The Wandering Harlot (The Marie Series) (5 page)

X.

Earlier on, Matthis Schärer had made a decision. Ever since his daughter had been accused, he had not been able to think rationally, but now his mind had cleared again. Watching Marie being driven from town as she stumbled behind the bailiffs, he had realized that despite any possible misdeeds, she was still his daughter, and he wouldn’t allow her to suffer any more than she already had. He decided to return home, hitch up the wagon, and go to her aid.

He would take her to a beautiful place where she could live in peace and forget the horrible events of the past few days. Inspired by these thoughts, he shook the hand of his brother-in-law, bade him farewell, and hurried back to his house with renewed vigor.

“Pack some clothes for Marie and tell Holdwin to hitch up the wagon,” he called to Wina who, looking pale and terrified, had received him at the door. He was halfway up the stairs when he noticed that the housekeeper was still standing stiffly in the entryway.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“The counselor. He’s upstairs,” she whispered, as if afraid Rupert might hear her.

Matthis Schärer’s face turned crimson. His hatred for the man who had destroyed his daughter’s life made him so angry that his world seemed to spin, and he gasped for breath. Lowering his head, he stomped up the stairs and saw Linhard ducking into the living room. Matthis ran over and stormed into the same room where less than twenty-four hours ago he had been celebrating the marriage contract with Rupert and his guests. Here he found Utz Käffli and the counselor sitting at his desk, drinking his wine from his silver cups. Linhard, looking like the very personification of a bad conscience, withdrew behind the back of the carriage driver, as if hoping for protection.

Rupert lay sprawled out in Matthis’s favorite chair, sneering at him.

Schärer shook his fists. “What are you doing in my house? I won’t tolerate a scoundrel like you here. Go! Get out! And take this scum along with you.”

Picking up a piece of parchment from the table, the counselor handed it to Matthis calmly. “In your house? Since I expected a large dowry and a considerable inheritance from my marriage with your daughter, the bishop’s court in Constance awarded me all your possessions for the offense I have endured because of you and your daughter, and also, of course, for the loss of the future inheritance. Tone your voice down, since you are now a guest in my house.”

Suddenly Master Matthis comprehended the extent of the conspiracy to which he and Marie had fallen victim. Too late, he realized that his daughter had never had an inappropriate relationship with Linhard, Utz, or any other man.

Misery crashed over him like a suffocating wave. His innocent daughter had been thrown in the dungeon and brutally violated. Matthis remembered her cries of pain as she was being whipped, and he was consumed with hatred for the arrogant man now holding this paper under his nose, leaving him penniless. It appeared that Counselor Rupert Splendidus had planned this all with such devilish perfection that he, Matthis Schärer, would not even be able to give his only child a piece of bread, to say nothing of a future.

“Now I understand. Your intention from the start was to destroy me. Because of you, my daughter is now an outcast, homeless, and perhaps even dead.”

Rupert laughed. “You can blame it all on yourself. You came running to me like a bee flies to honey and bragged all over town about what a wonderful son-in-law you were getting. Do you really think I would lower myself to the level of a daughter of a foolish social climber?”

He stopped there, because Matthis had seized him by the throat, choking him as hard as he could. The counselor was powerless against the unrestrained fury of the heavy man, and his face was already flushed when Utz hurried to his aid. The carriage driver punched Matthis twice in the face but was still unable to stop him. Finally he seized Matthis’s right hand and tore it violently away from Rupert’s neck.

Head throbbing, Matthis tried to push Utz away, but the carriage driver took this opportunity to hit Matthis repeatedly with full force. Matthis stared at him with bloodshot eyes, trying to say something even as the blows kept coming, but his voice no longer obeyed him. Suddenly he tipped over like a sack of flour and lay motionless on the floor.

Utz kicked him several times in the stomach. “Thank God! That took care of him.”

While Linhard looked at his master with an open mouth and eyes wide in horror, Rupert massaged his neck and looked angrily at Utz. “He almost killed me. Couldn’t you have intervened a little earlier, you fool?”

The carriage driver answered with a shrug, then shoved Matthis with the point of his boot. “What will we do with him?”

Counselor Rupert looked at the prone man in disgust and pointed toward the door. “Toss the fellow out into the street.”

While the carriage driver bent down to pick Schärer up, Linhard rocked his head back and forth in doubt. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Herr Counselor. If the neighbors find him, the whole city will be gossiping, and that wouldn’t be good for your reputation. Remember, he has relatives here who might bring charges against you. Do you remember Mombert Flühi?”

The counselor nodded. “You’re right, Linhard. Drag him out to the shed, and see that he doesn’t run away. No one must know what happened to Matthis Schärer. If anyone asks about him, say he left the city to look for his daughter.”

Matthis Schärer lived for three more days; then this man, until recently one of the wealthiest citizens in Constance, was secretly buried in a pauper’s grave.

PART TWO
BAN
I
SHED

I.

Marie felt as if she were going to die.

The pain in her back spread through her body to the tips of each little hair, making every move torture. All she wanted was to lie down in the cool shadow of some dense underbrush and wait for her end. But fear drove her on. On both sides of the road were fields and meadows, only occasionally broken by dry clumps of bushes offering no protection from prying eyes. She was afraid she would be attacked if she simply lay down within sight of the road.

After a while she reached a little wooded area. She was just settling down on a cool bank of moss when she heard the rippling sounds of a nearby brook. After slipping into the refreshing water, she stood up, drank her fill, and crept back toward the bank, exhausted. There she rolled herself up in a weeping willow whose low branches lay on the ground. For a few moments she listened to the wind in the trees and the chirping of the birds, and thought she had found the proper place to slip gently into the arms of death. But only the darkness of a deep sleep came over her.

At dawn she awakened, trembling with cold, and crept back to the brook to again quench her unremitting thirst.
Why doesn’t God let me die?
she despaired. She felt a burning, unrelenting hunger, and struggled to her feet. Weak and dizzy, she staggered forward until, a short while later, a small village came into view. She approached the first house, a small cottage where a young boy clothed in filthy rags crouched, chewing on a hard crust of bread. Two days ago, Marie would have thrown such a dirty crust to the pigs, but at the moment it looked like a priceless delicacy. Pleading, she went up to the child and stretched out her hand. “Give me a bit of your bread. I’m dying of hunger.”

The boy looked first at her, then at his bread, thinking. Just then, a woman came out of the cottage. Shouting, she ran up to Marie. “Isn’t there any respite from beggars and riffraff? Get out of here!”

“Please give me a piece of bread,” Marie whispered. “God will repay you.”

The woman examined Marie’s yellow robe and spat in disgust. “For someone like you, I have nothing. Leave, or I’ll give you a good thrashing.” When Marie didn’t react at once, the woman bent down, picked up a rock, and cried for help.

Marie saw several other women and men appear with ominous looks on their faces, and she fled. After a short distance, she discovered a bush bearing a small clump of berries, which she picked and ate quickly. The taste only made her hungrier, however, and she despairingly wondered if she would ever find help.

Because of her last experience, she didn’t dare enter a village again, and she hid as soon as she heard travelers approaching. She breathed a sigh of relief when she discovered a large estate lying some distance off the road. If poor farmers wouldn’t give her anything, she would have to try appealing to the sympathy of the landowner.

Here, too, she had no success, as several mangy-looking dogs ran toward her, barking loudly as she reached the garden. She turned around and ran back toward the street, but the dogs attacked her, and she could feel their bites. Suddenly a loud, penetrating whistle called the dogs back, and they wandered off, whimpering.

Weeping silently as she walked, she felt as if her head were hovering far above her pained body. She could hardly remember who she was and why she was stumbling barefoot along the road. In a final burst of will, she staggered on until she reached the shadow of a beech tree, where she slid down against the trunk, resting her head on a soft bed of moss.

II.

A group of travelers, dressed in colorful clothing made of patched rags, moved slowly along the road to Singen. Leading the procession was a rickety covered wagon pulled by two mares and guided by a haggard-looking, middle-aged man with a short black beard. Two young boys walked alongside with stout clubs in their hands, looking around as if guarding a valuable cargo. The rest of the people followed the wagon on foot. It was a band of street performers called Jossi’s Jugglers, on their way to the fair in Merzlingen, a small city between Singen and Tuttlingen. A handful of other travelers of low social standing accompanied them.

At the end of the procession came a tall woman named Hiltrud, her hair bleached blond by the sun. Around twenty-five years old, she was not especially beautiful, but she had a pleasant face and sparkling light gray eyes. Her wide brown skirt was decorated with yellow ribbons that fluttered in the breeze, and a yellow linen blouse fit tightly around her full, well-shaped breasts. Accustomed to walking barefoot, the woman stepped lightly over the sharp rocks in the road without wincing. With a thin switch she guided two large goats hitched to a small, fully packed cart.

Men continuously shot furtive glances her way, at which the other women in the procession would shout and scold them. Hiltrud paid no heed to either the lewd looks or the ugly remarks. Women traveling alone were easy prey for men, something she had learned from painful personal experience, so she had joined the larger group for personal security; it didn’t trouble her that the other women jeered at her. Some of the female street performers with loose morals viewed her as undesirable competition, and others feared their husbands and sons would succumb to temptation and spend the little money they had on her. Yet hardly any of the men ever paid for her services, expecting her to spread her thighs as thanks for their taking her along.

Hiltrud observed the fat wife of the group’s leader waddling along amidst her swarm of children, and she wondered scornfully what the woman would say if she knew that just the night before, her husband had demanded the price for his protection. Hiltrud hadn’t even minded doing it, for unlike most men, Jossi was a considerate lover.

Suddenly the leader’s eldest son stopped and pointed toward a tree. “Look, there’s a dead woman lying beside the road.”

Soon the entire group had gathered around the lifeless body. Even Hiltrud left her goats and came closer, curious. At that moment, Hiltrud noticed the girl’s lips moving slightly, and she shook her head. “She’s not dead yet.”

While the troupe eyed her doubtfully, Hiltrud bent over the motionless figure. Despite the layer of dirt and the pained look on her face, it was evident that she was strikingly beautiful. Her yellow robe suggested she had been driven from one of the nearby cities, and judging by her bloodstained shirt that clung to her back when Hiltrud tried to lift it gently, the girl had been whipped mercilessly.

In general, the behavior of maids and women of the lower classes didn’t attract much attention in the cities. If they got out of hand, they would quickly be put in a penitent’s robe and chased out of town, but they weren’t whipped until they were half-dead. Puzzled, Hiltrud glanced at the girl’s hands. Such smooth, delicate fingers didn’t belong to a maid or day laborer. The girl had to be the daughter of a well-to-do citizen or even a nobleman. That made the matter even more mysterious, since if the daughter of a rich family got into trouble, she would usually be quickly married off to a willing liegeman, or sent to a nunnery. Hiltrud was intrigued and felt sympathy for the girl.

“If she isn’t dead yet, she will be soon. We can’t do anything for her.” Shrugging, the leader of the group turned away and climbed back onto the coach box of his wagon. The performers were about to move on, but Hiltrud couldn’t make up her mind. Though the girl was no concern of hers, it was against her nature to leave someone helpless by the side of the road. As the leader mounted his horse and clicked his tongue, Hiltrud stepped in front of him.

“Please wait a moment, Jossi. I want to bring the girl along.”

The bearded leader shook his head. “If we dawdle, we won’t get a good place at the fair.”

“Just a few minutes,” Hiltrud pleaded.

“You can stay behind if you want to deal with the dirty whore.” The leader’s wife emphasized the word
whore
in order to offend Hiltrud.

Hiltrud had been the target of so many insults that by now they just bounced off her. Annoyed, she watched as the leader raised his whip and drove his draft animals forward without waiting to see if she would get out of the way. After a short glance at the unconscious girl, she stepped aside and turned to one of the younger men.

“Please help me load her onto my wagon. I’ll care for her after we arrive in Merzlingen.”

With his help, Hiltrud lifted the girl onto her wagon, but while she was still thanking him, the leader’s wife turned around and sharply ordered him to come back.

Hiltrud smiled as she gently prodded her goats to move forward, but her laughter died away quickly when she saw that her animals couldn’t pull the wagon’s additional weight.. She had to tie a rope around the wheel shaft and hitch herself up to the wagon as well.

That’s what you get for having a soft heart, she chided herself in silent thought. Now you can play the part of your own draft animal, and all because of a woman who will probably die this very night. With this luck, you’ll have to bury her with your own hands and pay the priest a few pennies to say a blessing over her grave.

With every step she took, her mood worsened. It was an arduous job, pulling the wagon in this heat. To get her mind off her situation, she thought about what to do with the girl if she survived.

I could use a maid to help me pitch my tent and cook for me. Besides, she’s a pretty lass who will attract customers. When she’s able to work I’ll get good money from the men.

Now greatly concerned with making sure the girl lived, Hiltrud stopped briefly at a brook, soaked a cloth in the water, and dampened the unconscious girl’s cracked lips.

She arrived at the fairgrounds, still thinking about how the girl could help make her money. A number of tents and booths were already standing, while others were being set up. As she was looking for the best place to set up her tent, the Merzlingen fair supervisor headed toward her to collect the prostitute’s fee. His look suggested he also intended a payment in services later. She just hoped he would bathe beforehand.

While counting out the coins Hiltrud had given him, he pointed at Marie. “What about her?”

“I found her alongside the road and brought her along. You can’t ask me to pay the tax for her as well.” Hiltrud was going to turn away, but it wasn’t so easy to evade the city finance representative.

“Judging by her robe, she’s a whore, so you have to pay two pennies for her, too.”

Hiltrud sighed. “Come back tomorrow, and if she’s still alive, you’ll get your money.”

The supervisor laughed and held out his hand. Hiltrud didn’t know whether she was angrier about man’s greed or her own softheartedness. She took out her purse with another sigh and looked until she found two Haller pennies instead of the good Regensburg ones. He accepted the inferior coins with a surly glance and left to collect fees from another arrival. Hiltrud let out a relieved breath and went to pick out her tent site.

Jossi’s Jugglers had set up their tents in the shadow of some tall trees, and Hiltrud found a place not far away. She pulled her wagon over, unhitched the goats, and tied them to two pegs she hammered into the ground with a stone. In the process of unloading the unconscious girl by herself, her cart tipped over, spilling all her belongings on the ground. Hiltrud cursed under her breath but set up her tent quickly, as usual, then dragged the battered girl inside and laid her down on a blanket. She cast a glance at the hordes of men milling about outside who feigned interest in the merchants’ stalls and the performers. In truth, most of them were eyeing the prostitutes and, after short negotiations, disappeared with them into their tents or in the bushes down by the river. A client approached Hiltrud and spoke to her, but she turned him away, shaking her head. He cursed, spat on the ground, and moments later went into another woman’s tent.

Placing her hands on her hips, Hiltrud looked down at the unconscious girl. “Do you have any idea of all the trouble you’re causing me? Because of you, I have to pass up offers, so see to it you stay alive and pay me back every penny!”

She took a kettle and left the tent to fetch some water at the river. Then she found some dry moss, grass, and twigs; set up her trivet in front of the tent; and lit a fire. While the water in the kettle was heating, she cut the robe from the girl’s body, leaving the parts that were stuck to the girl’s wounds untouched. When the water started to boil, she took part of the robe, dipped it in the steaming water, and carefully started loosening and removing the remaining scraps of cloth.

As Hiltrud concentrated on her good deed, a short, scrawny middle-aged man appeared at her tent. He wore clean, gray trousers, a brown waistcoat, and leather shoes with copper buckles. Finding the tent flap open, he noticed the battered woman.

“Hello, Hiltrud. Who is this you’ve picked up off the street?”

Looking peeved, Hiltrud turned around, but her face brightened when she recognized her visitor, Peter Herbmann. The apothecary was a regular customer who looked her up whenever she came to the fair. She liked him, as he paid well and was a gentle lover who treated her better than most men. For a moment she was afraid she might lose him as a customer if she refused him.

Herbmann didn’t demand anything of her or turn away offended, but instead knelt down and examined the girl. Hiltrud was happy to see that his eyes passed indifferently over the girl’s especially well-formed body, expressing only a mixture of deep sympathy, anger, and a certain professional interest at seeing the bloody patchwork of lashes on her back.

Hiltrud looked at him despairingly. “I found the child at the side of the road. It didn’t seem right to leave her there, but now I don’t know what to do. If she doesn’t receive good treatment, she will die, and then I’ll have trouble with the fair supervisor.”

She loosened the rest of the bloody robe from Marie’s back and reached for a pot of salve, but found it almost empty. Before she could spread Marie’s back with the little that was left, the apothecary reached out to stop her. “You have to use something else. I’ll go home and get some fresh ointment and bandages along with something for the fever.”

Hiltrud breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks for your help, Peter. This time I’ve taken on too much.”

The apothecary smiled, trying to cheer her up. “I’ll be right back. In the meantime, can you make some broth? We’ll mix it with some of my herbs and give it to her to drink.”

Hiltrud looked down at Marie skeptically. “She’s not conscious, and I don’t think we can get her to drink anything.”

“Don’t worry, I know how to treat sick people.” He patted her hand reassuringly and hurried off. He returned shortly, carrying a basket containing a full pot of ointment, a bowl, and finely chopped herbs along with a bottle he was handling like a fragile treasure.

“I’ve distilled this essence from various medicinal plants. It cleans the wounds and promotes the healing process,” he explained to Hiltrud as he opened the bottle and poured the strong-smelling liquid over a clean cloth. Then he knelt down and cleaned the dog bites and the bloody welts.

The apothecary turned and looked up. “This stuff burns like fire in open wounds, but it keeps the welts from becoming even more infected. If the girl were conscious, she’d be screaming with pain now.”

Hiltrud shuddered. “Just the smell of it burns your throat. Are you sure it won’t harm her?”

The apothecary smiled. “It will only help. I’ll put salve on the open wounds so they can heal. By God, I’ve seen many men who’ve been whipped, but hardly any whose backs were so badly lacerated. Whoever did this to the poor child was a beast, not a human being.”

Hiltrud watched as he tended the wounds with skillful hands. Then he turned the girl around, set her up with Hiltrud’s help, and patiently gave her the herbal broth one spoonful at a time. Though the young woman was still unconscious, she swallowed the soup like an obedient child.

Looking at Hiltrud, the apothecary pointed at his patient’s badly swollen lower regions. “I think she’ll recover, but keep an eye on her. The child fell into the hands of real monsters.”

Hiltrud was angry at herself for not noticing earlier that the poor girl had been not only whipped, but also raped. Often contending with lovers who didn’t care whether they inflicted pain, Hiltrud always kept a tincture in her bags that she had prepared for this kind of injury. She fetched some and poured the shimmering green liquid over the girl’s abdomen.

“There, that should suffice for now.” The apothecary cast a seductive glance at Hiltrud and slipped his hand under her shirt. “I think I’ve earned a little reward.”

Hiltrud looked at Marie, who was taking up more than half of the tent. “You’ll have to help me move the girl to one side to make room. And please wait a moment. I’m sweaty and would like to wash up first.”

“Yes, do that. I like that about you. You are always so clean, whereas other women . . .” The apothecary didn’t complete his sentence, but Hiltrud understood. Many women in her line of work didn’t pay the slightest attention to their personal hygiene. She, however, cared for her body and therefore had regular customers from the well-to-do classes at every fair.

Hiltrud filled a leather pouch with water from the river, hanging it between two tent poles. Then she closed the entrance flap and disrobed. The apothecary’s eyes lit up at the sight of her naked body under the stream of water, and she could see he wanted to pull her down onto the blanket at once. Nevertheless, she took time to wash herself from head to foot before lying down next to him.