Ravished

Vaguely she noticed how the doors of the smithy were bashed open and a group of men overran the smithy. She heard cries and swords clash. Next thing she knew she was picked up as a bundle in strong, gentle arms and taken outside.

She woke up on top of a horse, head lodged against the broad chest of a young knight sitting behind her. She still had the cape around her. Pulling the cloth close to her as a reflex, she noticed she was no longer naked, but wore a long, white undershirt beneath her cape. In front of her and behind her were more men on horses, some carrying shields or having armor attached to their saddles. 'Hush now', the broad young man behind her whispered in her hair. She didn't say anything. With empty eyes she looked in the distance as she thought back of what had happened. She was violated. Abused. Raped.

The men around her ride in silence and with sadness in their eyes, as if they knew what had happened to her. They probably did know what happened to her. In what state would they have found her? Besides, probably everyone she met from now on would know what happened to her. How could they not? She was tainted.

They ride until the next morning, when they finally stopped to take rest. They set up camp in a large open spot in the forest by the edge of a stream with a large open pond. She stepped of the horse and slowly wandered towards the pond. She still hadn't talked to anyone, nor had they tried to talk to her. They just looked at her worriedly.

She herself was still in shock. She tried to remember what she was like before the rape but her mind was blank.

The water off the pond drew her as if it was magnetic. As she slowly neared the pond, step by step, she let the white shirt someone had used to cover her up, slip over her shoulders and fall to the ground. She didn't care if anyone saw her naked. What use was modesty after what was done to her? She was taken and had. What good was her body, still?

The men watched her motionless as she waded into the water as if in a trance. Her body was perfect, soft, pale and smooth, though it carried darkblue bruises of male fingers on her upper arms and on her waist. They just sat there, horrified, as they became fulfilled of what she had been through.

She felt the cool water surround her body and give her crisp feeling of clean bliss. Excruciatingly slowly she went further and further into the water, not turning her head once. As she was breast-deep in the water, she sank through her knees and let herself sink under the surface. She felt her long hair become weightless in the pond for a moment, before she came back up with her face in the air and her arms lifted, smoothing her hair back with one long stroke as she inhaled deeply, breathing in all the fresh spring air as if to fill her lungs with new, positive memories.

She heard something and slowly twisted her head, only to see the young knight next to her in the water. He was wearing his white shirt, covering him up, and carried a natural sponge with him. They looked at each other. He didn't speak but his eyes spoke volumes. Slowly he took her hand and lifted her arm. He dipped the sponge in the water and softly scrubbed her arm, with one long stroke. Slowly he moved around her, washing her body with the sponge. Her arms. Her back. Her sides. Her breasts. She could almost feel the energy of the care with which he wiped all the traces of the violation off her body and underwent it meditatively.

After a while he took her hands and looked her in the eyes, before slowly pulling her hand and guiding her out of the water. As she came to land naked, she looked at the men before her. Nobody lingered or averted their eyes. They looked as if they understood. They all looked at her with tremendous respect. A sense of respect that she felt vibrating to her core.

She felt tears well up her eyes. The young man who had washed her, put a cloak around her shoulders again. 'Come', he said softly, as he gently took her by the shoulders and guided her to a small tent. He flapped the cover of the tent open and inside was a bed made of a straw mattress and blankets. 'Sleep', he said, as he touched her cheek. He turned and closed the tent. Inside was a stool with a stack of clothes on it. A shift and a simple dress, similar to her own. She wrapped herself in the cloak she was in and crouched on the bed in foetal position and cried herself to sleep.

**********

The next morning the men were walking around, gathering wood, cooking something over a fire, and tending to the horses, when the cover of her tent moved and she shyly came out of her tent. She was wearing the dress from the stool and moved cautiously as she carefully made her way between the tents, studying her captors, or saviors. Every day they packed and moved on to a next place, repeating their ritual of riding, making camp, gathering wood, cooking and sleeping.

For a few days she didn't say anything. The men left her to her own, looking at her worriedly and every now and then saying something well-meant to her, sometimes sitting her down to eat as they had dinner and breakfast in a circle. She just wandered, while her mind was blank. She didn't know who these people were and she didn't even want to know.

At first it seemed like she couldn't feel anything anymore. Her mind was still processing what happened to her. She was violated, used, abused. Treated as if she was not worth anything.

But slowly she realised that her worth was not determined by those men. They took her body, but what did it matter to her or to anyone else who or how many men had had her body? It shouldn't. What those men did to her was on their account. It wouldn't rob her of her sense of self-worth. She was raped. But she wasn't changed. She was proud of her body. It had survived.

The young knight who had taken her from the straw, taken her on his horse, and washed her in the stream, followed her with his eyes, while she moved through the camp or sat or stood staring in the distance. She was the image of perfection. So young. So incredibly beautiful. So untouchable. And yet these men touched her. Ravished. It hurt his soul.

He thought of how these men took her innocence and ruined her honour. But what was honour? She had no choosing in this. Honour was just a stupid concept, used as a stick by people to beat other people with. Did he think of her as less honourable now than before? Of course not. Would he not marry her now if he had the chance, because her body was touched by others? Of course not. He would have admired her before and he admired her now. Nothing that was done to her could and should change how he thought of her.

*****************

To be continued...