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.
‘I should have spoken up,’ Lia whispered, as she tucked the blanket in around her friend. ‘You didn’t flaunt yourself like Dagna said.’
‘It wouldn’t have helped,’ Tilda murmured hoarsely, the first words Lia had heard her speak in a long while. ‘You did right. Don’t ever cross her, you hear?’
Lia nodded. She was filled with shame and couldn’t look Tilda in the eye. So she kissed the girl’s fevered brow, slipped into her own bed and fell into a troubled sleep, dreaming of terrible punishments and cruelty beyond measure.
Chapter Four
Lia woke in the night to spy Holmann moving from bed to bed, lifting the females’ blankets as before; and once again she feigned sleep when it was her turn to be ‘inspected’. The overseer didn’t touch her, or anyone else so far as she could tell. It seemed curious behaviour, and she was more puzzled than frightened by it. She thought about it for a while, but an explanation eluded her and she resolved to ask Tilda in the morning. Soon after she fell asleep again, this time, thankfully, a dreamless one.
Then cold hands woke her for a second time: hands that moved over her breasts, kneading gently. For a moment she was rigid with fear, then she recalled where she was and what was happening. ‘Stig?’ she whispered, remembering the name Tilda had mentioned.
‘Aye,’ the guard responded. ‘Lie still, there’s a good girl.’ He continued to maul her for several minutes, pinching and thumbing her nipples, too. After a while one hand moved down over her ribs to her belly, which he rubbed with his palm, round and round in circles. Then the hand crept lower, sliding inevitably between her legs, his fingers seeking her sex. She shivered, and not from cold alone.
‘I’m a virgin,’ she whispered.
‘Aye,’ he said heavily, ‘so Tilda said. My luck was never of the best. I’ll bid you a good morning then, missy. Don’t go back to sleep, you hear?’
He moved away, a shadow in the gloom, and Lia lay still and tried to calm her pounding heart. Eventually she slipped out of bed and dressed hurriedly, more fearful of the consequences of neglecting her chores than of shadowy figures. She went and fetched the water, then began to rouse the others.
Lia had thought Tilda might be excused duties today, but soon discovered that was not the case. Her friend limped still, and confessed to being stiff and sore when Lia asked how she was feeling, but seemed astonishingly cheerful considering her ordeal.
‘Serves me right,’ she said with a wry smile as they waited their turn to wash. ‘I shouldn’t gossip, I know, especially not when the one you’re gossiping about is right behind you.’
‘You shouldn’t what?’ Lia said, bemused. ‘How do you mean?’
Tilda looked around to make sure they were alone. ‘What I said about Dagna; she is a lazy cow, but saying so within her hearing isn’t exactly wise, as you’ve seen.’
‘But, I don’t understand. I thought it was about an apple?’
Tilda nodded. ‘And who do you think put it under my pillow? I don’t pilfer food, despite evidence to the contrary. I’m not that stupid.’
Lia gawped. She couldn’t believe anyone would do such a wicked thing. Then she remembered the expression on Dagna’s face when she overheard Tilda talking about her; and remembered too, how vindictive she’d looked during the punishment, and the spiteful things she’d said and done. That was when she realised Dagna was a witch.
‘She’ll go to hell,’ she whispered fearfully. ‘She’ll suffer dreadful torment.’
‘Let’s hope so,’ Tilda said. ‘But so will we if we’re late to our chores. Come on, the others are done. We can wash now.’
Lia soon discovered that kitchen duty was hard. There was meat to pound to make it tender, fish to skin and bone, poultry to pluck, vegetables and fruit to prepare, pans to wash, waste to take out and endless, endless buckets of water to fetch, for the kitchen had no supply of its own, though it did have a drain, fortunately, allowing the dirty water to be poured away. Holmann had her doing all of these things, saying a good kitchen servant could turn her hand to any task. As a treat, as he seemed to consider it, he allowed her to accompany one of the others into town to fetch some goat cheese, an item specially requested by Queen Gudrun.
Naturally it was his favourite, Jarold, who was sent, Lia fearing a repeat of the hencoop incident, and sure enough he grabbed her the minute they were out of sight, groping her through the thin linen smock. He tried to put his hand up her skirts, but she pushed him away saying she would tell Holmann. Jarold merely sniggered, but
her resistance must have given him pause for thought for he left her alone thereafter.
Later in the day Lia found herself alone with Tilda, and she could finally pose the question she’d wanted to ask. ‘Why does Holmann creep around at night and lift our bedding to look at us?’ she asked.
‘He’s checking to see we aren’t playing with ourselves,’ Tilda said. ‘Don’t ever fall asleep with your hands you-know-where, or you’ll be sorry. He caught me that way once, so I know.’
‘Did he beat you?’
‘No, but I wished afterwards he had. He said since I wanted it felt he’d see to it I got my wish. He made me undress and go upstairs so the guards could take turns fingering me, letting them keep me there all night. And they were rough. Not all of them; some were okay, but some were real swine. It was supposed to be fingers only, but they used dagger handles and candles, and even a carrot someone fetched from the kitchen, and fucked me with them for hours.’
Lia remembered the guards, and how they’d jeered and laughed as they grabbed at Tilda, and she shivered at the thought of being delivered up to them to do with as they wished. ‘I think I’ll sleep with my hands under the pillow from now on,’ she said nervously, ‘just to be on the safe side.’
‘There’s no need for that,’ Tilda said. ‘You’re a virgin, so you’re safe. The only one who’ll be poking anything up you is Prince Baran.’
‘Prince Baran?’
Tilda nodded. ‘He’s always on the lookout for a girl to mount, especially one as pretty as you. They say he sometimes slips out of the castle at night disguised as a common soldier, and no woman is safe from him. Deflowering virgins is his speciality. He took my maidenhead, and Clady’s too. Lord, he even took Kerta to bed, and she’s thirty and plain as a pikestaff, so he’s bound to want you! That’s why you’re safe. Holmann can’t do anything till Prince Baran’s had you.’
Lia supposed it was true, though the overseer could always postpone her punishment until after she’d lost her virginity. But if Prince Baran was as lustful as Tilda claimed, Holmann might not have long to wait.
That night Lia was so tired she fell asleep the instant her head touched the pillow, and the next thing she knew Stig was waking her in his usual fashion. When he’d gone she dragged herself out of bed, dressed, and went off to fetch the water. Having slept through Holmann’s rounds she was fearful he would denounce her for touching herself, but all he said when she got to the kitchen was that Wednesday was her day to bathe along with Jarold and Tilda.
‘They’ll wait for you in the ward,’ he said. ‘Run along now and fetch your washcloth and towel and a clean smock to change into, and remember that Jarold’s in charge while you’re out of the castle.’
Lia hurried off back to the dormitory. That last part didn’t sound at all good, she thought, though if anyone could keep Jarold in line it was likely to be Tilda. With her smock and washcloth wrapped in her towel, Lia ran out to the ward.
‘About time,’ Jarold said mirthlessly. ‘Come on, and no chattering, you hear?’ There was a pack at his feet, and he slung it over his shoulder and set off towards the postern gate at a fast stride. Tilda rolled her eyes, and the two of them ran after him.
‘What’s in the pack then, Jarold?’ Tilda asked. Like Lia, she carried her towel and things rolled up in a bundle under her arm.
‘You’ll find out,’ he said over his shoulder, without turning to look at them.
‘Nothing good, I bet,’ Tilda muttered.
Jarold’s pace didn’t slacken all the way down through the town, and soon Lia had no breath for chattering even if she’d wanted to. As they neared the town gate a troop of urchins a year or two younger than Lia started to follow them, laughing and shouting abuse, and making rude gestures.
‘Pay no attention,’ Tilda said, then promptly ignored her own advice by sticking her tongue out at them.
The urchins followed through the gate and all the way down to the riverbank. Women from the town were knee-deep in the water washing clothes, and Jarold took his little party some distance downstream. He stripped off his things, took his washcloth and a tablet of soap from his pack, and waded in, and as he proceeded to wash himself Tilda undressed too, drawing a chorus of raucous calls from the gang of boys. They were sitting on the grass just ten paces away, and Lia realised this must be a regular weekly treat for them.
‘It’s best to just get on with it,’ Tilda advised. ‘We used to ask the guards to chase them off, but they were no better, gawking and making lewd comments and all, so now we don’t bother.’
She sounded quite calm about it, but as Lia undressed her hands were shaking and her face was flushed. The boys yelled and whistled, and she hurried into the water and squatted down to wash first her hair and then her body, trying to hide as much of herself as possible. Not that it made any difference, for when she eventually emerged from the refreshing water Jarold, who was dried already and wearing just his braies, insisted on inspecting her, and she had no choice but to stand shivering on the bank while the boys whooped and applauded. Jarold was in no hurry, and it seemed an eternity before he finally pronounced sentence.
‘Nowhere near clean enough,’ he said. ‘It looks like I’ll have to wash you myself.’ He delved in his pack once more and took out a square of coarse sacking and a chunk of strong-smelling yellow soap. He led her to the water’s edge, soaped the sacking, and proceeded to scrub her vigorously. The harsh material scratched and scoured her skin, and the soap stung as he spent long minutes on her breasts and even longer between her thighs, until she was whining and hopping from one foot to the other, to the great delight of her young audience. Finally he relented and allowed her to dry herself, though not yet to dress.
Jarold then turned his attention to Tilda, and subjected her to the same enthusiastic scrubbing. But worse was in store for the poor girl, for when he’d done washing her he went to his pack once more and took out a fat bottle brush.
‘What’s that for?’ Tilda asked him warily.
‘Can’t you guess?’ he said with a sly grin, dipping the brush in the water and soaping it thoroughly.
‘This isn’t right, Jarold,’ she said, shaking her head warily. ‘You know you shouldn’t be doing this.’
‘I can do whatever I like,’ he countered. ‘Holmann put me in charge, remember?’
‘Yes, to make sure we get washed properly and go straight back afterwards. He didn’t mean for you to poke any brush inside me. You’re just showing off because Lia’s here.’
‘You think you’re so clever,’ he sneered, ‘but the truth is you’re stupid. Holmann couldn’t care less what I do to you; he was the one who suggested I bring the brush along in the first place. You want me to tell him you’ve been disrespectful and disobedient when we get back?’
Tilda shook her head miserably.
‘No, you don’t; because you know what you’d get if I did. So keep your mouth shut and do as you’re told, understand? One more word and you’ll find yourself taking it up the arse as well as your cunt. I can scrub two holes just as easy as one, can’t I?’
‘I suppose so,’ she mumbled sullenly.
‘I can and I will, unless you spread your knees and hold your cunt open before I count to three. One… two…’
Tilda capitulated, knowing she couldn’t win the argument as there was no doubt who the overseer would believe if it came down to it. As she parted her legs and spread her sex lips, the loathsome young man chuckled in triumph, pressing the brush to her and easing it into her vagina, and Tilda stiffened. He worked it slowly in and out, watching her face, relishing her distress. The boys appreciated it too, judging from their renewed shouts and whistles.
‘Not so bad, is it?’ Jarold goaded jovially. ‘You should be grateful; you’re getting clean and having a fuck into the bargain. What could be better than that?’
Eventually he stopped and allowed Tilda to
quickly wash again, though he wouldn’t let her get dressed. He then told the two of them to head back to the castle.
‘Can’t we put our smocks on?’ Lia asked plaintively, not wanting to anger him but far from happy at the thought of walking naked through the town.
‘No, you can’t,’ he refused with a smirk. ‘You’re still a bit damp, and it’s not healthy putting clothes on damp skin. Catch a chill that way, you can, and drop down dead. I’ll let you put your sandals on, but that’s all. When we reach the castle you can put your smocks on, but not before. You ought to be properly dry by then, I reckon.’
The boys followed closely, taking turns to dart forward and pinch the girls’ bottoms as they walked. Other youngsters joined them, and some adults too, so that it turned into a carnival with Lia and Tilda the main attraction. By the time they reached the postern gate Lia’s face was scarlet with embarrassment and her buttocks smarted from all the nips. Jarold finally allowed them to dress, after which the crowd dispersed, in high spirits still.
The three of them went inside and Lia gave a thankful sigh, happy as any fugitive who found sanctuary in a church, but her relief was short-lived, for the instant she and Tilda entered the kitchen Dagna pounced.
‘You’re to ride the horn this evening,’ she announced, ‘the pair of you. Be here straight after the vesper-bell.’
‘Lia too?’ Tilda asked in dismay. ‘But… how can she? She’s a virgin.’
‘Well she won’t be after tonight, will she?’ Dagna snapped. ‘Bathe before you come and get changed. I know you’ve only just come from the river, but rules are rules. “Freshly bathed and wearing clean smocks” is what Holmann insists upon, remember?’
Tilda nodded glumly. ‘Just the two of us, is it?’
‘No, Clady and Kerta get to ride it too. Don’t be late.’
Tilda stared at the departing figure and sighed heavily. ‘I’m sorry, Lia, I didn’t think they would include you in it,’ she said. ‘But at least when Prince Baran finds out he’ll have Holmann’s balls cut off.’
Bondmaiden Page 4
