They go down below
17th November 1102
Tiny flakes of snow swirled through the chill air netting themselves in the heavy weave of Harndall’s cloak which was already sodden with their melting bodies. Behind them the hollow shell of the ruined church loomed, blackened arches curving upwards like the ribcage of some giant rotting creature.
All around him were men, men with swords, their sharp edges menacingly slicing through the soft forms of the unfortunate snowflakes whose suicidal trajectories intersected them.
Sigurd meets a butterfly
Sigurd knocked and tentatively pushed open the door, hovering in the doorway for long moments as he peered into the darkened room.
Varda shuffled, adjusting her position on the bed and smoothing out her skirts. Her eyes were blackened hollows, dark purple blossoms blooming around the budding green of her irises. Though Hepsie had done an admirable job of setting her nose, its noble, equine slope would forever be marred by a slight hump. Sigurd carefully smoothed the unintentional grimace that flickered across his face before she could notice it.
He saw that she had carefully tied her hair back, every dark curl meticulously tucked into place. She was fully clothed in a shift with a newly sewn, green, lace gown atop that fitted snugly to her growing curves. Sigurd’s mouth curved into a slight smile. Another woman assigned to full bed rest would have been lazing about in her nightgown but Varda had insisted on dressing herself as though it were any other day. He saw that she had carefully set aside a tiny embroidery she was working on. Silky pale threads peeked out where they had escaped from the folds of cloth, curling softly like hairs on a newborn baby’s head. His heart gave a painful throb as tears pricked his eyes. She was sewing a dress for their baby.
“Hello Varda”, he gave her a watery smile as she tilted her pale face up, her inscrutable eyes meeting his.
“May I join you?”, he softly enquired and began to sit as she nodded her assent.
He patted ineffectually at the bedspread, his trembling hands attempting to subdue the scratchy peaks. He gave up and plonked himself awkwardly beside her.
For long moments neither said anything, lying stiffly beside one another like mute, wide-eyed puppets. Sigurd’s heart beat woodenly in his chest, his tongue lying thick and flaccid in his mouth as he tried desperately to formulate some coherent sentence.
Varda’s head jerked towards his, her hands still laying slackly over her belly. He was reminded of the tiny life growing inside her, even now working on small rows of the most perfect toes with matching perfect, minute toenails.
“Are they keeping him away from Valeriya?”, she asked harshly, her green eyes flaring like a copper fire.
“Yes, she is being taken care of by the Baroness. Radomir has been forbidden by the King to go anywhere near her”.
Varda sagged in relief, the severe lines of her face drooping as she relaxed.
He felt a flare of anger billowing from the hot coals of rage that were still burning deep in his belly, “He is to forfeit two hides of land to us”, he continued dully.
“Oh”, she gazed at him and he saw a flicker of momentary disappointment in the swirling depths of her eyes.
He saw it in the carefully set features of her broken face, the slight tremble of a lip that was quickly bitten between between rows of teeth. Her pain, her shattered face, the tenuous link between her and the baby inside her which could so easily and rapidly be severed completely meant nothing to these men. All it was worth in this piecemeal Kingdom was a boggy stretch of unworked land.
“Oh”, she repeated, trying to twist her shivering lips into a smile. It caught oddly at the edges, smearing out blankly like a badly painted leer.
“His nose isn’t going to heal as well as yours though”, Sigurd blurted out hurriedly.
It was suddenly imperative that she knew that someone cared enough, someone had wanted to make her tormentor suffer, that someone did not see a couple of hides of land as just recompense.
“What do you mean?”, she whispered, her mouth relaxing into a soft, careful smile as she began to understand, “Did someone break his nose… for me?”
She cautiously edged across the bed towards him, sliding her damaged body towards him and carefully tucking herself beneath his arm.
“Who was it Sigurd”, she asked breathlessly, “was it the King? Or the Duke? I hope whoever did it wasn’t punished too”.
In a moment of courage her drew her gently towards him, her frail, angular body pressing against his chest.
“No silly”, he murmured down at her as she gazed up at him in shock, “I hit him”.
“You”, she squeaked her warm breath rushing out in surprise and tickling his lips.
“Yes me”, he replied and kissed her open mouth while he had the chance.
“Oh”, she suddenly gasped.
“What… what’s wrong?”, he pulled back in alarm.
Her eyes were wide and she did not answer.
“Sigurd”, she murmured breathlessly, “the baby… it just moved. It felt like… like a tiny butterfly opening its wings inside me”.
He bravely laid a hand on her slightly rounded belly, his fingers lightly stroking the lace fabric.
“I don’t think you’ll be able to feel anything Sigurd”, she whispered in awe, “I could barely feel it myself”.
“Don’t worry, I’m sure I will next time. That is if you and our butterfly baby wouldn’t mind my company in here sometimes now that you’re feeling better”.
“That would be nice”, she mumbled, a smile on her lips and carefully tucked herself against his chest again.
Radomir waits
The fist was crunching into his face before he knew what was happening. He felt the bones of his nose cracking under its weight, a dreadful crushing feeling he remembered well and a gout of blood spurted onto the fist that was coming in a second time. Sigurd’s fingers curled around the neck of his tunic pulling him upright as his fist collided with Radomir’s exposed belly.
“You bastard!”, Sigurd was snarling, his teeth bared, “You dare touch her!”.
He grunted in pain, doubling over, wrapping his arms around his body to protect it from the onslaught. He could have balled up a fist and retaliated, Sigurd would have been on the floor begging for mercy in mere seconds. But he did not raise a hand, only tried to protect himself from the angry fists as he had done so many times. He knew exactly which parts would hurt the most and he covered those, waiting for it to end.
He deserved this. He could not imagine what he would do to the man who had lain with Valeriya and so he understood Sigurd’s need to drive his fist into the harsh features of his face. If their positions had been switched Radomir would not have been satisfied with his fist. It would have been his sword sliding into the smaller man’s belly, ripping open his guts his staring eyes startled. Even that would not have been enough.
“Sigurd!”, the Duke barked wrapping his arms around the howling man.
He struggled like a drowning cat in a bag, his fists flying ineffectually towards Radomir’s waiting body.
“That’s enough Sigurd”, Lochan muttered to him as his thrashing subsided. The duke may have been a smaller man but he was by far the stronger of the two.
Sigurd only stared at him, his eery green eyes flickering with barely controlled rage. He stood very straight, very tall, Lochan’s arms still wrapped around him. Radomir was doubled over in pain, his arm clutching at his chest where bruises were already beginning to form.
“I’m sorry Sigurd”, Radomir managed to whisper, as he licked the blood from his swollen lip.
“You should leave now Sigurd. We will send word to you when we hear of how your wife is faring”, the King commanded evenly.
Sigurd gave a hiss of displeasure and stalked from the room, slamming the door shut behind him with an echoing thud.
Radomir stood up slowly, wiping his nose against the sleeve of his tunic leaving a bloodied mess. His wife and the Baroness were seated before the King. Valeriya’s hair had been pulled up into an elegant bun. She wore a high necked gown so that all he could see of her smooth white neck was a small strip of alabaster huddling between hair and robe. She had not even turned to watch the argument between he and Sigurd. He could see that she was swaying slightly in her chair and a sudden cascade of anger flooded his senses. She was ill, how dare they take her from her bed to testify before the King.
“You also Ladies, we are done questioning you”, he spoke kindly and Cindra rose hastily to her feet, all but dragging Valeriya from her chair.
She slid a steadying arm around his wife’s swollen waist and began to march her from the room. Radomir could see that Valeriya was having difficulty, her eyes fixed on the floor as she stumbled over the hem of her gown. She did not look up at him once and his heart sagged inside the prison of his chest. Then she was gone, the scuffing of their fine shoes receding down the corridor.
“The Earl of Moraghdu”, the King’s steward droned as if none of the events of the last five minutes had taken place.
“You may sit down Radomir”, the King’s voice rang out clear as a blacksmith’s hammer striking the anvil.
“Yes Your Majesty”, Radomir all but whispered, carefully seating himself on the wooden chair facing the man he owed his allegiance to.
The chair was warm beneath him, the warmth of his wife’s trembling buttocks as she had sat before her King. Perhaps her cheeks had burned red with shame when he asked her with whom she had lain. Perhaps she had only stared back defiantly, her hot open thighs imparting their sinful heat, scorching the wood that now lay beneath him. A trickle of blood began to dribble down from his nose, tickling the skin just above his lips. He did not wipe it away, this was only the beginning of his punishment.
“I am extremely displeased with your behaviour Radomir. It is bad enough that you seem to be incapable of treating your wife with respect due to her, but now you have decided to expand this to include all women. How dare you stike Lady Inbar. How dare you lay a finger on her”, he paused for a moment, struggling to control his anger.
“You may do as you please with your God given wife and I cannot stop you though it sickens me. But you have made a big mistake in believing you can do the same to Sigurd’s”, the King’s voice was thick with displeasure as he waited for Radomir’s response.
“I understand Your Majesty and I submit to the punishment you choose for me”.
“First of all you are ordered to hand over two hides of the land you have been allotted in recompense to Sir Inbar for handling his wife. The remainder of your punishment remains to be decided depending on the outcome of Lady Inbar’s pregnancy. You do understand that if you have caused lasting damage to the woman your punishment will be severe”.
“Yes Your Majesty”, Radomir mumbled, a drop of blood dripping into his lap.
He understood. If she died he was a murderer twice over and he would pay for this with his life. A shudder of terror rippled up through his body. He clung to the sides of the wooden chair trying to steady himself.
“If Lady Inbar and her child survive this you will never lay a finger on them again, nor any other woman on this island. I will not stand for this brutality. Should I find out this has happened again my wrath will be swift and crushing. I would not recommend testing it if I were you”.
“Now, we have spoken to your wife and it seems she does not know who the father of the child is. I am inclined to believe her. She is still ill and I do not think she is lying”.
Radomir stared at him, uncomprehending. He turned to each of the nobles sitting before him trying to read their faces. Finally his eyes fell on the Queen who was gazing at him with a mixture of pity and disgust.
“I don’t understand”, he murmured.
The Queen’s brows wrinkled upwards so that the crown sitting on her brow was almost dislodged.
“Radomir you stupid fool”, she began, “We believe that your wife has been raped during the time she was lying unconscious and that is why she does not know who the father is. She was extremely distressed when she realised she didn’t know who it was and that it wasn’t you”.
Radomir recoiled as though her tiny jewelled hand had struck him full across the face, the angular edges of her rings leaving ragged imprints.
“No”, he gasped, his insides freezing in looping coils as he hugged his arms around his waist trying to remember the comfort it had given him before when those arms belonged to a strange, young girl and the scent of hay was all around.
“Radomir, I beg you. Do not go after the man or try and find out who did this. We will do our very best to discover the identity of the rapist among us but I cannot have you going around thumping every man you suspect. I need you and I need the other men. Do not fail me. We will find out who did this and they will be justly punished. But you cannot take the law into your own hands. I will not hear of it”, Eallair’s voice was earnest and remarkably gentle after the ringing steel of moments before.
Radomir shut his eyes tightly, the rage inside him was gone, nothing but a hollow wind blowing over dead coals. He was sickened at the thought of a man stealing into his wife’s chamber, pulling back the covers as she moaned in the throes of fever. Sliding at dirty hand up beneath her nightgown and then pulling it up around her waist. Hurting her while she cried out in her sleep at the pain, running his hands over her slack body, kissing her open panting mouth, twisting his hand in her long golden hair and pulling her sleeping face up to rub against him. Had it been only once, or many times when their heads were turned. It was his fault, he had not protected her well enough.
“Radomir. I am also forbidding you to see your wife. I will not allow you near her until she has given birth and we have sorted this mess out and removed the predator from our midst. You cannot be trusted with her and so you may not see her. I am sorry. I know it will be difficult but I pray that you use this time to repent, perhaps speak with Father Harndall and confess your sins. When the child is born we will have a better idea of who the father is and until then you can rest assured we are searching for this criminal”.
“But who will protect her”, his voice was so quiet it was barely a breathy sigh. There was a polite knock at the door behind him.
“Enter”, the steward called out at a small nod from the King.
The door swung open and Radomir recognised the soft thudding of Hepsie’s determined limp. It was the thumping step of the executioner lumbering up the stairs of the scaffold, wrapping his thick hands around the axe.
“Goodwife Cade Your Majesty”, Garald announced.
Radomir half-turned to look at her face and then his courage faltered, knowing his doom might be written there.
“How is Lady Inbar Goodwife?”, the King asked in subdued tones.
Radomir waited like a condemned man with his head on the block, throwing his arms wide at the last minute. He waited for the whistle of the axe and the brief flare of pain followed by unending darkness.
“She’s bein’ fine Yer Grace, though her nose is bein’ a bit of a mess. I’m thinkin’ it will be healin’ alright though as I set it real careful”, Radomir could hear the anger ringing through her voice and he knew that it was directed at him.
“And the baby?” the Queen asked fretfully.
“Fer the time beins’ the baby is fine. We managed to be savin’ it but I can’t be promisin’ yew it’ll last till the end. It’s got a long way to be goin’ till it see the light of day an’ Lady Inbar’s goin’ to have to be bedridden the whole time which she won’t be likin’. But there’s still bein’ some hope”:
The air whistled from Radomir’s lungs in a soft sigh of relief. The trotting of hooves the moment before the axe fell. The messengers halting the proceedings, the Royal pardon at the last of moments. The pardoned man’s hands falling to clutch at the wooden block, clinging to it for long moments and then leaning heavily on it as he rises trembling to his feet.
