Chapter 5: Caernarfon

Caernarfon Castle had been built by the Brit King, Edward I, when he had attempted to conquer Wales.  Joining with the Irish and Scots, the Welsh had chased Edward back to his own land, ringing the border of England with Castles.  Aided by magic spells, they kept the warmongering English confined.  Caernarfon, an independent realm, was Welch once again.

It was a strong castle, containing the city and market within its walls.  Mostyn secured his boys in a corral in the slave market; then sent word to the men from Araby that he had arrived.

Hameed examined Mostyn's crop of boys.  They were a handsome lot.  Of course, he would have no use for the four who already had their man hair, even though their cocks had been removed.  There were no shortage of laborers in his land.  The younger boys, once prepared, would be an excellent addition to the hundred he had already purchased.  Two boys, he saw, had already been prepared-both had been neutered.  "I have no use for the ones with man hair," he told Mostyn.  "Prepare the others.  I'll take them-if the price is right."

After agreeing to a price, Mostyn said, "They'll need time to heal."

"I'll be sailing in three weeks.  I'll take the ones who are well enough to travel.  Those who aren't, will be your responsibility.  You'll deduct them from the price."

"Do you want the cocks removed as well?"

"Yes, I want them prepared just like those two," he said, indicating Braith and Cadfael, "head shaved and branded, too."

"Do you want the two, now?"

"No, I'll take them all as a group."

After Hameed had left, Mostyn instructed his men to prepared for the nullification of twenty-five boys, twenty-one he had purchased in Dolwyddelan and four he had purchased from villages around Dolbadarn.  There wasn't a lot to do; a gelding table was already set up outside the corral; a brazier of hot coals would have to be prepared; irons would need to be heated.  Mostyn would do the cutting himself.

The table, rectangular and made of wood, had a hole through which the victims ass protruded in case he beshit himself.  Straps at the corners at each end of the table would hold his arms and legs so that they were spread apart.  There were two addition straps.  One would be placed across his forehead, holding his head in place for the branding.  The other would be placed across his hips.

The boys, other than the four cock less boys and Braith and Cadfael, huddled at the far end of the corral, as far away from the door to the corral as they could.  What was about to happen, was no secret.  Some had already voided their bowels and bladders where they stood with their knees quaking.  They had never used their balls-never used their cocks except to pee, but neither did they want to lose them.  One had asked Braith if it hurt.  He had told him it was the worst pain he had ever felt, smiling to himself as he did, thinking that it was no less than these born free boys deserved.  When two guards came for the first boy, Braith and Cadfael stood at the bars of the corral on one side of the door.  Ithel and his friends stood on the other side.  It was the side closest to the table.  Even Cadfael wanted to watch.  He didn't remember having watched slaves being castrated in Dolwyddelan.  He didn't remember having watched the boys in the chamber lose their genitals or having watched as his were removed.

As the guards approached the huddled boys, they began screaming.  Drystan was the name of the first boy they took.  It had been his father who had sat on the pole outside the gates of Dolwyddelan.  Gwynfor, a noble, loyal to the king, had opposed the election of Merfyn as regent.  He and his family had paid an egregious price for that opposition.  His wife and younger children had died in the dungeon.  He had suffered the ignominy of impalement, carried naked on a cart through the streets of Dolwyddelan-outside the gates to where a pole had been set in the ground beside the road.  The pole, the thickness of a fist, had been sharpened to a point at the top.  Raised by two men from the back of the cart, he had been set on the pole, the point entering his rectum.  His weight, every kick-every movement-had shoved the pole deeper into his ass, penetrating his bowels, his stomach, then-all too much later-his heart.  It had only been then that he had died-an execrable death.

Taken from the dungeon, Drystan had been kept with other boys-then sold to Mostyn.  Of noble birth, he had known the prince, but had not recognized him in the bald, neutered, slave boy.  The spell Cadell had placed on the prince would have prevented his own mother from recognizing him.  Thinking that he was a slave, Drystan had, as had the others, treated him with disdain; and, with no memory of his past, the prince-now, Cadfael-had not recognized him.

Drystan pleading with the guards who dragged him toward the gelding table where Mostyn waited.  He thought he'd received a reprieve when they paused, but it was only to wash him off and shave his head.  His brown hair lay on the ground; his white scalp glistened in the sun. Then, they carried him to the table.  A small, ten year-old boy, he was helpless in their arms.

He was strapped to the table, his arms spread above his head, his legs spread apart and strapped down at the bottom of the table.  One strap was fastened across his forehead-another across his hips.  Unable to move his head, he shifted his eyes to watch Mostyn take a branding iron from the brazier full of glowing coals, screaming as Mostyn stuck it to the side of his head, smelling the stench of his burning flesh.

His suffering was just beginning: Mostyn slit open his nut sack, allowing his acorn sized nuts to fall out; then, setting aside that knife, picked up one that had been heating on the coals.  It glowed a dull red.  Grasping both his balls in one hand, Mostyn pulled, stretching the cords.  Drystan felt the pull from deep within his abdomen.  The pain of the branding didn't compare to that of having the cords of his balls burned through with the glowing knife.  Dazed, his groin already afire with pain, he was hardly aware of having his cock cut off.  Only the hot iron, which sealed the wound, got his attention.

He was barely conscious when the guards placed him back on the stone floor of the corral; nor did he notice the skittering of the other boys as they scrambled away from the guards.  Having observed Drystan's castration and branding-the cutting away of his cock-none of them wanted to be next.  It was to no avail; the guards approached a boy from two sides.  No matter which way he turned, a guard was there.  Before long his balls had joined Drystan's in a bowl; his cock was alongside Drystan's in the dirt.

The scene was repeated-until twenty five sets of balls were in the bowl; twenty-five cock-less and ball-less boys either sat or lay on the stone floor of the corral.  Those who hadn't fainted, cried plaintively.  Mostyn and his men would dine on their balls that night.  Battered, deep fried in olive oil, they would be delicious.

Cadfael walked around looking at the boys.  The first boy, whose blood vessels hadn't been properly sealed, was bleeding profusely.  Even though the boy had been unkind to him, Cadfael willed the bleeding to stop; and it did.  He walked up to each boy, willing the bleeding to stop and the healing to begin-and healing began at that moment.  None of them would become infected.  Cadfael didn't know that he'd done what he had.  He just knew that he didn't want the boys to die, even though they had been cruel to him.  Within a day, the boys were up and walking around the corral.  Within a week, they were healed-a pink scar where their cocks had been, shrunken scrotums flapping as they walked.

Since Mostyn hadn't been able to sell Ithel and the other three, he had put them to work, cleaning up the compound and taking care of his animals.  One day, finding a long spike, the length of his hand, Ithel stuck it in his long hair, which had been tied in the back.  He had a use for the spike; he planned to use it to kill the changeling, stabbing him in the heart as he slept, killing him before he could use his power.  The changeling had cost him his cock.  Having his balls, he still wanted to fuck.  He had loved fucking the boys.  It had felt so much better than beating off.  Their no longer having cocks or balls, made them even more desirable.  With no cock, he had no way to release the seed produced by his balls.  An unbearable pressure had built up in his groin.  His hand kept reaching for the cock which was no longer there.  He almost wished they'd take his balls.  It was terrible to have such longing and no way to satisfy it.

Chapter 6: The Changeling

The changeling and his friend were sleeping apart from the others-as they always did.  Ithel retrieved the spike from where he'd hidden it.  He'd wrapped a piece of rag around one end to make a grip.  The other end, he'd filed to a sharp point on a stone.  Although it had no edge, it would make an adequate dagger.

Ithel had lain, with his eyes open, until he was sure that all the boys were asleep.  Rising to his feet, he crept toward the two boys, pausing to look around to see that no one was watching.  He was able to pick out the changeling, even in the moonlight.  Enough time had passed that the other boys had closely cropped hair on their heads.  Only the changeling was still bald.  His head shone in the faint light.  The other boy-his friend-was snoring lightly.  The changeling was quiet, but his breathing was regular.  Ithel was certain that he was asleep.  His eyes were closed.

Holding his breath, Ithel knelt beside the changeling, raising his homemade dagger over the boy's heart.  His hand shook with the knowledge of what he was about to do-murder.  Steadying it with his other hand, he plunged the dagger toward the boy's heart.

Something awoke Cadfael.  Sensing danger-seeing a shadow, he rolled over toward it.  Something struck him in the chest-a powerful blow which took away his breath.  Pain was followed by a rage which robbed him of his humanity.  He wasn't sure what happened next.

The changeling had moved just before the dagger had entered his chest.  It had missed his heart, penetrating his lung instead.  As Ithel raised the dagger to strike again, the boy changed.  Suddenly, there was no longer a boy beneath the spike, but a snarling cat-a leopard.  Terrified, Ithel dropped the spike.  He wanted to run, but had no chance.  Digging its claws into his back, the cat pulled him toward its gleaming teeth.  As it sunk its teeth into his throat, it disemboweled him with its rear claws, then sprang to its feet.  His throat ripped out, Ithel was dead by the time he hit the floor.

Braith, upon hearing the cat snarl, awoke to find himself lying next to a leopard.  The cat-on its back-had its claws in Ithel's back-it's teeth in his throat.  It was ripping out the boy's guts with its hind feet.  Blood and gore had splashed onto Braith-who quickly jumped to his feet, backing away from the horrific sight.

Awaking from a sound sleep, he had wondered if he were still asleep, having the grandfather of all nightmares; but, it was too real: the sounds; the smells; the slimy feel of the blood and gore, which had splashed onto him.  There had been dreams which had frightened him, but none like this.  Pee streamed from his crotch.  That had never happened in a dream.  He didn't see Cadfael, but, concerned for his own safety, didn't give the boy's absence any thought.

With a kick of its hind legs, the cat thrust Ithel's body off it, onto the floor; then jumped to its feet.  Ithel lay on his side, away from Braith, but his head was turned toward him, so that he was staring directly at Braith.  In the moonlight, he could see the whites of his eyes.  He knew Ithel was dead.  No one-alive-could turn his head to such an  impossible angle; besides, his intestines were piled in a heap next to him.  The cat, swishing its tail, turned toward him.  Staring at him, it opened its bloody mouth.  Braith knew that he was next.  He wanted to run, but, with the cat's eyes on him, couldn't will himself to move.  He wondered if it would hurt.  It had been over quickly for Ithel.  He hoped that the big cat would do the same for him-not play with him as house cats are wont to do with their prey.  Then, it was gone.  In its place stood Cadfael.  Blood and gore covered his body-and his mouth.

The other boys had awakened, too.  They later reported what they had seen.  Some had seen one cat; others said they had seen two.  Then the cat-or cats-had disappeared, leaving Cadfael and Braith.  Both boys had been covered with blood.

Cadfael remembered waking up-remembered the sharp pain in his chest, but little else, other than images-rage.  The twisted, mutilated, body of a boy was at his feet.  Since its head was turned away from him, he didn't even know who the boy had been.  No longer a boy, it was no more than a pile of meat and guts.  Cadfael was covered with blood.  Some of it was his.  He was conscious of the wound in his chest-of the blood seeping from it, and, becoming aware of it, began healing it.  By the time he felt it with his hand, the wound had closed.  Within minutes, nothing remained of what-for anyone else-would have been a fatal wound.

Aware of the boys' screams, hearing them call him a changeling, seeing the blood all over himself, feeling it on his mouth, he stared at the body on the floor.  It had been ripped apart-something only an animal could have done.  Braith was on the other side of the body-as far away as the bars would allow.  Cadfael looked in his eyes, seeking a look of friendship-or, at least, an acknowledgement that he, himself, was human; but, there was only fear.  The horror Braith had seen, was reflected in his face.

He must be a changeling.  He could taste the boy's blood in his mouth.  Not human, he must be a demon, summoned from sheol by the blood wizard that night in Dolwyddelan.  He knew of nothing else which could explain what had happened.  Maybe they would kill him-he hoped they would, not wanting to live with the knowledge of what he was.  He was damned, never to see the face of the God-but, he wondered, if he were a servant of Nysrogh, why did that matter?  Sitting on the floor beside the body-he waited.

Hearing the screams of twenty eight boys, two guards came running.  They saw: blood and gore strewn about the room; two boys covered with blood; a mutilated body on the floor between them.  They heard: tales of murder; how they'd seen a leopard-no, two-tear Ithel apart; how the leopards had-once again-become boys.  It had been said that the hairless boy was a changeling; apparently, the other was as well.  Afraid to go into the cell, they both went for Mostyn.  Neither wanted to stay behind.

Mostyn wasn't sure what to do.  He'd been paid well to deliver the boy to the slavers from Araby-told to be sure he left with them on their ship.  He had understood that those instructions had come from the regent, Duke Merfyn of Gwynedd.  He had seen what had happened to those who had opposed Merfyn.  Most sat on poles outside the gates of Dolwyddelan.  Mostyn had no desire to join them.

Thus far, he had ignored the whispers that the boy was a changeling-had not said anything about the four boys, whose cocks he'd killed.  The two guards who brought him the news were as brave as any of his men-and they were frightened.  A changeling was the servant of Nysrogh.  To conceal one, was heresy.  If what he guards had reported were true, he'd have to report it. 

Gathering the rest of his men, Mostyn went to the slave market, where the boys were kept.  No longer screaming, but murmuring amongst themselves, most of the boys were at one side of the corral, as far as they could get from the changeling, who sat next to his victim.  One boy, covered with blood, stood on the opposite side, with his back pressed to the bars.

By the time the boys repeated their story to Mostyn, it had been both of the boys, who had turned into leopards and had ripped apart Ithel.  If one of them believed differently, he said nothing-and, from the appearance of the victim, there could have easily been two cats.  Mostyn, had no choice.  By morning, word of the night's events would have spread throughout the city.  He sent for the priests.

Changelings-not one, but two?  Fryr Idwal headed the God's inquisitional commission in Caernarfon, a position far above his capabilities.  So far, all the witches-all the servants of Nysrogh-he'd burned had been innocent, accused by a jealous neighbor or someone with a grudge.  Idwal was a magician, not a wizard.  He used tricks and illusions to make people believe otherwise.  When he arrived at the corral-and saw the carnage-he realized he might be up against true servants of Nysrogh for the first time.  Frightened, he ringed the corral with archers-bows drawn, their arrows pointed at the changelings; then ordered Mostyn to have the boys brought out.  He'd brought a cage in which he would take them to the church prison-where heretics were kept to await trial and an inevitable fiery death.