Page 11 of Burying Venus

Dermot tread towards him despite Aubrey’s soft protests, blood boiling at the implication. Robert’s black eyes bore into him; he may well have been the male equivalent of those sea creatures, for he had the unnatural look of one.

‘Take the woman in hand. I’ve had my share of her,’ Robert said, hoisting her from where she stood and throwing her at Dermot.

The woman was more bone than flesh. Dermot caught her by the ribs and spun her round before she hit the ground, making her cry out. With poor access to physicians, many peasants were considered elders by thirty, and their bodies betrayed this. By keeping them starved and weak, Robert could have his way with them all.

‘Having a pet ruffian is not so bad! It seems the native beast can be tamed,’ Tristan said.

‘Do not speak of him so, I beg you. Leave them all alone,’ Aubrey said. His voice wavered at the last moment, doubtless knowing he would be ignored.

Robert smiled and leaned closer to Dermot, disguising anything said behind his hand, well placed and grazing Dermot’s ear. ‘My brother is quite hot for you, I think.’

To some of his more reclusive peers, the turn of phrase might’ve meant nothing. But he who knew what he was as but a child shivered with it. He thanked no one but nature that Robert could not know how his bowel churned, gut twisting.

‘You mustn’t imagine I care about such things, however. That thinking is for your fellows, not mine.’ Here he squeezed Dermot’s arm as if he hadn’t just admitted the two of them were far from brethren. ‘A few years ago, I went out of town to stay with a family to the north-east for a few days. They were tradesmen from the mainland fixed on making a life here, ifyou can believe, and eager to appeal to my family. One night I became quite lascivious, owing to being younger, and though they had no daughter, there was a son a room or so away from myself. Quite pretty, of a likeness with Aubrey. We were at the task all night. So you have nothing to fear from me in that quarter, were you and my brother to have a bit of a tussle.’

Blood surging so his cheeks were an inferno, Dermot steeled himself best he could from the dread steadily pooling. What had been said would’ve been a sorry parody of their lives before Maldred’s concoction. Not once as he’d been forced to kowtow to the family could he have imagined Lord Robert engaging in that same unutterable act. Some men in the countryside, he knew, never came upon exactly what they desired from other men. And if they did, they might’ve killed themselves for it. Just as Dermot’s peers in the village urged him to the grave every day.

He glimpsed the woman in his arms, her undisguised horror, and knew Robert was overheard.

‘The rope,’ Tristan said simply. Dermot startled at his interruption. ‘If Dermot and Aubrey are to ride together, where are we putting these two?’

‘I think it best the woman goes on my horse and the boy on yours. This is exactly your purpose, Dermot. Tie their hands and legs and lay them out just behind the saddle. Unfortunately I neglected to bring any cloth to blindfold the lad, but we will make do just the same,’ Robert said.

Tristan pushed the boy to the ground and ran back to his horse, bringing the burden to Dermot. The rope was thrust directly in his face, Robert shoving the woman away and securing her soundly so Dermot could begin his task.

The woman writhed as he wound the rope around her wrists. Her nephew shouted too, though he didn’t dare move. Dermot felt their eyes boring into him, Tristan’s laughter near goading him into pulling the ropes tighter, if only to take away some ofhis own evil frustration. He felt ill-used like them, a slave like any man stolen away to the east. Having no other means of income, refusing Robert would be to starve himself and reject shelter. Even a good family hadn’t protected Robert’s conquest from an encounter he couldn’t well rebuff.

Twisting the rope a final time, Dermot pulled it into one fine, wretched ribbon.

‘I suppose you are skilled with a rope from your time in the kitchen. Who was it that hung all those pheasants and rabbits from the ceiling, their little faces drooping so? That display amused me,’ Robert said.

Not wishing to go through the schedules Béchard drew up each day, Dermot stilled when Tristan announced the boy was safely in hand. That, at least, spared him from having to name Will or Stephen.

Grabbing the woman, Dermot draped her behind Robert’s saddle with ease. She only began to kick when her legs were secured, as soon as Tristan threw the boy over his shoulder and flung him onto the horse with a thud.

‘No, take only me! If you wish to try me for witchcraft then so be it, so long as he goes free,’ the woman murmured, Dermot’s handling seeming to have winded her.

Robert patted Dermot on the shoulder, very much like a man with his favourite hound. ‘Help my brother onto his horse,’ he said, sauntering back to his own beast and jumping on directly. The woman groaned at the jolt and lay still, perhaps having fainted.

Head firmly down, Dermot returned to Aubrey, watching as the boy’s eyes welled with tears. His cock may well have curled into itself, so embarrassed was he to have been observed obeying Robert’s orders.

Realising the boy didn’t intend to move, Dermot grasped Aubrey’s hips and hoisted him onto the creature. Decidedlyagainst a repeat of earlier, he leapt on in front and felt Aubrey’s arms go round his waist with a faint squeeze.

‘We’ve won our hunt. A great deal should be done about these witches. But never fear,’ Robert said, giving his horse a gentle kick. ‘I shall deal with it when we return.’

Dermot followed like the mere dog he was, and Tristan’s fair voice did not give the prisoners any reprieve. They galloped out of the forest, slowing gradually to a canter, then easing into a polite trot as they reached town. Lord Robert could’ve carried their severed heads back, Dermot realised, as women and children cheered after them. The townspeople had no concern for their brethren; they thought themselves closer to Robert than their fellow man.

‘We come with spoils!’ Tristan called out as the portcullis rose, giddily urging his horse after Robert. Dermot saw the boy had already closed his eyes.

Following close behind, Aubrey’s head resting soundly on his back, Dermot steered the beast and leapt off without ceremony. He gave Aubrey no warning, and the boy cried out in surprise as Dermot lifted him down, hands gripping his hips.

‘A rough one, aren’t you?’ Robert said. He’d pulled the wretch from his horse and gone to Dermot, intending to hoist her onto him. ‘Who do I see loitering around the stables?’

Dermot looked to where Robert was gesturing and nearly dropped with relief. Béchard, for all his hysterical behaviour, seemed a veritable saint next to Robert. If anyone could deal with Dermot’s new duties, it was surely him, though he stood sad and squinting, appearing older than his years.

‘Who goes there?’ Tristan shouted. ‘Have peasants made their way into the castle? Where are the guards?’

‘No, Lord Tristan, please, I am the chef! I only came to check on one of my charges. Dermot, you see, is my scullery boy,’ Béchard said.