A bell chimed three times, the instructress stopped, gave one sharp clap, and turned from the class. All of them, talking now, laughing, ran for the door to the dressing room and crowded through it, making no attempt not to brush against each other. Was she supposed to follow? Dress now? It would be impossible, naked with two dozen naked strangers. She began to rise. She had to do something.
“Sit.”
The instructress was before her. “You know nothing of why you are here.” Hannah nodded and started to speak, but the instructress ordered, “Be quiet. I will tell you. Do not interrupt. Nothing you can say will change anything.”
Hannah deliberately placed her palms on her thighs and raised her face to the woman. “This is the duke’s troupe of dancers and actresses. We dance and perform for the duke and his court, his friends, his visitors. We perform for men and women—anyone that the duke wishes. We are the best performers in the realm, but no one knows we exist, and never will.” The statements came forth like tenets of a religion. “You are surprised we all are naked. Be quiet!” she warned.
“We perform naked for the duke. It is his pleasure to see the bodies of beautiful boys and girls in dance, theater, portraying love and lust.”
“But,” Hannah managed to stammer, “the duke is…is brother to the queen! The queen is mother of England, and loves us…” Where had she heard that?
“The queen knows nothing. Be quiet, I said! You will dance, you will act. You will be proud of your skill, your body, your beauty. You will work too hard, much too hard, not to be proud of what you can do. And you will do it naked, anything required by the art. But first will come many months of…” she gestured back at the empty room. “This, and much more. Your voice, every gesture, your ability to convey the most powerful emotions with your face alone—to convey by one turn, one gesture, what you feel. You will live for nothing else. You will live here, in this beautiful compound, and be well fed, beautifully dressed, and educated.”
Hannah frowned at the last word; she longed for more education. “Of course,” said the woman, seeing Hannah’s expression. “You cannot dance and act—and talk with the duke, when he wishes you—if you know nothing of history and life. Do you like to read?”
Hannah managed a whisper: “Yes, yes very much.”
“Good.” Again, it was a little softer, approval.
Hannah formed her lips into words that must be said “But I want to leave. I want to go home. I want to see my mother, my brothers and sisters.”
“You never will.”
“But the queen, our royal family, are the protectors of England and all its people.”
Now, Maria’s face came as close to a smile as Hannah had seen—a slight saddening of the eyes and a quick curving of the lips that rued how amusingly naïve were Hannah’s words. “And it is sin!” said Hannah more confidently. This she knew was right. No one knew more than the minister and the great church. “It is against God. The queen is good.”
Again, the faint smile: “The duke craves the sight, and the touch, and the artistry of beautiful young bodies. He joys to watch young men and women make love.”
“What?” She could not possibly have said what Hannah thought she heard.
“He loves to see young women, naked as birds… You are here because a great nobleman saw you, your beauty. You are the duke’s subject and at his command. Do you not know that?”
“It is a sin.”
“Is it?” The woman lifted her eyebrows. “Do you know that”—she named a man of the church famous all over the island—”is a companion of the duke and comes to our performances?” Hannah felt despair in her chest like a block of stone and in her mind seemed to be…mud. She could not think, but she said, not looking at the woman, “It is not possible.”
“You will see that it is true.”
“I want to leave.”
“No more!” said the woman curtly. “Come, we will go to my chambers. There is more for you to know.” Could Hannah refuse? No, then people came through unseen doors and made her do their bidding. What use was there in that?
“My clothes…”
The woman gestured at the door to the dressing room. “They took them to your room. Wear what you are wearing now.”
Hannah rose, looked at her, and waited.
Chapter 7
“Never Show Modesty”
Turning like a cat, the instructress sank to the floor; she crossed her legs, sitting on the fur of some tawny, spotted animal. Hannah never had seen anything like it. Even in her growing fear, she had curiosity. Looking up at Hannah, the instructress said, “You must be thirsty.” She waved at a table. “Take what you want to drink. Eat also.”
Hannah had not admitted to herself how hungry she was. She stepped to the table but could not bring herself to touch anything. She heard the instructress say, “There is water, wine, and juice.” Hannah saw the round pitcher filled with brilliant orange. She took the water, two cups. Then, she reached tentatively for the pitcher. The orange juice was heavy with sweetness. It was delicious.
Behind her, the instructress said, “There is only fruit and cheese. Dinner will be later.” Hannah didn’t recognize any fruit except the apples. She took one and bit into it. She did recognize the huge half-wheel of cheese, or, at least, that it was cheese, and picked up the ornate knife and pressed down. Hannah could smell it, nutty and tart. She took the slice and began to eat it. Not like any cheese she ever had imagined. To eat this way—all day, as much as she wished…
When she paused, the instructress patted the fur beside her. “Here, sit with me.” It was a command. Hannah knelt on the soft fur, facing the woman, and waited. “My name is Maria. I came here eleven years ago.” Hannah stared at her. Almost a lifetime!
“I was one of the first. I am from the Kingdom of Spain, near Barcelona. I was taken from a ship that sailed from there. I don’t think my parents knew I would be taken.” She hesitated, and added, “But who can be sure? Perhaps they sold me, as did the parents of so many here.” Again, she hesitated. “It does not matter. People do what they must.”
Maria said, eyebrows brought together in a faint frown, looking down at her hands folded in her lap, “I was one of the first. And the first that the duke commanded to his chamber.” She paused to watch Hannah. Hannah nodded; she must hear and understand; this was her fate—in the quiet words of this woman.
“I was a girl with raven hair and gypsy eyes. But proud, so proud! Because I was best. I stood naked before the duke and he smiled. After that, after many performances, he asked for me to be brought to his chambers. I still think that he loved me.”
“He ruined you?” asked Hannah, in a whisper.
“He took my virginity, made me a woman.” She said, “Yes, I know. You are a country girl. I will train you, but the work will be hard. You will lie at night and know every muscle of your body by its cry. And someday, you will stand naked before the duke, or perhaps the archbishop, or some prince from Arabia… And you will be proud.”
Hannah shook her head, mute, denying it.
“No one knows where you are,” said Maria. “No one is searching for you. Don’t expect to leave, that will cause only misery.”
After a moment, she said, “Yes, cry. We all do. For our parents, our filthy cottage, the bread and milk to eat—or nothing—for growing old before our time. Or for a few years with a young man who comes home smelling of gin and takes us and soon is snoring.” She nodded her head, “We weep for loss of that.”
Hannah shook her head.
“It does not matter,” said Maria. “You will begin tomorrow. If you resist, you soon will beg to begin.”
She stood up and Hannah began to rise. “No, sit,” said Maria. “I have more to tell you, so you will understand.” Her body seemed to stretch in one sinuous motion as she pulled her garment over her head. Almost as quickly, she bent, pushing down the rest, kicking it off her ankles. She was naked. For just a moment, she stood over Hannah, then she walked to the beaut
iful basin at the side of the room. As she turned to walk away, Hannah gasped; her hand flew to cover her lips.
The woman’s tall body was perfect, long legs rising into the sculpted buttocks, and then the slender waist, and the straight shoulders. The hips were sensuous. But it was as though someone had melted this flesh to the consistency of butter, and, mischievously—diabolically—drawn in the soft butter—over the buttocks, the back, and the shoulders. Maria turned around and Hannah drew her breath sharply. So lovely, but her legs, her whole belly, her breasts were crisscrossed with overlapping furrows, a veritable thicket of lines that went across the breasts, that crossed the hair at the base of her belly. On the fine, firm breasts, the lines overlaid each blood-red nipple and seemed to smudge it.
The instructress stood before the bronze basin, turned on running water—water flowing at the turn of a handle—and picked up a thick towel. She wet it in the stream of water and began rubbing herself. “I made a terrible mistake,” she said, simply. “I blame no one.”
Who could have done this? Why was this woman still alive, still speaking to Hannah easily, casually?
“I was the cynosure. Men begged the duke for me. Earls, and princes from other lands. The duke was jealous; I knew that he was, he adored me. But some he could not refuse, and afterward, those men would make me presents. It happened once at a gay celebration after we performed. There was a foreign countess who was a monster. Men and women were drinking wildly. I should have been wary. Where there is one man, you are safe. Where there are many… And where there are women, too, you can find yourself in Hell.
“I boasted of my training, I had muscles stronger than any man’s, I could hang from a bar and lift my legs straight up and hold for 10 minutes!
“Suddenly, the duke said, ‘We will see this trick’”! It scared me, but I thought, ‘I am the king’s favorite. Beloved. And a great actress. I was so proud!
“So they stripped me naked and hung me by my wrists. The duke said, ‘now she will keep her legs elevated in this wonderful trick. But if she lets them drop, I will lash her with my riding crop.’
“Perhaps the others did not want to do it. But the duke was powerful, feared. Who could oppose him? I thought: I shall be whipped on my arse, and later the duke will weep over me.
“‘Now!’ the duke shouted, and raised his riding crop I lifted my legs, straight out, tight together, my toes pointed. I felt my stomach muscles tighten; my belly crawled with fear.
“‘How long? How long must I hold?’ I asked him, but he would not answer me!
“I saw the women staring at my nakedness. I was young, beautiful, raven hair flowing down my back. Ten minutes. They watched me. They were fascinated, and so cruel! How could they imagine the flames of pain in my belly? I groaned in pain, but still I held. The sweat ran down my body and I smelled my own rank fear. How they marveled! I began to moan and bite my lips, my belly was on fire. I thought: ‘Better to be whipped, than this agony!’ and I let my legs drop.
“Instantly, the duke slashed across my thighs. I screamed. It was like being branded. He hit me again.
“‘No,’ cried some of the others. ‘She has won! She has held for full 20 minutes!’ But the duke brought the riding crop across my belly. It felt as though someone has sliced me open, and I shrieked. I lifted my legs, again, panting in fear. He held his whip at the ready, smiling. I did not know the man! Never had! My belly pleaded for relief, and finally would not hold me anymore. My legs fell, and I cried out in fear before he hit me.
“He hit me again and again. Across my thighs, my belly. I dangled from the bars, twirling as he struck me. So he struck my back, my arse. And then my belly again. I felt my bladder let go and they laughed and pointed.
“Now, some of the others grew excited. ‘Stop him!’ I cried to them, ‘help me, help me! In the name of God, help me!’
“But some watched me, their lips parted. They breathed hard, excited. A woman, a countess from the German court, whose husband favored me, cried out, ‘Let me try!’ The duke handed her the whip. I knew she would have no pity. I would die; and I wanted to die.
“This countess was a beautiful woman, far crueler than the duke. She began to whip my breasts. I screamed and begged for her to stop. The pain was terrible, and I thought: Who will look at me, again, with scars on my breasts?
“When the blood covered my breasts, and ran down my belly, she began to whip my sex. I don’t remember, now. I fainted, at last. She must have gone on, lashing my poor belly.
“I awoke here, lying on a cot. For days, I could only moan or weep. Often, I fainted, and only when I fainted could I sleep.”
She passed one slender hand across her bush, and looked at Hannah. “For months, I felt nothing but pain, here. And then, I felt nothing for two years. As I lay unconscious that night, she must have kept whipping me between my legs. Why did the duke not stop her? He adored me? And for years, I wondered: why did they all hate me so? I was beautiful and I lived for their pleasure and amusement? Why destroy me?”
Hannah gazed up at her, unable to speak or to turn her face from this woman who recounted her story only in bewilderment, not with anger or indignation.
“I could never appear naked on stage, again. The duke, later, was furious. He told me he had punished the woman who did this thing. I am sure that he always loved me.”
She stopped and looked down at Hannah, as though seeking confirmation. Hannah could only nod.
“And so, for seven years, I have taught others what I know. I will never leave here. I know that.”
“I will die if I have to stay here,” said Hannah, her voice choked.
“Do you think I pity you? You are young. Life is stronger than you are. It is stronger even than I was when I first awakened and saw this.” She gestured down at her body. “Even with this, I wanted to live!
“Little girl with wonderful brown skin, you may never have to dangle on the rope and feel your living flesh flayed from your body. You may never have to watch people fascinated to see…this.”
She knelt on the rug beside Hannah. She touched Hannah’s thigh where the shift did not cover it. She reached up to smooth Hannah’s hair. Hannah trembled. The hand traveled over her shoulders, down her back. The woman’s face, very beautiful, came close to hers. “No,” Hannah whimpered. “Please, no?”
But the hands like iron were on her shoulders, pushing her back. Back, down, into the folds of the wonderful fur. If Hannah struggled, this woman could overpower her, utterly. Maria’s naked body now bent over Hannah’s. Hannah felt a rising panic, a dread of what? The unknown. The woman’s quiet story carried such a burden of unimaginable violence that Hannah was terrified of her.
Gentle, persistent hands pulled Hannah’s blouse up over her shoulders. In another moment, she would be naked with this naked woman. She flung herself up, rolling over, and screamed, “No!” She was startled to find herself free. Free to leap to her feet, run for the door. There, she stood gasping, struggling to pull her blouse back down.
Maria sat up. She gazed at Hannah. “Very well,” she said. “But listen, there is only one way to survive, here.” She held up her hands, and said, “These hands, these lips…I give and accept pleasure wherever it is wanted. I have learned that. Men have lain with me, and women. I feel no modesty, no shame. If the duke summoned me before his whole court, naked, and demanded that I lie with my legs spread and my sex to see—I would feel no shame even with this body. Perhaps I would enjoy it.”
When Hannah did not reply, she said, “All right, no one believes that. Not at first. Each must learn. You are free to go.”
Hannah tried to open the door. Maria came up behind her so silently that Hannah jumped when the bare arms reached around her with a key. Maria said, “Two floors below this. The room is number 29. It is not locked. You may go alone, but go directly. If you enter forbidden areas, you will put yourself at the mercy of men who will joy in punishing you.”
The hand turned the key. Hannah felt the hea
t of the naked body behind her. Maria said, “One thing you will learn, and it will save you much suffering.”
Hannah turned, She had to acknowledge this woman She said, “Thank you, thank you, for telling me.”
“Never show modesty. It is an intoxicant to them. What you wish to cover, they will want to see. What you cover, they will strip. If you show them your modesty, they will become drunk on it. And then, be careful!”
Hannah let her gaze travel down the body. It was the body of a martyred goddess, still proud. Then, she closed her eyes. She heard Maria say, “I can punish you as I wish, any time. Your suffering means nothing to me. I can favor you or have you removed from this place.”
Hannah watched her, waiting. Maria asked, “Do you know what that means? Smuggled onto the duke’s ships, sold to the East—in Cairo, Damascus. There are savage chieftains who would pay in gold and ivory to have your body. Do you understand? No one leaves this place to tell of it. You must see why?”
Hannah turned, pulled open the door, and walked into the hall. She turned and said, “Thank you, Maria.” Then, she walked down the corridor, looking for a staircase. Just to get to her room, close and lock the door. To be alone! Just to think, remember. She walked rapidly, looking side to side.
The kidnapping in the forest, this place of beauty and wealth, the stern wardresses, Cara, Maria and her branded body…It must be true. All of it. But the duke? The queen’s own brother? That was a lie. The royal house in its unapproachable glory, its grandeur—it could not be true. What was the real purpose of this place?
She hurried down the stairs. She kept seeing the naked men. She had known she would marry someday, be naked with her husband in their bed and she would be happy. So that is how naked men, grown men, looked. Their sex was so strange, frightening, rooted in dark hair, looking like an animal. Did she like it or loathe it. Or simply fear it?
She would not sleep. She would think and plan. Because tomorrow they could come and strip her and then would be the leaping, the nakedness. Before that, she must do something. She stopped at the door mark “29” and glanced around. No one must see her enter. She would step in and lock the door.
The Price of Hannah Blake Page 4