“Do you speak?” He asked his voice distinctly less gravelly than before. Annatrice looked up at him and then turned her head away. She found it difficult to look into his eyes without lashing out with hate for the things he had done.
“She's mute. Afflicted with some curse no doubt.” Jeaynus growled as he recalled his bruised ribs.
“No, she is just scared.” Heynagan added attempting to look into the child’s dark eyes. There was something very curious about her eye colouration that Heynagan had noticed previously but not lingered upon. Her pupils were black and deep, wide and hollow. They seemed to dominate her eyes and Heynagan wondered if they were purely a natural phenomena.
“She is scared now? Wait till Tragian gets his hands on her!” Jeaynus boomed and Annatrice skin crawled. What other tortures would she have to face before this ordeal was over?
“Hold your tongue Jeaynus. She has suffered enough.” Heynagan's demand caught his associate by surprise.
“The lack of war has slackened your bladder Heynagan. You are growing soft in your advancing years.” It was clear that the two soldiers had been close friends for a long time and had fought their way through many trials and tribulations.
“Come; let us get this over with. The day has been too long and I yearn the taste of ale and the comfort of a woman.” Jeaynus was more jovial now their deed was done.
Annatrice was firmly grasped around the wrist and pulled along through the compound towards the towering keep. Annatrice was small for her years but her form seemed even more slight as they approached the behemoth of Tragian's rule. Passing a guard of more footsore soldiers, Annatrice felt the cold stone floor on her feet as they entered through another grandiose portal. The air instantly smelt of revelry and riches. The roasting suckling pig aroma wafted through the building like an elixir of mouth-watering and there was too a smell of aromatic herbs and spices, honey and clove. The brightness of the day gave in to the relative darkness of the tower and before she knew it, Annatrice was climbing a seemingly never ending mountain of winding stone stairs, the like of which she had never seen. Her captors pace was indefatigable, her own limbs did not carry the same power or will to move at such speed. Jeaynus yanked her wrist several times, almost lifting the girl off her feet at one point as the compact and darkened space accompanied by the incessant motion of moving around and around sent the young girls mind into a nauseating dizziness. Eventually after scaling a considerable height, the staircase ended and a small corridor presented itself with another lavishly ornate door at the end of it.
“Now wipe your feet on the mat. When the king addresses you, kneel before him. Do not speak unless he asks something of you and do not dare say anything out of turn otherwise to your neck an axe will fall.”
Heynagan made it quite clear to Annatrice who had yet to utter a sound what was to be expected from her; however this king of whom Annatrice had heard many foul stories deserved little or no respect from her at all. Indeed from his lofty position he had decreed that her father be slain for as petty a crime as trivial but derogatory small talk. Annatrice shuddered at the thought of showing any kind of servitude to this murderous noble.
Jeaynus rapped on the door with the hilt of his sword which he half extracted from its sheath. The heavy studded wooden door creaked open and there was a sudden waft of aromatic cuisine and the sound of music and laughter. A well dressed man presented himself and looked the soldiers up and down then looking down upon the slender girl whose dress was stained and her hair matted and dank.
“We've come to present the spoils of battle to the Regis.” Jeaynus announced nervously. The grey haired man of the court raised his eyebrows. He had an air of nobility about him, a superior pose which seemed to invite respect.
“Not much of a prize is it!” The man hissed shattering any illusion of grandeur he might have attained by his appearance. Heynagan stepped forward.
“Nevertheless, our orders are to bring back all girls of an age for his Lordship's pleasure.”
The man of the court once again looked Annatrice up and down and flicked her long straight hair away from her face causing the girl to repel from his touch.
“Charming creature. Fine. Wait here.”
The man closed the door rudely in Heynagan's' face and a minute of silent waiting ensued, Jeaynus shifting his weight across his feet, his armour’s bulk beginning to tell. Heynagan placed a hand on Annatrice's shoulder. She looked up at him with ponderous eyes. She could not tell whether she had somehow gained affection from him or whether he was just fearful for her in the coming moments. Either way, Annatrice knew that despite his previous actions, he was the only spark of minimal comfort that she had remaining to her.
The door was prised open once more and the three were waved in by an impatient hand. The fine dark blood red carpet which adorned the chamber felt like the warm fur of a rabbit upon Annatrice's toes and she looked down upon the great expanse of colour with some surprise. A large chamber awaited them, a large lengthy dining table and numerous chairs and a roaring open fire. A small group of well attired people, both men and women stood around the fire making merry with flagons of ale or other more refined beverages. In the centre, a small wiry figure of a man was clearly the main attraction as his guests fluttered around him like nervous butterflies. His body was robed in dark purples and gold thread and a dark moustache which was finely preened sat upon his top lip in a quite unnatural fashion.
“What do we have here?” He inquired, his voice tinged with the hint of excitement and the subtle tones of a more sinister kind.
The soldiers walked slowly to within a distance of the kind and halted, taking to one knee. Heynagan attempted to drag Annatrice to do likewise but she repelled his attempts with a defiant tug away from his grasp.
“As requested Sire, the traitor Taurlin of Cayborne has been disposed of. I present to you his daughter of...unknown name Sire.”
Tragian pranced over like an exuberant pony, his guests following him as if hanging on to his every word with extreme interest.
“Yes, another opponent to my legacy falls to the gutter. When will these people learn?” Tragian's entourage laughed as one as the king lapped up the appreciation of his quip.
“This specimen is the traitors cursed offspring then...fascinating...she has the appearance of a peasant but the eyes of a cat, almost a nobility in her defiant gait. A curious article. Tell me girl, who do you believe to be the rightful ruler of Araman?”
Tragian's question was met with silence as Annatrice felt compelled not to appease him with flattery.
“My, what no tongue? Or do I take your silence as treason?”
Tragian's casual tone belied his malignant intentions, Annatrice was not so foolish as to incur his wrath but her anger was such that she could not help herself.
“I have a tongue, I just choose not to offer esteem to one who has no right to demand it.” Annatrice's voice was childlike but her words showed a maturity beyond her diminutive stature. Heynagan's hand took to his forehead with astonishment as the girl finally spoke. Her words were not that of the wretch he had initially taken her for and he suddenly realised that he had defiled a young woman who had the wisdom to understand fully the crime he and his associate had committed. Tragian's face was a picture. His courtiers all drew a collective gasp and awaited their rulers verdict.
“Oh what a delightful surprise! Rather like a double yoked egg, who would have thought such well chosen yet wholly unwise words could fall out of such a young mouth. Tell me child, what would you say to me as the sharpened blade of an axe began to fall to sever your pretty head from your shoulders?”
Annatrice raised an eyebrow and looked into Tragian's silvery blue eyes.
“You have no intention of killing me. In fact you cannot wait for your boring guests to leave so that you can take me to your parlour and molest me.”
Annatrice's assertive comment brought not only absolute silence to the gathering but also open mouthed astonishment, least o
f all to Tragian whose face hung limp, his eyes blinking every once in a while as if in deep shock and embarrassment. Annatrice could hear Heynagan's heavy breath and feel his heart pounding in her ears. Tragian turned to look at his guests who did not dare look at his face in return; he motioned to move then halted. He arched his back and pushed his shoulders out.
“What a charming and uncompromisingly outspoken creature you are.”
The courtiers once again tittered approvingly despite their caution.
“I can see that you inherited your father's treacherous tendencies and have a penchant for flights of fancy. However, let it not be said that Tragian is an...unforgiving ruler.”
The guests exhaled a collective sigh of relief as did Heynagan who silently revered Annatrice's bold comments and outrageous bravery.
“See to it that this sharp tongued banshee is fed, bathed and clothed. Leave her in the custody of Marianne. I should like to meet this girl again when she has been properly schooled in grace and has developed a respect for her merciful monarch.”
Tragian waved the girl away and the two soldiers took to their feet ushering Annatrice from the chamber with haste. A dark robed male grasped the girl by the arm and pulled her away from the soldiers who stood and watched as she struggled against the inexorable grip. Heynagan received a desperate glance before Annatrice was thrust through an adjacent doorway and out of sight. The two soldiers looked at each other and puffed their cheeks.
“She's trouble that one. She needs silencing before Tragian finds out...” Jeaynus had realised the error of his terrible act and Annatrice's unguarded tongue was now a significant threat to him. Heynagan did not know what to say in return. In some ways, his partner was correct. Annatrice was not the mindless package of virgin flesh that they had bargained for. She was outspoken and had an uncanny ability to see the truth in people. Heynagan feared for her but more immediately feared for his own skin in greater measure. Perhaps he should have cut her throat back at the copse?
CHAPTER THREE
Annatrice stood in a warm room, the walls decorated with large colourful wall hangings. She could not initially determine what this place was in terms of its function. Her home in Cayborne had been a draughty structure with a single living space and the most basic of furnishings. She had shared it with her father for as long as she could remember. In this opulent place, it seemed that there were more chambers than there was a purpose for, it was awe inspiring for Annatrice yet a simmering jealousy existed. Considering the poverty she had witnessed, this level of wealth seemed almost obscene in comparison.
Still being roughly man-handled by the silent robed individual, Annatrice resisted to temptation to battle against his vice-like grip. She had been spared at least for the time being, it did not seem wise to further antagonise the situation.
“Marianne?” The robed man called out, his voice cutting. Annatrice was curious to meet this matriarchal figure; she had grown up mainly in the company of men and had spent little time with other girls. In some ways, this had made her a little more confident in her manner than other similarly aged daughters of Cayborne. Her father had schooled her well in the realities of her harsh existence; she did not accept kindly overbearing men or their attempts to carry her in any given task. Many of her female peers often appeared feeble and helpless. She found this kind of behaviour abhorrent and she enjoyed nothing more than getting embroiled in a physically demanding task or getting her hands dirty. Such were the demands of everyday life when it required self sufficiency and little or no aid from the monarchs coffers.
A few moments passed before an elderly woman entered the room, her hair white as if falling snow had settled upon her crown. Annatrice was immediately astonished by her flowing gown and well coiffed appearance. Annatrice had not before seen a woman of such age, and she could not help but stare at her lined features and her mottled skin.
“Marianne. The Regis has asked that this girl be tended to.” The man said not entirely confident of the reason why it must be so.
“Indeed, she is in some need. Nothing a hot bath will not cure no doubt.” Marianne's voice was soft but deep. She shuffled forward to better view her new arrival. Noticing the dried blood on her face and clothes she raised her eyebrows.
“Are you hurt, child?” She inquired. Annatrice curled her lip and shook her head brushing off the prospect of being seen to be struggling despite her aching head and terrible injuries inflicted in her defloration.
“Leave her with me Castus, I will see to her.” Marianne waved the man away who seemed glad to be free from his duties.
“Now then, what is your name?” Marianne asked as she bent down a little to be at the same eye level. A silence ensued as Annatrice pondered over her perceived level of compliance.
“Annatrice of Cayborne.” A whispered reply eventually came just as Marianne was about to concede defeat.
“Annatrice, a name I have not heard before. Fascinating. Come...meet the others.”
Annatrice seemed surprised at first but then comforted briefly as she realised that she may not be wholly alone in this frightful ordeal. Ushered through the adjacent doorway, the large chamber gave way to an even larger if not less grand chamber where it was immediately apparent, a number of young women sat playing, working or crafting. On her entry, the girls turned to see the new arrival and Annatrice stood nervously as she was inspected in an uncomfortable silence.
“As you can see Annatrice, our monarch has provided schooling for many like you who have no one else to look after them.”
As much as Annatrice was overjoyed to see other people her own age, she was bitter at the matriarch's use of words. Had it not been for Tragian, she would still have her father and not be in this position. Annatrice looked around the room which was mainly lit by lamp light as it was obviously too blustery to open the large shutters upon the far wall. There were about six or seven girls, ranging from perhaps about her age to slightly more mature young women. Some of them smiled warmly at her, others looked at her quite distastefully causing Annatrice to sneer back in return.
“After you are bathed, we can all meet more informally. Perhaps we can talk about some of the things you like to do.” Marianne's manner was kindly and gratefully received at this point. Annatrice was daunted by the prospect of a hot bath. She had barely felt the immersive warmth of hot, clean water. The tub at home was a less than enjoyable experience and in infrequent one at that.
Annatrice was shown to another large and fascinating room which was obviously a room for sleeping. A series of small but relatively luxurious beds were present and Marianne showed her to the far end of the room which was clearly for the purpose of berthing the new arrival. Annatrice was left to sit on and sample the comfort of the spongy bed as her carer shuffled off to warm the water for her bath. Bouncing up and down on the thick mat, she could not help but smile when she realised that her sleep would no longer be disturbed by the calls of wild animals, the footfalls of spiders crawling over her bare skin or the itchy woollen sheet that had sufficed up till now.
Marianne returned and even though she had been some time, it seemed like only minutes to Annatrice who had begun to revere her new berth, her tiredness almost catching up on her as she lay back across its length. The bedraggled girl was righted and ushered into a small chamber where a raging fire emanated a fierce heat and a large and deep tub of steaming hot water stood awaiting. Annatrice inspected the tub as Marianne watched curious at her new charges caution.
“I shall be drowned!” Annatrice exclaimed, daunted by the black depth of water, its radiant heat felt clearly upon Annatrice's face. Marianne laughed.
“Now, jump in and I will find you something clean to wear.”
“I shan't!” Annatrice objected most vocally.
“Oh really? Then if you will not have the grace to clean your own body I will have to do it for you!” Marianne marched over and began to tug at Annatrice's clothing. The terrified girl fought back in vain but the elderly woman was su
rprisingly tough and resilient.
“If you struggle, this will be worse for you!” She said repeatedly as she pulled Annatrice's' dress over her head, entangling the child in an impossible mess. Suddenly, the struggle halted and Marianne's efforts subsided. Annatrice continued her fight to pull the clothing back over her head and when she finally accomplished that, she noticed Marianne’s look of horror as she cast her eyes down upon the small girls lower regions and the dark brown smears of dried blood which covered the top of her thighs and ran down to her knees. The matriarch stood silently for a moment then relented. Leaving the room, she turned to address Annatrice on the way out.
“Wait for the water to cool a little.” She whispered and with that she left Annatrice alone and silent, the crackling fire the only audible sound.
After many minutes of swirling the water of the bath around with her finger, Annatrice slowly immerse her body in the tingling heat of the tub. Blowing quick breaths through her mouth, she almost laughed out loud as she struggled to get used to the sensation. After a few minutes, she realised that the water was cooling a little faster than she would like and regarded her wrinkled skin and unusually clean toenails. Beside the bath, there were trays of curiously smelling powders and Annatrice took great delight in dipping her finger in each and sniffing its aromatic pungency. Annatrice jumped in shock as Marianne walked in without warning, the young girls face still grubby and her hair tangled.
“The powders will clean your body and make you smell agreeable. They are not for eating!” Marianne smiled and Annatrice giggled, not for one moment realising their real properties.
“You'll shrivel into nothing if you stay in their much longer. Do not linger in the cool water, you'll catch a fever.” Marianne's words of caution were taken rather literally by Annatrice and she obeyed, speedily applying some of the soap to the water and dunking her head.
Annatrice of Cayborne Page 2
