The Wandering Harlot (The Marie Series) (17 page)

“Now? Here, in the hall?” the abbot asked, stunned.

“Why not?” the count replied. “Most children are not baptized in a church, but at home. Furthermore, it’s warm and comfortable here whereas the child would be cold and miserable in the chapel.”

The abbot exchanged uncertain glances with the lord and lady. Nodding in agreement, Lady Mechthild sent Guda to get the boy. She immediately understood that Eberhard wanted to dispel the threatening shadow of the Keilburgs with the sacrament of baptism, and she was so grateful to him that she resolved to have three masses said in Saint Ottilien for the salvation of his soul.

By the time Guda returned with the baby, everything was ready for the baptism. Giso and a few of his people had not only brought in the gilded crucifix from the chapel but also the heavy baptismal font that took six strong men to carry it.

Eberhard approached the housekeeper and took the boy in his arms. “A splendid child,” he said with a smile, watching as Lady Mechthild’s cheeks glowed with joy. “Speak your blessing, Venerable Abbot,” he said to Adalwig, who still didn’t quite understand what to do. Finally the old man stood up and took his place alongside the baptismal font. He hesitated a few times while trying to remember the words, but he recited the blessing without error and finally made the sign of the cross over the child with a relieved “Amen.”

“Amen,” came the resounding reply of all present.

Most of the guests thought the dinner would resume, but Eberhard raised his hand to speak.

“In view of the honor I have been afforded as godfather of this child, I wish to present my gift,” he called out in a voice that filled the room. “To strengthen the bonds between his clan and mine, I am bequeathing Thalfingen on the Neckar to my godson Grimald.” Holding the baby in his arms, he turned to gauge the impression his gift had made and smiled inwardly at the crowd’s reaction.

Mouth wide-open in shock, Sir Dietmar stared at him with gleaming eyes. It didn’t trouble him in the least that the gift made his son a vassal of the Württembergs, because this connection would protect Arnstein from any further Keilburg attacks. Count Konrad would think twice before threatening an ally and vassal of the Württembergs. Lady Mechthild also looked overcome with joy, and Abbot Adalwig sent a prayer of thanks heavenward, realizing that the mighty guest would now hold a protective hand over his friend Dietmar. Hartmut von Treilingen, who had been holding his breath, let out a huge sigh and raised his goblet to the health of the count and his godfather. He, too, would gain from the Württembergs the protection he so desperately needed.

Indeed, Eberhard’s visit had infused Arnstein Castle with hope, and the overall mood lightened. Even Marie was optimistic that Counselor Rupert would one day receive his just punishment. She briefly wondered whether she should tell Eberhard her story and ask him for help, but since her injustices had not happened in his jurisdiction, she dropped the idea at once. Count von Württemberg had no influence in Constance and could do nothing for her. It was also not very likely that the nobleman would care about a courtesan’s concerns or put any credence in her story.

Count Eberhard von Württemberg stayed at Arnstein Castle for two weeks, and many people laughed that his visit was so lengthy because an extraordinarily beautiful woman was adding spice to his nights. As a farewell gift, he tucked a handful of golden coins embossed with the leaping stag of Württemberg in Marie’s bosom, then kissed her in front of all the assembled guests. Riding out on a clear winter’s day, the count left relieved and happy guests behind.

PART FOUR
DANGEROUS TRAVELS

I.

“Won’t you even consider my offer, Marie?” Lady Mechthild sounded peeved.

Marie bit her lip and shook her head.

“I only want to help, you stubborn thing,” Lady Mechthild continued. “A marriage to one of our farmers would make you an honorable woman. I discussed it with my husband, and he is ready to give you and your offspring property in the domain of Thalfingen. Moreover, since you were born free, I will give you a signed and sealed letter that ensures that your children will likewise not be serfs.”

Heart pounding, Marie felt something within pleading for her to accept the generous offer. The prospect of being a free landowner with her own property was exactly what Anne and Elsa, her father’s two maids, had dreamed of in Constance. It wasn’t an easy life, as a farmer’s wife worked hard, and Marie knew that she would first have to learn everything that country girls had been taught since early childhood. But with the help of a loving husband, she could do it.

But if she agreed, for the rest of her life she would be bound to a piece of land that she could leave only briefly when she traveled to the nearest market town or went on a pilgrimage. Her home would be far from Constance, and she would never be able to take her much-desired revenge on the counselor and his cronies. No, she couldn’t give in now and accept the gift, or she would never find peace of mind.

She took a deep breath, choosing her words carefully so as not to offend Lady Mechthild. “Your offer is more than generous, but I grew up as a merchant’s daughter and have spent little time in the countryside. I could never manage a farm properly.”

Lady Mechthild laughed. “You don’t know what you are saying. Do you think you will ever again have a chance to escape the squalor of your wandering ways? To find a place where you can save your soul through a decent life pleasing to God? No, girl, once you leave here, you will end up back in the gutter where the half brother of our enemy cast you, and you will wander the roads for the rest of your days.”

Through the lady’s window, Marie could see Hiltrud in the courtyard, hitching up her reluctant goats and three kids to the little cart with Thomas’s help. For a moment, she considered asking the lady to permit Hiltrud and Thomas to marry, giving the farm to them instead, but if the lady agreed, she would have to move on by herself, and she was fearful of that. She despised herself for being selfish and for disregarding her friend’s future happiness. Fighting the tears welling up within her, Marie threw her head back.

“I realize what I’m turning down, my lady, but there is nowhere on earth that I can truly find rest.” She almost added, “As long as Rupert Splendidus is still alive,” but she held her tongue just in time. Her plans for revenge didn’t concern Lady Mechthild. Clearing her throat, she curtsied to the lady without meeting her eye.

“It is time for me to say good-bye, my lady.”

“As you wish,” the lady replied reluctantly. “You have already received your wages. Accept my thanks and best wishes for the help you have given me. I will pray for your soul.”

Marie curtsied again, then abruptly turned and walked slowly through the castle to the courtyard where Hiltrud was waiting, taking leave of the place that had been her home for the past several eventful months. She brought with her all that she had learned in her time there, along with a purseful of money that Lady Mechthild had paid for her services.

Marie also carried Count Eberhard’s gold coins in another purse she kept hidden deep inside her clothing. She didn’t yet have enough money to hire an assassin for such a high-placed nobleman as Rupert Splendidus, but it was enough in coins to murder the scoundrels who had raped her. She couldn’t have the men killed yet, however, or Rupert would be alerted, and she didn’t want to risk that.

Standing next to the wagon, Hiltrud was caught in animated discussion with Thomas. Her cheeks glowed and she looked well fed, unlike her appearance after earlier winters. For a wandering harlot, this had been an excellent winter. She had new clothes, coats, and undergarments, and she hadn’t had to spend coins for either rent or a cabin. Instead, she’d enjoyed some very pleasant months and earned good money. A woman of her standing really couldn’t ask for anything more.

“Can we leave?” Hiltrud’s question awakened Marie from her reveries.

“I’m ready. How are things with you?”

“I said good-bye to Thomas.” Hiltrud’s misty eyes belied her feigned composure, but since they had no choice but to return to the dusty roads, Marie didn’t respond. Hiltrud would have to deal with her grief just as Marie struggled with her own inner conflict.

Once they had reached the outer gateway, Marie looked at Hiltrud questioningly. “Do you have any idea where to go? We shouldn’t travel too far all alone.”

“Let’s head to Saint Marien am Stein. It’s not far from here, and Thomas told me there’s a pilgrimage to that site on Palm Sunday. We’ll find plenty of customers there to help us get used to the old routine.”

“I agree. We’ll certainly find other women there with whom we can travel unmolested. Do you know the way? I’d prefer not to travel through lands belonging to the Keilburgs or Steinzells.”

“Then there aren’t many roads to choose from,” Hiltrud joked. “But your fear is not entirely unfounded since Thomas has spotted Philipp von Steinzell around Arnstein on a few occasions. The scoundrel still dreams of getting between your legs, but we’ll spoil his fun.”

Hiltrud laughed a little too loudly and clicked her tongue. As they passed the gate watchman, he waved and joked a bit with them. He chuckled as Hiltrud replied in kind, though her voice didn’t sound as cheerful as her words for she seemed about to burst into tears. Leaving the castle behind them, Marie wondered if she should point out Thomas waving at them from between the battlements of one of the towers. But her friend was staring ahead grimly and didn’t once look back as they followed the serpentine path down into the valley.

Meanwhile, Thomas stayed at his observation post until well after the two women had disappeared into the trees on the other side of the valley. Finally, with drooping shoulders, he returned to his goat stable to pour out his grief to the animals.

II.

The pilgrimage church of Saint Marien am Stein was built on a peninsula, embraced by the arms of a little lake. Most of the year this place was filled with only the sounds of birds chirping and waves lapping the shore. But once a week, these sounds were drowned out by the bell tolling as monks from the nearby monastery came to the old white stone church to care for it and say their prayers. On pilgrimage days, as on this Palm Sunday, the narrow peninsula was scarcely able to hold all the faithful. Dressed in their Sunday best, men, women, and children made their way toward the church’s open gate to gaze at the miraculous Virgin Mary statue and to pray for her mercy and intercession for the forgiveness of their sins.

When Hiltrud and Marie first arrived, it disturbed them that the women eyed them distrustfully and the men looked them over while calling out suggestive remarks. Soon, however, they had gotten used to the usual routine and they were pleased they’d have a chance to earn good money there. With only four threadbare tents with faded, pale yellow ribbons fluttering in the wind, they didn’t have much competition.

It was obvious that the women in those tents were already hard at work, as the entrance flaps were drawn shut and a few men prowled around them impatiently, waiting their turns. Marie and Hiltrud saw some hopeful gazes directed their way and hurried to set up their own quarters. Since neither a bailiff nor a monk showed up to assign them a place, they chose a dry part of the meadow on a little rise near the river shadowed by weeping willows. The trees’ low branches draped over the water, offering them a somewhat private place for early-morning baths. While they were still busy tying the canvas to the poles, one of the other prostitutes stepped out of her tent and looked over at them.

“What a surprise! It really is a small world.”

“Gerlind, what are you doing here?” Hiltrud called back in surprise. “I thought you’d retired.”

Squinting, the old woman approached them. “I tried,” she said with a bitter laugh. “But I was too successful for the procurers in the area, and they sent the priests and bailiffs after me. Believe me, there can’t even be as many laws as they said I broke. They took away the two girls I’d spent so much time training, gave them to a local procuress, and remembered to steal my hard-earned savings. Then they whipped me and chased me away. Now I’m back to wandering the roads and training a new girl. Märthe isn’t the brightest star in the sky, but she’s good with the men.”

Hiltrud embraced Gerlind joyfully, appearing not to notice how dirty the toothless, gaunt woman was. “So great to see you! Now we can go back to traveling together.”

“Of course! Of course! Then our old group will be back together again. On the way here, Märthe and I met Berta and Fita, who are also looking for company. With six of us, we’ll never have to beg any traveling group for protection.”

Hiltrud nodded enthusiastically, but Marie made a sour face. Berta wasn’t exactly her dream company, but it was still better than joining a group of street performers or a wagon train whose leaders would demand their bodies night after night. She was glad, however, that she might learn more from Gerlind about the effects of various herbs, and she was also curious about the girl that the old harlot had taken on as a maid.

The arrival of two new prostitutes, especially such a pretty one as Marie, attracted men like moths to a flame. Some of the monks who came running to stare at her were still wearing their choir robes. Physical lust clearly meant more to them than serving God and the souls of the pilgrims, as they had obviously abandoned the pious singers whose Latin hymns could be heard coming from the little church. One of the monks accosted Marie while she was busy trying to tie down her tent with a heavy rope.

“Welcome to Saint Marien am Stein, dear child. Your soul will be saved and your sins forgiven if you humbly satisfy my needs.”

Pausing in her work for a moment, Marie looked at him scornfully. “Humbly means for free, but only death is free, and even that costs your life.”

The monk didn’t give up so fast but gave his voice an even more unctuous tone. “Don’t be so haughty, dear child. When you arrive in heaven someday, the watcher at the gate will remind you of your sins and send you off to purgatory, but if you serve us pious monks, the hands of Satan’s servants will be tied so they can light only a small fire that will at most feel like a warm bath to you.”

Marie sniffed him briefly and laughed. “What you need is a warm bath yourself, Brother. God created me with such a sensitive nose that I can’t help you.”

When Marie turned away, he spat on the ground and approached Hiltrud. To Marie’s surprise, her friend nodded and let him into her tent, even though she hadn’t finished hammering her tent pegs. It was a riddle to Marie why the always-clean Hiltrud had let in the stinking monk. She had little time to think about it, however, as the crowd of men in front of her tent kept growing.

Marie looked the customers over and felt a lump in her throat. After his son’s birth, Sir Dietmar had refused to even look at her, so she hadn’t had to give herself to anyone since the Württemberg count. Only now did she recall how nice it had been to be left alone. All she wanted was to crawl back into her tent and tie it closed from the inside, but in the long term she couldn’t afford to turn away customers, and the longer she waited, the harder it would be for her to resume her business.

A well-dressed farmer came forward with a swagger. “Name your price, girl.”

Marie didn’t like his pompous attitude and answered, “Five shillings.” Taken aback, the farmer waved her off contemptuously. “Twelve good pennies? You should be made of gold to demand that much.”

Pointing to Berta’s tent, which she recognized by its dirty spots, Marie informed the men of her business practices. “If you’re looking for a penny whore, you’ll find her down there. I give my favors only to men who can afford me.”

Some of the men standing around laughed, while the farmer snorted and left, muttering rude words. He didn’t go to Berta’s tent, however, but headed for Hiltrud, who had just dismissed the monk and was now walking toward the farmer, swinging her hips. They settled on a price within a few minutes and disappeared together inside her tent.

“Five shillings is what you ask? I think I can afford that,” someone said in Marie’s ear.

Turning, she saw a man wearing a broad, soiled pilgrim’s cloak. Though his coat was frayed and bleached by the sun and his shoes had been patched often, the pilgrim did not look poor. Indeed, his broad, muscular shoulders and the calluses he had on his hands meant that he was used to wielding a sword and suggested that he was a knight. Marie assumed that he, like many others, had given his property to a son and gone on the pilgrimage. Since he kept himself cleaner than most of the other men, Marie pushed the tent canvas aside to let him in. “If you would please follow me . . .” Setting his walking stick down in front of the tent, he squeezed past her. As he removed his shirt, she saw he was an old man, with white hair on his wrinkled chest. Yet his face showed nothing of the serenity of old age nor a pilgrim’s blissful otherworldly glow, but instead shone with undisguised lust. Before Marie could settle down comfortably, he jumped her.

Marie was repelled by the man, by herself, and by what had become of her. An eternity seemed to pass before he collapsed on top of her with a dissonant groan. Relieved, she struggled to stand up, then smoothed out her dress and held out her hand. “Five shillings, please.”

The pilgrim just snickered. “Take this blessing from Saint Jacob, which I have in my body, as a reward. I won’t pay any money for a whore.”

Marie cursed herself for being such a fool and for forgetting to get paid in advance. At the same time, boundless rage welled up inside her. She wasn’t prepared to let the old man go without doing something about it. “That wasn’t our agreement. Either you pay or . . .”

“Or what?” he sneered, leaving her tent. But Marie was faster than he was. Picking up his walking stick, she knocked the man down, much to the amusement of everyone standing around. Before he could struggle to his feet, she reached for his purse and ripped it off his belt.

“You can keep your blessing from Saint Jacob. We agreed on five shillings, and that’s what you’re going to pay.” She opened the purse, took out the agreed-upon amount, and counted the coins for all to see. The old man cursed her as a thief, and called upon the crowd to help him with the shameless whore, but most of the men jeered at him and pushed him around, jealous that he got to sleep with such a beautiful woman.

Marie threw the visibly thinner purse on the ground in front of him and glared at the other men. “The old goat probably thought he could graze around here for free, but I changed his mind about that.”

Another man came up to Marie and counted out five shillings in her hand. To judge by appearances, he was a rich merchant who had come here less out of piety than for business reasons. Marie cast a final triumphant look at the old man who had tried to cheat her and disappeared with the merchant into the tent.

Somewhat later, as she was looking around for another customer, she learned that rumors had spread of the incident involving her and the old pilgrim. All the men at the festival now seemed to know her price, and the number of people approaching her tent had greatly decreased. Naturally, a few tried to get her to lower her price, but in the end they all paid their five shillings. She was happy she’d earned good money even though that meant fewer customers.

Hiltrud, on the other hand, seemed unable to find enough clients and ignored every rule that she had taught Marie. Taking every interested man into her tent, she paid little attention to their appearance or body odor, and didn’t even seem concerned if they couldn’t pay, as Marie saw entering her friend’s tent some monks who clearly didn’t have a cent to their names. Marie became worried about Hiltrud’s welfare.

Later, when things had quieted down, Marie walked to the riverbank with her friend and spoke frankly about her concerns without receiving a reply. Hiltrud’s gaze was fixed far in the distance, and her face showed a bone-tired weariness. When Marie pressed further, Hiltrud angrily shook her head. “Leave me alone. I know what I’m doing.”

Marie didn’t let herself be brushed off so easily. “If you keep up like this, you’ll soon be as run-down as Berta, who spreads her legs for any dirty fellow, and of whom demanding customers steer clear. In any case, you ought to wash thoroughly and check yourself for lice and fleas. Some of your customers looked like they were well acquainted with vermin.”

Hiltrud smiled sadly. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll pull myself together soon, but today I had to remind myself who I am in the world. Our time at Arnstein Castle didn’t do me much good.”

“You’re tormenting yourself because you couldn’t stay with Thomas.” Marie put her arms around her friend and pulled her close. “I understand how much you miss him, but you shouldn’t punish yourself. You’ll become like one of those penny whores, and well-off customers will avoid you. They don’t like it if the man before them was a lice breeder.”

Even Hiltrud had to laugh at that. Raising her hands, she conceded. “You’re right—I was a fool. I solemnly promise never to neglect myself like that again. Now are you happy?”

Marie nodded, and Hiltrud stood up. “Come, let’s undress and go take a bath. First, though, I want to hang my blanket and dress over the fire, as I’m afraid I really did inherit a few fleas from my recent clients.”

Hiltrud entered her tent to change, fetched the soap she had made from fat and ashes, then waved to Marie to follow her away from the pilgrims. They walked along the shore for a while until they came to a gathering of sharp rocks that projected far out into the water. There, Hiltrud undressed, then energetically set to work washing herself, scrubbing so hard, she seemed almost intent on scraping off her skin. Still wearing her dress, Marie walked into the water where she cleaned herself and her clothing while keeping an eye on her friend in the moonlight.

Even though Hiltrud’s grief at leaving Thomas was still strong, she was grateful to Marie for having given her such a severe scolding. It was unfortunate when any woman let herself go, but with a prostitute, it was the beginning of the end. To salvage her reputation, Hiltrud would have to choose her clients more carefully for a while even if it meant not making as much money.

When Marie and Hiltrud returned to their tents, they found the four other prostitutes sitting around a campfire eating some sort of nondescript soup. Though they didn’t recognize the young blond girl sitting next to Berta, she was obviously Gerlind’s new maid, Märthe. She was already well padded around her breasts and thighs, but judging by her moon-shaped face, she couldn’t be older than sixteen. Gerlind waved to them, calling out, “Here you are finally. Feel free to help yourself to some of the soup.”

Walking over, Hiltrud shook hands with Berta, Fita, and the new girl. “Nice to see you again. We’ll have plenty to talk about once we set on our way.” Berta and Fita assured Hiltrud it would no doubt be a lively trip, but Märthe only looked up briefly, giving Hiltrud an unfriendly look before returning to spoon her soup without taking any more notice of the new arrival.

Marie had gone back to her tent to change and hang up her dress to dry, and was thus able to observe the women sitting around the fire without being seen. Märthe’s chilly attitude toward Hiltrud puzzled her, though it was hardly disturbing. The girl fit in well with the other three, however, for they all looked unkempt and bedraggled.

Sitting down by the fire, Marie realized that the women were even filthier than she had thought, and she was repelled by what she saw. Gerlind used to groom herself carefully, and she had made sure that Berta and Fita didn’t run around looking slovenly, either. Now all of the women reeked of the same sharp smell, and their clothes were dirty and full of spots. Gerlind’s hands and face appeared not to have been washed for weeks, and Marie suddenly felt ill at the idea of eating something she cooked.

Hiltrud apparently shared her reluctance, and the two friends instinctively stepped back a bit from the pot. “We won’t be having supper with you this evening, Gerlind, as we still have provisions that have to be used up.”