Gwenivere stood in the doorway, gesturing for me to follow her, and she wanted to go again to the shepherd's trail. She was wearing her Whitsun dress, the one given to her by our English lord, Cadwallader of Mark. In this year of our Lord, fifteen hundred and thirty-seven, Martin had come home, and he'd take me to the shepherd's trail, if I wasn't leaving with Gwenivere.

I'd stayed and made him cawl, and kissed him with my promise, verily I was his. This is why he complained when I said "Gwenivere is coming."

"How doth my sweetheart knowest?" Martin scowled. "Every time she is near, thy eyes light up and thou turns from my side, and taketh a place, hand in hand, through meadows a leaping, and with skirts fluttering gaily. It is not fair, to leave me in discontent, as thou goes and calls upon our Cadwallader or to sip mead in the halls of mercenaries near Llanfair? Tis' the Devil's Well, and not a Christian woman's proper footfall. I'd have myself a wife of a Christian baker, except this cawl is of a flavor I cannot regret."

"I'm not your wife yet. Unlike Gwenivere, I must earn my own dowry, for my father earns never a florin in his rest." I told him as I checked my reflection in the still dark water of my kitchen's bucket.

"And that is another thing wrong with thy doings. My lady takes her spun wool and sells it too cheaply, and tithes too generously to a God who is already rich. Would my confession say I took thee under moonlight, without an adulterous license, of a man and his wife, to frolic so? I'd have myself a dancing girl from the caravans of Little Egypt, except Cassia has more virtue than thou hath. Why should a heathen soldier of the English enjoy the laughter of thy evening, while I wait for thee in this hovel?"

I glared at him and went with Gwenivere, while she called out to Martin: "I'd have her returned to thee with her virtue intact, and depose herself as thy wife, if only it were possible, for I myself have stolen whatever she might have given thee, in such a moonless night as this one."

We giggled and laughed as Martin growled his contempt, but he was truly my love, and he would marry me, and he knew I was faithful to him, except of course, when I bathed beside Gwenivere, in the fountain, the waterfall near our Devil's Well.

"We go ere to Cadwallader's yet this night to Llanfair. I'd see the minstrels there, they are from Aragon, the Hunchedbacks they call their troop. Isn't it exciting to see me with the hand of their leader, a rather salty piece of leather, impossible to chew through? I'd tell him my dress is a gift from Cadwallader of Mark, and that if mead were spilled on it, I'd have to remove it and wash it while wearing nothing at all."

"That's disgusting." I giggled.

"I have two florins to buy the Hunchedbacks a round of mead, when we get to the inn of the Divorced Phoenixs." Gwenivere showed me the coins.

"Thou hast brought thy mother's tithe to buy mead, and kept it ere, when Whitsun was a Sunday, and another Sunday past?" I gasped in astonishment. Gwenivere grinned mischievously and nodded.

We arrived after sundown at the inn of the Divorced Phoenixs and Gwenivere promptly made our presence known among our cousins, shepherds, English soldiers and even an old traveling scholar from some Oriental land. I think his name was Djunni, or something like that.

Even Lord Cadwallader's captain, Meritus, was there. He came up behind Gwenivere and tried to whisper sweet words into her dark tresses, sniffing her like a lost dog. I laughed at him, because Gwenivere treated him like one. As we left him there, licking the wounds of his manhood, she said a terrible thing:

"I must treat him as a dog, because when we made love, that is how he approached me." Gwenivere jested with me. I must have blushed, for she frowned at me and left me standing there. She then took the drinks she had bought for the Hunchedbacks to them, and began to flirt with them, even the tips of her fingers to the dappled codpiece of Devon, their leader.

When she felt they were watching her, she made a show of walking through the inn's parlor, where the Hunchedbacks were about to perform. I overheard them say:

"What of this dark maiden, is she not perfectly aligned with all of our interests?" The ugly minstrel asked. In fact, they all looked rather ugly to me, and I could not understand why Gwenivere was so infatuated with one of them.

Devon was the most twisted of them all, he was scrawny and had a pinched face and short hair and earrings like a sailor. He reminded me of this skinny and twisted old bramble, never bearing fruit or flower, that my father had hacked at with his ax on the day his heart detonated in his chest. To me, it was that kind of evil, the kind that snaps back uncut and takes away the one thou lovest most dearly.

"Nay, she is the sort that has lain with each stag of her village, kith and kin, and is given such a garment from her English lord who would not let her leave in the rags she stripped off for his pleasure." The second Hunchedback said.

"Thou and thou dost not see the eye of this maiden. She is wanton - yes, craven - with delight, but her virtue is nay engarbled. She doth like to wear her Whitsun dress, a gift from a nobleman, why not? But thou reckon: I've known such vixens, and her pleasure is always at the vex of her suitors, who know her not." Devon insisted.

At this I spoke up, on behalf of my best friend, Gwenivere: "That is my dearest friend, Gwenivere, ye desperate men speak of without respect. And thou art right, she is a woman of virtue, and not for such braggarts and unfair men as thee! I'd tell her of thy disappointments, but she will see thee flaunted as men of low moral character, and not even the English soldiers in this tavern would tip a florin to thy song. Thou might as well keep thy voices for a crowd of toadstools, for this night thou hath spoken of thy fishy insides, and in opening thy mouth, a stench has escaped, poisoning the air!" I said to them, my voice rising in volume as the warmth of the mead I had sipped emboldened me.

"Do you see, my friends, the option I have discovered for us? This Gwenivere, she is for us. We'll take her with us, and she'll do for us what all the song in the world could never. We'll have our time yet, it will be wondrous." Devon ignored me and told his cohort.

They started singing, and their music was of a poor quality, singing about walking through a forest, getting lost and finding their true love, who becomes a tree because she is so ashamed to love a man who is so beautiful and then they must plead with a woodsman to cut down a different tree. I hated their music, it was pretentious and superficial and it smelled of smoke. No, I looked and saw that something burning had tumbled out of the clogged fireplace, and rolled along the floor, starting many smaller fires everywhere. It was like an imp running freely among us, trapping and encircling everyone.

"Gwenivere!" I took her hand and found the narrow escape, and we alone crawled through the portal. Behind us the others all burned, with only a few managing to get outside in time. Gwenivere was through, but my hips were too wide, and I couldn't quite squeeze through the way I could when I was younger. I remembered it being easy to get through, all those times we snuck in as younger girls.

"Ashlin?" Gwenivere looked back and saw I was stuck and she was coming to help me. Suddenly, without warning, Devon and his Hunchedbacks grabbed her and dragged her off into the forest. She didn't resist them much, instead she just looked sadly at me, and I cried out for help, but everyone else was either on fire or running for their lives. I pulled with all my strength and freed myself, feeling soiled by the portal. I ran after them, but the night was moonless, and I soon lost my way.

I wandered around all night, unable to find my friend and the Hunchedbacks. Crying and terrified and worried, I made my way home. When I arrived at my own little home, I went in and found that Martin was gone. Perhaps he had left in anger, because I had not returned at an hour he found proper. Indeed, it was already dawn, and I was soiled in filth, my garments sooty and shredded from the sticks I had gone through in search of Gwenivere. I sat and cried, the awfulness of it all weighing heavily on me.

There was a knock on my door, and I thought it be Martin, so I answered it in haste.

"Ashlin." Gwenivere stood before me, wearing nothing, her body covered in all manner of bruises and scrapes and deep lacerations. She smelled horrible, like something yeasty and sweet, but somehow disgusting. Her face was covered in blood, and her hair was matted in the syrupy way of so much more blood. All of this was terrible to see, but it was her skinless fingertips, clawing from a shallow grave, the rank of the soil caked on her and the way her eyes just stared at me, like she was considering eating me.

"Gwenivere?" I took a step back, avoiding her embrace.

"Help me, Ashlin. Look what they did to me. Thou must clean me, restore me, and feed me." Gwenivere demanded.

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"What did they do to thee?" I was crying at the sight of her.

"They." She paused. "Nay, thou can see for thyself. Do my bidding at once!"

I obeyed her and drew a warm bath, heating my bucket of water and using it to sponge her clean. The grave dirt, the clumps of gore and some kind of sticky filth all over her seemed to be infecting my home, like it was getting on everything, contaminating it all.

My rooster wandered inside, wondering why he and his hens were not getting fed. She grabbed the cock and broke his neck, and then she tore him with her teeth, drinking, cracking and slurping in too few bites. I gasped in horror at the sharpness of her teeth, the largeness of her mouth in the silhouette of the firelight, for I had looked away.

I tried to pretend it was a puppet show, but no Punch & Judy was like the nightmare that danced in the early morning darkness by firelight. I tried not to scream in terror, as her claws gripped me and made me look at her. Somehow there was no blood of the chicken on her face, and her naked dripping body had steam arising from her skin. Her perfect skin - as though nothing had harmed her, was restored. All the cuts and bruises were gone.

"How?" I stared, too surprised to feel the fear I held onto.

"I must go. Give me thy finest dress." Gwenivere told me.

"I have only my mother's dress, and I'd wear it only when Martin calls, and when we marry I'd wear it outside my home, on that day. Thou wouldst deprive me of it?" I was in some kind of nightmare. What more would be stripped from me?

"Do not be like an actor, with such dramatic words. Thou hath no talent and thou art plain. What use for such a gown, hath thou? Give it to me." Gwenivere held out her hand for the dress and I reluctantly gave it to her.

"I'd see thou return it, on the morrow?" I asked.

"When I see thee next, thou shall have no more need of dresses, or Martin, or me." Gwenivere said strangely. For a moment, she sounded sorry, but then she gave me that look that reminded me of how much better than me she was, and then she left.

I cleaned my home, scrubbing every inch until the afternoon. Then I fell asleep, curled on the ground, beneath the wooden table Martin had made for me. I dreamed of her in the forest, dancing in a circle with the Hunchedbacks, and somehow it was worse than the abuse I had presumed they had inflicted on her.

Martin was among the men-at-arms called to duty by our Lord Cadwallader. He was on foot behind the great man of English nobility. I admired the strong horse, clean armor and stern fatherly face of my lord as he rode slowly past my home, towards the destruction at the edge of his lands, to investigate and perhaps to pursue the Hunchedbacks. I curtseyed for my noble lord, who had slowed his mighty steed so that Martin could see me momentarily.

"My love, I see thou hast taken refuge in thy home, and my heart becomes brave, for no fear was greater than for thy safety." Martin said loudly so the soldiers all knew why their master-at-arms had paused his horse in my yard. They respectfully waited while I embraced my man and told him I was intact and well. I could see they appreciated that amid the rumors of total devastation, a comrade's maiden was spared, and he was brave because he had nothing left to fear.

Martin rejoined their ranks and Lord Cadwallader looked briefly at me with something like appreciation in his eyes. He tilted his brow slightly, like a nod of approval for my fortifications. I felt looked after, by our master, and prayed for his safety on such a dire day, as I prayed for my own Martin. I watched as the horse-mounted man led my Martin and the other recruited men with spears toward the destruction of the inn of the Divorced Phoenixs near Llanfair.

"I'll pray God keeps thy justice, Cadwallader of Mark, and Captain Meritus, and my sweet Martin, and all thy companions beside thee." I said out loud before I began my prayers for them.

Martin was returned to me later, after no sign of any rogues could be found. I had presumed they were pursued for their misdeeds, blamed for the fire and the deaths, chased for harming Gwenivere. I had assumed this, and I was mistaken. Instead, somehow, they were hailed as heroes, the survivors mistakenly attributing their deliverance to the Hunchedbacks rescuing them each. I was bewildered, disturbed and frightened by the way reality was also what a nightmare would be like.

My Cadwallader brought them forth, and their pointless poem was made into an anthem of our unity and recovery. They sang in the halls of our English lord, and his florins filled their purse. All the villagers from Hedelstok to Llanfair knew the words to their song, going through the forest and a girl becomes a dead tree and then begging a woodsman to cut down a different tree. I thought the song was stupid and lacked rhyme and reason.

Twas Gwenivere who stood beside me, looking aged and tired, her hair disheveled and her eyes puffy and sickly. She said, "I thirst, I hunger. Djunni was my feast, you know, yet nobody doth miss the stranger. Should Meritus be my next?"

I was confused, unsure if I was understanding her correctly.

By moonlight, I crept after her and found where the Hunchedbacks had made a ritual of her body, not like wicked men might abuse a young woman, but rather praying to devils and then sacrificing her by blades, shimmering in the black starlight. They had tied her down and tore off her dress, when she was dead they had rolled her into a shallow grave. The worst of my vision of her ordeal was that thay had insisted on singing their stupid song at her before they murdered her. She was to be an immaculate victim, but they had misjudged her, or at least Devon had, for I recalled that the other Hunchedbacks had accurately gauged her reputation.

Meritus was indeed her next feast, and she ate his neck, his head rolling with the same ecstatic grin of meeting her for a rendezvous, never aware of her instant transformation. He didn't deserve to die, Meritus was not a bad man, and at least his death was too swift for him to know. She plugged his neck like a bottle, draining him of blood.

I had seen the remains of Djunni discarded and half-eaten in the woods, and horror and silence had gripped me. Then I noticed there were other remains, for she had brought one man after the next to this killing place and let the demon in her feed on their flesh. The cannibal monster became her, without blemish, as soon as she had consumed living flesh.

"Don't be afraid, Ashlin." Gwenivere turned and her eyes flashed evilly at me where I hid. I trembled in terror, unsure if it was her or the demon speaking to me, for they were the same creature.

"Thou art the devil's puppet!" I stammered.

"I feel so good when I am fed. Thou sees how I am restored. The Hunchedbacks made a mistake, but they were granted their infernal bargain, a sacrifice was made that night. The body of the maiden must be pure, so that a demon does not marry her corpse, and crawl from a grave. They made a mistake, by choosing this Gwenivere." The demon, or her, or both, spoke to me and described what went wrong with the evil moonless rite.

"Will thou devour me as well?" I was crying, afraid and broken, unable to run. I felt like the love of my life was taken from me, all over again, and somehow far worse than that same night.

"Nay, thou would suffer more by my side. My pleasure is to make thee my accomplice. Thou will keep my secret, thou will conspire with me, and thou will choose my next meal, pointing to a man who will die." Gwenivere laughed diabolically.

"I will do no such deed!" I protested, shaking and afraid, with tears on my cheeks and my voice unsteady.

"Then a Martin I shall call upon. If he is seduced, he is not for thee anyway!" Gwenivere decided.

I followed her as she walked across the lands of our county, from Llanfair towards Hedelstok. The flocks stayed far away from us, protecting their shepherds from the demon's wandering and hungry eyes.

I felt as a though I were a helpless disciple and meekly went in her shadow. It was only when I beheld Martin in her serpentine embrace that my instincts changed. He had fallen for her charms, even with me standing there watching them together. I was disgusted with his fickleness and weakness, but I knew no man could resist Gwenivere when she was still good, and an evil power had only enhanced her rotten beauty.

"This be the last straw in my broom, and I have not the grace to spare thee a blow from behind!" I shrieked in rage and snapped the haft across one knee, choosing the sharper break. Then while she began to sip on my man, I impaled her from behind.

Piercing her heart broke mine.

"Thou art like a man, in thy courage and violence - with muscle to shame thy Martin's weak arms. Such a masculine maiden, lacking beauty or charm, thou art plain and dull." Gwenivere hissed at me while I held her there. Then her eyes dimmed to a mortal watering of tears, for we were departing from each other, and the demon had abandoned her to die.

"Gwenivere." I let my tears fall on her as I held her.

"My dearest love, I'd taken thee, my kiss was thy first. I loved thee best, and my virtue was always yours, and so should my dowry be." Gwenivere whispered with effort, coughing and slowing, until the light in her eyes was gone. I guessed where her dowry must be hidden, a casket of florins and jewels, her wealth stolen after the murder of men who thought she expected a payment. She'd accumulated it all on her own, without her parent's wealth, in the few weeks as a demon, while she fed on so many traveling merchants.

"Ashlin, thou art a murderer in my sight!" Lord Cadwallader had ridden at a gallop and arrived to see what I had done. "Thou shalt remain in my custody, imprisoned, until a penance can be verified by the Holy See. No murderer shall walk the clean soil of my county. I run a Christian land."

I was arrested by my noble lord, who was surprisingly gentle with me. My imprisonment was as more of a guest, until I had spoken to a special Vatican priest in confession, and the priest recommended to my good sire that I be released and funded with a dowry of clean florins so that I might marry my Martin. Lord Cadwallader looked relieved to release me and grant me an orphan's dowry, quite a generous sum, and he claimed the right to give me to Martin, standing where my father would have, were he still alive.

I'd reclaimed the money Gwenivere had hidden, knowing it was hidden where we had once bathed together near the Devil's Well. I needed no dowry such as hers, with my Christian coins to wed. Instead, I saved it as payment to better men than the Hunchedbacks, but also men of very low moral character. What I could not do, slit throats that sing, anyone touching those coins would do without worry.

There came a day, long after, when I knew the Hunchedbacks of Aragon were near our lands again. I went to their festival, along the way I was asked where I took Gwenivere's lost wealth, as bandits eyed the wealth with an easy glare. I told them the treasure was a gift from my true love for the Hunchedbacks, in honor of their final performance. They nodded at me and let me pass as I dropped coins in the mud carelessly.

I was not to be harmed by men of the road, for I had smiled at them and told them where the same treasure would land. Why rob me and risk the law, when it would be simple to rob scrawny minstrels when they traveled through the forests later? Did they find my shadow to be a suitable shade for their knives? I know they did, for as I went I dropped coins and jewels for them, leaving a sample of Gwenivere's dowry in my wake as though I were their patroness.

With assassins watching the gift of Gwenivere's dowry as tribute for the lousy minstrels, I attended their last song they'd ever sing. I shrugged, deciding the music had grown on me. Devon winked at me, and I winked back.