The Captain stopped. He looked down into the Prince's eyes and laid his hand on the Prince's forehead again. "Not such a bad whipping, was it, Laurent?" he asked. The Prince's chest heaved. The men throughout the camp laughed softly. "Except that you will receive it again at dawn, and then at noon, and then at twilight."

Another burst of laughter. The Prince sighed deeply and the tears rolled down the side of his face.

"I hope the Queen gives you to me," said the Captain softly.

He snapped his fingers for Beauty to follow him into the tent. And as she crawled on her hands and knees into the warm light beneath the white canvas, an officer walked quickly past her.

"I wish to be alone now," the Captain said to the man.

Beauty settled to the side of the doorway meekly.

"Captain," the officer said, dropping his voice, "I don't know that this can wait. The last patrol came in moments ago while you were whipping the runaway."

"Yes?"

"Well, they didn't find the Princess, Sir. But they swear they saw horsemen in the forest tonight."

The Captain, who had settled on his elbows at a little writing table, looked up. "What?" he asked, incredulously.

"Sir, they swear they saw and heard them. A large party, they said." The soldier drew near to the table.

Through the open door, she saw the Prince's hands twitching under their ropes on the back of the cross and his bu**ocks riding up and down still, as if he could not settle into his punishment.

"Sir," said the officer, "he is almost sure that they were raiders."

"But they wouldn't dare to come again this soon," the Captain waved it away. "And on a moonlit night. I don't believe it."

"But, Sir, it's only the quarter moon. And it has been two years since their last raid. The sentry says he heard something too, near the camp only moments ago."

"You've doubled the watch!"

"Yes, Sir, I doubled it right away."

The Captain's eyes narrowed. He cocked his head to the side.

"Sir, they were walking their horses through the woods, the soldiers said, without light. And with as little sound as possible. It must be them!"

The Captain considered. "All right, break camp. Get the runaway mounted on the cart and head back to the village. Send a messenger ahead to double the watch on the towers. But I don't want the village alarmed. This is probably nothing." He paused, obviously considering. "It's useless to search the coast tonight," he said.

"Yes, Sir."

"It's almost impossible to search all those coves even by daylight. But we'll go out tomorrow."

He rose angrily as the officer withdrew. He snapped his fingers for Beauty to come to him, and giving her a harsh kiss, he threw her up over his shoulders. "No time for you tonight, pet, not here," he said and squeezed her hip as he carried her.

It was midnight when they returned to the Inn, riding well ahead of the others.

Beauty was thinking of all she had heard and seen, stimulated against her will by Laurent's suffering. And she couldn't wait to tell Prince Roger or Prince Richard what she had heard about the strange riders in the night, and ask what it meant.

But there was no chance for this.

Entering the hot, cheerful din of the drinking room, the Captain gave her over at once to the soldiers at the table nearest the door. And before she knew it she sat spread-legged on the lap of a lovely brawny young man with copper hair, her hips bounced down on a gorgeous thick cock, while a pair of hands from behind massaged her ni**les.

As the hours passed, the Captain kept close watch on her. But he was often in fast conversation with his men. And many soldiers came and went in a hurry.

When Beauty grew drowsy he took her from the men and had her mounted high on a cask on the wall, her sex pressed to the rough wood, her hands bound over her head, her vision clouded as she turned her head to sleep, the crowd shimmering beneath her.

She thought again and again of the runaways. Who was the Princess Lynette who had reached the border, the same tall blond Princess who years before had so tormented Beauty's beloved Alexi in her little circus performance for the Court at the castle? And where was she now? Clothed and safe in another Kingdom? Beauty should envy her, she thought, but she couldn't. She couldn't even think of it with any concentration. And her mind returned again and again, without judgment or fear, or even thought, to the stunning image of Prince Laurent mounted on the cross, his massive torso throbbing under the strap, his bu**ocks riding the wooden phallus.

She slept.

Yet it seemed that sometime before morning she saw Tristan. But that must have been a dream. Beautiful Tristan kneeling at the door of the Inn, looking up at her. His golden hair fell almost to his shoulders, and his large blue-violet eyes gazed up at her with the most complete affection.

She wanted so to talk to him, to tell him how strangely content she was. But then the vision of Tristan was gone, as surely as it had come. She must have been dreaming.

Through her dreams came Mistress Lockley's voice, in low conversation with the Captain. "Pity that poor Princess," she said, "if they are out there. But so soon, I can scarce believe they'd try it."

"I know," the Captain answered. "But they can come anytime. They can strike the manor houses and the farms and be off before we even know it in the village. That's what they did two years ago. That's why I've doubled the watch, and we'll be patrolling until this is settled."

Beauty opened her eyes. But they had moved away from under the keg and she could no longer hear them.

PENITENTIAL PROCESSION

When Beauty awoke, it was late afternoon and she was alone in the Captain's bed. A loud roaring came from the square below, with the slow chilling beat of a deep drum. In spite of the alarm that the drum sounded in her soul, she thought of the chores she should have done. She sat up in panic.

But immediately Prince Roger calmed her with a little gesture. "The Captain said for you to sleep late," he said. He had the broom in his hands, but he was looking out of the window.

"What is it?" Beauty asked. She could feel the reverberation of the drum in her belly. And the steady beat filled her with dread. Seeing no one else in the room, she climbed to her feet and came up beside Prince Roger.

"Only the runaway Prince Laurent," he said, putting his arm around Beauty as he pulled her close to the thick little panes. "Being wheeled through the village."

Beauty pressed her forehead to the glass. Below in a great loose crowd of villagers she saw a giant two-wheeled cart being pulled around the well, not by horses, but slaves in bits and harnesses.