He had expected a wild place and was surprised to find instead a serenity which beguiled him, as if the slightest of breezes which cooled the sweat on his brow was the gentle caress of a woman drawing him closer. Certainly there was a rugged beauty about the landscape, outcrops of rock which dated before history breaking up the terrain, but the wildness he had imagined of the weather had yet to be met; no low grey clouds scudding across mountain tops, nor briny winds rushing up from the sea to scour his face. Instead there was the clear blue sky, the warm balm of the sun, the stillness of the day, and the irony was that these things now had him more weary than any storm ever could.
He had trekked all day across the island at what he thought was a safe and steady pace, but now his feet ached each time they slapped down on the hard unyielding earth, his shoulders burned where the straps of his rucksack dug in, his spine felt as if it might crack and crumble at any moment.
"Soon," he told himself, "soon. Get yourself over the next rise and there'll be a town, a village, a pub at least where you can rest the night."
And immediately he was answering himself, his moods warring with each other, saying grumpily, "Yes! And if you hadn't lost the fucking map you'd know where that town or village or pub was!"
"The wind took it!"
"What fucking wind?"
The only wind that had come that day, a single gust that had swooped like a zephyr to snatch the map from his hand, as if to tease him, as if to lead him where it would rather than where he intended.
Steeling himself, gritting his teeth, refusing to be goaded by his 'other' self, he forced himself to make the final few steps to the top of the rise and there stopped to let out a weary sigh. There it was, no town or village or even a pub, but habitation at least. Surely a room for the night? The people of the island were reputed to be friendly, as people sharing an island would necessarily be.
*
As he drew closer to the farm he saw the figure working in the field beside it, her fox-red hair aflame in the sun, burnished like the helmet of some ancient warrior goddess. She wore a loose tee shirt, jeans, boots, her body seemed shapeless beneath them from a distance, but as he drew closer he sensed its form more clearly as she dug a fork into the ground, turning over the soil with a steady rhythmic movement. Her thighs were firm, the muscles of her arms were strong, the breasts too were firm beneath the tee shirt.
He coughed, as if embarrassed to have noticed these things, said, "Ermm..... excuse me?"
The woman paused, one foot resting on the fork, looked up to regard him. She had piercing blue eyes, he noticed this immediately, the sort of penetrating gaze which demands an answer without the need of posing a question.
She said nothing, and so it was up to him to continue.
"I was wondering if you might have a room for the night?" he said, with a nod towards the farmhouse.
"That I have," she answered slowly.
"Great!" he said, and as his shoulders slumped with relief he realised that he had been holding himself erect before her.
"But....."
"I'll pay for it, of course!" he anticipated.
"Of course you will not," she told him. "You will work for it."
"Huh? Work? But I can pay, I have money."
"And your money you can keep, I have no need of it. Work for your room or wander on, tis your choice."
He looked at her curiously for a moment and finally she smiled, he saw freckles sparkle on her face and her hair shine in the sun as she nodded to the side of the farmhouse. "You will find another fork over there. Get it and help me turn this soil, then you may have your room."
Wearily he shrugged off his rucksack, let it fall to the ground, found the fork and joined her.
*
He thought it was a field but she insisted that it was nothing more than a vegetable patch, and he soon grew short of breath as he tried to keep up with her, had to pause each time to answer her questions.
"What brings you to our island?" she asked. "Tis a strange place you have chosen to holiday."
"I guess you'd say it's a working holiday," he answered. "I'm a student, archaeology. Folk tales brought me here."
"Ah yes, there are many exist about this island," she agreed, not breaking her own rhythm, driving the fork deep into the earth, lifting up clods of it and then turning them easily over.
He took the opportunity for yet another break, said, "One tale in particular about this part of the island. The Pillar of Betrothal? The tale says that if a woman could persuade a man to rest there for just a moment then he would be hers in marriage."
"Ah yes, know that tale," she said, and though she did not break her rhythm or even look towards him he was conscious of her amusement.
"It exists, then?" he asked. "Because if it does then I've found no sign of it today. Lots of other things, yes, prehistoric and later, but nothing that matches its description."
"Just dig if you are to earn your room for the night," she told him, and grinned. "This is a working holiday indeed."
*
They were both sweating by the time she decided the earth had been turned enough, though he more than she, and as she walked him towards the farmhouse he was aware of her feral musky fragrance. A time or two he risked a sideways glance at her, as if to search out its source, be it her armpits, her breasts, or between her thighs. Humping his rucksack along with him, though, his whole body aching from the toil she had put him through, these occasions could be no more than a time or two, the glances few and furtive.
Entering the farmhouse with her, following her upstairs to the room he had worked for, all he could do on entering was drop his rucksack heavily to the floor, then fall to his knees before it.
"Jesus!" he said, exhausted, his shoulders slumping.
"You won't find any such gods on this island, nor their sons," she told him, with a soft chuckle.
"It's tales I was looking for, not gods," he said, bending over his rucksack, rummaging inside it.
"Nor goddesses?"
He wasn't paying attention, he was too weary to take heed, did not even suspect anything until he heard her say, "I think I have you weary enough now, child."
"Huh?" he said, and as he turned to look up at her, craning his neck, he felt the collar buckled around his neck.
His first impulse was to raise his hands, to check what was constricting his throat, and as he did so she caught his wrists, drew them back easily behind him, weary he was from digging up her field. There was a sharp snap as cuffs fastened his hands together, then she came around to stand before him, the soiled work clothes removed, her muscular body totally naked. She ran her hands across his skull, down his neck, pulled him briefly into her body before pushing him away.
"Now you must really work for your room," she told him. "I will wait for you below. Mind how you go down the stairs."
By the time he had struggled to his feet she had gone. He tugged at the cuffs but they held his hands fast, he called out to her to remove them but there was no answer. Cursing silently he went out onto the landing, cautiously descended the stairs. Night had begun to fall, the hallway was gloomy, all the rooms off it in darkness but for one, from the open door of which flickered a soft warm light.
He went to this, entered, saw that it was lit all around by candles which gave off a musky pungent perfume. In their glow the woman's naked body shone, her red hair was lustrous, her smile was smug as she sat on the settee facing him.
"Who the fuck do you think you are?" he demanded,
"My name is Korri," she answered sweetly, "but you can call me Pura Dai."
"Pura....what?"
"Pura Dai," she repeated slowly. "In my Romany tongue it means something like 'old mother', but is a term of utmost respect. And you will show me respect, won't you?"
Tugging futilely at the cuffs again, he asked, "Just what is your game?"
"Oh, it is no game. You are to work for your room as you agreed. Now come here," she said, pointing to the floor at her feet, "come here and kneel before me, sweetling. You know that you want to."
She tilted her head a little, so that he saw the smile in her eyes as well as on her lips, and strangely he did feel that he wanted to kneel before this woman, surprised himself by slowly stepping forward, then lowering himself to his knees.
"Good, I think already we have trust and obedience," she said. "But come a little closer. I won't bite. Not yet, anyway."
He shuffled forward on his knees until she reached out to touch a finger to his forehead, stopping him.
