Chapter 3
THE CART'S TAIL
The role had lacked definition. The absence of a script had filled Sabina with anxiety. Without Sister Amaldis she would have panicked.
"The ingenue is nearly always abandoned to her own reactions," Sister Amaldis had explained patiently. "The effect sought at the Seigneury is impromptu. So much focuses on the feminine lead that can only be achieved by spontaniety." Her hand had been gentle on the tense arm, her voice soft.
"I'll blow it. I know I will!"
"No, you won't, dear. It's not like a stage. Here, you'll be saturated in atmosphere. It's like the infant tossed into water; you swim instinctively."
It had come to an end, of sorts. But no beginning! The Seigneury blended and merged into a second reality in which there were no footlights or kliegs or prompter. It was as though she died and went instantly into another life. Looking back, her concern could be seen as laughably pathetic. Her fear, not groundless, but misaligned.
"But I must say something! There have to be words."
"They will come, Sabina. When you need them they'll be there."
It had begun with the costume and with outrage. Sister Amaldis had helped with the first. "Early seventeenth century, dear." A gentle murmur of laughter. "Their houses were cold. They wore a lot of clothes."
Knickers and drawers, ruffles and lace, camisoles and stays ... a chokingly constricting authenticity. "We nearly always go back into history, Sabina, so much more colorful."
Her excitation had dampened discomfort. "It's a rehearsal, Sister?" She had been breathless.
"Everything we do is a rehearsal, dear. Come along downstairs. I'm so glad you're pleased. You look most charming."
The doorway had been like any other. "You go down the stairs and straight along the passage...." Sister Amaldis had kissed her tenderly. "Good luck, dear. I'm sure you'll be wonderful...."
Halfway down the passage the lights had dimmed. A rough hand had reached from a doorway and dragged her within. From that moment on, sanity had vanished from Sabina's world.
""Tis the cutpurse wench they've sent us," a male voice growled, "an' a fine doxie she be an' all." A pull and a thrust sent her reeling.
It was a smoky untidy room lit by barred windows high on the wall. Behind a rough table sat a middle-aged man who wore a tricorn hat atop a towseled wig. Before him was parchment, in one hand a quill, in the other a mug he shared with a slattern who eyed the newcomer with a hungry distaste. "Must ha' bedded half the two to buy them duds. She'll be havin' little need o' them here-"
"But search her, Perkyn."
The small purse was concealed in her bodice. It yielded several coins, one of them gold. It was laid on the desk while the quill scratched laboriously.
"But I didn't know-Was I supposed...?" Sabina was certain she had intruded on the wrong set.
"They never knows, duckie." The woman chuckled coarsely and drained her mug. "You 'andle them clobber careful, Perkyn. I don't want naught o' 'em tore."
"No-No, please...!" Sabina backed away from reaching hands. "I think there's a mistake!"
"And it's you what's made it, lass." Perkyn pinched her cheek playfully. "You want ter take off them pretty feathers for Meg, or do I play the Lady's maid?"
"I'd best go back to Sister AmaldisThis is all wrong...." Sabina looked from one to the other of the unsavory trio who were examining her with frank lechery. "I'm sorry."
She was halfway to the door when the hands possessed her. In a daze of uncertainty she allowed them to take the voluminous dress, but when they fumbled at her waist she protested. "Stop it! You're way out ... I don't want...."
The slap across her cheek knocked her to the floor. Meg's hand in her hair hoisted her back on her feet. In shock and bewilderment she allowed herself to be stripped. Later, they could apologize. But she wanted no more clouts or bruised lips. Her breasts heaved in frustration and chagrin.
"Best tie the bitch, Perkyn."
Sabina slapped at the reaching fingers in alarm. Enough was enough! If this was someone's idea of a joke it had gone too far. It was bad enough to have lost her clothes-her bare skin was flushed with embarrassment. But to be made helpless and exhibited!
The blow felled her. This time a knee thrust brutally into her back while her wrists were crossed and bound with sleazy cord. Roughly hauled erect, she stood before the table, twisting in shocked impotence at hands behind her back-hands lost!
"Fine high breasted piece, eh!" Bulbous salacious eyes assessed her quality. "And a lush black bush!" The quill scratched away as though recording her physical attributes. "And what you been charging to spread them pretty legs, m'dear?"
"I'm not! This is absurd!"
"Pickpocket and common bawd, lass," the voice intoned. "Should earn thee a trip to the colonies mayhap. Or, at least a warming of thy back and buttocks while M'Lord Rothsey sentences thee in the morn." The pen scrawled busily.
"Call Sister Amaldis. Or let me go. ... "
"Ye'd like to cover them tits, wouldn't ye, love?" Meg was busy folding her captive's lost finery into a bag. "Well, can't never be said Meg don't do the decent thing by her gals. Here, precious, I'll cover thy cunt."
In its way it was worse than nakedness. A soiled tube of sacking tossed at captive feet. But driven by carnal eyes Sabina stepped into it gratefully and stood meekly while it was raised and knotted above her breasts. Its ragged lower hem scarce fell below the juncture of her thighs. It hid little but emphasized much. A piece of string was looped as a belt. "Makes you look like you're a gal, duckie," Meg cackled enjoyably. "Proper kind I be to the likes o' you."
"Yell be in court come morning." The clerk looked up at her as though expecting gratitude.
"Tomorrow!" Sabina tugged in futile dismay at her bound hands. "I can't possibly be like this until tomorrow!"
"And why not, pray?"
"It's too silly! I'm sure there's a mistake. I certainly don't intend...."
The clerk yawned. The other two smirked in some knowledge she did not share. Meg picked up the bag of precious clothes. "Best store the wench away, Perkyn," she suggested amiably. "And give her small comfort, she's not here fer no picnic."
It was a new dimension of sensation to realize that, with her hands tied behind her back, she could no longer exercise will or decision. These freedoms were gone, and would be exercised for her by others. Sabina considered kicking as defense. But with bare feet...? She would only invite another blow. In mute bewilderment she suffered Perkyn's grasp to propel her from the room.
"Tis best ye don't rile Meg," Perkyn advised kindly. "She dearly loves a bit o' cruelty if ye gives 'er cause."
"But this is cruel!" The prisoner twisted in his grasp. "My wrists ared tied far too tight. They hurt! And besides, what's the need? This can't possibly be any kind of performance."
The door he opened with the massive key revealed a sad, small cell. It contained nothing but a bucket and some straw. Light found it reluctantly through bars. Now it held Sabina! With the closing of the door, the turning of the key, and the shooting of bolts she stood forlornly surveying her tiny prison. Miss Connors and Rolfe Campys seemed a million miles away. Everything was a million miles away! This was another world-a nightmare!
That she was victim of error, she could not doubt. But how long before the error was discovered! She looked about her and shuddered. Even an hour in such a place was punishment. But all night and into tomorrow...! She would panic and become hysterical. How could a girl fail to know claustrophobia caged thus! In angry rejection she fought the cord upon her wrists. It surely must be possible to rid herself of its shaming compulsion! No adult could be so constrained for long! Surely, surely-surely! But it was useless. Defeat found her as tightly tied as before, but with chafed, complaining wrists. The tears came then. Tears she could not dry on cheeks she could not touch. Sabina fell to her knees upon the straw and allowed her desolation to flow without constraint. Slowly she sobbed her way into acceptance of a new reality.
"Can't never trust a man wi' a wench." Meg's plaint was not without satisfaction. "Left ye in solid comfort, just like I thought he would. Good thing I come prepared."
Sabina had raised herself from the straw. The key in the lock had spurred hope, a hope that died at sight of her visitor and her visitor's burden.
"Yell not be spreadin' them lovesome legs, me pretty." The ugrly metal made a fearsome clatter as it was tossed on the stone. The sackcloth clad girl eyed the shackles with disgust. "Up on thy feet, love, while I clips thy wings."
"But this is silly! I'm already helpless!"
The small whip appeared in a bony hand. "This says it be right proper to iron thy feet, duckie. Does't wish to argue?"
"No! Oh, no...!"
The captive girl's denial was shamingly instant. Sabina looked down passively, and in wonder, while iron bnads were fitted round her ankles and locked. They were joined by a length of chain designed to constantly irk, a heavy bond of shame from which there could be no escape.
"Thy neck should wear a collar, girl. But iron's too heavy for a span so small-'tis a pity."
It was hateful and frightening to be so helpless. With speeding pulse, Sabina stood while her neck was noosed and made secure. The other end of the long rope was knotted to a rusty ring in the wall beyond her reach. "Our little pigeon will know she's caged." Meg approved her work. "Hast' had thoughts o' escape, love?"
"Of course not, how could I?"
"Ye're right there, me pretty."
"Please, Meg, I don't know what's going on, I'm lost." Sabina made her voice respectfully coaxing. "But please be a little kind to me. I want to cooperate. But the way I'm-fixed. It's awful! And in this place....I'm going to be miserable!"
"And so ye should be."
"But nothing like this was spoken of! It's not as though there's an audience-or a camera."
"Yell have an audience enough come thy sentencing."
"Please, not my neck. It's beastly."
"I can get thee an iron collar yell like less."
It was hopeless. She could not pin them down. Her words eluded them as though not spoken. The captive girl, now utterly demeaned and deprived of liberty, watched the closing of the door in a frightening conviction of something wrong, something that should have been corrected but was not. She shook her head irritably against the stricture on her neck and its weight of pendent rope. Then kicked idly at her chain to send its links swirling on the stone. On her slender ankles the metal looked immense, an unfemi-nine gyve against which her whole being rebelled. Miserably she disposed herself upon the straw.
There were visitors. Men and women. All clothed in the period of her stolen garments. They came with Perkyn or Meg, paying no heed to anything she said or asked or pleaded. Her words fell away from them, shattered into silence by their disregard. She was made to stand still while the sacking was lifted to reveal her nakedness that it could be touched and discussed while her cheeks flamed. Yet, hateful as it might be, she was grateful for their coming. Her little cell was a fearsome place in loneliness. When darkness came she slept.
The court was noisy and well attended. Sabina stood her brief period in the dock in the same condition as in the cell. Her shackles had made a mortifying clatter as she dragged their chain to the place where prisoners stood to receive their sentence. If there were cameras they were not visible.
The bound girl observed, in dazed disbelief, the bustle and drone of the trial which was not a trial at all but simply a ritual to make legal the terrifying things to be done to her. She heard the sonorous, anicent voice of Lord Justice Rothsey proclaim......" and that ye be taken hence to the prison yard and there stripped naked for all to behold thy shame ... and that ye be bound to a cart's tail and led thus through the streets ... and to be whipped lustily as ye walk...."
Led From the dock by the tether on her neck, Sabina had known a brief relief that surely now her travail must soon be done. They would give her the check and return her to the world of sanity. But, even for so huge a reward, she would never again...! It had been an agony. It still was. When she saw the donkey and the cart she longed to scream.
They were determined to carry her martyrdom through to the bitter end. But then, why not! They had a right to their pound of flesh. This was the Masque, and this her role. Sabina stood, in shamed embarrassment, while the irons were taken from her feet, the rope from her neck, and her hands untied. She was given but a moment to massage her wealed wrists before they were placed in their prepared slots in the tailgate of the cart and tied fast. Where, now, the cart might go, she would follow. In bitter humiliation she stood helpless and alone while the crowd gathered and discussed her body.
Sabina had paid scant attention to the most terrifying part of her sentence. She had shrugged it off in the knowledge a Masque or any simulation could only go so far. The impossible could be dealt with by implication-the decent falling of the curtain. When the ribaldry fell silent and a stir and parting of the ranks made way for the striding figure in black tights and black hood, the tied girl vouchsafed but a single horrified glance for the man himself. Her stricken gaze focused instantly upon the thing he carried.
It was a whip.
The production ran smoothly. The cart swayed as a nondescript figure clambered to the seat and gathered the reins. Sabina had time for no more than a strangled "No! Oh, no, no, no!" before the donkey was bestirred to motion and the cart began to move. Her arms were jerked so that, helplessly and fearfully, she began to walk.
The lash sought her at the fourth step, curling around her unprotected waist, arching her nudity in shock, wealing her flesh in a reality beyond masques or plays or make believe. Sabina's head reared in pain and outrage, turning to protest, to denounce, to deny. But her hands defeated the intent. They followed the slowly moving cart and the sentenced girl went with her hands. Sabina found herself looking at her corded wrists as at an enemy. Two pieces of rope were compelling an unwilling participation in a cruelty subject to cessation if only the steady paces be halted and reason brought to bear on what must, obviously, be some terrible mistake. Adjusting to the knowledge she could not stop or make a stand, she turned again appealingly to explain to the man in black the awful error of his fact. But was in time only to behold the black arm sweep toward her....
Sabina screamed. It was a piercing feminine-expression of pain, of anger, of frustration. If only she could stop and talk! But she could not stop and talk! The scream was the most eloquent and swift expression of all she so urgently needed to say. She realized, almost with surprise, the twisting contortions of her nudity beneath the lash. Her limbs and body were finding instinctive expressions of their own. They were greeted with hearty approval by the crowd.
There followed, then, a walk Sabina would never forget. The donkey's gait was slow but relentless. To a naked girl longing to have done with her punishment it was bitterly frustrating. To the same girl, driven by need to stop and expound reason, it was implacably negative. Her skin was virgin to the whip. Each blow shattered the processes of thought, logic dissolved beneath the lash. By the time she had assembled plea or protest the thong cut her again, driving her forward into fresh writhings and renewed screams. Each step was compulsion. The cart-tail and her bound wrists mocked her need to be free. By the manner of her binding she was unable to lean upon the cart. Her forearms were rigidly held so as to keep her at arm's length in total exposure. Sabina's martyrdom was total.
There was no rhythm. The hooded man went from side to side. But the spacings of his blows were deliberately irregular, catching her always unprepared. But it was in his placement of the thong the dancing girl found her greatest travail. Across her back, her bottom, her thighs, it cut and scored, and then with a devilish cunning all its own snapping up between her legs to impart its venom within her loins. It was an enemy, tangible and cruel, against which she had no defense.
As the plodding procession wended its way along the dusty street, and as the blows fell in their varying degrees of awfulness upon the naked skin, there seeped into the consciousness of the punished girl an inconsistency, a query nagging as a promise or a threat of the inexplicible.
To a maiden whose knowledge of the whip was academic, the truly awful quality of the first lashes transcended reason, logic, fortitude. They could be but a precursor of death. They would flay her until she fell senseless and was dragged along to a shameful grave. They-were not for bearing! They could not be borne! Lord Justice Rothsey had condemned her to oblivion.
But she did not die! Sabina knew not the tally when her mind confronted the undramatic fact of survival. She would not die. She would not lose consciousness. She would plod behind the cart to whatever bitter end lay in store. Strangely she felt only resentment that her female flesh could absorb this agony and deny her the blessedness of darkness. Rob her of tha final awfulness by which these people might confront the wickedness of what they were doing to her. It was not fair! Nothing was fair. Nothing was right!
Relinquishing death, Sabina was forced to examine life. She was in great pain and would be given much more. But pain was the limit. She was not being taken beyond. By the time the lash had licked her twenty times she was as sentient and vividly aware as when first bound in this new shame. There could be but one answer. The hooded man in black was whipping her cruelly, but not cruelly enough to take her beyond a certain degree of suffering. Or perhaps it was the whip! Sabina knew nothing of whips but supposed they came in varying degrees of severity. The one being used on her looked terrifying enough-but she had not died! She had never, in fact, been more pulsingly alive.
As her feet trod the dust and her flesh accepted the whip, there floated before Sabina's eyes a vision of the check. This agony she was suffering would justify the sum of its worth. Justify it to those who issued it. The Seigneury might be pleased with its bargain. But Sabina was not pleased. No check of any size would tempt her again to walk bound behind the cart. Never, never, never! Things had fallen into place. She understood the ambiguities and the trap. Five thousand dollars! As she gasped and moaned beneath the whip she found no comfort in the sum. Its very immensity ensured the continuance of anguish. Having bought their pound of flesh, they would extract it from her to the full and feel no compunction in so doing. She screamed like a wild creature trapped and hurt. Her wrists were raw beneath the cunning cords. The whip sliced her without abatement. Sabina Miles was under contract.
Sister Amaldis set aside the papers and smiled affection. She also contrived a bright and expectant attention which made Sabina wish she had not asked for the interview. "It's been such a long time," she ventured lamely, "There has to be some sort of mistake...?"
"No, dear, I don't think so. Just be patient."
"But I've been patient! I've been patient for a whole month! Sister, it's that long since I was-I was-"
"Whipped at the cart's tail, dear?" Sister Amaldis had a genius for mentioning the un mentionable. "You did so well that day. There's been no end of compliments. Everyone thought your performance perfect."
"But, Sister, it wasn't a performance! It was just that something awful was done to me, and a lot of people watched."
"Our roles in life are often unsought, Sabina. Our responses are enactments. Yours was superb. Another girl might not have played the part half as well."
It was hard to nourish resentment for Sister Amaldis. Sabina concentrated hers elsewhere. "What the Seigneury does, then, is toss a girl to the lions and sees what happens?" she demanded heatedly. "But nobody tells us beforehand. The shock's too terrible!"
"It is generally considered a fresh approach to a new art form, dear. The creation of a facet of the human scene. It has yielded remarkable results. It was the Seigneur's concept. Everyone is more than pleased."
"I'm not. Why can't I go home?"
"You are home, dear." Sister Amaldis beamed gentle benevolence. "We want all you girls to feel this is your true home, your domicile, your place in the sun."
"What about these?" Sabina held up her hands to exhibit the gleaming chrome of the handcuffs joining her wrists.
The woman behind the desk regarded the shining steel as though seeing it for the first time. "They look exquisite on you, dear."
Sabina sighed. There was no coming to grips with the good Sister. She and the Seigneury were amorphous. To be likened to an asylum wherein the inmates were treated as children with great kindness-between the electrodes and the shocks. But she had to try.
"I'm a prisoner, aren't I, Sister?"
"Oh, come, dear, don't dramatize. You have a tremendous amount of freedom. There's the lovely Common Room and the Courtyard...."
"The Courtyard's got a high wall round it, and when I left the Common Room a few minutes ago one of the girls was tied naked to a pillar and another had to stand against the wall because her hand was chained up above her head-and we're not allowed to help them."
"The dear girls were foolish. We have to insist on good behavior. Surely you understand the need of discipline."
"We've all earned our money. Give us our checks and let us go."
"All in good time, dear."
"It's past time now! I want out! We all want out." Sabina clinked her handcuffs fretfully and looked sullen. "Can I please see the Seigneur?"
"I would not advise it, Sabina." The voice of Sister Amaldis had firmed. "Your mood is poor and you toy with disrespect. To speak to the Seigneur as you are speaking to me would earn you a punishment." Wise grey eyes examined the standing girl shrewdly. "How many times have you been punished already?"
The captive twisted unhappily. "Twice, Sister."
"Tell me about them."
Sabina choked back a refusal. Sister Amaldis must surely know what had been done to her! Ungraciously she clothed her shame with words. "Both times I was considered too demanding in my questions. They said I made trouble. The first time I was tied naked to the pillar, terribly tight so it hurt, and I had to stand there 'til bedtime. The girls were told not to touch a knot! And they didn't. They were all too scared. The second time I had to stand with everyone watching and hold my hands out to be caned. Six on each hand. The pain was so awful I thought I'd never make it...."
"But you did learn a lesson?"
"I don't think so, Sister. It just made me more scared and showed me how much of a prisoner I really am."
"Poor Sabina!" Sister Amaldis infused the two words with infinite sympathy. "But I am not pleased with your attitude, dear. I want you to lay face down on the rug. Oh, and kick off your shoes."
Sabina was aghast. Unreality hovered. Her voice was strained, "Sister! You're going to punish me?"
"Yes, dear."
"For my own good, I suppose?"
"That sarcasm was very obvious, dear. It illustrates your need of correction. Be sensible now. Do as you're told."
"What are you going to do to me?"
"You will soon see. Lay down."
Slowly, Sabina slipped out of her shoes and disposed herself on the floor. Tremblings of premonition sent her nerves twitching beneath the scanty provocative single garment the guests of the Seigneury were allowed to wear. She held still but breathless while her right leg was bent back at the knee and raised to the vertical. "Keep it exactly like that, dear." The Sister's voice was as kind as ever.
Surely it could not be...? Sabina cast an apprehensive glance back across an arm she was compelled to hold out ahead to join its cuffed fellow. What she saw was startling. Sister Amaldis had produced a length of cane and was flexing it testingly.
"I try to be kind, dear. But there are time when it is not kind at all to be too tolerant. You are definitely sulky. I am sure I can cure it."
Again the sense of the incredible! Sabina Miles supine on the rug and raising her right foot so that its sole might be slashed with a cane in the hand of a woman who had always been unfailingly gracious. The handcuffed girl hated the quaver in her own voice.
"Please, Sister, I'm sorry! I'm sorry. Don't hit me!"
The blow was swift and precise. It sent Sabina into a moaning ball of agony. Pain possessed her totally. It was perhaps a minute until the Sister asked, soothingly, "Would you prefer to be fastened, dear?"
"No! Oh, no...."
"Then arrange your other foot, please."
"I can't! Oh, Sister, it hurts too much!"
"I am sure it will help if I tell you this next stroke is the last-for now. Just a single stroke...?"
It did help! Of course it helped! Sister Amaldis was far too wise. Sabina felt like a small child being made to pay attention. Quiveringly, she raised the innocent bareness of her foot. When it was sundered by fire and scald she rolled in desolation on the rug and wept, her chained hands muffling her sobs and gathering her tears.
Thoughtfully, the nun returned the cane to the cupboard, then sat and studied the sad and lachrymose figure with its wounded feet. The room was quiet save for Sabina's sounds of penance.
"I-I'm sorry...." Sabina's peace offering was tentative, between sobs.
"Of course you are, dear. The cane is a wonderful help at such times."
It was not the response Sabina wanted, but she was forced to make do with it. Her feet throbbed alarmingly. But, now more than ever, she wanted an answer. "Please, Sister, don't be angry with me....But when may I go home?"
Sister Amaldis consulted her watch. "It's about mid-morning, Sabina. Do you think the rest of the day against the pillar might help you forget this obsession, dear?"
Sabina returned to her tears. The Seigneury had her. It would never let her go. She was sure of it now. If only Sister Amaldis was not so sweetly evasive! "Just tell me," she sobbed, "Whatever you're going to do to me I have to know. Just tell me-oh, please-...!"
The other girls were in her own predicament. But it was still shaming to be led back to the Common Room and told to strip before their commiserating eyes. Even more hateful to feel the cold of the stone to be warmed by contact with her flesh as she thrust her back against the column and placed her hands behind.
Nudity no longer mattered. The girls of the Seigneury gained and lost their scanty garments with a bland inconsistency. It was notable that each feminine figure was, in its own way, superb. Sabina had seen them all and they had seen her. But, even so, the exposure to which she was about to be subjected was a bitterly shaming experience. It was also painful, with the pain increasing each hour as the ropes bit tighter and the spirit weakened.
"You're so sensible about things like this, Sabina," Sister Amaldis approved as she unlocked the handcuffs. "It's such a pity you have to be punished. Such a nice girl really ... there! Your hands all the way back. That's right."
When she was against the column the handcuffs were discarded. Her wrists were crossed at the back and tied tight with cord. It hurt more. She could move less, and her fingers never managed to find a knot. Sabina obediently pressed herself back whilst this was done to her.
"A girl looks so beautiful like this," the Sister said pensively as she plied the rope, "and it does so help contrition."
Sabina was already contrite. But it was too late now to plead. The bite of rope on her wrists told her of punishment. All she had to do now was bear it. She tried not to wince with overemphasis as her belly was deeply cinched and her shoulders were wrenched back with few but cunning cords. It was her shoulders that would hurt the worst-whenever she took a breath.
The process of being bound for punishment was a duo affair. In response to the urging of a still gentle hand, Sabina disposed her feet to each side of the stone. The kneeling nun bound them fast so that they contributed less support and opened up the thighs to further expose the blatant black triangle which screamed in mute modesty for long lost panties. The roping of the knees was a purely punitive imposition. Sister Amaldis stood back and assessed her work.
"Perhaps one other thing, dear?"
Sabina quivered. She could guess what it would be. Knowledge defeated pride. "Please, Sister, not my elbows too-please?"
"A final touch, Sabina. The tying of a girl's elbows is an excellent discipline. But, also, the effect is exquisite."
The delinquent girl said no more. What was the use! She flinched and her nostrils flared as the two strands circled her elbows from behind the pillar and drew them back, back, back. She was close to screaming when the pressure stopped.
Sister Amaldis kissed the pliant lips. "I would not have tied your elbows, dear, had you not been so obdurate. But it is a penalty you have earned."
"Yes, Sister."
"I know the things you long to say, dear." A playful hand patted a captive cheek. "But you are so sensible. In your position silence is much the best." Once more the assessment of a job well done. "You will stay as you are for quite a long time, Sabina. I will not tell you the duration of your penance. Goodbye, dear girl, goodbye."
A girl grinned and made the best of it. You met the eyes and said the obvious things. No one asked if it hurt; they knew it hurt. None offered to loose a strand, nor did you ask. Help to the punished was a no-no! Unless you wanted to share their punishment.....
"What on earth did you say to her to get yourself into this?" Una giggled.
Una was the gossip. A pert, petite blonde who endured her unjust captivity as only another evidence of a hostile world which must be mocked and laughed at until it went away. "But they must let us loose sometime, darling! It stands to reason!" For her that was enough.
"You worry too much, Sabina," she counseled gaily. "I'm going to enjoy it while it lasts. It's a really way out thing-a gas."
"Did you enjoy getting whipped?" Sabina asked tartly.
"Not actually at the time," Una admitted, "but afterwards-oh, wow! And every time I think of it I get the hots. And anyway, my marks are all gone and so are yours."
"So's we can get some more."
"Well, maybe. But they do other things too. We might not be whipped next time-could be something else."
"I don't want something else. I want to go home."
"Well, I suppose...." Una regarded her tightly bound companion pensively. "Darling, d'you realize how scrumptious your breasts are like that! They're indecently beautiful."
"I hurt and I can't move and I want to go home."
"Gosh, you do, don't you!" Una made it sound like an aberration. "You ought to get your mind off it. I expect you'll soon disappear."
"Disappear!"
"Well, that's what happens. One day a girl's here, the next she's gone. And it's no use asking Sister Amaldis either. I say, Sabina, d'you really swallow about her being a nun? I bet she isn't."
"Probably not, but that doesn't help us. They probably think we'll be more respectful to a nun. But, Una, this disappearing...?"
"Maybe that's not the word. But they just aren't here any more. I've never been able to figure if they let us loose by rotation, or they draw lots. I don't think it's rotation. I've been here an awful long time, simply months and months! I think they like me."
Una was the eternal little girl. Lubricity and innocence. Purity and prurience! But she was shrewd. The girl bound to the column scanned the other five inmates of the huge and luxurious chamber. Two were captive like herself, being punished. The other three were draped in arm chais, quietly reading. She was grateful for Una's attention. Even if their talk was inconsequential, it was better than lonely pain. "But, Una, don't you ever try and get away?"
"Escape? Oh, darling, don't be silly."
"What's so silly?"
"Lots of things, Sabina. First, I'm not going without my check-I say, d'you think well get paid extra for all this time?"
"I'm beginning to wonder if we get paid at all."
"Oh, jeepers, don't say that! I'm betting well get extra. But, on the escaping, I don't think it's even possible. There was a girl tried once-and the things they did to her-gollies!"
"And you still like them!"
Una contrived to look defensive. "It isn't all that hot on the outside, y'know. The Seigneury's giving me the first real money I've ever got close to."
"If you get it."
"Maybe you had things easier before you came here. I had it rough." Una shrugged resignedly. "At least the food's good, and we don't have to work."
The gap between them was wide. They had come to this strange place from different worlds. Una was good company but small comfort. Wearily, Sabina again surveyed her fellow prisoners. The girl, bound as she was bound, had let her head fall tiredly, perhaps she was managing to sleep. The other, who must stand against the wall, looked weary too, with her raised arm and shackled wrist. Eyes focusing, they exchanged smiles of mutual dolor. Punishment had become implicit to them at the Seigneury. Their day was unremarkable.
Sabina remembered another grievance. "Did you meet Rolfe Campys?" she asked.
"Him! Oh, wow!" Una was alert with interest. "Isn't he groovy!"
"He's another fraud." She related the meeting. "Play opposite! Like hell he did! I bet he doesn't even know the address."
Una sparkled, her intent gaze was amused. "Darling, don't tell me you don't know. Didn't you guess?"
"No, I don't! What-?"
"But you've met him here all right."
"No, I haven't! Think I wouldn't know?"
Una giggled, happy with her secret. "You got to do the one where the girl gets whipped at the cart's tail, didn't you?"
"Yes. It was me who got whipped." Una exploded into laughter, then dropped her bomb. "Rolfe Campys was the man in black who whipped you, darling...."