by Euan McAllen
When Lady Agnes – pumped up by alcohol – returned to Madam Overy’s and stepped into her room, she was grabbed by an angry Mozak.
‘I’ve been waiting for you!’
He threw across the bed then threw himself on top of her and began to pull at her clothes. He did not think to charm her – he had never tried to charm her. Charm he was saving for his future wife, the future queen.
Lady Agnes pushed back, but only to catch her breath, to catch up with him; before pulling him back into her fold, to ravish him, to pull at his clothes. They removed just enough to enable coupling to take place. They went for it like two bulls to a red flag, except, of course, one of them was female. Their bodies collided while their souls held back, to watch, to take soundings. It was messy and wild (as sex between them nearly always was). It was savage sex, with sweat and swearing; both enjoying it; both contributing to it on equal terms. She was his sex slave again, as he was a slave to her sex. When he battered himself against her body, she held the power. When making love, she was not his mistress; she was his equal.
Afterwards, the deed done, storm past, both fell into a deep sleep – only for Lady Agnes to wake up later and start scratching at her rash. Mozak remained almost coma-like, which suited her: that was when he was the least dangerous, the most sufferable. And when she was queen, they would have separate rooms. And he would leave her room, not her his.
That night, both worse for beer, Mutz, and Rufus were also in need of sex. Mutz had no problem buying the services of the brothel. Rufus had every problem – not for lack of cash but for an abundance of guilt. His head hung in shame as he was led – almost dragged – by a girl into her room.
‘Come on,’ she whispered. ‘You’ll enjoy it. I promise not to tell.’
In comparison, Mutz bounded up the stairs, ready for battle and tackling his shirt buttons.
‘Slow down, soldier!’ his girl laughed. ‘We’ve got all night!’
Captain Mutz impressed that night: he was fit, young, happy, a free spirit. Rufus did not. He made love against his will, hating the fact that his body was enjoying it, and hoping that Rufus Junior was not crying right now, not shitting in his pants. The one positive thought he clung to was the logic that he was spending bad money in a bad way.
Doc woke up, sat up, and began to cough. He could hear the act of love-making taking place in the room above. Had that woken him up or his own snoring? ‘Keep the noise down please!’ he protested, before reminding himself that he was in a brothel, and chuckling – in-between the coughing.
Only Captain Mutz slept well that night. Rufus, Doc, Mozak, and his mistress did not. They either choked on their thoughts, or coughed up their guts, or scratched an itch which was going mental, or all three. Timothy and Esmeralda only fell asleep – a troubled sleep – when they could no longer stay awake. They talked well into the night, until their brains gave up and their bodies closed down – but Timothy won the argument, with unbreakable logic: if Mozak had the plague, better he was gone ASAP; and he would not leave unless he, Timothy, took him to a place where he could be cured. Timothy promised to be back within four weeks, a month at most, with or without his brother.
***
The next morning Timothy and Esmeralda were up and out of bed with extra energy and unusual haste. Time was now precious to them. Esmeralda looked worried, and Timothy had to reassure her, repeatedly, that all would be fine, that the weeks would fly by, that the school would keep her busy.
‘School?’
‘Yes, you must take charge. Keep them busy, entertained. Make them do their numbers.’
Esmeralda did not look convinced, so Timothy had to sit her down, put his hand on her shoulder, and look her straight in the eye.
‘You can do this. Just teach them what I taught you. Engage their minds, keep them active.’
She nodded, still unconvinced, but saying nothing. She did not want to show weakness, to let him down. She did not want him to think her stupid. Her silence said it all.
‘Look it’s important. I don’t want the parents giving up on it, taking their kids out, never bringing them back.’
Again she nodded.
‘Just keep them busy. Give them bigger and bigger numbers to add up.’
Suddenly she saw a way out. ‘But who will cook the meals?’
‘Ask the doctor to help. He’ll have nothing to do. He’ll want to help, I’m sure. He’s a learned man.’
‘He won’t be going?’
‘No. Nor her ladyship. I won’t have it. Sorry, but you’ll be stuck with her.’
‘I won’t have her around me, or around the children.’
Timothy nodded. The hostility was understandable.
‘I’ll go and tell him,’ he said. ‘You go and find Rufus. We need to make up.’
And on that note, he went off to Madam Overy’s, looking forward to getting ‘Marcus’ out of bed. Esmeralda never found Rufus. He had left at dawn, not wishing to say goodbye, lumbered with bad feeling.
Mozak hated being dragged from his sleep and held on to his mistress Agnes as Timothy shook him awake, and told him they had to talk, alone, outside. When it came though, the good news cheered him up. They would leave the next day: just the two of them; and perhaps Mutz, an Outsider like him. Lady Agnes was a liability, difficult to control, difficult to hide; and the doctor was too old, too slow, and the journey from the castle had nearly broken him. He was in no fit state for the journey out. Mozak did not fight him. Mutz would stay, he decided, to keep an eye on her.
Later, after all had consumed breakfast, a proud Timothy offered to show his brother his new school.
‘My own creation,’ he boasted. ‘My mission.’
Your mission? thought Mozak. I have a mission too, and it’s bigger than yours.
With nothing better to do, he accepted the invitation, dragging his Agnes along for company while wondering when to break the news. He did not want her making a scene. Mutz had taken it on the chin, like any good soldier, and Doc, though disappointed, also caused no fuss – in fact he was secretly pleased as another trip might have killed him.
Timothy was surprised to find his class almost empty, much to the delight of his brother. There were only three pupils today. They stood up as the teacher entered the room. Mozak assumed they were standing up for him – which in one sense they were for they were confused – disturbed – by the sight of Timothy times two. Twice the number of questions. Twice the headache. Twice the surveillance. It was unnatural.
Mozak laughed out loud, scaring the children. ‘Is this it?’
Timothy had to reassure them and explain, avoiding detail, how a woman could have two versions of the same baby at the same time. That triggered an obvious question: how did the babies get inside a mummy’s stomach in the first place? Mozak savoured every moment of it as the high and mighty Timothy squirmed around his explanation. Lady Agnes simply looked on bored. The sight of the kids did not impress her: they were scarecrows; thin as rakes but with eyes and ears on constant alert. Worse than our peasant offspring, she thought. Why does he bother?
Timothy stopped the questions and instead asked where all the other children were. The absence of the class bully was a shame as he had hoped to point him out to Mozak, to make a point.
‘Gone to see the bear,’ explained the oldest, the least nervous.
‘Bear?’
The kid nodded.
‘Bear-baiting?’ asked Mozak.
The kid nodded again at the alternative teacher.
Mozak fired his next question at Timothy, the true teacher. ‘Where would that be?’
‘No idea. I have no interest in such barbarity.’
Mozak turned back to the kid. ‘Do you know where it is, and when?’
‘Midday they said.’
‘Will you show me?’
‘That’s enough!’ exclaimed Timothy.
The kid shook his head. He wanted to be left alone now. This second Timothy was a harsh man. ‘I don’t know where.’
Lady Agnes pointed at the blackboard and the scuffed marks of white chalk.
‘What’s that for?’
‘To explain,’ said Mozak. Even he knew that.
‘Explain what?’
‘Anything and everything,’ said Timothy.
Mozak looked at his brother as if he was weird – as did Lady Agnes.
‘I have my own tutor,’ he said. ‘I don’t need board and chalk.’
‘Lucky you. These kids had nothing before I arrived.’
‘Lucky them.’
The friction between the two brothers was rising – even the kids noticed it and shuffled uncomfortably in their chairs. These kids, in particular, had come today because sitting in the classroom and having their brains excited had proved – at least until today – to be a calming, enjoyable experience. They had turned down the chance of seeing a bear being baited.
‘Why teach peasant kids?’ asked Lady Agnes. ‘It will only end in tears. Put ideas in their heads, and they will cause trouble when they grow up.’
Timothy stared at her with open contempt. Mozak didn’t mind: she said the most stupid things sometimes and deserved what she got. He decided to impress with a better question – and make it plain that he was better than her.
‘Do you teach this lot about your god?’
‘Yes.’
‘And do they believe it?’
It was a sore point, and Timothy had taken enough for one morning – for one day even.
‘Best if you two leave now.’
These were his pupils, and he would protect them from all the inbred cretins, idiots and cruel folk in the world – especially the uneducated, barbaric, ruling class of the castle. He did not want others messing with their heads just to score points over him, worse still treat them as worthless, a joke. Royalty: it was all rights and no responsibilities, no redress. Mozak and Lady Agnes were gone in a flash, leaving Timothy to explain to his pupils that he would be absent for a month, that the nice ‘Esmeralda’ would be standing in, and that they must show her all due respect. They nodded their understanding.
‘And tell the others, spread the word,’ he pleaded.
They nodded some more.
‘And no lessons today I’m afraid. I have too much to do. Go home.’
They cheered as they stormed out of the room, hoping to go see a bear instead.
Back at the brothel, Mozak persuaded a girl – with cash – to take him and his woman to the bear-baiting, only for Lady Agnes to decline his invitation. She did not have the stomach for it: the thought of resuming her journey, her adventure, on to the great unknown Outside both thrilled her and frightened her. Either way it exhausted her. The two sat around, killing time while waiting for the errant captain to reappear; watching the girls come and go as they went about their business – Mozak watching them one way, Lady Agnes watching another. Esmeralda avoided them both.
When his captain returned from an exploratory walk – still restless – along with his doctor – exhausted, but not still coughing – Mozak dragged him off to the bear-baiting spectacle. Like Lady Agnes, Doc did not have the stomach for it. Mutz tried to explain their encounter with a mad old woman and her son but his prince was deaf.
‘The woman was picking herbs I recognised,’ said Doc. ‘She knew her stuff.’
‘Both mad,’ said Mutz. ‘The son’s an idiot.’
Doc corrected him. ‘I don’t think he’s her son.’
With the others gone, Doc and Lady Agnes were left to their own devices, which in this place were few. Doc was asked by Esmeralda if he could help out serving school dinners when Timothy was gone. He gladly took up the offer. Lady Agnes, smarting that she was being ignored, cornered her.
‘Why don’t you ask me?’
‘Very well,’ replied Esmeralda.
And she asked, to which she got the reply ‘no’, and a suddenly ebullient Lady Agnes went for a long walk, to explore, only to return in almost no time, her dignity compromised, complaining that ‘it’s all crap, dirty, disgusting’. She had trodden in a cowpat, one swarming with feasting flies whilst preoccupied with the peasants’ eyes which followed her around as if waiting for her to take a fall. Later, after she had retreated to Madam Overy’s, Doc apologised to Esmeralda for her behaviour.
‘She’s been like this for a long time now. She’s unhappy inside.’
Esmeralda looked at him like he was making excuses. ‘She’s always been like that. I should know.’
***
The girl led Mozak and Mutz to a field, where they had to pay an entry fee. The field was owned by Farmer Giles, the wealthiest farmer in The Village – or rather outside it, which was why he was able to put on the show: no permit required; the Elders could not touch him. A large crowd was gathering, despite the fee. (With Giles’ reputation it was to be expected. He did nothing for free, gave away nothing for free. His whole life was conducted in one continuous trade, or trade-off.) The Village had almost emptied as its inhabitants flocked to see a spectacle which had not taken place in living memory. The girl left them to it, having no wish to see an animal suffer, having no wish to see a crowd turn nasty.
They saw the bear chained to a tall, thick wooden post; growling, both fearful and infuriated, stressed out and struggling to make sense of this very unnatural world. Some of the crowd were hissing at it, or booing, or shouting at it, or else talking about it. Here was a bear! Some had never seen a bear before. It was big! Some explained to their children that it had been fifteen years or more since they had seen a bear. Children hid behind their parents and had to be coaxed out. A fee had been paid, so they were obliged to enjoy it.
The bear wanted to sleep, not be harassed by these nasty, noisy lowlife. Women twitched and held on to their dresses or each other. Their men laughed and edged up as close as possible to the action. One threw a stone at the bear.
‘No throwing stones!’ shouted Farmer Giles.
Finally, he gave the signal, and the dogs were let loose, and all hell broke loose.
Mozak nudged Mutz. ‘Here we go. Now the fun begins.’
Mutz did not reply. The taste in his mouth had turned sour, and sickness was creeping into his stomach. Both seemed to be spreading as if wishing to join up. Mozak, on the other hand, was in his element. He loved a good fight.
The dogs, barking with joy at having been let loose, went ballistic, and raced towards what they thought – smelt – was a defenceless target. They wanted to overwhelm it, kill it. But then the bear rose up and roared, and fought against his chain. He was looking for a fight. Caution cut in and the dogs stalled. Snarling and growling, they backed off, looking around to see who amongst them would take the lead. The crowd exploded and roared them on. Some switched sides and urged the bear to do his worst. Trained to fight, the dogs resumed the attack; attacking from all sides; taunting, trying to land a bite; pulling back when the bear turned to lash out. They sent the bear into a spin, and so too the audience.
The bear had teeth which could bite and tear and crunch bone; and claws which could slash. And he had a thick coat of fur protecting thick skin. The dogs could dodge and dash, and make a lot of noise, but their bark was worse than their bite, and his bite could kill if only he could hold grab of one. He did not have the same problem with the salmon in the river. It may have been many against one, but it was a fair fight.
The Villagers fought against themselves as they fought for the best view. Some tried to fight the violence exploding inside their own heads by transferring it to their bodies. One man hit his mate. His mate hit him back harder such that he fell over. Those who saw it happen laughed.
At one poin
t, the beast snatched a dog up in his claws, and the crowd cheered. The dog was mincemeat. His fighting, one against many, won most of them over. This bear was a brave, noble beast – and not one single person in the crowd could match him for that. The dog’s cry of pain temporarily unnerved the rest of the pack. They stalled, some yelping, before recovering and resuming the attack.
Farmer Giles watched the crowd more than he watched the fight. This was definitely a money-making opportunity. Next time install seats and charge extra for those. One of his men informed him that a tradesman was selling pork pies. Should he stop him?
‘Tell him if he wants to sell pies, he pays me one-quarter of all the cash he makes. If he agrees, watch him; else, kick him off my land.’
Next time, he decided, charge a licence fee for all those who want to do such business. No traders on my patch unless they have a license!
Farmer Giles did not want his bear to come to any serious harm. Dogs were ten a penny, but a bear was a rare beast, to be protected, prized, like all his prized assets. When fully recovered, he would be able to perform again. Four times a year or just twice to ensure interest? And raise the entrance fee every year. Finally, he stepped in and stopped the show, which made him very unpopular – but he didn’t give a shit. The bear was battered, bloodied, and exhausted. The dogs likewise were done in. Some collapsed on the ground and refused to get up, even when kicked. The fight was a draw. No one had won – except Farmer Giles.
In an adjacent field, up a tree, head in the clouds, Simon, otherwise known as the ‘Village Idiot’ had watched it all, and with the best view. The spectacle of the crowd, let loose, and unrestrained, unsettled him. He watched the crowd gather and build its strength, its sense of power and entitlement, at the cost of individuality – all individuals melded into one amorphous whole. He was disturbed for the people of The Village had become one huge monster: a monster with many moving parts and many mouths.
Reading the body language of others was always a struggle. He could not tell if the crowd was experiencing joy or pain. It was animated, manic, verging on savage as if inspired by the pack of dogs. He saw the bear standing tall, standing proud, and defending itself. He wanted to stroke its fur, calm it down, make it feel better, but he was stuck up a tree. He was distracted by a flock of starlings soaring high over his head before diving, twisting and turning on the currents of air. He wondered what they were all chasing for they seemed to be chasing something. Perhaps they were chasing life – like him. Some did somersaults. He thought they were doing it all for him.