World Without End Page 0,67

eyes. He was young, like Tam Hiding, but with the same unhealthy air of dissipation. His breath smelled of drink. "By Christ, you picked an ugly one," he said.

For once Gwenda was happy to be thought ugly: perhaps Alwyn would not want to do anything to her.

"I took what I could get," Sim said testily. "If the man had a beautiful daughter he wouldn't sell her for a cow, would he? He'd marry her to the son of a rich wool merchant instead."

The thought of her father made Gwenda angry. He must have known, or suspected, that this would happen. How could he do it to her?

"All right, all right, it doesn't matter," Alwyn said to Sim. "With only two women in the group, most of the lads are desperate."

"Tam said we should wait until tomorrow, because they're all too drunk tonight - but it's up to you."

"Tam's right. Half of them are asleep already."

Gwenda's fear retreated a little. Anything could happen overnight.

"Good," Sim said. "I'm dog-tired anyway." He looked at Gwenda. "Lie down, you." He never called her by her name.

She lay down, and he used the rope to tie her feet together and her hands behind her back. Then he and Alwyn lay down either side of her. In a few moments, both men were asleep.

Gwenda was exhausted, but she had no thought of sleep. With her arms behind her back, every position was painful. She tried to move her wrists within the rope, but Sim had pulled it tight and knotted it well. All she achieved was to break her skin, so that the rope burned her flesh.

Despair turned to helpless rage, and she pictured herself taking revenge on her captors, lashing them all with a whip as they cowered in front of her. It was a pointless fantasy. She turned her mind to practical means of escape.

First she would have to make them untie her. That done, she would have to get away. Ideally, she would somehow ensure they could not follow her and recapture her.

It seemed impossible.

Chapter 12

Gwenda was cold when she woke up. It was midsummer, but the weather was cool, and she had no covering but her light dress. The sky was turning from black to grey. She looked around the clearing in the faint light: no one was moving.

She needed to pee. She thought of doing it there, and soaking her dress. If she made herself disgusting, so much the better. Almost as soon as the thought occurred to her she dismissed it. That would be giving up. She was not giving up.

But what was she going to do?

Alwyn was sleeping beside her, with his long dagger in its sheath still attached to his belt, and that gave her the glimmer of an idea. She was not sure she had the nerve to carry out the plan that was forming in her mind. But she refused to think about how scared she was. She just had to do it.

Although her ankles were tied together, she could move her legs. She kicked Alwyn. At first he did not seem to feel it. She kicked him again, and he moved. The third time, he sat upright. "Was that you?" he said blearily.

"I have to pee," she said.

"Not in the clearing. It's one of Tam's rules. Go twenty paces for a piss, fifty for a shit."

"So, even outlaws live by rules."

He stared uncomprehendingly at her. The irony escaped him. He was not a clever man, she realized. That was helpful. But he was strong, and mean. She would have to be very cautious.

She said: "I can't go anywhere tied up."

Grumbling, he undid the rope around her ankles.

The first part of her plan had worked. Now she was even more frightened.

She struggled to her feet. All the muscles of her legs ached from a night of constriction. She took a step, stumbled, and fell down again. "It's so hard with my hands tied," she said.

He ignored that.

The second part of her plan had not worked.

She would have to keep trying.

She got up again and walked into the trees, with Alwyn following her. He was counting paces on his fingers. The first time he got to ten, he started again. The second time, he said: "Far enough."

She looked at him helplessly. "I can't lift my dress," she said.

Would he fall for this?

He stared dumbly at her. She could almost hear his brain working, rumbling like the gears of a water mill. He could lift