Earth Song (Medieval Song 3)

This wooly-haired wench?

Jewels for a ransom?

Not with her stench.

She looks like a hag

She brays and she brags—

“You’re blind, clattermouth,” Dienwald interrupted. “She’s clean and wholesome and I’ve even fed her so her ribs are no longer clanking together. Come here so I can kick you in the ribs.”

Crooky cackled and backed quickly away. “A bath did her good, sweet lord. Aye, ransom the wench. She’ll bring you coin, much-needed coin. Mayhap we’ll need more weavers for all that wool. Let de Beauchamp pay dear to fetch the little partridge back into his fold. God gi’ ye grace, madam.” And the strange little man who bellowed off-key gave her a crooked-toothed grin.

“That was a horrid rhyme,” Philippa said. “You’ve no talent at all. My mare neighs more agreeably than you sing.”

“Slit her throat,” Crooky said to his master. “She’s got a bold tongue and she’s naught but a pesky female. Of what earthly good is she?”

“You’re right, Crooky. A deadly combination, surely, and of no use.” Dienwald reached for the dagger at his belt.

Philippa gasped, sudden fear causing her to jump to her feet and back away. With her hunger and thirst slaked, she’d let herself forget who this man was, had let down her guard and behaved as she would have at home, and now look what her tongue had gotten her into.

Dienwald drew his dagger and fingered the sharp edge. He rose slowly. “Have a care, lady. This is not your domain. You have no power here, no authority. Moreover, you are naught but a female, a big strapping female with more wit than most, but nonetheless you are to keep your mouth closed and your tongue behind your teeth. Aye, I will ransom your hide, now that it is white again and sweet-smelling. I will have my steward write to your father telling him of your status. Have you an idea of what he’ll pay for your return? A clean and hearty wench he’ll get, I will promise it, a wench ready for him to flail with his tongue and his belt. Both of which you deserve.”

Philippa shook her head. Fear clogged her throat. Fear of this unpredictable man and fear of the truth. Perchance the truth in this instance would serve her well. On the other hand, perhaps it wouldn’t. She didn’t know what to do. She said finally, “My father doesn’t want me back. He won’t pay you anything. He will be pleased never to see my face again in this life. He didn’t want me. That’s why I ran away.”

“That’s not hard to believe, what with the face you had when I first beheld you. He would have believed himself in hell, faced by the devil’s mistress.”

“I told you that I jumped into our moat and that I ran away. It was foolish, I admit, but I did it and I can’t now undo it.”

Philippa heard a gasp and saw a plump big-breasted girl staring at them, her face pale. Then she saw the direction of the girl’s eyes, and saw the girl was staring at the man’s dagger. He was still holding it, caressing the blade with the pad of his thumb. Philippa had forgotten the dagger. Would he slit her throat? Wasn’t he possessed of any chivalrous instincts? She very quickly returned to the floor, folding her legs under her as far as she could manage.

“It begins to rain, my sweet lord,” Crooky said. “I’ll see the wool is kept dry. Come along, Alice, the master is busy counting coins in his head. He’ll make you happy later, once he’s rid himself of this extra wench.”

“Aye,” Dienwald said, not looking toward the big-breasted girl. “Go. Leave me. I will make you happy tonight.”

Philippa stared. Her father had mistresses; she and all at Beauchamp knew it. But he pretended otherwise; he was discreet. Of course this man had no wife to shriek at him. She turned back and saw that Dienwald was speaking to an old woman.

“Aye, master, that old fool Prink has sickened suddenly, taken to his bed, he has, yelling that he’s dying.”

Dienwald cursed, then said, “I’ll wager Father Cramdle is at his bedside even now, just in case. His list of sins is long enough for three days.”

Then the little boy strode up and bellowed, “Hers a witch, kill her, Papa, stick your dagger in her gullet!”

Philippa looked at the boy standing out of her reach, legs apart, an expression on his face that was remarkably like his fath

er’s.

“Not hers a witch,” Philippa said. “Can’t you speak properly? It’s she’s a witch.” Of the boy’s father she asked, “Have you no privacy here? And I’m not a witch.”

“Very little privacy,” Dienwald said, and waved Edmund away. “Go see to our wool. And keep out of mischief. Aye, and speak properly!”

Philippa added her coin. “Why don’t you go visit the water and the lye soap?”

“I shan’t. You’re a lanky spear with a wooly head!”

“Officious little clodpole!”

“Enough! Edmund, get thee gone now. You, lady, keep your tongue behind your teeth or you will surely regret it.” Again he pointedly fingered his dagger, and Philippa, not liking the sharpness of that blade, nor the tone of his voice, lowered her head and shut her mouth. She’d been a fool, but she didn’t have to continue being one.