Ganymede

Consiglio's Bed

(revised version)

Venice, 1457

1

"A good one, my Giulio. You are finally beginning to fight like a swordsman at last," another man called out. His name was Lucian. He was somewhat younger than the boy's adversary, although not in the same physical condition.

The boy's face was red from exertion and glistened with tiny beads of sweat. His hair was a tousled mass of dark curls the color of African mahogany. Yet in the sunlight, there was a hint of Venetian red that glistened on fine strands. His eyes were blue, soft, pellucid like the muted Venetian sky. Again the boy charged, now breathing heavily. His right hand ached, the tendons from his shoulder to his thin wrist pulled tight. No longer did he move with easy grace. He clenched the rapier. With each punishing engagement, his bad temper grew. However, the man grinned, slyly moving back. Like an idiot, the boy pursued him, until it was too late. Cornered between the colonnade and the steps, he had no where to turn to. He tried to back away and nearly lost his balance.

"Master Foscari, should you wish to see your next birthday, do not do that again."

Giulio grinned. His birthday would be celebrated the next day. He was born on the Spring Equinox, a good omen for some, a bad omen for others.

"Listen to him, Giulio," Lucian commented dryly. "Today, you are not fighting for your life, but without doubt there will come a day when you will be." He swallowed, bringing moisture to his parched throat. "He is merely testing your mettle, boy. Show him no anger. Bide your time until you can strike safely. When you are weak, you must be patient in the things you want."

The boy lunged quickly, his sword ringing hard against the marble column. Laughter rose behind his back and he spun around. Another man stood there, stoically examining the three of them. Two, the Captain of the Guard and Lucian, the tutor to his son, dropped to one knee, and the boy bowed his head deferentially to the Doge. Even the son of Francesco Foscari owed allegiance to the Doge. During Foscari's thirty years of leadership, Venice had expanded from a city with a small navy of its own, to a powerful state with far-flung territories. He was eighty-four years old and close to the end of his reign. Still, despite nature and against all logic, he had sired again at the age of seventy two. He looked lovingly upon his youthful progeny, captivated by the slender boy's handsome face and slender body.

"Giulio, you must listen to Lucian. You must learn to be patient in all things," he counselled. "Both he and the Captain are teaching you important skills, and not just how to defend yourself with a sword."

He turned to the soldier who taunted his son with a wavering sword. A emblazoned blood-red tunic showed his status as the Captain of the Palazzo Guard. The captain came to his feet, yet avoided the Doge's steady gaze. Unlike many in the venetian court, he was no fawning syncophant, Instead, he averted his gaze respectfully.

"He is doing very well, my Lord. What the lad lacks in stature and strength, he makes up for with speed and agility."

"Still, I want you to work him hard, Captain. His life may depend on the skills you teach him now."

The old man crossed the courtyard slowly. Giulio waited, his head still bowed until he was addressed. A moment later he felt his father's hand upon his shoulder. His gnarled fingers, still strong, rubbed over the leather armor that shielded the boy's thin chest.

"Giulio, I love you dearly. You came late in my life and I have treasured you all the more for that. You are the most precious thing I have." He fingered the gold medallion of the Foscari family that hung around Giulio's neck. "I am proud that you wear this, Giulio Foscari, as you should be."

"Yes Papa," Giulio said meekly. "I am trying hard to be what you want of me."

The old man smiled slightly. Already the boy was everything he wanted in a son, and more. "You must learn how to fight with your mind as well as with the sword. That is why I have entrusted your education to Lucian. This Venice of ours, despite its magnificent palazzos and the beautiful Canal, is still a savage world. There are many who would kill you if the chance arose. Some men would slit your pretty neck merely to get at me."

"Yes Papa."

"Trust no one."

"Yes, Papa!" the boy answered eagerly.

The old man smiled. "It is not so simple, child. When I say trust no one, there are different reasons for each man. Only in time will you learn the reasons, and for some it may already be too late. There are some men who would kill you. There are others who would take advantage of your youth."

"Yes, Papa," Giulio replied dutifully.

The elderly man sighed. "I have long accepted that I will not live to see you grow to manhood, my Giulio. I feel my strength ebbing with every sunrise. Hear my words and remember them well. Should you wish to stand tall, trust not those who you are fond of." His voice lowered to a soft whisper. "Not Lucian, not Consiglio, and especially not Iacopolo." The old man's muted warning came with a gasp at the end. It was as if the name 'Iacopolo' gave him reason to fear.

"But Papa, Iacopolo is my brother?"

"Trust no one, my son. Listen to my wisdom. I have not been Doge all these years without making enemies. Lucian would be cautious in your company, but there is a reason why he is so fond of you. And while Consiglio will not slit your scrawny neck, for that is not his way, there is always another thing that can be easily cut. And to trust Iacopolo is not only foolhardy, but of considerable hazard. To do so would place your life in his hands. It would be a galling end to all that I have done."

"Yes Papa," the boy replied uncertainly. He gazed blankly upwards.

"Return to your lesson, boy. But remember this. You are a beautiful boy 3; a very beautiful boy. It is good that you are becoming an accomplished swordsman. Do not forget that the sword defends your life, but not your body. You must learn to fight with your mind," he said as he touched his son's forehead. "Otherwise you will soon find a man's rapier sheathed between your cheeks. Although it will not kill you, you are girl enough to bring men to desire you. If that were to happen with a person like Consiglio, I fear you will never be a man."

"I don't understand," Giulio questioned nervously. "I'm not a girl. I'm a boy. Of course I will become a man."

"You will understand in time, Giulio. Not every Venetian boy becomes a man. There are always some who make that choice. However, until you understand, you must be careful. Be very careful my angel-boy. The gods have been good to you, but the fact is, my darling Giulio, you are much too pretty for your own good." The old man turned away, speaking directly to Lucian in a muted undertone that the boy was not supposed to hear. "I trust you to guard the boy carefully, Lucian."

"Yes Sire. I guard him like he is the son I cannot have myself."

Francesco smiled ambiguously. "Then enough is said. I know that he is safe with you, yet you must always be vigilant against the man who would steal his virginity. I will not have him become a scabbard for any man's sword. He is too precious to me."

"Yes, my Lord. I will always guard him carefully," Lucian said. His voice crackled, breaking tone between the words, changing from a reedy sing-song to a warbling alto. "You should know, my lord, that Consiglio already favors Giulio." He paused awkwardly. "And I fear the looks are being returned."

The old man appeared unperturbed. There were the many ways for a boy to discover how to give and receive pleasure. A relationship with a man of noble birth was a fact of life in fifteenth-century Venice. Such relationships, if carefully formed, could yield a lifetime of dividends, from business ventures to political allegiances. Indeed, when he was only a few months older than Giulio, Francesco had been personally responsible for uniting the Foscari and Raspini families for the first time in a hundred years.

The old man smiled slightly. "I have seen it for myself, Lucian. He could do far worse. However, know that I still expect you to protect my son from Consiglio."

"Is your fear of Consiglio the pederast, or the barber of boys?"

Francesco examined the tutor closely. "After tonight, I will have no fear of the one. On the morrow, my son will celebrate his tenth year. Even Consiglio would not tempt the wrath of the Council by stealing his eggs after the sunrise. Besides, Lucian, no member of the Council would give consent to any warrant that took my son's manhood."

For a moment Lucian turned cold. Then, he nodded, watching the slender boy who moved with the enviable grace of a gazelle. "Then by default it must be the other. My Lord, then you should know that there are many men much worse than Consiglio who would eagerly take the lad's virginity."

"I know from experience that what you say is true. I also know for a fact that Consiglio is very fond of Giulio. What is more, I have also seen that the boy is happy in his company," Francesco admitted.

"Some would consider Giulio a prize worthy of a Prince. Even a king."

"No man should be trusted with my Giulio."

"I understand your concern, my lord. Yet when urge is mutual, it is very hard to resist."

The old man nodded as he stroked his bottom lip thoughtfully. "You speak the truth, Lucian. Sometimes it is impossible to stop. Perhaps it is for that reason that nature has provided a way for men and boys to be lovers."

"And Consiglio? You would deny the natural urge when it is Giulio who receives his favor?"

"I have long known that Consiglio favors pretty boys with wit and charm so it comes as no surprise that Giulio is of interest to him. Were you not the same at Giulio's age, Lucian? And yes, I too, have seen them together. I am an old man so I have no inclination to pretty boys myself, yet I understand what could attract another man to my sweet Giulio. His face is temptation enough."

"He could protect Giulio, Sire," Lucian suggested wisely.

"Protect Giulio? Yes, should I die, I suppose that is true for Consiglio. He is a man whose protection would afford certain advantages to a boy in the intrigue of Venice. What is more, unlike some pederasts, Consiglio would not bring dishonor to the name of Giulio Foscari. However, there is another reason you know well enough. That alone is reason why I will not have my son become his consort while I live. I have my principles and I stand firm on them," he said adamantly. He turned away. "Captain," he gestured. "Come with me. I have a small matter of state to discuss with you."

He left, cautiously picking his way through the construction debris that littered the courtyard. He seemed very old. He disappeared into the deep shadows, leaving the boy and his tutor alone.

"Lucian," Giulio asked after a few moments. "Yes, Master Foscari?"

"My father 3; he said something I don't understand 3; Why would I find a man's sword sheathed between my cheeks? And that thing, about it not killing me, but I would never be a man. What did he mean?"

Lucian smirked knowingly and raised his eyebrows. "That is his way of speaking of such matters, Master Foscari."

"His way? I don't understand. Why do people always speak in riddles?"

"Because you are still too young to know the why and how of such things. For now it is better that you do not know. In time you will learn and his meaning will be very clear to you. Be content to know that what he said was not a bad thing. Despite his words of warning, it will not kill you. While many have trouble sitting afterwards, I know of no boy who has died from it. Some unfortunates may wish it for the first few times they sheathe the sword. But after that the pain is of real consequence than the mild discomfort of constipation."

"But a rapier between my cheeks? I don't understand. I know if I swallow this sword I would surely die. It doesn't make any sense."

Lucian smiled patiently. "That depends on the size of a man's sword does it not, my boy?"

"Yes," Giulio ventured. "But I still don't understand."

"Your father is right in saying what he did. You are a very pretty boy. You need to be very careful."

"Careful? About what?" Giulio asked persistently.

"About asking too many questions for one thing. Your curiosity could even be taken by some men as a sign that you are interested."

"I am always interested, you should know that by now. That is why you are my teacher," the youngster grinned. He brushed tangled locks of moist hair back from his forehead." But why must you always talk in riddles?"

Lucian smiled warmly. "Because it is the way of men when such matters are addressed." "Is the lesson over?" Giulio asked suddenly. He watched the Captain and his father disappear inside the palazzo.

"For today it is enough. I can see that you are tired. We have time for other things that will enrich your mind. You have acquired some skill with the sword, but there is always more to learn needed to defend your life. A good mind is as important as a strong body for the Doge's son." Giulio gestured towards the waiting gondola. It bobbed gently against the dock, its stern buffeted by the steadily freshening wind that blew along the canal. The detailed asymmetrical facades of the adjacent palazzos seemed to sparkle in the pellucid air. However, Lucian shook his head. "Let us walk instead, young master. Today, we will go via the Rialto on our way back to the Palazzo."

They walked abreast, his arm around the boy's thin shoulders to offer a measure of protection when they were jostled by the hordes of afternoon shoppers in the narrow streets. Yet his closeness was unnecessary. People stepped aside when they approached, recognizing one or both of them. The boy, a mere stripling with subdued pride in his parentage, did not mind his tutor's proximity. Indeed, it made him glow with a deep satisfaction of knowing that he was well liked.

That afternoon he felt closer to Lucian than ever before. From his birth, he had always been distanced from his father. His father was old enough to be his great grandfather, and he had little in common with a boy of nearly ten years. However much more than years separated father and son. One difference, unrecognized by the boy but comprehended by his father, brought Giulio ever nearer to the men who threatened his very existence. Francesco Foscari was engrossed in the affairs of state and the intrigues of Venetian politics, and he was barely with his a minute each day before another problem engaged his interest. When the opportunity arose, it was not surprising that young Giulio sought affection.

Lucian was both friend and mentor, and for that reason alone Giulio spent more time with him than any other person. His father entrusted Lucian with Giulio's upbringing, and in time, the boy trusted him with his life. Yet there were things that Giulio could not tell Lucian, private thoughts that lingered in his mind long after the cause had dissipated. These unshared thoughts were like a chasm between them. And there were many questions a growing boy needed answers to, but Giulio dared not ask them. Strangely, Lucian broached the subject of Giulio's interest without prompting.

"We have always been good friends, but we are probably closer than most people realize," he began uncertainly. "I must tell you that I have become very attached to you, Master Foscari."

Giulio nodded, suddenly eager that they continue talking. "I am fond of you too."

Lucian paused a moment and gazed down at his young charge, the corners of his mouth crinkling as a smile formed. Now, no matter which way he studied it, there was no hiding his feelings. "That is good, young sire. I have something to say. It is very difficult for me. I do not want to make you angry."

"I will not be angry," Giulio promised.

"And if you told anyone what I am going to tell you, I would be banished from your sight forever," he stressed. "I beg you to keep it secret. I could not bear to lose you."

Giulio looked at him aghast and shook his head in immediate denial. "Never would I tell, Lucian. I would die if you were to leave my side."

Lucian smiled a little more. Although still clearly nervous, he drew closer, his intention clear. "What I want to tell you is difficult enough, but because I admire you so I must find the strength," he began slowly. "Sometimes 3; Master Foscari 3; Giulio 3; a man can have strong feelings for a boy. It begins as friendship, but it can easily become much more. In time it can become love, a very powerful love that knows no equal."

He hesitated, glancing around the empty piazzetta. The sunlit marble facade of Il Savanati glowed golden-amber. He swallowed nervously as he bared his deepest secret. "You asked me once, a year ago perhaps, whether only men and women can love. I told you then that men can also love men 3; It is also true that a man can love a boy," he added quietly. "Indeed, many ancient philosophers would say that love of a man for a boy surmounts all other. It is the purest form of love."

"I have read that in Plato. He said as much, though it is often hard to decipher what he intends. And a boy can love a man too," Giulio ventured with certain knowledge.

"How do you know that with such confidence?"

"I 3; I don't know. I've heard it said by boys my age. I've wanted to ask you if it's true."

"It's nature's way although many show distain for it. You feel it too, don't you my beautiful Giulio 3;" Lucian stepped back a single pace, his eyes meeting the boy's steady gaze with fierce intensity. For a moment, Giulio felt a wave a fear rising up from the pit of his stomach. It seemed as if he was looking at something he had always been frightened of. How often, how long had he wanted to address that lingering fear inside him? Giulio nodded and quickly looked away.

"Lucian 3; why do I feel this way?"

"How do you feel, little one?"

"Like there's a bird inside me. It seems like he's fluttering his wings and trying to get out. And I feel so hot when I'm with you."

"Just with me?"

"No, I feel the same, perhaps even more with Consiglio, like there's a fever making me ill. Yet I know that I'm not sick."

Again Giulio met his eyes, his dancing, mysterious, all knowing eyes. Lucian's dark eyes gazed into the boy's mind and read his churning thoughts that dwelled on subjects not yet broached. Giulio shivered from his mere propinquity.

"It could be that 3;"

"What?"

"Perhaps what you feel are the pangs of love."

"Love? I don't understand."

"I think you're in love, Giulio," Lucian said softly. "You are old enough to feel the need."

"How can you tell?" Giulio asked.

"There are signs. When being together makes you tremble like a lagoon reed in the faintest zephyr. When your heart beats faster the moment you see the one you love. When your male part stirs and reaches out for him. It points the way for your heart to follow. That is love. It strikes without reason and cares not what you want. In time, love melds your heart and soul with his, until you live only for one purpose, and then you think always and only of the one you want to be close to."

"I'm frightened," Giulio whispered.

"There is no reason to be afraid. I will always be here to protect you. That is my role in life, sweet boy."

"But you just said 3; if anyone knows 3; you would be banished."

"Or worse," Lucian commented drily. "Being sent away would be the least of my problems if your father discovered how you feel about me. He expects me to keep you safe."

"You love me too, don't you Lucian?" Giulio asked awkwardly.

"Of course. You are an easy boy to fall in love with," Lucian smiled. "You are the most beautiful boy I have ever seen. There is no boy, or girl for that matter, in all of Venice who compares with you. They are in your shadow. And there are many others besides myself who are besotted with your beauty. You stand alone with no equal."

"Not even the choir boys?" Giulio teased.

His question provoked another cautious smile. "Not even the choir boys, young sire. They are certainly as beautiful as angels, yet thou art a god among them," Lucian added for emphasis. "You hair is flecked with spun gold when the sun shines upon it. Your lips are the lips of the Madonna. Your flesh has both the softness of a newborn and the firmness of a leopard. Your eyes are cerulean blue, and clear like the pellucid sky of this beautiful city. I can gaze into your soul and know you love me."

"Luc-ci-ci-ian 3; you're making me f-f-feel s-sstrange 3;" Giulio stammered. "I'm frightened."

The man brushed long stands of silken hair back from the boy's brow. His fingers lingered, caressing a smooth temple. "You are a very beautiful boy, Giulio. Don't be afraid of how you feel. Loving someone is nothing to be ashamed of. It is an honor that you love me."

"Lucian 3; Iacopolo told me it was evil for a man to love another of his sex. He said it was against God's will for men to love each other," Giulio began."Although I am still a boy, eventually I will be a man like you."

Lucian blanched. "Forget what he said, my little boy-god. He is only jealous that you are such good friends with Consiglio and me."

"Often he tells me to be careful when I bend over in front of you."

Lucian shrugged dismissively. "Iacopolo will always hate me. You have nothing to fear from me in that respect, Giulio."

"Why does my brother hate you? You are my tutor."

"I cannot tell you, Giulio. You must trust me in this. You are better off not knowing why he hates me. It is too dangerous for you to know. It is Iacopolo who is evil, not the love between two men. Neither is it wrong for a boy to love a man 3; because the love you would share with a man is given by God. It should be accorded the respect it is due."

"How do you know I will be better off not knowing?" Giulio asked openly. "I trust you, Lucian, and now that I love you too, I must know why he hates you. Iacopolo is my brother, yet I have never had any feelings of love for him. I don't know why, but he has always been cruel to me."

Lucian nodded understandingly. "I am not surprised. There can never be affection between the two of you. You and he are like the faces of a ducat. You are joined together by bloodline, yet you are completely opposite in all other ways."

"Like good and evil?"

Lucian beamed. "Good and evil? Yes, so you do understand. You are a perfect angel, my beautiful Giulio, and Iacopolo is the Devil. Like the coin in your pocket, it would be better if you and he could not see each other. There is harmony in that."

"Isn't that Iacopolo over there?" Giulio said loudly as a couple turned the corner of the piazzetta.

"Hush, Giulio. We should not disturb them," Lucian cautioned swiftly. His head bent down and his hand reached to the boy's shoulder to turn his face away.

"Why? It's my brother," Giulio countered. "And that man beside him, it's 3;Con 3;"

"Yes, Giulio. It's Consiglio," Lucian interrupted. "It bothers me that they are together."

"Why is he talking with Consiglio?"

"What your brother does is none of your concern, Master Foscari. Take my advice and forget that you have seen him here today."

"Why?" Giulio demanded.

"Some things are better left alone. He did not intend you to see him. That is reason enough not to speak of it to anyone."

"Where are they going?"

"There are some things better left unknown."

"Why is Consiglio holding his hand?" Giulio demanded anxiously.

"I expect for the same reason that I hold your hand when we walk together," Lucian answered awkwardly while he offered his hand.

"Are they friends as close as that?"

"Speak no more of this. Come, my darling Giulio, let us be on our way. Please forget what you have just seen. It would not be safe for you if Consiglio knew."

After they crossed the Grand Canal, they followed the surge of people towards San Giulio. There in the great piazza, they stopped. The Byzantine facade of the great church glowed and flashed in golden splendor, the mosaic of gold leaf and glazed tile eternally beautiful.

"Come Giulio. Let us pray here instead of in the Palazzo chapel," Lucian said.

Giulio nodded, grateful to be away from the pious priests and adoring women who haunted the Palazzo, demanding servitude to the glittering artifacts of the sanctuary. Inside the great cathedral they would be left alone. Lucian led the way past the four great gilded horses and into the basilica. Inside, the cool darkness was relieving. The still air hummed, vibrant with the Church's glory. Incense fumed and sent a pungent smell everywhere. It was otherwise quiet and mystical, its ethereal magic seeming to emanate from the Pala d'Oro altarpiece and the white marble tomb of Saint Mark.

Giulio knelt in the first row, Lucian directly behind him in his rightful place behind the seats reserved for the Doge's family. The boy made the sign and whispered a prayer for his father. Then relieved of family duty, he hastily relocated to the row behind where he wouldnot be noticed. The choir began, voices of two dozen boys most of them no older than Giulio, lifted together in harmony to honor the Holy Trinity with song. Yet some boys were older and their voices were clearer than crystal, singing purer notes than any of the others, and voices strong enough to reverberate through the sacred vaults. Strangely, Giulio understood intuitively that the boys who sung those notes were different to him, yet he did not know why.

"Lucian," Giulio asked as quietly as he could. "Those older boys 3; I know some of them are fifteen or sixteen. Why are their voices no different to mine?"

"Hush," Lucian whispered in return. "You should not speak in His House."

However after a few seconds he smiled and raised his eyebrows in mock horror that the Holy Father would overhear their conversation. He bent his head lower and spoke directly to Giulio's nearest ear.

"Those boys are eunuchs, my darling Giulio. They will never sing like men. For good reason, they're called castrati."

"I've heard them called that. But why will they never sing like men?"

"Always with you there are questions."

"And what's a eunuch?" Giulio demanded under his breath.

"Ah, a eunuch is 3; Hm 3; Do you know what a gelding is?"

"A horse. Everyone knows that," Giulio replied adamantly.

"Your horse is a gelding, Giulio. But tell me, is it a stallion or a mare?"

"He's stallion of course," Giulio blushed. "He has a thing that hangs between his legs."

Lucian smiled slightly. The singing finished and the sonorous words of the evening benediction began. Giulio breathed deeply, inhaling the fetid air that seemed to pervade all of Venice during the hot months of summer. Unlike past years, the smell seemed worse than usual. Sometimes the canals were like open sewers, soiled with the brown scum of human waste and the bloated bodies of dead animals. Perhaps it was an omen for the plague to return, but life went on in Venice as if there was no tomorrow.

"Is it? Have you looked between its hind legs to make sure everything is there that is supposed to be there?" Lucian queried with a smile. Giulio giggled, blushing ever deeper scarlet as he thought of his horse's long black penis. Although the principle was the same as his own small dangling appendage, without exaggeration it was bigger than his forearm. "He has a thing there, just like I do."

"Ha! A thing makes a horse male, but not a stallion. The boys who have been made into eunuchs all have things not much bigger than yours. They have no balls, however. That is the difference. Haven't you noticed that your horse has no balls in the pouch that hangs beneath its thing."

"Balls?"

"Those little eggs that hang below your thing, my innocent. Those are your balls, Giulio. If they are lost, a boy becomes a eunuch. That loss makes them choirboys. They are the same as geldings."

"But how does a stallion become a gelding?" Giulio asked. "How are they lost?"

Lucian chuckled. "So many questions. If you must know it is done with a knife," he answered simply.

"Why is it done?" Giulio asked awkwardly as he stared at the boys in the choir. A knife implied that their balls were cut off. He shuddered involuntarily as he imagined cold steel against his male part, removing two tiny eggs from a purse of skin that felt like the finest Chinese silk.

Lucian nodded. "The choir boys are castrated to keep their voices pure. There are other reasons too why a boy is gelded, but that is the main one. They are chosen very carefully. Only boys with perfect tone are subjected to the knife. It would be a waste to do otherwise for there is no reason to preserve something that is less than perfect. You ask why is it done to them? With manhood, your voice will become deeper, little Giulio. Then, no matter how hard you try, you will no longer be able to sing your soprano song to the heavens."

"Who chooses them?"

"Ah 3; the boy himself for one, his parents, the local priest. Sometimes the barber. It depends." He paused thoughtfully. "Each year the boys who seek a place in the choir are brought before Cardinal Rancini and Consiglio."

"Consiglio?" Giulio asked uncertainly.

"He is the patron who compensates the families for the loss of their sons after the final selection is made. It is a tradition that some payment is made. For some boys it is a token, a few ducats at most, for others from good family I have seen Consiglio give the boy's weight in silver coin."

Giulio's head turned away. He looked at the choir boys thoughtfully. For almost all of them, it was easy to determine who had been castrated. Among the older boys, he recognized the pale thin boy whose delicate soprano reminded him of a high-pitch of a piccolo, the two red-headed twins who sang a haunting melody in parts, the dark-haired gypsy. Suddenly, he had a mental image of a boy's body outstretched on a bloodied wooden table. "H-h-how?" Giulio asked sickly.

"How is it done?" Lucian asked with a patient sigh. "It is done very carefully, usually with a very sharp razor so as to preserve as much of the feeling as possible. It is not intended as a punishment but as a gift."

"Who is this person who does such a thing? A doctor? Is he the barber who my father was talking about in the courtyard?"

Lucian smiled at the breach of confidentiality. The boy had excellent hearing. "The barber is the ball-cutter more often than not. It is he who makes a choirboy into a eunuch."

Giulio nodded thoughtfully. "Both you and my father have talked of him today and I have never heard of it being done before. Will they all be that way in time?" he asked as he studied the boys standing behind the altar.

"All of them? I think not. Some of them are still quite young and it is difficult to tell whether it is worthwhile taking the eggs until the voice is fully developed. For that reason, it cannot be done too soon, but if it is done too late, the voice will lose its charm. However, if it is going to be done at all, the eggs will always be cut before a boy reaches ten years."

"Why is it always done before ten years?"

Lucian sighed inwardly. Before ten years was the law, but it was not always so. Some things had changed with Francesco Foscari as Doge. "It's the law, Giulio. It must be done before the boy can count his age on all his fingers. That is what the law says. One finger for every year. If he is older there is a chance that he is already fertile. And if it is done before he is ten years old, a boy will not regret losing that which he does not have."

"There is really a law for that?" Giulio pressed. It seemed that there were laws for everything.

"Castration can only be done with a warrant. It must be signed by the boy's father and sealed by a member of the Council."

"And there are laws for animals too?"

"No! A foal is not so lucky. The farrier uses the knife only to prevent breeding and make the animal docile," Lucian answered.

"What does docile mean?"

"A gelding is very gentle compared to a stallion is it not? That is docile. A eunuch is the same way. A boy who has lost his manhood will not be aggressive. He cannot become a real man. Enough of this talk of eunuchs and geldings. We are in God's house, Giulio," Lucian admonished playfully.

"I have another question, Lucian," Giulio whispered. "I promise it is the very last one. If this thing is done to a boy to make him into a eunuch 3; so he cannot sing like a man, and he will be docile 3; what else happens to him because of it? How is he not a man? I have seen men in my father's court who are gentle and they can sing, yet surely I know they are men."

Lucian replied patiently. "That is not the worst of it, Giulio. If it is done before a boy's balls ripen, he will not be manly. His male part is stunted, and it will never grow bigger. What is more, he cannot father children, and women will not want to lie with him."

"What happens to him then? Does he become a priest?" Giulio whispered.

He studied the gaunt cleric in his crimson and gold-embroidered robes as he performed the ritual blessings at the altar. Had he been castrated as a boy, Giulio wondered? Yet as soon as the question formed in his mind, he knew that the priest was not a eunuch. His voice was sonorous, booming through the mosaic-covered halls of the basilica when he uttered the ancient latin phrases of prayer.

Lucian sighed. "No more questions, my angel." He smiled slightly. "But I have heard it said that priests and eunuch boys have much in common during the darkness of night. I have heard that a priest's vows of chastity extend only to women and girls. The ascetic life does not eschew all pleasure, and beautiful boys are among the greatest of pleasures. Eunuch boys are highly treasured by men who know what real pleasure is."

That night, after evening prayer Giulio undressed in the flickering candlelight. His thoughts were of Lucian, as they had been all night. Hours earlier Lucian had spoken of the relationship between them as being more than friendship. His words of love were like tormenting barbs that pierced the boy's innocence. And while there was a strange void in his belly as if he had not eaten, Giulio realized an inner happiness from finally knowing why his body trembled whenever he was close to Lucian. Part of him glowed with the first flames of passion, while his mind reeled with the meaning of Lucian's words. However, what was most disturbing, his male part was no longer dormant. He urinated carefully, directing his pale dribble into the night basin with considerable difficulty. At first it did not want to come out, and he had to strain down to force the stream through his erect penis. It was hot and hard between his fingers, and he trembled from even the slightest touch on his sensitive skin. It was very different to the little sleeping thing that usually adorned the center of his body.

He finished his ablutions and pulled on his nightshirt to cover the uncomfortable projection that continued to protrude from between his thighs. He walked to the shuttered window. Outside, Giulio could hear the distant raucous laughter of soldiers, sailors, courtesans, and whores, loud footsteps and belches on the bridge across the canal. In the darkness of night, Venice turned to drunken vice. It was not safe to be outside. Nor was it safe inside the palazzo, for when the boy turned around to walk back to his bed, a figure stepped from the shadows beside the fireplace.

"Iacopolo!" Giulio gasped with sudden fear.

"No, it's me, your friend Lucian. Don't be afraid, my beautiful Giulio."

He walked forward, one hand held out in greeting. "How did you get in?" Giulio asked nervously. "You could not come through the door. It's locked and Iacopolo has the key," he explained. "He locks me in every night."

"I know." Lucian closed the gap between them. "I had to see you again, my beautiful boy. I have not stopped thinking about you."

"And I have thought about you all the time too, Lucian," Giulio blurted out. "Why do I feel like this?"

"How do you feel?"

"I feel funny 3; it's hard to explain. I feel hot, and then I feel happy, and a moment later I feel frightened. I heard the Council talking about a case of plague in the Calle del Forno and I keep wondering whether I am getting sick?"

Lucian nodded reassuringly. "Those are nice feelings, my angel. You're not getting sick. Those feelings are normal when you're falling in love."

Giulio took a deep breath. He needed a thousand questions answered, but one question was foremost in his mind. Before this, he would never have found the courage to ask Lucian. Now, for some strange reason, the words came very easily.

"My thing is big," Giulio announced solemnly. "It's hard too."

Lucian grinned as his eyes lowered. "So my beautiful young boy has a stiff cock. Has it not done that before now?"

Giulio glanced down, noticing the pointed disturbance in his shirt. "Sometimes in the morning it gets big 3; but it's never like this. It hurts."

"It hurts?"

Lucian came closer until he was only an arm's length away. Suddenly, for no reason Giulio could explain, he wanted Lucian to hold him in his arms. His male part throbbed, joining with the gnawing hunger in his belly to make his body tremble uncontrollably. He shivered, barely cognizant of why he needed Lucian's embrace and the closeness of his body against him. Never before had Giulio been so aware of his male part. All of him seemed be concentrated in those few short inches between his legs, and he had an inexplicable realization that only Lucian could relieve his agony by touching him there. From ribald jokes told by his father's friends, and from playing with other boys, Giulio knew that such things were not openly admitted, not unless one wanted to play what others referred to as the woman's role.

"It throbs," Giulio said uncertainly.

Lucian smiled again. His hand lightly brushed the boy's shoulder, twisting his fingers in Giulio's curling locks. The boy stood straight and tall before him, yet he barely came midway to the man's breast. The polished steel of his sword, hand-tooled from Toledo like was cool against Giulio's thigh as he leaned forward. Lucian's hand eased down his back, rubbing his small shoulder blades with strong massaging fingers. Lucian's other hand cradled his buttocks, caressing lightly. Giulio yielded to his welcoming embrace.

"You have a nice little bottom, Giulio," he teased. "Perhaps one day you will find out whether it is so small that you cannot imprison a man within you."

His hand followed the curve of the boy's buttocks, his fingers inquisitively entering the crevice that separated the two halves. Giulio shivered, consciously aware that a man should not touch him in that way. Still, he could no more stop Lucian than take flight like a bird. His gentle hand felt warm and strong, and very nice.

"You feel so good 3; Lucian? 3;" Giulio asked uncertainly.

"Yes my darling boy? What matter of question do you have for me this time?"

"Nothing 3; It's so hard it hurts me."

Lucian kissed the top of his head. "When a boy loves a man it is natural to want to be so close to him that you are joined together. Your body is telling you it wants to join. That is the reason why your little cock is so stiff."

"How?"

"How does it get stiff, or how do a man and boy join together?" Lucian asked patiently. "I do not know the answer to the first, but the second is easy."

"Being close to you makes me feel good," Giulio sighed. "I want to be with you forever, Lucian. I want to know how they join?"

"They join by putting the male part of one within the other, darling boy. That is how it is done when a man and a boy are in love. Do you not remember what Francesco said about a man's sword being planted between your cheeks?" Lucian asked. Giulio nodded slightly. "This furrow between your legs is precious," he said as he stroked the split between the boy's small buttocks. "There is a hidden treasure within his crack that a boy can give to the man he loves. There is an opening to an inner passage that rises within your belly. If the man is careful, it does not hurt too much."

"I don't understand. There is only the place I poop from," Giulio begged. "You're talking in riddles again, Lucian."

"It is one and the same. A man's cock is the sword and a boy's bowel is the scabbard. In that way they can be joined together. The man's part goes into that place. A boy's body is made that way," Lucian explained obscurely. "In time you will come to appreciate that part of you can tightly sheath a man's prick. Sometimes it is called sodomy, and there are those in the Church who decry it, but it is the only way for a boy to share himself with the man he loves. Once you experience it, you discover the joy that makes life worth living."

Giulio shrugged, ignorantly dismissing that which he did not understand. Each answer Lucian gave provoked another hundred questions, and instinctively he realized that now was not the time for questions. Still, he quivered with an urgent need to know more.

"I know my father said no 3; but Lucian, when will a man join with me?" Giulio asked awkwardly.

"It's hard to say except that when the moment is right. Perhaps when you're older, my beautiful boy."

"Why not now?"

"Not now!" Lucian smiled at the tormented youngster. "You're not ready. A man's sword would tear your little arse apart on the first full thrust between your legs. Although other men might, I know that I could never hurt you like that, my darling Giulio. That is why it is important for a man to love a boy before they take that step together. It takes time to prepare a boy's furrow for his first ploughing. You must be patient until I have readied you to take a man's cock."

With his arm around Giulio's shoulders, he guided the boy back to the bed. The candle flickered, threatening to extinguish itself and leave them in darkness. Strangely, the notion of being alone with Lucian in the dark did not frighten the boy as it would if he had been alone. Although Lucian's arm was comforting, it made him anxious. He breathed quickly, his trembling an equal match for the rapid beating of his heart. What Giulio wanted more than anything else seemed to be just out of reach.

"Then when?" Giulio whispered anxiously.

"Lie down on the bed, my angel, and I will show you other ways of being close to a man," Lucian breathed.

The boy obeyed, shifting to the center of the bed so that Lucian could sit beside him. His hand lightly caressed a slender hairless leg, from ankle to knee. "How did you get in?" Giulio asked curiously. "There is a hidden passageway that few people know of," Lucian said absently. His fingers fondled Giulio's knee, then when he did not complain, tentatively lifted the nightshirt away and gradually progressed further along the boy's bared thigh. Giulio smiled contentedly and gazed unwaveringly at Lucian with secure knowledge that the man was as happy as he was.

"When I was a boy about your age, I often came here to stay the night," he explained.

"Here? To this room?"

"It was Iacopolo's room then. He was thirteen and very handsome, but he was never beautiful like you," Lucian sighed.

"But why did you come here, to my brother's room?" Giulio asked shyly.

"I came with Consiglio, to fulfil his longing for Foscari flesh. I was not only his servant 3; It was my duty so I slept with him, Giulio."

"Why didn't you sleep in the servants' quarters?" Giulio asked. He almost added that servants were never allowed to be on the piano nobile except when they had duties to perform.

"Consiglio is a pederast," Lucian answered.

"A pederast?"

"A boy lover. Think of the Latin. Ped and rast, boy and love, but the word does not always mean what it says."
[Note: Ganymede is not correct here, pederast is Greek, pais (paiV = boy) and erastes (erasthV = lover). In Latin, the word pæderasta was only in use since the 16th century. Céladon]

"Oh!"

"I expect you have heard the word before in your father's court. It is rumored that there are even a few men in the Council who would rather bestow their favors upon the boys of Venice than take a wife. Giovanni Tremachini, for one, and Giuseppe Cravagio for another. Be careful of them, my darling."

"I have heard my father say that they are bad. What is wrong with a man being a pederast?"

"With a wife, a man breeds and the City grows stronger. With a boy, there is no way of breeding. The thing in itself is not bad, for man or boy. Until I was twelve I was Consiglio's catamite, Giulio." Lucian hesitated, familiarity leading him to expect the boy's inevitable question. "A catamite is a boy who is kept by a man for the purpose of sodomy."

"Can I be your catamite, Lucian?" Giulio asked.

Lucian grimaced when the words came to his ears. He rejected temptation as he always would despite the longing in his loins.

"No! Dear boy, I could never use you like that. I cannot deny that any man would sell his soul to make love to you if you gave him the chance. But you must understand that a catamite is a boy who has no other value than to bare his buttocks and take his master's cock. If the man is your inferior, such servitude does not have the rewards to justify the task. Remember you are the Doge's son. For you, love must make the thing worthwhile."

"You were his servant?"

"I did what was required of me with a great satisfaction on my part. Later, when he asked me to serve Iacopolo, I obeyed because that was my duty. Iacopolo was cruel even then," he added vaguely.

"My brother hurt you?" Giulio asked with concern.

Lucian shrugged. "A servant, catamite or otherwise, has no choice but to fulfill his master's wishes. What I did with Iacopolo, I did because Consiglio wanted me to. It was expected of me that I took his friend's cock without complaint. It wasn't always bad, Giulio. Consiglio is a good man. There are ample rewards for there is certainly an abundance of pleasure in it for the boy after a while." He smiled slightly. "The fact is that I am tutor to the Doge's son now because I sheathed Iacopolo's sword when Consiglio wanted me to."

His hand withdrew and for a few seconds Giulio felt a rush of disappointment that Lucian would leave him alone in the darkness. Instead, he lifted the boy's nightshirt up, pulling it with a firm tug until it was above his hips. Giulio's penis pulsed and his eyes opened wide in anticipation that Lucian would actually touch his heated flesh. Lucian's hands returned to the boy's thighs, still moving with purposeful intent while rubbing gently. Giulio quivered, wanting nothing more than for Lucian's hand to brush his extended member.

"When I was a boy I used to arrive about this time. Iacopolo slept in the same bed as you do now," Lucian said. "The passageway begins directly under the bridge beneath your window. It is well hidden, and unless you knew where to look, you would never find it. I often come here at night when you are asleep to make sure that you are safe, darling boy."

Giulio gazed at him with affection, imagining him standing near the bed and looking down at him while he slumbered. "Will you wake me when you come from now on?" Giulio asked with blatant eagerness.

His eyes met Giulio's, seeking out the meaning of his question. A slow smile appeared when the boy did not look away. While Giulio could disguise his words, his unblinking eyes betrayed him.

"You would have me sodomize you, Giulio?" he asked softly.

Giulio nodded slightly. "I want to join with you, Lucian. I want your male part inside me. I think I've always wanted you to 3;"

Lucian chuckled. "The need is mutual it seems, my beautiful boy, for I have always lusted after you. I dared not dream that you would love me in return. I am but a tutor to the Doge's son and such love should not be. It cannot be!"

"I don't understand, Lucian. I know how much I love you!" Giulio complained. "Do you not want to love me in return."

"It is not a matter of my love for you. I have love for you in great abundance. Simply, I cannot give you what you want no matter how much I long to share that special pleasure with you. Mind, you must not tell anyone of this conversation. Francesco would geld me yet again if he even thought I had thoughts of soiling your precious body with my prick. He was right in saying there was enough girl in you to bring a man to desire you. I am not even half a man, but I love you and for that I would risk everything. But know this Giulio, I simply cannot join with you the way you want. It's not because I don't love you, I do not have what you want."

"I love you too," Giulio whispered breathily. "I don't understand why we can't join."

Lucian regarded him thoughtfully. At first, he spoke slowly. "Upon my word 3; you are a lusty boy 3; I will return to your bed again before this night is through. By dawn, dear Giulio, for what it is worth, I will have coupled with you. We will celebrate the start of your tenth year with the loss of your virginity. I suspect that with only a little practice you will welcome my cock between your pretty cheeks 3; It will have to do until you are ready for a real man like Consiglio," he added under his breath.

Then, without warning his fingers touched the boy's small penis. Giulio trembled. His hand was warm and strong. His hand enclosed the boy's shaft, squeezing on swollen hot flesh. Giulio sighed, quivering under Lucian's loving touch. He felt a pressure building within his loins, breaking free. His hips strained upward, seeking more as he pushed against the man's enclosing hand. A sudden pain seared the end of the boy's rigid penis.

"Ouch!" Giulio complained.

Lucian smiled, still grasping the boy's male part, the part of him he referred to as a cock.

"My cock hurts, Lucian!" Giulio added daringly. He smiled as he used the unfamiliar word.

"Your skin has pulled back, my darling. That's all. See! It's normal that it stretches so the crown unveils."

Giulio glanced down. For the first time in his ten years he saw a little bulb sitting above his male part. It was the size, shape, and texture of a small cherry. Even in the dim light of the candle it was red and shiny. The skin that had previously enclosed it was now tightly bunched up beneath the helmet-shaped head. It appeared to be the source of the boy's discomfort.

"Oh!" Giulio grinned at Lucian. "What is it?"

"The crown is the most important part of your cock, silly boy. It is the jewel that bestows the best feelings of all."

"Why does it hide inside?"

"Always questions, my little Giulio. Don't worry that pretty head of yours about such things. Accept that it's supposed to be like that," Lucian gazed down at him.

"It feels sore," Giulio complained. "I don't like how it looks. I didn't know it did that."

"At your age it still needs a little help to come out. When you're older, perhaps three or four years from now, Giulio, it will only be partially covered."

"Lucian, it feels so nice when you touch it," Giulio said slowly as the man's fingers caressed the tingling tip of his penis. He tensed as tightening spasms rippled through his body.

Lucian grinned back at him. "I see you share one thing with Iacopolo. I hope you will not be a horny bull who wants only to squirt his seed because of it."

"What do you mean?" Giulio asked uncertainly.

"Your balls are very big for a boy of your age, my Giulio. Your purse is already full despite the fact your balls are still pulled high. You have yet to show the first signs of coming manhood and your balls are prodigious. Iacopolo was the same way, not over-endowed in cock, but endued with large balls. They are a gift from God to be worshipped by the man who loves you."

As Giulio watched enthusiastically, Lucian's hand began a steady up and down stroke, no longer enclosing the boy's penis in his fist, but using only one finger and a thumb to stretch the skin back and forth over the inner tube. Suddenly, sensations exploded through Giulio's nearly naked body and he had an overwhelming urge to urinate despite an empty bladder. Lucian's hand jerked faster, and his finger and thumb squeezed ever tighter. Giulio's body arched upward without reason, contorting with ecstasy until it seemed like he was bowed from ankles to shoulders. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. His buttocks clenched as something started inside him that he could not stop even if he had wanted too. If felt as if something was ready to burst inside him. It was only then that Giulio realized that Lucian's other hand was underneath him, a single digit driving relentlessly into his nether place. He gasped loudly when it pushed through his tightness and suddenly penetrated his hidden orifice.

He would never forget that first time. Lucian's hands knew what to do to give a boy pleasure and he spared no quarter. He attacked from front and rear. It felt like he was rubbing from inside as well as from outside, such were the feelings from the finger lodged deep within Giulio's bowels. The boy, only a dozen hours short of ten years old, gasped and groaned and quaked as hitherto unknown sensations coursed through his body. For minutes, his virgin penis became the focus of it all, then he became aware of something offering even greater delight located deep inside him. By squeezing down with all his strength the feelings were intensified. The sensations became so strong that he was overpowered by the imminence of something exploding inside him. Giulio begged him to stop. Lucian smiled and yielded to the boy's demand. His probing finger eased away and Giulio slumped back.

"What happened? Why did you stop?" Giulio gasped amid the trembling throes that continued to plague him.

"Because you asked me to, darling boy. Besides, you've had enough for now." He continued to hold Giulio's throbbing penis. "I don't want to make this beautiful little penis sore."

"Why do you call it that? What is a penis?" Giulio asked.

"Because that is the proper name for your male part, your thing. Some call it cock or prick, and there are many other names for it too," he explained.

"You put your finger in my bottom," Giulio said plaintively.

Lucian tilted his head and regarded the young boy with amusement. "It felt good, did it not my Giulio?" Giulio nodded eagerly. "There is more pleasure in your young body than any man dares hope for."

"I don't understand. It felt good 3; but also strange. It's dirty there, isn't it?"

"You will understand in due time. For a boy like you, that little hole between your cheeks is where you will hold a man's cock to show how much you love him. You father talked of it as the sheath that holds a man sword," Lucian smiled placatingly. "Still, you are correct in your observation that it can be dirty there. You must remember to keep that part of you clean at all times so that you are ready for Consiglio when the time comes."

"Yes, Lucian." Giulio paused thoughtfully. "Lucian 3; what do you mean about me being ready for Consiglio?"

Lucian sighed. "My Giulio, there are some things I cannot do. For those things you need a real man. What you need is a man like Consiglio."

Giulio thought fondly of Consiglio, remembering easily the man's frequent displays of affection that warmed his heart. In recent months he had been courted with small gifts that would not draw attention to their growing friendship. He relished the attention, finding in the dark-haired man a surrogate father who treasured every word they shared. He smiled. Lucian inclined his head.

"You like Consiglio, don't you?"

Giulio smiled again. "He is my friend."

Lucian chuckled. "It is sometimes said that if a boy's friend is a man, then it is only a matter of time before the friend becomes a lover, Giulio. And for love you need a real man."

The boy looked away meekly. "I can't help liking him. He is always nice to me."

"That is only as it should be, Giulio."

"Lucian 3;?" Giulio asked uncertainly. "What you said, about you being his catamite 3; If I can't be your catamite, then is it possible that I could be Consiglio's catatmite?"

"If that is what you wish, I am certain it will happen. I think you will be happy with Consiglio. He is a real man."

"You are a real man!"

"Me?" Lucian sighed again. "No, my beautiful boy. Consiglio is a man in ways I am not."

"I don't understand."

"Little Giulio, I was cut when I was twelve, a year after the first hairs had sprouted on my groin."

"You were cut? What do you mean?" Giulio asked curiously.

Yet he knew the answer before the question passed his lips. Like the boys in the choir, his tutor had been gelded. The boy remembered Lucian's clear feminine notes when he chose to join his voice with Giulio's soprano in song. There was no other explanation for his high-pitched voice and hairless skin. Giulio felt a strange sense of imminent and inevitable termination of his own manhood. He shivered coldly.

"Will you come back again?" he asked quickly.

"You mean tonight? You must have liked it a lot," Lucian teased with a playful smile. Suddenly he looked away. When he returned to look at the boy's face he was no longer smiling. "Perhaps I'll return when the guard is changed again. You'll be fast asleep by then. If you wish, I'll wake you."

Giulio grinned back at him confidently, unaware that his fate was sealed, and had been for some time. For no obvious reason, he was feeling very tired. He yawned sleepily. "Wake me when you come back," he instructed. "You have to promise, Lucian."

After a loving squeeze, Lucian lifted his hand away from the boy's slowly softening penis. "I promise, beautiful boy. Next time we should use some oil back there. Otherwise you'll be sore on your birthday."

"Sore? Why will I be sore?" Giulio asked tiredly. He yawned again and stretched out on the bed.

"Enough of your questions! Unlike a woman, a young boy needs oil to lubricate his love passage when he's with a man. It's simple enough to do, yet it is often overlooked. It is necessary for you to enjoy what happens. For now that's all you need to hear. You have a beautiful body and you must learn how to take good care of it. Go to sleep, my darling. I'll wake you when I return, I promise," Lucian whispered.

He backed away into the darkness from which he had come. He regretted coming, yet the deed was started. Indeed, it had been started ten years earlier. What would follow was inevitable and he had long accepted that the outcome was beyond his control. Before the dawn, he would come again to the room, but at least the boy seemed ready for the consequences of a night time visitor.

"Lucian? 3; Lucian is that you?" Giulio whispered furtively.

He sat up, pushing the sheets away. The room was pitch dark, the spluttering candle having gone out while he was asleep. There was no sound, yet he knew someone was in the room with him. He looked about him, trying to see through the inky blackness.

"Lucian, stop playing games!" he said insistently.

In the terrible silence that followed Giulio heard someone breathing. The person were close. Even as his mouth opened to scream Giulio smelled him, a familiar smell of garlic and red wine from the vineyards of Frascati. His hand cupped the boy's mouth, strangling the cry before the air rushed past open lips. Giulio kicked up, instinctively fighting for his life. The hands crushed him down into the bed, grabbing his limbs with difficulty as he struggled against them. The hands held him tightly until he yielded.

"Be still, brat," Iacopolo snarled. "I won't hurt you."

"Iacopolo," Giulio gasped.

"Giulio, don't fight him," Lucian warned out of the darkness. "We've come to take you to someone who 3; to a man who would like to 3; to be with you."

"Who?" the boy demanded. "What do you mean?"

"Consiglio has sent for you," Iacopolo said with his mouth placed close to the boy's ear. His breath was stale, and the boy turned away.

"Don't call out, my dear," Lucian warned. "There is no reason for you to be afraid. We will not hurt you."

"Wrap the blanket around him, Iacopolo instructed. "Consiglio would not be happy if my darling boy caught cold."

Giulio was more anxious than he had ever been, and his heart pounded frantically. He felt a curious mixture of fear and excitement, for no better reason than his father had wisely cautioned him to beware of Consiglio for a reason undisclosed. Yet he also sensed that his presence was required by Consiglio for a reason not unrelated to the pleasure he had experienced with Lucian. The boy glared at the two men, confusion evident in his pale face. With respect and affection for one of them, and frightened of the other's cruelty, Giulio thought of his father. Too afraid to call for help, he frantically willed the Doge's guards to save him from an unknown fate. Never before was he so aware of his father's position and the fact that he was a lure for any man who wished to do him harm. Giulio was hefted up and draped across Iacopolo's broad shoulders like a sack of flour. Again he was cautioned to be quiet while he hung limply, whimpering and still thinking of his elderly father. He imagined the Captain and the Palazzo Guard breaking through the door any moment, and even convinced himself that he could slay them by his own hand if the opportunity arose to seize a rapier. However, such fantasies were the result of shock. He was silent, uncertain and fearful of the consequences of attracting attention to the midnight escapade.

Although he was carried carefully, he was bumped frequently against cold hard stone. He knew that he was not in the main hall of the palazzo, for the walls there were lined with tapestries. They said nothing as they crept through darkened passages. There were no words, not even when he felt the cold air and recognized the sour smell of the canal, not even when he was lifted into a bobbing gondola. He heard the muffled splash of the boatswain's oars as the boat moved unsteadily away from the dock. He buried his head against his arms and sobbed, biting into his flesh with trembling jaws. He was convinced that death awaited him. He prayed that he would not be tortured before his end came. Always he wondered why Lucian had betrayed him, and why Consiglio had sent for him.

Minutes passed, or perhaps it was a matter of hours for Giulio lost all sense of time. In the black night, amid the twisting canals, Venice was a maze, and with each change of direction he became increasingly disoriented. Then he felt the sudden impact of the gondola against a piling and heard the muted whispers of instructions passed from one man to another. Hands grasped his body and he was lifted up from the wet bilge and carried into a building. For good reason, few buildings in Venice were built with cellars, dungeons, or stables. Instead, the ground floor of a palazzo doubled as entry, stables, storeroom for trading, and cellar. The smell of nutmeg, mace, and cinnamon was redolent in the first room Giulio was brought to. The owner was a merchant or trader, of that much he was certain. His heart sank, for not only was Consiglio the patron of the boys' choir, he was a leading merchant of Venice. He was carried up the stairs and down a corridor, bumping infrequently before he was finally laid down.

Giulio heard a door close. A fearful silence descended. He waited, imagining that a knife would be thrust between his ribs, and again he hoped his death would come quickly. While it made no sense that he would be placed on a bed only to be murdered, there was no other reason for him to be spirited away in the dead of night. Surely they would kill him elsewhere. After a minute, even faint sounds were reassuring. He heard the scrape of a chair against a marble floor, footsteps coming closer, a faint rustle of clothing. He waited, not daring to breath. He tensed and steeled himself not to cry out when the blade found his heart. Again he prayed for a merciful death and hoped that his body would not be returned to torture his father. He had heard the stories of Paolo Contarini, the Venetian boy who was murdered a year earlier, the boy whose head was returned to his father in a jewel encrusted box stolen from a church treasury. The boy's father committed suicide the next day.

He felt the blanket being lifted away from his face. Without the woolen cover, the freshness of cooler air reached him and he gasped. Then suddenly, the yellow light of an oil lamp filled his dazed eyes. Giulio blinked rapidly and turned his head away to face the polished blackened frame of the bed on which he lay. Hands roughly dragged away the protective blanket.

"Look at the beautiful boy. Such a perfect specimen of boy!" Consiglio said admiringly as he stepped into the boy's vision.

"Let me go," Giulio demanded.

Consiglio smiled. "I'm not going to hurt you, Giulio. Don't worry. A boy who is as beautiful as you has nothing to be afraid of."

Giulio glared at him. "My father will find you," he stated, leaving the implication of discovery unstated.

"Your father? Who is your father, boy?"

"Francesco Foscari!"

Consiglio laughed. "That old man? You jest, child. His withered cock could not stiffen enough to squirt his seed before it's sucked back into his balls. Francesco is not your father. This man is your father!"

He gestured to the other side and Giulio turned, feeling a dull sickening in his stomach. Iacopolo stared at him.

"This is foolish! Everyone know's that Iacopolo is my brother," Giulio announced bravely.

Again Consiglio laughed. "No, it is you who is wrong, beautiful boy. He cuckolded Francesco. The old fool actually thought he was still man enough to impregnate your mother. No, pretty little Giulio Foscari, Iacopolo sired you. He is not much for women, but he still fucked your mother. Just one time was enough to plant the seed in her hungry cunt."

Giulio shook his head in denial, and risked a quick glance to see whether his brother confirmed the other man's lie. Iacopolo smiled with delight. "It's not true," Giulio argued heatedly. "Francesco Foscari is my father."

"Francesco Foscari is your grandfather," Consiglio answered with continued amusement. "Tell him, Iacopolo."

Iacopolo spoke at last. "It's true. I filled your mother's cunt a single time and you were started in her belly."

"YOU LIE," Giulio reported angrily. He spit.

Although Iacopolo quickly stepped back out of range, droplets landed on his embroidered jacket. Angrily, he lifted his hand to hit and Giulio tried to turn away.

"YOU WILL REGRET THAT, FOSCARI BRAT!"

"Our father will kill you," Giulio cried. He spit again, harder, sealing his fate as his saliva splattered the man's gaunt chest.

Iacopolo's anger seemed to grow as he grew taller. Iacopolo reared above the frightened boy, threateningly clenching his fist. His other hand jerked his dagger free from his belt. It mattered nothing to him that the cowering boy was his son. However, instead of claiming his life, he smirked.

"Perhaps 3; it matters not whether you acknowledge me as your sire. I'll have your balls for my breakfast either way, my precious boy. You'll not father anything," he said cruelly.

Consiglio stepped closer to intervene. "I've always said that he's a pretty thing, Iacopolo. If one was inclined to boys, he'd make an interesting mate for a man. He's a far better companion than any wife could be."

"Sometimes I think that he's more girl than boy."

"That's very true. I'm surprised you haven't fucked him already."

Iacopolo shrugged. "The little brat is of no interest to me."

"Has no one fucked his pretty arse?"

Again Iacopolo shrugged. "No one that I know of. Lucian hangs about him like a hungry wolf. I doubt that he has taken the boy's virginity. What say you, Lucian? Have you fucked the whelp with that miserable thing you call a cock?" he asked loudly

There was a moment's silence before Lucian answered from the far corner of the room. "No, my liege. His arse is virgin. He's not been touched by me, or any man to my knowledge."

"He didn't fuck you, did he boy?" Consiglio asked pointedly. Giulio shook his head quickly. "Down there, between your legs, did he put his cock in the hole there?"

"No!"

"He hasn't? Has any man?"

"No!" Giulio retorted.

Consiglio chuckled and looked to Iacopolo with exaggerated surprise. "Even with his pretty face your son is still a virgin? It's hard to believe he's still untouched. No matter! I'll mount him myself this very night. Given my desire for him, I am glad he's saved himself for me. This way I can take my retribution against Francesco, and enjoy the bloody spoils of first-time victory too."

"Are you going to kill me?" Giulio asked without comprehending the meaning of the words he heard.

Iacopolo and Consiglio shared a silent glance. They both smiled slightly. Giulio shivered with fear and drew back into the pillows behind him.

"Hardly. I have never harmed a pretty boy beyond the point of taking his manhood. My darling child, I could never hurt you like that. I'm a religious man, am I not Iacopolo? Why, am I not the patron of the Boys' Choir, and a very good friend of Cardinal Rancini? I love boys, don't I Iacopolo?"

Iacopolo laughed softly, his eyes fixed on the frightened boy. "So I have often heard."

"Besides, the Ten Commandments forbid the taking of a life, and I would not do penance in hell for all eternity for killing a Foscari. There is an easier and much more enjoyable way that makes my vengeance on Francesco all the better," Consiglio answered.

"He's going to fuck you, Giulio." Iacopolo interjected gleefully. "And when he's done you'll walk bow-legged with his seed inside your bowels."

Consiglio shrugged. "But I'll fuck you not for as much my vengeance on your father but as the only means of satisfying my lust for you, pretty boy. I have longed to pierce you with my sword. I have always dreamed of fucking that little arse of yours until you beg for more."

"And then, when he's done, you'll belong to him forever," Iacopolo added.

"With all the strength I have, I hate you, Iacopolo," Giulio snarled.

Iacopolo laughed. "Consiglio will own you, boy. As a matter of course, you'll either sing in San Marco or be bonded to him before the dawn. My pretty son a choirboy or a catamite? Consiglio's boy-whore? How appropriate! You do know what a catamite is, don't you?" Iacopolo taunted. "That is your future with Consiglio, it's entirely up to him to chose. Catamite or choir boy? Either way you'll not be a man. As choirboy you'll lose your precious eggs. As Consiglio's boy you'll have no need of them."

Giulio nodded slightly. Had it only been that afternoon when Lucian told him of such things? "I don't want to be a choir boy," Giulio pleaded.

"You don't want to be a choir boy? Ha! Listen to him whimper, Consiglio. You'll make a splendid choir boy. If you knew what Consiglio has planned for you, Giulio, you would beg to a choir boy."

"I don't understand," Giulio said.

"It's true that choir boys without balls are able to sing without equal, however eunuch boys have other skills besides singing, Giulio," Iacopolo laughed. "With your beauty and girlish ways, you should be grateful to lose your eggs before they ripen. You'll not miss them I'll wager when you are sleeping in a priest's hard bed. Your tutor, your dear companion, Lucian, is the proof of that."

"Let me go. I'll not tell anyone," Giulio pleaded. "I promise."

Iacopolo stepped closer and leaned over him. His breath smelled strongly of garlic and wine. "You'll not tell anyone because after tonight you will be far too ashamed, Giulio. No will listen to you. It's only right that Consiglio will fuck your arse. He fucked me when I was not much older than you are now, just as I sodomized Count Raspini's two boys before they were ten years old. Our family has a history of pederasty. Your grandfather was the first Foscari to lay with a Raspini. I see no reason why you should not be the last. A good arse-fucking at your age will make you all hungrier for it when you're older. You'll be a true son of Venice when Consiglio's done with you. And if a choir boy is your destiny, then the priests of Rome will take their pleasure from you instead."

"Why are you doing this? I've never done anything to make you hate me."

"I've hated you from the day you were born. But know my hatred is because Francesco dotes on you. You're his favorite, and with luck, losing you to Consiglio might even kill him. Then I'll take my rightful place as Doge," he laughed. "I'll give you to Consiglio tonight. You'll have no need of a place in Francesco's house after your virginity is lost."

"Iacopolo 3; please 3; let me go."

Iacopolo said nothing. Instead, he dragged the boy's night shirt upward to expose his milky thighs and lower abdomen. Giulio felt deathly cold. He was more exposed and vulnerable than he had ever been. His little wilted penis lay impotently against his belly, his fat rounded scrotum shrivelled like a walnut casing.

"He's beautiful," Consiglio purred from the other side of the bed.

"That he is," grumped Iacopolo. "He has his mother's features. He's a pretty little thing. I'm proud to give him to you to enjoy for a night or two. He should be proud to offer his arse for your pleasure."

"He's much more than some pretty little thing to enjoy for a night or two. There are any number of boys in Venice who can bare their behinds to satisfy a man's lust. Your Giulio is pure temptation, a shining sun where other boys are mere candles. I expect I'll want to keep this boy after his blood has wet my cock." Consiglio observed admiringly. His eyes travelled the length of the young body. "Though his cock is lacking, he has big balls like your's, Iacopolo."

"Indeed he does. Tis a pity he lacks a stalk worthy of his eggs."

"No matter. What your son lacks between his legs, I'll make up for with what is between mine."

"I know him well. He'll bend to your will like a reed before wind," Iacopolo. said cruelly. "He even has the look of a woman. He'll always serve you well, even better than I did at his age. And if you cut him, the boy will take the cocks of Holy Rome without complaint"

"Come Iacopolo. We have much to discuss before I mount him. Perhaps I'll give you his balls for your breakfast. I haven't decided. Lucian, remove his night shirt and get him ready for me," Consiglio said. "See how far he stretches before he bleeds. You know how much I like a virgin, but he'll like it more if he's loose."

"And oil him thoroughly," Iacopolo sneered. "He has much to learn before the dawn. It would not help his education if he was to faint from pain." Iacopolo grinned at Giulio.

They left as Lucian sat down on the side of the bed. He watched, waiting until the other men were gone before he turned to the cowering boy next to him. His hand lifted up and he stroked the boy's soft cheek. His eyes half-closed in sympathy.

"You know what Consiglio will do to you, don't you Giulio," Lucian asked gently.

Giulio's head moved slightly. He breathed deeply. He said nothing.

"As you know, Consiglio likes boys instead of girls. He had me on this very same bed before I was ten. A hundred boys or more have laid where you lie now. Many of them became choir boys eventually," he added dispassionately. "It's the only way to prolong the pleasure that a man wants from you.

Giulio shook his head, sending his long curls into even greater disarray. The man he had always thought to be his closest friend and companion smiled. "Why me?" he pleaded. "Why can't you stop them?"

"This is between Iacopolo and Consiglio. It is true that Iacopolo fathered you, my boy. Therefore, you belong to him. As is his right, he have given you up to Consiglio to do with as he wishes for the night. And if Consiglio beds you as he says, then you'll want to become his thereafter. The other thing 3;" he pasued uncertainly. "It is Iacopolo's was of making jest."

"Why 3; Lucian? I feel affection for Consiglio. He does not have to take what he wants. I will give it of my own will."

Lucian nodded. "Somethimes that is the nature of the love between men and boys. It is good that you like Consiglio. I expect he'll take you as his catamite. You'll learn to make love and his bed will be yours to lie upon at night. In time, you will be a slave to his desire, just as I submitted to his lust every night before he found a boy he desired more than me."

"Lucian, I never did anything to hurt Iacopolo. Why is he doing this to me?"

"Because he hates you, Giulio. Remember, earlier today when I said that the two of you are the sides of the same coin. He is your father so you are part of him, beautiful boy. But you are the side of good, not evil."

"I don't want to 3; I don't want to 3;"

The eunuch sighed wistfully. "A catamite's life is not so bad, Giulio 3; All is not lost even if Consiglio agrees to castrate you, but it is better if he does not. A life with him, even for a few short years, is a far better life than the gelded boys who sing in San Marco. Believe me, Consiglio is better lover than the priests who come to them at night. There is always plenty of pleasure to be had with a man like him."

"It's not Consiglio," Giulio muttered. "I like him enough to give him what he wants. He doesn't have to take it. In truth, I've always wondered why he looked at me with hungry eyes."

Lucian nodded understandingly and smiled. "There are many advantages with a man like Consiglio. For a boy like you, there will be considerable happiness once the pain has passed. It's good that you are fond of him. Still, I wish I had the means myself to satisfy this need within you."

Lucian's hand squeezed the boy's thin shoulder until he winced and looked up to meet his eyes. With deliberate slowness he pulled the braided cord that secured the top of Giulio's nightshirt. The neatly tied bow came undone. He tugged at the loops below, unravelling the cord until the boy's chest was exposed almost to his navel. He gazed with regret and longing at the smooth hairless skin.

"I love you, Giulio. However, I have long known that Consiglio too, has tender feelings for you. It is better that he takes you on this bed."

"Why 3; why me 3;?" Giulio begged miserably.

"You're a very pretty boy, Giulio!"

"I don't understand."

"You're far too pretty for a boy, Giulio. How often have I told you that?"

"I thought you were making fun of me," Giulio mumbled selfconsciously. "What does my face have to do with it?"

"Everything, my beautiful boy. But it is not only your face that causes a man to want to love you. Your body is equally beautiful. No one in all of Venice is so endowed with charm and wit."

Giulio sighed. "I can't help the way I look. It's not my fault."

"That is true." Lucian smiled slightly. "It is the reason why men desire you, yet it is not only because of your looks that Consiglio has brought you here tonight. You should enjoy what God has given you in excess. No other boy in Venice is so fortunate."

"I know what he is going to do to me," Giulio said softly. "And I'll do my best to please him." Suddenly he shuddered fearfully. "I also know what happens with the knife. You told me what is done to the choir boys. My voice is good, but I cannot sing like them. I don't want that!"

Lucian shook his head. "In time, and with practice you, could sing as their equal. And even if being gelded were a certain thing, it is not so bad. It is not the worst thing in the world. Like your horse, the boys who are cut do not miss what has been taken."

"Perhaps," Giulio said uncertainly. "I'd much rather be with you or Consiglio."

Lucian smiled. "You need not worry for Consiglio, my precious boy, at least not that way. Consiglio loves you. With him you will live much the same as in Francesco's Palace. However, you will learn other skills, special skills that please a man and give both of you more pleasure than you can imagine. Remember well what Francesco said. You are closer to the female sex than a male-child should be. It is his way of saying that nature is not infallible. Even God makes mistakes, and his mistakes can be corrected by the deeds of men."

"This thing Consiglio will do to me when he returns?" Giulio asked fearfully. "Will it make me into a woman?"

Lucian smiled consolingly. "A catamite is better than any woman. After it is done, you will flower with the best of each gender. Really, my Giulio, he will be doing you a service. It is said that a boy does not miss what he has not experienced. Believe me in this, for I know there is no shame in it, despite what others say. There is only a little pain in the entry. It goes quickly even from the first, and while there is soreness in your nether region it will pass when you do it again."

Giulio glared at his tutor with defiant arrogance. He said nothing.

"With or without the cutting, after this night is through you'll never breed sons of your own, Giulio. You will never go to women for your desires to be satisfied. That was what Francesco was unable to say, although he knows it to be true. As Consiglio's consort your life will begin anew. You'll have no need for women when you're with him," Lucian added with a teasing smile. "And you will be happy, my Giulio. After you've been with him you'll be so happy that you will forget what you have lost. Trust me in this. With or without your balls, this part of you will always desire men, and they will desire you. From now on, the little cock between your legs belongs to Consiglio. See, already it's becoming hard, just at the mere thought of being petted by a man's hand. It longs for Consiglio's touch. You should be glad to be Consiglio's catatmite."

Still Giulio said nothing. He wanted to feel rage, anger at his brother-father, unmitigated hatred for the unwarranted jeers he would endure. Yet, there was truth in it. He wanted to be touched by a man. He had always wanted that. He felt the hot stiffness growing between his thighs. He watched silently as Lucian manipulated one of the bed-posts. It came away when the mechanical lock parted, and he saw a polished silver instrument of uncertain function.

"What is that for?" Giulio asked nervously.

Lucian smiled. "To ply the trade of sodomy, for that is what catamites do. Your body must be prepared to sheath a man's sword. Consiglio has entrusted me to get you ready for him. To make love to a man, a boy's behind must be properly loosened. Always a virgin bleeds a little, but without preparation your arse will split and your blood will stain the sheets. This is the tool that is used, sweet boy. Even its shape has been perfected. Tell me, what does it remind you of?"

Giulio examined the object, consciously aware that it was entwined with his future role as Consiglio's catamite. Its origin was obvious even to a boy who was unfamiliar with a man's anatomy. For although it was vastly larger, the similarity to his own penis was unmistakable. It was of a length and diameter appropriate for a ten-year-old boy. It was long enough to test his limits, thick enough to temporarily widen the entry into him, large enough for him to get used to both pain and pleasure. He swallowed nervously.

"A cock?" he whispered uncertainly.

Lucian smiled. "Indeed, it is the same size as Consiglio's. Indeed, your master had it fabricated in the likeness of his own manhood. That way you will be ready to ride when he returns."

"Lucian 3; will it hurt?" Giulio asked fearfully.

"Does it hurt?" Lucian repeated. He studied the boy wistfully, remembering his own youth. "For your first time, and the next, perhaps even a time or two after that. Trust me that it will not hurt beyond the first few times. I know you will grow to like it just as I did. Are you afraid?"

"A bit," Giulio ventured. "It's so big."

Lucian nodded understandingly. "Some men have cocks that are even bigger than Consiglio's, but his is more than large enough to rip your opening, dear boy. However, he is always gentle in such matters, and taking your virginity is a special prize that he will cherish long after he has bed you. Be grateful that Iacopolo has not exercised his right to take you. In the morning, your behind will be tender from Consiglio's love. With Iacopolo, your bowels would be ruptured."

"It's so big."

"Do not worry, dear lad. Let us see what can be done to make it fit."

Giulio sighed wearily. Deprived of sleep and frightened by the nature of his predicament, he submitted. "This thing you hold 3; it really goes inside my bottom-hole?"

"The place a boy shits from has a very special function when he's with a man. Do not worry that you will soil his member for it is the only way your love for him can be shown."

"Will it hurt a lot?"

"What pain you feel will depend on what you do. I can teach you how to aid the penetration of his penis so the hurt is less."

Lucian placed his hand on Giulio's side and pushed gently. Obediently, the boy complied and rolled onto his side, then onto his belly. His firm buttocks were small and slightly pinched. "Lift up, my dearest. Your rear should be elevated for the least discomfort. Some boys even prefer a pillow underneath. For myself, I've always thought a crouching position to offer the easiest penetration."

Giulio complied again, moving to the required position by kneeling down and lowering his head and shoulders onto the bed. He felt Lucian's warm hand graze the tender flesh of his cheeks, his fingers rubbing gently along the dividing crevice.

"There is magic within this metal tool," Lucian explained. "It will hurt until the tip is in far enough inside you that you cannot push it out."

"Will it hurt a lot?" Giulio asked again with increasing nervousness.

"That depends on you. There are ways that you can make it easier. Besides it is far better for both when the boy helps."

"What do I do?"

"For one thing, perhaps the most important is that you push back against it, Giulio. Only a little will help somewhat. Push it into you as hard as you can and you will feel the pain much less. Trust me in this. Welcome it into your body with all your strength. Try to make it part of you and you will not cry in pain. Indeed, I have even seen some boys enjoy it the very first time. And another thing, it will help me if you place your hands behind and part your cheeks."

Lucian placed the burnished-silver crown against Giulio's brown, puckered opening, eagerly exposed between his widespread cheeks. He teased the opening with a slight pressure, rotating the hemispherical knob over the boy's indented anus. The virgin orifice tightened, instinctively anticipating its forthcoming deflowerment. He smiled and gently stroked Giulio's back.

"Don't be frightened, my darling. It is the same for almost every boy at first. Relax the muscle within, while you push back to greet it."

"It feels strange, like it's covered in slime."

Lucian smiled. A small trickle of amber-colored oil dribbled down Giulio's rounded scrotum. He pushed with deliberate firmness to push the ram against the hydraulic pump. Still more oil oozed out from the nearly invisible holes in the blunt-ended tip. He rotated it, working the lubricant over the sensitive pucker.

"It's the oil you feel, Giulio," he explained. "Remember what I said in your bedroom 3; about a boy needing something to lubricate his love passage." Giulio nodded. "Consiglio designed this himself and had it built by the finest craftsman in Persia. When I press the end into you, some oil is ejected where it is needed most. It is a masterpiece of engineering. Without it you would be very sore."

He pushed again, testing the rim of Giulio's anus. Despite its small size, it seemed pliant, with sufficient flexibility to allow the tip to enter without undue effort. He smiled, grateful that the boy's pain would be short-lived if he did not panic. He intended to be patient, but even the greatest caution was of little help if the boy fought back against impalement.

"Now, my Giulio. I want you to take a deep breath," he coaxed. "Fill your lungs 3; and again. Breath very deeply. Take the air deep inside. Concentrate. tell yourself you will take this thing between your cheeks. That's good. Now close your eyes and push. I want you to push as hard as you can. You can feel the spike piercing your hole. It wants to be inside you."

"It hurts," Giulio whimpered disagreeably.

"It's like a hard turd that you want to expel. Push hard, my boy. Push it out your bowels."

"It hurts so," Giulio wailed.

"Push hard! As hard as you can! Stretch yourself wide, child."

Giulio whimpered, then gasped loudly when the pain intensified. It felt not unlike a huge stake was being relentlessly wedged between his legs. His knees shifted apart and his hands gripped the pillow. He pushed back, using all of his strength to obey Lucian's demand.

"I can't do it any longer!" Giulio sobbed. "I can't do it."

"It's already inside you," Lucian observed with a wry smile of unexpected success. "What you feel is your ass resisting the loss of its virginity."

"It hurts so bad!"

"It's nothing compared to Consiglio's cock," Lucian commented dryly. "I lost my virginity without the help of this instrument. My blood was everywhere on the sheets."

"Am I bleeding?" Giulio asked amid frightened gasps.

"Not much, little one. You are fortunate for there is no blood to speak of. So, sweet boy, you are not even ten years old and your virginity is lost."

"Now what happens?"

Lucian smiled but did not answer for words could not describe what followed. He twisted the silver shaft easily on the oily film. The boy groaned. The motion induced a momentary spasm and the tight rectum grasped the rippled surface, squeezing tightly. More oil leaked out of the man-made pores. It twisted again, sinking further into his gut while oil continued to seep out. The fragrant smell of extra-virgin olive oil rose from behind Giulio. He felt it pushing and pulling, working its way further inside him. The patina was streaked with a crimson sheen, yet nature's intervention as much as the film of oil facilitated its motion. He became looser, his anus dilating quickly to accommodate the girth and length of the glistening projectile while it continued to penetrate ever deeper.

"It hurts!" Giulio groaned.

"It hurts less when you've been properly stretched, Giulio," Lucian said gently. "We can't stop till the task is done."

"It feels horrible!"

"Is it so bad that you cannot feel a distant pleasure, even a slight joy deep inside you?"

"I 3; I 3; feel something. When you push it gently, it 3; it makes me tremble."

Lucian smirked. It was impossible not to be envious of the boy when he discovered the sensations for the first time. He was happy that it had occurred so quickly. Sometimes days, even weeks were required before a boy accepted that the feelings were pleasurable.

"That's the way it should be. In time, the pain will fade completely. Then the joy will increase until you are unable to stop. You will take all of it in a single thrust and still be hungry for more. Even now, after all these years I am still awed that anything could feel so wonderful. In time you will be overwhelmed by it as well."

"It still hurts," Giulio wailed.

"Yet I can tell that it also feels good for you," Lucian responded without hesitation.

"How can you tell?" he gasped

"There are signs, darling boy. When a boy is willing, he always shows what he likes. Sometimes he lies in silence and dares not admit that it is good, but at other times he pushes back for more. When he trembles with the joy of it there is no question that it pleases him. Your body quivers with unfilled hunger."

He grinned and deliberately levered the projecting end upward to increase the force against Giulio's small prostate and bladder. The boy twitched and suddenly began to gasp. He felt an overpowering urge to urinate. The pressure, a torturous combination of pain and pleasure, was boundless. He shuddered every time that Lucian moved the object, groaning with every tremor that was initiated deep within him. The tearing pain abated when his anus expanded sufficiently to relieve the pressure. What remained was a sensation that was terrible in its implications. Finally, with his jaws clenched tightly together, and his face buried in the down pillow, Giulio lost control. Pale urine dribbled from his shrivelled penis to join a growing dark, wet circle beneath him. He fought to remain conscious, resisting the intense elation that sought to overpower his sanity.

It was much later when Lucian eased the slick silver shaft from Giulio's anus. He touched his nose to it, now hot enough to melt butter. He smiled, resisting with difficulty the urge to taste when he inhaled the sweet musky scent of the boy's deflowered rectum. Giulio groaned and shifted uncomfortably, accommodating his displaced insides to the sudden void. He was exhausted. Always, it was the same, Lucian mused. It mattered not that a boy was unable to produce semen. One dry orgasm had followed another, draining his young strength if not his manly juices. After less than an hour Giulio was unable to stop. Then, ravaged by overwhelming lust, he took over, pumping and plunging against each one of the four the mechanical dildos at the corners of the bed. His fate was no longer a matter of concern to his tutor. Even if he did not relish the first thrust of a man's penis, his wellstretched bowels would be all but oblivious to what would follow when Consiglio returned.

Only minutes passed before the wood-paneled door creaked open. Consiglio's gaunt frame was lit from behind, his robe hanging in deep, dark folds. He gestured to Lucian to leave him as he silently crossed the floor. He stopped several paces from the bed and studied the meek boy. In the flickering candlelight, Giulio's nude body was intensely arousing. Giulio's arms and legs were widespread and he breathed slowly and he shivered with anticipation while he returned the man's gaze. The nagging discomfort between his buttocks begged attention. Consiglio smiled, stepped closer, and with a soft rustle, his robe dropped to the floor. He was naked. Giulio felt a strange excitement as he looked upon the man's lean body. He shivered perceptibly. The man's sex was huge, thick and long and crimson, its crown surmounted by a scarlet helmet of considerable size. Compared to the metallic imitation, it appeared even larger in life. Swollen with lust, Consiglio's organ seemed gigantic. Giulio was awed. It was the first time that he had seen a man's penis erect. He swallowed, fear building as he shivered again in anticipation. He felt as if he had waited his entire life for this moment.

2

Iacopolo pivoted. "And the thing I talked of earlier? What of the cutting? Have you forgotten?"

Consiglio turned slowly. "Why do you hate your son so much that you want him emasculated?"

"We agreed 3;"

"We agreed nothing, except that I would have the boy's virginity in return for my vote in the Council. Nothing more, Iacopolo. I promised nothing beyond that. This night I have deflowered the lad. Isn't that enough?"

"It's never been enough before for you, Consiglio. You'll want more than a single coupling. The look on your face tells me that you want him for your bed mate. You only have to cut and my son will be your catamite."

"He's made his choice already, Iacopolo. He lies contented and ready to sleep in my bedchamber."

Iacopolo laughed. "His choice? Is it so easy to forget? Consiglio, just the slightest hint from me that you have sodomized Francesco's favorite, and you'll never see your darling boy again. He'll be twenty before he returns to your bed, Consiglio. Indeed, even after the old man dies, he'll lie with any man I choose before you plant your seed in him again."

Consiglio's eyes darkened. He glowered at the man before him. "What of the boy's wishes? Has he no say in who he sleeps with?"

"No! You should know well that if you wish to sodomize him as often as you want, you must have the father's permission." Iacopolo smirked. "And for you to have my permission to take his as your catamite, he must be cut."

"That is your price for him to be my lover? You're mad, Iacopolo," Consiglio shouted with sudden anger. His eyes darted away to the small form huddled under the blanket. He remembered the softness of the boy's skin, the hardness of his sex, his frenzied culmination at the end of their coupling. Giulio had no equal in all of Venice. "I will not agree to it. My precious Giulio will be no choir boy."

Iacopolo laughed. "He does not have to sing in the choir, but you are correct in one thing. His balls are the price you must pay for him to be your catamite. You have to bed a eunuch," Iacopolo answered. "Indeed, Consiglio, it may not be such a bad thing. From the looks he has given you in recent weeks he is ready to be mounted on a regular basis. What need a boy have of balls between his legs when a man like you is behind him?"

"What need he has is need enough to keep what God has given him. He'll know another pleasure in time."

"The men of Rome would not agree, Consiglio. In confidence, even Cardinal Rancini has said that Giulio is well suited to being gelded. We both know he's as much a girl as any choir-boy who has not been spared the knife. His face is enough to make any man happy," he added. "And if not you, there are always others who will not hesitate to pay the price I ask of you."

"There is no time. Already the sun's light is in the east," Consiglio countered weakly.

"Even now Lucian is waiting outside your chamber with Rancini," Iacopolo said threateningly. "I sent him to fetch the Cardinal while you sodomized the boy. Both an catamite and a gelding, or nothing, Consiglio! Agree to my price or you will not see the lad again. I'll take him to a barber in the Arab Quarter and pay the price with a handful of Ducats to have him gelded. Perhaps if Giulio tries hard he'll even be able to sing in San Marco. You can listen to him there."

Consiglio's face darkened. Of all the boys he had loved, none was the equal of the beautiful boy, Giulio Foscari. His eyes narrowed with hatred of the man before him. "Then both. Damn you! Cover your son up, Iacopolo. Even masked, it is possible that Cardinal Rancini will recognize the boy I cut this night. What Rome says in confidence, Rome will not say before witnesses. Only the boy's crotch need show, just enough to prove that he is hairless. I will not risk Francesco's wrath to carry out your evil plan."

"And I thought Rancini was your trusted friend," Iacopolo said slyly.

Without answering, Consiglio walked away. He could not find the words to express his anger. From the bed, Giulio glared hatefully at the man who he had believed to be his brother for his entire life. He pulled away, impotently shielding his genitals from view. Without hesitating, Iacopolo tied ropes around each of the boy's thin wrists with a painful tug and knotted them securely. Giulio hated him, as much at that moment as ever before. That this man was his father was almost impossible to believe. He remembered Lucian's words of warning. His tutor was absolutely correct in his assessment that father and son were the opposite sides of the same coin.

The door opened and then closed again. As Consiglio started to walk back again, Iacopolo quickly lifted the woolen blanket to cover Giulio's face and milky-white shoulders. In the suffocating darkness Giulio heard Consiglio's footsteps, and those of another person crossing the room.

"This is the boy, Cardinal Rancini," Consiglio explained.

"How old is he?"

"Nine years old this last summer." Iacopolo answered.

"Old enough to bed, or cut, depending on your pleasure eh, Consiglio," the other man said thoughtfully. "When is his birthday precisely?"

"When the sun rises today he will be ten. I can swear to it, for he is my bastard son. I sired him with a woman whose name is best left unknown," Iacopolo answered swiftly.

"He has not ripened?"

"Not yet. Nor is there is any sign that it is near. See for yourself. There's not a hair on him. His prick is still small and his balls are no bigger than the black olives from Liguria," Iacopolo answered. He lifted back the blanket to expose Giulio's pale shrivelled sex. Its reddened appearance left no question that it had been subjected to recent abuse.

"And what is it to be this time, Consiglio? Catamite or choirboy?" Rancini asked cynically. "Will you take him as your bed-mate, or send him to San Marco?"

"I 3;" Consiglio began.

"It does not matter whether Consiglio takes him as catamite or he becomes a choirboy!" Iacopolo interrupted. "Either way his balls are gone before the sun rises."

"I come not a moment too soon then. Who is he?"

"Nothing more than a whore's brat, Rancini," Iacopolo answered quickly. "He's of no importance to you. All you need to know is that he has a good voice."

"A good voice? He will need more than a good voice for this to be worth the doing. It is a big price to pay to sing a soprano tune for a few more years."

"What more should a boy have to qualify him for the knife? If he has a pretty arse and a stiff cock is that not reason enough? With a handsome face like this lad, he's well suited to being laid upon his back with his cheeks parted." Iacopolo said with glee.

"Ah! Then that should be more than enough to make it worthwhile. I only hope the lad's the type who would prefer to keep a man happy at night." Rancini suggested.

"He's that and more. Ask Consiglio. he's had the boy trice tonight," Iacopolo smirked knowingly.

Consiglio's hands lovingly stroked Giulio's inner thighs, gently pressing into the sides of his scrotum. He guided the small testicles from side to side. He spoke softly, barely aware of the other men. "It's a pity to mutilate something so perfect."

Iacopolo laughed. "You'll do the boy a service, Consiglio. One day he'll thank you for his loss."

"You've done this often enough before, Consiglio," Cardinal Rancini acknowledged. "So I trust your judgement, but until now, I've always felt it's a pity to geld a boy whose voice has not been tested in song."

"As you know old friend, for the last fifteen years I've gelded all but three of the boys in the basilica," Consiglio answered with considerable pride in his achievement. "Yet none of them can compare to this boy. His beauty exceeds that of any of the lesser sex."

"Even without seeing his face I can tell that he has no equal in all of Venice." Rancini agreed. "But that is even more reason not to cut him."

For a moment, Consiglio hesitated. His eyes were troubled while he studied Giulio's nude body. There was only one way that he could have Giulio in his bed again. Iacopolo smiled confidently.

"Despite my reservations, perhaps Iacopolo is right. The boy is his son after all. I have had his pleasure three times this night. No boy has been the happier for losing his virginity. Yet, he is very different to any boy who lies willingly in my bed. Iacopolo is mad with hatred of the boy."

"I am indeed. What the knife denies to my bastard does not have any value in the first place," Iacopolo retorted slyly. "My belly gnaws with hunger. Cut him so I can break my fast."

Rancini laughed as he looked down at the small form partially hidden beneath the blanket. Sight unseen, he sensed that the boy was exceptionally beautiful. That the boy appeared to be frail, even feminine, bothered him. "Is he strong enough. Although it doesn't seem to hurt them beyond the obvious, I've heard that boys can die if it's done badly."

Consiglio nodded in agreement. "That is true, but as you know, I've not lost any yet. He's stronger than he looks. A boy like this one will be up and about within a week. Beyond the scar between his legs to show what has been taken with a knife, he'll be none the worse for it."

"I expect he'll be wanting to make up for lost time," Rancini guffawed. "He looks like he's had a good time with you already this night."

Iacopolo chuckled. "It's been a long night for him. He's probably anxious to get it over so he can sleep, Rancini. It's a pity he'll have to wait a week before he's on his back again with his knees beside his ears."

Rancini snorted. "It's worth the wait to see the wound properly healed before a boy is mounted again, and not only because the wound is unattractive."

"No matter," Iacopolo shrugged. "He'll still be horny."

Consiglio nodded slightly. "That's true enough. The boy's certainly been a willing mate tonight, Iacopolo. I've had more pleasure this night with him than with all the other urchins who have laid upon my bed this year alone. However, I am a gentle man. I would not hurt him for anything."

"I've heard, Consiglio, that the appearance of a boy may be improved by taking the skin from around the cock," Iacopolo said obscurely.

"I've heard the same," Rancini interjected. "It was in reference to the Jews."

Consiglio nodded absently as he studied Giulio with affection. "The Jews perform what is called circumcision on their boys. As do the Arabs as a matter of course, and I have heard that the negroes do it too. It is a simple thing to do by cutting around the crown."

"And is it also true that a boy's cock can be removed as well?" Iacopolo asked slyly.

Rancini laughed. "His cock? Now, I've heard that this is sometimes done in Africa for boys who are destined for the slave markets in Persia. I've never seen one, yet I've heard that a servant boy in the Tresparini Palace is so disfigured. It is said one of his brothers slept with the Sultan's daughter. In my opinion, such things are a waste of a pretty boy."

Consiglio scowled. "It's likely to kill a lad for the veins are plentiful in the stalk. It serves no purpose other than to deny him all his pleasure."

"I imagine it would be poetic justice if a boy fucked the wrong hole. What do you say to that, boy? Should we cut away that pitiful thing between your legs and make a girl of you?" Iacopolo laughed. He glanced dismissively at his son to ascertain his reaction. "What say you, Rancini? Do you have the warrant for my signature?"

"I have it here," Rancini answered as he held out the parchment. "Both rules are firm. I accept that the lad has yet to count his age on all ten fingers for you say he was born on this day's dawn ten years before. The matter of permission remains. I presume the boy assents to this?"

"He does," Iacopolo answered quickly.

"I must hear him say it," Rancini said. "'Consent given freely and without undue pressure brought to influence his judgement.' Those are Foscari's exact words. It is the law," he added with emphasis.

Iacopolo glanced quickly at Consiglio. The man shrugged, unable to decide between the choices offered to him. "Tell him what you want, boy. Say it now for all to hear and you will get what you desire. Consiglio will be your master."

Giulio swallowed. "I 3; I-I-I want my b-b-balls c-c-cut off," he whispered. "I want 3; to sing 3; in the basilica," he added haltingly, as if an explanation was required of him.

Rancini smiled slightly and glanced momentarily at the naked boy whose assent had been muffled almost to the point of incoherence. Yet he had heard enough to give the order. "You may gag him him now! I do not wish to hear his screams when the deed is done."

He stepped back and turned away as Iacopolo's hand rammed into Giulio's face and the Damask cloth was secured tightly behind his head. Rancini lifted the quill from the desk and paused above the creamy parchment. The words were in Latin, each letter of each word meticulously transcribed from the standard text dictated by the Doge. He filled in the missing words with careful pensmanship and reread the warrant with building pleasure.

Every time he was thrilled by the gift to Rome, yet this was different. This boy would not enter the choir. This boy was destined for Consiglio's bed. This time, his hand shook slightly and he breathed quickly with nervous anticipation. Both Consiglio and Iacopolo waited anxiously until Rancini sealed the document with the elaborate carving on his signet ring. Even before the wax was dry, Rancini had taken his seat beside Lucian. The law required that as the Doge's representative, he witness the castration, but even he could not stand by and watch this beautiful boy's immolation.

"Enough talk. It's time to geld the boy. You have everything you need, Consiglio?" Iacopolo demanded.

Consiglio glared at his tormentor. "Only the time to heat the irons. The vessels should be properly seared if they are to heal properly."

"Have you given him a draft of wine to dull the pain?" Rancini asked.

Iacopolo shook his head. "There's no time for an unnecessary thing like that. The dawn is nearly upon us. He'll scream, but he'll have to bear the pain. Perhaps losing his manhood will make a man of him," he laughed.

He glanced among the instruments. What interested him was no longer than a man's arm, curved like two small jaws joined at either end by an unusual hinge that separated two rounded cups that were upon closer inspection, not unlike claws. It was of polished bronze and carefully formed to achieve a function that was not immediately obvious.

"What is this for?" he added as he held up the small metal contraption.

Consiglio explained. "There are some who prefer the purse to be completely removed when a boy's eggs are taken out. However, there are others who prefer no loss at all, but want the same result. It is a matter of appearance dictating technique. I seldom do the former because I have found that the pouch contributes considerably to a boy's feeling, and the later is too painful to justify the end result. It is barbaric!"

"This is such a tool? What does it do?"

"It crushes the eggs until they are no more than pulp. The device you hold was made in China for the Great Emperor Wang. I've heard a thousand boys were done with this one alone. The jaws are made from the finest bronze and would hold an edge equal to any steel I've seen."

"Why do you not use it?"

"I'd not use it on any boy for the reason I've just given. I value life more than that, even if you do not Iacopolo."

"Life?"

"The pain is so great that a boy could die."

Iacopolo nodded understanding. "Still, it's my choice what method is used, is it not? Is that not a father's right? Tell me more," he demanded gleefully. "With it the eggs remain within his pouch? There is need for the eggs to be removed? Nothing will be taken out? No blood is shed?" Iacopolo asked curiously.

"There is no need. His eggs will be mush, like coils of overcooked spagettini and just as useless. Very little will remain other than the softness of his skin and the sound of his voice. There will be nothing to show he was once a male, and nothing to show that how he has lost it."

"It has the making of a neat result, would you not agree, Consiglio," Iacopolo remarked with amusement. "Except it does not satisfy my desire to see him bleed."

Rancini chuckled. "Perhaps the Jews can benefit us for a change. With circumcision he would be bloodied for you. There is no need to discharge the warrant on such a splendid boy."

Giulio twisted suddenly, arching his body away from the bed. The blanket slipped away from his face and shoulders. His face was reddened and streaked with tears. For a moment he glared hatefully at Iacopolo, before the man stepped closer to shield him. Then Giulio looked at Consiglio, his eyes pleading. Consiglio halfclosed his eyes and turned away, unable to look at the boy.

Consiglio sighed. "A better method is a simple incision along the purse. It's easily closed with a needle and thread and the scar can be so well concealed that it is difficult to see. This thing might kill him."

"The method is not your choice if I exercise the father's right to choose. However, Rancini is right. Perhaps I will have you circumcise him first, Consiglio."

"It is an easy thing to do," Consiglio admitted. He glanced at Iacopolo hopefully. "It takes a minute or two at most."

Iacopolo picked up a knife with a thin short blade that was honed to a razor edge. "You have done it before?" he demanded.

"I've done it often enough."

"Some choirboys have skin that is too tight for the crown to push through easily. The smell can be unpleasant so we bring them to Consiglio for the Jewish look. As he says, it is a very simple task," Rancini answered politely.

Iacopolo grinned cruelly, balancing the razor in across two fingers. He glanced at the boy, considering his options.

"Iacopolo, I beg you to be generous. You son has lost his innocence this night. Isn't that enough to satisfy you. Why must you "

Iacopolo shrugged. He had never been a generous man. "Finish what you have started, Consiglio. You cannot deny that you have lusted after the boy. Now that you have taken his virginity do you not want him for your own?"

"I do, Iacopolo. But not like this! You have my vote in the Council. You have what you want. Enough of this!" Consiglio replied.

"I have one thing left, Consiglio. The law requires that his eggs must go before the dawn, and already the sky is glowing red in the east," he instructed impatiently. "Do him now, or by God, I'll do it myself!"

He backed away and took his place at the foot of the bed. He glared at Rancini, realizing that the Councillor had finally recognized the grim-faced boy on the bed. It was all that Giulio could do not to cry. No matter what, he would not show these men his pain, especially the man who he thought he loved less than an hour earlier. Consiglio said nothing and Iacopolo noted he had found another ally in Rancini. The cardinal was a man who knew the value of discretion.

Giulio felt the pain inside his bruised bowels. Over the last hour it had faded. Now it was nothing more than discomfort, no longer the raw agony that had been there earlier. Men's hands gripped his arms and legs and pulled them wide apart, securing the rope ends to the carved phallic pillars at the head and foot of Consiglio's bed. Despite his wishes, he could not stop what was happening. The Cardinal looked on, regarding the boy's struggles with apparent disinterest while relishing the predicament of the stunningly beautiful boy with silent appreciation. The letter of Francesco's law had been followed, if not its intent. Justice was served. The rumors of ten years were true. Giulio Foscari was Iacopolo's bastard son, cuckolded from Francesco's wife. What was more, it appeared that the boy had become Consiglio's favorite. Surely, it would kill the old man if it did not kill the boy. In his opinion, it was well past time for a new Doge. And if the new Doge was Iacopolo, his good fortune was assured. It was a pity that the boy was not going to serve Rome, destined to be a eunuch like many of the boys who sang in San Marco.

"He's ready to be done," a voice said. "Hold him tightly now. It will hurt a lot."

The hands gripped the boy harder, squeezing his legs and arms and pressing down on his chest. Again Giulio writhed furiously, one last attempt to save his manhood. Then gradually the fear faded and his eyes were hazy from tears. His mind became blank, no longer fighting to preserve what he had never known. From the side Iacopolo smirked cruelly, relishing the boy's submission. Giulio saw him and his hatred surfaced. He felt vomit rising, tasted bile, knew boundless fear. He shrieked, fluid spilling through his penis, showering in an amber spurt across his belly, vomit flowing over his face and shoulders.

"NO!" Giulio started to shout. Almost as soon as the muffled word was out of his mouth, Iacopolo's hand clamped across it, smothering the following words into the gag.

"DO IT, NOW!"

Giulio screamed into the gag again, choking on the rushing fluids that spouted from his throat.

"I cannot do it," Consiglio groaned. "I love him!"

Iacopolo laughed loudly. "I'm not surprised. He'll be all yours once you've handed me his balls, Consiglio. It's no loss for him! Go on, Consiglio. Finish him off!"

Rancini chuckled. "Are you sure you want him gelded, Iacopolo?"

"Certainly. Why do you ask, Rancini?"

"Usually, a boy of his age is agreeable to it only to save his place in the choir. He knows nothing of what he loses in the exchange. He's such a pretty boy there's no reason not to ask one last time. Once the deed is done his manhood is gone forever."

"The answer is yes! Get it over with, Consiglio!" Iacopolo replied haughtily.

"I cannot do this."

"Get out of the way and I'll do it."

"No!"

"Do it, Consiglio, or I'll finish it myself before the dawn," Iacopolo shouted. His hand moved quickly to his back. A dagger came into his hand. He wielded it before Consiglio, waving for the man to get back out of the way. "I want his balls to show Francesco there will be no more Foscaris."

"You're mad!"

"Consiglio, stay back!"

"NNNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Boston, Massachusetts 1999

1

The noise in the room, subdued during the bidding suddenly became louder as the auctioneer hammered his gavel for the last time. I stood up and began to move towards the front of the room, my personal check already prepared in order to make a quick exit. I was nearly at the front when I was intercepted by a man. He was in his early sixties, well dressed, exuding the confidence of a lawyer or banker although without the arrogant attitude that is typical of financial success.

"It has an interesting provenance," he said abruptly. "I'm Jules Hanover, curator of Gothic Arts at the Vertsell Museum of the Decorative Arts by the way. The Museum thanks you for your $23,000. You must want the bed very much."

I smiled at him. "I have no interest in it. I plan on giving it to someone as a gift."

"Who?"

I could not help smiling even more. "My ex-wife! It's to celebrate my divorce. She's so stuck up, she'll have to put it in her bedroom, especially when she finds out how much I paid from her friend Cynthia. She was sitting in the second row. Every time my ex sees it she'll think of me."

"It'll be wasted on a woman, you realize," Hanover smirked knowingly. He brushed his forehead. His thick mane of hair was salt and pepper gray, although at one time it had been dark and curling. He was still a very handsome man.

"Wasted? Oh no, Dela will use it." I shrugged.

It made very little difference to me whether she used it, because when I thought about it, I did not care whether she had sex or not. That our sex had been infrequent and uninspiring was my fault. That wasn't the point. It was as ugly as hell in my opinion! And for a beautiful woman with no taste, Dela was sure to have lots of male companionship, and some of them were bound to have an aesthetic sense that silently ridiculed her for her selection of furniture.

"Don't you know anything about its history?" Hanover asked. "I thought you were interested in it for a very different reason."

"Not really. I read the bit in the brochure about it being late-fifteenth century work, probably by one the lesser furniture makers in the Eastern European region or something like that."

"Oh! Then you don't know," Hanover hinted. "It was Consiglio's bed. It's from where we now call Turkey, with some details that are Venetian in origin, and quite unique because some er 3; other details suggest some work that is likely to have been done in the Middle East, Persia perhaps, all very unusual you know 3; For one reason or another the design detracts from its monetary value but, you might say adds a lot to its functionality." He smiled, his eyes narrowing slyly. It was clearly another hint that I was supposed to understand!

"Hmm! Well, it really doesn't matter much, does it now that I've bought it?" I replied. After a moment I continued. "Who was Consiglio?"

"Consiglio 3; was a 3; it's hard to say this without laughing 3; he was a merchant of Venice, Mr. Kent. He was a very important man, and very wealthy too. His ships sailed to every port in the Venetian Empire, including Turkey. He had a castle there, perched on the cliffs above the bay of Constantinople 3; Istanbul."

"How do you know my name?"

Hanover smiled slightly. "I make it my business to know names like yours," he answered ambiguously.

I shrugged in ignorance and disinterest. Politeness kept me talking. "So it had an interesting history then?"

Hanover smiled ambiguously. "I imagine the bed has seen and heard more than a few things best left unseen and unspoken. As far as I know it was in Italy from just after it was made until it was brought to Boston fifty years ago," he answered. "Nonetheless, according to what I've researched, it has it's share of tales. Some of them may be true, I expect. I'd be surprised if they weren't all true."

"Well, that is interesting," I said. My voice sounded sarcastic and bored but I could not help it. I was not interested in anything built before the Bauhaus. "Is this what you museum types refer to as provenance, or are we talking about ghosts and ghouls?"

Hanover laughed. "I wouldn't know about the latter, but it's possible that it also has its share of ghosts. Consiglio was quite a colorful character, you know. In his later years he was supposedly involved in some quite unpleasant deeds. And then he died. Any records disappeared with him, along with his bed, this bed."

"I've never heard of him."

"He wasn't one of the big names you might hear in a history class, however he was quite accomplished in his own way. His primary claim to fame was kidnapping the son of the Doge, Francesco Foscari. If I remember correctly, Foscari was the Doge who ruled for more than thirty years I think. He was responsible for adding much of the empire. He died in 1459, murdered it is said, or was it from the loss of his son, who was taken by Consiglio. We will never know."

I nodded and absently glanced at my watch. I had nearly thirty minutes until my next appointment and I did not want to be late.

"The boy's name was Giulio," Hanover said absently. "A nice name, don't you think."

"Who?"

"The boy who was kidnapped. His name was Giulio Foscari. He was about ten when he was taken from his father. It must have been quite a shock to him, being dragged from the Palace he had grown up in Venice in the middle of the night."

I nodded vaguely. "I expect so."

"He would have slept on this bed in Consiglio's palazzo. Which makes sense, of course."

"Why does what make sense?"

"That's why the bed was made, I believe 3;. I imagine, despite his cruelty, Consiglio had a desire not only to be in control, but also to make a boy feel comfortable at night. The craftsmanship is superb for the time. Mahogany from the East Indies, silver from the mines in Turkey. And the ebony came from Africa, of course."

"I didn't notice any silver," I said curtly.

"You wouldn't Mr. Kent. Not unless you knew where to look. You wouldn't find it otherwise. I expect the silver work alone is worth every penny you paid." Hanover smiled wryly. "There is a picture of him, the boy that is, in the Gardener Museum in Boston. God only knows how it ended up there. He was an absolutely beautiful child, truly stunning, at least if the artist was true to life. I imagine Consiglio had the portrait made, so it probably is fairly accurate. A startling child. Beautiful curling hair, blue eyes, very Venetian, and with that ochre-colored skin they have in southern Europe. Quite the Adonis! I imagine Giulio turned many more than a few heads even before he was taken by Consiglio."

"And he was kidnapped by this man Consiglio?"

Hanover smiled. "Well, that's the way the story goes. Consiglio took the boy as hostage with the idea of using him to force his father's resignation. I expect there's some truth to it, but there's much more to the story that hasn't been told."

"Such as," I prompted.

"The boy probably took his fancy at the time. Of course whether he was taken against his will we never will know, now will we?"

"I don't understand how taking the son would force the Doge to step down?" I countered.

"Far better to ask why not take the son. The Doge hardly needed an heir, there was another son, Iacopolo, but he doted on the lad. He was old, eighty-seven to be precise, so you see there would be no more sons after young Giulio."

Giulio Foscari must have been something, I fancied. It was strange thought and it left me almost as soon as it came. It was the first time I could remember any thought of boys in a sexual context.

"Now, what happened was probably expected right from the get go, and entirely natural under the circumstances you might say after you've seen the portrait of young Giulio. According to the story, Consiglio was attracted to the lad so one thing led to another 3;"

I smiled. "You're saying that the merchant of Venice was a pederast?"

"That's such an inflammatory word nowadays, and not very descriptive either although its Latin roots do mean a lover of boys. Boy-lover is a far more accurate term I think when a man is smitten."

I shrugged, curious about Hanover's odd reference to 'smitten'. "Does it really matter what it's called? It still means the same thing."

Hanover ignored my display of cynicism. "Boy-love wasn't all that unusual back then, just as it's not uncommon now, although most people would like it to be, especially here in Boston."

"I'm sure," I ventured. "It is against the law, however."

"But go back more than five hundred years and under certain circumstances it was accepted in Venetian society." Hanover's eyes flashed. "Consiglio was a rich and powerful man. He could have whatever and whoever he wanted. He was a man who made his fortune by trading. There are many examples of pederasty throughout history that society prefers to overlook. What do you think cabin boys did on ships? There were no women, and the men were away for years at a time. No wonder they turned to boys. There were no inconvenient pregnancies and the boys could work on the ship. Of course, they usually had light duties I expect," Hanover chuckled to himself. "I can't imagine why."

"But in Venice?" I countered. "Why would it be accepted?"

"When this bed was made, young boys from the Venetian aristocracy served to bring the great families together almost as often as betrothing a daughter. Anyway, back to the story. Apparently the boy was not averse to Consiglio's attention, if you catch my drift. When you see his portrait you'll realize why."

"I'm confused right now."

Hanover winked crudely conveying that his meaning was purely sexual. "You'd understand why Consiglio was so enamored with the lad once you've seen the portrait."

"If I get time 3;" I said impatiently.

"At the same time, it doesn't take a brain surgeon to figure out why the boy might have been interested in Consiglio. He has the look about him. In fact, there was even a letter I came across in the Widener that suggested young Giulio did more than just submit to Consiglio's affections. And after a time or two, it would be more a matter of reciprocating than submitting."

I nodded and swallowed. My throat felt dry and my brow seemed heated. Hanover's words created a powerful image in my mind. The idea of a boy of ten wanting sex with a man was extraordinary and far beyond my range of experience with my adopted ten-year-old son. As far as I knew Julian was far more interested in Beanie Babies than anything to do with the tiny appendage dangling between his legs. A year or two could not make that much difference, could it?

"Of course, some boys are like that. I've know more than a few of them over the years," Hanover added softly as if he understood my confusion. "Innocent on the surface, but real little demons underneath. All they need is opportunity, and a little encouragement."

I swallowed again and tried to avert my eyes. Hanover was magnetic. I could not look away, nor could I not listen to him. He smiled conspiratorially.

"There's a bit of the devil in every boy, you know. You're a father so I'm sure you understand. Some merely have more energy to burn off, shall we say. Combine that with curiosity and a need for male companionship and 3; with the right man a boy will 3; well it happens so enough said."

I nodded, not understanding exactly why I was agreeing or what I was agreeing to. Julian's occasional pranks were a long way short of the sexual theme that Hanover was overtly suggesting. Or was it? On the surface, Hanover's words were as innocent as my precocious son with his infrequent vague hints of eroticism. Again I swallowed, remembering the times when I had found myself wondering what was going on inside his tousled dark head. And then there were the times he looked strangely at me, curiously hesitant to turn away. At such times the shy little boy appeared to be openly flirting with me. His pale blue eyes were strangely sensuous, unlike his mother's, and intoxicating in a way that always got him what he wanted. Until now, I had not thought of him as sexy, but he was sensual and seductive in his own way I concluded guiltily. In fact, for some reason I fell victim to his alluring charm more often than his mother. When I asked about his father and the other half of the boy's lineage, her response was vague. I knew no more than he had been conceived during a chance liaison at graduate school when she had gone to Italy for a summer program. That should have been warning enough. "

What happened?" I muttered. "To Giulio 3; and Consiglio?" I added curiously.

Hanover smiled, his blue eyes flashing. "Sadly the lad died! Murdered by Consiglio's friend, Iacopolo."

"Some boy-lover," I said sarcastically.

"Not at all. By then I expect that Consiglio was determined to keep the boy for himself. At the time, it was not unusual for a man to take a boy as an catamite, though seldom from a noble family."

"Catamite?" I asked. "What's that?"

"A word for a boy who is kept by his lover. It is possible that Consiglio and Iacopolo were concluding a plot to remove the Doge. Although for Consiglio, removing the Doge was merely an added benefit you realize. I can show you a copy of the letter. I brought one with me in case the buyer was interested. It's been translated from the original Latin, but it's still very old. I believe it was written by the boy's tutor." He reached into his breast pocket and retrieved a photocopy on yellowed paper, carefully unfolded it, and presented it to me. The writing was very legible and the carefully composed script told an interesting story, despite the fact that only a single page was shown to me.

My Giulio has died and His Spirit is condemned to everlasting torment. Once so treasured in My Companye, the Boy haunts me. After what they shared in Consiglio's bed, I can no longer love Him. All night, I heard the bed. It still squeaks like they are rutting. The sounds of pleasure continued from midnight almost to the first light of the dawn, until Consiglio was done with Him three times, and more. I heard Him shouting His Joy as He wont when Consiglio's seed found its mark in his bowelle. And now He is gone from me forever! What obscene desire brings this child to wake again? What obscenity did he not partake while he lay with Consiglio? A single night, not even that, and My Giulio was taken from me. Is this the Lord's Punishmente for the sins of the flesh, or cruel revenge for my selfish deed? The wretched boy, His prick no bigger than mine finger, hath brought more happiness to Consiglio than any woman hath brought to man. He sang without opening his mouth.

His shrieks were of pleasure and they kept me by Consiglio's chamber. There He lay in ecstasie. Consiglio left Him bloodied and no longer virgin, yet there could be no happier boy in all of Venice. A terrible pleasure in his bowelle where Consiglio's prick had been. The Boy was a satyr till the end. His little prick remained stiffe till dawn, even with the taking of his virginity, shining with the red glow of passion.

Twas Iacopolo who wanted the deed that undid men, and when done, My Giulio would be like me. Only a belly ripped by sword knows such pain as Giulio would know that morn when manhood was taken from his loins. I slayed Iacopolo, so great was my hatred of the one who fathered him. His deathe is shared with one who hated Him, the neck all but severed by My fury. Yet Iacopolo's knife found it's mark in Giulio's breast. We watched the life drain from Him. Consiglio, who hath loved Him in life, wept as the sheet fell upon Him. Such a pretty boy he was.

But deathe itself would be welcome, for My Giulio haunts the bed back to life. Even the bloody spot from His bowele cannot be removed. I have tried in vain. There is evil in this house now. My precious Giulio has become a demon of desire. Each night the Spirit returneth. Great joy is wrought with his sodomie, Giulio three times mounted before the deed is done. Then an awful pain and the Boy's Spirit returneth to Hell. The sound continues each night hence 3;

I glanced at Hanover. "Some of it is pretty obvious, but what's this mean about the boy, Giulio?"

I waited as Hanover refolded the paper. "Obvious is one way of putting it. Young Giulio sounds like he enjoyed what he got while he was alive. He must have been a horny little thing. Consiglio was with him only for a matter of a few hours that night and they did it three times. He was Consiglio's lover, to taken as his pretty young catamite I expect."

"And who wrote this originally?" I prompted.

"As I said, Mr. Kent, the boy's tutor would be the most likely conclusion I believe. A man by the name of Lucian. The reference to manhood being taken suggests the boy had been, or was about to emasculated. Such things were not all that uncommon at the time. It was frequently done so that boys could sing in the choir. The letter implies Lucian was very fond of the boy so it's likely that he would have dispatched the culprits swiftly."

"Perhaps. The rest, about the Spirit returning and all that?"

"It's a reference to the curse, of course."

"What do you mean, the curse?"

"My, you are interested now, aren't you?" Hanover mused. "The previous owner told me about the story when he brought the bed back to Boston. Some people might say there was a curse on it. I expect it depends on your perspective. I rather imagine Byron thought it was anything but a curse." He laughed at his own private joke.

"I enjoy mysteries, but I was never one for riddles," I said cryptically.

Hanover raised an eyebrow. "You see Byron Hastings owned it until he died a few years ago. He must have been eighty-five if he was a day, but he looked like a man in his late 60's. Byron the Boylover, to his close friends that is, and I expect they were like minded. No sir, Byron didn't think it was cursed, although a few of the boys he bedded on it may have thought otherwise at first."

"I have no idea what you're alluding to," I said.

Hanover gave me a bland stare. It was several seconds later before he turned away and started to walk towards the bed. "You're right, you know Mr. Kent. It's an unappealing thing, very unattractive and certainly not of museum quality, especially given its function. That's why it's being sold, that and the fact that it's wasted here. It needs a younger man than you." He gestured toward the dark polished wood. "Made of mahogany, you know."

I nodded. "What function? It's a bed, isn't it?"

"Yes. It was designed to fit a particular function 3; an unusual function 3; a function that some, no most people would deplore."

"Which is?

"Er, it was built to accommodate what you might call the unique needs of a boy lover. As I have said, Consiglio was such a person. He was very experienced," Hanover said with deliberate emphasis. "He knew what he was doing. Just as a boy's anatomy is different to the female sex, so are a boy's needs when he's with a man. The act is similar but the holes are quite different shall we say."

"You're kidding, aren't you?" I asked.

Hanover pointed to the end of the bed. "On the contrary, Mr. Kent. I've never been more serious. Notice the foot, the rounded depression there. It's shaped to support a young pelvis. The hump lower down, there 3; keeps the lad's thighs spread apart. And the hollow there in the center, it's shaped like a cup to hold his genitals 3; and whatever comes out, if there is anything to come out, of course."

He glanced at my reddening face. Quickly I looked around. The auction room was empty except for the two of us and a few people at the far end of the room. They were in the process of concluding a transaction. Perhaps Hanover was correct in his interpretation of the carved dark wood. To my eyes, the wood seemed to have a deeper luster over the depression. Perhaps it had been smoothed and polished by the skin of a young boy's thighs and belly as he writhed in ecstasy. A young boy's skin would be soft and hairless and unblemished. It would be a lot like Julian. I half-closed my eyes as the thought came to me. Hanover smirked at my discomfiture and continued.

"Now, observe the head of the bed. As I said, it was designed for the needs of a boy, and his lover too, only this time in a different position. He lies on his back with his head cradled between these openings. His feet are placed through those pillars and pressed down so that his ankles are between the tapered shafts. If necessary, there are rings that can hold his wrists and restrict movement."

I swallowed, imagining a boy not unlike Julian in the required position. "It can't be very comfortable," I observed with pretended lightheartedness.

"A boy's comfort isn't much of a consideration. Besides, Consiglio must have had lots of practice with his boys. I expect he knew what was needed to do the job." Hanover smiled. "There's much more that makes the bed unusual. Do you want me to continue?"

I nodded, dragging my eyes away from the head of the bed. I saw Hanover glance behind us. The other people had departed and we were alone. He stepped to the foot of the bed and casually ran his fingers over the dark brown post until he reached the top. He ran his hand lovingly up and down as he stroked the satiny wood.

"Its phallic qualities used to get a few laughs when it first came to the Museum, I'm sure. It's probably the reason why it was put in storage. For some reasons young boys tend to find such things very funny," Hanover announced. Once pointed out, it was impossible to deny. Four posts, four gigantic phalluses, were guardians of the corners of the bed. With a slight movement he twisted off the rounded polished cap, a removable glans. Underneath, a short tapered cylinder of shining black ebony was surmounted by a silver dome that was somewhat smaller than a golfball and without the dimples.

"A dildo, from the 15th Century," he said with mounting glee. "And 3;" he paused meaningfully, "it's fully adjustable just by pulling up on it," he added as he drew it upwards. "It screws back down afterwards so it doesn't slide back and forth. It's a masterpiece of engineering in itself. If the boy tries to get it out by pulling away, he ends up with even more than he bargained for." Hanover chuckled crudely. "You can also pull it all the way out to make a very serviceable butt-plug, even if it is a bit unyielding compared to today's plastic ones. However, there are certain advantages when the lad is a virgin."

"It's a little on the thin side," I commented critically. "

Not for a boy who's only ten or eleven years old. At least not at first."

"What happens then?" I asked sarcastically.

"Oh, there are bigger ones in the other three posts."

"And the boy sits on it?" I suggested. Hanover nodded. "It doesn't look very comfortable."

Hanover shrugged, again dismissing comfort as unnecessary when there was a job to be done. "It can also be removed simply by screwing it out of the post. Either way it works very nicely. And there's always this."

He looked away. He bent down, and by turning the post an eighth of a revolution released a hidden locking mechanism. In a matter of a second or two he had managed to rotate the post from a vertical to horizontal position. It reached over the bed, some six inches [15 cm] above where the mattress would be. In this position a boy would have to lie face down and lift his haunches up in order to back onto it. I shuddered. A mental image of Julian drifted through my mind, impaled on the silver knob, the glossy black shaft extending from his anus. For no reason I thought of him jerking with frightening intensity when he orgasmed. And the other posts contained even bigger ones.

"Our Venetian boy-lover was very creative," Hanover said with amusement. "Push down on the silver part," he instructed gleefully.

I complied. Strangely the knob seemed loose until I realized that it was set on a spring mechanism. I felt the slipperiness of oil oozing out before I released it. "Good God!" I exclaimed. "What in hell is it 3; it's oil!"

"It's olive oil. Byron only used the finest oil from Sicily for his boys. It goes in the shaft when you take it all the way out. Creative, isn't it?"

I tried to stifle my amusement without success. "Built in lubrication! Creative? I'd certainly say so. Back him up for a lube job before you get down to business."

"Or pull it out and use it as a butt-plug so the oil drains into the boy when he moves around on the bed. Yes, I'd say it was very creative." Hanover smirked as he walked back to the foot of the bed to stand beside me. "And that's not all, not by a long shot."

"What else?" I demanded hotly. My curiosity was piqued, my excitement building like a volcanno.

"I'm sure you'll discover all in due time, and there is always the curse if things get dull!" Hanover pressed his fingers into the underside of my chin and lifted up. The man's eyes stared into mine. "Be careful, Mr. Kent! Any boy who sleeps in this bed is sure to stay in it they say. He has three chances, that's all! The same as Giulio had. After that, it's too late. Be certain of who sleeps in it. There is too much at stake."

"What are you talking about?"

His hand dropped away. His voice was little more than a soft whisper. "I was one of Byron's boys. I know what happens all too well. Just be careful who sleeps on it. Remember what happened to Giulio. Remember what the letter said. And there were more boys after him, many more. Oh yes, it has its share of ghosts, Mr. Kent. All of them are 3; were prepubescent boys, and as we both know, boys will be boys." Hanover smiled ambiguously. "There is just one thing you must never forget, Mr. Kent. All the boys who sleep in Consiglio's bed will always be boys."

He left me standing there, my mouth agape as I began to ask him to tell me more. A hundred questions whirled in my head, not the least being how I was going to transport the bed to my condominium now that I no longer intended it as a farewell present for my ex-wife.

2

At times I awoke, much later in the night, long before the secure calm of dawn, and found puddles of thick semen on my bed, streaks of fluid with the consistency of the white of an egg and as much in quantity if not more. It was certainly not ejected from the ghostly child for the physical signs of sexual maturity were not present on his body, and his male parts, like those of Julian, were far too puny to produce so much, even if he had entered puberty. Unlike Julian, he had not been circumcised, a not surprising condition because by European standards at the time Giulio Foscari had lived, circumcision was not in vogue. With few exceptions in Europe, it almost an entirely Jewish custom, and I had no reason to doubt that it would be any different five centuries earlier.

Julian's circumcision had been botched. Indeed, the extent of foreskin removed was so excessive that the boy's skin was stretched very taut when he was erect. From the few times I had seen him erect, I remembered it had a reddish luster sufficient to make his organ appear polished.

Each night he strutted naked around the room as he displayed his boyish weapon proudly and without shame. He ignored my presence, performing his lewd display with obvious enjoyment. Each night I resolved to stay awake after having witnessed his solitary copulation, occasionally using his fingers for stimulation, or more often simulating intercourse with an imaginary partner by taking a black and silver imitation penis into his bowels. I reasoned that something else must transpire to produce the copious fluids that stained my sheets. Each night my own voyeuristic thrill continued unabated, yet eventually some time after midnight, I drifted off to sleep soundly. I harbored a fantasy of satisfying his boyish lust with my own rampart sex impaled between his small buttocks, and when I awoke again I often felt completely drained. Had something happened while I was asleep? Perhaps I fulfilled my dream during the night with him for I was only a silent spectator while I was awake.

Giulio enthralled me with his robust lust and apparently insatiable appetite for sex. The ease with which he plunged backward onto the bedpost and impaled himself left me in awe. The act of penetration seldom took more than a few seconds, and the expression on his face was something akin to ecstasy. Surely it hurt, yet without personal experience I did not know. I watched, wanting nothing more than to replace the wooden member with one of living flesh. The silver knob pierced his anus without difficulty, eliciting only a gasp or two until it vanished from my sight. As it slid deeper into his rectum he sighed softly, or perhaps it was my sigh of regret. I often laughed when I thought of it, although never aloud. There had to be pleasure in it for a boy, I reasoned. That had to be the explanation for the mysterious smile that dimpled his cheeks. It would explain why Consiglio had refused to hand him over to his father, the Doge. From what I observed each night Giulio could have satisfied even the most demanding of men and returned for a repeat performance before the sun rose. The bed was worth the boy's weight in gold.

After several weeks of restless nights, the thought of staying awake all night was foremost in my mind, if only to verify the source of the man-milk I found every morning in the center of my bed. And yet, despite my best efforts to refrain from sleeping, I had yet to last beyond midnight. One night I carefully set the alarm radio, both hands at twelve, the volume at maximum. I slept through the night until I was awaken by the morning sun lighting the room. The radio was smashed, unrecognizable pieces of plastic and electronic components scattered across the floor as if demolished by a great force exerted in anger. On another night I set a brand new video camera on a tripod, directed it towards the bed and used a five dollar timer to begin recording at midnight. It was an expensive mistake. The solution to my vexing problem and growing frustration was remarkably simple, and by comparison, inexpensive. No-Doze! The man came at the first stroke of midnight. Giulio cringed, burying his face in the tangled sheets, his small buttocks still split apart and skewered. A few minutes before his small body had been frenzied, thrusting urgently onto the unyielding spike, now it was frozen. The air chilled with his approach, stealthy movement coming closer until I sensed his presence beside me. With my eyes closed and breathing slowly, I waited. The man stood before us, lubricating his substantial penis with a copious amount of oil, gazing at the boy with unbridled lust. There was no sound in my house, except the clock ticking and the dying echoes of the grandfather clock in the hall. When the last tone faded he moved. His weight displaced the bed and it creaked. I dared not look. I heard the sound of oil-slicked suction as Giulio's body was plucked from the ebony spear lodged deep within his bowels. Movement next to me, so close but not touching, then nothing as they readied. I resisted my urge to open my eyes a fraction and steal a quick look. In the blackness before my eyelids I fancied the boy's position. I did not need to look to know he was on his back, buttocks lifted high, knees against his shoulders, feet and wrists locked in place above his pretty head. He was positioned for sex. I peeked.

Consiglio was beside me. The man towered over the boy. Expressionless, calmly stroking his monstrous stiffness, making it impossibly hard. The knob, the color of a dark purple plum and just as large, glistened with silvery excretion. The slit was a gaping hole that opened further with each stroke and oozed a bead of juice destined for the boy's distended anus. The oiled shiny shaft, long and gnarled with bulging veins, seemed to on forever. My eyes closed. My heart pounded. My mind reeled in disbelief. His cock was surely a foot [30 cm] long and frighteningly thick. The narrow pelvis of a young boy would never be able to accommodate it. His motions were slow, exaggerated as if each movement was a great effort. My incredulity was compounded by the realization that this man was deceased. The wound in his neck had surely severed the carotid artery. He had come from Hell. The dead did not die forever. Wordlessly, he mounted the boy I had come to desire. The wandering undead craved coitus with a willing child. This man was the wanton servant of unspeakable evil. I waited, my perverted desire piqued by the obscenity unfolding before me.

Through half-closed eyes I glimpsed his coupling with the boy-apparition, tormenting the small anus with forceful prodding until Giulio's beautiful ghost-body opened wide for him. I watched in disbelief as the child's pale flesh swelled and the narrow opening stretched wide. His buttocks deformed around the immense bloated cock-head, swallowed as it surged through the darkened orifice and quickly disappeared. The long shaft, hideously long and as thick as my arm, followed without pause. Consiglio reared up, thigh muscles straining in a powerful thrust, his sinews straining as he rammed in. His hands grasped the boy's bony shoulders and pulled him down as he impaled the lad. Then out, dragging the slender body along the bed until it tore free of his clinging rectum, until the cock-head was barely inside, then in again. After several more thrusts the boy's anus was completely weakened, his resistance shattered. There was a momentary pause, eyes meeting, recognizing mutual hunger, and then it started in earnest.

In all my life I had not had such a fiendish dream as the incubus plowed a deep and well-oiled furrow. And still the boy smiled, his sweet face beaming rapturously while the man stabbed deep and hard into the gaping wound between his buttocks. I harbored no illusions that had he been able, Giulio would have reached out and guided the brute in each thrust. While his words were lost amid gasps and breathy groans, there was no doubt he received his punishment without complaint. Fecal odor wafted up from the bed and the five-hundred-year-old frame rocked and shuddered with their building fervor, sweating, pounding, frenzied fucking. It was impossible that a frail child could survive such an assault. And still the boy smiled. His teeth were white, his lips pulled back, hissing encouragement with his eyes squeezed shut, his hair in wild disarray. Their motion ceased. They strained together, the boy-sheath clamped around the gigantic sword. Giulio's eyes rolled back, enigmatic, intensely happy. A beatific smile of knowing sublime pleasure left no doubt that his tortured bowels were being filled with white-hot man-juice. And then Consiglio lowered, pressing further in and shielding Giulio's barely conscious body from my sight as the ejaculation finished. It was impossible to decipher who was master and who was slave. They existed to serve each other. And then the No-Doze wore off and I drifted into a fitful sleep that lasted well into the next morning.

3

The telephone rang persistently every five minutes. Each time it ring three times and the caller always hung up before the answering machine came on. Being Saturday it was unlikely that anyone would be calling me from work. Finally, on the fourth time I snatched the receiver up and demanded, "YES?"

"It's me, Dela. How are you, David? Are you playing with yourself, Darling?""

"No! Just tired. What do you want Dela?"

"I was talking to Cynthia last week."

"Good for you!" I returned.

"She mentioned that she saw you at an auction. You paid way too much."

"Cynthia's a bitch. Good-bye Dela. Say hello to Julian for me."

"Now David, there's no reason to be rude. I have a tiny little favor to ask."

"You wouldn't call otherwise."

"Now David. You know that simply isn't true."

I laughed and mouthed the magic words, 'fuck off bitch'. "What is it?"

"I was wondering whether you'd keep Juli for the weekend?"

"His name's Julian, Dela. Not Juli," I answered. "He's not a girl, for God's sake!"

"He doesn't mind you calling him Julio."

"I don't treat him like a baby, that's why Dela. He's ten years old," I said with distaste and then added, "Why do you want me to keep him tonight?"

"I want to have a friend over."

"You're a bit too old for sleep overs, aren't you? I would have thought that was more in Julian's line."

"Very funny. He was supposed to stay with one of his little friends from school, but he's sick this morning."

"Julian's sick?"

"No, the other boy, his friend from school. Juli's fine. I'll drop him off at your place by noon, if that's okay with you? Be nice to him. He really does miss you."

"Dela 3;" Click. Silence. No chance to answer and refuse. "Fuck off bitch!"

I went back to sleep, fantasizing again about the boy whose beautiful face I had committed to memory. The portrait in the Gardener was absolutely true to life and even more remarkable because of it. The artist had captured the boy's allure, although to a viewer without boy-love tendencies, the exquisite face was quite unmanly. The physical similarity to Julian had been disconcerting the first time I walked across the Common to the Gardener. Again I dreamed of sodomy, a familiar reverie after two weeks in the bed. This time I took my pleasure from either boy, interchanging faces and figures as my lust demanded. Shortly after eleven o'clock Dela rang the door bell. She had an uncanny ability for poor timing. By then, I was contained within a pulsing tightness, pushing hard and pulling back within the confines of my fist. I scrambled out of bed, my engorged cock cheated of orgasm and bobbing before me as I hurried to the closet for a robe. As soon as I opened the front door she raised her hand and directed Julian to enter with the same motion that dismissed my hasty attire.

"Sunday at six. Bye Juli." She announced as she turned and had reached her BMW before I had a chance to welcome Julian.

"Hi Julian. Where did you come from? I wasn't expecting you until next weekend."

"Hah hah, very funny. Remind me to laugh next time."

"Who's that?" I asked as I observed the shadowy face behind the wheel.

"It's her current boyfriend," Julian replied grumpily. "His name is Richard Short."

"Do you like it, sorry, him?"

Slowly he smiled. "He's a pain. He tries to suck up to me."

"Dick Short huh? What a name. I wonder if he has a short dick?"

Julian smirked gleefully, leaving me with the impression that he had thought of the same thing but never had the chance to say it to someone else. "I don't know why Mom likes him."

"Probably his name," I laughed and immediately made a mental note to discontinue my critical sarcasm of his mother. "How's life treating you, Ju? You look like you've grown two inches [5 cm] since you were here last."

I followed him inside and closed the door behind me. Julian dropped his overnight bag and glared at me with his big dark eyes. I could feel his somber gaze pulling me towards him, absorbing me, becoming one. I felt the same way every time I saw him. I felt the same way every time I saw Giulio. His spell worked, his silent incantation demanding my attention. I existed to serve him, and he knew it. He was mute, like the boy who came to my bed every night.

"What's wrong Julio?" I said, continuing the name-game that I often played with him.

"Nothing! 3; Everything! 3; Hell, I don't know 3;. I miss you, that's all."

"I know. I don't get to see you very often. I'm always busy at work."

"Do you have to work this weekend?"

I thought of the work I had avoided for the last few weeks. Between not enough sleep and my attention being diverted to other matters, I had fallen a long way behind. "I need to catch up on a few things."

"You could always pick up the phone and call me!" he said guilelessly.

"Julian 3; I'm sorry. You could call me as well."

"Mom doesn't want me bothering you."

"Sorry. I'll try to call more often."

"Why don't you love me?"

"I do love you. Why do you think I don't?" I demanded. "It's just that 3; well your mom and I don't get on very well, that's all."

Julian kicked his 'Red Sox' emblazoned bag angrily. "So why take it out on me? You could call me when she's not home. When I do call you all I get is your dumb machine. 'I'm not here right now so please leave a message, blah, blah, blah!' You're never here!"

"I'm sorry," I said apologetically. "I don't mean to take it out on you, Ju. I guess you're stuck in the middle, aren't you?"

Julian shrugged. Tears started to form in his eyes and he hurriedly wiped them away. "Yes, I am, aren't I. I hate it."

"I'm really sorry."

"Why did you hab to hab me in the first place?" he sniffled. "I wish I had never been born." He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose, taking advantage of the interruption to pick up his overnight bag and begin to walk towards his bedroom. I watched him moving away. Losing his physical presence was analogous to the loss of our relationship. "Julio 3;" I said to his back.

"I'm putting my stuff in my room, okay?" he replied angrily. His thin shoulders were hunched dejectedly as he shuffled away.

"Julian, let's not fight, okay? Let's not spoil the weekend."

"You probably have work to do. I'll watch tv. I brought some movies with me."

"We 3; I can work tonight when you're in bed. We can spend the rest of the day and all tomorrow together."

"We can?" Julian ascertained as he turned to face me. I nodded quickly and a smile flashed across a previously miserable face. "Can we go to one of the museums like we used to?"

I grinned as I remembered the weekends before I moved out of the house in Cambridge. I was about to say something when Julian glanced through the door to my bedroom.

"Yuck!"

"What's yuck?

"The bed. I thought you only liked modern furniture, Dad. It looks 3; it looks ugly. Mom said she heard you spent an awful lot of money to buy it."

I smiled, holding back a defense as I wondered what he would say if he knew it functioned unlike any bed he had ever slept in. "It's five hundred years old. It's old enough to have a ghost or two," I said obliquely.

"It's gross!"

"Then I won't expect you to sleep in it tonight, will I Julian?"

The expression on his beguiling face was curious, between surprise that he had been rejected and the possibility that he might sleep in it with me. For some reason it seemed as if an attempted seduction had been thwarted. It left me apprehensive that he knew far more than his ten years would suggest. What was far more disturbing was that he dropped the bag beside the open door and started back towards me.

"Whatever," he said as he shrugged disinterestedly. "Can we go now?"

"Right now?" I asked.

Julian nodded as he came up beside me. I smiled. Up close, the likeness to Giulio became stronger as I compared him to the face I had memorized. If anything, Julian was even better looking if that was possible. He had the same sky-blue eyes and hair and unblemished skin that would be much darker if he lived in a southern climate. His red full lips, long lashes, and pencil-thin brows were enough distraction to cause a serious accident. "I better put some clothes on first, don't you think? You don't want me to be arrested for indecent exposure, do you?" I asked. With a nonchalant smile, Julian followed me down the corridor and into my bedroom.

He sat on the end of the bed next to the polished wood post where the smallest dildo was concealed. It was amusing to think that he was so close to that instrument of self-induced pleasure that he needed only to reach out to possess it, and for it to possess him. He waited patiently as I showered, and followed me closely with his captivating eyes as I returned to dress. I turned away from him as I shed my towel, wondering as I did so whether my motives were a matter of preserving my dignity or postponing his corruption. Still, it seemed to me as I glanced at the mirror, that he was watching furtively, surreptitiously avoiding me whenever I chanced to see him.

And then the absurdity of it struck me. I had been seduced by the depravity I witnessed on the bed. The specter's obscene ritual had so bewitched me that I now saw opportunity even with my son. Although Julian was not my issue for Dela had been pregnant when we were married, the undeniable fact was that I loved him as my own flesh and blood. I turned back to him when my nudity was covered. He was subdued, quietly caressing the bed post and apparently unaware of its phallic symbolism although from my perspective he would had to be blind not to decipher its meaning. His hand rubbed the patterned surface of the rippled frenum, his delicate fingers exploring the gap under the crown.

"It's smooth, isn't it?" I suggested slyly. "There aren't many things as smooth as that. In fact I can only think of a few things, and one of them is between your legs."

I could not help smiling as Julian smirked knowingly. Clearly, he enjoyed my playful allusion to his sexual organs. He continued to stroke the rounded top of the wooden shaft that was as long and thick as his own thigh. His hand flowed down the shaft and then back up again. He smirked back at me, suddenly leaving no doubt in my mind that he knew exactly what he was doing. He was masturbating the hand-carved phallus, its surface smoothed to a satin luster by the hands of many other boys before him. His fingertips began to toy with the slit that concealed the release for the top almost as if he knew what was inside, as if he expected to find pre-seminal fluids oozing from it.

"Well, I guess I' m ready," I said as I returned to the bed.

Julian regarded me thoughtfully. Without saying more I rested my hand over his. His small hand felt soft and weak, yet I felt the life flowing through him. It was a glowing moist heat that felt almost passionate. He did not move his hand away. Between us, we seemed to hold the secret of Consiglio's bed as an unspoken truth that we had to deny in order to retain our sanity.

"I miss you, Daddy. I wish you would come back and live with me."

"I miss you too, Julio, but however much you want me home again, well it's not going to happen. Your mother and I are divorced now. Let's not spoil the weekend worrying about it, okay? What museum do you want to go to?"

"Um, I don't know. You pick."

4

Despite my eagerness to see Hanover, we followed an indirect route. Julian was interested in everything he saw, so long as it was before the sixteenth century and involved some form of agression. Swords and armor of the Middle Ages were particularly popular, as were the extensive collections of the Roman era. Warfare had become art. By the time we reached the Byzantine exhibits, Julian was ready for a late lunch and a time-out, assuming that I was interested in disciplining him. We plodded through a collection of marble busts of cardinals and princes, by-passed the tapestries for which the museum was famous, and hurried into the 'Gothic Era'. There, relics of the late Middle Ages were followed by the Germanic and Italian influence in the decorative arts. And there, we found Jules Hanover.

As soon as he saw me he hurried over, brushing off the persistent questions of a Boston dowager who was more interested in displaying her own knowledge than in learning anything new. "Thank god. I despise ignorance," Hanover said, still flustered. "For some reason that woman is convinced that the missionaries stopped human sacrifice by showing them religious paintings of the Crucifixion. Can you believe anyone is that stupid? Mr. Kent, it's good to see you again. And this handsome young man must be Julian?"

My mouth dropped open as I stared at Hanover. Had I ever mentioned Julian to him? No, I decided after a moment's thought. Never! Then how could Hanover possibly know who the beautiful boy next to me was, let alone glean that his name was Julian? Hanover smiled obscurely.

"This is Mr. Hanover, Julian," I explained. "He's the curator of this section of the museum. If fact, it was Mr. Hanover who was instrumental in my buying the bed you saw in my room." Julian shrugged good-humoredly. "Julian doesn't like the bed very much," I added with a smile.

"And do you, Mr. Kent? Have you learned its charms?" Hanover asked.

Until then I think I still had reservations. Whether because of dreams or nightmares, my sleep was constantly interrupted. I had not slept through the night since I had moved the bed into my condominum. Yet they were unlike any dreams a sane person would have. They were far too real to be mere imaginings. Nor were they nightmares because I looked forward every night and welcomed the pretty boy and his incubus onto the bed I slept in the forlorn hope that the child would demand his satisfaction from the living.

"Yes," I answered simply. "Julian, why don't you go explore over there. I think I can see some swords."

"Those weapons belonged to one of the Venetian Princes," Hanover explained. "One of the pikes even has blood on it. If you look closely 3;"

Julian headed off on a bee-line to the Plexiglas boxes housing long-bladed swords and pikes. I watched his pert bottom until he was well out of hearing. I could not look away. With dire consequences, I acknowledged to myself that he had cast his net over me and I was completely infatuated.

"The similarity is surprising," Hanover continued. "I expected some likeness, of course, because that's the way it is, but this is remarkable."

"What are you talking about?"

"All of the Consiglio boys are like that. They're a lot alike physically. Always no more than an inch [2½ cm] different in height and never varying a pound or two [1 kg] in weight. None of them are fat and none of them are thin. All of them are beautiful. And they're alike in other ways 3; in matters of taste, shall we say."

"Alike physically? How?" I asked quickly as I again made the comparison between the Museum's picture of Giulio and Julian.

Hanover just smiled enigmatically. "He's a beautiful child," he said. "And a still a virgin, too, if I'm not mistaken. That's good!" My mouth opened. I stared at Hanover. "But not for long I'd wager, not for long."

"How? What's that supposed to mean? You mean 3; How can you tell?" I blurted out.

"The walk, of course. Once he's had a man's cock between his buttocks he'll strut like a little peacock. Consiglio's boys are all alike in that way too, as much as the color of their hair, their eyes or the size of their sex. They're cut from the same cloth. They're very proud of it once they've been bedded."

"He's only ten," I interjected. "I hardly think he'll be losing his virginity in the near future, and there's absolutely no reason to suspect he'll be gay."

"That rather depends on you 3; and how soon he sleeps in Consiglio's bed."

"And what did you mean when you said they were alike in matters of taste?" I demanded.

Hanover gestured towards Julian who was peering through the glass at a chaotic collection of clothing. Some of the embroidered finery could easily have belonged to a Venetian prince, or an English lord. I shuddered involuntarily.

"He can sense the spirit around him, you realize Mr. Kent. The desire is in his blood. It's been there since the day he was born."

"What's in his blood?"

"Look at him. Can't you tell? Now you've seen Giulio's portrait, you must be able to find the answer for yourself? Your Julian is very interested. See how he's absorbed by the clothes he's looking at. He remembers enough to know what he wants, but not enough to know why. What did Karl Jung say about memory, the collective unconscious or subconscious or whatever-it-is? It's part of his psyche. It's always been within him, from the day he was born 3; There's Venetian blood in him."

I shrugged. There was truth in his words. Julian was fascinated, frozen in time by an inexplicable attraction to the artifacts of a long-past era. He had been subdued after we left the bedroom. For a few seconds he had stopped in the doorway as he stared at Consiglio's bed. I had the feeling that he was not seeing it for the first time, but seeing it again after a long time. He had smiled curiously and then glanced at the hand he had rubbed over the phallic bed post almost relishing the touch of the burnished wood. I had the unmistakable impression that he had touched it before, that he was touching a real penis.

"The desire was born in him," Hanover continued. "It was in me too, of course. Perhaps your Julian will last the night."

"For God's sake. I'm really getting tired of the riddles, Hanover," I said angrily. "It's true his mother spent time in Italy, and yes, I believe it was in Venice. But so what? Why don't you just tell me what I need to know and be done with it?"

"By now you must know what happens at the last stroke of midnight?" Hanover said calmly. I nodded uncertainly. "When I was a boy I always fell asleep by midnight. Byron simply wore me out, I expect. Had I stayed awake till the morning I imagine it would have been different."

"Different how?"

"He did it, three times, if you remember, Mr. Kent," Hanover quoted. "He wrought great joy with his sodomy, Giulio three times mounted before the deed was done. Do you remember what happened then?"

"And then Giulio died," I agreed. "You said Iacopolo killed him."

"Yes. I think it goes something like this. 'A terrible pleasure in his bowelle where Consiglio's prick had been. The Boy was a satyr till the end.'" Hanover smiled. "His little prick remained hard the entire time. Think of if, Mr. Kent. There must have been six hours until dawn. Not that it matters a great deal. Perhaps you'll find out in due course."

"I think I'm beginning to get the picture. What happens if Julian stays awake?"

"That depends. Three times, and more, and more. Assuming your boy can last the night, perhaps Giulio's spirit will never return, Mr. Kent. Perhaps it will never leave you alone."

"And Julian? What happens to him?" I demanded. "If he stays awake?"

"As I said, that depends entirely on what you do if and when Consiglio returns, Mr. Kent. Remember, Consiglio really wasn't a cruel man. He was a man who loved boys. Look to the father to understand what happened that night. No matter that Lucian killed him."

"What do you mean, if and when Consiglio returns 3; and the rest?"

"Julian is a beautiful boy, Mr. Kent. Ask yourself what price you would pay to keep him that way forever."

Hanover turned away and started to walk towards Julian. He stopped beside the boy and talked briefly in a low voice. From fifty feet [15 m] away, it was impossible to deny the similarity between the man and my son. I had a strange feeling that I was looking at Julian fifty years hence and in the fading years of his life.

"Weird, truly weird," Julian said uncertainly as he walked up to me.

"What did he say to you, Ju?"

"He said 3; he said there were some clothes in a hidden compartment at the bottom of bed that would fit me perfectly."

"He said what exactly?" I queried with a pervading sense that I knew the answer already.

Julian looked at me oddly. "He said something about Giulio' Fos something, Foscari 3; Isn't it odd that I should know that name from somewhere. His clothes are still there at the end of the bed."

I nodded. I had found the clothes in nearly perfect condition despite the passage of five hundred years. Perhaps the wood had preserved them. I had found something else as well, although the function of the strange shaped handles eluded me.

"Yes, I always thought they would fit you perfectly. It would only make sense after all."

"You're weird, Dad. Who's this Giulio Foscari supposed to be anyway? Why did Mr. Hanover say I looked exactly like him?"

"He was 3; no 3; maybe I should say he is a boy about the same age as you. He lived in Venice about five hundred years ago. Mr. Hanover is right. Giulio's an awful lot like you 3; In fact the two of you look similar enough to be twins."

"Weird! I 3;"

"What is it, Julian?"

"I don't know. It's just 3; well I always wondered if 3;"

"If what?" I pressed.

"I don't know 3; if there was someone else like me. It's weird. I have this feeling that someone is watching me 3; and when I turn around 3; Sometimes I get a chill 3; it's almost like someone with cold hands touched me."

"That's very weird." I hesitated, waiting for Julian to go on.

"I keep feeling that there's someone I have to meet 3; only it's someone I've always known 3; only I've never met them before 3; I sound crazy don't I? There's something I have to do with him. I know it's going to hurt at first, but I have to do it. I don't know what it is. I'm crazy, aren't I?"

"Not really," I answered reassuringly. "It's a long story. I'll tell you all about it tonight when you're in bed."

"Can I sleep in your bed?"

"I thought you didn't like it," I replied. I tried to control the urgency in my voice. I felt a rush of excitement. Julian felt it too. He trembled like a leaf. His eyes flickered uncertainly.

"I didn't say that," he returned in a muted, anxious voice. "I said it looked gross. It's so dark and heavy that it's kind of ugly, don't you think? But I know 3;"

"What do you know?"

"I know 3; I know I'm supposed to sleep in it."

Postscript.

The End?