The House of Borgia, book 2

CHAPTER 22

“I tell you, you can name your price,” Cesare said.

The ship's master with whom he spoke turned a steady searching gaze on him. There was no compromise in his hard eyes.

“I tell you that my route is not to France? and I know of nobody else who has such a direction.”

He stared hard at Cesare.

“Besides, from what you sound there's danger in it?and I'll not risk my ship for any money.”

“As you wish,” Cesare sighed. “The loss is yours.”

He bade the captain goodnight and left the tavern.

Throughout the small town, the Count's men were plying all and sundry with similar questions. Meeting at pre-determined times in an auberge down near the seashore they discussed their latest lack of success. All efforts so far had been in vain. Nobody was able or willing to take the risk of going off his route with a man who was obviously in some way an enemy of the State.

The Count himself had taken his leave of the party earlier, to return to his domain, leaving several of his men to aid Cesare in Santander. He had not anticipated such difficulty as the party was now encountering.

Meeting for the umpteenth time to quaff ale in the little inn within sound of the waves breaking on the shore, Cesare and the Count's men were glum with failure.

“We'll have a last attempt,” Cesare said at last, downing his liquor and rising. “If it fails then there's one thing left?I'll have to cross the frontier into Navarre.”

“You run more risk on land than on sea.” “I run more risk still stuck here without hope of escape.”

They began, for the last time, to scour the bars and inns of the town, cutting it into sections, working methodically.

It was in a little tavern where everyone seemed to be slightly the worse for drink, that Cesare got what sounded like a hopeful tip. He had sat himself in a corner to take stock of those in the place, which was alive with noise and the clatter of tankards.

An old seadog, talkative with wine, flopped down on the bench beside him.

“I say that we're the freest of 'em all,” he said fiercely, not looking at Cesare, but apparently speaking to him as there was nobody else very near.

“If we don' like our wives we go on a long trip, if we do we go on a short 'un. We got fresh air and good pay an' all the world to see. What more?”

He turned to Cesare, beetling his thick brows, as if he expected argument. His eyes within their crinkled, sunburned lids were bright blue and ringed with little red veins and the yellow wash of age and liquor. His tankard sagged in his hand and there was a beer stain on his old black neckerchief.

“Quite right. Let me fill 'em up on it,” Cesare said, taking the tankard from his hand and calling to the skivvy who hopped around and tripped over sprawling feet.

“You'm a stranger. New face around here.”

It was a question and the man suddenly seemed soberer than first appearance would have suggested.

“Yes, looking for a boat to take me to France.”

“To France?”

The old man gazed reflectively as their filled tankards were set down on the rough table in front of them. He raised his, glanced over Cesare's clothes which were well-to-do although a disguise.

“Your health, sir.”

“And yours?and to the free life.”

“Aye. You'll get no boat going to France at this time.”

“I can pay well. It would be a good bargain.” The old man looked at him again, with his eyes narrowed slightly.

“You'm very anxious to get there.” “A matter of urgent business,” Cesare snapped. He was irritated at the man's irrelevant interest in his activities.

“Could be done, I suppose… could be done…”

“What can you tell me?” Cesare demanded. “It's very urgent.”

The old man considered, glancing around the tavern with eyes that seemed to have awakened completely from the half-stupor of liquor.

“Don't know as I ought,” he said. “Don't sound legal to me?what you're up to.”

“I'll thank you to keep your opinions to yourself,” Cesare snapped. “I'll make it worth your while to give me any useful information.”

“How worth.”

Cesare opened a pouch on his belt and threw some gold pieces on the table. The man's eyes glistened and he stared, fascinated, at the money. He put out his hand to pick them up and Cesare's hand closed on his wrist with a force which made him start.

“Not before you tell me what you have to say.”

The man stared at him. He was beginning to wonder with whom he was dealing. There was an authority about the stranger which, even in this familiar seaman's bar where every strong arm would be with him, made his spirit yield. “All right. Take them off the table.” Cesare grinned and swept the pieces off the table and onto the wooden bench between them.

“She's a ship-owner's widow,” the seaman explained. “Lives just on the outskirts o' the town. They say she likes a 'andsome man though she's nothin' to look at 'erself. There was some young duke came through here three year ago with a price on 'is head. 'E went and offered isself to her for work on one of 'er ships and she told him he could 'ave a job if he was nice to 'er.” The old man laughed coarsely. “Least thats 'ow the tale goes. Ain't nothin' can 'appen in a place like this without folks get to know about it afore long.”

“Where can this woman be found?”

But the old man had warmed to the lechery of his story.

“They do say she's real frustrated?her husband been dead for six year and none as she thinks are suitable as'll have 'er. They do say

…” he grinned lasciviously… “as she likes a little tickle with a rope afore she has 'er cranny stuffed.”

He guffawed suddenly in a tone which made the nearest people turn towards him and then grin before resuming their own conversation.

“But o' course if you was goin' to pay, anyway, you probably wouldn' 'ave to pander to 'er every whim.”

“Where can this woman be found?enough of your prattle!”

The seaman sobered down although his eyes were still alight with mirth at his humor. He picked up the golden pieces and slipped them quickly into a pocket as if he were afraid to be seen looking at them.

“For another such, I'll show ye.”

“Right, but quick about it.”

They left the inn and ambled at a pace which exasperated Cesare, through the narrow streets near the seashore. At last the man pointed out a large house on the corner of a narrow street, with a porch and steps over which shone a lantern.

“There?an' I hope you'm feelin fit and 'earty.”

Cesare caught him by the arm and held it with a grip which made the old man wince.

“Not a word about this to anyone,” he said, knowing that his words were probably useless. “I have men here and if you start shouting this around it'll be the worse for you.”

There was real startled fear in the old man's eyes.

“Aye, aye, sir,” he said. “I wouldn' want 'em to know as I'd got rich, anyway.”

He ambled off into the darkness and Cesare knocked at the door of the big house. Shortly Cesare was being ushered by one of what seemed to be many servants into the presence of the mistress of the house.

After he had explained his business, the woman relapsed into thought, toying with a cushion. He judged her to be about sixty or a little under. She had a commanding face and had probably once been quite beautiful. But now she had grown stout and flabby and the skin hung on her fingers like plain rings.

After a while she looked up at him, lightly studying his face and figure.

“It is a risky thing you're asking,” she said.

“I'm offering a good price.”

“But I'm not poor. I'm not in great need of money so your price isn't all that interesting to me.”

So the town gossip was true. How impossible these small towns were. He decided to make things easy for her.

“But what else can I offer, my dear madam?”

She smiled and stood up. She began to move slowly around the lighted room as if thinking. She stopped in front of a painting, small painting above a grate where a log fire was burning low. He watched her, her stout bottom and belly rustling in her skirts.

“This is a picture of my husband,” she said, staring at it.

Cesare moved across the room and stood beside her and just a little behind.

“A good-looking man.”

“Yes, he had many virtues and I miss him? particularly in bed.”

Cesare smiled. So she was going to brazen it. She didn't look at him. She had crossed the bounds of decorum and was waiting with bated breath to see how he reacted.

“I'm sure the loss is more his.”

“Ah, you mustn't say such blasphemy,” she said?but quite disarmed at his reply.

She moved away again, leaving him standing beside the portrait. When she turned, her eyes dropped to his loins and then rose to meet his.

“I long for people to take his place?just for a while,” she said in a tone which, Cesare was surprised to find, made him feel rather sorry for her.

“Madam, there can be few could resist such an open-hearted admission from such a fine woman as yourself.”

“Oh tush!” But she smiled again and moved toward him. “A beautiful person like yourself has no need of elderly women but…” she hesitated… “that is my price.”

“My dear lady you overestimate me. You offer me delight and disparage yourself at the same time.”

She was pleased with his gallantry even if she hardly believed it. She came toward him and put her hands on his shoulders, her head against his breast as he pressed her body into his.

That it should come to this, Cesare thought with a sardonic humor. But bargainers can't be choosers.

“My husband was so good because he knew my quirks,” she said softly, rubbing her loins gently against his, so that in spite of his reservations he found his prick responding.

“Your quirks?you like to be excited in some?abnormal?manner?”

Gallantly he helped her, saving her embarrassment. Besides he was in a hurry.

“Yes?he used to whip me. But I no longer have the whip and, besides, now that I'm a little older, I prefer the more intimate touch of the hand and then perhaps a few strokes from a cane I keep in my boudoir.”

Better get it going, Cesare decided. He pushed his hips back at hers and tried to get his hands around her big buttocks. She looked up at him with her mouth open and he lowered his face onto hers as if going into a dungeon. Her skin was rather dry under her powder but she had kept herself well and he was surprised at the keenness of passion with which she responded.

“I'll send the servants to their quarters,” she whispered.

She disappeared for several minutes and when she was once again in the doorway, he saw she was dressed in a silk gown which hid her stout flabbiness and gave a certain silken luster to her appearance.

She beckoned and he followed. She led him up a flight of stairs and into a tasteful boudoir with a large bed to one side on which was a long, whippy cane.

“Will you undress?” she pleaded.

He began to slip out of his clothes and she watched as if she would eat his body. When he stood in front of her, naked and with his upstanding penis rearing toward her, he could hear the rustle of the gown where she was trembling. She stared at his body in admiration and desire.

“So young?so strong,” she whispered.

She came over to him, opened her gown and enclosed them both in it, crushing against him. He could feel the sag of her breasts, low down on his chest and the bush of hair around her cunt. The fat thighs were hot and met his like bastions.

“Kiss me?and then beat me until I scream,” she said fiercely.

He kissed her and she held his prick, squeezing it gently so that he felt the blood running into and expanding it. He was surprisingly excited. It occurred to him that she'd be the oldest woman he'd ever fucked.

She dragged him to the bed, pushed him down, flung off her gown and threw herself face down, sinking into its soft depth. For a moment he gazed at the fat, flabby buttocks which quivered like jelly, so fleshy were they. He glimpsed her breasts, large and hanging down toward her waist. There were rolls of fat at her waist and lines across her thighs. He could see the fringe of a tuft of black hair protruding between her buttocks.

Well, she should have her money's worth. He'd make fine play with that fat, soft body.

He knelt beside her on the bed, holding her down in the small of the back with one hand. He brought his other sharply down across her buttocks, feeling it sink, stingingly into the flesh, leaving a red and white mark as he lifted it again. She winced and muffled her gasp in the bed. Her buttocks quivered with that jelly-like helplessness and she winced with her whole body.

He raised his hand again and smacked it down in the wake of the first blow. Again she smothered her gasp in the sheets. Again and again he brought down his hand, until she was writhing and squirming and her buttocks were fiery red. Sometimes he stopped, thinking from her stifled scream that she'd had enough, but then she'd raised her smarting bottom up toward him to indicate that she needed yet more.

When her rump was glowing in a single smoldering flush, he took hold of the cane, swished it once in the air and then brought it down with half-force across her backside. It made a single deeper weal across the blush of her puddings. She cried out, made as if to escape, and then pushed her loins hard into the bed, remaining where she was.

Cesare held her firmly with his left hand and brought the cane down with all his force. This time she shrieked with pain and the weal came up immediately, bruised and angry-looking. Three more times, holding her fast as she squirmed and struggled and screamed with the pain, he lashed the flickering stick down across her fat behind and then she cried out in a loud voice.

“Screw me now! Stuff me up, quickly?oh now!”

He pulled her up onto her knees and slipped between them. His prick was stretching and in excitement, invigorated by the thrashing he'd subjected her to. He eased back, directed his organ and surged forward into her, pushing the walls of her vagina aside like earth under a pick.

She quivered and screamed. And he caught those tender buttocks in his hands and began to punish her with his prick, ramming in and in with strong, rough thrusts which jerked her forward on her face every time he reached the extremity of her passage.

She cried out again and again and at last she was laughing and sobbing with joy at the same time. He wondered through his teeth-gritting labor how long it was since she'd had a young man's prick up her cranny.

Every time he jabbed it in a long, breath-sucking stroke, the friction of his loins against her fat pink behind set off her buttocks wobbling furiously. He separated them in rolls of fat and plunged his fingers between their great curves. He pulled on the tuft of black hair he found, making her shriek with ecstacy and skewer her unsupple body against him.

He reached right under her with his other hand and felt through the sticky juices which were beginning to flow. Her clitoris was as hard as a nut, and big, too. He pinched it, hurting her and then held her fat wobbling belly in handfuls, feeling it heave and jump under the emotional and physical turmoil through which she was passing.

“Oh, oh,” he heard her cry. “I can't… can't bear… it.”

He slashed her buttocks with his hands, making them roll and squirm and drubbed her harder and harder, pulling his lips back from his teeth in the bone-splitting fury of it.

He could hardly feel anything now, just a light slippery stroke as he thrust in and up. Only at the very end was there sharp sensation for him. But she was racing to a climax. A climax, it seemed, such as could hardly be imagined.

He had difficulty in holding her upright on the bed. She seemed to have lost all control, was emitting lost, soul-rending cries, which made him realize why she'd dismissed the servants, and was swaying and pitching on the end of his penis like a wild young horse.

Of a sudden she shrieked out:

“Oh, love, love?uuuuuuuugh!”

And her body seemed to petrify in a tense pushing orgasm and even Cesare could feel the added warmth surround his prick. Having controlled himself to some extent to the point where he was waiting for her to be satisfied, he now let himself go and within seconds was discharging his venom into her wide, vanquished quim and subsiding over her gross behind, which gradually lost its quiver as she calmed.

On the way to the tavern with one of the woman's servants who carried a message from her to the master of one of her ships, Cesare was waylaid by one of the Count's men.

“Quick, Sire, off the road.”

The man took hold of him by the arm and dragged him into a doorway while the servant stood uncertainly, watching them in astonishment.

“What's up?” Cesare demanded. “Quick man?I've got a boat.”

“Too late, Sire. Someone's talked out and the King's men are scouring the town. They have the port under close surveillance. It would be impossible to get through.”

Cesare cursed furiously. He could hardly believe in such shocking luck.

“I'd like to get my hands on that old dog!” he snarled.

“Sire, our horses have been brought to a stable a little way from here. The men are waiting. Your only chance is to ride for the frontier as you foresaw.”

Cesare lost no further time with his fury. He dismissed the servant, telling him to say to his mistress that circumstances had arisen which made the passage unnecessary but that he considered himself, taking everything into account, not to be at such a great loss.

He smiled grimly as they ran through the streets toward the stables. The experience had been more amusing than he'd expected and she'd practically abased herself before him on his departure, even offering him a permanent pension if he'd stay in the region and visit her no more than once a fortnight. He had been forced to explain the urgency of his leaving this part of the world.

In the stables the horses were ready, champing at the bit, and they made no secret of their departure as they clattered full pelt through the streets toward the open country. For once it was more haste, more speed.