The Knowledge Stone (9 page)

‘Get on with your work,’ she said, pushing the girl violently towards the baby. The girl picked up the baby gently and left the room.

‘It’s not a stupid name,’ she thought. ‘Giana is a nice name but I’ve never heard of anyone else called Giana.’ She held the baby close and spoke gently: ‘Giana is a very nice name. I love it – and I love you, too.’

In the other room, the midwife sat down to recall her triumph over the cloth merchant.

‘Oh, I really handled that well,’ she chortled, ‘making him pay for giving me the baby – and fifty Ourtz is nearly a week’s work for me. I certainly duped these two!’ She was absolutely delighted with her performance. ‘And it’s not over yet. I told them it would take me a long time to find someone to take the baby but I know exactly where it can be placed. And they will need to pay, as well!’ She almost hugged herself with delight.

Several days later, the midwife’s mood had changed. She had planned to sell the baby to that rich farmer Malik, the one with the barren wife. She looked forward to making a lot of money out of this transaction. She knew he drank at the tavern on most evenings. Her plan was to go there and complete the transaction. Then he could take the baby home to his wife and everybody would be happy. Especially herself! She planned to sell the baby to Farmer Malik for 100 Ourtz – a very nice amount of money. She felt sure she could talk him into it; she would tell him what a wonderful baby this was and he would be happy to pay that amount – two whole weeks work for her!

In the event, her carefully worked out plan had been a total failure, a real disaster. She had done her best and applied her finest persuasion but Malik had just said “No.” She could not believe it. No one had ever said “No” to her before in such circumstances – it must have been the fact that he was half-drunk.

Should she try again, she wondered? She considered this for a while but, remembering Malik’s angry and aggressive attitude, decided that she would not succeed. Anyway, it would look bad for her. She was an important person in this community and could not be seen to be crawling back for a second attempt.

‘No,’ she decided, ‘I’ll just have to find someone else to buy the baby.’

The following weeks showed that this would be no easy task. The midwife had given the matter a great deal of thought and put subtle feelers out among the village community.

‘I need to be careful with my reputation,’ she thought. ‘That’s more important than getting rid of any stray baby.’

On a number of occasions, the midwife skirted around the subject with people who might possibly be amenable to acquiring another member for their family but nothing positive emerged from these approaches. Finally, the midwife was becoming desperate: ‘I really can’t keep this baby for much longer,’ she thought, ‘it isn’t suitable for me to do so and it’s too much trouble.’

So on the following morning the midwife called to see the village handyman and his wife, taking the baby with her. She would certainly not have chosen this family for the baby since they were known to be stupid and feckless, living from hand to mouth and already with no less than four badly-behaved children, all loutish boys. On the other hand, the midwife thought she would be able to persuade them to solve her problem. At this stage the midwife had long given up any thought of financial reward for herself.

On arrival at the squalid smallholding occupied by the handyman’s family, the parents received her as an honoured guest – in the past, she had helped with birthing, for suitable recompense, of course. With feigned sadness, she showed them the baby and explained the fabricated circumstances of her orphan status, emphasising her high birth. Of course the baby (her name was Giana – a beautiful name, don’t you think?) now needed a new family. She had considered the matter very carefully and chosen them for this very important task.

The handyman and his wife were greatly flattered and indicated that they would accept. Just one thing, they asked, was there a financial settlement with the baby, by any chance?

‘Unfortunately not,’ the midwife regretted, ‘she has already cost me many Ourtz for clothing, food and other essentials and I have paid for all this from my own income. So you understand…’

The handyman and his wife “understood” and now accepted the baby with a certain reluctance.

‘Fine,’ the midwife concluded briskly, ‘you are good people and I know you will look after her well.’ With that, she left, leaving Giana in the care of this dysfunctional, unpleasant household.

Giana was brought up with her four elder “siblings”; she was never treated as an equal but rather as a servant. By the time she was old enough to be able to carry out household tasks (she was probably around five years old when this began) these were piled upon her by the adults and their children. So poor Giana found herself allocated to all the most difficult and unpleasant tasks, cleaning the privy, keeping the filthy smallholding clean and tidy, looking after the scrawny animals, fetching the water for the household from the well far away.

In addition, she was treated cruelly. If any member of the family was displeased with any aspect of her performance, they would slap her hard or even beat her with a stick. As a consequence, Giana’s small body was always covered with blotchy bruises and scratches.

Their cruelty extended to her sustenance, too. At mealtimes, Giana could only eat and drink when all other members of the family had finished and had their fill; frequently this meant she had only scraps or crumbs to eat and sometimes there was nothing left at all. Her clothing was always poor and inadequate. All she ever had were the worn-out rags passed down from older members of the family. So for many months and years of her young life, Giana had a truly miserable time, always hungry and thirsty, always dirty and treated like a slave.

As a leading member of the village community, the midwife knew very well what was happening to Giana as she grew up but she had absolutely no interest in the girl. Despite her early involvement with her, she felt absolutely no sense of responsibility for what had happened. In fact any time she met the unfortunate Giana in the village, struggling with heavy water containers or sweeping and cleaning at the smallholding, she either ignored her or exhorted her to work harder. ‘Do your very best,’ she would say to the thin and exhausted child, ‘you owe it to your adopted father and mother who look after you so well.’ This said complacently to the poor dirty, ragged child, grey of face and suffering from malnutrition and dehydration.

One day, the feckless handyman sought out his wife and said: ‘I think it’s high time we got rid of that girl. The more she grows the more expensive she is to keep.’

In reply, his wife laughed unpleasantly: ‘Who would have her? Just look at her. She’s disgusting!’ She pointed to Giana, dirty and ragged, brushing the dirt energetically in an attempt to clean the yard.

‘Yes, I agree,’ said her husband, ‘but I have an idea. I’ll include her in a deal. Farmers are always looking for manual workers. As she grows up, she’ll become stronger and will be able to do more work. I’ll tell them what a good worker she is. I’ll tell them a convincing lie.’ He smiled artfully. The handyman was very pleased with this strategy; he had worked it all out by himself!

‘All right,’ agreed his wife. ‘It’ll be a good thing to be rid of her. She always has been a nuisance.’ Thus, Giana’s fate was sealed.

Several days later, the girl was told to get into the cart and go with the handyman. When she enquired where they were going, the handyman slapped her face hard.

‘Don’t speak until you’re spoken to,’ he said angrily. Giana was silent, rubbing her bruised face. The cart stopped in the centre of the village where a number of farmers and various tradesmen were gathered. This was a market for farm work contracts and it was here that the handyman sometimes managed to obtain work.

‘Stay there and don’t move,’ he said to Giana, ‘or I’ll slap you again.’

The handyman joined a group around several farmers. He recognised a large burly man as Farmer Malik and approached him.

‘Good morning, Master,’ he said respectfully, ‘do you have any work for a good handyman?’

‘I might need a good fence, 100 pics,’ the farmer growled, regarding him critically.

‘Master, my fences are the finest,’ the handyman replied eagerly.

‘Really,’ the farmer sneered, ‘I’m not so sure about that; your reputation is not very good.’

‘Master, I use good wood and I have a special contract to offer. Thirty-five Ourtz…’

‘Too much,’ the farmer bellowed ‘I would not pay over twenty…’

‘Master, please let me finish … Thirty-five Ourtz for the fence and a free child worker for your farm. A very good worker, very well trained by me and brought up in my own home.’

‘Where is this child?’

‘Sitting in my cart,’ the handyman answered, ‘come and see …’

Giana cut a pathetic figure in the cart, dirty and dishevelled. She looked fearfully at the handyman and this large burly man with him.

‘Stand up, child,’ Malik snapped and the little girl obeyed immediately. He looked into her eyes and ears and told her to open her mouth, inserting a thick finger to check her tongue and teeth. Then he lifted her clothes with one large hand and explored her limbs and body with the other, examining her critically just as he would any young farm animal he was considering buying.

‘Thin as a rake,’ he observed, having noted the prominent ribcage and the spindly limbs, ‘don’t you feed your servants?’ He looked angrily at the handyman, who blenched and was silent, hoping that the farmer’s anger would not prejudice the sale.

‘Right,’ said the farmer, ‘I will pay twenty-three Ourtz for the work and the child. Take it or leave it. Take it and you start tomorrow.’ He turned away abruptly and made as if to leave.

‘Wait,’ the handyman wailed, ‘I’ll take it.’ The agreement was recorded and the handshake sealed it.

‘Be at my farm at first light tomorrow,’ Malik ordered, ‘and don’t be late.’ Then he turned: ‘Child! Waken up and come with me.’ He walked away.

The girl climbed from the handyman’s cart and ran to follow the farmer through the crowds.

He pointed to a bench beneath a tree. ‘Sit there, and stay there till I come back.’

Malik disappeared into the tavern and it was several hours before he returned, by now in a rather drunken state. By this time he had forgotten all about the little girl he had acquired but fortunately had his memory jogged when he saw her sitting quietly on the bench where he had left her. ‘You,’ he shouted. ‘Come here.’ She ran to his side and looked at him fearfully for further instructions. ‘Can you speak?’

‘Yes, Master,’ she whispered.

‘Come with me.’ He led the way to his bullock cart nearby. ‘Get in,’ he instructed, leaving her to scramble up with difficulty on to the high cart.

During the journey, Malik did not speak a word to the child. Eventually they arrived at the farm and Giana was greatly startled when Malik bellowed “Boy” at the top of his voice. A farm boy ran from a barn nearby and, without instruction, came to attend to the bullock cart, holding the beast’s head as the farmer climbed down.

Malik ignored the boy and turned to her: ‘Get down and come with me,’ he growled.

In the fading light, he pushed her towards the farmhouse door, and, opening it violently, thrust her ahead of him into the smoky and dimly-lit interior.

Giana had been frightened by the introduction to her new mistress, who did not seem at all friendly towards her. She did not like being stripped naked and scrubbed; it had made some places on her body quite sore. On the other hand, it was lovely to be clean. It seemed to her that it was a long time since she had been clean. At the handyman’s house, she had never been allowed to wash herself or her clothes. She could only clean herself, occasionally and rather perfunctorily, on brief visits to the river.

As she sat naked beside the fire, waiting for her dress to dry, she thought: ‘It would be nice if I am allowed to keep myself clean.’ At the same time, she was worried about many other things. Where would she sleep? Would the farmer and his wife feed her? If they didn’t, she would die – and she didn’t want to die! She couldn’t help her eyes filling with tears.

Then, a new and awful thought! Where was the privy? She had forgotten all about that! Her knees squeezed together involuntarily. She hoped she did not need to ask her new mistress where it was; disturbing her might make her angry and who knows what might happen then?

‘Wake up!’ Her employer had spoken and, deep in her introspection and worry, she had not heard her. She felt a pang of panic.

‘What are you called?’ This loudly and sharply.

‘Giana.’

Her mistress thought it was an unusual name. Her next question: ‘What work can you do?’

‘Anything.’ Giana desperately hoped her reply would please her mistress.

Her mistress laughed but Giana did not know whether she was pleased or not. Maretta heaved herself to her feet and checked the dryness of Giana’s ragged dress.

‘You can put this on now,’ she said, passing it to the girl, ‘you might not look so scrawny with some clothes on.’ Then the woman went over to the food store and returned with a bowl and a pot of milk. Without a word, she handed these to the girl and returned to her seat.

‘Thank you, Mistress.’ Giana knew the value of politeness.

Maretta did not look up.

‘This is good food,’ Giana thought as she ate the bread, butter and cheese in the bowl and drank the milk from the pot. Clothed and with food now in her stomach, Giana began to feel less worried and frightened. ‘Maybe they will be nice to me here,’ she thought. ‘I must try my best to do good work for my mistress.’

Maretta’s voice penetrated her thoughts: ‘Girl,’ she said, without looking up, ‘you will sleep with me in the next room. And you had better be a quiet sleeper!’

‘Yes, Mistress, thank you, I’m a very quiet sleeper.’ Giana did not know whether she was a quiet sleeper on not. At the handyman’s she had been forced to sleep on the hard earth floor under a table.

There was silence for some time, then Maretta spoke again: ‘Girl!’

‘Yes, Mistress.’

‘The privy is round the back of the farmhouse. Make sure you use it!’

‘Thank you, Mistress.’ Giana felt wonderful. Now she knew everything. At that moment, her life was complete!

That night however, it was inevitable that Giana would sleep rather fitfully, afraid to disturb her irascible mistress who had made it clear that any disturbance would result in punishment.

‘Just lie quiet and don’t disturb me. If you do, I promise you’ll regret it.’ Maretta had growled this to the girl as they prepared for sleep in the side room of the farmhouse.

At the same time, the prospect of sleeping on a soft mattress was a luxury for Giana. This would be the very first time she would enjoy the warmth and cosiness of a real bed. In her whole life she had known nothing other than the hard, cold floor at the handyman’s tumbledown shack, where she had always been in danger of a stray kick from any member of that extremely unpleasant family.

Preparing to go to bed in that strange room, Giana was in something of a quandary about what she should wear in bed – the quandary being that she did not have a special item of clothing for that purpose. Before combing her hair, her mistress had changed into a long linen shift. Giana had no other garment to wear other than her old worn-out dress, washed by Maretta earlier that evening. She could choose to sleep in this as she always had done in the past but now she was afraid this would make it very crumpled and this might easily make her mistress displeased and angry. In the end, she waited until the flame was extinguished and then slipped naked into the bed, a brief shadow of a pale nymph.