CHAPTER FIFTY #2
Callum’s dorm was directly across the corridor from Elliott.
Callum was an art history major. Future politicians that would learn to destabilize foreign nations slept downstairs.
Future strategists that would pretend to quell the economic uprisings slept upstairs.
Painters, opera singers, actors, historians, philosophers, orchestral instrumentalists slept in between.
At times at AEscwulf College for Statecraft and Art, the students of the arts and humanities were merely ornamental, if only to entertain the masses. A beautiful detraction.
“Claude came when I was asleep. Elliott lent me clothes.”
“His wife clawed me. I imagine he lost his temper. Do you need anything?” James asked him, he observed the faded blood marks in his hair, and Callum shook his head. James smiled, comradely, “Well, I’m glad to hear you’re fine.”
Callum bristled. It rarely, if ever happened, but someone frowned with an intense dislike of James Wilde.
His affectation of a caring, concerned young man only reminded Callum of his perspicacity as a thespian.
James’s infectiously charming smile was charismatic against all reason.
Ill-placed and ill-timed. Callum almost lost his life to a dangerous man.
Why would James smile in a grave moment?
It only served to make Callum wonder how often James was delivering an exemplary performance around everyone. If he was always acting.
If he had ever been himself.
Who was James Wilde?
What was he capable of?
Even though Callum was an inch shorter than him at six feet three, Callum kept his eyes even with James.
“You know what occurred to me? The rest of the electors and I believed that Lucien was Julius Caesar. I don’t believe that anymore.
I believe he was a vulgarian that deserved to be dead.
” His voice went cold. “I think you are Julius Caesar.”
“Does that make you Mark Antony then?” James’s mouth curved into a smile of amusement. “You will outlive me, is that it? Who will be our Cleopatra?”
“You did not deny it.” Callum had a suspicion that James knew exactly what he meant by the epithet. It was not a compliment in his favor. “As far as you’re concerned, I am Cassius.”
“You are a treasonist then?” His entertained smile widened. James quoted Augustus Caesar from the records of Plutarch with the impression of a statesman. “‘Proditionem amo, sed proditiorem odio.’” I love treason; I hate the traitor.
“Treasonist isn’t a word,” Callum retorted sharply. “It is not treason to remove a threat from power. Even Julius Caesar himself was removed from power.”
“I am not Julius Caesar.” I am not Apollōn. I am not Alexikakos. “If it brings you solace, however, all hail Caesar.”
His hail chilled Callum to his bone marrow. For only a split second, for nearly a millisecond, it was as if Callum had seen James Wilde for the very first time in his life.
He was seen for who he was. Perhaps who he always had been. If not, who he had become.
At that moment, Callum made a tragic mistake. Callum winced in horror of him.
Callum’s expression vanished, but not quickly enough, James had assessed his fear.
It was the equivalent of an antelope revealing its vulnerable throat to the half-grown lion, who had leniently decided not to leap for the kill. James lent him mercy. It was not mercy given. It was mercy that could be revoked.
The hail would be echoic in his mind for long to come. All hail Caesar.
He could murder Callum and he had the secretive system to get away with the homicide. He truly did have the structural power of an ancient statesman.
Callum hesitated, glancing at Elliott. “My family has homes in New London and Oxford. I have an apartment in northern Woodstock as well. You can stay with me, if you need to in the future.” Callum kept his eyes on Elliott.
In that moment, James had underestimated how deeply Elliott would mean to Callum and how deeply Callum already meant to Elliott after they’d saved each other’s lives.
How futile it was to keep them apart. “You might need to live somewhere else outside of your circle. The College has a way of inducing madness, stirring you into a frenzy, and making you think that’s a good thing. ”
“I’m not in a frenzy,” Elliott promised him.
Callum centered his eyes on Elliott. “A person would never realize it, until it’s too late.”
“Thank you, Callum. I won’t let that happen to me.” Elliott handed him a few capsules of painkillers. “You can always head to my dorm, if you see or hear anything in the night.”
“Do you have a spare key?” Callum asked.
“I don’t keep a key. It’s always open,” Elliott assured him, and Callum imparted him with a final word of advice.
“Keep a key.”
“Have a restful night, Callum.” James opened the door for him hospitably. “Let us know if you need anything.”
Callum departed and he shut the door behind him. The early morning air settled. James ran his thumb over Elliott’s temple. “Are you alright, Elliott?”
Elliott nodded. James pressed his mouth against his forehead.
“Are you hurt?” A fierce pair of golden eyes stared at Elliott, searched him for injury, and Elliott felt the weight of a man’s life in his hands. “Did he hurt you?”
“Mr. Montclair spoke with me, that’s it. He hurt Callum.” Elliott sat at the edge of his bed. He buried his head in his hands. “I had a massive panic attack. I thought Mr. Montclair was the spirit of Lucien. I feel horrible that I’m relieved it was his father instead.”
James left for a moment, then returned.
He handed him a cup of melted hot chocolate. Three marshmallows. Three teaspoons of sea salt. Three cups whole milk. Six ounces of dense milk chocolate bars. Heavy cream in the sweetened condensed milk. Whipped cream on top. It was Elliott’s favorite. “Are you certain you’re alright?”
“Yeah. I feel better.” Elliott sipped the steamy chocolate. “Thank you.”
He ran his hand through Elliott’s hair, as he always had after Elliott had a panic attack. “I apologize I wasn’t there. The summer solstice ritual happened at midnight. I…” James paused for a moment, then thought better of it. “I paid my respects.”
James uncapped a bottle of Scotch, pouring it into Elliott’s cup for him to rest. For the second time, he foolishly believed that Elliott could forget about a murder. He thought Elliott could pay little mind to rituals. Elliott was not him.
“You attended the vigil?” Elliott asked him.
“Yes. A woodwork student was selected.” James left the Exeter Athenaeum badge in the seam of his pocket. Hidden from Elliott’s sight. “It was death by eagle.”
The honorariums of Tiberian College were sacrificed on Eaglecry Mountain in Montana. It was a ceremony of masculinity. The summer ritual was a competition of grit and will. It wasn’t televised, not widely, but the AEscwulf students held vigils for them as with all of the rituals.
Elliott was surprised. “You never attend the vigils or ceremonies.”
“After what I did in the woods, I can’t help but…” James softened, he performed contrition. “All I think of is what I’ve done.”
Elliott embraced him.
“Sorry for everything, James.” Elliott whispered his regrets in the drowsy morning sunlight. Elliott laid himself down on his bed, staring up at the messy stars on his ceiling. “Everyone has the wrong idea of you for what happened in the woods all because of me–”
James laid down beside him in the hazy daylight.
“I don’t care what idea they have of me.
They can think I’ve transgressed sixty men like Caesar; it doesn’t make a difference to me.
” James leaned and kissed his brow where a squirrel had once scratched him.
“I care for you. You are all that matters to me.”
Elliott rested his head against James’s shoulder. Conflicted. “You haven’t transgressed sixty men…” Have you? The words suffocated in his chest. Have you killed anyone else?
He could taste his heartbeat.
In that moment, all Elliott knew was that he’d known James better than they all knew him. He was not worthy of tyrannicide. No one witnessed what happened except Elliott. Elliott knew he had only murdered for him in defense.
None of it was premeditated.
Elliott had always trusted him before and he would trust him for eternity. “You know you could tell me anything, right?”
His breath fell on James’s nose.
“I know. You can tell me anything as well, Elliott. I would never forsake you.” I would never forsake you.
Elliott could do anything, he could act against anyone, and James would forgive him.
He would always stand for Elliott. He would always return to Elliott.
It was not the same with Elliott. His heart was a fragile, honest, innocent creature in his chest. It bled too easily for everyone.
Elliott wouldn’t be able to bear it. He’d never forgive him.
It was best if James bore everything alone. “Rest, Elliott.”
Palpably, Elliott was worried the hibernal ritual wouldn’t be easily forgotten. That the ceremony would incite hatred for James. However, James thought of Atreus by the Roman tragic poet Lucius Accius. James was not concerned with their hatred. Their fear was far more useful to him.
Hatred made men bold. Fear kept them in cowardice.
ōderint dum metuant.
Let them hate, as long as they fear[16].