J.O. Dickingson

Travels with Nicolau Ribeiro

Whether it was by bribery, blackmail or coercion, I do not know, but it was binding. The captain of the Santa Verde and the purser kept their bargain with Cardinal Borja and saw that I was accommodated though it was clear that neither was happy to see me and my belongings. I myself was unable to find a motive for the cardinal seeing I was given a berth, for the information I had shared with him I had shared with others and was not of that great an import, so I thought, that it would warrant such a favour. After much thought on the matter, the only motive I could arrive at was that he saw doing me a favour as an investment, placing me in his debt for some future favour he might ask of me, not an uncommon practice among the powerful I was discovering, in the Vatican and elsewhere. I was most uncomfortable with that, putting myself in another's debt with no idea what they might ask of me in the future, but I was eager to leave the Vatican and its intrigue and plots, and even more eager to set foot on the soil of my dear beloved Portugal once more. It was, I reasoned, actually not a huge favour, my accommodation being a bunk in the crew's quarters, and so the favour expected in return could not be onerous.

Although I was not required nor expected to work for my berth, sailing was something I enjoyed and I was not one to sit on my backside while others toiled. So, captain and crew were much surprised, especially considering the fancy aristocratic clothing I had arrived in, to find me in simple sailor's garb the following morning and pitching in with the more mundane chores which everyone was more than happy to have assistance with. As the days passed acceptance and respect by the crew gradually increased, and when I entertained them in the evenings with music and song even the captain and the purser began to view me favourably. For myself, with the wind in my hair and salt spray in my nostrils, meaning no blasphemy, but it was like being resurrected. Of all my experiences, nothing can compare to sailing the seas. There was but one problem. After months of sexual excesses, my body adjusted to celibacy poorly. The fourth night I suffered the first of many wet dreams and awoke sticky and stinking of spent seed such that every crew member had to have noticed. Even with hard work and pure thoughts and dropping off to sleep in exhaustion each night did not help. Sweet, beautiful boys I was unable to embrace in my arms I embraced in my dreams. Of course I could have solved my problem with my fist, but on a ship there is little opportunity for privacy. Fortunately, we had favourable winds and weather, crossing the Gibralter narrows two weeks later, and four days following that we arrived at Lisbon.

As we were docking, I spotted a ship from Flanders, easily recognized by the yellow flag with a black Flemish lion salient. Much to my delight I learned it was a trading vessel and heading home three days hence, and would be stopping at Viana do Castelo. I immediately arranged passage with the purser and then made my arrival known at the palace, and midafternoon the following day I had an audience with King João. Dressed once again in my finest and wearing my cape identifying me as a Knight of the Order of Santiago, the title having been granted me by King João himself, and the silver clasp I had been given by his son, I felt as nervous as the first day I had been presented to him despite having met many men of power since then. I delivered the letter of commendation from the Holy Father with, I confess, some pride, and he was most pleased that I had found favour with the Holy See, Portugal being in competition with Castile for Papal favours, and Castile itself being covetous of Portugal's soil.

He was most interested in my travels and findings, particularly regarding a possible trade route through the heathen lands similar to the one that had existed before the Saracens had invaded and cut off our supplies, and he was most disappointed in my report of the obstacles of such an overland endeavour. Not only did it involve vast distances and rugged terrain, the political turmoil and inhospitality of barbarians made such travel hazardous and most likely doomed to failure. Although Father had earlier informed him of the difficulties of a trade route by way of Cairo and the Red Sea, he had still been hopeful and was disappointed when I confirmed Father's observations in that regard also.

He was surprised to learn of my travels in Abyssinia, and again most discouraged when I told him I had found no evidence nor any clues regarding the whereabouts of the Kingdom of Prester John, though he was most interested in my description of the Empire of Eskender and in that king's desire for an alliance to fight the Saracens and Ottoman threatening his land, and he asked me many questions about the Emperor and his disposition and his armies which I was hard pressed to answer, and he was heartened to learn the Emperor was a Christian. For myself, I was most relieved to learn that Father and Uncle and the Jew Josepe had returned from Cairo safely, but surprised that Rabbi Abraham had not returned. (1)

Having been looking forward to possibly seeing him again, I was most distressed and greatly saddened by the news that Prince Afonso had died eleven months earlier. Officially, he had fallen from a horse during a ride in the margin of the Tagus River and had died of his injuries in a fisherman's hut. I knew exactly the place, and which hut that was and memories of our encounter and dalliance with the fisherman's sons flashed in my mind. Unofficially, it was believed he had been murdered by men working for Ferdinand and Isabella of Castile who, as I said, coveted Portugal and wished to see the throne pass into more amiable hands. His personal valet, the Castilian Menendo, had disappeared at the time of the accident, adding credence to the theory that Prince Afonso had been murdered by the Castilians and that he was an accomplice, but I suspected the contrary, that Menendo had either been killed also and his body disposed of for nobody would believe the coincidence of both boys having had a riding accident, or that he had witnessed the murder and fled least he be killed also. I hoped that my latter suspicion was the correct one, for I would truly be saddened if both he and the prince had been killed. I could only hope that the two sons of the fisherman had been spared and were alive and well but I could not ask without raising questions how it was that I knew the location of the Prince's accident so well.

Although disappointed, King João greatly appreciated the information I had brought back, and the pouch of salt I had gifted him and my explanation or where it had come. Having decided that I should be bringing my king something more than words, I had decided upon a pouch of salt, a small fraction of the sack that I had been given on my voyage from Abyssinia to al-Suways. I had been sent in search of information, not treasure, so I felt no guilt in not turning over the entire sack, nor in not sharing any of the other treasures I had returned with. Those I felt I had earned, at times even at the risk of my own life. To my surprise, King João bade me return on the morrow.

I did as my sovereign requested of course and found myself in an audience with him, several advisors, and several bankers and merchants to whom I repeated my account of my time spent among the Saracens and in the land of Emperor Eskender and answered many questions about the political conflicts occurring in those lands. After everyone had been dismissed except myself, King João informed me that he was delighted with my gift, and even more delighted with my information, saying that I had confirmed his decision to devote the kingdom's efforts and treasury into exploration along the western coast of the dark continent, and that today my account had done much to convince others he was depending upon to help finance those explorations to support his efforts. In gratitude for what I had done, he presented me with a title to an estate along the Rio Minho northeast of Viana do Castelo and to the east of Valença do Minho, formerly part of a barony but becoming vacant when the noble who owned the property had opposed King João when he became king and was found guilty of treason and condemned to death. During the reign of his two predecessors, the aristocracy had become powerful while the monarchy had lost prestige. The richest and most ambitious opposed King João's reign when he became king with the result that he curtailed their authority and many lost their lands, and some even their heads as a result. It is rumoured that King João himself killed one of them with his own hands. The estate bestowed upon me was one of several still left vacant.

That same afternoon, I boarded the Flemish vessel much astounded by the reception I had received and by my continued good fortune. Two days later the hills behind Viana do Castelo came into view and my heart began to race with excitement. How many times had I thought of that scene and thought that I would never see those hills again? As we entered the harbour and I saw the crowd gathering on the dock as it always did with the arrival of a fishing vessel or a trade ship, I felt a lump in my chest and tears came to my eyes as I recalled having done the very same thing. I have lost count of the number of nights I laid forlorn and depressed and thought of that familiar scene and swore I would see it again no matter what obstacles were placed before me.

I had debated if I should wear my everyday clothes or the finery I had purchased for this very day in a moment of pride and egotism back in Venice, and I had decided on the latter, complete with the sword I had been given by Pope Innocent, the mantle signifying I was a knight of the Order of Saint John of Jerusalem, the plumed hat I had purchased in Venice from the tailor who had fucked me in the back of his shop, and the amethyst ring I had purchased for myself in Samarkand.

One year, ten months, and six days since I had left, I stepped onto the worn dock of Viana do Costelo. As I glanced around, I recognized several of the dock workers, and I thought a couple of the younger boys with whom I used to race down to the docks upon seeing a fishing boat or merchant ship arriving, though almost two years had passed and they now looked much older. None recognized me.

"Diniz, how is your brother Alonzo? Is he still practising riding on Diego's shoulders and charging your mother's cow and dreaming of become a bullfighter?"

"Alonzo? He is too busy providing for his wife and new baby to be dreaming such things," Diniz responded, looking at me curiously. "And Diego died of the plague a year ago."

Alonzo married? And with a baby? He was a year older than I, fifteen when I had left, seventeen now, a jokester who left us in stitches as he charged his mother's poor milk cow on the shoulders of Diego with a stick and told us how some day he would become a famous bullfighter. And Diego dead of the plague? He was as big and strong as a bull himself and to my knowledge had never been sick a day of his life.

"I have much on board to unload. Four chests, four saddle bags, four musical cases, a bow case and a second leather case. Five centavo if you will help me." I had added another chest for my purchases in Venice and Florence, including a couple sketches from Michelangelo. Diniz still had no idea who I was, but eagerly stepped forward to help.

"Sebastião, if your donkey and cart are available, I would hire you to take me and my belongings to my father's shop, and then to his house."

"They are available." Sebastião rubbed his stubbled chin as he studied me. "And who might your father be?"

"João Ribeiro the merchant."

He studied me closer and a look of surprise and perplexity crossed his old, wrinkled face. "Nicolau? Nicolau Ribeiro?"

"The same."

His eyes widened and he broke into a huge grin. "By the Blessed Mother of Christ, we thought you dead!"

"Well," I replied, "you evidently thought wrong." I laughed, feeling giddy and elated and silly all at the same time.

My belongings quickly loaded, I climbed up on the seat beside him and we headed up the cobblestone street to my father's shop, Diniz trotting along beside us and calling out to everyone we passed to witness the miracle of my return. As we approached the shop I spotted Uncle sitting outside and enjoying the sun and a plum as he often did at this time of day and this time of year. He stood as we approached and the lump in my chest suddenly doubled in size and rose in my throat, preventing me from speaking. I got out and we stood looking at each other. I worked my lips but all I could produce was a feeble squeak. Uncle suddenly spun around and sticking his head in the door of the shop, yelled, "João! João! Come out here. Come out here this damn instant!"

Father emerged quickly and glanced around. "Paolo, what is it? What are you screaming your head off abo-?" Seeing me, he froze, his eyes widened, and tears began to course down his cheeks. My vision at that point was blurred for my eyes had begun to water upon seeing Uncle, and now the tears were flowing freely. And then we were embracing and kissing each other on the cheek and Uncle grabbed my hand and Father's and we danced in the street and Uncle whooped and sang and we laughed and then embraced and kissed all over again. Never have I ever felt so overjoyed, nor so overwhelmed. Closing up the shop, Father and Uncle hopped on the back of Sebastião's cart, insisting I remain on the seat beside him, and we rode on to our house.

"Maria! Maria! Come out here!" Father called as he jumped off the cart before we had stopped.

Mother came out of the house, wiping her hands on her apron. They were covered with flour. "João, why are you not at the shop? Paolo? What is wrong?" My two younger sisters stepped out behind her, one holding a baby a month or two old.

"Nothing is wrong, my sister," Uncle said with a wide grin. "Everything is right! Everything is very right!"

And then Mother saw me and again we cried and kissed and embraced and danced. Mother kept grabbing me by the shoulders and staring at me and then drawing me to her bosom and holding me tightly as tears coursed down her cheeks and mine and my heart felt like it would burst. Mother apologized for getting flour on my fine clothes and tried to brush my jacket off, only making things worse and getting her more flustered, and we laughed and cried again.

And so it was the rest of the afternoon and long into the night, laughing and crying, dancing and rejoicing. Mother had been making bread and I ate an entire loaf myself at supper, not realizing how much I had missed it, and Mother's lamb stew had never tasted so wonderful. News spread rapidly as it does in a small village, and friends and neighbours stopped by to see with their own eyes if what they had heard was true, and to welcome me home, each bringing baking or fresh fruit to help celebrate. Over the next week Mother made all my favourite dishes and I stuffed myself until I was sure I would burst. In the evenings we gathered around the hearth and the family sat enraptured as I related my adventures, and I had much to tell. They looked at me incredulously as I told them of the battles I had witnessed and engaged in, of the Sultans and Princes I had met and dined with, of the Holy Father and the Holy See, and of life in Venice and Florence. Mother shook her head in disbelief and wonder as I told her of cats larger than a goat with spotted skin and of grey beasts almost as large as our house with ears like sails and a trunk like a snake, and she would not have believed any of it had I not shown her the hide I had gotten in Abyssinia and the ivory tusk I had been given as a gift.

It was all as I had dreamed it would be and more, and yet, there was something different. I found myself feeling like a stranger in my own home, with my own family. I had left a fourteen-year-old child and had returned a sixteen-year-old adult. I had done things that Mother and my sisters, even Father and Uncle, could not begin to comprehend. I had witnessed a Prince stacking the severed heads of his enemies in pyramids so numerous he had to move his tent, I had killed and felt the hot blood of my enemy on my hands, I had witnessed a Prince of the church fucking the ass of his guard, and I had fucked a Prince of the church myself. I had seen beasts stranger than anyone could possibly imagine, deserts so desolate not even the hardiest bush could grow, and valleys as lush and fruitful as Eden must have been.

In my absence my oldest sister had gotten married and now had a baby. She was a woman now and a wife and a mother, not the big sister I remembered. The baby was not the one that my younger sister had in her arms the day of my arrival. That was my mother and father's, my baby brother. I had chided them about being in a hurry to make another boy, and joked about him taking my place in my absence. Mother was at first scandalized by my coarseness, and then broke down in tears thinking that I thought they so easily cast their memories of me aside by having another boy. I could see by their faces that Father and even Uncle were surprised by my vulgarism. I had meant it nothing more than a joke and I apologized profusely and assured them I thought nothing of the sort.

My thoughts had been as pure as a nun's and were nothing compared to what I had seen and heard living among the Saracens, and I suddenly realized just how much like them I had become living with them for over a year and a half. Oh, I had not converted to their god Allah and felt no compulsion to drop to my knees and pray to Mecca five times a day, I did not miss the stink of camels nor crave what they considered their finest dishes, and memories of the horrors of battles still caused me to suddenly sit up wide awake at night. I did, however, miss the comradery I had felt touring with the Ghilman Entertainers and with the group of artisans travelling across the fertile plains of Persia in search of knowledge and adventure, the openness and frankness regarding congress both with women and with men and with boys, and yes, even the boldness and confidence and pride of the Tamurid soldiers I had fought along with.

Of course the adventures I had shared had been selective. Obviously I had made no reference to my lustful activities, nor the sexual attitudes of those I had met, Saracens and Christians alike. If they thought a joking reference by their son to them having congress was scandalous, I could only imagine what they would think of their son if they knew how he had spent much of the last twenty-two months. What would Mother and my sisters think if I shared with them the saying that women were for breeding, boys for pleasure, and melons for sheer delight? What would they think if I told them I knew what it felt like to be penetrated by a man, and that I enjoyed it? What would Father and Uncle think if they knew that as a tellack I had done more than wash men's bodies, and as a koçek I had done more than dress like a woman and dance? What would they think of me if they knew I had sucked cock and had mine sucked and enjoyed both, that I enjoyed congress with men older than they and with boys half my age? What would my friends think if they knew I had introduced young boys to the pleasures of sex and had encouraged those young innocents to follow my decadent path?

That I was now a sexual creature was certainly a large part of the difference between my former life and my life now, but it was more than just my sexual needs and preferences. I had left a boy but had returned a man, a man that had been defined by heathens and lustful men I had lived with, not the proper, civilized fishermen and tradesmen of Viana do Costelo, and by the experiences I have had, at war and at play. As the days progressed, I realized my life here at home had become as foreign to me as living in a yurt and drinking fermented mare's milk was to my parents. I had killed and I had fornicated, not once but many times. My friends were different also, as if we were total strangers. I had nothing in common with them, nothing that I could talk about. They were, in many cases, like children in my mind, simple and soft with no concept of battles and death. By the end of my first week I was miserable, and it was not just because my only source of relief was by my hand in the privacy and security of the outhouse.

I had just returned from that solitary pleasure which to my dismay brought me little relief and was sitting on the front stoop in a depressed mood with those black thoughts I have just described and longing for a young, willing boy the evening Uncle sat down beside me. "You are troubled," he observed. I was and I acknowledged it, knowing I could not lie to him. "I know why," he said, looking squarely at me.

My heart leaped and then sank. He knew. That came as no surprise. Uncle was always most observant, and I had really done little to hide my mood these past few days. "You do?" I asked, daring to look up at him, hoping the impossible.

"But of course. You forget, I have travelled most of my life. Things never are the same as they were when you left them when you return. Life goes on in your absence, and things change. So do you, and what makes you happy." What makes me happy! He really did know, my deepest, darkest secret! "Home is safe and familiar, but it can be boring too. You miss the excitement of seeing things you have never seen before, having new experiences, even the danger and unpleasant experiences that come from exploring the unknown. Do not deny it, I can tell. I can see it in your eyes. Travelling is in your blood, Nico, as it is in your father's, and in mine. Home barely more than a week and you are anxious to be off at sea again and exploring new lands again."

I smiled, mostly with relief, but also with Uncle's insight and understanding. He had gotten the major reason for my dark thoughts wrong, thankfully, but he had the right of it regarding the other reasons for my black mood, reasons I had not really been aware of until he mentioned them. He was right about missing the excitement of travel and discovery.

"It is particularly difficult when you are young. I know. I felt much as you do now when I returned home after my first trading excursion. I wish I could tell you it gets easier as you get older, but it does not. In fact it gets worse for when you get older it is more difficult to get away and you cannot do the things you were once able to do. I do not know of any opportunity for you to take part in an expedition like you have just returned from, and if I did I would not want to suffer the wrath of your mother for telling you about it. Considering we thought you dead, and from your tales you could easily have been killed many times over, I do not know if I myself would tell you of another opportunity to travel to foreign lands. But I can suggest something that might help ease the ache in your soul. What you need is to travel to this new estate of yours. Get away from this place of your childhood to some place new, if even just for a day or two. You are not meant to just sit here and spend the wealth you have brought back, nor to pick up from where you left off two years ago. You are sixteen now, and a man."

I borrowed a horse that very afternoon and packed a saddlebag that night, and I was up with the sun the next morning. It was a half day ride and as I rode up into the hills south of the Minho valley that hot midsummer day, the warm sun and fresh air did much to lighten my mood. Of course I was anxious regarding what might await me at my new estate and the reception that I might receive, but as strange as it sounds, I found that tension and the unknown invigorating. Uncle will never cease to amaze me with his understanding of the way of the world. Arriving at a small meadow of long, lush grass, I dismounted and sought the shade of the surrounding pines to eat the lunch I had packed as I allowed my mount to graze. Approaching the forest's edge, I spotted a movement, and figuring it to be a young deer, I crouched down and approached slowly and silently so as not to frighten it.

As I parted the leaves ever so carefully, I discovered I was not the only one to have sought the shade of the forest. What sat before me in a small clearing was no young deer, but, as the poets would say, a young gazelle with his trousers about his ankles and his stiff member in his fist. He had his head thrown back and his eyes closed, enjoying the thrill and the pounding pleasure of his erect cock. He was a good-looking boy, perhaps fourteen, with long, auburn hair and a trim, well-defined torso, evident as the boy had removed his shirt with the heat of the day. His muscles were firm and pronounced, revealing he lead an active physical life, and yet had the soft curvature of an adolescent. His chest was smooth and darkly tanned and the hair under his arms was sparse and silky. His cock was of a nice size, as were his downy balls, and he had a firm grip on his member. Mine immediately began to respond with the sight.

Whether it was because of his approaching orgasm or that sixth sense that tells one he is being watched, but he suddenly opened his eyes and stared straight into mine. His eyelashes were long and feathery, and his eyes were a light brown, with a hint of gold flecks and bright with lust. It took several seconds for my presence to register in his pleasure-filled mind, and the sex-clouded glaze was replaced with a look of surprise, and then with a mixture of guilt and shame. His trousers being pushed down to his ankles, he grabbed his discarded shirt beside him and tossed it over his groin instead of attempting to pull up his breeches.

"I am sorry to interrupt your pleasure," I apologized as I stepped out from behind the brush. "I had seen the movement and thought perhaps it was some wild animal and I did not want to disturb it."

"I … ah," he replied, struggling with what to say.

"But, I see you have already caught the beast, and were in the process of strangling it," I continued with a smile.

From his eyes I could see he was uncertain if I was mocking him or not, but a slight smile curled the corners of his mouth.

"It is a beautiful day, and a beautiful spot to hone one's sword," I observed.

"I …," he began, still unable to think what to say.

"… was only doing what I am sure every lusty boy your age in all of Portugal, indeed, all of the known world, would do on a day such as this. And boys older than yourself besides," I added.

"You are welcome to join me if you are of such a mind," he offered, picking up on my thinly veiled hint.

"I would," I replied, stepping over to him and beginning to unbuckle my belt. I too removed my shirt, it being a warm day and pleasuring oneself being that much more enjoyable shirtless, and I noticed him examining me critically out of the corner of his eye as he pretended to be looking elsewhere. From the look on his face my body met with his approval. At sixteen my muscles had become more defined than his, and with the active physical life I had lead and the daily exercise and weapons practice regime I sill followed since my return home, they were harder and more pronounced that most my age.

I untied my breeches and allowed them to drop to my ankles, and then untied the ties of my thong and dropped it on the forest floor, and the boy's eyes dropped to what I had revealed, and again what he saw evidently met with a positive appraisal. Only when I sat beside him did he avert his eyes. I fondled my cock and balls, and doing it in front of another boy who was sitting there still fully erect, I was stiff in no time. "Yours is of a nice size," I observed, openly looking over at his stiff member. "Might I ask how old you are?"

"I will be fifteen my next birthday," he replied, and I suspected that was likely many months in the future. "Yours is large," he observed. "How old are you?"

"I turned sixteen two months ago."

He smiled and we began to stroke ourselves. He could not help glancing over at my cock occasionally, and I could not help glancing over at him. As I felt my humours rise, I grasped my snake below the head and squeezed tightly to kill the urge. My companion noticed of course and glanced up at me in puzzlement. "Prolonging the pleasure," I explained, and when he was no more enlightened, I added, "cutting off the urge to squirt." He was still no more enlightened. "Like this."

I reached over and slipping the thumb and first finger of my left hand about his stiff cock just below the head I squeezed it tightly. So surprised was he at my brashness reaching over and taking his most private part in my hand, he made no effort to stop me. The moment I touched his cock my own member throbbed hotly and desperately, the mere touching of his private part causing an ache to squirt that only the greatest will I could exert averted. It took me much longer to quell that urge as a result and it was not until it was well passed that I released my cock and his.

"Have you ever stroked another's member?" I dared to ask. He shook his head in the negative. "Go ahead and give it a try, if you are of such a mind to do so."

From his hesitation I suspected he had never considered doing such a thing before. Curiosity and temptation overcame his apprehension and any teaching he may have had that such a thing was taboo and he slowly and timidly reached over, as if the snake between my legs might bite. Slipping his fingers about my stiff member, he tentatively pumped his fist up and down a couple times, and then gripping my cock more firmly, he pumped it more forcefully. "You… you can do mine… if you are of such a mind," he offered.

"I am," I said with a smile. I tried not to sound nor appear too eager. "I like to do it slow, to make the pleasure last longer," I observed as I slipped my fingers about his young cock, and he took the hint and immediately slowed down. "When you feel you are going to spurt, tell me and I can delay it another time."

He nodded as he stared at his cock and my slowly pumping fist, taking in the very different pleasure of having someone else doing to his cock what until then only he had done to it. And he glanced over at my cock now throbbing in his fist, absorbing the pleasure of bringing another the same pleasure as he was accustomed to bringing himself. We were both prurient, being of that age when the humours of lust flow strongly, and for myself the lust was even greater having been deprived of having pleasure with another of my sex for such a long time. The boy soon informed me he was about to squirt, and I again squeezed his cock tight below the knob and told him I was feeling the same and he squeezed mine.

I waited until I had calmed again and then resumed pumping his cock and he resumed pumping mine. I informed him that the delaying tactic could be repeated as often as one wanted, but each time the onset would be sooner, and if one did it too often it would be more irritating than rewarding. So saying, I told him that the next time I would warn him but did not want him to stop.

"Me too," he managed to say, his young voice cracking, from the changes he was undergoing at his age, and from the excitement of being masturbated and of masturbating another for the first time.

We sat there in the forest bare-chested and with our breeches about our ankles and concentrated on the pleasure throbbing between our legs and on the pleasure we knew the other was feeling, on the eroticism of having another's member in our hand, and on the anticipation of squirting one's seed and being in the company of another doing the same. That time came quickly again, and I inhaled deeply when I informed him, and his voice quavered as he told me he was approaching his climax also. We inhaled and exhaled deeply, sucking in the fresh forest air as we concentrated on that itching pleasure rimming the edge of our bulb. It is so different having another stroking your cock when you reach that point, the actions of his hand beyond your control and the actions of your aching cock being beyond your control too in a sense.

I came first and he was quick to follow, the two of us squirting out our young seed and spraying the fresh grass between our legs, our fists tightly gripping the hard, throbbing flesh in our hands, our balls drawn up tight beneath our cocks as we sprayed the grass with our milk. We inhaled and exhaled deeply as if having run a furlong, sucking in now the musky fragrance of spilt seed, his and mine. It was beautiful. I slowly worked my fist up and down his young, slender cock, milking out the rest of his seed, and he did likewise. The last of his seed oozed out of the tip of his member and down over my fingers, hot and sticky, causing me to tremble with delight at the feel of his seed, and causing my own seed to ooze out more thickly, and as I watched it ooze down over the slender fingers of this young, fourteen-year-old boy, the first seed for him to have touched other than his own, an immense sense of pleasure washed over me.

We sat there for the longest time afterward, enjoying the flush that comes after the release of one's seed, each lost in his own thoughts with a contented smile on our faces.

"Do you do it often?" he finally dared to ask.

"When the need arises," I replied. "Which is often," I concluded with a smile and he smiled too.

"So does mine," he confessed. He sat there in thought for a moment before continuing. "Have you ever done it more than once in a day?"

"Oh yes," I replied and he grinned again and admitted so had he, as often as four times. "You know there are other ways boys can make each other feel good besides using their hands?" I asked carefully.

"I know nothing of such things," he replied with a shrug. "You are the first boy I have ever met that hones one's sword as you called it."

"There are many who do. They just keep it a secret. I could show you another way, if you are of such a mind," I offered hopefully.

"I would be of such a mind," he said brightly as he looked over at me.

I removed my boots and trousers and had him do the same. Then having him roll over on his stomach, I worked up a mouth of spittle and drooling it over his hole, I worked it into his pucker with my pointer finger, and then coating my finger with spittle, I slowly eased it into his body. He was tight and I quickly became stiff in anticipation. What he was thinking I had no idea, but he made no objection. Working up another mouth of spittle, I drooled it over my now stiff cock and then had him assume the position on his elbows and knees. Shuffling up behind him, I placed the tip of my cock against his hole and grasping him by the hips I slowly pushed forward. I did so slowly and as gently as I could, knowing the pain he was feeling his first time, and I am sure at that moment questioning his wisdom in agreeing to have me show him.

Despite the pain, he was willing and curious and I was eager and experienced in such matters. Ever so slowly my cockhead wedged into his pucker and stretched it open until it popped inside him. We were panting with the effort and I paused to allow him to recover from being penetrated for the first time, and to allow my own heart to slow down despite the urge to commence fucking this doe-eyed, fourteen-year-old gazelle immediately. When at last our breathing returned to normal, I slowly eased my stiff cock up his virgin hole until my hairs were brushing against his tail bone. Pausing again, this time to relish the delight having my cock buried up the hot, moist hole of this tight, virgin boy, I closed my eyes in ecstasy. I then began to ease my cock in and out of his body, focussing on the pleasure pulsating through my swollen member and hoping he was feeling the same pleasure I did when I was fucked. Slowly the urge to release my seed built up inside me. I did not pause to allow those desires to subside, knowing that though hopefully the boy was experiencing as much pleasure as I was, to keep his virgin hole stretched for too long a time would bring him more pain than pleasure. And so, as the tension between my legs built, I continued to fuck this handsome, doe-eyed young boy until I felt the familiar twang deep up my groin and I began to squirt once again, this time filling his rectum with my seed.

When I was done, I slowly eased my cock out, and assuming the position I had him take, I offered my ass to him. He was surprised at the reverse of roles particularly in that I was two years his senior, but after a moment took me up on my offer and worked up a mouth of spittle and worked it up my rectum, a bit awkwardly and admittedly not so eagerly. Fortunately for me he kept his nails trimmed. He was rougher than I had been, from lack of experience, but it was that lack of experience that I found arousing and that more than compensated for his lack of skill. He drooled over his own cock, once again stiff and eager, and he assumed the position I had taken. It took him several attempts even with my experience, and by the time we finally united we were both grunting and snorting with the effort. Once he penetrated me and had sunk his cock up my ass until I felt his coarse hairs pressing against my butt, I advised him to pause and calm himself before continuing so that he might enjoy the experience better and longer.

He did as I advised, and then grasping my hips for support, he began to ease his cock in and out of my rectum. The burning pleasure of having my asshole stretched and the delight of feeling a throbbing cock stuffed up my rectum was doubled by the fact that this was the boy's first time, and I thought back to the first time I had fucked another and how it had felt. I imagined the awe and wonder of the unknown, the anxiety of wanting to do well, and the pleasure he was experiencing, all adding to my own pleasure. I worked my anal muscles in time with his thrusts and withdrawals, working with him and hoping that he would find as much pleasure in his first time as I had in mine. He evidently did, for in what seemed no time he grasped my hips tightly in the throes of his climax and I quivered with delight as my rectum was filled with this young boy's seed. I had no guilt about introducing this boy to the pleasures of sodomy, and from the smile on his face as he withdrew his dripping, stiff cock and sat back on his haunches, I knew I had done the right thing.

Wiping ourselves off and dressing, we parted company, me to continue on my way down the other side of the southern mountains and him to resume hunting for his family's dinner, which had been the reason for him being in the forest. It was a short ride, made all the shorter by thoughts of what I and the young boy had done and hoping we would run into each other again, my only regret being I had not asked where he lived.

Arriving at what I assumed was the Quintas de Couvra, now the Quintas de Ribeiro, I found two men and two boys, one about my age and the other perhaps two years older, struggling to uproot a large stump beside the family garden. I noticed immediately the similarity between the two boys, and their similarity to the boy I had met in the forest and I wondered if their hair and eye colour and complexion were characteristic of the people inhabiting this valley. Dismounting and offering my assistance, and that of my horse, I joined them and with the five of us and my horse, though she was bred for riding and not for farm labour, we finally managed to dislodge the stump. I assisted them in sawing it up and as we began stacking the wood we were joined by a third boy carrying three fat game hens.

"Ah, my grandson with our supper," the older of the men announced. As our eyes met, the boy's widened and he began to blush. There was good reason the two boys resembled him! As he headed to the house, I helped the others till the soil beside an already large garden until the sun began to set. Fortunately it was routine work that required little thought for my mind was on the early part of the afternoon and what his grandfather and evidently his brothers would think of me if they had known what the boy and I had done earlier that day.

"Well, I think that is enough for today. I thank you for your help, stranger," the older of the men said as he mopped his brow. "I cannot pay you, but you are welcome to join us in our evening meal. As you saw, the hunt has been good for my grandson today. It is simple fare, but the wife is a good cook. We do not have a spare bed," he apologized, "but I am sure we can find room for you if you would like to spend the night with a roof over your head."

"A meal would be most welcome," I replied. "And I suspect there is a bed awaiting me for I plan on spending more than a night here," I said, glancing over at what I assumed to be the manor house on a rise overlooking the river. "If I am correct that this is the former Quintas de Couvra."

"You are correct," the oldster said, "though we have been informed there is a new lord now, by courtesy of our sovereign."

"To come and sit on his backside and benefit from our sweat while we toil to provide food on our table," grumbled the other man who appeared to half the other's age.

"Of the first that there is a new lord you are correct," I said with a smile. "I am he." The oldster looked at me with surprise, and then curiosity. The other man's eyes widened and his face blanched. "Nicolau Ribeiro," I introduced myself, extending my hand. The man looked at me incredulously and then down at his own dirty hand before finally taking mine. "I have the papers in my saddlebag to prove it."

"No, no my Lord, that would not be necessary. We have been expecting your arrival, and the manor has been aired out and made ready. Bartolommeo, run tell your grandmother his Lordship has arrived," he ordered, turning to the younger of the two boys. "We will-that is, my granddaughter-she will serve you in your dining room, milord," he said quite flustered. "I beg your pardon for our most improper greeting," he continued, suddenly remembering his cap and doffing it. "I had no idea. We meant no disrespect. Bartolommeo, go, run," he said, noticing his grandson was still standing there gaping at me. "And please, forgive my son for his words," he continued, glancing at the younger man in reproval as Bartolommeo finally began to run.

"Just tell your grandmother to set another plate at the table," I called after the boy. "I would be honoured to join you at your table, if you have room," I said, addressing the elder. "Room? Yes, of course we will have room."

"Forgive me for my bitter words, my Lord," the other man finally said, dropping to one knee and bowing his head. "It is just that our previous lord, well, no disrespect to him, but, well… "

"Let us just say our previous lord was not a cordial man, nor an ambitious one, except when it came to politics, which was his undoing," explained the elder man, whose name I learned was Alvaro.

"No explanation is needed," I said as I extended my hand to the one who had knelt and helped him up, "nor any forgiveness. I know nothing of the former esquire, and I think you will find me quite different." With that I followed them to their cottage and we washed up for supper.

And so it was that I met my groundskeeper and his family who lived in a cottage behind the manor. He, his wife and their third oldest son along with his son's two daughters and three sons lived in the tiny cottage and maintained the property, mainly the huge garden, two dozen chickens and a dairy cow which provided them their meals and income at the market. He repeatedly apologized for not realizing who I was, and commented that in all his years at the manor he had never seen a lord working with his hands, and his son too apologized again for his words. The meal, as he had said, was simple but delicious, his wife having roasted the three birds on a spit and stuffed them with a dressing the likes of which I have never tasted before and which I knew Mother would be delighted to copy. It was all the more delicious after an honest day's work and good, honest folk for company. It was served with a delicious white wine the likes of which I had never tasted before and which I found out the groundskeeper made himself, and concluded with a cherry cobbler, the estate having a few cherry trees. That night I found myself in my new home four times the size of my father's home with a bed trice the size of the bed I had in Viana do Costelo.

The next day I was given a tour of my new estate by Alvaro. It formed a triangular piece of land wedged between two other larger estates, the one to the west long occupied by a family loyal to the monarchy, the one to the east vacant. The northern tip of the estate, the blunted end of the triangle, was fronted by the Rio Minho where there were a dock and a boathouse containing a small pleasure boat. To the west squeezed between my estate and the adjacent one was a small village of perhaps two dozen families, half of whom were fishermen. The manor, a modest building as far as estate homes go but with an impressive facade and opulently furnished, sat on a hillock facing the river and the estate spread to the south and the east, the land rising quickly and to the east extending into a high pasture surrounded by a thick pine forest where I had found my groundskeeper's third and youngest grandson, Vasco.

That evening I ate alone, fresh vegetables from the estate garden, a delicious Minho trout caught by the groundskeeper's grandson, cherry cobbler with whipped cream, and a bottle of the same white wine as the previous night, all served by Alvaro's granddaughter. As I ate I thought of all I had seen and what the elderly Alvaro had told me that day and all that had happened the day before, and the problems that were facing me. First and foremost, I had no experience in running an estate. The former lord had been a member of the nobility and the estate handed down from father to son for generations, largely unchanged and its operation dependant on family money and investments, the occupants having no interest in the land itself or the people working for them nor their neighbours other than other nobility who might advance their political ambitions. I was not about to sit on my backside and rely on the sweat of my groundskeeper and family to keep the estate going as Alvaro's son had suspected.

Second, I was worried what my relationship with Alvaro's son was going to be like. From what I had learned, he had a legitimate complaint about the previous Lord, a complaint which I knew was not uncommon between common folk and the rich, and in every land I had travelled in. He had no reason to believe I was going to be any different, and despite his apology, I had a feeling Alvaro's son had already made up his mind about me. How I was going to convince him he was wrong I had no idea, but I knew I had to if whatever I decided to do about running the estate was going to be successful. Besides, it was going to be an unpleasant stay regardless what I decided to do or how long I ended up living there if I did not do something to address his perception.

Third was his grandson. If we were both of the same class, it would be much different, but we were not. I was the Lord of Quintas de Ribeiro and he was the grandson of my groundskeeper. Of course I did not see myself as any better or different from he, but regardless, everyone else would, and likely so would he. For me it would have been awkward enough seeing him each day in the presence of his family and knowing what we had done together without the added significance of our positions, and I could easily imagine how much more difficult it was for him not having travelled and experienced the things I had, and this being his first sexual experience besides. Again, it was going to be most uncomfortable for both of us and I felt it was my responsibility to see that it was not. I thought long into the night on my problems and slept fitfully. If this was what it was going to be like to be the lord of an estate, I would have rather King João had not bestowed the honour on me.

After breaking my fast, I sought out my groundskeeper and informed him I wished to discuss several ideas I had regarding the operation of the estate. He was much surprised by my ideas, and even more surprised that I would seek his advise. First, I had recalled his observation that his son felt, and he concurred, that previous lords had ignored the revenue that could be had from the river, Minho trout and salmon primarily besides when in season from January to March lamprey, eel and shad along the margins, and his observation that the nearby village was too poor to do more than provide for themselves and nearby estates. I proposed we buy or have built a larger ship that could travel further upstream beyond where the local village fished for trout and salmon and that we hire men and boys from the local village to operate it, and with our own catch along with fish we would buy from the village fishermen, we could build drying racks and a smokehouse to preserve the fish which we would then sell further inland, something the individual fishermen could not do so we would not be competing with them. Indeed, if things went as I hoped, we might even hire some of the local youth to help.

So, that very day Alvaro, his son and I set out for the village to inquire about purchasing a fishing boat and to talk to the village elders and the fishermen when they returned with their day's catch. They greeted my idea of establishing a fishing business on the estate with enthusiasm for it meant any fish they did not sell at the end of the day they could sell to me, and hiring some of their sons to work on a boat and to dry and smoke fish meant their sons who otherwise would be leaving the village to work would settle in the village and raise their families there. Finding craftsmen in the village to build drying racks and a smoke house was no problem. They even knew of two fishing boats which were available, one from a fisherman who had become too old to continue working and who had no sons, and the other, an abandoned larger boat from the estate to the east which had been vacated for the same reasons Quintas de Couvra had been abandoned, both of which we checked out. Alvaro's son had been particularly impressed with my plan and was changing his mind about me until I choose the latter boat, which I could tell from the look on his face he figured was a mistake, but he knew his place and said nothing.

We returned to the manor that evening with a work horse I had also purchased. I had recalled the gleam in his eyes as Alvaro had talked about his dream of a vineyard such as he had grown up on in the south, and my second proposal for the estate was to terrace the hills to the south and west and begin our own vineyard and winery. I had the money to begin such an operation and he had the skills to run it with the help of his family, and from the quality of the wine I had consumed these two days I had no doubt it would be a huge success. Before I retired that night, I sought out Alvaro's grandson, Vasco, and made it clear to him that while I would like to continue what we had begun if he was of such a mind, I did not expect him to have congress with me because I was Lord of the estate and his grandfather and father worked for me. To my delight, and relief, he made it just as clear that he also wanted to continue our relationship and because I was a person of power and position was not why he wanted to have congress with me.

The next day while Alvaro and his grandchildren began to remove the shrub and boulders from the nearest hill, I and Alvaro's son sailed down to Caminha on the Minho estuary, a thirteenth century fishing village that was rapidly becoming a major maritime commerce centre and where there was a shipyard to obtain lumber, tar and other materials to repair the fishing boat I had purchased. I had an idea for a boat that would not only be sturdier and provide a greater hold for our fish, but would be more manoeuvrable on the wide Minho River, a boat that combined the design of merchant vessels from Venice with the lateen sails of the arab dhows. Alvaro's son was sceptical, but again said nothing, and when we commenced work the next day the fishermen's sons we employed were also doubtful and I am sure considered the project as a foolish endeavour of a nobleman who did not know the way of things.

Assured that Alvaro's son understood my intention and instructions, I and Alvaro's grandson, Vasco, headed the next day for Bragança where I intended on purchasing some Spanish Andalusians, recalling Prince Afonso having spoken most highly of them as the ideal horse for war, the bullring and for dressage as they were bred specifically for jumping, and that their herd was descended from horses his grandfather had obtained from Bragança where they were bred and trained. I recalled with fondness my experiences on the steppes of Badakhstan where I had come to appreciate and love horses, and of the beylik in Samarakand with three hundred head of Shen that I had been given but had never had the opportunity to see. The hills on the eastern portion of the estate would be ideal for raising horses, horses which we could breed for show and for the gentry.

My reasons for having Vasco accompany me were largely selfish. I felt it too risky to attempt any sexual liaison in the manor or even in the woods on the estate where we had first met. This trip would allow me an opportunity to once again savour the pleasure of his beautiful, lithe body, and savour it I did the very first evening of our trip. I had anticipated that night all day, and so had he I later learned, and he was just as nervous about it as I was, wanting it to be as good as our first time. I had thought about how I might initiate things, and had considered several scenarios and discarded every one of them. As it happened, it just happened naturally. One moment we were sitting by the campfire talking, and the next we were embracing and kissing. We were both eager and soon had disrobed each other and both of us were sporting aching erections.

I had brought lubricant with me, and I greased up Vasco's pucker and rectum and my erect member and then took him from behind with him on his knees and elbows. Having my cock back up this fourteen-year-old's hot, moist asshole was a delight and I had to fuck him slowly and pause several times to delay the inevitable. This time I stroked his cock, which was three finger widths shorter than mine and barely four finger widths long, pausing frequently so that I did not cause him to shoot his seed before I was ready. Then, the last time, I continued to pump my hips to and fro and to stroke his stiff penis, and as I began to spurt my seed up his rectum he too began to ejaculate, his thin, watery seed shooting out across the grass. We relaxed afterward in the warm glow of the campfire and the warm glow of each other's body as we talked about the delight of congress between males until we were erect once again.

This time I assumed the position on my knees and elbows and Vasco greased my pucker and inserted his pointer finger up my rectum. He then coated his stiff member and knelt behind me and penetrated me. It was a delight feeling my rectum stuffed with this fourteen-year-old boy's stiff member, and particularly delightful knowing that this was only the second time he had experienced the delight. As I had done with him, he reached under me and began to stroke my stiff member as he worked his in and out of my rectum, and as had been our case earlier, we had to pause frequently so great was our desire. There is something about engaging in sex with another boy close to my age that is particularly erotic. This time he shot his seed up my rectum as I spurted my seed onto the ground.

The following day we made good time, the two of us invigorated after the previous evening, and as the previous day, we chose to camp out rather than take an inn so that we might enjoy each other openly and without fear of being discovered. It was just as delightful as the previous night, the two of us naked and rutting under the full moon, grunting and snorting first with the exertion of uniting, and then in the throes of ecstasy as we spent our seed, again me up his rectum while he sprayed the grass, and then him up my ass as he milked me to an orgasm. We cuddled together afterward, our naked bodies aglow with the flush that follows the release of one's seed, and fell asleep in each other's arms.

We arrived at our destination, the grand palace of the Duke of Bragança, the following afternoon only to find the building boarded up and the grounds vacant, and from the weeds and shrubs growing about the place, evidently for some time. Making inquires at the nearest estate, I learned that the third Duke of Braganca had been killed for treason and his family banned to Castile by King João nine years ago and any belongings not seized by the crown had gone with them. (2)

Inquiring about purchasing Andalusians, I was informed that any lords who had such animals would not be offering any for sale as the animals were treasured for use in war and the local lords were constantly on guard against each other and against raids from neighbouring Castile. Inquiring at a few more estates that afternoon, I found the information accurate. The area was being ruled by powerful rivalling lords who lived in their lavish castles in fear of each other and the Castilians while neglecting the peasants so that the general populace was impoverished

Disappointed and frustrated, and growing angrier with the abrupt reception I got from the Lords of each estate I visited in my attempt to purchase horses from them, and provoked by the attitude toward our monarch, by whom I had been treated most well, my mood was as black as the storm clouds gathering overhead. As it grew dark, the rain began and became progressively worse. Arriving late that evening at the holdings of a poor pig farmer, we sought refuge from the rain. He apologised that he had no bed for us, or even room in his small home, but he did offer us the use of his tool shed which at least provided us a roof over our heads and the opportunity to dry our belongings.

He had no daughters but four sons, the youngest being a dark-eyed, dark-skinned, precocious seven-year-old by the name of Pedro Savalas who saw to our horses and brought us dry kindling for a fire. As we stripped to dry off our travelling clothes, he hung around, obviously curious, offering to help hang up our wet clothing and dashing away to return with towels to dry ourselves. Vasco and I exchanged smiles, knowing the boy's intentions and hopes, and we rewarded him, neither of us having any shame in our naked bodies.

He observed that we did not look like brothers or cousins, and asked if we were friends, perhaps neighbours. It was Vasco who informed him that I owned an estate three days ride to the west, and that he was the grandson of my groundskeeper. He studied me for a moment, and then Vasco. "So, you are his puta (whore), his catamite?"

The use of such language and spoken so unabashedly by one so young came as a surprise and we both laughed uncomfortably in shock. Vasco quickly replied in the negative, as did I. He again looked from one to the other. "You are not a servant, or a slave," he observed and again Vasco replied he was not. "But you do have congress with each other." We glanced at each other. That we could not deny, and our delay in responding told him he was correct. "That is no matter," he quickly said. "Men have needs and do not always have a woman to satisfy them. I myself am a good sucker of cock, and have a tight ass." Again his abruptness and language caught us by surprise and caused us to laugh in surprise, and embarrassment.

"How much?" I asked.

"You really own an estate?" he asked.

"A poor one."

"A gold sovereign."

I snorted. "A centavo."

"Ten."

"Two. And you do both of us, both ways."

"Four."

"Agreed."

He immediately began to strip off his clothes.

"What of your father?"

"He has a wife. He would not be interested," the boy replied impishly. I stepped forward as if to box his ears and he giggled. "He will not come out in the rain," he said. "Nor will my brothers." It had begun raining harder, as it often does in the mountains, and I had no doubt he was right.

He was a slender boy and his clothes tattered and dirty, but he himself was reasonably clean considering he was a peasant and the son of a pig farmer. Thankfully the rain had cooled the night and the odour from the nearby pig sty was barely noticeable. We began with him sucking Vasco while I lubed up his rectum and my cock and penetrated him. He had not spoken falsely. As I lubed the two of us up, I could see that he was experienced at sucking cock. He nibbled at Vasco's bulb and licked his shaft and knob as if nibbling sugar candy and once Vasco was erect he eagerly slipped his lips over his bulb and down his shaft to his curly hairs without the slightest hesitation or difficulty. Watching this dark-eyed seven-year-old working his lips up and down Vasco's swollen member and his cheeks sink in as he sucked on the perverted treat caused me to become erect in double time.

He was also truthful about being tight, but the way he pushed out to open his pucker told me that he was also experienced when it came to that form of congress. I had to wonder if he had learned his part servicing his three brothers, or if his services were also sought out by the nobles in the area or perhaps the sons of those nobles. Though such things are considered taboo and anyone caught severely punished in Portugal, I have no doubt they occur, though admittedly not with the frequency and zest as in Venice or Florence. As I began to ease my hips to and fro, driving my swollen cock in and out of the youngster's ass, he worked his anal muscle in time with my thrusts and withdrawals, further proof that the boy knew what he was doing and how to please his fucker. Vasco instructed him on how to clamp his lips below his knob to cut off the desire to eject one's seed, and I paused and withdrew with only my knob inside him and had him do the same with his anal muscle. He at last drank Vasco's hot milk and as I began to fuck him more fervently he squealed like a pig.

We shared with him the little food we had left from what we had brought with us, which he consumed ravenously, the family evidently not having that much. I then wiped off my cock and we reversed positions, Pedro sucking my cock while Vasco fucked him. As he had claimed and as I had thought, the boy was a skilled sucker of cock, expertly teasing my limp member with his tongue and knowing the most sensitive spots to create a reaction and to avoid in order to prolong our congress. He had no difficulty going all the way down on my member, again suggesting to me that he had to have had experience with boys older than himself or with men. This time, as he sucked my cock, Vasco fucked his ass and reached under him and stroked his little sausage. It quickly stiffened and jutted out from between his legs no longer nor thicker than my thumb, and the boy squirmed and squealed all the more as Vasco stroked it. When I at last began to spurt my thick cream down his throat and Vasco began to squirt his seed up the boy's rectum to join mine, the boy quivered and arched his back with his own orgasm.

The next morning we purchased three piglets, a male and two females, and continued on our way. If the farmer had any idea what his youngest son had been up to during the night, or of the boy's new wealth, I ending up giving him double what we had bargained for, he gave no indication. It rained for most of the next day as we dejectedly headed back home, the day matching our mood. We rode hard and stayed at a roadside inn that night as it continued to drizzle. The inn was crowded, most of the locals having been unable to work due to the rain and seeking the inn's ale as a diversion. As we ate our evening meal, a bland, meatless stew whose only redeeming value was that it was hot after riding all day in the rain, I overheard a man who claimed to be an equerry lamenting that his lord had lost a considerable sum over a game of chance and was intending on selling his horses for horsemeat and letting him go. I bought him a tankard of ale and questioned him further about the horses. That night I learned about the Lusitano, a horse unique to the region and I was informed very much like the Spanish Andalusian. The following morning we followed the directions we had been given to the estate. Although the horses were underfed and poorly treated, which annoyed me greatly, I recognized immediately their potential, as I did the potential of their trainer who performed his job out of love for the horses. I bought his herd of seven head for half their price, the result of their condition and my skill in bargaining, and hired their trainer besides. (3)

It had not been as I had expected, but it was a profitable trip nonetheless. I had not only achieved my goal of obtaining horses to train for the gentry and my goal of having congress with Vasco, the two of us making full use of the opportunity at the inn on our way back and the day following, but I had also had the opportunity to expose him to the delight of three-way sex. Leaving the two sows and the boar with Alvaro's second grandson and the five mares and two stallions, the beginning of my herd, with their trainer under charge of Vasco, whom I had recognized early on had a love and way with animals, I checked out the progress Alvaro's son was making with our fishing boat the following day, and satisfied, headed out again the next morning, this time with Alvaro and his oldest grandson.

We sailed east to Melgaço, Portugal's northernmost outpost, a short distance of twenty-five miles, and returned with our pleasure craft filled with young white grape plants from several different vineyards. They all looked the same to me, but Alvaro assured me that they were of different varieties and each would produce a different fine wine. Already he had plans on cross fertilizing them to produce his own variety which he assured me would produce an even better wine, which I jokingly suggested he name Alvarinho. (4)

The days had gone by quickly, as did the next seven days as I split my time supervising the repairs of our fishing boat and construction of drying racks and a smoke house, checking on the progress of my fledgling herd of horses, building pens for my pigs, and helping to terrace and till the land for future grape vines. And I made time to ride to the far margins of the estate with Vasco to exercise our horses and to hunt, and to seek that private pleasure between two healthy, lusty boys. The design of our fishing boat turned out to be a success, redeeming me in the eyes of Alvaro's son. My activities came to the attention of the Lord of the estate to the East, a wealthy and crafty man experienced in the way of politics who invited me to dinner to check me out more than anything to determine if I was a threat or if knowing me would be a political advantage, the one aspect of being the lord of an estate that I had no interest in.

Then one day just after the evening meal a rider appeared at the manor, a rider whose livery I recognized as that of King João. He had travelled from Lisbon to Viana do Costelo and finding me not there had proceeded on to my estate. He bore with him a message from King João informing me that a man by the name of Christoffa Corombo, a Genoese, had been granted funds from the Catholic Monarchs, Ferdinand and Isabella of Castile, to sail to the spice lands of the east by sailing west. I of course knew of the man. He had tried on two unsuccessful occasions to seek funding from King João, and I knew of at least one previous attempt to do so with the Catholic Monarchs. It was a far-fetched idea, anyone with any knowledge of the world knowing that it would be much too far for a man to sail, and he would be sailing into waters unknown to man, and likely inhabited by sea monsters the likes of which were better left unknown. Much to my amazement, King João advised that he wanted me to travel with the man, and required an answer immediately as the man would be leaving within a week!

It was a fool's voyage, one filled with danger and the unknown, but I must confess the challenge and excitement of such a voyage intrigued me. Syed, Prince Abbas's top advisor and most trusted man, had once advised me that I was not the type to sit on my beylik and raise horses, and I knew in my heart that despite the challenges and successes I had experienced as Lord of Quintas de Ribeiro, nor was I one to sit on my new estate and become part of the gentry. I had always known that, and it did not take me long to decide what I had to do.

Summoning Alvaro and his family to the manor, I informed them I had been summoned by our King and that I would be travelling for a while, how long I did not know. I named Alvaro Steward of Quintas de Ribeiro and gave him in writing the authority to make whatever decisions were necessary on my behalf. I charged his son with managing our fishing venture, his eldest grandson with managing the vineyard and winery for in the short time I had known him I knew he had the same love as his grandfather, Vasco with managing the Lusitano venture, and Alvaro's middle grandson with managing the estate garden and other livestock.

I told each of them my wishes that after all bills and workers had been paid, three-eighths of the profits from each of the Estate's endeavours were to be reinvested in that venture, a quarter set aside as savings should any of our endeavours have an unsuccessful year, an eighth of each endeavour to be paid Alvaro as Steward, and eighth to be set aside in an account in my name, and the remaining eighth of each project to be paid to the individual managing that endeavour for his own personal use. They were genuinely saddened that I was leaving so soon, and all overcome by my generosity. Vasco of course was greatly saddened, as was I, and we risked meeting that night and in private I was assured that he had no regrets regarding our relationship and we had congress together one last time.

Early the next morning, I returned with the messenger to Viana do Castelo where I discussed my decision with Father and Uncle. Of course Father was reluctant to see me go considering what had happened the last time I had gone travelling, and Mother even more so, but both knew what was in my heart and would not deny me. Uncle, with a twinkle in his eyes, slapped me on the back and told me it was my destiny, and that since the first time I had returned from my travels a Lord, he expected that this time I would most likely return a Duke at least, perhaps even the heir presumptive. We laughed at that, but I knew it was his way to lessen the sorrow we both were feeling. So, with great sadness, but also with great anticipation and excitement, I packed my belongings that night, and headed off at the break of dawn with King João's messenger to whatever Destiny had in mind for me.

Thus ends Book One of the Travels of Nicolau Ribeiro. I have tried to make minimal use of literary license and to keep to the historical facts as we know them at this time, and to accurately portray the cultural climate and attitudes of the time, including attitudes and practices regarding congress between men and between men and boys. I hope in doing so you have found the stories both informative and entertaining, and that you have enjoyed travelling with young Nico.

Author's notes:

1. Rabbi Abraham travelled with Pero da Covilhão from Cairo to Hormuz and then to Aden where Abraham was dispatched back to Portugal with notes while Pero da Covilhão proceeded to Jidda and then Mecca and eventually on to Abyssinia. Abraham left in the direction of Aleppo but it is unknown if he reached Portugal for there is no further reference regarding him.
2. The first Duke of Bragança, Alfonso I, the bastard son of King João l, received his title in 1442. Under his grandson, Duke Fernando II, who was born in 1430 and reigned over the Duchy from April 1, 1478 to 1483, Bragança was the most powerful house in Portugal and one of the most powerful in the Iberian kingdoms. His eldest son, Jaime, born 1479, witnessed the execution of his father and of his uncle, Diogo I of Beja and Viseu, for treason when King João ll, the great grandson of João I discovered a plot among the nobility against the crown. When King João died in 1495, the throne passed to his cousin Manuel, Duke of Beja and Viseu, who in 1498 forgave the house of Bragança and welcomed them back to Portugal provided they expelled the Jews in Bragança. (Many became marranos, Jews who pretended to convert to Catholicism but continued to practice their faith in secret.) Jaime was the son of Isabel of Beja and Viseu, Manual I's sister. He became Jaime I, the fourth Duke of Braganca, and was named the heir presumptive to the throne of Portugal.
3. The Lusitano is a Portuguese horse related to the Spanish Andalusian used in war, dressage, and bullfighting. It is a powerful, intelligent horse with a willing nature and is particularly known for its jumps. As the use of horses in wars declined, it gained importance in bullfighting, which used horses up until 1726 when fighting without a horse was introduced. Its ability in jumping was thought at one time to be due to training as a war horse, but many of the jumps would have left it open to injury and it was later concluded that the jumps were part of a training exercise used off the battlefield. They are of a solid colour, usually bay but also grey and chestnut, standing 15.2 to 15.3 hands tall with a narrow, well-proportioned head, thick, arched neck, well-defined withers, muscular shoulders, deep broad chest, short strong backs, sloped croups, a low-set tail, and legs which are sturdy and muscled. The gait is agile and elevated. Today it is considered one of the four top show horses along with the Lipizzaner, Andalusian, and Friesian.
4. The Minho Valley of Portugal is noted for corn, potatoes, cabbage, and wine, particularly a slightly sparkling wine called Vinho Verde, the best of which is Alvarinho, a white wine grape with a distinctive aroma suggestive of apricot and peach, the wine being unusually light, lemon or straw coloured, with fruity and floral aromas depending on the grape variety. Being a full-bodied wine with a higher alcohol content than most wines, it can age, resulting in a product quite different from most wines.

The End

New adventures of Nicolau Ribeiro in Book II