Story: “The Reprobate” by Amalaric

In keeping with the peasant rebel/branding theme, I’d like to share this little story and illustration. It’s called ‘The Reprobate’.

cheers-

Amalaric

THE REPROBATE

by Amalaric

They brought him, struggling, from the dungeon cell just as they said they would in the late morning, three hours after dawn. In a way it was a good thing, as a week in the stinking confinement of the castle’s bowels had threatened to take the edge from his spirit; running hot with the righteous rage that led to the rebellion, exciting memories of taking a stand at last…and then it had all ended as the rag tag band of rioting peasants secretly knew that it must…heavy shackles on wrists and ankles, nearly dragged behind Lord Alfonso’s feisty battle horse.

Felip Eiximenis was a true son of Catalonia and, clearly, the centuries’ old blood of the ancient Visigothic invaders still ran somewhere in his veins; tall, long limbed and muscular, with the dark blond hair and gray-blue eyes of his forebears- sword wielding Christians with their backs to the Pyrenees reclaiming the land inch by inch against the Saracens…but those sorts of memories, carefully nurtured, tasted like ash in his mouth. The free peasantry of Old Catalonia, as opposed to the settlers of lands recently re-conquered from the infidels, had seen their ancient rights emasculated by the arrogant lords until there was almost nothing to distinguish the heritage passed by proud father to eager son from that of a common slave. They called Felip’s people serfs and the ustages of Catalonia were explicit: there was the intestia that gave the lord the right to inherit a part of the possessions of his chattels, and the ius maletractande that allowed a lord to mistreat a peasant at his will and to seize his goods. The serfs were obliged to offer gifts at Christmas, labor on the master’s land without recompense, and their women could be called upon at any time to serve as wet nurses for aristocratic children. All of it, and much more, would have been hard to bear, but for Felip the firma de espoli forzada was the cause that eclipsed all others. The lord’s right to deflower a serf’s bride on the night of her wedding seemed an affront to God and man and, fuck it…he would never forget the look on his wife’s face- previously flushed with joy and the harvested bounty of the vineyard on that day of feasting at the outdoor reception, anticipating the joy of bedding her man…until Lord Alfonso and his cohort arrived. The screams of Margarida in the upper room, nineteen years old but a virgin no more, sill rang in her young husband’s ears.

The first decade of the fourteenth century was a horror as the economic boom that had animated Europe for ages burst, followed by years of freezing summers and the failure of the crops. Millions starved and died. The fields of Catalonia grew brambles and, as 1321 dawned, the effects of the catastrophe were still acutely felt as gaunt serfs scrabbled under their various burdens and, when times were especially hard, tried to eat grass. The banner of revolt was raised and Felip Eiximenis, impossibly strong but with a soul seared beyond endurance, became a captain of the dispossessed.

He gazed with horrified interest at the dais at the far end of the courtyard. The crossed saplings were familiar as well they might be- he had been forced to cut them himself on the day of his arrival at the castle. Lord Alfonso stood under an arch, self-satisfied…and was that a hint of eagerness that lit up his otherwise pale face? Various minions were gathering for the show, chief among them the lord’s proud wife, Lady Eleanora; dressed in Flemish wool of emerald green that did nothing to offset the oily sheen of her skin or mitigate the tightlipped haughtiness befitting the daughter of the Count of Urgell. Even so, if one came close, a nefarious light could be discerned in her narrowed eyes as the naked young peasant strode into view.

He held his head high, though it took enormous effort to do so, fully aware of the agenda for the day’s amusement. His nudity rankled, conscious of the interested stares of the gathered servants and men at arms and, especially, the countess; he felt the cool morning breeze brush the contours of his body, scintillating around the smooth landscape of his torso, caressing his cock and balls with unaccustomed freshness; it would have felt strangely exciting in other circumstances. But, not now- as the blush of rank humiliation suffused his handsome features, marching toward the wooden dais with hands tied behind his broad back. The space between his prison and the place of agony seemed all too short. Felip was led up a rickety stair and lashed to the crossed saplings. His punishment would consist of two phases- the first he anticipated, the second he guessed at and the dreams engendered filled him with sick dread. ‘Captain!’ The imperious voice of Lord Alfonso broke the shuffling silence, ‘Forty seven lashes for insubordination!’ Felip stood tall, waiting for the painful kiss of leather. The soft hiss of the gathering storm alerted him, tensing the muscles of his smooth back as the hungry strands snapped their first taste of firm peasant flesh. Felip flinched but refused to cry out as stroke followed stroke decorating the jumping muscles of tanned, work hardened flesh with bright red stripes- one stroke for each day of the rebellion. In the end tears streamed silently from pain filled eyes that matched the color of the dawn, watering the dry wood at his feet as his blond head hung between tan shoulders, lacerated muscles begging for release.

Lord Alfonso smiled brightly as he mounted the dais, stroking the mighty forearms of the tall prisoner bound tightly to the crossed saplings. ‘I could have had you killed…’ and Felip knew that was true; he had seen the bodies swinging from the trees on the long march from fields to the castle. The lord’s hand moved slowly over the smooth skin of hardened abs, testing… ‘But that would have been far too easy.’ He smiled and the soft hand that had never known labor dipped lower, tracing the arcing curve of Felip’s exposed cock, ‘Besides, a young bull like yourself,’ the insatiable hand moved lower, cupping the serf’s enormous balls, ‘full of fire and a natural leader of the mindless rabble,’ he squeezed hard and Felip uttered a low groan, ‘should serve as an example. Don’t you agree?’ Ragged panting of anger and humiliation greeted the lord’s query and Alfonso, dissatisfied, thrust between the serf’s legs, levering them apart as the gathering crowd watched enthralled, probing the hot seam that widened into the deep crack of the buck’s lower ass. Felip whimpered with outrage as two fingers drilled past clenched muscle and stormed the gate of his virgin hole. ‘I asked you a question, boy!’ Felip gasped with pain as a third finger joined the others. ‘Yes, lord…’ and he sighed bitterly at the small mercy as Alfonso withdrew his fingers, bedecked with blood streaked rings, from the spoiled sanctum of his violated hole.

The hammering of the blacksmith made an odd kind of music echoing crazily against the stones of the courtyard. Felip waited, naked, as the crowd stared; hungry eyes measuring the perfect proportion of broad back, deep chest, narrow hips, long, muscled legs glinting with a pelt of wiry, rusty gold fur…but always the collective gaze, whether open or furtive, returned to the sight of the stud’s proud manhood; large, well proportioned, his cock long and thick, balls hanging low and rounded in their sack like twin walnuts ripe for picking. Felip reddened with humiliation and averted his gaze from that of the onlookers, watching instead as the blacksmith busily fashioned a growing pile of thin metal spikes which an assistant then placed on the glowing coals of a brightly dancing fire. The prisoner choked on a rising tide of pure terror as his lord fidgeted with gleeful anticipation. Felip could feel the warmth of the fire across the dais and would have known gratitude in other circumstances. Soon the rope binding the saplings together in an un-natural X would be cut, releasing crossed forearms with a painful jolt. Then, stretched taut- arms and legs spread eagle, arched chest, flattened belly and dangling manhood fully and most efficiently displayed- the reprobate would learn, by piercing and branding, what it meant to defy a lord of Catalonia.

END