The King's Exile (Thomas Hill Trilogy 2) by Andrew Swanston Page A

neck, his brother was thrusting at her from behind. With each thrust Samuel grunted and the woman screamed but her screams were becoming whimpers. Thomas could not see her face but he could see blood on the floor and he could see the evil in Gibbes’s eyes. He stepped back quickly. So this was why they wanted him out of the way. They had gone down to one of the Speightstown inns, offered these women enough money to lure them back to the house, tied them up, worked themselves up into a drunken frenzy and then viciously whipped and raped them.
    Thomas retreated quietly to the edge of the trees and tried to think clearly. There was no point in attempting to intervene. He had no weapon – he would have to risk going into the kitchen to reach the kitchen knives, and the brutes’ pistols, even if he could get to them, might be unloaded. Half-crazed with lust and drink,they would swat him aside like a fly. And it might go all the worse for the wretched women. The brutes might even kill them. And him. The sensible thing would be to creep back to his cell and pretend nothing had happened. In fact, that was the only thing to do. The women were tavern whores and would have to fend for themselves.
    But when at last the whimpering and grunting stopped, Thomas was still in the trees. And when he heard snoring, he crept forward and peered through the hole. There were four bodies on the floor. The two women lay face down, naked and bleeding, their hands still tied at the wrists, the ropes looped round the legs of one of the beds. They did not move and they made no sound. The brothers lay on their backs, naked from the waist down, mouths open, snoring loudly. Empty bottles were scattered about and John Gibbes still held the whip in his hand, as if he might be about to jump up and use it.
    Thomas sneaked round to the front of the house and stood silently at the open door. Neither of the women had moved. He waited a while to make sure the Gibbes were beyond hearing, then went quietly in.
    The first woman lay with her feet towards the door. She had passed out but was breathing. He knelt at her head and gently stroked her cheek. It was what his mother used to do to wake him when he was a child. When the woman opened her eyes he thought she was going to scream again, but the stroking had worked, she understood his signal to be quiet and lay still while he untied the rope around her wrists. Then, satisfied that she was calm, he woke the second woman in the same way. He collected their clothes from where they lay on the floor and motioned to them to follow him outside. One stumbled and nearly fell, theother held her and, still naked, they managed to get to the trees where Thomas had hidden earlier. He whispered to them to stay there and slipped off to fetch water from the well.
    He returned to find them recovering. Tough women these tavern whores, he thought. I suppose they have to be. They drank a little from the bucket and used the rest to wash the blood off each other’s backs. When they were dressed, they stood up and for the first time he could see their faces. With their auburn hair, green eyes and snub noses, they were very alike although one was a good deal older than the other. With a shock, he realized that they were mother and daughter.
    There was nothing more he could do for them. They would have to find their own way back to their tavern. When he pointed to the path, they nodded and the younger one touched his face and smiled. Then they turned and left. Neither had spoken but they were alive. Had the Gibbes woken in the morning to find them there, they might not have been. Tavern whores or not, they were human – certainly more human than the brutes – and they had been beaten and raped. Thank God he’d been able to help. At least now they had a chance.
    Thomas sat in his hut, able to think only of the woman lying bleeding on the floor while her daughter was being raped. Sometimes, to his horror, their faces turned into the faces