by Westwind
January 2002
Charles was king of the Franks from 768 AD to 814 AD. Charlemagne fought innumerable battles throughout the forty-seven years of his reign, but he also supported literacy and cultural development. In 798 AD an abortive coup against Pope Leo III had led to the Pope's banishment. Charlemagne came to Rome in November, 800 AD and put him back on his throne as bishop of Rome. On Christmas Day of 800 AD in Rome, Pope Leo III crowned Charlemagne Emperor. Charlemagne considered this new title redundant and left Rome, never to return, on Easter of 801 AD. Behind every great general--like Darius once was, like Charlemagne is now--there is usually a great staff. This is one of their stories.
(clap) (clap) (clap) one, sir; two, sir
What are you going to do, sir?(clap) (clap) (clap) three, sir; four, sir
Who was at the door, sir?
(clap) (clap) (clap) five, sir; six, sir
Bearing treats and tricks, sir.
(clap) (clap) (clap) seven, sir; eight, sir
He will want to debate, sir.
(clap) (clap) (clap) nine, sir; ten, sir
About the affairs of men, sir.
The children of the street were singing the current favorite, a rhyming game they had gotten quite good at. Gathered in a circle, they sang couplets punctuated with claps, then moved to another position to begin again.
Mattias walked to the window and looked out. All girls in this group, the boys must be still at work. All the bright-faced children clapped and swung through the dance. Their gowns of dusty rose, faded blue, and mustard yellow danced with them. He looked back at the desk where he had been working on a translation, closed the shutters, and left everything to go out into the street.
The rhyming had moved on.
(clap) (clap) (clap) ten, sir; nine, sir,
The Roman nobles did whine, sir.
(clap) (clap) (clap) eight, sir; seven, sir,
And Leo did not go to heaven, sir.
(clap) (clap) (clap) six, sir; five, sir,
So the pope is still alive, sir.
(clap) (clap) (clap) four, sir; three, sir,
He went to Charlemagne with this plea, sir,
(clap) (clap) (clap) two, sir; one, sir,
Who sent him back at a run, sir.
Mattias fumbled with his cloak, finally getting the cloak pin fastened. He smiled. It was just the end of September, but he was cold. He turned the corner to go to his favorite tavern. It was early, but a little ale was definitely in order.
(clap) (clap) (clap) one, sir; two, sir,
Pope Leo wanted to continue, sir,
(clap) (clap) (clap) three, sir; four, sir,
With Isabella as his whore, sir.
(clap) (clap) (clap) five, sir; six, sir,
But they attacked the pope with picks, sir.(clap) (clap) (clap) seven, sir; eight, sir,
Who knows what will be his fate, sir.(clap) (clap) (clap) nine, sir; ten, sir,
Let the fun begin, sir.
Mattias shook his head. How did the children know the details of what had happened to Pope Leo? He supposed they were repeating what they had heard at the dinner table. Their mothers would be livid if they knew their children were singing about Isabella.
He hurried down the street toward the ruins of the Coliseum. It was still impressive but was a useless ruin. Mattias was never one to regret what might have been. Besides, his goal was one of the broken down tenements that leaned precariously near the west wall.
It hadn't been much in its original condition five hundred years ago. The sailors who had lived there had been hired to work the ropes for the awning over the Coliseum. No one had been willing to pay much for their housing. And the voices of the children rang through the twilight.
(clap) (clap) (clap) ten, sir; nine, sir,
Now is the time for wine, sir.(clap) (clap) (clap) eight, sir; seven, sir,
Good bread, good meat again, sir.(clap) (clap) (clap) six, sir; five, sir,
The ale will help you revive, sir.(clap) (clap) (clap) four, sir; three, sir,
Until you have to pee, sir.(clap) (clap) (clap) two, sir; one, sir,
The festivities have begun, sir.
Mattias hurried to the door marked with a fresh branch, the sign that the alewife had brewed a new batch and it was ready. He walked in and went directly to the fire. Under his dark cloak he wore a dark gray tunic over lighter gray hose with black boots on his feet. It was better in the east where men got to wear trousers. Even in the warmer climate of Rome, he was cold. At least he wasn't living in the north anymore..
As he warmed up, Mattias removed his cloak and his sword. It was early; he was the only one there. The place would be crowded at suppertime. Suddenly, he felt the buzz of an approaching Immortal.
A tall man, wrapped from shoulders to feet in a dark cloak, stood in the door looking around for the source of the buzz. Darius. He knew him, but he hadn't seen him in four hundred years. Mattias stood up, not sure whether he was friendly or not. Better to be safe, Mattias made a break for the back door.
As he was going through the alley toward freedom, his heart beat up in his throat. Darius stepped out into the alley and called, just loud enough to be heard, "Methos, I mean you no harm." It stopped him for a moment. He stood poised on his toes, of two minds, with both pulling in opposite directions.
Darius walked slowly toward Mattias with his hands showing at his sides. "I am so glad that you are still alive. I had heard rumors--rumors that you were dead. I did not want to believe it. Ah, Methos, Methos, don't run. Please." Darius moved a step closer, while Mattias started to edge away. He looked like a deer startled by a hunter. In a moment he would be running.
"What do I have to do to prove that I mean you no harm?" Darius stood still. "Go if you must."
Just then the alewife, Brigetta, came out the back door. "Mattias, you forgot your cloak. And the cheese tart is ready now. Come in and have some. Bring your friend. I'm sure he's hungry." She stood looking at them for a moment and then went back in, taking Mattias's cloak with her. If she had the cloak, perhaps Mattias would not run away. He was always running from something.
Turning back to Mattias, Darius smiled at his reluctant host who seemed to have decided not to run. But when Darius tried to touch him as he walked by, Mattias shied away.
"What is her name?"
"Who?"
"The alewife, what is her name?" Darius was looking around the alley, everywhere but at Mattias. They got to the backdoor and Darius put his hand on Mattias shoulder. Mattias stepped back and stood visibly trembling, his eyes round and startled. Darius removed his hand and left it in the air between them like a blessing. "What is her name?"
"Brigetta"
"Is that tart good? I am very hungry." Rubbing his hands together, Darius opened the door and went inside. Mattias stood in the cold. Darius looked back. "Come in out of the chill. You are trembling, and you do not even have a cloak. I will buy your supper." Mattias looked at Darius, hesitated a moment his eyes changing to mottled green, then came in.
Darius looked around, undoing his cloak. Brigetta smiled at the picture the two men made--both tall, lean, and fair-skinned. "Sit here near the fire. Let me take your cloak. What can I get for you? We have the cheese tart that is Mattias's favorite, a Shepherd's pie, a confection of stewed fruit and nuts, fresh ale, and I was just going to make some caudell."
"Yes, everything. I am going to pay for all of it with good Frankish silver. Mattias needs ale now to warm him up." Darius smiled at Brigetta who curtsied and hurried away to get the ale. She had on a lavender dress that had probably been purple at one time. What in the world was she doing with a purple dress?
Walking to the table near the fire, Darius looked back at Mattias. "Come and sit down, please. Dear Mattias, I am not your enemy, and I do not know where he is." He sat on a bench facing the door, leaving the stool nearest the fire for Mattias.
He stood for a moment, then Mattias slowly walked over and took the stool left for him. The fire was a welcome presence at his back. Brigetta came in with two cups of fresh ale and the tart. "I'll leave you to divide the tart. The rest of the food will be ready soon." She hurried back to the kitchen.
'You're not armed, are you?"
"No. I am rarely away from holy ground. I came on this long journey to prepare the way for Charlemagne. He will be here shortly; he is just a month or so behind me."
"Pope Leo will be grateful."
"He should be." Darius had shared out the tart between them and paused to take a bite. "I see why it is your favorite. This is delicious." Brigetta blushed pink as she set the pie and a bowl of stewed fruit on the table. The serving girl followed with a basket of fresh bread and a pitcher of the new ale. They both curtsied and then hurried away.
Mattias was sitting very upright on his stool. Darius looked at him with affection; he was sure Mattias had two or three weapons hidden somewhere about his person. One would never know it to look at him--colorless, almost ragged, and too thin--but he could be a very dangerous man. "Eat it! It will not be good cold." When he wasn't starving to death.
"It's good cold." Mattias ate the tart with a rush, then divided the Shepherd's' pie into quarters. He took one of the fourths and then served himself more than half of the fruit. Mattias grinned at Darius, then took a bite of fruit. Darius was charmed.
"I remember that time you were eating apples; I thought you would turn red. How many did you eat, I wonder? Ten? Twenty?" Darius raised his eyebrows.
"Eleven. They were good--crisp and fresh." Mattias slouched as much as possible on his stool. The fire and the food were causing him to relax. He sat up straight. He didn't know what Darius wanted or whether this had been a chance meeting.
Darius was smiling at Mattias. "Tell me the truth about Pope Leo. You always did know the good gossip." He poured them both another cup of ale. "I saw him when he got to Charlemagne at Paderborn. He was not impressive, Mattias."
"Is Charles fucking his daughters?"
"Mattias!"
"Well, its what I've heard. Is he?"
"I do not go into his bedroom."
"That's not an answer."
"I too have heard the rumors. He has never allowed any of his daughters to marry and keeps them all with him. You can draw your own conclusions. But you already have." Darius decided that he was going to get what he wanted. "Charlemagne has had several wives; he has had many concubines, innumerable affairs, and many sons and daughters. He plays at dynasty with the marriages of those sons. But never a daughter married."
"I thought so." Mattias was smug. "He has ruled for over thirty years and lived through the pontificates of five Popes. Why the concern about this one?"
"The Donation of Constantine. Supposedly, the Emperor Constantine left all of Italy to the Pope--a very impressive document. Mattias, it is being waved around in front of the kings and warlords to bring them into line. They act like they believe it, too." Darius looked at Mattias questionably.
"It's a fake!" Mattias hooted. "A fake! I don't care how old it's supposed to be, it was written not fifty years ago--in the Vatican Curia. Besides, it gives all of Italy to the Pope immediately. Doesn't that fact give Charles pause?"
Mattias paused to take a drink of ale. "If the Donation was outstanding for four hundred and fifty years, someone would have talked; it's too good to keep quiet about. The Pope can't hold Italy without troops, Darius. Do you want to lead his troops for him?"
"No, I do not. If it were a strong Pope with a popular following like his predecessor, Hadrian, someone might object. But Leo is a weak Pope with no following; it won't hurt to put him back in to power. And it will deal a sharp defeat to his foes who happen to be Charlemagne's foes as well. Tell me about him."
"Who?"
"Mattias, you are playing word games. What is Pope Leo like?"
Mattias was looser than he had been, but still very watchful. Darius decided to concentrate on the pie. Mattias gave a half shrug. "At least he doesn't diddle his daughters; they're both married. He has a mistress, Isabella. She's been faithful to him, but he's been very unfaithful to her. He likes his women mature and ample and his boys young. In personal matters, I'd say that there is nothing to chose between them."
"Younger looking than you?" Darius was gently teasing.
"He's ugly. His nose has a close acquaintanceship with his chin. He's little and hunched over." Mattias acted offended, but he was smiling.
"This much I knew."
"Leo didn't deserve to be beaten by a mob." Mattias paused to brood over the incident, thinking of his many encounters with enraged mobs. "The Roman upper class cannot forgive him for being Greek. The rest of it is forgivable, but not that."
"Is Marcus Constantine still around?" Darius thought that it was time for a change of subject. Darius poured more ale and signaled Brigetta for another pitcher.
"Yes."
"Mattias, it is not like you to give one word answers. What happened to the speeches that could last half an hour?"
Mattias looked up at Darius, then looked down again. "I see Marcus occasionally. He's well. What else is there to say about him?" The serving girl, a little elf in tatters, brought the caudell and put the bowls in front of each man. "Eat the pudding while it's hot." She blushed at her temerity and, with her head bowed, hurried back to the kitchen.
"I think we should do as she said. Eat, Mattias." He took a bite of the caudell. "This is good. Brigetta is truly a wonderful cook. I can see why you came here." She had a good figure, beautiful black hair, and all her teeth; it seemed that more than the food attracted Mattias to this place.
While their meal had been served and eaten, the room had filled up with a raucous crowd. Mattias had grown quieter and more withdrawn. "Mattias, I need to talk to you without the ears of the world listening. Let us go back to your room and finish this talk. I will buy a bottle or two of wine." Darius stood up.
As they put their cloaks on and went out the door, Mattias seemed to shrink in height. Pulling into himself, he appeared to become a much smaller man. It was a trick that Darius knew and admired. "It is a shame you can not just disappear. No one would suspect you of being there at all."
"Shut up." Mattias wrapped his cloak tighter around him and ducked his head. Darius did not know how he made his not inconsiderable shoulders disappear, but he did.
(clap) (clap) (clap) one, sir; two, sir,
And who will have to do, sir,(clap) (clap) (clap) three, sir; four, sir,
What cannot be ignored, sir.(clap) (clap) (clap) five, sir; six, sir,
What will he predict, sir,(clap) (clap) (clap) seven, sir; eight, sir,
About the winds of fate, sir,(clap) (clap) (clap) nine, sir; ten, sir,
And the affairs of men, sir.
The voices of the singers faded away as they rounded the corner. But there was a new group outside Mattias's door. Mostly boys, their voices rang out in rowdier version of the clapping song.
(clap) (clap) (clap) ten, sir; nine, sir,
Come let us intertwine, sir.(clap) (clap) (clap) eight, sir; seven, sir,
It will be as it was then, sir.(clap) (clap) (clap) six, sir; five, sir,
If I am to survive, sir,(clap) (clap) (clap) four, sir; three, sir,
You must at least agree, sir,(clap) (clap) (clap) two, sir; one, sir,
That now I have to run, sir.
Mattias went in first and stirred up the fire, then lit the oil lamp. Darius came in after him and looked around. It was a large room with windows on the east side. They were shuttered now against the night's chill. A bed, heaped with pillows and quilts, was against one wall. Under the window on the east wall was a table and two stools. Covered with scrolls, papers, and pens and ink, obviously Mattias sat there and worked at his translations.
Sitting in the northwest corner was a chair, tall and ornate. It more closely resembled the thrones of the old Caesars. It was very like the chair that had stood in the great room of Mattias's villa outside Lutetia. Darius smiled as he ran his hand over the back of the chair and looked up at Mattias.
Opening a trunk, Mattias got two clay mugs and took them over to the table. Pulling the cork out, he poured one of the cups full and offered it to Darius. Pouring his own, Mattias offered a toast. "To old friends." They both drank.
"Methos, do you drink to older friends, too." Darius took a deep breath and exhaled. "He is truly sorry."
"No." Mattias walked to the door and held it open. "You can not mention him or you can go."
"I will stay. Let us talk about Leo and Charles."
"Why is Charles coming here?" Mattias closed the door and walked over to his chair to sit down. "Pull one of the stools over to the fire."
Removing his cloak and putting it on the table, Darius sat down. "You know that there will be a trial where Pope Leo will face his accusers?" Mattias nodded. Darius put his cup down. "Charlemagne feels that he will make a difference; with him there, no one will dare to stand up and accuse the Pope. Charlemagne will set Leo on his throne again, wait to see that he stays there, then go back to fighting Saxons."
"He's been fighting the Saxons for thirty years."
"The war with the Saxons will soon be over."
Mattias got up and piled new wood on the fire. Darius looked in appreciation at the way the flames cast shadows then light on the lean torso. "Come and sit here." Darius pulled the other stool around to his side of the table.
Looking at it in thought, Mattias looked up at Darius. Their eyes met and held. Something in Darius's expression convinced Mattias who sat down with his back, to Darius. Gently reaching up and rubbing his back, Darius said, "I have missed you. You did not have to disappear quite so thoroughly." His other hand joined the first in their gentle circles. Mattias sighed in pleasure and hung his head.
Suddenly Mattias jumped off his stool and stood by the fire, kicking the grate repeatedly. Darius got up and stood close behind him. "You will burn your boot. Please stop. I do not want to do anything that you do not wish. Or is that the reason for this--you do wish it." Darius put his hands on Mattias's shoulders. "We were good friends as well as lovers."
Drawing a deep breath, Mattias turned the Darius. "I know. I just don't understand your agenda. But I do want this. It has been too long." Darius felt him begin to tremble. "Please, Darius." He turned his face up to be kissed.
Putting both hands on either side of his face, Darius kissed his nose. That made both men smile, reminding them of long ago when they were general and advisor. He then kissed Mattias's closed eyes, one by one. "I have missed you." Darius spoke the words with his mouth on Mattias's. He deepened the kiss.
Darius pulled away, picked up his cup, and something else. "Let us move your fabulous chair closer to the fire. I want to see you naked." They slid the chair closer, then Mattias stood by the fire to remove his clothes. He did not tease or even look at Darius as he stripped. Finally, he glanced over at Darius, then looked down. Walking over, Mattias sat in the chair.
Taking off everything but his undershirt and his hose, Darius put both Mattias's hands on the arms of the chair and kissed him. Stabbing Mattias through the meat of his hand with his cloak pin, he said, "Be quiet! You will wake your neighbors."
Mattias writhed under the pain of the impalement, but was absolutely silent. Keeping his hand still, Mattias jerked his body back and forth. Darius had driven the pin through the hand into the wood of the chair.
"Be still now, Methos. I want to touch you. You can be still." Darius was almost crooning "Let me kiss you." He leaned forward to kiss down the side of Methos's face, continuing to kiss him across his throat. Darius bit his throat harder and harder; at the same time, he twisted the cloak pin. Methos moaned and convulsed, but the hand remained still.
"I think it best if you don't speak until we are through. I will tell you what to do and when to do it. Say yes, and we will begin; say no, and I will stop." Darius stepped back and looked at Methos.
Methos's eyes came open to show Darius all pupil. Methos seemed to be coming back from a great distance. He sighed and said, "Yes." Looking right at Darius, "Oh, yes."
Grabbing the cloak pin and yanking it out of the chair arm and Methos's hand, Darius suddenly backhanded him across the face. Getting his face down even with Methos's, "I said that you could say one word, not three." He took the cloak pin and held it up. Taking one engorged nipple meditatively, Darius rubbed it between his fingers. "I think this is a good spot." Slowly, lovingly, he inserted the pin through the skin of the nipple, then licked off the blood and fastened the pin.
Darius watched as the pain transfigured Methos. He had started to move the pin back and forth. Methos reared back. Darius stepped between his legs and began to rub the other nipple. Methos reached down and grabbed the seat of the chair, pushing upwards to reach Darius. Rubbing against Darius, he shuddered into his climax.
Sitting down in the chair with Methos, Darius took him in his arms. "You are such a good friend. And so beautiful like this. Now you are going to suck me. See, I am a ready for you." Darius sat part way up, letting his turgid penis show clearly through his hose. "Come. Get up."
Getting up shakily, Methos turned and got on his knees. The cloak pin still hung like a golden tattoo on his chest. Methos leaned over and loosened the belt that held up Darius's hose. Reaching inside, Methos put his hand around the erection. Looking into Darius's eyes for a minute, he leaned down to take the erect penis into his mouth.
While Methos was sucking, Darius toyed with the pin, using his hand to move it back and forth. Methos continually shuddered but sucked with increasing avidity. As Darius went over the edge into climax, he gave the pin one long pull. Methos shuddered.
"Come here." Methos climbed into his lap and hugged Darius. The leanness of Methos gradually relaxed and he lay against him. Petting him gently, Darius began to speak. "I think that we need to be a little more vigorous, don't you? That was very nice--exceptional, in fact. You are so good at that--so good, Methos."
Darius started to touch the pin. It drew very little response. He unfastened it and withdrew it abruptly. "You remember that you are not to speak? And not to make any noise?" Methos nodded. "Good." He put Methos down as he got up, removed his hose from around his knees, retrieved a stool, and sat down facing Methos.
Looking at Methos for just a moment, Darius lashed out with his fist and hit Methos in the ribs--then hit him again and again. "I want to see the bruises bloom. They are so beautiful against your paleness."
His ribs cracking under the assault, Methos bent over to protect his side, still absolutely quiet. Darius paused a moment to consider, then slapped him across the face. He took the pin and used it to draw a line down the side of his face and his neck. When he reached his shoulder, he stabbed it in again and again and again. Blood began to run down Methos's front and back.
Darius watched Methos's eyes as the quickening energy flared. Reaching down he grasped Methos's penis and thumbed the head. Methos realized what he meant to do and began to try to withdraw. "Be still. You must be absolutely still. You can, you know. It is so good that you have remained silent. I am proud of you." Darius stroked down his arm and across his chest with the pin.
Moving his hand underneath the penis, Darius used the pin to stroke up and down--up with the blunt side and down with the point. When the wait had become unbearable, Darius pulled the foreskin taut, threaded the pin through it, and clasped it. Shuddering and trembling at the same time, Methos was transfixed. "Get up, my darling. Get on the bed on your knees." Methos rose unsteadily to his feet and went to the bed. The pin through his foreskin dragged his erection down. It was exquisitely painful and just perfect. He got up on the bed with his legs spread and his head down on his hands.
Darius found some oil in the jars beside the bed. "This is for me, not for you." He drizzled it over his penis, then stepped up to drizzle it down Methos's crack. Methos jumped and shuddered as if it were burning hot. Hands on Methos's hips, Darius broached him.
Methos reared back in a silent scream. Darius reached around for the pin and tugged on it, making Methos writhe. Still he did not make a sound. Darius was beginning to doubt that he could break him. If he did not break, this would have to be done again and again; Methos had a ferocious will.
Suddenly, a keening came from somewhere deep inside Methos. Darius was slamming into him so violently that Methos could barely keep his position. Head thrown back, Methos's penis jerked in time to Darius's thrusts--the pin moving rapidly back and forth in counterpoint.
Darius was so close. And suddenly Methos was crying as he let go and came. Darius allowed himself to revel in the silky heat, but only for a moment. Then he was coming so hard that he felt like he was going to turn inside out.
Methos collapsed utterly. Darius turned him over and took his penis in hand. The foreskin was a dusky red, strutted with semen. Darius took the cloak pin out very carefully and threw it against the far wall. Moving onto the bed, Darius took Methos in his arms. "It's all right. You were perfect, my darling. Just perfect." The sobbing continued
Gradually Methos stopped crying. Darius wasn't sure whether he had gone to sleep or not. It wouldn't matter; in a moment Darius would have to get up to piss. Just thinking about it made the need more urgent. Trying to slip his arm out from under Methos's shoulders, Darius started to get up. "I've got to piss." Darius used the chamber pot then built up the fire.
The oil lamp had flickered out long ago. Going to the table, Darius got the wine bottle and poured into the two cups, mixing it with water from the bottle that hung in its cradle of twine in front of the window. Going over to Methos, he said, "You need to drink, Methos. Here." Darius held the cup out and Methos turned over and got up, drinking the watered wind down in long gulps. He set the cup down on the table and walked to his chair. Too silent, he seemed to be somewhere else.
Holding his cup, Darius sat on the edge of the bed. Methos was lost somewhere in his mind. The flames were throwing increasingly more light on Methos, sprawled in his chair like some dissolute godling--young, beautiful, and sated. His hair was tousled; his lips still swollen into bee-stung prominence; his nose, a proud beak.
Darius defied anyone not to desire the satyr who sat dreaming across from him. "What do you want? Anything at all, I will do." Methos came back from wherever he had been and smiled, a long, slow smile full of promise and desire.
Methos let his legs fall open to show a penis just reaching full erection. Canting his hips up, Methos tilted his head to one side in question. Darius got up and moved to kneel in front of Methos. Looking up, he smiled at Methos, then bent to his work.
Methos was not as aroused as he appeared. Coming to his feet, Darius leaned in and kissed Methos on the mouth, then kissed him down his chin and onto his throat. Methos moved his head to one side to give Darius room, a gesture so imperious that Darius had to laugh. "What is it? Why are you laughing." Methos was half amused and half incensed.
Darius leaned his forehead against Methos's face. "You're very kingly, right now. You could give Charlemagne lessons."
Methos surged up against Darius, pushing him backward onto the bed. Straddling him as Darius went down on the bed on his back, Methos proceeded to kiss, lick, nibble, bite all over the upper part of Darius head and body. Darius was ragingly excited; he tried to return the caresses, but Methos moved too fast from one thing to another.
At last, Methos sat back, very smug, looking at Darius with fondness. Darius's erect penis nudged up against Methos crack; Methos shifted further down, pushing the penis into the warm space between his buttocks. Darius groaned. Shimmying like a belly dancer, he soon drove Darius into completion.
Darius noticed that, despite all this activity, Methos had not climaxed. Darius had suspicions about why. Retrieving his hose from the floor, he tied Methos's hands in front of him. Picking him up by the arms, Darius hustled him onto the table using Methos's own hose to secure his legs. "We're through with this, Darius. Please! Darius, let me go."
"We are through when I say that we are. You must lie still, my darling." Taking off his shirt, he blindfolded Methos with it. Stepping back, Darius looked for a moment at the picture Methos made, his arms stretched out over his blindfolded head with his hands catching the edge of the table, his naked body a long, lean line.
Darius reached into the kindling bucket, picking up a branch that was just thicker than his thumb and about as long as his forearm. Hefting the makeshift flail, he hit suddenly with strikes to Methos's buttocks. "Ten strokes to warm you up." Methos moaned and tried to shift out of the way. "Lie still and this will be over soon enough." He continued to hit Methos in a pattern of strokes--first five to the right, then five to the left--moving up to his shoulders then down below his buttocks to start all over again. Darius fell into a rhythm; soon everything else vanished. It was just the branch rising and falling in a predetermined pattern and the Quickening energies that raged over the increasingly ragged skin as it tried to heal.
Darius was not so far gone in his fugue state that he failed to notice the orgasms that raced through Methos. But Darius continued to beat him long after he was unconscious. The branch at last cracked through; Darius tossed it across the table and sat down panting. Whatever had possessed him to beat Methos that hard?
He stood up and untied the hose that had bound Methos and removed the makeshift blindfold. Darius carefully took Methos into his arms and sat down in the chair. Using his shirt to wipe up what he could, Darius rocked Methos, tender as any parent.
There was a fracture that went clear through all of the old ones. Whether they had survived because of the fracture or time had fractured them, Darius did not know. Maybe he was slowly becoming an "old one". He was ashamed of the ferocity with which he had beaten and tormented his old friend. Methos woke up and began to cry; Darius held him for a long time.
Groaning, Methos sat up. "That was thorough. I'm so sore." He got up and stretched. There was a little dried blood, but not even much of that. No remaining marks indicated the hours of torture. "It's almost dawn. What are you going to do?"
"First, some breakfast, I think. Is there a bakery near? And a public bath; we both need to soak."
"Of course; there is a bath in the next street. First the bath, then the bakery, then home. We can drink your second bottle of wine." As they talked, they both scrambled for clothes that weren't stretched or soiled, then went out into the street.
A lone female voice, husky and low, sang the children's song in a dusty alto--a woman who had sold her body but not her soul,
(clap) (clap) (clap) one, sir; two, sir,
What will he do, sir,(clap) (clap) (clap) three, sir; four, sir,
After he plays the whore, sir.(clap) (clap) (clap) five, sir; six, sir,
With one who dares inflict, sir,(clap) (clap) (clap) seven, sir; eight, sir,
What he loves and hates, sir,(clap) (clap) (clap) nine, sir; ten, sir,
And what he'd do again, sir,(clap) (clap) (clap) ten, sir; nine, sir,
Who will drink the wine, sir,(clap) (clap) (clap) eight, sir; seven, sir,
Who will bear the sin, sir,(clap) (clap) (clap) six, sir; five, sir,
And who will connive, sir.(clap) (clap) (clap) four, sir; three, sir,
He will have to see, sir,(clap) (clap) (clap) two, sir; one, sir,
What has been begun, sir.
They soaked in the stews until the sun came up, then let their noses lead them to the bakery. With fresh loaves of bread, a hunk of cheese, and a bag of apples, they went back to the room to drink wine and eat. Between bites, Methos said, "You know whom you'll meet today?"
Darius gulped his bread and took a drink of wine. "I shall start by paying calls on the Roman nobility. They know now that they have lost the gamble to unseat the Pope. I thought I should see Marcus first; maybe he has some thoughts on whom else to see. I will have to ride out of the city, though. I am staying at the schola of the Franks. I need to put on more formal clothes."
Methos was quiet, too quiet. "What is it?" Darius was concerned.
"I don't want to be involved in any way. I don't care who is Pope or Emperor." Methos spoke in a low voice without inflection.
Not knowing what to say, Darius fastened on one thing. "Charlemagne is not Emperor, only a king."
"He will be." Methos looked up at Darius. "Why else is he coming all this way? Any one of his legates could set poor Leo on his throne."
"So that is what Pope Leo plans to do. I had wondered. See. I knew that you would know all the good gossip. I have to go. Why not ride with me to Marcus's?" Darius was well pleased with his visit; it had been a success in every way.
"No, thank you. I'm going to sleep a while." Methos was not looking at him as he said this. Darius should have made him look up, but Darius was feeling very exposed. He needed some time alone.
Who had provided the service, and who had been the recipient? Darius was not sure about last night or any of the other nights in the past. Methos probably needed to retreat; he knew that he did. What he had to done to Methos had called to a past he thought well buried. He had found the barbarian too close to the surface.
Darius left and retrieved his horse from the broken-down stable. The stable boy came sleepily to the door as he saddled up. Throwing him a brass bit, he swung up and rode at a gallop for his schola.
His meeting with Marcus Constantine had been less than successful. Marcus seemed preoccupied and overly careful not to give anything away. Darius guided his horse through the marketplace, looking around him at the decay of the ancient city. He felt over dressed in his formal clothes. Perhaps Mattias would have something else for him to wear.
He rode through a covey of children of various sizes. The children romped. The boys chased each other, and the girls stood and gossiped. One of the boys would make a run at the girl's group, twitch the hair of his chosen one, and then run away. The girl would squeal and maybe give chase. He remembered doing the same kind of thing when he was that age. Darius rode on. He passed a group singing the clapping song.
(clap) (clap) (clap) one, sir; two, sir,
Will we want to continue, sir.(clap) (clap) (clap) three, sir; four, sir,
Even if you don't score, sir.(clap) (clap) (clap) five, sir; six, sir,
Neither one could predict, sir,(clap) (clap) (clap) seven, sir; eight, sir,
The risk would be great, sir,(clap) (clap) (clap) nine, sir; ten, sir,
Just as it was then, sir,(clap) (clap) (clap) ten, sir; nine, sir,
If it is by design, sir,(clap) (clap) (clap) eight, sir; seven, sir,
Nothing is to be given, sir.(clap) (clap) (clap) six, sir; five, sir,
If he is to survive, sir,(clap) (clap) (clap) four, sir; three, sir,
He must be free, sir,(clap) (clap) (clap) two, sir; one, sir,
To laugh in the light of the sun, sir.
He smelled supper cooking everywhere. Maybe Darius would take Mattias to Brigetta's again. A good chicken, roasted with herbs and served with turnips, carrots, and onions, would do for the two of them--and a pitcher or two of ale. Darius would see if he could get a pound or two of weight to stick to Mattias. He really was too thin. Besides, Darius was hungry, and she was a good cook.
Darius stopped his horse beside the ruin of some temple and swung off. He pissed into the weeds that grew beside the broken down walls, then walked to the little bluff in front of the temple. After a frustrating day, Darius was relieved to be heading for Mattias. What hill was this? Mattias would know; he'd have to ask him.
Darius got back up on his horse and set it walking again. His meeting with the officials of the Curia had been frustrating. Nothing had been accomplished. The members of the Curia had been dressed in their best; they had sat around with glasses of wine, and they had talked and talked, smooth and polished. Darius had wished that just one of them had had mussed hair. His temper had been saved because the chief spokesman had had a terrible cough. Every time he had gotten started on some fatuous statement, he had dissolved into a fit of coughing. Darius's mouth crooked upward in a smile. He had the patience of conviction; they would give way, eventually.
Turning his horse west through an alley, Darius came out onto Mattias's street. Ambling along, his horse carried him to the open door of Mattias's room. Darius knew before he got to Mattias's room that he was gone. The door stood ajar and the sense of that deep, singing presence was missing. He walked up to it and put his hand on it. "Methos, why?" Darius pushed the door open to find an empty room. He walked in and stood at its center. The fabulous chair and the bed were still there, but everything else was gone.
Feeling a little warmth from the fire grate, Darius saw that the coals had not completely burned out. If he had just thought of some way to stay with Mattias or keep Mattias by him through the day. Thinking of Marcus's statement "I have somewhere to be", Darius knew where that was.
Looking around, Darius's eyes narrowed as he saw an edge of white in the empty bookcase. He walked over and picked up a piece of paper with Methos's distinctive handwriting on it. That handwriting was elegant, and compact, and unmistakable; who else living had had nearly four thousand years of practice?
He took the paper and walked to the door to read it.
Darius heard footsteps and sensed a ringing, discordant presence. A warrior came up to the door completely wrapped in a dark cloak. The sunlight caught his face with its distinctive bisecting scar, then he stepped into the shadows. A head shorter than Darius, he vibrated with a killing energy. He reached out to take the paper from Darius. Reading quickly, he grunted, and went out to go back the way he had come, folding the paper and putting it in his belt.Darius--
I use your real name because no one here can read. I don't know whether you found me by accident or not. I can't take any chances. We will meet again.
--M
Turning for one more look at the empty room, Darius saw a wink of light against the far wall. Walking over, he reached for the sparkle, then froze. It was the cloak pin. He stood up and walked out empty handed.
(clap) (clap) (clap) one, sir; two, sir.
We are one of the few, sir.(clap) (clap) (clap) three, sir; four, sir.
We either fall or soar, sir.(clap) (clap) (clap) five, sir; six, sir.
Our brothers do inflict, sir.(clap) (clap) (clap) seven, sir; eight, sir.
The death that is our fate, sir.(clap) (clap) (clap) nine, sir; ten, sir.
We are waiting till the end, sir.(clap) (clap) (clap) ten, sir; nine, sir.
It is an infernal design, sir.(clap) (clap) (clap) eight, sir; seven, sir.
We can't all go to heaven, sir.(clap) (clap) (clap) six, sir; five, sir.
If we are to survive, sir,(clap) (clap) (clap) four, sir; three, sir.
We will never be free, sir,(clap) (clap) (clap) two, sir; one, sir.
Of the need for One, sir.
Finis.
The historical facts in this story are true except for the name of Leo's whore; that fact escaped history. The characters of Mattias/Methos, Darius, Marcus Constantine belong to Rysher and the Highlander series. Brigetta and her elf are mine.