the turf seat in the garden. She crushed the leaves of the thyme and marjoram over and over, trying to fill her head with the scent, but almost as soon as she smelt it, it seemed to vanish again. It was like trying to hold a fistful of mist. She knew she should go back and finish tidying the women's chamber, but she couldn't.
The stench of sweat, the thick, sticky stains and the images of what they did in those stalls rose up in her throat until they choked her and she had to run outside to vomit over and over in the corner of the yard. She could not lie down in those stalls. She couldn't lie there and let a man climb on top of her, his wet lips on hers, his fingers probing and touching. Every morning as light crept too soon through the shutters, her first thought was, would it be today? Not today, Holy Virgin, I beg you, don't let them make me do it today.
She'd barely slept these last few nights since Raffe's visit and when she had closed her eyes, images whirled in her head: Athan in the arms of another woman; men pawing at her own body; Osborn walking towards her holding out a noose in his hands. And over and over a drumbeat of words pounded in her head: a year and a day, a year and a day!
She gave a convulsive sob and tore again at the herbs where she sat.
'Did a man hurt you?' a voice whispered. She jumped. Finch was crouching close beside her. She hadn't even noticed him.
She shook her head, her throat too tight to speak.
Finch pulled at some grass blades. 'They hurt boys sometimes.'
'You, have they hurt you?' Elena's own self-absorbed misery vanished instantly in her concern for him.
Finch didn't answer, but continued tearing at the grass. Then he looked up. 'I could show you that secret now.'
She tried to smile. 'Not now, maybe another time.'
He touched the back of her hand lightly with his grubby finger. 'Please,' he begged. You'll not be sad then.'
She was about to refuse again, when she saw the pleading in his bright blue eyes. She was too tired even to think up a reason to refuse. Besides, it would delay the moment when she had to return to that chamber. She allowed herself to be pulled by the small boy, as a carthorse allows a puny human to guide it.
Finch led the way across the garden to the chamber where the little boys entertained their customers. Elena shuddered as she entered, and averted her eyes from the stalls, but the room was deserted, for it was too early for customers to come knocking. Finch stopped at one of the stalls, pushing his hand under the straw pallet and pulling out a small stick. At first Elena thought that was his secret treasure, and though she could see nothing special about it, was about to play along with whatever he was pretending it to be, when the boy set off again.
'Come on,' he urged. 'It's this way.'
Meekly she followed the tousled blond head until they reached the back of the room, where a great wooden pillar was set against one side of the wall. Finch tugged her into the alcove behind it. Even though she had cleaned this room before, Elena had never noticed that there was a low doorway behind the pillar, set at an angle which made it impossible to see from the rest of the room.
The boy glanced back to make certain they were alone, then he slid his fingers across the door until he found a small hole on one side. Now Elena understood the reason for the stick, for he wiggled it into the hole and she heard a latch being lifted on the other side. The boy slid in as soon as the door swung open, pulling Elena with him in such haste that she barely had time to duck to avoid hitting her head on the low archway.
She found herself standing at the top of wide curved steps leading downwards. A terrible stench wafted up from below, that instantly made her eyes sting and water. It was the stench of a midden — shit, urine, rotting meat and something else she couldn't quite recognize.
A single torch burned on the wall half-way down.
'Come on,' Finch whispered.
Seeing Elena hesitate, he slipped his little warm hand into hers. 'Don't be afeared. I'll look after you.'