Date: Sun, 28 May 2006 06:53:18 +0100 (BST)
From: Mike Arram <mikearram@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: Henry in Finkle Road - 20

  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.

XX

`So what are you going to do, Henry?'  Gavin had been riveted by what Henry
told him.  They were sitting huddled over a table in the somewhat
depressing bar of the Strelzen Holiday Inn.  It had taken three
gin-and-tonics to finish the story.
  `What am I going to do?  I suppose I'm going to continue my
investigations, baby.  I'm more and more convinced that Bannow was right
and that Rothenia has a secret at its heart.  Indeed, that it actually does
have a spiritual heart, that pulses ... something ... round itself.'
  `Do you seriously think that Oskar and Fritz know the secret?'
  `I'm perfectly convinced that they know nothing about it, which does not
mean they aren't in some way involved in it.'
  `How?'
  `No idea, baby.  This is no ordinary secret.  People have been aware of
the presence of an uncanny thing in Rothenia since St Fenice's days.  The
Hussites tried to break into Tarlenheim castle way back in the time of
Count Jerzy the Black.  They were after it then, I'm quite sure, probably
to destroy it, as they were not exactly in favour of religious pictures.
The way the castle was saved tells you something of the power of this
thing.  Although help was given, its deadly influence left a mark on the
house of Tarlenheim ever afterwards.  You know the story of the Grey
Spectre?'
  `No.  But it sounds really cool.  Tell me about it.'
  Henry was near the bottom of his fourth gin-and-tonic by the time he
finished, and he was beginning to feel the effects.  Gavin was hanging on
his every word.
  `You think the portrait was still in the castle in those days?'
  `I do.  I also think Fenice moved it to the ducal abbey of Medeln soon
after, when she retired there as a nun.  She concealed it in the abbey
somehow.  But she left guardians.  The prophecies say as much: "Their line
will always be fruitful of Levites."  The Levites were the guards and
attendants of the Temple of Solomon, a hereditary caste.  Fenice seems to
be referring to them when she says that "their hair will be red as copper
is red and gold as the sunlight is golden."  Now if she said just gold, she
might have meant her own people, the Tarlenheims, while red sort of hints
at the Elphbergs.  But she says they will be red and gold, and that's not
possible.  The Elphbergs are either red- or black-haired.'
  `Ahah!' Gavin intervened with a certain amount of excitement.  `But
aren't the Elphberg flag colours red and gold?'
  `Yes, but the prophecy says it's the guardians' hair which is red and
gold,' Henry replied regretfully.
  `Oh,' murmured Gavin, a little dashed, but then he perked up.  `There's
also Mendamero.  He seems a fascinating character.'
  `Fenice predicts that this Mendamero person will one day appear and save
Rothenia, or the relic, or something.  The KRB fascists had an idea that
Mendamero would be a mystical figure who would renew Rothenia, a bit like
the Nazis wanted to breed a superman to renew the Aryan race.  The KRB was
in pursuit of the portrait of Christ.  It seems they made the same
deduction as I did about it, that it was hidden somewhere.  They so
desperately wanted to find it and find out who Mendamero was too.  But they
wanted it to increase their own power.  It was a way of seizing domination
over the minds of Rothenians, and maybe of fighting Rothenia's enemies as
well.'
  `Raiders of the Lost Art,' said Gavin solemnly.  Henry looked at him,
caught the twinkle in his eye, and they laughed.
  After a while, Henry carried on.  `We seem to have all the evidence that
the KRB had.  Old Man Wardrinski found an ancient woodcut of a lost
illumination of the Vision of Fenice, with an intriguing hint as to where
the relic might be found.  The Priory decided, from what the inscription
round the illumination said, that the relic was buried for safety's sake
with the bones of one of the dead female saints of Rothenia.  This is what
"in manibus ancillae suae" might mean ... it was in the possession of
Christ's handmaiden.  The Priory was so convinced of this, it seems, that
its agents secretly opened up all the graves to which they could get
access.  Urghh.  Rifling through old bones at dead of night to find the
treasure.  Since they had so many sympathisers amongst the Catholic
hierarchy, they seem to have managed to tick off most of their list.  But
the one they could not find was Fenice.'
  Gavin was still focussed on Mendamero.  `This guy, this promised
saviour?'
  `Yes?'
  `Do we know anything more about him?'
  `He will be bold and wise ... which is part of the job description for
saviours, I would say.  His name is a code, so people think.  The Priory of
St Veronica worked out 144 meaningful combinations in Rothenian, Czech,
Polish and German, desperate to find out who he might be and whether they
could tie him to Gulik and his movement.  But scholars point out that if
you rearrange the letters in Latin, you get "memorande", which they think
just means "things to be committed to memory".  Fenice had been given a
revelation.  Although she was supposed to pass it on, she wasn't going to
broadcast it generally.  She knew its meaning, but she was careful how she
lifted the veil on her prophecy.  Perhaps only the Levites know the full
significance.'
  `Pity.  I like crosswords.'
  `You do?  I never knew that.'
  `So there are still things you have to learn about me, my Henry?'  Gavin
smiled a little secretively, and then looked serious.  `You're going to try
to find this thing, aren't you.'
  `I am.'
  `Why?'
  `Pardon me?'
  Gavin looked anxiously at Henry.  `It's not as if it wants to be found.
Probably it's waiting for a future time still distant when it will reveal
itself.'
  `You talk of this thing as if it had a mind of its own.'
  `It seems to have its own purposes, which its guardians may not know, but
they're protecting it for that future time anyway.  They must be alarmed by
the way things are going at the moment.  Alastair Bannow has drawn the
world's attention to the secret, and intelligent people like you, my Henry,
are on the case.  Then there is this Priory ... why do you think it's
defunct?  It could still be out there, still on the lookout for this
national talisman, eager to use its power for its own purposes.'
  `Oh!  I hadn't thought of that.  It would be a complicating factor ... and
scary too!  But Wardrinski's father fled Rothenia during the war.  You
would think all his colleagues were either dispersed, dead or killed.  They
would need to be in their eighties by now, or even older.'
  `What about their children?  The Priory may have passed its mission on to
them.'
  `Old Man Wardrinski didn't have much success in that department.  His son
stands for exactly the opposite of the things he supported.  Professor
Wardrinski must have been really turned off by his father's Catholicism and
nationalism.  He became a militant atheist and is more British than the
Last Night of the Proms.'
  `The other guys in the picture may have had more success.  Have you got
their names?'
  `Er ... yeah.  They're in my notebook, which I have here.  Let's see.
Gulik, Wardrinski ... don't recognise the other names, except ... oh!'
  `Have you found something?'
  `I don't know.  But there's a Kamil Bermann here.  I wonder ...'
  `Do you know the name?'
  `I do.  Kamil Bermann was the last Direktor of the KRB, appointed after
Gulik shot himself when he saw the Nazi swastika waving over the palace in
Strelzen.  Bermann held that post for only a few months before the Nazis
clamped down on them.  Although he may not have been a particularly nice
man, he refused to provide blond-haired recruits from his fascist
organisation for the SS, and he wouldn't co-operate in the roundup of the
Rothenian Jews.  After that, Bermann became a resistance leader and a
national hero in a small way.  Now, there was a Piotr Bermann who was till
recently the Social Democratic Party leader, and nearly got elected
president last year, before the Elphberg monarchy was restored. Do you
think Piotr Bermann might be Kamil's son?'
  `It's a lead, Henry.'
  `You think Piotr Bermann might be linked into the Priory?'
  `What do the Social Democrats believe in?'
  `Er ... they are very right wing, anti-German and hyper-nationalist ...
hmm, not too different from the KRB, I suppose.  I guess he could be one of
the Priory.  The problem for Piotr Bermann was that his followers were also
natural royalists as well as right-wingers.  When he stood out against the
restoration of the monarchy, the party ditched him.  It's an interesting
idea to pursue.  I'm glad I shared this with you, Gavin baby.'
  They smiled at each other, before Henry led Gavin off to bed.

The rest of the week was spent knocking the screenplay into shape and
making final arrangements for the filming, which was to begin the next
week.  On the Friday, Matt closed the last of the files laid out on his
office table and smiled at his two young assistants.
  `Oskar wanted me to tell you two that he's putting you both up in
Templerstadt itself, not in the hotel at Medeln with the rest of the
Marlowe people.  Fritz is going to be back soon and he wants to see you
both.  He can't go back to Modenehem because of the problem with the
religious zealots.  Eddie and Harriet are flying in tomorrow under escort
from Justin.'
  `Oh, fantastic!' enthused Henry.  The Templerstadt house-party was
shaping up to be fun.  All his favourite people were going to be there,
apart from David and Terry.  David was at home trying to work something out
with his parents, while Terry was in the USA on a contract.
  `So get yourselves packed.  I'll pick you up from the Holiday Inn on
Saturday morning, OK boys?'
  `Absolutely, Matt.'
  `Have you got any plans for tonight?'
  `Yes,' said Gavin decidedly.  `We're going clubbing.'
  `We are?'

`I've asked round, and people say this is more your typical Rothenian gay
club,' said Henry.
  `The White Tree,' Gavin observed. `It sounds nice, a bit Tolkeinesque.'
  `Tolkeinesque?' queried Henry, before remembering that Gavin was a
complete Lord of the Rings addict.  He had read and re-read the trilogy
twice already since he had been living with Henry -- it was a fixture on
Gavin's side of their bed.  The extended-edition DVDs were very visible on
their entertainment shelf.
  Henry regrouped.  `Will said Oskar and Felip used to be regulars there,
though he's only checked it out a couple of times himself.  It's a bit more
working-class than the glitz of Liberation.'
  Gavin looked a little disappointed; he had heard a lot about Liberation.
He had thought he and Henry would be hitting the Wejg, Strelzen's red-light
district.  But he was a trusting little body, and knew Henry would have his
reasons.
  Henry did.  Will had warned him that his poster fame had spread to
Strelzen, and he would get a lot of unwelcome attention from the foreign
gays in Club Liberation.
  The boys looked at the low-arched door in a side street off the
Flavienplaz.  Above it was a small, illuminated sign.  A hand-lettered card
on the door said, a little forbiddingly, `Privaat Club'.  There was no
indication that this was a gay bar at all.  Henry smiled at a nervous Gavin
and led the way in.
  The White Tree was low-roofed and dimly lit, which added to the
impression that it was quite full.  A lot of eyes turned to look at them.
There were a couple of groups of younger men, most in their early twenties.
They looked fit and quite well buffed.  Will had said the Falkefilm boys
tended to meet at the Tree, rather than in Liberation, and the groups
eyeing up Henry and Gavin could well be the ones.
  Henry headed for the bar.  The stocky barman gave him a neutral look, but
brightened a little when Henry greeted him in Rothenian.  He and Gavin took
glasses of fruit wine to a side table near a group of Rothenian lads.
  `Not a lot happening here, Gavin baby.'
  `I guess not.  I'd even settle for a pub quiz.'
  `According to those notices, they have a disco on Saturday, which we'll
miss.'
  They sipped their wine in silence for a bit.  All at once, Henry became
aware that a dark- haired Rothenian boy was being egged on to talk to them.
Eventually he slipped into a vacant chair at their table.
  `Excuse me,' he said politely in English, looking at Henry, `but are you
Hendrik Atvood?'
  Henry stared at him.  `Er ... who wants to know?'
  The boy smiled winningly at him.  `My name is Radik.  I am good friend of
Bolslaw Meric.  He talks a lot about you, Hendrik.  We have your poster in
Falkefilm offices.'
  `Crikey!  You're a Falkefilm actor?  I bet you know Felip Ignacij and
Oskar Prinz.'
  `Yes, they are old friends, and I think you are friend of theirs too,
yes?  Would you come to sit with us, as friends of friends?'
  Henry grinned.  Having a drink with a collection of Falkefilm babes was
probably most foreign gays' idea of heaven.  It was certainly high on the
list of Henry's ideas for a good night out.
  They slipped across and the introductions were made.  Most of the boys
were around twenty, although Radik was in his later twenties now, and ready
to retire, he said with a small smile.  They were all typically polite
Rothenian boys, except that they were better dressed than the average and
very well buffed.  You could hardly imagine they took their clothes off and
had public sex for a living.  They looked like prosperous students or young
office workers on a night out.
  Henry began explaining what had brought them to Strelzen.  They all knew
Matt White, and were duly impressed.  A blond, good-natured boy called
Fridric said he knew Will Vincent too.  They had auditioned together for
Falkefilm, and he had been dying to be cast with Will.  `No such luck, of
course,' he said in Rothenian.  `He is very famous now and very wealthy.
Most people think he is a native Rothenian, but he still spoke with
something of an English accent in those days.  We see each other sometimes,
and he's offered me and Radik jobs when we finish with Falkefilm.'
  `Yes,' said Radik, `but Mr Wileminn will give me a job running the
website.  So I may stick with Falkefilm.  Business gets better all the
time.  Because my English is good, I went on a publicity tour to Cape Town
and Buenos Aires only last year ... what a life, eh?'
  Henry diplomatically introduced the idea that Will and Hendrik Wileminn
had fallen out over the restoration of the monarchy the previous year.  The
Falkefilm boys eyed each other.  Finally Radik answered, `There was some
problem, we heard, and I won't say that Mr Wileminn did not stamp and swear
a lot when his side lost, but they seem to have made it up.  Will was at
Hendrik's Dalmatian villa a month ago when we went there to film Rothenian
Boys 17.  That was when two of us got up Fridric's butt at the same time
for the camera.  You were walking bow-legged for two weeks, weren't you,
Freddie?'
  Another boy eagerly added, `Yeah, but the naked beach-volleyball match
was the best.  The winners got to fuck the losers on the sand in the open.
It was the coolest sex I ever had, and the result was not fixed, no way.'
  `The sand got everywhere though,' Radik grimaced.  `I'm still finding it
in my orifices.'
  A lot of similar stories later, Henry and Gavin's trousers were ready to
split with the internal pressure.  The Falkefilm boys were likewise fired
up, and they intended to do something about it too.  They decided on
Radik's apartment in Sudmesten for what sounded like something that would
have quite interested Caligula, and were keen that the two English boys
join them.
  Henry caught Gavin's eye.  Gavin looked half-tempted but scared.  Henry
therefore thanked them, but said no.  He didn't think he possessed the sort
of stamina to join in the multiple couplings of such a fit group of serious
hunks.  They seemed genuinely regretful, but took their leave in the formal
Rothenian way between men.
  `Wow,' sighed Gavin with a rather cute smile.  `I'm glad I argued against
Club Liberation tonight.'
  `You did what?'

Matt drove them north to Templerstadt in person.  It was a cheerful
journey.  Matt was in a good mood, now that the confrontation between
Bannow and Wardrinski was over.  There had been no major incident, despite
Wardrinski's attempts at taunting the American.  The ill- concealed
discourtesy had merely made Bannow puzzled.  He was clearly a man who had
not encountered much in the way of deliberate rudeness in his cloistered
and imaginative world.  Bannow and Wardrinski were now carefully separated,
the American in a very fine country hotel near the abbey of Medeln, and the
professor in a hotel in Modenehem.
  Henry sat in the front and navigated.  Gavin dozed in the back; indeed,
he seemed very sleepy a lot of the time, to the extent that Henry was
thinking of mentioning it to Oskar when they got to Templerstadt.
  Finally they left the national routes and moved on to the country roads.
The car climbed up a ridge with a superb view of the Starel basin and
southern Husbrau below them.  Then they turned north, following a shallow
river valley, in which they could glimpse below them through the trees the
white buildings of the church and convent of the Marienkloster at Medeln.
  The road dipped up and down the heavily wooded ridge.  Henry had to be
quick to notice the avenue leading to the house of Templerstadt, protected
by a lodge and tall gates, as well as by signs identifying the turnoff as a
private road and forbidding trespass.  Matt pulled up to the lodge and
sounded the horn of his BMW.  An old porter came out and, after Henry
identified the occupants of the car, smiled and opened the gates.  They
drove along a tree-lined drive which curved gently up through fields to a
cluster of buildings on a low hill.  The car rumbled under a Gothic arch
and into a large gravelled courtyard.  To their right was a jewel of a
medieval chapel, beautiful with buttresses, finials and tall lancet
windows.  To their left were what must formerly have been stables, and
directly ahead rose the façade of a fine brick range of many mixed periods
of architecture.  It was quite simply the most delightful group of
buildings Henry had ever seen.  It reminded him a little of the quad of an
Oxford college he had once been to, though the buildings were not so
regular.
  Matt pulled up in front of the big oak door.  When they got out of the
car, they heard a dog faintly yapping inside the house, but otherwise
everything was peaceful.  Henry said, `Wow!  Oskar and Pete have certainly
found domestic nirvana.'
  Matt looked around.  `This place is amazing.  Will told me that Peter has
built a conservatory down there behind the stable block, with gym, sauna
and quite a sizeable indoor pool.'
  The door opened, and a servant in a waistcoat came out.  He bowed
slightly and asked in English whether they were Dr White and friends.  Matt
smiled and acknowledged it.  As the servant was opening the boot of the
BMW, a small terrier dashed out of the door and started dancing round Matt,
who knelt down and patted the animal.  `This is Oskar's dog, Marietta ...
they've been together for quite a few years now.'
  Having satisfied herself by licking Matt all over his face, the dog
turned her boisterous attentions on Henry, whom she seemed to be able to
identify as a doggy type of person.  Henry obliged with the required
petting.
  It was as Marietta turned to Gavin that a very odd thing happened.  The
terrier froze and stared up at the boy.  Her tail stopped wagging.  She
seemed mesmerised by him for a full minute.  At last she slowly moved
towards him and simply licked his hand, then sat next to him, staring
fixedly up at the boy.
  Henry and Matt stared.  `Has a dog ever done that to you before, baby?'
Henry asked.
  `Er ... no.  Mostly they ignore me,' Gavin replied slowly, clearly a
little disconcerted by the dog's fixed gaze.  Marietta trotted close behind
him as they went inside.
  `Nice place,' gasped Henry.  They entered directly into a passage, on the
right of which a large sitting room welcomed them with tall diamond-paned
windows lit up by the sun.  Heraldic stained glass featured the arms of the
Templars, the archdiocese of Strelzen and the diocese of Modenehem.
Although large, it was nonetheless a comfortable room, with the scents of
summer drifting in through an open casement, and sunlight patterning the
parquet floor.  Soft sofas and chairs were grouped around, and there was a
TV.
  Oskar came through the opposite door, towelling his hair: he had been in
the pool.  He looked very relaxed, lean and tanned.  `Hello Matt.  Hi boys!
Do you want a drink or something?  Lunch is not for an hour.  We're having
it by the pool, so get changed if you want to take advantage of the water.
And who's this?'  Oskar looked with interest at Gavin.
  `Oskar,' said Henry, `this is my boyfriend, Gavin.  Gavin, this is Count
Oskar of Modenehem.'
  They shook hands, Gavin trying not to stare too hard at the vision of
unclothed masculine beauty in front of him.  Oskar gave him a friendly grin
and indicated the way to the pool, before telling the servant Cesar to take
their bags upstairs so they could change first.  Marietta trotted off after
Oskar, with one backward glance at Gavin as she went.
  `This is some place, Henry,' Gavin said as they followed Cesar to their
assigned bedroom.
  `Welcome to the jet set, baby.  Do you think you'll be alright?'
  `There's a lot of people, and it is a bit scary.  But I know Matt and
Fritzy, and Eddie'll be here too.  I know Peter Peacher is super-scary, but
I like his brother a lot.  I think I'll be OK, as long as you hold my hand,
Henry.'
  `That's what I'm here for.'  The two lovers padded downstairs in their
swimming trunks, along a communicating passage and out on to the sunlit
poolside, where the light filtered through a glass wall.  There was a
terrace beyond the glass, with a number of recliners and umbrellas.  One of
the chairs was occupied by a bronzed and golden-haired man, perfectly naked
apart from a pair of shades.  He was muscular and handsome, not unlike his
younger brother, Eddie, although somehow the features were more regular and
better arranged.  This was Peter Peacher, at twenty-two years of age the
chief executive of PeacherCorp Europe, and as troublesome to the stock
markets as his father was.  Henry knew him from house parties in Highgate,
and they had common friends in Terry O'Brien and Justin Peacher-White.
  Peter heard them approach and stood up with an unapologetic smirk.  Henry
introduced him to Gavin, and Peter gave the boy a smiling welcome and a
handshake.  He had the two boys sit down while he showed them what he had
laid out on the ground next to his chair.  It was the plans for the new
European offices of PeacherCorp in Strelzen.  Peter had gone for low-rise,
in a modern version of a baroque cloistered complex complete with gardens,
reflecting-ponds and small lakes.
  Henry was impressed.  `You gonna put up a statue of your dad here?' he
pointed.
  `Cheek,' Peter snorted.  `What do you think, Oskar darling?  Who would
you put up statues to in the new Peacher HQ?'
  `It's not a bad idea, love' smiled Oskar.  `You might think of Rothenian
heroes ... or why not Terry O'Brien if you want a Peacher hero?'
  `Yay ...' cheered Henry, `statue of Terry!  That's got my vote.'
  Peter smiled.  `You don't have a vote, Henry.  But I will suggest
something along those lines to the architect, though not the Terry idea,
never mind how much I love him.'  He stood up and stretched his lean frame.
`I'd better get some trunks on.  Helge and the twins are on their way here
now with Justin.  Go and have a swim, guys.'
  So Henry and Gavin went back inside, jumped in the pool and splashed
around for a while.  Gavin was not a bad swimmer, better than Henry in
fact.  He'd had more of a chance to practice in urban pools than had Henry.
  They were floating around peacefully when suddenly a fountain of water
went up between them.  Justin had sneaked in and cannon-balled on top of
them.  As Henry came up spluttering he felt his trunks ripped off him
deftly.  In an instant, Justin was out and away with them.  Henry had no
choice but to pursue him out on to the terrace shouting, `Come back, you
bastard!'  So it was a wet and naked Henry who ran right into Harriet
Peacher and Countess Helge coming round the side of the house -- precisely
what Justin had intended.
  `Ohmigod!' Henry shrieked, clasping his hands over his genitals as the
women stared at him in astonishment.  Gavin came racing up with a towel
which he wrapped round Henry.  Justin was sitting on a nearby wall in total
hysterics.
  `I am so, so sorry,' Henry burbled as he flushed bright red.
  Harriet recovered first, telling him with a smile that it was OK ... she
was used to the sight of her brother's equipment perpetually on display.
Countess Helge, however, was not looking at Henry at all, but was directing
a quite inscrutable gaze at Gavin.  The boy himself had not noticed, as he
was intent on saving his Henry from embarrassment.

After that inauspicious beginning, the Templerstadt house party could only
improve.  Justin was obnoxiously triumphant about his humiliation of Henry,
an attitude that could not be allowed to stand unavenged.  But how to get
back at him?  After all, Justin was the grand master in the dojo of street
wisdom.  In the end, Henry borrowed an Allen key off Oskar and spent an
hour carefully loosening the screws of Justin's bed, to the point that it
still looked firm but hardly anything kept it together.
  Justin had a boyish habit of bounding on to his bed, as Henry knew very
well.  That night when Justin headed off to bed, Henry and Gavin sneaked
upstairs behind him.  They listened at the door as Justin went through his
evening ablutions.  They heard the toilet flush and the padding thud as the
naked Justin raced to leap up on to the covers.  Then they heard his yell
as, with a very satisfying and tremendous crash, the bed collapsed under
him.  Gavin smiled at Henry and Henry smiled back.  They shook hands, and
retired to their more stable place of rest.
  Justin looked up from his morning Cheerios as Henry and Gavin came in for
breakfast.  To his credit, he grinned and called a truce.
  `Won't underestimate you again, Henry.'
  `Sleep alright?'
  `I moved to the sofa.'
  `When're you going home, Justy?'
  `As soon as Fritzy gets here, which should be some time tomorrer.  Me boy
Brian will be escorting `im on to the Strelzen flight from Heathrow `bout
now.  Brian'll drive him straight here.  He should make it around
lunchtime.  Then Brian and me gotta get off to pick up a boy- band contract
in Stockholm.'
  `What a tough life.'
  `Sure is.'
  Countess Helge and Harriet appeared at that point.  Henry doubted Eddie
would surface before early afternoon.  Harriet gave Henry a little kiss and
sat down next to him, smirking.
  `I can't get yesterday out of my mind, Henry.'
  `It's bolted into my short-term memory too, Harry.  I'm thinking of suing
Justy for the trauma he caused me.'
  `Hey, don't sue me!' Justin protested.  `Sue Terry's insurers.'
  `How was stripping and humiliating me part of your job?'
  Justin thought a moment.  `I wuz outa control due to ... post-traumatic
stress disorder,' he said with some relish.  `Iss me occupation, innit.
Iss too much for me brain to cope wiv an all.'
  `Stuff your brain,' retorted Henry.  `It's a sense of morality you lack,
you little criminal.'
  Justin laughed.
  In the meantime, Helge was having a quiet conversation with a shy Gavin,
who was quickly opening up under the influence of the woman's kindness and
warmth.  They talked for a considerable time, and soon Gavin was smiling
and laughing in a way he did with very few others.  Helge took him out on
to the terrace arm-in-arm after they had breakfasted.
  That flabbergasted Henry.  He'd expected Gavin to tag him around for days
before gaining the confidence to interact independently with people, but
Helge plainly had a gift for dealing with pathologically shy
post-adolescents.  Henry put it down to her school-teaching background.
  When they met up at lunchtime, Henry asked Gavin what he and Helge had
been talking about.
  `Oh, just stuff,' he replied.  `She wanted to know about my family and
where we came from.  My dad works on our family tree, y'know.  Did I tell
you that we were descended from the famous Dr Evans Price?'
  `No.  What's he famous for?'
  `It's a bit of a laugh really.  Old Evans Price -- my great-great-great
grandfather -- was a very eccentric doctor in South Wales at the end of
Queen Victoria's reign.  He was a complete nutcase.  He reckoned he was the
last of the druids, and went round dressed in green tights and a white
sheet, with an oak wreath on his head.  He looked a bit odd in Pontypridd
market in the 1880s.  But he's most famous for being prosecuted for
cremating his dead baby son on a hillside near Llantrisant in 1886 -- like
the ancient Celts did, he said.  He defended himself in the High Court and
won.  As a result, the government had to legalise human cremation in
Britain.'
  `How weird,' Henry grinned.
  Gavin shrugged.  `Every family has weirdos.'
  `No, weird that you're Welsh, baby!'
  `Oh ... ha ha!'
  `Any more skeletons in your family wardrobe?'
  `Not really.  But Dad says we're descended ultimately from Meilyr ap
Rhys, a great medieval poet and seer.  He was a member of a Welsh royal
house going back to Arthurian times.  That's why Dad called me Gavin.'
  `Gavin's a Welsh name?'
  `It's the English version of Gawain ... I'm Gawain ap Rhys.'
  `That's really cool, baby.  I like that.  You're my little Welsh prince.'
  Gavin laughed.  `There.  I bet you thought Fritzy was the only prince in
your life.'