Opus One
by Edward Kyle Stokes
Chapter 10
A Royal Gamble.
Winchester buzzed with a vibrant energy, a medieval tapestry woven with the sounds of hammering, laughter, and the tuning of various instruments. The town, a charming mix of timber-framed houses and sturdy stone buildings, was overflowing with merchants hawking their wares, farmers leading livestock, and a throng of excited people anticipating the grand fair. The designated fairgrounds, a sprawling expanse just outside the city walls, resembled a temporary kingdom of entertainment. Colourful tents billowed in the gentle breeze, stages of various sizes were being erected, and the air was thick with the enticing aromas of roasting meat and sweet pastries. Jugglers practiced their throws, musicians tuned their lutes and pipes, and the flamboyant costumes of acrobats and fortune-tellers added to the festive chaos.
While Étienne nervously contemplated the enormity of his task and the potential for encountering Charles amidst such a crowd, Corin seemed to possess a restless energy. "I'll be back later," he announced casually after a quick midday meal, his dark eyes holding a spark of something unsaid. He slipped away from the gypsy encampment, melting into the throngs of people exploring the fair preparations.
Hours passed, and Corin didn't return, causing a ripple of mild concern among the band. Étienne, however, felt a strange sense of anticipation, a feeling that Corin's disappearance was somehow connected to his own mission.
As dusk began to settle, adorning the sky in orange and purple, Corin reappeared, a secretive smile playing on his lips. He beckoned Étienne away from the others, towards the edge of the encampment.
"I might have found someone who can help you," Corin whispered, his voice filled with a quiet excitement. "Someone who knows the inner workings of the royal court, even here at the fair."
Étienne's heart leaped. "Who? Who is it?"
"Her name is Elara," Corin explained. "She… she has connections. She will join us later, she has spent some time performing for noble houses and knows the faces, the routines. She may know how to get you close to the Prince."
Étienne stared at Corin, a wave of gratitude washing over him. He thought to himself, he had been right to confide his mission in Corin, the boy was proving very useful. Although it was not to progress the task bestowed upon that he had opened his heart, more a personal necessity, his need for a friend and lover.
Elara, he toyed with the name on his lips, a name that evoked an air of quiet sophistication, perhaps she would find a path to Charles. He had no idea if she would, but a hope that she might.
"She owes me a favour," Corin continued, a mischievous glint returning to his eyes. "An incident involving a stolen lute and a very angry musician. I think she'll be willing to help."
Corin explained that he had sought out Elara, a figure from his past who he hoped would be here amidst the fair preparations and as luck would have it, he found her rehearsing her intricate dances near one of the larger stages. He had reminded her of their shared history, the "stolen lute incident," and carefully, subtly, hinted at Étienne's urgent need to speak with someone close to the King.
Elara, initially hesitant, had become more receptive when Corin mentioned a little of Étienne's past connection to Prince Charles. He had not said too much, only that Étienne had worked in the royal palace. She had agreed to meet with them tonight, promising to help them and offer what assistance she could. The unexpected ally, brokered by Corin's mysterious afternoon absence, offered a glimmer of hope in Étienne's daunting mission.
Later that night, amidst the still bustling fair with all its final last minute preparations, Elara led Étienne and a curious Corin to a quieter corner behind one of the larger performance tents. There, leaning against a stack of brightly coloured banners, stood a young man who took both boys' breath away. He was strikingly handsome, with a solid, powerful build that hinted at athleticism, and his deep green eyes held a captivating intensity. He was dressed in well-maintained livery, a clear indication of his status.
Elara offered a small, respectful curtsy. "Gentlemen," she said, her tone carrying a hint of playful deference, "may I present Thomas. Thomas, these are friends of mine, Étienne and Corin."
Thomas inclined his head, his green eyes sweeping over Étienne and Corin with an assessing appraisal. There was a confidence in his bearing that spoke of proximity to power.
"Thomas," Elara continued, a knowing smile playing on her lips, "is the King's Boy. A title bestowed upon the head page who serves His Majesty directly."
Étienne and Corin exchanged surprised glances. The King's Boy. This close to the monarch. This was an unexpected stroke of luck. Étienne's heart began to pound with a mixture of hope and trepidation. This could be the opportunity he desperately needed.
As soon as Elara had gracefully excused herself, melting back into the fairground bustle, the atmosphere shifted. Thomas' easy charm vanished, replaced by a sharp, almost interrogative intensity. His deep green eyes, previously holding a detached curiosity, now fixed on Étienne and Corin with a penetrating gaze.
"So," Thomas began, his voice losing its earlier casual tone, "Elara speaks well of you. But nothing in this world is ever so simple, is it?" He crossed his arms over his powerful chest, his stance challenging. "Why should I take you into royal circles? Why should I risk my position for two travelling performers?"
His eyes narrowed, suspicion lacing his words. "What do you want? What are you really doing here, at the King's fair? For all I know, you could be spies. Assassins, even." He paused, letting his words hang in the air, observing their reactions closely.
Then, his expression hardened, a hint of calculation entering his piercing green eyes. "And besides all that… what's in this for me?" He leaned forward slightly, his gaze unwavering. "Why should I stick my neck out for you?"
Étienne felt a knot of unease tighten in his stomach. Thomas's directness was unsettling, his suspicion palpable. He wasn't certain this was a person they could either trust or rely on. There was a shrewdness in his eyes that suggested self-interest would always come first.
Corin, however, seemed less perturbed by Thomas' bluntness. He leaned against the tent pole, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Everything has its price, doesn't it?" he said, his tone casual, as if discussing the cost of a trinket. He met Thomas's gaze directly, a subtle challenge in his own dark eyes. Corin's intuition, honed by a life on the road and an understanding of human nature, told him that Thomas wasn't necessarily malicious, but certainly self-serving. He suspected that Thomas' price might involve a different kind of "entertainment," a transaction that Corin, with his past experiences, understood well enough. The question that lingered in Corin's mind, however, was Thomas's reliability. Would he uphold any bargain they struck, or would his own self-preservation ultimately take precedence?
Étienne, sensing the potentially treacherous path Corin was about to tread, stepped forward, interrupting the charged exchange. "We don't expect you to take us into royal circles, not directly," he said, his voice surprisingly steady despite the nervous flutter in his chest. "We want you to deliver something."
A flicker of surprise crossed Corin's face. He shot Étienne a sharp glance, a silent question in his dark eyes. Surely, Étienne wasn't going to entrust the Papal letter to this self-serving courtier? The risk seemed immense.
Thomas turned his full regard upon Étienne, his green eyes narrowing with renewed interest. "Deliver something? What manner of thing?"
Étienne reached into the folds of his tunic and carefully drew out the silver ring, the one Charles had slipped onto his finger so many years ago. The metal felt cool against his palm, a tangible link to his past. He held it out to Thomas. "I want you to give this to Prince Charles. It is a personal token. Should he question you, tell him you encountered two performers at the fair – Étienne and Corin – camped with the Romani band by the old north gate." He emphasised their location, wanting to ensure Charles could find them if he so desired.
"That might be possible," Thomas mused, his eyes flicking between the ring in Étienne's outstretched hand and the two young men before him. A calculating look settled on his face. "But there is still the question of payment, isn't there? Favours in the royal court are not given freely."
Corin stepped forward, meeting Thomas's regard with a knowing smirk. He understood the silent language of desire and transaction that often permeated such circles. "When and where?" Corin asked, his voice low and suggestive. "Payment in kind, I'm supposing? And with two boys, you will be well pleased."
Thomas' lips curled into a predatory smile. "Perhaps," he replied, his eyes lingering on Étienne before returning to Corin. "If I am not…" He let his words trail off, the implication hanging heavy in the air. He then reached into a pouch at his belt and produced a small, folded piece of parchment. "This is an address inside the city walls. You can read, I presume," he said smugly and Corin felt the heat rise on his cheeks.
Étienne took the note to read the address, but there was really no need, it was a map, nothing else.
"Tonight, at midnight past. Don't keep me waiting," Thomas' gaze sharpened, "and don't disappoint me."
He leaned forward, his breath warm against Corin's ear, his grip suddenly firm on the back of the gypsy boy's neck. His voice dropped to a lewd whisper. "I've a large, strong shaft waiting for release, and you both have nice lips and even nicer behinds." A possessive glint flashed in his green eyes before he released Corin, a silent promise of the night to come.
Under the cloak of the moonless night, Corin and Étienne slipped away from the hushed whispers and soft snores of the gypsy camp. The city gates, surprisingly unguarded at that late hour, creaked open just enough to allow their passage. Following the directions on the small piece of parchment, they navigated the labyrinthine streets, the silence of the sleeping city amplifying the sound of their footsteps.
The map led them to a narrow, dark back alley, the air thick with the smells of stale refuse and damp stone. A single, unmarked wooden door stood flush against the brick wall. Corin, with a nervous glance at Étienne, gave a soft, hesitant knock.
Time seemed to stretch into an eternity as they waited, the silence broken only by the distant hoot of an owl. Finally, the door creaked inward, revealing Thomas, his silhouette framed by the dim light within. He peered out cautiously, his green eyes scanning the alley before gesturing impatiently for them to enter.
He ushered them inside quickly, pulling the door shut behind them and bolting it with a heavy thud. The air inside was close and smelled of stale wine and unwashed linen. Without a word, Thomas led them up a narrow, creaking staircase. They ascended several flights, the darkness growing more intense with each step, until they reached a large attic room. The only illumination came from a single guttering candle on a rickety bedside table, casting long, dancing shadows across the thick wooden beams and bare floorboards. The centerpiece of the room was a large bed, its rumpled sheets hinting at recent use.
Thomas turned to face them, an intense look sweeping over their bodies, lingering with a possessive intensity. "Disrobe," he commanded, his voice low and husky, any welcoming tone entirely absent. Those green eyes drilled into them, a silent demand that brooked no argument. He licked his lips slowly, a hint of a satisfied expectation playing on his features. The air in the attic room crackled with a palpable tension, the weight of the impending transaction settling heavily upon them.
As Étienne witnessed Thomas' forceful claiming of Corin, a deep yearning resonated within him. He craved that same commanding touch, that same absolute mastery over his own body. Corin's whimpering cries, a mixture of pleasure and discomfort, strangely echoed the erotic moans that escaped Étienne's own lips as Thomas turned his attention to him.
The empty attic room became a crucible of raw sensation. Sweat slicked their skin in the dim light, the intensity of their intertwined bodies creating a palpable heat. For Étienne, the final release was a dizzying oblivion, a surrender to Thomas' dominant will that left him momentarily breathless and utterly sated. For Corin, the climax seemed a more fraught experience, an almost painful deliverance from the demanding encounter.
Thomas, in the aftermath, remained an enigma. His green eyes held a satisfied gleam as he observed the two younger boys, their bodies limp and flushed. His own pleasure seemed a more contained, almost clinical satisfaction, a confirmation of his power and their willing submission. The secrets of his inner thoughts remained locked behind his intense gaze.
The transaction, of sorts, had been completed. With a final, lingering look at the two boys, Thomas accepted to deliver the silver ring from Étienne. Trust remained a fragile commodity, an unspoken question mark hanging in the cold, pre-dawn air as Thomas ushered them back down the creaking stairs and out into the deserted alley. His parting remark, however, hung heavy with implication. "I am here for the next two days of the fair," he said, his eyes glinting with a possessive desire that neither Étienne nor Corin could miss. "I might like to see you both before it's over."
The walk back to the gypsy camp, under the pale light of the approaching dawn, was largely silent. The shared intimacy of the night, the complex emotions it had stirred, created a temporary barrier to easy conversation. The city slowly began to awaken around them, the sounds of early morning commerce replacing the hushed stillness of the night.
As the familiar shapes of the Romani wagons came into view, Étienne finally turned to Corin, an earnest look on his face. "Thank you," he said simply, the word carrying a weight of gratitude that encompassed more than just the assistance with Thomas. It was a thank you for the shared journey, for the unexpected intimacy, and for the unspoken understanding that had blossomed between them in the most unlikely of circumstances. The bond forged beneath the stars and within the shadows of a stranger's attic had irrevocably altered their relationship.
The Winchester fair exploded into a riot of sights, sounds, and smells, a sensory feast that enveloped Étienne and Corin for the following three days. The fairgrounds pulsed with life, a vibrant tapestry of medieval merriment. Stalls draped in colourful fabrics lined the pathways, displaying everything from finely crafted leather goods and gleaming jewelry to exotic spices and potent ales. The air buzzed with the calls of vendors, the laughter of children, and the lively tunes of wandering minstrels.
Every corner offered a new spectacle. Acrobats tumbled and balanced on makeshift stages, their lithe bodies defying gravity. Jugglers tossed brightly coloured balls and flaming torches high into the air, their movements mesmerising the captivated crowds. Storytellers beguiled listeners with tales of brave knights and mythical beasts, their voices rising and falling with dramatic flair. Fortune-tellers, their eyes veiled in mystery, offered glimpses into the future for a few precious coins. Performing animals – dancing bears, trained dogs, and even a surprisingly agile monkey – drew gasps of wonder and amusement. The Romani band, with Étienne and Corin now integral parts of their performances, held their own amongst the throng, their music and magic drawing enthusiastic applause and a steady stream of coin.
On the final day, the grand jousting competition drew the largest crowd. Trumpets blared, and the clash of steel echoed across the fairgrounds as knights in shining armour charged at each other on powerful steeds. The stands were packed with onlookers, their cheers and gasps rising with each near miss and successful strike. King James, looking very regal, sat in a place of honour, observing the spectacle with a keen eye.
Amidst the throng of nobles and courtiers surrounding the King, Étienne caught a fleeting glimpse of Charles. The Prince looked as though he bore the weight of his position heavily on his shoulders, a dedication to duty and the Crown. He was positioned some distance from his brother, his expression serious and somewhat detached. He seemed surrounded by an impenetrable barrier of rank and retinue, a distant star in a galaxy Étienne no longer inhabited. The hope of approaching him, of delivering the Cardinal's letter, felt impossibly remote.
Days had passed since their encounter with Thomas, and no word had come. The King's Boy remained an enigma, his promises and lustful gaze fading into the chaotic energy of the fair. A knot of disappointment began to tighten in Étienne's chest. Their desperate gamble seemed to have yielded nothing. The fair was drawing to a close, and with it, perhaps, his only real opportunity.
The vibrant energy of the Winchester fair began to wane as the final day drew to a close. Vendors packed their stalls, the sounds of music faded, and the crowds began to disperse, leaving behind a sense of satisfied exhaustion. That evening, around the flickering campfire, Marius announced the band's plans. They had enjoyed a successful run and decided to embark on a tour of England, following the network of local fairs and markets across the countryside.
For Étienne, Marius's announcement served as a stark wake-up call. The transient life of a travelling performer, while offering a temporary freedom and unexpected companionship, was not his path. His mission, however improbable it now seemed, lay elsewhere. He knew he couldn't continue indefinitely with the gypsy band, his purpose pulling him in a different direction.
A wave of uncertainty washed over him as he considered his next move. He had no contacts in England beyond the distant figure of Prince Charles and the enigmatic King's Boy, who had so far remained silent. The papal letter still lay hidden, undelivered.
His gaze drifted towards Corin, who sat beside him, thoughtfully polishing his set of cups and balls. What would Corin do? Their bond, forged in shared experiences and unexpected intimacy, was a strong one. Had Étienne's confession of his mission, the glimpse into his past, created a similar pull in Corin? Would the gypsy boy, who seemed so rooted in this nomadic life, consider a different path? The unspoken question hung heavy in the air between them, a silent testament to the complex and evolving nature of their relationship. The decision Étienne faced was not just about his own future, but potentially about Corin's as well.
With a heavy heart, Étienne turned to Corin and explained his decision. "I can't leave the letter undelivered, Corin. I have to try and find Charles. I can't continue with the band."
A shadow crossed Corin's face, a mixture of sadness and understanding in his dark eyes. "I… I will miss you, Étienne," he said softly, a genuine affection in his voice. "We've become good friends." He hesitated, then added, "But Zara and Marius… they've been like family to me." A sense of obligation, a deep-rooted loyalty, held him to the gypsy band. Their farewell was poignant, a silent acknowledgment of the strong bond they had forged during their shared journey.
Étienne also bid farewell to Zara, Marius, and the rest of the small band, each parting carrying a warmth born of shared experiences and mutual respect. They expressed their sadness at his departure, but understanding flickered in their eyes; they sensed his purpose lay beyond their nomadic life.
As Étienne stood at the edge of the emptying fairgrounds, contemplating his uncertain future, a young boy, no older than ten, approached him. "A message for you, sir," the boy said, handing him a small, folded piece of parchment. "From a gentleman in the city. He said you'd know the initial: 'T'."
A surge of hope coursed through Étienne. Thomas. Finally. He unfolded the note, his fingers trembling slightly. "Meet me tonight at my lodging in the city, T." The message was brief, enigmatic, but it was a reply.
Meanwhile, Marius, with his keen perception, had observed the quiet exchange between Étienne and Corin, the lingering glances and the unspoken emotions. He approached Corin, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I see the connection you have with Étienne, little brother," he said gently. "You've grown fond of him. If your heart tells you to follow him, to forge a new path… we will understand." Marius' words, filled with a paternal understanding, left Corin even more conflicted.
Torn between his loyalty to the gypsies and the unexpected pull towards Étienne, Corin sought out his friend. He found Étienne by the edge of the encampment, staring towards the distant city lights.
"Étienne," Corin began, his voice filled with uncertainty, "Marius… he said he'd understand if I left with you."
Étienne turned, his expression softening. "I would miss you terribly, Corin. Not just your friendship, but your… invaluable help." He hesitated, then asked, "Would you… would you come with me tonight? To meet Thomas?"
Corin's brow furrowed. "What is this meeting for, Étienne? Do you think he'll help you reach the Prince?"
"I don't know, Corin," Étienne admitted, a knot of anxiety tightening in his stomach. "But it must surely be about Charles and the letter. It couldn't just be… a romantic tryst, not after all this time." Yet, a sliver of doubt lingered, a nagging reminder of the King's Boy's parting words and lustful gaze.
Corin accompanied Étienne through the city gates, the familiar route now imbued with a sense of nervous anticipation. The dark streets seemed even more ominous in the late hour, the silence broken only by their echoing footsteps. They reached the narrow alley and the unmarked door, a knot of foreboding tightening in Étienne's stomach. Corin knocked, the sound surprisingly loud in the stillness.
After a tense wait, they heard footsteps approaching from within. The door creaked open, revealing Thomas standing in the entrance hall, resplendent in his royal livery, a single candle casting long shadows on the walls. "Come in," he ushered them inside, his gaze sweeping over both of them before leading them up a different, more ornate staircase to a well-appointed room.
They stood facing each other in the soft glow of the candlelight as Thomas placed the candle on a nearby table. In the dim light, Étienne thought he caught a fleeting smile playing on Thomas' lips. "You are both here. I wasn't expecting that, but… good."
Étienne, his anxiety mounting, cut to the chase. "The ring? Did you… did you give it to Charles?"
A subtle shift occurred in Thomas's demeanour. The earlier playful dominance seemed to recede, replaced by a more serious, almost grave expression. "Yes," he replied, his look direct. "I know everything. All your past with Charles… everything."
Étienne's heart leaped with a surge of hope, quickly followed by a wave of disappointment as Thomas continued. "But I must be frank with you. It is… impossible to get you into the court to see Charles directly. Not now."
Thomas leaned closer, his voice dropping to a confidential whisper. "The royal court, Étienne, is a viper's nest of intrigue and danger. With the old King gone and James now on the throne, tensions are high. There are factions vying for influence, and any unsanctioned approach to the Prince, especially by a foreigner, would be disastrous. For all of you."
He sighed, a hint of weariness in his eyes. "While my title puts me at the service of King James, it is Charles with whom my loyalties truly lie. The Prince is saddened that he is unable to see you, but even a secret meeting poses too great a risk. He instructed me to do everything in my power to assist you. He said… you are to trust me."
"Trust you?" Étienne echoed, a wave of doubt washing over him. "After… our last encounter? How can I possibly do that?"
A shadow crossed Thomas's face. He looked at Étienne, a flicker of remorse in his green eyes. "I know our first meeting was… unconventional. Perhaps I took advantage of your desperation. For that, I apologise." He then recounted, his voice softening, some of the details of Étienne's childhood – the strained relationship with his father, things Charles must have shared, painting a picture of understanding and empathy.
A slow smile spread across Étienne's face. This wasn't the arrogant King's Boy from the fair. This was someone who knew his secrets, someone who seemed to genuinely care about his well-being and his mission. Perhaps, just perhaps, trust might be possible after all.
With a deep breath and a sense of resignation mingled with a sliver of hope, Étienne reached into his tunic and produced the Papal letter, its weighty seal feeling significant in his hand. He extended it to Thomas. "This is it. You have my trust… and my future in your hands."
Thomas accepted the letter with a solemn nod. "You have my word," he said, his gaze direct and reassuring. "This will be in Charlie's hand tonight." Thinking quickly, he reached into his pocket and produced a tarnished iron key. "You should stay here. It's safer." He handed the key to Étienne. "Collect your belongings from the gypsy camp and wait for my return here. It may not be today, or even tomorrow, but wait. I will have an answer for you."
He then delved deeper into his pocket and produced a leather purse, its weight evident in his palm. He pressed it into Étienne's hand. "Use this while you wait. But be discreet. Foreigners in the city can easily attract unwanted attention from the city guard, especially those without clear purpose. Avoid going into the streets as much as possible. Stay within these walls until I return." His green eyes held a serious warning. The gravity of the situation, the inherent danger, was clear. Étienne and Corin were now reliant on the precarious loyalty of a King's Boy in a politically volatile court.
Once the heavy door had closed behind Thomas, a weighty silence settled over the room. Étienne and Corin looked at each other, the unspoken question hanging in the air. "What do we do now?" Corin finally asked, his voice barely a whisper. "Do I… do I stay?" The pull of his gypsy family was strong, a long time spent together and many shared experiences and loyalty. But the connection he had forged with Étienne, especially the intense intimacy of the past few days, held a powerful sway of its own.
The answer to Corin's question unfolded in the quiet intimacy of the large bed in the small hours of the morning. The uncertainty of their situation, the potential dangers lurking outside the room, seemed to draw them closer, a desperate seeking of solace and connection in the face of the unknown. Side by side, naked, skin against skin, they clung to each other. Étienne, perhaps through all his experiences, both good and bad, had discovered a burgeoning facet of his own desire finally surfacing. He possessed Corin with a newfound assertiveness. He discovered a thrill in taking control, a pleasure in the yielding response he elicited from the other boy.
For Corin, the experience was different from the transactional encounters of his past. With Étienne, it was infused with a genuine affection, a growing emotional connection that transcended mere physical need. He surrendered not out of obligation but out of desire, finding a unique pleasure in Étienne's forceful embrace. Their trust in the bedroom became a complex tapestry of romance and raw physicality, culminating in a shared release that left them entwined in the soft light of dawn, a silent promise of their interwoven fates.
Three days passed in the confines of their small lodgement. The city outside remained a menacing unknown. Corin, restless and concerned about their dwindling supplies, ventured out once, alone, to a nearby market. He returned with a grim report. He had witnessed two men, their foreign appearance marking them as outsiders, being dragged away roughly by the city guard. He had also seen a young boy, accused of some petty theft, pulled from the crowd and thrashed publicly, a brutal display of the city's harsh justice. The air in Winchester, Corin reported, felt thick with suspicion and danger. They couldn't stay hidden forever; they needed to find a way to escape the city.
The weight of Corin's words settled heavily upon Étienne. The city, which had briefly held the promise of reunion and resolution, now felt like a prison, its beauty masking a brutal undercurrent. The image of the men dragged away, the public thrashing of the boy, painted a stark picture of the dangers they faced. They couldn't rely on Thomas' promise indefinitely. They needed a plan, a way to escape Winchester before the city's harsh realities ensnared them.
"We need a plan," Étienne said, his voice low and urgent. "We can't stay here, relying on Thomas' word. If the city guard are arresting foreigners… it's only a matter of time before they find us."
Corin nodded, his usual playful demeanour replaced by a serious focus. "But how do we leave? The gates are likely guarded, and we have no money beyond what Thomas gave us."
Étienne paced the small room, his mind racing. "We have to be clever. We know the city and the areas around the fair. We can use that to our advantage. Perhaps we can blend in with the crowd and find a less guarded exit."
Corin's eyes lit up. "The river! There are small boats used to transport goods. If we could find one…"
"It's risky," Étienne cautioned, "but it's better than waiting to be arrested. We'll leave tonight, under the cover of darkness. We'll head for the river and try to find a boat. We need to be quick and quiet." The decision was made. Their escape from Winchester would begin that night, a desperate gamble for freedom in a city that had quickly turned hostile.
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