Annatrice of Cayborne (6 page)

“Even so, you have a powerful gift that you need to keep to yourself if you seek to avoid scrutiny. I can tell you now from personal experience that it is disquieting to know that your personal feelings are not your own any more. I would ask you to let me know if any more of these incidents occur. The welfare of the ladies must be my first concern and it is not fair on them to be subject to any more unfortunate 'revelations'.”

Annatrice nodded.

“Yes, I understand. Earlier, it just got the better of me; I did not mean any harm.”

“I know Annatrice; I believe there is much good in you. You must also realise that you will be of great interest to the girls. You are a fresh face and you are very different in many ways. They are keen to get to know you.”

“They think I am a witch!” Annatrice said with a wry smile.

“They will only think that if that is what you want them to think. Personally, I think they will be jealous of your bold nature and fetching looks then given time, they will have great respect for you. I see a leader in you, a woman with great promise.”

Annatrice raised her eyebrows at Marianne's gushing account.

“Come, let us go and meet the others.” Marianne took Annatrice's hand and aided her up from her bed.

“I have been thinking...” Annatrice stopped abruptly.

“Go on?”

“Who will bury my father? He is alone out there. I don't want to think of him lying there with the wolves...”

Marianne swallowed hard. She had no good answer for that question; she was hardly in a position to aid Annatrice in laying her father properly to rest. After a sustained period of thinking, Marianne tapped Annatrice on the arm.

“I will arrange it. I will speak with someone who might offer his kindness.”

The answer was enough for Annatrice to ease her mind over the issue which had surfaced many times that day. The fact that Marianne was utterly clueless in how to fulfil her promise weighed heavily on her shoulders.

Annatrice bravely rejoined the group who were waiting patiently around the crackling open fire. A hot pot of steaming milk and an engaging story would be enough to send Annatrice temporarily to a better place and take her mind off what was yet to come.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Daily life at Marianne's school began at daybreak. A short period of time allowing the girls to find some kind of decency ended with the arrival of breakfast. Much like the other meals, there seemed for Annatrice to be an embarrassment of riches. There were fresh eggs, bread, sliced meat and even a curious sweet and tangy preserve which Annatrice had not yet before encountered. Meal times took place in the 'day room' as did schooling and creative time which usually involved needlework of some kind although some preferred poetry or art. The baffling lack of everyday grind was quite disconcerting for Annatrice who ordinarily would rise to a freezing chill and an unpleasant trip to a nearby well to collect water for the day. In this place, the collection of wood for the fire was performed by some unsung soul who would never know the comforts that the girls would obtain from his efforts. Annatrice began to understand what it was to be both poor and wealthy and this began to play on her mind and open up a never ending series of philosophical quandaries.

Without repeating any of the tribulations of the previous day, Annatrice tried hard to integrate with the other girls and once she had risen above her own prejudices, she found them all to be decent and fairly humble young people. Once the talk of common interests took hold, it was easily forgotten that a peasant girl from Cayborne was socialising with the late Lord Cheavher's daughter from Threace. Annatrice quickly noted that conversation was rarely drawn towards the past. Negativity had been banished in this curious household and talk was often of the future. Despite Annatrice's cynicism, it was each girl's belief that one day, they would be offered to a noble of the land for matrimony. They did not dare speculate when this might come about and considering that half of the ladies were of marrying age, Annatrice could not help feel that their hopes were high but misplaced. The King would allow them to leave only when he saw fit and in Marianne, there was her case in point.

It was clear that the matriarch enjoyed and prospered in her role as guardian and tutor. Annatrice found her to be a captivating and inspirational teacher as well as a patient one. Annatrice was of course well schooled in the harsh realities of everyday life but there was now so much more that seemed to be open to her as she realised the beauty of knowledge. It would be a tough start for the Cayborne daughter; her spoken word was eloquent but her written use of language non-existent. Marianne insisted that it was of no consequence and she could be pulled up to speed with relative ease.

The evenings brought about a more informal recreational period. Some of the girls spent their quiet time playing musical instruments or table games; some were escorted outside to ride. Annatrice spent the first few days exhibiting caution on all levels, she had yet to hear from the sadistic ruler or be summonsed to his presence. It was a rational and tangible fear that grew by the day. How long could it be before Tragian remembered the impudent wretch that so clearly humbled him in front of his revered guests? Annatrice was not so naïve to imagine that any plans the Regis had for her would be brutal at the very least and in some ways inescapable.

Prayers were a part of everyday life that seemed the most alien to Annatrice. Taurlin, her father had spurned the Gods and insisted that they were not spoken of at home. Annatrice grew up with the comfort of knowing that her life was her own and that she would never be judged for her actions in that respect. It was a comfort that did not extend to death. Annatrice found no comfort in faith now her father had been killed. Her reality was that everything her father was had now perished in the blink of an eye. This did not stop her from silently talking to him in times of solitude, but she was intelligent and aware enough to know that this was more for her benefit as a comfort than for his. When the time came to pray, she took the proud stance of abstaining and although this shocked the other girls, Marianne let it ride as long as it was not having a detrimental effect on the group.

At night, the darkened dormitory would come alive with excitable whispers and devious scheming. Annatrice's first few days of living with other girls were enlightening to say the least. Little did she know about what motivated the average young woman and what extraordinarily brazen comments would pass their lips in the seclusion of a darkened room. It was in the middle of one of these hilarious moments when there was a sudden lamplight at the door and a silhouette.

“Annatrice?”

The voice was familiar but it was laden with anxiety and the ensuing hush of the girls did little to help Annatrice feel that this was the moment that she had long awaited with a sense of terror.

“Annatrice, please...will you get up a moment?” Marianne's voice was breaking under the strain. Annatrice pulled the covers back and stood, hurriedly pulling on some clothes.

“May the Gods be with you Annatrice.” Her neighbour Lehona whispered as she could hear the hard and fast breaths of her terrified new friend. As Annatrice edged her way through the dormitory, other whispered prayers were being offered. The solidarity of her new friends did little to aid her apprehension as behind Marianne, the tall figure of a robed man stood ominously waiting to escort the King's new plaything to the royal parlour.

As Annatrice passed Marianne, the elder woman reached out and embraced her, whispering into her ear.

“Remember what we talked about. Remember the tree, so proud it stands, so strong, so defiant.” Annatrice felt her guardian's hot face pressed against hers and the tears that Marianne shed as they were smeared on her cheeks.

Annatrice walked on spurning a prolonged embrace and Marianne smiled with some renewed hope that her newest daughter had the inner strength to come through her ordeal. Knowing what was to come; Annatrice did not even give the robed escort the pleasure of grasping her wrist as she pulled it away quickly. In silence, she walked forth knowing that the pain and indignity Tragian was about to bestow upon her would only make her stronger and her vow to avenge her father even more unquenchable.

CHAPTER EIGHT

When Annatrice presented herself the next morning at breakfast, her face haunted by blackened eyes and the long, reddened streaks of vindictive scratching and tearing, it was clear that Tragian had suitably fulfilled himself in revenge for the humiliation that Annatrice had inflicted upon him. The other girls sat around in a subdued silence not knowing quite what to say or how to comfort the new girl.

Annatrice was once again hardened into a silent solitude, her conscious mind bombarded with the well meaning emotion of the others and in equal measure, the relief that similarly violent episodes were not usually inflicted upon themselves. The prolonged aching of her injuries seemed only to heighten her acute sensitivity to her peers every thought and at times, she could extract such fine detail as a vague insight in to where her friends vision was focused, indeed she could almost look through their own eyes and see herself, a battered and beaten body curled up in the corner. More disturbingly, during her tortuous hours with the depraved king, she could not but help be transported into his mind and feel the sensations of control and power that he cruelly exerted. Whilst this curious affliction seemed to be little more than an added torture, she was not so closed off to the moment that she could not find something positive from the experience. If she was to one day right the wrongs that had been so unjustly heaped upon her, then she would need every possible aid in order for her to seek her vengeance. The ordeal had been an insight into the perverted mind of the man, he had little knowledge of Annatrice's intrusion into his psyche but he had revealed details, telling aspects which might one day prove invaluable in his demise.

And so it was that in the days and weeks that followed, Annatrice was offered some respite from the cruelty of the twisted ruler. Whether his fascination with her was at an ebb or it was his longing for variety in his insatiable desires that gave her time to heal, the period of grace allowed Annatrice to attempt to put aside her fears but never forget. Every once in a while and never with any pattern, one of Marianne's ladies were plucked from their slumber and marched to the King's parlour. Annatrice at first could not believe the other girls ambivalence to the ritual abuse, however with time she came to understand that the only way to survive with her sanity intact was to let it wash over her and fade into fleeting, distant memories. It quickly became clear that in order to live with any normality,  Annatrice would have to reorder her thoughts and emotions, set them aside and save the feelings of hatred for another day when she could finally turn the tables on her sadistic monarch.

As time rolled on, Annatrice began to thrive in her captivity. Her brash and often dry wit was appreciated by the other ladies; she was a breath of fresh air and had a perspective on life that the others found difficult to comprehend but enjoyed nevertheless. She began to appreciate the opportunities that were presented to her, the camaraderie of the group, the music, the art and the learning. Incarceration at the castle began to feel less restrictive as the months passed and the group were a law unto themselves in many ways.

Annatrice began to enjoy outdoor activities such as riding and falconry. Escorted out to the meadows, the girls would bound across the green landscape feeling the fresh wind upon their faces. They did not care about the dangers of wild animals or desperate bandits, their protection came in the form of professional soldiers, hand-picked from the elite of the Royal Guard. They flirted with the young handsome soldiers who did their best to resist the charms of these untouchable, privileged young women.

Annatrice familiarised herself with the household staff and the soldiers who patrolled the walls or jousted in the compound. Waving furiously to the friendly soldier who had received her at the gates in the midst of the storm, her smile brought joy on a dismal, grey morning. The ladies of Marianne's tutelage were respected and revered by all who trod the halls of the castle; they wanted for nothing and received everything... except for the one thing which eluded them, their liberty. Even Annatrice, so independent and steadfast in her opinions regarding the joys of freedom began to lose sight of her loss. The comforts of wealth and the companionship of like-minded souls slowly softened the hardened heart of an orphaned child and it took the occasional but savage attack from her King to remind her why she was there, dowsed in such sweet finery.

Marianne’s children lived a separate life, a closeted and confined existence which shut out the everyday horrors of the world outside. It was for the most part, an idyllic life for a growing child. Even the abhorrent behaviour of the King was an occasional trauma which seemed to become less frequent as time passed and his enthusiasm dwindled. The girls fantasised of far away kingdoms and stories of legend that Marianne eloquently read aloud in the evening, each day brought something new, life was never dull or repetitive and for the most part, it was a happiness and fulfilment that Annatrice had never felt before but things were about to change..

As time passed, Annatrice began to better understand the baffling powers that she had exhibited at times since her life had changed so drastically. At first, the bombardment of mental maelstroms was an unwanted and potentially embarrassing issue which often led to unfortunate revelations. Understanding and interpreting the sudden intrusions into her mind was one thing, controlling these episodic abilities was quite another. Annatrice could not turn on and off her powers like the lamp that lit her beside, it at first seemed a random thing, a feeling that overcame her in times of anxiety or discomfort. Her eager friends often amused themselves at Annatrice's expense, playing games, trying to coax her into pulling the thoughts from their minds, but it did not work that way. The one thing that was apparent however was that with her developing body and intellect, the intensity of these insights grew. Invariably, Tragian's perverted attacks drew greater and more intense mental reactions as the months passed. For Annatrice, the physical discomfort and repulsion became less significant as she fought tirelessly to block out the images in her mind and most of all the pleasure that Tragian derived from his depraved act. For Annatrice, the warped feelings of gratification she received of her own rape was sickening and revolting. She cursed her 'affliction' in these instances, it was truly a curse that could not be lifted or fathomed. She began to revile herself for feeling these appalling thoughts and as each attack took place, herself loathing deepened.