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“Then, there’s the great river, it weaves into the bowels of the valleys and from it something devours the pasture animals, giant tentacles that reach out and gobble up the cows. It is said the creature must be fed twice a day with,” he lowered his voice, “virgins.”
Sara giggled. “That one was quite good, don’t you think, my lady?”
“I suppose. But honestly, what is the fascination with virgins,” said Matilda soulfully.
“That isn’t the only one I’ve heard,” the minstrel said. He eyed the dish.
Matilda passed him another portion of sweetmeat. “Tell me.”
“Tis said there are brazen lords who lust so greatly, nothing will crush their appetite. Evil, cruel beasts of men, who ride into forests and hunt maidens. Bare maidens tossed into the darkest places and left to fend for themselves against this abhorrent foe. These titanic knights capture them, plunder them, and then cast them aside, their innocence lost, and unsuitable for any other man to love.”
Matilda looked out of the oriel window to the valley below, where the river flowed and the forest spread as far as the eye could see. There were no monsters out there, not in the river or forest, but there were hunters, and she wondered if they believed such tales, or whether they laughed them off as fantasies of poor folk seeking titillation. The minstrel’s eyes were certainly vibrant and enjoyed telling the story.
“I see,” she murmured. “When you were a monk, perhaps you offered comfort to one of these castoffs, is that how you heard of it?”
He blushed and brushed the crumbs from his tunic. Picking up his lyre, he plucked at a string. “It’s all nonsense, my lady. Just folktales and exaggerated. If I had been a monk, then I would have been happy singing hymns and have no need to entertain gentlefolk.”
He sang a few more unassuming songs of love and left. Matilda stared out of the wind
ow. From out of the forest rode the lords with their squires and attendants. There were no women amongst their midst, only men burdened with poles carrying the felled stag and several braces of pheasants and rabbits. Gervais led the way, his bow slung across his back. They wound their way up the path and out of her sight. A little while later, dogs barking heralded their arrival in the courtyard.
“Best make yourself scarce, my lady,” Sara said, collecting up their sewing. “His lordship was most specific that you should not been seen.”
After midday, the horde, a jovial band of satisfied men, left the castle bound for another unknown destination. The extent of their satisfaction was apparent when rumours reached Sara’s and Matilda’s ears that the men had enjoyed the looser women who lurked near the castle and had taken them to their beds. At dawn, Gervais had roused the household and had the women thrown out as the men snored.
Arriving in Matilda’s room, he said nothing of the antics of his guests, or the success of the hunt. He merely took her hand and escorted her to the tower and his promised appointment.
Matilda dragged her heels. “Did I not please you last night?”
“Yes,” he said. “But I said you should atone for disobedience and I am a man of my word.”
“Then, could I not plead for a reprieve? I am sorry.” She plucked at his sleeve.
He turned the key in the door. “Over my knees and naked, you may plead as much as you like while I spank you. I shall enjoy the protestations.”
She huffed. “You take pleasure in this, don’t you?”
“I take pleasure in that sweet pout, my Tilda. It is fetching in its contrivance, and I know that when I strip you naked, your body will be both equally petulant and deceitful.”
Her mouth gaped. How could he possibly know the extent of her readiness when she had tried so hard to make it appear she was resisting? Should she try harder?
He waved her up the stairs to the top room. “After you.”
She stomped, carrying her skirts with her, and behind her back he chuckled.
“This is so unseemly, little Tilda. I shall take even more delight in colouring your bottom. It will not go well if you continue with the display of recalcitrance.”
“If you want, then why not take me downstairs to the dungeons and have me there instead. Would it not suit your mood better?”
He caught her arm and held it firmly. “Do you know what is down there?”
She turned on the narrow step and found her chin level with the top of his head. From above, with his tousled mop of sunshine hair, he appeared younger. However, staring up at her, the sharpness of his eyes was unnerving in their maturity. He kept his grasp of her elbow and guided her down the stairs, past the entrance, and further to the bleak lower floor that sank beneath the ground and into the stone of the cliffs. He lit a torch and approached a blackened door.
“Come, I’ll show you.” He unlocked the door with a different key. The creak was ominous and through the gap, a rush of icy air escaped and brushed her.
She was stuck close to his side. He lifted the light high and she waited for her eyes to adjust. The smell was dank and unpleasant, the kind that came with suffering. The opposite wall was dripping with damp and she spied chains hanging from hooks. Gervais swept the torch in a circle and she glimpsed a wooden post in one corner, and a grim table with manacles in another.
“What is this place?”
