Chapter 4: The Slave Boy

Mostyn waited in the slave market at Dolwyddelan, the capital of Gwynedd. Having heard that young boys were available in Dolwyddelan, he had traveled from Caenarfon and had purchased twenty-five boys, none of whom had been born slave. He waited for another. Although he hadn't seen the boy, he'd been paid well to take him to Caenarfon, where he was to sell the boy to traders from far away Araby. A small, brown, people-the people of Araby-they favored the tall, white, boys of his land. Traders from that distant land waited with their ship in Caernarfon.

He was prepared to leave. All the pack animals were loaded, and the boys were chained, a collar around each of their necks-a slender chain connecting collar to collar. It was summer, so all the boys were naked, even the four with man hair. Most of the boys were between ten and twelve, old enough to endure the trip to Araby, but not yet with their man hair. They would be castrated in Caernarfon before the trip, so they wouldn't get their man hair during the long voyage. The older boys, tall and strong, would have their cocks removed, keeping their balls so they would retain their strength. They would become laborers. The younger boys, all exceedingly handsome, would adorn someone's bed. Most would lose their cocks as well as their balls.

Heddwyn, the commander of the king's army, arrived, accompanied by several soldiers. He was leading a most remarkable boy. His head was bald-not shaved-but completely hairless; yet, he was beautiful-even without hair. Only a slave brand on the side of his head marred his appearance. Most remarkable was his groin. He had been neutered, but there were no scars. The boy, if that's what he was, appeared to never have had a cock or balls. His smooth groin was unblemished.

"Here's the boy," said Heddwyn. "Leave at once."

Locking a collar around the boy's neck, Mostyn placed him in the middle of the line, examining his crotch as he did. Even upon close inspection, there were no scars. A small hole opened between his legs, apparently to enable him to pee, but their was no sign that he had ever been a boy. Neither was there any indication that he had been a girl. Urged on by Heddwyn and his soldiers, Mostyn, leading his caravan out the gates of Dolwyddelan, turned east, toward Caernarfon.

Looking back, the boy asked the one in line behind him, "What is the name of this place?"

The questioned boy thought it a strange question that the boy had asked. How could he not know the name of the city? At first, he wasn't going to answer; the boy had evidently been born slave. He even had a slave brand on his head. He, himself, had been born free. Although he was now a slave, his father had been a noble. He was a slave because of politics, not by birth. When the boy repeated the question-this time with desperation evident in his voice, he answered, "Dolwyddelan."

"Dolwyddelan," the boy repeated to himself, to make certain he would remember. Although the name meant nothing to him, it was start. Remembering nothing of his past, this was the first day of his life. At least he knew the name of the place of his birth-or his rebirth-Dolwyddelan.

Outside the gates the road was lined with naked corpses sitting atop sharpened poles. One boy recognizing the face of his father-distorted as it had been by his painful death-sank to his knees beneath his father's pole; but, the caravan, continuing to move, spared him no time for his grief. The boys to his front and rear pulled him to his feet, dragging him along. The chain had pulled at their collars.

When they stopped for the night, the boys huddled together for warmth-except for those next to the boy. None wanted to touch him, lest they be contaminated by the touch of a born slave. They were slaves, themselves-and would be until they died-but they hadn't yet accepted it. To their thinking, they were better than the branded boy. Besides, he had no cock or balls. They weren't even sure he was a boy. When he peed, he squatted like a girl-but neither was he a girl. He had no slit. When one had asked his name, he had answered, "I don't know."

How could he not have a name? Was it because he had no sex? Was he human-or some changeling? For those reasons, the boys, chained in line next to him, lay as far away from him as the chain would permit.

His name? They had asked him his name. Search as he might, he could find no name for himself in his memory. As far as he remembered, he had been born today, but, still, he needed a name. If no one would name him, he would name himself. Cadfael will be my name. He didn't know why he had chosen that name, but it had seemed appropriate. Cadfael meant battle prince.

He had heard their whispers-had heard them call him a changeling. Perhaps he was; perhaps he wasn't human; perhaps the blood wizard had conjured him in the chamber, using the blood sacrifice of the boys. He, too, could see that he was different. He had to squat to pee, lest it run down his legs. When he felt between his legs, he could find no sign he'd ever had a cock or balls, as did the boys. He wondered if he were some demon, raised from Sheol, a servant of Nysrogh; but, he abhorred Nysrogh; despite being a slave, he loved the God.

As Mostyn led his caravan through Llanberis Pass in the heart of the Snowdonia mountains, the temperature dropped, especially at night; but, he gave the boys no clothing to keep them warm. During the day, they walked-physical exertion providing warmth. During the night, they circled around a large fire. Still they were cold-except for Cadfael. Although he didn't realize he was performing magic, it was keeping him warm. Heat radiated from his body, frightening the boys near him-who felt it. Becoming convinced he was a changeling or a demon from Sheol, they pulled away from him, keeping the chain taunt-preferring the pressure of the collar on their necks to his touch.

After a trek of several days, the caravan arrived at Dolbadarn Castle, where Mostyn lodged the boys in the dungeon, while completing other trades and traveling to nearby villages seeking other boys. Sometimes, the father of a poor family would sell one of his sons for money to feed the others.

Once free of their collars, several boys gingerly touched their necks; they had sores caused by the chafing of their collars. Cadfael had none, his magic having kept the collar from touching his neck. Unaware that he had magic, Cadfael had simply willed it away. Day or night, the dungeon was cold, and there was no fire; so the boys huddled together for warmth, except for Cadfael, who provided his own. Some of the boys did more than huddle. The older boys-those with their man hair-played at sex, either with each other, or they used some of the younger boys, forcing their cocks up their tight asses.

Ithel, the oldest and largest of those boys, had gained his man hair two years before. His fifteenth birthday was four months hence. He had played at sex since gaining his man hair-as all boys are wont to do, masturbating, either by himself or with a friend. Until this trip, he had never fucked anyone-either boy or girl. The young, naked, boys had been too tempting for him to resist. None of the slavers seemed to care whether he fucked them or not, so he took full advantage of his opportunity. He and the other older boys, took turns holding one down, while one of them fucked him, picking a different boy each time. Five different boys were fucked by them the first night. The younger boys-through shear numbers, had they banded together-could have fought off the four, but, they cowered at the other end of the cell-each hoping he wouldn't be next.

Watching from where he sat, Cadfael did nothing. It meant little to him that the younger boys were fucked. It was for that, they had been purchased. Mostyn and other slavers had used some of the boys during the trip, fucking them while they were chained in place-in full view of the other boys. To be fucked, was their fate. What did it matter that it began with the older slave boys? All of them had shunned him. He owed them nothing. All Cadfael knew-was that no one would ever fuck him. Somehow, he would prevent it. So far, no one had tried.

Mostyn had thought about fucking the neutered boy. He was the most attractive of the lot; his bald head, rather than detracting from his appearance, accentuated his features. His face, beautiful as it was, needed no hair to frame it. He, too, was afraid of the boy. His acquisition of the boy had been mysterious; and, although he was neutered, there were no signs of it having been done. He had heard the boys' whispers-had heard them call him a changeling. If he were, what would he change into-were he to fuck him?

From Dolbadarn, Mostyn traveled to nearby villages where he purchased four boys from their fathers. Although the gold he gave them would feed the remaining members of their families for a year, it was half that he had paid for any of the boys at the market in Dolwyddelan. Boys of poor families, though, they weren't as handsome as those he'd acquired in Dolwyddelan. Back at Dolbadarn, he purchased an already neutered slave boy from another trader. Since it was too late to travel on to Caernarfon, he sent his new acquisitions to the dungeon to be quartered with his other boys.

Looking up from where he was seated in a dark corner of the cell, Cadfael saw the door open. The guards shoved five boys into the cell. None of them had their man hair. One, his head shaved-not hairless like him-also had a slave brand on the side of his head. He, too, had no cock or balls. At first, Cadfael had thought that he'd found another creature such as himself, but when the boy walked over to him, he could see the scar where his cock had been. A shrunken scrotum hung from his groin. Unlike Cadfael, one could see that he had once been a boy.

Braith had detested the puling boys who had accompanied him into the dungeon. New slaves, they had cried for their mothers. Taken from his mother when he had been weaned, he'd never known her. His father had been a stud who had probably fathered a hundred sons. He hadn't known him either. What good had it done these boys to have known theirs; they had betrayed them, selling them for a few pieces of gold?

Looking around the room as he entered, he saw that the others were just like the four who had accompanied him-all born free. At first glance, he didn't see any who had shaved heads and brands. They all still had their cocks and balls, even the ones with man hair; and because they had theirs, and he didn't-because they had been born free, and he hadn't, they would think that they were better than he. Alone, among them, he could expect much abuse before their journey continued.

Didn't they realize that, soon, they would be just like him? At least he had already been through the pain of having his cock and balls removed. Having the cords to his balls burned through with a hot iron had hurt more than anything he had ever experienced. It had hurt more than having his cock cut off-had hurt more than the branding. At least time had dulled the memory of that pain. It had been a year since it had been done. These boys would probably be done when they arrived at Caernarfon. They wouldn't feel so uppity then. Seeing another slave boy like himself, neutered, bald, with a brand on his head, he quickly walked over to him. "Hello," he said.

Cadfael stared at the boy. No one had spoken to him since one had asked him his name several days before. Realizing that he had been lonely, despite the presence of the other boys, he answered, "Hello."

The boy had red eyebrows and green eyes, which were unusual. He was covered with freckles. "My name is Braith," he said. "What's yours."

"Cadfael," he answered, giving voice to the name for the first time. "Are you called Braith because of your freckles?" Braith meant speckles.

"Yes," said Braith, his face turning red, temporarily erasing the freckles there. "Cadfael? That means battle prince. I never heard of a slave named Cadfael," he said, sitting down beside him.

Ithel, having watched the new boy enter-then having watched the interchange between the two slave boys, gestured to the other older boys. He wanted to fuck this new boy. That he had no cock or balls turned him on. Actually, he wanted to fuck the other boy, but, since he might be a changeling, was afraid to try. Walking over to where the two boys were sitting, he said to the new boy, "Come away from the changeling."

"What do you want?" asked Braith.

"We want you. We've never fucked anyone who had no cock or balls. You'll be the first."

All four boys had erections. Braith had been fucked many times before-but rarely by another slave. Most, other than studs, had been either castrated, or had their cocks removed. Since these boys had their man hair, it would be their muscles, not their asses which would be used. When they arrived at Caernarfon, they would likely lose their cocks, keeping their balls so they would keep their strength. Although he could have fucked the four of them without batting an eye, he didn't want to give them the pleasure of having their cocks up his ass. "No," he said, although he knew that he couldn't stop the four bigger boys, even with assistance from Cadfael-not that he expected any help from him. If the situation had been reversed, he wouldn't have helped. A slave only looked after himself.

"Come," said Ithel, not wanting to get too close to the changeling. "Let's get this over with." Moisture was leaking from his cock.

"How are you going to do it?" asked Cadfael.

"What do you mean?" asked Ithel.

"How are you going to fuck him?" asked Cadfael, pointing to Ithel's groin.

Ithel's cock hung limply from his groin. So, did those of the other three boys. Their erections had subsided as Cadfael had spoken. Taking his in his hand, Ithel began pumping it, but, no matter how much he tried, it wouldn't get hard. He couldn't even feel his hand on his cock. Even though he still had his cock, he had fucked for the last time. It was the same for the other three. Not taking their eyes off of Cadfael, they backed across the room.

"How did you do that?" Braith asked.

"They're afraid of me. They think I'm a changeling. I just used that fear to frighten them." He had actually used his magic, but, not knowing that he had magic, hadn't realized it. It had been magic, not fear, which had deflated the boys' cocks.

If there had been any kind of weapon in the cell, Ithel and his friends would have tried to kill the two boys, but there wasn't-and they were afraid to attack Cadfael without one. After what had happened to their cocks, they were sure that he was a changeling-or worse. None of the four boys could feel their cocks. It was like having a sausage attached to their groins. By the next morning they were in real distress. Their cocks had shriveled up so much that they couldn't pee through them; unable to empty their bladders, their screams brought the guards.

When consulted, Mostyn had the four brought to a cutting room, which was also in the dungeon, where he examined their cocks. It was obvious that the organs were dead-clear to the root. There was nothing to do, but cut them off. He cut the Ithel's cock off himself, but removing the cock, broke the dam which had held back a lake of pee. It gushed in a high arch from Ithel's groin. There was almost no blood-and little pain. Cadfael had actually done Ithel a service; had he lost his cock in the usual manner in Caernarfon, he would have suffered more. All Ithel knew, however, was that the changeling had cost him his cock. He intended to have his revenge.

The four, now cock-less, boys, had told Mostyn that the changeling had done this to them. Mostyn was glad that he hadn't touched the boy. If he had, he might be without his cock. He liked fucking young boys because they were less likely to be diseased; but this boy could cause the loss of a man's cock just for trying to fuck him. Misunderstanding, he thought that the boys had attempted to rape Cadfael.

Their trip to Caernarfon was only delayed by a day. Other than no longer having cocks, the four boys seemed to be little worse for having them cut off, suffering little bleeding or pain. Cadfael and Braith took their places at the end of the line, next to each other. The word of what had happened in the dungeon having spread, none dared dispute their choice, so those collars were locked around their necks, the last in the line around Cadfael's. The four cock-less boys headed the line. Caernarfon was only a day's walk away.
 
Next:  Also found at http://www.slammr.com/wizard_1.htm

Chapter 5: Caernarfon