He sank to his knees and dropped his head into his palms. How long did he have until they came for him? And when they did, would he then succumb to them and the dark power inside him? Or did he have enough strength left to fight them?

London, England, Spring 1895

Thomas sat in the gallery of Old Bailey, the criminal courts of London, carefully watching the proceedings taking place below him. He’d been coming almost every day to attend the trial, not out of morbid curiosity like most of the other spectators, but because he had a stake in its outcome. Even though he didn’t know the accused, Oscar Wilde, personally, his plight mattered to Thomas.

Oscar Wilde, the famous playwright, was a homosexual and accused of gross indecencies, and whatever happened to a man of his celebrity would have a lasting impact on the homosexual society of London. A society Thomas belonged to, whether he wanted to or not.

He’d always known he was different, but during his first year at Oxford, it had been confirmed: he loved men, not women. He’d tried to deny it at first, but no matter with which lies he’d tried to trick himself, he’d failed. He was what he was: a homosexual. A queer, a faggot, a fairy. Not a real man, but one who degraded himself and other men by performing acts of buggery.

Yet, it wasn’t something he could turn off at will. His experiences with a young man at Oxford had opened his eyes to the joys of physical love and shown him the pleasures of the flesh. And once he’d tasted that forbidden fruit, there was no way back, no way to deny what he wanted: the love of a man, no matter how forbidden it was.

He hid it as best he could, never dressing as flamboyantly as other queers did, always participating in the most masculine of sports and entertainment to compensate for his affliction.

He even courted women of the aristocratic circles of England and had turned into one of the most eligible bachelors not only because of his breeding and standing in society, but also because of his wit and charm, which he had no qualms about unleashing on any innocent debutante. They were swooning for him. If only they knew that their coquettish smiles, blushing cheeks, and rapidly waving fans left him as cold as a morning bath in an ice-crusted creek in the winter.

Underneath all the deception, he found time to meet other men of his penchant and give his carnal desires free rein. It was during those hours that he felt most at peace with himself. And most conflicted at the same time. Feelings of guilt and shame were never far away; yet whenever he made love to a man, he knew he couldn’t deny who he was. He had no choice but to continue.

“May the defendant rise,” a voice came from the courtroom below.

Thomas leaned forward, eager to hear the court’s decision. Like him, others were doing the same, waiting with bated breath for the judge’s ruling. It came down like a hammer on an anvil, just as loud and as crushing. Wilde hadn’t been prosecuted for sodomy, but it might as well have been the case.

“Oscar Wilde, you’ve been found guilty of twenty-five counts of gross indecencies and conspiracy to commit gross indecencies.”

An outcry ran through the crowd. Voices from below and from the gallery echoed against the walls of the courtroom, amplifying the sounds. Despite the judge’s demands for order in the courtroom, the chatter didn’t cease.

“Shame!” a young man next to Thomas called out, but behind him others voiced their approval of the verdict.

“Serves the bugger right!” a man proclaimed and shoved the young man to the side. “You’re one of them too, aren’t you?”

Thomas tried to rise and felt the young man bump into him. When he grabbed the man’s shoulders to steady himself, frightened eyes looked up at him. For a moment, Thomas didn’t move. This was what would happen to all of them: people would call them out for being homosexuals. Both he and the young man looking at him knew it.

“Yes, both of you!” the man behind them continued his tirade.

To Thomas’s shock, others next to him joined in, pointing their fingers at him and the man, whose shoulders he was still clutching. Their eyes were filled with disgust, their mouths pulled up in sneers.

Thomas let go of the other man’s shoulders and pushed him back. But it was too late. They’d all seen the flash of compassion that he’d felt for the young queer who’d expressed his opinion about the verdict. They’d all seen that Thomas felt the same. Because he was the same. He was no better than Oscar Wilde or the countless others who somewhere engaged in sodomy every night. The only difference was that he’d been more careful about his assignations, and hidden away his true nature from society better than others.