Sparrows

Part 5

She used a fat-bellied stone at the water's edge, beat and rubbed the grime to submission.

Her shift was of good linen and unseen, half could be lost and none would be wiser. With determination she pulled at the seam, but the stitches were close and would not split. Frustration heaved at her as she kicked the pebbles at her feet. There were flints among the smooth stones; small, sharp flints. By worrying at the threads with a jagged edge, there was soon only half a shift. Now she had a width of almost clean white linen and a kerchief to wrap about her hair, make her housewifely.

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It takes time, but when satisfied that Tom is fit to be seen in respectable company, she rubbed him down with his shirt, dressed him once more.

"You look...tidy." Haddie smoothed his hair, glad it had been shorn it but a sennight since. "Now be off back to the camp. Say your prayers and take a piece of bread and cheese to break your fast." Kissing his cheek when he looked solemnly at her, she sighed. "Twill be better today. All will be better, I promise."

Alone, she hauled off what's left of her linens and stepped into the icy water.

Sliding to her knees in the cold, clear running brook, she shivered. Her eyes closed as a swoon almost took her. Gravel and sand scoured skin, stinging and grazing. Not weakening, she sat in the deepest flow, plunging head under the water.

She ignored the thunders in her brain, the pain strikes behind her eyes. The chilly water reddened her flesh, making it strangely warm. She bent to her task using sand from the brook bed to scrub. She cleaned her teeth, then under nails, with a ripped twig.

The feeling was good. The filth of existence washed from her skin by honest, clean, God given water. Sinking into the icy purity, hair catching in the flow about her, she dipped again. Freedom, for a moment at least, was hers.

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De Renouf led the prancing Cassius to the streams edge.

"God's morning to you Sir." Tom bobbed to the knight and raced to get his bread and cheese.

Sir Robert glanced about for the sullen mother, but there was no sign.

His horse, skittish at the smell of the water, was eager to drink. Loosening the reins he let the beast wander to the brooks edge.

So many nights on the road were taking their toll. He was a man of 30 summers, had slept the last six the soldier's way: Under wagons, next to his horse, on occasion in a good bed but oft times not. Now he found he wanted that good bed. Rolling his shoulders and stretching his neck, he bent to the water and scooped a handful to refresh his brow.

The sound of splashing alerted him.

He stood abruptly, hand to his sword, preparing for a foe, and advanced with stealth towards the sounds.

To his surprise he saw a woman bathing.

The morose and glowering peasant woman.

He watched as she immersed herself, soaking her hair. When she stood, it fell, heavy with water, past her waist.

He turned hastily when the little friar's voice came low beside him.

"Come away Sir Robert. Allow the woman some decent seclusion to wash herself." Friar William frowned, placed a rebuking hand on his shoulder.

Robert shrugged him off. "If she'd wanted seclusion, then she should have looked harder for it, not held herself for display where any might see her."

Unabashed he looked back at her naked form. She was skinny. As she drew her hair up into a bunch he saw angles at her shoulders that alarmed, ribs he could almost count showed through, her backbone a knotted line from neck to tail.

Ah, but her buttocks were full and fine enough, the kind a man could really grip when...A tightening in his groin made him smile.

She turned, and to his satisfaction her breasts were plump and round. Even at this distance he was aware of their dark puckered crowns.

Seeing him, her hands flew to cover what they could. Then a look he knew to be resignation settled on her features. She stayed still and looked back at him.

Taking his fill of her, for her breast were bonny to look upon, he ignored her returning, watchful gaze.

Christ's balls!

A sudden awareness disturbed the coarseness of his thoughts, a sliver of conscience bade him look away. The infant he buried, 'twas still at the breast. Disgust filled him. Years of soldiering had left him callous, taken decency and replaced it with base and shameful arrogance.

Without a word, he turned, gathered Cassius's reins and followed the friar back to the camp.

Haddie sank back into the stream to wash herself again, trying to rid her body of the stains of men's eyes.

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The lout is nought but a lecher. The sooner we are at the Convent the better. No men there to eat at my soul, misuse me. I wish Mother Berthe had left me ignorant. I could have born it, I know I could. The curse of a woman's existence is a mind that dwells on what is possible, not what is probable. Better I had been educated just to sew, cook and obey.