Brutus left them slumped against the wall like a pair of poor quality taxidermist’s
exhibits; badly stuffed and glassy eyed.
For the longest while Elijah could do no more than stare straight ahead, William’s heavy breathing and the taste of his friend in his mouth a constant reminder of what they had done. Finally, when the silence and the tension became too much to bear, he said quietly, “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
It was such an incongruous response that Elijah’s lips twitched and a most unmanly giggle wormed its way to freedom. William looked at him askance, his eyebrow raised, and that simply made Elijah laugh all the harder.
“What has you so amused?” William asked eventually.
“Your-your pleasure,” Elijah managed between snorts.
A blush crept up William’s cheeks and he began tugging on his trousers, pulling them up as far as his knees before Elijah’s hand on his arm stopped him.
“I’m sorry,” Elijah said, “There was no intent to mock. That was-was…” He gave up when he could think of no word adequate to describe their encounter.
“It was,” William agreed, calming a little. “Without doubt.”
“Thank you.”
“You have said as much already.”
“And I meant every word. To offer yourself in my place and allow Brutus to do such things…” Elijah’s skin flamed with remembrance of grinding hips and black eyes boring into him as he took William into his mouth.
“’Tis I who should apologise,” William said, his hand resting on Elijah’s. “All these months and I had no idea, I swear.” A cloud passed over Elijah’s face, and William felt his heart break a little more. Whatever his friend may say, William knew he had let Elijah down. “And I also swear it will not happen again.”
“Of-of course. Why should it.” Elijah pulled away, flustered, the blush draining from his face. “You owe me nothing and I am sure that you have no desire to repeat-”
Suddenly he was pinned to the wall, straddled by a semi-clad body, lips pressed against his, fingers tangling in his hair, and when he opened his mouth to protest, William’s tongue slipped inside.
The kiss deepened, neither boy aware of what he was doing, driven by fear, concern and the raging passions of youth, finding solace and offering regret. Elijah lost himself in the feel of William’s mouth, his fear of rejection falling away under the determined attentions of lips, tongue and teeth. His body rose to the occasion, his hands discovering the smooth skin and bunching muscles of William’s back. Further down and William was writhing against him, breathing harshly and panting “please,” between kisses. He could do no more than oblige, closing his hands tightly around William’s hips to bring them closer and give them both the benefit of additional friction.
All was going well until William yelped and pulled away, glaring down at the buttons on Elijah’s vest that had tangled so unkindly with his piercing.
“I’m so sorry,” Elijah gushed. “I did not intend to hurt you – oh!”
The bruises on William’s thighs stood out starkly from the pale skin and they gazed at each other in horror as the implications of the oh-so-obvious damage sank in.
“Cropper will know for sure,” William whispered, his face screwing up in concern. “They will take days to heal.”
“Blame me,” Elijah offered immediately. “There is little he cannot do that will harm me more.”
“No, no. You don’t know him. If you were his then maybe he would simply scold you, but as things are, your life would not be worth living.”
“Then what shall you do?”
William sat back on his heels, prodding at the bruises and thinking deeply. Finally he said, “Cropper believes me to be sick, therefore I shall be sick. If I can persuade Matron to allow me to stay in the sick room until Wednesday the marks should be sufficiently faded.”
It would almost be easier to face Cropper. Matron was notorious for her disbelief in illnesses, determined that only she knew what was good for the boys and the school as a whole. Many were the pupils who had protested sickness all in vain as they were sent back to class full of fevers and tremors. William would need more than simple stomach pains to convince Matron of his veracity.
“There is a large bottle of castor oil at the rear of the cupboard in Jake’s Hole,” Elijah suggested. William frowned at him and he shrugged, “I was hiding from Jones and the cupboard seemed the safest place.”
The idea of voluntarily drinking castor oil made both boys shudder but, since neither of them could come up with an alternative, they headed for Jake’s Hole and quickly located the bottle; dusty, old and tucked in the back of the huge cupboard just where Elijah said it would be.
William pulled the cork and gave the liquid a suspicious sniff, grimacing at the foul smell.
“I’ll drink first if you wish,” Elijah offered.
“But you don’t have to drink at all,” William said. “I am the one who needs be sick.”
Smiling at him, Elijah grabbed the bottle, said, “Surely you didn’t believe I would let you spend all three days alone,” and, before William could stop him, swigged back several large mouthfuls, holding the bottle out as he fought to swallow behind his hand.
William took it and downed his portion before his nerve failed him. For a second the boys stood staring at each other, then as one, they paled, their hands flew to their bellies and they ran for the sick room.
*
It seemed likely that the measures they had taken were a little extreme when both Elijah and William were not recovered to full health within a few hours. The Matron, having had evidence of their illness provided for her at regular intervals, finally capitulated and granted then sanctuary in the sick room where they took to beds adjacent to each other and whiled away the minutes between bouts of sickness with idle gossip.
Cropper came to visit once it was known William was in the sick room. Having been told by Matron that the ill humours could be deleterious to his own health, he stayed well back by the door, flanked by Brutus and Lyall. Elijah burrowed under the covers, to emerge when the bigger boys had left, red faced and gasping for air.
“Did he say anything?” he asked once his breath had returned.
“Not a word,” William reassured him. “Though Brutus’ face was fit to curdle milk.”
Neither of them felt up to discussing Brutus when his presence was so recent, thus it was Tuesday, when they were both feeling stronger, that the likelihood of him continuing his unwelcome attentions on Elijah was brought up.
As Elijah said, “Now he knows how dear you are to me, nothing will prevent him exploiting the weakness to his advantage.” William’s description was remarkably brisker and to the point, bringing a distinct blush in his friend’s cheeks with the bluntness of the language.
“Well then, there is nothing for it but I will have to miss chapel also,” William said eventually.
“And how do you propose to achieve such a magnificent feat,” Elijah asked stretching out on his bed.
“I must convince mama to write a letter to the headmaster excusing me, as that appears to be the only route available to boys who wish to avoid attending.”
“Will she?”
William thought for a moment, gazing down at the boys milling around in the quad. “If I give her sufficient reason to. And it is just possible that the perfect reason lies within our grasp.”
“Which is?”
Turning from the window, William said, somewhat cryptically, “Samson.”
“Craven’s servant? Why?”
“Not servant, Elijah, slave. And that there is the rub.” William bounced onto his bed, grabbing a pillow and hugging it to his chest. “Mama despises slavery of all descriptions and contributed regularly to charitable works dedicated to heathen emancipation. If I write and tell her of Samson’ position, arguing that the man might be persuaded to leave his employer and speak at meetings in support of her concerns, and that the only opportunity for such discourse is on a Sunday morning while his master is at chapel-” William held out his arms, smiling beatifically - “How could she possibly refuse?”
The concept appeared sound enough to Elijah, except…
“What will you tell Cropper? I think it unlikely he will approve your missing chapel for the pleasure of helping a servant.”
“Ah.” William subsided a little at that. He could hardly give Cropper the real reason.
“Perhaps if you were taking extra lessons. For example, Greek, which I know you are finding a stinker. Salomon is excellent at Greek, though few are aware of it. That is the main reason behind Jones’ interest in him; the bully is determined to pass the class this year.”
“Yes, that could work.” William considered the idea for a moment and then his smile was back, broader than before. “And I shall say in my letter to mama that she should give that as her reason. She will understand the necessity of playing our cards close to our chest.” He paused. “But you shall have to send the letter, for Cropper reads all mine before they are sealed.”
“We shall do it now. Matron will allow us paper and pen if we say it is for letters as we missed writing on Sunday. And while you write to your mama, I shall write to my sister, Caroline.”
Matron was as good as promised and a few hours later the boys presented her with two letters, one destined for Derby, the other for Cheapside. It only remained to hope that William’s mama was as committed to her beliefs as William thought.
*
They were permitted to return to their rooms on Thursday morning, by which time William’s bruises had faded to nothing but faint shadows. Standing at the head of the deserted staircase, they found saying goodbye difficult. The last few days had reminded both boys why they had become such firm friends so quickly.
“I will be there on Sunday if I possibly can,” William said, even though they had agreed it was unlikely.
“I can bear one more week,” Elijah answered, and then blushed fiercely. “It will be easier now I have memories of you to carry me through.”
William gathered him in for a brief hug, his stomach hurting at the thought of his friend having to submit to Brutus again. “Damn it, Elijah,” he whispered, “I wish you could come back with me, be one of us. I could protect you then.”
The quiet laugh against his shoulder told William that Elijah had heard. “They would not want me,” he said. “I am nothing but a toy to be cast aside. Though thank you for saying I am worth more.”
“You are worth that and more besides,” William insisted, pulling Elijah up to face him and wiping away the tears forming in his eyes. “Never forget that. And if you need me, send word. I will do my best to come.”
*
There was no word before Sunday and so William had no choice but to attend chapel at Cropper’s side. He spent the entire service worrying, eventually receiving a clip round the ear for his troubles when his fidgeting grew too much for Cropper to bear. Afterwards, rather than heading straight for the prep room to find Elijah, William found his plans foiled yet again when Cropper decided they should take a stroll. Lyall excused himself, claiming a prior engagement, but William was given no such opportunity.
William spent the first few minutes trying to draw Cropper out on the reason for their walk, but despite his best attempts, Cropper remained stoically silent and refused to discuss anything, limiting his comments to admonishing Brolly, who ranged ahead of them, doing his best to disrupt everything from plant life to small boys.
As they traversed the quad, William spotted Elijah standing alone by the horse chestnut, and his heart leapt when his friend perked up at the sight of him. Maybe it hadn’t been so bad after all. That hope was soon dashed. As they came closer, William could clearly see the bruises on Elijah’s face, the same fingerprints he remembered from the first encounter with Brutus. William couldn’t fathom why Elijah insisted on fighting him. Honestly, it was such fun if one allowed oneself to enjoy it.
He ducked away, intent on running over and comforting his friend, but Cropper captured him fast by the scruff saying, “Not today, boy. There will be plenty of time for Price when you have proved yourself worthy of him.”
Elijah appeared to deflate as William passed by without speaking, though William flashed him a smile that he hoped was reassuring.
They took one of the routes used for Hare and Hounds, winding through brown, ridged fields, over stiles and down sunken lanes where fecund branches met above their heads like a vaulted cathedral roof. The sky had taken on that strange clarity of light that comes before a storm, with steel grey clouds providing a perfect backdrop for wheeling flocks of luminescent gulls chasing a late plough.
Brolly wandered further from them, moving from hedge to tree to hedge in search of nests he could plunder, his activities provoking angry chatter and clouds of sparrows. William walked with Cropper, his mind to busy with thoughts of Elijah to appreciate the exercise.
“Are you content?” Cropper asked suddenly out of the blue.
A week before and the question would have received an immediate, affirmative, response. Today, William said, “What? Why do you ask?” hardly able to keep the panic from his voice.
“Because you seem distracted.” Turning William towards him, Cropper tilted his head up, and ran his thumb over the boy’s bottom lip. “Your body is here with me, but I sense your mind is elsewhere. Thus, I ask, are you content?”
“I…Yes.”
Cropper laughed. “Somehow you fail to convince me. Your eyes, I believe, are wandering, young William. Perhaps to Brutus?”
William blanched. This was it. Somehow Cropper had found out about last Sunday. He was in for it now.
“It is nothing to be ashamed of,” Cropper continued. “Indeed I would be disappointed if they did not. A wolf needs that drive, that desire for some new challenge to retain his interest, otherwise we would be little more than the beasts in the field, content to rut with whatever body comes our way.”
Cropper didn’t mind? William felt like singing or possibly fainting, his heart thundered in his ears and his tongue appeared firmly stuck to the top of his mouth. All he could do was stare and blink.
“However…”
William froze like a hare caught by the beam of a poacher’s lantern.
“As a ram, Brutus needs a wolf’s strong hand to guide him, which is why I forbad you congress with others excepting myself.”
The smallest of whimpers fell from William’s lips.
“That is why we are talking today.” A broad smile broke across Cropper’s face and he slung an arm round William’s shoulders pulling him round to begin walking again. “You have been excellently biddable for the last six months and I have decided it is time we entered the next level of your training.”
William tried to ride his seesawing emotions and failed completely as relief swamped even his curiosity. “I have? You do? We are?” he stuttered.
“Indeed. Tell me, boy, the first day you came to me, do you remember beating Brolly?”
Casting his mind back, William found the memory came easily to him. “Yes. You were punishing him for… I think, maybe the tossing, though it could have been something else.”
“Hmm,” Cropper chuckled. “It is difficult to see a caning as punishment for Timothy, he garners far too much pleasure from the experience. You wielded the instrument well, I remember. Did you enjoy it? ”
Did he? William considered the question. His first memory was of the guilt in raising his hand to another, something his mama had told him was unchristian, but hard on its heels came the remembrance of power, the way it made him feel ten feet tall when Brolly yelped but stood his ground, the welts on his unmoving backside a challenge to William’s authority.
“Yes. Yes, I believe I did.”
“I reckoned as much. And that is a good thing. If you had flinched from that duty, I would have known you to be all hart and incapable of the leap of intellect that distinguishes the wolf from his charges. To push away conscience when circumstance or inclination demand it, is a vital part of our nature, and through it all retain balance and control, a semblance of rationality.”
It was another lecture. William had heard enough of them that he felt secure in listening with only half his mind, concentrating primarily on wondering about Elijah.
“The vital lesson,” Cropper continued, oblivious to his charge’s wandering attention. “And one which every wolf must be taught, is that to give, one must first learn properly to receive. How else can you know what constitutes punishment or reward. How can you learn to read another’s body if you do not know your own? I, myself, was not exempt this training. Herr Boehm had me serve him for over a year and a hard time I had of it, to be sure. He is not an easy master to please, as you shall learn.
“But enough of that. It is decided. This afternoon, your training will begin in earnest. I trust you feel you are ready?”
There was no answer. Cropper halted in his tracks and William wandered on, immersed in thoughts of his friend.
“William!”
His name being snapped out in that tone of voice was enough to wake William from his pleasant reverie. “What?” he asked dredging up what he could of the words he had failed to hear. Something about being ready perhaps. “Yes?” he offered tentatively.
A sly smile that sent shivers down William’s spine crept onto the corners
of Cropper’s mouth. “We shall see,” he said. “We shall
see.”