RH part 5
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"Do pardon my lateness. I came as soon as I could." Lord Hamilton was, as always, the soul of courtesy.
"Oh, no bother, milord. Only next time, if milord could satisfy himself before friction burns appear, he would earn a humble servant's thanks."
Hamilton finished doing up his breeches, reached deeply into the tight but oh, so willing passage of his pocket, withdrew a purse tumescently bulging with coin, and tossed it to his catamite Osric Osricsson in a graceful arc. "For your pains." Osric caught the purse nimbly, rolled off the bed, bowed and made a halting exit.
Alone with his thoughts, Hamilton knit his brows. The letters he had lately received from his mother Lady Gertrude, the curt missive from his uncle, and most of all the darkly hinting lines from Horatio touching on his father's end-- they had all pointed to the same conclusion: he must return home, and soon. Thus he had left behind the erotic delights of Wittenberg University and embarked on the long journey northward, spending restless nights in shoddy wayside inns with only his wretched bodyservant Osric for company. At present, he calculated he was only a day's journey from Ellsnor Manor-- less if the weather favoured him. "The time is out of joint," he said aloud.
Later, in the rattling carriage, Hamilton's sense of foreboding grew with each stride of his galloping team. Would dear lithe-bodied Horatio understand the changes that had come over him at Wittenberg? Would he feel as Hamilton did? For it seemed to him that all those golden afternoons spent under the expert tutelage of his beloved Professor Johannes Faustus; all those evenings carousing with strolling actors at the Withdrawing Dagger; to say nothing of those secret initiation rituals at the Wittenberg University Danish Society (here he thought with a twisted smile of his sponsors, Harald "Rosie" Rosencrantz and August "Gilly" Guildenstern-- as jocund a pair of perverts as ever swived); all these, it seemed, were mere dumbshows, prologues to the play that would be his reunion with Horatio St Francis, his ever-loyal companion and bosom friend.
As the sweating steeds thundered towards the looming gates of Ellsnor, Hamilton wondered for the thousandth time whether Horatio would understand.
And whatever was he going to tell Ophelia?
