The Cup and the Sword Part (3)

Read Part 1 here and Part 2 here.

Warning: The following may be triggering for some individuals. Proceed with caution.

The rain poured on. The girl had crept to one end of the shed, still close enough to be warmed by the fire, but as far away from him as possible. He watched her through the corner of his eye as she ate. She was not as young as he first thought. He saw her scratch herself every now and then. He wondered when she last washed. It was strange how, with all this rain, people became shy of water. But at least he could try. He couldn’t afford having lice himself, it was an inconvenience he didn’t need added with the weather. He finally got up and found his cake of soap. He walked to her, she huddled close, her eyes filling with terror again. He crouched down before her, reached out and took her hand. He felt her jump and heard her gasp. Under her slim wrist, her pulse was racing. She was shaking like a tree in high wind. Ignoring her fear, he opened her hand and placed the cake of soap in it.

‘Wash yourself,’ he said, pointing to the rain. ‘That will stop the scratching.’

She stared at him. Gav made the motions to explain. Then he went back to his log and continued drinking his tea.

It took long until the girl got to her feet, but she finally did. She went into a dark corner where she carefully removed her clothes standing with her back to him. He could see her ribs and the knots of her spine. There were stretch marks at her hips. Her rear was as pale as the rest of her, but firm. Her legs were well shaped, probably due to all the walking. She rushed out into the rain, where she washed herself quickly, the water plastering her hair to her skull. She was shivering when she rushed back into the shed, her eyes looking larger than ever. He had found a log for her to sit on and dry herself. She sat huddled before him, staring into the fire. He filled her clay cup with more appleseed tea, which she held with both hands again. Slowly, her shivering stopped. Her hair was a curtain of darkness around her face. She used her fingers to comb through it. He wondered what her name was. He wondered how long she had been hiding in the shed.

She had taken her clothes out with her to wash. They lay on the ground to dry now. It was clever, what with the fire and all, but it left her naked before him. Gav had not seen a woman in weeks, at least none so lacking in clothing. She wasn’t ugly and her face was not disfigured. She looked more like a kitten with her enormous eyes. Her body was fully formed, however, and with those stretch marks she must have had a child. He wondered what happened to it. Less terrified as she was now, she sat with her hands around her knees, revealing her breasts and her thighs. Gav got up and went to the hay so as not to see her. Lying in the gloom he watched the shadows play on the roof, the rain pouring on.

*

Gav was half asleep when he felt something move. He opened his eyes carefully. The girl was standing before him, still naked. The fire was bright behind her. He could see everything. He closed his eyes again. He heard her move and next felt her next to him. She was close. He kept his eyes closed. She felt her hand on his chest, small with slim fingers. Her thigh was next to his hand but Gav didn’t move. He felt her bend down and next she was kissing his neck with small pecking kisses like a bird picking at grain. He watched her as she kissed her way down his bare chest to the hem of his breeches. She fumbled with the leather bands but undid the knots in the end. He could only see the mass of her hair and her fingertips. She carefully pulled away the material, reached in and pulled out what she found. She held him with her small hands and began. He closed his eyes, folding his arms under his head. She used her mouth thoroughly, as if her life depended on it. 

It cost Gav some effort not to reach for her and simply let her do what she thought necessary. He knew why she was doing this. It was clever, it would keep her from getting with child while appeasing the man to silence. With no other means, most would accept this as payment. Right then he lost the last thread of control. She swallowed until there was nothing left. Then she moved away from him and disappeared. Gav did not check where to. 

It was the next day. Gav only knew this by the different shimmer of grey in the rain. It was still pouring in sheets. He sat up slowly and saw a naked foot next to him. Turning he saw the girl, sleeping soundly a little away from him. She must have waited until he fell asleep before coming to the hay. She had dressed in her clothes, damp though they were. She would soon catch cold in them. She was already coughing in her sleep.

Gav first kindled the fire to bright flames. Then he returned to the girl and tried to wake her, but she slept too deeply. He considered. She coughed again, it sounded rough with phlegm. He tried to wake her once more, but it was as if she was in a deep well and nothing could reach her. And yet she coughed, rough, rasping. Thus, carefully, Gav reached for her shoulder. She did not wake until he was at her underskirts. Her cry of terror rang through the silence.

‘No, wait!’ he started, but her hands flew and she fought him like a cornered cat.

He tried to explain but she was too terrified to comprehend. He stepped away and took the dress and bodice he already had. He laid them over the log to dry and collected water for more tea. She was still crouching on the hay, huddled in her underskirt, her chest bare. He could feel her watch him. Twice she suppressed a cough. He made the tea and waited at the broken door, watching the grey rain. Once the tea was brewed, he took the extra shirt he had, filled her cup with tea and walked to the girl.

‘Wear this, it is dry. Your wet clothes will make you sick.’

He held out his second shirt for her. She stared at him for so long he thought she would never move. But she did, and carefully took it. She also put it on and removed her damp underskirt. He took the skirt and gave her the tea. He spread the skirt out before the fire and hoped the rain would end by morning.

The leader entered the tent after the noise died down. There were still shouts and cackling laughter, and if she heard correctly, drunken song. The flaps moved and he strode in with the man who had dragged her here. The man spoke while the leader listened, he looked as dangerous as before. They barked and growled. If the leader had taken his blade and run the other through, Bara would not have been surprised. When the man fell silent, the leader did not speak nor grant him a glance. The other man bowed, curtly, and left the tent, the flaps closing silently, though to Bara it was as if large doors had slammed shut. 

She expected to be attacked the moment they were alone, but the leader ignored her. He drained the wine brought for her, filling the goblet again. He took the leg of meat and bit off it like the unbred heathen he was, chewing noisily. He turned then, facing her, watching her like he did before, but Bara remained as she was, seated, erect, the dagger behind her, firm in her hand. She would defend herself to the last. Her Oaths would not be broken again. Nothing was said, the carousing outside filling the silence within. The leader continued to stare at her, as blatantly as before, lingering at her breasts and running his eyes up and down her form repeatedly. Bara’s throat was one knot, the fist in her stomach painful. 

The tent flaps moved again and what looked like servants brought in a large tray with food. The heathen nodded, threw the meat back onto the plate and stalked off somewhere, to the table with the large silver jug and bowl as she saw. The bowl was empty as if never used. Bara had lifted a tent wall as far as she managed after cleaning herself, and let the water seep into the grass, back to what was the Gods’. It was where she had seen the other guards by their booted feet. She had listened at the other walls then, hoping for a means to slip away, but the tent was surrounded by too many of them. 

Their leader picked up the silver jug and poured water into the wide bowl, then splashed his face, even removed his soiled tunic and splashed his bare chest. There was something black painted up his back and she realised it was those signs they inked their skin with, in allegiance to their demon gods to bring their power and guard them against attack. It was said blood offerings were made before such signs were drawn. She could not make out what it was, but it looked ominous, like a creature with claws and fangs. It reached up his left side almost to the shoulder. He poured water over his head right then, and the creature on his skin seemed to move. Bara realized what she was doing and quickly looked away, though she was careful to stay facing him once he walked to the other part of the tent. She did not see what he did there, the thick, luxurious velvet, likely raided from a nobleman’s mansion, hid him from sight. Bara waited, her heart racing in her chest, the dagger clutched tightly behind her back as she prayed silently, Ye Gods, help me. Help me survive this night.

It was afternoon by the fading light. The girl had slept most of the day. Gav had studied his map and filled his logbook with the necessary information, days and time, temperatures and rain, sketching the proportions of the shed, listing the rations he used, and what he saw and thought to know of the girl so far. By the beams burning in the fire, at least two hours passed this way.

The rain did not stop, however, and nothing else changed in the landscape beyond the broken door. Gav went behind the palisade and found a decayed beam he could push out. He watched the arch of his piss disappear into the falling rain. He had to think of what the girl had thought necessary as payment. He wondered how many she had paid that way. And yet she was terrified if he so much as touched her. He wondered about her tale, what had brought her to the shed. And her child, what of it? Did it still live? Did she have a family? But she was still asleep when Gav returned to the main part of the shed and he didn’t disturb her rest. 

*

Gav was brewing a weak broth with a strip of salted meat and a cárn root he miraculously still had left when the girl woke up. She came to the fire, cautiously as before. She checked her clothes but they had not yet dried, the night had kept their dampness, except her underskirt of thin cotton which she put on. She filled her clay cup with rain water and then sat on the log and watching the fire. Gav had an idea.

He took out his map, startling her. Then he showed her what it was. The girl looked at it with amazement and he saw she could not read. He told her what the names were, and at first she did not recognise them, until he named the larger cities in the west. Her eyes flashed when he mentioned Lainhaven.

‘Is that where you’re from?’ he asked, pointing at Lainhaven.

She carefully stretched out a hand and touched the Lain river with her fingertips. 

‘One day, ships came downriver,’ she said suddenly. Her voice was hardly louder than a whisper. ‘The houses burned for three days.’

Gav thought he understood.

‘Did you flee?’

‘Everyone. Horses. Carriages. Grandmothers. Children. Goats. Cats. Everyone.’ She was still touching the Lain river with her finger tips.

‘And your family?’ She nodded. ‘And your child?’

She dropped her hand and drank from her cup. She did not speak again.

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