Chapter 28: Winter Solstice

[Winter Solstice, 1678]
At the stones near Oxford

DECEMBER IN OXFORD is rainy and cold. It is not weather to be outdoors in any more than required, even though Sandrine and Amélie found it bracing and invigorating.

The small man’s butt was freezing. His hands, too, despite the leather gloves and woolen inserts and the three layers of clothing he wore. He was beyond the reach of the bonfire, beyond the ring of stones, in fact, and had no choice but to remain where he was if there was to be any opportunity to give the black bitch what she deserved.

The bitch in question had arrived an hour or so earlier with her constant female companion and the young man who was said to be the foster brother of the companion. The small man knew from his earlier observations what college had enrolled the foster brother but it didn’t matter anyway. Only the black bitch counted, and the small man was about to ensure a renewed encounter with her that would end in a completely different fashion from their earlier one.

He had underestimated her, he was willing to admit that. Most young women of her age were pale violets who were unable to defend themselves beyond a healthy scream or two, too weak to run any distance at all and, in the end, too unskilled in the arts of personal combat, hand-to-hand or with a knife, to successfully counter a physical assault.

“Lie back and think of something else,” was solid advice for most of these women if they could not employ any of the afore-mentioned defense strategies.

The blood and the orgasm were extras the small man cherished. Rape and domination were not enough. The encounter had to be a final one for the victim. Until now his only failure had been the black bitch, who turned out to have skills sufficient for her to escape and leave him with worrisome bruises and sores.

No matter. Tonight, if he didn’t freeze to death first, he’d have her and complete his private little ceremony with her, and fade off into the dark night. They’d find her later but there would be absolutely nothing to connect the two of them. He put his weight on one foot first and alternated with the other in a somewhat vain attempt to keep warm. There wasn’t much chance of success on that front unless he could find a way to a spot closer to the fire without being noticed. Without being noticed, that was the key part.

“You’ve got to be kidding, Gérard.” Amélie huddled close to him on one side, Sandrine on the other. “What are we doing out here, anyway?”

Gérard laughed. “You wanted to see the ceremony, dear Amélie, don’t you remember?”

She remembered, yes, but had hoped the weather would be a little more like it had been the day they visited for the first time earlier in the year. Cold, yes, but not raining to boot. As they arrived she looked around to see who else might have attended. The two women had not made many acquaintances beyond the circle of customers and clients of the print shop, but she wondered if anyone she recognized was there. An exception was Roger, Sandrine’s pupil, and his family, who had met Sandrine in advance to satisfy themselves she would be a suitable influence on the boy. From the perspective of Roger, she clearly was. Sandrine seemed to feel the same way. Roger was vigorous and eager to learn. Perhaps not so much about French as about other activities, but his enthusiasm was contagious.

None of them saw the small man. He was too far outside the light of the fire and even the lanterns many had brought. Despite the cold and despite the rain more than a few women dancers were nude. It wasn’t hard to understand why they remained close to the bonfire. While it was not uncommon for men to strip off and more than a few men usually did so, tonight the women were nude and the men remained clothed.

The drums, the music, the flames and the heat warmed her and heightened Amélie’s senses. In contrast to her reluctance at Samhain and despite the cold, tonight as soon as their carriage stopped she loosened her stays and threw her clothing to the side. Gérard performed boot duty for both women, and in a few moments the two, one black, one white, both bare, had joined the circle and entered the enchanting world of dance. They had not imbibed to excess, Gérard knew that, but the combination of music and dance and heat and, perhaps, not a small quantity of ale, was heady stuff and they were already totally immersed in the fevered atmosphere. It affected Gérard as well, but he had not yet decided whether to join them.

More than one male dancer was showing the customary signs of arousal, despite his clothing. Dancing was awkward in this condition, as almost every boy discovers soon after he begins to experience the effects of puberty. No matter. No one cared. Or, more accurately, those who cared were busy making plans for later to take advantage of their male partner’s state.

The small man moved carefully closer. He noticed, without appearing to do so, that he was not the only one of several, all male, who had chosen to remain on the outskirts in the darkness. Voyeurs all, it wasn’t surprising. It took a certain amount of courage to join the dancers, or even to move close enough to the fire for others to take notice.