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the Unmentionable Vice
| Rating: |
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| Past Life:
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1150-ish
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| Warnings: |
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| Notes: |
FYI on two time-period phrases: to
be "gifted with a tilted sword" is to be knighted; and the Unmentionable
Vice is an actual phrase, circa 1150, for homosexuality. Many thanks
to Pepe for the wonderful beta! |
There they were. The two of them. It was always the two of
them. Standing together, proud and strong.
At first everyone had thought that they were simply master
and servant, teacher and student, knight and squire. But those times are long
passed now. Sir Daniel was a knight in his own right, gifted with a tilted sword
by the High King himself. His blue eyes were no longer wide and wonder-filled.
Instead, they carried the weight of battle. His hands, those lovely hands that
could write beautiful stories and bring them to life as only the most famous of
bards could, had held a blade as it sliced into flesh, have fisted and raged and
taken lives. And Lord Jonathan was still beside him, still calling him 'Daniel'
as none other would dare, just as he was called 'Jack'. Not even I call him
Jack.
They had gone off to fight the Holy Wars with the King,
and had come back changed men, as so many have done. The harsh sun in that
god-forsaken land had lightened their hair as it had darkened their skin, but it
had been their eyes that had held the story, the one they had never said out
loud in my company. And of course there had been the dreams, the terrible dreams
that had left my brother and his second screaming in the night. I once heard
that Jonathan had been taken by the Moors, captured in battle and taken to a
dark realm where the eyes were of no use, and all the ears could hear were the
screams of innocent men. Sir Daniel went back for him. I owed him my brother's
life. He had gone back into that hell and had fought off God only knows how many
savages, and had dragged my brother to safety. Had kept him alive, kept him
breathing, until they had found a monastery. The monks were, thankfully,
healers. I have no way of knowing if Sir Daniel knew that; if somewhere in the
books women are forbidden to read -those of us who COULD read- there was a way
to decipher which monasteries held healers and which held scribes, who would
have been useless to my brother. I saw the scars when he got home. Men didn't
usually come home when the scars stretched across their stomachs and chests like
that. They were usually brought to the Priest on their shields, the altar boys
sent to the home of the wives or mothers who didn't yet know that they grieved.
And then, when the poor souls saw the bodies of their sons or her husbands, they
screamed and wailed. And then the mourners came.
But my brother needed no mourners. Sir Daniel saw to that.
And when my dear brother was still too fevered in his
sick-bed, it was Sir Daniel who stood to meet Sir Jonas, the man our father had
thought to be a good match for me. And it was Sir Daniel who took him to the
tavern to talk the talk a bride-to-be should never hear. Later that night when
he returned to our home, he told me that, with my father dead and buried those
four years and my brother so ill, it was my choice now. He sat me down and
steeped the tea himself and told me that his best council, though council was
all it could ever be, was that I say nay. He told me that Sir Jonas had been
short and harsh with the tavern wenches, that that was how he knew the man to be
without the honour his title proclaimed. That was nine years ago. Sir Jonas went
to the gallows two years later, proclaimed a heretic. I saw the woman who had
accepted his proposal, and knew she hadn't limped like that before the wedding
and her eye was still green from the healing bruise.
I owe Sir Daniel my life as well.
I have a good husband now in David the Saddler. But my
dear brother, and the brother of my heart, have never found wives to call their
own. They live together in the home where Jonathan and I grew up, where Jonathan
is Lord now. After the wars they couldn't face life in the barracks- or that's
what I told myself for ten long years. I had convinced myself that they loved as
brothers, but I know now that I didn't understand. That I could not understand.
Yesternight I went to see them, to tell them the news that
my youngest, named for Sir Daniel, was walking. My heart was bursting with the
news, as only a mother's heart can, I'm sure. Without a thought I went racing
in, passed the deaf old housekeeper and the sleeping dogs, right up the stairs,
running as I had done when I was still a foolish girl. I went first to Sir
Daniel's room, pounding on the door to rouse his attention, and then on to my
brother's room, where I flew open the door and stopped dead in my tracks.
There they were on the bed. Beside one another, as always.
And though they scrambled for the blankets to cover themselves, I saw that they
were unclothed. Jonathon opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came. And
before they had a moment to compose their thoughts I was flying back down the
stairs, away from the sight I thought was evil; into the night, and to my own
home where my husband jumped to his feet and grabbed a broadsword, convinced
that I was being pursued. I ran into his arms and wept. I had always seen my
brother as perfect. Assumed that he only lacked a bride because some terrible
wound in the war had left him unable to father children. And now I felt
shattered.
My dear brother, Lord O'Neill of York was committing a
crime against God, a slave to the Unmentionable Vice.
This morning I woke early, needing to see a Priest,
needing to know what I should do. I gathered my children to me, hearing the
hitch in my own voice as I called to my dear sweet boy Daniel. Everything I was
raised to believe, to think, told me that I had named my own child for a man who
was an abomination. The man who had stood in God's own church and vowed to raise
my children to walk with God should anything ever happen to me and my David.
What was I to do? Surely, I felt, surely the priest would give me good council.
And so I took my children into the town proper.
And there they were. The two of them. It was always the
two of them. Standing together strong and proud.
And now I stand here, and I'm looking at them. My dear
brother and his... his what? Little Daniel made a noise at seeing them and they
turned as one. As one. Just like every other time. At first their faces lit up
at seeing the children. And then they looked at me.
There was a slightly defiant set to both of their faces,
but their eyes... oh dear God, their eyes; there was just so much hurt behind
Daniel's dazzling blue, almost as if he were about to cry. And my brother, my
dear sweet brother who has always, always been there for me, his eyes were
pleading. Never in my thirty two years had I ever, ever, ever seen his eyes so
vulnerable, pleading with me for... something. Did he want my silence? My
understanding? What could I possibly give?
I was rooted to the spot, unable to move, unable to speak.
The sun moved out from behind the clouds, lighting them in
a way I'd only seen in the beautiful cathedral windows. And I could see it, I
could see how much they loved each other; how they stood beside each other, how
they always would.
Jonathan took a breath, and with more courage than I can
imagine he said one simple word, "Samantha?"
I couldn't help myself, I began to cry. "Little Daniel's
walking," I blurted, unable to hear anything more. "I was coming to tell you
yesternight, but there was a strange figure on the road, and I have to admit I
was frightened and ran home. But he is, he just started yesterday!"
I saw twin smiles bloom on Jonathan and Sir Daniel's
faces, and just like that everything was again as it had always been. Me and my
David and our children, and Jonathan and his Daniel. We are a family, love has
forged us as such.
contact Connor:
feedback@pepesplace.co.uk |
