Maiocxx

Reunion

A Roger & Doug Story

Chapter 1
London

Douglass narrates

The summons from the Foreign Office was urgent and we were to bring Sasha with us. What could they possibly want with us now? I feared I knew the answer to that question, but why, Sasha? And, then I was sure I knew the answer to that question, too.

Since the letter three years ago informing Tim that he had a son, Dad and I had worked very hard to help him accept what had come to pass and get on with his life, especially his education. He had a lot of guilt… none of it deserved at all… and we often had to hold and comfort him for hours while a particularly bad time passed. He had a son and his whole generous and giving nature demanded he respond favorably. Even when he knew… as did Dad and I… that he had been coerced… literally raped. But, gradually he had begun to respond.

His best friend, Prince Rory, too, had contributed much in the way of healing of his battered psyche. They had graduated together from Ludgrove with honors and Tim had moved on to Oxford Prep where I had gone. He had mostly resumed the cheerful persona that we all loved, but I knew feelings of concern and failure still lurked in that blonde head.

So, we were off to London where, I hoped, nothing was going to upset the balance we all had worked so hard to achieve. But I was afraid my hope was in vain.

We had barely arrived when the Deputy Foreign Secretary thrust a letter into Tim's hands. He opened it carefully and began reading to us.

We all held our collective breaths as a nurse stepped into the room, leading a toddler by the hand. The little boy bravely looked about. Suddenly, he focused on my brother, dashed to him and threw his chubby arms about his legs. "Papa! Papa!" he crooned.

Tim stood there trembling. From the look on his face… a mixture of sorrow, fright and love… I was afraid he might collapse. "You had better pick him up," prompted Dad, the first one of us to recover our wits.

Tim leaned down and gently lifted the little boy into his arms. He put his arms about Tim's neck and lay his head on Tim's chest. "Oh, Papa! Oh, Papa! I wuv oo! Mama is gone to Allah and you be all for me." Tears were running down Tim's cheeks. The emotion that gripped the rest of us was profound.

All was quiet for a spell until the nurse asked him, "Master Greene, what should I do with him?"

Blinking through his tears, Tim swallowed and gently told her. "I could never send him away. He's my son and I will do my very best to care for him and raise him!" I managed to breathe again, as Tim looked at both Dad and me. "I guess I just must step up to it."

"And we will help you raise him," Dad assured him. "Tazeem is a gift straight from God and we all must be worthy of this gift."

While all of this was happening, Sasha was standing in the background reading a letter he had received. "It is from the council at Sharif and I must leave you and return to Sharif," he told us. "Uncle has passed away and I am now the Emir." Another shock!

We had known this would happen one day although we had hoped he might complete his schooling first. We had prepared him for it as best we could. But we all would miss this brave and sensitive youth who was the one to which both Tim and I owed our lives. All of us were intensely proud of this young man who was willing to accept the challenge of moving Sharif into at least the 20th century if not to the 21st. He would be gone in a matter of days.

And, once more we would have a young boy in our household, to be loved and cherished by no less than three doting 'parents'. Tim was willing to step up to this challenge and Dad and I would back him completely.

It was a week or so later that Tim had gone one evening to tuck Tazeem into bed. When he didn't return after some time, I went in search of him. He was in bed, lying on his back, with his naked young son curled on top of him. Both of them were sound asleep. It was beautiful beyond description!

Did we spoil him?

Well, not too much. Let's just say he was adequately cared for and much loved and cherished. After all, we three were respectfully known as 'Papa', 'Unca' and "Granpa'. And it didn't matter which one of us scooped him into our arms, his greeting was the same, "I wuv oo!"

And so the fall and winter passed with a young boy rapidly leaving behind toddler-hood. He was not the only one who grew that season… we all did.

Summer at Llanwddyn that summer… as was our custom… opened broad, new vistas for our little boy, now a vibrant almost-five-year-old. By this time he was a veritable chatterbox… much like his father had been. Every day was a new adventure to be recounted in detail at dinner.

Rosy and Tom had engulfed him with their love. I had not seen Rosy so completely happy since the tragedy that had claimed Peter. We took Tazeem to visit Peter and Mr. Jingles. It was a lot for him to grasp, but I believe he somehow knew they were in the same place as his mama and with the holy angels.

One small problem surfaced, however. Clothing… or lack of it precisely. Shortly after we arrived, Rosy chided him one day when he got his clothes full of mud while exploring the sheep pond. Nor to be outdone, he decided to solve that problem in the simplest, most direct way.

He wouldn't wear any.

True, it did sometimes require the application of the garden hose before he could enter the house after a day outside. "Now look what you have done," I teased Rosy. "You've turned him into a nudist!"

"Yes! And isn't he just beautiful?" she grinned.

With a willing and enthusiastic subject, Tom again got out his cameras and shortly produced another art book, simply entitled 'Tazeem'. Many evenings, our little guy would come to dinner clutching the latest set of prints for our approval. Dad did veto a few on which his erection was a bit too obvious, but we let him choose the ones he wanted in 'his' book.

Prince Rory spent a good part of the summer with us… his last as a carefree boy, sadly. His royal duties would preclude much opportunity to visit in the future. He was quickly and completely entranced by our little one and liked nothing better than to tote him around on his shoulders. I finally had to put an end to his overindulgence. "Rory, please put him down. He'll forget how to walk if you keep being his steed!" Was that statement prophetic, or what?

Rory laughed and did as I requested. "He's such a neat little guy," he told me. "I hope Tim can appreciate the gift he's been given. If I ever have a child, I hope he can be even half as precious."

"When you have a child," I told him, "that child will be the most perfect, most loving child on earth. Trust me on that." He understood my meaning and I even got a hug.

Dad and Tom embarked on another major project that summer.

For some years, Will and Kate had expressed a desire to develop the 'hunting lodge' into a retreat center, especially one supporting the arts. So they spent most of their time overseeing the construction of facilities to support such a venture. The accommodations were to be comfortable, but not luxurious and were to be ready for the following summer.

They decided to open with a 'Writer's Workshop' and spent the winter securing several prominent authors… headlined by Allister Coombs and Anne Perry. In March, they announced the session for two weeks in June. Although it was still early spring, they were subscribed in less than a month. Twelve aspiring authors… they had limited the number… would inaugurate the Llanwddyn Retreat Center for the Arts. Little did I know the surprise waiting for me when the participants arrived.

So, it had been a year of both reunion and farewell… of reflection and exploration. Of growth for a little boy and his father… for all of us. Tazeem would soon be five years old and had grown into a very sturdy and bright little boy and Tim had accepted him completely.

But, unknown to us, across the seas in a town named Andover in a state called Massachusetts, a very different reunion had been underway.

New char:
Major Ben Cartright, USAF; Daniel Moore (13yo) and Tommy, his older brother; Capt. Terry Stone and Capt. Lee Qwan, USAF

Ben narrates

The telephone call was disturbing for two reasons: it had been several years since I had any contact with that family and I had been, at last, getting my life back together. And the caller urged… no begged… me to contact a boy who had utterly… even profanely… rejected me.

"I know he treated you very shabbily the last time you met," my caller confessed, "but…"

"Yeah! He spit on the ground in front of me! Wouldn't even look at me! Gave me the finger when the teacher wasn't looking!"

"Ben, he's terribly depressed. He's been bullied so badly about the love you shared, I really am afraid for him. I thought moving him to Phillips… away from all the bullying… might help him, but it hasn't. They have tried to repair the damage, but, he's gone steadily downhill, despite all the nurturing they have tried."

"So, why are you calling me? He want's nothing to do with me. He made that very clear."

"Ben, I think he really still loves you but simply can't bring himself to admit it. After all, a lot of people… Dad included… told him it was wrong, told him it was evil. Well, they were wrong! What I saw between you was a love so pure and beautiful, it made me weep. I don't pretend to understand why the two of you fell in love, but it was definitely not wrong or evil."

"And you think I can just hop back into his life and all will be peaches and cream?" I replied sarcastically.

"No Ben, I know it's not that simple. I can't begin to imagine how you have suffered, too. But, I believe you still love him. And a visit from you may be the only thing that will save him. You may be the only person on earth who can save him. Stop him from taking his life."

That statement left me cold… scared the shit out of me. Taking his life? Killing himself? That beautiful boy destroying himself? I remembered how difficult it had been when I was his age, but I had been firmly 'in the closet'.

I thought for a while and sighed, "OK, I'll go. I should have my head examined." Was I simply setting us both up to be hurt again?

But, that explains why I'm sitting here in a room at Phillips Academy at Andover waiting to see the boy I had once loved so deeply. Who might utterly reject me again. Tommy had called the headmaster, so they had expected me. It's only twenty-one miles from my unit at Hanscom AFB, near Bedford, to Andover, but it might as well have been across the world before today.

I had first met Danny Moore when I had been working part-time at a Youth Club while completing my Air Force Technical Training at UMass. He was a member of a club of middle-school-aged boys that I counseled. The youngest of my crew… he was not yet eleven… he was a blonde, blue-eyed bundle of energy with a body to die for.

I first got to know him a bit more intimately on an overnight camping trip. It was late spring, but the weather had turned quite chilly and the cabin we were using had no heat, not even a fire-place. So we had turned in early, retreating to the warmth of our sleeping bags. I insisted on one boy to a bag, much to the chagrin of several of them, so things quieted down quickly.

Soon after I had drifted off to sleep, I was awakened by someone persistently shaking me. "Please, Ben," he whispered through chattering teeth, "I'm cold. May I come in with you?" An inexperienced camper, he had stripped down to his tighty-whities, rather than sleeping in something warmer. The simplest way to remedy his situation without disturbing the rest, was to invite him in.

Which I did.

I even opened my sweat-shirt so I could hold him next to me skin to skin and wrap my arms about him for added warmth. So, there I was with a nearly naked boy spooned up against me and I was almost overcome with how goooood it felt. "Thank you," he whispered, and immediately went to sleep. It took me quite a bit longer to fall asleep. The next morning, the other boys teased him about sleeping with me, but he took it good-naturedly.

When I delivered him back to the Youth Club on Sunday afternoon, he gave me a big hug and told me, "Thank you for letting me in with you. It really made me feel good… special." OK, what was afoot here?

For the next several club meetings he always sat next to me, usually with his arm about my shoulders. I simply couldn't seem to get away from him… not that I tried very hard, you understand. Yes, I had been smitten! The closet door was opening a bit.

He began asking me for rides home… he had figured out that I would pass his home on my way back to UMass… and I was happy to oblige him. But, one Wednesday afternoon, he asked, "Would you like to see my room?" I didn't know quite what to say, but then he continued, "Mom and Day are away and only my big brother, Tommy, is home. Come in and meet him. He's cool."

So I agreed.

Danny's home was a mansion, complete with landscaped grounds, circular driveway and scowling butler. Everything spoke of wealth and privilege. I felt like I was entering a new phase of Air Survival Training, Advanced.

Tommy turned out to be a college student… also at UMass… and wasn't put off by my presence. I gathered Danny had brought others home before and was somewhat shocked when Tommy told us, "I'll go shoot some baskets at Freddy's. Be back in two hours." And he left us to the tender mercies of the butler who simply snorted and withdrew.

Danny led me up to his room. It was huge… three or four times my BOQ… but a typical boy's room with posters and models and quite a display of medals and awards for various sports. It was neat, but not compulsively neat.

We stood there looking at each other for quite a while.

But, finally, he broke the ice. "You like me, don'cha?" I nodded… I was in sort of a trance. "Do you think I'm good looking?"

"Danny, you are beautiful," I managed to croak.

"How much do you like me?"

"A lot," I confessed, with a gulp.

"Would you like to undress me?"

My heart caught in my throat.

But he could see the lust in my expression, so he continued, "Do you like me enough to get naked with me and have some fun?"

Those hopeful blue eyes and his expectant expression told me how desperately he wanted love and affection. It was some weeks later I learned he had been an 'accident', something his mother constantly bludgeoned him with. His father would have nothing to do with him at all and he received virtually no nurturing from his mother. Indeed, the only ones who seemed to care for him at all were his much older brother, Tommy, and the housekeeper. How could any mother treat her child that way? Even more astounding, how could he have survived to become the sweet little boy he was… so full of life and verve?

Well, it was now or never! I suddenly realized how much I liked him. I loved him… completely… without reservation, like I had never loved another person before. The closet door banged open!

I nodded and he giggled and replied, "Strip me! And then I'll do you."

Our clothes soon lay on the floor in piles as he led me to his bed. What followed was a two-person orgy as we explored each others bodies with hands and tongues. He was a truly amazing lover, giggling when I touched his special places and caressing mine gently. I was obviously not his first, but he assured me there was no one else in the whole, wide world like me. We ended up with him on top of me in a hot sixty-nine. He had two, mostly dry, cums in my mouth and took and swallowed all my seed without a second thought.

I don't remember much about my ride home that night. Yeah, I know a lot of people… particularly my Air Force superiors… would have had me thrown into prison for what I had done with Danny. But for me, it was 'first love'. Tender love! Exciting beyond all understanding. Had he seduced me? You bet, but it was WONDERFUL!!!

Our Wednesday afternoon trysts continued for more than a year until I had finished my courses… I had given up the 'club'. His parents were always obligingly absent and Tommy was more than willing to allow us complete privacy.

"Danny was unwanted," he told me, "and neither Mom or Dad have any time for him. You are the first person to ever give him the love he so desperately wants. I've tried, but I'm not into boys. But you obviously are and that makes all the difference. I don't believe for one minute you would ever hurt him, so you have my blessing. Just keep making him happy."

Wow!

But then, reality intruded and my squadron was deployed to Britain and on to Afghanistan for a year and our love affair was rudely interrupted. I tried to tell him it was only that… an interruption… and I would be back before he knew it. He tearfully promised to write often.

"You might find someone else while I'm gone," I teased him.

"Nooooo!" he wailed. "I'll wait for you, I promise!"

For several months his letters came regularly to Bagram, full of love and whimsy and I tried to be the same in my letters to him.

But, then, they suddenly stopped and my letters to him were returned.

Fearful of what might have happened to him, I filled out the remaining months of my tour in terror until the squadron returned to our home base at Hanscom.

Just as soon as I could get away, I drove over to his school; it was the middle of the day and I hoped to see him there. As a returning serviceman, I was welcomed by the staff and they told me Danny was on the soccer field that hour.

The teacher there welcomed me and attempted to call my boy over to the sidelines. But he ignored us and stalked off the field at the end of the period. I yelled his name and, for a moment, he looked my way. While the teacher's head was turned, he spat on the ground in front of me and gave me 'the finger', before fleeing.

I've never had a knife wound, but I think I know how one feels. He had utterly rejected me! The hatred in his eyes was almost more than I could bear! I left the poor confused teacher and retreated to the confines of my BOQ.

What could possibly have happened? Someone had got to him, that was clear. I put in a call for Tommy. He wasn't home and I asked if I could leave a message for him to return the call and was brusquely informed that Master Thomas would not return my call. Moreover, if I called ever again, I would be in danger of prosecution for child abuse.

'Oh Lord!' I thought. 'His parents must have found out about us.'

It took the combined efforts of two of my squadron mates, Lee and Terry, to extract me from my funk. They had known I had been seeing Danny, but I wasn't alarmed; I knew I could trust both of them completely. 'I would just have to get over him,' I told myself. 'I'll find someone else!'

But I never did.

Throwing myself into my work, I strove to cure myself with Air Force life. But, always, there was an excruciating ache and an empty place buried in my heart. And time was not the healer everyone seems to believe.

Sometime later I read that his parents had been killed when their plane was lost over the Pacific and that Tommy had been named his guardian. I thought about trying to contact him, but decided not to. I was simply too afraid of being hurt again.

And then, out of the blue, came Tommy's call.

The wait was beginning to get to me, but, at last, he marched into the room and stopped in his tracks when he saw me.

"What are you doing here?" he snarled. "Head said I had a visitor and if I had known it was you, I wouldn't have come. Go away and leave me alone, you goddamned pedo!"

He was taller than I had remembered, broad shoulders and slim waist… a swimmer's build. And many of the boyish curves I remembered were gone, too. Dressed in tennis togs, he was still the most beautiful being on this earth. As he started to leave, I called after him, "Danny. Can't we at least talk?"

"Fuck you! You can talk, but I won't listen." But he did turn around and take a seat facing me.

"Danny, what happened?"

"You made me into a queer. That's what happened. Everyone at school found out about us and Dad did too. He wanted to have you thrown into prison, but you were overseas and Tommy talked him out of it."

"I guess it was pretty tough for you," I offered lamely.

"You bastard! Can you imagine how it is when all your schoolmates and most of the teachers call you 'fag', 'queer boy' and a bunch of other things? When you are made to feel like the shit someone regularly put all over the things in my locker?"

I decided to try a different tack, "Danny, you and I had something very beautiful…"

"Fuck you! All you wanted was my body. All you wanted from me was a blow-job."

"Danny, I loved you deeply! I still do!"

"Yeah, they all say that!"

"Who?"

"The perverts who abuse little boys. Well, I'm not a little boy any more!"

I rose and stood in front of him; he didn't move, only stared at his tennis shoes. "Danny," I asked him softly… I was about at the end of my tether… "Do you have any feelings for me at all?" I was risking everything on his answer.

"NO!" he shouted. But I saw a tear run down his cheek and that gave me hope. After a moment or two he began to cry softly.

After a pregnant silence, he looked up at me with tear stains. "Yes!" he croaked. "Yes, yes, yes! God help me, I still love you!" I held out my arms and he hurled himself into them. "But everyone says it's wrong. What you and I did," he sobbed.

"It is not wrong for us to love each other and never was," I tried to assure him. "Who says it's wrong?"

"All my teachers and everyone back home."

"Did Tommy say it was wrong?"

"No, but Dad kept him away from me. He even sent me to a shrink, but he didn't like what the shrink said, so he fired him."

"Do the masters here say it was wrong?"

"No. But they and my mates here really don't know very much about it." Well that was an improvement! "But it's like no one really cares. I think a lot about whether I might be better off dead!" A cold fear gripped me; Tommy had been right about his state.

It was my turn to bawl! "Danny! Don't ever think such a thing! You are a beautiful young teen. You have an exciting life just ahead. I care about you and I never will leave you again. You've got to believe me!"

"But I hurt you!" he choked. "Called you all kinds of nasty names. Tried to hate you! How can you forgive me?"

"You are my first and only love. And we will always be here for each other."

Those baby blue eyes bored into mine. Then his lips touched mine like they had done so many other times. For many long minutes we just held each other.

Finally, we broke, but he continued to cling to my hand. "Do you think we might start over?" he asked, timidly.

"Will you have dinner with me tonight?" I replied.

"Yes! Oh yesssss!"

"Good, I'll fix it with Doctor Palfrey and your Dorm Master. I'll pick you up at six."

I got very sloppy kiss and he hurried out. For the next hour or so, I just sat there, mostly in tears. I prayed thankfulness and asked for blessings on both of us. It was morning in my life again and my sun… no pun intended, but now that I thought about it… was rising… even though it was late afternoon.

Dinner that evening was a rather quiet affair. Danny mostly sat looking at me with an expression somewhere between fright and longing. I'm sure I must have looked much the same. Is this really happening? Or is everything going to crumble into dust? When I dropped him at his dorm, he turned to me and said, "Thank you for dinner. I guess I wasn't much company. It's just, just…."

"I understand, Danny. Let's just take it slowly. We both have a lot to get over." And with a wave of his hand, he disappeared into the door. "Well, it was a start…" I hoped.

Saturday, I was in the stands as his team met arch rival Phillips Exeter. The game ended in a tie… pretty much reflecting my feelings at that point. That evening, he was more animated… talking more freely about his schoolwork and life in the dorms. I could tell, there were things he wanted to tell me but wasn't quite ready to do so. Trust comes hard, especially on the heels of estrangement, and I wasn't going to press him.

I saw him twice the next week and on Thursday night I decided to try the next step. "Would you like to spend the weekend with me?" I asked him.

He thought for a minute and heaved a great sigh. "I don't think I'm ready to go to bed with you. Not yet."

"I know and you don't have to. But, I thought I might get us a room at the Inn and we could just be together." That seemed to reassure him and he nodded his agreement.

I took him to a Red Sox game and filled him full of hotdogs and junk food. I had booked a room with two beds and we turned in early. He was very careful not to allow me to see any part of his body as he changed for bed, emerging from the bathroom in long-sleeved pajamas. I was pretty sure he simply wasn't ready to expose himself to me again, but there was more to it, as I shortly found out.

He lay on one of the twin beds on his back and I sat down on the edge beside him. "Did you have a good time today?"

He nodded, but I could see some tears forming. Reaching for my hand, he started to cry. "It was the most fun I've had since, since, since…"

"Me, too."

Then he rolled over and buried his head in my lap and started to sob. "How can you possibly still love me after the shitty way I treated you. I don't deserve even your friendship!"

"Danny, I have always loved you from the first moment I saw you and I always will. You are my one and only." And I was starting to choke up, too.

"But I treated you like shit!" he wailed. "I told everyone I hated you! How can you forgive me?" His guilt was crushing him.

"Oh, Danny," I replied, pulling him into my arms, "that's past and done with. We must look to the future." I could see he was struggling mightily.

"But I, I, I, I…." he blubbered. "It was so…so…so hard without you!"

"Would you be willing to tell me what happened?" I asked him gently.

"No! I don't want to even think about it. You'll hate me for what I did!"

"I will never hate you, Danny. There is nothing in this whole wide earth that could cause me to hate you. And talking about it might help you to feel better."

He continued to cry for a few minutes, then wiped his eyes with my pajama top, gave a sigh and rolled on his back again.

"The butler was the one who ratted us out." he began. "He intercepted one of your letters and took it to my dad and told him what we had been doing. Dad went postal and the first thing he did was beat the crap out of me with his belt."

"How bad did he hurt you?" I asked stupidly.

He rolled on his side and pulled up his pajama top. His back was covered with scars from the beating. Unbuttoning, he showed me his chest… that soft wonderful chest I had known so well… and the scars there. "There's a lot more down below, too." he told me.

"Oh, Danny!" I moaned. "He damn near killed you! Oh, my God!" and It was my turn to sob.

"It wasn't your fault!" he cried.

"Yes it was! I wasn't there for you when you needed me."

"Well, he wanted to have you thrown into jail, but Tommy talked him out of it. If Tommy hadn't stopped him, I think he might have beat me to death. It was a week before I was well enough to go back to school and word had gotten around… what we did together… and it was hell for me."

"Oh, my love! My loving boy! I'm just so very, very sorry that you had to go through all that!" I wept.

"Everyone said that what we did was wrong! And I was a queer, a fag and must be punished for it! The only way I could escape was to claim you forced me. That I hated you. I guess, after a while I almost started to believe it. That day in the schoolyard, I really wanted to run to you and be safe in your arms, But I couldn't! I was a coward!"

"No Danny! You were a frightened and hurting young boy. You did what you needed to, to survive."

"Dad even made me see a shrink," he continued. "He asked me if we had ever had sex and I told him we did. He wanted to know if you ever forced me and I told him, 'Never!' Did I love you and did you love me. I just could not tell him, but I think he knew. When he told Dad I was gay and there was nothing wrong with me, Dad blew his top and fired him. The only one who even tried to help me was Tommy."

"When Mom and Dad were killed in that plane crash, I didn't even miss them. And when Tommy was made my guardian, the first thing he did was to get me out of that awful school and send me here. It's better here, but I've still thought a lot about ending it all. 'Cause I was sure we would never see each other again and you wouldn't want me anyway."

Tommy had been right. If I had not finally screwed up my courage and gone to see him, he might have… God! I didn't want to even think about that!

I continued to hold him until we both had stopped crying. "You're right," he told me, "I feel better now. Thanks for listening and not getting angry with me. Even though I deserved it."

"You deserve to be loved and cherished like every boy," I assured him as I kissed him on the forehead and withdrew to my bed. But a short time later, I heard him get up and stand beside me. "Can I come in with you?" he asked plaintively. "I just want you to hold me. Just like you did that time on the camping trip."

I pulled him into my bed and held him in my arms until he stopped trembling and, then, we both slept.

Sunday afternoon when I dropped him at his dorm, there was another boy lounging by the door… a senior, I thought. I heard him taunt Danny, "That your new boyfriend?"

Danny stopped and I saw him clench his fists and face the other boy. I was about ready to jump out when I saw him relax. "No," he replied to his tormentor, "maybe my new dad."

For a few minutes I was frozen as he disappeared into the building. What had he said? My new dad? Had I been that utterly stupid not to have realized? I obviously had some serious thinking to do and I lay awake most of the night doing it.

Monday morning I called Tommy. "What would you think about my adopting him?"

"Wow!" came his reply. "I think that would be the greatest thing anyone could do for him. I'm flabbergasted! How long have you been thinking about this?"

"For a while," I lied. "He told one of his dorm mates that maybe I was his new dad."

"Ben, I think you are a real hero. To have been willing to lift this kid out of despair and now you want to adopt him? Your courage takes my breath away!" I really didn't think my reconnecting with Danny warranted that kind of praise, but I was glad he would agree.

"You need to understand," he told me, "it won't be easy. You're an unmarried man. Worse, still, you're in the Air Force and you could be deployed at any time. There's all sorts of rumors about the two of you. And the trust agreements are very complicated. But don't let that discourage you. If you are really serious, I'll get that fat attorney of mine working on it. 'Bout time he did something helpful for a change. You'd be surprised how little power I really have as Danny's guardian."

OK, Ben. Shit or get off the pot! "I'm serious, Tommy. If the Air Force is the problem, I'll go reserve and get a job as a civilian contractor. I can't do much about the rest. I'd rather not tell Danny, until things are worked out."

"That could take a few months, Ben."

"I understand," I replied. "And thanks!"

And Danny and I established a routine; dinner together several times a week and overnight on the weekends I wasn't on duty. As you might expect, he was curious about what I did, so, one Saturday morning I took him to the base to meet my 'Bird'.

During the winter, our operational aircraft were housed in heated hangars, so we didn't have to brave the chill winds on the flight line. "How's my bird today, Sarge," I asked the crew chief who was Bird's caretaker.

"Right good shape, sir, except for the forward missile probe. You must have hit the target too many times last check," he grinned. "I see you've brought a visitor."

"Yes. This is Daniel Moore. Senior Master Sergeant Jake Carston, my crew chief."

They shook hands and Jake replied. "Right. You've come to see what your friend does for a livin'?"

A plainly awed Danny, gulped, "Yes, Sir."

"You want to give him the fifty-cent tour?" I asked.

"Might even throw in an extra two-bits." Jake put his arm around Danny's shoulder and led him on a thorough inspection of the F-15. Even boosted him up so he could sit in the cockpit. I just watched the two of them together and felt… I'm not sure what… pride, love, satisfaction.

After about an hour, the good Sergeant turned him back to me with the comment, "He's a great kid, Sir. Asks intelligent questions. When can I sign him up?"

I took him to the Officer's Club for lunch where we were joined by Lee and Terry, my wing-men. "Danny, meet Captain Qwan and Captain Stone. They're my wing-men when we fly missions."

"Yeah, we make sure the Major is headed in the right direction and doesn't get lost," teased Terry. And we spent the meal in spirited conversation.

After lunch, we all went swimming at the base pool… after a short detour to the BX [Base Exchange] to buy Danny a bright red Speedo. As I watched Danny cavort with my two friends, I thanked God Almighty I had been able to reconnect with him.

Late that afternoon, as I waited for Danny to finish dressing, Lee came up to me. "He's the one you were writing to when we were in Afghanistan, right?"

"Yes."

"But something happened."

"Yes."

"Well, I noticed the scars on his back and chest. Was he in an accident or something?"

"No, his father beat him," I sighed.

Lee stood there aghast. "My God! He must have nearly killed him. Why?"

"Because he and I had been together."

"Well, I hope you had him prosecuted."

"I couldn't," I replied, knowing I could trust Lee completely. "We had sex together."

"Yikes! That does make it different."

"I loved him very much and still do," I confessed.

"Well, I can surely see why you are attracted to him. He's a neat kid. I hope you've been able to…"

"We're working on it together," I told him.

"You gonna adopt him?"

"I'm workin' on it." We both stood there for a bit and then I told him, "It means I'm going to have to go Reserve. The court won't approve an adoption if I'm subject to deployment."

"No, I guess not," replied Lee. "Sonofabitch, we'll miss you. But he's way more important."

"Thanks, Lee. It's good to know you understand. By the way, I have a little surprise in mind for him." And I told Lee about my plan.

In addition to being an active fighter base, Hanscom is also a training base for ANG [Air National Guard] pilots who fly the F102 Delta Dart aircraft. So we had both training simulators and several TF102 craft on base.

[Author's Note: The F102 is a single seat aircraft but the 'TF' version accommodates two, side-by-side, for training purposes.]

The next Saturday, I was on duty again, so it was two weeks until I could begin to put my plan into action. But, the Saturday after that, I introduced him to the F102 simulators.

He was enthralled! It was all I could do to drag him away to eat lunch. "I didn't know you had such cool toys to play with," he told me. But he was determined to master the simulator even in the face of the razzing he took from the techs when he consistently crashed into the Berkshires or landed upside down. We had been sleeping together… in pajamas… every Saturday night and he hugged extra hard that night.

Most of the training for the ANG folks is done on weekends, so I had chosen a Wednesday for my surprise. Getting him excused from school, we went to the base and spent the morning on the simulator again. Terry again joined us for lunch and we both enjoyed Danny's indignant tales of his simulator trials.

As we were finishing up, I turned to Danny and, somewhat casually, asked, "How would you like to go up in a real one?"

His eyes got as big as dinner plates. "Y,y,y,you mean it? he stammered. "For real?"

"Well, I'm a certified F102 instructor and I wouldn't mind some company in the cockpit," Terry chuckled.

He and Lee had found the smallest flight suit they could and we spent the next hour getting him into it and briefing him for the flight. Hoisting him aboard, I gave him a hug before the canopy came down. "I think you have one excited boy, there," Lee chuckled.

The hangar doors rolled back and the craft taxied to the end of the runway as we both watched. Pausing for clearance, Terry began his take-off roll. As soon as he lifted clear, he hit the afterburners and climbed straight up.

They were up for about an hour and a half, but finally touched down, deploying the drag chute, and taxied over to where we waited. From the right side, the ground crew extracted a mostly limp figure who just barely managed to hoof it over to where I stood and remove his flight helmet.

For the longest time, he just hugged me until he could find his voice. "That was the most awesome! Most stupendous! Most.. most.." he gasped. "Oh!" Terry joined us and we got him out of his flight suit before he could talk again. "And he even left me FLY it!"

"But not land it," I teased.

"He looked daggers at me, but then said, "No, We landed right-side up!"

We all went out for dinner at the Inn before I hauled him off to bed.

That night I was already in bed when he came out of the bathroom… stark naked. He walked over to me and asked, "Are you in your PJ's?" I nodded and he quipped, "Well, that will never do." And he began to unbutton my top. In a few moments he had me as nude as he was, and he crawled in on top of me and pulled up the quilt. Reaching over to the bedside table, he turned out the light and snuggled down.

That naked boy atop me was the most erotic thing I had ever felt and it brought back fond memories of the afternoon in his bedroom years ago. "Oh Ben!" he wept. "I love you! I love you! I love you! I'm sorry for how I hurt you. I wasn't sure you would want sex with me any more. Can we please???" In answer, I turned him over and slid down between those legs. .. those beautiful legs… and took him in my mouth.

"Oh Ben! Oh Ben!" he gasped. "It feels so good! I'm going to……"

He filled my mouth with his juice as he gave a strangled scream. When he had finished pumping, I slid up and gave him a spermy kiss. "And I love you, too, Danny." I choked. "I've wanted this for so long! But I wasn't sure you were ready. Let's not even think about the past. We have a whole new life to live together." And the rest of that night we made gentle, passionate love.

Several weekends later, I was on duty, scheduled to fly three missions with newly assigned pilots as my wing-men. "Bad deal," teased Lee. "How will you find your way home?" That did not give my two 'trainees' much comfort. "Just kidding," he assured them. "Major Cartright is 'Top Gun' for sure."

That morning, when I touched down, there was a small, slim figure on the flight line, waiting with my ground crew. I took one look at the longish blonde hair and stopped in my tracks. There he was, my boy, looking spiffy in the BDU's [battle dress uniform] that Lee and Terry had tailored for him. "Welcome home, Major," he greeted me, snapping me a salute. Then I saw two other figures standing near the 'ready hut' smirking.

As I got the story later, they had taken a tailor out to his school and, when all was ready, they asked permission to take him away for the day. With Danny's persuasion and a quick call from Dr. Palfrey to Tommy, they left to meet me. They had even registered Danny with base security as my aide… since when do Air Force majors have aides… he was adorned with the rank of Cadet.

He reached out to take my helmet and board and dutifully followed me into the briefing shack, trailed by two other somewhat bewildered pilots.

Once we had shed our flight gear and had been debriefed and were alone, I held out my arms. "You little rascal," I laughed. "How long have you three been planning this?"

"Since the day Captain Stone took me up," he chuckled. "This way I can be with you even when you are on duty. Besides, you need someone to look out for you."

"You've been spending too much time with Lee," I chided him. Then, I softened, "It's good to have you here, Danny." And for the balance of the day, he was the perfect aide, saluting everyone in sight as a cadet would have done, holding open doors, carrying my gear and just being useful to me and the other pilots who flew with me.

I took the three conspirators to dinner at the Club and, afterward, Lee and Terry took him to a movie, while I did a night mission. Before turning them loose, I told my two friends, "Thanks so much for taking care on Danny. I just can't tell you how much you both are so great."

"He's a great kid," said Lee. "It's hard not to spoil him and we know how much he means to you." "Besides," said his partner, "he thought it was a… how did he say it… smashing idea."

When I stumbled into my BOQ about midnight, he was already in my bed and I just shed my clothes and slid in behind him. That beautiful skin… yeah, I could feel some of the scars, so what… felt just out of this world against mine. He stirred a little and said, "Hi!" and went right back to sleep.

He seemed a little subdued when I delivered him back to Andover Sunday evening. I chalked it up to it having been a pretty intense weekend; I would shortly find out differently.

Tuesday morning, just after midnight, my phone rang. "Cartright!" I answered sleepily.

"This is Dr. Palfrey at Phillips." I was wide awake.

"Danny is having some sort of episode… a nightmare, if you will… and we can't seem to bring him out of it. Doctor's here, but hasn't had any luck either. Danny just screams about you being killed and that he can't stand it. I think you had better come."

"On my way," I gasped as I jumped into some clothes.

The OD [Officer of the Day] had just parked in front of my building, so I purloined his jeep with red light and siren and took off for Andover, nearly obliterating the base gate guard.

Danny's dorm was in chaos. I could hear his screams as I abandoned the jeep in the parking lot. Two of the masters were trying to hold him down on his bed as he screamed.

"NO! DON'T LEAVE ME! DON'T GO! YOU CAN'T DIE! YOU'RE ALL I HAVE!" he kept repeating over and over, struggling to free himself. His dorm mates were clustered around his doorway, looking very frightened.

"I just can't seem to break through," said the doctor with concern.

"Let me try," I replied, moving over to sit on the side of his bed and taking his hands in mine and leaning close.

"Danny! I'm here. Don't be afraid. I'm never going to leave you!"

Whether it was my voice or my words or just the feeling I was near, we'll never know, but he stopped struggling and finally crashed down out of his nightmare.

"Oh, Ben! Is it really you?" he bawled. "You're here! And you're not dead!"

"Yes, my boy. I'm here and I'll always be here for you."

He continued to sob for a while and then croaked, "I thought you had left me again and gone overseas. They were talking Sunday about deployment."

"Who? Lee and Terry?" I would have thought they knew better.

"No. The ground crew." That explained things.

"And then I dreamed you were gone and I saw you crash and you died in the flames. And I kept seeing it over and over. I kept reaching for you and trying to save you."

As I took him in my arms, I looked up at the doctor and the dorm master. "I think it will be OK. I'll stay with him." And they withdrew. As Danny dropped off to sleep again, I spied the anxious young faces clustered about his doorway. "Back to bed, guys," I directed them. "Crisis is over."

"Will he be all right?" one of them asked.

"He'll be fine," I answered. "Thanks for being concerned."

"Well, he's our mate."

Danny told me later that he had made friends with quite a few of the lower school boys and shared his life story with them. And they had shared with him, their lives. To everyone's great credit, not one person… from the lower school or the upper school… ever teased him about his nightmare. Evidently, they teach a great deal more than reading, writing and 'rithmetic at Phillips.

Later that morning, I immediately went to my boss, Colonel Doyle and applied for 'Reserve Status'. He was not happy about my appropriation of the OD's jeep, but he accepted my explanation and my offer to reimburse the base.

Two weeks later, my request was granted.

Danny wasn't happy about it. He saw it as just one more thing I had done for him. "I'll still be able to fly," I assured him. "And anyway, I didn't do it just for you. I did it for us." He looked at me with those big blue eyes and then the tears poured down his cheeks.

Taking a job with a civilian contractor on the base, I bought a small house in Chelmsford… 10 miles [18 km] from Hanscom and 14 miles [20 km] from Andover. I really didn't want Danny to move in with me and the school would not have permitted it, anyway. I was sure he needed to be with his mates… many of whom had come from difficult homes, he had discovered. But we began having dinner there several times a week and it became the focal point for our weekend adventures… to Boston and all about the Massachusetts Bay area.

And watching him grow and our love deepen was nothing short of miraculous. There was no doubt he was feeling better about himself and about us.

At Tommy's urging, I had visited each of his teachers at Phillips, and they and his dorm master, too, reported a significant turn-about. He was doing much better in his studies and had started to become friends with his schoolmates.

His writing master was particularly pleased with his progress. "Major, he's doing ever-so-much better since you came back into his life. He has a natural flair for writing and we do a lot of essays. But, when he first started, the things he wrote about were very dark… abandonment, sorrow, loneliness and death… his death. As a matter of trust with my students, I never share what they have written unless they wish me to. So he knew he could safely vent his feelings."

"They got so bad, I almost went to Dr. Palfrey, but then you came back into his life. I am fully convinced you saved his young life, Major, and I salute you. He has a rare talent for the written word and it would be a real tragedy if he were to falter. What he's written recently is much brighter, much, much brighter. You would probably be embarrassed at some of what he's written about you."

I doubted that, but I didn't contest it. I was just happy that he was doing well and his teacher though he had talent.

"I have a proposition for you," he continued. "I conjecture you are planning to spend the summer together. Do you have any specific plans?" I shook my head and he continued, "One of my literary friends… Ann Perry, do you know of her?"

"I've enjoyed her books very much," I answered.

"Well, she is helping to host a two-week workshop for young writers and, because of our friendship, she's reserved a spot for one of my students. I think it might be a great opportunity for the both of you." And he handed me a brochure announcing the 'First Lake Vrynwy Conference for Young Writers'.

It looked like quite an opportunity for my boy… and me… and I said I would discuss it with him. It would need Tommy's concurrence first.

"Quite! But I'll need to know right after spring break."

"I understand," I assured his teacher.

We spent Danny's Spring Break in Provincetown at the tip of Cape Cod. Long recognized as a popular mecca for the arts, it also introduced another way of life to us both. We saw and walked among many young couples, mixed and SGO [Same gender oriented] of both sexes, some of the latter even with children.

Staying at a small B&B [bed and breakfast… pension] we became friends with a young black couple. Both boys looked like fugitives from elementary school, but we learned they were eighteen and had been together for three years, having both been thrown out by their respective fathers.

Yes, they had started when they were only a few years older than Danny. At that age I was still pretending to be interested in girls while trying to understand why all my schoolmates were but I was not.

Somehow these two souls had not only survived, but had prospered. They were fun and very open and we enjoyed their company.

Provincetown was the perfect base for hiking, biking and strolling the sand. It was still too early for swimming, although Danny did put his foot into Cape Cod Bay, howling and jumping around afterward like he had stepped on a hornet's nest. I was a restful, quiet week… two days we just stayed in bed all day… I'll not bore you with the details.

The last evening… I had treated our new-found friends to dinner at The Lighthouse and bid them farewell… we sat on our balcony and watched the moon bathe the bay in silver light.

And I told him about the writer's workshop.

New char:
Sir Humphrey Weems, a local magistrate; Allister Coombs and Anne Perry, authors in residence at Llanwddyn; Malia (17 yo)

Roger narrates

"Ben! Ben Cartright!" I yelled at the two passengers alighting from the early morning shuttle flight, the first of our workshop guests to arrive. "This is a pleasant surprise! I didn't see your name on the roster."

"I'm not the writer," he told me as we shook hands, "he is." He indicated a slim young teen who trailed him sleepily across the tarmac. Because of lack of space to house more of them at this stage of development, we had limited participation to twelve, each accompanied by a single spouse, parent or guardian. "This Danny Moore. I'm just the chaperone."

"Welcome, Danny. I've known your… ah, friend… for quite a few years. We met when his squadron stopped over at Workingham on the way to and from Afghanistan. I'm Roger Middleton."

The Workingham Town Council had asked me to be the host for the visiting airmen and I remembered on the way to the Middle East, Ben had spoken glowingly about a young boy he had met, On the way back, however, he was subdued and fretful; something had obviously happened. Could this be the same lad?

"I'm very glad to be here, Mr. Middleton," answered Danny, yawning. "Sorry, I'm about done in. Shouldn't have watched those three movies on the way over."

"Doug is back at the lodge settling our workshop leaders," I told Ben, "so you probably won't see much of him 'til dinner this evening."

I got them settled in the van and we started for the lodge. Glancing back, I could see Danny had curled up on the rear seat and was fast asleep. That gave Ben the opportunity to tell me their story. It was fascinating and I asked him, "Are you planning to….?"

"His guardian and I are working on it. But, it's rather complicated. I had to leave active duty."

"Well, that's a shame. I can tell you really love the kid."

"Well, I'm hoping the papers might come through while we're here. But, I haven't told him yet; I want it to be a surprise."

Arriving at the lodge, we were met by my younger son, Tim, who was to act as greeter and registrar. He had been kicking a football [soccer ball] with his young son, Tazeem. At nearly six, the little guy had grown into a lively, sturdy little boy with a mop of blonde hair… a gift from his late mother.

Tim quickly picked up his clip-board and the two of them came to meet us.

"Do you remember Ben who visited with us at Workingham?" I asked him as we climbed out of the van.

"Yes," he answered. "It's good to see you again Major Cartright. But I don't see your name on my list."

"That's because I'm not a writer. Young Danny, here, is the writer."

"OK. I see him on my list. Welcome to Llanwddyn, Danny. And this little bundle of energy is my son, Tazeem."

"You have a son? You don't look old enough to have a son," Danny retorted.

"I'm fifteen and Tazeem is my son," Tim told him, annoyed. "Maybe you can write about it while you're here!" he snapped.

"Tim!" I chided him.

"No, Mr. Middleton," apologized Danny, "it was a dumb thing for me to say. I'm sorry, Tim. I was just surprised, that's all."

The two of them stood, there awkwardly sizing each other up.

Tazeem broke the impasse. Striding over to Danny, he threw his arms about the boy's waist and looked up at him.

Tim chuckled and that broke the tension. "Go ahead and pick him up. He loves to be held."

Danny did so and Tazeem hugged him and asked, "You be new friend, right? And you, too?" he asked holding his arms out to Ben." Another hug, and the matter was settled.

"There's no one else due until this afternoon, Tim, so why don't you show Danny to his quarters and help him get settled," I told my son. "I think maybe he needs a nap."

"Right!" Danny nodded and the two of them walked off toward one of the cottages, accompanied by Tazeem. I could tell Tim had gotten over his pique and they were going to be good friends.

"I'm sure there's a story about Tazeem," said Ben.

"You bet there is!" I replied, and I related a short version of how Tazeem came to us.

"That is simply amazing!" declared Ben. "If I know my boy, he'll know all about it before the day is over. He's very good at learning stories and then writing about them.

"It's not something we are anxious to have everyone know," I cautioned him. "It's been a hard time for Tim… for all of us."

"I understand completely and I know Danny will respect that. After all, his history with me is considered evil in a lot of quarters. He's written about me, but not the whole story. Roger, it's great to be here, so I guess I better go and join them."

The rest of the day was filled with arrivals and it was quite late until all our guests were checked in and settled. In the midst of it, there was an overseas call for Ben. He returned from it, his face simply glowing. Gripping me by my arms, he told me, "That was Tommy Moore, Danny's brother and his guardian. The papers are on their way. All that's needed is a hearing before a magistrate."

"Well, that should start things off with a bang," I told him. "I'm sure we can get the local magistrate to preside. Why don't we plan on Wednesday, after dinner? I promise not to let either Danny or Tim know and I knew neither Rosey nor Tom would spill the beans."

"That would be super!"

That night, as Doug and I were getting ready for bed, Tim came into our room and flopped down on my bed. "Finally! He's asleep. I never knew being a parent could be so exhausting. Especially, here. He runs around all day, explores everything like he's on 'uppers'. At bedtime he's still much too excited."

"Reminds me of another little boy when he was that age," his brother told him.

"Was I really that much of a handful?"

"Worse!" And all three of us laughed. "By the way," I added, "Danny knows he can't tell anyone about Tazeem and how he got here."

"Yeah, he told me. He's a neat kid and he thanked me for trusting him. I shouldn't have got so upset with him. He told me about him and Ben. Do you think Ben will adopt him? I know it's something he wants very much."

"I guess we'll just have to leave that to them."

Monday and Tuesday… morning, afternoon and evening… were filled workshops and writing assignments and critiques which kept everyone busy and up quite late. Wednesday, during the day, was more of the same and, by evening, everyone needed a break.

At dinner, Tom O'Donnell introduced a guest, Sir Humphrey Weems. "Sir Humphrey is our local magistrate and he will have something rather special to tell us once dinner is over. So, enjoy and sit back and be prepared to be amazed."

"What do you suppose that's all about?" Tim asked me.

"Don't have a clue," I lied, "we'll just have to wait and see." But he wondered if it had anything to do with the package that had arrived by courier yesterday. "Just be patient, I told him. All will be revealed."

When dinner was over we were all invited into the common room which had been rearranged into a hearing chamber. Sir Humphrey took his place behind a lectern at the front of the room.

When we were all seated, he began, "Yesterday, one of you received a package from the Governor of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts of the United States of America. In the package is a petition of adoption."

I saw Danny slowly turn toward Ben with shock written all over his face. "Ben! You…you…you…you!" he stammered. Ben just pulled him close and hugged him, his eyes beginning to tear.

"The petition," continued the magistrate, "prays that Major Benjamin Allen Cartright, a citizen of said Commonwealth and the United States, be permitted to adopt as his son and legal heir Daniel Anton Moore, a minor child, the son of Agnes and Reginald Moore, both deceased. With the petition, are three letters testimony."

"The first letter is from Thomas Robert Moore, guardian of Daniel Anton Moore, releasing any and all claims and recommending the adoption. The second letter is from Brigadier General Michael Doyle, USAF, attesting to the sterling character of the petitioner. The final letter is from Doctor Jonas Palfrey, Headmaster of the Phillips Academy at Andover, also attesting to the fine character of Major Cartright and goes on to state that Major Cartright was instrumental in saving the life and health of Daniel. All the papers appear to be in order; there remaining only a hearing before a duly sworn magistrate to bring the adoption into effect."

"Therefore, I shall open this hearing by asking Ms. Rose O'Donnell to act as court stenographer." Rosey came forward and took her place, and he nodded and continued, "Will the petitioner and the respondent please come forward."

Gripping hands, Ben and Danny took their placed before the magistrate. "Breathe, Danny!" Ben whispered to the boy.

"Major Benjamin Allen Cartright, you have asked to adopt Daniel Anton Moore as your legal son and heir. I now ask you, 'Will you love him, educate him, discipline him and provide for his physical and emotional well-being so that he may, in due course, become a valued citizen of your land?' You may answer and provide any additional statement you wish."

"Yes, your honor, I will so do. I have known Daniel since he was a young boy. His birth family provided him little love or emotional support and, indeed, physically abused him. It has been my fondest wish that I might, one day, be the real father to him that his birth father, sadly, was not."

"Thank you, Major, well said," replied Sir Humphrey.

Turning to Danny, he said, "Daniel, under our laws, when the adoption of a child over the age of twelve years is proposed, the court must ascertain that the adoptee is in full agreement. Therefore, will you, Daniel Anton Moore, have Major Benjamin Allen Cartright as your father? Will you love him, obey him and be freely subject to his discipline?"

"Oh, yes! Yes! Yes!," Danny blubbered. Then, bowing his head, he continued, "I do not deserve to be his son. He was the first grown-up who ever loved me just because I was me. And we had a time together that was awesome. But then," he began to weep, "I threw it all away!"

"I was just a dumb little kid and I was forced to believe what they all told me…that our love was wrong! That it was evil! And he was a bad man who only wanted to abuse me. And I was terrified and treated him like shit even though I knew better! 'Cause they threatened to have him thrown into prison if I ever saw him again. Only my brother, Tom, tried to help me, but there was nothing he could do and I was so sad and depressed I almost……"

He looked up at Sir Humphrey with tears running down his cheeks as everyone held their collective breaths.

"But Ben Cartright would not accept that. He found me once again and demonstrated his love for me, in spite of what I had done, because he was brave and strong and loving. He would teach me how to be all those things. No, I'm not truly worthy to be his son, but I will accept this precious gift… a gift so pure and loving it speaks to my very soul! 'Cause I know that he will love me forever and I will love him forever. He will be the real father I never had. No boy could want for more."

"Well, that's quite a statement, young man," said the magistrate, visibly moved. Turning to the audience, he said, "If there is anyone who, for any reason, wishes to contest this adoption, let him speak now or, forever, hold his peace."

After a short pause, he continued. "I shall, therefore, approve the adoption by Major Benjamin Allen Cartright of Daniel Anton Moore, henceforth to be known as Daniel Moore Cartright, the legal son and heir of the petitioner. I shall transmit a legal record of these proceedings to the Governor of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts to be duly entered on the records of that domain. This proceeding is closed. God save the King."

Danny turned toward the audience, put his arm around Ben's waist and shouted at the top of his lungs, "HE'S MY DAD!", to the applause and cheers of the whole house. Tim dashed forward, settled Tazeem on his shoulders and threw his arms about the both of them. "That's the coolest thing I ever saw! Now, you'll really have something to write about."

The conference continued at its accelerated pace… everyone, aspiring writers and authors alike not wishing to waste a moment of this experience. Rosey, Tom and I were kept busy caring for our guests… with the help of some of the 'non-writers. On the last full day of the conference, Ben told me about a conversation he had had with Mr. Coombs and its aftermath.

Here, I'll let him tell you about it.

Yesterday afternoon, Alistair Coombs came to see me. "Major," he told me, "I think you wasted your money bringing Daniel here."

"What? You think he hasn't talent for writing?" I asked with alarm.

"My goodness no! On the contrary. Rarely have I seen that much talent in a beginning writer, especially one so young. He is simply amazing! That statement he made at the hearing was astonishing. He certainly can't learn much from either Anne or myself. It has been simply smashing to have him here and to be in the presence of such a rare talent."

Somewhat relieved, I asked him, "Then you think he might pursue this as a profession?"

"Oh absolutely! But, not in fiction. He will write biographies and true adventure stories and most likely be a teacher as well," Coombs replied. "Here, I have something he wanted you to have, after I gave it my blessing." And, he handed me a small, blue notebook.

I was awake most of last night reading it. It was a long essay about us. In marvelous prose, he told all about our love and how it was kindled. About the pain and sorrow of our separation. About the triumph of our reconciliation. And his joy at being my son. It was slow reading as it is very difficult to read with tears in your eyes and running down your cheeks and I tried hard not to smudge the ink . It was the most loving gift anyone could conceive of!

I knew that Ben and Danny were keen to visit some of the surrounding areas of Wales and England, so we invited them to stay on for the rest of the summer and make Llanwddyn their base of operation. But, the last of our conferees and their teachers had barely departed when a letter threw their plans… and ours, too… into a cocked hat.

It was addressed to me and it was postmarked 'The Emirate of Sharif, Republic of Yemen. I read it and quickly shared it with the others

"Well, that's certainly a surprise," I said. "And he wants us to visit him?"

"Apparently so," Doug answered. "What do you think about that, Tim?"

Tim thought for a minute. His memories of Sharif were not very positive as you can imagine. But, it might be interesting for him to see what changes Sasha had been able to make and at least visit as a free person. Despite what Sasha had said, we still owed him a huge debt of gratitude for having saved our lives. "Dad, I think we should go, but we've invited Ben and Danny to be here……."

"Hey!" retorted Ben. "Don't be concerned about us. We'll be fine."

I noticed a questioning look on Danny's face and then he leaned over and whispered something to Ben. "Well, that's a lot to ask," Ben told him.

"Ask what?" interjected Doug. "Well, Danny was wondering if we might be able to go, too."

"Yeah, Mr. Roger," added Danny. "It would a once-in-a-lifetime chance to collect material for my book. I know it's a lot to ask. What do you think?"

"If I know Sasha as well as I think I do, he would welcome you with open arms," I replied. "We'll have to ask him. Good opportunity to try his e-mail to see if it's working,"

Everyone seemed anxious to make the journey.

And, so I sent the following:

In less than an hour, we had a reply:

So, all was ready for us to journey to the mysterious near east.

New char:
Sir Humphrey Weems, a local magistrate; Sasha Mohamed ben Yousef, Emir of Sharif; Malia (now 15 yo) and Tara (now 13yo) daughters of the prior Emir

Tim narrates

Our SAA flight… business class, no less… landed us safely at El Rahaba Airport in Sana'a where we were met by a Sikorsky S-92 with 'The Emirate of Sharif' emblazoned on its side. Tazeem's first flight since babyhood dazzled him but my little bundle of energy behaved flawlessly. "I'm a big boy, now and Papa has taught me how to behave." he assured the cabin attendant. He made it his duty to personally greet all the other passengers and the cabin crew and remained in his seat entranced by the gadgetry provided by the airline.

During the six-hour flight from Heathrow to Sana'a, Dad had explained a bit about Sharif to Ben and Danny. "Sharif is an independent city… or emirate… within the Republic of Yemen. It's ruled by a hereditary Emir who was sworn to the service of the Caliph of Yemen when they still had one. Even though Yemen is now a republic, they still recognize the authority of the Emir and leave him largely alone, so long as he pays his taxes and doesn't threaten those in power. Since Sharif provides Yemen with a sizable portion of its foreign trade with huge deposits of silver and chromium, the central government agrees to ignore the question of sovereignty. So, our friend Sasha is a very powerful man, indeed."

"From just the little he told us in his letter, he is trying mightily to bring Sharif into the modern age. But he's a very down-to-earth person with a sharp mind and a willingness to act boldly. If not for his willingness to risk everything, neither Tim nor Doug would be here."

The S-92 made an hour and a half trip out of what had been a several day's trip over some of the worst roads imaginable. Along the way we could look down on a huge project improving that road, but it was not yet complete. So, it was late afternoon when we topped the last rise and Sharif stood before us. It was a view I had seen once before… but from ground level… and I could recognize many of the structures.

The Big House… well that's what everybody called it… and several of the other buildings had strange panels on their roofs; it took me a few minutes to recognize them as solar panels. The large compound, in which we slaves had been confined, now held horses and there was now a modern-looking industrial building near the western edge of the city, next to a lorry park. I saw several new structures in the center near the Big House which looked very much like school buildings.

The S-92 settled gently on the helipad in front of the Big House and two figures rushed forth to welcome us. Sasha Mohamed ben Yousef, Emir of Sharif, dashed to where Dad and Doug were standing and threw himself into my brother's arms. I had Tazeem in my arms as Malia came running to us.

"Oh, Tim!" she cried, enfolding both of us, "Allah has answered our prayers and you are here!" I had a lump in my throat as I could see so much of her sister in her. "And just look at this young man!" she said, taking Tazeem from me.

He had a puzzled look for a second, but then brightened. "Auntie Malia!" he crowed. "I love you, but please put me down. I'm a big boy, now." Malia gave him an extra squeeze and did as he asked. "Thank you," he said. But where is Auntie Tara?"

"She is away at school, Timothy." He looked a bit puzzled. Why had she called him by that name?

"We call him by his true name, Tazeem," I told her. "It's a beautiful name and I'm sure he will live up to it." I was afraid she might burst into tears.

"Oh, Tim and Tazeem! It is so wonderful to have you visit us."

I hugged her tightly. "It's great to be here, Malia. I've always intended to come back for……. Actually, for all of you.

Suddenly Doug had remembered our two friends standing somewhat uncomfortably where they had embarked and dragged Sasha over to meet Ben and Danny with much backslapping and firm handshakes.

Two young teens, dressed in light blue tropical shorts and shirts with 'The Emir of Sharif' in red piping, had followed Sasha and Malia out of the house and they now took our luggage in hand. We all ambled over to the Big House where the doors were held open for us by two very pretty little boys, dressed similarly except their shorts were very short.

I must have looked puzzled since Sasha began to explain. "No, these boys are not slaves. They are pages and squires and have competed with all the boys to win their positions. Their parents have offered their service to me for which they are paid a fee. Both the squires and pages live in my house and go to school with the rest of the children of Sharif, but they have special training and duties with my family. Every two months they have a week off to be with their families. As you might have guessed, I copied the idea from the British Royal Family. I even asked Prince William if it was permissible."

"Bravo!" said Dad. "I'm sure they work very hard and are indispensable."

"Yes they are and I love them like sons. There are twelve pages, eight to eleven years old, and twelve squires, twelve to sixteen. A page will be assigned to serve you in your quarters." He gave me a big wink and finished, "They are well trained but this will be their first time serving my guests as you are the first guests to visit here in my house."

I wasn't quite sure what he meant, but decided we would find out soon enough. I could see Danny in the background furiously scribbling in his ever-present notebook.

Dinner was quite enjoyable, served faultlessly by the squires and pages. Conversation ranged far and wide, but we all avoided any mention of my former 'visit' and sad and painful departure. It had been a long day and we all soon retired… Tazeem having fallen asleep in my lap midway through dessert.

Ben and Danny were given a room of their own, complete with their page. Dad, Doug, Tazeem and I had adjoining rooms, complete with two page-boys. My room had an enormous bed for me and a smaller one in an alcove for Tazeem. I slid him into his bed and, then, sat down to talk to Achmed, my young page-boy.

"How do you like being a page for Emir Sasha?" I asked him.

"Oh, is very great honor, Sahib. Have much fun and learn much with other boys," he replied. "I sorry for poor English, but hope you understand me."

"Your English is quite good, Achmed, but I want you to promise me something. "Yes, but what is?" he asked, wide-eyed.

"When we are here together, please call me 'Sir' or 'Tim' instead of 'Sahib'.

He stood with his mouth open for a minute, but then giggled and replied, "Ok……Sir."

It had been a long day, so I stripped down to my boxers began to get ready myself. Achmed made sure I was comfortable, even 'tucking me in' and, then, got ready to sleep on the couch at my feet.

After some deliberation, I flipped back the blankets and pointed to the space beside me.

Once again, he stood with his mouth open in shock. "I'm not sure is proper, Sir."

"Do you pages sleep together?" I asked.

"Yes, or with a squire, but…"

"And are you not supposed to please your guests?"

"Yes, but…"

"Well, it would please me to have you share my bed, tonight," I told him. "I promise you only hugs."

That seemed to reassure him and he undressed… looking very enticing in his white briefs… and slid in beside me. I wrapped my arms around him and he just sighed. The feel of his naked skin against mine was fabulous!

I had not had a little boy in my bed… well, yes sometimes Tazeem did crawl in with me, but that's different… since Rory; and I had forgotten how nice that little warm body next to me could feel. It was all just hugging and snuggling, I assure you.

The next morning I was awakened by a little boy jumping up and down on the foot of my bed. "Wake up, Papa. It's time to get up." As I struggled to sit up, I noticed Achmed was already dressed in his 'uniform' and my son in a set of tan tropicals like Sasha's. "He's had his shower," my page-boy informed me. "I tried to keep him from waking you but he wouldn't listen," he confessed.

Taking Tazeem into my arms, I told him, "I know you are excited, but Achmed is here to help us and you must listen to him."

"OK, Papa. I will. I'm a big boy now and I promise."

"Good! Did you brush your teeth?"

"No, Papa. I'll do it right away." And he scampered off to the bathroom.

"I'm very sorry, Sir Tim, but…"

"You did very well, Achmed," I assured him, "and I shall tell Sasha about your help. I hope you enjoyed sleeping in my bed last night as much as I did having you there."

"Oh, yes….Tim. My older brother and I sleep together and I miss him some," he replied. "If you wish, I can stay with the little one while you go to breakfast. Have much brothers and sisters and know how to care for little boy."

"I not little boy. I big boy!" shouted Tazeem from the bathroom, and we both laughed.

"Thank you for offering, but Tazeem will go to breakfast with me," I replied.

Achmed nodded and began to make up our bed. And I retreated to the bathroom for a shower. When I came out, the room was immaculate… there was an outfit like Tazeem's laid out for me… and my son and Achmed were engaged in a hot game of 'Rock, Paper and Scissors'. "Hurry, Papa," Tazeem encouraged me, jumping up. "I'm hungry."

"I will," I assured him, but while I was dressing, I asked Achmed, "What about your breakfast?"

"Oh Sir, I will fix up the room, have my breakfast with other pages and go off to school. But I will return tonight for you."

On the way to breakfast, Tazeem told me, "I really like Achmed, Papa."

"I do, too," I told him. At breakfast, all my companions expressed their satisfaction and thanks for their pages… and for their outfits, too… although I don't think any of the others invited theirs into their beds.

Immediately after breakfast, Sasha insisted in showing everyone around the city. I begged off as I wanted to spend some time alone with Malia. So, taking Tazeem with them, the others left and I sent one of the squires in search of her. He returned a few minutes later and ushered me out onto the deck where Malia was waiting for me.

She rose to meet me and we embraced for some time. Her resemblance to Yana was incredible and we both wept a bit. "Yana always hoped you might come, but, more importantly, that you would know your son. And when she became ill, we promised we would send him to you. I wanted to bring him, but Father would not allow me to leave. I think he was afraid I might not come back and he had already lost one daughter. Come, sit beside me and we'll have some coffee."

"I can't begin to tell you how much I appreciate your sending Tazeem to me," I said. "He has forced me to grow up quickly, but, perhaps, that is a good thing. He means everything to me."

"We knew he would," she replied. And we sat quietly for a few minutes.

"When Father returned from the mountain and told us you had escaped, all three of us were overjoyed. But he was a broken man. For days he hid in his room reading the Qur'an over and over. But, finally he decreed, 'No more boys will go to the Mountain of Grief!' And he sent workers to tear down the crosses and bring back the remains of those who had perished there and we buried them."

"After that, he seemed to be in a trance most of the time and… if truth be known… Yana made most of the day-to-day decisions. He was not at all pleased when she told him that she carried your son. But, he did give Tazeem his blessing when he was delivered."

"And, then she took ill and soon died and he almost completely withdrew from life. I guess I was the de facto Emir for several years before he passed on."

"Sasha has made quite a difference, hasn't he?" I asked, wanting to change the subject.

"Yes," she replied, "amid much grumbling, I might add. The decision to outlaw slaves was particularly resented by many… until he demonstrated that it was economically sound. He brought in a Swiss engineer to construct the ore processing plant and we are now producing much more. The lorries (trucks) have helped, too and the new road will make it easier to ship."

"He built on one of the things that Father had started." She held up a finely crafted statuette worked in gold and jade. "These are produced by a tribe that lives north of us. They are very secretive, not allowing anyone to visit them or even see them. There is a beacon on a high hill about two days by horse north of here. When they have wares to sell, they light the beacon and we send a rider to pick them up. After they have been sold in Sana'a, we return with the supplies they have requested, light the beacon and they retrieve them. They have quite a bit of excess wealth invested here. It's a strange arrangement."

I had noticed some of the figurines and scarabs about the city and that now explained where they had come from.

"Tell me about Tara." I asked her.

"When Yana passed away, Tara decided she wanted to be a doctor, especially after we learned that Yana's tumor could have been cured if we had known about it soon enough. So Sasha sent her off to a school in Switzerland to get a good primary education. She has made astonishing progress… we always knew she was the brains of the family… and will finish there in three more years and then study medicine in Germany. She was sorry to miss your visit, but the school goes year-round. We see her briefly a few times a year."

"She's as skinny as ever. When she cuts her hair short, she looks like a boy. And, I think you have bigger boobs than she does. But she is very happy with her choice and so is Sasha."

"And what of your life?" I prompted her.

"Well, as you have probably guessed," she answered, "Sasha and I are legally married. We are good friends and make a good team, but we are not lovers. He's simply not taken with girls. So, unless Tara were to produce a male child… and that is highly unlikely… the next Emir is in your hands."

"In my hands? What do you mean?"

"Tazeem is next in line!" she replied.

"To be the Emir?" She nodded. "But suppose he doesn't want to be Emir?" I asked, alarmed.

"Would you stand in his way?"

"No," I replied, "but if it ever comes to that, it will be his decision."

"I would not expect anything less, Tim."

Before we could continue… and to my relief… the gang arrived back for lunch.

"Papa, Papa!" Tazeem yelled jumping into my arms. "I got to ride a horse! And they even have a little horse, just for me."

That night, he pleaded with me, "Can Achmed sleep in my bed tonight? He and I are friends."

"No," I teased him. "But the two of you may sleep in my bed. If that is all right with you, Achmed."

"I will be honored to sleep with the little one."

"I'm not a little boy! I'm a big boy, now!" Tazeem reminded him.

"I'm sorry, Tazeem. I forget."

It was going to be an interesting visit.

A few afternoons later, Sasha and I were walking with Tazeem near the sheep barn, when the chief herdsman came riding slowly into the enclosure leading a beast by a halter rope. At first, I thought it was some kind of horse, but I was shocked to discover it was not.

It was a small black boy carrying a young white boy in a sort of saddle on his back.

New char:
Samuel and Zuberi (both 7 yo); Bishop Paul; Brother Joshua; Paul's Son Jonathan (12 yo); Sefu (12 yo)

Tim narrates

A few afternoons later, Sasha and I were walking with Tazeem near the sheep barn, when the chief herdsman came riding slowly into the enclosure leading a beast by a halter rope. At first, I thought it was some kind of strange, misshapen horse, but I was shocked to discover it was not.

It was a small black boy carrying a young white boy in a sort of saddle on his back.

"Hola, Great Emir and Sahib Tim," the herdsman greeted us. "I found these two near the signal beacon. I wished to help the little black boy but he would not agree… just asked me to lead him to the city."

The black boy stood stiffly before us, severe pain evident on his face as his burden slumped in the saddle, not moving, barely breathing, his eyes shut. He was clearly ill… very ill… and I sent for Doug at once.

He made a quick examination, "Need to make sure he's not contagious," he explained. Satisfied his illness would not cause us harm, he then lifted him out of the mount and hurried off to the clinic with him. No sooner had his burden had been lifted, than the black boy collapsed in an exhausted heap.

Sasha knelt and pulled him into his lap and Tazeem and I started to remove his straps. I quickly discovered two of his upper and two of his lower molars had been removed to accommodate a bit, not unlike a horse's bit. "Please do not take my saddle away!" he pleaded.

But we needed to get them off him so we could treat the areas that had been rubbed raw. "I will try not to hurt you", I assured him. "And I will keep your…. harness… carefully for you." Suddenly it dawned on me that he had been speaking to me in quaintly accented English.

"It's not proper for you to remove my harness," he gasped.

"Why is that?" I asked.

"Because I am Samuel's mount and only he or Bishop Paul may remove my harness."

"Who is Bishop Paul?" I asked him gently as it was evident he was terrified. "And what is your name?"

"Bishop Paul is the leader of the free people and I have no name," he replied.

"You must have a name. What does Samuel call you?"

He struggled for a minute. This man is a white leader, too. And I must obey him, even if it is breaking my promise to Samuel. "My master calls me 'Zuberi' and I am his mount."

"Are you his slave?" asked Tazeem. He had beat me to that question.

"No, I am his mount. I carry him happily wherever he wishes to go, little sir."

"But you don't have a choice, do you?" My son was simply amazing.

"You are right, little sir. All right, I am a slave. All black people are slaves."

"My name is Tazeem and you are not a slave here. Emir Sasha does not allow anyone to be a slave here anymore."

"That is true, Zuberi," I confirmed. "You may continue to serve Samuel, but you are no longer his slave."

"Please, sir. Where have they taken Samuel?"

"He is very ill and a doctor is treating him," I replied.

At that he brightened. "May Allah be praised! He will be well again!" Then, embarrassed, he explained, "He is like a brother to me and I love him very much!"

"How long have you been traveling?" He held up his hands with six fingers extended.

"Did you have food with you?"

"For four days, yes, then just water," he answered.

Doug returned at that moment shaking his head sadly. "Juvenile myelomonocytic leukemia," he reported. "I'm very sorry, little one, but your friend is dying." Looking at me, Doug said, "One of the nurses is with him, but a day or two at most."

"Then I have failed!" wailed Zuberi dissolving, once more, into a puddle. "I bore him here so he might be well again!"

Kneeling beside him, I told him gently, "Zuberi, you have not failed. Even the best doctors sometimes cannot cure one who is very sick. You have brought him to us and we will, together, gently usher him into paradise. Will you help us?"

"Yes, Sahib."

I saw two small arms reach out to Zuberi as Tazeem knelt next to him. I winced a bit as my son embraced the dirt and grime-covered boy. But, then I had an idea. "Tazeem, do you think you could take Zuberi to our room and help him to take a shower?"

"Oh, yes, Papa. I'm a big boy and I can do that." He took Zuberi's hand, pulled him to his feet and led him away toward the Big House. I followed to be sure the two of them were OK in the shower. "You must be very gentle," I counseled my son, "especially where his skin is sore from his harness." But it was necessary to get the dirt and grime off him before Doug would let him near his friend.

"I will, Papa. I want to be his friend and help him." When they emerged, I had Tazeem help me spread unguent on Zuberi's abrasions and then rub soothing oil on the rest of his skin. He was a very attractive boy with short curly hair and looked like a polished ebony statue. We found a pair of page-boy shorts that would fit him, but the abrasions on his upper body were too sore for allow a shirt. Besides, he had seemed quite comfortable being nude, even in front of Malia.

"Let's see if we can find something for you to eat, and then we will all go to visit Samuel," I said. It turned out the food on hand most likely not to upset his empty tummy was vanilla ice-cream, which Sasha had imported specially for my son and which Zuberi ate in wild-eyed wonder. I had no trouble convincing Tazeem to join him. Then, we went to see Samuel.

He looked pale and thin, almost transparent and he was having trouble breathing. "Oxygen?" I asked. Doug shook his head and I understood my brother's diagnosis completely.

Opening his eyes, Samuel reached up and touched Zuberi's cheek. "I think we have made our last ride together," he told his weeping 'mount'. "You have done well to bring me here."

I pulled up chairs, one on either side of his bed, for Zuberi and Tazeem and leaned over so he could see me. "I am called 'Tim' and this is my son, Tazeem. We will sit with you for a while."

"Thank you, Sahib Tim and Tazeem," he whispered as we started our vigil.

It was quiet through the long hours we sat with the dying boy and the night came and went, Tazeem holding one of his hands and Zuberi the other. Near the end, Samuel roused and whispered, "Sahib Tim, please take care of Zuberi. I love him very much."

"I will, Samuel," I promised.

And he closed his eyes and slipped away.

Zuberi laid his head down on his rider's chest and sobbed and Tazeem soon joined him. Gathering the two boys, I told them, "He is gone, but he is in a better place now. No more pain and God's holy angels will care for him." After a while, I released them and Zuberi went to his knees before me.

"I wish to go with him," the anguished black boy sobbed. "He is my rider!"

"Zuberi, you must live and be brave and strong just as he would have wanted."

"Then I shall be Tazeem's slave," he declared.

"No, Zuberi, you cannot be Tazeem's slave," I disagreed. "Emir Sasha has made you a free boy. But you can be something even more important to Tazeem… something that would make Samuel's heart glad."

"What is that, Sahib Roger?"

"You can be his friend!"

"Oh yes!" he breathed. Turning toward the little boy holding out his arms, he ran to him and the two fell into an excited embrace. Tazeem had grown up quite a bit that day.

"Come," I told both boys, "it is nearly morning and you need some rest." And I ushered them into the Big House and to our room where Achmed awaited us. Tazeem had stopped crying and gripped Zuberi's hand tightly, but Zuberi continued to sniff and tried his best to hold back the grief that was nearly consuming him.

"Please, Papa, I will take Zuberi to my bed."

"No, son. I think Zuberi should be with me tonight. He is very upset and sad and might be more than you could handle. But, thank you for offering."

Tazeem thought for a minute and then replied, "You are right Papa. I big boy, but maybe not that big yet."

"You may take Achmed to bed tonight and, if he is feeling better, you might be able to have Zuberi with you tomorrow night. If that is OK with Achmed."

"I should be honored to share the little one's bed," declared our page-boy.

"I not little boy," protested Tazeem. "Well, not quite all growed up yet."

"I'm sorry," Achmed teased him. "I forget."

I had been right about the state of Zuberi's emotions. I undressed him and laid him on my bed. Stripping down to my boxers, I pulled the blanket over us. He was as rigid as a fence post. Wrapping my arms about him, I gently told him, "Let it go, Zuberi! Let out all the hurt and sadness." And I cradled him as he began to cry.

Deep, wracking sobs!

He cried for what seemed… and may have been… hours, his tears flowing as from a faucet. So much had evidently happened in this little boy's life that I was not privy to I would not have known how to speak to his needs. He had lost the only person who loved him and his little heart was broken. So I just held him and let him start the conversation I knew we needed.

"His is gone," he bawled. "And I couldn't save him, so I failed. Allah will never forgive me and I will never……"

"Zuberi, you both traveled all alone for days to bring him here. You were brave and loving as no other has been. No, you did not fail him. You were there for him when he needed you most. Knowing that you were safe and would be cared for allowed him to go to God without fear, without pain. He knew you loved him and had done your very best."

"But, that is not our way! I should have gone with him!"

"Zuberi, if so, that way is wrong. It is a waste of a beautiful, brave young boy. It would destroy one of God's most precious gifts. Do you not have family who would seek you?" I asked him.

"No. Mama give me to Samuel when we both just five years. I very happy to be Samuel's mount and for him be my rider. Not know who papa is, but much black men are mounts and mounts cannot be papas." I would shortly discover the awful reason why that was so. "When Mama give me to Samuel, I have no mama or papa any more. I am slave. I live with Samuel's family. If Samuel die, they make me go with him." So, for all intents and purposes, Zuberi was an orphan, having been abandoned by his parents.

"Do all black boys become mounts?" I asked.

"No. A few become black poppas."

"Suppose a black boy isn't able to be a mount?"

"Then he is thrown down canyon with no escape and left to die." The horror of that statement almost undid me.

"Are all white boys riders?"

"All white boys given mounts when are four or five summers old. If cannot do training, both rider and mount thrown down canyon. Same as mount if white boy died."

That was more than I could take and I began to weep. Samuel's family would put Zuberi to death because Samuel died? I asked myself. What a strange tribe this boy belongs to.

"Please, Sahib Tim, do not be sad. I must go to where Samuel is. I am afraid to die, but must."

"No, Zuberi. You must not die because Samuel has died. He will be waiting for you when your time has come, and there is another little boy who needs you as his friend."

"You mean Tazeem?"

"Yes, Zuberi. Do you not want to be his friend?"

He hung his head, but then admitted, "Yes, Sahib Tim. Tazeem much like Samuel."

Hopefully, his 'death wish' had been defeated.

"Tell me about your people, Zuberi. Do you know their story?"

"Yes, Mama tell me before she gives me to Samuel. Much years ago, British soldiers and their women come with horses. Make all black people slaves."

The 'Lost Battalion', I immediately thought. I remembered reading about that mystery in the writings of the great T. E. Lawrence. Could this be?"

"Soldiers have horses, but they die after years." Yes, they would have been geldings and could not reproduce. "Soldiers not have any mounts, so make black boys be mounts."

"Every black boy?" I asked, fearing the worst.

"Only few not mounts and they become papas. I good, strong boy, so Mama give me to Samuel. He and his papa train me to be mount. Must work hard, but I happy to have Samuel my rider. He take good care of me and we have much love and fun together."

I wasn't sure what kind of fun he meant, but I decided not to go there. Before very long, my son would learn what boys do in bed and Zuberi was probably well qualified to teach him.

"But Samuel has not marked me yet," he continued between sniffles.

"Can you tell me about that?" I asked gently, wholly prepared for some sort of branding. After all, that's how horses are marked. But I had forgotten the other characteristic that set the soldiers' horses apart.

"When rider and mount are ten summers old, mount must surrender to rider and be brave enough to have rider mark him. And rider must be brave enough to mark his mount."

"And, how is that done?" I asked, fairly sure I knew the answer.

Not!

"Mount is held over barrel and rider must use special knife and cut off mount's balls."

Gelding! Oh, God, that had not even entered my mind! Well, that explains why mounts cannot be papas. They keep just enough for breeding purposes. What kind of savagery have these lost souls fallen into?

He seemed to have calmed down quite a bit. I'm sure telling me his story had been cathartic and he finally snuggled down and slept. But, I didn't sleep much that night. My mind wrestled with the horror he had shared with me.

The next morning, I found a clean pair of Tazeem's shorts that would fit Zuberi and sent them off to breakfast. Gathering the others together, I told them everything Zuberi had told me. "So," I concluded, "What are we going to do with him?"

No one had any immediate ideas and they were all silent for quite a while until Sasha finally spoke up. "Well, we should return Samuel's body to his people. And I simply cannot sit by and allow black people to be enslaved and their young boys made into beasts. Even if they are your soldiers."

"They are not our soldiers any longer," Dad asserted. "They forfeited that honor the first time they castrated a young boy. I agree, we must put an end to this." The rest of us nodded.

"Very well, I will travel to them," declared Sasha. "Who is willing to come with me?"

Dad, Doug and I swiftly volunteered. Danny and Ben held a short whispered conference and then they, too, asked to join our merry band. "Are you sure Ben?" I asked him.

Danny answered, "I want to go to these people and learn about them and write their story. Yes, I want to rescue Zuberi's people, but to tell the world about the 'Lost Battalion' would be a great honor."

"I will not take Tazeem," I told the group. "He is too young."

"That is wise," Sasha agreed. I knew, too, he was protecting the heir-apparent of the Emirate. "But we will need Zuberi to guide us."

"I understand," I replied. "He is a very brave lad and I will prepare him."

We broke up and I went in search of the boys.

"Zuberi," I spoke to him, drawing both into my arms, "Emir Sasha has decided to help your people. Together we will travel to your village and break the chains which bind you and all your people," I pledged to him. "But we need you to guide us."

"I shall be brave and guide you Sahib Tim, even though they will kill me. Even though you say I am free boy, my rider is dead and I did not save him, so they will say I must go with him."

"I will not let that happen to you, I promise."

"Why you do this?"

"Because you are a very fine, brave young man and Tazeem and I have become very fond of you."

"But how will you keep them from sending me to be with Samuel?" he asked.

I could only think of one way to protect him with any certainty from the awful fate which awaited him. I turned to Tazeem and asked him, "How would you like to have a big brother? One who is two years older than you?"

Two jaws dropped open.

"Papa! You would?" Tazeem gasped. "Oh, Papa I would like very much to have Zuberi as my big brother. And you would be his Papa, too? Oh, that is supercalifragilisticexpialidocious !" And he treated us both to a rendition of that song from 'Mary Poppins'.

Zuberi went to his knees in front of me. "Please, Sahib Tim, such a thing cannot be."

"Whyever not?" I asked, kneeling and drawing him back into my arms.

"You are white and I am black. Bishop Paul says that it is wrong for black people and white people to be in same family."

"Bishop Paul is wrong!" I told him. "You and Tazeem are both children of Allah… or God as we call him… and all his children deserve to have a family who will love them. It doesn't matter what the color of their skin is. What is important is the person inside that skin. And I see a very fine young boy inside that beautiful black skin."

He looked up at me with awe. "You would make a poor black boy your son?"

"Yes, Zuberi," I assured him. "But only if you will have me. Only if you believe that Tazeem and I will love you and care for you."

His answer did not come in words. He simply lay his curly little head on my chest and sobbed, joined a few seconds later by his little-brother-to-be. In a few minutes he roused himself and told us with great seriousness, "Then I shall lead you to my village and try very hard to be brave boy you both think I am."

"And I will, too!" declared my son. "I will go and be brave, too, just like a big boy should!"

"No, Tazeem, you cannot go with us. You must remain here and be the Emir while Sasha is gone. You must help Malia rule the Emirate."

The honor to be conferred upon him partly offset his disappointment, but only partly. "Please, Papa," he cried on my shoulder, "don't let anything bad happen to Granpa, Unka and you! And promise you will bring my new brother back to me."

"I will, I promise!"

The three of us immediately went to find the others to tell them my wishes about Zuberi. Dad just swept the three of us into his arms and Doug simply said, "Well done, little brother!" Danny and Ben were somewhat astounded, but also welcomed Zuberi warmly into our extended 'family'.

Sasha, was bit more practical. "I don't think I can issue a writ of adoption that would be honored in Britain," he told us. "But I can make you his guardian, I think."

"Whatever you feel is proper," I told our host. And that evening at supper, a little black boy sat on my right with his arm about his little brother. And we all saw a smile… the first we had seen since he had arrived in Sharif.

Later that evening, Sasha instructed his sheriff what to do in case we ran into trouble and we all made sure our GPS units were working properly as they represented the only way anyone from Sharif could locate us.

The next morning, the seven of us rode out with Zuberi perched on my saddle in front of me. His chafed skin had healed enough that he was dressed as a page-boy. His beloved Samuel… carefully wrapped and preserved… was carried gently on a pack horse. Sasha had insisted we not openly carry weapons, but he and Ben did carry concealed. Dad also carried his satellite phone and Danny had his and Ben's cell phones.

As we passed the Big House, Malia stood on the deck with Tazeem at her side and they both saluted us. Sasha and Ben both returned their salutes and I could not help but remember… another time, a time that seemed so long ago, when I had returned the wave of three young girls as I was being led off to what I was certain was going to be my death. [See The New Life of Timothy Greene, Chapter 3].

On horseback, we covered much more ground in a single day than had Zuberi with Samuel on their way to us and nightfall found us well beyond the signal beacon, deep in one of the canyons which laced the terrain. Zuberi had been our ever-present guide; without him we would have been quite lost, GPS or not.

That night, we had a cold meal, not wanting to give our position away to the curious. Zuberi had done quite well, but it was obvious the closer we came to his village, the more sad and frightened he became. But he did amazingly well in not displaying his feelings to the others, although I had felt him trembling.

Rolling him nude into my blankets, he at last felt secure enough to tell me. "Sahib Tim, I ashamed! You tell me you will protect me, but I still be coward and afraid."

"You are not a coward and you have no reason to be ashamed. We do not know what will happen when we get to your village, so I have some fear, too. But, like you did today, I must not let my fear keep me from doing my duty. That is the mark of a brave man and you are one of the bravest. I would give my life for any of our party. I would give my life for you."

"You would really do that for me? Oh Papa… it was the first time he had called me that… Oh Papa, you love me so much! So, I being poor, black boy, will try to love you and Tazeem as much as you love me."

"You already have, Zuberi my son, that hug you just gave me is proof of that and I think that Samuel looks down on us with pride."

"When we get back I will show my love to Tazeem," he said full of new confidence, "in bed just like I did for Samuel. Do you think Tazeem too young?"

His innocence was just so beautiful and I replied, "Well he says he's a big boy now." And I pulled him to me again and we slept as I luxuriated in the feel of his naked skin against mine.

Mid-afternoon the next day found us in a small canyon whose only outlet was a very narrow and low passage leading to an open space we could see beyond. We would have to lead our horses on foot to proceed.

At Zuberi's direction, we called a halt. "Brother Joshua be waiting for you with soldiers," he told us.

"Who is Brother Joshua?" asked Sasha.

"He is called Sergeant-major and has charge of all soldiers and mounts. He is cruel and beats all young riders and mounts. When mount is marked, he holds black boy down and screams at rider until he cuts mount. He want to be Bishop, but other white people not like him."

"Sergeant-major, hmm," Sasha mused. And he and Ben held a brief conversation. I sort of guessed what they had in mind.

Ben called us all together. "Sasha will be our colonel and I will be his aid. The rest of you will be regular troopers. I will go first and then Sasha. The rest of you follow and form into two ranks." We all agreed and he set out through the opening.

When we emerged into the open space, we were immediately surrounded by a dozen or so 'soldiers' and their mounts. Each soldier brandished an ancient Enfield rifle.

"Sergeant-major!" Ben called to their leader. "Have your men stand-down. My colonel wishes to speak to your captain."

Ben's seizing the initiative completely undid the 'sergeant-major' for a moment and he stuttered, "N-n-n-no! You cannot be here. You must leave at once." The others in his 'command' seemed amused at his discomfort and one of them… a teen-aged boy uttered a short snicker. That earned him a blow from Brother Joshua with his rifle butt, knocking both the boy and his mount to the ground.

"Can you not understand a simple order?" Ben asked him. "Take us to your captain at once!" Completely confused by the turn of events, the troopers all sheathed their weapons and we were led into the village beyond.

Located in a small valley, the village was surrounded by groves of olive trees and gardens, and meadows in which both sheep and cattle grazed, all well watered by a sizable stream which poured down from the heights. The buildings were quite substantial, made of stone and sun-dried bricks, roofed over with thatch. Who, in their wildest fantasies, would have guessed such a valley was tucked into this corner of such a wild and desolate place?

Several of the 'soldiers' dismounted and took our horses to a small corral in which several black boys… from ten to twelve years old… were tethered. And we continued on foot to a centrally located house in front of which sat a distinguished-looking older man… obviously Bishop Paul. "Who are you? And how did you come upon us?" he asked.

"I am Sasha Mohamed ben Yuseff, Emir of Sharif, and we come to bring one of your sons home to his final resting place. We come in peace, but let there be no misunderstanding. If I or any of my party are harmed in any way, your entire village will be utterly destroyed."

The bishop nodded, but Brother Joshua, pointing to Zuberi, shouted, "The mount has betrayed his rider and led these men to us. He must be put to death at once!"

"Zuberi is under my protection as I am now his guardian," I spoke up. "Anyone laying a hand upon this child will suffer mightily."

Bishop Paul turned to Brother Joshua and told him, "These people have traded with us for generations. They have always treated us fairly. I believe the Emir to be an honest man and he and his party are to be treated as honored guests. The first guests we have ever had."

"But, but, but…" stammered Joshua.

"Be quiet. Brother. Attend and you may learn something of patience and forbearance." And he waived him away.

"Thank you, Bishop Paul," said Sasha. "We have the sorrowful duty to bring home a young rider named Samuel. Zuberi brought him to us in hopes that he might be made well again. Alas, it was not to be. But Zuberi acted with great bravery and love and has been adopted by my very good friend and colleague, Timothy Middleton from your original homeland, Great Britain. I ask your approval for this."

Paul, nodded and answered, "Zuberi is granted his freedom and I hope he finds favor with you, Effendi Timothy."

"Thank you, Bishop," I replied as I looked down at my new 'son' and saw the excitement in his eyes.

"And you and I have many other matters to discuss." continued Sasha.

Turning to one of the black women Paul said, "Zufra, make ready a guest house and prepare suitable food for my guests." - "Yes, Master. At once!" she replied and scuttled off.

"The day grows long and we will discuss these important matters in the morning," he told Sasha who nodded his agreement. "Come, let us enjoy our simple evening meal together."

After a surprisingly good meal, we all repaired to the guest house… that is, all except Danny who went to check on our horses. He returned soon, reporting that they were in good hands and the keepers were fascinated by them. "The black mounts are freed from their harnesses, but must sleep in a lean-to in the corral," he told us.

Sasha used the satellite-phone to report to Sharif that we had arrived and all was well. After a bit, he chuckled and passed the phone over to me, "The acting Emir wishes to speak to his big brother."

When they had finished, Zuberi reported, "Tazeem ask after your health and sends his love." Well, at least he hasn't forgotten me completely, I thought and then was ashamed.

It had been a long tiring day so we soon spread out our bed rolls. But before we turned in, a small black woman stealthily entered and immediately ran to Zuberi.

"Mama!" he shrieked and the two of them hugged and engaged in a long conversation in a language I learned later was a dialect of Swahili. After a short time, however, she kissed her son and withdrew.

I pulled Zuberi close to me and asked him, "I thought you said you didn't have a mother any longer." He looked down at his feet, ashamed.

"That is what Bishop Paul say when he give me to Samuel. But Samuel say is not true, so I still think of her as Mama. She one of three black ladies who make all the things we send to you." he said proudly. After we had snuggled down together, he asked me, "You will really keep them from hurting me?"

"With my very life, if necessary," I answered him.

The next morning, after breakfast, we all assembled in a building which seemed to be a council chamber of some sort. A number of white men from the village… including some of the soldiers from yesterday… joined us. Bishop Paul introduced them as the Village Council, and they sat on either side of him and we sat across from them in a group. I made sure Zuberi was sitting firmly in my lap to preclude an 'unfortunate accident'. Sorry, but I wasn't quite ready to completely trust these people, especially Joshua.

"I am curious," began Sasha, "why is it you have chosen to make beasts of burden of young black boys and men?"

"When our grandfathers first stumbled upon this valley they decided to stay permanently. But the black people did not want us and a skirmish settled the issue, with the blacks subdued and as our slaves. We have treated them well, I believe."

"I would disagree, Bishop," replied Sasha. "I find it difficult to believe that black boys and men are treated well when they are forced to become beasts."

The Council immediately clustered about Paul and an excited buzz took place.

Danny pulled us together and whispered, "When I checked our horses last night, there was a boy and his mount there… about twelve or so, I would say… to whom the others gave deference. And his mount did not stay in the corral, but left with him. Zuberi, does Bishop Paul have a son?"

"His son called Jonathan and his mount is Sefu," he whispered back. "Mounts not stay in corral until marked. Jonathan very late to mark Sefu."

Danny and Sasha moved apart at the boy's gesture went into a whispered conversation. I heard the word 'demonstration', but little more. After Danny moved back, I asked him, "What was that all about?"

"Sasha has a plan to point out the cruelty of the slaves as mounts. I think it will work, judging from the way Zuberi felt about Samuel."

"When the trooper's horses died," the Bishop finally continued, "we had no way to transport our goods or ourselves. The sergeant-major suggested using the sturdiest of the black boys. We had no choice."

"You have a son, Bishop, or so I believe," said Sasha. The Bishop nodded. "I should like to meet him and his mount."

Bishop Paul and the Council looked shocked. After a bit, the he replied, "Very well. I will send for Jonathan and his mount."

A short time later, a very handsome young teen led an equally good looking black boy into the council chamber by his halter rope. Bowing to Bishop Paul, he said, "I have come Father and Sefu and I are at your command."

"Our guests wished to meet you."

Jonathan and his mount walked across to us, bowed and said, "I greet you, great Emir. We are yours to command."

Sasha greeted them courteously and then gestured for them to return to his father.

"Bishop, I see that your son's mount is not yet marked. Is it not your tradition to perform that rite when they are ten-years-old?"

"You are correct Emir, but…"

"We should like to witness such a ceremony," Sasha interrupted.

The rest of us recoiled in shock… except for Danny… who whispered, "He knows what he's doing. Just trust him. No blood will be shed." But the look of distress on Jonathan's face was frightening and the lad began to tremble. Sefu simply hung his head and steeled himself for the inevitable; for the pain and the loss of his manhood.

"Please, Father! Not today! Not in front of these guests!" Jonathan choked. "I beg you on bended knee!', he said prostrating himself

"Nonsense! It is long past the time when you should have marked your mount. Brother Joshua, prepare the mount for the ceremony."

A barrel-like frame was brought out as Jonathan… weeping softly… reluctantly removed Sefu's harness. "Please Master," whispered Sefu. "I will be brave, just please do it quickly."

True to Zuberi's description, Sefu was stretched over the frame and Jonathan was handed a long knife. Two other 'soldiers' stood by with hot irons to cauterize Sefu's wound. "Come, boy, do your duty," snarled Joshua, "you have been instructed how," Jonathan grasped his mount's balls and pulled them away from his body. As Sefu steeled himself for the cut and Jonathan poised with the knife just touching the skin of his mount's scrotum, both looked like they would like to die and Zuberi buried his head in my shirt.

But, suddenly Jonathan threw down the knife and emitted a long wail, "No! I cannot do this to him. He is my friend! I will not hurt him so!"

In the shocked silence which followed, all of our team finally began to breathe again. Sasha's plan had worked, but it had been a close thing.

Bishop Paul finally found his voice. "Alas! My son is a coward!"

Jonathan pulled Sefu into a tight embrace and cried, "I could not do it to you, brother. It is better we should die. I'm so sorry!"

"We will go together, brother. And I will always love you," replied Sefu. And several soldiers stepped forward to take the two of them to the death canyon.

"Stop!" bellowed Sasha. "Your son is not a coward. He showed great courage that he would not maim his beloved friend even when he knew it meant his death. I would be proud to have two such fine young men as my sons."

Paul looked down at his son and his mount as the two of them went to their knees before him. "Do you really love Sefu that much?" he asked sadly.

"Yes Father. He is my best friend! He is like a brother to me. I will give my life to save him. Please, I will go to the canyon, but don't make Sefu go there, too."

"Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends," Sasha quoted. [John:15, 13] There were indignant shouts from the entire Council, not the least of which was an incoherent rant by Brother Joshua. After some time, Paul silenced them with a wave of his hand and addressed Sasha angrily, "I perceive this to be of your planning. What would you have me do with them?"

"Free them and I shall take them back to Sharif to live as my sons." That statement almost got us lynched but Ben jumped into the fray by calling all the 'soldiers' to attention and we stared across at the Council.

"Bishop Paul, I perceive that you are followers of the one you call the Christ. I would remind you that he said 'Whoever causes harm to one of these little ones, it would be better if a millstone were hung around his neck and he were drowned in the depths of the sea'." [Matthew 18: 6]

"How dare you attempt to trick us?" shouted Joshua. "How is it that you, a follower of the false god, Allah, preach to us. We must drive these sons of Satan from our midst!"

"Sit down, Joshua, and be quiet. I rule here, not you. But how is it, Emir, you know of our faith?"

"I was very fortunate to have as my teacher Imam Juda who was raised in the Hebrew faith but embraced the Prophet as a young teacher. He insisted I learn not only of the faith of Islam but of that of the Jews and the followers of Christ, whom we revere as a great prophet. After all, are we not all 'peoples of the book'?"

"He speaks the truth, Brother Paul," agreed one of the other councilors. So, we were not the only ones who recoiled at the horror nearly perpetrated on these two boys.

"Jonathan, you are no longer my son. Take your mount and sit with your new master, Emir Sasha." Sasha held out his arms and received the two of them in a tight embrace.

"Let us set aside for the moment the disposition of these two boys," said Sasha. I wish to make you an offer. I will provide you with sufficient horses, including breeding stock, and the tools and instruction to care for them. Will you, then, cease to make beasts of your young black brothers? I would ask you and all your council to consider this offer."

Paul looked at Sasha wide-eyed and it was quite still for a period. Even Joshua held his tongue. "Very well, the Council and I will consider your surprising offer." They met all that afternoon and into the night. None of us knew, for sure, whether the Bishop was bound by their collective decision or their role was purely advisory.

That night we had two additional boys to share our bedrolls. Sasha took Jonathan with him, but asked that I take Sefu, believing that being with Zuberi might offer him some added comfort. Although Jonathan seemed excited by the prospect of his future at Sharif, poor Sefu was terrified. "Please, master!" he bawled. "Let me go to the canyon. I must be with my rider, for he loves me and we cannot be separated."

I held him tightly and pressed his head onto my chest, while Zuberi added his love. "Sefu, neither you nor Jonathan will go to your deaths. You belong with Emir Sasha, now, and he will protect you. He has pledged to make you his sons and he will never break that pledge."

He looked at me in wonder. "He will do that for me?"

"Yes."

The next morning we met again with the Council. It was impossible to tell what their collective decision was.

Sasha immediately began, "I would wish to meet and honor the artisans who make the beautiful works that we trade and sell for you."

Bishop Paul, looking somewhat uneasy, hesitated. Then he motioned to one of the councilors who got up and left the hall, returning shortly with three black women. "These are Grace, Truth and Charity," he introduced them. "They are the ones who design and make all the works using materials they and the other slaves wrest from the soil of our valley."

"Your works are exquisite," Sasha told them. "Are you paid for them?"

"No great Emir. We are slaves."

Turning once more to face the council, Sasha asked, "Does not the prophet Micah tell us, 'What does God require of us but to do justly, to love mercy……' How is it that these women who provide much to your village are kept in slavery? Is that what you believe to be justice and mercy? Does not the one you call the Messiah command you to 'love your neighbors as yourself'?"

A storm of protest arose from the council. Paul finally subdued it with difficulty and addressed them, "The Emir speaks wisely. We have made a mockery of the true faith of Christ." Facing Sasha, he asked him, "What would you have us do? How are we to live?"

"You can begin," Sasha replied, "by freeing these artisans and their people."

"But how will we survive?"

"Just as my people do, with each citizen contributing to the community as free persons," Sasha assured him.

"As I offered, I will provide you with horses, including breeding stock, and the tools necessary to care for them. I will send you an experienced stockman to teach you the skills necessary. We will continue to trade, but only if the goods are produced by free persons."

At that point, Brother Joshua could contain himself no longer. Seizing the knife that still lay where Jonathan had dropped it the day before, he advanced toward Bishop Paul screaming, "You have been bewitched by these spawns of Satan and are no longer fit to be our bishop!" Before he could reach Paul, several of the councilors tackled him and held him.

After he regained his composure, Paul told him sadly, "You have breached the peace and law of this community and are no longer fit to share our village. Go from this place forever! And may God have mercy on you."

Joshua uttered a scream and fled.

"I accept your offer with thanks, Oh Great Emir," Paul told Sasha. "As soon as horses are here, we will release our human mounts. When the last mount is freed, all our black brothers and sisters will be freed."

Sasha nodded his acceptance. "You may begin with those we brought with us."

"But how will you return to Sharif?"

In answer, Sash held up the satellite-phone. "This will allow me to speak to Sharif and they will send an aircraft."

"But our grandparents found their radios useless."

"Yes, but this device is different. Hear and listen." And he placed a call to Sharif. "Malia, please ask our 'acting' Emir to find Aziz." A few minutes later, Aziz was on the line.

"Find our best stockman and choose sixteen of our best horses, mares and stallions, and send him and the horses to us here. His GPS will find us." And he gave Aziz the coordinates.

"Then, load the helicopter with tools to allow these people to care for the horses. We will leave our horses here and return to Sharif by air. You had best come along to help our friends here until the pack train arrives."

"It shall be as you say, Great Emir," replied Aziz.

Bishop Paul was speechless for a bit. But, then he said, "This is truly a miracle!" But, then more soberly, "You said a bit ago that you would be honored if Jonathan and Sefu would come to your house."

"Yes, Bishop. They are fine young men and will be welcome. I will train and educate them and they shall be as my sons. But, it must be their choice." Turning to the two boys, he asked them, "Would you be willing to leave your birth parents and become my sons?"

They clasped hands and bowed, "Oh Great Emir, you would do us much honor if you were to make us lowly slaves," replied Jonathan. "But to be your sons? We will work and study very hard so you will be proud of us. And all our village, too." Sasha took them both into his arms and hugged them tightly.

The 'copter arrived that afternoon, and the process of 'un-slaving' the black people began. After the cargo had been unloaded, Doug and I made a trip to the 'death canyon'. We wanted to try to save any of boys there who might still be living. The walls were so steep as to absolutely preclude any escape, so we had the 'copter hover and lower us by cable.

We found the remains of several boys, white and black. Some had evidently been killed by their fall, but others had surely starved to death. We did find one victim still alive… a youth of about eighteen whose back had been broken in several places and was on death's door. Doug shook his head sadly, "Even if we could save him, he would be little more than a vegetable," he told me sadly. The boy was in great agony, so Doug gave him a massive overdose of pain killer and he died in peace with the two of us kneeling beside him.

How could these so-called civilized men do this? I wondered. We did not tell the others what we had found and done until we were back at Sharif.

The next morning… Jonathan and Sefu had a much calmer night… we prepared to depart.

I noticed Danny and Ben conversing quietly and Danny now stepped forward. "Bishop Paul, my father and I wish to remain here with your people for a time, so I may write their story."

I looked at Ben and he nodded. "When would he ever have a chance like this again? Don't worry about me. Wherever Danny is, that's my place, too."

I hugged them both and prepared to board. Just as I did, I saw Zuberi's mother in the crowd. "Run and bid her goodbye," I told him, "and tell her that I will see that you visit from time to time." He looked up at me with pure joy and ran to do my bidding.

"One further thing, Bishop," said Sasha. "Sooner or later, the Saudis will discover this place. What disposition they will make of you when that happens, I cannot tell. But know this; you and all you people will be welcome in Sharif if it should be better if you moved from this place."

And so, leaving behind our good friends Ben and Danny, we returned to the city, bearing with us young Zuberi, who would be brother to my Tazeem, and Jonathan and Sefu to begin their new life in the Emirate of Sharif.

The End