The Lost Tales of Mercia (18 page)

“Hey ... hey wait!”

She spurred her feet faster, pretending not
to hear him.

“Hey! My ale!”

His voice sounded very close, very suddenly.
When she paused and felt her own skirts settle around her, sopping
wet, she knew she was done for. Desperately, she reached behind
her. All was lost if too much of the milk spilled out.

His grubby hands gripped the pouch at the
same moment she did; they wrung it in between them and their
combined efforts flung it suddenly to the ground.

The last of the rich, white milk soaked into
the earth and disappeared.

“You little bitch! Eadric? EADRIC!”

She should have run immediately but she was
petrified with horror. As the last drops of milk fade away, she
watched as if her own baby brother died before her eyes. Tears
filled her vision, making the ground undulate.

Eadric must have been in hearing distance,
for soon the thuds of his horses’ hooves grew louder. Much too late
she turned to run, but she was crying now, sobs choking her throat,
salt-water blinding her eyes.

“Go on, Truman,” said the thegn, not with
much conviction.

She heard the sword-man dismount and felt
his boots shaking the earth; she fell to her knees and wept openly.
“I’m sorry Coenred,” she gasped. “I’m sorry ...”

Truman grabbed her arms and pulled them
behind her. He twisted her wrists sharply and she cried out.

“Easy,” said Eadric, his horse churning the
dirt with irritation.

“Easy?” cried the monk. “She stole my
ale—and some milk!”

Hildred groaned as Truman tried to pull her
to her feet. She sagged like a dead weight in his arms.

“Come now,” said Eadric. “In the end she
only spilled it, so far as I can see. Is an accident worth all this
trouble?”

“You cowardly swineherd!” raged Aidan.
“You’re as weak as one of your little piglets if you let this go.
Are you a thegn now or aren’t you?”

Eadric’s teeth flashed with a scowl. “This
is the reeve’s work.”

“Then take her to Wuffa.”

“That I will.” The lord suddenly had a
strange look on his face, firm and distant. She stared at him
imploringly, wondering if perhaps she could rouse any semblance of
mercy within him, such as whatever had caused him to wink at her
this very morning. But he would not even look at her. He seemed to
have accepted his duty, and forgotten the rest. “You’re coming,
too.”

“What?” said Aidan.

“I saw nothing. The decision of her
innocence must be reached by the magnates. It will be your word
against hers.”

“But my food, and the congregation—!”

“Then come to town this evening and speak
your piece. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Good,” said Aidan. “I will. I enjoy seeing
God’s justice be done.” He sneered at her. “And as a thief, she’ll
hang.”

She shuddered with one last sob, but then
her eyes seemed to run dry. The thought of the afterlife still
frightened her. But now, not even the fiery depths of hell seemed
so terrible as the miserable world in which she already lived.

*

She spent the evening in an old horse’s
stall in the town center of Shrewsbury, scratching at the wooden
walls, catching the whispers of her captors. She understood few of
their words and even fewer of their implications. She did not even
comprehend the nature of her punishment nor how it would be
enforced, beyond that they would burn her hands, and how the burns
healed would determine her fate.

Upon bringing her to the reeve named Wuffa,
Eadric had spoken kindly on her behalf, claiming that the details
of the incident remained unclear to him. “All I saw was the two of
them wrestling,” said Eadric, “and when I rode closer to
investigate, that’s when Aidan accused her of theft. I brought her
to you because it is my duty to report wrongdoing. But in this
case, I must confess, I am not sure which was the one doing
wrong.”

Hildred thought this a strange way for
Eadric to describe the situation, as if somehow placing suspicion
on the monk. But she did not argue with it. She said nothing at
all: not even when Wuffa asked her to describe her own version of
the story. She knew she was guilty. To admit it would be to condemn
her body. To say otherwise would be to condemn her soul. “You see?”
Eadric had said, a strange look on his face. “She is as shocked and
confused as I am.”

So it seemed that somehow, either Aidan or
fire would proclaim her guilt.

Nearly as puzzling as her portending
punishment was Lord Eadric’s opinion of her. Their long journey to
town together had confused rather than enlightened her. At first,
when leaving the monk, he had seemed cold and dismissive. He
discussed the personalities and customs of his neighboring thegns
and clergymen with Truman—a man who seemed to be both his swordsman
and mentor. He spoke of Hildred as if she was not being dragged
alongside them, listening to every word they said. And yet in his
next breath he invited her up onto his saddle, helping her mount
the horse with her hands still bound, then settling himself behind
her. He sat steadfast against her, his stomach and chest lined
against her back, his arms locked around her elbows, so that she
could not decide whether his posture was an embrace or an
imprisoning grip. Whatever the case her blood rushed with heat
whenever he spoke, his lips rustling the hair near her ear, and her
breath faltered whenever his hands brushed idly over her arms and
legs.

Once when he heard her stomach growl, he
offered her food from the sacks in his saddle. He held a piece of
bread to her mouth while she bit from it. As the soft grains filled
her belly, she realized with shame that her body hungered for more
than just food. She could not remember the last time anyone noticed
her, much less touched her, the way that Eadric did. It was silly
to assume that a thegn like him thought of her at all, and
completely ridiculous that he might somehow care for her; and yet
the possibility made her heart sprint against her chest.

What would it matter, anyway, if in a day
her hands would be burned? If the monk appeared tonight and spoke
to the reeve, he would condemn her to hang by the neck. If not, the
question of her guilt would be raised to God. In the morning, Wuffa
and the local mertis would bring her to a fire and stick a poker in
the flames; once glowing they would put it in her hands and force
her to walk nine paces with the poker in her grasp. After that they
would bind her burned hands and throw her back in the stall. If the
wounds were not healing in a week, then she was guilty, and would
hang.

She knew she was guilty; she knew her wounds
would not heal. And even if they did, how could she return to
laboring in the fields with scorched fingers? She and her father
would both starve to death.

Nothing mattered. Nothing could be done. Her
mind spun and spun in circles, and soon it would find silence in
the grave.

Hildred’s last hope—that the monk named
Aidan may not bother coming to town to present his case—shattered
quickly when she heard him outside the stall door. The man who
responded to his words was Eadric himself. As the two men strolled
closer to her prison, she struggled to piece their conversation
together from the middle. She sensed from their tones that Aidan
had not yet gone to the reeve. Instead it sounded as if Eadric and
Aidan were in the midst of bartering.

“I know it meant a lot to you,” Eadric was
saying, “but there is always more ale.”

“I thought you said your supply was
low?”

“Indeed, but I can still acquire more. The
result is only that it will cost you a few extra cabbages.”

“The other monks will start to notice.”

Hildred wondered if this had something to do
with the sacks of food Eadric had obtained from the monk. Not all
monks were allowed spirits, but whether Aidan was allowed them or
not seemed beyond the point. One way or another, he was getting
more than his fair share, and Eadric was clearly his supplier.

“Perhaps you’re right.” It seemed they had
stopped just outside her door, and Eadric’s voice rang clearly
through the wood. She strained to see him through the cracks. “I
can hardly imagine the life you lead, Aidan. It must be so
difficult, going without so many simple pleasures—things I take for
granted, like ale and wine and meat whenever I can obtain it.”

“Yes.” She thought she heard the monk force
down a watery swallow.

“You must have so much self-control, Aidan!
To think, you are a cook, and yet you abstain from filling your
belly until you’ve served everyone else first. It is truly
self-less of you. You deserve to indulge in a few extra spirits on
occasion. By God, if I were you I would indulge in much more.”

Eadric laughed, and Aidan laughed nervously
with him. After a moment, the monk asked, “What sort of things
would you indulge in?”

“Ah, my dear Aidan, your mind is so pure you
don’t even know what I’m talking about! For your own sake I should
shut my mouth right now.”

“Never mind.” The monk sounded testy. “Tell
me what you meant!”

Eadric lowered his voice, and yet she could
still hear every word. “If I were you I would have taken justice
into my own hands today. Did you even see the beauty of the sinful
wench who stole from you? I am sure your mind was too close to God
to notice how her lips looked as sweet as mead, her flesh as soft
as dough, and yet ripe as fruit in all the right places.”

Hildred drew back from the door, her stomach
turning unpleasantly.

The monk heaved a sigh. A terrible silence
followed the sound of his breath.

“If you do notice such things, and resist
anyway, I am all the more awed by you,” Eadric went on. “Surely no
one would blame you for a little indulgence now and then.”

When the monk finally spoke again, his voice
was weak. “You … you don’t think so?”

“Of course not! Dear God, how innocent you
are.”

“You know I’m not so innocent,” snapped
Aidan, as if affronted.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. In any case,
to make the maiden pay for her crime with a fate less than death
would be a mercy, don’t you think?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean!” said
Aidan. But he spoke too quickly to be telling the truth.

“I’m sure I don’t know either.” She could
hear the smirk on Eadric’s voice, and it made her blood turn cold.
How horrible it seemed to her that earlier today she had been eager
for his attention, and enjoyed the touch of his breath! Now she
thought his tongue must drip poison. She felt as if she could hear
the monks’ mind turning, even in the heavy silence, and she
shivered through her core.

“What do you think, Aidan?” said Eadric
after a time. “Should I fetch the reeve so he can hear your
accusation? Or do you think you could find some manner of
forgiveness within yourself?”

“I … I don’t know.” The monk sounded
breathless. Hildred backed further and further from the door until
she was against the far wall of the stall. His shadow filled the
cracks. Now, he was the one peering through the wood. “Is she in
there now?” asked Aidan.

“And her hands are bound,” said Eadric.
“Perhaps ... I should give you some time to think it over?”

“Perhaps.”

“I see. I’ll stall the reeve until you’re
ready, then.”

As Hildred listened to Eadric’s departing
footsteps, she felt as if she melted into the rotted hay, and she
wished that she actually would.

She could hear Aidan shuffling around on the
other side of the door, and if she listened too closely she could
hear him breathing heavily. The sound filled her with disgust and
dread.

“I suppose you heard all that,” he said at
last. His voice was terribly faint, not much stronger than a
whisper, but it struck her like a slap. “Perhaps a little
indulgence would do us both some good. After all, you don’t want to
hang, do you?”

She didn’t know what to say. Why had Eadric
done this to her? Now she knew that he was even more vile and cruel
than people suspected him to be; he was completely evil. When he
let her share his saddle and eat his bread he must have been toying
with her, enjoying the extent of her humiliation and despair. She
felt as if she truly wanted to die now; and yet some cruel survival
instinct kept her from muttering a sound, kept her from saying,
“Yes, I’d rather hang.”

Aidan’s fingers fumbled with the door lock.
His voice fell even lower. “You must promise not to make a sound.
If you do, this doesn’t have to be so bad. After all, I’m sure
you’ve done things like this before, haven’t you? Why else did you
dress all pretty today? You like tempting men, don’t you? And you
deserve to be punished. But it’s true, I am merciful; merciful
enough to keep you from hanging, if you’ll do what I ask.”

The door creaked open and his shadow fell
over the hay. Just as quickly he closed the door behind him, though
now it was unlocked, and thicker shadows fell over his shape.
Hildred wondered if it was better that way. She could not see his
face as he moved closer, though she imagined his fierce green eyes,
now blazing with lust.

She knew she should scream. Doing so would
save herself from this foul violation, but she would condemn
herself to hang on the noose tomorrow. She thought of little
Coenred. She wondered if he had survived the day. She wondered if
there was any way yet she might save him, if she lived.

She flinched as his fingers found her knee.
He drew back again. She realized even he feared the repercussions
of his behavior.

“Well?” he hissed. “Do you want to do this
or not?”

Something strange happened then. Behind the
monk’s looming form, another shadow filled the cracks of the stall
doorway. But she had never heard anyone approach.

“Do ... do what?” She was not sure how she
found her voice, but there it was, wheezing out of her throat.