Noblesse Oblige

Noblesse Oblige by Henry H. Hilliard with Pete Bruno Book 2 An Indian Summer Chapter 23 Prussian Blue

"I am sorry, monsieur, but the King of Portugal is occupying that suite."

"But it was booked for my master and I have already started to unpack."

"Je regrete, monsieur, but His Majesty always has 28(a) and (b) when he is in Paris."

"Well, what about my master? He's not exactly a bag of shit," said Carlo hotly, "and at least he still has a country to rule."

"I'm sorry sir, perhaps Lord Martin would prefer some other hotel?" replied the manager with a shrug.

It was useless. Carlo just had to accept the inferior suite facing the Rue du Mont Thabor that, while still very grand, was not as fine as the one that had been stolen from him by the deposed Iberian.

"Well I hope the ex-king of Portugal enjoys his view of the Tuileries Garden, then."

"I'm sure he will, sir; it is our finest suite and, sir, there are no-ex monarchs at Le Meurice."

Carlo went with the two hotel servants who deftly moved the trunks to their new home while Carlo carried those things already unpacked in his arms. He was annoyed; he had wanted to do a good job and prove that he was a capable senior servant but already he'd been undone by a revolution in Portugal and an obdurate Frenchman.

The trunks contained a wide variety of outfits for his two young masters for formal and informal occasions, including garments for hunting and bathing in the sea. His own suitcase was more Spartan, but he was proud of his uniform, which consisted of tight grey trousers that rose elegantly to the small of his back where they met his braces and a jacket and waistcoat of midnight blue with a tie to match. When he went out he wore a smart bowler hat and grey gloves. Today he wore a soft collar and the trousers revealed a manly bulge, uninhibited by drawers.

Carlo had made a list of tasks: He sent a telegram to Berlin to confirm their reservations at the Hotel Adlon. The more helpful staff showed him how to send a pneumatique to the Gare de l'Est to book tickets on the Wagon Lit train for Germany. The boys' travelling clothes would have to be cleaned and he was just wondering if they could be bundled up and posted back to London when he noticed the time; he must meet the express at the Gare du Nord. How Carlo wished he had some kind soul who was fluent in both French and German.

At last he found the group of English boys on the platform. His two gentlemen were busy seeing the other three onto the train for Calais. "Will they be all right, sir?" said Carlo to Martin.

"Mr Craigth is well traveled, Carlo, and speaks French. He has enough money to solve most difficulties." Nevertheless, Christopher and Donald did seem very young and vulnerable at that moment. The cloud of steam thickened and swallowed them up.

"Now Carlo, can you find our bags? Mr Stephen and I would love a bath. I say Carlo, what do you know about cleaning lavatories? What do you wear?"

"I beg your pardon, your lordship? Oh there's a taxicab, excuse me." Carlo waved with one hand and signaled to the railway porter with the other. Soon they were on their way to the Rue de Rivoli, with Martin and Stephen eagerly drinking in the sights of Paris.

"I was here once as a little boy, Derbs, but I don't remember much. What time is our train, Carlo?"

"Seven in the evening, your lordship. I thought you would like to have dinner on the train and we'll be in Berlin late the following afternoon. I hope that is satisfactory?"

Martin saw that Carlo was trying and so he said: "That's perfect, Carlo; Chilvers couldn't have done better."

The Hotel Meurice was a beautiful arcaded building with white-and-gold Louis XVI furniture. Martin found no fault with the inferior suite and eagerly went to the salle de bain. Carlo had laid out the toothbrushes with powder already on them and towels and mats were in readiness in this most modern of bathrooms. Stephen cast his professional eye over the tiling and plumbing and remarked that the ones at Croome were cozier.

"Not too full Carlo; with Mr Stephen and me in there it might overflow."

Carlo took their discarded garments and called for the suits to be sponged and pressed. The dirty washing he determined to send back to England, not trusting French laundresses. Carlo selected two very elegant suits and matched them with shirts and ties. He added two homburg hats and two Malacca sticks. These were laid out on one of the beds as he knew only one bed would be required. Then he knocked at the bathroom door. "May I come in your lordship?"

"We have no clothes on and we're in the bath, Carlo."

Carlo took that statement as assent and went in. The boys were facing each other and they were covered in lather. They were at present soaping each other's' erections and saw little reason to stop for the intruder.

"Might I suggest, sir, that you might like to dine at the Tour d'Argent restaurant, sir? It is not the most expensive in the city but I believe it's one of the best. The duck is recommended. It is an attractive walk across the park to the river, sir, and then if you turn left and cross to the other side you will find it on the Quai de Tournelle past that big R.C. church."

"Why thank you, Carlo that sounds wonderful. Have you been there?"

"Oh no sir, I don't think it would be for the likes of me. I was told about it but I can recommend the walk.

"Oh, much to see Carlo?" asked Stephen.

"Indeed, Mr Stephen, many attractive sights and the background is--very romantic-- as I believe has been observed before."

"What will you be doing tonight in Paris, Carlo?" asked Martin.

"Oh your lordship, attending to your needs, but afterwards I might take a short walk to get some air and to meet a friend."

"You have friends in Paris?"

"Well, sir, I met a boy who is a telegraphic messenger; it was he who told me about the duck. I've laid out some suitable clothes for this afternoon and I will have your evening clothes ready at 7:00. I have already made a booking at the Tour d'Argent for 9 o'clock. I hope that is not exceeding my authority sir."

"No, not at all. You are very thoughtful, and perceptive, Carlo. Well done, again"

"Thank you your lordship. May I assist you in washing Mr. Stephen?"

"He does need a lot of scrubbing, but I think I can manage, Carlo."

Martin's greatest pleasure was seeing the impression Paris made on Stephen. Nothing was wasted; he drank in every sight and assembled an appreciative understanding of the city in his clever brain. Martin was reminded of their first trip to London together. They had come a long way since 1909.

Swinging their sticks and with their hats at a jaunty angle, they made a very elegant pair as they imitated the boulevardiers on the Rue de Rivoli and Champs Elyseés. They stopped at a fashionable café and brought newspapers that they didn't read, but rather they sat and watched the passers by. "Look at him," said Stephen when a handsome boy walked by with a pair of dogs on a lead. He looked Stephen and Martin over then departed with a haughtily raised eyebrow. They English boys laughed.

The wonderful dinner of pressed duck was followed by a leisurely stroll along the river. When no one was watching Stephen held Martin's hand, otherwise they linked arms as was common among the natives.

"We're very lucky, aren't we Derbs?" said Martin.

"Yes, we're here in Paris with money in our pockets and we have someone to love and we're not ninety."

"It will still be nice at ninety. Do you think you could kiss me over there, where it's dark."

"I could kiss you here, Mala, but that policeman might object. I don't know about French policemen. Do you think they are moved by love?"

"Perhaps just not by boys, Derbs."

Kisses were exchanged in the shadows and they hurried home to the luxury of the Meurice. They removed their own clothes, trying to be careful in hanging them up because they didn't want to ring for Carlo thinking that he might also be enjoying a night of love in Paris.

The Paris-Berlin express passed into Belgium the next evening and it was late at night and with very little fuss to the first class passengers when they crossed the frontier into Germany. In the morning it was Carlo rather than the steward who brought them tea and he served it with difficulty as the boys refused to be separated in their cozy lower berth.

"Your looking thoughtful, Derbs," said Martin from over his book.

"I was thinking about Christopher, Mala."

"He's in love with you, you know that."

"Yes I do. I love him too. Not in the way I love you, Mala; it's different. You know, I never had a younger brother or an older one for that matter. I feel...I feel really proud that he looks up to me and that makes me try to be a better person. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I do. I'm a bit jealous of course, but we're in the same boat: I look up to you too and for that matter so does Selby-Keam and Elsie from The Feathers."

Stephen blushed attractively. After a pause he said: "I've no doubt he'll find a nice girl who'll break his heart perhaps, but he'll turn out alright in the end."

"Stephen, if you have to--you know--with Chris it's alright with me."

"That's what you said about Mlle Otero."

"That was different. This is out of love."

"It's you that I love, Mala, from the first moment..."

"That I sucked you?"

"No! Well, maybe. I can't remember the first moment, but it's the last moment that counts."

Meals and the flat German countryside came and went. Germany seemed neat and prosperous and they sped through some industrial towns. They were sorry to have missed Cologne in the dark and the journey was rather dull. At Hamm the boys were impressed with the railway station, which looked like a Lutheran Dom, and the coalmines and heavy industry stood in sharp relief against the green countryside surrounding the city.

The train sped across Hanover and they were enjoying their luncheon in the dining car when the train crossed the magnificent bridge that spanned the Elbe. Soon after they crossed the Havel which they knew was the river on which Berlin stood. It was late afternoon when they reached Spandau on the outskirts of the capital with its miles of timber cottages and allotments. They then entered a vast region of factories, coal piles, gasholders, tenement buildings, canals and warehouses, with the railway elevated above all. It joined a circular railway where it passed several stations without stopping. Soon they found themselves on a platform in the enormous and rather beautiful Anhalter Bahnhof, with Carlo, once again, seeing to the luggage.

One taxi took Martin and Stephen to the Adlon while Carlo and the trunks followed in another. Berlin, through the window, appeared to be a busy and elegant city with broad and ceremonial streets and plazas like Paris and lined impressive hotels and government buildings. It was flat, and the gravel on which the city was built seemed to intensify the summer heat uncomfortably. There were no sea breezes.

They navigated a busy intersection-- as busy as Piccadilly Circus-- and the driver called out that this was the Postdamer Plaz. Here there were hotels and department stores. The driver turned right then left and the streets seemed to be given over to government ministries and foreign embassies. At last they entered a serene tree-lined avenue, which terminated at the familiar Brandenburg Gate, which was topped with the quadriga formerly looted by the French and now restored and flanked by two Greek gatehouses.

The taxis pulled up at the magnificent Adlon Hotel, which seemed to be a thoroughly up-to-date building that fronted the Unter den Linden and enjoyed the benefit of a small park in Pariser Platz, which opened to the imposing Tor.

Carlo and the trunks disappeared like magic and a revolving door ushered the boys inside. The management spoke English and they were led to the lift that took them to a splendid suite of rooms overlooking the linden trees and the French Embassy.

Carlo came in, all smiles. "Well done, Carlo. This is wonderful. It was worth the train journey just to be here," said Martin.

"Thank you your lordship. If you need me just press this button here," he said indicating an instrument beside the bed.

Stephen said: "This place and the Meurice will be expensive, Mala."

"Don't worry, Derbs. Let's just enjoy it."

"Carlo, could you find out if Herr von Oettingen-Taxis has arrived. He is staying here too and will be in charge of getting us to his home."

Carlo disappeared and Stephen stood behind Martin with his arms around him while they looked out of the window at the carriages, motorcars, pedestrians and soldiers passing to and fro.

"Isn't this exciting Derbs?"

"Yes it is."

"Oh, I feel you are excited. We'd better wait though."

They waited, but it did not stop Martin wriggling and making Stephen harder through his trousers. Carlo returned. "Herr von Oettingen-Taxis is in a room on this floor and will be along in a minute, sir," he said looking at the bulge down Stephen left trouser leg. "The manager telephoned his room. They have instruments in every suite, sir."

Friedrich soon appeared and handshakes soon turned to hugs. "What do you think of Berlin?" he asked them both.

"It's enormous," said Martin.

"It's very beautiful," said Stephen.

"Well we can spend tomorrow seeing it and get the train for Königsberg the next day. We'll be all day on the train, I'm afraid."

He looked at Stephen and saw a certain light in his eyes and then saw the bulge in his trousers. "I'll come back at 8:00 and we'll dine. That is unless I can be of help in the meantime?"

"I think I better take care of Stephen, Friedrich; he's always like this after a train journey. I don't want him to explode and damage the hotel."

Carlo had their evening clothes laid out and the bath ready at 7:00. At 7:30 he knocked and entered the bedroom.

"Please, Mr Stephen, your lordship, you must get up and get ready."

"Just another ten minutes, Carlo," said Stephen from the bed, clearly with his cock inside his contented lordship's arse.

"Twelve," Martin managed to say.

Carlo withdrew but could glimpse from the other room Martin being ploughed deep and hard and he found that he had to very careful of his beautiful grey trousers when he spilled. "I needed that!" he said to a gilt-framed photograph of the Kaiser who was frowning down at him.

Carlo did manage to get them bathed and dressed and Friedrich was only kept waiting ten minutes.

"I thought you might like to go to a place where ordinary Berlin families go," said Friedrich. Unless you'd like something more fancy. You have just come from Paris."

The boys thought that the Haus Potsdam sounded fun.

The taxi took them to busy Postsdamer Plaz and the establishment proved to be a modern combination of offices, theatre and dance hall with a huge marble restaurant decorated with murals and called `The Piccadilly'. Here ordinary Berlin families came for beer, wine, pork chops and pickles. There were some other well-dressed people and some women who were clearly tarts. It was lively and fun.

"Tell me about home," asked Martin at length.

"Well," began Friedrich, "there's my mama and papa and Oma--that is my mother's mother. My older brother, Arno will be there and so will Oskar my little brother-- he's nine. My sister is married and lives nearby. There will probably be others there too. It's a big Schloss and quite old."

"What about Eugen?" asked Stephen.

"I'm very excited. He will be home on leave in four days. I have had to work very hard to get my family to approve of him being my friend. I did persuade my father to help him." The boys looked questioningly. "Well, he's Polish--well, half Polish and half Lithuanian--and a Catholic. His father is an apothecary in Insterburg--that's the town nearest. He's 21. We often have to meet secretly. I know you'll like him. I'm hoping we can all go away to the Baltic together--to Cranz where we can swim and I can be with my Eugen. Would you like that?"

The boys nodded vigorously. Friedrich, who normally looked rather serious, suddenly broke into a smile and Stephen was sure he could see a family resemblance to Martin who was also blond and quite German-looking, he thought.

"I have asked for you to have adjoining rooms, is that satisfactory? The boys nodded. "Do you sleep with your servant? What's his name?"

"Carlo," said Stephen.

"No we don't, but could you look after him? He's new and very understanding." Friedrich grinned and said he would.

"This will be much fun!" he said and ordered three more glasses of beer--the biggest Stephen had ever seen.

That night Friedrich's expensive room was wasted as it was decided that it would be nice if he slept with Martin and Stephen, only frequent trips to the lavatory as the result of all the beer marring the occasion.

The next day was spent sightseeing by electric tram, going out as far as Charlottenburg. They dined at the Adlon and it was decided that Friedrich should sleep in his own room because they had to get an early train. However about midnight there was a knock at the door and Friedrich was admitted in his dressing gown. "I was so excited I couldn't sleep" he said simply.

Stephen removed his dressing gown and pyjamas, once again admiring his shaved groin, and then kissed him, thinking how much he tasted like Martin before bringing him to bed where Martin was awoken so that Friedrich might pleasure him too.

The train journey to Königsberg across the north German Plain seemed endless. Carlo sat in the same compartment as the other three. Friedrich admired him and wished he had a manservant as masculine as Carlo. Carlo simply smiled at him and adjusted his cock in his valet's uniform.

Königsberg was a port city, although about four miles from the sea. There were plenty of factories and mills as well as the University, but the old part of the town was composed of a jumble of tall, narrow houses, typical of this part of Germany and dominated by a castle with a Gothic spire and a sinister round tower.

A motorcar was there to meet them for the journey of two hours to `Ritterburg' the Schloss of the Oettingen-Taxis family. There were forests of pines and birch and fields of wheat and sugar beets. Stephen determined to ask questions about agricultural methods in Germany.

"Those are Polish villages" said Friedrich when they came to clusters of rundown cottages that didn't look quite German. "The Poles work on the land," he explained.

At last Ritterburg was in sight. It presented a starker sight than Croome but shared a similarity in that its jumbled architecture told the history of the region. Friedrich explained that the original Schloss had been wooden and had burnt down. The round fortified tower, like the one in Königsberg, was built in the early seventeenth century when the family emigrated from Catholic Austria. The later additions were made in the 1790s and 1876.

"My mother is very proud of her English garden," said Friedrich as they approached the house and, through a gap in a wall, could be glimpsed flowers and shrubs.

Graf von Oettingen-Taxis was solid and dark-haired, unlike Friedrich and, as Martin feared, he was rather stiff and correct. Martin hesitated to call him Uncle Otto so just called him sir' until he asked Friedrich what to call him. Uncle Otto for his part referred to Martin as Graf' and `sir'.

He called Stephen `Herr Knight-Poole' and Martin was thankful that he unbent enough to make a joke about Stephen's name being the same as the name of the house in German. Friedrich explained that Martin's brother had adopted him and Uncle Otto nodded.

Friedrich's mother spoke even less English, but despite her chilly demeanor she was more appealing because she had Friedrich's blond colouring and was probably a very beautiful woman when younger.

Friedrich's older brother, Anro, looked something like his father although of a slighter build and Oskar, the little one, was like Friedrich. They were taken into a salon and introduced to Oma who Friedrich explained was Frau von Trougott. Stephen scored points by taking her hand and putting it somewhere near his lips, but without touching it. Frau von Trougott then said something that sounded like `gut aussehenden Jungen' and Friedrich jokingly admonished his Oma.

The boys were shown to their rooms, which were in the old part of the house. "It's a long way from my room, Martin, but I know the way. I need to stay where Eugen can find me if he comes in the night and you will have more privacy here. Carlo has been put in a room on the floor above. I hope that is all right."

"It's a lovely old room," said Martin, and indeed it was charmingly irregular due to the curve of the thick outer walls, which were pierced by tiny windows. "Stephen can snore as loudly as he likes and he won't disturb anyone."

"And I can make you squeal like a stuck pig and the servants won't come running," retorted Stephen.

"We are having dinner at 7:00. I hope that's not too soon?"

"We'll save ourselves," said Stephen.

It was a job to find the salon again and when they did Uncle Otto (as Martin now thought of Graf von Oettingen-Taxis) looked crosser than ever. Martin checked his watch to make sure they were not tardy and wondered what the cross exchange was between Friedrich and his father.

While they were drinking sherry Friedrich came over and said quietly that his father was shamed because he was wearing a black waistcoat as no one told him that white ones like theirs were the London fashion. Martin felt badly, but could do little about his waistcoat or the fashion.

There was another guest at dinner, a jolly and avuncular Rumanian who was introduced as Count Osmochescu. "Your estate in England is on the south coast, is it not, Lord Martin?" he said.

"Yes, Count Osmochescu, it is," and he tried to describe the geography.

"But you are near Wareham, near Mr Tatchell, one of your greatest industrialists?"

Martin was a little surprised, as he did not think of Tatchell as a magnate, but admitted that he knew him. Do you know England well, Count Osmochescu?"

"Yes, I have been there many times. I like England very much, especially your Lyon's Corner House. Do you know it? Have you been to Bucharest?"

"No sir, I haven't."

"It is a beautiful city. The Paris of the Balkans it is called."

"Ah yes," replied Martin, "and Paris is often referred to as the Bucharest of Western Europe, Count Osmochescu." The count smiled but looked a little puzzled before seeing the joke and laughing uproariously.

"What is so amusing?" asked Uncle Otto. The Count repeated the aphorism but Uncle Otto did not smile. "That is not amusing. Nobody fell down or anything; I don't understand why you laugh."

Stephen had been quiet and had done a lot of smiling. He found an opening to talk about farming with Arno and he was learning a lot about German fertilizers.

"How do you make your peasants work?" interrupted Uncle Otto. Stephen was shocked. "We don't have peasants, sir." He was nearly going to add, that if they did he would be one.

"Perhaps I chose my words wrongly." He spoke through Arno, "The workers at Croome--the ones who plant and harvest; how do you get them to maximize their efficiency?"

Stephen though carefully and explained that most of the estate was given over to tenant farmers who ran their own properties but paid rent. He explained about the new dairy and his proposal for the horse stud where O'Brien would be taken into a partnership.

"You must be in a small way, sir. Here we have thousands of acres and hundreds of Polish farm workers. We have a high tariff to protect us from imported grain so it is profitable. You English have your free trade and also your Empire. But you need to be strong and hold your Empire together."

"We beat the natives down, sir," said Martin with a straight face.

"Yes, that is good. Germany is ashamed because we don't have an empire--only scraps."

"It is your magnificent Navy that holds it together, Lord Martin," said the Count. "You are building new warships and new docks along the south coast, I read in the papers."

"I don't know sir. I only know Bournemouth," said Martin.

"You do not know Portsmouth?"

"Not really sir," said Martin, thinking of sailors.

"But coming from a noble family you must have influence with the Admiralty and the House of Lords."

"Not really, sir. My father sat in the Lords but my brother hasn't taken up his seat. My uncle who lives with me was in the Army and was an advisor to the Maharaja of Rajpipla in India." This was translated for Uncle Otto.

"You do not have contact with your glorious Navy?" continued the Count.

"Well, I know Mr McKenna and Mr Churchill who are First Lords of the Admiralty, Count Osmochescu. Mr McKenna helped me with a problem I had and I've met Mr Churchill at his club and he has dined with Mr Knight-Poole at his house in France," continued Martin but omitting that he was dressed as a fisherman.

"Ah, what it must be to have such friends!"

"And in Rumania, are you a landowner, Count?"

"Naturally. My family has an estate near Temesvar; but I spend most of my time engaged in business in the capital."

"What sort of business? Have you interest in the oil wells?"

"You are well informed, Lord Martin. Some interest certainly, but I spend a lot of my time on trade matters for His Majesty. Our country was fortunate enough to avoid the war our neighbours were engaged in, but our country has many enemies."

"Friedrich, do ask your mother if she will show me her garden tomorrow," said Martin, wearying of political conversation.

The next day the sun was gone and it rained heavily. Martin and Stephen spent the morning reading in their tower room. Martin was bored and put down The Broad Highway by Jeffery Farnol and walked over to Stephen who was absorbed in a new German novella, Death in Venice and was attempting to read it with the aid of a dictionary and a pencil and paper.

Martin interrupted him by straddling his lap and kissing him. "I love your moustache, Derbs," he said. It was narrow and neat and made him look older. "But I think you need a shave," he said feeling his cheek.

"I'll shave before lunch," said Stephen.

"No, Carlo should shave you. He's good at it I believe."

Carlo was sent for and hot water was procured. Stephen, wearing only his lemon-silk pyjama bottoms was placed before a mirror and Carlo set to work professionally.

"I used to shave gentlemen all the time on the ships, your lordship. They used to request me because I had a steady hand. I'm not so good at cutting gentlemen's hair though. When you need to shave, your lordship, just ask me."

At last Stephen was clean-shaven, except for the moustache, which was preserved. Martin tested the result with his lips. "He smells nice Carlo."

"It's the soap sir; it's from Trumper's."

"Carlo, I think I'd like more of Mr Knight shaved."

"Not my moustache!" exclaimed Stephen.

"No, not there."

"You don't mean like Friedrich!" cried Stephen with horror.

"Not quite." He turned to Carlo and said bluntly: "Do you think you could shave Mr. Stephen's balls Carlo?"

"I could try sir, with your help," said Carlo, without blinking.

"Is that all right Stephen? I'd really like to see them shaved."

Stephen was unsure but allowed the pyjama bottoms to be removed.

"Just the long hair here," said Martin, indicating the scrotum.

"I'll get some more hot water, your lordship. I mean warm water," he hastily corrected when he saw the look of alarm on Stephen's face.

Stephen was a little hurt that his Mala sought improvements in him but was quite reconciled when he felt Carlo lathering him up with the badgers' hair brush.

"Lord Martin, if you would be so kind as to hold `this' out of the way with one hand and use the other to pull the skin tight here so I don't nick it. Mr Stephen if you would stretch the other side..."

"I don't think I have to hold it now," giggled Martin, for Stephen's cock was now hard and flat against his stomach. "Do you think Mr Stephen could have been a horse in a previous life, Carlo--or a bull perhaps?"

"I don't know about reincarnation, your lordship. He seems every inch a man to me."

"Yes, I think so too," he said, giving the erect penis a little stroke.

"Steady on sir, don't wriggle for goodness sake."

Next, Stephen had to lift his legs so Carlo could work on that area that formed the marchland between one well known anatomical region and another. The job was at last completed and Stephen admired his balls in a hand mirror.

"I think he needs a trim here, Carlo," said Martin indicating the soft black curls that composed the lad's pubic bush. Stephen said nothing.

"I'll get some shampoo first," said Carlo.

Stephen's private area was shampooed, with Martin lending a hand.

"Aren't you ready yet?"

"This shampooing can't be rushed, Mr Stephen," said Carlo, massaging him with his fingertips. "Your lordship, would you mind...?" Martin grasped Stephen's erection and bent it downwards so Carlo could lather an area hitherto inaccessible and the trail that led up to his navel. Using a basin, Carlo rinsed Stephen who was achingly hard and leaking.

"Oh, Frau von Oettingen-Taxis!" said Carlo suddenly. Both boys turned to the doorway while Carlo swiped some of Stephen's clear juices with a finger. "Oh I'm sorry, it was just the hatstand and overcoat; I thought it was someone standing there," he said, putting the finger to his tongue.

Stephen was dried and Carlo set to work with comb and scissors and trimmed him. He then produced two small brushes and, giving one to Martin, they brushed the cropped locks to a glossy lustre.

"There," said Carlo holding the mirror again. "That may itch a little sir. I think it may need shampooing regularly, perhaps every Sunday."

"I think we'll manage Carlo," said Stephen.

"Oh," said Carlo, disappointed. "What about if I take a reduction in my wages?"

"Thank you Carlo. It won't come to that," said Martin. "You can leave us now."

Carlo withdrew, taking his equipment and Martin laid his cheek on the soft, fresh- smelling groin in blissful contentment.

"Would you like to go riding tomorrow, Martin?" asked Friedrich at lunch. Martin replied that he would indeed and soon a party was got up and the various rides and horses were discussed earnestly among the family.

At the conclusion of the meal Friedrich said to the boys: "You might like to send your man down to the stables to pick you out two mounts."

"Oh I don't know if Carlo knows about horses, Cousin Friedrich."

"I still think you should send him," he said with a wink, and started to write out a short note.

Carlo was directed to the handsome stables that formed a quadrangle adorned by a short tower carrying an ancient clock. He entered the gloom and sniffed the horsey odors. He asked a hand for Herr Kaliszuk and was directed to a narrow flight of stairs that led up to rooms. He knocked on the first door and it was answered by a tall man, perhaps in his early thirties, who was dressed in jodhpurs and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to expose strong, sun-tanned arms. He quickly closed the door behind him and looked at Carlo, lingering on his grey trousers.

"Herr Kaliszuk?"

The man nodded and took the note and read it.

"Roman," he said pointing to himself when he looked up.

"Carlo," said Carlo copying his gesture.

They went downstairs and Carlo followed him through the stalls. Roman picked out two horses, which Carlo noted had eight legs and four eyes and two tails between them and Carlo nodded his approval, giving each one an appreciative smack.

Roman took Carlo back up the stairs and into the room. There was a young boy on the bed smoking. Roman yelled at him and struck him with his hand. The dangerous cigarette was extinguished and the boy was told to get out, his clothes being thrown after him.

Roman poured himself a drink from a bottle and poured one for Carlo which he handed to him, just holding the glass long enough to require Carlo to use some force to retrieve it. They drank, looking at each other. Roman was good looking in a Slavic sort of way. His hair was light brown, like his eyes above a pair of high cheekbones, and it hung across a wide forehead. His face was also rather square with its large nose and pointed chin. He was big-boned and obviously very strong, Carlo noted as Roman slid off his braces. When his jodhpurs where wriggled down there was also something else big-boned.

Carlo took off his uniform and hung it very neatly on the back of a chair while Roman lay on the bed with his cock rising. He reached again for the bottle and two more drinks were poured as Carlo joined him on the bed. They pleasured each other between drinks before Roman mounted Carlo and brutally rode him to their mutual satisfaction.

The next day the riding party galloped across the estate. Martin and Stephen, while not wearing hunting pinks, were smartly turned out in English tweeds of an Essex cut while the von Oettingen-Taxises look rather provincial and Count Osmochescu looked like a character from a comic opera. Nevertheless the ride was energizing and Arno and Friedrich pointed out many interesting features of the landscape and the feudal arrangements for the running of the estate.

"Eugen lives there," said Friedrich pointing to a small town, not too distant.

The boys bathed and dressed for dinner. They were joined by Friedrich's sister, Berthe, and her husband. An elaborate grace was said before the meal could commence. Count Osmochescu was placed opposite Stephen and he made some jokes before returning to his topic of the Navy. "Are you to be a marine engineer, Herr Knight-Poole?"

"No I don't think so, although it might be interesting. I do have a boat."

"Are a beautiful yacht, not doubt, and I suppose you take out your friends Herr Churchill and Herr Asquith?"

No. It is not very big, sir, but I suppose I could ask them. Lord Martin's godfather belongs to the same club and sees them, although they are not in the same party."

"Ah the English gentlemen's club. You must meet many important people there..." and so he went on, Stephen becoming quite tired.

That night there was a knock at the door. Stephen arose and answered it. It was Friedrich and his eyes were shining. He was holding the hand of a tall boy, slightly older than him. He came inside and Martin was awoken.

"Eugen!" he announced.

Eugen was dressed in the uniform of a cavalry regiment and had a narrow turned down moustache. He certainly looked handsome. Introductions were made and Friedrich bounced excitedly on the bed. "Eugen has ridden over here from his house and came to my room through a door I leave open. He has already fucked me twice," he declared and pulled down his pyjamas and displayed his inflamed hole from which dribbled Cavalry seed. Eugen just smiled and kissed Friedrich on the top of his head. Friedrich went to pull his trousers up but Eugen stopped him and spoke in Polish.

"Eugen says as you are naked we all should be. Let me show you him." With that Eugen's uniform was removed and his military drawers were lowered to reveal a very large cock which Friedrich took into his mouth. "Is he not the most handsome soldier, my Eugen?" He translated this also for Eugen's benefit. Eugen replied and Friedrich went red and playfully hit him. "He said I look just like a Ruthenian girl."

"Ja" said Eugen running his hands over the blonde hairless nakedness of Friedrich.

They all got on the bed and the excited Friedrich kissed them all. Stephen's newly groomed cock and balls were examined and compared to Eugen's. Eugen suggested that Martin should be shaved like a Ruthenian girl too and Stephen said he would think about it.

It was slightly awkward as the boys felt duty bound to provide some sort of entertainment for Eugen. It was decided that Martin and Stephen should suck each other while Eugen watched. When they had finished it was noticed that Eugen had two fat fingers planted inside Friedrich and was forcefully masturbating him with the other hand. At last he spilled.

"After the boar hunt tomorrow, I will ask my father if we can go to Cranz. Eugen can join us there, but we must make sure my brothers don't come. Would you like that Eugen?"

"Ja," replied Eugen as he bit Friedrich on the back of the neck.

Although it was not the season, in honour of the guests, a party went out to shoot the wild pigs that were both dangerous and destructive in this part of the world. In a clearing in a birch forest Stephen wounded one and did not notice its parent charging at him from his blindside. Martin raised his rifle and felled the tusky monster.

"You're a good shot, Mala. Thanks. I would have been injured."

"You mean I'm your hero because I saved your life?" said Martin humorously.

"You've saved my life, Mala, you know that."

When they returned home Stephen had a feeling that their rooms had been searched. Things weren't quite in the place he had put them. Carlo denied having moved anything and the servant who cleaned the room had `done them' before they had gone out shooting.

"Sir, you will notice the key has been removed from the lock." Martin's room was the same.

"How did you notice that, Carlo?' asked Martin.

"Ahem! We servants are used to looking through keyholes, sir. It is a matter of professional pride. One would be able to see both beds."

"It's clearly your friend, old Count Osmochescu, Martin," said Stephen.

"All those questions about the Navy and your influential friends and Mr Tatchell even. Perhaps a gentle bit of blackmail on two inverts? We might be useful to him."

"But we don't know anything, Derby?"

"That's true, but blackmail is still nasty. I think we should each sleep in our own rooms."

"Oh that would be a pity sir," said Carlo. "Couldn't I put the keys back or stand something before the door? What about if I make up one of the beds to look like it has someone in it and we stand the hatstand in front of the door in other room. If you were quiet..."

"Are we noisy, Carlo?"

"Well, some may call it noise, sir, but some people like the opera."

Carlo's cunning ruse was agreed to and the boys looked forward to going to the Baltic during which time the Count, it was hoped, might have moved elsewhere.

"I think you better fuck me Mala; I make less noise." said Stephen when they were snuggled into bed. Martin pinched him and he yelled.

"Perhaps I should just move the hatstand then and give Count Osmochescu a really good show. At least he'd get something for his efforts if we can't supply secret plans for battleships."