Annatrice of Cayborne (13 page)

“Milady?” Constance nudged her mistress and Annatrice realised the market stall owner had given up on her custom.

“We are being watched, Constance.” Annatrice said with some assuredness.

“Yes milady. They are the King's guardians, the 'Knights without Shadows'. They have been tasked to protect you.”

Annatrice stood upright and huffed a frustrated breath.

“I knew this was too good to be true! Will I never find the briefest moments of freedom?”

Annatrice's anger was clear but Constance was not so mild as to suffer her rage in silence.

“Milady is a guest of the King of Suleyman. She is of great importance to the security of the realm. Surely she cannot be surprised that the King covets her safety?”

Annatrice looked to Constance who spoke with wisdom. How could she have been so foolish to think that the King would let her wander about without escort? Annatrice had become the key to Deo Canthi's plans of unification and was again nothing more than a puppet to the playful hands of a man of power.

Walking back to her temporary hostel, Annatrice wondered if she could ever escape the affections of powerful men and be appreciated for anything other than her distasteful sorcery.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Annatrice sat on a chair by the window looking out over the town, her face contorted by her hand, her head heavy as she rested it in a display of disheartened frustration. As Constance tended to the needs of the secretive bodyguards who seemed to come and go from the house like skulking thieves in the night, Annatrice sat upstairs and steadily wept. The days since she had left Fontayne had not been of the kind she had hoped. The comforts that familiarity bring and the tender care of Marianne were sorely missed. She now felt very solitary despite the numerous people rushing around after her as if she were the most delicate of eggs rolling around upon a silver platter.

Annatrice's emotional pain only served to heighten her sensitivity to the cacophony of thoughts which seemed to cloud her judgement and distract her concentration. The voices in her head were fleeting and indecipherable. They were not useful in any way; they were an annoyance to the point of intolerability. When it came to the point of the young woman reaching for the small dagger to draw a small trickle of blood from her thigh, she knew full well that it was wrong but the clarity it brought was like a sup of ale to the most dependant of drinkers. As the blade sliced the marble-like flesh, Annatrice could begin to arrange the bombardment of mental clutter and attain some measure of self control and order in her mind. She could feel the presence of a couple of the King's guard downstairs and Constance's fascination with their masculinity and their mystique. She could feel the anger of a couple next door in the adjacent house as they argued incessantly about the emergence of a new woman in their lives and she could experience the animal passion of two people making love across the street. She understood the discomfort of the footsore market trader who had been on his feet all day and the feeling of claustrophobia and hunger of the chickens that were caged, ready for the slaughter. As the intensity of the pain ebbed away, so the thoughts began to jumble again, like a language that had been spoken so eloquently but then reduced to a series of random, incoherent statements. The confusion began again and the more distressed Annatrice became due to its constant presence, the more Annatrice sought another slice of clarity.

The hours passed and Annatrice barely noticed the skies darken and the air freeze as she sat in her chair, her cream gown saturated in her own seeping blood. When Constance finally returned; she had been ordered to stay away by Annatrice in a fit of pique, it was to find her Lady asleep in the chair. Her head was slumped forward her dress stained with the brown oxidised product of her shameful masochism.

When Annatrice awoke, it was once again a bright and sunny morning and she was in her bed, her fouled clothes removed and a new set of underclothes on. Annatrice realised at once that Constance had keenly sought to save her from the indignity of waking in such a desperate state and cursed her own stupidity, for now it was obvious to her maid that her blood letting was an ongoing issue.

“Morning to you milady.” Constance said as she walked in, her footfalls so quiet, so well practised.

“Yes...morning.” Annatrice replied, her head spun, her eyes were heavy. The toll of taking on board the troubles of the world was a burden that she found difficult to bear.

“I hope you did not mind me seeing to you last night milady.” Constance said with more than a hint of nervous tension in her voice. Annatrice sat up and attempted to choose her words well.

“No...No I do not mind. I am...sorry for being so foolish and causing you undue toils and worry. It will not happen again.”

Annatrice spoke the words but knew them not to be true; the urge to pain herself had begun already as a throng of noise befuddled her senses once again. Constance dropped a handful of towels on top of a dark wood set of drawers.

“If I may be so bold milady...I have taken the dagger from your possession, I fear for your safety.”

Annatrice did her best to hide her intense annoyance at her maid's interference.

“Is that for my safety or for the sake of your King's quest?” She said with a hint of frustration.

“Oh, for your own safety of course, I should not like to see you scar the most blessed of flesh further, t'is a desecration milady.”

Annatrice slumped back into the bed, her hand covering her sensitive eyes from the low sun. Sensing her Lady's pain, Constance came to her side and sat upon the bed.

“I cannot see you in such agony milady. Pray tell me why you must hurt yourself in such a manner?”

Constance reached out and held Annatrice's hand. Despite the maid's youthful appearance, she was still a good ten years her Lady's senior and had the touch of a mother. The tender notion was enough to bring Annatrice to tears once more and with that, the bubbling turmoil in her mind increased.

“T'is the only way I can stop the frightful confusion, I fear that it will consume me!” Annatrice gasped for breath as she let her emotions free. Constance pulled Annatrice close and held her.

“I do not pretend to understand your malady, milady. I can see no purpose in drawing blood so readily.”

Constance looked down upon the frame of her Lady as she curled up into a ball, the pale perfection of her skin savagely disfigured in the prolonged attack.

“T'is not the blood, t'is the pain, I need it.” Annatrice was barely audible as she buried her face into the comforting midriff of her maid. Constance could not help but think that the woman she held in her arms was quite insane and in her torment, Annatrice could feel that too through the murky haze.

“You think I am broken, that I have been cursed.” Annatrice snivelled; she could not help herself to reveal her findings.

“It matters not what I think milady.” Constance replied, not in full receipt of the facts, her mandate was to service the young girl and tend to her needs, not counsel her or become embroiled in the affairs of the King.

“I am scared...what is happening to me?” Annatrice was desperately searching for an answer and a relief to her affliction. At first, it was a curiosity, a blessing at times when her playful nature demanded the truth from her peers, but now in the dawn of her adult years, her power had become unstable, intolerable and her desire to appease the demons which resided within her head, insatiable. Constance had no answers to her Lady's most confounding of questions; her gentle rocking motion and her warm embrace were all the comforts she could give at this time. Secretly, Constance yearned the return of the King and an end to this service, for the child set her ill at ease.

Annatrice did not move from her bed the rest of the day. No matter how adamantly Constance pleaded with her to come down and eat, she was in no mood for any of it. On occasions, Constance would bring food and drink to her bedside and find her Lady writhing around in a fit, unable to shake the intrusive invasions. When loud, irregular thuds were heard from the scullery, Constance was bound to investigate and on her arrival in Annatrice's bedroom, she found her mistress striking her body against the hard resistance of a heavy set of drawers. Constance stood gaping at the young girl who laughed hysterically as she sat there; face reddened, eyes streaked with tears and her hair draped across her sweating brow.

“Ha! No, he cannot come soon enough for you woman!” Annatrice yelled, as she delved into Constance's mind and felt her desperation for the King's return and for all of this to be over.

“Stop it!” Constance screamed, completely losing her patience and daring to step across the boundaries of her station.

“No, you stop it for I cannot!” Annatrice screamed back, her youthful angst not helping in any way.

“You're a witch girl, a witch I tell you. I feel you, t'is not right!” Constance's placid nature was being tested to its limits, but there was something about Annatrice that drove her to display such anger and frustration.

“Yes, I remind you of your bitch mother whose mind was feeble and brought you such shame, you used to strike her in her moments of weakness and tell your brother she had fallen.”

Annatrice could not help but reveal Constance's most shamed past, the intense and prolonged torture of the voices in her head gave her cause to lash out at every opportunity. Constance aggrieved and on the edge of reason strode forward and lashed out, her fist driving into Annatrice's already bruised cheek. Constance tore at her hair as Annatrice fought back but with little hope of victory. The maid's anger was to be vented and Annatrice had accepted that her treatment was perhaps fully deserved. Flailing limbs and screams of distress would await the horrified visitors who stood in the doorway, their faces filled with horror.

“What in the name of the Gods is going on?” A tremendous masculine voice bellowed as Constance immediately stopped her attack and was rudely thrown to the floor by a recovering Annatrice. Swallowing hard, Annatrice looked up to see the King, Deo Canthi with several members of his entourage including her husband Lord Charleroux. Her hair like a banshee, her body semi naked, her underclothes torn and bloodies, Annatrice shrunk back into the bed, hastily pulling the covers over her torso. Constance pulled herself to her feet and breathed hard as she stood up straight. She closed her eyes knowing that this unfortunate timing would cost her life.

“Speak, for I am at a loss to what is happening here!” The King demanded, as Annatrice looked at the most comical face of Charleroux, his mouth agape and his tongue visible.

“Spare me, oh spare me, sire. I have been driven insane by her spell!” Constance dropped to her knees realising that she had utterly failed to control herself and now was at the mercy of her Lord.

“T'is truth my Lord, I am fully deserving of any hardship that my maid presented to me, I spoke out of turn in a fit of frustration. Constance has been quite magnificent in tending to me, I beg of you to look beyond the disgrace of such a sight.”

Annatrice was solemn faced until the end when she cracked into an embarrassed chuckle. The King raised his eyebrows and looked around to his aides who all puckered their lips in confusion. Without further words he turned and walked out of the room leaving only Charleroux and his wife remaining, Constance skulked off too, wondering what mighty punishment would befall her.

“The Gods! What have you done to yourself?” Charleroux uttered as he approached his wife, once again pulling the covers high to keep her modesty.

“I can see your good intentions, I thank you for your concern but I am quite alright and need no further attention.”

Annatrice was not particularly comfortable around Charleroux, especially when so exposed and vulnerable.

“If you cannot share your pain to me then...” Annatrice did not let him finish his sentence, her throbbing wounds giving her ample stimulus to rob him of his thoughts.

“Who can? Because you are my husband and deserve in some way to dominate every aspect of my life? No Charleroux, I am your wife on paper but little more. We both suffer this agreement for our own ends do we not?”

Charleroux grimaced, knowing that he may as well not bother speaking when Annatrice was so finely tuned to his thoughts.

“Can you not see that I care however? It pains me to see you in such desperate straits.”

“Ah yes, I see that you long to soothe me, to dab cool waters upon my wounds, to touch my wounded skin and all the while, your manhood stiffens with the yearning to fill me with your seed. Be gone! Go and continue pandering to the King's wishes for he often wonders what usefulness you bring to his cause, your annoying utterance's filling his mind with the fulfilling thud of the axe upon the block!”

Annatrice turned away, once more realising that she had gone too far. Charleroux's heart thumped as he stood, turned and walked away in dignified silence.

“I am sorry!” Annatrice screamed out, her mercurial angst on show for all to see and hear as she suddenly felt the wash of hurt with submerged her husband's heart. Her apologies carried no weight however as Charleroux continued out of the room without reply, slamming the heavy wooden door behind him.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

An hour passed in solitude for Annatrice who was left to her own devices whilst a conference took place downstairs in the reception rooms of the cramped town house. Annatrice need not even be there to have full knowledge of every word spoken, every intention, every doubt expressed. She paced around her room like a dog in heat as the throbbing ache from herself harming and the subsequent fight with her maid continued her moments of clarity.