Bondmaiden (3 page)

She wondered if Durwin would come again. Part of her hoped he would, for she could forget her troubles for a while when he touched her, though she was still afraid of being caught. But he didn’t return, and she fell asleep despite everything; the next thing she knew was someone shaking her.

‘Wake up; it’s almost dawn. Come on, sleepy-head, there’s work to be done.’

It was the fair-haired girl Lia had seen in the kitchen when she first arrived. Lia rose and dressed, and followed her through into the washroom where they collected two buckets, one big and one small. The girl handed Lia the smaller bucket.

‘I’m to show you what to do today,’ she said as they left the washroom. ‘Tomorrow you have to do it by yourself. My name’s Tilda, by the way. You’re Lia, aren’t you?’

She smiled, and Lia nodded and smiled back, though her heart wasn’t in it. She was already worrying about this new duty, convinced she would never wake up in time to perform it. She would be punished for certain if she overslept.

‘A guard will wake you,’ Tilda said, as if she could read Lia’s mind. ‘We have an arrangement with them. They change at dawn, and the night sentry comes here before he goes off duty.’

They went out to the ward, and Lia saw they weren’t the only ones stirring. Two men were grooming horses outside a stable, the blacksmith was lighting his fire, and a sleepy-eyed boy with tousled hair was filling a bucket at the well. They waited until he’d finished and staggered off with his load, then Tilda set her bucket on the step and pumped the handle. Water gushed from the wooden spout, which was carved into a dragon’s head, and splashed into the bucket.

‘One thing I forgot to tell you,’ Tilda said. ‘The guard will want a favour in return for waking you up.’

‘What sort of favour?’

‘It depends who’s on duty. It used to be extra food, but Holmann put a stop to that, so now it’s usually chores. You might have to clean someone’s boots or mend his clothes. It’s Stig this week, and he just wants a good grope.’

‘A grope?’

Tilda nodded. Her bucket was full and she lifted it off the step. Lia put her bucket in its place and began to pump. The handle was stiff and squeaked loudly.

‘That’s how he wakes you up; by groping you under the blanket.’ Tilda sat on the step, holding up her skirts so they wouldn’t get splashed. ‘I wouldn’t mind, but his hands are always cold. You’ll find out, because I told him to wake you up tomorrow, not me.’

Unexpectedly she grinned, and Lia decided she liked Tilda, who seemed cheerful in spite of everything.

They carried the buckets back, setting the small one down outside Holmann’s room. Tilda rapped lightly on the door with her knuckles. ‘Master Holmann, are you awake?’

A groan and a curse told them he was, so they made their escape. They took the big bucket to the washroom, then Tilda started to wake all the others. They bathed in order of seniority – the old woman from the kitchen went in first, then Kerta the laundress, then Jarold, then Durwin, then a plump young woman Lia didn’t know until Tilda told her she was Clady the seamstress. When everyone else had finished Tilda and Lia went in, and Tilda immediately stripped off, seeming not to mind at all that Lia was watching. She was a very pretty girl with a slender figure. Her breasts were smooth and firm, slightly smaller than Lia’s, and tipped with pale pink nipples. She sponged herself all over with a washcloth, shivering as she did so, then dried and dressed hurriedly.

‘We have to be quick,’ she explained. ‘Holmann will beat us if we’re late.’

As Lia bathed it occurred to her that Dagna wasn’t there, and hadn’t been in the dormitory all night. She asked Tilda about it and was told that Dagna usually slept with Holmann. Six nights a week, in fact, though not on Thursdays.

‘Thursday night he takes one of us others to bed,’ she said. ‘That’s how Jensine got pregnant. It’ll be you this week, for sure; you must have seen the way he looks at you. He can’t poke you, of course, you being a virgin and all, so he’ll probably make you suck him. Have you ever sucked a cock before?’

Lia shook her head and felt herself blushing. She dried herself and slipped on her smock, thinking of Helma on her knees, her head moving back and forth as she serviced the soldiers.

‘It’s not so bad,’ Tilda said. ‘True, Holmann’s old and ugly, but at least he keeps himself clean, which is more than you can say for some.’

They hurried along to the kitchen. The overseer scowled at them, and Lia was sure he would beat them for tardiness, but fortunately the old woman asked him a question and distracted him.

‘That’s Berta,’ Tilda whispered. ‘She does most of the actual cooking. For some reason Holmann never seems to pick her for his bedmate on a Thursday. I wonder why…’

She giggled, and Lia looked at Holmann fearfully, sure he would hear. But the overseer was busy delegating tasks. Jarold was sent off for fresh eggs, and Lia was ordered to go with him to learn the routine.

‘Pay attention to what Jarold tells you,’ Holmann warned her sternly. ‘He knows what’s what.’

Lia followed the ginger young man to the ward. They didn’t go out through the front gate but used a small postern door in the castle’s back wall instead.

‘I always go this way,’ Jarold said. ‘It’s quicker than using the main gate. They used to have hens here in the castle, but the cockerel’s crowing disturbed the queen’s sleep, so now we have to go to the town. Keep up or you’ll get lost, then you’ll be in real trouble.’

Beyond the gate a narrow footbridge spanned the defensive ditch. They crossed and walked down into the lower part of the town, with Lia trying to remember all the twists and turns. They went into the yard of a house somewhat bigger than the rest, and Jarold introduced her to the man who kept the hens. His name was Watt and he offered to get the eggs, but Jarold shook his head. ‘We’ll do it. That way we know they’re fresh.’

The man shrugged, and Lia and Jarold went off to the coop; a long low shack with two rows of laying boxes and a barrel of grain in the corner for feed. They collected two score eggs and put them in the sack Jarold had brought along.

‘That’s that, then,’ he said. ‘Just one more thing before we leave.’ He unfastened his hose and took out his cock, which Lia saw was stiff. Alarmed, she stepped back. ‘Don’t be shy,’ he said with a sickly leer. ‘All I want is a wank. Nothing to fret about.’

Lia shook her head, too horrified to speak, but Jarold just laughed. ‘Oh yes you will, or I’ll tell Holmann what you and Durwin got up to last night.’

Lia stared at him, stunned and aghast. He stood there, stooping a little under the low roof, leering at her as he played with his cock.

‘Thought I was asleep, didn’t you?’ he said. He made a snoring noise, and she realised he was the one she’d heard as she lay there in the dark. Presumably he’d done it to fool Durwin – and it had worked.

‘You’ll get a thrashing a lot worse than the last one,’ he promised her. ‘There’s nothing our overseer hates worse than fornication. He’ll beat your arse black and blue for what you did, believe me.’

Lia did believe him. She realised how much trouble she was in and started to tremble, nerves and nausea churning her insides. ‘W-what do you want me to d-do?’ she stammered.

‘Sit down for a start,’ he said. ‘Even a bumpkin with dung in her ears should be able to manage that, I reckon.’

A plank ledge ran around two sides of the coop at roughly knee-height, and he made her sit with her back to the wall. He shuffled closer, his bobbing cock pointing up at an angle, right in front of her face. She stared at the long shaft with its purple head as though mesmerised.

‘Go on then,’ he sneered. ‘What are you waiting for? I know you know how to do it. Durwin’s been telling everyone all about your clever fingers.’

She didn’t believe him. Durwin wouldn’t say anything. Jarold was just trying to make trouble between them.

She reached out and took hold of his cock, and slid her hand back and forth as Durwin had taught her. Jarold groaned and began to push with his hips. She watched his face, concerned she wasn’t doing it properly. If she didn’t please him he might tell Holmann anyway, out of spite. But he seemed happy enough, for his eyes were half closed and his mouth hung open slackly.

‘Take your smock off,’ he said after a while, his voice hoarse.

‘My smock?’ she said nervously, fearing he wanted more than just her hand. ‘But—’

‘Just take it off,’ he snapped impatiently. ‘I want to feel your teats, that’s all. Come on, we haven’t got all day.’

She didn’t trust him, but knew she had no choice. She wriggled her skirts out from under her bottom and pulled her smock up over her head. Jarold grasped her breasts and squeezed, making her gasp.

‘Carry on,’ he said.

She took hold once more, and soon he was lost in his pleasure, moaning and thrusting ever faster with his hips. His fingers sank into her breasts, squeezing so hard she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out. She knew what would happen next; she’d cleaned slime from the bed more times than she cared to remember while Helma was at the stream washing more of the stuff off her, and sure enough, Jarold grunted and squirted into the humid air. Most of it splattered onto the straw-covered floor, though a few drops hit Lia’s cheek and throat. He then pushed her hand away and fastened his hose, saying nothing and not even looking at her. She rose and put on her smock, wiping his slime from her face as she did, then he handed her the sack of eggs and grumbled, ‘Here, you carry these. And don’t break any or you know what to expect.’

‘You two took your time,’ Tilda muttered. ‘Anyone else but Jarold would be in big trouble by now.’

The two young women were washing pots together at the sink in the corner, temporarily out of earshot of the rest. It had to be the worst task of all, Lia thought, and having not been back long from fetching the eggs, she was beginning to understand there would never be a second’s peace for the most junior members of the kitchen staff.

‘I was beginning to think Jarold might have something on his mind other than egg collecting,’ Tilda added, glancing at her suspiciously.

Lia gave a guilty start, and felt heat rise to her cheeks. Tilda smiled knowingly. ‘Thought so,’ she said. ‘He wanted a special treat, didn’t he? For not telling Holmann about Durwin getting in bed with you.’ Lia’s mouth fell open and Tilda giggled. ‘What, it was supposed to be a secret or something? The way you were moaning last night I should think the whole palace heard. You need to be a lot quieter than that, or toads like Jarold will make your life here a misery.’

Lia hung her head. There wasn’t anything else she could have done in the hencoop, but still she felt ashamed.

‘What was it?’ Tilda asked, seeing her shame. ‘A wank?’

Lia nodded miserably.

‘Don’t feel bad,’ Tilda said, patting her hand. ‘I know you didn’t have any choice. Actually, you should be thankful it was only a wank he was wanting. When he knows you better and is feeling braver he’ll make you suck him off. He’s a slimy toad, our Jarold, always telling tales and creeping to the overseer—’

‘What’s going on here then?’ a gruff voice demanded. ‘Idling, is it?’

Two heads whipped round guiltily, but it was only Durwin playing a prank. Lia let out a sigh of relief, and Tilda swiped at him with her cloth.

‘Idling?’ she cried with mock indignation. ‘We’re not all called Dagna, you know.’

Her timing was unfortunate, for Dagna appeared just as she said her name. Lia doubted the woman heard everything clearly. Obviously she heard her name being mocked, but thankfully she merely told them to get on with their work, although bestowing upon Tilda a particularly venomous look.

At noon lunch was carried up to the kitchen’s clientele, namely the royal family, their immediate household and servants, and the guards. The kitchen staff, Lia learned, always ate later, when everyone else was done and everything cleared away. Tilda and Lia were tasked with feeding the guards, and Tilda told her to fill a basket with bread, saying she would bring the stew.

‘You need fourteen loaves,’ she said, ‘one for each of the men and one for the sergeant and captain. We only feed the king’s personal guard, you understand; the one’s who live here in the keep, that is. Most of the soldiers stay in the barracks in town. They have their own kitchens, so they’re nothing to do with us.’

As she spoke she ladled steaming, fragrant beef stew from a big cauldron over the fire into a smaller pot. When she was done she led Lia to a narrow spiral stairway in the back corner of the kitchen. ‘This is the servants’ stair,’ she explained. ‘We aren’t allowed to use the main stairs at the front; they’re for highborn and soldiers only.’

They made their way up the steep stairs to the guards’ quarters, where a roar of approval and raised wooden flagons greeted their arrival. The men – a few in mail armour, the rest in ordinary attire – were sitting at a long table in the middle of the room. They seemed in boisterous good spirits.

‘As you can see,’ Tilda said ruefully, ‘they supply their own drinks. Obviously they started on the ale early.’ She set the pot down on the end of the table and shouted for silence. ‘This is Lia,’ she said, when the men had quietened somewhat. ‘She’s new, and she’s not to be manhandled. She’s a virgin, is what I’m saying, and you know what that means.’

‘We know, Til,’ a big man with a grizzled beard said. ‘And how about you, sweetheart? Are you to be touched?’