Mistress Agnes Ch. 03

That man, meanwhile, had woken up from a deep sleep for a moment or two. His name was Dennis, and he was indeed a deserter from the army camp Agnes knew lay almost a week's walk away.

He felt weak and still very tired, but he was warm, and clean, and his belly was not full, but not empty either.

He knew from bitter experience that after days without food, one needed to take it slow and not overeat, so he bore his rumbling stomach easily.

His befuddled mind could not make heads or tails of the pressure on his throat, though, and he tried to feel what was wrong with it. A collar, made of iron? Was he a prisoner then? Caught by the army, to be tried and hanged?

Fear cleared his mind a little more, and he looked around the room. He was not lying on a pallet, but in a luxurious bed, under down covers, his head resting on a thick fluffy pillow. There was another one just like it on his other side, and the bed was a double.

The room was decorated with care in blues and purples, and there was a roaring fire in a modern hearth. No army camp this.

Feeling the collar once more, and finding the chain, following it to a sturdy brace in the wall, padlocking him to the very room, he didn't understand anything anymore. So he was a prisoner, but not of the army? Was he to be delivered to an army official in the morning, to die for his wish to live in freedom?

It was all too much for him, he was still so tired, and so relieved to be warm even for a single night, he let go of his fears and speculations and went back to sleep.

'Dennis, it's time for your lesson!'

Oh his mum, she was so sweet. People called her a whore, and though he was just nine years old, Dennis knew what that was. He saw her customers all the time, there was just the one room, he had a bed in a little nook, hidden by a curtain, and his mum knew he could see and hear everything, but what could she do?

Send him to Father Jonah to learn to read and write, to forget the world around him for a few days in a book he borrowed from the Father. And not have any more children, nigh on impossible with her job, but she did try.

In hindsight, he realized she had several abortions, lying in bed for a day and night, crying in pain, trying to hide the blood from her boy. Until the last one took her from him, unable to stop the bleeding, pain and putrefaction grew until she slowly faded out of life. Her clients were faithful, one even called a doctor, but that fellow could do little more than relieve her pain a tiny bit.

Little Dennis was heartlessly thrown out of his mother's rented room, landed on the street, no more lessons for him, just fight for survival, always cold and hungry, he knew the dangers of stuffing himself after days without food, or days with just a crust of bread and a spoiled turnip.

He came out on top of the local food-chain, leader of a gang of youths by the time he was fourteen, brash, dangerous and finally no longer hungry. But a few years later, well on his way to becoming a hardened criminal with very little empathy for himself or others, he was caught by the law and pressed into the army.

Life was even harder there, teaching hard bitten youths discipline and weapons skills being virtually impossible without threats and punishments, Dennis tasted the bite of the sergeant's whip more than once, and still he didn't break but merely bent to the stronger force.

After a year of training he was marched across the country in his company, now as familiar and as closely knit as his gang had ever been. But no opportunity to gain leadership for Dennis here, though his character made him very well-suited to handling responsibility for others, his social status precluded his rise through the ranks, a private he was and a private he would stay, always taking orders from soft nobles on threat of corporeal punishment.

Having crossed half the country on foot, he was led onto a leaky ship to be miserable and sick for days, then dumped on a mirror image of the coast they had set off from. The cliffs were the same, the grass and the trees looked the same, but the houses were different, and they soon found out this was France, defended by the superior armies of the Republic, and most of his company was slaughtered in several confrontations, Dennis surviving by luck, mostly.

The carnage he had seen and caused, and the hurts he had taken had taken their toll on his body and his mind, and close to raving madness he had been shipped back to England, marched across it once more on his last legs, then recuperated physically, but not mentally.

As soon as he was back on his feet he had been sent back into training, with another company, under another noble, being beaten by other sergeants, still suffering from nightly terrors and spells of sudden, incapacitating fear.

Being a veteran of the French campaign, his mates managed to hide his weaknesses from the commanding officers, they respected him and wished him well, and life slowly resumed its course.

But when word came through the ranks that they were going to be shipped off to the colonies next, something broke inside Dennis. He couldn't face another campaign of senseless bloodshed, of seeing all his mates cut down by a faceless enemy once again, and if he survived this time, again, and again, undoubtedly.

He decided to flee, desert the army, no matter what punishment awaited him if he was caught. If he could reach the city, he would resume his life on the streets, ready to take back the leadership of a gang, now a seasoned fighter as well as a smart thinker.

But the English moors defeated him as nothing before had ever managed to do. There was no food, no shelter, nothing to fight. Just endless heath and treacherous moors, for days and days he wandered without direction or goal, ever weakening, until at last he gave in to his fatigue and hunger and laid down to die.

He woke from his restless memories to the smell of food, but when he opened his eyes he also remembered the chain, and the threat of being handed over to the law.

'Easy, easy now,' a friendly voice spoke, a woman's voice, and a woman laid her hand on his rough cheek.

'You're safe here,' the voice said, and he saw the lady of the evening before. Had he slept through the night already? The place where they kept him was rather dark, there was no way to tell the time.

'Are you going to give me up to the authorities?'

The voice laughed, and a face came into focus. It was beautiful, no longer young, but beautiful nonetheless. And it found the thought of handing him over to the law very funny, but why the chain then?

'I am not,' she replied, 'rest assured, your neck is safe from the noose. Your uniform has been burned, you can forget the life that you had before, no-one is going to find you here.'

Why didn't that sound reassuring?

The hand continued to caress him, but Dennis was to weak to feel anything beside relief at not having to die in shame, though the lady was very appealing, and her touch was gentle, it did not excite him, he was still exhausted and totally confused.

'Never mind that for now,' she said, 'you must be hungry, can you sit up to eat? Patrick thought you might handle some solids already.

And after that he will give you a shave, I want to see what I have caught myself on the moors. How old are you, and what is your name?'

He did manage to sit upright, he was hungry, very much so, and the smell of whatever food she had with her made his mouth water. Grateful for the warmth and the care, he never even noticed her authoritative tone, in fact he wouldn't have thought much of it had he heard it, for his life had not had any sympathy or love in it since he lost his mother.

'My name is Dennis, ma'am, and I was twenty-two last august. Thank you for saving my life, and for not giving me up to the law.'

She never replied, though she did look surprised and pleased when he mentioned his age, she merely handed him a bowl of stew and a spoon, and put a plate with some bread and soft cheese in his lap.

'Don't stuff yourself, Dennis, or you'll be sick.'

He did not tell her he knew, for he was too busy savouring the food. Taking in the smell was the best way to keep himself from bolting it down, experience had taught him that, and it worked again this time.

The stew was still hot, so he started on the bread, breaking off a small piece, and taking a bite out of the cheese. There was no knife, did she distrust him with one? Little did this woman know, he could break her in two even with his bare hands, but what good would it do him? She kept him warm, she fed him, as long as she didn't treat him worse than the army had, he'd stick to her like a burr on a sheep, he would be her faithful servant forever.

The bread was the best he had ever had, and the cheese melted in his mouth. There was no way he was going to bolt this fare down, not even with his stomach urging him on. After taking his time chewing the bread, he tried the stew, and again, he had never in his life tasted something that good.

She watched him eat, and did not hide her surprise at his control.

'You've been hungry before, haven't you? You know how to handle a feast when starved.'

He nodded, a bit impolite but he couldn't stop eating, however slowly he progressed. With an effort, he refrained from taking another bite to reply, 'I grew up on the streets. One learns.'

For a moment, her face became soft, as if she pitied him, but she quickly suppressed it and got up, saying rather coldly, 'Patrick will be here in a moment, I suggest you let him shave you without making trouble for him, you are going to have that shave no matter what.'

Dennis did not understand her change of attitude. It was as if she didn't want to feel sympathy for him, but he hadn't given her any reason to be that way, had he? He was still very weak, and he thought he had shown his gratitude towards her very clearly. Her sudden coldness hurt him, and he wondered where his mental strength had gone, he used to be totally impervious to other people's anger or meanness.

The food was still good, though, and he took his time eating every single crumb, polishing the stew bowl with the last piece of bread until it shone.

When he was done, he stacked the bowl on the plate and tried to lean over to put both on the table beside the bed, the chain rattling as he moved. There were a pewter pitcher on that table and a wooden cup, they didn't even trust him with glass or earthenware? They must rate him to be dangerous indeed, which he had been most of his life, but no more. He was not just suffering from physical exhaustion, his mind was at its end, too, he could not bring himself to feel anger over being chained and treated like a wild animal.

He just poured a cup of water and drank it, then used the chamber pot he found under the bed to relieve himself. If they expected him to use that for his other business as well, he'd get used to that, compared to army latrines, or where he'd done his business on the streets, it was pure luxury. He did wonder who'd empty it.

When he was back in the bed, but before he could go back to sleep, there were soft footsteps on the stairs, and a beautiful slender man close to his thirties came in, carrying a tray with a large bowl. This man showed his sympathy for Dennis clearly, put the tray on the table and sat beside him, taking his hand.

'You look much better, fortunately. I was afraid you might still die on us, you seemed so weak. The mistress said your name is Dennis, I'm Patrick, I'm very pleased to see you awake and with such a good appetite.

Dick carried you up here, and I undressed you, gave you a good clean, then got this nightshirt on you. And now the mistress has ordered me to give you a shave as well. I hope you don't mind, the mistress is used to being obeyed.'

Time to set things straight here.

'I'm used to obeying orders, sir, if your mistress wants me shaved, shaved I will be. I will not resist anything or be any kind of danger to her or you or anyone. You saved me from dying of exposure, and you will find me very grateful. Please let her know, sir, I will do whatever pleases her.'

Why was that going to be a problem? Dennis could clearly see it was, Patrick was not a man to hide his feelings, and he showed great disappointment where Dennis would have expected him to be pleased to have his mistress safe.

'Will you please tell me what is going on, sir? Why am I chained to a wall when I can hardly move for exhaustion? Why do I get the best food but without a knife, or a glass? I admit I am a deserter, but I fled from the army because I needed to get away from the violence.'

Avoiding the desperate gaze, Patrick busied himself with the contents of his tray, but he did talk while he was working.

'Will you please call me Patrick, Dennis? There is only one mistress in this house, and she has decided you were to be chained and not allowed sharp objects.

Not because she knew you were a violent man, but because she hoped you to be a violent, passionate man.

The mistress wants to keep you as her slave, to sit here day and night, ready to please her with violent love-making, serving her every whim, obeying her every order.'

Dennis was still not getting it.

'But I want to obey her in everything, I'll throw myself at her feet, I'll make love to her in any way she likes!

As soon as I have a little strength back, that is.

Point is, I don't need to be chained to be her slave, I won't harm her, I'll worship her on my bare knees! I'm sick and tired of violence, I don't ever want to kill or even hurt anyone ever again, and I most certainly don't want to be beaten again. I just want a bit of peace and quiet, a job to do, and possibly a little love.'

Patrick was looking positively unhappy now, but he had gently spread a soft foam over Dennis' face, and was shaving him expertly.

'You're good at this, Patrick! I've never had anyone shave my face before, just my head, in the army, and they were cruel, they cut me and hurt me. You're so gentle, I don't feel a thing!'

'I used to be a valet, Dennis, I had to shave my master every day, and I was considered a very good servant. I still am, except I now work for the mistress, and fortunately for her she doesn't need shaving.'

Patrick put so much love into his work, Dennis felt himself relax under his gentle touch, and when he had given himself up totally to those hands, holding the keen-edged razor against his cheeks and even his throat, Patrick told him the harsh truth.

'The mistress doesn't want you to fall at her feet and worship her, Dennis. She gets plenty of that from me, my partner Guy, and Dick. You'll get to meet him as well, he's slow, but kind of cute.

What the mistress wants, is a violent, dominant slave that she can rule. She wants him to try to overpower her, then subdue him.

If you won't deliver, she'll turn you out as soon as she finds out. She probably won't turn you in, but you'll be destitute once more. Can't you pretend to be dominant and violent, go for her once in a while, take a whipping or two to have a comfortable home?

She'll probably relent in a few months, add you to her harem, she's accepted Dick, though he didn't deliver what she hoped for. I taught him a few techniques to please her, but as I said, he's slow. You've probably got quite a few tricks up your sleeve already, to please a lady.'

By now, Dennis' face was shaven clean, and Patrick wiped it dry with a lovely thick towel, then massaged some fragrant ointment into the skin. Dennis had never been touched with such care, such gentleness, and his shock at Patrick's words combined with his loving touch totally overcame him.

'I can't Patrick. I cannot be violent to a lady, and I cannot please her either. I've hardly ever been with a woman, I lived on the streets until I was sixteen, then got drafted into the army as the lowliest of the low. I never had a chance at pleasing a woman, I've never even really been touched by one, I only had girls from the streets and army-whores, we merely rutted in a ragged tent or against a wall, quickly.

I'm doomed.

I thought I was saved, but I'll hang after all.

But thank you for telling me the truth, Patrick, you've been the first person in a long long time to be nice to me.'

Suddenly, Patrick's face was really close to his, and the beautifully shaped lips touched his own. He smelled great, and those lips were so soft, Dennis had no choice but to kiss them back, he desperately needed some hope, and Patrick seemed to offer it.

And it was good, all soft and warm, and tasting so clean and pleasant.

When Patrick broke that kiss, Dennis felt cold, and lonely, and Patrick excused himself.

'I'm sorry, Dennis, I don't know why I did that. It suddenly felt as if I needed to kiss you, I didn't mean to impose on you. You cannot even leave, I feel so bad being involved in this, I just hate it!

I love my mistress, and I'd give my life for her, but it is wrong to keep someone prisoner, worse, for you did nothing to her at all, and I don't know how to deal with it.

Try not to think about it too much, she expects you to be weak for several days, yet, and you wouldn't become violent until you realized you were a prisoner here. That's at least two weeks to feed you up and come up with a plan to get you back to the city at the very least. Please don't give up hope, Dennis, Guy and I will try to give you a chance.'

Now Patrick looked as if he needed a kiss to give him some hope, and Dennis gave it to him. This time, there was some passion involved, Dennis had never been intimate with anyone, and he felt something stirring inside him.

'You sure you have no experience at all? Try to stay positive, Dennis, you may still gain some spirit as your body recovers. I can teach you things as well, I know the mistress inside out. Just overdo the exhaustion, and try not to be humble to her, keep your spine straight, and show some dignity. Don't suppress anger if you feel it, you can be out of that collar in a week, but it'll be back on the moors with you, if you want to stay, let it make you angry instead. I know you can tolerate abuse, I've seen the stripes on your back.

And if you decide to go for it, I'll sneak up and comfort you when you need it.

You're tired, you need to rest. Just get some sleep, next time I bring food I'll introduce you to Dick. Try to be kind to him, he's not important in this household, but he's a good man and he deserves more.., well actually more of everything than he gets, has ever gotten, except maybe food.

Sleep well, Dennis.'

And Patrick left as softly as he came, taking the tray back with all the stuff he brought, plus the plate and the bowl. He was very good at his job, that much was clear.

Dennis was left confused and disheartened, but he understood he needed to hide those feelings of hurt from his new mistress and try to encourage his anger towards her, show her his strength of will and a keen mind. Also, she would expect him to show lust towards her, and while he of course knew what lust felt like, he had suppressed it for years, and he was very sure he would not be able to overcome an experienced, older woman sexually.

But wouldn't she be pleased to know him very inexperienced? She was pleased to hear he was very young. And what if Patrick was not as friendly as he seemed, was in fact jealous? What if the mistress did want him to show humility and devotion, and he hoped to get Dennis to make himself seem unmanageable and dangerous?

Well, that was easy enough to test. If the mistress returned, he would show her some of his devastating hopelessness, and her reaction would tell him all. She had softened for a moment when she heard he'd been starved before, but after that she had turned very cold. Patrick seemed to be right, she didn't want to feel for him, because she wanted to fight him for dominance over her. As if Dennis could even think to compete with someone nearly ten years his senior who had been rich and independent all her life. The very idea nearly made him laugh.