Catherine: One Love is Enough (Catherine Series Book 1) by Juliette Benzoni Page A

consumed that same night. After all the day’s harvest had been pooled at the feet of the King of Thune, the signal was given for the feast to begin. Whole animals were roasted over roaring fires, casks of wine were broken open, and on all sides there were simmering stew-pots, watched over by old crones every bit as alarming as the witches of legend. The whole square was filled with the glare of the fires and torches, and weird shadows leapt and danced on the decaying walls all around. It was a window on a life Catherine knew of by hearsay, but had always supposed must belong to the world of fantasy.
    A man sat enthroned on a cairn of stones, draped with cloths, in front of the biggest fire. A bull-neck set on massive shoulders; a triangular body poised on short, sturdy legs; a squarish head and thatch of coarse hair surmounted by a faded red bonnet; a large, drunken face in which flashed a set of astonishingly white teeth: this was Mâchefer, King of Thune and Argot, sovereign lord of the 16 Parisian Cours des Miracles, and grand master of all French beggary. A black kerchief covered his left eye, which had been put out by the public executioner, and this put the finishing touch to a nightmarish figure. He sat on his cairn with his fists on his knees, his personal banner – a haunch of raw meat impaled on a pike – planted beside him, and presided over the merrymaking of his subjects, partaking freely all the while of flagons of beer poured out by a half-naked maenad.
    Every night, once she was strong enough, Catherine used to slip out of bed and creep over to the skylight. This, together with the slit window by the door, was the only source of light in Barnaby’s château. Stood there on tiptoe, drinking in every detail of the Bacchanalian, Catherine came to learn quite a few things about the laws of nature – since these feasts invariably ended in an orgy. She saw couples roll about on the ground, entwining publicly, not bothering to look for a dark or secluded corner. These sights left her strangely troubled, agitated by an emotion that seemed to spring from the innermost fibres of her adolescent body.
    If Jacquette had caught her watching she would have died of shame, but meanwhile, alone in her dark corner, Catherine eagerly watched what went on. In this way she learnt about some of the stranger customs of the Kingdom of Argot and Thune.
    For instance, she witnessed, wide-eyed, the initiation of several new female members into the People of the Dark. When a young girl entered the Beggars’ Kingdom, she was first stripped naked and then made to dance in front of the King to the sound of tambourines. If Mâchefer did not want her for himself, sending her to swell the ranks of an already impressive harem, those who coveted the girl were invited to fight for her, the winner then taking possession of his prize on the spot, in front of everybody …
    The first time this happened Catherine covered her eyes and hid her head under the bedclothes. The second time she stayed, peeping out from behind laced fingers. The third time she watched the ceremony from beginning to end.
    One night Catherine saw them lead a young girl up to Mâchefer. She might have been a year or so older than herself. When stripped, she revealed a body as slim as a willow-wand, still boyish in outline but for the newly-budded breasts. Heavy chestnut plaits swung on her shoulders. When the girl started to dance, Catherine was seized by a strange fancy. Silhouetted against the glowing brazier, the slender, black form swayed and twisted like a human flame, but with such gaiety and abandon that the watching child felt quite envious. Catherine found herself thinking that it must be nice to dance naked like that in front of a blazing fire. The young dancer looked like a sprite or will-o’-the-wisp. It was all a bit like a strange game.
    When the dance ended, the girl stood there panting and Mâchefer made a sign that Catherine had learned to recognise. It