An hour or so before sunset the following day, while the younger ones were out
doing whatever it was boys did on balmy spring evenings, Brutus tentatively
shared his insight about Elijah.
“We may have misconstrued Price’s place,” he said. “Given the way the lad attacked me last night, I’d say he was a ram through and through.”
Cropper continued staring at the chessboard, apparently deaf to Brutus’ words.
Having left it a decent amount of time, Brutus tried again. “He’s a determined one, like a fighting dog. Give him the right training and he’d be an asset-”
“No.”
“No? What do you mean, no? You haven’t even-”
“I say no because the boy is a hart, even an idiot could see that. Any residual fight is purely that – residual, and can be beaten out of him given enough time and effort.”
Brutus leaned back in his chair and studied Cropper who, in turn, perused his pieces, finally settling on moving his bishop to within two squares of Brutus’ king.
“Checkmate, and we will say no more about this.”
Typically Brutus would have let the subject rest; Cropper was his wolf and, as such, merited unquestioning obedience and loyalty when it came to these decisions. But the memory of Elijah’s face, twisted up in pain yet still defiant, replayed itself so vividly that Brutus was speaking again almost before he realised he’d opened his mouth.
“You’re wrong. And thrashing him for being what he is could break him completely. I’ll have no part of it.”
“Then have no part, Patrick, for I am not changing my mind on this matter.”
They sat, eyes locked, neither shifting an inch. And for the first time Brutus knew he needed to stand his ground. This thing with Brolly had skewed Cropper’s perceptions and he was about to make a hideous mistake. For Brutus, the only question remaining was how to get past Cropper’s obstinacy and make him see sense.
Going head to head would undoubtedly be a waste of time; Cropper was nothing if not stubborn in the extreme. However there was something…
“A private wager,” he said, offering his hand, palm up, across the chessboard. “Not as Wolf and Ram but as Patrick Farrell and Roger Ballard. Give me three weeks of him and I will prove it to you. If you are not satisfied – and you may test him how you may – then my month’s allowance is yours.”
Cropper looked at him askance. “You are willing to rest a full twenty pounds on the worthless boy?”
“I am,” Brutus agreed, keeping his hand steady. It would mean foregoing the new shirts he had planned to order, not to mention being short of the tastier foods and beverages for the month, but it was worth it. There was a strength in young Elijah that would not be denied.
A mirthless grin spread over Cropper’s face and he slapped his hand down into Brutus’. “Done!”
*
The blades clashed over Elijah’s head and his arm shook as he tried to fend off Brutus’ blow. Sweat poured from his body, soaking into his shirt until it clung and refused to twist with him, restricting his movements like a straitjacket.
“Hold it!” Brutus bellowed, pressing his advantage and bearing down on Elijah with all his weight.
The muscles in Elijah’s arm screamed. There was no way he could do this; Brutus was too strong, too heavy. Working by instinct alone, he dropped to the ground, rolling back and under Brutus’ sudden flurry of blows, and came up inside the bigger boy’s guard with the tip of his sabre pushed into the padding over Brutus’ heart. A clean kill. Achieved by devious means maybe, but a clean kill nonetheless.
“Well done,” Brutus acknowledged, stepping back into a salute. Elijah followed suite and then sagged over his blade, breathing heavily and trying to still the shaking in his limbs.
A hand clapped on his shoulder and he looked up to see Brutus smirking down at him. “Tired lad?”
Elijah nodded and licked his parched lips.
“Come along then. There’s a jug of small beer in the stream.”
Brutus strode off and Elijah trailed after him, wondering precisely when his paralysing terror of the older boy had vanished. It was probably the week before, after that first night. Instead of thrashing him, as Elijah had expected, Brutus had allowed him to join William on the bed and he’d been allowed to hold his friend as Brutus fucked him. Since then no one had argued when Elijah was present each and every night.
He caught up when Brutus reached the stream, and settled himself beside the older boy in the shade of a large willow overhanging the bank. It was abnormally warm for late April, but neither were complaining, the pair of them sharing the jug in companionable silence as they watched roach rising for flies.
“Better?” Brutus asked a while later startling Elijah out of his near stupor.
“Much, thank you,” he answered, and having been disturbed, Elijah discovered he was intensely aware of Brutus sprawled next to him, their bodies touching from hip to ankle. Now the fear was gone, he was finally able to appreciate the beauty of the huge Irishman and his cumbersome attempts to be charming that so often fell flat. That was something he could empathise with, often feeling clumsy when he reached out to people and tongue-tied when pitted against a sharp wit.
“You still look overly hot. Shall we swim?”
The nearest bathing pool lay some half a mile away and Elijah was in no mood to traipse that far in the sun, so he declined.
“Thank you, but I am quite comfortable here.”
Brutus rolled over and stared at him, and Elijah felt the heat rising in his cheeks at the irresistible presence.
“I wasn’t suggesting moving,” Brutus said, his mouth close enough that breath puffed against Elijah’s cheek. “Or, at least, only as far as the stream. It’s surely deep enough for the two of us to cool our skins.”
Mutely, Elijah nodded and when Brutus began to strip, joined him in shucking his clothing and piling it neatly on the bank.
The water felt like liquid ice against his sun warmed skin and Elijah shivered as he waded knee deep through the shallows heading for where Brutus cut through the water, swimming hard against the current. Really it was more like a river than a stream, or certainly for a city lad such as himself.
Another step and the ground vanished out from under him as the undertow grabbed at his legs and dragged him under, the world vanishing in a haze of green and filtered sunlight. Panic closed in around his heart as he struggled, lungs bursting and desperate for air, towards the surface, but for every stroke up he took, the water pulled him down further. But he would not – could not – give up. Arms, legs, heart, all pumping, frantic, burning, screaming until finally his body betrayed him, his mouth opened and instead of precious oxygen, he heaved in a lungful of icy water.
Cold and colder, filling his legs with lead and his arms with wood until he could swim no more and drifted, eyes open, conscious of nothing as the darkness closed in.
*
“He’s driving me insane!”
William bowled with little panache and much anger, catching Lyall in his gut and doubling him over in pain.
Oblivious, the younger boy continued his rant, gesticulating as he strode up and down the wicket. “To start with it was sweet. And it still is, in a way. But I can’t get away from him. Look at today. If Brutus hadn’t decided to increase his fencing lessons, he’d be here now, following me around like a lost puppy and staring at me with those eyes and making faces and… I don’t know, wanting to hold my hand or something equally ridiculous.”
A cricket bat came within range, and William whirled it up over his shoulder and then dashed it into the ground. “What does he think I am? Some little miss he has to chaperone to church? I think not!”
Lyall watched on, half in amusement and half in fascination. It was rather like watching a small puppy taking on a tomcat; all yap and no teeth and with certain the knowledge that in a few months it would bite your hand off. He hadn’t been at the school when Brolly first arrived and so had missed his transformation, although Lyall suspected it was nothing so profound as what had happened to Will.
The boy now striding back and forth avowing his discontent with his friend couldn’t be more different from the newly arrived William that Lyall rescued from Jones on his first day. Gone were the overly large clothes, replaced with the well fitting tailored garments Cropper preferred and so purchased, and the spectacles, which had caused so much trouble, now lived on the huge desk in the study and only got brought out for prep. But the biggest difference was in the way William moved; assured, confident, he walked as though he owned every patch of ground he touched and carried himself like a predator, like a wolf.
“What do you think?”
William had stopped ranting and was now staring at him, obviously expecting an answer, and when Lyall didn’t respond, he cussed roundly and said, “You weren’t listening! Why does no one ever listen?”
“I thought you were talking to yourself,” Lyall commented, earning himself an icy glare.
“I asked if you thought it a good idea to tell Elijah that I wish to sleep alone. In my own bed. Or with Cropper or Brutus if they want me.” And for a moment Lyall saw the flaw in William’s façade as the younger boy added, “Just me, that is. And not the both of us.”
*
It took a few moments for Brutus to notice that Elijah had gone, and a couple more to realise the boy had been dragged under. Knowing this stretch of water well, he glanced from bank to bank to assess the speed of the current, took a huge breath and dived, letting the water tow him as it would have Elijah. The darkness closed in around him, half- blinding his eyes and making his search twice the problem it should have been, but yes! There. Just up head and sinking oh so fast.
With the agility of an otter, Brutus twisted and grabbed for Elijah’s hair, tangling it around his fingers, then, with one powerful thrust of his legs, he swam upwards, towing the younger boy behind him, finally breaking the surface and yanking the lifeless form up into the sunlight.
The bank, only a few strokes away, seemed like miles, but he got there safely and hauled Elijah out onto the mud. After rolling the unconscious boy onto his stomach, Brutus began pressing on his back, squeezing the water from his chest, making him breathe, willing him to breathe, praying the stupid little bastard would breathe.
“Christ almighty. Don’t go and die on me now. Got too much resting on you.”
Nothing.
Why hadn’t Elijah said he couldn’t swim? Surely everyone could swim? Brutus racked his brains but couldn’t remember seeing Elijah bathing. Not that it would mean anything; the pools were different, safe, secluded, kept clear of weeds and anything that may prove dangerous for the smaller boys. He hadn’t thought. It had never occurred to him and now-
“Come on, Elijah,” he pleaded. “Breathe for me, lad. Please.”
Beneath his hands, Elijah convulsed, breathed and choked, vomiting up water through his mouth and nose. Brutus immediately pulled him upright, holding him close and rocking, trying to still the shudders of fear in those shaking limbs.
“I have you,” he crooned. “You’re safe now. I have you.” And Elijah’s tears scalded his chest.