Bondmaiden (4 page)

He made a grab for her, but she laughed and stepped nimbly out of harm’s way. ‘Not by an ugly sod like you I’m not, Varrik,’ she retorted.

The others howled in approval and banged their flagons on the table. Tilda looked at Lia and rolled her eyes. ‘We’d better get them fed,’ she said over the din. ‘They aren’t likely to sober up anytime soon. Stay close to me, all right? If anyone grabs you tip the basket over his head.’

Lia gulped, wishing she could be as calm and relaxed as Tilda was about all this. She would almost have preferred to hand-feed a pack of wolves! She followed Tilda around the table, more than a little impressed by the way she managed to ladle stew into the waiting bowls whilst simultaneously avoiding the clutching hands. As for Lia, close on her heels, she just handed each man a loaf and thanked the saints she didn’t have to run the gauntlet herself.

At the very end Tilda’s concentration seemed to fail her. A soldier reached out and she just managed to set the pot down safely on the table before being pulled onto his lap. Egged on by his cheering companions, he tugged up her skirts and nuzzled his face against her belly. Tilda squealed and beat her fists ineffectually against his broad shoulders, though it seemed to Lia a token resistance only. She couldn’t help noticing that the soldier in question was young and quite handsome, and she began to suspect Tilda’s lapse of concentration was nothing of the sort.

‘Go on, Terrell lad,’ the man across from him guffawed. ‘Let’s have her clothes off!’

Others joined in the call and the young soldier obliged them, tugging Tilda’s smock up over her head and throwing it at the man who’d first goaded him, and what would have happened next was anybody’s guess if the two newcomers hadn’t appeared. They called for order and gradually peace was restored. The young soldier released Tilda, who sheepishly retrieved her smock and put it on. The newcomers – the captain and sergeant, Lia assumed – sat down and were given their meals.

There were still three loaves remaining, which seemed odd, but Tilda explained that three of the soldiers were on sentry duty. ‘They come off shift soon,’ she said. ‘They’ll get their meal then. Just leave the bread on the table.’

Tilda seemed none the worse for her ribald encounter. Just the opposite, in fact, for her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were shining. She dished out stew into the three empty bowls, then took Lia’s hand and led her out of there, though not without a backward glance at young Terrell.

‘He’s a handsome devil, isn’t he?’ she said as they made their way back. ‘I could eat him alive. The first time I saw him I—’

‘Tilda!’ a voice roared from below. ‘Get down here!’

Both girls jumped, then hurried on down the stairs. Holmann was standing in the middle of the kitchen and he glared at them, red-faced and furious. Lia assumed it was because of what had just happened, but it turned out to be something else entirely.

‘What do you call this?’ he demanded, holding up an apple.

‘It’s… an apple, master,’ Tilda said, looking more confused than afraid.

‘An apple, exactly. And what might it be doing under your pillow, answer me that?’

‘My pillow, master? I don’t… but I never…’

As her voice faltered her face turned pale and she started to tremble. Lia guessed this must be a serious crime, though surely one of which Tilda was innocent. The young woman seemed genuinely bewildered by this turn of events.

‘How many times have I warned you all about pilfering food?’ Holmann thundered, glaring at the others in turn.

Everyone looked sheepish – everyone except Dagna, that is. She had a triumphant glint in her eye, and was clearly relishing the situation. Holmann stared at the assembly a while longer, then made his pronouncement.

‘This evening, at the vespers bell. And no shirking off, any of you. I want everybody in here promptly to witness punishment. Dagna, make sure Kerta and Clady know about it.’

‘What about Paxon and the others?’ Dagna asked. ‘They’re always keen to see a punishment, aren’t they?’

‘You’re right, good thinking. Let them know, too. Jarold, see to it the table’s cleared and covered, and get the pole and straps ready.’

Tilda gave a faint moan of despair. Lia glanced at her and saw that her eyes had a haunted look.

‘Dagna,’ Holmann said, ‘you bring the stick.’

‘The heavy one, Hol?’ Dagna asked hopefully.

‘Yes indeed. She needs a hard lesson, this girl, and I’m going to see she gets it.’

Tilda was subdued all afternoon, which was hardly surprising in view of what was in store for her. She said barely a word as she went about her duties, though her eyes spoke volumes. Delaying her punishment in this way was especially cruel, Lia thought, for a beating was bad enough without having to spend long hours worrying about it. Lia wondered if Holmann had planned it this way deliberately to increase Tilda’s suffering.

The afternoon wore on, and when the cathedral bell rang to announce the evening prayers Lia assembled with the others. Some of the faces were new to her, and she tried to remember names as Durwin whispered in her ear, telling her who was who. There were two men, Paxon and Karl, who were bondmen to the king and Prince Baran respectively, and a haughty woman called Alda, who was bondmaiden to Princess Magdalena. The laundress Kerta was present too, looking no less tired than before, and plump Clady, the seamstress. Tilda was brought in by Dagna and led to the big kitchen table, which had been cleared as Holmann ordered and covered with several layers of sacking.

‘Take your clothes off,’ Holmann ordered.

All eyes were on the victim who, tight-lipped and with her own gaze fixed firmly on the floor, slowly undressed. When she was naked Holmann ordered her to get on the table. She lay on her back, stretched her arms above her head, and raised her knees almost to her breasts, so that her neat curls of blonde maidenhair and pink labia were on display for all to see. The onlookers stared, none more so than Holmann.

‘Get the pole, Jarold,’ he said finally. ‘Paxon, lend him a hand. I’ll see to the bindings.’

Paxon, the king’s bondman, was tall and thin, and with Jarold they each took one end of a stout ash pole, which they raised and placed behind Tilda’s knees. Holmann then proceeded to fasten her legs to the pole with straps just above and below the knee.

‘That’s that,’ he declared when done. ‘Now then, we need someone to hold her wrists.’

He looked around at the others, and his stare rested on Lia. For one awful moment she thought he would pick her, but then his eyes moved on.

‘Berta,’ he said, nodding at the cook, ‘hold Tilda’s wrists tight. You two,’ he went on, nodding at Paxon and Jarold, ‘hold fast to the pole. She’ll squirm like an eel when the rod starts to bite, mark my words.’

Dagna handed him a stick that was twice as thick at least as the one he’d used on Lia, and he touched it to Tilda’s bottom, lightly sawing it back and forth. He became still for a moment, then swung the stick and fetched her a hard blow across the fullest part of her rump. Tilda jerked and gave a muted yelp. He struck her again, this time to the back of her thighs. More strokes followed, alternating between the two targets, hard blows that smacked Tilda’s flesh with a wicked crack, and as he’d predicted Tilda was soon squirming violently, and the three holding her down were obliged to maintain a firm grip. The rod’s relentless assault raised wheals on her bottom and thighs as her white skin turned first pink, then a blotchy red.

‘She’s starting to feel it now,’ the overseer said with obvious satisfaction. ‘We’ll be hearing her sing soon, I don’t doubt.’

He was right in this too, for as the beating proceeded Tilda’s gasps and groans became wails, and wails became shrieks. The swollen wheals turned purple and ugly, evidence of the violence of the beating, and Lia trembled as she looked on in dismay, for she had never been one to relish the spectacle of a public beating. When just a girl she had cried when made to watch the miller’s daughter, Ulrike, being flogged for disobedience to her father’s will. As the ash wand did its cruel work, and Ulrike writhed and screamed between the poles, Lia had pulled free of Helma’s hand and run back to the hut, risking her own punishment in the process, for the elders had decreed the whole village must attend, even the youngest. And now, as before, she found herself wishing she were elsewhere. She already thought of Tilda as a friend, even on so short an acquaintance, and seeing her in such distress was almost more than Lia could bear.

At last Holmann lowered his arm, red-faced and sweating from his exertions. Tilda’s frantic struggles ceased, and she slumped on the table sobbing.

‘Let that be a lesson to you, girl,’ the overseer growled. ‘Pilfering food is thievery, and thievery is something I won’t tolerate. You’re a bad girl, Tilda, and in my kitchen bad girls soon find themselves on their backs with a pole behind their knees. I’ll beat the wickedness out of you if it’s the last thing I do.’

‘She’s been a troublemaker right from the start,’ Dagna said. ‘And she’s been flirting with the men again. She took off her clothes and showed them everything she’s got, is what I heard.’

Lia knew it wasn’t like that at all, and she would have spoken up in Tilda’s defence if it wasn’t for Durwin, standing alongside her. As she opened her mouth to speak he jabbed his elbow into her ribs, and the words came out as a gasp.

‘Eh?’ Holmann said testily. ‘What now?’

‘She coughed, master,’ Durwin said quickly, patting Lia’s back. ‘Maybe she’s coming down with a cold.’

Lia scowled at him, but he just stared back intently as though trying to tell her something. He shook his head ever so slightly, and she understood. She looked across at Dagna and saw the malice and spite in the woman’s eyes, as she regarded the victim on the table. Lia knew then that Durwin had saved her from a terrible mistake, for she had come perilously close to making a dangerous enemy. And just how dangerous was soon made clear when Dagna, clearly not yet content that Tilda had suffered enough, goaded Holmann into action once more with her slanderous defamations.

‘She’s never out of mischief, this one,’ she accused. ‘When she’s not laughing at you and calling you names behind your back, she’s chasing after the men. She’ll do anything to get something hard inside her, the little trollop!’

‘I’ll give her something hard!’ Holmann snapped. ‘Hold her cunt open.’

Dagna needed no second bidding, spreading Tilda’s sex lips with eager fingers, and Holmann angled the tip of the stick and pushed it into her. Tilda squealed in dismay, yet Dagna chose to misinterpret even that pitiful cry.

‘Just listen to her,’ she scoffed. ‘The hussy actually likes it. Shameless, is what she is.’

‘Shameless,’ Holmann agreed. He worked the stick in and out rapidly. Tilda writhed and protested, and those holding her were obliged to take a firm hold once more. Jarold, Lia observed, was clearly relishing it, and he was not alone. Paxon was smirking, while Prince Baran’s bondman, Karl, grinned openly. As for Dagna, her dark eyes glinted as she observed Tilda’s degradation and suffering.

‘The trollop’s enjoying this right enough,’ she said vindictively. ‘An outright wanton, she is. I reckon she needs a good long session on the horn to cool her down.’

‘I can’t deny it,’ Holmann panted as he paused in his endeavours. ‘I’ve been too lax with her by far. With all of ’em, in fact.’

He swept every other female in the room with a reproachful stare, Lia included, the plump girl flinched and blurted out an anxious protest. ‘Not me, master. I’m a good girl!’

‘Don’t play the innocent with us, Clady,’ Dagna snapped. ‘Do you think we’re blind or just stupid? Norbert used to feel you up every chance he got, and you loved it!’

‘They’re all as bad as each other,’ Holmann declared. ‘You’ve set me on the right track, Dagna. It’s Old Nick’s horn for this lot, just as soon as we can arrange it.’ He mopped his brow, and it was clear his efforts were taking their toll.

‘Here, Holmann,’ Dagna said, ‘let me. You’ve done enough.’

He relinquished the rod reluctantly, and Dagna took over. Lia feared the worst, thinking the sadistic woman would use it even more vigorously than the overseer had, but in fact she did something different – something far worse. With a spiteful smile she pushed the rod deep inside Tilda, as far as it would go. Then, holding it with both hands, she began to move it slowly in a circle. Tilda sobbed and bucked, and the men holding the pole swore and tightened their grip. Tilda struggled desperately, and her right hand tore free of Berta’s grip. She grasped the rod, but Dagna had the greater leverage and was using two hands to Tilda’s one. The rod moved inexorably, round and around. Then Holmann intervened, prising Tilda’s fingers from the shaft and pulling her arm above her head once more, so that Dagna was able to continue her cruel sport unimpeded.

To Lia, looking on helplessly, the punishment had taken a most dreadful turn, especially when the cause was so unjust. Guilt gnawed at her, and she knew she should have spoken up when she had the chance, no matter what the consequences. Father Adalard would be ashamed of her, for it was cowardice that made her hold her tongue.

Eventually even Dagna seemed satisfied. She withdrew the rod and Holmann told the others to release Tilda. The straps were unbuckled and the pole withdrawn, and Tilda told to get up, though it soon became apparent she barely had the strength to stand.

‘Someone help her,’ Holmann growled, and Lia was more than happy to participate now, helping Tilda to her feet, supporting her and helping her to dress. The poor thing was in a terrible state, white-faced and clearly in great discomfort. They made slow progress from the kitchen, with Tilda limping along and wearily leaning on Lia; but progress it was, and at last she was put to bed.