Under the Sign of the Cross- Part II

Torcello Island

Under the Sign of the Cross. Part II 

December 28^th, 2001

Venice

The glaring midday sun almost blinded Konrad, partially dazed by the deafening noise caused by the cooing of thousands of doves pestering the tourists on San Marco Square. A sleepless night in a train going from Paris to Venice during which he had evaluated all his options had left him drained.

The boy, Guntram, was obviously meant for him. He was everything he had ever dreamed of in a companion for life. They had met at the Lord's house, and for the first time in his life, Konrad had felt a sense of calm—of bliss and completeness—he had never experienced before. Nothing in Guntram's character, from what he had seen so far, reminded him of Roger.

The only question in Konrad's mind was how much Guntram knew about his family's past. 'De Lisle swore he made sure the boy always remained away from Europe, and that might be well true. According to the records, this is the first time he is here after leaving France in 1985.

'Even if we don't work out as a couple, I am responsible for him. I am his legal guardian, and even if he's nineteen years old, it would be very senseless from my part to let him go wild. Look at my nephew, Armin. One of these days, I will have to bring him home and straighten him up.

'But Guntram looks like a good boy who works, studies, goes to Church and stays at home every night. Anyway, he should attend a good university and have a job more suitable to his upbringing.

'It's all a matter of letting things flow and see what the outcome is,' he decided.

'Disgusting birds,' Konrad thought as he made his way through the throng of doves, tourists, street vendors and waiters, in a straight line towards where the youth was sitting on a bench reading a paperback book. Le Rouge et le Noir.

The Duke faltered for a moment, suddenly unsure of what to say or how to approach the youth.

An alpha male dove—obviously infuriated with the tall tourist who had dared not only to ignore him but also not to feed him—began to peck at Konrad's handmade shoes taking the man out of his trance. After a quick kick to the bird, Konrad regained his courage, and that is when he noticed a group of Japanese tourists coming his way.

Afraid of the Eiffel Tower experience repeating itself, Konrad placed himself in front of the boy, blocking the sun illuminating the pages he was reading.

The startled big blue eyes that locked with his made him lose his bravado, and the only thing he could think to say was, “Is Julien out of his father's house?”

“Not yet,” Guntram whispered, shocked at the man's sentence.

Out the corner of his eye, Konrad saw the tourists increase their speed towards the only empty bench in the square, and he imperiously waved his hand. The boy moved aside to let him sit, impressed by the stranger's regal air.

“Stendhal was a good diplomat, but I prefer Lampedusa's view on the subject,” said Konrad very fast. “Attaining power is relatively easy. To keep it is the hardest thing.” The boy looked at him in panic, exactly as if he were a stern schoolteacher. 'Did I just say that?' Konrad thought berating himself.

The youth, for his part, felt very uncomfortable by the way the tall man was inspecting him, and only wanted to escape as fast as he could. “Really? I thought it was an adventure novel. I have the comic,” Guntram lied.

“Already degraded to comic?” Konrad retorted ironically. 'Time to see how much he knows about us.' “Konrad von Lintorff,” he introduced himself extending his hand, and Guntram shook it without showing any reaction to the name.

“Guntram de Lisle,” he said automatically in a soft tenor voice that Konrad found very pleasant. The boy's English accent reminded him of a British one, only much softer and open.

“Do you take your Christian name after the king or the opera?” asked Konrad innocently. 'The de Lisles were always bragging about their Merovingian origins. Let's see what happens.'

“I don't know,” Guntram admitted, shocked that someone else had heard his name before. “Some people believe it's Russian.”

“It's an old Frankish name. But you don't have a French accent when you speak English,” Konrad said, glad that the conversation was developing well despite its odd beginning.

“I was born in New York, but I have lived most of my life in Buenos Aires. My father was French and my mother part German… I think. I'm not sure. Or was it my grandmother? Yes, it was her. My mother was French,” Guntram explained to Konrad with a frown, as he became confused with his own lineage.

Konrad observed him very carefully to see if there was any kind of deception hidden in the boy's words, but contrary to his initial lie of the “comic book”, when he had averted his gaze, this time he was looking at him straight in the eyes. The boy's earlier defensive posture had made it very clear for him that Guntram had been taken aback by the way he had forced the conversation and had wanted to get rid of him. 'Either he is a first class actor or just a shy person.'

Konrad fixed his eyes on Guntram and the boy blushed and looked down confused. 'Shy and insecure.' The Duke watched how the youth gulped as he nervously played with his second-hand book. 'He's very young still.'

Guntram did not know what to say or do, embarrassed at being the centre of attention of an unknown man, and only wished to be swallowed by the earth. He faintly heard the man say something about the book in his hands, but his words were lost in the loud cooing of the doves coming back with a vengeance.

A sudden shout interrupted Konrad's well thought-out sentence before he could pronounce it. “Pumpkin, there you are!” It was that importunate Argentinean boy from the hostel at Paris, yelling at the top of his lungs.

“Hi there, I'm glad you could understand the map and make it,” Guntram said, rising from his seat to give Fedérico a brotherly hug. Konrad's jealousy almost reached the surface when the punk patted his Guntram's back. 'This good for nothing must leave his life as soon as possible. Nothing good can come out of this friendship.'

“You're so hilarious. You should start an acting career,” the older boy strangely said in English. “I just came to tell you I have business elsewhere and can't see you till tomorrow. Were you already at the cave? Creepy. My mother hates us, pumpkin.”

As he spoke, Fedérico hoped the tall, blond foreigner clearly hitting on Guntram could take a hint. 'Looks like a big shot who can keep Oblomov's men away for a little while.'

“I could come,” Guntram slightly complained. Konrad, meanwhile, looked at his adversary with distrust. Why was he giving him such an advantage?

“Better not. It's for grown-ups,” Fedérico stated. “You could stay with your friend here. Mister…?” he said clearly and loudly.

“Konrad, Herzog von Lintorff,” the Duke curtly said; and it was a hard test to resist his desire to cross the shameless brat’s face when he dared to mock his title with a whistle of false admiration.

“Fedérico Martiarena Alvear. How do you do?”

Konrad was too furious to answer, and he only stared at the boy who simply decided to ignore him and turned to speak to the other youth.

“I have to run, pigeon. Take care and don't get into trouble,” Fedérico said, convinced that the German duke would at least persist until night in his efforts to get Guntram, at which time his friend would have proved to him how boring he could be. 'One story of Father Patricio's poor orphans and he's out. And I can tell Oblomov that Guntram found someone else and couldn’t come. That will buy me some time, and perhaps the Russian loses his interest if Guntram looks to be a little whore instead of the angel he believes him to be.'

Guntram watched his friend go away in disbelief. Unsure of what to do now that he had been abandoned, he turned around to face the Duke, lifting his head so he could see him in the eyes.

“Do you want to visit the Correr Museum?” Konrad asked before the boy could escape.

“I don't want to take more of your time.”

“I insist,” Konrad said with certainty. “Rest assured I will enjoy our time together. Besides, your friend has just appointed me your guardian,” he added, glad that the competition had run away so easily. “I hope you don't bite,” he joked, and the boy chuckled at the absurdity of the situation.

* * *

'Running to Friederich's trousers was not enough for Ferdinand,' Konrad thought upset when he caught sight of his friend and Heindrik Holgersen standing together next to one of the columns in front of the Café Florian. So far, the short time he had spent with Guntram had shown him that the boy was very intelligent for his age and had a real sensibility to art. In that sense, Konrad was convinced there was nothing feigned or staged for his benefit.

'Time to teach those two a lesson in civility,' Konrad furiously thought as he unceremoniously dragged Guntram towards where his men were. “It's unfortunate that my house is not open yet, and to take someone as young as you to a hotel would be totally inappropriate,” he said in a clear voice so Ferdinand would finally understand that this was not an adventure and that Holgersen's services as his “boyfriends-girlfriends bouncer” were not going to be required. As he and the boy walked past them, Konrad watched satisfied the shocked expression on his friend’s face.

Instead of going to a more modern or fashionable place, Konrad took them to his usual restaurant, where he used to go with his grandmother or his father. 'That should give an idea to that brick-headed Ferdinand,' he thought as he sat at his habitual table.

'Let's see if Guntram is as whimsical or short-tempered as Roger was,' Konrad thought as he accepted the menu from the maître. He bid his time as the boy fruitlessly tried to read the menu written in German without complaining or showing any signs of fretfulness. After a few minutes had passed, he beckoned the waiter.

“The usual,” Konrad ordered for the both of them, watching his companion's reaction, half expecting for Guntram to explode as his uncle would have had.

But no reaction, except one of quickly concealed surprise at his rudeness, came to the surface.

“Are you allowed to drink?” he asked employing a disdainful tone, loud enough so Ferdinand could hear him and also judge the boy's reactions.

“I'm not sure. I will be twenty next October,” Guntram answered, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the elegant restaurant and the Duke’s bossy manners.

“Mineral water, Carlo,” Konrad said with sufficiency. 'Nothing infuriates more a young one than to be reminded of their youth.'

Guntram, however, didn't complain or made any kind of face. Instead, he was distracted by a painting of some ships.

The youth was proving to be a good companion, and without any preamble, Konrad started to elaborate on the history of Venice, hoping that the safe topic would ease both of their nerves. During the lecture, he could feel the boy dropping his initial reserves about him, lowering his defences and adopting a more relaxed stance.

'Trust Konrad von Lintorff to ruin a romantic date,' Ferdinand thought with satisfaction as he watched from his spot in the neighbouring table how his friend spoke about trade routes in the XVIII century. 'If the boy is sincere, he's going to run away in less than thirty minutes. He already looks bored.'

The sight of the two tall men dressed in dark custom-made suits sitting at the table next to them only having coffee was very strange for Guntram, and he couldn't help to glance at them again. For some reason, they looked familiar.

“My bodyguards. You saw them at the museum. The one on the left is Heindrick and the other is Ferdinand. I own several banks and companies,” explained him Konrad.

“I see,” Guntram answered unimpressed at the other man’s riches. It was none of his business what the German-Swiss did for a living. 'I would have bet all my money he was a school headmaster, and one exactly as bitter as Stoyle was at that,' briefly considered Guntram. 'I already got a free lecture.'

“Do you live with your parents in Buenos Aires?” Konrad's neutrally posed question surprised him.

“My parents died when I was a child,” the boy answered slowly, disturbed at the personal question. 'Nothing out of the ordinary, but why does it affect me so much he asks that?'

“How did they die?” pressed Konrad, scanning Guntram's face for any sign of deception, doubt or hatred.

“I would prefer to switch the topic if you don't mind. It's something I don't normally speak about,” Guntram replied in a dry tone, doing his best to hide the wave of sorrow that washed over him.

“Did you lose them recently?”

The impertinent question, devised to check how far Guntram's temper could hold, made the youth cast a furious look at Konrad. “If it's so important for you to know, no,” he said grinding his teeth. “My mother died at childbirth, so I have no recollection of her, and my father decided to jump from a window when I was seven. Since then, and till I turned eighteen, I lived in a boarding school in Buenos Aires. Happy now?”

“Why did he kill himself?” Konrad pressed on, his gaze intently fixed on Guntram, determined to measure the true extent of the young man's knowledge of his family’s fate.

“Honestly, I don't know. I was in school at the time he died in Paris. No suicide note. He left all his affairs in order before doing it. He even named a solicitor as my guardian and established a trust fund to pay for my education,” Guntram answered, and his eyes clouded for a brief instant. Unable to stand Konrad's gaze any more, he looked down.

One brief exchange of looks with Ferdinand, confirmed Konrad's decision that the boy was not lying at all. Something in Ferdinand's features had also softened, and Konrad realised that his friend believed in Guntram's story. 'So far, we have found nothing that could link him to Roger de Lisle or any other member of the Order.'

“I'm sorry for your loss,” Konrad comforted Guntram, gently taking his hand and caressing his knuckles in a soothing way. “What do you do for a living?” he asked to distract him.

“I work as a waiter and go to the public university at night. I’ve finished the introductory course for Economics and Social Work. Fortunately, in Argentina you don't have to pay for a career, and with my salary I can afford a small flat in the area,” Guntram answered, glad that the family topic had been finally abandoned.

“It's hard these days to find someone so young and mature who can support himself and believes in progressing in life,” Konrad commented as he thought, 'What a waste of work for nothing at all! After the small revolution the Argentineans have mounted up, returning to the country is nonsense.'

“Why are you studying Social Work? It's not a popular choice of career.”

“Since I was fourteen, the priest at our school would take all the class to help the people in one of the slums. He said we needed to be in contact with reality and be more humble. I liked the people there, and they made a great impression on me, so I still go during the weekends to help with the soup kitchen and to teach children how to read. Honestly, with all this political turmoil, I don't want to think what I'm going to find there when I get back,” Guntram answered happily, and for the first time, the man didn't seem so intimidating as before. In fact, his eyes shone with a kind light that matched his handsome features.

The involuntary blush on Guntram's cheeks when Konrad caught him carefully watching him, told the banker that the boy could be interested in him. 'Perhaps I have a chance,' he thought. 'Time to check on my competitor.'

“What is your relationship with that boy?

“Fedérico? We came together to Europe. We have a special friendship. We fool around since I was thirteen.”

The atrocious last sentence, so casually formulated, almost made Ferdinand explode in fury. He nearly broke his cup of coffee as he directed a murderous glance at Guntram. 'A little whore, just like his uncle,' he thought.

Heindrik Holgersen gaped, shocked that “the little lamb from the parish” had shouted to the winds how promiscuous he was. 'The Duke will not have any problems at all to shag him. It seems I’ll have to work tonight after all.'

Konrad's fury transformed into dangerous cold anger. The way the boy had spoken reminded him how many times he had been left standing at the doorstep because “There was something much better than you, lapin. You can be so boring! Flair is in variety.”

“We shared a bedroom at school,” Guntram continued his tale, oblivious to the men's reactions. “Even if it took some time for us to connect, we became best buddies. He's always fooling around. I know it might be shocking for strangers at the beginning, but it's very common there. I admit he can embarrass me sometimes, but I'm used to it. Teachers would punish us for that, but what else can you do in a boarding school?”

“I'm not surprised about that. It was criminal to do that with someone like you, considering you were thirteen and he looks much older,” Konrad gritted, his voice deep and his German accent more noticeable than ever.

“There is nothing to be ashamed of. Once, he called me ‘pigeon’ in front of his mother. That was certainly embarrassing! We are always joking around. I know I should grow up, but I'm still nineteen. He was quite wild in the classroom. One time, he released a pig inside the school. Did you not play the fool during your school days? Fooled around?”

Heindrik couldn't help to chuckle at the stupid language mistake the boy had just committed, and Ferdinand smirked.

“Do you mean ‘to banter’?” Konrad growled to make his men quiet.

“Yes, that's right. I'm sorry you had to hear his name-calling. He tends to do that a lot.”

“English is not your first language, I see,” Konrad commented, appeased by the truly clueless expression on Guntram's face, clearly indicating that he had no idea of what his people had found so funny.

“Not really. I think mostly in Spanish.”

“‘To fool around’ refers to engage in casual sex. You fool around with a prostitute,” Konrad explained to Guntram. The boy almost died of shame right there. “I’d better order dessert before you take permanent residence under the table,” Konrad joked, finding Guntram's reaction very amusing.

When dessert arrived, he watched how Guntram began to eat with gusto a piece of apple cake with vanilla ice cream. 'That's for children', thought the Duke. He noticed the boy paused and briefly looked around before resuming his eating. “Something wrong?” he asked.

“Oh, it's very childish. I was wondering if they have some cinnamon, but the chef would probably kill me for ruining his creation.”

“We could ask for some Zimt,” Konrad answered slowly as he remembered all the times he had shared the same dessert with Roger.

'How can you eat all that cinnamon? Do you need an extra spoon?'

'My mother was always asking the same thing to Jêrome and me. Apples and cinnamon are the perfect match. Like us, lapin.'

Konrad swallowed hard. 'Not all times were bad,' he thought as he looked at Guntram with a mix of tenderness and longing. 'We shared something special, after all. If only his family wouldn't have gotten in the middle, perhaps we could have lasted.

'What were a few escapades compared with the prospect of a shared life? Nothing. Men are natural-born hunters, and Roger would always come back to me. We argued most of the time, but we couldn't be without the other. The times I did leave him, he would come after me; and the times he left me, I went in his search.

'In the end, everything we had was destroyed, and we were all doomed. Roger's family. Guntram's father. Even he, who was nothing but an innocent bystander, lost everything. No, Guntram was never a bystander for his family. He was just another token his father exchanged with me, and overnight, this child's life was turned upside down.

'When my brother died, I suffered for many years, but I finally got over it. How must you feel when you are seven years old and the only person you had in the world dies? Perhaps Guntram's soft and kind nature is so because he needs to feel close to people. I had Friederich and my father, and later Albert and Ferdinand to help me, but he had nobody really close to him. Even now, he is completely alone.

'As alone as I am.

'But I am old and I chose to lead this kind of life. Guntram had no choice at all.

'Even if he never accepts me as his lover, I have a duty towards him to fulfil. At least, I should secure a future for him in Europe.'

A discreet cough from Ferdinand forced Konrad to return to reality and he saw Guntram doing his best to hide how tired (and bored) he was. The coffee they had been served had long become cold. “I think your bedtime is past due. I'll take you to your hotel.”

“That's hardly necessary. If you would be so kind as to direct me to the Rialto, I can find my way from there.”

'With your sense of orientation?' You'd probably end up in Mestre and wonder when did firm land showed under your feet,' Konrad thought. “I would be worried that you would fall deep into a canal. It's not safe for someone so young to wander these streets alone; walking will be good.”

* * *

December 29^th, 2001

To say that Guntram was confused was a shallow appreciation of the boy's mental turmoil that sunny morning. In theory, he had an appointment—“It’s not a date,” he kept telling himself—with the “German pest”. He knew he should skip it, but if only to himself, he admitted he wanted to see him again. The way the odd German had caressed his fingers and kissed them, had awaken something deep inside him he couldn't fully comprehend.

'I'm not gay,’ he thought decidedly.

'No way I'm gay.

'The minute I go to Father Patricio and say: “I had lustful thoughts about another man”, his kick in my ass will fly me to the moon.'

Yet he couldn't avoid replaying the previous night's dinner over and over in his mind. The man had a bossy way of treating him ('Along with the rest of the world'), but the few times his eyes had become illuminated by a gentle and warm light, Guntram had felt drawn to him. He missed his deep and educated voice, the richness of his conversation, and the clear superior intelligence devoid of any kind of vanity.

And the way he had paid attention to him the whole night!

For the first time in many years, Guntram felt part of something.

And the feeling terrified him to the point of only wanting to take the first train to another city.

'I have to go to San Marco because Fefo will be waiting for me. If he's there, I will offer my excuses, and that will be all. That's right. That will be all.'

Too fast for his liking, Guntram arrived to San Marco Square. He felt lost amid the tide of tourists. He checked his watch, and the sun mercilessly reflecting on the glass blinded him. Once he opened his eyes, a blooming headache forced him to close them again.

'The German is not gay. He's not like my neighbour, George. He was only being polite and fatherly. We could be father and son!

'People in Europe are more liberal than in Argentina, that’s all. Look how many of these nudist clubs there are here!

'And why on earth would he be interested in me? I have nothing to offer him, and I look quite the regular, common, ordinary guy you can find anywhere. I can't even get a girlfriend!'

He opened his eyes and caught sight of Konrad's tall frame, and his entire being seemed to dissolve under the other man’s gaze. Guntram was so absorbed, that he missed Fedérico creeping behind him and pinching his bottom as if it were the most sensible thing to do.

“You're slow, eh. I bet I could do it twice in a row,” joked his friend, laughing like an idiot.

“Fedérico, I swear you're an asshole,” Guntram grunted in Spanish.

“Ouch… Woke up sore because I was not there to hold you, baby?” Fedérico said loudly in English.

The older Argentinean youth watched the German duke they had met yesterday walking towards them at a brisk pace. 'The old prick is back. Good. After Oblomov's reaction last night to the news Guntram was with that guy, I can't hand him to the Russian. The man is nuts, and he's going to kill us both.'

“Don't be so mad at me,” Fedérico mocked Guntram again. “I know you need a strong man by your side, and I will not leave you alone ever again.” He hoped to start a fight that would force Guntram to go away for his own sake. If he was lucky, the old German would help him with that. 'Oblomov nearly killed that girl with one single uppercut.'

“Would you just shut up? I'm sick of your foolishness!” Guntram shouted back, furious that once more he was being ridiculed in front of Konrad. It was enough being insignificant in his own right. He didn’t need to have his friend enhance his own lack of allure.

“Jeez, someone has had a bad morning,” Fedérico shrugged. “Anyway, I came to tell you that we're finished, my love.”

“Great, I'm impressed,” Guntram retorted heatedly. “Your wits are greater each passing day.”

“Really bad. In any case, tonight I'll go with the girls to a party, and then we'll head up to Rome for New Year. You can't come; it's for people older than you. Grown-up people,” Fedérico taunted him, and Guntram looked truly hurt that his friend had just cast him aside as if he were nothing but trash.

“Don't worry. You could always find someone older to look after you. Someone who would be more than happy to support you and visit mausoleums with you. To be honest, we are not exactly the best buddies for this trip,” Fedérico said this time seriously, and he pointed with his head towards Konrad, now standing next to Guntram.

The insulting suggestion that he was a rent-boy was too much for Guntram's patience. His answer came out in a cold voice Fedérico had never heard before, and it sent chills down his spine. “Have no worries, Fefo. I only hope that I don't have to drag your ass out of a European jail. I will stick to the original plan. Feel free to join me whenever your whores are through with you.”

Konrad watched Guntram walk away enraged at a fast pace, and he wondered why the other boy had said something like that. The insult was an obvious and absolutely gratuitous lie. Perhaps, if the punk was already looking so jealous of him, he had a chance with Guntram.

* * *

Torcello

The soft light inside the chapel gave the Byzantine mosaics a life of their own, and the strange stiffness that had been present in Guntram since Konrad had left him alone for a few minutes with Ferdinand and Michael in the ship, magically vanished. Both men had clearly indicated that the Duke was romantically interested in him, filling his heart with a fluttering anxiety he had never experienced before.

The boy was stunned by the beauty, liveliness and simplicity of the figures, once more forgetting about the world that surrounded him.

'Instead of flattering me to death, he enjoys the visit and does what we really came here to do,' thought Konrad. 'He knows I'm rich, yet he doesn't care about it.

'When he saw me this morning at San Marco Square, his eyes looked at me like nobody ever did before.

'Even if he never wants to share a bed with me, I can't let him walk out of my life. I need him in it. He gives me inner peace and clarity of mind like I never had. I need someone who listens to me without judging me and who really wants the best outcome for me. We are both alone, but we could be friends and perhaps form a family. He could make me very happy, and I'm sure I could look after him.

'Maybe that was what my father and Friederich had.'

* * *

“It's almost one o'clock,” Konrad said gently, tugging from Guntram's sleeve to get him out of his reverie.

“Already? Sorry, I didn't realise the time.”

“Do you want to take a walk around? The island is practically uninhabited, but it's very beautiful.”

“You can almost hear the silence of the lagoon,” Guntram replied dreamingly. “It's so different to the city.”

“Yes, it is. Time ceases to exist here.”

They walked out of the cathedral and saw that day's group of tourists coming down the path that separated the main berth from the monuments. Konrad noticed that Guntram seemed a bit unsettled at seeing the crowd after the peace they had experienced inside the dark dome.

“I could show you my favourite place when I was a child. It's in the opposite direction to the town.”

“Have you been here before?”

“My grandmother had a house in Venice, and I used to come here once a year. She made me love the city, but Torcello was always my favourite place. I would have loved to buy a house here to spend my holidays.”

“Why didn't you do it?” Guntram asked with genuine curiosity.

'Because I didn't want to be left alone with my thoughts,' Konrad almost replied, but instead he said, “I work practically every day. The last time I took holidays, it was because I suffered pneumonia.”

Guntram smiled knowingly, feeling a bit of pity for the stern man at his side. He suspected that to say something like that had been hard for him. The strange wave of restlessness that had assaulted him once they were out of the church disappeared, and he knew then that despite the fact the two gorillas at the boat had hinted that their boss liked pretty boys, the Duke would not hurt him or force him to do anything against his wishes.

Konrad took an almost invisible path that started on the side of the tiny museum, built along the square that harboured Santa Maria Assunta, and both men walked in silence, getting away from the noisy crowd.

Surrounded by reeds and willow trees, the old small bridge looked as if it would fall apart at any minute. They could hear the seagulls squawking in the far distance.

“What are you looking for?” Guntram asked curious when he saw the Duke look into the waters.

“Just checking if there are still some frogs—an odd mania I have since childhood—but they must be hibernating,” answered Konrad. “There were many here when I was a child.”

“At boarding school, the other boys and I used to hunt them every summer, but they were cleverer than us. The only frog I ever caught was a poor toad the biology teacher had planned to butcher,” Guntram told him with a mischievous smile. “I even escaped from school that day to take it back to the river.”

“Were you caught?”

“No, never. I was practically labelled a saint, so the teachers didn't mind much what I did,” Guntram remembered with a hint of sadness. “In school, you have to make trouble to be noticeable. I only studied and quietly stayed in my corner,” Guntram sighed, but he quickly recovered his poise and added with a forced smile, “A truant like Fedérico will be remembered over the years, while nobody will remember me unless they read my name on our promotion's plaque. That's the downside of being a boring person.”

“You are not boring at all. I enjoy very much your company,” Konrad said very softly, getting closer to him, his mind already made up.

“I also,” Guntram whispered, beginning to feel strangely agitated.

“Would you accompany me to my house tonight?” Konrad blurted out, feeling at loss as all the nice, polite, charming, flattering, romantic sentences he had employed over the years deserted him.

Guntram looked at Konrad with clear panic in his eyes. What he had been both dreading and desiring all this time was standing right in front of him. He gaped at the other man like a fool, his heart beating so strongly that it was almost painful.  

“I would take care of you. I would do nothing that could hurt you. You're precious to me,” Konrad said closing the distance between them, afraid that he had rushed things too much. Guntram was as white as a sheet and was breathing raggedly.

“I'm not into men,” the youth whispered.

“I know.”

The answer disconcerted Guntram, who didn't know how to respond. So he remained frozen on his spot and fixed his gaze downwards on the nearby reeds.

For Konrad, the young man's reaction was simply adorable and pure. 'Typical of someone with little experience and even less willingness to hurt people.' He was sure the boy was interested in him, as he had blushed all the times Konrad had caught him staring. 'I can't lose him.'

The Duke stood next to Guntram and cupped his face in his huge hands, keeping a firm hold over the soft cheeks when Guntram tried to put some distance between them.

“I understand this is all new to an inexperienced youth like yourself,” Konrad started as softly as he could—the final test. “I was half expecting your denial, but I'm willing to wait—within a reasonable time frame—for you to become my lover. I will provide, take care and see that no harm falls upon you, as long as you respect me and behave according to your status. As I said, you are the most adorable thing that has caught my attention in years. You have to be mine, and I have every intention to win you over.”

The look of total disappointment in Guntram's eyes at his pragmatic declaration was the clear proof Konrad needed to be convinced that the boy was sincerely and genuinely interested in him. Similar words, and a promise of a sound future, had driven his part-time ‘girlfriend’, Stefania, mad with happiness.

“I'm not gay or plan to become one,” Guntram stuttered, averting his eyes and stubbornly fixing them on the old cobblestones.

'He's the lousiest liar I've ever seen,' Konrad thought, feeling his heart melt with tenderness. Unable to refrain himself any longer, his lips collided with Guntram's at the same time his arms caught him by the waist in a strong grip.

Konrad heard a faint protest, mostly caused by the surprise of being kissed with so much passion, but the muffled noises were soon over, and he felt how Guntram relaxed his stance as his hands slowly released the laps of his coat—that he had gripped in a futile attempt at self-defence—to lightly place them over his chest.

Kissing Guntram was so different to any other kiss he had shared in the past. The boy felt pliable under his assault, and the way he parted his lips fuelled the fire Konrad felt inside him. There was something childish, unreserved, untrained, yet deeply lovable in the boy’s kiss; and it drove him mad with desire in a way no kiss from any of his well-seasoned lover had ever done before.

Not willing to press Guntram so much that he would be afraid and ran away, after a moment Konrad tried to disengage his lips from the young man's, but Guntram surprised him by kissing him back fiercely, without restraints, as if his life would depend on getting another kiss from Konrad. He made the Duke feel special and wanted. A part of something greater than himself.

'I can't let him go,' Konrad repeated again in his mind the minute he realised they had to stop or he would rush things, perhaps ruining them forever. Despite all his enthusiasm and fire, Guntram’s technique, or lack thereof, showed he had not done this before, and Konrad feared his reaction once they would get down to earth.

Guntram softly wailed at the loss of the other man’s lips, which had shown him a pleasure he didn't know could exist.

In answer, Konrad kissed him again, this time on the cheek, reverently, to direct then his attention towards the delicate neck, enjoying how Guntram clung to his body, offering it without reservations.

When at last they broke apart, Guntram faltered and Konrad held him by the arm. Concerned that perhaps everything had been too much for the youth, the Duke cupped Guntram's face in his large hands, his fingers rubbing his temples lovingly as if to placate him, and Guntram embraced him in return, burying his face in the crook of his shoulder, bursting with joy.

The sudden, furious ring of a mobile phone made Guntram jump away as Konrad desperately searched his pocket to turn it off. When he was able to silence it, Guntram was looking at him with a bewildered expression, terror slowly filling his eyes as he realised what he had done: He had madly kissed another man to the point of nearly pushing him down to the ground to commit an unspeakable act with him for which he would eternally damn his soul.

Without saying a thing, the boy turned around and ran back in the direction of the church, refusing to obey the tempting voice that called him back.

* * *

Ferdinand watched the escaping shape of Guntram with great satisfaction. 'Ten to one Konrad screwed it up. Good-bye, Mr. de Lisle.' Pleased with himself, he saw how the boy jumped inside a boat two seconds before it left the shore. 'And good riddance.'

What he never expected to see, however, was Konrad walking with long strides towards where he and Michael were and bearing a genuine smile in his lips, not his usual smirk after closing a profitable deal.

“Guntram just took the vaporetto,” Ferdinand informed him cheerfully, resting his fears for a moment. “He was running so fast that we couldn't stop him,” he added with mock innocence.

“He remembered a previous engagement,” Konrad answered haughtily, and other the man couldn't help to snort in his friend's face.

“Indeed.”

“We return to Zurich this afternoon,” continued Konrad. “We have to fix that misunderstanding your team has committed, Ferdinand,” he added in a darker tone.

“I think it can be easily fixed.”

“I hope so. I plan to return to Venice in two days time. Dähler, get someone to look after Guntram in my absence.”

“Yes, sir,” Michael said and turned around to leave in haste.

Ferdinand gaped incredulously at his friend. “But he just ran away!”

“After kissing me back, Ferdinand. Guntram only needs some time to think things over and get used to the idea of his new position at my side. Let him be. Everything is running to my entire satisfaction.”

* * *

January 1^st, 2002

Venice

Heindrik Holgersen looked down at the nervous policeman standing in the middle of the foyer that early afternoon. “Do you affirm that you need to speak with His Grace regarding a police matter?” he asked sceptically.

“Yes, sir. I wouldn't dream to bother the Duke if I weren’t absolutely sure that this is an urgent matter.”

“May I inquire what your reasons are?” Heindrik said. “The Duke is a very busy person.”

“It's of a personal nature, sir,” Inspector Rossi stammered.

“We will call you at our convenience,” Heindrik dismissed the man. “Good-day, Inspector.”

Rossi gulped as he knew he was treading on thin ice. He was nothing but a mere servant in the Order's structure, and here he was: asking to see their leader. “Wait! Do you know what a crenel cross is?” he asked to find out if the tall blond was one of them.

Heindrik briefly nodded, giving the man all his attention. “Tell the Hochmeister that there is a person who says that he was with him on the 28^th and 29^th of December. His name is Guntram de Lisle, and he carries our cross. I don't know if he is a knight. For some reason, my superiors don't want me to confirm his story and they want to send the boy to jail. I'm sure he's clean of the allegations, but I don't want troubles with my superiors.”

If Heindrik was surprised that “Little Orphan Annie” was involved in a drugs case, his face never showed it. “Take a seat. I'll speak with His Excellency.”

* * *

The Italian police inspector gulped when the blond led him to a large wooden door, passing through several luxurious, Baroque style rooms. The high vaulted ceilings, despite their many cherubs perpetually dancing there, gave him an oppressive feeling.

Rossi hesitantly entered the ample library where, at the end of it, he could see a large desk placed against the monstrous windows, partially covered with heavy velvet drapes. The sight of their supreme leader overwhelmed the middle-aged man, who had never expected anything more from his involvement with the organization than to obtain a few favours, live a simple life and a get a comfortable retirement. The Hochmeister seemed to be a very tall and powerfully built man, but what drove him more nervous was his steely regard, watching him as if he were his next prey.

“It is an honour to be received by you, Hochmeister,” Rossi said as he knelt down in his presence and bowed his head. The Duke only nodded imperceptibly and Rossi rose, taking the last steps to the chair placed in front of the desk.

“Speak up,” ordered Konrad.

“On the night of December 29^th we arrested an Argentinean citizen carrying a little more than 300 grams of cocaine with him. He was trying to sell it at a pub near the university. An informant told us that this man, along with two women, had brought five kilos of pure cocaine to Venice,” Rossi told him promptly. “Such an amount is simply ridiculously large for this city. The informant also told us that Berisha's people had received a large contract to get hold of the Argentinean, a friend of his and the girls as they had stolen the material from a Russian gang operating in Paris.” Rossi paused and gulped as Konrad's eyes shone in a way that didn't promise anything good for him.

“We arrested the Argentinean, who didn't oppose any resistance, and raided the flat were he was staying. We found about 2.6 kilos of cocaine hidden in a flower vase,” Rossi told, unable to suppress a snort. “We couldn't find the girls, and when we took the suspect to the police station, we noticed that he had been beaten up, but he refused to say who had done it.

“This morning we found the bodies of two women floating near Murano. Their throats were slit and everything points that they were viciously tortured before they were murdered. We assume that the Russians who owned the drugs found them and killed them.”

“How can this be related to us?”

“I'm in charge of the case, and I have interrogated this Argentinean several times over the past two days. He has given me several versions so far. First, he swore he had never seen the cocaine and that he had met the girls at a Christmas party in Paris. Then, he admitted the girls were two escorts working for a Russian man named Ivan Oblomov, but he still didn't confess anything about the drugs. We tried to pressure him a little by telling him that the Russians wanted to kill him along with his friend for stealing their material. That's when he started to speak. He told us that everything had been his friend's idea, and that they had brought the cocaine from Paris on the 27^th. He said that he was not guilty and that his friend had convinced the girls to steal the package. The original plan was to come here and sell it during New Year's celebrations.”

“So?” Ferdinand's voice asked with barely hidden contempt, and Rossi almost jumped out of his seat as he had not seen the two men sitting on a long sofa placed in the darkest corner of the room.

“He immediately told us the name of his friend, Guntram de Lisle, and where he was staying. He insisted that everything was his fault and that we should arrest him too, and he said he wanted to strike a deal with the prosecutor—as if we were Americans.

“We went early this morning to the address he gave us, and we questioned the young man. He says he arrived in Venice on the 28^th and that he was with His Grace on the 29^th. I would have never dared to bother His Excellency with this matter, but the boy carries a crenel cross with him and all his alibis were true. He has a stamped rail pass and museums tickets, the innkeeper confirmed his version, and there was not a single trace of drugs in his belongings. Nevertheless, I got orders from my superiors to charge him with drug trafficking.”

“His statement is true. Guntram de Lisle is one of us, and he was with me in Notre Dame on the 24^th; at the Army Museum in Paris on the 26^th; at the Correr Museum on the 28^th; and in Torcello on the 29^th, along with Dr. Ferdinand von Kleist and Dr. Michael Dähler,” Konrad said coldly. “I also saw him on the 31^st for Silvester, and Dr. Dähler, my head of security, also spent the morning of the 30^th with him.”

“Yes, that is true,” Michael affirmed from his spot. “I can sign a statement, if you need one.”

“Likewise,” Ferdinand grunted.

“I was appointed Guntram de Lisle's legal tutor in 1989, Inspector Rossi,” Konrad added. “By his late father's decision, he lived in Argentina up until now. Guntram arrived a few days ago in Europe with Fedérico Martiarena Alvear to travel around the continent, but I understand they parted ways right after Christmas. Since then, Guntram has kept me company. He does not like to be a burden and prefers to travel on his own. Nevertheless, one of my bodyguards is with him at all times. Do you need that I go to the police station?”

Rossi went livid at the words “legal tutor”, almost missing the rest of the explanation. “It will not be necessary, sire. If one of your lawyers could be so kind as to write down your statement and bring it to the police station, my superiors will not have any grounds to hold him any longer. There is really nothing against him. Perhaps somebody is pressing them as this Martiarena is the son of a powerful Argentinean senator, and they preferred to place the blame on your ward not knowing of his origins.”

“I would be most displeased if something of this nature were to happen to a member of my family,” Konrad warned him with his sternest voice. “We will speak with Komtur Barashi and this matter will be solved before tomorrow afternoon.”

“Yes, sir,” gulped the policeman.

“Tell Guntram to come to my house. Don't let him leave the police station until my people have spoken with Barashi. I will not forget your cooperation with us, Rossi.”

Well aware that he had escaped disaster by very little, Rossi rose from his chair, bowed his head to the Duke and the other men, and quickly left the room before the Hochmeister would change his mind and send his own Executioners after him for laying a hand on his pupil no less, not the toy he had imagined the boy to be for the aristocrat. He should locate his informant and warn him about the big mistake the Albanians had made before he had to spend the entire year rescuing gutted corpses from the canals.

“The boy is only trouble, Konrad!” Ferdinand exploded once the policeman had closed the door behind him. “Drug trafficking!”

“Tell me when he obtained the drugs, Ferdinand,” Michael snorted. “His Excellency was with him all the time, and I can't imagine this boy carrying half a million dollars worth in cargo inside a backpack on a train! I said that the other one was a troublemaker, and as usual, I was right.”

“This has to stop!” Ferdinand continued his battle with Konrad, ignoring Michael.

“Friederich is already here, Ferdinand. Maybe you should consider calling my cousin Albert too,” Konrad answered sarcastically.

“The boy has been in Europe only for two weeks and he already has been accused of having five kilos of cocaine? He will give you nothing but troubles!”

“Did the policeman say that the Russian mobster was called Ivan Oblomov?” Konrad pondered now ignoring Ferdinand to direct all his attention to Michael.

“Yes, sire,” answered Michael, “But the Oblomov we know couldn't have done it as he is busy with that ‘financial’ shipment from Argentina. Our people are coordinating the cargo with him. The name must be an alias. Oblomov getting his hands dirty for only five kilos and three moronic mules? It's ridiculous!” he smirked. “Ivan Ivanovich is going to be very upset when he finds out that somebody has been using his name.”

“Get Pavicevic to speak with the Komtur,” Konrad ordered Michael. “He should peacefully nullify their deal with the Russians and inform us who they are. Cover their losses, too. The last thing I want is a war in here.”

“The young or the old Pavicevic?” asked Michael.

“The young one, so the Albanians understand we are serious,” replied Konrad. “Go with him, Dähler, just in case Goran loses his patience.”

“Back to peacekeeping duties, my Duke?” Michael smirked.

“Peace-enforcement duties if Pavicevic believes it is time to clean our land of Muslims,” clarified Konrad without any hint of humour in his voice.

* * *

Rossi went almost mad with desperation when he couldn't find the boy not even ten minutes after he had told him that he was free of any charges. Instead of doing the reasonable thing, like asking for a phone to call his tutor, the boy had simply walked out the police station during one minute of inattention from the inspector.

'If something happens to him, I'll loose my fucking head! The little twerp was only concerned about his friend! Scemo!' he thought furiously as he ran outside to look for Guntram, wandering alone through the streets.

It was nine o'clock when, fearing the worst, Inspector Rossi realised that the boy had simply disappeared from the face of the earth. He had found out that a young man looking very similar to him had been in a phone shop using the internet at six p.m., but since then, nobody had seen him.

With the images of the death of Inspector Pazzi in Hannibal replaying in his mind, Rossi returned to the police station. 'Hanging from a window with my entrails exposed to the winds is not the way I want to end. Venice is full of such windows.'

His soul returned to his body when he saw the boy dozing in one of the benches at the police station. “He insists on speaking with you, Giancarlo,” the desk officer told him, “and I don't know how to get rid of him. Boss wants him out in half an hour. This is not a hotel!”

Rossi felt a wave of terror go through his body. He knew right then that the game was not any longer about framing the boy for the mess, it was a way to get someone to kill the Hochmeister's pupil, ward or whatever he was. 'I can't tell anyone he's here or phone from my office—my line might have been taped.

'And I can't take him to the Duke by myself as I would be next if my own superiors are willing to hand the boy over to the Russians in a silver plate. They would know who I truly serve, and I may well suffer “a working accident”. I'm a total jerk! I clearly insisted that the lad were placed in protective custody but nobody heard me! He's not guilty, and there is a certain death threat against him along with two girls already dead.

'There is much more than five kilos of cocaine missing going on. If he's family with the Hochmeister, probably he is a target too!

'This has to be a set up to have him killed. The minute the stupid Albanians lay a hand on him, we'll get the Serbian Executioners loose in our city, and this will be another Yugoslavia.

'Russian gangsters don't mess around getting other people to do their jobs. It must be the fucking heretics that want to start a war in my city! Masons have infiltrated everything! It's very clear for me. Masons paid the Russians to kill the Hochmeister's ward, and they will trick our own people to do it! Masons want to unleash an internal war or one with the Russians!'

Rossi stood petrified for a long time, slowly breathing as the extension and implications of the plot dawned in his head. 'If something happens to him, we all are as good as dead,' he thought contemplating the asleep boy.

'I'll question the boy again, and this way nobody will dare to kick him out until I'm finished. He should make an identikit of the two dead girls. Marina is the slowest sketch artist we have.'

“Please wake up, sir,” Rossi shook Guntram awake, using almost the same voice he had employed with his Hochmeister.

* * *

January 2^nd, 2002

If there was a person in this world who was most enraged with Konrad von Lintorff that early morning, it was his own tutor. Friederich couldn't believe the extent of Konrad's stubbornness. He was determined to keep the son of Jerôme de Lisle no matter the consequences or how many times he and Ferdinand von Kleist had fruitlessly tried to reason with him.

Konrad had an answer for everything.

“‘Judge not lest ye be judged’,” he had dared to quote to him, but had quickly changed his challenging attitude into a conciliatory one with a “Wait until you meet Guntram, Friederich. I promise you that if he is not to your liking, I will send him away.”

“I have heard the same words before.”

“This time it is different. Ferdinand was there too. He can tell you that I am not lying or mistaken. Guntram is nothing like Roger de Lisle.”

“Not yet,” Ferdinand had grunted from his spot.

“Is it true, Ferdinand?” Friederich had asked the other man.

“The boy could be an awesome actor,” Ferdinand had mumbled, feeling once more as if he were eleven years old and under the ‘soft’ questioning techniques their teacher had employed when they had been into some mischief.

“Then I must understand that he is as the Duke says,” Friederich had finally agreed under Konrad's triumphant expression. “Do I have your word, Konrad, that you will send this young man away if I don't find him suitable for you?”

“I still have to fulfil my oath to his late father,” Konrad had answered haughtily, and Friederich had stormed out of the room fighting against his desire to slap his impudent former pupil, clearly determined to have his own way regardless of what he could say.

Furious like he had not been in many years, Friederich had crossed the house in direction to the service area. Konrad had gone so far as to order him to have a room ready for the boy!

As he walked towards the service area, Friederich heard the bell ring and walked so fast towards the back door that the poor butler coming to open it decided that it was a good moment to make himself scarce.

“Was wollen Sie?” Friederich barked without realising he had spoken in German. The boy standing at their doorstep looked like a simple student asking for a donation for the church, and the look of pure terror that went through his eyes at Friederich’s harsh tone made the older man immediately regret his tone. He was about to apologise in his limited Italian, when Michael Dähler overcame him with a surprisingly casual, “Well, if it isn’t the international drug dealer from the Pampas! Come here, Dachs!” and dragged the boy inside.

Slowly making his way towards the kitchen, Friederich could hear the men greeting the boy. His shy and nervous replies were nothing like the regal tone employed by Roger de Lisle. Also, the boy didn't look at all like his supercilious grandfather. In fact, he seemed overwhelmed to be the centre of attention.

“I did try to get a lawyer for Fedérico, but there was nobody at the consulate. I'm sorry the Duke got mixed into this mess. It was never my intention to get him involved,” Friederich heard Guntram say as he approached them.

In that moment, Konrad’s tutor knew that all the reports he had read on the young man were true. If the child had been out on the streets, looking on his own for a way to help his friend instead of using his pupil's power, risking his life in the process, then he must truly have a generous soul.

'Perhaps this time everything will turn out differently.'