Mark Antonius deMontford

by G. A. Hauser

  Richard grabbed at him. “Mark! Stop all this. It's not the same woman.”

  Elizabeth got it finally. “You think we have the same mum?” She laughed at the thought. “I hardly think that's likely, you being a wealthy noble and me just a maid.”

  “I'm no noble. I have told you. I'm a farmer's adopted son. You do not believe me.”

  Irritated by this whole topic, Richard rose off the bed and made his way quickly to her. “Okay, let him rest.” He grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her out.

  The action surprised her so much she didn't have the chance to argue. Before she knew it she was on the other side of a locked door.

  “Don't be daft. There are a hundred Elizabeth Jones in England. Don't you go letting your imagination run off. Look at what state you're in from it as it is.”

  Mark folded the quilt down on his lap. He tried to push his hair back from his face and then met Richard's eyes. “I met him, love.”

  “Met who?” Richard scooted closer.

  “My father. Marc Antinous Caeserni.”

  “You ... You did?” Richard was stunned. “What happened? What did he say?”

  Mark grimaced involuntarily. “That he did not recognize this bastard from England.”

  A sad smile came to Richard's lips. “No, I would think not.”

  “They are a bit ruthless, those Venetians. So very strict.”

  “So, are you saying that right from the opera house that night, you simply hopped a carriage and went off?” Richard leaned over to him and found his thigh through the blanket.

  “No, not straight off. I was nearly run down by a carriage only a few streets from the opera house. Chance was, it was owned by the Duke of Warwick. He took me back to his castle with him. Uh, I think to make amends. I was quite muddy after the accident.”

  “The Duke of Warwick?” Richard laughed. “He's a bit of a dandy. Mother always invites him to the Christmas dinners. That wig. Those painted lips.” Richard bent his wrist in a mocking gesture.

  “Ahh, yes, well ... underneath it all, he's a very decent fellow.”

  “And I am sure you got underneath it all.” Richard rolled his eyes.

  “Well, I had to thank him properly.” Mark gave him a weak smile.

  “Oh, Mark Antonious, those looks of yours. They make it so easy for you to get sex.” Richard rubbed his eyes tiredly.

  “And Lady Grey, Lord Gremville, Baron Abel, Contessa Masson ... a whore ... I am a whore. Just like my mother.” Mark toyed with the decorated buttons of his nightshirt as he pouted.

  Richard sat back to gape at him. “Those are several of my father and mother's lofty friends.”

  “Don't ask me about your mother. Or your father for that matter.” Mark growled, angry with himself. “The whore begot a whore. I am no better than she. Who was I to judge her? Like some pious priest come down from heaven? Ha!”

  “My mother and my father?” Richard wanted him to backtrack. “What are you saying?”

  “Nothing ... I have said too much already. It is the fever. I am delirious.” Mark laid his head back on the pillows.

  Dazed, Richard sat back in the chair and stared off into the room.

  “And the one I loved ... loved truly? An Italian prostitute from Padua. For him I would have given the sun and the moon. And because of me, that man is dead.”

  “My mother and my father?” Richard found all this inconceivable.

  “Dead. Murdered ... for me. One so dear to me he was like my life itself. And the one that meant the most, is taken from me. No one means a thing to me now. You see? I am like her. I would spread my seed to the wind and not know if I have fathered children. I am no different than she. And yet I judged her like I was God in the heavens. I am a miserable git.”

  “Did you say both my mother and my father?” Richard grabbed his nightshirt at the shoulder, needing this clarified immediately.

  Mark finally gave him his attention. “No. I am delirious. Ignore what I say.”

  “And Margaret?”

  “No. Not Margaret. I draw the line at children. Do not look at me like that. I disgust myself, that is enough.” Mark's lip curled as he said it.

  Richard hunched over in his chair and leaned his face into his palms. “I knew Mother would attempt it, but Father?” he mumbled almost incoherently.

  “It should have been me they killed. Not my innocent lover. My throat they should have cut. Will I never stop seeing his mother all dressed in black weeping over him?” Mark explained.

  “What?” Richard sat up to stare at him, just now he seemed to be hearing what Mark was saying. “What did you tell me? Someone had their throat cut?”

  “Brutal men. In black tabarros, stilettos in their fists. He had no chance. All he thought was to tell me to run. To get away. Even in his death he was selfless and only thought of my safety. How will any other replace that?”

  “Who?” Richard was too many pages behind. “Who are you talking about? Who died?”

  Mark put his hands on both sides of his head and pushed his hair back from his face. “I need to tie it back. I am too hot and sweaty.” He let it drop to his shoulders again. “And there were eunuchs, Richard. Half men to add to my list of conquests.”

  “What?” Richard twisted to face him, giving him his undivided attention. “Half men?”

  “The singer, Alessandro ... so smooth and satiny. A skin like his I have never seen on any. Neither man nor woman. And his hair, oh, Richard, he was so beautiful.”

  “A eunuch?” He cringed in disgust. “Did you say you slept with a eunuch?”

  “Like being with both at once. An experience I shall never forget. Like loving a woman with a penis. Extraordinary.” He was talking to himself again, gazing off at the contents of the room.

  “You went with a ... a eunuch?”

  Mark settled into the mattress, growing weary. “And yet, all I think of is Newbury. My small room. My aunt and uncle. The farm, the animals. The work ... anything to forget my loss. My one love.”

  “A eunuch?” Richard repeated in amazement.

  “I am tired, my love. Please forgive me. I need to rest.” Mark closed his eyes and brought the quilt up to his chin.

  “Mark Antonious, I have never met anyone like you in my life,” he whispered, shaking his head in disbelief.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  * * *

  Chapter Seventeen

  Thomas opened the door to peek in on Mark. “How are you today, lad?”

  “Ready to go home.” He drew the string of his pouch and looped it around his neck. “Please, take me home.”

  “Only if it is wise to move you. Your health is what concerns me.” Thomas leaned on the bed and stroked Mark's hair affectionately.

  “It is my mental health that is in peril now, Cousin Thomas. I need to be with my own family once again. Though the Wallaces are kind, they are not kin. Do you know what I mean?” He pushed the quilt aside and sat upright on the edge of the bed, once again, slowly, so he would not get faint.

  “Are you sure you should be out of bed, lad?” Thomas held him back.

  “Please ... help me with my things. I cannot stay here another day.” Mark reached for him. “I beg of you to get me to my home.”

  A sympathetic smile on his lips, reluctantly Thomas agreed and assisted him with his clothing.

  The group at the breakfast table was stunned to see him walk into the room. Mark nodded a greeting to everyone and sat down with them.

  Lord Wallace made sure he was poured tea. “You tried to get out of bed once before, young man. Do you think this is wise?”

  “Yes. I am better now. I assure you. Please, believe me.” Mark begged with his expression as well as his words.

  “We can bundle him up, Father. We can keep him warm on the journey home,” Richard echoed the pleading.

  Thomas and Lord Wallace exchanged worried glances.

  Mark frowned in misery. He hated others deciding his fate. He would go home. N
o one would stop him. If he had to fight his way through them, then he would.

  Somehow Thomas read that determination on his face. “All right. But we will make sure you aren't in the draft in the coach. We will try it. But if you take ill again, then back we come.”

  “Thank you, Father.” Richard smiled at him, turning his gaze to Mark.

  Mark didn't return his stare. He tried to sip his tea and not stew in his anger and frustration.

  * * * *

  The inside of the coach had been made cozy. Mark was under a mountain of blankets until he was too warm from it. He had thanked the lord and lady graciously, offering a gold sovereign for their trouble, which they refused adamantly. To Elizabeth he left his address and with a wink said, “Write to me, sis.” She blushed and promised him she would.

  Richard climbed into the carriage next and sat with Mark, curling him against his chest, affectionately kissing and nuzzling him.

  In the damp, misty air, Thomas stood outside it, shaking hands and thanking the Wallaces profusely for all the trouble they had gone through to reunite the family once again.

  “I shall see you in the halls of Parliament, my good man. You take good care of that boy,” Lord Wallace warned good-naturedly.

  “I will, sir, I promise.” Thomas tipped his hat and climbed aboard.

  When the carriage started moving Mark moaned happily. “Home. I am on my way home.”

  “Yes, love. To London.” Richard nuzzled into his hair.

  Thomas raised an eyebrow at his son's obvious show of affection.

  “To Newbury,” Mark corrected.

  “In time.” Richard kissed Mark's cheek.

  “I think that is quite enough, young man,” Thomas growled at his son.

  Showing his teeth, Richard returned his steely glare. “Why? Are you jealous? Do not tell me what I can do to him,” he snapped viciously. “Or I shall tell you the same.”

  It was said with so much venom and knowledge that Thomas widened his eyes in shock and closed his lips on another comment. It humiliated Mark horribly to see the friction he was creating between father and son. Mark peered out from the pile of blankets from one to the other, not opening his mouth for fear of a greater row. It was a horrible strain of silence inside the coach until finally he whispered, “I am roasting.”

  As if it had broken the ice, Richard laughed softly and peeled a few of the layers off of him. “You tell me what you need, love, and I will provide it.”

  Mark knew all this doting was a way for Richard to goad his father into an argument. Mark glimpsed quickly at Thomas who was ignoring them, resisting the urge to have it out and risk more exposure, and trying to sleep.

  The three slept most of the way and by nightfall they were in front of the great mansion's main gate.

  When the carriage moved to the front entrance Gabriel rushed to meet it along with Margaret and Peter.

  There was some snow left on the lawn, though most of it had long melted in the rain. The wind was strong and blowing from the west. They helped Mark inside and escorted him right to his bedroom.

  He was glad for it for the journey left him weak and shaky. Richard helped him disrobe and get under the blanket. “I'll make sure dinner comes up for you.”

  “Thanks, love. What would I do without you?” Mark smiled sweetly.

  “I'm trying to make you see you cannot live without me,” Richard warned, and Mark knew he was not joking.

  The silly smile fell from Mark's face.

  Richard ignored his reaction and left the room.

  Innocent Margaret slipped in after Richard had left. She smiled in delight when Mark acknowledged her.

  “Hullo, Margaret.”

  Unleashing her emotions, she rushed in and hugged him around the neck. “I missed you ever so much.”

  “Did you? No one to play your songs for?” He squeezed her hand gently.

  “No one I would choose to play for.”

  “Silly girl. I will only be here for a day or two. Then I must go home.”

  “No! You are to stay here. Live with us.” She appeared about to cry over it.

  Smiling gently, Mark touched her cheek and felt its softness. “No, lovely, I belong in Newbury. I have been gone too long as it is.”

  “How will you ever be content in Newbury?” she shouted in exasperation.

  After a pause he whispered, “My sweet, you do not understand. It is the only place I will be content.”

  Richard came in with a tray of food and curled his lip at his sister. “Leave him. He needs to rest.”

  She snorted in disgust. “You're the reason he doesn't want to live here.” And she left the room in a huff.

  A nervous expression on his face, Richard set the tray down in front of Mark and then pulled up a chair to sit with him whilst he ate. “What she said. Is it right?”

  “What?” Mark tore off a piece of bread and used it instead of the knife, like Francesco had always done.

  Watching him, Richard appeared shocked at the lack of manners. “What Margaret said, about you not living here.”

  “My home is in Newbury, Richard. But it is not because of you that I go there. I simply must go and resume my life.”

  “But how can you when you see what we and London have to offer you? I thought you would stay, that we would be together now. Mark, for the last several months I have dreamed it with visions of your return.”

  Seeing the sadness in Richard's eyes, Mark set his fork down and smiled affectionately at him. “No, that's just it. It is because of the temptations she offers, I cannot stay. Do you see?”

  “She? Who? Margaret?” Richard sneered.

  “No! London, you prat.” Mark laughed at him.

  “Not only do you fuck eunuchs, you eat like a barbarian.”

  Mark finished chewing the bread and peered up at Richard at the comment. When he found Richard's impish grin, Mark laughed. “You keep your dainty knife. I learned how to really eat.” Mark raised his bread up proudly.

  “You will embarrass me at the table now. I shall have to pretend I do not know you.” Richard smirked, holding back his laughter.

  “You do not know what you are missing. The food in Italy is beyond compare. No offense to your cooks, Richard, but these bland meat pies are truly tasteless.” Mark made a funny face to express his opinion further.

  Richard was about to defend the art of English cuisine when his mother poked her head into the room.

  “Here you are heating up over some topic. And Thomas tells me you are ill.”

  Richard spun around to see his mother's broad smile. “Oh, he is, Mother. He's picked up some awful habits whilst he was away.”

  “Has he?” She approached Richard and placed her hands on his shoulders to watch Mark from behind him.

  “He eats like a barbarian. Show her, Mark.”

  Mark smiled mischievously and soaked up the juices with his bread, shoving the piece in his mouth, grinning at her as he chewed.

  “I don't think that's barbaric at all.” Gabriel laughed.

  “Oh, please, Mother. It's horrid behavior. You would be embarrassed to have him eat in mixed company.”

  “Well, he shall have his chance to show off his new table manners. Tomorrow night I am having a Christmas feast.”

  “Ah yes, the dinner party.” Richard's eyes twinkled wickedly. “I forgot to mention, Mark dear. Mother's friends will all be here. You may know them ... the Duke of Warwick? Lord and Lady Grey?”

  As Richard repeated the names, Mark tried not to show his shocked expression to Gabriel. “Wonderful. Yes, wonderful,” he whispered dryly.

  “He may not be up to socializing, Richard. Mark still needs his rest.” Gabriel patted her son's back.

  “I know something he better not be up to,” Richard mumbled so only Mark could hear.

  “What's that, dear?” Gabriel leaned down to her son.

  “Nothing, Mother.” Richard crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Mark.

  As if
a halo were over his head, Mark simply shrugged innocently.

  The maid came in with a cup of tea. Gabriel acknowledged her and said, “Oh, yes, you are to have this tea thrice daily.”

  Mark's eyes widened in panic. “No! You did not bring that horse urine with us!”

  Richard smiled devilishly. “Why of course, Mark. You need your medication.” He lifted the tray off his lap and nodded for the maid to bring the tea.

  Mark cringed and pushed back into the headboard.

  “Now, now, you must do what the doctor ordered,” Gabriel warned him.

  “Yes, dearest, what the doctor ordered.” Richard's smile became more evil.

  The maid held the cup under his nose as Mark tried to get away from it.

  Gabriel took the cup from her and sat on the edge of his bed. “Now, Mark Antonious deMontford, you drink this right up!”

  Mark took it reluctantly. “Bloody hell...”

  “Such language!” Gabriel was stunned.

  “You see!” Richard laughed. “A barbarian!”

  “Sorry.” Mark sipped it. “Oh, there's not even any honey in it.”

  Gabriel pushed her maid off. “Get some honey, please.”

  Mark glanced at Richard from the corner of his eye. “What are you staring at?”

  “I want to make sure you take your medicine.” He stuck his tongue in his cheek.

  “You do, do you? I'll be giving you some later on,” Mark growled.

  Gabriel's eyes widened. “Mark Antonious!”

  “What?” he moaned. “Have pity on me! I have to drink horse urine.”

  The maid scampered back in and took out a spoonful of honey, mixing it into the tea.

  Still Mark cringed. With one hand he held his nose.

  Richard could not stop smiling, obviously loving it.

  Mark managed to get it down with a gag. He handed off the cup like it was a hot potato.

  “I'll make sure you get it all, until the medicine is gone,” Richard said with a smirking grin.

  “Good boy.” His mother stood. “Let's allow Mark his sleep. Come, Richard.”

  Following his mother, Richard winked at Mark as he closed the door behind him.

  Smacking his tongue at that horrid aftertaste, Mark wiped at his mouth in disgust. “When I'm well, he's going to get it!”