasant friends wearing our 'temporary' slave collars before someone caught on. I'd grown sort of fond of those hard-working boys, and none of us wanted to see them gone, even though we certainly didn't need to take on any more young slaves. Not that they wouldn't have been willing…

"Andy, tunic. Bertrand, now! Bring your pack," Father snapped at us, not even giving us time to get presentable. We took Armand too, and off we went to see who was up for apprenticeships.

While it wasn't the spectacle that Gelding Day was, the yearly meeting to send out spare sons as apprentices was another big event. Certainly not all of them would end up with good Masters, and it was a sure thing that some of them would eventually end up as slaves … somewhere. And some, of course, would end up gelded that day – if their new Masters saw fit. Given Father's stride and the look on his face, though, I was confident that such wasn't going to happen to Wolfram. We ran into Eryk and Dieter on the way, and Father ordered them along as well.

The meeting was held in the Village Hall, with fathers seeking to send their boys out, going from table to table to meet prospective Masters. Outside were the Peasants, offering spare children of both sexes for sale. We were the first to arrive, and Armand's glares kept everyone else at a distance. We were, after all, the richest and largest Estate in the Province. It was only mannerly that Father have first pick, and word spread fast that Father was not pleased about something. He was the first one in when the Magistrate opened the doors, and he went straight for Wolfram's father.

"You son of a WHORE!" Father shouted at him.

"Looking for yet another boy, Nigel?" Wolfram's father smiled at him.

"I warned you," Father said in a low voice.

"Yes, and we're obligated to do it the legal way," Wolfram's father replied.

We spotted Wolfram sitting next to him, and his father had made good on his threat: while Wolfram was dressed in a decent tunic, certainly not a good one, he was also hobbled. I felt my ears getting hot.

Everyone else hung back as Father approached him.

"Yes, I'm looking for a boy! I'm also looking for restitution!" Father snapped, "How dare you put that boy up for apprenticeship, knowing full well that he's defective, that being shipped off will very well kill him, not to mention all the time and effort that my boys and men have put into him for you! If I were to bill you for his care these past few years, I could well break you!"

"You had free labor!"

"I had a long-term house guest!" Father retorted.

Wolfram looked up, his face tear-streaked. It looked like he hadn't slept, and he was panting and trembling. His eyes were pleading. Honestly, as bad as he looked, I figured that you'd have to pay someone to take him.

Gods, hadn't he been through enough already? Poor health, gelding, being made sport of, being small, failing at school, and now disinherited? Sold, like some unwanted head of livestock?

"Don't do this," Father warned the room in general. The Magistrate just stared at him.

"It is my right to make statement, concerning my son, who is soon to be of legal apprentice age, and not my Heir," Wolfram's father announced, looking to the Magistrate, who nodded.

"Sit down," he told Father, and we did that. The Magistrate did, however, look sly. He winked at us boys.

The filling room went quiet. "My son," Wolfram's father began, "Is almost twelve. He has many good qualities, which will make him a valuable addition to any family needing an apprentice. He may look a bit like a Barbarian, with those oddly-coloured eyes and short, blond hair, but he's actually of good stock. He's healthy, now, after a rough start, yes! I admit that. He's also gelded, and has been for several years. He's knowledgeable in field work, animal husbandry, land management, household decorum, and scores high marks – now – in his schooling. Yes, thanks to Nigel's boys here. He's quite intelligent, well formed, and beginning to fill out. He learns fast, as witnesses can attest," he glared at us, "He also knows some things Military, from his cousin in our local unit. He's adaptable, of bright countenance – when he's not been up all night – and experienced in … relations, for those who tend in that direction! He's a bit distraught now, but what boy wouldn't be?"

The room was suddenly abuzz in whispers, mainly from the Commoners who didn't know that a Noble could even be a eunuch.

None of the other would-be Apprentice boys looked that bad, either.

"Who trained him up, then? Such is very unusual for a Noble boy, sir?" the Magistrate wondered, scribbling at his documentation, "And a Noble eunuch? Should we assume you gelded him for matters of his health, or was it for academia, or his fine voice?"

"All of them," Wolfram's father nodded, which was a lie. Wolfram couldn't sing a note, and while he was now a good student, he was no genius and had been left back a year.

"And who trained him up?" the Magistrate repeated.

"I did," Armand spoke up, as Father nudged him.

"So noted! And by 'relations,' do you mean 'been with men'?" the Magistrate added.

Wolfram bowed his head, his face red. He sniffled.

"It's not unusual for eunuch boys," Wolfram's father agreed, "As we all know, men and boys are sometimes prone to prefer a young eunuch over a girl. My son is also very passive, and of excellent temperament."

The Magistrate turned to face us. "I understand that you have a vested interest in this boy, Nigel? And you, Armand?"

The room buzzed again as the Magistrate addressed Armand directly.

"Your Honour, for the past few years, my family has raised this boy!" Father nodded.

"You treated him like a slave!" Wolfram's father snapped.

"I never made him do anything he didn't want to do, sir," Armand added.

"With your blessing – sir!" I exclaimed, "You said it was a good idea! You were there! You've seen us all working!"

"Son, you are out of order!" the Magistrate told me, but he was, I could see, trying not to laugh.

"I wasn't out of order when he was inspecting me and my brother!" I blurted, pointing at Wolfram's father, which got such a reaction that the Magistrate had to shout for order. He did, however, seem interested.

"Continue, boy," He told me.

"Wolfram's been apprenticing with me and Armand and the boys for a long time, sir!" I retorted, "And as a Noble Heir, with my father's approval, which I must have – since Wolfram's lived with us for a long time, too – I have just as much right to speak here, or take him as an Apprentice, as anyone else! I have money, sir! You want to make good on that threat now, SIR?" I challenged Wolfram's father.

Wolfram's father glared at me. I glared right back at him. I swear, if I'd had a dagger, I'd have thrown it at him!

Father touched my shoulder, but only nodded. "You threw Wolfie out years ago! You let us do all the work in taking care of your sickly son, getting him into shape, because you were ashamed of him, sir!" I remembered what Bertrand had theorized, and went with it, "You were ashamed of your blond, castrated, firstborn – who should rightfully be your Heir! And you have the nerve to let us raise him, take him in like a brother, and then try to sell him off? You've even got him hobbled! What is he now, a slave?" I demanded, so angry I was shaking. To this day, that memory makes my blood boil!

"You thought you'd ship him off, without my boys knowing it?" Father asked, "When your boy has been under my roof for so long? And what did I ever ask in return?"

"Nothing," Wolfram's father admitted, "But just because you cared for him, doesn't give you the right to…"

"Yes, we care!" Father cut him off, "Because this is wrong!"

"The law is the law, and we shall hear from all interested parties!" the Magistrate cut in, "We've a great many Commoner boys to place today, and I plan to be home by dinnertime! Nigel, can you or Andreas, or even Armand – as Overseer – produce a valid legal claim to as to why Wolfram's apprenticeship should be stayed?"

"Never mind the common courtesy of first pick," some other Noble spoke up. At least someone had manners?

But the Magistrate was right. If we wanted Wolfram back, we'd have to buy his Apprenticeship.

"Masters," Bertrand offered, reaching into his pack, "I have something. I think this one is yours, Master Andreas," he added, handing me my worker's collar. The crowd of men and boys gasped as I put it on. SNAP!

Yes! The workers' collars, dear Bertrand! Bertrand to the rescue, yet again!

"I'd heard about that Andreas!" someone said.
"Explains his build!"
"They do make those boys work!"
"Look at them! Not soft at all!"
"See the tan line on his throat?"
"Wish my boy looked as good as that slave!"
"Might send mine to them for a bit! Build him up!"

But we weren't done. The next collar that Bertrand handed me was stamped WOLFRAM – CONTRACT. It also bore, like mine and Bertrand's, our Estate seal.

I threw it on the table in front of Wolfram and his father.

"But he never wore it to school!" Manuel blurted out. Might have known he'd be there…

"You haven't been released, or paid, yet," I told Wolfram, "And here you are, off the job! Dressed up as Nobility, when there's work to be done? And you!" I pointed to his father, "Hobbling my worker? Kidnapping him? Violating our agreement, sir?" I moved forward. "Oh! And beating him? Look at his face? Looks like someone slapped him around, I wonder? Has he got welts under that tunic? Stripes on the arse, sir? You don't beat another man's worker, you know!"

Wolfram's father's expression turned to one of apprehension; the confidence and pride was gone.

The collar on the table before him was all the evidence I needed.

It was more than enough for me, a small boy, Noble or not, to shame him.

"It's a fake!" Wolfram's father exclaimed, "Anyone can make a collar!"

"Master?" Bertrand cut in, pulling a document from his pack, "You forgot this, sir! It's the signed legal contract?"

The room went quiet again.

Actually, it was just the legal agreement for Wolfram to stay with us, in the event that he needed care, but it had been altered somewhat. Once signed, Father had added to it to make it look like a real worker's Contract. I was surprised, as I hadn't known.

But Father had, it seemed. So had Bertrand.

They'd seen this surprise coming.

"'Until such time as Master and Overseer deem said boy physically fit to be…'," the Magistrate read.

Wolfram's father had made a big mistake, and he knew it – that collar meant that Wolfram was mine, under Contract, and that he was trying to make off with, technically, stolen property. That, and he'd have a difficult time proving that the contract was forged: the look on the Magistrate's face spoke volumes.

"The boy hardly seems fit for anything to me?" the Magistrate mused.

The room went quiet again.

"I doubt if anyone here has enough money to challenge me!" Father then declared, as he picked up the collar and snapped it around Wolfram's neck. The look on my friend's face was heartbreaking. But it was hopeful. "You owe ME!" Father went on, "And you owe my boys! Between what Wolfram has earned, what my son has earned, and what I can put up against your request, I dare say that no one in this room stands a chance!" Father finished, "Wolfram could buy his own Contract!"

If you remember when I wrote about Wolfram earlier on, you'll realize that as soon as we walked into that room that day, we'd already won.

Wolfram's father was in serious trouble, and he knew it as he stared at the collar around his unwanted son's neck. Never mind that we'd set him up. Never mind that we'd lied. There was no way to prove it, not with our reputation. No one dared challenge Father.

But then again, Wolfram's father had lied, too. He'd intended to profit from our work. From our kindness. Wolfram never looked back at him. He had his eyes fixed on us.

The Magistrate knew it, too. "Sir," he said to Wolfram's father, "You are, should Nigel and his son file formal complaints for breach of Contract, in a great deal of trouble! I would advise that you rethink your position on the boy?"

"If nothing else, think of Leo," Father warned him, "Give me Wolfram, and I'll let this go! I've no desire to spoil things for your other sons. You'll likely do that all on your own without my help." He paused. Everyone looked at the ceiling. "Challenge me, and I'll ruin you," Father added.

"TAKE HIM!" Wolfram's father then shouted, getting up so fast that he overturned the small table.

The Magistrate handed him a document. "A few fines are in order, unless you'd like more formal charges and punishments for this heinous crime of deception?" He then turned to us. "Andreas, I believe this boy belongs to you. Noble or not, eunuch or not, you are entitled to his services as Apprentice or worker, for as long as his contract states. It is my ruling that Wolfram be remanded to your custody for the duration of his contract!"

Wolfram's father stormed from the room.

Everyone clapped. I figured that his social circle had just shrunk considerably.

Father then took Wolfram in his arms, as walking with hobbles would have been difficult. That, and given Wolfram's state, I doubted that he could even stand, he was so shaken. All he could do was hide his face in Father's shoulder and sob.

"Next?" the Magistrate called out, as we left the hall. I didn't give Manuel or any of our other schoolmates a second look. I was so angry, I could have happily beheaded any of them just then.

Back at our caravan, where preparations for departure were underway, we ran into Zach and a few of his Military fellows.

"Word travels fast, sir," Zach nodded, "I'll admit, I was wrong. What sounded good, in theory, was a terrible idea."

"You knew?" I accused him, "You were just there, listening outside the door?"

"I love him, Andreas," Zach admitted, "When Uncle approached me with the idea of taking him away as my Page, I would have taken delivery of him from the man who was supposed to have purchased his apprenticeship today. I was all for it. Yes, I knew. Wolfram knows I want him to come with me. But I give you my word of honour, sirs, I had no idea that it was because Uncle was ashamed of him and simply wanted to be rid of him. I'm so sorry."

Wolfram then looked up, the first movement he'd made. I'd thought he'd collapsed from nerves, but he reached for his cousin. Father allowed Zach to hold him, and Zach kissed his cousin passionately. His eyes filled, he bit his lower lip, but he did not cry as he held the boy tightly.

And although we didn't yet know what those 'relations' were, we'd later find out from Eryk. That made it all the more sad for the both of them.

Zach then straightened up, handed Wolfram back to Father, then removed a rank insignia from his uniform and attached it to Wolfram's tunic. He saluted. "I'd be honoured, sir, if when we come back through on patrol, that you'd allow me to see Wolfie. I'll miss him sorely, sir."

Father nodded. The men turned to go.

"I… I wanna go home!" Wolfram cried.

And he did.

We didn't worry about his collar, and Armand broke the hobbles; Wolfram was washed up and put straight to bed in our chambers in the house. Amazingly, though, it took him only a day to recover. That next morning, he awoke to find himself in my bed, between Bertrand and me. At breakfast, he was also presented with another document.

Wolfram's case was unique, to say the least.

"Usually, in the case of adoptions," the Magistrate was saying, as he'd come to finalize the arrangement and file Mattias' new slave papers, "The boy isn't already a eunuch, isn't always a Noble, or if he is, certainly not yet gelded. As we've no legal precedent in this convoluted matter," the old man laughed, "I think we should set one! Wolfram, all ties with your family are now severed. Andreas is still the Heir here, obviously, and while I'm not sure about the relationship of an adopted son who is also a eunuch under Contract, I'll just let you all sort that out, shall I?" He signed the document and handed it to Father. "Just thinking about it makes my head ache!" He then tore up his copy of the false contract. I think he knew it was false, too.

"That means you don't have to wear that collar anymore, son," Father told Wolfram.

"P-please, sir?" Wolfram cried, "Don't make me take it off?" He paused. "Adopted, sir?"

"That makes you our brother!" I informed him.

Father just rolled his eyes, looking at the ceiling. "They're all very strange, sir," He told the Magistrate.

"I don't doubt it!" the Magistrate agreed, raising an eyebrow at the three of us, sitting there at table, wearing nothing but collars.

So it was that Wolfram found a new home. Some time later, when school took up again, we wore our workers' collars to school, too. Wolfram looked good in green and brown. Bertrand complained that his color-matching apron and cloak looked silly, but he still wore it in cooler weather. We took plenty of harassment over it, but in the end, our Instructor had a marvelous idea: he suggested physical challenges, namely wrestling, as that was a customary way to settle an argument in his home Province across the Eastern Straights.

Needless to say, we won every time.

"We work! What does your fat arse do?" I demanded of Manuel, holding his face down in the dirt and twisting an arm behind his back. Bertrand had Simeon in a similar position, more shameful in that he'd just been taken down by a gelded slave boy. Soon after, our lessons turned to studies of Iindía, also called Sindhu, as our Instructor had once been there as a boy and had been quite taken by the sights of elephants, tigers, and the like. They also liked wrestling in Iindía, and we were surprised that our Instructor knew all about it. Suddenly, school wasn't so dull anymore.

Manuel was also in for another surprise. His father actually paid my father to "whip him into shape," which, naturally, fell to Armand. Manuel's cocksure attitude changed at once when his father left him with us, his fat, bare arse welted from the first thrashing he'd ever had at home. Having a worker's collar locked around his neck settled him right down. That, and the lack of clothing.

"If Wolfram can do it, so can you!" Manuel's father told him.

"But it's cold!" Manny whined.

"Really?" Bertrand just smirked at him.

To add to his training, as his father called it, Manuel also had his head shaved, right along with the rest of us. So much for that ridiculous topknot style. Add to that, the fact that their own Overseer was coming along to confer with Armand, and would have authority over the Noble brat, as well. Yes, Manuel was truly in for a miserable time! I was pleased about that, but Wolfram didn't seem to be. He wasn't a vengeful boy, after all.

As winter approached, Mattias (our newest slave) had us all learning to be amateur stone masons, too. He favored the heavy dark rocks from higher up the hills, claiming that they were the best, as they'd been born of ancient volcanoes. Manny didn't do so well with that, carrying stones. In fact, he was truly miserable. The change of diet and work, however, soon started to change him. He shed that 'baby fat', and Armand declared that he might turn out all right after all – despite the fact that he was a Noble.

"Hey!" I protested.

"You don't count," Bertrand assured me.

"Pity we can't geld him," Eryk often teased Manny, "Do him a world of good!"

"He does have a younger brother," I always reminded them.

"That's not funny!" Manny would always retort, obviously worried that he just might end up a eunuch if he didn't successfully complete his short contract with us. "I'm going to die!" He'd often whimper, when Armand had to violently rub him down with liniment at night and 'work the kinks out'. For Manny, it was proving to be a long, hard autumn as the Estate was 'put to rest' for the coming winter.

About two weeks before the Winter Celebration, though, his father came by to collect Manny. He hadn't visited since dropping Manny with us, and he was amazed at the change in his boy. That evening, we'd all just finished a cold bath after another hard day of hauling in rock and remodeling the main firepit in the barn. It was now blazing, the heavy black stones giving such heat as we'd never had in there before.

"Father!" Manny squeaked in surprise, sitting there shivering, and cleaning his collar.

"Nothing short of a miracle!" His father declared, examining his much leaner son. "You gelded him?"

"Cold water, sir," Manuel bowed slightly, "We don't get hot baths."

"Ready to go home, son?"

Manuel hesitated. He finished drying his collar and handed it to Armand. Smoothing down what hair he had, he then hung up his towel to dry and went to stand, head bowed, before his father. "Yes, sir," he finally mumbled, reluctantly taking the offered small bag containing his Noble clothing. His training was over.

"Think we might have ruined him?" Armand asked my father.

"I'd think Simeon, Charles, Simon, and the lot of them could do with some ruining, sirs," Manny said, pulling on his undershirt and hitching up his breeches. "Itches," he complained, and we laughed.

"Come back anytime," Father told him, as they took their leave of us.

"Can I, sir?" Manny asked, sounding hopeful, as he set in to telling his father all about what he'd learned. He stopped at the door, though.

Then he came back in and hugged Wolfram. "I'm sorry, for everything," he whispered to him, Wolfram would later tell us.

It must have made an impact on him, as Manny often came visiting when he had time. He didn't have much, though, as the next Harvest Festival showed the marked change in his Estate's output. It was just as big as the change in Manuel, too, who showed up to school that next day in his own worker's collar, and sent Charles home with a black eye, split lip, and a swollen cheek for laughing at him.

"Andy, do you think some of the Peasa-uhhh… John's friends… might like to come and work for us?" He asked.

"I'm sure they would," I had to agree, and of course, they did.

You'll recall all those Peasant boys who'd had free run of our lower lands by the lake? John's and Elias' friends? They were the ones I'd outfitted at the last Festival with 'fake' slave collars, to keep them from being sold by their parents. Long story short, covering that one had certainly cut into my savings, but it had all worked out. It wasn't that big of a thing to keep about eight or nine families supplied with river eels, wild geese, and other unwanted migrating 'pests'. Who knew you could eat ground squirrels? Overgrown rats… But at least none of the boys had been sold off as slaves.

Well, not to strangers, at least. Just before the Holidays, the Gelder, Will, and Michael were obliged to make a house call to Manny's Estate, where four of the younger ones became eunuchs, and four of the older ones didn't. For them, it was the best gift they could have received. Apparently, my advice had been well taken.

As for Manny, his time with us proved worthwhile. He inherited the Estate, expanded it over the years, and became nearly as prosperous as us. While neither he nor his younger brother were gelded, I've gelded several of their 'spare' sons and countless Contracts and slaves of theirs over the years. They've produced scholars, artists, soldiers, and even sent a few of them to the City. It's good to have friends in high places, you know.

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