Jack Whyte - The Sorcer part 2 - Metamorphosis

Connor grinned and stretched and then yawned hugely, ignoring Tressa's little cry of outrage at my lack of discretion. He pulled himself to his feet and stood there wavering, gaining his balance. "Too much mead," he said. "I hope the same cannot be said of you, comrade-in-arms. I'll bid you a good night, then, since you clearly have no wish for me to stay with you. Sleep well, if you have time."

He turned majestically, pivoting on his wooden limb, and aimed himself towards the double doors at the end of the hall, negotiating the step down from the dais with ease before clumping unsteadily away. As he approached the doorway, I saw a trooper entering, carrying my letter from Germanus. Apart from Tress and me, there were no more than half a score of people left now in the hall, and I needed to speak with none of diem. The trooper snapped to attention before me with a smart salute and handed me my letter. I thanked him and pushed the scroll inside my tunic, then extended .my hand to Tressa, who took it, swinging lithely to her feet.

"What now? Must you read that? Or have you finished with talking, so that there's time for me, at last?"

"Something akin to that." I laid one hand gently on the back of her neck and we walked together to the vestibule where we had hung our cloaks on entering. Rufio had ordered a light, two wheeled, canopied wagon to be waiting at the doors for us. The driver, another trooper, helped us to climb up into it, then covered us with warm, fleecy coverings. Tressa snuggled against me and I reached for her thighs again, this time allowing my hands to explore as they would.

I nodded to the guards who saluted us at the gates and then turned back to Tress, and mere moments later, it seemed, we entered the main portico of the Villa Britannicus. There we found Plato, the majordomo, waiting to welcome us and show us to our sleeping quarters on the second floor. The large room he led us to was brightly lit with fine, wax candles, some of them flickering in the gentle breeze that stirred the delicate hangings by the window, where the louvered shutters had been left slightly open.

I remember closing the door behind Plato as he left, and then I remember turning to look at Tress, drinking in the beauty of her, subdued yet enhanced as it was by the light from the flickering candles. I remember crossing to her and taking her in my arms, feeling the full richness of her body and the sweetness of her mouth as we kissed each other thoroughly for the first in time in long, lingering months. I remember the soaring urgency that took possession of me then, but I have no recollection of the time that passed between that moment and the moment when we both stood naked, skin against skin, by the bed. I remember the weight of her in my arms as she fell backwards beneath me, pulling me down to her. It seemed to me she looked harder, or firmer—different, somehow, but I took little note of that at the time, distracted by greater urgencies.

I have no concrete memories of what transpired between us then, but something deep within my soul recalls the delight of feeling her move beneath me, her thighs parting to welcome me, making room for me to enter her; I have a blinding, fleeting memory of outrush, from my lips and loins, as she drew the very life from me and sent me crashing into ecstasy, and after that I recall nothing.

TWELVE

I awoke the following morning to find myself alone in bed, with no sign of Tressa other than the rumpled bedclothes that covered the spot where she had slept. I raised myself up on my elbow immediately, calling her name, but she was not in the room and I fell back down into the bed, stretching luxuriously in the warmth of it and smelling the scent of her among the bedding.

I must have fallen back to sleep again, because the next time I opened my eyes she was sitting on the bed above me, bent over and whispering my name. I came awake at once, reaching up for her and pulling her down to where I could kiss her, and my hand sought her body beneath the voluminous garment she wore. She quickly glided away from me, however, and my fingers slid down the warm slope of her thigh to land on the bedclothes as she bounded to her feet and went to fling wide the shutters, allowing bright daylight to pour into the room.

"By the Christ, Tress, what time of day is it? Why didn't you wake me before now? It must be almost noon!"

"No, it is not yet midmorning, but your body needed sleep, and so I allowed you to sleep on when I arose." She grinned, a quick grin, filled with mischief. "I thought it necessary."

"How? What do you mean?"

"What should I mean? Once you are rested sufficiently, you'll become strong enough again to use me as I wish to be used, without falling asleep."

"Without—? Did I do that?" I knew, of course, that I had. Kissing her own hand gently, she came back to the bed and reached out to caress my cheek with it. I felt myself growing hard again and tried to catch her by the wrist, but she was too quick for me. "Come back to bed, then," I rasped.

'Tonight I will, but not now, my love. Ambrose, Arthur, Dedalus and that man with the strange mask are all downstairs, waiting for you, so you must be quick, and I must be even quicker. I don't want them thinking that we might be doing what is clearly foremost in your mind. Plato is bringing up hot water and will be here directly. Wash your face quickly and come down. I've set out a new suit of leathers for you, over there, and a new tunic that I sewed myself. Be quick."

She spoke the last words as she went out the door and I groaned and heaved myself around to sit on the side of the bed, looking at the clothes she had mentioned. Rubbing the remnants of sleep from my eyes, I went to examine them more closely and found myself whistling admiringly at the magnificent workmanship that had gone into their creation.

Plato knocked and entered, bidding me good day. Two troopers followed, one bearing a collapsible washstand with a suspended leather bucket and a large pitcher of water, the other carrying a larger, steaming pitcher. As they set up the device under Plato's watchful eyes, I turned my attention again to the strange looking garment in my hands. It was a single undergarment of some kind, made of a very fine , light, brushed wool. I soon identified the holes for my arms and the shape of the collar, but it took me some time longer to identify the purpose of the lower appendages. Then I realized how the garment worked. The bottom end of it contained two sleeve like openings for my thighs. Between those hung a flap that I reasoned must come up between my legs like an ordinary breech cloth and attach, somehow, in front. Satisfied that I had some understanding of the thing, I dropped it and went to the steaming washbasin. Plato and his assistants had departed by then, and I made short work of my ablutions, drying myself with a clean towel before beginning to dress.

The undergarment went on smoothly, once I had discovered that I must insert my legs into the requisite openings before pulling the body up around my waist and attempting to shrug into the upper part. The legs were short, perhaps a handbreadth long, and clung comfortably to my upper thighs, but their very snugness emphasized the looseness of my dangling genitalia. I ignored that, for the moment, and concentrated on the upper part The armholes were sleeveless and I shrugged into them without difficulty, then laced up the deep V at my chest experimenting with the tension of the lacing and finally leaving it loosely tied. I bent forward then, and pulled the hanging rear flap up between my legs, cinching ft so that it was both tight and comfortable. I fed the two narrow tapes I found attached to the outside corners through two loops sewn to the shirt's body and then tied them in a bow across my middle, smiling now at the clever simplicity of the design. I would be able to reach up beneath my tunic and release the flap with a single tug, then hold it aside while I answered nature's call.