Opus One
by Edward Kyle Stokes
Chapter 12
A Mission Accomplished.
The day of Monseigneur Delanoy's arrival dawned crisp and clear. Étienne, buoyed by Corin's unwavering support and their renewed intimacy, felt a surge of confidence he hadn't known he possessed. He approached the Abbot after morning prayers, his request for an audience with the esteemed visitor delivered with a quiet but firm resolve. The Abbot, perhaps impressed by Étienne's recent display of "discipline" in the classroom and his overall respectful conduct, and undoubtedly aware of the potential political implications of such a visit, surprisingly granted his request.
Later that afternoon, Étienne stood before Monseigneur Delanoy in the Abbot's private chambers. The Monseigneur, a man of imposing stature with keen, intelligent eyes, listened patiently as Étienne, choosing his words with care, explained his predicament and his urgent need to return to France. He spoke of his artistic background, his unexpected separation from his travelling companions, and his desire to return to his studies. He deliberately omitted any mention of the Cardinal's letter, but he did reveal his history with Prince Charles, judging it reasonable to state his former employment without alluding to anything else. The letter was too sensitive to reveal to a stranger, however high-ranking.
Monseigneur Delanoy, a shrewd diplomat accustomed to veiled intentions, observed Étienne closely. He seemed to discern the unspoken urgency beneath Étienne's carefully constructed narrative. After a long moment of contemplation, he spoke. "While I cannot simply transport you back to France without proper verification, your story, young man, holds a certain… compelling sincerity."
He then revealed his decision. "I will make discrete enquiries when I visit the royal court in London. Hopefully, I shall ascertain the truth in your claims which, if the circumstances permit, will allow me to view your request sympathetically." A subtle glance passed between the Monseigneur and Étienne, which begged the question as to whether the cleric was more aware of Étienne's true mission than he let on. "This will not be a swift endeavour, and you must remain here at the Abbey, under the Abbot's care, until my return. Behave as true monastic guests. Should I return with favorable news, then we shall discuss your passage to France."
The Monseigneur's words, though a step short of immediate passage, offered a tangible path forward. Étienne knew this was the best chance they had, a chance which depended entirely on the discretion and success of the Monseigneur's journey to London.
The days bled into weeks, each one stretching longer than the last. The wait for the Monseigneur's return felt interminable, a suffocating stasis that frayed Étienne and Corin's nerves. The strict routines of the Abbey, once a welcome refuge, now felt more like a prison, and with the absence of immediate threat, a dangerous complacency began to set in.
It was during their morning wash, in the communal bathing area of the dormitory, that their guard finally slipped. Believing they were alone, Corin, in a moment of tender affection, leaned in and brushed a soft kiss against Étienne's neck. The brief, innocent gesture was enough. From the corner, where he had been quietly observing them, young Thomas' eyes widened.
"I saw that!" Thomas blurted out, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "You two are… you're doing something bad! I'm going to tell Brother Michael!"
Corin's face, usually so expressive, hardened in an instant. A wave of fury, raw and untamed, surged through him. The immediate danger, the potential ruin of their chances with the Monseigneur, ignited a protective rage. Before Étienne could react, Corin lunged forward, grabbing Thomas by the arm.
"You little sneak!" Corin snarled, his voice low and dangerous, completely unlike his usual playful tone. Thomas, startled by the sudden ferocity, yelped in surprise. Corin spun him around, bending the boy over his knee with a speed that left Thomas breathless.
Without a word, Corin delivered a series of sharp, stinging blows to Thomas's backside. Each strike was precise, forceful, yet controlled, a testament to Corin's own harsh upbringing and the brutal realities of his life on the road. Thomas cried out, first in shock, then in genuine pain and fear. Corin continued, his grip firm, his face a mask of cold anger.
"That," Corin hissed, his voice tight with controlled fury, "is to teach you to keep your mouth shut. And to know who is in control." He administered two more stinging blows for emphasis before releasing Thomas, who stumbled away, sobbing, clutching his smarting buttocks.
Étienne watched, stunned into silence. The scene was brutal, swift, and utterly effective. The playful, affectionate Corin had vanished, replaced by a fierce protector, driven by a desperate need to safeguard their precarious future. The silence in the bathing room was thick, punctuated only by Thomas's dwindling sobs as he scrambled to dress and flee the dormitory.
Thomas, still nursing his bruised pride and backside, remained utterly silent about the incident. Corin's swift and brutal discipline had been shockingly effective, cementing his absolute silence. The tension in the Abbey, however, remained palpable, a constant undercurrent beneath the monastic calm.
Then, weeks after he had departed, the Monseigneur returned. The news spread quickly, a ripple of excitement breaking the Abbey's quiet routine. Étienne and Corin waited with bated breath, their hopes and fears held in a precarious balance.
Their patience was rewarded. Monseigneur Delanoy summoned them to his chambers. His expression was serene, yet his eyes held a subtle spark of satisfaction. "The news is… favorable," he smiled, "but you failed to tell me everything."
Whilst a wave of relief washed over Étienne, he regretted not revealing his mission. Would Monseigneur Delanoy think him untrustworthy?
"Still," the Monseigneur regarded him directly, "I can understand why."
Finally, Étienne broke, "The letter, Monseigneur? Was it delivered to Charles?"
The Monseigneur nodded. "Indeed. It was delivered into Prince Charles's own hand. Your sincerity, young man, was proven. And your past connection, it seems, served its purpose well."
He then reached into his robes and produced a small, surprisingly heavy purse of silver coin. He extended it to Étienne. "This, my child, is a gift from Prince Charles himself. A token of his gratitude, and perhaps… a sign of continued favour."
Étienne's hand trembled as he took the purse. The weight of the coin was astonishing. It was real. The letter had reached Charles.
"And now," Monseigneur Delanoy continued, his gaze warm, "you will accompany me. I have secured passage for you on my vessel back to France. You have fulfilled your duty here, and you will be in less danger than if you stay in England. The journey back to your own country begins tomorrow at dawn."
A profound sense of relief washed over both Étienne and Corin. They were leaving England, leaving the constant threat, leaving the uncertain future. And they were going together. The gift from Charles, the successful delivery of the letter, and the unexpected kindness of the Monseigneur felt like a miracle, a true testament to the winding, unpredictable path their lives had taken.
The journey from Netley Abbey to the Abbey at Cîteaux in France began with a sense of cautious optimism. The Monseigneur's retinue was considerable, including several other clerics, guards, and servants, making for a much safer and more comfortable passage than Étienne and Corin had previously experienced. They travelled swiftly by carriage from Netley to the nearest port, where a stout, purpose-built vessel awaited them.
The sea crossing of the English Channel was not as smooth as their last. A squall blew up mid-passage, turning the usually choppy waters into a tempest. The small ship was tossed about like a toy, its timbers groaning under the strain. Étienne, accustomed to more stable forms of transport, felt a queasy dread. Corin, however, born of a life that embraced nature's unpredictable moods, seemed almost invigorated by the storm, his dark eyes sparkling as he held Étienne steady against the pitching deck. While many aboard succumbed to seasickness, the two boys, clinging to each other, weathered the storm with a mix of fear and a strange exhilaration, their shared ordeal solidifying their bond even further. One of the Monseigneur's servants, a portly man prone to dramatics, was violently ill over the side, nearly falling overboard were it not for the quick reflexes of a guard. The incident served as a stark reminder of the sea's unforgiving power.
Upon reaching the French coast, the landscape, though familiar to Étienne, felt imbued with a new sense of liberation. The journey inland to Cîteaux, the venerable mother abbey of the Cistercian order, stretched over several days. They travelled through fertile farmlands and ancient forests, the scent of damp earth and blooming wildflowers replacing the salty tang of the sea.
Incidents along the road, though minor, reminded them that even in France, dangers lurked. One evening, as they camped by a river, a band of opportunistic brigands attempted to approach their encampment. The Monseigneur's guards, however, were swift and well-trained. A tense standoff ensued, culminating in the brigands retreating into the shadows without a single blow struck. Étienne found himself instinctively moving to shield Corin, a protective instinct he hadn't fully recognised until that moment. Corin, for his part, gripped the small, hidden knife he always carried, his eyes sharp and alert.
Another incident involved a runaway carriage horse, spooked by a sudden clap of thunder. The animal bolted, threatening to overturn the Monseigneur's own conveyance. It was Corin, with his innate understanding of animals and quick reflexes honed by years of handling gypsy horses, who sprinted forward and managed to seize the bridle, bringing the panicked beast under control just before disaster struck. The Monseigneur, witnessing Corin's bravery and skill, gave him a rare, appreciative nod.
Finally, after nearly two weeks of travel, the formidable stone walls of Cîteaux Abbey rose into view, nestled amidst rolling hills. Its austere grandeur, even more pronounced than Netley, spoke of centuries of devout scholarship and quiet power. They had arrived. Étienne had returned to France, the Papal letter delivered, the King's gift in his possession, and Corin by his side – their futures, now inextricably linked, stretched out before them, still uncertain, but filled with new possibilities.
Upon their arrival at Cîteaux, Monseigneur Delanoy himself presented Étienne and Corin to the Abbot, a man whose presence, though less imposing than Brother Michael's, held a quiet authority. The Abbot welcomed them warmly, his eyes twinkling with a shrewd intelligence. "You are most welcome here, my sons," he intoned, his eyes lingering on Étienne. "Monseigneur Delanoy has spoken highly of your conduct and your assistance."
He then extended an offer. "Should you wish to stay, the Abbey has need of strong hands and keen minds. We would be pleased to offer you refuge and a place within our community. Étienne," he continued, turning his full attention to him, "I understand you possess the gift of literacy. We have a larger classroom here than at Netley, with ten boys ranging in age from nine to thirteen. We would be grateful if you would teach them."
A small smile played on the Abbot's lips as he looked directly at Étienne, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Mind you, they can be quite a handful. They require… firm guidance. You need to beat their backsides, for that you have my full permission, and indeed, my expectation."
Étienne's heart sank even as he appreciated the offer. The prospect of a stable home, safety, and a role where his skills were valued was tempting. However, the Abbot's final words, delivered with such knowing amusement, underscored the very responsibility he had so recently wrestled with. Living permanently within the monastic walls, constantly under the watchful eye of the monks, would not only mean a rigid adherence to rules he found stifling but would also severely curtail the private, intimate relations that had become so vital to his connection with Corin. He thanked the Abbot for his generous proposal, his mind already weighing the difficult choices that lay ahead.
Étienne wrestled with the Abbot's offer long into the night. The stability, the safety, the chance to use his mind – it was all tempting. But the cold, hard reality of monastic life, especially the expectation of meting out discipline he abhorred, and the absolute curtailment of his relationship with Corin, weighed far heavier. He looked at Corin, sleeping soundly beside him, and knew his answer. This life, for them, was impossible.
The next morning, Étienne politely but firmly declined the Abbot's generous offer. He expressed his gratitude for the Abbey's hospitality and explained that their journey, though circuitous, still called them onward. The Abbot, sensing a deeper purpose in the young man, accepted his decision with a nod, offering his blessings for their travels.
With some of the silver coin from Prince Charles, Étienne and Corin made their way to a nearby market town. There, after much haggling and careful consideration, they purchased a sturdy mule and a small, two-wheeled cart, perfect for their needs. They also acquired warm blankets, simple cooking pots, dried meat, bread, and other essentials for life on the road.
Their farewells to the monks of Cîteaux were brief but heartfelt. The monks offered them a small loaf of fresh bread for their journey, and even the Abbot, himself, gave a curt, almost respectful nod. As the gates of the venerable Abbey closed behind them, Étienne and Corin set off, their small cart trundling down the dusty French road. They were once again on their own, but this time, they had a clearer direction, a shared purpose, and a bond forged in unexpected places.
The first night on their own, truly alone beneath the vast, star-strewn canvas of the French sky, was a revelation. The familiar sounds of the wilderness, the rustling leaves, the distant calls of unseen creatures, replaced the comforting, yet restrictive, presence of the Abbey or the gypsy camp. There were no hushed whispers, no looming figures, no strictures on their closeness. It was a tangible sense of liberation, a realisation of their individual journeys now irrevocably intertwined, free from the constraints of others.
But it was the following day that the full weight of their freedom truly descended upon them. The sun climbed high, beating down with a scorching intensity that made the dry baked road shimmer. They travelled until the heat became unbearable, finally halting their cart by a quiet, slow-flowing river, its surface gleaming like polished silver. They looked at each other, a silent question passing between them, then at the inviting coolness of the water.
As if a single thought sparked simultaneously in both their minds, they began to strip, shedding the dust and dirt of the road. Their clothes fell to the sun-baked earth, and with whoops of exhilaration, they ran, naked and unburdened, into the cool embrace of the river. They plunged in, splashing and laughing, the water a blessed balm against their heated skin. They swam, chasing each other, their bodies sleek and uninhibited, the sheer joy of unbridled freedom washing over them.
Finally, invigorated and cooled, they emerged, dripping, onto the riverbank, sprawling in the direct sunlight to dry. As they lay there, their skin warmed and caressed by the sun's heat, a natural arousal began to stir within them. Their eyes met, a knowing understanding passing between them, unclouded by secrecy or shame.
They moved to the dappled shade of a broad, ancient tree, its leaves whispering secrets overhead. There, under the afternoon sun, Étienne's newfound forcefulness emerged, a potent, demanding energy that captivated Corin entirely. Étienne took control, his hands and lips exploring Corin's willing body with a raw, powerful desire. Corin, for his part, adored the dominance, revelling in the sensation of being utterly possessed, a surrender born not of coercion, but of fervent love and trust. Their bodies moved together with a passionate intensity, a joining together that was ecstatic, a powerful release that bound them closer than ever before, under the vast, indifferent sky of France.
Their journey to Florence stretched ahead, a matter of several weeks, offering an expanse of time for reflection and, more importantly, for discussion about their future. As the mule plodded steadily along the French roads, pulling their small cart, Étienne and Corin often talked, their voices low and earnest, about what awaited them at their destination.
Étienne knew his options were limited. He possessed a striking appearance and a certain grace, which had opened doors for him as an artist's model. It was a path he could undoubtedly resume in Florence, but it was hardly the life he truly desired. It lacked substance, offered little in the way of true security, and certainly held no grand future beyond the whims of artistic patrons.
Corin, for his part, had his performing skills – his natural charm, his quick hands for magic, his innate musicality. He was a born entertainer, but he, too, found the nomadic life of a gypsy, while offering freedom, ultimately unsatisfying as a permanent prospect. He craved something more stable, something with a sense of purpose beyond entertaining passing crowds.
The big question that loomed before them was simple, yet daunting: what would they do when they reached Florence?
"Perhaps," Étienne mused one evening as they camped by a stream, the firelight dancing on his thoughtful face, "we could seek work in a palazzo for a noble. It's where I started, after all. It offers permanence, some security. A roof over our heads, regular meals." He spoke of the structured life, the opportunities that came with proximity to wealth and power.
Corin listened, his expression serious. "But, Étienne," he countered gently, "I don't have your background. I haven't your training, or your education. I'm a gypsy. A performer. What place would I have in a noble's household, beyond the stables or the kitchen?" The disparity in their pasts, so easily bridged by affection and shared experience on the road, suddenly felt like a formidable barrier when contemplating a future in a more rigid, class-conscious society.
The rolling hills of France slowly gave way to the majestic, formidable peaks of the Swiss mountains. The air grew crisper, the winding paths steeper, and the journey transformed into an adventure. One afternoon, as they navigated a particularly treacherous pass, they encountered a small, well-appointed caravan struggling with a broken wheel. Étienne, ever resourceful, and Corin, with his practical skills, offered their assistance. The grateful owner, a wealthy tradesman named Herr Schneider, was journeying back to his home and extended a hearty invitation for them to detour and stay at his estate.
His home, nestled in a verdant mountain valley, was a testament to his prosperity: a sprawling complex with a large workshop attached. Here, they met Herr Schneider's son, Klaus, a young man about their own age. Klaus was strikingly beautiful, with a shock of blond hair, piercing blue eyes, and a lithe, athletic build. An immediate, undeniable spark ignited between the three young men.
That evening, the air thick with unspoken desires and the intoxicating scent of pine from the surrounding forests, they found themselves drawn together. Inevitably, given Klaus's undeniable allure, the three had an intimate tryst.
The encounter was a kaleidoscope of sensations. Klaus, uninhibited and possessing a natural dominant nature, quickly took charge. His touch was firm, his desires clear, and Étienne found himself responding with an intensity that surprised him. It was a familiar feeling, one that reignited the deep-seated craving for mastery he had first experienced with Enzo and later with Thomas. Étienne reveled in being commanded, his body yielding willingly to Klaus's confident hands and demanding lips. Corin, in turn, found a deep pleasure in this shared experience, his devotion to Étienne intertwining with a novel excitement in the presence of Klaus's potent energy. The night was a blur of tangled limbs, whispered moans, and ecstatic joining.
As the dawn filtered through the workshop windows, leaving them sated and exhausted, Étienne was left with more questions than answers. The unexpected intensity with Klaus had confirmed a powerful facet of his own sexuality: a profound attraction to both dominance and being dominated. It also raised new questions about his feelings for Corin, and the complexities of desire when more than two hearts were involved. Their journey to Florence now felt even more uncertain, their future together, and perhaps with others, a path yet to be fully charted.
Please be advised that the following content describes a scene of violence and sexual assault, which some readers may find disturbing.
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