9th February 1103

Alexis stood at the doorway to the church. It was a filthy winter day and he had gotten well and truly sodden and cold on the way there. He had been concentrating a little too much on not slipping over on the slick ice that covered everything, and not enough on what he was actually going to say when he got there.

It was confession day and Alexis had racked up quite a few choice ones for the priest. That is if the current events hadn’t put the poor bloke out of business. Certainly, screwing the nobility wasn’t exactly on the priestly agenda but Alexis found it difficult to believe anyone could spend so much time praying and not get the odd urge to take the old holy candle out of the robe for a quick dip in the wax. No, Alexis could relate to that, in fact it was rather more easy to confess to another sinner than to the irritatingly pious.

Now let’s see… there had been that brief encounter with naughty Taebeth, the Miller’s wife, bless her ugly little heart.

And Elaye Relnath had given him a good rollicking or two while her husband’s head was turned the other way. That was two, had there been more. Oh, of course. He had forgotten that saucy little blonde minx, what was her name. She was married to whosit-faceit the farmhand. It would come back to him he was sure. That was three. And he had coveted another man’s wife, a few actually. Better mention that.

He was sure there was something else, but it would probably come back to him when he got started. He pushed open the heavy doors with an appallingly loud creak.

Peering inside he noticed a figure sitting stiffly upright on the pew closest to the front. Didn’t look like the priest, no wait, that fastidiously neat ponytail. It must be the King’s steward.

“Sorry for letting all this cold air in and making such a racket,” he called out congenially.

The steward didn’t turn his head. Alexis, strode down the aisle, snapping his fingers. It was awfully silent in the big, empty room. He let the door swing slowly shut behind him.

“Mind if I sit beside you,” Alexis he asked, upon reaching the pew Garald was seated in.

The other man sat stock still as though frozen in the cold. Or maybe he was asleep with his eyes open. Alexis could sympathise. He found this church business to be deathly dull.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Alexis plonked down on the seat next to him, “suppose you’re waiting for the priest too. Doesn’t matter, I don’t mind waiting my turn. Where is the old fellow hiding?”

“He’s not here,” Garald finally intoned, turning his head like some sort of animated gargoyle, “He isn’t allowed to give confession anymore. The King is trying to decide what to do with him.”

“Sticky sort of a situation isn’t it,” Alexis replied heartily drumming his hands on the tops of his chilly thighs, “don’t really expect your confessor to behave in that sort of way do you. Not that I blame him though, must be a dreadful bore being a priest.”

“Say, I’ve run into you a few times here lately. Have you been doing something naughty? You’ve been here every time I’ve come in for the old confessroo lately.”

With a wife like Nyawe, Alexis found it difficult to imagine the Garald hadn’t been doing something naughty. And Alexis was exceedingly curious as to what that might be. He had always been a little disappointed that things hadn’t worked out with her, though he held out high hopes for the future. Perhaps he could get a little pointer a two.

“I was coming for some quiet prayer time actually Sir Hwartar. Also to confess, though I suppose I won’t be doing that today.”

Garald turned away to stare fixedly at the flickering candles either side of the altar, the flames dancing like saucy wenches.

“Now if you don’t mind.”

Alexis suddenly had a fantastic though, “Master Elmvarn my dear friend. I’ve had the most blessed idea. Here we are, both sitting bored in this musty old church, just itching for a good confession but we’re lacking the priestly element. But surely confessing in the eyes of the Lord is enough, and if his beady eye isn’t fixed here on this church I don’t know where else it would be on this chilly island of ours, though I have to admit I sometimes wonder if he isn’t watching me while I take my bath. So why not confess to one another. God is listening and we have a witness. That would work wouldn’t it? Unless you‘ve done something so terrible you can‘t tell me. Say, you haven‘t murdered anyone have you.”

“No,” Garald replied in a strangled voice, “but I suppose you’re right. I have done nothing that I should not also confess to you. Perhaps this will serve as further penance for my sin.”

“Well out with it then my good man, I haven’t got all day you know.”

“Well… you see… the thing is, I raped my wife,” Garald muttered, his face creasing up into a guilty, flushed mess.

Alexis thought he must have heard wrong, “You… raped… her? You raped Nyawe?”

Surely it should have been the other way around.

“Yes, I know… it’s abominable. I raped my own wife. She told me no and yet I forced her.”

“Er, how did you force her exactly?”

“Well, we were lying in bed after she said no and I,” he gulped, “had my way with her. God, I’m despicable.”

“Umm, forgive me for being crass, but is it even possible to rape one’s own wife? Isn’t it their wifely duty to fulfill your needs. Though, personally I wouldn’t want to push my dear Morven. But there’s always other willing ladies around if your wife’s not in the mood.”

He was finding it difficult to imagine a time when the steward’s oversexed woman would not be in the mood. She had just popped out a sprog though. That was always a bit demotivating.

“What I’m saying Garald, you don’t mind if I call you that, is that I’m not that sure you actually committed a sin here.”

“It doesn’t matter if I did or didn’t. She won’t come near me anymore. She hates me.”

“Oh dear, seems you’re in a bit of a pickle. Can you do something nice for her? Have a new dress made or some such nonsense? I’m sure she’ll forgive you in time and if she doesn’t, you can always remind her of her wifely duties. I’d give it a while though. How long has it been?”

“Three months,” Garald replied miserably.

“Three months! Good grief! Are you sure your cock hasn’t shriveled up for good. Perhaps you had better get to work on that dress before you become a Eunuch.”

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” Garald pouted, facing the front of the chapel again.

“Alright fine. I guess it’s my turn. Let’s see. There was Taebeth, the Miller’s wife bless her ugly little heart…”

Elmvarn, Hwratar