Bondmaiden

by B. A. Bradbury

  At dawn the camp roused and beasts of burden, both the four-legged variety and the two, were made ready for the journey. Weary from their tribulations of the previous day and from lack of sleep, Lia and Tilda were in difficulties from the outset. They staggered along trying desperately to keep up with the cart, for whenever they fell behind they were hauled forward by the chains around their waists, causing their loads to lurch in a hazardous fashion. Lia knew it was only a matter of time until one of them dropped their bundles, and halfway through the morning her fears were realised when she tripped and went sprawling. She was dragged for many yards before the cart was halted, and even as she lay in the dirt Hadwin lashed her viciously.

  ‘You clumsy mare!’ he snarled, his face twisted in fury. ‘I’ll teach you!’ He rained blow after blow on her defenceless body, and all Lia could do was curl into a ball and cover her face with her arms. After a while he stopped and went to inspect his ill-gotten loot, while Lia dragged herself painfully to her feet.

  ‘Damaged, as I feared,’ he pronounced, glowering at Lia menacingly. ‘You’ll pay for this tonight! I’ll think up something special for you, mark my words.’

  Tilda was similarly threatened by Tormod when, later that same day, she also staggered and lost control of her burden, and it was with heavy hearts that the two continued their arduous journey.

  They camped that night near a marsh, and it was the terrain that gave Hadwin and Tormod the idea for a suitably fiendish punishment for their two packhorses. Lia and Tilda were taken to the edge of the marsh and stripped naked, then made to sit with their backs to a stunted willow tree. Their chains were passed around the trunk and padlocked together, and their wrists bound with rope and tied above their heads. Within moments Lia understood the nature of their punishment, for the swamp attracted clouds of mosquitoes which started to land on their exposed flesh, and to bite. Wriggle and squirm as they might they couldn’t deter the midges, and the two girls were soon shrieking pitifully as the voracious insects tormented them cruelly.

  The men walked away laughing at their slaves’ predicament, and so began the most uncomfortable night Lia had ever known. By morning every inch of her flesh itched abominably, and with hands tied above her head even the measure of relief she might have achieved by scratching was denied her.

  Their owners untied them and dragged them back to the camp where they were fastened to the cart, naked still, for their smocks had been left back at the willow tree, and loaded up with the hated bundles once more. Shortly before they set off another woman was tied to the cart, though it was a rope around her waist and not a chain. She bore a load too, packed onto a wooden frame of the sort travellers sometimes employed, with stout straps that went over the shoulder, leaving her arms free. The man who brought her shook hands with Hadwin and Tormod and the three exchanged hearty greetings, so it was clear they were old friends.

  ‘How’s the gonads, Quinn?’ Hadwin enquired. ‘Bleeding like a stuck pig you were the last time we saw you, and screaming fit to wake the dead.’

  ‘As well I might,’ the newcomer said, rubbing his groin. ‘Any man would scream who thought his nuts were cut off. But it were just a nick in my ball bag, though it bled enough to fill a pail, nigh on. The surgeon stitched it and it’s fine, if a mite sore still.’

  ‘It takes more than an Attland arrow to finish off one of Zelig’s lads,’ Tormod said. ‘And we caught the man who shot it, you’ll be pleased to hear. Cut off his balls in payment for yours, as we thought yours were gone for good. I saved ’em for a while, meaning to give ’em to you, but they started to stink so I threw ’em to the dogs.’

  Quinn laughed and clapped him on the back, and the three walked away in high spirits.

  ‘We should cross the border some time today,’ the woman said. ‘That’s why they’re in a good mood. They’ll have a feast to celebrate, I expect, once we reach Osburg. They’ll break open a few casks of Attland ale and slaughter a few Attland cattle. Likely they’ll mount a few Attland women too, if there’s any left who haven’t already been mounted.’

  The call to march came from the front of the column and was passed back down the line. Men and beasts began to move, and Lia forced her stiff legs into action once more. The new woman settled the pack on her shoulders and stepped out briskly. ‘Aye,’ she added sombrely, ‘a wild old time they’ll have tonight, count on it.’

  ‘You don’t sound too happy about it,’ Tilda said. ‘Are you worrying you’ll be one of those who gets mounted?’

  ‘Me?’ the woman said in surprise. ‘Lord, I wish that’s all it was. No, it’s just that I know my man’ll want to play forfeits, like always.’

  ‘Your man? That soldier, you mean?’

  ‘Aye, that one; Quinn. Nigh on a year he’s owned me, for my sins.’

  ‘You’re not from the town then, like us?’ Tilda said, looking confused. ‘Not from Attland?’

  The woman shook her head. ‘Not Attland, nor Osburg either. I’m Gant born and raised, though I haven’t set eyes on the place since I got took. Odetta’s the name, by the way.’

  Odetta told them her story. She’d been taken in a raid some eleven months before and ended up slave to Quinn, who she always referred to as ‘my man’, though they were most decidedly master and slave and not husband and wife. Though she didn’t say as much, Lia guessed Quinn treated her badly.

  ‘Once he realised I was good at forfeits he took me on every campaign. Makes a fortune out of me, he does. Not that I ever see a penny, for he’s a tight-fisted bastard, my man.’

  ‘What’s forfeits?’ Tilda asked.

  ‘Forfeits?’ she said. ‘Why, it’s a game: a gambling game. Mad keen on it they are, this lot. If your men have got loot you’ll end up playing it too, most likely. And you reckon you’ve never even heard of it? You’re in for a nasty shock then, that’s all I can say. Not a nice game at all, isn’t forfeits.’

  Lia and Tilda looked at each other, and it was clear they were having the same thoughts: should they ask Odetta about it, or would it be better to remain ignorant and hope they’d be spared? At precisely the same instant they both nodded glumly.

  ‘Tell us how you play it, Odetta,’ Lia said. ‘I think we should know what’s in store for us.’

  ‘Aye,’ Odetta said, ‘I reckon so too. You’ll do better if you know what it’s about, so there’s less chance you’ll earn yourselves a beating. They hate losing, this lot, and especially they hate to lose badly. So then… where to start?’

  It started, apparently, with a dozen men sitting in a circle, and behind each man a woman awaiting her turn to play. In the middle of the circle was a thirteenth man called the stickman, on account of the stick he carried. The stickman wasn’t a contestant as such, but rather judge and jury. A shallow wooden tray called the board was passed around the circle from man to man, and on the tray were twelve bone dice bearing symbols rather than the usual spots. Odetta claimed she didn’t know what the symbols meant precisely, nor how they were interpreted, even though she’d played the game two dozen times or more. It was complicated, she said, and the meanings seemed to alter at different stages in the game. The men understood it, and the stickman was there to adjudicate if there was a dispute, as sometimes happened.

  ‘Depending on what your man rolls, you might have to pay a forfeit or you might not. Generally you do, though. The forfeits themselves vary from really easy to nigh on impossible. It might be something as simple as sucking just one man’s cock and swallowing his spunk, or you might have to service all twelve. The forfeits don’t all involve the men, mind. There’s a couple where you have to fuck yourself on a pole they plant in the ground in the middle of the circle, either up the cunt or up the arse. Whatever the forfeit is the stickman decides if you’ve passed or failed, but either way the board moves on. If you fail three you’re out of the game and your man loses his stake. When there’s just one woman left her man wins the who
le pot.’

  ‘Just how bad does it get?’ Tilda asked. ‘What’s the worst forfeit of all, would you say?’

  Odetta considered the question. ‘The stake up the arse is pretty bad.’ She nodded to herself as she pondered the punishment. ‘That’s bad, and so’s the stone. They heat up a big stone in the fire beforehand and you have to sit on it for a count of ten. If you jump up before the stickman taps you with his stick, you lose. I’m good at the stone, if I do say so myself. It’s not that I’m braver, or my bum’s tougher than anyone else’s, it’s just that I know what’s going to happen so it doesn’t come as a shock. There’s many a female will sit on the stone and jump straight back up again with a shriek, as she’s not prepared for just how hot it is. I know, so I’ve got a better chance of seeing it through.’

  They came to a short steep hill, and Odetta stopped talking while they struggled up. Ahead Lia could see the line of hills that marked the border between Attland and Osburg. Considering how hard the journey had been on relatively flat ground, she didn’t see how they could possibly manage the obstacle before them.

  ‘Some of it’s pure luck in how the dice fall,’ Odetta continued once they reached the crest of the hill, ‘and some of it’s skill or toughness, whatever you want to call it, on the victim’s part. Steady there; are you all right?’ She grabbed Lia’s pack, which was slipping from her shoulder, and heaved it back into position. ‘Okay now?’

  ‘Thanks,’ Lia gasped. ‘We can’t afford another night like last night, can we Tilda?’ Odetta asked what she meant, and they told her about the punishment they’d received for dropping their burdens and denting the silverware.

  ‘That can’t be why they punished you,’ she said. ‘They’ll melt the whole lot down soon as we get home; they always do. Bullion is what they want, gold and silver to mint into new coin, not plates and cups and suchlike.’

  Lia and Tilda looked at each other in disbelief. Could it be true? Was this apparent concern for the loot merely a trick, a game the men were playing to give them an excuse to punish the pair of them? Whatever the truth of it, Odetta’s quick reactions saved each of them more than once that day, and as the light faded they finally reached the top of the ridge and began to descend. Lia shivered, for her homeland was behind her and ahead lay foreign lands and a frightening, uncertain future.

  Chapter Twenty

  Odetta had predicted a feast, and it was clear the men were expecting some such celebration, but the captain had bad news for them.

  ‘Baran of Attland and Roland of Darkheim are trailing us with three thousand men at their backs, so our scouts tell us,’ he said, ‘and they’re coming on fast. No doubt they were hoping to catch us before we crossed the border, though they failed in that. We’re to rest here for three hours till moonrise and then press on, for Lord Torkel wants to put distance between them and us. Once we reach Stenger Forest we’ll be safe. Even an army of three thousand will think twice about following us into a place where we can set ambushes and pick them off.’

  ‘Sounds to me like we’re running, captain,’ Hadwin muttered. ‘I don’t like running, especially from Attland and Darkheim scum.’

  There were growls of assent from the rest of the company, and it was clear these fighting men were in a belligerent mood. The captain grinned wolfishly, regarding them almost with affection. ‘Neither do I, lads,’ he said, ‘but Lord Torkel commands here, and orders are orders. We won’t run far though, never fear. Riders have gone on ahead to summon the reserves, and once they join us we’ll turn and give these interlopers a hard lesson. No one marches into Osburg with banners flying and horns blaring and lives to tell the tale!’

  His voice rose stirringly at the end, and a great roar went up. Lia prayed that Prince Baran wouldn’t plunge recklessly ahead in his thirst for vengeance, no matter how just the cause. Enough good Attland men had died already without sacrificing more.

  The moon rose, and by its light the trek was resumed. To their great relief Lia and Tilda were allowed to put their loads on the cart, and it was just as well, for the pace was double what it had been and even unburdened they were struggling to keep up. Hadwin and Tormod marched just behind, as they had at the start of the journey, and were joined by Quinn, Odetta’s master. All three took great delight in whipping their slaves on, lashing them until they howled, and Lia understood that the men, angry and resentful at having to flee their enemies, were taking it out on the only Attlanders within striking distance. That Odetta was from Gant and not Attland seemed to matter not at all, though she did at least have her smock to protect her somewhat from the knotted rope’s cruel bite, unlike Lia and Tilda who were naked still.

  Some time later they reached the edge of a great forest. It was dark under the trees and the column slowed to a crawl, even after torches were lit to show the way. Despite the lack of progress the men’s spirits were high, for they were safe now and all knew it. They laughed and cursed their unseen pursuers and made extravagant boasts about how many they would kill when the reinforcements arrived and battle was joined.

  As for Lia and the others, they were so worn out by the journey and the constant abuse they wanted nothing more than to crawl under the cart and sleep, and the instant the column halted they did just that, too weary even to wait for any scrap of food that might be tossed their way.

  Lia woke to find herself being dragged out from under the cart by her ankle, and saw by the light of the fire that it was the sergeant. Without a word he rolled her onto her face and fucked her from behind, in her rear passage. It was vile and painful, but at least it was quick. He cursed her as he rammed against her buttocks, climaxing inside her, then withdrew lethargically and stood up. He gave her a kick in the ribs for no reason at all and left her lying in the dirt. She crawled back to Tilda’s side and snuggled close to her friend, seeking warmth as well as comfort, for the night air was chill.

  Later she was awoken a second time by a metallic clatter from the cart above her head, and wondered if some thief was stealing the loot. Though she and Tilda would no doubt be punished if that was indeed the case, she was simply too spent to investigate, so she abandoned herself to fate and went to sleep again.

  In the morning they learned that it was no thief who’d delved into the bundles, rather Hadwin and Tormod. Though there’d been no feast to celebrate their deliverance, and no game of forfeits, gambling had still taken place.

  After breakfast the journey continued at a more leisurely pace, and Lia and Tilda were made to carry the loot once more. To judge by the diminished size of Tilda’s pack and the relative ease with which she lifted it onto her shoulder, Tormod hadn’t been lucky in the games of chance.

  During the noon break the men played dice, and Tormod lost even more of his booty. Hadwin’s luck was better, and Lia’s burden grew heavier as Tilda’s grew lighter. As for Quinn, he won too, so that Lia wasn’t the only one to suffer.

  ‘They’ll play forfeits tonight, mark my word,’ Odetta said morosely. ‘They’ve got gambling fever good and proper. I’ve seen them like this before, after a raid, with all that shiny loot driving everyone crazy. They won’t stop till they’ve won a fortune or lost the lot.’

  They camped on a strip of open ground bordering a river, and once the meal was over and the animals tended to, Lia saw the circles start to form. There were a dozen or more scattered throughout the encampment, and Hadwin, Tormod and Quinn joined the nearest circle with their slaves in tow. When every position had been filled a man, the stickman, Lia presumed, stepped into the circle, and she saw it was Captain Zelig.

  ‘Why are you here?’ he asked loudly.

  ‘To play,’ came the reply from multiple throats.

  ‘Then play,’ he said, and with no more ado handed the board Odetta had spoken of to the nearest man, who scooped up the bone dice, blew on his hand for luck, and let them fall. Spectators had gathered in considerable numbers, and those nearest now crowded
around the man to see the result.

  ‘Four cocks,’ Zelig announced after studying the dice. He went back to the middle of the circle and pointed his stick at the player next to the one who’d thrown.

  ‘Declined,’ the man said, shaking his head.

  The next three players each said the same thing, and the stickman turned to the spectators. Most of them promptly cupped their groin with their right hand, and Zelig pointed to four men who came into the circle, formed a line, and took out their cocks. The first player gave his slave a shove, and she staggered forward looking scared to death. Zelig told her she must suck the cocks of all four men and swallow their seed. If she spilt any in the process she would fail the forfeit and lose a life. So miserably she knelt down in front of the first man and began to suck him. Some of the spectators were talking in an animated fashion and slapping each other’s hands, and Lia realised that side bets were being placed on whether or not she would succeed. As the man she was sucking approached his climax Zelig reminded the woman to swallow, which she duly did, at which point the second man offered her his cock. She sucked the four, and when she’d swallowed the last one’s semen Zelig tapped her on the shoulder with his stick, whereupon she rose and went back to her place.

  The board now passed to the next player, who rolled the dice. Spectators again peered over his shoulder, and an excited buzz went up.

  ‘No forfeit,’ Zelig cried. ‘No forfeit here.’ The next man wasn’t so lucky, however, as Zelig’s announcement made clear. ‘The stone!’

  Lia remembered what Odetta had said about the stone, and watched in trepidation as the stickman went to an upturned wicker basket and lifted it up. Straw fell out, and he pushed it aside with his foot to reveal a large round stone, grey in colour. The player’s slave approached, looking even more frightened than the first, and Zelig told her she must sit on it for a count of ten and not rise until he tapped her with the stick. At his command she rolled her skirts up to her waist and squatted over the stone.