The Remedy by Michelle Lovric Read Free Book Online Page A

to the officers’ steps I whispered, “Please, please, please, please.” They looked away. I continued to keen, “Please don’t hurt me.” They marched on like enchanted toy soldiers. I soon lost my bearings and eventually closed my eyes.
    When I woke I was inside a large room and a man was looking down on me with a kindly expression. My leg felt tight: In the warmth the wound had sealed itself again.
    He must be the torturer , I thought, wary of his smile, for it is well mown that the se men love their work, and therefore the beings on whom they practice their arts.
    But he was elegantly dressed, well shod, and did not stink of beer or urine. His hands were beautifully kept, I noticed, as he brushed the hair from my forehead. He was of my own class. I did not know if this was better or worse for me.
    “So this is our saintly little vixen,” he said. “You have put us in a considerable dilemma.”
    His voice was smooth, his accent patrician. I wondered how well he knew my parents. Did they wait outside to beg for my life? But if they cared not whether I froze to death in the nunnery, why should they want to save me now?
    I was soon enlightened. My companion explained that my parents were even now being woken with the news that I had died in the struggle with the nun I had stabbed.
    It had been decided that this was the best course. A Golden Book daughter, he told me sternly, could never be brought before the court for a violent act. The whole city would be destabilized by such an event. Golden Book daughters were not permitted to be guilty of such crimes. And if I were to be cleared: Why, that would be worse. Not just noble nuns but also the daughters of merchants and the daughters of glassmakers would get it into their heads that they might take a knife—or an icicle—to anyone who displeased them.
    My companion shook his head sadly. “You see what difficulties you present,” he said, gently.
    For the first time I spoke. “Why don’t you strangle me now and burn my body? It is the only solution.”
    I had blurted out my worst fears, hoping to have them assuaged. He smiled again to let me know that my fate would be otherwise.
    “It is not the only solution. We can offer you another.”
    The room was growing hot. My hair was melting and water trickled from it, noisily striking the floorboards, forming a glistening puddle that glowed like blood-flecked gold powder, reflecting the fire that roared menacingly in the grate.
    “But of course, you are in discomfort,” he said kindly, “and in no condition to consider our proposal sanely.” He rang a bell and two women appeared. They cut my bonds with little stiletto daggers and helped me rise. I stood unsteadily, and peered around the luxurious room, which was decorated with frescoes of a grandeur I had not seen since my parents expelled me from our home. Meanwhile the man gave instructions to the women, who regarded me with blank eyes.
    They took me to an antechamber, and pushed a chamber pot beneath me. While I sat on it they filled a large tub with jugfuls of warm water and gently removed my clothes. They washed my aching limbs and my matted hair, leaving me to soak for many minutes. The warmth of the water rinsed all thoughts from my tired mind, and soon the room grew dim about me. I smelled the rich clot of an ointment gently rubbed into my wound. I closed my eyes then and when I opened them again, the water had grown cool, and the room had been lit with dozens of candles.
    Twelve men surrounded me. I felt their eyes on my nakedness, on the pale curls that had dried in a cascade that spilled over the edge of the bath. My nipples, rising above the water, were puckered in the cold air. I was unable to move or speak.
    Among the men I detected my recent companion. He told me: “You have no reason to feel afraid.”
    I said nothing. How could I answer such a patent he?

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