Henry was formal and a bit stern, while Amaury was cool with Thomas and me. Once, standing unobserved in the Great Hall, I heard him say something dismissive to Simon about “your little squires.” Simon caught me glancing at them and winked. “The squires serve more purpose here than you do, brother,” he said plainly, but not cruelly. Amaury just shrugged. “We all have a purpose, brother, do we not?” was what I thought I heard him say.
That summer, my first at Kenilworth, it was impressive to sit at the verge of the large meadow and watch Simon and Henry spar together on horseback, lances pointed at each other as they galloped forward. Thomas and I were permitted to do this, and we watched silently, agog, while groups of other knights lay around passing a wine jug between them, calling out raucous encouragement.
The two older brothers always competed, I realized slowly, and it was said that Henry was Earl Simon’s favorite, whilst Simon was Lady Eleanor’s. Thomas was eager to share such gossip. Sometimes he seemed oblivious to the implications of what he said, and I had a hard time mustering up the right reactions to his words. “You’re a deep one, Will,” was one of his favorite sayings from around this time.
***
During the day I was Thomas’s companion, an energetic young squire, eager to please his lords, deft and quick. And I lapped up any praise that fell to me and stoically endured any abuse. At night, I became someone else. Stephen’s friend. Sometimes we talked for hours, or it felt like it. We heard the chapel bell toll faintly at midnight and took that as our signal to sleep, long after everybody else was slumbering, or so we assumed.
I’d tried to forget the thoughts that had come to me the first evening at Kenilworth. Oddly, the desire that had flared up that night had not returned, so I began to think that I was mistaken. After all, I never saw him with anyone; he never talked about anyone else at all in admiring terms. He seemed immune to young Simon’s charms and was simply amused by him. My thinking at the time was simplistic. It went something like this: if Stephen was not aroused by young Lord Simon, who was undeniably handsome and athletic, it meant that he did not desire men. If he did not desire men, then I didn’t need to worry about him desiring me. If he didn’t desire me, I didn’t need to worry about myself—because of course I would never do anything sinful in that direction.
I still believed that perhaps as time went on I would take a wife. I remember it took me months to pluck up the courage to ask Stephen this question. We lay on our pallets, a flickering candle between us, for Stephen liked to read in bed before I came to the chamber, and it was useful not to have to undress in the dark. This candlelight was cozier than the glaring torchlight, so we had stopped using that by mutual agreement.
“Do you see me taking a wife, Stephen?” I asked out of nowhere, my eyes tracing shadows on the ceiling.
He became like a statue on the other side of the room. Stock-still, hardly breathing. It was always like this when I asked questions of this sort.
“I see you with a woman, yes,” he said. His voice was much more reluctant than at other times. It sounded like it hurt him to say it.
“How old am I, though? How far in the future?”
“I can’t tell. A long way off.”
There was silence between us, and the bell tolled midnight in slow strokes.
“You’re not being very helpful,” I said, yawning. “Maybe I’ll ask you again.”
“You might ask me that question in another fashion later on,” he said cryptically.
I thought of that sometimes, as I went about my daily tasks. What on earth did “another fashion” mean? Ridiculous, I thought. But one day about a week later when I was feeding Lucy and had a rare moment alone in the stables, it suddenly occurred to me what he meant.
What if I’d asked him about us? If I’d said, “Do you see us together in years to come?” Surely not, I thought. Surely he couldn’t have meant that. But the way he’d answered seemed to indicate that he’d seen me with someone else, too.
And who could it be but him?
No, no, I thought, staring at Lucy. But a cold chill had gone through me. I began to see why he was unpopular. No one wanted to hear this sort of thing! These were wicked thoughts. Perhaps he had put a spell on me, after all...
I quickly went over all of his actions since I’d come to Kenilworth. His friendliness. His respect. Beyond the one time he’d watched me undress that first night, I hadn’t felt a tension between us. He’d veiled whatever it was he felt. How much more could I ask of him? Perhaps it had passed, anyway, his interest.
It was August by now. The dog days that are invariably heavy and oppressive were affecting me too.
I did something then that I had almost never done before: I ran up to our chamber in the middle of the day. It was as if something told me to do it.
I burst in. I bolted the door. He was there, lying on his pallet in his ordinary clothes.
“Stephen, you...”
My words died. He looked up at me with a bright smile.
“Will, your mother had her baby last night. She was safely delivered of a girl. I wanted you to know before...”
At that point there came a rapping on the door.
Trembling, I opened it. Sir Richard de Havering stood there in dusty travel clothes. Without a glance at Stephen, he simply said in his rather pompous way, “William, your mother was delivered of a girl child last night. She asked me to tell you. Or rather, Sir John rode over to my manor and gave me the news to pass along to you.”
“Oh. Thank you, sir,” I said, swallowing hard. He did not tarry long, as was his manner. I listened to his steps stride away.
“I actually knew it this morning when I awoke, Will,” Stephen said. “But you had already gone. What did you come back here for?”
I shook my head. My question seemed presumptuous now. I was weak with relief.
I pushed the bolt of the door again and sat down on my pallet.
“You’re sweating,” he said.
“Yes, I ran up from the stables.”
“You had something to ask me?”
Suddenly I realized that he knew what was on my mind. This was infuriating! My face flushing a deep red, I answered, “All right. You said that you saw me with a woman. Did you see me with anyone else too?”
He bit his lip.
“Did you see us together?” I asked impatiently. “In the future?”
His eyes were bright, his face pale, as he looked over at me and nodded slowly.
What a strange moment it must have been for him. What courage it took to say it, because I suddenly cried out, “God damn you.”
He sat up on the bed, clutching his knees to his chest. He looked at me in shock. “Will—”
“What if I don’t want that? Don’t I get a choice? It’s a disgusting sin!”
His mouth dropped open slightly. He hadn’t seen this coming, it appeared.
“You shouldn’t have asked me, then,” he whispered. “Did you want me to lie?”
I glared at him and then turned on my side, facing the white stone wall, its surface uneven, worn with age.
“I’m sorry, Will,” he said in a soft voice. “You’re right. It was too soon. I should have... said something else.”
Another few moments passed. I scraped at the wall with my thumbnail. Tears appeared at the corner of my eyes.
“To tell the truth, I can’t imagine myself with a woman,” I heard my voice saying. “I can imagine myself with you, though I don’t really know what it is men do, more than I can see myself in love with a woman.”
“You didn’t ask me if you loved her,” Stephen said in reply. We were talking softly in the way we had, in a way I’d never done with anyone else. That meant something, surely.
“Do I not love her, Stephen?” I still wasn’t looking at him; it was easier.
“You care for her,” was his measured reply.
“Does she love me?”
I found that I was good at asking these pestering, awful questions that
I really did not want to know the answer to. Perhaps I should have been a lawyer, I thought sarcastically. Perhaps it was not too late.
He was silent. I slowly turned around and looked at him. He nodded.
“Yes, she loves you,” he said in sudden flash of temper. “As do I. In the future, I mean.” He blushed.
I bit my lip. “Just when exactly is this all supposed to happen?”
“That I can’t say.” A smile crept across his face. “I’m sorry. I know it’s excruciating. It’s unfair. But you keep asking.”
“You’re lucky you haven’t driven me into a rage,” I said dryly.
He sighed. “I trust you to be rational in the face of all this. It’s not rational, I know. It’s a heavy burden. I shouldn’t ask you to shoulder any of it.”
His face was sad now, and I found myself getting up and going over to him. Curling up beside him on his bed, I wrapped my arms around him. He was very cold and held himself tensely.
“Stephen, it’s all right,” I whispered. I buried my face in his hair. He moaned slightly.
“I’m just not ready for all this.”
“I know,” he said. “Of course you aren’t. You shouldn’t have to be.”
“I’m not a child anymore, Stephen. But I don’t know what to do... It seems like you’re waiting for me, and I don’t know if I should...”
Words stuck in my throat because the low thrum of desire was flaring through me. It was the smell of his hair, most likely, and the way my hands felt on his slender body.
“Will, it’s not the right time,” he murmured. He kept his face hidden from me, his body twisted away. “I’ve seen what happens, and it doesn’t happen now. Or this year. Otherwise, I would...”
We stayed like that. I stroked his soft hair, because I felt I had to touch some part of him and he would permit me to do it.
The room was half in shadow.
“I want to show you something,” he murmured. “You must promise me, you will just look at what I show you and you won’t ask any questions.”
I had no idea what he was about to do, but breathed, “Yes...”
He lifted his white shirt to expose the pale skin of his back. Since his back was facing me and just a few inches away from my horrified eyes, I saw at once what he meant.
His skin was oddly streaked, as if nails had raked across it. There were red marks that looked like bites at the shoulder blades. They had flared up to become bruised patches.
“Were you beaten?” I asked.
He lowered the shirt. “I said, no questions.” His voice was barely audible.
Not beaten. The truth came to me in a horrifying rush. I thought of the bottle of ointment he’d shown me the first night. Not ointment, but balm, in order to ease friction...
“Somebody abuses you.” He said nothing. “You get fucked.”
He bowed his head.
“Oh no!” He had moved away from me now. We sat side by side on his bed. “You can’t let this continue.”
“You promised me,” he whispered. “Perhaps you’ll hate me now.”
“Of course I won’t hate you!”
I moved closer to him again, took his face in my hands, and kissed his lips. He jerked back in surprise, his head knocking gently against the wall. I kissed him again and he opened his lips for me. Suddenly my tongue was in his mouth and we were pressed together, his hands at my back, clutching me to him.
His long lashes lay against his cheeks as he cuddled against me. Then he lay down, pulling me on top of him, and we loosely embraced on the bed—resting, though.
“My love,” he said quietly. And then: “That was my first kiss.”
“Mine too.” I supposed it had been obvious, from the clumsiness of it.
“I’m glad,” he murmured. “But I don’t want to do much more with you, until it’s over. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I think so,” I said hesitantly. “It will be over, then? I mean, there will be an end to...”
He sighed deeply. “Yes. I will be free soon enough.”
I understood what he meant, or at least I partly did. The image of Brother Michael riding away flashed through my mind.
“I would prefer to protect you, save you from this,” I murmured.
He looked up at me. “Do you still think it’s a disgusting sin?”
I simply shook my head. He reached up and touched my lips with his hand. “Don’t kiss me again, Will. It will be too difficult.”
“Were we not supposed to kiss?” I teased him.
He shook his head. “In truth, I didn’t see us kissing.”
We were able to chuckle at that, a little. My head was swimming, and I could only imagine what he felt, because I had the impression that everything I felt, he felt a little deeper, but he masked it.
We looked at each other with flushed, glowing faces.
“You make me want more,” I said finally. “Tell me, do you see us happy together?”
His answering smile, which lit up his eyes, melted me. I felt a warmth spread through my whole body and my member stiffened.
He leaned to kiss me despite what he had just said, and then whispered, “I can stroke you, if you need it.”
“Yes, all right,” I answered hoarsely.
The clatter of the supper hour now came faintly through the bolted door. In the dimming light, I watched his hand deftly unfasten my hose. I closed my eyes as he stroked my cock, something I had not even done very much myself. I was too shy to watch.
He put one hand over my mouth. I had begun to shudder helplessly, my hips jerking upward as I did so.
Then his mouth replaced the hand over mine, and he kissed me deeply, grinding against me. This was the most carnal, most delicious thing I had ever experienced, and I moaned into his mouth. He moaned quietly too.
I loved having him on top of me. God, it answered all my questions about what I wanted, what I desired. Of course, when we were finally naked and he felt we were ready, I would be the one to fuck him. That was understood between us without saying much.
I did try to be quiet, but I didn’t really succeed. In the end I just stared into his eyes as I gasped and the seed burst through me. His blond hair flopped down over his forehead as he regarded me with darkened eyes, and he really was the most beautiful image I had ever seen.
“After this, we have to be careful, my love. If we’re found out, we could be separated.”
He was practical, wiping me with a cloth, reaching under his clothing to dry himself.
“We’re late for supper,” Stephen said.
“I care not,” I replied, resting my head on my arms.
“I can’t miss it.”
He looked serious now, buttoning himself up, smoothing his hair.
“Yes, I see why,” I told him grimly, thinking about his habitual supper companion.
Our eyes met. “I shouldn’t have told you, Will. Please understand that you can’t fix it.”
I nodded. I would pretend that I understood, and pretend that I could bear it. In fact, I wasn’t sure if I could. If I let it, it would niggle away at me and even destroy me. But what was it doing to him?
Yet I did trust his judgment. That he would have saved himself if he knew how. Or, that this was his only way of saving himself.
“I’m going to leave first,” Stephen said, his hand on the door.
I remained flat on his bed. I felt boneless, unable to ever arise again.
“Shall I bring you something back?” he said with a smile.
I nodded gratefully.
He closed the heavy door. And then I slept.
Chapter 4
“Will, stop! You win, damn you! What’s got into you?” Thomas moaned, as I stood over him pressing my (luckily, fairly dull) sword point down on his neck. Usually when I bested him I would just tap the flat of my blade against his shoulder. This time I saw the chaplain’s leathery face at my feet instead of his own and felt a rush of anger.
It wasn’t until I saw the thin pinp
rick of red appearing on his pale skin that I jumped back, raising my sword.
“Mm,” he said, rubbing the wound and tasting his own blood on his finger. “I thought you were going to kill me there!”
I laughed uneasily. “Forgive me. Something came over me.”
“You haven’t been yourself this last week.” I reached out a hand to help him up. “Something on your mind?”
I shook my head. “Even if there was, I couldn’t tell you.”
It was September now. The wheat fields all over the shire had been scythed, threshed, and winnowed the previous month. It gave me a pang to think of the harvest festival of Lammas at our house, with the exhausted villagers proudly presenting a loaf made of the new grain to my mother, and, for the first time, me not being there to witness it. For a moment I wished I was back there, where things were simpler.
The breeze was turning a little colder. Winter here at the castle would be strange, I thought, because all the strenuous physical things Thomas and I did daily would become more difficult, even impossible. Would we be expected to rest? I wasn’t sure if I liked the idea of having many hours to myself.
But I probably didn’t have to worry about it till November.
I loved the martial arts I was learning. Archery and swordplay were my strong points. My hands were permanently chapped and blistered, and hard calluses had appeared where I gripped the sword. Thomas said he was the same and it was to be expected.
“Good news,” Thomas said cheerfully. We stood in the meadow just outside the castle walls. It was a pleasant place, and one where I would have loved to walk with Stephen, but he never appeared.
“What’s that?” I muttered. I stared over the Great Mere, watching the swans in the distance. The young cygnets I’d glimpsed on my way into the castle with Sir Richard were now almost fully grown. I’d wondered if they would turn white and snowy like their parents, but they had not.
A Knight's Tale: Kenilworth Page 3