by Jayden Woods
“I never said I’m scared.” She stopped to glare at him, but the desperation in his eyes caught her by surprise. She wondered if she should tell him that it was already too late to escape. But the way his gaze searched for hope wrenched her heart.
“We could go to a new town, somewhere no one will find us. We can use the skills we’ve gained here to get jobs. Real jobs, where we’re paid real coin for our labor.” A pink wave suffused his cheeks. “You’re a girl. It might be even easier for you to find … something, if you really needed to.”
“You rotten fucking scoundrel!” She shoved him, hard enough to make him stagger. But he recovered all too quickly.
“I’m serious, Audrey. Our lives might be difficult. But at least they would be our lives.”
“And what would be the point of them?” Her own question surprised her. Lives were lives. They shouldn’t need to have a point. And yet as she considered why she asked it, she approached a disturbing revelation. So long as she stayed here, working on this castle, she knew that her life had a purpose. She knew her role in the world, however miserable. She knew that her labor contributed something greater than herself. And as much as she hated lugging stones, she knew that one day, this castle would be finished and that would partially be her doing.
And that’s why she hadn’t really wanted to escape.
Outside of Richard’s castle, what purpose would she serve? What role would she play? The task of surviving, and surviving alone, did not satisfy her. How could she explain that to Rodgar? How could she explain that until she found out what she would live for outside of this castle, she might as well stay here forever?
A loud yell from the top of the motte saved her from trying to explain herself. Audrey and Rodgar didn’t hesitate. They turned and ran towards the sound.
At the base of the keep, Audrey was initially relieved to find all the boys still standing near the berm. None of them had tried to escape yet. No severe punishments could be made. But her dismay returned when she saw Osbern struggling with Gimm, the one who had yelled, while Geoffrey stood nearby. The knight held the same sack in his hands that Audrey had seen slung over Gimm’s shoulder. Geoffrey reached in and pulled out a piece of bread, then a pouch of liquid.
“Food and spirits, Suzerain.” Geoffrey pulled out the stop of the pouch and sniffed its contents. “Some of our finest.”
Osbern roared with anger as he shoved Gimm into the dirt. Gimm landed on his stomach, his breath catching short as the wind was knocked out of him. Osbern pressed his knee into Gimm’s spine while struggling to hold Gimm’s thrashing arms.
“So you’re not just lazy,” snarled Osbern. “You’re a thief!” He struck Gimm in the back of the head. Gimm’s eyes glazed over slightly and his arms went limp.
Audrey’s heart sank. She had not realized that Gimm’s bag had been stuffed with stolen goods, but she should have deduced as much. The boys would need to feed themselves, and how else to do that but steal? The fact that Gimm had been the one to take the food was the saddest aspect of it all, for of course he would be the one to consider how everyone might go hungry once they escaped, and he would be bold enough to ensure their future comfort. In the end, his thoughtfulness and compassion condemned him.
Osbern put his hand on his knife, but his face twisted with uncertainty. He turned to look at Geoffrey. “What do you suggest I do with a thief, Geoffrey?”
Geoffrey stood very, very still. Only his chest moved, for he breathed somewhat heavily. Audrey could not read his expression at all. “Your father would want a trial. Is that what you want?”
“Those insufferable charades? I don’t think so.”
The slightest smile touched Geoffrey’s mouth. “Then take something from him, as he took something from you.”
Osbern’s eyes darkened. He unsheathed his knife. Then he stuck out one boot and pressed it against Gimm’s arm. The boy was still conscious, but he was dizzy and weak, his struggles half-hearted. He could not yet see that Osbern’s blade approached his fingers.
“My lord, please!” The words came out of Audrey’s mouth before she could stop them. She should have known better. Arguing against Osbern would only make him more determined. “You got the food back. Besides, he needs his fingers if he’s to work on the castle!”
Osbern hesitated. “That’s true.”
Gimm, who now realized the gravity of his predicament, increased his struggles. Osbern grabbed his hair and wrenched his head upwards, then spoke to Geoffrey. “Help me hold him.” As Geoffrey got into position, Osbern put his dagger against Gimm’s ear.
“Let this be a lesson to all of you,” he said, and then began sawing.
As Gimm’s screams split the air, Audrey wanted nothing more than to run away and hide. But she knew that would be wrong. She needed to be here with Gimm and suffer alongside him. Most importantly, she needed to accept the grim reality of her existence here. She and her friends were slaves. Nothing more. And even years of unpaid labor did not entitle them to a single sack of food.
Blood poured. Gimm’s face contorted with agony. Osbern’s jaw set with grim determination as he struggled to cut through flesh. But no image would linger in Audrey’s mind longer than the gaze of Geoffrey, whose eyes watched it all happen with a gleam of pure euphoria.
When it was over, Osbern tossed the ear over the edge of the berm. He withdrew and wiped sweat from his brow. Audrey noticed that his hands shook and a snarl of disgust lingered on his face. At the very least, he had not enjoyed Gimm’s punishment as much as Geoffrey. Obsern staggered over to Audrey, held out his bloody hand, and demanded, “Water.”
Somehow, Audrey had remained clutching Osbern’s horn this entire time, her fingers growing white around its ridges. She remembered how Rodgar had spat in it. Then she gladly handed it over.
*
“We’ll make our move on Saturn’s day, when Sir Ralph escorts us to the quarry.”
Audrey had joined the boys in their late-night huddle. Now that she’d taken charge, she had called them together much later in the night, when most of the other slaves were deeply asleep. She also forced everyone to speak in very low whispers. Rodgar had not even challenged her authority when she announced she had a plan. Ever since Osbern cut off Gimm’s ears several days ago, Rodgar rarely spoke at all. He seemed more traumatized by the event than Gimm himself. Perhaps he had told Gimm to steal the food, and thus considered the blame as his own.
Audrey had not confessed that it had all been her fault. She regretted what had happened that day, but she could not go back and change it. The only thing to do now was move forward. She understood now that Rodgar had been right. Any life was better than this one. Any role she might play would be better than serving the Normans. Normans like Osbern, however lonely, would never see her as more than a slave for their bidding. And they did not deserve to live in a castle built by her hands.
A small pile of stones on the motte had been stained by Gimm’s mutilation. Osbern used them in the construction anyway. This simple act had illustrated to Audrey that she could no longer take pride in her role as a laborer. Her work did not contribute to something great and magnificent. It enabled the creation of a monstrosity; a monstrosity that would further empower the Normans to terrorize their Anglo-Saxon neighbors.
“Sir Ralph is a nice man.” Gimm spoke so softly Audrey barely heard him. His eyes stared sadly into the single flickering candle. He reached up to scratch at the bandage around his head where his ear had once been, then thought better of it and lowered his hand. “I hate to do that to him.”
Audrey couldn’t believe Gimm still felt any sympathy for the Normans at all. But she understood the sentiment. “I know. That’s why it must be him. He’s the most likely to relax his guard. And his squire is an idiot. We’ll corner them both in the narrow gorge just before we reach the quarry. They’ll be carrying a decent load of food for the journey, and we’ll take it from them before we go.”
“What about the horses?” said Rodgar.
“We could steal those, too.”
“We leave them. They’d make us easier to track, even if we escaped faster. There wouldn’t be enough for all of us, anyway.”
“Why not kill Ralph and his squire?” asked Anson from the shadows. “We’ll already be outlaws. We might as well go all the way.”
“Absolutely not!” Audrey leaned close to him, hissing against his sour expression. “It’s too risky to kill anyone. Tie them up, knock them out, perhaps. But not kill.” She drew back and regarded the rest of the group. “Besides, I’d rather we not think of ourselves as outlaws. We are escaping unjust captivity, which seems lawful enough to me, if King Edward would come to his senses. We are all of age and we deserve to swear fealty to the lords of our choice; not a foreigner who dragged us from home as children.”
Everyone considered the truth of her words.
“Until then,” said Audrey, “rest plenty and—most importantly—don’t do anything foolish. Act submissively. Pretend that what happened to Gimm scared you into obedience. Don’t show them your hope or your confidence, no matter how excited you may get. Save all that for Saturn’s day. Understand?”
Reluctant nods.
“Very good. Now get to bed.”
As she shuffled back to her blankets, Audrey marveled at her own transformation. A few days ago she had tried to convince them all that escape was futile. Now she led the charge to freedom. She was glad none of them held this against her. The incident with Gimm nearly broke the boys’ resolve, but it had fiercely ignited Audrey’s. The group preferred following her lead to losing hope altogether.
“Psst. Audrey.”
She scowled as Rodgar shuffled onto the floor next to her. She recognized his voice, but could hardly see him as he groped through the darkness. His hands found the messy knot of her hair. She smacked his hand away. “You should be resting!”
She felt him as he stretched across the floor, his knees bumping hers, his breath tickling her nose. She wondered what on earth he was doing. She had no time to prepare herself when he moved even closer and latched his lips around hers.
She didn’t move at all—either due to shock, the fear that she might somehow make matters worse, or the conflicting emotions that told her that Rodgar’s kiss was both disgusting and pleasant all at the same time. Fortunately he didn’t move either, as if equally petrified, until at last he decided his lips had lingered long enough and released her.
“I sure hope that was an accident,” whispered Audrey, finding herself somewhat breathless.
“Audrey.” His hand groped awkwardly again, then found her shoulder and gripped it. “I am glad you changed your mind. I hope you know now that there will be something to look forward to, something to live for, once we get out of this place.”
“Yes.” Perhaps he meant something else entirely, but Audrey now understood what role she would serve once she escaped from these walls. “I am going to live for the day I see all of these fucking stones ripped out of this castle and put back in the earth where they belong.”
*
It should have been a good plan. It should have worked smoothly. Audrey thought she had foreseen everything.
But she had not foreseen the possibility that Sir Geoffrey would escort her group to the quarry that day instead of Sir Ralph.
She did not know why the switch happened. Was Ralph sick? Must he tend to something more important? Or did Geoffrey somehow know what Audrey’s group planned to do? Surely not. They had revealed nothing, given no sign. They provided every indication that the loss of Gimm’s ear taught them total submission. Geoffrey couldn’t possibly suspect that Audrey and the boys would try to escape today.
And yet there seemed no better explanation. Geoffrey rarely committed to such dull tasks as this one. Ralph didn’t mind them because traveling to and from the quarry with some of the laborers gave him a chance to socialize. Geoffrey had no such excuse.
Perhaps bad luck alone caused her plight; she certainly had enough of that in her life. But as the group left the castle and made its way through the fields with Geoffrey, two horses, and a wagon, she decided it did not matter. One way or another Geoffrey would be the man they must attack in order to escape today. Whatever the risk, they would do their best to overcome him. Now that Audrey had made up her mind to escape, she felt as if nothing in the world could stop her.
Nonetheless, she trembled almost the entire journey to the gorge where they would confront him. She took little comfort in the soft yellow sunshine, the tart spring breeze, or the fields of budding flowers. She could not even enjoy the opportunity to walk through fresh grass without carrying a burden in her arms. She could focus on nothing but Geoffrey, who walked silently beside his horse and wagon, staring stoically ahead.
Her efforts did at least yield some reward: by watching Geoffrey constantly, she noticed that he did not seem particularly alert today. His eyes sagged a little, and a few times he yawned. Could it be a ploy of some sort? Or was he actually as exhausted as he looked? Audrey remembered hearing that his wife had born a baby and wondered if the knight agreed to a dull trip to the quarry just so he could get away from his family duties. Unlike Sir Ralph, he did not bring a squire to accompany him. Unlike Ralph, Geoffrey actually deserved to get beaten and tied up on the side of the road. And in his current condition, he paid less attention to the slaves than Ralph would have. Perhaps this switch would work to their benefit.
She dared not give in to the temptation of hope until the moment Geoffrey held out his arm and told them all to “Stop.”
It was the first word he had spoken all day. Everyone stopped immediately, their breaths suspended in their throats.
Geoffrey pointed to a tree nearby. “We’ll rest over there.” He led the horses off the path and towards the tree.
Audrey’s hopefulness struggled with a bout of fear. This was most certainly strange. Normally Ralph did not rest until they reached the quarry itself. No one felt particularly tired. To rest now, while they could still enjoy the coolness of morning, seemed altogether wasteful. Was it a trap of some sort? A method of testing them?
She watched in disbelief as Geoffrey tethered the horse to a branch, sat against the tree trunk, and promptly fell asleep.
Audrey moved to a safe distance with Rodgar and stared at the knight from afar.
“God is with us today,” said Rodgar. “This is our chance to escape.”
“I don’t like it.” Audrey scowled fiercely in Geoffrey’s direction, just in case the knight watched them through cracked lids. “We should stick to the plan. I chose the gorge for a reason. No one would see us. Out here on the road …”
“We’ve seen only one other person this last mile! And we’re close to the woods, where we hoped to go anyway. Don’t be a fool again, Audrey. We are going to escape. And we are going to do it now.”
“Rodgar—” She reached out to catch his sleeve, but he wrenched free of her grip.
He was already beckoning to the other boys, pointing to the satchel of food on the horse’s saddle, and gathering what items he could. She didn’t know what to do. She felt dizzy. She wanted to escape just as fiercely as any of them. But this seemed all wrong.
Her stomach flipped when she saw Rodgar pick up a large stick from the grass and approach Geoffrey with it. Rodgar wound the stick back and aimed for Geoffrey’s head. She wanted to yell out at him, but that would only awaken Geoffrey. So she ran towards them.
She didn’t really have a plan. She didn’t know what she would do. She supposed it depended on how quickly she got there. If she reached them soon enough maybe she would stop Rodgar from delivering the blow. If she arrived too late for that, then maybe she would help him fight Geoffrey, for she strongly doubted that a blow to the head with a small tree branch would knock the man out.
But she arrived too late for either of those things. In his hastiness, Rodgar must have been too loud, or perhaps his foot nudged Geoffrey’s leg, or maybe—as Audrey had feared—the knight had never really
been asleep at all. Whatever the reason, Geoffrey awoke.
He kicked Rodgar in the leg, then stood up and grabbed both his arms.
While the two of them struggled, Audrey dashed around them and flattened herself against the back of the tree. She knew that Rodgar would not defeat the fearsome knight. As she waited, she glimpsed the rest of her companions standing idly by and watching in a state of petrified terror.
She looked around the tree far enough to see Geoffrey holding Rodgar in a deadlock, a knife to his captive’s throat.
“Run if you wish,” said Geoffrey to the others. Even through the strain of the knight’s voice, Audrey detected a low thrum of pleasure. “I will not pursue you. I give you all your freedom, but at a price: the price of Rodgar’s life.”
Audrey’s heart sank. She wanted to believe it was a bluff, but somehow she knew that it was not. Geoffrey knew Rodgar’s name. He had been ready to make this offer. And he really did not care if they all ran away—not if he got Rodgar as a result. So was Rodgar all he wanted? Or did he get his thrill from playing this game and watching how the poor slaves reacted? Did he enjoy forcing them to weigh their freedom against the murder of their friend? Audrey didn’t know what Geoffrey wanted most, and she didn’t want to. All she knew was that this was a game to Geoffrey. And she refused to play by his rules.
Geoffrey looked around uncertainly. “Where is the girl?” he asked.
She reacted not a moment too soon. She reached out from behind the tree and grabbed the pommel of his sword. She pulled, and as he turned, she wrenched the blade free of its scabbard.
She wasn’t thinking clearly. Geoffrey could have easily killed Rodgar while Audrey struggled to steal the sword, and he still could now that she stood wielding the heavy weapon. But he did not, and perhaps she had sensed this, too. To slit Rodgar’s throat while one of his friends tried to rescue him would have ruined the game for Geoffrey. So he stayed his blade, clutching Rodgar close while staring at Audrey in a state of pure bewilderment.
Audrey knew nothing about sword-fighting. She wasn’t much taller than the blade itself. She probably looked like an idiot holding the thing before her. But she also spent most of her days carrying rocks. Her muscles were strong, her stance steady, and her voice much more fearless than she felt as she snarled, “Just go ahead and try.”
