Page 118 of The Pirate and the Pagan
Mr. Blackthorn stepped forward. “It’s an outrage,” he thundered. “Bringing in more murderers to live off the fat of the land. When will they be executed, I ask you?”
“Mr. Blackthorn, half my prisoners haven’t even been tried and sentenced since the magistrate took to his bed. Everything has to go by the book. I can’t hang ’em out of hand, you know. I’m here to uphold English justice, Mr. Blackthorn. Did ye never hear of the Magna Carta?”
Oswald walked out into the cold rain. The women set up a protest of catcalls. “You pisspot, get us inside. Whoreson … Bastard … Pricklouse.”
Summer shuddered as he walked a direct path to her. She knew the names they threw at Oswald were inadequate. She knew he was evil. He just looked at her. He walked down the line a short distance and began to unshackle women. He had selected five before he came back to unlock her chains.
Summer looked at the other women and was surprised to see they had not been chosen for their attractions. One was a short fat woman, as broad as she was long, another looked no more than a little girl. One of the women was great with child and Summer’s heart constricted for her. The fourth woman was old, she had scraggly gray hair and no teeth. The fifth woman was not ugly, she was rather comely in fact, but nothing could hide the fact that she was tough, like a hardened criminal. As Oswald returned for Summer he smiled. He couldn’t help it, he was so damned pleased with himself.
As the six drenched women filed into Bludwart’s office, Mr. Blackthorn’s mouth fell open. “That’s him … her! That’s the highwayman that robbed me! Do something, damn you!”
“Mr. Blackthorn, we’ve arrested your dangerous criminal, what more do you want?”
“I’ll tell you what I want, sirrah … I want him—her—it … I want it hanged!”
Oswald wanted no interference with his private brand of justice. He stepped up to the irate citizen and said, “These women are all murderers. Be assured every last one of the creatures will be hanged. This is maximum security. Everything must go by the letter of the law. All names strictly recorded in the journal. Not one will ever slip through the cracks. Please accept our deepest thanks for your positive identification.”
Bludwart scratched his lice-ridden head. “The only empty cell I ’ave is in the cellar and on nights like this the floor is ankle-deep in water.”
“Plenty good enough for these dregs of humanity, Bludwart. Lock ’em up. I’ll need two wagons to take the rest over to Southampton, but I’ll be back tomorrow for that nice private room you promised me.”
Summer’s eyes never left Oswald. He was out for revenge. He relished the very idea of it. He would take his pound of flesh, of that she had no doubt whatsoever.
The women were taken down stone steps inside the fortresslike building to what could only be described as a dungeon. All six were locked in a cell which measured roughly four by ten feet.
“Well, at least we have running water,” quipped Sidney, the hard-faced one.
Summer had never seen anything like it. The stone walls dripped with water which formed a rivulet on the floor and emptied down a smelly drain. The cell was empty except for tallow candles in wall sconces, two heaps of moldy, damp straw, and a slop bucket in the corner. When the six women lay down, Summer knew their bodies would have to touch each other and she shuddered uncontrollably. She could smell their unwashed bodies, which surprised her, for the dungeon reeked heavily from rot, decay, moldering hay, and the open drain.
They were all drenched through to the skin and they took off their gray worsted smocks and tied them to the prison bars to dry. Underneath they wore black cotton stockings and knickers. Most of them pulled the knickers up to cover their breasts with the tops now sitting just underneath their armpits. The only one who couldn’t do this was the fat woman called “Lardy,” and her breasts hung down over her fat belly in an obscene overabundance of quivering flesh. Summer averted her eyes. She made no attempt to remove her shirt and breeches, though they were plastered to her body. If she got pneumonia, then so be it, she thought stubbornly. “What’s yer name?” demanded Sidney.
“Cat,” Summer said shortly.
“You look like a bleedin’ cat,” Sidney said.
“I know,” said Summer, turning the full impact of her green eyes upon her.
“We call the old hag Granny and the little one is Gert. The one ‘avin the kid is Nellie.”
Summer glanced at them one by one then murmured, “I’m pleased to meet you, ladies.”
“La-de-dah, ye talk like we was in a bleedin’ drawing room,” said Sidney.
“That’s ’cause she’s a lady,” said Lardy.
“Oh, really? And ‘ow the bleedin’ hell do ye know I’m not a lady?”
“Ye can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear,” said Lardy.
“You should know.” Sidney laughed. “If you lay on that bleedin’ straw, you’d just look like a sow ready to farrow.”
“Well, if I had a face as hard as yours, I’d give kids pennies to throw shit at me!”
Sidney’s eyes narrowed dangerously. She walked over to Cat and felt the silk material of her shirt. “I like that black shirt … how’d ye like to make me a present of it?” It was not a request, it was an order.
“In a pig’s arse,” said Cat, giving Sidney an aggressive shove against the wall. “The only present I’ll give you is a black eye; maybe two.”
Sidney grinned. “He was right when he called you Lady Bitch, wasn’t he?”
