Without loosening his grip on the shaking boy in his arms, Brutus snagged his coat – thankfully only a couple of feet away – and drew it over them, tucking it around the bits of Elijah’s body not pressed against him. The sobs were slowly decreasing, replaced by hiccups and shudders as Elijah fought to regain control of himself, and Brutus did his best to help, stroking the lad’s hair and crooning nonsense sounds.
“I’m s-sorry,” came eventually, gulped into Brutus’ chest and accompanied by a full body shiver.
“There’s nothing to apologise for,” Brutus answered quietly, continuing his soothing movements. “I’m sure you didn’t try to drown yourself on purpose.”
That elicited a strangled and slightly hysterical giggle and Brutus tightened his arms, giving Elijah a strong hug. “How about we talk about something else,” he said and, feeling Elijah nod, was left with the decision of what. There really was only one subject.
“I presume Cropper told you all about how he sees people?”
Another nod; this time qualified by a whispered, “A little. Though I’m not certain I entirely understand.”
Typical, Brutus thought. Cropper could be as oblique in his explanations as any Englishman. So, as briefly as he could, Brutus outlined what it meant to be a wolf, a ram, or a hart and Elijah listened attentively, curled against his chest, the shivers vanishing as fearful memories were gradually superseded by curiosity.
“And I believe you to be a ram,” he concluded. “That is why I have taken over your training.”
“Really?” Elijah said, lifting his head to gaze at Brutus’ face. “William said I was to be a wolf.”
It was possible that Brutus let some of his surprise show on his face, as Elijah’s eyes widened in reflected alarm.
“You-you thought I was a hart?” Concern made Elijah’s voice come out as little more than a squeak and Brutus was quick to reassure him.
“Not I, no. Though Cropper seems to feel that is the role best suited to you.”
“Am I that compliant and submissive?” Elijah asked, pushing himself upright and glaring. “Because I can assure you that nothing could be further from the truth.”
Brutus laughed at the indignant expression on the younger boy’s face. “Not compliant, not at all, and I had the bruises to prove it. You’re loyal, that much I have witnessed first-hand. And obedient if it’s called for. This makes you more a ram than any other.”
A thoughtful look took over from indignation as Elijah considered Brutus’ words. Finally he frowned and said, “Why not a wolf? William seemed to think it was a role which best befitted me.”
And William will get his backside tanned for mentioning it, Brutus thought as he assembled his argument.
“Because you are not a selfish creature by nature, as most wolves are. But you are ruled by your passions, fighting without thought for consequences, thus having another to guide you when you lack control would be a good thing.”
Another silence and Brutus allowed it to grow as Elijah took all this in and turned it over in his head, his brow furrowing more deeply as he assessed each point of view.
“Tell me,” he asked eventually. “If I am a ram, do I have to be a bully?”
Brutus froze, frowned, and then guffawed so loudly that he startled a pair of pigeons from a nearby tree, the air filling with the sudden clap of their retreating wings.
“A bully?” he gasped, once his breath became available for speech. “Is that how you see me?”
Colour crept up Elijah’s cheeks and he looked down, studying the ground. “You were hardly kind to me,” he said, and then added in a rush, “At first, I mean. Now, you are benevolence itself.”
Disregarding the latter comment, Brutus turned his attention to the meat of the argument. Was what he had done to Elijah bullying? He supposed, looked at in a certain way, it could be considered that, and if this was how Elijah understood it then more explanations were in order.
“I do not consider it such. That is my role, and what Cropper expected of me. Each new boy is tested in some way. Most are discarded. You on the other hand,” he paused and lifted his hand to Elijah’s face, running his thumb softly across the boy’s mouth. “You were enough of an enigma to create an interest.”
For a moment Elijah didn’t resist, leaned into his touch even, but then, with a shake, pulled himself away, saying, “Discarded?”
“Not everyone has it in them to be part of the brotherhood, and those who don’t,” Brutus shrugged, “They serve as best they can but remain ignorant of the greater potential.”
“The brotherhood?” Settling back on his haunches, Elijah pulled the coat closer around him. “There is a larger organisation?”
Brutus nodded.
“Tell me about them.”
“I will if you come back here.” Brutus opened his arms and, without a moment’s hesitation, Elijah snuggled back into his lap, his body creating a blanket of warmth from knees to chest.
Closing his eyes against the westering sun, Brutus began, “It was founded many centuries ago, when chaos ruled England. The king, Richard, held the throne but not without effort. He was a weak man, and those close to him used his favour to get ahead whether they had the worth for it our not. Some tried to help him, among them a descendent of Hugo Lupus, the First Earl of Chester, and Earl Hugh de Audley.
“They failed and were driven from the country, but, unlike many others, they were not content to suffer their exile in silence. Determined that their country should never be brought to its knees in such a way again, they began a secret society and swore to protect the weak – the harts, – those who were unable, or unwilling, to look after themselves.”
He stopped, not sure of how to proceed. Those few details were taught to him by Ada, but things got a little murky after that. “Um, and they did,” he finished in a mumble.
Elijah stayed where he was, expecting more, and when it wasn’t forthcoming, he sighed and asked, “That explains the hart, as I would presume they gleaned the imagery from Richard’s coat of arms. And the wolf from Hugo Lupus?” Brutus nodded. “So where does the ram come from?”
“The ram’s head on a battering ram,” Brutus confessed.
His face twisted into a confused smile when Elijah grinned and said, “How very appropriate.”
“It certainly fits my fists,” Brutus said, lifting one huge paw for inspection.
Elijah took it in both of his and turned it back and forth, examining it carefully. “Strong,” he said eventually. “And brave enough to save my life, despite the danger. I would say that a ram was very fitting.”
*
They were together! Alone together. All those nights spent squashed between two bodies, craving the sort of attention that came from being the one and only, this scenario had never crossed his mind. It had always been himself alone with Brutus, or occasionally with Eli. But there they were, as bold as brass, sitting next to the stream, wet from swimming, hair tousled, Elijah sitting in Brutus’ lap, naked beneath the coat, faces so close that a kiss was inevitable and…and… William stood up and strode back into the trees. He was damned if he was going to wait around to watch that.
As the woods closed in around him, William’s mood darkened and his pace picked up. He ran; not so fast as to be called careering but fast enough that his entire attention had to be fixed on the ground, skipping over roots and around trees, not thinking about what he’d seen, or about how he felt because that way lay pain and disappointment and rejection.
Only the expanse of barren grass at the tree line stopped him, and he hunkered down, squinting across playing fields busy with boys to the school buildings squatting beyond. Returning there and facing the others wasn’t a possibility, he felt too raw, too unsettled in his skin, for things like normal conversation. The bathing pools lay in the opposite direction and the lack of any noise coming from them made William’s mind up for him. He needed somewhere - a refuge - to reorder his troubled thoughts.
He set off down the narrow pathway but got no more than five paces before hurried footsteps sounded behind him and a voice called out, “Bartlett, I say! Wait for me!”
Pivoting on his heel to look behind him, William huffed in disgust as there, haring across the grass came Forster, clothing askew and a rumpled towel tucked under one arm.
“Are you going the bathe? Because you don’t look as though you are.”
The boy fell into step oblivious to William’s attempts to ignore him and, despite the fact that they had studiously ignored each other at every recent meeting, the familiar rambling commentary began.
“Philip said I should bathe or he would make me sleep outside. Can you imagine that? Making me sleep outside. I’d have to sleep in the stable, which would only make me smell worse. Although I suppose it could be romantic if he came to rescue me from such a terrible fate; like Cathy rescuing Heathcliff only I’m not a gypsy and not everyone hates me.”
Was it possible to be driven insane by inane chatter, William wondered as they approached the first pool? The only good thing about the situation was that Forster’s persistent voice made it virtually impossible to think.
As the pool came into view, Forster hurried on ahead, leaving William to find a suitable seat on the bank. Various large stones and tree stumps offered possible perches, but they were all a little close – he could still hear Forster
Sitting with his back to the pool and apparently intent on an earth beneath a holly bush, William finally gave up hiding from his emotions. There was something deeply ironic about feeling so bad about Elijah and Brutus being together when he’d been on his way to tell Elijah to leave him alone anyway. But that was different. Elijah was supposed to take the news badly, maybe even cry, and certainly plead with William not to abandon him. And instead?
William’s fists clenched as that image of a perfect afternoon sprang back into his mind. Far from upset, Elijah would probably be pleased, relieved at the news. Maybe he’d been about to tell William the same thing? That his presence was no longer desired and wouldn’t it be better if he kept to his own bed from now on.
Well, then, William decided. The solution was simple. He would simply say nothing to Elijah. He would act as though nothing had happened, wrap himself up in dignity and treat Elijah with polite disdain. And if that didn’t do the trick he’d-
“Are you not going to bathe? I bet you should, you look really hot and your face is filthy. Philip doesn’t like me being dirty. He says it makes him look bad and that’s bad thing because if he’s going to do what he says he going to do, then he won’t want me looking a mess.”
William closed his eyes and let his head drop to his chest. He should be able to shut Andrew up with a single word, shouldn’t he? Surely that was what being a wolf meant? Being imbued with a level of je ne sais quois that made others listen to you, however big or strong or intimidating you were. William snorted in disbelief, not able to imagine a time when he’d be capable of doing anything of the sort. It was all posturing, there was no meat on his wolfish bones and without the meat it was only a matter of time before he ended up bottom of the pile once more.
“So, then, when Price joined up with Cropper, Philip said that I wasn’t to have anything to do with you or with him or with the others.”
“What?” William asked, squinting round Andrew who was busy shoving himself back into his clothes. There was something about the boy’s continuous yapping that was starting to ring alarm bells in William’s head.
Andrew paused, one leg halfway into his trousers. “I was explaining why I haven’t been talking to you. It wasn’t rudeness – well not really – though you could have been nicer when I was still fagging for you. It’s not exactly the easiest job fagging for Cropper and then-”
“What do you mean, Jones told you to have nothing to do with us?”
The question elicited a shrug. “Just that. I think his exact words were, ‘Keep away from them. Cropper and his ape will be gone in six months and once the molly’s in charge, I’ll make my move’. I wonder who he meant by that?”
William didn’t answer; he’d stopped listening at, ‘I’ll make my move.’ Personal insults aside, that sounded downright worrisome. Surely Jones wouldn’t be so foolish as to try crying revolution once Cropper and Brutus had left the school?
In the background, and careless to his own position, Andrew continued chattering. “I think he meant Brolly, but it could have been you. Philip would like that. He was really cross when Lyall insisted you got taken to Cropper before he got a turn. Ezra said his arse was sore for a fortnight afterward and it was mention of you that brought it all on.”
The creeping uncertainty that had plagued William’s thoughts since coming upon Brutus and Elijah by the stream vanished abruptly at the implied threat. There were many things he could and would tolerate – like being junior to Cropper and Brolly, and even Elijah if circumstance demanded it – but pigs would have to fly before he’d roll over for that thug Jones. Not stopping to think, he sprung to his feet, strode over and caught Andrew by the ear.
Andrew yelped and tried to squirm away, but William simply tightened his grip and leaned forward to growl, “Get dressed, Forster, and make it quick. Cropper doesn’t want you in shirt sleeves.”
“C-Cropper,” Andrew gulped, his eyes widening as he stared at his captor.
William laughed, and finally heard the chill he had been striving for saturate
his voice. Taking a step back, he released the boy’s ear and fixed him
in place with a glare instead. “It’s that or I tell Jones you tattled,”
he said. “Your choice. But I’ve got to think that Cropper much more
inclined to be generous. What do you think?”