Muffled Drum (8 page)

At an unaccustomed loss for words, Ernst let Rudolph take the lead. Rudolph leaned across the table, speaking with a low voice, but his face still full of pleasure. “You look surprised to see me, and I don’t blame you—I wanted to write to let you know I was on my way back, believe me. You wouldn’t have been impressed with tales of mud, maggots and blood. Regimental life on the road is not a pleasant tale to relate by letter. And once I was on the road, on my way back—to you—I couldn’t trust anyone with a letter filled with what I wanted to say. A telegram simply wouldn’t have done. Say you forgive me for startling you.”

Ernst nodded, still dumbfounded.

“Capital. Now we shall get good and drunk and you can tell me lies about how much you’ve missed me in the last few months. Oh!” Rudolph signaled across the room, waving at someone behind Ernst.

Ernst turned and caught sight of a tall, well-built young man with a serious demeanor walking across the room, elegant in evening clothes which emphasized his frame, even if they were slightly old-fashioned.

“This is my good friend Hofmann. He rode with me from Gitschin. Hofmann, allow me to introduce Herr Fetter.”

The blond stranger bowed a little from the waist, inclining his head but never taking his eyes from Ernst, as if making the first representation in a swordfight. It sent shivers up Ernst’s spine, but Rudolph was still speaking with enthusiasm. “There’s much to tell you, Ernst, so much, but it can wait. Tonight, all I want is to get very, very drunk. Well,” he added in an undertone, “not exactly
all.
”

Ernst felt like pinching himself, because he had no idea what was going on. Had Rudolph forgiven him? Decided he couldn’t bear life in Berlin without him? That was not at all like the Rudolph he’d known, the Rudolph who had, several times, left a ballroom because of Ernst’s presence or had crossed a road to avoid walking past him.

And who was this Hofmann who had joined them, who was behaving like an exclusive ball in Berlin was the last place he ever wanted to be and not an honor? The man, while handsome enough in a blond, obvious, military way, didn’t look like he’d ever smiled in his life. Ernst considered him and Rudolph’s demeanor and wondered if there had been anything between them. It didn’t look likely. Ernst knew Rudolph’s little signs and tells pretty well. He could tell by the way Rudolph’s sat, the way he leaned toward Ernst and not toward the newcomer, that there was no telltale spark between them.

To all Rudolph’s questions, Ernst managed short, evasive answers. He tried to return the enthusiasm Rudolph was showing and attempted to ignore the glowering Hofmann, but something in the scenario seemed very wrong. It wasn’t until Rudolph asked after the health of Ernst’s uncle, who’d died shortly before Rudolph separated himself from Ernst—and whose funeral Rudolph had paid for, as Rudolph had been fond of the man—that Ernst began to fathom what might be causing this unexpectedly joyful reunion. The yellowing remains of a bruise on Rudolph’s head, half covered by hair, seemed another clue.

“Rudolph—you surely recall that Uncle Benedikt died.” He waited, wondering if his theory was correct. “It’s been more than two years, now.”

Rudolph looked horrified, as if truly hearing the news for the first time, and Ernst knew his guess was right. He
didn’t
remember. It was almost too good to be true. “Are you all right, Rudolph?” He extemporized quickly, layering lie upon lie. “I’ve been worried, not hearing from you, and when you stopped answering my letters…I feared…”

“It’s nothing,” Rudolph said with a glance at Hofmann. “Just a bang on the head. But yes. For now, it seems that your uncle’s death is not the only thing I’ve forgotten.”

Ernst gave his most winning smile and put a touch of concern in his eyes. “Good God, Rudolph. I’m almost glad you didn’t write. If I’d known, I would have made an idiot of myself riding pell-mell to find you.”

Rudolph laughed, and Ernst couldn’t help but notice the look of distaste on Hofmann’s already sulky face, even if Rudolph hadn’t seen it. The waiter brought champagne, which Rudolph inspected, passed, and then gave the waiter orders that under the threat of a firing squad he was not to let an empty bottle rest in the ice bucket. “Ernst, I have missed you. I could never imagine you as a follower of the guns, nor a ministering angel, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

He laughed again, irrepressibly, and filled Ernst’s glass to the brim, together with that of the annoying and enigmatic Hofmann, who showed no sign of leaving. Seeing new opportunities opening up, Ernst relaxed for the first time in what seemed like weeks. He felt that his immediate future was looking a little more optimistic. He just needed to work out how to turn it all to his advantage.

The shock of discovering that the pretty-boy Ernst who Mathias had assumed to be Goertz’s catamite was actually Rudolph’s…
companion
was enough to effectively silence Mathias and make him concentrate on drinking rather than attempting any kind of sensible conversation. He should have realized how unlikely it was that Goertz of all people would be able to land and to hang on to something as purely decorative as Ernst. It looked as if Goertz hoped Rudolph had forgotten Ernst as well, which explained why he had hidden Ernst’s likeness.

Mathias studied Ernst Fetter. As his daguerreotype had promised, he was indeed offensively attractive, with his slanting eyes and high cheekbones. After an hour in his company, Mathias felt that if he never met the man again in his entire life, it would be entirely too soon. The man was everything he despised. From the conversation as the wine flowed, it seemed he had scant respect for the army, even though Rudolph had been keeping the little bastard safe in Berlin while risking his own life at the front.

He didn’t find it surprising that he hated Ernst almost on sight. After all, he’d hated the very
idea
of Ernst since Rudolph had mentioned him. Every hour since then, on the hellish journey from Dresden, he’d nursed the bitter knowledge of Rudolph’s lover like a glass shard in a closed fist.

The picture in Goertz’s bag hadn’t entirely done Ernst justice. Mathias hadn’t been prepared for quite how beautiful Ernst was. He was like some small but sleek jungle cat, lithe and elegant. No movement unrehearsed, with a seductive smile which went all the way to the center of his dark brown eyes. But Mathias couldn’t help but notice the smile turned on and off. When it wasn’t needed, it rested, out of sight. A prop, like Yorick’s skull—only to be brought out when needed. He wasn’t surprised, either, that Rudolph didn’t notice this—because the smile was reserved entirely for Rudolph. When Rudolph no longer had his attention, the smile slid from Ernst’s face as snow on a roof slides into the street in the spring thaw.

He stayed no more than an hour at the ball. By then Rudolph’s return and generosity of spirit—that is, his generosity with
schnaps
and champagne—had gathered a large crowd around the table. There was general amusement at Rudolph’s condition, which infuriated Mathias, together with a great deal of teasing about whether he’d know how many children he had when he returned home. And through it all, Ernst sat, now next to Rudolph, singing and joking and laughing, a very queen by the side of his king. Every now and then he threw a look at Mathias which seemed to say, “And stay clear—it’s my place, and always was.”

And Mathias knew then it was hopeless, that Goertz was right for all the wrong reasons. He should have made his excuses in Dresden and never got on that bloody train, and never heard the name Ernst Fetter.

He stood, and Rudolph immediately noticed, which was a small triumph, as it wiped the smile from Fetter’s face. “I must go, Rudolph.” He used Rudolph’s name as a challenge, a glove in the handsome face of the jaguar sitting beside his love. “I have much enjoyed your company, but I do have matters that must be seen to.” He clicked his heels, gave the sharpest of bows and turned to leave.

As he walked away, he hoped Rudolph would call him back, but nothing came.
In my heart I knew he would not,
he thought, as he made his way to the entrance stairwell.
Now he’s back where he belongs, in this splendor, and with the man he truly loves. And yet I allowed myself to hope. Idiot.

The obligation he’d taken on, that of passing on the little information to Rudolph’s family, still lay heavy on him, and that would have to be addressed. It was something he would have to consider, but not now. For now he had to realize he was walking away from the man he loved, to start a new life—and that was more than enough to cope with for tonight.

Just for a moment, as Mathias gave that sharp little bow and turned away, it felt as if something had moved inside Rudolph’s head. It was a peculiar feeling, like opening one’s eyes in the morning to think it was just another day, but then suddenly realizing that no, it was St. Nicholas’s Day and everything was beautiful. Or it was like a dream that had seemed so vivid, a lifetime lived in that brief moment of sleep, which melted away from you as the day encroached. Except now he wasn’t asleep, and he wasn’t dreaming, so why did he feel that something was slipping away from him?

“Rudolph?”

Rudolph turned to find Ernst—beautiful Ernst—with his hand on his arm and a look of loving concern on his face.

“Are you all right? You look lost in thought, and look, you’ve hardly touched your wine.” Ernst raised his glass and encouraged Rudolph to toast with him. “To your return,” he said.

“I want to leave,” Rudolph said, the warmth of Ernst’s breath still on his cheek.

“Of course,” Ernst said, ever acquiescent. “But my rooms…you remember you said I could decorate? Well there’s no furniture there…Where are you—?”

“The Grand, we can’t go there.”

Ernst face dropped in a well-remembered sulk.

“You know we can’t. But…I’ll spoil you. You deserve it. I’ll take you to the Hofgarten.”

Ernst’s smile returned. “Oh, good. You know I love their tortes.”

“You’ll need one when I’ve finished with you.”

“Perhaps more than one.”

“And I’ll buy you one, two…as many as you like. But not until afterward.” Rudolph signaled the waiter, told him to keep the wine flowing for the crowd, and excused himself to the men nearest to him. Some he recognized, some he didn’t. It was quite possible he didn’t know some of them at all, regardless of his memory, but right now he didn’t care. With his cock half-hard, and the promise of Ernst naked and sweating beneath him, all he could think about was getting out of there and fucking Ernst until he cried for mercy. Then perhaps he could exorcise the guilt he had from wanting to give in to the temptation that was Mathias Hofmann.

Money found them a suite in the hotel, and discretion. Once installed in a two-bedroom suite, Ernst turned to Rudolph in that familiar, seductive manner and wrapped his flexible little body around Rudolph like a vine, one leg twisted behind Rudolph’s calf, and one arm around his neck.

“My Rudolph,” he murmured, tipping up his face to be kissed. “My soldier. My big, brave soldier.” Eager fingers opened the fly on Rudolph’s trousers and insinuated themselves inside. Ernst gave a small squeal of pleasure and slid down Rudolph’s body, dropping to his knees and pulling Rudolph’s cock entirely out of his trousers. “Oh, how I’ve missed you.”

At that point Rudolph was not quite sure whether Ernst was addressing him or his cock, but when Ernst’s mouth swallowed his cock head, and his teeth grazed his skin in just the right manner to make his knees weak, Rudolph stopped caring. Ernst had always shown a taste for eating cock that Rudolph never quite managed to reciprocate fully, being too impatient for much foreplay. He closed his eyes and reached down for Ernst’s hair, eager to tangle his fingers in its thick curls, but as he touched Ernst’s head his eyes opened in shock, for the hair he felt was flat, shiny and not what he had expected.

Ernst’s head bobbed back and forth, his eyes closed and a look of greedy bliss on his face. The picture was arousing, the sensations pleasant, so why the hell had he expected golden-colored curls? Why did it feel a little wrong?

I’m going mad. My mind’s playing tricks on me. Either that, or I’m letting my fantasies for Mathias get the better of me.

Ernst pulled away. “Something wrong, my dear?” He gave Rudolph’s cock a playful nip. “He seems to be losing interest. I’m a little hurt.”

The confusion ripped through Rudolph and he felt his cock deflating. To cover his discomposure, he pulled Ernst up and kissed him, hard and deep, relishing the eager way Ernst opened up for him, letting him explore the missed mouth. He remembered the hunger he used to feel when kissing Ernst. Some memories were as clear to him as the first day his son Theodore had been put into his arms. Kissing Ernst had been a vortex of unfulfilled desire. It had always seemed to Rudolph that the more he kissed him, the more he
wanted
to kiss him. With Ernst’s seductive passivity, Rudolph would pour everything into him and never be satiated. That had been exactly what he’d loved about Ernst, that he was an endless vessel of pleasure, but now, as he delved his tongue into the mouth he thought he knew so well, he felt the same lack of satiation—it felt empty, somehow.

What the hell is wrong with me? I love Ernst. Don’t I? I know I want him—look at him, who wouldn’t want him? He’s waited for me. Mathias has gone. Ernst is here. Keep your eyes open and fuck the one you’re with, for God’s sake.

He manhandled Ernst onto the bed and began to undress, not able to look his lover in the eyes, grateful that Ernst was happy to disrobe without asking any further questions.

Luckily, his cock took charge as Ernst lay back on the bed, fully naked, his own cock hard against Rudolph’s belly. With a surge of pleasure, Rudolph felt his cock fill once more as Ernst turned over, raised himself to his hands and knees and opened his legs as wide as he could, giving every invitation Rudolph would ever need.

“Ernst…” he said, brokenly, scrambling onto the bed and taking Ernst between his hands, “Oh, God. Ernst.”

The sheer wanton shamelessness of Ernst, once their courtship had ceased, had amazed Rudolph and still amazed him. The way Ernst literally opened himself up for the roughest fucking, always available, always appreciative of every thrust.