Free Sons of Fortune by Malcolm Macdonald Page A

the upper windows, swung it over the next beam, fished it in again, and tied it to the railing. Swift checked the knot and then looked at Blenkinsop as if he had needed all this time to reach a decision. “You’d better come and see me in my study when this is over,” he said.
    From the change in the hubbub outside, Caspar guessed that his turn had come. He stood, with pounding heart and lost stomach, and dropped his blanket. Causton stared at his tiny erection.
    “Why that?” he asked, his eyes wide in disbelief and delight.
    Caspar looked down and blushed. “That always happens when I have to think about cruelty. Like whipping slaves and things. Doesn’t it with you?”
    “I should say not! Not thinking about that ,anyway!”
    With only the upper gallery lights on there was too much shadow for many to notice Caspar’s strange condition. But Blenkinsop saw it. He brushed his hands down there many times as he tied the rope. In the end he was quite excited. Caspar was more bemused than embarrassed. He kept looking at the beam, working on how best to clamber up the stiffeners and walk along it.
    Someone thrust a book into his hands. Eating Exercises it said on the cover; the spine, more truthfully, said Latin Exercises. “Take it to the middle of that beam and put it down. Then come back,” Swift said.
    “Leave it there?”
    “Yes. If you do it fast enough, you’ll escape your drumming-in.”
    Right, Caspar thought. This isn’t so bad. His erection fell. He clamped the book between his teeth, knowing exactly the route he was going to take.
    He sprang up onto the broad wooden handrail that capped the gallery railings, steadied his balance in a trice, and then made a further diagonal leap straight onto the collarbeam, crouching down at once to get under the slope of the rafters.
    There was a gasp from those who saw the move from the side where he made the leap. Fractionally later, so quickly had he moved, there was an answering gasp as those on the other side saw him appear, miraculously, above their heads.
    He barely paused, moving forward and rising as the slope allowed. When he reached the upper stiffener he leaped again, landing at a crouch three feet up; in the same move he dropped to his stomach and swung his legs down under the curve of the stiffener. He had judged it perfectly, for his feet came to rest on the midline of the beam. He swung the rest of himself under and once more crouched, this time beneath the curve. Again he went forward, rising as the curve rose until he was standing fully upright and sauntering out to the middle of the beam.
    People were excited now, clapping and cheering and shouting encouragement. Caspar was as lithe and delightful to watch as an acrobat. Where he bent over to place the book exactly in the centre, a great sexual whoo! whoo! went up, almost unnerving him.
    He stood again, smiling, and returned, almost exactly reversing the routine he had used in getting out. Just under thirty seconds from starting he was back again on the gallery, fighting off Blenkinsop, who had his hands all over him, trying to get off the rope. No one had ever walked the beam so quickly. Boy watched, regretting his jealousy but unable to master it as the congratulations showered on Caspar.
    But there was already a move to form the gauntlet along the gallery for the drumming-in. Eager lads lined up, at three-foot intervals, legs apart to make a long tunnel. “ Drum drum drum drum… ”they began to chant in a gleeful monotony. Grinning, they looked over their shoulders and invited Boy to go to the head of the tunnel.
    Drained now of all feeling, he walked mechanically to the end of the gallery. Caspar watched him pityingly, still believing himself to be saved from the ordeal by the speed he had shown on the beam.
    “You too,” Swift said.
    Caspar looked up at him in astonishment. “But you said…”
    Swift smiled. “Don’t worry. No one has ever done it fast enough. But they’ll let you off