The Price of Hannah Blake (5 page)

“You must watch.” Hannah opened her eyes. Before her stood a woman, older than she, but dressed in a black skin so that Hannah could see the contours of every muscle, shaped to perfection. The woman’s long, raven hair was pulled back and tied with a thick white taffeta ribbon. The face was older, but beautiful. Standing before Hannah, standing as though almost weightless, it seemed she might soar off in any direction. For her slender, athletic body suggested motion even as she stood still. In the lovely face, Hannah saw no softness or sympathy. The eyes evaluated, judged, and commanded. The woman said, “No more foolishness. You will watch, today. I will speak with you after class. Don’t move from here.”

Hannah nodded, looking up at her. “Good,” said the woman, and in her tone was an elusive hint of approval, a tiny reward. Then, she turned and walked away—danced away without dancing because her walk was sensuous. In front of the rows of men and women, without a second’s hesitation, she caught the cadence of the low drumming and leaped high in the air. They followed her every move. Hannah watched.

The bench grew hard beneath her and she became thirsty as the troupe leaped and twisted, sleek bodies with the sheen of sweat, the imperious instructress calling the movements. And then other drills: walking, curtseying, dancing together—still naked, men and women in embrace—and only occasionally a brief sitting or lying on the floor where they were. And none, not one, ever seemed to Hannah aware of being naked, though she caught fleeting smiles as they glanced at someone.

Hannah could not stop watching one girl, no older than she, following instructions to perfection. The girl had dainty, pert little breasts that scarcely jounced, though her chest rose and fell with her breathing. The fair hair of her triangle became darker, damp with sweat. On her pale, pretty face, framed in red hair, was only concentration, determination.

A bell chimed three times, the instructress stopped, gave one sharp clap, and turned from the class. All of them, talking now, laughing, ran for the door to the dressing room and crowded through it, making no attempt not to brush against each other. Was she supposed to follow? Dress now? It would be impossible, naked with two dozen naked strangers. She began to rise. She had to do
something
.

“Sit.”

The instructress was before her. “You know nothing of why you are here.” Hannah nodded and started to speak, but the instructress ordered, “Be quiet. I will tell you. Do not interrupt. Nothing you can say will change anything.”

Hannah deliberately placed her palms on her thighs and raised her face to the woman. “This is the duke’s troupe of dancers and actresses. We dance and perform for the duke and his court, his friends, his visitors. We perform for men and women—anyone that the duke wishes. We are the best performers in the realm, but no one knows we exist, and never will.” The statements came forth like tenets of a religion. “You are surprised we all are naked. Be quiet!” she warned.

“We perform naked for the duke. It is his pleasure to see the bodies of beautiful boys and girls in dance, theater, portraying love and lust.”

“But,” Hannah managed to stammer, “the duke is…is brother to the queen! The queen is mother of England, and loves us…” Where had she heard that?

“The queen knows nothing. Be quiet, I said! You will dance, you will act. You will be proud of your skill, your body, your beauty. You will work too hard, much too hard, not to be proud of what you can do. And you will do it naked, anything required by the art. But first will come many months of…” she gestured back at the empty room. “This, and much more. Your voice, every gesture, your ability to convey the most powerful emotions with your face alone—to convey by one turn, one gesture, what you feel. You will live for nothing else. You will live here, in this beautiful compound, and be well fed, beautifully dressed, and educated.”

Hannah frowned at the last word; she longed for more education. “Of course,” said the woman, seeing Hannah’s expression. “You cannot dance and act—and talk with the duke, when he wishes you—if you know nothing of history and life. Do you like to read?”

Hannah managed a whisper: “Yes, yes very much.”

“Good.” Again, it was a little softer, approval.

Hannah formed her lips into words that must be said “But I want to leave. I want to go home. I want to see my mother, my brothers and sisters.”

“You never will.”

“But the queen, our royal family, are the protectors of England and all its people.”

Now, Maria’s face came as close to a smile as Hannah had seen—a slight saddening of the eyes and a quick curving of the lips that rued how amusingly naïve were Hannah’s words. “And it is sin!” said Hannah more confidently. This she knew was right. No one knew more than the minister and the great church. “It is against God. The queen is good.”

Again, the faint smile: “The duke craves the sight, and the touch, and the artistry of beautiful young bodies. He joys to watch young men and women make love.”

“What?” She could not possibly have said what Hannah thought she heard.

“He loves to see young women, naked as birds… You are here because a great nobleman saw you, your beauty. You are the duke’s subject and at his command. Do you not know that?”

“It is a sin.”

“Is it?” The woman lifted her eyebrows. “Do you know that”—she named a man of the church famous all over the island—”is a companion of the duke and comes to our performances?” Hannah felt despair in her chest like a block of stone and in her mind seemed to be…mud. She could not think, but she said, not looking at the woman, “It is not possible.”

“You will see that it is true.”

“I want to leave.”

“No more!” said the woman curtly. “Come, we will go to my chambers. There is more for you to know.” Could Hannah refuse? No, then people came through unseen doors and made her do their bidding. What use was there in that?

“My clothes…”

The woman gestured at the door to the dressing room. “They took them to your room. Wear what you are wearing now.”

Hannah rose, looked at her, and waited.

Turning like a cat, the instructress sank to the floor; she crossed her legs, sitting on the fur of some tawny, spotted animal. Hannah never had seen anything like it. Even in her growing fear, she had curiosity. Looking up at Hannah, the instructress said, “You must be thirsty.” She waved at a table. “Take what you want to drink. Eat also.”

Hannah had not admitted to herself how hungry she was. She stepped to the table but could not bring herself to touch anything. She heard the instructress say, “There is water, wine, and juice.” Hannah saw the round pitcher filled with brilliant orange. She took the water, two cups. Then, she reached tentatively for the pitcher. The orange juice was heavy with sweetness. It was delicious.

Behind her, the instructress said, “There is only fruit and cheese. Dinner will be later.” Hannah didn’t recognize any fruit except the apples. She took one and bit into it. She did recognize the huge half-wheel of cheese, or, at least, that it
was
cheese, and picked up the ornate knife and pressed down. Hannah could smell it, nutty and tart. She took the slice and began to eat it. Not like any cheese she ever had imagined. To eat this way—all day, as much as she wished…

When she paused, the instructress patted the fur beside her. “Here, sit with me.” It was a command. Hannah knelt on the soft fur, facing the woman, and waited. “My name is Maria. I came here eleven years ago.” Hannah stared at her. Almost a lifetime!

“I was one of the first. I am from the Kingdom of Spain, near Barcelona. I was taken from a ship that sailed from there. I don’t think my parents knew I would be taken.” She hesitated, and added, “But who can be sure? Perhaps they sold me, as did the parents of so many here.” Again, she hesitated. “It does not matter. People do what they must.”

Maria said, eyebrows brought together in a faint frown, looking down at her hands folded in her lap, “I was one of the first. And the first that the duke commanded to his chamber.” She paused to watch Hannah. Hannah nodded; she must hear and understand; this was her fate—in the quiet words of this woman.

“I was a girl with raven hair and gypsy eyes. But proud, so proud! Because I was best. I stood naked before the duke and he smiled. After that, after many performances, he asked for me to be brought to his chambers. I still think that he loved me.”

“He ruined you?” asked Hannah, in a whisper.

“He took my virginity, made me a woman.” She said, “Yes, I know. You are a country girl. I will train you, but the work will be hard. You will lie at night and know every muscle of your body by its cry. And someday, you will stand naked before the duke, or perhaps the archbishop, or some prince from Arabia… And you will be proud.”

Hannah shook her head, mute, denying it.

“No one knows where you are,” said Maria. “No one is searching for you. Don’t expect to leave, that will cause only misery.”

After a moment, she said, “Yes, cry. We all do. For our parents, our filthy cottage, the bread and milk to eat—or nothing—for growing old before our time. Or for a few years with a young man who comes home smelling of gin and takes us and soon is snoring.” She nodded her head, “We weep for loss of that.”

Hannah shook her head.

“It does not matter,” said Maria. “You will begin tomorrow. If you resist, you soon will beg to begin.”

She stood up and Hannah began to rise. “No, sit,” said Maria. “I have more to tell you, so you will understand.” Her body seemed to stretch in one sinuous motion as she pulled her garment over her head. Almost as quickly, she bent, pushing down the rest, kicking it off her ankles. She was naked. For just a moment, she stood over Hannah, then she walked to the beautiful basin at the side of the room. As she turned to walk away, Hannah gasped; her hand flew to cover her lips.

The woman’s tall body was perfect, long legs rising into the sculpted buttocks, and then the slender waist, and the straight shoulders. The hips were sensuous. But it was as though someone had melted this flesh to the consistency of butter, and, mischievously—diabolically—drawn in the soft butter—over the buttocks, the back, and the shoulders. Maria turned around and Hannah drew her breath sharply. So lovely, but her legs, her whole belly, her breasts were crisscrossed with overlapping furrows, a veritable thicket of lines that went across the breasts, that crossed the hair at the base of her belly. On the fine, firm breasts, the lines overlaid each blood-red nipple and seemed to smudge it.

The instructress stood before the bronze basin, turned on running water—water flowing at the turn of a handle—and picked up a thick towel. She wet it in the stream of water and began rubbing herself. “I made a terrible mistake,” she said, simply. “I blame no one.”

Who could have done this? Why was this woman still alive, still speaking to Hannah easily, casually?

“I was the cynosure. Men begged the duke for me. Earls, and princes from other lands. The duke was jealous; I knew that he was, he adored me. But some he could not refuse, and afterward, those men would make me presents. It happened once at a gay celebration after we performed. There was a foreign countess who was a monster. Men and women were drinking wildly. I should have been wary. Where there is one man, you are safe. Where there are many… And where there are women, too, you can find yourself in Hell.

“I boasted of my training, I had muscles stronger than any man’s, I could hang from a bar and lift my legs straight up and hold for 10 minutes!

“Suddenly, the duke said, ‘We will see this trick’”! It scared me, but I thought, ‘I am the king’s favorite. Beloved. And a great actress. I was so proud!

“So they stripped me naked and hung me by my wrists. The duke said, ‘now she will keep her legs elevated in this wonderful trick. But if she lets them drop, I will lash her with my riding crop.’

“Perhaps the others did not want to do it. But the duke was powerful, feared. Who could oppose him? I thought: I shall be whipped on my arse, and later the duke will weep over me.

“‘Now!’ the duke shouted, and raised his riding crop I lifted my legs, straight out, tight together, my toes pointed. I felt my stomach muscles tighten; my belly crawled with fear.

“‘How long? How long must I hold?’ I asked him, but he would not answer me!

“I saw the women staring at my nakedness. I was young, beautiful, raven hair flowing down my back. Ten minutes. They watched me. They were fascinated, and so cruel! How could they imagine the flames of pain in my belly? I groaned in pain, but still I held. The sweat ran down my body and I smelled my own rank fear. How they marveled! I began to moan and bite my lips, my belly was on fire. I thought: ‘Better to be whipped, than this agony!’ and I let my legs drop.

“Instantly, the duke slashed across my thighs. I screamed. It was like being branded. He hit me again.

“‘No,’ cried some of the others. ‘She has won! She has held for full 20 minutes!’ But the duke brought the riding crop across my belly. It felt as though someone has sliced me open, and I shrieked. I lifted my legs, again, panting in fear. He held his whip at the ready, smiling. I did not know the man! Never had! My belly pleaded for relief, and finally would not hold me anymore. My legs fell, and I cried out in fear before he hit me.

“He hit me again and again. Across my thighs, my belly. I dangled from the bars, twirling as he struck me. So he struck my back, my arse. And then my belly again. I felt my bladder let go and they laughed and pointed.