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shoulder. Tentatively she ran her fingers over the soreness. There was some
swelling, but she could detect no broken bone.
As the night drew on Melli became colder, her body shivering. Eventually she
fell into a fitful sleep, her body curled into a tight ball to keep warm.
In the morning she was wakened by someone pouring something foul over her
head. Mistress Greal stood above her, carrying her now empty chamber pot.
"That won't be the worst that happens to you this day, missy! You ungrateful
little tart." Mistress Greal then turned on her heel and walked away.
Melli had spent the rest of the morning being cruelly insulted and having the
remains of people's breakfasts thrown at her.
She knew she was due to be flogged this day, and her stomach fluttered with
fear at the thought of the rope. She could think of no way out of it. She had
attempted to tell the magistrate who she was, but in her current state not
even her own father would recognize her. Melli suddenly wished very badly that
she was with her father now. It was true he had slapped her and tried to force
her into marrying someone she didn't want to, but he had loved her. She had
been his precious daughter. He had bought her anything she wanted and
delighted in seeing her dressed up and looking pretty. What a shock he would
get today, she thought.
The time passed very slowly. Every minute seemed to drag on interminably. She
was terribly thirsty, for she had not drunk anything in over a day. She was
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not hungry, though; the terrible, putrid smell of rotting vegetables kept her
appetite in abeyance.
Melli noted with growing trepidation the angle of the sun in the sky. It was
already noon: soon they would come and flog her.
Jack was thinking about Melli. He was worried that the soldiers who had caught
him would soon capture her. Earlier, they had ridden through a small village.
The horsemen had been met by hostile stares from the villagers. Traff, the
leader, had asked one of the women if they had spotted a girl heading east,
away from the forest. The woman's tongue had been successfully loosened by two
silver coins.
"Yes, there was a girl, right odd-looking creature. Dark haired, like you
said. Wearing a sack she was."
The woman's eyes narrowed as she assessed the situation. "I felt sorry for the
poor girl. I told the sweet thing she'd be better off in Duvitt."
"How many days back?"
"Oh, I can't be sure, maybe four or five days ago."
"How far is Duvitt?"
"Oh, about half a morning's ride east. Can't miss it, all roads lead to Duvitt
around here."
They had sped from the village, riding much faster than before since they were
now on open road. Jack
did not get to see much of the change in territory from forest to farmland
because of his position strapped over the horse's back. He could see that the
road was wide and well maintained-a sign of large population and prosperity.
The place they were headed for was obviously a wealthy town.
He fervently hoped that Melli had decided not to stay in Duvitt for any length
of time. It seemed certain that if she were in town this day, she would be
picked up by Baralis' men. They rode on toward Duvitt.
A rope was being lowered down to Melli. "Grab hold!" came a harsh voice. Melli
found the idea of being dragged out of the pit by a rope very distressing. She
didn't know if her shoulder could take the strain. A thought occurred to her:
if she didn't grab hold of the rope, they wouldn't be able to haul her from
the pit, and so they wouldn't be able to flog her. She refused to take the
rope, shaking her head stubbornly.
"If you don't take hold of the rope, you little tart, I'll make sure your
whoring days will be over for good." Melli still refused to take the rope.
"Look, missy, I'll give you one last chance: take the rope or I'll get Master
Hulbit to heat up some chicken fat, and I'll pour it all over your pretty
face. Now move it!"
Melli grabbed for the rope. Pain coursed through her shoulder and hot tears
prickled in her eyes. She took the rope and wound it around her waist, holding
on tightly to the slack. She braced herself, gritting her teeth and then felt
the pull. The skin of her arms scraped against the stone as she was pulled
from the pit. The pain in her shoulder was unbearable. Once her head was level
with the ground, two men grabbed her arms and hauled her out. Melli felt
herself about to faint from the pain and she struggled to control herself. She
had her father's pride and was determined not to give the crowd the
satisfaction of seeing her swoon like a giddy maiden.
She looked around. There was a much larger gathering of people in the town
square than the day before. The crowd hissed as Melli looked at them. The
cries of "whore!" and "thief!" had little effect on her now and she ignored
them. The crowd, seeing what they took to be arrogance, grew nasty. They
hissed and shouted vile insults. One man, who called her "a pox-ridden
trollop," she recognized as Edrad.
Despite great discomfort, Melli could not help but smile at the irony. This,
as far as the mob was concerned, was the worst thing she could have done.
"The brazen hussy!"
"The little bitch is pleased with herself." Melli was once again pelted with
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rotten fruit and vegetables. The men who held her shouted at the crowd to
stop, for they themselves were being bombarded.
The two men led her into the middle of the town square. A wooden scaffold had
been erected. One of the men pushed Melli forward so her back was to the
crowd. He took hold of her arms, bringing them up level with her shoulders,
and tied her wrists to the scaffold.
Melli was beginning to feel scared. She could no longer see the crowd but she
could hear their taunts and jeers. As soon as the man backed away from the
scaffold, the pelting started once again. Melli bit her lip in pain as hard
objects were hurled at her back and legs. Her arms, spread out as they were,
put great strain on her sore shoulder. Despite all of this, the worse thing to
Melli was the wait.
No one seemed in any hurry to start the flogging. Melli supposed that being
tied to the scaffold at the mercy of the crowd was part of the punishment. The
mob called to her, heckling and insulting. She could feel the excitement of
the people: they wanted a good show, they wanted blood.
The crowd suddenly became silent. Melli strained her neck to look around. The
magistrate had
appeared, walking with a man who carried a rope whip. It was no delicate
riding whip-it was thick, coarse and stiff, with a knotted end. Melli
shuddered and the crowd cheered.
The magistrate began to speak, telling the people once more of Melli's various
crimes. With a dramatic flair the magistrate listed each crime individually,
allowing suitable time for the crowd to hiss between each one. The list seemed
longer today; it now contained the charge of horse thief and swindler. By the
time the magistrate had finished the list, the mob was in a frenzy:
"Whip the bitch!"
"Take the skin off her back."
"Show no mercy."
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