Scrimshaw & Zelamir

Tribute Boys II:
The Boy Hunting Party

Chapters 4-6

Chapter 4

Chapter 4a

Don Carlos writes in his diary………

Christopher had been doing well, I was pleased that Juan seems to have introduced him in no uncertain terms to the pleasures of the flesh, he will be useless unless he enjoys the work! Also Mrs Davies seems to have successfully given him an aversion to women, inviting him round to dinner the day after he had met her at the falls and the trying to seduce him was a good move as far as I am concerned! He said the only thing that made it bearable was suggesting he fucked Leytoa as the brat was fucking her, and then suggesting her eldest needed some more practice. Mr Davies told him he is very pleased that the boys are getting so well into sex, he will get them a brat each when they go home. I suspect they are for him really! I am worried about the Reverend and his obsession with young Ronald, the mixture of pious prudery in public and total license in the bungalow is bad for the boy, I am sure it will lead to problems soon! All the Release boys are working very hard, we have some real talent this season! Tutors and Sponsors have both said how pleased they are. The exception is of course Ritchie but what can I say……

The peace was shattered by the German party's arrival, and the resulting debacle and accusations. I guessed something was up when Karl winked at me! That Jacinto is a pretty little thing, quite an asset! When I saw his shoulders shaking in mirth as he went off to round up the 7th years I knew something was up.

The Germans were taken off to their bungalows by Señor Maurice and Señor Anthony, I must say Heinz looked a sorry sight, tear streaked cheeks and bloody nose, he seemed to be not walking very comfortably either, just a little hurt boy in spite of the leather gear! I have also allocated them a personal boy each, Vass, Sacha, that new boy I bought in the Balkans, and another Russian Ivan, all blonde and racially pure! I managed to have a private word with Señor Anthony and asked him to give them each a shot of that new performance enhancing drug, apparently its OK for one off use, not that this trio need much to hot them up! I told Anthony he was to brief them under no uncertain terms were they to get the Germans to exhaust themselves with fucking them! Then Christopher runs up, he too is a mess and on the verge of tears, stammering out his apologies.

"I told him not to be a stupid ass and go back to his father at once, but the other two gripped my arms and he punched me in the stomach, then Xavier said he would kill them if they did not let me go and they backed off. The one who was hitting me kept on calling me a filthy animal and how he was going to tear my balls of…. I am sorry father I just went for him, then as he stopped me fucking Xavier I fucked him…"

He really was upset then he saw me laughing, "Run along and stand in the line up next to Xavier!" and he started to grin. I also managed to have a quick word on the mobile with Don Pablo…

Well when they came back storming on about assault and skewering on the spot, and quickly identified Xavier and Christopher, who I called out to stand in front of me. I think they would have lynched the pair then and there but Hassan had joined us and was nervously flicking his stock whip, he does seem to have a calming effect on people who begin to forget their manners! Then it all began to come out, I fixed Heinz with a gaze "So what you are now telling me young man is that you and your friends attacked my son when he was, shall we say rather preoccupied exercising his legal rights to a Tribute Boy. Xavier here did not hit you friends just warned them off. Neither did you listen to Christopher when he told you you were being silly…. I think you offer him an apology?"

The boy could do no other put hold out his hand to Christopher, though I did have to look rather hard at him before he accepted it! Then Herr Peiper started ranting on about that was all very well but as Xavier had raised a weapon to free boys, he had to be skewered immediately.

"Of course you are quite right Herr Peiper, the brat will have to be judged and I have no doubt will be found guilty."

I could see Christopher going white with anger and there was that murmur that comes from a mass of Tribute Boys when they feel driven to think of protest.

"Silence all of you!

"I dialled Don Pablo's number, and explained loudly so that the boys could hear, and turned the volume up. "Quite so Don Carlos, unpardonable behaviour, just let me speak to the injured party."

Herr Peiper did a little more ranting.

"I am so sorry that you have been inconvenienced by a rebellious brat, I can safely say his guilt and sentence is a foregone conclusion. Let me see the first free day I have for the formalities is the 1st of September, it is unreasonable his Master be denied his labour until then so he is to be worked hard until then."

Herr Peiper tried a few half hearted demands for something more spectacularly immediate, then acknowledged he was happy the brat would get his agonising end and concluded that he would like me to try his beer and barbecue that evening still. As he strutted off, a more defiant Heinz in tow, I could hear a great sigh go up from the 7th year boys. Christopher was grinning again and Xavier just said "Thank you Master!"

"It is I who should thank you my boy now run along and get cleaned up, I will order some extra rations for you all."

There was a muffled cheer, except for the Germans, we all knew that come the first Xavier would be dead, even if he won his quarter staff competition and avoided being knocked onto those cruel stakes below him, for a penal boy there can be no reprieve … For him there would be no skewering but his end might well be just as agonising, but with honour and of his own choice.

Chapter 4b

From Don Carlos's Diary

"That's enough of that now! You are not yet Tributed to me legally so you will go and help Cook in the kitchens until your birthday, when is that Niño?"

"Por favor Señor, it is in three weeks, but I will be allowed to be tributed to you won't I? Señor Karl promised!"

And idea was forming. "We will see Niño, until then you work hard and cause no trouble, you are to wear a loincloth as well so as everybody knows your status understood?"

The shining black head of hair nodded furiously.

"And what do you think of Señor Karl?"

"He is a very good man, Señor, he helps Papa and talks to him like a caballero, not like Señor Torres does, he is not cruel to his boys all the time like he is either…."

The tears of home sickness formed in eyes as he remembered…

"Señor Karl was kind to me on the way here when I felt bad, I think he like boys as well as his dogs!"

So far so good.

"Run along to the kitchen now, and if you want to see me ask Cook, he's a good boy just don't mention balls to him!"

He scampered off, smiling again, a pretty little creature.

I had ordered Christopher to stay out of the way and asked Karl to join me there. I also ordered Jan and Mishear to attend me. They were told to discard their jewellery and come with only their Release knives. I carefully dressed in my best leather chaps and waist coat, with the traditional Spanish riding hat, all black. I rode hard all the way there making the boys and horse sweat and pant. When I arrived I dismounted and threw the reins to Jan. Herr Peiper seemed to be over his rage of being wrong footed and found it possible to introduce me to his party. The men all big Germanic stock running to fat, the three boys were scarcely any better but as the full development of adolescence had not hit them they were not yet totally gross.

Their manners were though from the outset, does no good to spoil a boy but I guess the fathers had little time for the boys at home too busy making money. Karl was already there and I put some of their good humour down to his graphic descriptions of the carnage that was possible for them to enjoy as the stay progressed. Vass, Sacha, and Ivan scampered about fetching and carrying, obviously well briefed. The shot that Señor Anthony had given them had come into full force and all had erections pressed hard against their bellies.

"Look at the little sluts can't wait to get some good German spunk inside them!" exclaimed Dr Ebert.

Sacha wiggled his arse provocative fashion, it makes a guest feel virile to have a boy in lust for him, few realise that is how they are trained to be!

"Come on the lets get down to the beach, Heinz and Adolf bring the barbecue meat down will you boys, Ludwig bring the irons will you?"

The barbecue was as horrible as a barbecue can be burnt greasy meat and warm beer. What was even worse was that they had a disk player turned up loud with some beastly heroic anthem playing, shattering the still Spanish dusk. After about an hour they were all more or less drunk, both Herr Peiper and Heinz were slobbering all over Vass; and Sacha and Ivan getting the same treatment from Dr Ebert and Ludwig and Herr Kriepe and Adolf respectively, interesting that they had swapped sons! I will make sure my boys all get handsome bonuses from the Herr Peiper's Platinum Card, if they manage to survive their attentions without balking for the two weeks they are here!

It was time to leave and we were not noticed. As we walked back to where Jan was holding my horse I shared my concerns with Karl, father did me a great service when he insisted on appointing him along with Hassan when the Hacienda was started. "Other staff and stock is up to you my boy, but these two will keep you out of trouble, I am sure you will make some mistakes!"

I was beginning to feel that accepting this party was one of them.

"Karl, there were two things I need to discuss with you, the first is business and the second personal. I think this lot are going to inevitably damage some of the stock and upset the other guests into the bargain. The sooner we can get them up to the Hunting Lodge at Arcos the better. I suggest we let them take up these three, plus another four as damage limitation, make it Ritchie, Jonathan and their mignons, they need the practice for the Coursing event. They can all run for individual practice sessions with the rubber tipped lances and should not come to too much harm. They will probably need two full days of this, don't you think?" He nodded.

"For the full practice hunt I would lay on two days instead of one, use the lances with the hypodermics. Course as normal from the summit of Monte Selgueira to the top of the Col D'Abeixo. It's just twenty kilometres with the Rio Verdugo to ford between the two hills, not much more than stream up there but quite broad at places with some marshy ground along the valley floor. Any boy that makes it to the check point in the time limits gets a bonus of 10 obols. I should get Juan to lay on a dozen farm boys to run as well to take the weight off ours, with the extra practice they should be able to keep out of trouble, but mind only 5 obols for the farm brats! The ones that get lanced should be sufficiently recovered to re run the following day or recruit replacements, Bueno?"

"That is all how I see it Señor, there will be no problems that will not be dealt with. But I would like to insist that only take one vehicle up to the lodge not all three, don't want them using them up there and cutting up all the ground, or worse still driving down boys with them, would not put it past them!"

"I'll see to that do not worry. But now the other matter. I give Hassan, a bonus from time to time but you always refuse, this time I would like you to accept."

He started to argue but I hushed him.

"Hear me out old friend, if I give you a bonus after they have gone you will think it is a compensation for how badly you have arranged things, you are never satisfied no matter how well it goes! This time we will be lucky to get away without unplanned injury or worse, and it will not be your fault! So I have decided that I will give you Jacinto when he is tributed on his birthday, it will be good for you to have a permanent boy to help you in the mountains and I guess that one will be well used to it and not take too much training. Of course you will have to grant his Release one day, but there may be ways to do it painlessly or even improve his chances if you wish."

Surprisingly my old friend did not argue like I had expected and his look softened.

"Muchas gracias Señor, he is indeed a fine boy and by giving him honourable service I would repay his fathers friendship."

I put my hand out and shook on the deal and I told him the boy would be ready for him after we came back from the Picos. He went off with his hounds, I hope the boy makes him less lonely and gives him much pleasure in his brief allotted span. I rode back slowly with Jan and Mishear trotting alongside, they would again be summoned to my bed and I had determined to have them attend me in the Picos. But I did not forget my little whale boat boys, I planed something special for them the following night.

Chapter 5
The Practice Hunt

Chapter 5a

Karl speaks

But, and when you start praising someone there is I have found often a but in it, but my boss does have one fault that I believe is common in those used to command. That of giving a series of orders while leaving the practical difficulties of implementing them to others. My own father who served as a Sergeant in the infantry in the last great war to impose the new world order and save the church and civilisation from left wing anarchy had told me it was a common trait among the officers in the army.

Don Carlos had told me to get the Germans up to the hunting lodge the next day with seven of our brats and to recruit a dozen farm boys to run in the practice hunts. The last he told me to delegate to Juan. That was fine enough and Juan is a reliable and sensible man but in the end the responsibility was mine. If Juan allowed himself to be fobbed off with a dozen half starved farm brats with stick like arms and legs, knees and elbows and ribs bulging out through their skins, too exhausted to do more than stumble a few hundred yards however much you used the whip on them it would be my reputation that suffered.

Then getting the Germans up to the lodge meant also getting sufficient food, beer, wine, cider, coke and ice cream there to keep them happy and from what I had seen of them I knew that they had considerable appetites. The ponies would have to be taken up there with sacks of barley and pony nuts for they would not get sufficient sustenance from grazing alone for the work they would have to do. Somehow or other I would have to get Guardsman and Grenadier and four other hounds up there as well. It would be prohibitively expensive with the fuel shortage to use a lorry to carry the supplies up apart from the damage such a vehicle would do to the land.

Providentially the start of the fuel shortage had coincided with the establishment of a new power source to exploit created by the Tribute Boy system. The seven sluts that Don Carlos had assigned me could carry a good deal up on their shoulders and the farm brats the same but even they had to have a certain minimal amount of food carried up to the camp to keep them capable of work.

On top of all this all my grooms were up in the Picos engaged in harrying the Berber boys. I would have to deal with all this myself.

Don Carlos's aims were sensible and I had promised him they would be achieved. As I walked back to my quarters after my chat with him, feeling rather queasy from the over greasy food the Germans had inflicted on me and their filthy beer, I was busy working out how that could be done. It would have been easier to think clearly if it hadn't been for the loud raucous music that was still being thumped out from the German's ghetto blaster. It was now playing a particularly noisy song about some fellow, so far as I with my very limited German could gather, called Wessell or was it Weasel? I forced my mind to ignore the noise.

I had to check the quality of the dozen farm boys before Juan formally hired them. I had to be at the hunting lodge to welcome the Germans or at least there very shortly after they arrived. The Germans would from what I could judge have thick heads in the morning and would breakfast late. They would hardly be up at the lodge before lunch time. I must at least have supplies for lunch and our own brats up at the lodge to serve them by then.

Looked at in that way there was only one solution the brats would have to be roused at dawn loaded with as much as they could carry, including the all important provisions for the Germans' lunch, and marched up to the lodge under my supervision. They were well trained sluts and I could easily manage to supervise them and lead the six ponies at the same time. They would then have to unpack the supplies before coming back with me so that I could make a final selection of the farm boys and they would be available to carry further loads while I could take charge of the six hounds. If we worked fast and drove them hard I could no doubt get all that done and get the selected boys up to the lodge with the balance of the supplies before or not long after the Germans got there.

It was obvious though that I would have to speak to Juan before I went to bed. With a sigh I set off to find him.

It has been my experience that plans however well thought through never work out exactly and so it was on this occasion. I was in the stock yard before dawn and as the great iron triangle was beaten to rouse the sluts for another day of service I began to assemble my small coffle of brats only to find that Jonathan and his mignon Guy were missing.

"I think they're both with Mr Maurice," Ivan said with a grin and the rest of the sluts giggled.

"All right," I snapped, "since you seem to know all about it you run to Mr Maurice's bungalow and present my compliments to him. Say I am very sorry but Jonathan and Guy are to come here straight away. Don Carlos's orders. And then you and Jonathan and Guy are come back here at the double. Now what are you to do." Long experience of dealing with Tribute Boys had taught me that they had the attention span of a moderately intelligent flea and unless you watched then they would get the simplest task muddled.

"Master," Ivan said suddenly serious and concentrating in an effort to ensure he got his errand right for he knew very well what I would do to him if he did not. "I am to run to Mr Maurice's bungalow and say you send him your compliments and you are very sorry but Jonathan and Guy are to come here straight away. Don Carlos's orders. And then Jonathan and Guy and me are to come back here at the double"

"Very good. Now go. The rest of you get your breakfasts and then clean yourselves up. I'll be inspecting you in half an hour."

It was typical I felt of Maurice to have been the cause of the first hitch in my arrangements. He was all right really and was quite within his rights to have the boy he was sponsoring for the festival and his mignon across to his bungalow for the night. It was just that he was one of those clever young men who always made things more complicated than they needed to be. I really didn't see what Don Carlos wanted with him and Anthony. To my mind they only unsettled the boys. I distrust men with ideas. For me the world is the way it is and that's the end of it. What's the point of questioning things and creating problems.

I was kept a good ten minutes fuming with impatience before the three boys appeared panting from their running. It was clear from the moisture dribbling down the inside of Jonathan's thighs what use Maurice had made of the little whore. That was the last thing I wanted. One of my brats beginning the day exhausted from a hard night's fucking. Still there was nothing I could do about it. If he showed signs of flagging on the march I would just have to use the whip harder on him. That was all.

"You have twenty minutes to eat and get yourself cleaned up. So get moving. You'll have your time cut out to catch up the rest of them," I said impatiently. Indeed the latter was true for I could see Ritchie and Sam having clearly already eaten busy grooming each by the water troughs in the corner of the yard.

For the next twenty minutes I stood in the yard impatiently tapping my leather gaiters with my riding crop. More than once during that period I saw one or other of the boys shoot an apprehensive glanced at me. My crop is a formidable object, a heavy tapered rod covered with plaited leather just over a metre long, boys generally have a healthy and well founded respect for it and no doubt that was the main reason that by the end of twenty minutes all seven of them were lined up in front of me, heads bowed, ready for inspection.

I was pressed for time and therefore only checked their hands and bottoms. I have found that if those two parts of a brat are clean it may be safely assumed that the rest of him is also.

I have one other piece of advice for boy drivers; identify potential trouble makers early and flog any nonsense out of them. Identification of the probable trouble maker in this case was not difficult. Ritchie was an uppity little tyke who made a speciality of dumb insolence. His head was bow but noticeably less so than those of all the other boys. When I told him to show me his hands he did so slowly and with a sulky scowl on his face instead of complying with my order with the cheerful eager willingness of a properly trained Tribute Boy.

"Ah," I thought, "that's your game is it boy. I'll soon fix you."

The procedure for a bottom inspection is simple and is learnt by all Tribute Brats in the first few weeks of service. The slut stands leaning forward, his legs slightly apart. When his master stands behind him he moves his hands smartly round his bottom and pulls his cheeks apart opening his bottom to the fullest extent possible.

Ritchie stood with his rump pushed back less than any of the other boys and he made little effort to open his bottom.

I kicked his feet away from under him sending him tumbling to the floor. I brought my crop cracking down across his bum as hard as I could. He jerked and grunted. I hit him again and the same thing happened. Any normal Tribute Boy would have been screaming and pleading for mercy by then.

It was going to be a straight contest of wills but to such contests between master and slut there can be but one conclusion I placed my left foot on the small of his back to pin him to the ground as I thrashed him. Very soon he broke and he was howling and pleading for mercy like a first year brat feeling the cane for the very first time across his tender little rump. I was determined to show him I would stand for no nonsense so I gave him six further cuts.

I was glad to see that there was no sign of sympathy for him among the other brats. They would not dare to show this openly in any event and you could not draw any conclusion from the fact that they all had erections. That is a reaction, not unique by any means to Tribute Boys, that watching a thrashing often induces. However on this occasion they were grinning broadly as I flogged and I saw Jonathan mouth at Guy "serve him right". Tribute boys do not like trouble makers. They know that they will – make trouble and that will not and cannot be tolerated and in the end they will all suffer for the misbehaviour of the one.

When I was sure I had given Ritchie a lesson he would not soon forget I ordered him to get back on his feet and show me his bottom. He scrambled up with exemplary speed and in a second was standing in front of me his back side pushed well back and his fingers dug deep into the bruised and bleeding flesh of his rump pulling the lips of his anus as wide open as he could manage. Considering the damage I had done to his bottom this last must have been very painful indeed.

Having satisfied myself that Ritchie's bottom was spotless. I ordered him to turn and face me. He stood there trembling, whimpering softly, his head deeply bowed. I took his chin between my finger and thumb and tipped his head back. I could see nothing in his eyes except submission mingled with, as it always should be when a Tribute Brat stands in front of his master, a deep fear. Perhaps in view of later events I did not look hard enough. Perhaps there was still a flicker of defiance there that I missed. I do not think so. I believe that if the boy had been flogged a few more times as hard as I had just done he would not have disgraced himself and brought shame on the Hacienda at the great festival later that year. In my experience there is no Tribute Boy that cannot be thrashed into a proper state of subordination provided you spend enough time and energy on the process. If clever young men like Maurice and Anthony spent more time flogging the boys in their charge and less on foolish and unnecessary experiments such incidents would not occur .

"I don't know why you were reluctant to show me your bottom slut," I said mildly. "It is a nice one and if you're a good and work hard today I'll fuck it tonight."

"Master thank you Master. Please Master. I will be good. Please fuck me. I'll be a good little whore…" The brat sobbed and I knew at least I would have no more trouble from him.

I was limited for time and very shortly I was riding my cob with the six coursing ponies strung out on a single leading reign behind me out of the yard, the seven brats bent almost double under their loads trotting at the rear of the column. You may wonder why I did not put the brats in front so that I could use the whip to drive them on. They were well trained however and each one of them knew that a failure to keep up would lead to a very painful encounter between his bum and my riding crop.

Often I have found boys being taken into the hills for a practice hunt are in high spirits. It is almost a holiday for them to be away from the Hacienda. Discipline is a little relaxed. There is the chance of good tips from our guests just for running a little and perhaps if they're lucky being fucked. There is the chance, almost the certainty, of extra food, for the scraps from the guests tables goes to them and not as in the Hacienda into the swill bins for the pigs.

There was little of this spirit on this occasion. Three of the brats had seen the Germans' behaviour the previous night and the remaining four would have had a highly coloured account of it very soon afterwards. There is little that happens in the Hacienda that is not known in some form, almost always an exaggerated one, to the brats almost as soon as it has taken place.

However despite the thought of the Germans and their own heavy loads this gloomy mood lifted somewhat as they trotted further into the hills. It is remarkable how resilient brats are. I suppose it comes from their not having the power to choose. This as the church teaches us means they have no souls. It also I think means they live just for the moment. It is pointless for them to think of the future – so they do not.

Soon led by Jonathan they were singing. He had chosen an old English folk song. With guests coming form all over the world to stay at the Hacienda the boys pick up a smattering of many languages and songs from countries all over the world. It was a strange song. So far as I could tell it concerned, at least partly, a gelded Tribute Boy called Goering for "he had no balls at all." Who Himmler was who "had two but they were very small," I do not know. I often think that if Maurice and Anthony took some time looking into such questions and left the management of the brats to those who understand them my life would be easier.

It is only twelve kilometres from the Hacienda to the Arcos lodge but the going is rough and the brats' loads were heavy. It took them two and a half hours to complete the journey and the singing had petered out before we reached the lodge. I had them shed their loads and sent them scampering down to slake their thirsts and cool off in the lake while I put the coursing ponies in the paddock behind the house. I gave the boys half an hours rest before calling them back to me.

"You've been good little whores," I said you can sometimes get almost as much effort from a brat by praising him as by beating him and a wise master uses a mixture of both, "but there's another load to be got up from the Hacienda. I want it done by midday. If it is there'll be five obols for each of you so let me see how fast you can run back …" I had no opportunity to finish what I was saying. The seven brats were already running full tilt down the track.

The eighteen farm brats that Juan had assembled were all good high quality stock. I solved the problem of selecting twelve out of the eighteen by having them race round the stock yard and taking the first twelve to finish. Having dismissed the six rejects with a couple of obols each to soften their disappointment I ordered the remainder to kneel in a semicircle around me.

"Now listen carefully sluts," I said, "you're going to be working for me for the next week. If you are wise you will be obedient hard working sluts. Or if you are not your bottoms will quickly get to look like Ritchie's rump here."

"Ritchie stand up and show them your bum."

Grinning almost proudly Ritchie obeyed and I heard a sharp intake of breath from the kneeling boys as they saw the brat's bottom, it's deeply bruised flesh various shades now of yellowish green ribbed with broad purple and deep scarlet welts.

"But," I continued, "if you are good little whores, work hard and run hard and bravely when I tell you then some of you will have your Mum's and Dad's funds enhanced by Don Carlos and there'll be plenty of obols for yourselves."

I paused to let the excited chatter and whoops of the brats subside.

"There is one other thing. You're just filthy little tykes used to working in the fields and probably have never seen a real gentleman near to for the whole of your miserable lives. I am going to use you mainly as runners in practice hunts but you will be serving important rich gentlemen who don't want grubby brats round them with smelly bottoms. For this week alone in your short lives you're to keep yourselves clean. I know when you're working or running you'll quickly get grubby again but as soon as you stop you clean yourself again or else…"

"Right that's the score. A chance of euros in your Mum's and Dad's fund and lots of obols for yourself if you're good and work hard and run well the certainty of a very sore bottom indeed if you fail me. Now we've got plenty to do so pick up your loads and get moving."

The farm brats and our own sluts mingled together chattering excitedly as they heaved their loads onto their backs. The excitement had made the Hacienda boys forget for the moment their dread of the Germans and to the others a week on the hill represented a welcome break from the monotonous and back breaking labour that would otherwise fill the whole of their brief lives. Soon the column of boys, with me trotting on my cob beside it, was moving at a brisk pace along the track towards the hunting lodge. I noticed the boys casting occasional doubtful glances at the six hounds running free at my mount's heels, Grenadier, Guardsmen, Trespass, Traitor, Grinner and Grinder, large grey menacing creatures. But even their presence did not depress the boys' spirits for long and soon Jonathan was leading them in singing again. He had chosen another old British folk song. This time it appeared to hark back to the time before the foundation of the New World Order when Europe was wracked with conflicts whose points and causes have long since been forgotten. The song was repetitive and was something about Spitfires and Messerschmidts which would appear to be types of planes.

I sometimes think it would be interesting to know something about those days long ago but no history is taught in our schools now and no books available on the past before the start of the last heroic struggle and it's successful conclusion. I remarked once to the good Father at Muros that it would be pleasant to know something about those early times but he said there was no point in such knowledge. He is an educated man unlike me and no doubt he is right.

Well what ever those Spitfires and Messerschmidts were and who ever flew them in whatever long forgotten struggle the brats were giving the song all they had and we made short time on the journey despite the difficulty of the ground and the weight of their loads.

We were beginning the final climb up to the lake. I was riding at the head of the column for despite the heat the brats seemed to need no driving. The boys were belting out "shot them down shot them down" (and here I would just remark that the Messerschmidt pilots seemed to be either incompetent or to have inferior planes and one wonders why they simply didn't give up because they never seem to shoot any of the Spitfires down despite trying very hard). Suddenly behind us there was a roar of an engine and round the bend of the track came an enormous Mercedes 4x4 driven very fast.

Being ahead of the boys on a rising track and mounted I both heard and saw the truck before them. I assumed that it would stop or at least slow down to allow the column time to clear the track. To my amazement it did neither. It accelerated and raising a cloud of dust roared forwards. I shouted at the brats to get out of it's way and there was a wild scramble as they tried to do so. A small farm brat at the very rear of the column was unlucky. There was a thump, a scream, and the boy was lying in the dust. The truck had knocked him forwards and with a screech of brakes it stopped it's front wheel on the driver's side inches away from his thin legs.

I swore and kicked my heels into my cob's sides cantering back down the road to see how badly he was hurt. Throwing the reigns to one of the brats and telling him to lead the horse clear of the track I jumped down. I was just bending down to look at the injured slut when the driver of the truck wound down his window and leaned out to speak to me. It was Herr Peiper.

"Has the stupid brute dented the vehicle?" he asked.

I glanced at the bumper a large chromium plated lump of metal that it would take great deal more than an undernourished Tribute Brat's carcass to bend and reassured him. I was just about to turn my attention to the boy when Herr Peiper put the truck in gear and moved it forwards so that he was sitting level with where I stood at the side of the track. I distinctly heard the boy's shin bones crack as the heavy vehicle crushed his legs. Whatever the boy's condition before he was now good for nothing.

"Sound German engineering, my good Karl," Herr Peiper remarked smugly raising his voice to be heard over the brat's agonised screaming. "But Karl your discipline is very bad. Those sluts standing upright in the presence of a free citizen. Surely they should be down on their knees with their faces pressed to the ground?"

He was right of course and I shouted at the brats, who seemed to be frozen in shock, to get down.

"Yes," he continued as their training reasserted itself, "that's better. And they weren't quick enough clearing the road for me to get through. I'll thrash that one whose screaming. He was the slowest. I know he will have to be put down but it will encourage the others to try harder in future. I will just move the truck on."

And he put the Mercedes into gear driving it forward. The rear wheel crunched over the slut's already crushed legs.

Herr Peiper levered his bulk out of the truck. He was carrying a thick leather quirt about a metre long. He strode back to where the brat lay screaming on the rough ground. He had fallen on his back and bending Herr Peiper grabbed him by an arm. He pulled the slut roughly onto his face. Then he set to work with the lash.

For a full ten minutes he rained cuts down across the shoulders, rump and thighs of the already crippled boy. I wanted to stop him but the boy had been slow and to do so would break the rule that free citizens must never argue about brats in front of them. I like to think that the poor little tyke was in so much pain already that whatever Herr Peiper did made little difference to his sufferings. I am afraid though that by the way he screamed that was not so. Glancing up at the van I saw the three German boys peering out at the scene grins plastered over their faces.

The boy Heinz poked his head out of the side window and shouted.

"That's right Dad really lay into the lump of dog's shit."

At last Herr Peiper seemed to run out of energy.

"Well," he said looking down at the boy's body, blood welling from where the lash had ripped it's flesh, "Karl I think that will do for the time being. Bring the brat up to the lodge. The boys will enjoy finishing the job off after lunch."

He got into the Mercedes and roared off up the track. The three boys waved cheerfully from the back window.

There was silence apart from the moaning of the injured boy and the sound of a skylark singing as it rose and fell in the clear blue sky. Then one or two of the farm brats began to snivel in fear. The sluts scrambled one by one to their feet. They stood silently staring at me, shock and fear etched on their young faces, waiting and watching, wondering what I was to do.

There was no doubt or question in my mind. There are rules and you must live by them. The German wanted the injured brat brought up to the Lodge so that his son and his friends could pass a few amusing hours slowly killing the miserable brute. The brat had been injured in my service, or perhaps more accurately in the service of my master Don Carlos, and he had done nothing really wrong. He had been a little slow clearing the road but he had paid the penalty for that in full measure. There was no law that required it, but there was a convention that was as binding as any law that a master in those circumstances had an obligation to bring the brat's sufferings to a speedy end. It was the same convention that applied to any other domestic animal for which you had responsibility. If it was injured you either treated it or if that was not possible, or was simply too expensive to be worth while, you put it out of it's misery.

I drew my hunting knife and I heard a sigh of relief run round the semicircle of watching boys. One boy I could not identify, which was just as well for him or I would have thrashed him for his insolence, whispered "well done Master" and there was a subdued murmur of assent from the rest.

I bent down and speaking softly to the brat pulled his head back stretching his neck ready for the knife. Then amazingly the boy, knowing what was to come strained to part his legs with their mangled shins and to lift his bottom bloodied from the lash towards me. Even in this moment of agony and death the heat was in the little whore and he was reminding me of a convention unique to the putting down of Tribute Boys; that the master should at the moment of death allow the boy to experience the greatest pleasure that a master could grant a brat by fucking him.

I opened my breaches and lubricated my cock with saliva. The boy's bottom had been, thank god, well used and I was able to enter him with ease. I felt his heat close about my cock and the pumping of his blood. With a single stroke I slit his throat and the brat was dead.

I called Ritchie to me and had him lick the filth from my cock while Vass and Ivan slung the carcass off the road.

The boys did not sing again during the rest of our march to the lodge.

Chapter 5b

"That's better this time," he said, "I see the brats are learning a bit of discipline. We Germans are great instructors in that respect. But not quite quick enough. To encourage the sluts to get down the last brat on his knees will be flogged. And that will be the rule in future."

While he was speaking one of the German boys appeared behind him in the door way. He walked quickly past his father to where one of the farm brats was huddled. Without warning he stamped hard on the back of the brat's head driving his face down onto the concrete. There was a sickening crunching sound and a pool of blood began to form under the whimpering child's head.

"The lump of pig's shit didn't have his face pressed right down on the ground Uncle," The boy said.

"Well done Ludwig. Well done, as a reward you may flog the slut and also the brat immediately to his right who was the last of the brutes to get his bum up in the air. Take my crop and do it now. They are well positioned for the job. Eight strokes each and lay the lash on really hard, liebling. Show Uncle Franz what a good thrasher of brats' bottoms you are. Teach the scum to fear the strong right arm of our glorious German youth."

Ludwig grinning happily lifted the crop above his head and brought it whistling down across the miserable sluts up raised rump. There was the sharp crack of plaited leather against taughtly drawn bare flesh followed after a split seconds pause by the scream of a sorely beaten child.

"That's right my boy. That's right the brute feels it. Draw blood my boy, draw blood. Cut the slut's bum to pieces. The subhuman filth must be taught to respect and fear their betters."

Indeed Ludwig seemed hardly to need the older man's encouragement. He flogged with brutal enthusiasm. The supple crop curling about the child's upturned bottom at each stroke it's tip snapping viciously as it cut into his flanks. The brat was soon kneeling in a pool of steaming amber fluid. By the time the fourth stroke had ripped down across his defenceless rump the boy next to him who was next in line for a flogging had also peed himself.

"Discipline, discipline is what we must have my dear Karl," Herr Peiper remarked to me rising his voice to be heard over the howls of the flogging. "Tribute Boys must be beaten hard, worked hard and fucked hard. To what tasks were you about to set them."

"Well Sir," I replied, "I had just told them to go down to the lake for a swim and a rest and then…"

"That is absolutely forbidden," the man interrupted me sharply. "Karl, Ludwig and Adolf will be using the lake to swim in. I will not have the water polluted by trash like these animals. No they must be set to work. The road here was in a deplorable state all the brats other than those engaged in serving us must be set to work immediately on improving it. If they are driven hard enough I am sure there will be an appreciable improvement to it by the time we leave."

I stiffened in anger. Client or not the man had gone too far. He had a perfect right to thrash any brat that took his fancy. No doubt discipline was important and a brat's behaviour could always be improved by the occasional sharp flogging. The number and severity of beatings required was after all only a matter of judgement and who was to say that Herr Peiper's judgement was worse than mine. Nor would I have protested if he had simply forbidden the lake to the sluts though I could not help but contrast this with Don Carlos's willingness to let his son mix freely with the brats on his Hacienda confident in the boy's ability to do so without prejudicing the gulf that law and nature has set between free and Tribute.

He had gone too far though when he tried to dictate the way the brats should be employed through out the time of the practice hunt. Don Carlos would never have behaved in such a way and I saw no reason why I should tolerate it from a man who was in so many ways inferior to my employer both as a gentleman and a sportsman. There are well known conventions that govern the relationship between head keeper and employer or client that if they are observed prevents friction in a relationship that otherwise can be very difficult.

My father, whom I may I think already have mentioned served in the Infantry in the last Great Patriotic War and attained the rank of Sergeant put it to me like this. In the army the colonel decided what was to be done the Sergeants decided how it should be done. (There are of course other people than Colonels and Sergeants in the Army but it would appear from what my father told me that they play no part in the planning and conduct of operations.) So the employer or client tells the head keeper his wishes and the head keeper decides how those wishes are to be achieved.

Thus Don Carlos could say to me I am having a party of six out on the fifteenth and want to show them a good days sport and I would reply, "Very well we'll draw the West corrie I know there is a good head of game in there." He might then remark that he believed the river valley might be a better prospect at the time of year and I would naturally give that suggestion the attention that it deserved coming from my employer and, more to the point, a knowledgeable sportsman. If however I then said, "No Sir the wind is steady from the South and if we draw the valley they'll hear us before we are within two kilometres of them," that would be the end of it.

Don Carlos could still insist despite my advice that we should draw the valley and as he is my employer I would obey but he would have my notice on his breakfast plate next morning. He would never do this, not because he knew I would hand my notice in, but because he is a true gentleman and sportsman and knew how these things should be managed. It was clear that Herr Peiper did not and I had therefore to explain things to him. "We must unpack the luggage and get your lunch ready before anything else Sir," I replied mildly.

"Come on you idle sluts get on your feet. Move yourselves. This isn't a holiday," I shouted at the brats and planted a hefty kick in ribs of the slut that Ludwig was engaged in thrashing bringing that operation to a sudden conclusion.

"Ritchie you were carrying the cold box with the ice cream weren't you. Get it emptied into the fridge."

"Perhaps," I said addressing Ludwig directly, "you would care to go with him. Then you can get him to give you a big bowl of it and to take two more down to your friends by the lake."

I wanted to get him away from the brats before he beat any more up. I didn't mind myself if he flayed the skin off the bottoms of every one of the farm brats except that I didn't want any more of them to be rendered incapable of running.

The idea of ice cream clearly appealed to Ludwig and any remaining hesitation was banished when Ritchie bent over to lift the cool box and giving his bottom a provocative wriggle.

"Ach that slut's got a pretty bum," he remarked giving it an appreciative slap as Ritchie passed him. I saw the brat's cock was stiff and smiled to myself. Ritchie for all his occasional sulks was like all Tribute Boys just a sexy little slut.

"Now Sir," I said to Herr Peiper, "we may as well go inside and have a talk about the arrangements for the practice hunt."

"Why cannot we talk out here Karl?" he demanded arrogantly from where he stood blocking the doorway into the house..

To say what I wished to him out in the yard would break the basic rule that you did not argue in front of Tribute Boys. I told myself I must not loose my temper.

"Because Sir," I said after a pause, looking up at the cloudless blue sky, "I think it is going to rain," and I walked straight at him.

I am not a tall man but I am a broad one. Herr Peiper hesitated for a moment but stood aside with a shrug of his shoulders just before I reached him.

I walked straight through the lodge to the small gun room to the left of the front door and there turned to confront Herr Peiper.

"Sir," I said before he could speak, "I much appreciate your suggestions as to the employment of the Tribute Brats but I would be grateful if you do not further concern yourself with that matter."

Herr Peiper began to speak but I over rode him.

"I have been told by Don Carlos my employer to spend the next few days instructing your son and his two young friends in the skills and techniques of the chase. The brats have been brought here to assist in that task not as a road building gang."

"The programme is as follows. Today after lunch I will explain to the young gentlemen the basic techniques of boy sticking and I will have two of the Hacienda brats noted for their speed run a few straight forward courses for them. Tomorrow I will have all the Hacienda boys running steadily more complex courses and on the next two days we will have a full scale practice hunt with all the brats involved."

"The farm brats who are less well fed than the Hacienda ones and have been worked quite hard enough for today will spend this afternoon resting. Tomorrow they will run the practice hunt course in the morning so that they know it and in the afternoon they will rest again. They will then be fresh to run in the practice hunts on the two following days."

Herr Peiper appeared to have some difficulty in speaking. His face had gone an interesting shade of puce and his mouth opened and closed without uttering a sound. He looked like a recently beached salmon suffering from apoplexy. I waited courteously for him to recover his power of speech.

"Who is paying here," he eventually screamed.

"You are paying, Sir, for a week on the premier boy hunting grounds of Europe preceded by a period of preparation. You are not paying for a gang of Tribute Brats to be used in road building. That would come considerably cheaper."

"I will complain to Don Carlos."

"You may do so, Sir, but he will say the same. If you have not got your mobile handy, Sir, by all means use mine. Simply press three. The number is programmed in"

I handed him the telephone and turned to look out of the window. I did not bother to listen to what the man said to Don Carlos. The outcome of his complaint was, I knew, preordained. Herr Peiper spoke noisily and at length. Don Carlos's reply was very brief.

"Well Karl," Herr Peiper said surlily returning the phone to me, "it appears that we have to accept your decision in this matter."

He marched from the room slamming the door behind him.

I returned to the yard. The brats were hurrying about unpacking the supplies. I sent Guy, Sacha and Ivan to serve lunch to the German men. I told them to get them to drink as much beer as they could and to wriggle their pretty little bums about while doing it. One way or the other, stupid drunk or sex mad, I just wanted to keep the men out of my way. The three little sluts trotted off grinning. Like all the Hacienda sluts they were natural whores.

Glancing round I saw a brat whose bottom was raw from a recent beating. I realised he must be the brute whose face Ludwig had stamped into the concrete of the yard. He came to me when I called him stiff legged and trembling with fear. I smiled at him and spoke softly trying to calm him as I tipped his face up to the light. His nose was squashed flat and blood had trickled from his nostrils and mouth down his chin and dried there. He was breathing through his mouth. I could see that three or four teeth in the front of his jaw had been knocked out. I could do nothing about his teeth. I put a finger tip up both nostrils and pushed upwards. I felt the gristle move in his nose. The brat yelped in pain.

"Well," I said withdrawing my fingers and giving the child's balls a gentle squeeze, "I don't expect you were an oil painting before were you slut?"

"No Master I suppose not," he replied giving me a gap toothed grin clearly grateful and excited by my attention.

I laughed and slipped a coin into his hand. He glanced at it and his face lit up.

"Ten obols Master! Oh thank you Master. Thank you very much" There was only one place he could keep the coin until he could find a place to hide it that night. I watched him scuttle away his right hand pushing it into his bottom. The paltry coin more than compensated him his beating, his missing teeth and his broken nose.

When the stores had all been put away I sent the farm boys off down the track to where a small stream crossed it. It had some deep pools in which they could bathe. To keep them occupied I gave them four buckets and told them I wanted them to be brought back at the end of the day filled with minnows. These mixed with their maize porridge would make a valuable protein addition to their diet.

With Vass carrying two boy sticking lances and Jonathan leading a pony I set off to find the three German youths. It was time to start instructing them in the techniques of boy sticking.

I found all three of them lying naked in the sun by the lake. Ritchie was kneeling between Ludwig's legs his head buried in the German boy's crutch. How they'd been occupying themselves was clear from the state of the slut's bottom and the flaccid nature of the Karl's and Adolf's pricks.

"All right boys," I said cheerfully, "time for you to do some work now. Go up to the lodge put on your riding clothes and come back here and I'll tell you about sticking boys."

"Are we going to be able to kill those two today," Heinz asked eagerly pointing at Jonathan and Vass.

"No not today nor for a few days but when you're on the Picos you can kill boys till you're sick of it – if you can catch them."

"I'll never be sick of killing," Adolf declared as he hurried off.

The three boys were soon back dressed in breeches, riding boots and T-shirts and carrying black hard hats. All their equipment was of the smartest and most expensive nature. That meant little. You need more than a tight pair of breeches and shiny black boots to have a good seat on a horse.

I led them some way away from the lake where the ground was reasonably level.

"First of all I'll tell you something of the practical business of boy sticking and then all three of you will ride a series of simple courses with these two brats here taking it in turn to run."

"The courses will be from up there," I pointed to a spot about one hundred metres further away from the lake than where we were standing, "down to the lake. If the brats make it to the lake they'll have beaten you and to make them really try and run fast I'll give them five obols each time they do it."

I knew there was little chance of my having to pay any money out. I had fixed the length of the course so that there should be just enough time for the Germans to catch the brats.

"These are the lances we use," I said taking them from Vass. "You can see they are three metres long. This one is the one you will be using today. It has a rubber and felt tip which has been soaked in marking ink so that we can see precisely where you strike the brat. This is the one you will use on the Picos. You can see the point is steel and it is very sharp."

I held it out to the three boys and they tested the point in turn. I stuck the butts of the lances in the ground standing them upright and continued.

"Now you may think that riding a brat down and killing him with that lance is a simple job. You will find it is not. First you will not be riding on a nice easy smooth surface. It will be uneven and rocky. Second the brat is not going to stand still to be stuck, nor will he run in a straight line. He will be running for his life and he will probably twist and turn and try every trick in the book to escape you. Third there is your own excitement and the excitement of the other huntsmen that, unless you discipline yourselves and follow simple rules, will result in your making a mess of things. I'll come back to this later. Fourth there is the shape of the brat."

"Come here you," I ordered and seizing Vass by the ear pulled him forward.

"Ninety nine times out of a hundred the boy will be running away from you. What you will see will be this." I twisted Vass round so that his back was turned to the Germans.

"And it's very nice too," Heinz said.

"Could we fuck his bottom now?" Adolf asked and the three boys giggled.

"Afterwards if you want you can fuck the slut to your hearts' content but now you have work to do." I replied grinning. I noticed these comments had caused Vass to stiffen. The little bitch was always in heat.

"When you look at his back you will see," I continued, "that there are only really two areas of it where you can stick him with the lance and have a good chance of stopping him. On the left and right sides of the back bone below the shoulder and above the rump."

I pulled a marker pen out of my pocket and marked these areas on Vas's smooth brown back.

"Now you will be riding holding your reigns in you left hand and your spear in your right. So that narrows the area down even more, just to the left side of the brat."

I spat on my hand and wiped the marking from Vass's right side.

"The boy will be turning and twisting to try to avoid you. You need to stick him when he's as near fully back on to you as possible. Sideways on his arms will be working as he runs and there's a good chance he'll deflect the lance."

"It is just possible that he'll turn at bay and face you full on. That's the easiest one of the lot. You have the full area of his stomach to go for. Just ride hard at him and keep your lance level and you'll have him. Then dismount and twist the lance about in his belly to make quite sure. Pull it out, the walls of the sluts stomach will contract about the shaft so you'll need to put a foot on his body and give a good tug to get it clear. Quite often there be an odd sucking sound as you wrench it out. Cut off his balls and cock as trophies and slit him open with your hunting knife from crutch to ribcage.

"If you're coming at him from behind," Ludwig asked, "isn't it likely that the lance will strike a rib rather than enter his chest."

"It is quite likely it will hit a rib," I replied, "but the point of the lance is very fine and you will be travelling at a good speed so it will strike the slut with some force. If it hits a rib it will slip over it and into the brat."

"It will enter the brat on the left side and that is the side the heart is on. There is a chance therefore that the point will enter the heart and you will have a clean kill. The probability is that, that will not happen. As soon as you spear a brat you must jump from your pony and slash him across the back of the thighs hamstringing him with your hunting knife so that he can't get away. Then roll him onto his back cut off the trophies and paunch him just as you would do if you had speared him from in front."

"If he's your first kill the tradition is that you then throw the carcass over your pony's back and take it back to camp where you spit it and cook it, since it is hunter's use to cook and eat the game, even if the game is a Tribute Boy. You have to do all that without any assistance."

I could see the boys' attention was beginning to wane and I hurried on.

"It's going to be relatively simple now. There will be just one of you riding down one brat. On the hill there will be three of you and any number of brats. It's easy if you have your eye on a boy to ride into or across another rider. You must know where the other riders are and you must always chase the boy immediately to your right; concentrate on the position not a particular boy. And never ever follow a brat to the left. That is the most important rule of the lot. Your pony is to the left of your lance. If you bring your lance to the left you are very likely indeed to trip your pony up and get yourself a very nasty fall."

"Indeed it's funny to think that the best thing a brat could do to preserve it's life when it's hard pressed is to turn in under your pony's hooves. You would not be able to stick him and a pony always tries very hard not trample a person in front of it. But you are quite safe brats never try this because the thunder of the pony's hooves to it's left is just too frightening."

"Now that's it lets see how you manage in practice. Whose going to go first?"

"I will," Heinz said quickly.

"All right put your hard hat on and mount up. I'll take these two brats a bit nearer the lake and when one of them starts to run you go after him."

"I won't wear my hat. I'm not going to fall off."

"I don't know whether yo are going to fall off or not. I do know though that either you will wear your hat or you'll be sent back to the lodge and you won't ride again today."

Heinz glared sulkily at me but he put on his hat and mounted the pony. I handed him the practice lance and walked with the two brats about seventy five metres towards the lake.

"Now Vass," I said quietly, "you're to run first. Run as fast as you can and give the young German Master a good race. You're not to swerve or jink. Run straight and if you make the lake before he catches you, you get five obols."

The slut balanced himself on his toes ready to go and grinned at me.

"I'm going to walk over there a bit so I can see better how you're both doing. You go when I shout."

I positioned myself so that I had a good view both of Heinz mounted on the pony in his expensive riding gear and Vass naked and ready to run for his amusement.

"Slut Go!" I shouted.

The brat was off like a flash. I looked to see how Heinz was doing. He had got the pony up to a canter already and was increasing his speed. His hard hat was rolling on the ground behind him. The blasted boy must have thrown it down when he set off. He like the rest of the Germans was just trouble. Then I saw the sun glint on the tip of his lance and I realised he had done more than throw off his hat. He had swapped the practice lance that I had given him for the real thing.

Ludwig and Adolf were shouting and cheering and laughing. Adolf was holding a lance so the boys must have swapped the lances over when I had my back turned to them. I shouted and ran forward.

Glancing back towards Vass I saw him sprawled on the ground and Jonathan haring down the slope towards the lake.

I am, though I say it myself, a strong man. I can lift heavy weights and I can ride or walk all day and still keep going when most people are exhausted. What I am not is fast. Heinz swept past, bent low over his ponies head, steel tipped lance held level with the ground, long before I could get myself in a position to stop him. The pony was going now at full gallop. He never seemed to even see Vass. Indeed I doubt if he even knew that Jonathan had taken the other boy's place. He would have been so busy managing the lance, getting his pony into motion, that the substitution had been made long before he was able to identify his quarry.

Jonathan was running well. At first I thought he'll never make it. He's dead meat. However will I explain this to the boss? Then I was thinking, if he makes it I'll risk a few euros on the brat's chances at the festival. For a slut who was regarded as a no hoper and soft he was putting up a remarkable performance. But the gap between the running naked boy and the galloping pony and Heinz with his steel tipped lance was closing all the time. There was still 200 metres between Jonathan and the safety of the lake. He was not I realised going to make it. Jonathan too seemed to sense there was little point in trying any longer. His pace slowed. Heinz was almost on him leaning forward to take the impact when the spear head struck home. A feeling of excitement and awe filled me. The feeling that was familiar to me from the many times I had seen a game, be it brat or beast, if there is a distinction between the two which I doubt, run down and slain after a gallant struggle to outrun the hunter. The lance entered Jonathan just below the shoulder blade. I saw the blood begin to stream down his naked back and then when I thought it was all over for him he leapt forward again.

The trick almost worked. Heinz expecting to feel the weight of the slut's body against his lance was thrown off balance. He almost lost his seat and in struggling to retain it he slowed his pony down. There was only 100 metres or so now separating Jonathan from the safety of the lake margin. But Heinz had regained his seat. He had kicked his pony back into a full gallop. He was gaining by the second on the running boy. Jonathan was visibly tiring. He had run a good race but his strength was draining away from him.

Vass had got to his feet and was hurtling down towards the lake. If he got there we would loose both brats I thought for it was only too clear he was going to Jonathan's help and that would inevitably lead to a painful death for him skewered to the compound gate.

There was twenty metres between Jonathan and the lake, fifteen, ten but it was all over Heinz was on him again. At that moment Jonathan showed that if the German boys had not paid full attention to my talk on boy sticking he had. He deliberately turned under the hooves of the galloping pony. He almost got away with it, the pony changed pace to avoid trampling him but Heinz, forgetful of all my strictures in the excitement, thrust at him as he darted to the left. His lance as, I forecast it would, tangled in the pony's fore legs. Pony and brat went down in a flurry of naked limbs and flailing hooves. Heinz was thrown clear and landed on the ground at the very edge of the lake with a thud I could hear from where I stood and lay still.

There was a moment of utter silence. The pony stood up and apparently unhurt began to graze quietly. Jonathan dragged himself to his feet, staggered a few paces and then fell back to the ground, blood streaming from a gash down the outside of his left thigh where one of the pony's hooves had caught him. Heinz lay quite still.

I ran over to him. He was still breathing. I pulled out my mobile and telephoned the Hacienda's doctor in Muros. I told him to get the emergency helicopter and to get out to the hunting lodge fast, a privileged boy had had an accident. It mightn't be serious but we had to be on the safe side and his father had plenty of money to pay. He asked if there was anybody else injured and I told him there was not. Jonathan being a Tribute Brat did not count. If his injury was beyond my capacity to treat he would just be put down. I rang off and sent Ludwig and Adolf, pale and shocked now, to find Herr Peiper and to tell him what had happened and to get him come down with a stretcher and four Tribute Boys to carry Heinz up to the lodge ready for the Doctor.

In crises like this you have to have clear priorities and stick to them. I took off my coat and covered the still unconscious German boy with it. Then I went to check the pony. It was a valuable animal. It would cost much more than a slut to replace. I checked it over and was relieved to see that it was apparently uninjured. I returned to Heinz and waited beside him until his father arrived in a great panic with the stretcher.

Fortunately Herr Peiper was more interested at that moment in getting his son medical treatment than in establishing the cause of the accident and apportioning blame so he was quickly on his way back to the lodge, at one moment cursing the Tribute Boy stretcher bearers for shaking it and the next demanding that they moved more quickly.

I walked over thinking deeply to where Jonathan lay. Both he and Vass were in a very serious situation. It is a basic of the Manpower Utilisation Code that where the Tribute population is concerned the assumption of innocence is reversed and there is an assumption of guilt. This means that if a free citizen or his property is injured any Tribute Brat about at the time is assumed to have been intentionally involved in the injury. This has the consequence intended of making brats very attentive to the safety of their Masters and their Masters' goods. It also leads to the skewering of any brat present when a free citizen is injured. Both Vass and Jonathan were in very real danger of ending their young lives nailed to the compound door.

The fact that Heinz had largely contributed to his own injury would not help them as under the law Tribute Boys are forbidden to testify. I could give evidence and as a free citizen my evidence would be heard but that would not save Jonathan. He had deliberately darted under the hooves of the pony and that would be enough to condemn him.

I wondered if it would be better all round to announce that his injuries were beyond my capacity to treat and slit his throat straight away. I put the idea to one side. My duty to my employer was to do the best to preserve his property. Therefore if I could treat the brat I had to do so. The law must then take it's course.

It seemed to me the brats had one chance. As Heinz's stupid and disobedient behaviour had contributed greatly to his own injury Don Carlos and anyone else with an interest in the brats could look to Herr Peiper for financial compensation if he insisted on the brats execution. It might be that he would not wish to face that expense. I began to think of ways of maximising that claim. I owed it to Don Carlos to do so.

For the moment though my primary duty was to treat Jonathan's injury if it was not too expensive to do so or else to kill him.

Jonathan was lying on his uninjured side, blood flowing down his thigh and soaking into the ground under him. Vass was keeling beside him trying to hold the edges of the wound together to stem the bleeding. His hands were stained red.

"Get out of the way slut," I snapped at Vass and he hunkered back on his heels allowing me to get a good look at the wound. I parted it's lips and Jonathan moaned in pain. It was deep but within my powers to treat. It would need stitching and there would be a scar. This might, have been enough if the brat had been younger to make me decide to slit his throat. There was no place on the Hacienda for a disfigured slut. However he was due for Release in the festival in September and I had seen enough of his running to think he might well bring honour to the Hacienda then.

"Why did you do it Jonathan?" I asked as I probed the wound. "Trip Vass and run in his place I mean."

"I saw the young German had the steel tipped lance Master and I knew there was little chance of Vass reaching the lake before he got him. And I will die most likely at the festival in September while Vass has the right to a few more years."

I knelt back on my heels and slapped him hard, back handed, across the face.

"Right…. Right you filthy little brute. You dare to talk of animals like Vass and you having rights. You brats exist to serve your betters."

I hit him again splitting his lip and sending blood streaming from his nose.

"You watch your tongue brat," I grumbled at him. "Sluts have had steel pikes driven through their stomachs for saying things like that. It's lucky for you the priest didn't hear you as well or there be another brat having his toes warmed in the bonfire like the ones they burnt at Burgos."

I pulled out my hunting knife.

"Please Master you're not going to kill him are you?" Vass asked pleadingly. I saw Jonathan's gaze fasten on the knife there was resignation in his eyes.

I pulled my tie off tied it loosely around Jonathan's injured thigh just below his crutch and slipping the handle of the knife inside it began to tighten it by twisting the knife cutting off the flow of blood to his injured leg.

"Vass," I ordered "get up to the house and get the box marked 'Veterinary Supplies' from my room and bring it down here and tell Ritchie to come here too." I was going to add "and run" but he was already gone.

"Master," Jonathan said, "please don't hit me again. I'm going to be skewered I know I am and even if you wanted to you couldn't save me. I ran under the pony and the German free boy was injured. But you could save Vass. Please tell them he had nothing to do with it."

I bent down to examine the wound. I couldn't do that and look in the brat's face at the same time.

"The law must take it's course boy." I muttered. "There's no point in talking about it."

He didn't speak again and I spent the rest of the time until Vass reappeared panting from running with Ritchie and the medicine box, examining the gash in the brat's thigh.

"Jonathan," I said opening the box, "first I am going to put something in that wound to disinfect it and then I am going to sow it up. Both are going to hurt a lot. Ritchie get hold of Jonathan's ankles and hold his legs steady while I work on him. Vass do the same with his shoulders.

I worked the TCP ointment into the open gash while the two brats fought to control the screaming boy. Inevitably the brat wet himself.

I got out the needle and nylon thread. I waited until Jonathan was quiet and held them up for him to see.

"Now I'm going to sow the wound up," I said. "Try very hard Jonathan to keep still because I will be able to do the job quicker and better if you do. Do you understand?"

He nodded.

"All right now be a brave slut," I ruffled his hair and set to work stitching together the broken flesh on either side of the wound. Jonathan did his best but Vass and Ritchie's naked bodies were both slicked with sweat by the time I had finished.

"You take the first aid box back with you Vass and put it back where you found it."

I bent over and slipping my arms behind Jonathan's shoulders and legs, carried him up to the lodge. I am a strong man and even fourteen year old Tribute Boys do not weigh much. I took him to a shed by the kennels where I kept the hot bitches when any of the hounds came in season while we were staying at the lodge. At the moment it was unoccupied and being clean and out of the way was as good a place as I could think of to keep the brat until his future, if any was sorted out.

"Master," he said as I was leaving the shed. "Couldn't you cut my throat now. It would come to the same thing in the end and would save my Mum and Dad shame."

I said nothing.

Chapter 5c

"How is he Doctor?" I asked.

"Nothing to worry about Heinz. He's a strong well built lad. He'll get over it. I'm taking him into the hospital overnight for observation but that's only because his Father insisted on it. He's a nasty bit of work if ever I've seen one."

"Got at you, did he?" I said grinning.

"Yes and he'll be getting at you too soon. The other two German boys told him how the accident happened and he's been talking about skewering ever since."

"Well I must be off. You don't anything good for the festival I could chance a few Euros on?"

I smiled. An idea had occurred to me that would help preserve my Master's property. That was of course my only interest.

"You know I can't give you a tip about any of the Hacienda brats Doctor I said. But I have a great respect for you and perhaps you could just wait a minute and I will write out a note to my bookie that you could get one of your brats to take to him when you get back to Muros. I can't get away from here."

I pulled my pocket book out and scribbled something in it. Tearing the page out I handed it to him unfolded. He glanced at what I had written and his eyes opened.

"That's quite a stake," he exclaimed. "I didn't know you gambled on that scale. The brat must be good."

I said nothing but winked.

Then another thought occurred to me

"You could get these for me too," I said scrawling another note, "and have one of your boy's run them up. Here's a 100 euro. I'd like any change there might be."

"You are a man of surprises," he said glancing at the piece of paper. "I never knew you had an interest in such things. I'll see to it." He raised his hand and hurried off to the waiting helicopter.

I went in search of Herr Peiper. It seemed to me the sooner we had another discussion the better. I found him in the main room of the lodge shrouded in a cloud of cigar smoke. It was clear he was in a foul temper and that he had been drinking.

"Karl," he roared as soon as he saw me. "Where are the two bloody Tribute Brats who nearly killed my boy. Where have you hidden them man. I demand you bring them to me now. I am going to flay them alive and then nail them to the wall where I can watch them dying."

"I haven't hidden them Sir," I said easily. "I've just been engaged in seeing the main culprit survives his injuries so that you can punish him as he deserves. I'll get him now shall I Sir?"

"Yes… Yes at once."

I turned to the door and then hesitated.

"By the way you know your son disobeyed my express orders to wear his riding hat and then substituted without my authority a steel tipped lance for the practice one."

"That makes no difference. The brats caused the accident and they will suffer. They will suffer a lot."

"Yes of course Sir. It's just that my Master will have a claim for damages against you and that could be quite expensive. I thought I should mention it. It'll mount up especially added to the compensation that the farmer will be looking for the brat you ran down this morning."

"Compensation. For such animals… A few Euros … A hundred or so at the most… Nothing."

"I think I should warn you, Sir that I fear you underestimate the cost. The farm boy will be about 5,000 euros I would imagine. Our two boys are of much higher quality. I fear Don Carlos will be looking for at least 20,000 each and then the boy your son tried to kill is entered in the great carnival in September that will put a further premium on him. I really don't think you are looking at less than 30,000 for that brat alone."

The man gazed at me speechless. I shook my head and sighed regretfully.

"And there's another complication news some how has got out as to how good he is. A lot of money has been wagered on him."

I was sure this was right. The Doctor no sooner than he was in the helicopter would be on his mobile placing bets and telling his friends and neighbours that he had a hot tip. Greed would have prevented him from wondering why I didn't use my mobile to place a 1000 euro bet on Jonathan rather than asking him to place it for me.

"If you skewer him the punters will be suing you for compensation too. You'll have to face a long drawn out and expensive court case and on top of that unspecified damages. And I forgot the brat whose face Ludwig smashed up. That won't cost much than a 100 or a 150 perhaps."

"But if you think it's worth while and you can afford it, well, that's it then Sir. Shall I bring the sluts to you?"

Herr Peiper swore viciously.

"I thought not, Sir. Not worth the trouble really.

The man swore again and I left the room.

There was one further problem. Jonathan had been disobedient. He had run when I had told another boy to run. He had swerved in front of the German's boy pony when I had told him to run straight. He had done so to safe first Vass and then himself from being killed. But that made no difference. He had been disobedient and he was not to be allowed to get away with it.

I waited till the boys were assembled in the yard for their evening meal. I had a bench lifted out into the yard for I doubted if his injured leg would support him while I flogged him.

"You are to be punished now," I said kicking open the door of the shed. I was surprised that he began to cry. He was fourteen and by then most Tribute Boys are well seasoned to the wood. Then I realised that he probably thought I had come to take him to be skewered. I did not bother to explain things to him but picking him up carried him out and laid him face down on the bench. I had Vass and Ritchie hold him down as I thrashed him. I gave him twelve strokes on the bum. Enough to cut him up thoroughly but not excessive in the circumstances. After it was over I had him carried back to his shed.

He would not be fit enough to run for a couple of days and I thought it as well to keep him out of Herr Peiper's way for the time being at least. I sent Vass to him with a bowl of warm sweetened milk for his supper.

A boy from the Doctor's arrived with a parcel for me at lunch time the next day. I tipped the boy five obols and went to find Jonathan. He was kneeling in the sun outside the shed. He was bent forward drawing something on a scrap of paper with a piece of burnt twig. I wondered which of the brats had obtained them for him. He was so intent on what he was doing that he did not hear my approach.

I looked over his shoulder. With a few stroke of charcoal he ad drawn a short stocky man with broad shoulders and a heavy chin seated on a stubby little horse. Across the crupper of the horse was slung a boy's carcass. Jonathan was now engaged in drawing the cobbles on which the horse was walking. Each individual cobble had the face of a young boy, where the horse had stepped twisted and disfigured, otherwise open smiling and innocent.

I reached down over his shoulder and took the drawing from him. He turned and saw me and a look of quite inexplicable horror spread over his face.

"That's an odd picture," I said looking closely at it, "I'll keep it. Oh by the way. Something for you.," and I handed him the parcel.

He took it uncertainly.

"Go on open it then," I said.

He tore at the brown paper. I don't know why he started to cry when he saw the sketch pad and crayons and pencils. They'd cost quite a bit. I'd said "artists quality" in my note I gave to the Doctor but I had expected some change from my 100 euro note.

Well I think he was pleased really because when I came to unpack my things when I returned to my cottage I found a sketch put neatly on the top of my bag of Grenadier and Guardsman. Amazing really just a few strokes of brown crayon but quite certainly the two dogs as real and as lively as if they were just about to set off for a days hunting. I've got that picture framed over the fireplace in my sitting room.

I don't have the other picture on display. Somehow it disturbs me. I showed it to Maurice once when he looked in for a chat and asked him what he made of it. He talked a lot using words I never use implacable power, unthinking authority, a force of nature and so on. I said the man on the horse seemed somehow familiar and he looked at me very strangely and said nothing for a bit. Then he handed it back to me and told me to keep it very safe.

It does have a strange effect on people because I showed it to Don Carlos one evening after we had been talking over our plans for the next hunting season. He took it and looked at it and then sat silent staring at it for a very long time. He too told me to keep it safe because and these were strange words "if ever better times come it will be worth more than this cottage of yours or the Hacienda itself." As if it was possible to conceive of a better time with the church safe and all free citizens enjoying peace and security or as if a scrap of paper scribbled on by a bare arsed Tribute slut could be worth more than my cottage let alone the Hacienda. Sometimes clever educated men get very odd idea in their heads..

The next day I had the Hacienda brats running short but increasingly complicated courses by the lake. Herr Peiper was away at the hospital in Muros by his sons bedside. Ludwig and Adolf had been sobered by the accident to Heinz and in his absence presented me with no problems. Watched by their fathers they seemed to be content to concentrate on grasping the basic skills of boy sticking.

I would not go so far as to say that either of them had the making of really skilful hunters. You need imagination and a quickness of mind and hand for that which neither of the two youths possessed. A hunted brat when he knows the end is near will dodge and turn and try all sorts of tricks to throw off his pursuer. You need to be able to put yourself in his place, to anticipate his actions and then to counter them. All this while travelling at full gallop on a light pony over rocky difficult ground. Both the German boys would never be able to do that but they would with practice make competent hunters who would kill their fair share of brats.

They would never in my opinion make good sportsmen either. They were too greedy and blood thirsty for that. All they and their fathers as well, could speak of was the number of brats they were going to kill. There was no feeling for the chase or respect for the quarry just a butchers interest in killing and numbers.

Still my only business with them was to see they were good enough in the saddle and with the lance to be let loose in the hunting grounds proper. I had them ride individually after single straight running brats to start with and worked up to increasingly more difficult combinations. Finally I had all the five brats available running at once, dodging and turning at will, with four hounds muzzled but off their leads trying to turn them while Adolf and Ludwig coursed them with practice lances.

It was an exciting scene. The naked Hacienda brats in peak condition lithe and sunburnt running at full pelt down the slope towards the reed beds and safety, the four hounds streaking forward to try turn them into the track of the hunters, the two German youths on their highly bred ponies thundering down towards them lances levelled and beyond the blue water of the lake dappled by the light wind backed by the brown rocky sierra. All was going well. The hounds had got ahead of the brats and were now racing along the margin of the lake their paws spraying droplets of water into the air to glitter like crystal in the sunlight to head them back into the track of the hunters on their galloping ponies. The as I have heard Christopher say to the irritation of his father who prefers a rather formal mode of speech "all went pear shaped."

Vass yelled something. Ritchie and he suddenly swerved across each others tracks. Adolf and Ludwig, forgetful of all my strictures on not following through the line, not following the boy and the need to keep position, swerved to follow them. There was the inevitable bump. The two German youths tumbled from their saddles the two ponies trotting off to graze quietly some way away. The brats who had been running on and off through out the day took the opportunity to sit down where they stopped.

I thought I detected a certain amount of barely suppressed self satisfaction among them at the discomfiture of the free boys a surreptitious Mirka whispered comment followed by a giggle. This could not be tolerated. I may have found Ludwig and Adolf unpleasant and personally unappealing youths, they may also have made a complete bodge of the job in hand through their own stupidity and failure to take notice of what had been said to them. That did not alter the fact that they were of the privileged classes immeasurably superior to the brats who were now daring to laugh at them, a superiority founded on nature and protected by the law and recognised by the church. Nobody who compared the German youths with their confident indeed arrogant bearing, their stronger heavier build with the weaker much less physically developed bodies of the naked sluts, branded and wearing the collars that marked their servitude, could doubt that. But it was these very brats who now had so far forgotten the vast divide set between their betters and themselves that they dared to laugh at mistakes made by free youths. They had to be reminded of the realities. To allow them to get away with such insolence trivial though it might at first appear would threaten the whole basis of the new order that my father among others had fought and suffered in the last Great Patriotic War to achieve.

I pulled the thick leather strap which accompanied me everywhere from my trouser pocket. Just under a metre in length with a split tongue to give it extra bight and two metal tags at it's ends it never failed to extort respect and effort from those Tribute bras who felt it's weight across their bare bottoms.

"Get off your backside you idle lumps of dog shit," I roared at them. "Guy and Sacha catch the ponies and bring them here at once. The rest of you whores get back to the start line at the double. Do you mean to keep the young Master waiting."

I generally find that Tribute Brats when I speak to them jump to it and so it was on this occasion. I watched them scramble hastily to their feet and trot off on heir various tasks before walking over to Ludwig and Adolf.

By the time I reached them they were shouting angrily at each other in German.

"Now young Sirs," I said firmly but quietly so the sluts could not hear me, "I can't understand exactly what you are saying but it doesn't sound to me very friendly. If you're arguing about who rode into whom I can tell you that you rode into each other. You did so because you lost your heads and forgot all the things I've been telling you today.

"What did I say the three basic rules were. Come on now."

"All right as you seem to have forgotten. One, aim at the brat immediately to your right. Two, concentrate on the position not the boy. Three, be aware of what is going on around you."

"You ignored all those rules and what happens? You crash into each other and make laughing stocks of yourselves."

I saw the two youths flush crimson. Like all free youths of their age they were very conscious of their personal dignity and especially when in the presence of Tribute Brats whom they regarded rightly as their inferiors. To be laughed at by a Tribute Boy was about as shameful a thing as was possible.

"Yes," I said rubbing it in, "they daren't show it openly of course but they are all giggling at the way they got the better of you."

My task was to turn the German youths into competent hunters. I was deliberately increasing the pressure on them to get them to try harder. If they had been Tribute Brats and had made so stupid a mistake as these two just had I would have leathered their behinds to achieve the same effect. Being of the privileged classes I had to use alternative methods.

"Now look," I continued earnestly, "you are perfectly capable of doing this. You are good riders, you handle your spears well." When motivating clients or client's sons total truthfulness is not obligatory. "You just need to use your heads and remember those rules I told you."

"Remember as well the hounds are there to help you. They'll turn the boys away from the lake. You can ride down one each and then turn and both ride down another one. With the hounds you've got time to do that."

"Do you think you can do that?"

Both youths nodded earnestly.

"All right then remount and come back to the start line with me and this time you'll show these sluts whose best."

Ludwig and Adolf looking grim and determined put their hard hats back on, swung back into their saddles and trotted back up the slope.

I walked up the hill behind them. I stopped when I came to the place where the brats squatted waiting for the nest order to run.

"Stand up," I snapped at them.

"This is the last course we'll run today and I want you to put all you've got into it."

"When you're hit remember drop and stay still. That's the safest thing to do a pony will always avoid trampling you if it can."

"Supposing they manage to hit any of us," one of the brats muttered and a titter ran round the group.

I looked round them coldly and they fell silent under my gaze. They knew they had gone too far. I had not seen who had spoken but I had a shrewd suspicion it was Vass. The other boys kept on shooting quick glances at him and giggling and his face was frozen in a totally unconvincing expression of innocence. This posed a slight problem. Vass had become quite a favourite with the Germans. I could understand this well enough. He was a pretty little tart and seemed to be in almost constant heat. The Germans say what you like about hem were our guests and I wanted to see they had as good a time as possible. I was therefore reluctant to be the cause of their favourite whore starting the evening when his services would be most in demand with a raw bottom. Fortunately this was one of the many instances hat what counted was that a boy should be flogged, the identity of the brat so treated was of decidedly secondary importance.

Guy was standing the nearest to me so I suddenly lashed him hard across the front of the thighs with the strap. He howled and doubled forward to hold his hands to the hurt. I seized him by the neck below the chin and lifting him bodily off his feet hurled him to the ground. As he tried to roll onto his hands and knees I pinned him to the ground with a foot between the shoulder blades. I then set to work with the strap across his bum. What with the screams of the boy, the crack of leather striking taught boy's flesh the next few minutes were a vivid reminder to all Tribute Brats within earshot of the wisdom of treating their betters with respect. When I was out of breath I stopped. Looking down at Guy's bum ribbed with livid weals I reflected that if my father's often repeated adage that "a well marked bottom is a well whipped one" had any basis in fact Guy had indeed been well whipped.

"Get up," I said kicking the blubbing tyke in the ribs and strode away to where Ludwig and Adolf were sitting on their ponies. It was clear form their expressions and the bulges in the front of their tight breeches that they had found the spectacle of my flogging Guy enjoyable.

"Right," I said taking my stand between them and laying a hand on the neck of each of their ponies, "if you use your heads you can show the brats your not to be laughed at. I'm going to slip the hounds a bit earlier this time. They'll get ahead of the boys long before they get anywhere near the shore of the lake. The brats are sure to turn to the right then away from us."

"Take it easy. You've got plenty of time. I know it's fun to gallop but there's no need to do so this time till the last moment. Just go after them at a nice steady canter. You'll be closing well when they swing to the right follow them round and then kick on hard and you'll have them. And hit them good and square with the lances. They're not pointed I know but with your weight behind them and the weight of the ponies going at full gallop by that stage, you'll hit them hard enough to bowl them over and to give then a bruise they'll feel for a day or two.

"Then reign in hard and swing back quick. With a bit of luck the other boys will not have had time to grasp what has happened and you can get two of them in the bellies where they'll feel it even more."

"None of them will laugh at you after that."

"Brats," I said raising my voice. "When I say the word start and give it all you have or I'll be after you with the strap. One two three GO."

Chapter 5d

I slipped the four hounds when the brats had covered about half the distance to the lake shore. The boys heard them coming and somehow forced an additional turn of speed out of themselves. I had to hand it to them they were trying. I told myself there would be a general distribution of obols when I got them back to the lodge. Arms and legs working, feet pounding the five sluts hurled themselves down the slope.

"Now you go," I said urgently to Adolf and Ludwig. They kicked their heels into the flanks of their mounts and were off. I was glad to see they remembered my advice riding at a steady canter that allowed them to gain on the boys without loosing control of their mounts.

Despite all their efforts the hounds swept past the brats and swung right between them and the lake. The boys turned just as I knew they would and the I saw the German youths lower their lances and drive their heels into the flanks of their ponies.

The boys heard the thunder of hooves behind them. Desperately they swung back to the left trying again to make for the margins of the lake and safety. They did not have a chance against the hounds who easily outpaced them. They had nowhere to go now and the Germans were on them. Ritchie and Vass were caught fairly and hard below the shoulders with the with the spears. First one then the other threw up their arms and crashed to the ground brought down by the weight and force of the charging ponies.

The lances points went up as the Ludwig and Adolf hauled their ponies' heads round. The nimble little beasts spun round in an instant raising a cloud of dust. Guy, Sacha and Ivan checked amazed by the speed of the manoeuvre. They turned seeking another route of escape. There was none open to them. Ludwig caught Sacha in the pit of the stomach with his lance and the boy was forced bodily backwards for a good five yards before tumbling to the ground. Ludwig struck Ivan on the back and the boy fell as if poleaxed.

If the Germans had stopped then, reigned in their horses and trotted back up the hill to me I would have said their performance could not have been bettered but they did not. They showed at that moment the vice that would prevent them from ever being true sportsmen. They were greedy. Guy remained standing and both of them were determined to have him as well.

They wheeled their ponies round again. The two lances were lowered for a third time. I could see what was going to happen and shouted at them to stop but their blood was up and they ignored me. Guy quick and agile was turning and twisting as he ran still trying to get past the hounds and down to the lake. Ludwig and Adolf bore down on him riding neck and neck in a race to get the brat. If one of the youths had been willing to give way to the other then all would have been well but neither was. Whose lance struck Guy I don't know. One did and he went down but at almost the same instance the two ponies crashed into each other and the youths were thrown, yet again, ignominiously from their backs.

No matter how hard you try you cannot save fools from their own folly I reflected as I ran down the hill towards the scene of the accident.

Ritchie and Vass were still lying on the ground. I kicked them both hard as I passed and yelled at them to catch the ponies. They both dragged themselves upright and stumbled off after the animals still obviously shaken by the impact of the lances. Another time I would have let them have a little more time to recover and might even have checked them for injuries but this had the makings of an emergency with two privileged boys possibly injured there was not time to bother about the welfare of the brats.

By the time I reached them Ludwig and Adolf were sitting up looking rather dazed but none the worse for wear that I could see. Their heads must I felt be solid bone which explained no doubt both why they were not injured and why they were so abysmally stupid

"Why," I demanded quietly so the Tribute Brats could not hear but letter my irritation show in the tone of my voice "did you do that?"

"I wanted to get the slut but Ludwig wouldn't give way," muttered Adolf sulkily.

"Who said I should give way to you? Why didn't you back off?" Came the heated riposte.

"All right, all right," I said wearily. "If you couldn't agree on whose brat it was you should both have given way."

"But that would mean he'd have got away."

I sighed in exasperation.

"Listen," I said mustering my last reserves of energy, "you could both have been hurt, the pony could have been hurt. If you were on the Picos either way it could have meant the end of your hunting."

"Not all the brats that ever were born are worth a pony maimed or torn"

I continued quoting that old piece of boy hunter doggerel.

"Well all right," Adolf said a little sheepishly, "but the brats aren't laughing at us any more are they."

I glanced round. The brats were now all up on their feet. Ritchie and Vass had caught the two ponies. They were making their way painfully towards me obviously very tired after a day's hard coursing and feeling the bruises from the lance blows and falls they had suffered. I was glad to see all the incipient cockiness that their momentary success over the German youths in the chase had been banished. They had learnt once again the salutary lesson that servile boys always came last.

"No," I agreed, "they are not."

"Now, young Sirs," I said speaking in my normal voice, "tomorrow is the first of the full practice hunts. You'll be using spear with stun tips so there'll be no problem in seeing how many sluts you account for. I want you to get at least six each. So no drinking beer or anything tonight and get to bed early. And the same tomorrow night too."

I saw the two youths' faces fall.

"Don't worry," I laughed. "We're having a traditional hunting supper on the last day up here."

"What's that then?" demanded Adolf.

"You'll find out but I can tell you that you will enjoy it."

An apprehensive murmur ran round the group of exhausted brats. They knew, at least by repute, what was involved.

"I thought we could go for a swim," Ludwig said doubtfully. "I'm stiff and hot from all the riding."

"And fuck Vass too. I'm stiff but in a different sort of way," Adolf interjected with a sly grin.

"Of course you can. That's one of the things the slut is here for."

"Vass," I continued, "hand that pony over to Ritchie he can lead the two of them. Run up to the Lodge and get towels for the young Masters and bring them back here……"

"Hurry boy run," I yelled after him as he began to trudge wearily up the path towards the lodge. "They want to have their swim and your nice little bottom today not sometime next week."

"And the rest of you brats up to the lodge at the double just because the coursing is over it doesn't mean you can idle around. There's the Masters food to be served and the rest of it. Ritchie you take the ponies round to the stables and groom them and do it well. I'll be round to have a look at them in an hour or so and God help you if I find anything wrong."

I watched as Guy, Sacha and Ivan stumble up the hill followed more slowly by Ritchie leading the ponies. They had reached that stage of exhaustion which overtakes Tribute Boys occasionally where if you gave them a chance to stop they would lie down and fall asleep and no amount of kicking or whipping would get them moving again. If they reach that stage and you want more work out of them the only thing is to keep driving them hard and not to give them a chance to rest. I'd be generous with the obols but it would take more than a few coins to get them through the remaining tasks of the day. Swinging my leather strap I walked briskly up the hill after them.

I found the Mercedes four by four parked out side the front of the lodge and Herr Peiper and Heinz, his head heavily bandaged in the sitting room with the curtains drawn.

"They tell me in the hospital," Herr Peiper said in reply to my enquiry, "that they can find no damage but the poor child complains of a head ache all the time. They say he must rest and be quiet for at least two further days. It is such a disappointment to him. He was so looking forward to this holiday."

"I do not know Heinz. I may be soft hearted but I cannot bear to see a child hurt or disappointed, but still he will be well enough to hunt in the Picos and that's where we'll really kill brats. This is just play acting."

The evening did indeed pass quietly. Herr Peiper spent his time fussing over Heinz who lay on the settee complaining about his head. The other two German men got, for once, quietly drunk, no doubt out of consideration for Heinz's suffering. Ludwig and Adolf were hardly able to summon up energy to quarrel over who would fuck which end of Vass. In the end they tossed for it under the supervision of Dr Eberl. Not long after they went upstairs to bed and Vass slipped away to the brats communal sty. I saw that he was wiping his bum with his hand and licking the cum from his finger tips as he went seeking to gain extra courage and strength from the free boy's cum. No doubt once in the sty there would be a good deal of jostling among his fellow brats to decide who was to get his tongue into his hole for exactly the same reason. I wondered whether there was any truth in that old superstition. Certainly the sluts believed it.

The brats next morning were put on half rations of porridge but with extra warm milk and double sugar. I didn't want them too heavy when they were faced with running the full practise hunt course. Leaving them squatting round their troughs in the back yard (we don't bring bowls or eating utensils onto the hill for them) I went to look at Jonathan. Since he was incapable of working he only got fed in the evenings. He was kneeling by the kennels drawing on the sketch pad I had given him. I saw with surprise that despite my gift including a large number of coloured crayons he seemed to be using only black and a sort of dull yellow. Tribute Brats can be very strange sometimes.

"Come here and sit down slut," I ordered "I want to look at your leg."

I knelt beside the brat and studied the wound left by Heinz's spear. It was healing nicely. I pressed my finger tips against it and Jonathan gasped with pain.

"Don't make a fuss boy." I grunted reaching for my knife and flipping it's blade open, "I'll have the stitches out now."

He did sit quite reasonably still while I cut the thread and pulled the sutures the only sign of the pain he must have been suffering the occasional gasp for breath. I've said it before sluts don't feel pain in the same way as us.

"Master," he asked as I worked, "will I be able to run in the practice hunt today?"

"No boy you won't nor tomorrow either," I replied shortly.

"Please Master," he said to my surprise, "I would like to try. Don Carlos has promised special credits to the funds of those who run well and maybe I could get something extra for Mum and Dad."

I thought that unlikely but just possible. The brat had run bravely when Heinz was hunting him with the pointed spear but that was probably just a fluke although I had bet rather more money than I should on the basis that it was not. Any way, truth to tell, I was trying to keep him out of the way of Herr Peiper as much as possible to give the man an opportunity to forget which of the Tribute Boys had been responsible for his son injuring his head. It was fortunate that for people of Herr Peiper's sort all Tribute Boys look alike as I would need to use the brat during the final hunt supper.

"Well you can't," I said shortly. "The first time you'll do any work boy is tomorrow evening during the final supper. I'll need all the brats I can get for that."

Fear flashed in his eyes

"Please Master am I……"

"You'll just have to wait and see brat," I said with a short laugh. "I haven't made up my mind yet which of you whores it will be."

I was not I knew going to choose any of the Hacienda brats. They were too valuable and those at the lodge in their last year of service were all entered for the festival. However the priests tell us that it is permissible to lie or indeed to do anything else to them as sin has meaning only when a human soul is involved and they have none. Indeed it is our duty to the state and society to keep the sluts fearful and uncertain about the future. It makes them easier to handle.

"Anyway," I continued brusquely, "you can serve some useful purpose today. No point in letting you just laze about. Come along with me," and catching hold of him by his thin arm I marched him along to the stable yard.

I could hear the sound of a brat crying well before I arrived there. It seemed I thought that Adolf and Ludwig had remembered I had asked them to meet me in the yard.

I found them amusing themselves with one of the farm brats. They were seeing how high he could jump from a standing position and encouraging him to try harder by hitting him across the shins with their riding crops. The other Tribute Brats were squatting on the ground watching and no doubt wondering if they would be next to be involved in entertaining their betters.

I greeted the two youths cheerfully, I like to see a bit of harmless high spirits among free boys, and the slut scuttled off to seek shelter among his fellows rubbing his aching shins.

"Ludwig, Adolf thank you for coming," I said speaking loudly so all could hear and keeping tight hold of Jonathan's arm above the elbow, "I asked you to come to listen while I explained to the filth here about the practice hunt today and tomorrow."

"Now you brats," I snapped at the crowd of Tribute sluts, "kneel properly all of you. Don't you know better than to loll about any how in the presence of your betters. Knees well apart, come on, and get your balls down touching the ground. Show the young Masters what you have between your legs."

"Not much most of them," Adolf remarked with a coarse laugh.

"Well young Sir," I said as I moved among the brats kicking a knee wider apart here and pushing down on a shoulder there, I find with Tribute Brats as with other things that if you make sure the small things are done right it is easier to get the more important things done properly, "you can't expect brats like these to be as strong and big as free young gentlemen like yourself."

"Sluts," I continued, "you all know the course you are to run. You must follow that course and you must try to complete it. You can try any tricks you can think of to help you. You can run the reed beds, lurk in them even, to try to slip past the hounds and the young Masters when they're engaged with other sluts, dodge and twist when running but you must follow the course. If any of you do not you will be acting in disobedience to a direct order and you will face the inevitable consequences."

I could see looks of blank incomprehension on most of the farm brat's faces and I reminded myself that they would have considerably more limited vocabularies then the Hacienda boys who had all been in close contact with educated free citizens.

"I mean," I said, "that if anyone of you strays from the course he will be taken by me to the gate post here and have a steel spike driven through his guts and he will be left there to die slowly and his parents will be disgraced and starve."

"Now I know I won't have to do that because you are all good little sluts who know your duty to your Masters. Furthermore Don Carlos has promised he will enhance the fund of any one of you who finished the course and I have a pocket full of obols for boys I think run bravely even if they may in the end be speared."

"There will be tomorrow evening a celebratory supper for your betters. I will choose one of you for this. How you each run today will in part decide who I choose. Not wholly, I will bear other considerations in mind, but I will be watching you and I will note particularly any of you who fail to run bravely."

"The chosen boy will be one in his last year of service. Who here is in that year." Quite ten hesitant hands went up. I spent a moment looking at each of the boys with raised hands young bodies shifting uncomfortably under my hard gaze as I memorised their identities.

"Today the young Masters use spears with stun points to course you. You may not have seen the effect of these points on brats like you before. I think it will encourage you to run faster if I show you now."

I took one of the points out of my jacket pocket and held it up for the boys to see. It was a steel blade about an inch [2½cm] long, needle sharp, with a broad flange round it's base to check it's entry into a brat's body.

"You will find," I said speaking to Ludwig and Adolf for a moment, "saddle bags attached to your ponies containing a supply of these. The flanges on your points Adolf will be red and yours Ludwig blue. That is so that I can when I walk the course after the hunt establish how many brats you each have speared. The points fit on the end of the lances. I will show you how that is done later."

"These points," I continued raising my voice again, "have been designed specially to persuade you brats to give of your best because we know how lazy you are if your given half a chance. But I think what you are going to see now will motivate even the idlest of you."

I spun Jonathan round so his back was to me and jammed the blade into him just below the left shoulder blade. He cried out for although the flange prevented the blade entering so deeply into his body as to cause serious damage it went in far enough to hurt. A trickle of red blood began to flow down the smooth brown skin of his back. I let go of his arm. He began to put his hand up to pull out the blade and then staggered forward. He screamed shrilly, froth appeared on his lips. He fell to his knees and then tumbled to the ground as convulsions racked his body. I glanced at my watch. It was a full five minutes before the convulsions ended and the brat lay still at my feet.

I looked round at the circle of tense young faces staring up at me.

"He'll come round in about four hours time. I said. He'll have occasional very painful cramps for the next twelve hours or so. Any of you who have the misfortune to be speared will be roused by me with an injection before then but you will suffer from cramps and I can tell you they are very painful indeed, for just the same length of time as this slut here will suffer them."

I poked Jonathan's naked body with my foot pausing to give the brats the chance to fully appreciate the miseries in store for them.

"So you see," I continued quietly, "you would all be well advised to try as hard as you can to avoid being stuck with one of these clever little toys."

I bent and pulled the blade from out of Jonathan's back and held it up for all the sluts to see.

"Apart from the young gentlemen you will have to run against four hounds. Today they will be muzzled. Tomorrow just to get that extra ounce of effort from your idle bodies they will be unmuzzled."

A gasp ran round the crowd of kneeling brats. Smiling coldly I bent and picked Jonathan off the ground. I was surprised by the lightness of his body accounted for no doubt by a limited diet and hard work

Chapter 5e

Crossing the yard I had noticed the crayons with which Jonathan had been drawing. I went to collect them. I had paid good money, rather more indeed than I had expected, for them and I did not to see them wasted. Back in the shed I stirred the straw with my foot looking for the box that housed them. It was not there. The shed was a small one and there were not many places to hide anything. Looking round I soon spotted the box. It was on the ledge formed by the top of the wall where it met the slate roof. I could easily reach it but Jonathan could only have done so by scrambling up the wall, sticking his bare toes into the chinks between the stones, not an easy task at the best of times and certainly very difficult and painful for a boy with a half healed tear on the inside of his thigh. I will never be able to understand the way some of the brats' minds work but I suppose that is not surprising in view of the gulf that divides us from them.

I lifted the box and flipped it open. Jonathan may only have been using two crayons to draw with in the yard but he had used every colour in his possession to decorate the inside of the lid. At first I saw it merely as a complex pattern of swirling lines and sharp angular shapes, strangely demanding, but representing nothing. But then as I looked at it I seemed to be drawn into it and shapes began to form and dissolve before my eyes; a young boy's face twisted in fear and pain, lips drawn back in a rictus of direst agony; cruel, excited, grinning faces of well fed men and women; a small naked corpse, a hunting spear driven into it below the shoulder blades, lying on blood soaked sand.

I looked down at Jonathan lying on the straw insensible at my feet. He was resting on his left side the Tribute brand on his hip obscured, the collar round his neck hardly visible in the dim light. He looked very small and very vulnerable. There was little that marked him as different or lower in the natural order of things than any other boy.

Generally Tribute Boys are so harried and live a life where fear and excitement is so intense that they have little time to think about the inescapable moment of agony that will bring them their Release from servitude. Indeed it is better for them that way. However sometimes a brat would have a pleasure to think of what lay ahead of him, as Jonathan had, and the horror would grip the his heart. I wondered what terrors had stirred in Jonathan's mind as he drew those images of, what I had no doubt was, his own death. For a moment I am ashamed to say doubts stirred in my mind. Then I shook myself. There are thoughts and doubts that are dangerous even treacherous and unprofitable and should not be entertained by responsible free citizens.

I closed the lid of the crayon box and replaced it where Jonathan had hidden it. I placed the two crayons I had collected from the yard on top of it. Something inexplicably made me feel it was better not to let the boy know I had seen his drawing.

There was one further thing to do. I rolled Jonathan over on to his face with a couple of pushes with my foot. I sorted out a ten obol coin from the stock I kept in the hip pocket of my riding breeches. Bending down I parted the lips of his anus and pushed the coin well into the boy if I had left it in his hand he would probably have lost it in the straw before he woke. He would be sure to find it there when he woke and he deserved something for showing the brats the effects of the stun blades. The coin was a sort of recompense for my using him to show the other brats the effects of a stun blade. He had of course no right to it. Tribute Brats do not have rights. They exist simply to serve and to be used by the privileged population. Never the less both the carrot and the stick, the obol and the lash, a great deal more of the latter than the former, for it is a great mistake to spoil a brat, are useful in managing the little brutes. Indeed I must confess I am a soft hearted man and I get a certain pleasure in seeing a slut's face light up in gratitude when I thrust a coin into his small sticky hand and the coins so valued by the brats are of very low value so it costs me little.

I opened the kennel gate and called Grenadier, Guardsman, Traitor and Trespass to me. They came running eager for the chase. Grinner and Grinder realising they were condemned to another day of inactivity in kennels sat miserably together in a corner staring at me dolefully. I made a fuss of the two of them, pulling their ears and promising them that they would be out the next day. Managing boys and dogs is not so very different.

On my way back to the lodge I spotted Guy making his way furtively towards the kennels. He saw me a second or two after I had seen him and quickly tried to hide whatever he was carrying behind his back. I beckoned him to me. He came to me reluctantly. He seemed to have difficulty in co-ordinating the movements of his legs.

"What are you doing slut?" I demanded him harshly.

His lips moved but only half strangled sounds came from him.

"Show me what you are carrying," I ordered and he peed himself.

I reached out and caught hold of one thin arm and pulled his hand round in front of him. Immediately the reason for his terror was clear. He was carrying a bowl of maize porridge and, worse still, in the porridge rested a number of bacon rinds and half a cold fried egg, food thieved from the dirty plates of the Germans. It was not surprising the brat had lost control of himself.

I had to say I was surprised. Tribute boys are always hungry and on the look out for scraps but Guy was an obedient hard working brat and one of the last I would expect to be so ungrateful as to commit a deliberate theft.

Then I remembered he was Jonathan's mignon. I suppose that should not have made any difference. The slut was a thief and should have been punished as such. The fact that he stole for another was immaterial. But a man does not always act logically.

"He's in the shed unconscious," I said more gently, "leave the bowl beside him and hurry. If you're late for the start of the hunt you will get the whipping you undoubtedly deserve."

A look of utter amazement crossed the boys face and then his face was split with the most enormous grin. He turned on his heels and sprinted off towards the kennels.

I am not going to give a detailed account of that or the next days hunting. Myself I like nothing more, apart from doing the thing itself, than reading accounts of hunting. I want to know about everything, the weather, the wind direction, the country, the breeding of the hounds the experience and skill of the hunters, the scarcity or otherwise of the game. Then I can see the whole thing in my minds eye as the grim exciting drama unfolds. The initial draw; the harrying of the brats till they are forced out of cover and into the open; the hounds skilfully running and turning a single boy for the hunter's lance; the boy, desperation pumping extra strength and speed into his lithe young body, trying to out run the galloping horses; the moment of terror and pity and cruel beauty when the spear's steel tip penetrates brown boy's flesh and another brat's life blood feeds the hungry soil. All this I can imagine and in imagining it relive such experiences of my own. However I know, puzzling though it is, that there are some people who do not share my enthusiasm. Only the other day Maurice, to whom I was describing a day out on the Picos, actually fell asleep as I was talking.

So I will say no more on the hunting itself than the German youths acquitted themselves adequately. Adolf and Ludwig got their six boys each on both days. Heinz, who rode on the last day only, did not do too badly considering he had missed so much of the training, although he was clearly resentful of the other lad's comparative success. My own view, that naturally I kept to myself, was that the three youths would make no doubt adequate hunters of brats but never real sportsmen.

I did not make my selection of the boy for the hunt supper after the first practice hunt was completed. More accurately, I did not make it known, for I had determined the identity of the slut as soon as I had seen the draft of farm brats. The decision was not a difficult one. It had to be a boy in his final year of service. It could not be one of the Hacienda brats because they were too expensive and they were all anyway entered for events in the festival. Inevitably therefore it had to be the plumpest of the farm brats. Not that that was saying much because they were all, even the plumpest, pretty scrawny. It is true I had told the brats that I would make my selection that evening but that was a deliberate ploy on my part to keep them on their toes and it worked. Wherever I went that night the worried frightened eyes of the final year boys followed me.

Nor was the tension lessened by my taking a working party of them down to the lake side to clear out the barbecue pit, assemble the turn spit mechanism, check the block and tackle on the butcher's gallows and generally prepare the site for the hunt supper the following night.

It was only when I went into the yard behind the lodge to check the brats were ready to run the next morning that I made my choice known.

"Final year of Tribute sluts line up against the wall," I snapped.

A dozen or so frightened thirteen to fourteen year old brats scrambled quickly into line. One or two boys were whimpering in terror as I made my way slowly along the line of trembling naked sluts.

"Face the wall," I ordered.

I moved back down the line taking my time, from time to time slapping a bare round bottom or poking a firm boy's thigh. I completed my walk down the line and turned back still not making my selection known. The tension among the brats was now acute. Nearly all of them were crying. The stench of urine was thick in the air. I stopped behind my chosen boy and spun him round to face me. Before he had time to react I had secured his wrists in front of him with a pair of steel manacles.

"Request your Release by rope and fire brat," I commanded grabbing hold of his small hairless balls in my right hand and squeezing viciously. His lips moved but no sound came. I slammed my left fist into his face splitting his lips. It did not matter. It was not necessary for him to have a pretty face.

"Ask," I grated.

"Master please Master I pray for Release by fire and rope, if it please you Master," the boy whispered.

"It pleases me," I said quietly and the brat's fate was sealed.

I set off towards the kennels dragging the sobbing boy after me. It always surprises me that after seven years away from home the brats still so often call for their mothers when their time has come. I shouted over my shoulders to Guy to bring two good bowls of porridge. The brat needed to be as plump as possible for what lay ahead for him and Jonathan might as well be given a bowl as well. Guy would only risk his hide stealing it if he was not.

Jonathan was once again kneeling on the ground by the kennels sketching. I dragged the farm brat to the railings and secured him to them with a length of chain looped round his collar. Such precautions would not be necessary with one of the Hacienda boys who would be steadied by their love for their Master Don Carlos but you could not be sure that an ordinary brat would not panic and disgrace himself.

I went to let the hounds out into the yard; all six of them this time, Grenadier, Guardsman, Grinner, Grinder, Traitor and Trespass. They danced round me, barking and pawing me, excited at the prospect of the chase to come.

I saw Jonathan had abandoned his drawing and was kneeling beside the whimpering brat his arm around the other boy's shoulders, the slut's face, still bleeding from my punch resting against his chest. I noticed that both boy's pricks were stiff.

"Jonathan," I ordered, "get as much of that porridge into…," I realised that I did not know the slut's name. It was of no importance. "The brat," I continued, "and the pair of you can suck and fuck each other dry for the rest of the day. Here I'll free his hands to make things easier for him."

"I'll be back for both of you just before sunset."

"You want me as well Master?" Jonathan asked a note of fear in his voice.

"Yes to work the spit," I said turning away and accompanied by Guy and the hounds I made my way back to the lodge. Glancing over my shoulder as I left the kennel yard I saw Jonathan and the brat arms round each others necks kissing each other on the lips. I shrugged. It was going to be a long wait for the brat. It would be good for him to have something to occupy his mind. I am against unnecessary cruelty.

It was early evening when I came to collect the brat to take him to the place of his Release. I was carrying the sack of charcoal and the spear with the sharp hook at it's end. He was sleeping his head cradled on Jonathan's bare thigh. Jonathan saw me coming and gently woke the slut. He whispered something to him and hugged him tightly as I unfastened the chain that tethered him to the kennel railings. After calling Guardsman and Grenadier to me and ordering Jonathan to follow I handed the brat the bag of charcoal. The tradition that the boy to be released on these occasions carries the charcoal has it's basis in practical considerations, as so many of our ancient traditions do. It is surely sensible that a boy who would not be returning at the end of the nights entertainment should carry something else that would be consumed during it. The boy whimpered a little but came along quietly behind me.

Supper was to be served on the lake shore. The table had been set near to the barbecue pit and the German's were already seated there, the men drinking heavily. In the centre of the table stood a large hour glass. I noticed Vass kneeling between Doctor Eberl's knees his fair head pushed down into the man's crutch. The whore was becoming insatiable.

"Ah Karl," Herr Peiper shouted jovially, "there you are. We wondered when things were going to liven up."

"I hope Sir you'll find the evening both interesting and enjoyable," I said politely leading the brat forward.

"This," I said indicating the slut who was now crying in real earnest, "will all being well provide the main course for our meal this evening."

"What do you mean all being well," Herr Kreipe demanded. "Slit the brute's throat and get on with it man. I'm hungry."

"Ah it is not so easy as that Sir," I began.

"Nothing seems to be easy where you are concerned Karl," Herr Peiper grumbled his resentment at being thwarted in the past by me on a number of occasions showing for the moment.

"The boy," I continued smoothly ignoring the interruption, "is a Tribute Boy and has certain rights under the law that we must respect."

Herr Peiper snorted and muttered something under his breath about it being a good thing if we applied sensible forthright German solutions rather than bothering about the legal rights of such scum.

"He has requested his Release by the rope and fire but under the law he must have some chance, very small though it maybe, of surviving."

"The tradition Gentlemen on these occasions is this. The charcoal is lit in the barbecue pit as is being done at this moment. The brat is placed on one side of it. A chain attached to his collar, a free boy stands on the other side holding the end of the chain. The hour glass is turned. It runs for forty five minutes. There is then a tug of war. If the brat can avoid being pulled into the pit for as long as the hour glass runs he is freed. I should say the tug of war is between the brat and one free boy however these occasions are meant to be enjoyed so the rules permit, if a free boy becomes tired or bored, another to take his place If the slut is pulled into the pit obviously he dies. Not in the pit. That would spoil his meat - char grilled is acceptable but not positively burnt. I will pull him out with this hook. Butcher him and his carcass will then be spitted and roasted."

"He is quite a plump brat as brats go," Herr Kreipe commented judiciously, "but he is nowhere near as big or strong as Heinz or Ludwig or Adolf."

"Well Sir, he's a Tribute Boy and they never grow as well as free boys."

I glanced round at the barbecue pit. The charcoal had just begun to smoulder. It would be half an hour or so before it would be glowing red. I sat down at the table. The brat squatted at my feet. I kept a firm hold on the chain attached to his collar while I poured myself a glass of cider."

"By the way young Sirs," I said "there are gloves here for you. Take my advice wear them when you're puling on the brat. The chain will tear your hands otherwise."

"Won't it tear his also?" Ludwig asked.

"I suppose it will," I said poking the brat idly in his bum with my toe. "What does it matter though?"

Ludwig blushed and fell silent and the talk became general.

After some time I felt the heat rising from the charcoal against my back. I turned and saw the pit was now full of darkly glowing embers with a white hot crust.

"Which of you young Masters want to pull first," I asked.

"I do," the lads shouted in chorus.

"Well," I said looking at them in turn, I think it had better be Heinz. You're all good well grown young men but I think he's just about the heaviest and strongest and it is for the first few minutes that this brute," I jerked the brat's chain to get him to his feet, "will fight the hardest. After that his strength will quickly drain away."

"You take the free end of the chain over to that side of the pit Heinz and I'll get the brat in place."

All was soon ready. The slut did not put up much resistance. Just dragging his feet and whining a bit. Why they do that I can never work out. No one is going to help them or have mercy on them or anything and their 'Mummys' are far away and cannot help them.

They stood there, the free youth on one side of the glowing trench fully clothed, boots on his feet and gloves on his hands, sturdy almost fat, the Tribute Brat on the other naked, bare footed and slightly built. I glanced at Herr Peiper.

"Now," I said and he turned the hour glass.

The Tribute Brat got his hands to the chain and jerked at it desperately. His bare heels scrabbling in the dirt as he struggle to gain purchase. Heinz taken by surprise by the suddenness and vigour of the brat's attack staggered forward a pace or two towards the edge of the pit. For a moment I thought the slut might despite all the odds being stacked against him pull Heinz to the pit edge and force him loose his hold on the chain. But strength and weight in the end told. First Heinz managed to steady himself and then inexorably he started to haul the struggling slut in his turn towards the pit. The naked brat fought hard throwing himself from side to side, digging his heels into the ground. Heinz was clearly the stronger. The boy lost his balance and was down on his knees being dragged forwards.

"Hang on Heinz."

"Don't do it all at once."

"Give us a chance."

"There's plenty of time yet."

Adolf and Ludwig shouted fearful of being deprived of their share of the fun.

Heinz took notice. He slackened off the pressure the boy on the very edge of the pit recovered his feet, blood streaming down his shins from his lacerated knees. He began slowly but steadily to pull back from the glowing charcoal. But Heinz was only playing with him. He checked the brat and once again drew him forward as the boy struggled to avoid, what was now clear to all of us was, his inevitable fate.

And so it went on for the next forty minutes, The German youths taking turns to play with the boy who continued his desperate but hopeless struggle to the end. The brats breath was coming in short rasping gasps, his eyes showed white, foam flecked his lips and blood was streaming now from his hands feet and legs where the chain and the rocky ground had cut him.

"You better finish him now," Herr Peiper called, "times running out."

"Wait Adolf," I said quietly. "OK Ludwig, Heinz, the brats finished any way. Catch hold of the chain too and give a good sharp haul. I want his whole body in the pit."

The two lads ran forward grinning cheerfully. They both took a good grip on the chain and then on the count of three they hurled themselves backwards. With the combined weight of three sturdy free youths pulling against him the brat was catapulted forwards. The hot coals flared up around his body. For a moment he stood upright in the pit and then with a piercing scream he fell headlong onto the glowing coals. There was a strong smell of burning flesh.

I grabbed the spear with the sharp steel hook on it's end. I got it under the sluts writhing body and with a sharp jerk drove the hooks point into his stomach like a fisherman gaffing a salmon. I lifted the charred but still screaming body out of the pit. I drove the hook on the end of the gallows rope through the back of the slut's heels. I shouted and three Tribute Brats hauled on the rope drawing the squirming screaming body up into the air. Shouting at Ritchie to fetch a bucket I stepped behind the brat and pulling his head back with my left hand I slit his throat. The dark red blood gushed out splashing Ritchie's bare arms and chest as he knelt holding the bucket beneath the slut.

I dipped a glass jug in the bucket filling it with the brat's still warm blood and walked over to the table. Where the German's were sitting, Adolf, Heinz and Ludwig's young faces flushed with excitement and exercise. I lined up four glasses and poured a generous slug of brandy into each one. I then topped them to the brim with the thick red liquid from the jug. I solemnly handed a glass each to the three men and took one myself.

"Gentlemen," I said solemnly lifting my glass in the air. "To the three new boy hunters Karl, Ludwig and Adolf."

I put the glass to my lips and downed the potent draught in one gulp.

"Heinz, Ludwig and Adolf," the three men shouted and did the same.

"My young Masters," I said, "as you are huntsmen you must drink the huntsman's drink."

I poured three of the dark red drinks for the boys and handed the glasses to them. The boys gulped down their contents while their proud fathers stamped and laughed.

I shouted for Guy and he hurried up to me and handed me a bundle wrapped in a white cloth. I unrolled the cloth on the table to reveal three handsome hunting knifes with bone handles and the finest hide sheaths. I drew one blade from it's scabbard to allow the German's to see it was made of the highest quality steel honed as sharp as a surgeons scalpel.

"To mark this occasion my Master, Don Carlos, presents the young Masters with a hunting knife each. Look after then well young Sirs, they have been made on the Hacienda and, apart from the blades, are made from products of the Hacienda."

The three boys took their knifes with exclamations of pleasure and gratitude.

"Now young Sirs try the blades for the first time. Go and cut your Fathers good fat steaks from the brat there. Take them from the rump that is where the meat is best."

The boy's hurried off, slightly tipsy from the brandy in their boy hunter's drink, and giggling excitedly among themselves.

And so the night wore on. The Germans drank and gorged themselves on the flesh of the slaughtered brat. The Tribute Boys moved about the table serving them, seeing their glasses were kept filled and their other wants catered for. I too drank steadily, partly to celebrate the end of the practice hunt. It is difficult when you have to train free boys and men, to correct their faults without compromising their dignity before the brats. It is doubly difficult if you have to deal with such uncouth and arrogant people as my Master's present clients had proved to be.

There was another reason for my drinking. A strange one that I do not fully understand myself. Tradition demanded that one other ceremony should be enacted. Some people, my Master Don Carlos among, them find it distasteful. I cannot for the life of me see why. I have tried to reason with him on this matter but unusually he has just refused to discuss it with me. "Karl," he said on the last occasion I spoke to him on the matter, "what you say may be right. I would not wish to interfere with the traditions of a sport I love myself but, if I am at one of your suppers, wait until I have gone before you do it." And yet what is wrong in having one animal fuck another? There can be nothing that I can see but still I find that somehow I myself seem to need a drink or two before I can bring myself to give the order for it to be done.

That is despite the fact that the performance of the tradition has sound practical advantages. Among the brats, however thoroughly trained and broken, there will be one or two that from time to time yearn for the pride and dignity that nature, the law and god has denied them. They must be searched out and their ungrateful spirits crushed if order is to be preserved. It is one of the first duties of those of us privileged to be free citizens to undertake this task. This ceremony represents an ideal occasion for identifying such brats.

As my father said to me long ago, "Karl look not at the fucking but at the faces of the watching sluts." I noticed though that he also always got slightly drunk before this ceremony.

I knew I could postpone it no longer. Very shortly the Germans would be too drunk to understand what was going on around them. I hammered on the table with my glass. The drunken laughter and shouting fell away.

"Gentlemen," I said, "here we are enjoying ourselves celebrating the end of our practice hunt and looking forward to enjoying some real blood letting on the Picos but we forget to show our gratitude to those with out whose assistance none of the pleasure and excitement of the hunt would be possible."

"What do you mean, Karl?" Herr Peiper interrupted me brusquely, "you don't mean the brats do you?"

"No Sir I do not. I mean the hounds. Without them our sport would be nothing and they should be rewarded."

"I've seen you feeding the couple you've got with you, what's their names Grenadier and Guardsman, from your plate, all evening. What more do they want?" asked Herr Kreipe

"The hounds not only like to eat boy flesh gentleman they like to fuck it too."

"Ah excellent," the Germans cried and laughed.

"I tell you what, Karl, let the dogs fuck this little whore's bum," Doctor Eberl said prodding Vass, who was sitting at his feet, with his toe. "He seems to be permanently in heat."

"Vass," I commanded and tapped the table…

The slut jumped eagerly to his feet. I could see dried cum on his chin and lips. He scrambled onto the table tip of his stiff little cock wobbling in front of him. Kneeling he put his face down on the table top and pushed his bum, quivering in excitement, up into the air.

I whistled to Grenadier. He leapt onto the table. He pushed his nose into the child's bottom and Vass's whole body shuddered in anticipation of what was to come. Grenadier ran his pink damp tongue along Vass's open crack and then he mounted the boy, powerful haunches hammering his cock home.

Taking my father's advice I wrenched my gaze away from the copulating dog and brat and closed my ears to the drunken yelling of the German's. I made myself examine the faces of the Tribute Brats who knelt, just at the edge of the circle of light thrown from the lanterns suspended over the table, watching their comrade being fucked by a dog. My eyes travelled from young face to young face and saw nothing but unthinking lust. All I noticed had erections. Then, at the very back where he squatted, still turning the spit on which the farm brats half eaten body was impaled, I saw Jonathan. There was no lust, no excitement on his face, just sheer horror. He would have to be dealt with.

I turned my attention back to Grenadier and Vass. Both boy and dog were far away now in a world of unthinking lust. When they returned to us it would be time enough to sort out Jonathan.

Now you may be expecting me to have the boy whipped and indeed I would be the last person to underestimate the importance of the whip in training and motivating Tribute Brats. After the first couple of years though, when the brat has been well schooled, the whip is not always the most effective way of crushing such lonely and hopeless revolts against the natural order. It is often more effective to get the brat to recognise and accept his own inferiority rather than to beat him back into an unwilling submission. Which is the kinder course of action I will leave the you to consider.

Grenadier was reaching his climax. He plunged forward with all his weight onto and into the boy. Then he was suddenly still, panting and shuddering. A full four minutes later he pulled away from the boy and jumped down from the table. Vass remained there his bum up in the air, dog's cum trickling from his hole.

I leapt up from my chair and strode over to Jonathan. Ceasing him by his collar I dragged him across to the table. I forced him to climb on to it behind Vass's raised bottom.

"Lick it clean slut," I ordered and not giving Jonathan a chance to disobey me and to force me to inflict on him the inevitable penalty for doing so, I pushed his face into Vass's bum.

"Lick" I hissed bending forward so that my lips were almost touching his ear. There was a moments hesitation and then the boy's tongue began to lap at the Vass's soiled hole.

I walked round behind Jonathan and putting my hand between his legs pushed his rump into the air. I noticed, with a satisfied smile, that his cock was already beginning to harden, the lusts natural and proper to Tribute stock reasserting themselves.

I whistled and called Guardsman. He jumped onto the table, sniffed Jonathan's upturned bottom and in a second was in his turn mounted on the boy. I found I was hard. I pulled Vass from the table tumbling him in a heap on the ground at my feet. I put my hand under Jonathan's chin and tipped his head back so that I could look into his face. His eyes were glazed, saliva dribbled from his mouth, he was pure animal. I undid my breeches and let them drop to the floor, pulling my underpants down over my hips. My cock freed from all restraint started up right, hard and demanding. I caught hold of Jonathan by his ears and pulled him bodily to the edge of the table, boy and dog slithering along the polished table top locked together.

I touched his lips with my prick and they parted to allow it into his mouth. I thrust forward driving its full length into him, feeling it's tip pressing down into his throat. He drew on my cock like a piglet on a sows teat. There was no hint of reluctance or reservation, the boy was once again all slut and nothing else but slut.

When I had finished with the brat's mouth I stepped back. Guardsman was still riding his bottom. Adolf , his shirt tails flapping about his bare bottom, his cock too erect, stepped up to take my place.

"Herr Peiper," I said, "I have much to do tomorrow. I will go to bed now. Enjoy yourselves. The brats are yours to enjoy for tonight but I want them fit for work tomorrow please."

I walked alone back to the lodge. It was very dark and the frogs in the lake croaked noisily. The sky was clear and the stars shone brightly. It was a beautiful night.

Chapter 5f

I was not surprised. Nor was I unduly concerned. Traditionally the brats are allowed a certain latitude following a supper such as the one they had just endured and it would be some hours I was sure before the Germans would be stirring and requiring attention. Never the less their was work to be done and discipline must be maintained especially when dealing with such volatile little animals as the sluts.

I wondered as I dressed myself whether we had lost any further of them in the previous night's orgy. Two brats killed, only one not included in my plans, was not a bad score especially considering the nature of the clients involved. If that was the sum total of our losses I thought we had got away very lightly especially considering that the two killed were low value stock.

I was a bit concerned about Jonathan. I had done my best for him reminding Herr Peiper of the financial costs involved if the brat was killed. I could not have done more I thought to preserve Don Carlos's property. That was what counted of course, the brat himself had only a matter of months to live and it made very little difference if he was killed in a drunken orgy in July or met his end in the great Carnival in August. Anyway Jonathan like every other brat had been living on borrowed time from the very moment that the red hot brand had been applied to his naked rump. In any event we would have more than enough boys to act as porters. It was I reflected, as I had done many times in the past, fortunate that there was always less to carry off the hill at the end of a few days hunting than there was to onto the hill at the beginning; the consumption of supplies during the hunt vouching as it were the consumption of brats.

I walked briskly down to the kennels. I couldn't help glancing in the shed before I fed the hounds. It was empty.

I fed the hounds myself that morning and sluiced out the kennels. I could have roused the brats but I was down there and it just didn't seem worth while.

Of course the brat could be anywhere. The fact that he was not in the shed meant nothing. He could be in Herr Peiper's bed with his bum dripping cum or maybe he had crawled off exhausted and was even now sleeping in the rushes on the edge of the lake. That he hadn't got back to his shed meant nothing and anyway it really didn't matter all that much if he was dead. He was just a brat when all was said and done and there were more than enough of them about

Usually I enjoy being with the hounds. That morning though I am afraid they found me unusually bad tempered. As soon as I could I walked back up to the lodge the hounds at my heels. I drew two buckets of water from the pump in the back yard and carried them over to the shed that served as the sluts communal sty. I kicked the door open.

I could see the brats in the half light huddled together on the flagstone floor in a jumble of brown naked bodies. One or two raised their heads and stared at me through sleep gummed eyes.

"Up! Up! Up!" I shouted throwing the buckets of water over the sluts. "Up and serve your Masters you lazy good for nothing brutes. Come on or you'll catch my strap across your idle little rumps. Move! Move! Move!"

I gestured to the hounds and they advanced on the brats teeth bared and snarling as I stood just inside the door swinging my metal tipped strap.. The heap of boys began to dissolve into it's constituent parts as they scrambled to their feet. They scuttled past me jostling each other in their eagerness to be out of the shed and out of my reach. I lashed out at them catching a bottom or a thigh or a shoulder as the opportunity presented itself. The shed was a cacophony of noise the excited barking of the hounds mingling with the squeals of the terrified boys punctuated by the crack of leather striking bare flesh.

I always think it is important to start the day as you mean to go on. It sets the tone for the rest of the day.

I noticed that despite the buckets of cold water and the sting of the strap every one of the brats was sporting an erection. Yet more evidence that they do not think or feel things in the same we as we do.

Soon the narrow door way was jammed with tumescent sluts. I advanced on them supplementing the strap with my boot. Then I spotted Jonathan in the crowd. He must have crept up to the sty when the Germans had finished with him.

I reached out and grabbed him by the arm pulling him out of the scrum of struggling boys. I was furious. How dare the brat take it upon himself to decide where to sleep. I had put him in the shed by the kennels and there he should have slept unless a free citizen required his services. I lifted my hand to strike him. Then I caught sight of his face. I cleared the boys from the door way with a few well placed kicks and dragged Jonathan out into the sunlight.

Dried blood from his nostrils and mouth stained his chin. One side of his face was swollen and deeply bruised. His rib cage was a mass of reed and purple welts. Worst of all the wound on the inside of his thigh had split open and was dribbling blood.

"You've had a thumping brat," I remarked taking his chin between finger and thumb and lifting his face to see the extent of the damage.

"Open your mouth." Two teeth at the side of his jaw had been completely knocked out and a third was broken. I swore to myself the stump would have to come out and that was a job for the pliers. It wasn't, having to get everything back to the Hacienda as if I had a lot of time to spare for dealing with injured brats.

I could see no other damage to his face that wouldn't right itself over a few days or so. I bent to examine his chest. Jonathan whimpered as I prodded the bruised flesh testing to see if any ribs were broken.

"Who did this to you Jonathan?"

"Master two young Masters held me while the biggest young Master hit me. First he punched me and then he used a stick on me."

"Serve you right for not running straight when I told you brat," I said brusquely. It is a basic rule that my father had long ago impressed on me that whatever you may think of the behaviour of other free citizens you must not betray any hint of disapproval to a member of the servile classes.

"And this," I said prodding my finger into a ring of raw flesh just below the boy's left nipple. "What did that?"

The slut squealed and then gasped, "Master the Father of the biggest young Master burnt me with his cigar there."

"Your scar how did that split open?"

"Master when they finished beating me I fell down and the young Masters stamped on it."

I grunted. It was not as bad as it might be. Disinfectant and a dressing would probably be all that was required for that as for the cigar burn.

"Guy," the boy never seemed to be far away when Jonathan was in trouble. "Go and get my fist aid kit and find Ritchie. I'll need strong brat to help you hold Jonathan down while I work on him."

Guy ran off as Jonathan began to sob. No doubt he remembered how he had suffered when I originally stitched up the lance wound in his thigh. I stirred impatiently. There was nothing I could do for him. He would just have to suffer. It was not as though he was a free boy on whom anaesthetics and skilled medical help could be sensibly lavished.

Fortunately at that moment Guardsman provided a diversion. He came bounding back to me from chivying the brats. He scented Jonathan and barking excitedly he circled him. He pushed his nose into the boy's bottom and Jonathan's cock already as is usual with Tribute Boys semi erect sprang to full attention. The brat pushed his bum back opening it to the hound's questing tongue. I smiled quietly. It was good to see that the previous nights experiences had at least cured the slut of any feelings of modesty so inappropriate to Tribute stock.

"He remembers you slut," I said cheerfully.

"Was Jonathan a good bitch boy, Guardsman?" I asked pitching my voice at the level that I knew would win a soft bark from the dog.

"Master, he does remember me doesn't he!" The boy exclaimed grinning in delight.

"And Master. Please Master did I suck you well?"

I ruffled the boy's hair.

"Very well, Jonathan. You're a good slut. Tell me which tasted better my cum or Grenadier's"

Tribute Brats are all sex crazed and I was talking to keep his mind off what was going to happen to him while we waited for Guy to return with the first aid box and Ritchie.

Jonathan stared at me solemnly considering the question with all the care it seemed in his slut's mind to demand.

"Master, I can't tell because Grenadier's cum tasted a lot of Vass."

Then after a pause; "Master do you think a hounds cum will make a Tribute Boy run faster just like a Master's cum makes him stronger?"

"Probably, Jonathan," I said absently for Ritchie and Guy had just arrived and now I could get on.

The next half hour was hard work. Dressing the burn and the wound in his thigh was bad enough but the worst was drawing the stump of his broken tooth. We managed it in the end; Ritchie holding the brat's head and my kneeling on his chest wielding the pliers. It's amazing how loud a brat can scream.

I let the boy lie in the dirt for a minute or two while I recovered my breath his screams still ringing in my ears. But we had to get on and before long I kicked him to his feet. He stood in front of me sobbing blood trickling out of his mouth.

"Well you can carry a full load now," I remarked gruffly.

"Yes Master," the brat whimpered. I smiled. I knew he would claim to be able to do whatever might be required from him however weak he felt. The alternative could too easily be my hunting knife slitting his throat and Tribute Boys cling desperately to life. Which is odd really considering how miserable and frightening their brief lives generally are.

I looked at him steadily. He was going to find it difficult getting himself back to the Hacienda let alone carrying anything although I was sure he would kill himself before he gave up. Some animals do have courage. I've seen it with dogs and horses and Tribute Boys.

"I want the hunting ponies taken down quietly to the Hacienda," I said. "They're to be ridden again in a couple of days time in the Picos so I want them rested. You and Guy go and collect them. See they're watered and fed. Get them saddled up so you don't have to carry their tack and then walk them down. Take your time over it. I don't want them tired. Now get on with it."

Jonathan turned to move off obediently and then almost fell. Guy darted forward to steady him. I watched as they made their way unsteadily towards the stables the smaller boy helping the bigger one along. I was sure Guy would do all the work that day.

Chapter 6

An account of events leading up to Christopher's ordeal in the Picos de Europa, and of his success or failure in his trials…

Chapter 6a

Mishear begins the tale…

I was so honoured that my Master chose Jan and me to go with him to the Picos to help with the horses, and serve him. Although I know my fate is to dance for him, like many of my people I love working with these big animals, Jan is good with them too.

The evening before we were to leave all us Release boys were sitting round talking about Jonathan's lucky escape, and admiring his wounds. Karl must have taken a fancy to him we said. What is it like when you are expecting the lance to go through you any moment we asked him? He told us that you stop being frightened, even though you fight for every second more, but also you start wanting to be penetrated. Its like the dreams we all have of our various ends when we wake up bellies wet with our juice, they are so often full of the agonies of our anticipated ends.

Ahmed said he came last night just thinking about his knife slicing through the other boys smooth flesh and then imagining how the crowd would cheer and roar as he was sliced in his turn. Tung said you did not have to be sliced up to please our Master but fist and foot against the opponents bodies was equally trilling, he said he got hard just thinking about how they would squirm as he killed them one by one to be the winner. Chueng remained silent, but by a half smile we could see that he wanted to prove himself too. But what if we win, then we maybe will be free and rich and famous, star on all the video channels… Garcia said his Patron expected him to win, but he had told him what a handsome trophy his would make so maybe he would just be famous and his parents rich, they will be so proud when they receive my dagger and the news he added.

Ritchie grumbled about what difference does it make you end up dead anyway, but everybody else said they were excited by trying their best. Jonathan said I will win too and everybody laughed. Rodolfo said that they would win too, and Kumu mimed throwing his harpoon, and Christian acted out writing in agony pierced by it, just wait till that goes through one of those little Japanese brats like Chueng, we will show them who's best Manuel added.

Then we talked about winning and all the things we would do with our thousands of obols. Everybody had their say, but then Jonathan said to Rodolfo can you really slit Alfonso? I do not think I can with Guy…. Rodolfo was unusually quiet, so were the rest of us. Manuel said what difference does it make? It just a couple of years sooner and we did swear that we would, and the mignons did agree. Most likely its them presenting our cocks and balls anyway, I hope I get to fuck him first! The serious mood passed and everybody speculated about what it was like to fuck a mignon, only the whale boat boys had so they were asked for details …

Now the sun was down and Jan and me had to be awake early to leave, imagine getting to ride in our Master's Land Rover, it will be like being a free boy, they always make obscene signs when they pass us in some rich car. It will be quite a squash because, there will be Itu, Ino, Mir and little Pedro as well, why does our young master want to take him? He is too small to be of any good for anything. But we know he is Señor Juan's gift to our Master, and Señor Juan and Young Master are lovers so maybe that is why…

Chapter 6b

Jan continues…

I dreamed that me and Mishear would die in each others arms to the roars and cheers of our beloved Masters guests, our bodies united at last in the triumph of our dance and the agony of the hot coals. I did not want to fuck Itu, I wanted to fuck my brown friend and lover. Just maybe if we are good enough we will be pardoned, then even better I can fuck him as Itu and Ino suffer. I am so hard I ache for relief and long for the pain that will bring it.

The next morning we all squatted in the dust below the steps to the big house, we were not leaving until after 10, but of course we had to be ready and waiting at first light. The Reverend Baker and his free boy Ronald came up to tell our Master they were leaving to drive back to the ferry at Santander. How I envied Ronald then, hair brushed neatly, the exposed parts of his body brown and unmarked, fine leather shorts and red silk scarf and so confident…

Don Carlos seemed less than happy with the priest though, one should not listen to big people but I could not help hear parts.

"Please Don Carlos, can you not see my position? My flock might well be less than enthusiastic, many still believe that one should refrain from having disciples…"

"Quite out of the question I am afraid, we certainly could not deal with the boy here, very bad for morale. Boys need to know their place. You are of course a valued customer, but perhaps next time you will confine your vacation to what is on offer here? It is so much less complicated."

They drove off Ronald leaning against the priest, obviously he adored him.

Some hours later, we were all squashed into the back of the vintage Range Rover that is our Masters pride, and drove off in a cloud of dust, we were all getting excited, but he stilled us by saying if we did not behave he would drop the lot of us at Gijon market! Of course he would do no such thing but we had been warned. Now we just poked each other in the ribs at each new and exciting sight I never knew the name of the small town we entered just before dusk and found the main road blocked by an angry crowd. Don Carlos eased his way through it until into the main square. There to our surprise, and obviously to his was the Reverend's car, and two police held a very scared looking Ronald.

Don Carlos said "Oh shit!" He does not usually swear.

Christopher said "Oh dad, can't we do something its not fair?"

"I am very sorry my boy, some battles one can not fight, and this looks like one. We have to protect our own first."

Another policeman pushed his way towards us. "Por favor, Señor, your papers for the brats you have, we have just had a suspect runaway handed over by the good Priest, and we must check every other brat……"

He inspected the wallet of small plastic identity cards.

"I am so sorry Señor, I did not recognise you, I always put money on your teams, and I thank you for my success. For your own safety I suggest you stay until judgement and sentence, this lot want blood, and your brats are required witnesses."

Then I said the forbidden words, I realised at last the truth and the inevitable consequences.

We watched in growing horror as the Reverend lied about picking Ronald up on the road, the boy protested but was struck to the ground. Hauled to his feet, the fine silk scarf was cut off and a small but incriminating collar revealed, the shorts were next cut off the weeping boy and he was held aloft to reveal the fateful branded hip. The local judge, hurriedly dressed for the occasion in his purple robe and pointed hood pronounced sentence …

"Please dad, can't you speak?" said Christopher.

"You know the law boy, there are no extenuating circumstances, though I will lodge a statement that will result in court action against the Reverend, but he will have no publicity and only a small fine."

Ronald seemed to recover some courage, perhaps he still did not realise what was going to happen.

"Please, Reverend, help me. You said I would be saved!"

But he was struck down again for his insolence.

"But you will be saved, boy… if you are a true believer, and a true disciple He will be sure to save you, even after death. But we must find out if you belief is real."

The judge stood up and pronounced. "You will proceed with sentence before we here any more heresy, all Tributed Boys present are required to witness.""

Ronald started to scream as he was dragged towards the church doors.

I felt sick as we were pushed to the front to kneel to get the best view. Large torches were lit and their flames illuminated the spectacle. Ronald was now screaming and frantically struggling against the two big men that held him, three more lifted the church door off its hinges and laid it on the slope of the church steps. One man then drove his knee into the boys balls and he fell to the ground writhing in silent agony. The crowd were chanting "Skewer the little slut!" Ronald was dragged by his fine blond hair onto the door, and a large iron hoop was produced. One man held this across the boy's neck and another drove it into the wood with a sledge hammer. The boy was now secured in place by his neck but otherwise not restrained, the pain subsides a little and he lay still eyes wide with fear at his approaching fate.

One of the crowd said to our Master, " We only use a single skewer here you see Señor, they last much longer that way, one even lasted until the next Sunday."

One of the men produced it, about a meter and a half long and maybe two centimetres in diameter, its sharpened tip glinted in the torch light. The crowd were going crazy, maybe they would start on us next, sensing our terror Don Carlos said "Steady boys, you will be safe if you do not panic."

Ronald's body was smooth and golden in the orange glow, he was panting furiously, and belly spasaming. Then the piss spurted out to run over his belly, surprisingly he was fully hard, the smell hit us next and the shit ran out from between his legs. Then the man lifted the skewer and placed into the boys belly button, and started to push. Ronald screamed even louder and his body arched in agony, further impaling himself, we even saw the spike come out of the small of his back, with a gush of crimson blood. Then the second man drove it into the wood of the door. Now the boy began to flail about legs kicking and hands clawing at the stake to try and pull it clear out.

Then the judge started to call out names and one by one the towns men came up and had their brats wank them off over the boy's writhing body. Some just wanked themselves, or pissed over him. Then the Reverend did the same, as the boy was sobbing "Please please you promised I would be saved!" But he took no notice, eyes glazed in the lust that every Tribute Boy knows.

Somebody asked our Master if he wanted to come over the brat, he said that he would save his sperm for our arses. Ronald's convulsing body was now gleaming in the flames with cum and piss, and still he screamed and screamed. "Well I am very sorry to have to leave this interesting spectacle, but we have a long way to go." Nobody seemed to hear or take notice of us as we got back into the Range Rover and drove off, except one of the police who saluted as we drove off.

That night we camped at the side of a track off the main road, too late to find a hotel our Master said. On his blanket he fucked first Mishear then me very hard, wanting to hurt, and us wanting to be hurt by him to prove our love. I kept on calling out "Please Master, harder, please, please…" Until the miracle of my own orgasm convulsed me, together with images of the boy's agonies… then and I felt safe again.

Next day we completed the drive up the steep mountain road, past the spires of Covdonga. We then made our base in the Hunting Lodge at Enol, among the wide pastures and gleaming lake, but the huge mountains behind seemed very cruel with their patches of snow even in summer. I said to Mishear, "Let us be thankful we are not going to be hunted up there, it must be terrible…"

Don Carlos said to Christopher "Well my boy, tomorrow you are on your own, you may meet me here in not less than four days, after that you can also ask help from Karl who should be up at the upper lodge by then. This will be your chance to prove yourself to me."

I did not feel I wanted to change places with him then, maybe being free is as hard as being Tributed.

Chapter 6c

Christopher starts to tell of his ordeal to be accepted as Don Carlos's heir…

But in this brats case he seemed not to have done anything but obey his legal Master. I tried to talk to father about it but he answered angrily that one brat more or less made no difference to the World and I had better think about the problems that faced me rather than worry him about such trivia. With a sick feeling in my stomach I realised that what I had boasted about with confidence to Juan and Xavier now was to become reality, despite the hot early morning sun I shivered as I looked at the huge mountains above us. More kindly father spoke. "Well then boy off you go and let us see if you have it in you to survive and prove yourself."

He gave me a big hug which made me feel much better. The rules were that I had to take nothing with me except my knife and my two companions. I was also allowed a rope in case of accidents but that was all. I stripped off my loincloth and as naked and vulnerable as any Tribute Boy I set off. Mir, sensing my unease walked closer than allowed but I did not scold him. Pedro on the other hand with no inkling of the fate I had planned for him with Juan and Karl skipped along happily, perhaps thinking he was on holiday.

Out of sight of father I gave them both a hug and told them I relied on them to help me over the next few days, no matter what they were ordered to do, and they chorused their "Yes Master, anything…"

So off up the steeping track we went, me just past 14 years and hoping to be a man soon. I began to feel good, to be naked and powerful as the sun shone on my brown flesh. Mir, in his 12th year, on the other hand had only his service to me to look forward too, yet he too cheered up. His body now a beautiful golden colour, how fine his skin would look after his Release. His golden hair shone in the strong sunlight and it glinted on his fine Release knife. Little Pedro, in his 8th year, was secure in the thought of many years of Tribute ahead, and happily wearing his iron collar, hair raven black and skin burnt almost as black by his years of nakedness. I had him carry the rope as he had so much energy.

Father had given me three objectives to succeed. The first was of course to survive for at least four days before seeking aid. I had no food and only the natural water to rely upon, of course no means of shelter either. The second was to climb one of the lesser peaks he had pointed out to me. The main peak Santa Punta del Castiliana he told me was impossible without special ropes, and he did not want me dead just yet. Nevertheless this peak was still a terrifying prospect to climb. One of Karl's men had been ordered to place on the summit a token for me to find.

The last was to kill a living being and bring it back as a trophy, he explained that although I had set my heart on taking the feral, it was not a condition and a small animal or bird would be almost as challenging. I decided to sleep the night as high as possible before tackling the peak first thing in the morning. About noon we passed a steep wooded river valley that seemed the last of the water and shelter. This must be where Karl told me to look for the feral.

We rested in the afternoon sun, realising after here we would be without water until I found a snow pocket higher up. I slept a little, Pedro curled into the crook of my belly, and Mir with his belly thrust against my bum. I felt my cock harden against Pedro's soft buttocks, and he moaned and thrust back against me, I knew I must save my strength for later so I swatted him and told him to lie still like a good little slut till I wanted him.

As the sun lowered we set off higher up, having drunk our fill from the ice cold stream. The ground became broken karst limestone and the track disappeared as we approached the lower part of the ascent. Karl had told me that even with all the satellite imagery now used there are still no really accurate maps for this place and I could see how easy it would be to get lost up here. Of course getting lost was just what enabled a handful of ferals to survive up here, sometimes for several years after Release.

The night was awful. Very cold despite Mire and Pedro trying to keep me warm and protect me, there was the ever present danger of both ferals and of the wolves that had returned half a century ago in the wars. All my doubts and fears returned as I shivered in the dead hours before dawn, they moon shinning clear and cold on the peaks that loomed above us. Was I really capable of climbing up to those shinning snow pockets and beyond? Just before the sun rose I heard soft scuffling and caught a dark shadow flitting between the rocks, I shouted and threw stones, all was still again.

I could not wait so as soon as there was light me and Mir started off upwards. It was quite clear that little Pedro would only slow us down, even if he could manage the steeper rock faces at all. I ordered him to wait for us in the circle of boulders where we had slept. He was not happy and whimpered in fear, but I cuffed him and told him to obey or else… I really can't be bothered with whimpering little brats when we have to climb so high before the thirst gets us, it not as if he's worth anything…

Climbing got steadily worse, below us were now fearsome drops of many hundreds of meters, as well as scree slopes that could easily send you tumbling in a mass of sharp stones, a naked boys body would not be worth much after such a fall even if the bones were not broken. One time I had to edge round the top of such a slope and I felt it move away beneath my feet, fortunately me and Mir managed to grip solid rock and when the dust subsided managed to find toe holds to get to solid ground. Then I realised that my thighs were wet, I had pissed myself like any Tribute Brat when he sees his end in sight, Mir had pissed himself too. We exchanged glances and giggled nervously.

Then there was the final sheer rock wall to the peak, only about a hundred meters, but a fall would be fatal. I lead, and Mir followed roped with me, maybe if I did slip he would be able to break the fall. Then just over the top he not I lost his footing. The rope bit into my back and I scrabbled furiously for a foothold as I slip back towards the edge. Mir's screams for help floated up, but I knew I was not expected to risk my life to help him, I reached for my dagger and raised it to get him free and save myself. I do not know why I paused, but I could not make the cut. Then I found a foothold and stopped sliding almost on the edge.

Then his unsteady voice floated up "Hold on Master I am getting my dagger to cut the rope…"

"No! I forbid it! Just hold on and try to find hand holds!"

Then painful inch after inch I pulled him up, the rope wet with blood from my torn hands. It seemed like a lifetime before his hands clawed the edge and he managed to get to a level surface. He just lay there sobbing out 'Thank you Master, thank you…"

I pulled him to me and hugged him realising how much I had grown to care for him, and how selflessly he loved me. It is more difficult than I imagined being a Master to such brats.

The slope was gentle to the top, and there laid across the cairn that marked the summit was the staff I used for practice with Xavier. I knew father was thinking of me, and was proud of me. With an added weapon the feral seemed less awful. Then standing I realised how foolish I had been. I had climbed the North face, to the South East it was a much less dangerous climb. I should have reconnoitred first and saved the danger. If I had sacrificed Mir to save myself, I would now be realising his life had been wasted to save me from my own stupidity.

The scramble down was easy even though we were now both badly cut and bleeding, we found a snow pocket on the way so slaked our thirst. This mean a long scramble round the base of the peak to get round to where we left Pedro and we were still a little higher when we heard his shrill screaming. I hurried on and there just below me he was huddled back into a cleft between the boulders, screaming and sobbing, as he threw stones. The cause of his panic was not one but three boys, one large and two much smaller. They had long matted hair that hung down almost to their bums, their bodies dark and showing paler lines of scars were lean and hard. They crouched in a ring around Pedro snarling, and to my surprise each was stroking his hard cock.

It was clear what I had heard was true, these were ferals, first they rape and then they tear you to pieces. I was not hunting them, they were hunting us. I screamed and ran towards them and they scampered out of range, but the bigger one turned and made a gesture with his clenched fist that proved our fate if we failed… Then with a fierce yells in some strange tongue they ran off, we were alone, injured and far from any help. Pedro ran and jumped into my arms hugging me in relief, but I knew I would have to use him to succeed in my task…

Chapter 6d

Don Carlos continues

Well that second night was very bad for him, he had conquered one obstacle, but found he had to contend with a feral pack that like as not were hunting him and his brats. In the early hours before dawn he was being consumed by doubts and terrors. Every sound became an attack, and as yet he had not worked out the middle path between sacrificing Pedro to gain his end, or giving up his quest to preserve the lad. The next day he avoided doing the obvious maiming and staking out the brat, and failed to get anywhere near his quarry. The dusk came down and so did the rain and the small stream that ran through the wooded valley that provided the only cover for kilometres became to rise angrily. I guess his courage broke, and knowing this was the night the German party arrived and I was to be sure to be at the 'Enol Lake Hunting Lodge' to greet them he headed down feeling sick and defeated, brats trailing despondently behind him; They are sad creatures when their Master begins to show signs of doubt and failure. He fortunately came to his senses when he got within a clear view of the camp, and lay hidden observing the scene just a few metres away from him, and what he saw must have given him fresh heart.

Of course I knew nothing of this, but maybe Karl sensed something, at least Grenadire did because he lifted his muzzle and whined. Karl hushed him. Fraternising with such boors as the Germans is an unfortunate part of running a Hacienda, but one must pay for ones pleasures. I had sought to make the evening less of an ordeal, and to divert the Germans attention from torturing some unfortunate brat, by suggesting to Juan that he brought up one of his new batch of fighting cocks and challenge farmer Torres. Both thought it an excellent idea, and so did the Germans especially when they were told these would be very young cocks engaging in their first blood contest.

After dinner was eaten and cleared away, I had them all settle down under awnings in front of the lodge to watch the contest. The torches were lit and the impromptu ring marked out. Now in Spain such things are conducted to a time honoured ritual though I hear that this is not always the case elsewhere. These are so well known as to not require a detailed explanation, however I will write one for the benefit of any body who is not familiar with this country. It will also help me to describe the aspects that as a sportsman I find so compelling.

First the cocks are brought out singly and paraded in front of the audience so that they can fully judge their merits and asses their chances for the betting that is an integral part of the contest. They are of course paraded before the are kited out with the spurs and other encoutrements. Both these birds were in their third season and quite evenly matched. As challenger Juan was first, a handsome fellow with pale skin and big brown eyes. His comb died a searing red contrasted with the rest of his pale body. His thighs were well muscled from hard training but his taught belly was still slightly prominent a befits his still juvenile status. I ran my ran hand over his smooth body, by next season every contest would have left its scars but now he was as unblemished as a first season chick. I felt him shiver with excitement, and spread his thighs so that I could feel his worm stiffen.

"You are a handsome little fellow, I do hope you are going shred that Torres trash till he screams and runs, I've got 10€ on you."

He nodded and I squeezed his testicles hard, looking for his pain thresh hold, he hardly moved, very good. The Torres bird was very brown, with great black eyes and with similar juvenile body, however his body was not unmarked as the good farmer trains his birds mercilessly. I examined him in the same way, saw his worm was more prominent than Juan's bird and asked the same question and he answered aggressively "Fucking white trash, I'll rake its belly open so that it trips over its guts when he runs!"

I should explain that such language would warrant immediate and dire retribution in any but a fighting cock, they are trained only for aggression and their lives are so very short so that any cock surviving a Release fatal contest is granted automatic Release, few get it usually expiring from their wounds even if the victor. The birds were then pushed to kneel face to face, first they had to kiss, tongue into each mouth. Then they were encouraged to shout abuse at each other, their level of aggression being rewarded by the two owners by morsels of red meat and sips of brandy. Eventually they were sufficiently worked up and were dragged off mouthing abuse to be dressed, by the grooms.

The next part of the ritual concerns only the two owners, as challenger Juan had to concede to Torres the choice of spurs and number of rounds. The big man brought out a fine olive wood casket lined with red silk wherein lay rows of the gleaming scalpel blades that are used as spurs, and an ornate hour glass set to run six minutes. It is of course the choice of spur that determines if a contest is a death one, and of course the bird knows nothing until he faces his opponent and the spurs are fitted. The good farmer showed the Germans each in turn starting with a murderous curved double edged affair some 5 cm long such as are normally used in the Summer Games. You could see the Germans almost salivate with lust a s they imagined the effect of being raked with this would have on those smooth juvenile bodies they had just been fondling.

"Sorry to disappoint you, Señors, but even I do not use these before the last two seasons, though I could choose them if I wish."

"I'll pay you 100€ to choose them!" Herr Peiper announced, I could see that he was aroused at the thought and Vass sensibly took the ugly big penis in his mouth to calm the man down. I felt Juan stiffen with anger but I put out my hand to still him. Torres however he treats his brats is an honourable man.

"Ah no amigo, your money does not buy a caballero so easy, there will be enough blood and death even for you in the next few days, be content with blood and pain tonight and let the little chicks learn it with them!"

He produced the smallest, some 1 cm long but double edged, "And I think they will have learnt well in six rounds, do you agree to my terms, Señor?" and he bowed to Juan who bowed back "May the victory go to the white or the brown according to their courage!"

I could see Her Peiper was feeling thwarted, he was taking it out on poor Vass by pulling the boy on to his penis until the poor child could not breath and was scrabbling frantically, Fortunately he was distracted by the entry of the two fighting cocks in full array. This was the first time they had been allowed to wear it or compete in it a contest which drew blood, but for the past seasons they had been fought nearly every day in practice.

I will describe Juan's little cockerel first, he was full of bounce and pride with little chest puffed out to increase his importance. Around each ankle and across each instep ran a leather strap, and to each heel Juan fitted the scalpel blade into the small brass clamp to hold it in place. The young cockerel had already been fitted with the leather mask to protect his eyes, from the front of which protruded the short ornately carved wooden beak, the third scalpel blade was affixed to the tip of this, as this was a juvenile contest the straps for the mask extended around the neck to protect that too. With the shaven head leaving only a narrow strip of spiked and dyed hair down the centre the whole effect was remarkably realistic. Of course if one use real birds today the Animal Rights people would have you in court before you realised it! Next the cockerel had his arms bound with three leather strips on to the spine for the wings made from thin strips of bamboo, from they hung pinions of real white feathers. The bindings, two to lower arm and one to upper arm, mean that he could move the wings to protect himself or even strike an opponent, but not to hold as would a human contestant. Lastly Juan fixed a narrow leather belt round the cockerels waist, unlike a true belt this ran beneath the scrotum lifting it into a prominent and vulnerable position. Where it passed under the perineum it was fitted with short but very sharp spikes, at the point the crack strap joined it, these penetrated the skin as it was pulled tight and buckled at the hip. The little bird drew in his breath as the first pain hit him, and a small trickle of red ran down each inner thigh.

The only way to train birds to fight to the death is that they know from the moment this first strap is put on they are going to be in increasing agony fight or run until they are the victor crowing over the fallen foe. The crack strap was then passed between the birds legs, the anus plug inserted, and tail feathers fitted and joined to the belt at the back. The whole contraption as well as completing the realism forced the bird to bend his knees slightly and stick his arse out in a very avian fashion.

The Torres bird was identically attired except that in his case the feathers were brown and green to match his colouring. He did not even gasp as the tightening strap drove the spikes into his softest flesh though the blood was just as red against the velvety brown of the inner thigh. These encoutrements are very expensive to an owner and are used by the bird throughout his career, and presented to his guardian on his honourable death in the ring.

The next part of the ritual is that the birds dance first individually, then together, each dance lasting just one glass. When dancing together they have to simulate attacks and defences but may not connect, under pain of having one wing broken. The Torres bird almost lost his control and struck at the white unprotected chest, but Juan's young bird was too fast for him. Torres angry shout promised future pain win or loose. This is the last stage where bets may be placed. I must say that I was getting most aroused myself, knowing that within moments those smooth immature little bodies were going to be raked and streaming with gore as the contestants screamed with rage at their opponents and with the pain his spurs were inflicting on their flesh. It was noticeable that both bird were equally aroused immature penis hard red and throbbing, and a perfect target for the spurs. I must say the first fight of a juvenile is always the best, the innocent chick turns into the killer that will eventually die scared and broken in a full ring within less than four years.

The birds retreated to their corners for final encouragement from their owners. In the case of Torres this involved driving the many spike prod he carried into the birds left buttock. Juan was more scientific, he had the but plug fitted with a valve and just squirted his 'secret mixture' into his birds intestines with a 500 cc syringe. As the mixture included Tiger Balm and brandy its effect was even more dramatic than the prod. Both birds screamed and writhed and when released flew at his opponent. It is amazing how erotic the sight of two small boys not yet ten tears old, their immature bodies gleaming with oil in the torch light, dressed as fighting cocks, charging together knowing the only way to escape pain is to inflict it…

It was going to be an stimulating spectacle and I pulled Jan and Mishear into my crotch to stimulate me further with their eager mouths.

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