<br/>It was always a problem of etiquette, Wulf mused, when one of the inner circle fed;  should the squire leave the room, or turn away, or watch?  Some of the knights seemed to take a positive delight in their feeding, and clearly relished an audience.  But the look on the ritter’s face as he approached the girl suggested that this was a different kind of vampire, one who had qualms about his source of nourishment.  Wulf  waited only till his master’s hand covered the maiden’s eyes, than discreetly moved away and left him to it.  He really could not understand why there should be such a fuss about it.  The girl was only a serf, she was Albrecht’s property.  He could rape or kill her, and not a hand nor a voice would be raised against it, not even by the priests.  And from her soft, sensual sighs, she was not finding it unpleasant.  He had often seen the victims of the kiss aroused by it, and most of them remembered nothing.  When - if - he was privileged to join the select few, Wulf would not be so squeamish.<br/><br/>While his master fed,  the squire attended to the platter, chewing dutifully on the loaf that had been shaped into a rough human figure, sprinkling it with a little salt.   He attended to the wine with more enthusiasm.  But not so much that he might forget himself and become loose-tongued -  that would never do.  At last the sounds of Albrecht’s feeding died away, and Wulf relaxed a little.  Hopefully, now they could get down to business….<br/>