Feast of the Gods

This story is actually a continuation of a story I posted earlier called "Feast Of The Rose Garlands". If you have not read the previous story, this one contains enough of the backstory for it to stand alone. I apologize to all the readers who emailed me wanting more, for my taking so long to crank this one out. The story took on a life of it's own and the willful characters once again went their own direction. Thanks to everyone for reading and to K. for everything! Love, Miss Scarlett

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A portrait, like friendship, can make an absent man present and a dead man seem alive.

-Leon Battista Alberti

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"Unhand my wife, you cad!" Alaric Dusek exclaimed, brandishing a deadly looking katzbalger sword, which was ornamented with a gold coat of arms of his own ornate design. The cad in question, who embraced Master Dusek's comely wife, sneered at the painter. Hannelore Dusek had been frozen with fear when her husband threw open the drapes and found her being caressed in the bedroom by the treacherous young man dressed only in green velvet breeches.

"Or what, Sir? Would you risk tainting the emperor's precious gift to you with the blood of a varlet artist?" the man retorted, smiling in the dimness with only a flash of white teeth. Hanne was torn between the heat of her lover's touch and the illicit thrill of being caught by her husband. The man in green had no shame, he kneaded Hannelore's firm breasts with both hands, ignoring the angry husband.

"I certainly will run you right through to the heart," Alaric said, it was less passionate than his previous statement.

"Don't stab him, darling, he's so pretty," Hannelore said emphatically, then she was silenced by the blonde man's brief kiss on her lips.

"Never fear, I doubt he knows how to use it anyway," mocked the lover.

"Oh, he knows well how to use it," Hanne said, giggling.

"Prepare to die," Alaric sighed, with an air of boredom.

"Very well, might I make love to your wife first? If it's to be my last night alive, I should like to make it memorable," said the impish youth in emerald finery.

"I suppose, I wouldn't want to deprive a man his dying wish."

Laughing, Alaric sheathed the sword and set it on a nearby cupboard. How often the three of them played these childish games. Hannelore ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him hard on the lips. Castiel Valten, who played the part of the forbidden tryst, stepped out of the shadows to clasp Alaric affectionately on the back.

"Welcome, dear master," Castiel said, kissing the taller man's mouth and then hugging him.

"We weren't expecting you until next week, I missed you so much," Hanne said.

"We rode early from Venice. I could not stand to be away from either of you any longer."

"You're just in time to wash up and join the feast planned for this evening, it promises to be quite the bacchanal." Castiel remarked, as Alaric took his hand, kissing the palm.

"I have nothing to wear," was Alaric's reply.

"That, my friend, is not a problem, I had an extra costume prepared just in case," Castiel chimed merrily. Hannelore clapped her hands in good cheer, it was wonderful for the three of them to be together again.

It had been three months since Castiel and Hannelore left Alaric in Venice and rode to Castiel's country estate outside Florence. The trio spent only one torrid night together in Alaric's temporary apartment in Venice before they parted ways. Alaric had many commissioned works to paint or engrave and various social engagements to attend, which was pressure enough without having to support his wife as well. Hanne would have stayed home in Nurnberg while her husband travelled as she sometimes did, but Castiel invited her to be his guest for the duration of her husband's trip.

The invitation pleased Alaric and alleviated the guilt he always felt for having to leave his beloved behind for financial reasons. Castiel was heir to a fortune, as illness had taken his parents two years before. To some degree Castiel was a man of leisure, only painting for his own amusement, unlike Alaric, who had almost forgotten the pleasure his art once brought him.

Alaric let Hanne stay with Lord Valten, knowing he would honor her with lavish gifts and undivided attention, things that Alaric, despite the best intentions, couldn't always provide. He worried not over betrayal by either one of them. No matter what Castiel and Hanne were doing whilst he was away, when Alaric returned, he was embraced by both as if he had come back from the dead.

"Good heavens, I suppose I cannot avoid the merriment lest I go back from whence I came," Alaric said, wearily.

"No, don't leave. We would both die if you went so soon," Castiel laughed.

Hannelore comforted Alaric with a kiss on his long, handsome neck, which was tanned from riding, then said, "Come along, you can wash up if you like and tell me all about Venice."

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Hannelore and Alaric made their way down the old stone staircase and through the long reception area where half a dozen servants were laying out the food and decoration for the festivities to come.

The train of Hanne's pale, blue silk gown, flowed behind her like a mist and Alaric noticed several young houseboys nearly drop the crockery they were arranging so carefully when she walked by. Alaric had never seen the dress before, it surely was a gift from Castiel, as it was trimmed in expensive gold brocade and cut so low it barely covered her nipples.

His Hannelore was an exquisite vision and after four years of marriage, she still evoked his most fervent desire. Alaric observed with pride, how free she looked in the Tuscan countryside, with her hair uncovered and falling into loose ringlets. Bleached by the sun, her tresses, once light red, had turned strawberry blonde. Her hair would be the envy of the women of Florence, but in Germany, like all the other married women, Hannelore never left the house without her hair completely covered with some sort of headdress or veil.

Following Hanne to the massive private gardens, he fought the urge to back her into one of the large helm oaks and have her right there. He knew she would not protest, for she enjoyed nothing more than being ravished, but he wanted to wash his journey away first.

Hanne led him behind a short stone wall, which obscured a small oblong bathing pool, carved out of stone and covered by a bower of fragrant, floral vines. Water flowed into the pool from a nearby stream, aided by a series of interesting aqueducts. Alaric had not witnessed the ancient Roman marvel firsthand, but it was related to him by Castiel when they met in Florence some years before. It was even more amazing than he could've imagined.

Alaric stripped off his dusty clothes and boots and waded into the cool, waist deep water. He sat on one of the steps, with the water lapping calmly at his chest and watched Hannelore remove her dress, the late afternoon sunshine resplendent in her hair.

"You're like a mermaid," Alaric marveled.

Hannelore slinked, nearly as fluid as the water, into the pool and moved toward him.

"Am I? You should take care not to be abducted, my lord."

"Would you take me back to the sea to live then? I can't swim, you know," he laughed, as Hannelore stopped right in front of him.

"I would teach you," she replied and her expression was pure mischief. She handed him a pitcher, which, along with some cloths and glass bottles, had been placed on the edge of the bath earlier. Alaric poured a pitcher full of clean water over his head and felt invigorated. He wiped tiny droplets from his eyes with the cloth she had given him and smiled at her, water still dripping from his small, scruffy beard.

Hanne took a glass apothecary bottle from the side, poured a clear liquid into her palm and replaced the bottle. She massaged the oil into Alaric's tangled, brownish gold hair, lathering it well and prying apart the worst of it.

"That smells delightful, what is it?" Alaric asked.

"Sandalwood oil and olive soap," she replied, sitting behind him so he could lie back and rest his head on her thigh. She rubbed his knotted shoulders, his back and arms while they talked quietly.

"Another experiment?" he asked, fascinated. Hannelore always busied herself with soapmaking and the quest for new remedies. Her knowledge of plants rivaled any apothecary or doctor he knew.

"I've been trading recipies with the monks on the other side of the lake," she explained. He grinned at her, she was just like her father, always inventing, trying to make their lives more comfortable.

"You were going to tell me about Venice," she said.

"Master Bellini told an audience of Venetian painters that I was the most brilliant painter in Europe. I'm told only half of them jeered him," Alaric said sadly, "I have found much celebrity among the nobles there, but few friends among the painters."

"My love, they are imbeciles," Hannelore reassured. Alaric kissed her thigh for the kindness.

"They only mock out of jealousy, this I know. They say I do not know my colors or that my work is too modern, it's all a load of shit. The very same people that revile me, copy my work and sell it as their own," Alaric said angrily. Hannelore stood again, handing him the full pitcher to rinse with and when he was through, she wiped his face with the cloth.

"How could they not be jealous?" Hannelore whispered, moving strands of clean hair out of his eyes to look upon him. Alaric pulled her toward him, wrapping his arms around her little waist.

"You are the best wife God ever bestowed a man," Alaric replied, kissing Hannelore's flat, supple belly.

"Wouldn't the best wife have given her man a child by now?" she asked, there was sadness in her voice. Alaric looked up into her alluring brown eyes.

"That, is no fault of yours. I am forced to travel too much. I am a bad husband and I admit I have often deprived you of my seed for selfish reasons. I don't want to rob you of your beauty and spirit by keeping you pregnant for fifteen years."

Alaric felt a lump in his throat, thinking about his mother as he spoke and her years of constant pregnancy. He could remember her always as a haggard old woman, never as the pretty and carefree girl he imagined she had been before marriage. Anne Dusek had mothered eighteen children and now, after the plagues, only three sons survived. How she had been rewarded for her years of suffering, Alaric thought. He wanted to spare Hannelore the labors and losses, but when he watched her holding another woman's child, he never saw a greater loss than the one that shone in her eyes.

"You're a wonderful husband, don't be silly. I do have faith that God will give us a baby when the time is right, when you don't have to spread yourself so thin to support your family," she said, putting her hands on his broad shoulders. Alaric was still working to support his ailing father, his mother and two brothers at home. On their own, they would have been rich, but with extended family to feed, the couple hadn't much to spare.

"No one throws their gold away these days," Alaric observed.

"Except Castiel, who seems to make a career out of it," Hannelore mused.

"It occurred to me you might already be with child by the time I returned. I guess I never thought about our Castiel giving you what I have not, until I was lonely in Venice."

"He's always very careful with himself when we are alone, for fear of how you might feel if I were to have his child," Hannelore said carefully. It was the first discussion they had had about the possibility.

"I could think of far worse things than having a child as lovely as you and Castiel," he said, as his fingertips played between her legs.

"There would be no way to be certain, of course," she replied. She gave a little shudder when his keen fingers slid inside her warm hole.

"It makes no difference to me, I love you both. I managed to save five hundred florins in Venice, so take what you will from Castiel and me and maybe you will return to Nurnberg with more than fancy dresses," he tactfully said. Alaric believed subtlety to be the one of the qualities of a true gentleman and always conducted himself so.

Hannelore said nothing, but went to Alaric, straddling his lap and kissing his enticing mouth. His penis had been erect since the moment he laid eyes on her in the bedroom with Castiel and it threatened to burst just being pressed to her. For three months he hadn't known the pleasure of another person's body. Hanne always encouraged him to go to the brothels with his friends in Venice, but whores of either sex never interested him much and frankly he had been too busy working.

Hanne's hands went between their bodies to rub his hard cock. She was good at it, as she was at many things, and for Alaric, her touch had become much like his own. She was always lusty and eager for his love, but over the years she had become a skilled and attentive lover, far different from the virgin he married. Alaric considered himself lucky. He knew many men who complained their wives didn't please them or were mean-spirited. Hannelore had shown him love, desire, care and respect since their first meeting. She had embraced his relationship with Castiel as if it were a very natural thing indeed. While her mouth found his again, he repeated it in his mind, "So lucky."

Alaric jammed his tongue into her mouth, provoking a noise of surprise from her. With shaky thighs on either side of his hips, Hannelore lined up his thick, swollen member with her opening and lowered herself onto it all at once. Alaric groaned as she slid his length into the unbelieveably tight passage.

Even submerged in water, she was slick with arousal. She began to move with urgency and he was flattered to know, after months with Castiel's capable body at her disposal, she still wanted him as he wanted her. Hanne shifted around until she found just the right rythmn and angle to suit her needs.

Alaric knew he'd found that sweet spot to rub, when her eyes closed and she smiled, with her pink lips parted ever so slightly. He caught one of her bouncing breasts in his hand and sucked the nipple into his mouth.She ground her pelvis into his with demand, rocking on top of him, never letting his cock get very far outside her body. Hanne's muscles were taut around his manhood, like a fist squeezing him.

Knowing she was close, Alaric thrust his hips from underneath her, meeting her thighs with hard slaps of flesh on flesh. He slowed her by placing his hands firmly on her buttocks and grinding her at his own slow, tortuous pace. Rolling his hips, he concentrated his efforts on the spot behind her mound, deep inside. Hanne's mouth was on her husband's neck and she moaned, deep in her throat. She bit gently, the place where his neck met his shoulder and he speared her hard, making her climax with a series of little, muffled cries. Her body spasmed around his cock, nearly undoing him. Alaric took a deep breath, he wanted to indulge in her a little longer before he let himself go.

Alaric had Hanne move to sit on one of the wide steps so he could position himself between her thighs, facing her. It was precarious and rather slippery, but he was strong enough to hold her and keep his footing. He slid inside her again, water splashing all around them and Hanne spread her legs as far as she could for him. It was she who teased him this time, sucking on his neck and earlobe. She squeezed the firm flesh of his ass with both hands until he gave a groan, which was all pleasure when it should've been pain. Alaric felt inclined to ravage her, but remained steady and tender. It had been awhile since they made love and he didn't want to make her sore. For such a small woman, she handled his size well and never complained, in fact, there had been many times when she asked for more after she exhausted him.

Alaric kissed her mouth and she seductively ran her tongue along the bow of his upper lip. She reached behind him, stroking the cheeks of his ass, then running her fingers up and down his crack. She caressed his testicles and the area between them and his ass. Hannelore slid one gentle finger into his ass and Alaric moaned loudly. When she inserted a second finger, he nearly lost control.

He tried hard to maintain steady thrusts, but Hannelore flexed herself around him and he was grasped so tight it undid him entirely. Alaric drove himself into her with no reservations and she whispered very unladylike words of encouragement in his ear. With one last powerful jab, he climaxed while buried to the hilt within her. Instead of releasing it all over her stomach or her ass or her breasts, like he did most of the time, he gave her what she wanted most. Judging by the look on her pretty face, Alaric thought she was very pleased indeed.

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Alaric finished washing along with Hannelore who had bound her hair up to keep it from getting wet again. She had already bathed in the stream with Castiel that morning, as was their ritual. Every morning, they bathed together, then Castiel drew in his sketchbook while she wrote in her journal.

"You're like a fish, I swear it. Not even the empress bathes as much as you," Alaric commented when he heard about her morning bath. Hannelore only shrugged.

"The ancient Romans bathed every day," she reminded.

"And their empire fell to ruin, see what all this bathing leads to?" he joked.

"The empire will be alive and well at dinner tonight," she said.

Alaric gave her a curious smile and she began to explain that Castiel was giving a small costume party with an old Roman theme. Alaric shook his head knowing full well what this would involve, since he had spent the last several weeks viewing antique sculpture in Venice.

"I refuse to parade around in white bed linens all evening long, especially in front of the guests," Alaric said, defiantly pulling his chemise on.

"All of the guests will be wearing similar attire," she clarified.

"I don't care if Julius Caesar is coming, I will not wear it," he protested.

"I suppose you'll just have to retire early and miss getting the chance to speak with Willhelm Van Broyen, Niccolo, Archangelo della Badessa and all the other interesting guests," she tantalized him with promises of friends he hadn't seen in some time and Archangelo, a brilliant mathematician whom he had never met. She always knew just how to entice when he didn't want to do something.

"Willhelm, really? I haven't seen him in nearly two years," Alaric said excitedly.

"He's studying in Florence now. He told Castiel he's grown tired of soldiering and wishes to return to his humanist studies," Hannelore explained, as she took the arm Alaric offered and they started back toward the castle. Castiel met Willhelm for the first time in Florence a week before and knowing he and Alaric were old friends, invited him to the feast as his own guest and to stay on until Alaric returned.

"That really only means he's decided to go back to the ale-swilling, whoring ways of old," Alaric snidely said. Willhelm and Alaric, who had been best friends ever since they could remember, usually spoke ill of each other in jest. They made great sport out of antagonizing one another, in person and in sparse letters. The two had grown up together, as the Duseks' rented a small house on Willhelm's father's large estate in Nurnberg.

"I cannot help but blame myself for his situation, my father refused Willhelm's proposal to me and now he is a libertine bachelor with no direction in life," she sighed. Alaric took her hand, entwining his fingers together with hers.