A Game of Consequences Ch. 03

Chapter 3. Past and Present Glories

Author's Note: Sorry, there's no actual sex in this chapter, but it's essential to the plot, so at least skim-read it before going straight to Chapter 4 - which is right behind it.

"Good morning, Mr Watson. So glad you could join us," Mr Palmer said as I entered the hotel's restaurant. I was one of the last down for breakfast. I knew I was cutting it a bit fine, but I wanted to try to avoid any embarrassing moments with Jill over breakfast. As it was, she was seated at a table full of girls, and barely seemed to notice me come in.

I grabbed a coffee and a croissant and sat down next to Mr Palmer. "Sorry, sir. I didn't sleep too well last night."

"Really?" He gave me a very piercing look. "Well, I hope you're fully awake now. There's a lot to see in the Vatican, and I may spring a surprise test on you, so pay attention. Now hurry; in ten minutes we need to be on the coach."

I gulped down the coffee and got up to fetch a second, and another for Mr Palmer; well, I had to try to get back into his good books. I'd obviously done something to irritate him, as he usually only used his pupils' surnames when he was unhappy about something. I looked towards Jill, who glanced back at me with a slightly conspiratorial smile, before contributing again to the conversation at her table.

Mr Palmer and I barely had time to finish our coffees before a guy walked in and looked around as if searching for someone. Mr Palmer stood up abruptly. "OK, everyone," he announced in his friendly-but-firm tone. "The driver's here so gather up your things and get on the coach."

The Vatican was hugely impressive, from the comically-dressed guards to the Egyptian mummies, the vast amounts of porphyry and the huge Raphael murals. I stood in awe in the amazing Map Gallery, astonished by the sheer scale of the place - seemingly longer than a football pitch, and with every inch richly decorated. As I scanned the unbelievably ostentatious decoration - maps of old Italy all around the walls, the ceiling covered in dozens of intricate paintings, the room dotted with classical sculptures - Jill walked by. We exchanged a look, but she was being followed by a small group of my classmates, so I stayed where I was, as she pointed out some of the features of the room.

"Beautiful, eh, Mr Watson?" I hadn't heard Mr Palmer approach, but he was standing beside me.

"Oh, hello sir. Yes, the room's magnificent."

"I meant Mrs Dawson." I looked at him with a puzzled expression. He smiled. "Don't tell me you haven't noticed."

"I - well, yes sir. Only - only I don't think I should be commenting on members of staff."

"Even ones you've slept with?"

My face must have shown my shock at this discovery. "Wh - what do you mean, sir?"

Mr Palmer's smile grew wider, but it was somehow sardonic - not friendly.

"You spent quite a lot of last night in her room, didn't you?"

He clearly knew, so I nodded. "How - how did you find out?" I was crestfallen and very worried.

He laughed. "Oh - elementary my dear Watson!" He laughed again. "You know, Richard, I've wanted to find a way of saying that since you first came into my class. Perhaps not the best of times to do it, but one has to take one's opportunities where one can find them. And in answer to your question, when one hears dear Jill's voice through the wall at around midnight saying things like 'Oh God Richard, keep doing that,' and 'God I love your cock, Richard', it's not difficult to work out what's going on, and with whom."

"I - I don't know what to say, sir," I stammered.

"The point is, Richard, you say nothing. To anyone. Understood?"

"Sir?"

"I know what teenagers - teenage boys in particular - are like. Simply by listening when people think they're not being overheard, I've already picked up several references to activities among your classmates. I've discovered the relative penis sizes of two of them, the fact that one girl's pubic hair does not match the hair on her head, the oral skills of another, and the noises that a third makes when she orgasms. All very entertaining."

He looked at me quite sternly. "I want to make it clear that I never want to hear similar talk around the school concerning Jill Dawson. Do you understand?"

"Of course, sir. I wouldn't..."

He held up his hand. "Of course you wouldn't, Richard. I'm sure you're a very sensible boy. I can see what Jill sees in you. You're very pretty and in other circumstances..." He looked wistful for a moment. "However, if I hear any stories about how you visited her in the night, I shall state quite categorically that I know that not to be true since you spent the night with me."

"Sir - why - why would you do that?"

"Because Jill is a very special person. She's always kind and she has helped me in ways you couldn't imagine."

"No, I mean - why would you imply that you went to bed with a pupil? Wouldn't that get you into trouble?"

"Would it? I don't think so. As I'd be the one boasting about it and you wouldn't have raised a complaint, everyone would assume it was consensual. You're 18 and old enough to choose your sexuality for yourself, and we'd be consenting adults. It would probably enhance my reputation, though if you're as straight as I suspect you to be, it wouldn't help yours. And if the school thought it too much of a scandal, well, I've only got a few years to go to my pension, and they may decide to offer me early retirement. So you see, I'd gain and you'd lose. Now as much as I'd like to think that you really would come to my bed - I'm sure I could persuade you to enjoy it - I suspect that your inclinations lie elsewhere."

His face took on a slightly wistful expression. "Now I can't imagine that, having seen the looks Jill has been giving you today, and heard the noises she was making last night, you won't take the opportunity for a repeat performance tonight. I won't try to prevent it - God knows I'd be unlikely to succeed anyway - but I do insist that you are extremely discreet. Even if you do keep your delectable mouth shut, if your classmates see anything suspicious, they'll make something of it. Take extreme care, Richard. Jill is a very, very special lady, and she's quite fragile right now. I think that what she's doing with you fulfils a need she has, given the shameful way that her husband has treated her. However, don't do anything to hurt her, or I promise you I'll find ways - quite subtle ways - to make you regret it. Do we have an understanding, Mr Watson?"

"Yes sir. Absolutely, sir."

"Good. And should you decide you'd like to try knocking on a different door tonight, I can assure you that you would be made most welcome." He gave me a sad little smile that said that he knew it was a lost cause, but that he wanted to try anyway. Oddly, my thought at that moment wasn't that he was a sad, rather pathetic little gay guy, trying desperately to pull a good-looking young boy. I now understood Jill's respect for him, as a man who had suffered a lot but still tried to look after his friends.

"Thanks for the invitation, sir. Maybe I'll think about it. But on the other matter, I won't let you down, sir. Or Mrs Dawson, sir."

He smiled, and we moved on.

The Sistine Chapel was something of a disappointment after the glory of the Map Gallery. There were guards, possibly priests, who stood around trying to enforce the 'silence' rule, but the hubbub from the crowds - especially the excitable Italians - would slowly rise to a crescendo until the guards told everyone to shut up, and then the cycle would repeat. Because the room was a lot smaller, darker and more crowded than the Map Room, it was hard to see the famous Michelangelo paintings on the ceiling. After about 10 minutes I was getting a cricked neck, so I moved on.

Jill was standing just the other side of the exit. "Hello, Richard, how are you today?"

"Quite excellent, thank you, Miss," I said, with a slightly saucy look on my face. "And how are you?"

"Fine, thank you, Richard. I didn't sleep that well. I'll probably need something strong to get me off tonight."

I glanced around. Our party still seemed to be admiring Michelangelo's ceiling. "Well, Miss, I think I might have something I could give you. You may need more than one dose, though."

"I see, Richard. And this 'something' you have - how is it applied?" Her sexy smile and wide-eyed look of knowing innocence had my crotch on fire.

"Oh, er - by injection, Miss. In fact, I'd recommend a course of injections."

The look she gave me was quite outrageous. If we'd met at a party and she'd looked at me like that, I'd have dragged her to the nearest bedroom or even broom-cupboard and shagged her mercilessly. Then, as we looked at each other, several of our party came through the door from the Chapel.

"Wait here, boys and girls," she said to the new arrivals. "We need to gather the whole party to go into St Peter's. Now, Richard, what were you saying about the Chapel?"

I tried to look and sound nonchalant as if we really had just been talking about art and history as pupil and teacher. "It's all very clever, and I know that Michelangelo was the genius of his day, but I still feel that the Map Gallery works better."

"Interesting. I hope you - and the others in the class" - she looked around at our party who were arriving in ones and twos - "I hope you spotted that both rooms are symbols. What do they say?"

"Well Miss," Lynne began, "the Map Gallery is about power. It says 'Yes, we know that you people we've let in here are princes and ambassadors from all of these city-states and provinces shown in the maps on the walls, but actually, you all owe allegiance to the Pope. He owns all your souls, and that means he owns all your territories too, so just don't forget it.'"

"Very good, Lynne. Yes, it's like a City broker flaunting his new Ferrari, knowing that everyone who sees it is invested in his hedge fund."

"So what does the Sistine say, Miss?" I asked.

"That's slightly more complex, but it boils down to Pope Sixtus saying 'I have enough cash and power to have my own private chapel decorated by the most brilliant artist of the day. And see that bit up there, of God reaching out for Adam's hand? I'm the guy who intercedes, the one who moderates that communication. So behave and give me due obedience'. Once again, it's all about power and control. Sometimes you just have to show that you are in control. It makes people sit up and take notice."

There was something in the look she gave me as she said this that I felt had nothing to do with long-dead popes.

Mr Palmer appeared, accompanied by a guide wearing a badge, who then led us down a corridor that was normally roped off from the general public. We were ushered through a door and stepped out into the vast interior of St Peter's. It was quite amazing. Our party split into two, and I (unsurprisingly) joined Jill's group while half our party went up towards the high altar with Mr Palmer. Mrs Dawson led us to a very ornate memorial not far from the entrance. Our school was one of very few that still offered Latin, which I'd studied for a couple of years. I was rubbish at it, but when Jill said "So who can tell me to whom this monument is dedicated?" I'd already worked it out.

"Miss, these are the last Stuart dynasty. James, the Old Pretender, his wife and Charles Edward, the Young Pretender - Bonny Prince Charlie."

"Well done, Richard. Now, why are they here?"

"Ousted for being Catholics. Both James and Charles tried to regain the English throne and failed. They had nowhere else to go, so I guess the Pope allowed them to be buried here."

"Very good. Now, Richard, we were talking about something last night. What was it?"

For a moment an image came into my head of Jill and me discussing our sexual fantasies, but I realised that she wasn't referring to that. "Revolutions, Miss. How it's quite easy to start one but much harder to steer it once it's started. Like Cassius and Brutus, Miss."

I knew she didn't like the constant use of 'Miss', but I decided I'd like to tease her a little.

"Absolutely, Richard. So here we see an illustration of that principle. James was ousted by William and Mary in what was called...?" She paused for an answer.

"The Glorious Revolution, Mrs Dawson," Lynne said.

"Good. And why was that revolution successful?"

"Because of the support of the Protestant power brokers and general consent from the people. They were terrified that James would take the country back under the Papacy," Bob Davies chipped in.

"Excellent, Robert. So what's the other thing about revolutions we see here?"

"Well," Bob added, "it's Bonny Prince Charlie and the Jacobite rebellion. He thought there was sufficient support for him from the Scots to seize the throne. His army was very successful to start with, but he was also counting on intervention from the French. The French never came, the Scots were divided and as he drove south into England the opposition became too strong and his support dwindled when they saw what they were getting into."

"Excellent, Robert," she said. "Bonny Prince Charlie cost the lives of a lot of the clans and changed the relationship between England and Scotland - but not in a good way, at least from the Scottish perspective. So the Stuarts all ended up here, unloved, tolerated by the Pope, who recognised that they were a symbol of Catholicism in Britain that needed to be maintained, but one that was never really going to go anywhere. So the moral of this is?"

"Don't count your chickens before they're hatched," Lynne suggested.

"You have to read the zeitgeist before trying to start a revolution?" Bob offered.

"Make sure you can finish what you started?" I added. Jill and I exchanged a look that seemed to say 'Yes, that too.'

"I think you've all got aspects of it. Revolutions always seem to be spontaneous, but the most successful are all carefully planned, and the protagonists have to be ready to adapt. William and Mary were adaptable; they agreed to be, in effect, the first real constitutional monarchs, with Parliament in actual control, and their supporters - and, essentially, controllers - had everything lined up to usher them in. James and Charles, like James's father, were arrogant and thought they could handle it all spontaneously, just using their charisma. Like Charles I, they didn't adapt, or even see the revolution coming. But even when revolutions fail, the ripples still spread outwards for a long time."

We carried on around the amazing cathedral and then climbed the dome. I positioned myself behind Jill, largely so that I could admire her sexy arse as we climbed the narrow stairways and negotiated the corridors. At the top, the view of the city was even more spectacular - though no more inspiring - than the view I'd had of Jill's bum cheeks moving under her thin dress. The group spread out around the dome, taking in the different vistas, and I found myself again alone with Jill for a few moments.

"So do you think we should finish what we started?" I asked softly, looking around to make sure that we were not overheard.

"Well, 'finish' might be a big word. The ripples are still spreading, Richard, and I think I'd like to explore that concept some more. Spreading. It seems somehow appropriate. Perhaps I need to try some of your medication..."

There was a noise to our left, and she glanced around, clearly alarmed. It was just a noisy group of young Italians, so having checked that we were well out of earshot of any of our party, she continued. "See that over there? That's the Castell Sant'Angelo. The Popes would hide there if danger threatened. There was a secret passage. It's always nice to find a secret passage, don't you think?"

This was getting horny and outrageous. Again I checked that no one was nearby. Clearly, Jill was enjoying the game.

"They used to hide out there if the Vatican looked like it would be taken," she continued. "The Castell was built by the Romans, strong and hard. I like that."

That smile again. I was really worried now that someone would overhear us, or even pick up on our body language.

"Mr Palmer took me aside and had a word," I said, wanting to change the subject.

"You're not thinking of joining the other side now are you, Richard?" she said with mock horror in her voice.

"Jill." I glanced around. Some of our party were visible nearby, but they seemed more intent on flirting with one another than checking us out. "Mrs Dawson. He - he was worried. About us. He heard us last night."

Jill's expression changed. She suddenly became serious. "What did he say?"

"It's OK. He just warned me to not say anything about - about what we did. I think he felt I was likely to boast about it around the school - as if!"

"And you won't?" she asked, her eyebrow raised.

"Of course not. It's our secret. Only," I glanced around again, "Only I think that if we're not careful, we'll give the game away. It's fun to play the sort of games we've been playing today, but - well, I know that most of the class are only interested in getting into bed with one another, but someone might just spot that we're spending a lot of time together, and maybe in a way that looks suspicious."

"Are you worried about your reputation, Richard? Can't get off with the girls, has to shag the desperate older ladies." Her smile had a certain sadness about it.

"How could - how could you possibly think that?" I was really surprised. "Miss - Mrs Dawson, I was thinking about you, of course. Can you imagine what things would be like for you if the rumours started circulating? I'd be long gone, and you'd be there being smirked at by every hormonal boy past puberty! We need to be careful. Mr Palmer was worried about you, and so am I."

"Richard, thank you. I'm touched. And by Tony's concerns too. To be frank, I don't know what's gotten into me." She looked at me and gave a sort of smirk. "Actually, I do and I'm thoroughly enjoying it!" I glanced around in alarm. Fortunately, no one from our party was in earshot.

"Miss!" I hissed. "This is dangerous - for you more than anyone!"

"Danger? Yes, I suppose it is dangerous, but you know - I almost don't care. A few weeks ago I'd have been horrified at my behaviour here. Now - now every time I remember my shitbag husband shagging his office tart, I just think, 'sod it!' You try so hard to make a relationship work, and then for no obvious reason, it falls apart. He's doing what he's been wanting to do for a while, so why shouldn't I? So what do you think you'll do at university?"

I was surprised at the change of tack, but I caught her expression and realised that someone was approaching.

"Oh, I guess it will depend on where I'm accepted. If the entrance exam results work out, then it'll be History at Oxford. If not, then Politics and History at either Durham or Bristol."

"Mrs Dawson? What's that big round building over there?" Bob and Lynne had moved around behind me, and suddenly Jill was back in teacher mode. I smiled and quietly slipped away as other members of the class appeared.

That evening, we all went out to a restaurant that Mr Palmer had recommended. The rule was to dress smartly, so I wore my sports jacket and a tie. When I arrived at the hotel reception, Jill was waiting, chatting conspiratorially with a huddle of girls.

"Mr Watson, you scrub up nicely! It's good to see you not in jeans for a change!" She smiled, and I thought 'Less than 24 hours ago you saw me out of my jeans', but of course, I didn't say that out loud.

"Well, you look lovely, Mrs Dawson. Far better than this load of old scrubbers you're with." She did look particularly gorgeous in a black halter-necked number with a low back. I noticed that she'd also applied full makeup - as of course had all the other girls, in their party dresses.