A stable boy dressed in little more than rags arrived with a bucket of bones, scraps of meat and bread, and other crumbs from the banquet tables within the castle where only hours previously he had lived in luxury. The contents of the bucket when dumped into the pen sparked ferocious snarling as every dog contested for the choicest scraps.
Unprepared for the melee, Niccolo had to content himself with a large bone to which bits of meat, but mostly gristle and fat, still adhered tenaciously. He gnawed hungrily and growled if any of the other hounds looked too long in his direction. He discovered quickly that it wasn't only the exercise from the hunt that kept the dogs in the kennel thin. As he settled into the routine of his new life, he found that the stable-boy delivered only two buckets of food a day which he and his fellow hounds had to fall upon like ravenous beasts.
The hated master of the hounds might on occasion bring a basket of eggs, giving each hound an egg to promote a lustrous coat of fur. In a hushed voice the surly peasant would always keep the last egg to dangle out of Niccolo's reach.
"Want it, my lord?" The man husked in a dull tone. "You've got to beg."
Niccolo has absolutely refused, at first. He would never beg this peasant for anything! He was a cousin to kings of Naples and Savoy!
"Ha!" The peasant tired of his stubborn refusal and ate the egg, raw, himself, laughing as Niccolo whimpered hungrily at the egg that dripped out of the peasant's mouth and onto his weather-worn chin.
The temptation by egg became more regular. For three consecutive days the peasant man had brought an egg to the pen, scolding the other baying dogs, thrashing a few of the more persistent ones, so he could focus his torment on Niccolo.
On the fourth day, he didn't bring an egg. He brought a large bone to which ample amounts of meat and fat still clung. He waved the greasy bone at Niccolo. "My Lord, are you hungry now?"
It was true. The last three buckets of scraps had been largely claimed by the pack's larger hounds. Niccolo had done his best to ignore the constant pangs of hunger, but now he salivated openly as the peasant waved the meaty prize.
"You know what you must do to have it," the peasant said. "Beg, my Lord. Beg like a dog."
One of the other hounds came too close, and the peasant struck it with a lash, sending it howling off.
"What will it be, my Lord?" The peasant dared to stare at him openly, with undisguised hatred. "Will you beg, my Lord?"
Niccolo whimpered as he did so, but he begged. He let his belly touch the dirt and he made a convincing display of wiggling and squirming as he whimpered and salivated for the meaty bone.
The peasant laughed heartily, but tossed him the bone. After begging for the prize, he growled ferociously at the first dogs that tried to wrest it from him. Wisely, they retired from the arena.
Later, after he had rasped every last scrap of meat and fat from the bone, he continued to gnaw at his prize. Suddenly, he became aware someone was watching him. He glared at the stable-boy. If not for his dirty skin and the rags for clothes, the lad, who was probably 15 or 16, might have been considered handsome.
The stable-boy spoke in a whisper. "Why does the master call you a lord?"
Niccolo's ears perked up. The boy had obviously overheard the taunts by the master of the hounds. He rushed to the edge of the pen and barked. "I'm Niccolo Farnese! Help me!"
The boy looked at him with obvious intelligence in alert eyes in a smudged face. Niccolo realized the boy might represent his only hope, but how could he communicate?
"You seem like you're trying to tell me something," the boy said.
Niccolo whimpered. Then, he realized he still had the bone!