"Clothes make the man." True ? NO ! Balls make the man. The raggedest beggar with one sound testicle is a man. The most fashionably attired eunuch is not.

To illustrate which, there follows the brief autobiography of Robert Branleur, Chevalier du Baton Raide.

My father died when I was very young. My mother was a beautiful woman with the intelligence of a mole. She managed to fritter away a substantial inheritance in a few years, leaving us destitute. In desperation, she married a mean-spirited older man, a money-changer named M. Grippe-Sou.

He and I took an instant intense dislike to each other. He had no desire to raise another man's child, anyhow, and especially not this child. He made me sleep in the cellar and bought me clothes only when modesty absolutely demanded it, and, even then, they were always used, never new.

I worked without pay as office boy in his 'counting house, and he beat me regularly for laziness. I beat something else regularly, too and he caught me at it one day and threw me out of the house.

From then on, I lived in the street. I had and have a beautiful singing voice and I often sang for my supper. It was harder to get a place to sleep, and being a pretty boy, I often had to put out for it. A street urchin can't expect to retain a virgin arse.

As I grew older, and began to show signs of beard, I found that some discontented women were willing to share their beds with me in return for my services. I became adept at jumping out of windows when a husband returned unexpectedly. Most often, though, I slept in the street, often wet and cold.

I took to pickpocketing to try to have a steadier income. I was not very good at it, and ,one day, a man caught me trying to lift his purse. As I pulledmy hand back and tried to run away, he shouted "STOP THIEF !" and ran after me. I was surprised by how fast he was for a man of his age and weight.

It might have gone ill with me had a carriage with a coat-of-arms on the door not pulled up alongside me. The door opened and a hand came out. "GET IN." a voice from inside commanded. I took the hand and vaulted up into the carriage alighting beside a richly-dressed man of about 40.

"Thank you, Monsieur"I gasped.

He smiled and asked "What is your name ?"

"I am Robert Branleur."

"I am Nicolas, Chevalier du Baton Raide"

Every street kid in the city knew that name. The Chevalier had a taste for cute little boys and a propensity for buggery. He paid them well to bend over for him. I had had no idea that he was interested in young men, too.

"So, do you live in the street ?"

"Yes, your Lordship. I try to support myself by singing. I am not a thief. I turn to theft only out of desperation. As your Lordship can see,unless I get new clothes soon, I shall be naked and winter is approaching, but I have no money for clothes."

"I could see that you are too inept to be a professional pickpocket.You'll just end up dangling from a gibbet. Give me the purse. I shall arrange for its owner to reclaim it if he can identify the contents. I am about to offer you a better life. By the way, where do you sleep, on the pavement ?"

Handing over the purse, I replied "Sometimes there, sometimes in the arms of a bored housewife. So far, I've managed not break my neck jumping out of bedroom windows."

The Chevalier laughed. "Well, it would seem that you've had an exciting life. Did you grow up in the streets ?"

"Only since the age of 14 when my stepfather caught me massaging my member and flew into a rage."

"I assume, then, that you are well acquainted with the way of a man with a boy ."

"Oh yes,Your Lordship, from both sides."

"Have you ever buggered a man ?"

"Yes, Your Lordship, I've been paid well to perform that service a number of times. I've been told that I'm uncommonly well equipped for

it."

"I am seeking a companion to keep me happy in that way. In exchange, I offer a life of luxury in elegant surroundings, the best food, the finest wines, costly raiment, in short, all that a man's heart could desire except the company of females. Does this offer interest you ?"

"I should be both a churl and a fool to refuse it, your Lordship, and I am neither.You said 'a companion'. Is a companion a friend or a servant ?"

"Never a servant, and, as you will see, you will have especial reason to be grateful for that in my household. You will be given an allowance to spend as you wish, but you are not to regard this as wages, but rather as largesse.

You will sing only for me, or,upon request, if you will, for my guests, as a favor to me. Can you sing to accompaniment ?"

"I don't know. I've never tried. I can't read music, though."

" I have a fine cembalist, a failed castrato named Marcantonio Broschi, . His adult voice proved to be mediocre at best. Fortunately, his teacher discovered that he has greater talent as an instrumentalist than as a singer.

As a boy castrato, he received intensive training . He could teach you to read music and also much about the art of singing, for it is wisely said that 'Those who can, do; those who cannot, teach.'

Do I assume correctly that you have accepted my offer ?"

"Of course,your Lordship."

"I expect to have few,if any occasions to give you an order, but I do so now. Stop calling me'Your Lordship'. We are friends, not master and man. My name is Nicolas and, henceforth, you will be introduced to others as my nephew, Robert, from the Auvergne.

Have you eaten ?"

"Not since last night. I had some curds and whey for supper."

"No wonder you're so slim ! Well, we shall soon arrive at my palace where a luncheon awaits us. "

Before that luncheon, however, I was given a bath, my beard was trimmed, and I was dressed in an elegant Turkish lounging robe. It was a pleasant sample of things to come.

The luncheon consisted of cold sliced meats, greens in a tart dressing, white bread, which I had never had before, and an unfamiliar cheese with a delicate taste and aroma. To drink there was a fruity white wine. I quickly decided that it wouldn't be at all difficult to become used to this sort of fare.

After luncheon, Nicolas' tailor measured me for new clothes, and, incidentally, Nicolas got to see me naked. Judging from the mountain that rose in the front of his breeches, he was pleased by what he saw.

"I hate to ask you to wear my cast-offs for a few days, but, except for girth, we are about the same size and my tailor can easily take in some of my garments to fit you while he makes new clothes for you, styled to your own taste. Before sunset, you will be attired fittingly for the nephew of a Chevalier.

So, thus far, what do you think of the Palais du Baton Raide ?"

"I know little of such things, but, to me,it seems to display elegant taste. I must admit, though, that I am puzzled by the appearence of your domestic staff.

That there are no women does not surprise me,of course, but the men are so strange-looking . The older ones are all fat and pear-shaped and have sad expressions.The young ones look very strange, with long arms and legs and short bodies and those I've heard speak all have high voices."

Nicolas laughed. "Of course, they would appear strange to you. They are all eunuchs. You and I are the only adults in the palais who have testicles. How the older ones got that way is a terrible story, but one which you are entitled to know.

I am usually a gentle mild-mannered man, but they have learned to beware of my just wrath. Three years ago, His Majesty sent me on a diplomatic mission which,even today, I am not at liberty to discuss. I was away from my demesne, accompanied by my manservant and amanuensis, Joseph, for a month. I left the estate in the hands of my seneschal , Roland Barbe-noire.

While the cat is away,the mice will play, but this was no innocent play.

When I returned, I noticed that my little playmates were walking peculiarly, perhaps somewhat painfully, and looked frightened. I took my favorite, Jules, into the library and asked him what was wrong.

He bursted into tears and said "They said they'd kill us if we told you."

I took him in my arms and kissed him and told him 'No one is going to hurt you, much less kill you, now that I am here.' Gradually, he related a horrifying tale of debauchery,orgies, rape, and murder.That a child should have to witness such things was the most horrifying aspect of it.

I called in my other little darlings and one-by-one elicited from them the same terrible story. The ringleader was Roland and the entire palace guard was involved in it as well.

Realising that I could trust no one, I sent Joseph, by way of a secret exit, to Ciprien, Comte du Mont de Venus , who owed me a favor, with a note telling him that I was in danger owing to treason by my domestic staff and entreating him to come to my aid with men-at-arms and his barber surgeon .

I had asked Jules 'Did no one of the servants protest or try to help you ?'

'Only Michel, the gardner. He came with a rake-handle and tried to beat them off, but there were too many. They took it away from him and beat him with it. Then they raped him and finally,they took the rake-handle and...........shoved..........shoved it..........up his behind and killed him.'

Jules broke down into weeping. I took him in my arms and comforted him and asked him very gently 'Which one did that to Michel ?'

'ROLAND !'

'He will pay for this, all of them will pay.'

Comte Cyprien arrived two hours later on horseback, in armor, accompanied by 100 musketeers armed as well with falchions, very useful for defense while one is reloading. The functions of my palace guard are strictly ceremonial. Their halberds and parade swords would have been of little use, even had they known how to use them.

They surrendered immediately and I ordered the entire domestic staff bound and hobbled. I informed them that they were to be tried then and there for their crimes in my absence. I would prosecute, Comte Cyprien's notary would act as defense counsel, and Comte Cyprien would be the judge.

'I remind you that, upon my own demesne, I am the law. I have power of life and death over you. One of you is to be tried for murder. If any of you be reluctant to testify I shall not hesitate to use pein forte et dur, to extract testimony or a confession from you.'

My little playmates, the principal witnesses for the prosecution, identified the four men who held the gardener down. I offered them

immunity from prosecution as accessories to the murder of the gardener if they would testify for the prosecution. They agreed to and their testimony was damning.

The trials were held in the Great Hall, the trial of the seneschal for murder being held first. He pleaded innocent and pein forte et dur was applied to extract a confession from him, out of sight but within earshot of the other defendants. His screams dissuaded others from pleading innocent.

He returned to the courtroom bent over and walking with his legs as far apart as the hobbles permitted. He could not rebut the testimony of his accomplices and was quickly found guilty. The judge, Comte Cyprien,

sentenced him to death by impalement. As his only appeal would be to his liege lord who had brought the charges against him, he decided to forego it.

Court was recessed long enough for all present to witness the execution of the seneschal, one of Comte Cyprien's men-at-arms, wearing a black hood with eyeholes serving as executioner. My priest, Fr. Durand, gave Roland Barbe-noire the sacrament of extreme unction before his execution.

The impalement was carried out with the shaft of a halberd and Roland's screams did not cease until the shaft entered his throat just before being driven through the roof of his mouth and into his brain.

My little boys were,of course, spared this terrible sight. It was bad enough that they had been forced to witness the impalement of the gardener.

During this recess, soldiers had been sent into the village to escort to the trial any women who had been raped by my servants. As witnesses for the prosecution, they testified not only to their own rapes but those of the boys and the gardener before his murder.

The trial continued after dark by torchlight until every one of my servants had been convicted of rape and sodomy. As I had requested him to before the trial, Comte Cyprien sentenced every one of the offenders to be docked and gelded, to wit, to be deprived of all but one digit [0.75 inch] of the virile member and the testicles beneath.

Numerous and loud were the cries of dismay,but to no avail.Upon the next day, the operations were carried out by Signor Coltello, Comte Cyprien's barber-surgeon.

Now you know why all of my older servants are eunuchs. The case of the younger ones is different. They are eunuchs by choice. When one of my little boys shows signs of approaching puberty, but before his little pebbles have dropped down, he is given a choice between retaining his boyish beauty and voice for many years by forfeiting his chance to become a man, or leaving my service with my blessing and a generous bonus.

Few choose the latter, but time will not be denied. Eventually my pretty eunuch is by no stretch of the imagination still a boy. Then, he becomes a servant. It sometimes happens that one of my guests falls in love with his sweet valet du chambre and, if the lad be willing, I surrender him to his lover. "

I was surprised."Then, you and I are the only men in the palais ?"

"Yes. If I need to hire a servant, I always try to find a eunuch, hard though they are to come by in France. They are commoner in Italy or, if I wanted blackamoors, I could obtain eunuchs easily from Maghreb.

If His Majesty should send me out of France on a diplomatic mission again, I need not fear orgies in my absence. My new seneschal, Jean-Paul des Cailloux-Brisées was kicked by a horse at 17. He has never known a woman or a boy nor can he ever."

I learned that night that, harsh though he might be at need as a feudal lord, in bed, Nicolas was as gentle and loving as any woman. On future nights, I found it to be a strange arrangement as Nicolas shared his bed with one of his little playmates and buggered the boy while I buggered him.

More commonly, however, the nights were for Nicolas and me alone. The boys invaded the bed in the morning . Sometimes one of the boys would play with my member, too, but I didn't encourage that, lest Nicolas be jealous.

Seeing that I was upset about it,Nicolas told me one morning "If a boy wants to play with that splendid thing of yours, I don't mind, as long as he initiates it.

"But, suppose he should fall in love with me ?"

"I'd probably give him to you."

"I could never feel right about that."

"It's not likely to happen. Don't worry about it. I would be upset, though, if you fell in love with one of my boys."

"No, you needn't worry about that. Charming though they can be, boys don't really interest me. I could fall in love with a man."I said staring into his warm brown eyes,"but not a boy."

As time went on, I realized that, what had started as gratitude for the change in the circumstances of my life was deepening into what could only be called love.

I sang for Nicolas every night and often in the day and, under Marcantonio's tutelage, quickly learned to read music and developed a repertoire of beautiful songs to delight him. I was a bit shy about singing for his guests, though, partly because I was afraid one of them might have seen me singing in the streets in Avignon.

Finally, I realised that, even if one of them had, he would never associate the stylishly-dressed nephew from the Auvergne with the ragged street singer.

It rather amazed me how quickly I adapted to a life of luxury and acquired refined speech and manners. Of course, I was no "sow's ear" to begin with. My parents in my early childhood had been gentry and I had learned good manners and spoke decent French.

I am proud to be able to say that wealth didn't go to my head. I never became a snob or a fop.

Nicolas and I were very compatible .We rarely argued about anything. Of course, the spectre of life in the street served well to keep me in my place. But, in fact, I wouldn't have wanted to hurt Nicolas' feelings anyhow, as I was very fond of him.

As the years went by, Nicolas came to realise that he was no longer attractive to little boys and , regretfully, he stopped trying to add to his dwindling harem.

We had been together for fourteen years when I finally was able to bring myself to say honestly the words which I had long felt to be true.

It was soon after the last of his little boys,with the approach of puberty, elected to become a man. Nicolas let him go with a kiss, a blessing, and a generous bonus.

Nicolas had been sad all day. I caressed him, kissed him, and made love to him with both tenderness and ardor. Then I told him "Nicolas, je t'aime." Just those simple words, but I had never said them before.

To my dismay, Nicolas bursted into tears. I started to speak "Oh, Nicolas," He put his finger on my lips and said "Shhhhhh. You will never know how long I have waited for you to say those words and I know,probably better than you, why it took you so long to say them.

As long as the boys shared in my love, you couldn't bring yourself to declare love for me.You've always been properly grateful for everything I've done for you and I could sense that you were fond of me, but I was never sure if it were friendship or love.

I have loved you all along. I think it was from the first time you sang for me. And when you learned all those lovely songs to please me, I took every one of them to heart. The boys were recreation .You are the love of my life."

"I am deeply touched, Nicolas."

"And now, there is a matter which I have long waited to discuss with you. I really did have a brother in the Auvergne. He had no offspring owing to illness. Unfortunately, because of my sexual inclination, we were estranged.

Although he died three years ago, I was not notified of the fact until months after the funeral, possibly out of fear that I might contest his will which left me nothing. I am much wealthier than he was and desired nothing from his estate.

You have been his imaginary son for too long. Your stepfather, M. Grippe-Sous, has died, wisely leaving his fortune in trust to your mother. It is administered by his advocate who controls the purse strings. There is, therefore no legal obstacle to something which I have long desired.

I want to adopt you as my son. Are you willing ?"

"The father who begot me died when I was eight. Old Pinch-Penny was never a father to me. In effect, I have been fatherless for twenty-nine years. To have a loving father again is beyond the fondest wishes of my heart . Yes, dear Nicolas, I would be honored, indeed overwhelmed, to be your son."

In anticipation of my acceptance of his offer, Nicolas had already had the necessary documents drafted. The formalities were completed in two days. In celebration of the happy occasion, Nicolas gave a lavish party at which I sang as I had never sung before and Marcantonio outdid himself in displays of virtuosity at the clavecin.

Among the guests at the party was an obnoxious young man,one Baron Bancaire who placed overmuch stress on the fact that he was the legitimate son of a baron, seeming thereby to imply that, as an adopted son, my claim to the Chevalier's title would be less valid. We took an instant dislike to each other. Fortunately, we were not to meet again for many years.

For eight blissful years I enjoyed having a loving father. Nicolas taught me the things which I must know to be the Chevalier after him, including the hitherto neglected arts of swordsmanship and horsemanship, for neither of which I showed much aptitude. I became an indifferent swordsman and an inept horseman.

"May your days be blessed with peace" commented Nicolas,"for I shudder to think how you would fare in a battle."

The end of our bliss came suddenly. One evening before dinner-time, we were standing on the terrace watching the sun set when Nicolas suddenly fell at my feet. I knelt beside him and he looked up at me and smiled.

Then his eyes rolled back but remained partly open. I felt his wrist for a pulse, but found none. I cried out for help and called for his physician

who arrived soon, but only to confirm what I feared, that Nicolas was dead. I was shocked and heartbroken and shed many bitter tears, for I loved him dearly.

Nicolas had had many friends in Avignon, so his funeral was very well-attended. However, Fr. Durand demurred at having a man who had led such a scandalous life buried in consecrated ground. I remarked that that was sad to hear inasmuch as Nicolas had instructed me to be sure that two large gold candlesticks be given to St. Radegond's church upon his passing.

"Oh, that pious man !" Exclaimed Fr. Durand. "You may be sure that I shall offer special prayers upon his behalf."

The King was notified of the Chevalier's passing and, in due course,an official from the royal court arrived to confirm my inheritance of the title.

Now, a problem fell to my lot which I had not considered: the succession. Should I marry to produce an heir to the title ? After all of these years of making love to a man, I had lost my taste for women. At least, a wife would provide companionship, for I was deucedly lonely.

For the time being my loneliness was alleviated by the kindness of Nicolas' friends in Avignon. I did not lack for invitations to feasts, garden parties, and such affairs.

It was at a birthday party two years after I had become Chevalier that I again encountered the obnoxious Baron Bancaire. It was rumored that the first Baron Bancaire had been ennobled by the king for refusing to accept repayment of a loan which he had made to the King.

This matter came up in conversation after the birthday dinner. Someone remarked, that once, it had been deeds of valor which led to ennoblement whereas, now, titles were up for sale. I was among those who laughed politely at this remark.

Baron Bancaire, at whom it was obviously aimed, took offense at it and retorted."The title which I inherited was, at least obtained cleanly,unlike that of the horseless horseman who got his by catering to the lust of a sodomite."

As it was well-known that I am a poor horseman and do not own a riding horse, I was the obvious target of this gross, uncalled-for,

slanderous insult.

It placed me in an untenable position, for the only honorable response to such an insult must be to challenge the Baron to a duel. And, it was not the sort of issue, which could be settled by an apology or first blood . It must be a duel to the death !

I had no choice but to challenge him, and I did. Knowing that he was the better swordsman, he accepted eagerly. Our host demanded that we fight outside and,inasmuch as there was no longer sufficient light, our duel had to be postponed until the next day.

I called for a notary and wrote my last will and testament for I did not expect to survive the duel. As an unmarried orphan, I had no heir, so I bequeathed all my worldly goods to the City of Avignon, where I had grown up. My title,of course, would be vacant, and the King might re-assign it to whomever he would.

The duel started as an exchange of thrust and parry, mostly with Bancaire thrusting and me parrying. Whenever he lunged, I stepped aside, but he turned so quickly that I gained no advantage.

I remembered what Nicolas had told me after I lost a game of chess to him many years ago. " In combat, as in chess, you can never win a defensive fight. You must take the offensive to win."

I was fighting Baron Bancaire defensively and accomplishing nothing.

So, I thrusted, and he parried, and gave me a cut on the arm [first blood !]

before I could parry his return thrust. From then on, we alternated thrusting and parrying.Being older, I would tire before him, so I was gaining little by that strategy.

Suddenly, he lunged at me and, before I could turn aside, the end of the blade of his rapier bit into my silken breeches at the right side of my left thigh making a 4-digit rent in the fabric through which my most precious possessions dropped out onto the ground. I was gelded !

Baron Bancaire grounded the point of his rapier and laughed. That was a fatal mistake. Forgetting my own injury, with a growl, I lunged at him and drove my rapier through his belly below the navel. It passed through his entrails and emerged from his back above his right buttock.

Even though he knew that he was mortally wounded, Baron Bancaire lunged at me. I stepped aside and drove the point of my rapier,which I had withdrawn from his body just in time, through his right wrist, severing the tendons. His rapier dropped from nerveless fingers, and, knowing himself defeated, he asked for the coup de grace.

"You don't deserve it." I said and walked away, blood running down the left leg of my breeches. Of course, there was no winner.I was defeated also.

The question of the succession remains. The only way I can pass on my

title is to adopt a son as Nicolas did. I heard a boy singing in the street in Avignon this morning. He is younger that I was, no more than sixteen but, perhaps my life has come full circle and I am destined to pass on

Nicolas' generous gift to me.

When I was a ragged street singer, I was a man.Now that I attire myself in the best garments to be had in Avignon, I am not. It is not clothes that

make the man.