Page 46 of Burying Venus

‘He does grate, my lord,’ said Robert’s bed mate.

Kissing his partner on the cheek, thrusting almost imperceptibly forward, Robert said, ‘I begin to tire of him. These natives, I mean, and do you not think his complexion rather swarthy?’

Robert’s partner laughed and wrapped his arms around the back of Robert’s neck. The muscles confirmed him to be male. ‘Swarthy! Perhaps only in the soot of the fire. No, my lord, sometimes he looks red as a pig on the roast. Don’t you think?’

Hearing the winsome laughter and jovial tone, Dermot inched further inside. It was then the scene was revealed to him in full; two silhouettes illuminated by dim ember. Robert was in the middle of rutting, lying on top of Will as if they were the closest of confidants. Dermot had thought it all rapine but their embrace was decidedly affectionate. As they kissed, two snakes vying for dominion, their esteem for one another was evident.

Robert’s amusement came not as the usual huffs of breath but real, rich laughter that made Dermot startle. ‘Like the devil himself. One of the many ways we can tell these men apart from ourselves. We took the mainland with great strength… and you, my dear, your ancestors came as well, with your blond hair.’ He was on Will again, stifling his rapturous moans with a kiss.

Dermot cringed, boots near dropping out of his hands. He had, for the first time in his life, no desire to see such an intimate play. They evidently spoke of him, and his bowels moved so that a rumble might’ve alerted them to his presence. His face must’ve been worse than any roast. The insult done to him from Will’s own mouth severed their friendship; to convey the extent of hisbetrayal was impossible. Years were gone from them both. He dared not brood on it outside Robert’s bedroom. To hear one barb from a friend was worse than a litany from his own mind.

‘William,’ Robert said. Dermot realised, to his great displeasure, he’d started extending himself in earnest. ‘We must play history again. Me, the soldier, and you, the barbarian I’ve captured to act as my wife.’

Dermot teetered back into the corridor, having no desire to listen to such lurid filth.

‘Stop!’ Will cried.

Dermot jolted and crept back inside with one ill-timed step. The floor shuddered below. He winced in tandem, head moving to watch Robert’s reaction.

‘Bastard, let go of me! You killed my father, my mother!’ Will shouted, kicking weakly.

At that, Dermot knew his sobs for Robert’s silly game. Will had no parents to speak of, something told to him once in confidence. Dermot spoke of it to no one, but Will defiled the memory of his parents while Dermot kept them safe in his heart.

The bed began to creak with more force and sound than Dermot would ever be able to intrude upon, Robert’s interests having been roused by the crying.

A master tiring of his dog was a rotten thing; the animal would simply be put down. Will’s encouragement was another poor omen. He did not have an ally in his enemy’s bed, instead his friend had become a viper. The two of them were an awful sight, rutting in candlelight like the base creatures they were.

With a shudder, for he realised he despised them both, he stood shivering outside. He had no qualms now. His legs quivered so that his worst fear was being found cowering like a child outside. His own mother was named as a witch, their village discovered, and now he had lost Robert’s favour. There was no option but to run.

Creeping inside, a sliver of hope cut through him as the two went at it with more gusto than he’d believed a man capable. A key sat on Robert’s dresser, shimmering in the room’s dim torchlight. Dermot, careful to make sure the two were still at the task, feverishly placed the boots down and, in trade, took Robert’s keys to the castle.

Petrified as his sight momentarily darkened with shock, Dermot stumbled out with his arm extended to prevent any further commotion. Stifling a sigh and scarcely able to believe what he had done, he strode away. His heart knew where he went next; he had yearned for it often enough.

His destination was not far away from Robert’s quarters, except that Lord Stanley’s eldest son had the warmest room. The maids complained often of the coldness upstairs, saying the wind battered the windows like a siege.

Hurrying up the tower, the staircase became so steep that his sides touched the wall as he stumbled onto the castle’s highest floor. He knew this place well. It jutted out prominently and was where Dermot’s eyes oftentimes settled. The floor was without carpet, being only creaking wood, so that he was terrified of being discovered by some intrepid guard. He had no wish to be found creeping towards Lord Stanley’s youngest son’s chambers.

‘Help me,’ Dermot whispered. He had no god to pray to. Maldred, being a devil guised as divine, only hurt him. He would be, as ever, faithful to himself. Gripping the key hard enough to etch it into his skin, he drew towards the door and turned the lock.

‘Aubrey?’ Dermot said as he entered. Fool that he was, he hadn’t anticipated total darkness. He could not see at all.

He closed the door with a soft creak, wincing as he did. Foolishly lurching forward to feel for the young man’s bed, his hands strained for something solid until at last plush bedding could be felt beneath his palms.

This same scenario lent itself to many a night’s pleasure, though never in these harmless fantasies had he stolen Robert’s keys. If either Robert or Will stirred during the night, surely its absence would be noted, as well as the reemergence of the boots.

‘Aubrey!’ he said, becoming hysterical. His hands had come to the boy’s form at last. Only after feeling his arm was he met with an answering murmur.

‘Aubrey, please,’ Dermot said, kneeling by the boy’s side in a fit of passion. Something like rope cut uncomfortably into his knee, and he marvelled at Maldred’s power waning at last.

‘Oh… pardon?’ Aubrey said, pushing against Dermot as he hurried to right himself. ‘Who…’ This was said with much feeling, timid but with burgeoning suspicion as if readying to bolt.

‘It’s me,’ Dermot said, cursing his own stupidity. ‘Dermot, the scullion.’

‘Dermot?’ Aubrey said, tasting the name on his tongue. ‘But what are you doing here? I have not had any visitors excepting my brother. And it is so late.’

There was no fear in the boy’s voice, only wonder. Wishing to continue in the same manner, Dermot said, ‘I have come to tell you that I am going away. I must leave for my village.’

After nearly a minute, Aubrey said, ‘I am sorry to hear it. Of course you cannot stay. It is not safe.’