The Seventh Lost Tale of Mercia: Hildred the Maid (2 page)

Her blood stirred with hope. She couldn’t
have planned this situation any better if she had tried. The thegn
was riding off, the cook’s back was turned, and within an arm’s
reach sat a pail of milk. It was fresh and untouched, filled nearly
to the brim, and Hildred thought that she wouldn’t need even half
that much to save her brother’s life.

The problem would be taking it home. She
glanced at the cook again; he grumbled and hummed to himself
intermittently, and all the while rummaged through a large bag of
carrots, no doubt searching for the tiniest and purplest to give
her. She saw a skin nearby and grabbed it; it was full of ale.
Working quickly, her blood racing faster than time itself, she took
a swig of the ale and poured the rest out. Then she dipped it into
the pail and watched in awe as the white cream refilled the
emptiness.

As the cook turned around she moved herself
so that she hid the pail behind her, and all the while she
struggled to hide the dripping pouch behind her skirts. At last she
managed to secure it under the cord around her waist.

Aidan held out the carrots. “There, soothe
your belly, and then go inside and pray to God.”

“
Oh yes of course … oh,
thank you.” Hildred did not care that the carrots were tiny,
wrinkled, and purple. They seemed so sweet on her tongue as she ate
them, and every crunch sent a jolt of pleasure through her body.
All the while she backed away, bowing at the clergyman. “Thank you
… bless you ...”

He nodded and smiled for as long as he could
stand to, then eagerly returned to his work. Victory filled Hildred
up like a cool drink, and she turned to hurry off.

“
Hey ... hey
wait!”

She spurred her feet faster, pretending not
to hear him.

“
Hey! My ale!”

His voice sounded very close, very suddenly.
When she paused and felt her own skirts settle around her, sopping
wet, she knew she was done for. Desperately, she reached behind
her. All was lost if too much of the milk spilled out.

His grubby hands gripped the pouch at the
same moment she did; they wrung it in between them and their
combined efforts flung it suddenly to the ground.

The last of the rich, white milk soaked into
the earth and disappeared.

“
You little bitch! Eadric?
EADRIC!”

She should have run immediately but she was
petrified with horror. As the last drops of milk fade away, she
watched as if her own baby brother died before her eyes. Tears
filled her vision, making the ground undulate.

Eadric must have been in hearing distance,
for soon the thuds of his horses’ hooves grew louder. Much too late
she turned to run, but she was crying now, sobs choking her throat,
salt-water blinding her eyes.

“
Go on, Truman,” said the
thegn, not with much conviction.

She heard the sword-man dismount and felt his
boots shaking the earth; she fell to her knees and wept openly.
“I’m sorry Coenred,” she gasped. “I’m sorry ...”

Truman grabbed her arms and pulled them
behind her. He twisted her wrists sharply and she cried out.

“
Easy,” said Eadric, his
horse churning the dirt with irritation.

“
Easy?” cried the monk. “She
stole my ale—and some milk!”

Hildred groaned as Truman tried to pull her
to her feet. She sagged like a dead weight in his arms.

“
Come now,” said Eadric. “In
the end she only spilled it, so far as I can see. Is an accident
worth all this trouble?”

“
You cowardly swineherd!”
raged Aidan. “You’re as weak as one of your little piglets if you
let this go. Are you a thegn now or aren’t you?”

Eadric’s teeth flashed with a scowl. “This is
the reeve’s work.”

“
Then take her to
Wuffa.”

“
That I will.” The lord
suddenly had a strange look on his face, firm and distant. She
stared at him imploringly, wondering if perhaps she could rouse any
semblance of mercy within him, such as whatever had caused him to
wink at her this very morning. But he would not even look at her.
He seemed to have accepted his duty, and forgotten the rest.
“You’re coming, too.”

“
What?” said
Aidan.

“
I saw nothing. The decision
of her innocence must be reached by the magnates. It will be your
word against hers.”

“
But my food, and the
congregation—!”

“
Then come to town this
evening and speak your piece. I’ll take care of the
rest.”

“
Good,” said Aidan. “I will.
I enjoy seeing God’s justice be done.” He sneered at her. “And as a
thief, she’ll hang.”

She shuddered with one last sob, but then her
eyes seemed to run dry. The thought of the afterlife still
frightened her. But now, not even the fiery depths of hell seemed
so terrible as the miserable world in which she already lived.

*

She spent the evening in an old horse’s stall
in the town center of Shrewsbury, scratching at the wooden walls,
catching the whispers of her captors. She understood few of their
words and even fewer of their implications. She did not even
comprehend the nature of her punishment nor how it would be
enforced, beyond that they would burn her hands, and how the burns
healed would determine her fate.

Upon bringing her to the reeve named Wuffa,
Eadric had spoken kindly on her behalf, claiming that the details
of the incident remained unclear to him. “All I saw was the two of
them wrestling,” said Eadric, “and when I rode closer to
investigate, that’s when Aidan accused her of theft. I brought her
to you because it is my duty to report wrongdoing. But in this
case, I must confess, I am not sure which was the one doing
wrong.”

Hildred thought this a strange way for Eadric
to describe the situation, as if somehow placing suspicion on the
monk. But she did not argue with it. She said nothing at all: not
even when Wuffa asked her to describe her own version of the story.
She knew she was guilty. To admit it would be to condemn her body.
To say otherwise would be to condemn her soul. “You see?” Eadric
had said, a strange look on his face. “She is as shocked and
confused as I am.”

So it seemed that somehhow, either Aidan or
fire would proclaim her guilt.

Nearly as puzzling as her portending
punishment was Lord Eadric’s opinion of her. Their long journey to
town together had confused rather than enlightened her. At first,
when leaving the monk, he had seemed cold and dismissive. He
discussed the personalities and customs of his neighboring thegns
and clergymen with Truman—a man who seemed to be both his swordsman
and mentor. He spoke of Hildred as if she was not being dragged
alongside them, listening to every word they said. And yet in his
next breath he invited her up onto his saddle, helping her mount
the horse with her hands still bound, then settling himself behind
her. He sat steadfast against her, his stomach and chest lined
against her back, his arms locked around her elbows, so that she
could not decide whether his posture was an embrace or an
imprisoning grip. Whatever the case her blood rushed with heat
whenever he spoke, his lips rustling the hair near her ear, and her
breath faltered whenever his hands brushed idly over her arms and
legs.

Once when he heard her stomach growl, he
offered her food from the sacks in his saddle. He held a piece of
bread to her mouth while she bit from it. As the soft grains filled
her belly, she realized with shame that her body hungered for more
than just food. She could not remember the last time anyone noticed
her, much less touched her, the way that Eadric did. It was silly
to assume that a thegn like him thought of her at all, and
completely ridiculous that he might somehow care for her; and yet
the possibility made her heart sprint against her chest.

What would it matter, anyway, if in a day her
hands would be burned? If the monk appeared tonight and spoke to
the reeve, he would condemn her to hang by the neck. If not, the
question of her guilt would be raised to God. In the morning, Wuffa
and the local mertis would bring her to a fire and stick a poker in
the flames; once glowing they would put it in her hands and force
her to walk nine paces with the poker in her grasp. After that they
would bind her burned hands and throw her back in the stall. If the
wounds were not healing in a week, then she was guilty, and would
hang.

She knew she was guilty; she knew her wounds
would not heal. And even if they did, how could she return to
laboring in the fields with scorched fingers? She and her father
would both starve to death.

Nothing mattered. Nothing could be done. Her
mind spun and spun in circles, and soon it would find silence in
the grave.

Hildred’s last hope—that the monk named Aidan
may not bother coming to town to present his case—shattered quickly
when she heard him outside the stall door. The man who responded to
his words was Eadric himself. As the two men strolled closer to her
prison, she struggled to piece their conversation together from the
middle. She sensed from their tones that Aidan had not yet gone to
the reeve. Instead it sounded as if Eadric and Aidan were in the
midst of bartering.

“
I know it meant a lot to
you,” Eadric was saying, “but there is always more ale.”

“
I thought you said your
supply was low?”

“
Indeed, but I can still
acquire more. The result is only that it will cost you a few extra
cabbages.”

“
The other monks will start
to notice.”

Hildred wondered if this had something to do
with the sacks of food Eadric had obtained from the monk. Not all
monks were allowed spirits, but whether Aidan was allowed them or
not seemed beyond the point. One way or another, he was getting
more than his fair share, and Eadric was clearly his supplier.

“
Perhaps you’re right.” It
seemed they had stopped just outside her door, and Eadric’s voice
rang clearly through the wood. She strained to see him through the
cracks. “I can hardly imagine the life you lead, Aidan. It must be
so difficult, going without so many simple pleasures—things I take
for granted, like ale and wine and meat whenever I can obtain
it.”

“
Yes.” She thought she heard
the monk force down a watery swallow.

“
You must have so much
self-control, Aidan! To think, you are a cook, and yet you abstain
from filling your belly until you’ve served everyone else first. It
is truly self-less of you. You deserve to indulge in a few extra
spirits on occasion. By God, if I were you I would indulge in much
more.”

Eadric laughed, and Aidan laughed nervously
with him. After a moment, the monk asked, “What sort of things
would you indulge in?”

“
Ah, my dear Aidan, your
mind is so pure you don’t even know what I’m talking about! For
your own sake I should shut my mouth right now.”

“
Never mind.” The monk
sounded testy. “Tell me what you meant!”

Eadric lowered his voice, and yet she could
still hear every word. “If I were you I would have taken justice
into my own hands today. Did you even see the beauty of the sinful
wench who stole from you? I am sure your mind was too close to God
to notice how her lips looked as sweet as mead, her flesh as soft
as dough, and yet ripe as fruit in all the right places.”

Hildred drew back from the door, her stomach
turning unpleasantly.

The monk heaved a sigh. A terrible silence
followed the sound of his breath.

“
If you do notice such
things, and resist anyway, I am all the more awed by you,” Eadric
went on. “Surely no one would blame you for a little indulgence now
and then.”

When the monk finally spoke again, his voice
was weak. “You … you don’t think so?”

“
Of course not! Dear God,
how innocent you are.”

“
You know I’m not so
innocent,” snapped Aidan, as if affronted.

“
Don’t be so hard on
yourself. In any case, to make the maiden pay for her crime with a
fate less than death would be a mercy, don’t you think?”

“
I’m sure I don’t know what
you mean!” said Aidan. But he spoke too quickly to be telling the
truth.

“
I’m sure I don’t know
either.” She could hear the smirk on Eadric’s voice, and it made
her blood turn cold. How horrible it seemed to her that earlier
today she had been eager for his attention, and enjoyed the touch
of his breath! Now she thought his tongue must drip poison. She
felt as if she could hear the monks’ mind turning, even in the
heavy silence, and she shivered through her core.

“
What do you think, Aidan?”
said Eadric after a time. “Should I fetch the reeve so he can hear
your accusation? Or do you think you could find some manner of
forgiveness within yourself?”

“
I … I don’t know.” The monk
sounded breathless. Hildred backed further and further from the
door until she was against the far wall of the stall. His shadow
filled the cracks. Now, he was the one peering through the wood.
“Is she in there now?” asked Aidan.

“
And her hands are bound,”
said Eadric. “Perhaps ... I should give you some time to think it
over?”

“
Perhaps.”

“
I see. I’ll stall the reeve
until you’re ready, then.”

As Hildred listened to Eadric’s departing
footsteps, she felt as if she melted into the rotted hay, and she
wished that she actually would.

She could hear Aidan shuffling around on the
other side of the door, and if she listened too closely she could
hear him breathing heavily. The sound filled her with disgust and
dread.