Maiocxx

Tales from the World of Cody and Lucas
I The Lives of Owen and Bobby

3
Return from Israel

We… Brent and I… have been in Israel for four years now. Israel doesn't recognize 'Lifemates' but we didn't care. We would be together no matter what people thought; Ari and Sarah always supported us in our lifestyle, but there were some who disapproved. Black folks are rare in Israel, so I kind of stood out.

Ari had insisted we move to Tel Aviv so we both could both could attend the North American School to finish our high school work. So, Sarah packed up everything and moved us lock, stock and barrel. Ari had vetoed the notion that we attend a Yeshiva. He knew… even before we did… that we would one day return to our native land.

We had income from Brent's funds and I managed to scrape out a children's book series, His Dark Materials, writing under the name, Philip Pullman. It was moderately successful, so we had income from that. I felt some chagrin at having to write under a pseudonym, but my talent agent… Ari… recommended it. I guess I really didn't care.

All right, I did too!

Sarah, although she had never married, was the typical Jewish bubby (grandmother) looking after our every need and plying us with bowls of 'Jewish penicillin' as needed. Oh, yes! It's chicken soup, good for every know malady and just good to boot.

Brent had shot up and was tall and slim, topping out at 2 meters [6' 6"] and starred in an imported sport from North America called basketball. In fact, he led the school to two titles by the time he was 15 years old.

I had put on 3 stone [52 lb or 19 kg] and was built pretty solidly. If they had played North American-style football… closer to our rugby… I would have been a fullback. But I was content to write and let him have the athletic honors.

He had caught up to me academically and we both had completed all the requirements and were just waiting for the spring semester to end. We would be 15 and 17 respectively a month or so after graduation.

One night after lying together making gentle love, Brent astounded me by asking, "It's time, isn't it?"

Truthfully, I had been thinking about it for some time. At that point I had but one mission in life… others might come later.

To return to England and demand justice for my mom and dad!

"How did you know?" I asked him gently.

"You've had that look about you lately, the same look you had when I told you Mom was dead."

"But we can't just pick up and go where we please," I argued. "We're still kids! How can we possibly be successful in such a venture?"

"No, Owen. We're not really kids any more. You and I both have experienced great sorrow and great happiness. And survived things that would have destroyed many people. We survived because of our love for each other."

"But, it wouldn't be fair to you. You need to continue your education!"

"Or Ari or Sarah, after all they've done for us."

"My beautiful Owen, my brother, my lover! I will follow you and help you in this quest in any way possible. Because I know you will never the truly whole until you accomplish this. I'm only fifteen and college can wait a bit."

"As for Ari and Sarah, we're the sons they never had. And they know us better than we know ourselves. They know this is coming and they would not want anything to keep you here if you think it is time to go."

I didn't sleep much that night and the next morning I told Ari.

He was not particularly surprised. He had seen it coming, just as Brent had. But he did outline a few practical considerations.

"We don't know what your status is in England; are you slave or free? I suspect the former and, if true, there is probably still a warrant out for you as a runaway. We need to determine that before you go rushing off. You won't be able to accomplish much if you are in prison. I strongly suggest you put off your plans for a bit and seek the help of someone there who knows how to 'game' the system."

The person he suggested was Sir Robert Crowell, the Earl of Chartwell, who had opposed my remaining in Israel. Disillusioned by what he had been forced to do to me, he had told me after the hearing that he had personally hoped he would loose the case or he would have fought for my freedom back in England if the decision had gone against me.

He had kept in touch, even after he resigned as ambassador and returned to England. As Solicitor Royal to His Majesty, he was very well placed to help us. And, when we told him of my desire, he very readily agreed and insisted we be his guests for as long as we wished.

In a few days, Ari was back with some answers. So far as England was concerned, I was still a slave!

Who owned me..? Brent or his late father… was in some dispute. So was whether I was a runaway. Neither of those questions could be resolved until I returned to England and subjected myself to British justice… justice that wanted to hang me as a deterrent to other young slaves. But, he felt sure things could be resolved satisfactorily. If not? I knew what the penalty was.

I was willing to take that risk. But, I felt guilty asking Brent to risk all.

He was brutally honest with me. "Owen, if it should go against you, it goes against me, too. I could not bear to live if they hanged you. Somehow, I would join you in the next world."

God! Had we made a death pact?

It was Sarah who straightened us out on that score. "Yaweh… her use of the ancient name for God showed the importance of what she was saying… "has work for you to do. I see you having sons and you and your sons will do great things. 'Yaweh is our shepherd; we shall not want." And she went on to recite… no, pray… the comforting Twenty-third Psalm of David. How could we possibly disappoint her by shrinking from this test?

We received our diplomas from the North American School, celebrated our birthdays soon after and said our goodbyes to two of the most remarkable and loving people I have ever met.

We flew into Gatwick, near London and the authorities immediately pounced on us.

Ignoring Brent's protests, they had me stripped and placed in irons. Fortunately, Sir Robert managed to fight his way through several layers of security before they hauled me off to Wandsworth Prison and a noose. The constable showed him warrant which Sir Robert tore into little pieces after he had berated the man until he literally quaked. Brent had tried to show proof of his father's death, but was literally pushed aside in the government's zeal to capture 'a dangerous criminal.'

After convincing the blockhead that Brent was my legal owner, he drove home the point that, since I was traveling with my owner, I could not be a runaway.

The constable looked like he had discovered eternal truth!

Sir Robert also had a royal warrant, remanding me to his custody until a petition for manumission could be heard. He demanded my clothes be returned AT ONCE! Unwilling to risk the slightest royal displeasure, the constable and his flunkies fell all over themselves complying and I dressed and we left.

Once in Sir Robert's car, Brent helped me regain my sunny, sweet smile. I had been far more frightened that I cared to admit. Sir Robert apologized profusely for my treatment. I knew without doubt where his heart was and was very thankful to have him in our corner.

A manumission hearing was scheduled three days hence.

I had not been in London since my parents had taken me there as a small child and I made the mistake of visiting some of the same places we had visited as a family. Bad idea! I wept most of the night in Brent's arms. If Sir Robert knew about it, he never said a word.

My hearing was held in the Old Bailey Criminal Courts. The authorities were determined to be hard-nosed until the very end. I was stripped and put in chains again. This was getting old!

The hearing was mostly pro-forma. The chief interest of the government seemed to be that I would not cost them anything. Indeed, could they possibly wheedle some taxes from me? Since I was, at this stage, supporting us both with my writing… Brent had not come into his trust, yet… it was likely they would. Fortunately, Sir Robert was there and managed to protect us from more serious depredations of the taxman.

He and Brent had to pound the table a bit to get the thick heads to understand that I was to be Brent's brother and his legal heir. To avoid further tongue-lashings from my duo, they finally relented and I emerged dressed once more and mostly unscathed.

I was a free boy once more!

We left, at once, for Chartwell, Sir Robert's estate. He had insisted we make it our home until we settled on a long-term plan. Somewhat at loose ends… we really had only an amorphous goal in mind… we gratefully accepted. We would need time to unwind and plan.

The first night at dinner, three young slaves attended us. The oldest, a ten-year-old named Bobby, seemed familiar. But I couldn't quite place him. He, in turn, looked at me quizzically.

Suddenly, it struck both of us!

"You were in a cage waiting to be sent to North America to die!"

"And you looked down on me, Sir, and prayed for me. And your prayer was answered!"

We both stood starting at each other. Brent remembered the incident that had happened as we were fleeing England. Not the least amazed at this sudden turn of events was our host.

For the next two days, Bobby was assigned to us and we learned his story and told him our story. There were obvious parallels: Bobby and I had both been enslaved, had escaped death by the narrowest of margins, and had been saved by strong, courageous families who risked much to do so. And, here we were, together at Chartwell. It simply could not be coincidence. There was some higher power at work here, a notion that was not lost on Sir Robert, either. Something clicked in his mind and we would shortly find out what.

The third evening after the slaves… the two younger ones were Marcus and Timo and Bobby had trained and mentored them…had removed the dishes, the three of us adjourned to Sir Robert's study. He gave strict instructions we were not to be disturbed, absent the Apocalypse. We assumed he wanted to review some of the information he had turned up about our 'quest'.

Never assume anything when it comes to Sir Robert!

"Would you like to have him?" was his opening gambit.

"You mean, Bobby? As our slave?" asked a startled Brent.

"No. As your son!"

Both Brent and I were speechless, a condition unusual for me. We were barely out of high school, not even in college, yet and he wanted us to take on a son?

I suddenly realized how much we had come to love the little boy and I knew Brent was equally attracted to him. But a son? If last night was any indication, Bobby loved us equally as much; he had not been shy about showing us how much! But it was out of the question!

After listening to Sir Robert expound for more than an hour, telling us all the reasons this was a match made in heaven, I now knew why he was the Solicitor Royal. "I don't expect an immediate answer," he told us. "Just your promise to consider it."

We were quite prepared to agree to that.

The next evening was our last before we set out on our 'quest'. Brent and I were shocked when Bobby marched into our room, slipped out of his slave duds, knelt on my bed and offered his soft pink ass to us. The expression on his face said it all.

He wanted to demonstrate his complete trust in us and show us he would do anything to please us.

But we both gasped!

He admitted he had never done IT. Brent and I had never done IT to each other either although I had had IT done to me by Brent's father. I well remembered the pain and feelings of shame.

I dropped beside him on the bed and took him in my arms. "Bobby," I said, "we will never do that to you."

"But Marcus said…."

I put my finger over his lips. "I don't care what Marcus told you. I'm sure he had it done to him when he was on the streets. It hurts like hell and you feel cheap and used afterward. I know; I had it forced on me one time."

Brent had joined us by this time. "Bobby, you don't have to do that to show us your love. Offering us your virgin ass was an unbelievable gift, and we love you deeply for it. But we want you to enjoy our bedtimes together. Do you understand what I am trying to tell you?"

He glanced back and forth at each of us. Then, he nodded and asked, "Hands and mouth are ok?"

"Yes, very much. And we know you like it as much as we do."

That night we just held each other tenderly and slept like rocks. But that night had sealed our resolve. We would have Bobby as our son. But, Brent and I decided to refrain from telling either him or Sir Robert until we returned.

We had decided to first seek out the father of the boy that my dad had killed, who was now living on the Isle of Skye, having retreated there soon after his son's death and my parents' subsequent trial and execution. In our judgment, he would likely be the most difficult.

So, we took the train to Kyle of Lochalsh and the ferry across the Sound of Sleat to the town of Kyleakin. The Baxter family estate was between there and the town of Portree. Arriving at the estate the next morning, we were greeted by the butler who refused to permit us to see his master.

"Tell him that Owen Lattimore wishes to see him about a matter of justice," I insisted. A short time later, we were conducted into a study to confront the master of the house.

"I suppose I knew you would come one day. Wasn't my son's death enough for you?"

"I'm sorry your son died," spoke up Brent. "But your perjured testimony resulted in the unfair and untimely deaths of my brother's parents."

The old man looked at us.

Finally he spoke. "You are correct. The boys did rape your mother," he told me. "And I sent her and your father to their deaths."

That was a startling admission.

"What is it you want?" he asked.

"A deposition repudiating your testimony and admitting your late son's guilt."

We sat there in silence for some minutes while he struggled. "You can't have me prosecuted. It's been too long."

"I'm not interested in prosecuting you. I just want my parents' names cleared," I replied. "Please, sir. You owe me that!"

"I will have my solicitor prepare it," he sighed. "If you will tell my man where you are staying, I'll have it delivered to you by tomorrow. And, now, good day! Go away and leave an old man in peace."

"Thank you, sir," said Brent. And we left.

True to his promise, Baxter's solicitor delivered the document to us the next day. We both looked it over and were satisfied, so we sent if off to Sir Robert by courier for him to file with the court. I wanted to leave Skye on the second leg of our quest. The weather had been miserable… typical for Skye… and we had a long way to go to track down the first of the boys who were still alive.

The Compton's had emigrated to Australia where William… the son… had raped and strangled a young aboriginal girl and was serving a life sentence in the Dominion Prison at Northam near Perth in Western Australia. We flew into Sydney and on to Canberra, however, as we would need to enlist the Minister of Justice in our cause. Sir Robert had given us a letter of introduction, so we had no trouble getting an appointment with him.

The Minister listened to my story and quickly agreed to allow us to visit the prisoner.

We chose to cross Australia by train. The huge expanse of the 'outback' amazed us. The arid, scrub-filled plains seemed to stretch forever, so different from the soft, misty hills and valleys of England. But, at last, we arrived in the very attractive city of Perth, and went immediately to the prison.

The Warden was expecting us, but he told us he doubted if the prisoner would be cooperative. "He is gravely ill with cancer and, frankly, we're surprised he has lasted this long. You're the first visitors he has ever had, but he did agree to see you. Come with me."

He led us to a cell off the main cell-block.

The prisoner was surely only hours from death. He looked more like a cadaver than a person. But, when we entered the cell, he seemed to rally and struggled to a sitting position. "I knew you would come, one day," he told us. "Please, Sir," he addressed the Warden, "could you fetch someone. I wish to make a statement."

The Warden left and returned with a yeoman.

Haltingly and with great effort, Compton began to dictate. He told us how the three of them had lured my mom with a request for academic help and forced her into the upstairs room. One of the other teachers had encouraged the rape with his racist instructions to the three impressionable youths. At the trial he… William… had told the lies that were dictated by the Baxter solicitor.

After the trial, Baxter had paid to move the family to Australia… Baxter had left that out of his deposition… where his parents had both died and he had committed an unspeakable crime on a young girl.

When he had finished, the Warden and his yeoman both witnessed the document and passed it to William. He called me to his bedside.

"Thank you for coming. Perhaps God will forgive me for the evils I have done." And he handed me the statement.

Somehow, I knew he really was sorry for what he had done and I put my hand in his and said, "Rest in peace, William. I forgive you."

The rest of the day was somewhat a blur, but the next morning brought our 'mission' sharply into focus. As we were preparing to go to the railroad station, a small article on one of the inside pages of the local newspaper caught my attention. It stated that William Compton, the notorious child-killer had died in the Northam Dominion Prison.

Brent and I looked at each other. "Coincidence?" I asked.

"No, I don't think so!" answered my mate.

On our way east, we elected to stop off at a place called Ayers Rock. The aboriginal people called it Uluru and considered it sacred and a place of great power. As we stood looking up at the towering sandstone formation, a white-haired aborigine man approached.

"You are Owen Lattimore," he addressed me, to my shock.

"Yes! How did you know?"

He just smiled at me sadly. "The little girl William Compton ravaged is my granddaughter. He is at peace now. And she is at peace now. By your coming, you have released both their souls. Be strong and you will set your parents free, also. Thank you for coming."

And he bowed and turned and began to walk away.

"Wait!" I called after him thoroughly shaken. "How do you know these things?"

He turned back to me and said, "The spirits tell us all things." Turning away again, he disappeared into the scrub. Both Brent and I were much too shocked to follow him.

"Well, my brother, I don't know quite what to say!"

"Well, I surely don't!" I told him.

The flight from Sydney to London was long and we used the time to come to some conclusions about our lives after finishing our 'mission'.

I had been offered a position as 'Writer-in-Residence' at a small college in North America, Kings College at Colorado Springs, even though I did not have a degree. Brent would be able to finish his education and our soon-to-be son could attend the fine school the College ran for children of students and faculty. An exciting aspect of that school was that it accepted both free children and qualified slaves on an equal footing. It would mean a new and exciting start for all of us.

From London we went directly to Cardiff in Wales and then motored up the coast to Aberystwyth, a town on the North Sea. We were on the way to visit the last of the three boys, Charles Norwood.

We found the Norwood estate in the hills east of the coast and managed to bully our way in to see Charles. He was tall and thin and obviously under his father's thumb, even in his mid twenties.

"How dare you come here!" shouted the old man. "Your mother lured three innocent boys into sin and got what she deserved. You niggers are always trying to blame your evil on others. Well, it won't work! My son is innocent! Do you here me? Innocent!"

I felt my anger growing by the second, but before I could speak, Charles interrupted his father.

"Father, it's time to stop pretending! We both know I raped this boy's mother. And then lied to send her and his father to the gallows."

The old man deflated like a punctured balloon.

"I knew you would come one day," Charles addressed me. He walked to a desk, took an envelope from one of the drawers and handed it to me. "As soon as I became of age, I had a solicitor draw this up. You will find a full accounting of what happened that day. I don't much care if they hang me or not. I simply can't live the lie any longer."

"How could you do this to me?" shrieked the old man. "After all I have given you! After all I have done for you!"

"Shut up, father!" Turning to me, he said. "Please go. Our lives are ruined."

We withdrew quickly and returned to the town. Examining the document he had given us, we found it to be everything he said it was; the third and final part we would submit to the court.

The next morning, as we were about to leave for Chartwell, the news in the local papers shocked us. It seemed the elder Norwood had taken Charles and a much younger brother we had not even known about to a wooded area on the estate. There, he had forced them to strip naked and shot both of them before turning the gun on himself.

I had never felt such shame and sadness in my life! Was this my fault? Was it justice I craved… or REVENGE! Brent tried to assure me it was not, but I just couldn't shake the idea and we postponed our leaving.

The next morning, the news came out that Charles and his father were dead, but the younger son, a boy of nine named Christopher, had been superficially wounded. Since he had no surviving family, the hospital had released him to a slave dealer. He was taken away to be trained and sold.

Brent and I looked at each other, dumfounded.

"It's my fault the child has been orphaned and now he is to be enslaved. We've got to find him and save him!"

Brent was a bit annoyed with me, "Owen! It is not your fault! But, you're right, we just can't abandon him. We can take him with us to North America as a companion for Bobby!"

Oh my loving brother! Is there no limit to the things you will do for me?

We spent the next four days scouring the slave dealers in all of Wales, from Cardiff to Hay-on-Wye. We finally found Christopher at a dealer in Llandudno on the very north coast. He had not been trained in any way, but we didn't care. When he was brought out, we were surprised to see that he looked very different from his older brother. He was a well-built little guy, rather dark complected, with blonde curly hair. He stood there naked in his chains and stared straight ahead.

I could well imagine the pain and terror of the past few days and my heart went out to him, as did Brent's.

We wired Sir Robert for the necessary funds, explaining what had happened, and asked him to stand surety for us. He replied at once, never questioning us. We signed the papers, and Christopher was ours.

Sir Robert asked our permission to tell Bobby about Christopher. I guess our decision hadn't been so secret after all.

Even after the chains were removed, he continued to stare unresponsively. Brent held out his arms, but Christopher ignored his invitation. We bought him some simple clothes and took him back to the guest house in Conwy where we were staying.

I took him into my bed that first night and pulled his little naked body against me. I could feel his heart racing; he was clearly terrified of me. I rubbed and stroked him and, at last he fell asleep. Brent had much the same experience the next night.

During the day, he did exactly what he was told to do and no more. But, he would not look at us. We decided to stay in the area for a few days to give him time to adjust to us.

Gradually, the wall of distrust began to dissolve. We could tell by the fact that he began to look us in the eye and to hug us back. And, we began to learn about his former life.

He had never been loved by either his father or brother. In fact, the only person on the estate who showed him any warmth was a 'nanny' who had been discharged a year or so ago. While he had been tutored to learn to read, he had never gone to school, never known another child his age, never had a single friend.

Always told he was inferior to his brother, he had never been off the property until he was taken to the hospital after his father had shot him. He was terrified by a whole world outside the estate that he never knew existed. But, gradually, he put his fright aside. He hungered for knowledge and this new world was part of it.

We began to take short day trips. He was fascinated by the great castles at Conwy and Caernarvon and by the seacoast and the headlands. He had trouble grasping the idea there was another land on the other side of that great sea, a land he would soon travel to. We made no attempt to introduce slave discipline as we both felt the little guy had more than enough on his plate.

We told him about Bobby and he accepted the idea of him at once. He now trusted us enough to believe he would be loved and cherished no matter what. One afternoon, after he had been introduced to wading barefoot in the shallow surf, he told us, "You are the very first persons I have ever trusted. The first persons who ever loved me. And it feels sooooooooo good!"

It was time to head back to Chartwell.

Our mission accomplished at last and with Christopher in tow, we returned to Chartwell considerably sadder, but wiser. My parents had been vindicated and I felt a great burden had lifted. But, was it justice? Or revenge?

For one person, one little boy, our return was a triumph. I think Bobby would have run naked and barefoot all the way to Richmond if he had known we were coming that way. Robert didn't press us for a decision, but the little guy certainly did. He had accepted Christopher at once, but was not to be deterred from the more important issue.

He stood nervously behind my chair at dinner, fidgeting until Sir Robert finally said, "Oh Bobby, will you please sit down with us and have some dessert. Smirking, Marcus and Timo served the dessert. (You, of course, have no idea what dessert was, do you?) Christopher, dressed in his new slave covering, helped as he was told what to do. But, he had not had time to learn even the rudiments of slave discipline. Brent and I had been pretty lenient with him.

That night, Marcus and Timo took Christopher off to the slave quarters. He readily understood he was among friends, so he was not afraid. That left Bobby, full access to my brother and me.

After he loved every inch of both of us with hands, lips and tongue, we both lay in a stupor. Finally, I turned to Bobby and told him, "Lie down here on the bed, on your back."

He did as I asked.

I looked at him lying there so open, so vulnerable. He smiled up at us with eyes full of hope and love. His expression was quite enough to break your heart. His body seemed to glow with an inner light.

He was gorgeous!

His little pole stood up, just waiting for me.

Nodding to Brent, I slid down between Bobby's smooth legs, lifted them over my shoulders and took his prick in my mouth. As I went to work on it, Brent sat down beside him and began to rub his soft, silky chest, paying particular attention to his hard little nipples.

He began to moan and whimper. I increased my attention to his boy-pole and he whimpered more. Panting and moaning, he began to reach his crest. His body went rigid, lifting his mid section completely off the bed as he slammed his prick into my mouth. Squealing with pleasure, he reached his climax, his prick swelling and vibrating in my mouth.

Collapsing on the bed he just lay there with the most perfect look of wonder on his face.

I gave him time to float down off his high and then I asked him, "Bobby, would you like to come and live with us and Christopher?"

Not wanting to overplay his hand, he answered, "Oh yessss! I would be honored and be the very best slave you could imagine. And I could teach Christopher what he needs to learn! Please, Sirs, please take me with you!"

"Why! Why should we make you our slave?"

He was beginning to loose some hope, now, but managed to answer, "Because you will be the very best masters I could ever hope for. And teach me how to become a man. And you will love me forever and want only the best for me." Even as tears of disappointment began to well up in those blue eyes.

Pretty good reasons for him to be our son, I thought.

"Bobby," I told him gently, "You and I have much in common. We have both suffered much and survived."

I nodded to Brent and he asked him, "Bobby, you said you would be honored to be our slave. Would you do us an even greater honor by becoming our son?"

With a strangled cry and tears of joy, he threw himself upon us.

I thought to myself, "If only Mom and Dad could see him!"

And, suddenly, I heard my mom's voice! We can, Owen. He is a wonderful boy and we would have been very proud if he had been our grandson!

And then my dad! "Owen, you have made two very good choices. Brent as your mate. And Bobby as your son. Your mother and I could not be happier for you. Go with God, son. And go with our blessing."

"Mom and Dad approve!" I told Brent. He didn't ask for an explanation.

None of us slept well that night. There seemed to be a little angel constantly kissing us.

The next morning, he left us only long enough to tell Marcus, Timo and Christopher, assuring the latter that he was still to be part of our family, too. He cried into Bobby's shoulder for a bit. The other two were happy for Bobby, but sad, too. They would soon be missing a friend and mentor.

Brent and I told Sir Alfred our decision. He was, at once, both happy and sad. I didn't learn until Bobby told us later how much Sir Robert had wanted to adopt him, but could not. He told us, despite any misgivings we may have had, we were the only ones who could give Bobby the upbringing he deserved The only ones who understood the trauma Bobby had gone through. The only ones who would accept and love this young boy unconditionally and he was grateful for our choice.

The hearing was planned for the following Saturday.

The day dawned bright and sunny, a perfect day for the ceremonies that were planned.

I don't know who was more excited, Brent and I, Bobby or Sir Robert. His excitement was tinged with sadness, however, as he will be parting with the young boy he had come to love so deeply… one he would have adopted himself if the King had permitted it. Yet he readily asserted that Brent and I can provide a life for Bobby that he cannot and he is willing to make that sacrifice. That's quite a vote of confidence.

Our wardrobe was still somewhat limited, but we managed to make ourselves mostly presentable and appeared, nervous but happy, at the appointed hour. Sir Robert had insisted the affair be held on the green in front of the mansion so the entire estate could be present.

In the two years he had been at Chartwell, our soon-to-be son had charmed everyone he met. Most knew the story of his courage under severe adversity, his spirit of hope and his absolute refusal to be burdened by hatred for those who had treated him so shabbily, even those who had nearly caused him a shameful and agonizing death. He was so universally loved and admired it was difficult to think of him as a lowly slave. But he never forgot his place and was unfailingly polite and respectful to everyone, Master, free subjects and slaves alike.

Our host had engaged a boyhood friend, Sir Neville Marinier, Duke of Lothian, to conduct the necessary legal hearings and Brent and I shook hands with him as we waited for the crowd to gather. A low fence had been placed between the participants and guests and the principals and the magistrate, similar to that found in any courtroom.

"We're honored to have you preside, Your Grace," I told the Duke.

"It's a grand day for such a celebration," Brent echoed my greeting.

"Tis, indeed, lads," replied the Duke, "although I count as grand any day I can assist a young slave along the path to full person-hood. From what I know of the story of young Robert, he is a very unusual boy and has earned his freedom many times over. And, Sir Robert tells me of your sterling characters and I have never known him to be wrong. So, it is a great day in many ways."

Brent trends to blush easily and he didn't disappoint. "Thank you, Your Grace. You're very kind to say so." I don't blush easily and who could tell anyway.

With the crowd now gathered, Alfred… acting as court crier… opened the proceedings. "This honorable court is now in session, the honorable Sir Neville Marinier, Duke of Lothian presiding. All persons having business before this court, gather near and ye shall be heard. God save the King!"

"I wish everyone to know," announced Sir Neville, "how deeply honored I am that Sir Robert asked me to preside today. You know, we were childhood chums and I won't bore you with a recounting of some of the mischief we fomented, but it seemed to many that we might well be before a court for good and sufficient reasons. I guess our respective fathers and teachers must have finally beaten some civility into us, so here we stand. But enough! Let us proceed."

At that signal, out of the house Marcus and Timo led Bobby, dressed in his slave covering and prefect tunic. As custom demanded, his hands were symbolically shackled in front of him and each of the two slaves led him to a place between Brent and me holding two short chains.

"Young slave boys, who have you brought to us?" I asked as I had been coached.

"We bring you Robert Sand, a lowly slave. He wishes to be freed and to share his life with you," they answered in unison. Bowing deeply, they took their places beside Sir Robert behind the barrier. Bobby immediately dropped into his position of respect.

"Robert Sand," began the Duke, "your owner, Sir Robert Crowell, Earl of Chartwell, has petitioned this court that you might be freed from your bondage and take your place as a free subject of His Majesty, William. How do you answer to that?"

Bobby looked up with shining eyes, "Master is very kind to do his lowly slave such an honor."

"Before I rule on Sir Robert's petition, do you wish to give testimony as to the wisdom of his decision? Come, boy, stand and tell us."

Bobby rose, smiled at the Duke and began, "Thank you, Your Grace. Master has loved and cared for me for two years and he taught me discipline, the value of hard work and the meaning of trust. He honored me by making me responsible for the training and discipline of two young boys and I learned what it means to hold another person's life in my hands."

"But, I wish to thank all those who have helped to bring me to this place today."

"My family in North America… Kenneth and Gwendolyn Nelson and their son Peter who rescued a terrified boy from certain death and set me on the road to this place. Peter became my big brother, my hero, and he will always be so. Together with Master, they forced the court to admit its mistake and removed the threat of death hanging over me."

"Here at Chartwell, each of you… every one of you… has helped me along this path which I hope will lead to freedom today. You are ALL my family and will be so forever."

The Duke, smiled down at Bobby, signed the petition, and announced, "Robert Sand, let it be recorded that on this twelfth day of May in the Year-of-Our-Lord the two-thousand and sixteenth and of the reign of our Sovereign William, the second, you have been released from the bondage of slavery and stand as a free subject of His Majesty and a citizen of our great empire. Who will strike off the fetters of slavery from this free person?"

Sir Robert came forward with the key and the shackles and chains soon lay at Bobby's feet. He turned and faced the crowd, his face shining, his cheeks wet with tears. The applause echoed from the surrounding hills.

Two small bodies hurtled across the barrier and dropped into their positions at his feet. "We greet you, Sir, as a free person and worthy of our respect!"

Bobby dropped to his knees, enveloped them in his arms and managed to say, "Thanks, guys! Yes, I am a free person and you are slaves yet. But, I am still Bobby and you are still my friends and will always be my friends. Your day will come and I hope to be here for it."

The two little boys, rose and stepped back a few paces. From behind the barrier their teacher gave them a note on her pitch-pipe and they began to sing.

"Light of God within us shine, fill us with Thy grace divine…."

But it was entirely appropriate.

Bobby… and for that matter, Sir Robert and most of the company… stood in shock. No one had known they could sing. They had practiced in secret with their teacher to present this… their gift of love… to their mentor and friend.

Heal our sorrow, cleanse our sin…

Set us wholly free within!

After a while, Sir Neville cleared his throat and called, "Robert," bringing Bobby and his two little slaves back to this world. He rose, apologized to the Duke and resumed his place between Brent and me.

"I must say," remarked the Duke, "that is the most beautiful gift I have ever witnessed. You should be very proud of these two fine boys you mentored."

"I am, Your Grace," Bobby replied.

"We have another petition to consider this morning. Owen Spencer Lattimore and Brent Harold Connick have petitioned to adopt a free boy, Robert Sand. Since the petitioners are not yet of age, who will stand surety for them?"

"I, Sir Robert Crowell, will." And he advanced to stand behind us.

"Very good," replied Sir Neville. "Young Robert, you are of an age when your wishes in this matter must be considered by the court. Do you wish to give testimony?"

Bobby looked at both of us with such love in his eyes. "Yes, Your Grace. I have known Owen and Brent for only a short time. But I have heard their stories and they, maybe, know better than anyone how difficult my life has been. If not for the courage of a family… my family… in North America and for Sir Robert's courage and love, I would not stand here today. And Owen and Brent have that same courage and love for me. And I will love and honor them both until the day I die. A boy could not ask for a finer family than this!"

"Thank you, Bobby," I choked.

"The petition of Owen Spencer Lattimore and Brent Harold Connick to adopt Robert Sand is approved and will become final on this day, one year from now. Robert, you will henceforth be known as Robert Lattimore-Connick, the legal son and heir of the petitioners."

Brent and I immediately hugged Bobby between us. I think we just about smothered him as the crowd applauded and whistled.

Then, Sir Robert addressed his friend, "If it please this honorable court, there is another matter that requires the court's attention."

"Oh? I don't see another matter on the docket."

"Your Grace, information has come to me very recently that has a very direct affect upon this new family, In fact I received final confirmation only this morning and had not time to prepare a formal writ. It concerns the slave Christopher."

"Well, Robert Crowell, I know you would not say these things unless they were true, so I will continue this court in session to hear your plea."

Neither Brent of I had the slightest idea where this was headed. Our purchase of Christopher had been routine and was now duly registered.

"Thank you, your grace. The reopening of the case of Owen's parents and their subsequent posthumous acquittal brought to light several facts which the government had sought to suppress. One of these was that, at the time of her execution, Mary Lattimore had been with child. The fetus was taken from her two days before she was hanged. It was held in stasis for several years and finally allowed to come to term. The infant, a boy, was given to his father to raise."

"The father never acknowledged the child, but did take him into his family, passing him off as a much younger brother."

I began to have a feeling where Sir Robert was headed and almost anticipated his next statement,

"There is no doubt that Christopher Norwood is Owen Larimore's half-brother, the product of the rape of his mother by Charles Norwood, now deceased. He is, in fact, a free child as the enslavement was not legal unless he was truly abandoned and had no relatives."

Brent and I just stood gaping at Sir Robert, who continued," Under our law, a child of such a union as this, if orphaned, becomes the responsibility of the nearest male relative, unless that person rejects such responsibility or is in no position to accept the same. If accepted, the child may, regardless of the blood relationship, be adopted as a son."

I looked down at Bobby. "Please!" he said. "Do it! I'd love to have a little brother! He was going to go with us anyway." In his mind, it was just that simple; Christopher needed a family and Bobby knew all about such things.

I looked at Brent. But, I knew what his answer would be. "Second son!" he answered my questioning look, grinning broadly.

I turned back to Bobby, "Well, son. You have another young child to mentor!"

He whooped and hugged both of us.

Brent addressed Sir Neville, "Please, Your Grace, can Christopher be designated as our second son?"

The Duke looked at Sir Robert who nodded. "Well, my friend, you solicitors can certainly make things complicated."

"That's what we get paid to do," agreed Sir Robert.

"I will recess this court for one hour so the clerks can draw up the necessary papers. Best not go away! No telling what other surprises Sir Robert may have in store for us. Perhaps the second coming?"

"I think I have shot my load," chuckled Sir Robert.

Christopher, sitting in the back, had observed all this with wide-eyed shock. He wasn't sure exactly what had happened, but it must be good. One look at the expression on Bobby's face convinced him of that. I went and got him and brought him forward to stand next to Bobby, between Brent and me.

Bobby put his arm around his new little brother. That was enough; Christopher snuggled into his embrace. All was right in his world, too.

My word, I thought. In the space of two hours Brent and I had acquired not one, but two sons. If this day was a harbinger of those to come, all of us had in store a hugely exciting life.

EPILOGUE

Sir Robert sat in his study after dinner with a young boy on either side. The younger one was already asleep with his head in Sir Robert's lap. The older, sleepy, but at least still awake. He had been reading to them from Jack Whyte's The Camulod Chronicles stories of Arthur and Merlin and the Knights of the Roundtable.

The older boy had been fascinated, but the little one had conked out. Well, after all, they were slaves and had worked hard all day and would have an equally busy day tomorrow.

"Come on," he told them. "Time for bed."

Gently picking up the little one, he placed him over his shoulder. Taking the hand of the older one, he led them off to their quarters. Slipping the little one under his blankets, still in his slave covering, he leaned over and kissed him gently on his forehead.

The older boy sat on the edge of his bed and seemed to be waiting for something. "He's gone, little one," he told him as he slipped the slave covering off and held his blanket for him. That seemed to be what the boy was waiting for and he slid in and relaxed.

"I blew it with Bobby!" he told himself. "But I will not let these two go! I need someone to comfort Alfred and me in our old age! I will find a way to adopt them as my grandsons and still protect the succession. I will find a way to write the proper forms. My God, I'm a solicitor! That's what William is paying me all this money to do!"

He looked down at the nearly sleeping boy. "Guess I haven't done too badly," he observed out loud.

"No, Master. You have done very well!" came Marcus's reply, startling Sir Robert.

"I'm glad you approve," he whispered into the boy's ear as he kissed him.

The End

More yet to come