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The pervasive pain in Alfred’s belly had retreated somewhat since he’d knelt before the altar. His knees, however, had started to ache well over an hour ago. He ignored it. His knuckles had gone white around the same time, the tightness of his hands as they wrapped around one another sending sharp needles of pain through his joints. He’d begun to rock at some point, but he’d barely noticed it, given how deep into prayer he’d sunk. The voice of his prayer, usually inside his own head, had manifested at some point and now he was speaking aloud, not realizing that Father Beocca had entered the chapel to prepare it for the evening mass.
The good Father had hung back upon spotting the king, taking a seat on the last pew and waiting for Alfred to complete his ritual.
“Father, please lift this burden from me. I have not the strength to resist this temptation for much longer. If he is continually by my side, in my path, I will succumb.”
Father Beocca frowned at this, puzzled. Was someone offering Alfred something? But who would have something that Alfred could not simply acquire for himself elsewhere? And what would that something be? The man was the King of Wessex. What could he possibly lack?
Beocca considered standing, to alert Alfred to his presence and thereby stop eavesdropping on his prayer, but before he could make a decision either way, Alfred continued.
“Lord, please give me some sign that I should send him away, that England can be established without him, that Wessex will not fall in his absence.”
Father Beocca froze, his heart suddenly rabbiting in his chest. There is only one man, besides Alfred himself, that Beocca could think of whose absence might mean the end of Wessex: Uhtred of Bebbenburg. What could Uhtred possibly have that Alfred would want? What did Uhtred have that he would withhold from the King?
“I am consume by him. His very presence calls to me, like a siren’s song, like the serpent in the garden. I am Eve, Lord. I am weak before him. I fear that I will soon pluck the apple that he continually brandishes before me. Show me the way, Lord. I beg you. Show me how to resist this sin, this perversion that lives inside my skin.”
The air felt thin in Beocca’s lungs. He was suddenly lightheaded, the room around him spinning slowly. It wasn’t some thing that Uhtred possessed that Alfred wanted, he thought vaguely. It was Uhtred himself. Alfred was…he was praying for deliverance from…well, from the ‘sin’ of the Greeks.
Alfred wished to lay with Uhtred. To know him intimately.
Beocca could hardly even think it. It felt too impossible, too…
Beocca tried to catch his breath and think rationally about this. Uhtred was, objectively, an attractive man. Women tended to sigh after him wherever he went. Beocca had watched women and men alike imagine the lines and valleys of Uhtred’s body with dark, burning eyes, as Uhtred stalked through court. But Alfred had never given any indication of this type of desire before. He had, in point of fact, been driven by his uncontrolled lust for women, as Father Beocca knew well.
Was this, then, specific to Uhtred?
And Uhtred himself…As much as Father Beocca tried to deny it, Uhtred was a heathen. He practiced the old religion and he operated under Danish social mores more often than not. Could this be something Uhtred himself at instigated? Could he—
“I beg you to deliver me from this sin before I spread its corruption. Pagan, he may be, but even he has not fallen so low, sinned so grievously. Please, Lord, I cannot bear it much longer. It is a fire in my blood and it aches more deeply than even my ailment. I ache for him. I long for him like I long for prayer, for peace, for England. Lord, I cannot bear it. I cannot…He should be a heathen and a brute, a weapon for me to use to craft England. I was not prepared for him. I was not…I had not taken the time to protect myself from him. How could I have prepared for his sharp wit, his keen eye, his beauty, his loyalty or courage? And now…now that he has crept in, like a thief, and dug out a place for himself deep inside my soul, how do I dig him out? How do I resist this? How…Lord, please! This sin breeds others, I know. I commit them again and again, unable to stop myself. I treat him poorly. I lie to him. I am not merely unkind, but I am wicked. I seek to hurt him as he hurts me. But unlike him, my actions are knowing and through only my own fault. The guilt is overwhelming, Lord, please. I am afraid. I am so afraid of this, of all of this. The sin itself, but more, much more, what this could do to your Christian Kingdom, your One England. What corruption will I bring it? What deviance do I carry into what is meant to be a glorious kingdom under one God and one king?”
Beocca frowned, unconsciously shaking his head. The presence of desire was not a sin in itself. The fact that Alfred wanted was merely fact. Nothing more. He could not allow Alfred to continue to operate under this misunderstanding.
“Lord.” Beocca called, standing.
Alfred jerked, nearly falling, and twisted around to stare at him with wide, frightened eyes. “Father Beocca. I did not hear you enter.”
Beocca shook his head. “No, Lord. I thought not. I did not mean to overhear you at prayer, Lord, but I…Well, I did before I could slip away and I—“
“You.” Alfred stopped, swallowed. His chest rose and fell unsteadily. His skin had gone chalky white. “You heard me?”
Beocca nodded and came to sit on the first pew, closest to where Alfred was still kneeling. “I did. I am sorry that you are struggling, Lord. But I could not let you go on with such a mistaken thought as you seemed to be having.”
Alfred blinked. He stared for a long moment, before frowning. “What mistaken thought might that be, Father?”
Beocca paused, considering his words. “Lord, there is no sin in desire. Sin of that sort is action, not thought or feeling. The good book condemns only action, not thought on matters of…intimate behavior.” Beocca paused, wondering how far he might pursue this particular strain of thought. He had encountered priests and monks before who had argued, quite well in fact, that the common interpretation of particular passages was very much mistaken, but he did not know how Alfred might receive such a thought. “And…before you condemn yourself, Lord, perhaps the sin here would not be the act of…well…the act itself, but more the same sin that you have committed before: that of adultery, since you and Uhtred are both wed.”
Alfred’s eyes narrowed for a long moment, before he turned back to the altar and stood. His back was a long rigid line and his shoulder appeared painfully tense beneath his robes. “Father Beocca…speak plainly to me. I am…far too…I am in no mood for riddles.”
Beocca nodded and stood. Moving to stand by the King’s side, he waited until Alfred turned to meet his eye. The look on the King’s face was devastating, filled with such fear and pain and the smallest seed of hope.
“Lord…there is a faction of the Church that…believes that the common wisdom on certain passages which deal with this very topic…there is a faction that believed that wisdom is foolishness. Most here, read the Latin bible, but if you read the original Greek, the word that is most commonly used in the New Testament is…well, its meaning is unclear, Lord. It does not refer to…men who lay with men. More likely, or so this interpretation goes, that word refers to men who kept slave boys for humping. The other word used in this context refers to…men who sell themselves. Neither is necessarily in reference to an adult man who…is intimate with another adult man.”
Alfred’s breath seemed to stutter in his chest. “Surely, you are merely saying this to me to offer me comfort in the face of my struggle with this sin, Father Beocca.”
“No, Lord. I have met several monks and priests who believe likewise. It is the translation of the Book that presents the confusion, Lord. My Greek is very poor, but I was told that the Holy Father himself believes it to be so and his Greek is reported to be flawless.”
Alfred seemed to go weak, his strength failing him in his shock. Beocca reached out to steady him and offered a tentative smile. “I am not encouraging you, Lord, to seek out Uhtred and press the matter. I am merely seeking to prevent you further suffering. You will not bring the corruption of sin into the new England that you seek to build. Well…not that particular sin.”
Alfred laughed, a high bark that sounded nearly hysterical. “I should think not. Can you even imagine such an action?”
Beocca frowned at this, realizing that he could imagine such an action. Memories of Uhtred and Alfred together, in conversation or argument, in the courtyard or at camp, flooded him, realigning in his mind and revealing that which he had previously been blind to. Suddenly, the weight of their eyes on each other took on new meaning, their proximity standing together, the way they seemed drawn together over and over again.
He remembered approaching them as they stood apart from the army’s camp not two months ago. They had been alone in a field and yet standing so close together that they could surely feel each other’s body heat. It had been a curious thing at the time, but one he’d dismissed as the need for privacy, given how sounds sometimes carried over the fields. He knew better now.
“It does not seem so impossible as you think. Remember that, no matter how much I’d like it to be different, no matter how much we would all prefer that Uhtred had adhered to his baptism, he is a pagan, Lord, and a Dane. He follows many Danish customs.”
Alfred blinked, but his features blanked. “I find no clarity in that, Father Beocca.”
“The Danes…love freely in ways the Christians do not permit. You remember Brida?” Alfred nodded, his face tightening at her name as it always did. Beocca was thrown for a moment, finally able to recognize the jealous lurking in the Kings eyes. He took a breath and pushed on, ignoring it. “Brida was Uhtred’s woman for a time. But when Uhtred swore to you, she moved on, went back to the Danes and no doubt chose another man to hump. They were not married, would never have been married. They are both warriors and warriors often take to each other’s beds. Or so I have been told.”
“By whom were you told this? Who do you know well enough to speak of such things?” Alfred’s eyes were sharp, examining Beocca’s face.
“Uhtred, Lord. I had asked him about what happened to Brida, when she left. He told me that she no doubt had taken up with the Young Ragnar, unless the warrioress Ulfhild had joined their army. I was curious and pressed him for more about Danish practices.”
Alfred’s eyelids fluttered for the space of a heartbeat, his lips parting on an exhale. “And he did not seem disgusted by the practice.”
“No, Lord.” Beocca paused, torn. “Lord, I do not tell you this so you may go and commit adultery. Again.”
Alfred smiled, thin-lipped and mirthless, but his eyes burned. “Of course not, Father Beocca. That would be unthinkable. Now, I must take my leave of you. I am certain you have much to do before evening mass. I will leave you to it.”
With that Alfred straightened to his full height and strode from the room. Beocca had a sinking feeling in his gut that he had just accidentally given Alfred permission to lay with Uhtred. He sighed.