Chapter 5: Castel Sleampa
The echoes of the pony's hooves on the cobbles, though magnified and tossed back
by the acoustics of the ornate stone arch under which they passed, were almost
lost beneath the incandescent rage of the storm. Elena was almost numb with
cold, the dampness from her sodden cloak seeming to seep into her very bones,
and she was grateful for the temporary protection afforded by the arch, which
formed the main entrance into the walled grounds of the great Castel, being part
of a gatehouse. Despite her initial misgivings at the sight of the unwelcoming
stone edifice, she was almost pathetically pleased to have finally arrived; she
had had a long day, and an interminable journey, and longed for food and sleep.
The pony clip-clopped to a halt, and the trap rocked slightly as the driver got
down to shut the immense oaken gates behind them. Elena looked back as they
banged closed with an air of finality, and the stray ridiculous thought flitted
across her mind, would she ever pass through them again?
She clicked her tongue, chiding herself for being so foolish. She knew that as a
newly indentured servant she would have very little free time, and that she
would probably not be allowed to return home for several months, but the few leu
she earned as wages would be regularly sent home to her father, probably carried
on the same trap that she was now sitting in. The driver climbed back into his
seat at this point and the trap trundled off, the vibration from the rough
cobblestones working its way through Elena's numb posterior and up her spine,
already aching from the jolting it had received throughout this journey. A space
of a few heartbeats, and they were back in the open air and being pummelled by
the wind and rain once more. Elena squinted through the sheets of water pouring
from the heavens, trying to make out her new home, but could only obtain a
confused impression of shadowy looming walls and the occasional tiled roof as it
was lit up by intermittent flashes of lightning. "It's just a building," she
admonished her timid soul as apprehension again tried to lay claim to it. Then
it struck her. Of course she was nervous, she had left her home, her father and
her sister for the first time in her life to work in this grand place, knowing
that she could be dismissed at any time should she fail to measure up to
expectations. Her fears were normal, and quite understandable - now she
recognised them for what they were, they were simple to push away. She was a
hard worker, a thoughtful, practical, intelligent girl, and she would succeed
here. She smiled, somewhat comforted by this resolve.
This brief period of introspection had diverted her from the end of her long
journey, and she looked up to see that the trap had threaded its way into a long
narrow passageway between two high walls and was drawing up before a wide set of
steps, leading up to a plain arched doorway. The door was of dark wood, and
looked most unimposing, the arch lacking decoration or ornamentation of any
kind. Elena had not really thought very hard about her arrival at this place,
but had formed the somewhat hazy assumption of a grand entranceway lit by
flaming torches and leading into a fine hall bedecked with rich tapestries and
chandeliers. But this, of course, must be the servants' entrance. Not for her
the honour of sweeping into the Castel like a visiting lady, but rather the
hurried dash up the steps, at least as fast as her muscles, stiff with cold and
damp, would allow her. And to stand dripping in a narrow stone flagged hall,
inadequately lit by a dim tallow candle set into a metal sconce, dancing in the
breeze from the door.
It was in that dim light, that Elena finally saw the face of the menajer of
Castel Sleampa, as she swept back her hood. It was a narrow face, with sensuous
full lips, a strong chin and a thin tapering nose. Her eyes were deep set
beneath finely shaped brows, and her thick red hair was pinned up neatly into a
bun atop her head. Most surprising of all was her age - she did not look all
that much older than Elena, at least not by this light, however the expression
was that of a woman who had lived. She had seen something of life and not just
the good side - she appeared...haunted? Elena mentally shook herself; these
childish fancies were going to take a hold on her mind if she was not careful.
The woman was probably as tired, cold and hungry as she herself was. The thought
of hunger acted instantly on her stomach, even as she followed the other woman's
lead by removing her drenched cloak. She wondered if she would be fed tonight.
***
She reclined on the blue and gold brocaded chaise longue, hardly feeling the
bite of the corset into Her ivory skin, as She watched the fierce magnificence
of the storm outside Her window. It pleased Her to sometimes sit here in these
chambers, as would a mortal woman, as She would have done once Herself, had She
been born to the station that She presently occupied. But no, this lofty
position was a gift, albeit a double-edged sword, like the greater gift that had
been awarded to Her so long ago. A crystal goblet of ruby-red Madeira sat
untouched on the rosewood table at Her side. The wine was occasionally an
adequate diversion, but like any of the bounty that was ripened in the sun, or
sliced from the carcasses of slain animals, or plucked out of the mud to extend
the pitiful span of human life, it was merely swamp water to Her heightened
tastes, when compared to the only sustenance worth the name.
She sensed change. Rosu had returned, and along with the sullen mud-coloured
grumbles that She had instantly plucked from her house-keeper's mind, was the
dull silver gleam of hope, of uncertain optimism, that the right choice had
finally been made.
***
The outer door had now banged shut and the driver had disappeared with the pony
and trap, evidently to return to whatever stables existed here, and Elena was
alone with the reticent housekeeper, but not for long. Before she could make a
further attempt at conversation, a door at the end of the short corridor clicked
open, admitting a short plump fair-haired girl, perhaps half a head shorter than
Elena. She was attired in a plain grey dress, somewhat shapeless, in Elena's
opinion, over the top of which was a lighter-coloured bibbed pinafore. She had a
mischievous-looking broad face, but the only expression it wore at that moment
was one of respect, tinged with anxiety, as she came into the presence of the
housekeeper. She bobbed a quick curtsey to her as she received the wet cloak and
came level with Elena, smiling softly at her as she relieved her of her
travelling garment.
Finally, for the first time in hours, the housekeeper spoke, her authority
belying her weariness. "Marica, this is our new scullery maid. You will see to
it that she is fed supper and then assign her to Adriana's former quarters. Also
see that she has proper attire before she commences her duties tomorrow. She is
to report to the cook at 5 o' clock tomorrow morning. Have my supper sent to my
room in an hour."
"Yes, doamna Rosu," the girl called Marica murmured in a light clear voice, and
curtseyed again, Elena quickly emulating this gesture, to be on the safe side.
With that, and without a further glance at either of the girls, the housekeeper,
or Rosu as Elena now knew her to be called, swept down the corridor and through
the door at the end.
Elena wasn't sure what to make of this abrupt departure, but was secretly glad
that the remote unsmiling woman had gone. Marica reached out and took her hand,
enfolding it in her own soft grasp. "Come," she smiled. "You must be very
hungry."
Elena smiled back, nodded and allowed herself to be led off down the corridor.
Idly she wondered who Adriana was, and what she had done to lose her position
here...She felt somewhat guilty for having taken another's job, though of course
she did not know the girl. She hoped this Adriana had found a better place.
***
Adriana awoke. Her nightmare-haunted sleep was over but yet another
horror-filled day lay ahead. The constant fear of death hung over her, the
terrifying thought that at any moment she would be damned forever... it was
almost too much to bear. Half-starved and dying of thirst, she chewed
continually on the sodden cloth sealed in her mouth. Her fatigued muscles feebly
strained against the heavy cloth forcing her arms across her chest, even as her
eyes strained against the inky blackness inside her sarcophagus prison. When
would it end? When? With the same passion she had prayed for her soul, she now
prayed for death...she called to God to lift her away from this living hell. She
expected nothing else now. Death, whenever it came, would be a blessing, she
could only trust in The Lord to deliver her from evil.
