Opus One
by Edward Kyle Stokes
Chapter 11
From Quayside to Cloister.
Under the cloak of darkness, Étienne and Corin slipped away from the city, navigating the maze of backstreets towards the river. They wandered along the quayside in search of a likely boat and a captain that might offer them passage. Given the late hour there was little activity other than the raucous noise emanating from several drinking establishments. What they needed was an incredible stroke of luck, perhaps a small miracle, and that is what happened. They came across a small boat, laden with goods, and the boatman staggering aboard, cursing under his breath about losing money in the inn. Étienne and Corin made a split second decision to approach the man, despite his rough look and demeanour.
Luck was indeed on their side, the little sailing barge was bound for Southampton, and it offered a precarious escape from Winchester. They settled the deal with most of the coin they had left and climbed on deck. That night they hardly slept, not certain of the old man's trustworthiness, that he would keep the bargain, he could just as easily turn them over to the city guard.
As dawn broke and they huddled amongst the cargo, the boatman, a grizzled old sailor, spoke of the recent turmoil in the city. There had been an attempted assassination of King James, he said, a plot foiled at the last minute. The news sent a chill through Étienne and Corin. It explained Thomas' absence, the heightened security, and the rounding up of foreigners. Had they been caught up in the aftermath, their mission, their lives, would have been forfeit.
The sailor, oblivious to their true circumstances, speculated that the would-be assassin was a foreigner, further fueling the city's paranoia. As the small vessel made its way along the river, the boys discussed their next move. Southampton offered a chance to cross the channel to France, a potential route home and an escape to relative safety. For Corin, having chosen to accompany Étienne, there remained a question mark about his future. How long would he stay? Where would their journey lead them? The attempted assassination had thrown their plans into chaos, but it had also solidified their bond. They were in this together, for now, two fugitives seeking an escape in a world turned suddenly dangerous.
Arriving in the bustling port of Southampton, the stark reality of their situation hit them hard. The few coins Thomas had provided had dwindled to almost nothing, nowhere near enough to secure a bed for the night, let alone passage across the English Channel to France. A sense of desperation began to creep in.
"Perhaps," Corin suggested, his eyes scanning the well-dressed merchants and prosperous-looking individuals strolling along the docks, "we could find a… wealthy benefactor. Someone who would appreciate our… services and be willing to pay for our passage."
Étienne's face clouded over. He understood the veiled meaning behind Corin's words, the subtle implication of selling their youth and charm for financial gain. The memory of the encounter with Thomas, though it had ultimately led to a potential lifeline, left a bitter taste in his mouth. "I'm not selling myself, Corin," he said, his voice firm.
Corin's own frustration flared. "And what do you expect, Étienne? To simply charm a captain into giving us free passage? Working on a boat is the only other option, and believe me, the life of a cabin boy… well, let's just say it's an invitation for any rough hand to grab your arse. You think you'll be immune?"
"It's just a few hours to France," Étienne insisted, clinging to a naive hope. "Surely no one would bother for such a short trip."
Corin snorted derisively. "No one takes on two extra hands just for a hop across the Channel. They'd want proper sailors, someone who knows the ropes. We're just a pair of pretty boys with no skills."
Their argument petered out, not through resolution, but through the stark lack of opportunity. Every inquiry for passage was met with either dubious glances and thinly veiled, unsavoury propositions, or outright dismissal. One close call involved a burly crew attempting to forcibly drag them aboard a departing ship, a terrifying incident that chillingly underscored the validity of Corin's warnings. They managed to escape, shaken and even more desperate.
Étienne's hope began to crumble. He was adrift in a foreign land, with no clear path forward. He had no way of knowing if the Cardinal's letter had even reached Charles, if Thomas could be trusted, or how they would ever manage to escape England and make their way back to Florence, which now seemed like the only viable destination, a distant beacon of familiarity in this increasingly hostile world.
Shivering in the pre-dawn chill, huddled together for warmth amidst the rough burlap sacks of grain, Étienne and Corin were jolted awake. A tall, gaunt figure loomed over them, clad in a coarse, dark brown gown with a deep hood that obscured his features. In the dim light, he seemed an almost spectral presence, radiating an aura of foreboding that tightened the knot of anxiety already present in their stomachs.
But when he spoke, his voice was surprisingly gentle, a low, soothing murmur that belied his grim appearance. "My children," he said, his words carrying a note of genuine concern, "you cannot sleep like this on the cold stones. The streets are no place for young souls. Let me offer you the charity of the Abbey."
Étienne and Corin exchanged wary glances. Their recent experiences had made them suspicious of strangers, especially those who appeared so austere. "Who are you?" Étienne asked cautiously, his hand instinctively reaching for Corin's.
The figure inclined his head slightly, a sliver of pale face visible beneath the hood. "I am Brother Jacob, a humble Cistercian monk from Netley Abbey, a few miles from this port. We offer shelter to those in need. A warm meal, a safe place to rest. Surely that is better than the dangers of the quayside?"
His words, devoid of any hint of malice or ulterior motive, carried a genuine sincerity. Étienne's weariness and the memory of the previous night's near-abduction warred with his caution. Corin, ever more pragmatic, nudged Étienne subtly. A warm bed and food were undeniable necessities.
Brother Jacob continued, his voice soft but persuasive. "We ask for little in return. Perhaps a few hours of light work around the Abbey, if you are able. But first, rest and nourishment. Come, the morning chill bites deep, and the Abbey gates are open to those who seek solace." He gestured with a long, thin hand, towards the direction he had come. His presence, despite its initial unsettling appearance, now offering a beacon of hope in their desperate situation. The promise of safety and warmth, delivered with such quiet sincerity, slowly began to erode their apprehension. With nowhere else to turn, and the monk's offer seeming genuinely charitable, Étienne and Corin cautiously agreed to follow him.
Netley Abbey, though a place of sanctuary, was indeed spartan in its comforts. The stone buildings were sturdy but austere, the sleeping quarters simple cells with narrow beds. Yet, after their nights on the cold quayside, the clean straw mattresses and heavy woolen blankets felt like unimaginable luxury. The monks, led by the gentle but firm Abbot, provided them with hearty meals of bread, cheese, and vegetable stew, a welcome change from their recent hunger.
Corin, with his practical nature and willingness to work, was assigned to the Abbey gardens, where he quickly found a rhythm tending to the vegetables and herbs under the watchful eye of a kindly old brother. Étienne, whose literacy was a rare skill among the Abbey's temporary residents, was asked to assist in the small classroom where the monks tutored three young boys in their charge. There were two brothers, Edward and Henry, from a minor noble family, sent to the Abbey for their education, and a third boy, Thomas (a different Thomas), the bright but occasionally unruly son of a wealthy Southampton merchant.
Life in the monastery settled into a predictable routine. The monks' hospitality came with the unspoken expectation of adherence to their strict rules. Silence was observed during meals and in the corridors. Prayer, study, and work, filled the days. Play was discouraged, and any form of intimacy was strictly forbidden. Étienne and Corin shared a small dormitory with the three younger boys, and to Étienne's slight discomfort, he was assigned a position of responsibility for their conduct, ensuring they followed the monastic rules.
This put Étienne in an awkward position. He found the constant discipline stifling, a stark contrast to the relative freedom of the gypsy life. Enforcing the monks' rigid rules on the younger boys, especially the spirited Thomas, often felt contrary to his own nature. The inevitable clash came one afternoon during study. Henry, the younger of the noble brothers, was caught passing a secretly folded piece of parchment to Thomas who duly forwarded it to Edward, both boys stifling giggles. Étienne, duty-bound by the Abbot's instructions, had no choice but to intervene. With a sigh, he approached the boys, his face a mask of reluctant authority. "Edward," he said, addressing the elder brother, "please hand me the parchment."
Étienne's heart sank as he reached for the folded parchment. The memory of his own childhood, marked by the harsh and often arbitrary punishments meted out by his father, rose unbidden. The thought of inflicting similar pain on these young boys, even in the name of discipline, went against his very being. Yet, the stern gaze of Brother Michael, the monk overseeing the classroom, offered no room for leniency. The monastic ethic, firmly rooted in the belief of "spare the rod and spoil the child," was unwavering. Moreover, the noble brothers' father had explicitly instructed the Abbot to administer corporal punishment when necessary, a directive echoed by the merchant father of the mischievous Thomas, who believed a firm hand was essential for his son's upbringing.
With a heavy sigh, Étienne unfolded the parchment. It contained a crudely drawn caricature of Brother Michael, complete with an exaggeratedly large nose and a halo askew. A wave of reluctant amusement washed over him, but he knew he couldn't ignore the transgression.
"Edward," Étienne said, his voice softer than he intended, "this is disrespectful. You know the rules of the classroom." He looked at Thomas, who was trying to suppress a smirk, and then turned to Thomas. "All of you will stand in the corner for the remainder of the lesson."
Edward, the elder brother, looked surprised. "That's all?" he asked, clearly expecting a more severe reprimand.
Étienne met his gaze, a silent plea for understanding in his eyes. "Yes. But this cannot happen again. You are here to learn, and such behaviour disrupts everybody."
Brother Michael, observing from his desk, cleared his throat loudly. His disapproval was palpable. After the lesson, he approached Étienne, his expression stern. "Étienne, the Abbot entrusted these boys to your care. Their fathers expect a firm hand. Standing in the corner is hardly a deterrent."
Étienne swallowed, his reluctance evident. "Brother Michael, I understand, but… I believe they understood my displeasure. Perhaps a more lenient approach…"
The monk's brow furrowed. "The world outside these walls does not operate on leniency, young man. These boys need to learn obedience and respect through firm discipline. Next time, you will administer a more appropriate punishment." The unspoken implication hung in the air: corporal punishment.
Étienne felt a wave of despair. He was trapped between his own aversion to inflicting pain and the rigid expectations of the monastery. The outcome of his lenient approach was clear – the monks expected him to embrace a philosophy he abhorred. He knew that the next infraction would force him to confront his deeply held beliefs and potentially inflict the very kind of punishment he had suffered as a child.
Étienne confided in Corin that night, his voice low and troubled. "I cannot bring myself to do it, Corin. To beat those boys… it's against everything I believe. My own childhood…" He trailed off, the bitter memories sharp and painful. "And Brother Michael insists on it. If they misbehave again, I'll have no choice."
Corin listened patiently, then squeezed Étienne's arm. "Patience, Étienne," he urged, his voice conspiratorial. "I heard something today, from one of the kitchen novices. News of a visit from Monseigneur Delanoy, from France."
Étienne's head snapped up, a flicker of hope in his eyes. "From France? Are you certain?"
"Absolutely," Corin confirmed. "A high-ranking cleric, apparently on his way to London. If we could somehow gain an audience with him, explain our predicament… he might be persuaded to take us back to France with him when he returns." He paused, his gaze sweeping over the sleeping figures of the younger boys. "But to have any chance, you must stay in Brother Michael's good books. That means following their monastic practice, even if you hate it."
Corin's voice dropped to a near whisper. "If these boys misbehave again, and I'm sure they will, you give them a thrashing. We can't risk this opportunity and stay here forever."
Étienne was not convinced, the thought of raising his hand to the boys still repugnant. But the news of Monseigneur Delanoy was a powerful incentive, a beacon of hope in their desperate situation. He nodded, keeping his doubts to himself. He would face things when he had to, but for now, the potential of returning to France, of perhaps discovering if the Cardinal's letter had been delivered, overshadowed everything else.
The Abbot's announcement echoed through the refectory, his voice unusually resonant as he spoke of an "important visitor" due to arrive within days. He offered no further details, but for Étienne and Corin, it was all the confirmation they needed: Monseigneur Delanoy was coming.
That evening, Étienne gathered the three boys – Edward, Henry, and young Thomas – in the dormitory. He tried to confide in them, to impress upon them the gravity of the situation without revealing too much. "Listen closely," he whispered, his voice low and serious. "An important guest is arriving soon. It's crucial you are on your very best behavior. If you misbehave, I'll have no choice but to… take discipline seriously. And you truly don't want that." He hoped the veiled threat, coupled with his earnest tone, would be enough.
His confidence backfired spectacularly. The boys, accustomed to Étienne's gentle hand and perhaps sensing his reluctance, exchanged mischievous glances. They clearly didn't take him seriously.
The next day, their misbehavior escalated. During morning lessons, while Brother Michael was momentarily distracted, Henry and Thomas engaged in a clandestine game of tossing dried peas at each other, their muffled giggles punctuated by the soft ping of projectiles hitting their target. Edward, usually more reserved, joined in, delighted by the rebellion. One particularly ambitious pea ricocheted off a stone pillar and landed squarely in Brother Michael's open breviary.
The monk's head snapped up. His eyes, usually calm, blazed with immediate fury. He scanned the room, his gaze landing on the three culprits, then settling, with chilling precision, on Étienne. "Étienne!" Brother Michael's voice boomed, startling the entire classroom and probably half the monastery. "Fetch the cane! Now!"
Étienne felt a cold dread spread through him. He glanced around the classroom, his attention caught a glimpse of Corin, who he saw observing from the garden outside the classroom window, his expression grim. This was it. The moment he had feared.
Despite the familiar knot of dread in his stomach, he felt different. Corin's words, the desperate hope of Monseigneur Delanoy, hardened his resolve. He had warned them. They had pushed.
With a deep breath, Étienne walked to the cupboard, his movements deliberate. He unhooked the cane, its weight felt heavy in his hand, yet a strange, cold sense of purpose now settled in his chest. The three boys – Henry, Edward, and young Thomas – watched him, their earlier bravado dissolving into wide-eyed surprise. They hadn't truly believed he would do it.
He turned, the cane held firmly. His gaze swept over their faces, seeing the dawning fear. He started with Thomas, the youngest and often the most impish. "You knew the rules," Étienne stated, his voice steady, devoid of its usual softness. "You chose to ignore them." He had Thomas bend over the desk, he pulled up his smock, baring the boy's buttocks and with a swift, controlled motion, brought the cane down. Four sharp strokes on his backside. Thomas gasped, tears falling down his cheeks, he bit his lip, but was unable not to cry out.
Next was Henry. Étienne's grip on the cane remained firm. "And you," he said, his voice unwavering, "you led him." Henry, already trembling, bent over. Five strokes. Henry whimpered, rubbing his behind as he straightened up, tears now flowing freely.
Finally, Edward, the eldest, who had silently participated. "As the elder, you should have known better. You are responsible for setting an example." Edward's face was pale, his earlier smirk long gone. He bent over without needing to be told. Six stinging blows. Edward stood, his shoulders shaking, clutching his backside, silent tears tracing paths down his cheeks.
The classroom was eerily quiet, the air thick with the sting of discipline and the aftermath of the blows. Thomas, Henry, and Edward, stood rubbing their smarting behinds, their expressions a mix of shock and genuine remorse. They had, as Étienne had warned, received their just deserts.
Étienne felt a profound sadness settle over him. It went against his nature, against the very memories he sought to escape. Yet, as he looked at the chastised boys, now subdued and clearly put in their place, a grim satisfaction mingled with his unease. They had brought this upon themselves. He had done what was necessary, for them, and for the greater hope of securing passage back to France. The weight of the cane in his hand still felt heavy, but the path to Monseigneur Delanoy, he hoped, was now clearer.
"That was a close call, Étienne," Corin murmured later that evening, as they shared a bowl of thin gruel in the refectory. He kept his voice low, his eyes fixed on his bowl. "I wasn't sure you would do it. They deserved it, letting you down like that." He shook his head, a hint of grudging admiration in his tone. "Still, that's by the by. Now, about Monseigneur Delanoy."
Corin leaned closer. "We need a plan, Étienne. A way to get an audience with him, and convince him to take us back to France. He's a high-ranking man, he won't see just anyone."
Étienne didn't hesitate. The thought of staying indefinitely under Brother Michael's watchful eye, of potentially being forced to inflict more of the same punishment he loathed, spurred him to action. "I'll speak to the Abbot," he declared, his voice firm with renewed purpose. "I'll request an audience with the Monseigneur. It's our only chance."
Corin's eyes widened slightly, impressed by Étienne's sudden resolve. Requesting a direct audience with such a high-ranking cleric, and through the Abbot no less, was audacious. But Étienne's conviction was clear. The prospect of returning to France, of perhaps knowing if the Cardinal's letter was delivered and his mission fulfilled, had ignited a fierce determination within him. The time for passive waiting was over.
That night, it was as if the morning's events had never happened. Thomas, despite the earlier thrashing, was being just as cheeky, whispering and giggling when they were supposed to be settling down in bed. Corin watched with Étienne from the other side of the dormitory, a small smirk playing on his lips.
"Get into bed and keep quiet," Étienne's voice cut through the whispers, carrying a new, firm tone of authority that hadn't been there before. Thomas, startled by the unexpected command, instantly obeyed, pulling his blanket up to his chin.
Much later, when the sounds of even the most restless sleepers had faded into the deep quiet of the monastery, Corin who had crept silently into bed with Étienne, shifted closer. "I like your newfound control," he whispered, his breath warm against Étienne's ear. "It strikes a commanding tone." He leaned in and kissed Étienne softly, the unspoken appreciation for Étienne's strength evident in the touch.
That night, in the austere quiet of the monastery, surrounded by cold stone walls, they made intense love. Étienne, with a newly discovered dominance, took Corin with a force that was both strong and firm, yet imbued with a profound tenderness. It was a powerful, assertive consummation, one that Corin welcomed entirely, a testament to the love that had bloomed between them. Their trust in each other was now a complex blend of romance, raw desire, and a yielding that transcended previous experiences, and culminated in a release that left them waking up entangled in each other's arms, their bodies a warm haven against the cold stone.
Authors deserve your feedback. It's the only payment they get. If you go to the top of the page you will find the author's name. Click that and you can email the author easily.* Please take a few moments, if you liked the story, to say so.
[For those who use webmail, or whose regular email client opens when they want to use webmail instead: Please right click the author's name. A menu will open in which you can copy the email address (it goes directly to your clipboard without having the courtesy of mentioning that to you) to paste into your webmail system (Hotmail, Gmail, Yahoo etc). Each browser is subtly different, each Webmail system is different, or we'd give fuller instructions here. We trust you to know how to use your own system. Note: If the email address pastes or arrives with %40 in the middle, replace that weird set of characters with an @ sign.]
* Some browsers may require a right click instead
