Page 3 of The King's Man
Prospective customers should be in no doubt as to what trade she was plying. They would not see how her heart hammered against her ribs and her stomach had become a hard ball of fear and self-loathing. The part of her that still remembered who she was and where she had come from hoped and prayed that the men who frequented the dismal streets of Blackfriars would pass her by without a second glance.
A hand grabbed her shoulder and she gave a small yelp of alarm as she turned to face the man who had accosted her. Abearded face scrutinised her closely, his fingers digging painfully into her wrist.
‘What's yer charge?’ His breath smelt as if it came directly from the pits of a Hell charged with rotten teeth, onion and stale wine.
Her eyes widened. ‘Charge?’
‘For your body.’ One hand slid down her bodice and the other caught her arm with such ferocity that she cried out in pain and pulled back.
His fingers tightened, drawing her towards him.
‘Half a crown,’ she said. Her attempt at bravado sounded pathetic even to her ears.
He gave a guffaw of laughter. ‘Half a crown for a tight, skinny little arse like yours? Sixpence is all you'll get and count yourself lucky!’
Sixpence would buy a wedge of stale bread and thin broth.
Thamsine nodded.
‘Got somewhere to go?’
The thought of plying her trade in the pathetic room that had been her lodgings for the past month horrified her more than the thought of what she was about to do. She shook her head.
‘Never mind. Down 'ere will do as good as any.’
Propelling Thamsine by the arm, he thrust her down a filthy alley. A small part of Thamsine's brain registered the irony that it was the second time in one day a man had dragged her down just such a laneway. This time the intention was real and there would be no escaping the consequences.
He pushed her up against the slimy wall and his mouth clamped onto hers, his beard rasping her skin. His tongue, hard and insistent, penetrated her mouth, thrusting inside her while his spare hand grappled with her skirts.
She felt his hand on her thigh. His vile, stinking breath, the taste of him, the insistent probing of his tongue began tosuffocate her. Nausea rose in her throat and she tried to twist away but he held her too close. Her struggles were as useless as a reed against the wind.
He leered at her. ‘You're a tight little bitch. I reckon you need a bit of softening up.’
The blow came with such ferocity that she fell sideways, her head ringing, her world exploding into a thousand different-coloured lights. Hard fingers closed on her arm, hauling her to her feet.
‘Don't hit me. I'll do whatever you want.’
Her plea went unregarded and she sensed rather than saw the shadow of his hand ready to strike. She closed her eyes and with the last of her strength, she braced herself.
The blow did not come.
Instead, the man gave a strangled cry and released her arm, causing her to fall to her knees in the stinking mire. She cowered away, covering her face with her hands as her client said ‘Oi! What's yer game! There'll be plenty left for you,’
‘Leave the lady be.’
At the sound of the familiar voice, Thamsine felt tears prick the back of her eyes. For the second time in the day, the stranger had come to her rescue, completing her humiliation.
‘Lady … ?’
The sound of a fist on bone cut short the scoffing voice. A heavy body fell to the ground beside her. Through her fingers, she saw the man rise and heard the sound of feet scuffling and the grunts of a struggle in progress. Someone spat at the ground by her feet.
‘Take her! She's yours if you want her that bad, but you'll get no joy from her. Not worth a farthing.’
‘Get out of here!’ The words were followed by the rattle of a sword loosened in the scabbard followed by the clatter of running feet and then silence.
A hand touched her shoulder. ‘Let's see the damage.’
‘I can't,’ she mumbled into her hands.
