Page 10 of Burying Venus
Tristan moved as if to cut him down, sword raised high like an executioner leering over the block, faltering only at Robert’s shout. His weapon fell neatly to his side.
‘No, indeed. I have no wish to stop our hunt yet, especially after being spoken to so brusquely. It is Lord Robert, my boy, or else my lord. Have you no respect for your betters?’
The boy shook his head. ‘Not after being treated so!’ he said, fleeing further into the woods.
‘Onwards!’ Robert said.
Dermot fancied Robert grew yet more feverish after this exchange, pulling the reins eagerly as he rode after. Tristan followed behind, and Dermot, startled into submission, dimly kicked his horse and started it into a gallop.
The boy was clever enough, weaving between trees as he did. The trick might have been enough to put off an amateur, as it slowed Dermot considerably, but Robert and Tristan had been instructed since boyhood. Neither cared for the welfare of their horse, the poor creatures having their necks near broken. And as Dermot near killed his own trying to keep pace, Aubrey brushed against his skin, inching closer and whimpering in either fright or shock. What once would’ve stirred his cock, the noises near enough to what he’d imagined at night, left him cold and sickly. He could scarcely steer, and Aubrey did nothing but cry.
Shouting came from ahead. Dermot hurried along, having lost them some time ago. Tristan sounded like a man at his peak. He’d heard such noises before, when those of a certain profession and inclination had a new animal run in for execution. Some took great pleasure in subjecting a new soul to torture that couldn’t safely be borne in a man. They all offered the same excuse; the animal was a lesser creature. But that same animal, having witnessed the deaths of its friends only moments before, endured all they could not.
Dermot watched as Tristan set the boy free only to grab him again, toying with him like a cat as they stood outside some cottage. Leaping from his horse, Dermot stood stupefied.
‘Dermot, here at last!’ Robert said.
Bizarrely, a middle-aged woman stood at his side. Her face was like a mask fashioned for a pantomime, so white was she, both sides of her lips turned into a parody of a scream. She pulled at Robert’s fine sleeves and black cloak as if to throttle him, but what was a desperate skirmish for her was but an amusement to him.
‘It seems those stories of forest hags are not the fancy of your people after all,’ Robert said. ‘For, you see, I have one here, and my brother has captured her kin quite soundly.’
The woman screamed and raised her hand as if to claw Robert’s face with her nails, only for him to twist her arms and bring her hands together in a firm clutch at her back. She cried out in agony, and Dermot again heard those huffs of amusement from Robert.
‘Auntie, oh Auntie, I thought you’d make them stop, not that they’d hurt you too!’ the boy cried.
‘Brat,’ Tristan said, letting the boy have one last run towards his aunt before grabbing him soundly by the waist and pulling him back. ‘You think that wench, a peasant living out in thewoods and all, could tell us what to do? She may be your blood, but we strangers have more say over you than she ever could.’
‘Curse you! This is our land, and you’ve no right to it! I live here, plant the seeds and toil in the fields, and not a soul suffers from it. I know all about your family, I do.’ She paused, hardly able to be heard over Tristan’s laughter. ‘Coming across the sea when no one desired such a thing. We were quite happy as our own people, beholden to no one, having our communities and the like. Damn all towns and merchants, kings and all!’
Robert contorted her arms as if to break them.
‘Treason, I hear!’ Tristan cried, much to the horror of the boy he held.
‘And a great many unnatural ideas,’ Robert drawled. ‘Does this mere peasant woman suggest people may live wherever they like in spite of law and contract? Indeed, I am reminded of our discussion with the bishop. There is something strange about this woman. Did she not just curse us? Did you hear, brother? Dermot? My dear Aubrey?’
Dermot didn’t have the courage to speak. If Robert had been his compatriot and equal, he might’ve fought, but this man was the son of his employer, and worse, the heir to their island.
‘I don’t understand,’ Aubrey murmured. ‘Dermot, please, ask my brother to stop. Who are these people?’
Dermot startled at the request, not having noticed Aubrey come to meet him, though the boy hid behind his larger frame. Cowering from the madness of his own kin, all their fine apathy undone in but one drink.
Robert laughed, utterly unmoved. ‘You needn’t trouble him, Aubrey. I realise I explained nothing to you. I am just as surprised by this woman’s presence. We hunted only the boy, you see.’
‘But who is he?’ Aubrey said. ‘Let them go, please, I’m begging you! I don’t know what’s come over you.’
Robert said, ‘He is a commoner, a native like your Dermot. Are they anything to remark on? I brought him from the schools. Financed by the public, would you believe, and our family specifically. A mere peasant honoured with schooling, the costliness of such a thing. And still the brat failed, as his kind are wont to do. History, literature for the poor! Aren’t we entitled to use him for the kindness already given? Especially on account of his paltry thanks.’
A great silence struck, even Tristan seeming taken aback. Dermot stood away from them, scarcely able to contain his trembling. Robert, usually tepid as a snake, was enamoured of this family’s pain.
‘We never wanted the bloody schooling, it was your kind who made him go. We’d teach them at home, like our families have done for thousands of years. No interference!’ the woman shouted.
‘Damn this! We came here for the hunt. Why not kill him now?’ Tristan said. He took the boy’s face in hand and angled it towards his aunt. ‘Let’s make her watch.’
Robert stood, considering. ‘Has she not confessed to witchcraft? Indeed, I think this boy her accomplice. We have never had trials here, only in the mainland. And the results might prove intriguing.’ He gestured carelessly to Dermot. ‘Come, take her from me. I don’t want to be exposed to any sort of pox for longer than necessary.’
Even as he watched, Dermot knew his participation was a foregone conclusion. He was not a spectator but a man brought for a purpose. Every moment Robert and Tristan spent gallivanting was a blot on his character, Béchard would say. He’d have been expected to capture both the boy and woman and thank Robert for the privilege. Their outing was but a prelude to his doing the brunt of the work and in so doing sharing some of the sin.
‘Dermot, come to me. Aubrey can wrap his arms around you some other time,’ Robert said.