Some of the Characters Appearing or Mentioned:

Mark Henry Foster  The story‑teller:  Pennefather Organ Scholar

Tristan (Tris) Price‑Williams  His well‑proportioned boyfriend

Francis [Toad] Foster   Mark's younger brother

Ivo Richie Carr   Mark's cousin:  chunky and cheeky with it  

Adam Benjamin Carr    Ditto, as his twin

Oliver Jensen   A Musical undergraduate with allure

Damien FitzArnold        An accomplished painter

Alistair Jameson   His hairy-legged, accomplished nephew.

Raphael Pack  Gabriel’s angelic brother

            I decided to go back to St Mark’s on the Tuesday, a fortnight early before term started.  Phone calls to Charles had ascertained that all the work in the cellars was well ahead of schedule.  His news was that he had also been elected to a supernumerary Fellowship as prime mover of all the College ‘improvements’ so could now be a member of the Senior Combination Room.  I think this rise in the firmament meant more to him than anything else than just being Assistant to the Bursar.  He was recognised.  He had also told me that my set had been thoroughly cleaned and made spick and span after all the dust and dirt and general upheaval caused by the building work and that he had arranged for a proper bed to be installed for Oliver’s use.  This was said with the tone of voice indicating that he did not wish to hear of any untoward monkey business as we knew he was well aware of the two sets of persons involved.

            That all dealt with I arrived during the morning and went first to the Porter’s Lodge.  Old Albert eyed me and his gnarled face took on an almost pleasant aspect.  “Mr Foster.  Welcome back.  I must say you look well.  I hope all is settled.”

            I hoped this would be the only reference to the happenings of the past year.  I nodded.  “All’s well,” I said, “I’ll be too busy to think about the past this year.  Finals!”

            He almost grinned.  “Comes to them all, I says.  Here today, gone tomorrow.”  He tapped his head.  “But they’re all in here.”

            I laughed.  “You’re reputation is secure.  My brother was most impressed when he came for his interview.”

            “Next Pennefather Scholar, Mr Francis Foster,” he said, nodding.  “He’ll be my last.  Master says I’ve got to retire in two year’s time.  Long enough to get young Liam sorted.”

            “Not Jason?”

            “Other plans for him.”

            Of course.  All being well he would be doing his A levels this next year.  Then what?  Old Albert was not to be drawn.  He pointed at the pigeon-holes.

            “There’s plenty there for you.”

            I was being dismissed.  I retrieved a load of letters, pamphlets, pieces of paper and other missives, said good bye and hefted my bag and rucksack and went across to my newly furbished set.  Charles had been true to his word and everything was clean and polished.  My four poster had been shifted a bit and a smaller version had been erected by its side.  I noted that Toad’s Manchester United duvet on my bed had been freshly laundered and that Oliver had almost a matching one for Liverpool United.  I laughed inwardly.  I wondered who had donated that!  Anyway, we’d be like two old grannies perched side by side drinking our goodnight cocoa.  Some hopes!!  No, it was all very tasteful and well arranged.

            My next port of call was the cellars.  I pulled the right knob, as the Chancellor had done!  A very handsome door had been erected at the top of the stair and a key was hanging from the door handle.  A note was attached.  ‘For the personal use of the Pennefather Organ Scholar’.  It was in Charles’s florid script.  I opened the door cautiously and went down into the lit up cellar.  I could see there were workmen busily erecting glass cabinets in the third cellar.  I assumed they were for the copies of some of the objects found in the various boxes.  The original wall paintings were still covered with their protective shields but the greatest surprise was in the first cellar.  A tall, very thin youngish man, I guessed in his thirties, dressed in a paint spattered dust coat was busy painting in detail within the outline of a church on one of the long walls.  He turned as I stepped into the room and smiled.

            “You gave me a start,” he said, “You’re not one of the workmen through there, are you?”

           “No,” I said, “I’m Mark Foster, the Organ Scholar.  There was a key for the new door so I thought I would explore.  I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

            He laughed and shook his head.  “Charles told me to expect you.”  He put the brush he was using on the small bench by his side and held out his hand.  “I’m Damien FitzArnold and very pleased to meet you.  If it hadn’t been for you all this wouldn’t have happened.”

            I laughed.  “Just because I read a book on codes on holiday.”

            He shook his head again.  “Needed someone to spot the clue, though.”

            I thought I’d better change the subject.  I always felt a bit embarrassed when the solving of the mystery was raised.  “May I see what you’ve been doing?”

            He waved a hand at the back wall where spotlights were directed at colourful representations of the interiors of several churches with benches, stained glass windows, monks and people painted in.

            “These are some of the churches the experts say the statues came from.  As soon as I finish this wall and fill in a bit more on the two end ones the statues and some of models of the artefacts will be arranged in front of my paintings.  I should be more or less finished by Friday.  Come and have a look in the other room.”

            We walked through and into the third cellar.  The men gave us a cheery greeting and stood back as Damien pointed to the back wall.  I was quite transfixed.  The paintings were superb.  There were one or two patches still to be finished off but the overall effect was quite staggering.  I turned to look at the wall behind me.  He had already finished painting the exterior view of one of the abbeys and above it in a scroll was ‘Crowland’.  To the side was a painting of what the shrine with the reliquary of the hand must have looked like  The one not quite finished must be Sempringham, I thought, and there was a scroll already painted to take the name.  This one was staggering.  It showed the interior with richly coloured decoration on the walls and a representation of the incarcerated Gwenllian in nun’s robes.

            “You’ve done all this in a few weeks?” I said.

            He laughed.  “I have been working at least twelve hours a day, even over the Bank Holiday weekend.  It’s quite exhilarating.  I must admit I did have a couple of art students who helped me prepare the walls and did some of the outlines and washes from my sketches.  One of them’s still here but he’s gone up to mix up some more paints for me.  Once I get going I find it hard to stop but Charles and those two lads of his keep an eye on me as well.”

            Charles’s lads?  Ha!   As we made our way back to the first cellar one of the lads, Liam, came through the door at the other end of the cellar bearing a thermos flask and a bag.  He grinned at me as he unloaded two mugs, biscuits and a pack of sandwiches.  “Chef says your lunch will be ready at one o’clock, Mr FitzArnold.  You said you would like it down here so he recommends a smoked salmon salad with some Chablis.  I’ll bring it down then.  I told Mr Jameson as well.”  He looked at me.  “Good morning, Mr Foster.  I heard you would be back today.  Mr Charles has suggested you might like the same.”

            I nodded graciously at the so-correct young man and turned to the artist. “May I have it with you, Mr FitzArnold?”

            “Certainly, I like a bit of company and call me Damien if I may call you Mark!”

            Just then another very thin, tall young man came in from the other end.  He looked just a bit older than me and was dressed in a paint-stained sweatshirt and very short denim cut-offs out of which emerged long, very hairy legs.  In each hand he had a large tin can, with red paint in one and blue paint in the other.

            Damien peered at the paints then turned to me.  “Let me introduce my nephew, Ally.  He’s my big sister’s eldest.”

            The lad grinned at me and put the pots down and held out a hand.  His uncle said as I shook his hand, “This is Mark Foster.  Charles told you about him.  He discovered the treasure.”

            He grinned even more.  Wow, a very handsome lad.  “Glad to meet you.  What a find!  And the paintings next door!”

            “I haven’t seen them all properly yet,” I said, “I had a note from Nat Temple saying some bits needed to be restored with my permission.”  I laughed.  “Officially they are mine while I’m in office.”

            Damien looked from Ally to me.  “If you gave permission I’m sure Ally would do an excellent job.  Though I say it myself he’s very good..  The screens are scheduled to be taken down tomorrow and you can inspect what needs doing.  Nat is coming in to check so he can advise.  He’s been away over the weekend at some place called Ulvescott.  He’s gone with someone who’s doing something historical there, I think.”

            I nodded.  “That would be my cousin Adam.  He’s probably going to edit some memoirs.”

            Damien nodded.  “That’s it.”

            Young Liam had been standing listening.  I turned to him.  “Why doesn’t everyone have lunch in my room.  Would you arrange that, please, Liam?”

            He smiled.  “I’ll arrange it all, Mr Foster.  One o’clock.”  He turned and scurried off.

            The next arrival was Charles.   He was only slightly flustered.   He waved the clipboard he was holding in an expansive gesture.  “My dears, you have met!   I had hoped to be here in time to make the introductions but Mrs Chalfont-Meade detained me with some worries about the Bursar’s arrangements for the new Dining Room.”

            “His worries?” I said.

            He raised a deprecating hand.  “One has to let him be in charge of certain aspects of the renewal of the College.”

            “One?”

            He screwed the side of his face up and pursed his lips. “You are perfectly aware of what I mean, dear Mark.  Just keep the peace is my motto.  But this is diverting me from my major present duty.  I need your permission for certain restorations to be made to the figures next door.   Damien has certain suggestions which I am sure you would countenance.”

            I noted the smiles on both Damien’s and Ally’s faces.  “Damien has already suggested that Ally could make any repairs or restorations necessary,” I said, I hoped imitating some of Charles’ orotundity.

            He nodded.  “Yes, Alistair has shown me some sketches of what he can do.  Nathaniel has kindly supplied illustrations of the originals which leaves a few parts only which need some imaginative treatment which I am sure he would be able to complete to everyone’s satisfaction.”

            I couldn’t resist it.  Surely Charles wasn’t growing even more in pomposity.  “Any models needed?” I said with as much breathless enthusiasm I could muster.  “I’m sure if needed we could rustle up some willing volunteers.”

            Damien and Ally were behind Charles and they were almost laughing out loud.

            “Mark!” Charles tone of disapproval was unmistakable, “There is a time and place for frivolity.  If anything more than imagination is needed I am sure Alistair is perfectly capable of asking for assistance.  I take it you have no objections to Alistair’s participation?”

            I had been reprimanded very severely!  I grinned inwardly. “As Damien has vouched for him I have no objections.  I would like to see the sketches, though.”

            The hand flew up again.  “That is settled then.”  He turned sharply to Alistair who managed to compose his face in time.  “I take it you are willing to undertake the commission.  Please show Mark your work and I must insist you keep to the time schedule.”  A finger pointed.  “We will agree the fee in due course.  Mother has made adequate provision.”

            Alistair only had time to nod before Charles turned back to me.  “I must fly.  There is much still to supervise.   However...,” He turned to include all three of us.  “...This evening I have arranged for us to dine at the Garden House Hotel at seven thirty.  I am concerned that you, dear Damien, might be overtaxing yourself and need some relaxation.  In any case, I have knowledge to impart about the possible provenance of the wall paintings.”  A finger went to the side of his nose.  “Certain intimations about a family bearing the name of a current member of the College.”  He waved his hand and hurried away.

            “Phew,” went Damien as the door closed, “he’s the human whirlwind then and now.”  He turned to me.  “When I was younger than you Mirabelle used to dump him on us and it was my job to take him round the National Gallery and answer all the interminable questions of a very verbal six-year-old.”  He laughed.  “Still verbal!”

            Ally, by his side, laughed.  “I know, I remember him being in charge of me as a small kid.”  He copied a Charles hand gesture.  “He’s alright, though.  He’s certainly an organiser.  Ten days to go and we’re well ahead of schedule.  Should take me about eight days to do the renovations as it’s all black and white.  There’s evidence of a dark red background to match the original plates and cups but that would have to wait until another time if that is to be restored.”

            Damien was nodding.  “Best to leave that.  Nat says he may be able rescue some more later.”

            I said they should come up at one for lunch.  I went up and tried my harpsichord.  There was a note on the top that it had been tuned last week so I sat and played through a couple of Scarlatti Sonatas and felt extremely happy and relaxed forgetting my worries over the lecture list.  As I was playing Liam brought in a trolley and laid the lunch.  I finished the second piece as he stood and listened.

            “The Chablis’s in the fridge and the salad’s in a cold box,” he said.  “Chef says Sean can come across to serve things.  Bit of practice for him for when the new room is opened.”  He grinned.  “There’s an invite for you and one or two others for the opening.  First Monday of term.  After that you have to pay but Mr Charles has it fully booked for most of the term.”  He laughed.  “Even Chef’s excited about it and we’ve got another second chef coming, too.”

            “That means cleavers out at dawn, eh?” I said, knowing that the present second chef was rather hot-tempered.

            Liam giggled.  “Too true!  I keep out of the way when Cheffie and George have one of their rows.”

           “We’ve all heard them,” I said.  Shouts from the kitchen often punctuated even the student noise of mealtimes in Hall.

            Just before one o’clock Sean appeared with his usual cheeky grin.  He quickly laid up and all looked very presentable.

            “You’d better open and try the Chablis,” I said, “See if it’s the right temperature.  Can’t let the side down.”

            He scooted off to the kitchen and came back nodding his head and holding up his left hand, first finger and thumb together in perfect imitation of Charles’s gesture of suitability.

            Just at that moment there was a rap on the outer door.  He went and opened it and ushered in Damien and Alistair.  Dustcoat and stained sweatshirt had been changed but Alistair still showed off his most attractive hairy legs.  Attractive, that is, in my opinion.  I felt a slight stirring!  But no!  Food!

            I must say Sean had been well-schooled.  He served each of us perfectly starting with the guests.  The food was so tasty and the wine complimented it so well, even the delicate fruit fool which came out as the second course.  Then there was coffee and while Sean was packing the remnants and the dirty plates and cutlery in the kitchen I congratulated him.  He smiled.  “Best job out,” he said.  “Cheffie says I can be in charge of serving in the new room.”

            “You’ll do well,” I said and I knew he knew I meant it.

            Damien, Alistair and I chatted until just after two and Damien inspected the harpsichord.  I played a short piece of Bach to them.  Damien looked intently at the inside of the lid which was plain but with a painted internal border.

            “You know that most of the old harpsichords were decorated with pictures inside the lid.  A pastoral scene or a still life.  I wouldn’t mind trying my hand at one.”  He smiled.  “Free, gratis and for nothing!  I like trying out new things.”

            “Would it make any difference to the sound,” I asked, “And I would have to check with the person who gave it to me.  It’s Dr Al-Hamed’s father.”

            Damien smiled.  “I don’t think it would make a difference and I know Safar.  I did a couple of illustrations for his last book on medieval instruments.  I’ll ask him if you like.”

            That settled, the pair went off and I went across to James Tanner’s room to see if he was around.  There was a note on the door.  ‘Back on Wednesday.  Emergencies: contact Albert Tomkins’.  I wondered if Old Albert knew the note was there.  I went down and ambled across to the Porter’s Lodge to leave the notes I’d made on the draft of three of the chapters of his book.  I’d found a couple of typos and had attempted most of the problems at the end of each chapter.  One was particularly tricky and I’d made a note I thought I was near the answer required but there seemed to be something missing.

            Old Albert was sorting through a pile of post and sticking it into pigeon-holes.  I waited while he labouriously stuffed several envelopes into an already over-filled hole.  He was saying ‘Blast!  Blast!  Blast!’ in a whispered monotone as he did so.  Shaking his head he turned and saw me.  “Get’s worse every year, Mr Foster,” he said, “They got all those computers but they still send all these bits of paper around.  More students, more bits of paper.”

            “Perhaps you need bigger pigeon-holes, Mr Tomkins,” I said, “These look as if they were there when the Ark was built.”  A favourite saying of Dad’s when he came across anything ancient.

            “Eighteen-ninety to be exact,” he said, “Some evil little bugger set fire to the Lodge and they had to be made then.” He peered at me over the top of his glasses perched as usual halfway down his nose.  “Mr Fane-Stuart knows the evil buggers who had your pictures drawn.  He’ll tell you tonight, he said.  Caused a rumpus here they did.  In the books, you know.  Found it in one of the old Knotts’ books as well.  Jason told me.”  Old Albert was being unusually loquacious.  “Mr Adam Carr’s been helping him.  Says the boy’s got promise.”

            “Yes, I’ve been giving him some help with the organ.  He plays well.”

            He actually smiled.  “He’s a good boy and thank you kindly.  There’s not so many take notice of him.”

            “But the Chaplain thinks highly of him and I’m sure the Master does, too.”

            “True.  But there are some of the young gentlemen..,” This said with a certain emphasis on ‘gentlemen’ which bode ill for whomsoever came into that category.  “...who ain’t fit to give him the time of day.”

            “I shouldn’t worry about them,” I said, then a thought struck me.  “You said there were plans for him.”  I smiled.  “If he gets his A Levels OK then he’ll be a student here?  And that’s what you’re worried about?”  I shook my head.  “Next year I think there’ll be a number of new students who’ll more than accept him.  I know my brother will and he’s got at least three friends hoping to come here as well.  He’ll fit in.”

            “Don’t want him marked out.  He’s a Knott though and they don’t take things lying down.”

            I smiled.  “He’s been very good to me and my friend Tristan and my brother thinks he’s the tops.”

            He nodded and passed me a heap of assorted paper.  “This is for Mr Price-Williams.  All this stuff here’s..,” He indicated a large pile of the same laid out on the table behind him.  “..for all them that’s gone.  Never stops.”

            I made my farewells, picked up even more correspondence for me and the other load for the ‘gone’ Tristan and went back to my rooms.

            Much later, having binned ninety nine per cent of the junk mail, read though the term’s lecture list again and suffered a bout of mild panic, I had a shower and was just putting my glad rags on  ready to meet up with Charles and the others when my mobile Bached.  It was Tris.

            “Hi gorgeous!  How many times today because I’m not there to comfort you?”

            “Nil and I haven’t missed you as I’ve met a real vision of loveliness.  He’s got the most adorable hairy legs to drool over.  I stared at them all over lunch and I’m dining with him tonight and we’ll see about comparing our furry appendages later.”

            “Bollocks!  Charles has already phoned and remarked that you had agreed to certain enhancements being made by the nephew of the painter friend of Mother.  He mentioned you were all repairing to the Garden House for dinner and hoped I was suitably catered for this evening.  He didn’t mention the hairy legs so watch what you stroke tonight!”

            “I miss you,” was all I could reply to that perfect imitation of Charles’ style.

            “Same here, but news.  Adam phoned and didn’t realise you’d gone back.  An invite for the three of us - I know, I know, that includes Microbe - to visit Ulvescott for the weekend.  Adam’ll be back tonight and he’ll bed down in your rooms and he’ll come over as well and bring you on the bike.  Back Sunday night with Jak Thomson and his pal as Adam’s staying on.  They’ve got to do some work on the computer at the finance place.  He said he’d show you around there and you’ll find out what proper mathematicians do!”

            That sounded complicated but good.  I quickly told Tris about the second bed which Adam could christen and that Charles had ideas about the paintings.  I said I would entertain Jak and Max to the best of my ability as the pair were worth getting to know better as they were gorgeous hunks!  I sent him a great raspberry of a kiss and shut the phone just as I heard his ‘Slut!!’ and a great bang occurred simultaneously on my outer door.  It was Adam, in leathers, with a big rucksack on his back and carrying his motor-cycle helmet.

            “Hi, cuz, give us a kiss you lovely thing,” he said, “Need a bed until my rooms are sorted out.  Couch’ll do ‘cos I can’t stand you snoring in my ear though you have a nice firm little body to snuggle up against.  Why are you all dressed up?”  All this said without drawing breath.  He pushed me into the room as with the rucksack on he couldn’t pass me in the small entrance hall.  “Got to get this lot off.  I’m fucking sweating and my balls are dripping wet.”  He dropped the helmet on my sofa and hefted off the rucksack.  I caught it as he swung it over to me.  It weighed a ton!  He quickly undid his riding boots and then stripped off the leathers and all he was wearing underneath was a long-sleeved tee-shirt, woolly socks and a pair of boxers.  “Avert your eyes and find me a towel, duckie!  To the shower, pronto!”

            I didn’t avert my eyes and the very familiar lengthy cock and pendulous balls were soon in full view, being helped by the heat.  He dropped the boxers and socks on the floor and used the tee-shirt to rub his bollocks vigorously.  “Bloody cramped in there, they were,” he said with a sigh of relief.  “Nice stiff gin and tonic wouldn’t come amiss, either.  Plenty of ice!”

            “Your servant, sir!” I said with as much sarcasm as I could muster in three words.  “I must hurry though.  I am dining at the Garden House this evening with friends.”

            He gave a great baying laugh and grabbed me, pressing his sweaty torso against my new Matteoli shirt and kissed me full on the lips.  “If we weren’t both going to the Garden House I’d strip you and ravish you on the spot!  Tris said I could as long as I didn’t damage the goods.  Ouch!”

            I had reached down and squeezed the familiar length.  He let go of me.  I didn’t let go of him.  He stared straight into my eyes and grinned.

            “You hold that for a bit longer and neither of us will be dining tonight!”  He laughed.  “Mustn’t be tempted.”  I let go and he reached down to hold his own length.  “Nat’ll be back in the morning.  Safar’s driving him back with Charlotte and James.  He’s given the painter-man some sketches of the originals and tomorrow all will be revealed.  He says a bit of restoration will be needed and I’ll be there offering my services as a model.”  He lifted his slightly tumescent lengthy cock to an upright position.

            “Huhn!” I said, “They’re big boys with big pricks not midget digits like yours.”

            “Oh, sweet cuz, you say the nicest things.”  He laughed and then for a moment he looked sad.  “You sounded just like Ivo then.  I miss the old bugger, I really do.”

            Regardless of his sweaty state I went to him and put my arms round his shoulders.  “I can’t compete with his repartee but I’m always here and I bet Nat keeps you happy.”

            He hugged me.  “Thanks, Marky, we send messages almost every day.  Ivo’s so happy and so am I, really.” He held me tight and kissed my cheek.  “Nat’s all I could wish for, too.  Whippet was great but I think I’ll be better with Nat.  Whippet’s still a good friend and we’re having a big party for him at the Club Saturday week.  You’ll come?”

            “Of course and I guess Tris will be here as well.”

            He hugged me then let go.  “Good!  Now the shower and what clothes can you lend me?”

            He complained bitterly at the choice he had once showered.  Usual Adam, though.  I was well stocked now with various sets in different sizes from the Matteoli range so duly arrayed the pair of us stood at the bottom of the stairs at seven o’clock and waited until Charles condescended to descend.

            “My dears, a heavenly sight.  Adorable Adam, you look as if you have stepped from the proverbial bandbox.  So elegant, so suave.  Mark, your Uncle’s designs compliment your beauty and I feel so dowdy in comparison.”

            As he was wearing the most expensive-looking shimmering blue suit and ruffled dark blue shirt and had a full complement of rings on his expressive fingers he was a veritable peacock.  I even detected a hint of eye shadow I thought.

            “Come, I have ordered a conveyance which should be waiting at the back gate.”

            We were swept off and met up with Damien and Alistair by the Porter’s Lodge.  Introductions were made for Adam and we were soon deposited at the entrance of the hotel.

            “All is arranged,” said Charles as he ushered us through the lobby into the restaurant.  “I suggest drinks at the table while we choose.  Mother’s generosity knows no bounds and she will be visiting for the grand opening.”  After the maitre d’ showed us to the already prepared table, and we sat and ordered drinks, he continued.  “The opening ceremony is planned for the first day of term when all are assembled.  A ribbon will be snipped then the Vice-Chancellor will unlock the door and the Mayor and his Lady will be the first to enter with the V-C and Master.  They will be primed as to what to expect inside and will be followed closely by a television cameraman, Members of the College Council and you, my dears...,” he nodded towards the artists and me.  “...with Nathaniel, Crispin and Jenny Masterson and Mother.   I do so hope no inappropriate remarks will be made.”  This with a particularly stern look at me.  “All the replicas and notices are ready except for the pages of the Psalter and your Book of the Hours.  We await the British Museum on those.  They have promised....”  The hands accompanied all this with forceful gestures.

            “And then?” Adam asked, as he was obviously not to be in the welcoming party.

            “Adam, dear, ‘festina lente’ as the inscription says.  The dear Bursar has agreed to a light luncheon beforehand at midday for those involved.  The ceremony is scheduled for one o’clock.  At two when all the dignitaries have departed we will open for Senior Members and  students of the College.  I think no more than twenty at a time.  It will be useful practice for the opening to the public the following weekend.”

            “A model of organisation,” I said, hoping not to sound too ironic.

            His mouth screwed into a moue of appreciation.  “Thank you.  If there are any obvious flaws in the arrangements let me know.”

            Adam laughed.  “I wouldn’t let the rugger-buggers in en masse or they might re-enact some of the scenes on the walls.....”

            A finger was raised.  “...We have thought of that.  Each stand on Freshers’ Day and each Club are being given tickets which have a number and a time.  They are not in batches, but are random.  Mrs Chalfont-Meade is an accomplished bridge player and will be shuffling the cards, as it were.”

            “As long as I don’t hear the screams from below....” I began to say.

            The smile was there.  “...We have tested sound levels with dear Jason and the boys and a very loud ghetto blaster contraption and no sounds other than a rumble or two at the highest level we managed were apparent from your rooms above.”  A waiter appeared.  “Let us order.  I think I will have my usual fish for the main course but starters first..”

            Charles had much more to impart.  He was very adept at eating and interspersing mouthfuls with his monologue.  He did let Damien explain to Adam the sequence of paintings he had done and was about to complete.  There was more than smiles as Alistair described which bits he thought he would have to renew in the second cellar.  Then, as we were ready to eat again after the main courses had been served, Charles was set to reveal what he had found in the records of the Servants of the Chapel and the College history.

            “I must insist that what I tell you tonight is not revealed to third parties who may have family connections until all is checked.”  He looked at us all in turn round the table.  Not a flicker.  “I have ascertained from the records that the walls were prepared in 1769 when the two younger sons of a family named Lascelles were in residence.  The College records show that the family had supplied a succession of male offspring for some sixty or so years before that as students.  It would seem they were of a minor branch of the landed gentry but managed to maintain a rather riotous lifestyle though two had become bishops in the middle 1700's and in the1830's and I think one received a peerage at some time.”  He paused to take a sip of the white wine he had chosen to go with his fish.  “From my reading of the notes these two took advantage of the installation of the Duke of Grafton as Chancellor that year to ask permission to decorate their lodging, as it was put, appropriately.”  He looked across at Adam who was not paying enough attention as he was tackling a lamb cutlet.  He raised his voice slightly and I noticed the three diners on the next table taking notice.  “In 1771 scandal occurred.”  He did lower his voice then.  “It would seem the Chaplain, having been in Chapel late, was disturbed by noise of revelry and investigated the upper room.  Not finding anyone there he went down the stairs to the cellar and found six students in a state of undress together with, and I quote, ‘quatuor pueri tam lepidi ac delicati urbani’.”

            Damien smiled.  “Four boys of the town of a certain kind, I assume.”

            “Dear Damien, so delicately put and so true.”  He had our full attention.  He shook his head.  “The pair were sent down immediately and the others in the party were fined for consorting inappropriately and there is no record of what happened to the four boys from the town.”  He raised his fork.  “As far as I can find, no further Lascelles has entered the College until last year....”

            “....When Christopher Lascelles-Wright joined,” said Adam.  He smiled.   “And he was at your school, wasn’t he Charles?”

            The fork was raised again.  “In a much junior Form and was a sweet young Mustardseed to my Titania.  He came to my immediate attention here and was a valued member of my Medea performance and then again when I appeared as Helen.”

            Yes, I had admired that very handsome, muscly lad and then noted the diners on the other table had resumed their rapt attention to what was being said.  But Charles lowered his voice again.

            “I believe Christopher has certain tendencies which seem to be of an inherited nature.  His elder brother was required to leave the school just as I joined after being found with two of the Remove in a compromising position and Christopher has a friendship with.....”

            “Charles!” said Adam, quietly but sternly, “You shouldn’t be spreading such gossip.”

            Charles did look contrite.  “Dear Adam, I was carried away and you did make the connection.”

            “Only because I know the lad and his name.  How do you know he belongs to that family?”

            Charles shook his head.  “I don’t, but I would assume the name is rather unusual but there is the conjunction of the two names so I am not sure whether it has come down the male or the female line.”

            “Like Finch-Hampton,” I said, “We know how that occurred.”

            “Mark, that is so, I must make more enquiries.”

            As he was telling us this there was a nagging memory but I couldn’t recall where I’d seen or heard the name.  Anyway, we left that subject and Charles went on to tell us about the models which had been made and would be displayed by the end of the week.  Damien nodded.  “Two more days and I should finish that room and there’s just a few bits to finish in the first room where the statues and artefacts will be displayed.”

            After a most satisfying evening we decided not to take a taxi but strolled back to the College.  Charles pointed out that the entrance down the alley way would be used by visitors to the exhibition and students would have to bypass the turnstile and ticket-office which had been constructed from the storeroom which had been there before.  The steps leading down had also been put in place and the notices indicating ‘A Celebration of  the Sacred and Secular’ were ready to be displayed.

            In my rooms Adam and I sat and discussed the evening.  We agreed that Charles was a born organiser, if a bit impetuous.  One thing was still bugging me.  The name ‘Lascelles’.  Still, we were both tired and decided to have a relatively early night.  Adam gave me a cousinly kiss before slipping into the second bed and well before I dropped off he was snoring gently.

            “Up!  Up!”  I was woken by Adam tapping my nose with a teaspoon.  Oh, God!  It was morning already.  “Wakey, wakey, dispel all those evil thoughts you libidinous youth!  Rise and shine!  Get that porky belly of yours into suitable attire and we will have just a short run this morning.  No need to wash, drink this coffee, then just have a pee and we’ll be off.”

            “Adam, Adam ,” I said quite groggily, having been roused from a dream where Tris and I were somewhere nice and sunny but the memory faded quickly, “Please...”  I realised what he had said.  “My belly’s not porky!”

            “After the amount you ate last night....”

            I slid out of bed and wrestled him over the bed.  I was nude, with a morning hard-on, he had running shorts on.  “Good job you’re partially clothed or this might have been inserted....”

            He put his arms round my back and laughed.  “I shouldn’t tell you this, but Nat’s quite playful in the morning....”  He leaned up and we rubbed noses.

             “...I suppose he plays hunt the thimble, eh?” I said.

            He laughed.  “Don’t you start.  There’s not much difference between any of us..  Oops, shouldn’t have said that but I don’t think Nat would mind me telling you that.”  He smiled.  “Big lad! I just hope it’ll last.”

            Adam was being deadly serious.  I mustn’t break the spell.

            He hugged me.  “We slept in Piers’ room and he felt the presence, too.  I don’t think I have to worry, I felt so relaxed and there’s an overwhelming kindness about that place, isn’t there?”

            I let him up.  We had a cousinly hug then I put on my new dark red Matteoli jockstrap and running shorts and suitably arrayed we set out, porky belly or not!  On our return, over breakfast, he told me more about his visit to Ulvescott Manor and the memoirs of the pair from the time they met first at the Military Academy as Cadets.  As I listened I realised if they were allowed to publish - there was plenty of hush-hush work so Adam said - it would be sensational.  Adam smiled.

            “The Master has given me permission to spend a year initially on the notes.  If it works they will be published under the auspices of the College and I guess the College will benefit from a good deal of largesse from the Foundation that paid for your harpsichord and Tris’s law course as well.  I’ve written up most of the introduction and parts of the first chapter and that’s what I delivered this last week.  Actually, it almost writes itself.  Nat and I are going to stay at Ulvescott for a few weeks.  He’s writing up his thesis so we’ll both be busy.”

            After breakfast he went off to the Library to check dates and references and I went to see if the damage to the Chapel had been repaired.

            Again, there were workmen.  The Chapel tower was surrounded by scaffolding and the roof itself was being recovered with lead or some metal where the stones had fallen through.  Inside the Chapel the roof timbers had been replaced but not painted or varnished yet and all the sconces from the choir stalls had been removed.  I assumed the damaged ones were being repaired and all would be set in place sometime.  My organ was still swathed in plastic awaiting the completion of the ceiling.  The foreman said they would be finished by Friday, too, and the organ builders were due on Monday to check all was well.

            As I came out into the sunshine there were Charles and Jason, both with clipboards and serious expressions.

            “My dear, greetings.  I hope you slept well.”  He was preoccupied though.  He turned.  “Jason dear one, please check that Stair B, set 4 has been assigned properly to Messrs Braine and  Tomlinson.”  He shook his head.  “I hope we will not have any repetitions of last year’s sad happenings.  I do my best.”  He consulted his list.  “They both wish to share as this reduces their expenditure, they both play Rugby Football, one is a scrum-half and the other a flanker and one comes recommended from a school in Bournemouth and the other from a minor Public School in Yorkshire.  Do you think they will gel?”

            “Wait and see,” I said, “What are they reading?”

            He studied his list.  “One English and the other Natural Science.  Both have two A’s and a B.”

            “Should be OK.  Just keep your fingers crossed.”

            As Jason trotted off Charles turned to me.  “I hope I did not go too far last night in specifying young Christopher’s inclinations.  It was rash of me to mention such things.”

            “Don’t worry.  I know Tris had spotted him with the gardener after you mentioned it when your excavation was being done.   But that Lascelles name rings a bell.”

            “Thank you for your forbearance over my lapse of judgement,” he said, “and if you do have any thoughts let me know.  It is all most intriguing.”

            I left him contemplating his lists on his clipboard and went to my study and buried myself in my own contemplation of more of the problems in James Tanner’s manuscript.

            The next thing was a knock on the door just before lunchtime.  It was Nat.

            “We’ve just removed the screens and they’re clearing any dust at the moment.  Would you like to come down and see the sketches and suggestions?”

            I followed him and went along to the newly finished entrance at the other end of Charles’s old set.  Damien waved a brush at me as he was busily finishing off a rather stern looking priestly figure standing in a church porch.  Alistair was in the middle room looking at a large sketch of part of the wall which had the dancers and tumescent youths on it.

            “Hi, glad to see you, I need to check with you so I can get on with the work,” he said pointing at the sketch. 

            Nat stepped forward.  “It’s these bits.  Whoever ordered the whitewash must have tried to erase certain aspects...,” He pointed at the sketch and then at the wall.  Although it was very clear the state the lads were in each of the erect pricks was smudged.  The sketches showed very definite erections.  “....Alistair could restore everything to match the outlines of the figures.  Look, the body features and the hair are very distinct.”

            Be bold I thought.  “People will want to see what was originally there, won’t they?” I said, “I think Alistair should match up to the rest.”

            Nat laughed.  “Thanks.  That’s the decision we wanted.  Over to you Alistair.”

            “Right, I’ll get started after lunch.  I’ve tested out the paint over there.”  He pointed to a corner of the picture.  I couldn’t see any change, then noticed a slight darkening of a couple of lines, making a sharper image.  “I think it’s OK.  I’ll start by lining in some of the torsos, then if that works I’ll do the more intimate bits.”  He looked at me and grinned.  “It’s OK, I won’t need any models, Damien’s drawn out those bits full size from the originals.  I think they’ll look quite impressive.” he laughed.  “But, we think some of the faces were based on the participants as they’re not so stylised as the drawings on the pots.  Any volunteers for the ones that have been blurred?”

            Nat poked me in the back.  “If anybody it should be Mark and then there’s Tristan.”

            “Oh, no,” I said.  But then, I thought, even Safar appeared in ‘that book’.  I got another poke in the back.  “Alright,” I said, “As long as Gabriel, Boz and any of the others appear.”

            “Charles?” came a quiet query from Nat.

            I warmed to the idea.  I pointed to a prancing figure with a tambourine and a thick bent dick whose face had almost been obliterated.  “That one!”

            “Settled!” said Nat.  “Photographs needed for those not present or available.”

            “What about permission?” I asked.

            “Phone!” said Nat.

            I went up to my set and retrieved a group photo someone had taken when several of us were lazing by the Cam.  I had a larger photo of Tris so picking that up I reached for my mobile and he answered almost immediately.

            “Just about to phone you,” he said, “Did Adam have his evil way with you?”

            “No he did not,” I said, “I was too busy seeing how far up those hairy legs went.”

            “Liar!” he said, “I’ve already spoken to Adam and he said you were both quite celibate last night and he’s staying at Nat’s until Friday so you’ll just have to do five-finger exercises until I’m available.”  He laughed at his weak wit.  “Anyway, you can tell Charles I need to be taken out next time I’m around.”

            “Will do, but I’ve got a proposal for you.”

            He sniggered.  “You proposed long ago and I accepted, remember?”

            “Yes and that still stands....”

            “...twice nightly, if I remember rightly,” he said interrupting me.

            “OK, OK,”  I said, “Just shut up and listen.  This call is costing me money.”  There was a moment’s silence.  “We have the offer for you to be immortalised,” I said and then giggled.  Quickly I told him about the rubbed-out facial features and the idea that we could all be drawn in.  He just laughed and said ‘Yes’.  I had an idea.  I wouldn’t say anything to Frankie but there were enough to include him and, in any case, he would be here next year.  I counted up.  There were at least ten figures and there were about ten of us including the Thugs and Frankie and..... ....who would be the youth having his balls felt?  Frankie?  By whom?  Ivo and Adam were identical twins so.... ...A composite face.  All fixed.  Just contact the others.

            Of course, that meant Gabriel and Josh.  Where were they?  That fount of all knowledge, Jason, would know.  I set off with more pages of notes for James Tanner and found Jason in the Porter’s Lodge.  I deposited the pages in James’s pigeon-hole, noting that it was still full so he hadn’t collected anything yet.  I also noted an envelope addressed to him in Fiona’s distinctive writing so she’d been busy as well.

            “Do you know when Mr Pack and Mr Gibbons are coming back?” I asked Jason.

            “They’re already around,” he said, “They’re in one of the flats in De Freville Avenue until term starts.  Mr Pack’s brother’s started at the Sixth Form College.”  He grinned.  “Bit different.  He’s at Mr Wolstencroft’s.”

            That was solved.  I had Gabe’s mobile number so as I crossed the Quad I tried it.  He and Josh were in Grantchester just about to have lunch at the Rupert Brooke.  Yes, they would come to see me when they returned and would collect Raphael who had most of the afternoon free.

            I had just finished another of the exercises in the manuscript and had a pot of tea brewing when the three arrived.  Gabe and Josh led the way and then Raphael entered, looking about him and seeming a bit bewildered.  He was tall and  bronzed like his elder brother, but there the similarity finished.  Whereas Gabe was massively built, Raphael was slimmer and had long bleached blond hair in a pony tail.  His rather tight tee-shirt showed off a muscular torso with well-defined pecs and biceps.  He had clean-cut facial features and a blond stubble and then he smiled.  Wow!  He was a gay boy’s wet-dream!  But, straight or gay,  he was going to break a few hearts!

            “This is me little brother Raph,” said Gabe, not showing much enthusiasm, “Say hello!”  He poked the lad forward.