Chapter Text
When Queen Marina pronounced her Maddalena, she had truly thought it was all over, that she would be revealed and executed in a trice. But instead she was led away to the slave baths, where a no-nonsense matron with salt-and-pepper hair stripped her of her dirty shift and forced her into a tub (although she didn't need much forcing). Four of the other five wooden tubs were in use by women who were washing themselves, and showed no inclination to take an interest in the two of them.
What she had expected was to be kept with Susanne and the others, and set to toil in the kitchens for the rest of her life, which she had had no doubt would be short – either because she would catch a fever or an ague and no one would bother to waste the coin for a doctor on a slave, or because someone would be paid off to stick a knife in her. She had forgotten that Delenzia had more barbaric customs. Where Germaine held villeins in bondage to a particular estate as an impersonal class, working the land for their lords but allowed freedom outside of that work, Delenzians preferred to consider each individual as a piece of stock to buy and sell. Germainian serfs might till and sow or scrub and cook, but as long as they didn't try to leave their place they lived as if they were free; Delenzian slaves were treated like pets, forced to spend their entire lives catering to their owners.
This would be much crueler than being an anonymous scullion. She would be at the queen's beck and call, constantly under her nose. She had not been found out so far, but if she wanted to stay alive – for no true purpose, since if she were to return to Germaine after this humiliation, she would have to retire to a nunnery and perform penance for the violations that everyone would assume had happened to her person – she had to forget Madeleine and become Maddalena. Put thoughts of escape out of her head; concentrate simply on living.
The matron scrubbed at her hair with a block of soap, drawing a lather but roughly pushing her head from side to side. Maddalena wanted to jerk away, but she had to make friends – allies – protectors, so she loosened her shoulders and neck instead. "Thank you for taking the time, donna ," she offered. The woman slackened slightly in surprise.
"I thought they said you were from Germagna?"
"I do – but I come from a port city, we have to speak all kinds of languages there." A pause. "My name's Maddalena."
"Like the bitch princess?" The matron clicked her tongue. "The girls call me Mamma Eudoria."
"Then thank you, Mamma Eudoria." She wanted to ask a million questions about the palace, but forced herself to be quiet, to see if Eudoria would volunteer anything important. She did not, so Maddalena ventured, as if timid, "I'm to be serving the queen personally. Do you know – what is she like?"
"Is she going to beat you, you mean?" said Eudoria. "Very likely. She has high standards, Her Serenity, and a quick temper, and she runs through girls like they were made of paper. I hope you aren't clumsy, or that pretty face of yours is going to get slapped a lot."
"But is she …" Maddalena pretended to grope for the Delenzian words. "Does she like it, to be angry?"
The matron pushed her down in the bath suddenly to rinse her hair, and Maddalena spluttered. "If your mistress is angry with you, it's because you made a mistake, or you were clumsy or stupid," she said with heavy emphasis. "It's not for you to blame her for punishing you, and if you suggest that again, you'll get more than a slap." Then she sighed and her hands softened. Still wiping the water from her eyes, Maddalena at first wanted to be furious – but then realized: that was a warning. Eudoria was protecting her. She could not question Queen Marina's behavior, even inside her own head, unless she could make absolutely sure the rebellion would not be detected. "Now, stand up, time to dry you off." Maddalena stood and waited for Eudoria to pat her dry with a towel, then remembered herself and took the length of linen the woman was holding out to her, earning a raised eyebrow and a snort – just as a page in his teens entered the baths and darted around the tub to give an order.
"You're to get back to the queen's chambers at once," he said, as she scrambled to press the towel around her body in front of his insolent gaze. Well, not insolent: that implied he owed her respect, and she was nothing now.
"I'll send her up as soon as I put her in a gown," Eudoria promised, but he shook his head.
"Her Serenity said she was to come exactly as she was." No doubt Marina had hoped to catch her still in the bath itself. She looked to Eudoria, and the older woman squeezed her shoulder.
"Go, quickly."
The page turned and started off, Maddalena following closely behind with her hands firmly holding the towel in place. It was shift-linen, judging by the width; as she had wrapped it, it ran from just below her arms to a little above her knees, which was enough for the main purpose, but still felt extremely scanty even in comparison to the dirty chemise she had had on before. In her – in the royal palace in Germaine, if a girl had been seen trotting down a corridor in such a state of undress, someone would have rushed to find out what had happened to her; here, it was clear that she was a slave, and that her master or mistress was playing some kind of a game. The looks, comments, and pinches were even more ribald than they had been before, although no one actively tried to grab hold of her and prevent her from going – it was just casual entertainment.
The mood in the queen's apartment was different than it had been before. The women were quiet now, and instead of clustering around Marina, they seemed to be deliberately spacing themselves away and watching her from the corners of their eyes. The queen herself was prowling about the room, and when her quarry was admitted she flung herself back into her chair.
"There you are – took you long enough. I should punish you for dawdling. Now, I want to see my new gift properly." Maddalena was not sure what that meant and so did nothing. Marina leaned forward with a smile like a knife. "Drop your towel," she said slowly, and leaned back again.
A blush bloomed across Maddalena's face, and some of the ladies did giggle slightly, their wariness dropping now that there was a target their queen intended to vent her feelings on. First one hand came away from the linen, and then, painfully, she peeled the other one off as well, each finger moving separately and delicately. Released, the fabric started to unspool itself, the wet inner layer sticking to her body, and then fell around her feet in a heap. The queen's eyes immediately began to saunter down her form, taking in Maddalena's curves and swells, and Maddalena forced herself to keep her own eyes straight forward so as not to have to see the mockery in the queen's face.
"Turn," was the next order, and she made her stiff legs take short steps around a pivot point until her back was to her mistress. The ladies and servants who had been behind her were evaluating her openly; one in red leaned to another in blue to whisper something, both of them looking directly at the junction of her thighs, and the one in blue nodded vigorously.
"I never said to stop turning." Another chuckle went around the room. It took all of Maddalena's effort to keep her face still as she continued to pivot. When she reached the end of the circle she hesitated, then started around again, trying not to look at any of the members of her audience too closely. As she came to face the queen again, the order came: "Stop." She waited, concentrating on not curling her hands into tight fists. It was almost as though she were being tested to see if she could follow through on her plan of pretending to be an obedient, pliant slave.
She expected Marina to begin a scathing critique of her body, but none came. They were in a frozen moment in time, silent and calm. The queen's expression was haughty, but otherwise unreadable; it was as though she were simply waiting for something. At last, Maddalena made a decision and flung herself forward, onto her knees, and brought her forehead down to the floor.
“ Serenissima ,” she said, trying not to think about the view she was presenting behind her, “I most humbly beg your forgiveness.”
“You beg my forgiveness,” came the queen’s voice from above her, still cold, but with a slight edge of disbelief. “For what, precisely.”
“For my lateness, your most serene highness, as you said; and then I did not follow your instructions properly. I am so sorry for my failure to serve you as you merit.” She had never lied so fervently in her life, although the ending was true in its own way. Maddalena had never groveled or cringed before, but she tried to do so with such focus that she shivered in the warm air of the solar. The spectators murmured among themselves, most likely, she thought, calling her a pathetic coward, and it felt as though she were left naked and on display for them for an eternity before the queen spoke again, this time through clenched teeth.
“Get up.”
Maddalena tried to rise quickly enough that she could appear to be eagerly following the order, but with enough grace to retain a little dignity.
"Get out of here. Before I have you executed."
Maddalena grabbed for her scrap of towel and tugged it around her body as she curtseyed, then backed out of the room as quickly as possible. As this was her fourth trip between the queen’s apartments and the slave baths, she was able to manage the journey alone despite the blush staining her cheeks, and the many people who stood in her way.