The Slave of Lidir Page 3

"My black-lipped wild and wanton beauty ... your pip of lust is growing. It bulges hard and brazenly against my fingertips." She was squeezing now in rhythmic pulses which made Anya's legs begin to shake with shame and pleasure. "... Oh how I shall love to work you, my sweet, to steer you onwards to the limit of your pleasure and desire, and beyond, to test your boldness and your fleshliness." Anya's cheeks and neck were burning as her belly quaked in delicious, honeyed ripples. "What labour could more benefit your Taskmistress, what charge so sweet could be?" Then suddenly, the squeezing stopped. Anya was left suspended; her need was unfulfilled. "... But not now, I fear, for other duties vie for my attention." And with that, Ildren brushed her hands up Anya's burning thighs and patted her on the buttocks.

  "Arise, my dear. Hold up your head, for you have stood the test, and Lidir finds you worthy. Marella, bring me the chains."

  No! Anya thought, and pleaded with her eyes, but the Taskmistress only smiled.

  "Fear not my child - for you see I read you in your face - these chains are but a symbol, a wedding ring ..." Anya's eyes fell. "A mark of your betrothal to Lidir." Now she felt drained, to hear it made so clear.

  The chains were three in number, and each was solid gold. The largest one was looped about Anya's waist, and the Taskmistress took time to angle it very carefully about her hips. The links felt cool at first and pressed heavily against Anya's belly; each movement of her hips made her aware of their presence, as the links adjusted and caressed or rolled or trailed against her skin, or their weight shifted with a deadened clink from hips to back to belly. The second and third chains were lighter, and looped around her left wrist and right ankle - but why this way round, Anya could not guess. She looked at them and tested the effect of moving her arm and her foot. The gold glistened in the light and tickled against her ankle; the wristband seemed to set off the ring that Marella had given her. To Anya, who had never worn such things, these golden chains appeared an adornment, and not at all the shackles they were intended to be - and in reality were. The Taskmistress then explained:

  "These chains you shall at all times wear, unless they be removed on the express direction of myself, or of your lord masters, and then only within the time they choose to use you for their pleasure. Their lordships may, from time to time, specify additional adornments or adjustments to your body, of a more lasting nature ..." This made Anya's blood run cold. "... But the chains shall remain, as a mark of your identity and your station. Is this clear?" The woman glowered. Anya nodded slowly, but the hopelessness of her situation made her very much afraid.

  The Taskmistress now took something from the pocket of her robe, and strode across the room to address the husband, who had remained silent throughout the proceedings; he now cringed before her while she admonished him:

  "You have brought to us a treasure, against which this," and she flung down the pouch of coins contemptuously upon the table, as if it contained nothing more than dust, this is but a grain of sand, a candle flame dwarfed by the midday sun, had you but eyes to see - yes, and a heart wise enough to know it." Then she stretched herself to her full height, and though she was barely taller even than Anya, she seemed to tower over the poor creature cowering now before her. "This woman now belongs to Lidir," she declared solemnly, as if she were passing sentence on him, and not on Anya. "Now take your sop and go. Your claim on her is revoked." The Taskmistress glared at him as if daring him to answer. He did not.

  He collected his bag and skulked out past Marella, without a backward glance at the woman he had delivered into bondage, without one final look at Anya.

  What manner of man would do this thing? What reason could absolve him from his blame? What heartless cause could justify it? What compulsion had driven him to do it - to sell this precious treasure to a fate he could not know, with no last word of tenderness or encouragement, no parting glance of love - and for nothing but a purse of gold?

  3

  At the Door to the Great Hall

  "Take her down to the kitchens - have her fed and then bathed, and then bring her to me," the Taskmistress first instructed Marella, who merely lowered her head in acknowledgement. Then Ildren turned to Anya and added coldly: "I shall assign to you your duties for the remainder of the evening, and perhaps the night, for when the banquet is done, my dear, then one of the lords may wish to bed you." Anya's blood ran cold when she heard these words. Then Ildren left, and Marella closed the door behind her. How could anyone be so hardhearted, Anya wondered, so indifferent to her feelings?

  Marella hesitated for a moment and then walked slowly over to where Anya was standing, still beside the fire. She wrapped each of Anya's hands inside her own, and Anya felt Marella's warmth infusing slowly up her arm.

  "There now, that wasn't so bad, was it? She likes you, Anya," said Marella.

  "But she hit me!" And yet that was the least of Anya's hurts. She felt as if she had been torn apart emotionally, and left in tatters by that cruel woman. Could Marella not see that for herself? Then Anya felt the tears, the ones she had suppressed so effectively in Ildren's presence, well inside her until she saw the firelight's flickers turn to starbursts in her eyes, and Marella took her in those great big arms and hugged her. "There, there, my soft sweet doe," she crooned, while Anya's teardrops soaked warmly down Marella's neck, then damply underneath her collar.

  Marella waited till the sobs had died away before she lifted Anya's chin and kissed her very tenderly on each cheek and on her lips, then held her to her bosom. She stroked her locks and curled them round her finger.

  "You must have strength, my gentle one, to bear your present sadness - for it will pass. This place - its ways - they are new to you and unfamiliar, but in time you will adjust, and tasks that now seem harsh and difficult, and mayhaps base and shameful, will yet become as second nature to you. You will take delight and pleasure in your servitude."

  Though Anya could not believe Marella's words, still she did not choose to answer back, but preferred instead to press her face against this woman's warmth and softness, taking comfort from her tenderhearted touch. "Never fear my doe, for Marella will watch over you," the woman said, and Anya, glancing down, could see the turquoise ring upon her finger, her birthday gift, the token of love so freely given, and she trusted in Marella.

  "Marella - I'm hungry now," she said, and looked up into the woman's smiling eyes.

  "Well then," Marella chuckled, and pinched Anya playfully about the waist, "we'd better feed you up my dear, for you're surely thin enough to blow away altogether on a night such as this, without your clothes, and only a golden chain to hold you down! Now let me fetch your cloak."

  It was a simple cape without a hood, in heavy purple velvet, embroidered with gold thread round the hem in a bold zig-zag pattern. It fastened with a hook and eyelet only at the neck, and the cloak extended down to Anya's calves.

  "Here, put these on, Anya ..." said Marella. They were boots in softest deerskin. Anya reached to ease the chain from round her ankle. "... No, don't remove it, for you must keep your chains - the boot will fit around your anklet." Marella laced them for her just below the knee. "Now turn around; let me look at you. Right around ... Good ... No, you must not stand like that." Anya was holding the cloak together where it parted down her front.

  But there are no fastenings on it," Anya protested. "It will ..."

  "No. It spoils the line," Marella insisted. "You must hold your head up, with pride, and keep your shoulders back - like this ..." She straightened Anya's back and made her place her hands behind her. "There, now let me see you walking. Walk around the room." Anya tried it. She was sure the cloak kept falling open with each step she took. "Hold your head up, Anya. That's better - you look wonderful." Was Marella just deceiving her, Anya wondered, simply trying to flatter her? But it was true that she felt different like this - it was partly the fact that she was constantly made conscious of the caress of the chains as she moved, and then the boots and cloak felt so clean and fresh and luxurious, not used a
nd careworn like her own things. How she wished there were a mirror here, so she could judge for herself ...

  "A princess, almost," said Marella, and Anya felt her heart overflowing now with pride, and her neck and cheeks flushing with embarrassment at being made to suffer such praise from the one person who loved her.

  Anya was led away from that room and along the corridor, past many doorways and minor passageways branching from their route, until they reached the foot of a wide staircase. The walls were now no longer bare but were decorated with a series of large paintings, much larger than life size, of men and women dressed in fine clothes and rich jewellery. The pictures were arranged all the way up the staircase. They must surely be the images of the lords and ladies of the castle, Anya decided, although there seemed to be so many of them. She stopped to look at the first painting, which showed a beautiful woman dressed in white, who had long red hair and carried a sword, and seemed to stare fearlessly out of the picture. This woman appeared to have such strength; Anya very much admired her.

  "The Princess of Lidir." Marella whispered.

  "Is she here, in the castle? Shall I get to see her?" asked Anya in a tone of awe. She would have loved to meet this person in the flesh, to see if she was indeed as beautiful and self-assured as this pose suggested.

  "Why no, my dear," Marella shook her head, looking first at Anya, then at the picture. "The Princess is gone - long, long gone," she added rather enigmatically. Anya took it to mean that she was dead. It made her a little sad.

  Then Marella turned, threw her head back and sniffed the air. Anya realised that she too could smell the delicious aroma of roasting meat. It was wafting up a narrower set of steps which descended to the right of the main staircase. Marella nodded and smiled at the look of delectation on Anya's face. "The kitchens are down there," she said, then raised her finger and instead looked up the staircase. "But I want to show you something first."

  The sound of music and ribald laughter rolled down the steps which the two women now ascended. The louder it became, the more vulnerable it made Anya feel; Marella had made her lead the way. "I'm not so nimble as you young things," she'd said, but Anya wondered whether Marella just wanted to keep an eye on her. But then, she thought, where would she go, even if she were to try to escape? There was no future for her now beyond the castle walls, and perhaps there never had been. And now the music sounded very near. She was on tenterhooks at the possibility that they might meet someone coming down the stairs, since at each step, her cloak fell open to reveal the chain about her hips, and a gap extending from her neckline to her thighs.

  Then Anya saw someone move at the top of the steps; it stopped her in her tracks. "What on earth?" Marella had cried when she'd walked into her and almost knocked her over. Anya could only point. At first she'd thought the figure was part of the stonework, since it had been stationary and the drab grey uniform had merged with the colour of the wall. "That's one of the castle guards, that's all," Marella laughed. "And drunk, at that, I'll warrant." And as if to prove her point, there came a sudden metallic ringing, then an indistinct sound rather like a muttered curse, and a goblet rolled over the top step and began clanking, step by step, down towards the women, followed at a distance by the guard, still swearing and looking very much the worse for wear and almost overbalancing in his haste. Anya tried to press her back against the wall; she meant to let the jumping goblet pass, trusting she would not be noticed, but Marella trapped it underneath her foot and stopped the flying guardsman by slamming a decisive hand flat against his chest.

  "What's this, my man? Do I detect wine upon your breath?" she berated him. The smell of liquor mixed with sour cheese and stale sweat rolled across and almost suffocated Anya. His beady, bloodshot eyes were on her now, making her flatten herself to the wall and grip the rough-hewn stonework tightly with her fingers, as if she expected him at any second to try to prize her off it. His hair looked oily and matted; she doubted if he had ever washed it in his life, and his hands were filthy, with the blackness grained into the creases and underneath the thick, encrusted snailshells of his nails. He was standing very unsteadily with one leg balanced above the other, on the next step. Then his teeth showed brown and yellow in a twisted grin as he reached shakily towards the gap in Anya's cloak. She could not run, for she was frozen now with fear; her mouth had opened to her last defence, that rising scream that fought against each sharply indrawn gasp of frightened breath. But before that sound had even formed, the man simply grunted very loudly and collapsed onto his knees, with his hands pressed inexplicably about his tender parts. Then he slowly doubled over until his head was almost touching Anya's feet.

  "And so you should apologise - and most humbly too," said Marella. "This woman is not a plaything, to be mauled about by a drunken sot like you. Now let that be a lesson. And if I catch you ogling her again, I'll have your ballocks as mincemeat for the chickens." With that, Marella took Anya by the hand and hauled her up the stairs.

  Anya had never heard such coarseness from a woman such as this, who appeared otherwise so tender and so kind. "You have to keep them in their place, you know," Marella explained. "They're not allowed to touch you ..." That was a relief, thought Anya, for she knew she could never bear it. The memory was enough to make her flesh go cold and creepy. "That is, not unless ..." Marella fell silent.

  "Unless what, Marella?" Now Anya was perturbed.

  "No, my dear, you need not concern yourself with that." Marella's comment only made things worse. Anya stopped, and held Marella by the arm.

  "With what? You must tell me."

  Marella finally relented. "It could happen only ... only if a girl was very bad. The Taskmistress, or their lordships, could then decide ..."

  "... To hand me over to one of these creatures?" Anya was horrified by the thought of being touched by someone like that.

  "To assign you to the guardroom." Marella's eyes were downcast now; it was clear she found it painful to discuss. Yet Anya still persisted:

  "The guardroom? How ... how many of them?" she asked, but did not want to know, and Marella did not want to answer. "Marella - how many?" she repeated.

  "There could be ..." Marella took a breath, "six or eight, depending ..." then she bit her lip, and held Anya tightly by the hand. "But that couldn't happen to you, Anya - I know that you're a good girl ..." Yet even Marella did not sound completely sure, which made Anya even more apprehensive, so that now she wished she had never asked at all.

  The passage widened and grew higher, and now the wall to the left was covered by a great plasterwork frieze depicting female figures in white upon a pale red background. Each figurine was placed within an arch and each of them was nude apart from her chains, picked out in gold paint, about her waist, her wrist and ankle, exactly like the chains which Anya wore. Above the arches, looking down upon the slaves, were faces so grotesque they made Anya want to shudder.

  Anya pointed to the faces. "Are those the souls of the guards?" she asked, for these creatures still loomed large within her mind. Marella laughed out loud.

  "No, my darling," she said, and threw her arm around Anya. "Do not fret; the guards are not all so bad as that one was."

  A short way along this corridor, and to their right, they came upon the doors of the Great Hall, crowned at their apex by a painted carving of an eagle perched upon the hilt of a blue-white sword which pierced a crimson heart. The doors stood unguarded now, and narrowly ajar. The light and sounds of merriment spilled through the gap. "The banquet," Marella whispered, and she peeped between the doors. "Anya - come and look!"

  Anya had never seen anything on this scale before. The room seemed thronged with people laughing, shouting, eating, dancing, and playing music; it was alive with colour and excitement. Lords and ladies garbed in exotic finery were waited on by busily rushing servants clad in simple brightly coloured tunics, while the sound of pipes and lutes and drums made Anya want to throw open the door and join the dance. The great table, extending around thr
ee sides of the room, was laden with cakes and pies and carcasses, strangely coloured fruits and jugs of wine and beer. At the centre of the table sat a young man, slightly taller than the rest; from his position and his bearing, and the deferential way in which the lords and ladies seemed to treat him, Anya took him to be some lord of great importance.

  "That is the Prince," Marella said.

  "He sits alone," said Anya. "He has no princess, then?" She was recalling the image of the woman in white, with hair as red as Anya's.

  Marella shook her head, but Anya was staring intently through the gap, with a distant, wistful look which only made Marella shake her head again.

  "Spies! In the Castle of Lidir!" The voice behind them made Anya jump, and Marella cried out with shock.

  "Oh, your lordship," she bowed, "you frightened us, Lord Aldrid! I was just showing -"

  "Aha! So the bond-girls are brought in early tonight?" He leered at Anya. Anya did not like him, not one bit. Not because he was old, with grey whiskers and wispy hair, and an angular bony face, but because, to Anya, he seemed arrogant and hard. His eyes were a cold grey-blue, like the winter lake up in the mountains. He stood over her like a hawk about to jab and tear her flesh with his vicious cutting beak.