The Queen's Lady Read Online Free PDF Page B

confer in whispers with Lady Philippa. Lady Philippa nodded curtly, obviously in agreement. Then, quickly and decisively, Bastwick ordered the company to disperse—all except Honor, Hugh, and one burly servant. The priest’s words were an unequivocal command, and the men and women immediately, if reluctantly, pushed away from the tables. Bastwick beckoned the burly servant over and spoke with him. Honor could not hear Bastwick’s words above the derisive laughter that burst from a pocket of people moving out into the passage, but something made her grab Mary’s elbow and whisper, “Find Ralph.”
    Finally, the great hall was clear.
    Honor remained where she stood, waiting for she knew not what. But her hands instinctively balled into defensive fists. In the silence Bastwick again said something into Lady Philippa’s ear. Then, with one cold glance of scorn at Honor, Bastwick too walked out of the hall.
    The burly henchman strode towards Honor. Lady Philippa did as well. Honor felt her pulse thudding in her throat. In one angry motion Lady Philippa swept away the debris of food from the table—knives and trenchers clattering to the floor—to clear a space behind Honor.
    The man splayed his palm on Honor’s chest. With a savage push he shoved her onto the table on her back. Her head thudded against a pewter bowl, hitting so hard that she saw purple and green fire swirl between her and the roof. The man held her down by her throat. She was choking, gasping for air. He hiked up her skirts, leaving her naked below the waist. He pried apart her legs. Then, still clamping her throat and one knee, he stood to one side of her.
    From the corner of her eye she saw Hugh swaying forward between her legs, his mother behind him, pushing him. Hugh was tugging loose the strings of his codpiece. Fumbling, he pawed the codpiece aside, exposing his flaccid penis.
    “Take a sniff of the girl,” his mother hissed, “and be a man.”
    Honor kicked. Her foot hit Hugh’s knee. He stumbled back, cursing. In the confusion, the burly servant lifted his hand from Honor’s throat. She fought her way up. But the henchman was quicker. One of his fists cracked against her jaw, and the other slammed into her abdomen, throwing her back again, her bowels on fire.
    She caught the lurid grin on Hugh’s face. Her pain had excited him. He pulled the henchman aside, forced his way between Honor’s legs, and thrust himself into her. Honor felt the violation like a jagged knife, stabbing, wounding, drawing blood.
    And then, suddenly, Ralph was there. He sprang at Hugh and hauled him off. He grappled Hugh’s head between both hands. Honor heard Hugh’s neck snap. He crumpled to the floor on his belly, his face hideously twisted around to his back.
    Lady Philippa screeched for help. Four men pounded in. The henchman pinned Honor down again while the others wrestled Ralph to the floor. Then, in anxious confusion, they looked to Lady Philippa for instructions. But she was shrieking, hysterical, pointing at the body of her son. One of the men hesitantly rolled Hugh over onto his back. He lay lifeless, his erection mocking death.
    There was panic. The men shouted. Lady Philippa wailed. The henchman let go of Honor to throw his jerkin over Hugh’s genitals. Someone cried, “To the well!” and two men lifted Hugh up and ran with him out towards the kitchen courtyard. Lady Philippa followed, staggering, clawing at Hugh’s body while one of the men tried to restrain her. The other men shoved Ralph to his feet and pushed him out too. Honor stumbled after them into the drizzle.
    In the courtyard they lowered Hugh onto the rain-slick cobbles by the well. The other men pushed Ralph down to his knees beside the body. Servants poured from the house, some carrying torches that hissed in the misty rain. The women stood huddled in fear, the men shouted, the children gaped. Frantically, the men sloshed buckets of water over Hugh. But he was dead. When the fact could