Bondmaiden (7 page)

‘Not you,’ Dagna snorted. ‘You work harder than anyone I know. This girl’s a real handful, that’s all. I reckon she needs this regularly: once a week at least. There’d be no time for flirting with the guards then.’ She laughed cruelly. ‘She’d be too busy washing hot paste out of her cunt!’

Holmann chuckled, moved to Tilda and slid a hand down under her rump. She sobbed in dismay, and Lia realised he’d squeezed a finger up Tilda’s bottom. He kept his hand there, rising and falling with her movements, for she never faltered in her task despite the foul violation.

‘You should try this some time, Jarold, lad,’ the overseer said. ‘There’s nothing quite like having a pretty young thing squirming and moaning on the end of your finger.’

Jarold, emboldened perhaps by Holmann’s obvious good humour, immediately moved closer. Without faltering in his count he pinched Tilda’s nipples and twisted them. She seemed hardly to notice, and Lia knew her friend had other things on her mind. The pepper paste must be burning fiercely by now, and compared to that a mere groping was probably of little consequence.

Tilda’s trial continued, and she passed first twenty and then the thirty mark, and as was to be expected the final twenty were hard on her. Her mouth hung open and her eyes were misted and distant. She was groaning constantly, a pitiful sound. Lia willed her on, wishing there was something she could do to help. Father Adalard used to say that God hears all prayers, and so Lia prayed, for courage and strength for Tilda and for herself.

‘Forty-nine… fifty!’

Tilda slumped and her shoulders sagged. Holmann removed his finger and Jarold released her nipples, though with obvious regret. As Tilda dismounted wearily and limped to the table for her inspection, Lia sighed with relief. It had been an awful thing to witness, but at least it was over now. It had to be, for surely no one could find fault with Tilda’s technique.

‘I think she needs some more,’ Dagna concluded as they examined her.

‘You think?’ Holmann said doubtfully. ‘She looks like she’s had enough to me.’

‘No, she’s not had enough,’ Dagna said. ‘What do you say, Jarold?’

Jarold sniggered childishly. ‘I agree, she should do it again,’ he said.

‘There you are,’ Dagna said triumphantly, rewarding Jarold’s complicity with a special smile that seemed to promise a treat to come, ‘he thinks so too.’

‘Maybe you’re right,’ Holmann pondered.

‘Of course I’m right,’ Dagna purred. ‘You should make her do them all over again, from the start.’

Even Holmann looked taken aback at the cruel suggestion. ‘What,’ he said, ‘the whole fifty?’

‘Why not? You warned them to do it properly, and I don’t think she did, so she has to suffer the consequences of her disobedience.’

Lia could contain herself no longer, for this was all totally unfair. She’d held her tongue the last time – mostly due to Durwin, admittedly – and felt ashamed of herself ever since. So determined that it wouldn’t happen again she took a deep breath and blurted, ‘That’s not fair! Tilda took her punishment correctly!’

‘What’s that?’ Holmann snapped, rounding on her. ‘Don’t you dare speak out of turn!’

‘And don’t argue with your betters!’ Dagna added. ‘A pig-girl straight off the farm, and she has the nerve to contradict me? I never heard anything like it!’

‘But—’

‘Silence!’ Holmann roared. ‘Not one more word out of you, missy, you hear me? Not a word!’

Lia would have argued still, for she raged with the injustice of it all, but then she caught Tilda’s eye, the silent plea unmistakable, and kept her mouth shut. She wasn’t the only one with much to lose.

Holmann and his accomplice glared at her a few moments longer, bristling with indignation, then turned back to their victim. ‘The full fifty it is then,’ Holmann decreed.

‘Excellent!’ Dagna beamed.
‘And thoroughly deserved, too. She’s always making quips and sly remarks behind our backs, isn’t that so, Jarold?’

‘All the time,’ Jarold promptly confirmed.

‘She thinks I don’t know,’ Dagna went on, ‘but I do. She needs to be taught a lesson once and for all. If you let her get away with it others will start to copy her. We’ve seen that already tonight, haven’t we? The pig-girl’s only been here two days and already she’s arguing and answering back.’

She inclined her head in Lia’s direction as she spoke. Holmann glanced at her too, and nodded slowly. ‘You’re right,’ he said, ‘I can’t deny it.’

Lia couldn’t understand how Tilda got through it. She couldn’t understand how
she
got through it, and all she had to do was stand and watch.

As if the prospect of another fifty squats wasn’t bad enough, Dagna insisted on putting fresh paste on the horn before Tilda was allowed to mount it. Tilda hugged herself tight while she waited, keeping all her feelings inside, and when everything was ready she was helped to mount again, and it started all over.

The only hiatus came with just eight remaining. Tilda stopped and looked to Holmann in desperation. ‘Please,’ she croaked, ‘no more.’

The overseer regarded her solemnly. ‘It’s only natural you want it over and done with,’ he said, ‘but begging just proves that Dagna’s right; you are a wilful, stubborn girl, and you need to be taught a lesson. Complete the squats like you’ve been ordered, and let’s have no more whining or you’ll find yourself with an extra ten on top.’

Tilda must have been expecting such a response, for she carried on immediately, mewling pitifully as she rode the horn, trembling with pain and fatigue. Jarold counted the squats off one by one until finally it was done, and then Holmann lifted Tilda off the horn and carried her to the table.

The inspection was a cursory affair, for it seemed inconceivable that Dagna might demand still more from the girl. Mercifully that proved to be the case, and Lia was called forward and told to help Tilda to bed. She picked up Tilda’s smock and slippers but didn’t waste time trying to dress her, for she could guess just how desperately her friend wanted to get away. With Tilda’s arm over her shoulder, the pair headed for the door.

‘One more thing,’ Holmann called out, and Lia looked back. ‘Report to my room once Tilda’s bedded down. Since you’re keen to make yourself heard, I’ll see to it you get your wish. We’ll draw some heartfelt utterances from your lips, count on it.’

‘Yes, master,’ Lia said meekly, dread churning deep in her tummy.

‘You had to cross them, didn’t you?’ Tilda croaked, once Lia had put her to bed. ‘I told you not to. Now you’ll get a beating.’

‘I know,’ Lia said, unrepentant, ‘but it can’t be helped. It’s done and there’s no going back.’

‘I suppose not,’ Tilda murmured. ‘She’s clever, though. Cleverer than I thought.’

‘Dagna?’

Tilda nodded. ‘She knows just how to work Holmann. We’ll have to watch out for her, for she won’t give up.’

‘I suppose not,’ Lia said with a sigh. ‘We’ll have to be cleverer that she is, that’s all.’

She tucked Tilda in, then on an impulse she bent and kissed her forehead the way Helma used to. Tilda closed her eyes and Lia left the dormitory, heading for Holmann’s room. Tilda’s troubles were over for the moment, but Lia’s were just starting.

Dagna opened the door when Lia knocked, and told her to enter. The room was smaller and cosier than Lia had imagined, and certainly a lot warmer than the dormitory. To the left was a fireplace where logs crackled and sparked, providing light as well as heat, so there was no need for candles or rushlights. There was a bed, a small table and two stools, and a big ironbound chest in one corner. Holmann was sitting on the end of the bed, facing her.

Lia wasn’t surprised to see Dagna, though she’d secretly hoped the woman might have business elsewhere. Lia hated Dagna for what she’d done to Tilda, and it was plain to see Dagna liked Lia no better. But here she was, for good or ill, and Lia had no choice but to stand before the overseer with her hands clasped meekly behind her back and her eyes lowered to the floor.

‘So then,’ Holmann said in a solemn, ponderous fashion, ‘do you have anything to say for yourself before we start?’

‘I’m sorry, master,’ she mumbled contritely, though it wasn’t true. She was sorry to be awaiting punishment, certainly, but not sorry in the least for speaking up in Tilda’s defence.

Holmann regarded her gravely. ‘You say that, but I have my doubts. But you will be sorry before we’re through, believe me. This will be a long hard beating, for I won’t put up with insubordination, least of all from a newcomer. Now get undressed.’

Lia took off her slippers and smock, and Holmann grabbed her wrist and drew her close. His free hand then proceeded to explore her; breasts, belly, and between her legs. He rubbed and mauled, his eyes never leaving her face, his lips quivering wetly. His thumb stroked her little nubbin, and despite her loathing of him she felt that familiar pleasant tingle. She whimpered and her knees parted of their own accord. Holmann chuckled knowingly, a repulsive leer that made her shudder, and his thumb rubbed harder. Her hips rocked in time with his caress and she began to moan. A strange sensation built inside her and she felt sure something momentous was about to happen, though she still couldn’t imagine what it might be.

It was Dagna who broke the spell. She cleared her throat and Holmann glanced at the woman in a partly annoyed, partly guilty manner. With a sigh he put his hands on Lia’s hips and turned her around. He kneaded her bottom, sinking his fingers and thumbs into her flesh until it made her grimace. Then he spread her cheeks and prodded a fingertip a little way into her anus, which drew from Lia a warble of alarm and made her rise onto her tiptoes. Finally he patted her rump and turned her back to face him.

‘I judge you’re fit to receive punishment,’ he said, as though that was the reason he’d groped her. ‘What do you reckon, Dagna; the lash, drub or strap?’

‘The drub,’ Dagna said promptly. She went to the chest and extracted a wooden object not unlike the big flat spoon Berta used to squash fruit into pulp, except that this one had a hole the size of a plum right in the middle. She handed it to Holmann, who slapped it against his palm. It made a meaty smack, and Lia flinched at the sound.

‘Lay across my knees,’ he ordered, and Lia did so. He told her to put her palms flat on the floor and spread her legs. She shuffled her feet apart, expecting a hand to creep between her thighs, but it never did. There was a pause, his weight shifted, a stinging pain cracked across her bottom, and despite the fact that she’d known it was coming she still wasn’t ready for it, and her instinctive reaction was to yelp and try to get up.

‘Down!’ he growled. He struck her again, over and over, alternating between her left cheek and her right. It was hurting far more than she’d expected, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out again. For the sake of her dignity she tried to be brave and bear it in silence, though she guessed they wouldn’t be fooled. They must have done this countless times to lots of other girls, and would know exactly what she was feeling.

It went on for a long time. Her bottom grew sorer by the minute, but still he continued to strike her, indifferent to her suffering. She writhed under the fierce assault, earning a stern warning to keep still, though that was easier said than done. She began to despair and wonder if it would ever end; but even as she thought it the beating stopped, and Holmann proceeded to stroke her sore flesh.

‘Pink,’ he said, somewhat breathlessly, ‘but not pink enough, I’m thinking. What do you say, Dagna?’

‘Nowhere near enough,’ the woman said scornfully. ‘These pig-girls are thick-skinned. If you want to be sure she’s feeling it you need to keep going until her arse is good and red.’

He started to spank her again, left and right as before. It was worse than ever and soon all thoughts of staying silent were abandoned as first sobs then yelps were torn from her lips, her stoicism failing fast. Then just as she was growing desperate and thinking she could take no more, he stopped again and told her to stand up. She climbed stiffly to her feet, rubbing her poor tender behind, unable to look either of them in the face. The beating had made her see herself for what she was – a stupid country girl who didn’t know when to keep her mouth shut. A serf, who should have learned by now not to challenge her betters. A pig-girl, as Dagna was fond of reminding her.

‘I expect you’re wishing you’d kept silent now,’ Holmann gloated. ‘I said you’d be sorry, didn’t I? So tell me, have you learned your lesson?’

Lia pouted and nodded ruefully. The punishment had done its job; there would be no more rebellion from her in future.

‘You certainly will before the night’s out,’ he said. ‘Do you know the best way to leave a lasting impression on a young woman?’

‘No master,’ she whispered, with a sudden cold feeling in the pit of her stomach.

‘Not many do. Some think a flogging will do it, using a lash with lead-tipped thongs to shred flesh. Others think a bullwhip is the answer, powerfully wielded so it cuts bone deep. All well and good, I say, if the idea is to maim the wretch. No, the key to success isn’t brute force, nor even a fearsome implement, but time. Time and a tireless arm, and that, young lady, is the way to leave a lasting impression.’

Tears blurred Lia’s vision, for she knew he was explaining what they intended for her. The punishment wasn’t over at all.

‘When I was younger,’ Holmann went on, ‘I could manage a protracted punishment session and still have strength to lift a flagon of ale. But those days are gone, sadly, so it’s lucky Dagna is here to help out.’

He handed the drub to the woman, who told Lia to stand up straight with her hands clasped behind her head. As she did so Dagna took up station at her left side. ‘Don’t move your feet,’ the woman said ominously. ‘If you do I’ll make you wish you’d never been born, understand?’

Lia gulped and nodded fearfully, then Dagna began to spank her, striking full on her bottom, six strokes to the left cheek then six to the right, repeated over and over. Lia concentrated on not moving her feet, her sole aim at this point, for she believed Dagna’s threat absolutely. But her hips rocked forward with each blow, and her back arched as she instinctively tried to draw away from the assault. Dagna was striking harder than Holmann, and such testing blows on an already sore bottom were agonising in the extreme.

‘She’s feeling it now,’ the overseer observed, eyeing her expression, which told the whole story. She gritted her teeth and concentrated on remaining silent, but feared her effort was doomed to failure.

‘She’ll feel it before I’m done,’ Dagna muttered darkly, ‘you can be sure of that.’

Lia wondered why the woman hated her so. She remembered the suspicious, hostile look on Dagna’s face the first time they met. Lia could only assume it was the overseer who was the cause of her enmity. Perhaps she thought her privileged position with Holmann was under threat, for it was plain to see the man wanted Lia, if only to take her to bed. Whatever the cause, Dagna’s hatred was real and she was clearly determined not to waste the opportunity to vent that hatred on her helpless victim.

And while she continued to ply the drub vigorously, Holmann took it upon himself to further Lia’s education in the matter of physical chastisement. ‘On occasion,’ he said, ‘there’s a need to hand out an especially severe punishment. Underneath the castle you’ll find a maze of tunnels and chambers – catacombs, some call ’em – dug into the rock by the ancients. We store food and water in one part, in case there’s a siege. Another section has been turned into dungeons to hold especially bad sinners, along with a torture chamber to make them rue their wicked ways. I tell you, there’s contraptions down there to make the blood run cold. I’ve seen ‘em; though not in action thank the saints. The torturer, Master Yves, works in secret, as jealous of his skills as any miser of his gold. If they ever take you down there, girl, and you find yourself in his hands, pray to God for a quick death.’

Lia was no stranger to pain. A serf working the land knew much about the subject, for it was a hard life full of unremitting, backbreaking toil. She had learned even more in the past few days; and was learning again under Dagna’s strict tutelage. And yet the things Holmann spoke of sent a chill to her soul.

But her present predicament forced such thoughts from her head. Her bottom was on fire, and still Dagna showed no sign of stopping. Lia whined through her clenched teeth at each cruel stroke, her vow of silence having been broken for the second time. She felt light-headed, and her legs were trembling so much it was a miracle she didn’t fall over. And since her two tormentors would doubtless see it as an act of defiance and punish her even more in consequence, Lia concentrated hard on staying on her feet.

When the beating ceased Lia’s fears about falling came perilously close to realisation. Her hips swayed, anticipating the blow, but it never came. She tottered, and only by taking a hasty step back did she manage to regain her balance. Holmann chuckled, clearly amused, whereas Dagna seemed more interested in Lia’s poor ravaged bottom, studying it with evident satisfaction and cruelly agitating the blotchy welts with a long fingernail.

Lia saw the shadow approaching before she heard a sound. When he wanted to, Stig could obviously move as silently as the ghost she’d first taken him for. He stopped by her bed and squatted, and Lia lay still, feigning sleep, wanting friendly contact after all the suffering she’d endured late into the night.

Stig’s cold hands slipped under the blanket and grasped her breasts. He kneaded her and she remained quiet, breathing slowly, her eyes shut tight.

‘You’d never make a soldier, miss,’ he murmured. ‘Soldiers sleep every chance they get. You never know when you’ll get another opportunity.’

‘How did you know I’m awake?’ she whispered, opening her eyes.

‘I knew, that’s all,’ he said enigmatically. ‘A nightmare what woke you, was it?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘I was punished a few hours ago, and the soreness is keeping me awake.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, withdrawing his hands. ‘I’d best leave you in peace. You need to sleep. It’ll do you good.’ He started to rise but she caught hold of his sleeve. She pulled his hand under the blanket and guided it between her legs, hearing him inhale sharply.

‘I’m still a virgin,’ she whispered.

‘Don’t you worry, missy,’ he wheezed, understanding her need, ‘I’ll be careful.’ And he was. He caressed her sex, stroking and teasing the lips until she was wet. He found her nubbin and rubbed in tiny circles with a fingertip. Lia bit on a corner of the blanket to stifle her moans. The last thing she needed was Jarold wanting his cock sucked in return for his silence, but when Stig withdrew his hand she could have wept with frustration.

‘I’ve got to go,’ he said reluctantly.

‘Not yet,’ she pleaded. ‘Stay a minute longer.’

‘I can’t, missy, or we’ll both be in trouble for being late. Just you remember to tell me when you lose your cherry, all right? I’ll give you a proper fingering then, one you won’t forget in a hurry, and that’s a promise.’

Then he was gone, leaving Lia to contemplate that she didn’t even know what he looked like.

In the morning Lia was stiff and sore, but so was Tilda, and she wasn’t complaining. There was nothing for it but to carry on as best they could. The work was still there waiting to be done, and no one else was going to do it. Dagna largely ignored them, which made Lia think her theory was right, and the woman was content now the rightful order had been restored, and she and Tilda put firmly in their place.

Holmann told the pair of them to fill the big water barrel, a task requiring many trips to the well. It was hard work lugging the heavy buckets, and Lia’s arms and shoulders were soon aching dreadfully. As they made their way back to the kitchen and emptied their buckets into the barrel for the twentieth time, Holmann came bustling up to check on them, his face wearing its customary scowl.

‘Hurry up and finish that, Tilda,’ he said. ‘I need you to start shelling them peas. Lia, I want a word with you.’ He took her arm and led her off to one side, and she waited anxiously for whatever it was he wanted to say, for she doubted it would be good news. ‘I want you to come to my room tonight,’ he said. ‘When you hear the vesper-bell, come and knock on my door. You understand what I’m saying?’

Lia stared at him, only then remembering that today was Thursday, the day the overseer took one of the females in his charge to bed. His face was calm enough, but there was no mistaking the look in his eye. It was lust, plain and simple, and she was the object of it.

‘Y-yes, master,’ she stammered, there being no other answer she could give. He dismissed her brusquely, and she picked up the buckets and went out.