It was so terrifying that she felt she had no energy. If she had been told that she could be so enervated by such a situation, she would have laughed. The idea that being taken by a man like Wattere could lead to a maid being so petrified with terror that she might be incapable even of rational thought would have struck her as the merest nonsense. She was an intelligent woman. She knew how to defend herself. If there was a knife at hand, she would have used it to protect herself and her maidenhead from ravishment. But it was one thing to laugh during a conversation in front of her fire, perhaps with her father or her husband near to hand, and friends who were enjoying themselves with her. Here, in a chilly room, with her soul frozen in her heart, where every sound made her think that the foul man who had leered at her this morning was approaching again, it was different. And there was no weapon in the room. Not even a knife for eating.
The thought made her rise. There must be something here she could use. If the man returned and tried to force himself on her, she could lie back as though compliant, perhaps, and then strike him. A shard of metal or glass … A long pin. Her brooch would do service, she thought, pulling it from her shoulder. It had a long bronze pin that was weak generally, but she could use it for stabbing at a man’s eye. The floor was of wood, but the walls were stone. She could sharpen the pin on that.
But as she was about to rush to the wall, she heard steps. The hurried steps of a man who was eager to take advantage of a woman who was entirely at his mercy. She looked at the wall, but there was no time. Instead she gripped the brooch in her fist, so that the long pin protruded. If he came too close, she would stab him with all her might, she told herself. She had never fought with anybody, and the thought was almost more alarming than resigning herself to being raped. The idea of stabbing a man’s eye as he approached her with puckered lips was enough to make her stomach spasm. She saw in her mind’s eye the spurt of the humours as the pin punctured it, she felt the splatter of it on her face, and she had to avert her face from the vision, but not with any diminution of resolve. If he intended to rape her, she would sell her body as dearly as she might.
There was a rattle of bolts on the door, and she felt the bile rise into her throat. The acid made her want to choke. But then there was a knock, a gentle, apologetic little tap of a knuckle.
‘Who is it?’ she asked.
‘William atte Wattere,’ he answered. ‘Mistress, do you object if I enter?’
She felt the solid, reassuring weight of the brooch in her hand. In God’s hands. She was in His hands. Although she was reluctant to let Wattere in, she knew she couldn’t stop him if he insisted. At least he didn’t sound drunk.
‘What authority have I in me to prevent you?’ she said bitterly. ‘And what strength?’ she added sadly.
The door opened quietly and in the doorway stood Wattere. His anxiety was obvious from the first moment she saw him. ‘Well?’ she demanded.
He did not enter for a moment or two. Then he whipped off his hood and licked his lips before stepping over the threshold. ‘Mistress, I am come to apologise.’
His words made her heart leap in her breast. ‘There’s been a mistake?’ but as soon as she spoke, she knew that it was unimportant. Whether there had been a mistake in capturing her or not at the outset, the men here at this castle were not likely to release her — not until they had received a payment at least. In Basil’s case there would be a different type of reckoning, too.
He curled his lip. ‘Truth is, you were to be held here safely. There wasn’t to be any nonsense. You were only a toy to be bargained with, I swear. You weren’t to be harmed.’
‘You took me against my will, held me here, and I wasn’t to be harmed?’ she spat.
‘No. You were only to be kept here until … well, until my lord Despenser achieved what he needed. And then you could be released.’
‘And what, pray, was his object with me?’ she demanded sourly.
‘You were to help force the abbey of Tavistock to his will. With you here, he felt sure that Robert Busse would surrender his claim to the abbacy, and then John de Courtenay would win it for himself.’
‘What have they to do with me?’
‘Little. But Busse is a friend of your father’s. Sir Hugh considered that if you were held, your father would move heaven and earth to seek your release, and he’d persuade Busse to give up his claim. If not, he thought your father could even slay the abbot to give the seat to John de Courtenay.’
‘He was in his cups when he thought of this. Why would Busse listen to my father on a matter such as this? And my father wouldn’t kill a man for that. For me.’
But she knew it was a lie. Simon would commit any crime to protect her. He would kill a man, he would rob, steal, or even commit suicide for her. He was as entirely devoted to her as a father could be.
Then another thought struck her. ‘Why are you apologising to me now?’
‘Because it’s going wrong, maid. I am sorry. I am really sorry. But you have to protect yourself against Basil. He’s no better than a common cowman. I think he means you … means you harm.’
She was still suddenly as she felt ice enter her heart. ‘You mean he will rape me?’
‘I think he intends to. And there’s nothing I can do to save you.’
‘You say so? You brought me here, churl! If you wanted, you could at least stay at my door and stop anyone from entering.’
‘Fight a man like him? If I was whole, I could do that. But I have wounds still from your father,’ he said with a slight sneer. He felt sorry for this woman, but her father would only ever know his enmity. He detested Simon Puttock and would do nothing to help him. And yet this woman was not her father. It was leaving him feeling torn. ‘I am sorry.’
‘Then you could take me away from here, man! Don’t leave me here to be raped and slain by a fool in a drunken fit! What can I do to protect myself?’
Wattere winced and looked away as she stood. ‘Mistress …’ Suddenly a vision appeared before him: a picture of a dead cat, gold and white, with scarlet blood dribbling from its mouth, the head hanging at an impossible angle like a man swinging from a gibbet. It was enough to make his resolve waver as he looked back at this lovely fair-haired … child. ‘What can I do?’
‘Work out a way to take me from here,’ she pleaded. ‘I am only weak, I’ve no weapons, nothing! You brought me to this — surely you can think of a way to help me escape?’
He stared down at her, and thought of the cat. The idea of this maid lying on the bed, blood at her thighs, was enough to make him feel a surge of guilt. The other idea, that the next time he saw her she might be lying on the bed with her neck broken, a trickle of blood lying at her mouth’s corner, was enough to reinforce the guilt and urge him to action.
‘I will see what may be done,’ he said. He hesitated, and then reached behind his back. Withdrawing a small dagger, he gave it to her, and then stood with his breath stilled, half expecting her to stab him.
But no. Instead she gave him a thin smile and took the knife, which she secreted inside her tunic. ‘For that I thank you, Master William. But please, please try to think of a means of escape for me? Please?’
He felt a strange twisting in his breast — an impossible urge to grab the knife back and return to normalcy; but then a pull at his soul made him stop himself. He could not force this woman, this girl, to submit to Basil. That man was no better than a felon waylaying a maid in the street. The difference was, he had her at his power because Wattere had brought her here. It would be better for her to kill herself than submit.