Chapter 5:

Then the boy screamed, dropping the knife, holding that hand with the other.  Where he'd held the knife, his hand was burned. 

Startled by the boy's screams, the boy holding onto Dylan's right arm, let go of it.  Dylan swung that hand at the one holding the other arm, catching him on the jaw, breaking his grip on his arm; then he sat up breaking the hold the other two boys had on his legs.  They were small, so that hadn't been difficult.

His shoulder no longer hurt.  Realizing that, he reached for the knife the boy had dropped.  It was hot, even burned his hand some, but he held onto it 

When the boy reached for him, he stuck him, then pulled out the knife and cut another as he came at him with his knife.  That boy -- one of the original three -- fell.  He tried to hold in his guts, but didn't have much success. 

The boy screamed, a loud, continual, wail.  That took the fight out of the rest.  Bending over, Dylan cut his throat.  The screaming stopped, replaced by a gurgling sound, then he was quiet -- and still.

Dylan faced the others with the knife in his hand, "Who else wants to take my balls?"

None did.  The only other one with a knife had been the one he'd hit with his purse.   He had been sitting on the ground, nursing his broken nose and was there still. 

Some of the younger boys started edging away.  "Hold them," he said to Braith, realizing that his magic had both heated the knife and had healed his shoulder.  The God hadn't protected him, but Braith had. 

Braith waved his hand.  None of the boys were able to move.  "I'm sorry," Braith said, "I thought the God would protect you. Until I saw that you were bleeding, I thought he would.  I almost let that boy castrate you."

"But you didn't," Dylan said. "Release four of the boys," he said pointing out the ones he wanted.

"My friend is a wizard," he told them.  "If you try to run, he'll stop you.  Grab your friend,"  he said,ndicating the boy with the broken nose, "strip him and lay him on the bench."  They did as he said, holding the boy, as the others had held Dylan.

The boy had his man hair, but his cock and balls were small, his cock probably no more than four inches long when hard.  "You would cut my balls off, would you?" said Dylan.  "I'll take both your cock and balls." 

He grabbed the boy's cock and balls in one hand and sliced them off with the knife.  The boy screamed; blood poured from his crotch.  Braith started to heal him, but Dylan shook his head.  It'd be up to the God, whether the boy lived or died.  They had tried to castrate their prince, whether they knew it was he, or not.

He'd killed his first man that day and felt no remorse for it.  He was a warrior, fighting for his life.  In battle, losers paid with their balls, their lives, or both.  So it was; so it had always been.

"He's next" said Dylan, pointing out another that had held him down.  There were three of them left.  He'd killed one of those holding him.  He had his four helpers strip the first and lay him on the bench.  The boys held him while Dylan cut off his cock and balls. 

"Please don't cut me," the next boy he pointed to said.

"You were going to help cut me," said Dylan.  He cut off both his cock and balls.

The next boy didn't beg.  He clenched his teeth.  He doesn't want to scream, Dylan thought, but he will.  They all scream when their balls are cut off.  Dylan considered not cutting the boy, but that would have shown weakness.  Market boys such as these, only respected strength. 

He cut the boy, but just his balls, leaving him his cock.  Despite his resolve, despite his clenched teeth, the boy screamed when he lost his balls. 

At least his bravery had saved his cock. He wouldn't have to squat like a jilly boy or girl to piss.  "Heal him," Dylan said.  Braith did, closing the boy's wound and taking away his pain.

"Shall I cut each of you? Dylan asked. 

"No," protested each of the boys."

"Do you swear allegiance to me and to my friend," he asked, "allegiance to me as your leader?"

"I do," said one of those Braith had released, one that had held the others down while Dylan had cut them.

"What's your name?" Dylan asked.

"Pedr," said the boy."

"You may join," he said, "but not you," he said to the boy whose nose he'd broken.  "If I see you again, I'll kill you."  That boy stumbled off, holding a dirty rag to his groin.  The last boy he'd cut stayed.  The previous two, still hurting, followed the other boy. 

"Do you hold it against me that I cut you?" Dylan asked the boy.

"No," said the boy.  "I would have helped cut you.  Your friend healed me.  I no longer hurt.  I obeyed Grigor because he was strong.  You've killed him.  I'll obey you."

"Even though I took your balls?"

"I -- I respect you for that.  It proves that you're strong.  Nothing will give them back to me.  Others live without them -- as does your friend.  Mayhap, I can, too."

"What is your name?" asked Dylan.

"Tomos," said the boy.

"Then, Tomos, you are second to Pedr.  When I'm not here, Pedr is in charge.  You are second to him."

"Do you ken what I say?" he asked the others."

"Yes," they all agreed.

"If any of you betray me, you'll die."  Dylan liked the idea of having his own army, one that no one knew about. 

The God should have protected him, even in the guise of Dylan.  As Llywellyn had, he sensed evil.  The boys might be worthless to him, untrained as they were, but somehow, he thought that they would be his men, loyal only to him.

They respected strength, and were awed by Braith's magic, as well they should be.  There were only three wizards in Gwynedd, Cadell, Braith -- Megan -- and her mother, Trista, the king's healer.

"Where do you sleep?" he asked Pedr, a boy he was already beginning to like. 

"Wherever we can," said Pedr, "no place in particular."

"Here," Dylan said, giving Pedr all the coppers he had. "Buy food for everyone.  I'll return tomorrow.  Tonight, sleep where you can, but soon, you'll have a home."

"But, how?" asked Pedr.  "You're a slave."

"Mayhap," said Dylan, "mayhap not."

"You're coming back?" asked Braith, after they had left the boys.

"Yes," said Dylan, "they shall be the first of my army.  Will you join it?  I think I shall need you the most.  If not for you, I would be cut -- maybe even dead."

"Ah, Emrys -- Dylan," she corrected, "you first make a jilly boy of me, then a warrior.  What would my mother think?"

"Do not tell her, I pray," said Dylan.

"No," said Braith.  "I think not."

* * *

That night, the beautiful red haired boy slept with the prince.  Megan had sneaked out after her mother had gone to sleep.  The red haired boy, not the speckled Braith, had crawled into bed with the prince.  Through the crack in the wall, Glendower had watched him come in.  Glendower hadn't shared the prince's been for weeks, not since the first time the boy had arrived.  It was as if the prince had forgotten he existed.

The next day Prince Emrys and Megan went to see Llywellyn, asking him to buy a house in the town.  "A house?" said Llywellyn. 

"Yes," said Emrys.  "You were right.  Something is amiss.  Someone tried to kill me yesterday, and the God did nothing."

"Did you report it to Heddwynn?" asked Llywellyn.

"No, as I said, I don't trust him.  I'm recruiting an army of my own."  He told him about the market boys."

"Market boys?" said Llywellyn, "Can you trust them?  What good could they be to you?"

"I think I can trust them.  They don't know I'm the prince.  At least, they can be my ears and eyes."

"How can they not know you're the prince?"

"I was disguised," said Emrys. 

He described the house he wanted, one large enough to house at least twenty, with a wall around it.  He handed him a necklace he'd received on a birthday.  The jewels in it would more than pay for the house.

"Did not your father give you this?" asked Llywellyn.

"Yes," said Emrys.

"Can you not ask for the money, instead?" asked Llywellyn.

"I don't want anyone to know.  Can I trust you not to tell?"

"Of course, my prince.  Need you ask?"

"No," said Emrys.  "I needn't ask.  Two people I trust, you and Megan."  He looked over at her.  As much as he had enjoyed the boy, he realized he'd missed the girl.

After leaving Llywelln, the two of them walked to the postern gate, followed, without their knowledge by a black haired jilly boy.

* * *

Glendower had followed Dylan and Megan to the postern gate, had seen them go through it, then had followed.  After he went through it, he didn't see them -- saw instead, a freckled, red haired, jilly boy and a naked, brown haired, slave. 

Although not as beautiful as the prince's jilly boy, the red haired boy could have been his brother.  Glendower was about to return to the castle when he saw something behind a bush. 

It was the girl's dress and the clothes worn by the prince.  The two boys he saw were naked.  Could it be?  Could they be the prince and the girl?  Had they somehow used magic to change?  He followed them, trying to keep out of sight.

* * *

Dylan wore only a belt around his waist.  On it was a pouch containing his purse and a knife.  Since the God hadn't protected him, he'd armed himself with the knife.

They'd just arrived at the market, when one of the boys ran up to them.  "Quickly," he said.  "The guard looks for you.  Yorath, the one whose nose you broke, told them you killed Grigor and Llew."

Dylan looked around.  Within sight, were a half dozen naked slave boys, about his age, also with brown hair.  He mentioned that to the boy whose name was Steffan.

"But none have a red haired, speckled, jilly boy for a friend," he said.

That was true.  Braith was the only red haired boy in sight.

Dylan looked at Braith.  "Can you?" he asked, leaving the rest of the question unasked.

Braith nodded.  A moment later, his hair, too, was brown.  Steffan's jaw dropped when he saw it.  One moment the boy's hair, both on his head and on his crotch, was red.  A moment later, it was brown.  He noticed, too, that both boys looked slightly different, similar to the boys he'd seen only moments before, but different enough that he might not have recognized them.   "He does have magic," he said.

* * *

From around a corner, Glendower saw the same thing.  It had to be the prince and the girl.  Was the girl also the jilly boy that had shared the prince's bed?  Could that be?  He had recognized the girl, Megan, the daughter of the king's healer.  Could Megan be a wizard like her mother, like her father had been? 

He continued to follow them, as they collected other boys, eventually gathering at the market dump.  He watched from behind a pile of refuge, straining to hear what they said.

Suddenly, someone grabbed him from behind.

* * *

"We're spied upon," said Pedr, who, having seen the boy, had followed him.  The boy struggled, but Pedr was older and stronger.  Cut boys didn't have the strength that boys with balls had.

"Glendower," Dylan said.

"Your jilly boy?" said Braith.

Dylan nodded.  His mouth was set.  He had the same look he had when he had killed Gregor.

"Do you know who I am, boy?" he asked.  The boy nodded.  Dylan pulled his knife from his pouch. "Then you'll have to die," he said.

"No, please," said Glendower.  "I won't tell anyone.  I swear."  Dylan had him by the hair, pulling his head back, exposing his throat.  His knife was poised above the artery in the boy's neck.  Dylan held the knife there for a moment, then pulled it away a few inches.  "You swear on your life not to tell."  It wasn't a question.

"I swear," said Glendower.

"Not even these boys," Dylan whispered in his ear.  "You tell not even them.  Do you hear me well?"

"Yes," said Glendower.  He, too, had seen the look on Dylan's face.  He realized he had been looking upon death.

"If you tell -- even them -- you die.  Do you understand."

Glendower nodded.

Dylan lowered the knife.  "Release him," he said.  "You'll have to remain with these boys," he told Glendower.  You are never to return --"  he paused, searching for the right word, "-- home.  If you do, you'll die."

Dylan slapped him lightly on the face.  It was almost a caress.  "Better had you not been so curious," he said.

Instead of in his bed that night, Glendower slept on the hard ground.  Within a week, though, Dylan had them a house, a mansion as far as all the boys were concerned.  Even Glendower thought it was nice, and he had lived in the palace.  He was careful not to mention that to the others, though, even when they questioned him.  Neither would he tell them the boy they knew as Dylan was the prince.