by M. C. Elam
“Mayhap could sell it off when it be grown a bit. Call it an investerment.”
Clay had warned him not to seem too eager, so Billy rubbed his chin considering. “A-right. I be taking it, too.”
They dickered back and forth, on how many rat-tails would seal the bargain. Billy told him he didn’t see a reasonable way to clear the whole barn like they’d talked about at first.
“Rats come back if you leave them guts laying all over like you been doing. Can’t be responsible for no new rats. Best you pick a number.”
“Guess that be fair,” said the pig man. “How you be feeling about two hundred of the buggers?”
“A might steep. Don’t think you got two hundred in the whole place.”
They went on that way for the next half hour until, finally, Billy shrugged his shoulders in a what can I do—you bested me kind of way and settled on a hundred tails for Maudie and fifty more for the babe.
Nigh on midnight of the second day, Billy delivered. The pig man made him wait while he counted the tails.
“All right,” he said at last. “Guess they is all here. I be fetching her.” He picked up a lantern and started out to the sty.”
“Mind do I come along?”
The pig man paused and peered at him over one shoulder. “Don’t trust me?”
“Course, I be trusting you. Same as you trusted me whilst you be counting tails.”
“Humph,” the pig man grunted. “A-right, come ahead.” He led the way through a number of pens to an enclosed area. “Do my butchering in this one. Stuck her back here for safe keeping 'til the job be done.” He lifted the crossbar on the door and pushed it open. “There be your prize, boy. Get it on out-a here.”
***
“Can’t hardly stand the shame of it, Lady Milli. Cutting out my tongue be to wee a price for what I done. Now this poor child be starving and his mamma,” her voice trailed off disappearing in the misery of a sob.
“He won’t starve, Maudie.” Lady Millicent reached for the baby.
“Oh, don’t take him from me. Least I know he be breathing if he in my arms.”
Millicent leaned against the wall in the tiny room. “Maudie, fear clouds your thinking. Let go of it, or you’re no good to anyone, least of all that wee babe. You’re covered in pig filth. Now, give me Miss Ceri’s child. He needs a wet nurse, and you need a bath.”
Maudie held the baby against her shoulder swaying her corpulent body from side to side while she patted his back. His tiny arms went slack, and he stopped crying except for little whimpers like the ones puppies make when the search for a teat eludes them.
“Paddy,” she whispered.
“Maudie?”
“His name be Paddy. Miss Ceri she told me. His name be Ian Patrick Hawkins. In the night when no one be near to her ‘cepting me, she be calling him Paddy.”
“Maudie, will you let me take Paddy and see to his nourishment?”
Maudie held the little boy close to her bosom for a long minute as though if she let him pass from her arms, she might never see him again.
“Maudie?”
“Got to tell you though. Tell you how it come about. “ Tears erupted and spilled down her cheeks making pink streaks in the grime from the pigsty.
“Paddy first. Let’s take care of him first.” She took the baby from the distraught woman and opened the door. A girl waited in the corridor. Millicent motioned her inside. “This is Maybelle, Maudie. She comes new to the pens. Her father brought her himself when he found her with child and no husband. She birthed a little girl a couple of weeks ago and has milk enough for two. I’m going to give Paddy over to her, so she can let him suckle.”
“Maybelle,” Maudie eyed the girl. She was clean and pretty except for an eye that drooped a bit and a cheek permanently discolored by a fist that drove flesh against bone. “Who be doing such as that to your face Maybelle?”
The girl raised a hand to her cheek. “Me pa. Set on me with his fists thinking if he did, I’d drop my wee girl afore time. She stuck tight though.”
“I be sorry for what your pa done, but Miss Ceri’s babe be precious. Don’t be flicking his foot to wake him if he falls into sleep. I see milk mammas do that so they can finish off with nursing. Don’t be doing that to Paddy.”
Maybelle’s gaze shifted between the two women. “I take the best care I know to give, Maudie. Promise you that. Never done such as that to my own wee girl. I be tending this boy like he be mine.”
She pulled aside her chemise and settled Paddy against the pale skin of her breast. She moved the nipple close to his mouth and urged him to suckle, but he pushed at her with his tiny fist and turned his little face away. Not his mother, she smelled different.
“Give a squeeze, girl so you got milk showing on the teat,” Maudie said.
Maybelle massaged her breast and then put two fingers below the nipple and pumped slowly. The nipple grew moist but not enough to interest Paddy. She kept trying with the same result.
Paddy’s mewling cry weakened with the passing minutes. If they could not encourage him to suckle, he would most certainly die. Maudie reached for Lady Millicent’s hand and in that tiny room, at the rear of the whore’s barracks, deep in the slave pens of Lawrenzia, the two woman, knelt side by side. Neither doubted the mystery that shrouded the ways of the Mother any more than they would presume to question why clouds circle before a storm, or why leaves reveal their underside to the sky when winds blow fierce breath across the land. All the years of their lives, they had accepted the passage of a day and the rise of the moon. They had fed upon fish from the stream and grain from the field. Tonight for those years of constancy, both hearts sent a single plea. The Mother knew their worth and the worth of the child for whom they begged her intercession. Rich milk oozed from Maybelle’s breast, and she eased the nipple into Paddy’s mouth. The sweet essence settled over his tongue, and he began to suckle.
***
Maudie had never sipped wine in her life. Spirits, if she took, them came in the form of hard cider or sometimes, if she gave in to a thirst for something stronger, a tankard of ale. When she protested that such spirits didn’t suit her, Lady Millicent handed her the goblet anyway.
“Have you ever tasted wine, Maudie?”
Maudie held the goblet gingerly as though it might shatter in her hand. “Nay milady.”
“Then how do you know it won’t suit you? Go on. Taste it.”
Maudie put the goblet to her lips and took the tiniest of sips, the way she imagined a fine lady might taste spirits.
Millicent shook her head. “Not like that. Take a hearty mouthful and savor it. Here, like this.” She took a sizeable amount and swirled it around in her mouth before she swallowed. “Now—you.”
Maudie lifted the goblet and filled her mouth. The rich full-bodied elderberry bathed her senses and when she swallowed left behind an earthy remnant.
“How was that?”
“Joy, my lady. It be pure joy.”
“Indeed, well put.”
Scrubbed clean of pig stink, dressed in a soft linen chemise and warmed by a goblet of wine, Maudie leaned her head against the back of the chair. Paddy slept beside her in a large basket padded with a thick blanket. He made little breath sounds and soft murmurs. A warm bath, clean swaddling and a full belly had brought the color back to his cheeks.
“Paddy be her pride, Lady Milli. Whole of it happened cause of me, I be the one to blame for bringing down the place on us. Got to tell it, my lady. Curdled up inside me like bad cheese.”
Lady Millicent filled her goblet again. “Tell it then Maudie.”
Maudie sighed. “Don’t know just where to start ‘cept with the way that old bastid took to googly-eyeing Miss Ceri. Come every day when that poor girl nursed the wee boy. Watched Miss Ceri more than the boy. Both of us be knowing it, but Miss Ceri said as how we should pretend everything be good. But Maudie knew, knew it be no good, Lady Milli, no good at all. Old letch liked watching Miss Ceri open her gown
and set the boy to her nipple. Saw him a time or two reaching for his crotch. But just like Miss Ceri said, I looked away and ignored what I knew he be up to. Be hard Lady Milli, watching Miss Ceri keep mum and nurse Paddy. Covered herself, Paddy, too, quick as she could afore nasty old goat got his eyes glued on her.
“That last day, the day it happened.” She went quiet as though she could see the room and the blaze of sunlight coming through the casements.
“Tell me, Maudie. Free your heart of it.”
“Be on account of the way he stood over Miss Ceri whilst she opened her bodice. Mouth hanging half-open 'til drool begin to run, he sucked his lip like he meant to have a taste, too. Couldn’t bear the look I seen on that girl’s face. But, I swear Lady Milli, only meant to take his mind off Miss Ceri. Get him thinking more on the babe. I walked over with the wee lad decked out in a grand, little gown. Pearls all down the front and smelling fresh and sweet like a spring day. Happened then like I couldn’t do nothing to stop it. Just when I bent over Miss Ceri fixing to lay the boy in her arms my words got all twisted and come out like some evil witch grabbed a hold to my tongue. ‘Here be your mama wee boy.’ Said it out plain like.
“Miss Ceri’s face went the color of snow. Nothing stirred, not a breath. The onliest sound be a roaring kind of wind, sounded like a death wind blowing out of the sky fixin’ to swallow us all.
“Then he come at me and wee Paddy. Looked half-crazy, his old face right in mine. Reared back like he meant to jerk Paddy out my arms. Miss Ceri shrieked. Purely fierce I heard her. Sound of it set my knees to wobbling. (‘Lay a finger on my son, and I promise you will regret it.’) That be what she screamed at him.
“Don’t know how or why but that stopped him. Next, I knew the guard took Paddy and me down to the hog barn. Never got me a chance to look on Miss Ceri again. Think mayhap he cut her down, Lady Milli? Think she be dead?” Tears streamed down her cheeks and she bent double hiding her face in the soft fabric of her chemise.
***
Stupid old woman, Brenan thought, the girl, too. Both as much as told him the child didn’t belong to him. It all fell into place now. No woman he had ever come across walked away from her own child. Yet Ellyanna, that wretched excuse for a wife, had no separation woes. Of course, she didn’t. The child did not belong to her. Peter Brenan’s first reaction had been to order Maudie strung up and whipped, but the hog barn had made better sense. If he wanted to extract the most misery for her deception, the hog barn was the place she belonged. Sending the whelp along tortured the girl as well. He had left her to stew in her own misery for a couple of days. Besides he had another plan for the comely little trollop before he ended her pathetic existence.
He approached the chamber and ordered the guard to unlock the door. Once inside he kicked it closed and sought the girl. She stood in front of one of the arched windows. Her face dark in shadow, but sunlight coming through the casement caught the strands of her hair and turned them the color of burgundy wine. The loose tendrils that curled around her face in disorderly chaos danced with the same fire. Her beauty did not escape him, but her deception doomed her. Still, he would enjoy her for a time.
“Shall we see what you hide beneath those skirts, or have you deceived me there as well.” He took a step toward her, lifting the gold embroidered tunic that covered britches of a similar fabric. A series of bone buttons arranged to one side secured them at his waist. The codpiece protruding from the center front voiced his intent clearer than any threat. “Please your king and I may let you live.”
“Use your dirk and cut the life from me, sir. You may as well for you shan’t have me, today or any other day.”
Advancing until he stood a scant foot away, Brenan laughed. He began to open the buttons. “That mewling whelp you hold so dear might warm your arms if you comply.”
“If you intend to use Paddy to bargain your way between my legs, bring him to me. Else speak not of my son.”
Brenan doubted the babe had survived. The pig man would keep the old midwife, but the brat would fill a hog’s belly.
“As payment,” he sneered bluffing and grabbed the front of her chemise. He spun her around until her back was to him and pulled her skirt up to her waist. “Bend over slut. You’re in need of training.”
Evan shoved both of her elbows into his midsection and heard him expel a surprised cry. She turned to face him, her skirt settling to the floor. Every nerve tingled with anguish for Paddy and Maudie. She knew he lied. He would never permit her to see Paddy. She smothered the terror that threatened to engulf the last of her sanity and spoke with deadly calm.
“A man lies now in potter’s field, or so I am told. His name is Luther Weams. Plagued with black piss, he rotted from the inside out. Touch me and the same fate shall befall you.”
Brenan leveled her gaze with his own. “So you are the simple minded whore they call the witch from Ascalla.” He slammed a hand across her face with as much force as he possessed. “As we speak my forces march across the mountains to attack your homeland. How does that sit with you, whore?”
She reeled backwards. A rivulet of blood appeared at the corner of her mouth, but the strike did not bring as much terror to her heart as hearing he had sent forces into Ascalla. In that moment, she would have killed him if she could. The tip of her tongue protruded between her lips, and she lapped the blood that inched in a crimson line toward her chin. Her eyes glittered with rage. “Come, Your Majesty, surely the might of your hand is capable of suppressing a mere girl.” She stepped forward and filled the space in front of him. One finger captured a drop of blood, and she offered it to him. “Dare you taste a witch’s blood?”
“Baseborn strumpet. How dare you defy me?
“Defy, Your Majesty, I the low born child of peasants.”
“You offend me with your prattle. I shall send your head to Ascalla and feed your corpse to the hogs along with the brat?”
Evan nodded. “As you wish, Majesty,” She sucked the blood from her fingertip as though the very idea of squandering even a minute amount was abhorrent. “I shall no longer have need of it.” She caught him in a steely gaze. “But when dark dreams plague your nights, and you tremble in your bed, when the abyss calls your name, the voice you hear shall be mine.”
He raised a clenched fist. “Whore,” he screeched. Any idea of raping her vanished. “I’ve a place for you. Somewhere you’ll cause no trouble.”
She sniffed and offered a knowing wink. “Hurry then, your most magnificent Majesty. That dousing of rosewater no longer hides your putrid stench. Tell me, what whore bestowed cupid's itch upon your limp wiggler?”
***
“Sorry I be seeing you come to this, miss.” A man, clad in clothes as tattered as a beggar, urged her up a steep stairway.
“You know me?”
“Be knowing what I hear be all. Some say you be wet nurse to the king’s babe. Some say you be a witch, and he got no babe at all.”
“What is it you say?”
He turned his head to look at her over his shoulder. “Don’t look like no witchy thing. Got no evil about you.”
“And the babe?”
“Don’t know ‘bout that, miss, less it be yours.” As they climbed, his breath grew shorter until he began to wheeze. “Mind do we halt a bit. Spect King Peter be throwing me from the ramparts his own-self did he know I be giving in to the ways of an oldster.”
Evan rested one hand against the cold stone for balance, dropped to the nearest step and gathered the skirt of her chemise around her feet.
“Aw look at there, now. Toes be blue as berries. Took your shoes, did they?”
“Yes,” she shivered.
He extended one arthritic hand and cupped it around her ankle while he massaged her foot with the other. She started to pull away but the warmth of his touch eased a cold ache that seemed to go all the way to the bone.
“Rest easy, miss. Find a way to get a blanket to you soon as I can.” He groaned and stood once more. “Guess
we best get on.” They started up the steps again. “Been here all my life. Reckon I wouldn’t know what to do working out-a-doors the way some do. Day’s so bright I can’t see nothing much. Onliest times I be out and about be in the dark of night.”
Evan had noticed his eyes looked milky. Of course, bright light would make him blinder than living in shadow.
“I’d be grateful for the blanket, sir. And if you could get word of my nurse and the baby, I’d be obliged to you.”
They reached the top of the steps, and he fit a large key into the slot. The tumblers rumbled and groaned. He gave the door a push with his shoulder then stood aside, waiting for Evan to precede him into the cell.
“ ‘Cepting for the dark of the moon, you’ll no be without light miss. Got lookout windows all around, but the mattress be needing fresh straw. Watch out for rats. I spect some be taken shelter inside that one.” He gave it a kick that resulted in a high-pitched squeal as a large rat scampered across the room, up the wall and came to sit on the ledge of a square opening. “Scum toed, varmint.”
He turned to the door. “Sorry I be for locking you in. Pretty thing such as you ought be picking posies in a flower garden. Bring that blanket when I bring your victuals. Victuals comes once a day, that and a bucket a water. Body bucket be in the corner. Bring an empty one same time as the rest.” The key turned the tumblers and he was gone.
Evan circled the small room. The old guard was right. Light streamed through square openings all around the room. No dark corners even though she thought she might wish for one before her time here ended. Some place of repose where she could decide what to do—make a plan. A plan, she nearly laughed aloud. What possible plan could she make locked up tight. She stood on tiptoe so she could see over the ledge into the square. A few guards traded places near the entrance to the tower. They looked like ants marching in time to a silent drum. If she went mad, she might throw herself into the courtyard below. That made her wonder if in the instant before death, she’d feel pain. She didn’t think the mind reacted fast enough to register pain in the case of death on impact.