Date: Thu, 27 Apr 2006 11:13:52 +0100 (BST)
From: Mike Arram <mikearram@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: Henry in Finkle Road - 8

  All the Michael Arram stories are gathered together now on
www.iomfats.org, if you would like to investigate further the characters
featured here.
  The story contains graphic depictions of sex between young males.  If the
reading or possessing of such material as this is illegal in your place of
residence, please leave this site immediately and do not proceed further.
If you are under the legal age to read this, please do not do so.


VIII

Henry's temporary moral ascendancy over Frank elicited a reluctant consent
for Gavin's trial period at the bar of the King's Cross.  As Henry
expected, Gavin was not an immediate favourite with the hardy regulars in
the public bar.  He blushed too easily and didn't have the quickness of
repartee that had got acceptance for Henry.  On the other hand, he was not
flustered by Henry's arch-enemy, the till.  Not only that, but his mental
maths was good, and he could calculate change faultlessly.  This meant that
he was quite a bit quicker at serving the bar and rather more co-ordinated
than Henry when it came to delivering the drinks.
  Over a fortnight they developed a very effective double act.  Henry
engaged the customers with jokes and roguish double-entendres, while Gavin
backed him up with quick and accurate fulfilling of orders.  Henry called
it their mutual-defence pact.  Even Frank noticed the difference on Friday
and Saturday nights.  The bar was less crowded with people waiting, and
customers were more relaxed and happier as a result.  Gavin got the job.
  As October moved into November, Gavin lost some of his shyness and gained
markedly in confidence through his challenging work in the pub.  The night
he found himself serving Wayne was his personal high point.  He took his
time about pulling the pint, smiling in Wayne's face, and when he had it
nearly full, he took it briefly out of Wayne's sight.  When he came back he
handed it to Wayne and took payment with a little smile, saying, `The thing
you gotta ask yourself, Wayne, is whether I gobbed in your pint when I took
it round to the public bar, or maybe dipped my cock in it.  So, do you feel
lucky?'
  Henry convulsed.  Wayne looked over at a sardonic Frank and whined, `Did
you hear what he said to me?'
  Frank looked contemptously back at him.  `I think he pissed in it,
myself.  Let me know, and I'll top it up personally if I'm wrong.  Now fuck
off.'
  The same evening, an emboldened Gavin asked Henry in a quiet moment
whether the boy in the picture with him was Ed Cornish.  Henry admitted it
was.  `He is so handsome and look at all those muscles.  Sex with him
really must have been something.'
  `It was different, Gavin.  Not necessarily better.'
  `I can't understand how you could give up a big hunk like that for a
little punk like me.'
  Henry smiled.  `Stop fishing for compliments.  Ed is the past, and you're
the present.  Don't you like what we do together?'  They were doing it a
lot, and unprotected, now they had the all-clear from their tests.
  `It's ace, Henry.  I just wonder if I disappoint you.'
  `Never, Gavin.  You're what I want.  You're an eager little beaver, and
you've made this term worthwhile for me.'
  Gavin smiled and they had a brief kiss, as Frank's back was turned.
  Eddie and some nervous mates came into the bar at that point.  Eddie
couldn't have cared less whether the pub was a gay one or not.  The
sleazier the better as far as he was concerned.
  `Hey homers,' he greeted Gavin and Henry, `nice place you got here.'
  `Evening, Eddie.  How's Surfing Soc?'
  `Me and the guys are thinking about Pembrokeshire next weekend.  There's
some long beaches there and the tide's right, so they told us at Newquay.
Pity the sea's so fucking cold.'
  Eddie's trip to Newquay had been a sensational success in both social and
sporting terms.  His drinking mates had been set alight by his enthusiasm
and skills on the board, to the point where some were now serious surfers.
Surfing Soc was growing apace, having acquired an events secretary and a
training programme, run personally by Eddie in the city pool.  Henry
concluded that at least Eddie was getting something out of his time in
university, other than endangered lungs from passive smoking in the Union
bar.
  `One thing, faggot,' Eddie went on to say.  `You coming over to Suffolk
for New Year's?'
  `Nobody asked me,' Henry replied sadly.
  `Well I'm asking you, dude.'
  `You can't, Eddie.  It's Andy's place, not yours.  Don't worry about it.'
  `It's not fair the way they're closing you out, Henry dude.'
  `I don't think they're doing it deliberately, Eddie.  It probably seems
diplomatic to them to stop me and Ed coming into contact for a while.  It
saves embarrassment.'
  `Still sucks.'
  Henry shrugged and got Eddie his drinks.
  Eddie was changing, so much was clear.  He had been set alight by Paul
Oscott's inspired module, and was attending a lot of his other classes if
they didn't clash with his social life.  Henry had found him chewing a
pencil the previous week, puzzling over an essay title.  A small stack of
books had appeared on the table in his bedroom, amongst unwashed and
discarded underwear, boxes of condoms and used crockery.  There really was
a Peacher brain in that bleached and swept-back Californian head.
  On the down side, Eddie was getting quite a reputation amongst the female
students.  Some enthusiastic good-time girls had homed in on him, and Henry
was quite certain he'd been in bed with two of them at once the night
before.  He had taped to the fridge a list of sexual acts he intended
doing.  The only box which had not yet been ticked was `Anal Fuck'.  His
sexual stamina was certainly remarkable, as also was his lack of conscience
about the consequences of his promiscuity.  `Hey, I use condoms, what the
fuck more do you want?' he had defended himself when Henry had made some
hints about the dangers in what he was doing.  In fact, however, Henry had
been referring to the ever-present dangers of the media.
  In off moments at the bar -- when Frank was elsewhere (`I don't pay you
to fucking stand round reading') -- and between the growing number of his
module assignments, Henry ploughed on with the Bannow book.  For Bannow,
the fall of Constantinople to the crusaders in 1204 was a fatal moment in
the story of the relics of Christ.  He suggested that the holy icon had
been placed under imperial protection by the Doukid and Comnenid emperors
at their great monastery of Christ Pantocrator in the city.  There it
exerted a wide influence.
  The famous Holy Face of Lucca, Bannow suggested, was a copy of the Christ
icon, commissioned by Luccanese merchants who had seen it in
Constantinople.  However, the Luccan picture was not the Vera Icon, as was
claimed, only a copy.  The fate of the real one was crucially affected when
the city was sacked by the Fourth Crusade.  Bannow confessed that he lost
track of the image at that historical point.
  So Bannow switched track.  He focussed again on the idea of a `holy
dynasty'.  He went back to the Ephesian line, and traced it down through
the time of the brief Latin empire of Constantinople as far as the empress
Theophania, the famous seer and -- some said -- sorceress, wife of
Andronicus Palaeologus.  Theophania was the daughter of Count Nicetas of
Ephesus, himself a great scholar and astrologer, and in the true line of
descent from John the Evangelist, according to Bannow.  He repeated the
legends of Theophania: how her gifts had allowed her to thwart a secret
Bulgarian attack on Constantinople; how she poisoned half the treacherous
Nicaean aristocracy at supper one night; how she travelled as far as India
in search of arcane knowledge; how she was rumoured to have walked across
the Hellespont; and how she raised the dead.  But the story Bannow
concentrated on concerned the excavations under Hagia Sophia that she
commanded, and the secret treasures she was supposed to have discovered
there.
  Henry saw it coming.  Had she received a supernatural revelation and
recovered the concealed portrait of Christ?  If she had, she did not
transfer it to the imperial chapel or the patriarchal treasury.  What then
had become of it?
  It was on a Saturday morning early in November, as Gavin was still asleep
in bed upstairs and Eddie was off surfing on Pendine Sands, that Henry
turned the page and got to Bannow's answer.  The shock almost made him drop
the book.
  Around 1380, Anastasia of Heracleia, the eldest daughter of Theophania,
had been married to the King of Hungary.  Into that Catholic country she
brought a great treasure of icons and jewels, a legacy of her mother's.
Queen Anastasia had a reputation similar to her mother's, although in
Anastasia's case it was as a medical practitioner of remarkable and indeed
uncanny skill.  A woman of great piety, she was hailed as a saint when she
died, though Rome refused to beatify her as she had been firmly Orthodox in
faith.
  Anastasia had several daughters.  The fourth of them, her seventh child
Fenice, married Count Sergius of Tarlenheim.  Henry's heart all but
stopped.  What!  The Tarlenheims come into this!  The same pattern occurred
in Rothenia, uncanny stories collecting round Fenice of Tarlenheim.  She
had a gift for prophecy and was a seer, to the extent that there was a move
by a bishop of Modenheim in 1423 to have her taken up by the Inquisition.
But she was protected by her great friend and patron, the then Duchess
Osra, last of the native Rothenian line to rule that land.  The friends
retired together into the ducal monastery of Medeln in 1440, where Countess
Fenice became abbess and died in a rich odour of sanctity.  Miracles had
been associated with her since her first arrival in Rothenia, and they
continued at her tomb.  Her Meditations on the Face of Our Lord was the
first major work of Rothenian literature.
  When he had put the book down, Henry went straight to Eddie's computer
and booted up.  He opened his e-mail account and began a message.
  <Hi, Fritzy.  Hope you're OK and senior high's not too much of a drag.
Is it your baccalaureate this year?  Bet you're looking forward to it.
Lol.  How's your thing going with Maria?  Dare I ask?  You were supposed to
send a scan of her picture.  I told you about Gavin, my boyfriend.  What
you think?  (see attachment).  OK, he is not Ed Cornish, but he has his
attractions, and I won't tell you what they are cos you're dissolute enough
already.  Lol.  I'm just reading a book in which the Tarlenheims appear.
Have you heard of Alastair Bannow?  It's called Staring in the Face of
Christ.  It says you lot are a holy dynasty and descended from a sister of
Jesus Christ.  Isn't that cool?  They obviously haven't seen what Oskar got
up to for Falkefilm.  See ya.  Henry.  PS.  You didn't tell me you were
descended from a saint!>
  Henry was intrigued as to the answer he would get to that one.
  His inbox was quite full.  The first message he went to was from Justin.
He opened it with anticipation.
  <Hey Henry.  Nate and me want you to come and stay with us at Haddesley
at New Year.  We think it's dull that Andy and Matt can't make their minds
up to ask you or not.  Yes, Ed is bringing his new boyfriend (groan).  Even
so, you're our mate and it'd be crap if you weren't with us.  Please come.
We can do sex acts together! [No, you bloody can't -- Nathan] You gonna
bring Gareth or whatever his name is?  He can come too.  Love.  Justy
XXXXX>
  Henry grinned, and then looked thoughtful.  So there was a debate going
on as to whether to include Henry in the Peacher set any more.  He was a
bit disappointed with Matt White, whom he had thought of as a good friend
and a man to look up to.  But then he scanned down and saw a message from
<ceo.office@marlowe.co.uk>.  When he opened it, he found it was from Matt
himself.
  <Dear Henry.  I've been meaning to get in touch for quite a while.  The
first thing is that I have a job for you over the Xmas vacation at Marlowe
Productions if you're interested.  It's a short contract but it needs
someone who speaks Rothenian, and that's a rare skill.  I can offer quite a
substantial fee, and I guarantee you'll enjoy it.  I'm very happy to put
you up at Highgate.  Of course, it helps that Ed will be down in Suffolk
with Andy over the holidays, in case you're still finding it difficult to
be in the same room with him.  We would love to see you in Andy's place at
Castringham too for the New Year house party.  It's up to you.  Ed will be
there with his new partner, whom we have not yet met.  Love as always.
Matt.  PS.  Adore the poster.  I have it in my office here.>
  Wow!  Henry was intrigued ... as he realised he was meant to be.  He was
also comforted.  His old friends had not forgotten him after all and wanted
him with them.  Despite the delicate position with Ed, they still missed
him.  So it was down to him.  Was he mature enough to deal with an
ex-boyfriend -- one for whom he still had feelings -- on a daily basis?
Henry looked into his heart, and thought maybe he had grown up that much.
He could hear Gavin moving about, singing away unconsciously and happily as
he went into the bathroom, and he smiled and thought that his new love was
putting down roots.  Henry the Strong, that's me.
  He got his student diary and did some calculations.  There was a working
week preceding the Christmas holidays.  He could have four days with his
family and then off to Suffolk.  After that there were two weeks before
term recommenced, and even then it was assessment period so he could work
most of it odd days.  He e-mailed Justin and said he would join him and
Nathan for the New Year.  That way he would be near Castringham, but not
sleeping in the house.  He flicked his mobile and checked with David as to
what his and Terry's plans were.  It turned out that they were staying the
holiday in Cranwell with Terry's parents.  Then they too were going on to
Castringham.  It was all coming together nicely.  The only problem was
Gavin.
  `Morning baby,' Henry said.  He grabbed Gavin round the waist as the boy
passed the kitchen table.  He hugged Gavin, lifting his tee shirt and
licking his jewel-like little navel.  Gavin giggled and squirmed
delightfully.  Henry pushed his hands up Gavin's shorts and cupped his
tight buttocks while nuzzling his belly.  Pretty soon Gavin was naked and
Henry was too.  Henry took him energetically, bending over the kitchen
table.  After their sweaty coupling, he led Gavin upstairs to the bathroom
and they lay together happily in a hot tub, Gavin on top of Henry.
  `Gavin,' he asked eventually, `what are your plans for Christmas?'
  `Home, I suppose.  How about you?'
  `I've had a job offer in London.'
  Gavin sloshed the water as he moved to look at Henry.  `That's cool.
Who's the job for?'
  `Matt White.  I worked for his company the summer before last, and he's
got some sort of contract he wants me to help with.'
  `Sounds even better.  Henry, I've been thinking about this.  I don't feel
up to coming out to my parents yet.  You're going to think that I'm wet,
but I'm just not ready.  I'm still ... fragile, and I don't want a big row
over the holidays.  It's bad enough anyway with those little creeps of
brothers of mine.  So, it isn't the right time yet for you to meet my
parents.'
  `I understand.  We've got our mobiles, and hey!  You can sneak a few days
to come stay with me in London after New Year, yes?
  Gavin grinned.  `Really?  That'd be so good!  And do I get to meet the
Matthew White?'
  `Maybe, unless he's jetting off somewhere with his Andy.'
  `Just promise me you'll think about me all day long ... especially when
you're jerking off, my funny and gorgeous Henry.'  And Gavin blushed when
he said that, though why he should have done was more than Henry could see
when they truly had no more boundaries of intimacy to cross.