Dark Ages Reloaded , livre ebook

Dark Ages Reloaded
Igor H. Stone
Austin Macauley Publishers
2020-09-30
Dark Ages Reloaded About the Author Dedication Copyright Information © Acknowledgements Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five Chapter Twenty-Six Chapter Twenty-Seven Chapter Twenty-Eight Chapter Twenty-Nine Chapter Thirty Chapter Thirty-One Chapter Thirty-Two Chapter Thirty-Three Chapter Thirty-Four Chapter Thirty-Five Chapter Thirty-Six Chapter Thirty-Seven Epilogue
About the Author
Igor H. Stone was originally a television director. He makes TV documentaries and other programs for television.
Igor is currently living in Budapest, and Dark Ages Reloaded is the first part of his Dark Ages trilogy.
Dedication
I wouldn’t have thought that a conversation whilst having a coffee would inspire me to write novels. Yet my friend, Mihály Vadas, persuaded me to start writing. So, I have to say, subsequently, that he was right. Without the help of my wife, this book could not have been born. My family’s patience and encouragement gave me a lot of power/strength to write the novel.
Copyright Information ©
Igor H. Stone (2020)
The right of Igor H. Stone to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781528976282 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781528976299 (Hardback)
ISBN 9781528976312 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2020)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LQ
Acknowledgements
A thank you to my friend, Mihály Vadas, for the encouragement, to my wife for the many nights awake, to my daughter for pictures.
A special thanks to Elza Kádár for the editorial work. Furthermore, I am grateful to Walter Scott, Jules Verne and Alexandre Dumas for the inspiration.
Prologue
The Spanish Queen, Esmeralda, looked contentedly at her reflection in the huge mirror that stood in the corner of the room, showing her whole figure. Her raven black hair framed her slightly round face. Her black eyes and dark eyebrows stood in subtle contrast to her immaculate white skin. Her thin, translucent nightgown showed her slender body, rounded hips and shapely breasts. Her dark brown nipples showed through the light fabric.
The mirror had been brought from the Kingdom of Italy, from Murano, where they made mirrors that did not distort her figure at all. Esmeralda began combing her hair. She liked to do this herself; not because her servants were clumsy, but because she simply enjoyed combing it. When she was done, she took a step back and looked at herself once again in the mirror.
Then she approached the table in the centre of the room and poured herself a shot of liquor. She usually drank wine, but she needed something stronger now.
The drink worked immediately, and she quickly had to gulp down a glass of water as she began to hiccup and felt the alcohol spreading through her body. She sat down on a comfortable chair, closed her eyes, and let the spirit do its work, to relax her from head to toe.
There was a soft knock at the door. Esmeralda opened her eyes, took a deep breath and said,
“Come in!”
The door opened, and Bishop Oscar Martinez entered. His squat-figure seemed even smaller as he approached her bent at the waist. He spoke with his head turned slightly sideways and was simultaneously excited by Esmeralda’s scanty clothing.
“My lady, I’ve made arrangements, he’s outside the door.”
“Stop this stupid, grovelling behaviour! Nice work by the way. Send him in at once!”
“Yes, my lady.” Martinez backed out of the room, stealing a furtive glance at the queen’s breasts as he did.
Soon a man appeared in the doorway. Esmeralda walked over to the wide bed and sat down.
“Come closer, let me have a look at you!”
Pablo Lopez did not dare to speak; he obeyed her silently. He stopped a few metres in front of the queen.
“Closer!”
She had a good look at the man before her. She had never seen a peasant up close before. They all looked the same through her carriage window. Lopez was tall and profoundly muscular; and the long days of toil had wrinkled and tanned his skin, though he was well under 50. She could smell the strong scent of perfume wafting from him. Her servants had been generous with the expensive cologne. But Esmeralda’s stomach still turned as a whiff of stable smell crept up her nostrils. She knew this was impossible, and that it was her high-born nobility playing tricks on her mind, as no one would allow a person visiting her chambers to arrive there smelly.
She liked his eyes; she loved wild, sharp-eyed men. There was something atavistic in them—an unbridled power that always awoke her dormant passions.
“Is it true that you have 15 children?”
“Yes, my lady,” Lopez replied with his head bowed, as he had seen even from the doorway that the Queen was practically naked. He was embarrassed, and he could not imagine what the first lady of the country could want from him.
“How many times have you lain with your wife?”
The man could not believe his ears. She asked the question so lightly, as if inquiring about the weather. He wanted to hide beneath his shame, but the beautiful terrifying woman who sat before him was expecting an answer.
“Almost every day, my lady,” he replied. He still could not comprehend that all this was happening to him.
“Undress!” the Queen commanded sternly, and then in a single motion, she slipped out of her nightdress where she sat. Lopez fumbled with his clothes. When he was done, he stared ashamedly down at his firm member. The Queen began to slowly stroke his manhood and then grabbed it and pulled it gently up and down. The repetitive motions achieved the desired results, as Lopez became so stiff, he thought he was going to explode. Then the Queen pulled him onto her, and he slowly came under her influence; his mind consumed by desire. Moments later, they began making love.
Esmeralda felt a strong pain. As she did not want the man, her dry chalice ached from his entry. She could have handled this, but Lopez’s glassy eyes and far-away lusty stare were too much for her. She pushed him away with both hands while drawing her legs to her and pulling away from him. Then she turned around onto all fours and pushed her shapely behind towards him. She thought this would make it easier, but the situation did not get much better. It’s true that she was free from his lusting stare, but only animals mounted their mates from behind like this. She felt the position to be very demeaning. Meanwhile Lopez was completely immersed in making love, and he thrust forward powerfully grabbing one of the Queen’s breasts with his left hand and slapping her snow-white behind with his right. The Queen endured this through clenched teeth, but after a while, though she could not admit this to herself, she began to enjoy it.
Soon, amidst loud moans, the man reached his climax.
“Alright, that’s enough! Now get out!” she shouted. Lopez hurriedly put on his clothes and then quickly left the Queen’s chambers. Two soldiers were waiting for him by the door, and they escorted him through the castle district and then left him there.
He was well into the suburbs, but he could still not rid himself of the effects of his experience. What would Diego, his best friend, say when he told him what had happened. He wouldn’t believe him. As he recalled the Queen’s beautiful body, his manhood began to harden again—those swaying breasts, and her thighs opening shamelessly. When he got home, he would ravage his wife, he decided. He was almost there when two silhouettes appeared in the moonlit night. As he approached them, he feared they were bandits, but they were soldiers. They must be on the evening patrol, he thought.
When he passed them, he suddenly felt a sharp pain, clutched his stomach and collapsed. Lying there on the cold stone, he stared at the blood flowing between his fingers. He knew that he would die soon, but he was not afraid. He did not feel pain. He prayed to God. Only one urgent, unpleasant question haunted him, “Why?”
Chapter One
Councillor Alain Perrier sat confidently on his horse. The premier leader of the French kingdom—after the king, of course—had to travel a lot, and so had had time to get to know horses. He did not like carriages; they were too conspicuous and often got stuck on muddy roads.
That day, he made a loop of the inner territories surrounding the Paris Castle.
The area was under strict supervision because the castle was the king’s residence, so it had at all times to be surrounded and under-control. The district surrounded by high walls was constantly guarded. Only five, heavily monitored gates allowed access inside. And, after sunset, one needed a very good reason indeed to enter. The roads of the inner district had been paved for a year now. The new surface afforded the city wit