The man’s face burned with anger and shame, but he knew better than to talk back to the queen’s mother-in-law, especially since she was a powerful wizard in her own right. “Yes, milady,” he mumbled.
“And she shall be safe in your dungeon?”
“As safe as a princess, milady.”
“None shall even think of touching her?”
“No, milady.”
“Then go and tell all the other gaolers! At once! Or shall I come out and tell them myself?”
The gaoler winced at the thought of all his prisoners hearing this termagant railing at every single gaoler, one by one. “I shall tell them, milady.”
“Go do it, then!” Mama pointed out the door, imperious in her anger. The gaoler shuffled out, muttering under his breath. Mama glared at the door as it grated shut, then turned to find Laetri staring at her in complete amazement.
“You may feel safe now, child,” Mama assured her.
“I—I thank you, milady!” Laetri said. “But… but why would you… would you trouble yourself for… for a street whore?”
“Because every woman should be treated with respect, and no woman should be subjected to such abuse as you have been!” Mama told her. “Then, too, I suspect you have been far more a victim than a sinner.” She watched Laetri closely for the quick, calculating look in the eyes that would show a jaded, cynical mind quickly estimating how much of a sucker this sympathetic rich woman was, how far she could be milked for money or freedom—so Mama was completely unprepared when Laetri virtually threw herself into her arms, sobbing her heart out.
“There there, child.” What could she do but hold her and pat her back and make soothing noises? “There are some of us who know it wasn’t your fault, not yours at all, that the worst thing you did was fall in love with the wrong man and do whatever he asked of you, as love bids us all do. Not your fault, not yours at all, but his, all his, for courting you and pretending love, only to make you into a commodity he could sell!”
The worst of the storm passed, and Laetri managed to push herself away and wipe her eyes with the hem of her dress. “How—How do you know all this about me?”
“Do you think you are the only pretty child who has ever found her love so abused, who has been decoyed by a handsome face and sugared words into becoming a virtual slave? Poor thing, you aren’t the first, and won’t be the last! It’s an old tale, very old, but vulnerable creatures of the heart that we women are, it will always be told. Come, dry your eyes now and tell me the truth of these charges against you.”
She sat on the camp stool she had brought, pointing to the heap of moldy straw that served Laetri for a bed—there was no chair, not even a stool. The prostitute sat down beside her with a certain awkwardness about her movements that made Mama wonder how old she could be—sixteen? Seventeen? Mama hoped she was at least nineteen, but doubted it strongly. “Tell me—which of those bruises did the prince make?”
“This one.” Laetri touched her forehead. “And these.” She pulled down the neckline of her dress to show five purple marks where a rough hand had squeezed far too tightly. “There are others.” She lowered her gaze, blushing with shame. “I am sure you would not care to see where they are, though.”
“I can imagine,” Mama said, her voice hard. “He did not wait to see his purse was gone before he struck you, then.”
“Oh, he did.” Laetri touched her breast. “He did not make these by striking me. No, it was only when we began to dress again that he saw his purse was missing. Then he shouted ‘Thief!’ and struck me with his fist.” She shuddered at the memory. “I screamed and ran, but he caught me at the head of the staircase and threw me down the steps, calling for his money, calling me a robber. Then Pargas stepped between us, and I was safe.”
“Until Pargas decided to rent you to another sadist,” Mama said grimly. “What did you see of the battle between them?”
“The prince accused me of stealing. I said I hadn’t, and Pargas told the prince that if I said it, it was true. The prince struck at Pargas. If he’d been honest about who he was, Pargas would never have dreamed of striking back, but since he didn’t know, he pulled out his little clubs and swung. He struck the prince on the arm. The prince yelled with rage and stabbed Pargas in the left arm. Pargas dropped his left stick, but gave the prince a knock on the head with the right before he could pull the knife out. The prince backed away, howling, and slashed at Pargas, but he blocked with his club. They traded three or four blows then, but neither hit the other until the prince screamed, arched his back, and fell. My man pushed back against me then, panting, ready to defend. That’s when the sergeant and the nobleman stepped in and started asking questions. Then the landlord shouted and pointed to the man who was going out the window, and my man and I started for the kitchen and the alley door, but the nobleman stopped us and accused us.”
“Pargas is not ‘your man,’ except as a dog might think of its owner as ‘his owner,’ ” Mama said severely. “Have no doubts about that, child. Pargas is not in love with you. He only thinks of you as his property.”
Laetri’s eyes filled with tears. “Surely he has some feeling for me!”
Mama shook her head sadly. “Only lust for your body and greed for the money it can bring him. How many other women does he run?”
“Only two.” Laetri had to force the words out, eyes lowered, face red.
“You may be his most profitable,” Mama said, “because you are his youngest—but that is all. You must not go back to him, child, nor to any other pimp, or your life will be wasted.”
“But what else can I do now?” Tears began to run down Laetri’s face. “No man will take me for a wife, and my family would not take me back in their cottage! I must whore, or starve!”
“I shall speak to the queen,” Mama said. “I think she may find you a place in her kitchens. You may have to scour pots, child, and endure the sneers of the other women till they begin to trust you. Can you steel yourself to that?”
“Oh, yes! But—But the men of the staff. Will they not expect … expect me to…”
“If the queen is willing to take you into her service,” Mama said firmly, “she will see that all her menservants know not to presume upon you. If I can arrange it, child, will you accept it?”
“Oh, yes!” Laetri cried, seizing Mama’s hand in both her own. “I shall labor long and hard for the queen, milady, you shall see! I was born a serf’s daughter, and learned to work hard at washing and baking and scrubbing as I grew! I wish I had never left that life, that I could go back to it!”
“Why did you leave it?” Mama said, frowning.
“Because all the boys were brutish and foolish, and I longed for something more—but in the city, I have found less! Be sure that I shall scour and labor from dawn till dusk for Her Majesty, milady! I ask only enough food to stave off hunger, and a warm place to sleep—and that never, ever again shall I have to suffer the touch of a man!”
Dinner done and talk run out, the three men prepared to sleep. Matt offered to take first watch, and neither of his companions argued; in fact, they both looked relieved. But as Sergeant Brock opened his pack to draw out a whetstone, Matt noticed something gleaming. Looking more closely, he saw silver. “A sickle?” he asked. “Silver, too! That’s a curious thing for a soldier to be carrying!”
Brock tensed, but forced a smile as he closed his pack. “Curious indeed, milord. It is a battle trophy from a band of perverts we broke up. Caught none of them alive, sad to say, but we slew a few and chased all the rest. I took that sickle off one of the dead ones.”