Ruled by the Rod (13 page)

We had not
been there above five minutes when the gates at the lodge opened
and deployed a small procession, consisting of the squire, followed
at a few paces by his lady, in turn followed by a frightened
looking maid.

The squire
walked purposefully, looking around to see who had come to witness
his bride's correction. He was a large florid man, in his late
fifties, powerfully built, and every inch the landed proprietor.
His delinquent bride was a lady over twenty years his junior, of a
very aristocratic appearance, tall, of a very fine figure, if a
little on the slim side for rural tastes, who looked straight ahead
of her, chin held high as if disdaining any who should see her
shame. Her glorious dark hair was plaited into a great rope that
hung below her shoulder blades. She was bare foot, and wore nothing
but her shift.

I wondered, at
first, that such a fiery and defiant creature should go so meekly
to her flogging, but soon realised that, given the choice of
walking freely to her doom, or being dragged kicking and screaming
by the village constable, a lady of her breeding would chose the
path that retained her some semblance of dignity.

Coming to the
post, she looked to her husband in query. He nodded, and she
slipped the straps of her shift from off her shoulders, letting it
fall to her waist and baring herself from neck to navel. Her round
and rosy breasts, still firm for all her thirty years, for she had
not yet borne a child, sat proudly on her chest, their large teats
puckered and hard, though whether from fear or the coldness of the
day I could not tell. For whatever reason they stood out like small
thumbs, still visible when she stood to the post, a breast on
either side of it, as she lifted her arms to the manacles above
her.

A rough
looking man standing nearby, no doubt that same constable she had
saved the duty of dragging her, advanced and secured the iron bands
about her wrists, leaving her stretching up, her body pressed close
to the wood, well worn at that point by the countless female forms
that had sweated their agony and, it is to be hoped, their
repentance, against it. She stretched even harder but a moment
later, when the constable bent and pulled each slim bare ankle in
turn to lash it to the rings on the side posts, thus spreading her
widely and forcing her to go upon her toes.

The squire
waved the thick black whip he carried at a thin bespectacled
individual in the front of the crowd.

'Come, come,
man,' he cried, 'are you to keep us waiting till past our
breakfasts? Read out the charges, and madam's sentence, and let us
get on with it.'

The clerk to
the court drew out a paper and read.

'The Lady
Camilla is found guilty of, firstly, striking a Justice of the
Peace. Sentence, ten strokes of the whip on her bared back, to be
delivered at the public whipping post. Secondly, of striking her
lord and master, sentence, twenty strokes of the whip on her bared
back, to be delivered at the public whipping post. God save the
Queen.'

And the lady,
thought I, for thirty strokes with that whip would make a breakfast
difficult to swallow.

The squire
spoke sharply to the timorous maid, who scuttled forward and lifted
the great rope of hair from off the lady's back, draping it over
her left shoulder to fall down over her breast. Now all was set,
and the crowd fell silent out of respect for the whipper and the
whipped.

Stepping to
the left of the post, the squire measured his mark, then drew back
his arm and brought the whip slicing down across the white back
before him. It fell with a crack like a pistol shot, and the lady's
head came back with a snap, but she made no sound whatever, though
a livid red line sprang up across her shoulders, the end curling
round her side.

Another stroke
fell, an inch below the first, then another and another, and so on
in dreadful progression, the lady jerking under the blows as far as
her stretched position would allow, but making no more than
anguished gasps at each cruel impact, letting out her breath again,
hissing through her teeth.

After ten
strokes she wore a ladder of slanting scarlet rungs from the top of
her shoulders to her neat waist. Now her husband/executioner moved
to her right side and repeated the ladder, delivering the blows
from his backhand. If they were not as hard, I doubt the lady was
aware just then, for she was beginning to show a little distress.
Her gasps had become sharp groans, trailing off into a low
moan.

By the time
the second ten had formed another ladder, criss-crossing the first,
her sounds were more urgent, though she still refused to cry out
openly.

Her master gave her a short respite, then proceeded to the
last ten, laying them on in two lots of five from either side, but
this time he made them more horizontal and let the whip's end curl
round her sides, to touch the delicate fullness of her breasts. She
jerked with renewed vigour at this cruel assault on her tender
dugs, giving a sharp cry at each and whining a little between, but
it could not be said she broke, and she endured to the end without
screaming or howling, though she was clearly hurt. Such fortitude
is, of course, a mark of breeding, a case of
noblesse oblige
.

When it was
done her back was laced and striated from shoulders to waist, the
scarlet lines passing round her sides and onto the round white
breasts. She stood at the post, her head dropped forward, her
bruised shoulders heaving spasmodically. When she was let down she
could, at first, scarcely stand, and threw her arms round the neck
of the diminutive maid to support herself. But after a few minutes
she recovered enough to stand upright and pull her shift up to
cover her nakedness. Then, with her arm around the maid's shoulder
for support, and leaning heavily on her servant, she made shift to
walk back past the lodge, her back very stiff but her head held
high.

The squire
watched her go, then came to where we sat in the carriage still,
from where we had watched her whipped.

'Morning,
Rodsham,' said he. 'Doctor, your servant. These must be your
daughters, Vicar. Won't you bring them in and take some breakfast
with us? Warm work this early makes a man hungry. I dare say madam
is a little warm too. But that's no reason she should not entertain
guests. She shall be down directly, when she is decent
dressed.'

And so we all
followed him into the hall, and to the dining room, where the
servants had already prepared a fine breakfast. Our guardians
seated themselves and, habituated as we were to the practise, we
made haste to get them bacon and kidneys, eggs and lamb chops, as
they required, moving swiftly but demurely, then kneeling at their
sides to be fed from their plates.

'Capital!
Capital!' roared our host. 'Madam may show her repentance by the
same service.' And he sent at once for her to join us.

In ten minutes
or so she came down, dressed a little informally, she could not
have borne stays, but very composed, if a little pale. She moved
very stiffly, which accorded with our own restricted movements and,
obedient to her lord's command, waited on him just as we did on
ours. Though she had been foolish, or worse, to have assaulted her
lord so, I thought her very brave to have come downstairs and
served him so humbly, not half an hour after she had been flogged.
I think, though, she was much relieved when our guardians did not
linger over their meal, but excused themselves, and us, saying we
were due elsewhere shortly.

In fact, they
were anxious not to miss the next on our itinerary. Duckings were,
by tradition, carried out at noon of a Friday, and we had some
miles to go. Thanking our generous host and his lady, we mounted
again in Justice Rodsham's carriage, and bade the coachman make
haste lest we be too late. We need not have worried, for he got us
there and time to spare, and the gentlemen produced wine from a
hamper while we waited.

It was a very
pretty village, a ring of trees around a green, cottages on either
side and, in its centre, a large and muddy pond, its surface coated
with green slime, through which ducks drifted, dipping their heads
to grub for worms in the murky depths. On the far side cattle came
down to drink, adding their own wet brown contributions to the
thick soup, the rapidly warming sun bringing out a thick pungent
miasma.

On the side
nearest to where we sat sharing the gentlemen's glasses, a long
beam was pivoted on a block set in to the bank. One end of the beam
carried a large stone, as a counterweight, while the other was
adorned by a crude wooded seat; no more than a flat piece of timber
fixed to the beam, with a narrow plank sticking up about three
feet, making a crude backrest.

By now it was
noon, and a noisy party came out of the inn, dragging between them
a strapping young woman of, perhaps, twenty-five or six. A big
girl, rosy cheeked, strong bodied and sharp tongued. She'd been
tried by the villagers on the complaint of her husband, that she
did nag him constantly about his drinking and had boxed his ears
more than once, when he had come home from the alehouse with too
much drink taken. Such behaviour could not be tolerated if the
community were to live in harmony for, as more than one man pointed
out, women had no voice in the proceedings naturally; if one wife
were to practice such unnatural behaviour, would not they all, and
where would they be then? Ruined, all of them, with no pleasure
left in their lives, and only their wives' nagging tongues ringing
in their ears.

So she was
condemned to be ducked, and here she came, manhandled by two stout
fellows who had their work cut out to manage her. I never saw a
woman so unmindful of her duty to her man, and the custom of the
district. They forced her, kicking and cursing, onto the seat, and
tied her ankles together beneath the beam, her wrists behind the
backrest. Now they swung the beam out over the fetid pond, her
weight roughly balanced by the stone, so they handled it easily,
just leaning on it to keep their end down, and her up. The
aggrieved husband did the honours, crying out, 'Dunk her, lads.
Dunk her once, and dunk her deep.'

With a great
cheer they let go the beam, and the chair, woman and all, plunged
into the murky water until she was covered quite in stinking green
slime. The crowd cheered and counted, one and two and three, and
the men threw their weight on the beam, dragging her out into the
air. She coughed and spluttered, weed in her hair, her gown soaked
and fouled, a fearful stink all around from the disturbed depths.
As soon as she caught her breath she began to curse her husband
anew, and every man in the village.

'Oh, ho,' said
he, 'she still has fire. We must see if we cannot douse it quite.
Dunk her twice, boys, and dunk her deep.'

Once more the
men on the beam let go their end, and the cursing virago
disappeared beneath the scummy surface with a great splash,
disturbing the ducks, and the cattle in their muddy shallows on the
other side of the pond.

Now the crowd
chanted, altogether, one and two and three and four. This time,
when they raised her, some of the spirit seemed to have gone out of
her, and she spouted quantities of dirty water before she found her
voice.

'You
bastards,' she cried, her language a disgrace to the gentle sex.
'Call yourselves men, to treat a woman so? As for you, Tom
Partridge, don't think I'll have you in my bed in a hurry. You've
abused me enough. Get me down.'

'Not yet,
lads,' he cried, 'she's still a mite too hot. Down for the third
time, and let's see if that puts out the sparks. Dunk her thrice,
boys, and dunk her double deep.'

This time, as
she dropped into the green stench of the duck pond, the crowd
chanted remorselessly on. One and two and three and four, five,
six, seven, eight, nine and ten!!

As they hauled
her up she fell forward in her watery seat, great gouts of liquid
gushing from her throat. She gulped air, retching foul water,
jerked in her bonds for above a minute before she could form
words.

'Enough!
Enough!' she cried. 'I'll be a good wife. You shall stay out as
late as you will, only don't duck me again, Tom. I'll be drowned,'
and much else, submissive and pleading, besides.

Satisfied at
her repentance, and hopeful of her conversion, though knowing the
wilful ways of women I would think him over hopeful, he signalled
to his cronies to swing her in to land, where one released her
bonds; no easy task, wet and slimy as they were. She fell at his
feet, protesting her sorrow at having berated him so in the past,
and swore to never vex him again. She made a sorry picture,
kneeling in the muddy grass at the pond's edge, her gown soaked and
ruined, weed in her hair, great streaks of slime and green scum on
her face. Where was now the proud, defiant termagant, who had
cursed him and his fellows but a few watery minutes before? Verily,
the ducking stool had the most beneficial effect on even the
strongest female, if applied with rigour.

Tom turned and
led the way back to the alehouse, his manly honour satisfied, while
she, her woman's place established, followed, dripping, at his
heels, like a whipped spaniel. Our little party, edified and
uplifted, left the scene to travel on to Sexton Hinds, where we
were to visit the county House of Correction for Women, which lay
just outside.

We arrived
about the middle of the afternoon, and were met by the chief
wardress herself, for Justice Rodsham was a man of consequence in
the county, and to be treated with all deference. She was a
veritable Amazon, a great strong woman, as tall as most men and
built as broad. Her features, too, had more of a man's hardness in
them than a woman's gentleness, and we women shuddered slightly at
the looks she gave us, as if assessing us for punishment in her
grim establishment. Still she treated us with civility, and invited
us to take tea with her before touring the penitentiary.