The Ealdspell Awaefe

Chapter One

Caeda lay on the floor of the attic, listening to the sounds below. The wooden beams dug into the bony places between her hips, her spine and her shoulder blades; the straw of the thatched roof, just inches from her face, made the air sharp to breathe. She ignored the pain and discomfort and concentrated on remaining still, keeping her breathing quiet and regular with an effort.

In the cooking area directly beneath her she could hear Master Grampion berating the servants and other apprentices. A resounding “thwack” rang out as the Master’s heavy staff whistled through the air and connected with a shin or arm, causing someone to cry out in pain; she thought it sounded like Umbrecco, and was glad. A knock or two would do the arrogant second apprentice no harm whatsoever, in her opinion.
“Now get back to your duties!” The Master roared at last, and Caeda heard the sounds of feet scurrying to obey. Pots and pans rattled, a knife beat rhythmically onto a wooden board, and voices began to speak in low tones. Still she lay, and listened. The wait seemed interminable: it could have been ten minutes or an hour, she lost track, but at long last she heard the distinctive creak of the Master’s door opening and the slam of wood into frame as he pushed it to. She waited another fifteen minutes, counting the seconds silently to herself like a kind of chant. And then, hoping desperately that he would be asleep, carefully maneuvered her stiff limbs upright again. Her legs resisted, her back was tense and sore, but she forced herself to move slowly and carefully so as not to disturb any of the stores: rush baskets containing fruit, vegetables and cheeses, dusty jars of preserves and pickles in neat rows inside wooden crates, great carved chests full of linen and wool bolts, barrels of beer and wine. If she so much as nudged a basket, the noise would bring the servants up the ladder and she would be discovered for sure. Crouched under the eaves, her feet braced on the rafters, Caeda slowly pushed a loose section of thatch aside with one hand and crawled out onto the roof.

The night sky was clear, the velvety blackness dotted with the pinpricks of distant stars. A silky quarter moon lit up the indistinct grey shapes of the surrounding fields, some bumpy with waving corn or long grass, some smooth and rolling with the shape of the landscape, delineated by spiky hedgerows; the leaning and misshapen lines and points of farmstead walls and gables, the sounds of horses nickering and cows lowing in their barns drifting across on the soft breeze, the sweet smell of cooking fires and wood burning. The Seffton Forest in the distance looked like a great black ocean, boughs waving softly up and down, up and down, against the wind, with the shadows casting the branches in the contorted shapes of roiling waves. Caeda dreamed of the sea: great vessels with colourful sails flying from tall wooden masts, casting off from bustling harbours for unknown shores and returning with casks of spices, strange stories and even stranger bounty. She longed one day to see the ocean, to feel the spray on her face, to taste and smell the salty air she had heard described so vividly by the Tellers; though right now she would settle for just being anywhere but here, in Talbort. Except Talbort was all she knew, after all, so where was she going to go?

Once she had stretched the tension out of her limbs, Caeda began to lower herself carefully down to the edge of the gables, where the rafters met the stone walls of the mill house. Clinging by her fingertips, she slid her legs off the edge of the roof and swung them to find a foothold. Panicking, she kicked out again and again. She felt a meaty hand grasp her ankles, and then she was tumbling down to land in a scratched and bruised heap on the ground. She tasted dirt in her bruised mouth and the fall knocked the wind out of her.
Gasping for air, her stomach knotted, she found herself face to face with Edgar, the Master’s chief servant.
“Aha! I knew you was ‘iding up there somewhere. ‘is self will be pleased.” Edgar grinned ghoulishly and reached down to grip Caeda’s ankles again; with the breath knocked out of her, her feeble attempts to escape had no effect. He dragged her through the main door and into the cooking room, dumping her unceremoniously on the cold stone flags. She lay there, panting and trying to get her breath back, gingerly testing her arms and legs to see if anything was broken. The servants and other apprentices viewed her with some anxiety (no doubt wondering what Caeda’s reappearance would mean for them), and shooting pitiful looks back at her over their shoulders. They knew better than to interfere, however, and carried on with their chores.

Edgar reappeared after a few minutes and hoisted Caeda over his shoulder as if she were no more than a sack of potatoes, or a barrel of the freshly brewed Mirras beer he brought back from the market. Born a town stall trader, Edgar was brawny and muscular from years of lugging heavy loads backwards and forwards from stall and cart. In his later years, despite swopping his born profession for a more comfortable job as a Master Servant, he had lost none of his heft and strength. Caeda struggled, but it was useless; what could a scrawny and underfed girl hope to achieve against a great hulking monster like Edgar? He carried her to the Master’s rooms, through the office with its shelves and shelves of neatly catalogued sales books and trade manuscripts; past the desk piled high with ledgers, pens and ink, accounts rolls and samples; and through the door to the private chamber, where he dropped her on the floor beside the bed.
“That’ll be all Edgar. Close the door on your way out.”
“Yes’m.” Edgar said in the back of his throat with a grin, and left. The sound of the door slamming shut behind him sounded to Caeda like the door to her jail cell being locked. She slumped to the floor in defeat.

The Master took his time crossing the room; closing his book and placing it carefully splayed on the arm of his wing backed chair, taking off his slippers and arranging them side by side in front of the wardrobe, hanging his jacket on the back of the door. When she looked up, he was standing over her.
“Stand up,” he commanded, and very slowly she obeyed. Tears streaked her face and she dared not look at him.
“Take off your robe and lie on the bed,” he said, and with shaking hands she began to obey.
“Please, sir. No. Please. Just let me go back to the kitchen. I’m sorry I ran away. I was scared. It won’t happen again. Please sir, if you’ll just…”
“Pleading will do you no good whatsoever. You did wrong. I don’t want to hurt you, but surely being asked to my chamber should be construed as great favor? And how do you return my kindness? You run away from me! I’m afraid you must be taught a lesson. It is my duty to my apprentices to teach them. Now, do as you’re told. Take off your robe.” His voice was cold and his eyes never left her face as he watched her take in his words, watched the tears course down her cheeks.
“No sir, please.” She begged, her voice cracking.
The Master reached for his stick and as she felt it connect with her back she grunted and fell to her knees. He hit her again and again, as she cried out in pain.
“Stand up.” He commanded. She struggled to her feet in obeisance.
“Take off your robe,” and with shaking hands she undid the woolen robe she wore over her pale cotton shift and leggings, letting it fall to the floor at her feet. He pushed her down on her knees by the bed and lifted his stick above his head. She screamed as it connected with her back, feeling a trickle of wet blood on her skin sticking her shift to her spine. At last he stopped, and dropping the stick on the floor with a clatter, bent down and gently turned her face to look at him.
“Now, will you submit?” She nodded, broken and willing it to be over.
He lifted her onto the bed with one arm, pulling at her leggings and discarding them, lifting her bodily with one arm to strip her of her bloody shift. He pushed her face into the cushions of the bed until she could barely breathe as he climbed on top of her. She felt him struggle to undo his fly and cried out, her screams muffled by the sheets. He pushed her face further down with a hand and as she gasped for breath, struggling against him, he groaned as he entered her.