The Wandering Harlot (The Marie Series Book 1) Read online

  Seized with fear, she hurried back to the outskirts of the market and soon discovered the tree where Hiltrud’s goats were tied up. Along the way, she had passed a stand where an older man was selling fresh and dried fruit dipped in honey. It smelled so wonderful that her mouth watered, but as she had no money, she hurried past. She didn’t get very far, as the owner of the stand ran after her and took her by the arm. “Don’t you want a pear dipped in honey, girl?”

  “I can’t pay for it.” Marie hoped he’d let her go, but instead he pulled her so close that their faces almost touched.

  “I won’t take any money from a pretty child like you. Come into the bushes with me, and I’ll give you the best pear I have,” he replied, shoving his hand down her dress. The shock was so great, it gave Marie the strength to pull back and run away.

  To her relief, the man didn’t follow but just shouted after her. “What’s the matter with you? You’re the little hussy who came with Hiltrud. If you want a pear, you’ll have to earn it.”

  Marie shook herself and stumbled on until she arrived back at the tent, where she put her hands over her face. Did morals and commandments of the church mean so little outside city walls that they could be sold for a piece of fruit dipped in honey? Now she understood why her father had forbidden her as of her twelfth birthday from playing in the meadows outside the city walls anymore, or why he hadn’t allowed her to leave the house without supervision. He really had watched over her carefully, at least until he had been so blinded by the counselor’s enticing marriage proposal that he had thrown all caution to the wind, opening the way for slanders and lies.

  Her former fiancé’s face popped into her mind. It was strange how quick Rupert had been to believe her accusers. The more she thought about it, the more she realized it was his quick condemnation that had made the abuse possible. Linhard, Utz, and Hunold couldn’t possibly have acted on their own, nor would Euphemia have committed perjury unless it was at someone’s urging. She thought of Rupert’s thin, self-controlled face. Even while courting her, he had never cast a friendly glance at her; indeed, he had entirely avoided looking at her. All the evidence suggested he had been the instigator, and the other four his accomplices. Though Marie couldn’t understand why the man had ruined her life, by now she was firmly convinced he had purposely brought this misfortune down upon her. She could only hope her father would be able to explain everything to her when he picked her up the next day.

  V.

  Over the course of the following days, Marie avoided the stalls, instead sitting beside the road to Constance, keeping an eye out for her father. She wrapped herself in a blanket to hide her yellow robe. Hiltrud permitted it, as the girl seemed out of danger there and Hiltrud needed her tent for her steadily increasing flow of customers.

  Due to the fine weather, an unusually large number of people visited the Merzlingen fair, and wagon drivers kept arriving with new goods far into the bright, moonlit nights. While the women looked at fabrics, pots, and other useful things, spending most of their time haggling over prices, the men cast lewd glances into the prostitutes’ tents, examining what was available there. Despite growing competition, Hiltrud’s attractive appearance and high standards of personal hygiene kept her in demand, and she was doing well.

  On the last day of the fair, as the merchants started taking down their stands, Hiltrud sat down next to Marie. “Tomorrow I’m moving on. You should join me.”

  Marie shook her head emphatically. “I want to stay here and wait for my father. He’ll be here sooner or later.”

  Annoyed, Hiltrud shook her finger at Marie. “You must be mad. What are you going to live on?”

  “If necessary, I’ll go begging.”

  “Oh, you will?” the other woman scoffed. “Do you know what that means? For the townspeople, you’re nothing but a nuisance to be run out of town. And if you think begging will protect you from men’s violence and impulsive behavior, you’re wrong. And a pretty, young girl like you will attract every lecherous young fellow around, the way sweet fruit attracts wasps. The almsgiver in the monastery will drag you off into the hay as well as the stable boy at the inn where you go to beg.”

  Marie lowered her head and chewed on her lip. “My father will come,” she repeated stubbornly. “At the latest, he’ll be here tomorrow.”

  Hiltrud sighed when she saw the girl’s pleading eyes. “Very well, I’ll stay with you until the day after tomorrow. That’s when a group of wagons will be leaving for Trossingen early in the morning. Their leader, Ulrich, is a decent fellow, and for the protection he can offer, I’m glad to spread my legs for him.”

  Tears welled up in Marie’s eyes at Hiltrud’s offer. “When my father comes, you’ll never have to sell yourself again, I promise you.”

  Hiltrud pursed her lips and stared into the distance. Marie could sense her skepticism and felt her clinging hopes starting to vanish, giving way to a terrible emptiness. She no longer knew what to do. She knew that if she stayed with Hiltrud, she would have to take men into her tent sooner or later.

  Marie shrugged and wrapped the blanket more tightly around her shoulders. “Yesterday, Erich, the spice trader, asked me if I’d like to work for him. He told me he had a cabin near Meersburg, where one of my father’s houses is located. Perhaps I should go with him and have him send my father a message.”

  Hiltrud looked at her incredulously and began to laugh. “You’re such a fool, Marie. Erich has a wife and a huge number of children he’ll go back to in the winter. He’ll use you, beat you just because he likes to, and finally sell you to someone else. If you work for one of these men, you’ll have to do everything he asks without knowing when he’ll toss you into the street without a cent. I must say, I prefer having them as customers. If one of them abuses me or smells too bad, I throw him out of the tent.”

  Marie stared at her, shocked. “Do you mean Erich, that friendly fellow, wants me to . . .” she stuttered.

  “You can bet your life on that. He won’t let such a tasty morsel as you slip away from him. Do you know how many offers I’ve had for you? Good Lord, girl, the fellows have only left you alone because you belong to me. Everybody knows I can be really mean when I’m crossed.”

  “I don’t understand that. Why are they afraid of you?” A wicked smile passed across Hiltrud’s face. “A few years ago, a coachman raped and strangled a young prostitute who was traveling with me and a few other courtesans, and he was never prosecuted. A few weeks later, he got into an argument with a Swiss mercenary, and in the ensuing fight he was killed. Only shortly before that, my companions and I had each invited the Swiss mercenary to our tents and pampered him for hours.”

  Lost in thought, Marie silently followed Hiltrud into the tent.

  The next morning, many people left the meadow. The merchants packed their wares, hitched themselves or their scrawny mares up to their wagons, and moved out, along with the performers. Jossi walked past Hiltrud, looking questioningly at her. Since she was making no preparations to take down her tent, he shrugged reluctantly and gave his people the signal to leave.

  By noon, Hiltrud’s tent stood all by itself in the meadow, the surrounding grass faded yellow and trampled down where the tents and stalls had stood. The silence was oppressive. Shortly after the church bells pealed two o’clock, a bailiff from the city appeared and gruffly asked what the two were still doing there. To Marie’s relief, he was satisfied with Hiltrud’s explanation that they would leave for Trossingen the next day with Ulrich’s wagon train.

  Late in the afternoon, Peter Herbmann came by to have one last look at Marie’s slowly healing wounds, nodding his satisfaction. “Very good, my child. The welts are healing and will probably not leave any scars.” The apothecary smiled at Marie and pointed to a bundle he had brought along. “I packed a few articles of clothing for you that were in my attic. They belonged to my wife who has recently put on so much weight, she’ll
probably never look at them again. But they’ll surely fit a slender girl like you.”

  “Thank you, Peter. You’re a wonderful person.” Hiltrud kissed his cheek and reached for the bundle. “I’ll sew yellow harlot’s ribbons on them right away so no one can object that Marie is wearing respectable clothing.”

  “Must you do that?” Marie wasn’t pleased that she’d be publicly branded a prostitute.

  Hiltrud snorted angrily. “If we don’t do that, none of the wagon drivers will take us along, and if we travel alone, we’ll be the victims of every mob of men we meet. Now would you please leave us alone, Marie? I’d like to say good-bye to Peter. Take your time as it may be a while.”

  Marie left the tent quietly and wandered across the deserted meadow to the road, where she sat down in her accustomed place and watched the many travelers still streaming past. For the most part they were people leaving Merzlingen, returning to their hometowns or heading to the next market. Only a few were heading into Merzlingen. Marie looked at everyone carefully, but neither her father, Uncle Mombert, nor anyone else she knew was among them.

  Long after nightfall, she was still sitting at the side of the road with the cool night air stinging her legs and feet. Overwhelmed by disappointment, she couldn’t understand why her father had abandoned her. Then it occurred to her that he couldn’t know where Hiltrud had taken her. Perhaps he was looking for her down by the Rhine or had taken a road elsewhere. But sooner or later he would surely pass by.

  What would happen if she went to Trossingen with Hiltrud? That city was across the Danube, and her father would never think to look for her there. On the other hand, according to everything Hiltrud and the apothecary had told her, she couldn’t stay by herself. Even though it horrified her every time Hiltrud took a client into her tent, the woman was the only person she could depend on for help. Even Peter Herbmann could do nothing more for her, as his wife ran a tight ship. Marie really had only one choice: she had to go along with Hiltrud.

  Suddenly she smiled. Her situation was not really all that bad. In the course of his examination of her wounds, the apothecary had told her she’d have to wait two weeks before her body would be healed enough so that she could sleep with men. At the time, his assumption that she would become a prostitute had angered her, her anger springing perhaps from fear that she might have no choice if she was to survive. But she realized now that by then her father would certainly have found her or she would meet a merchant who could take a message to him so he’d finally know where to look for her.

  Her spirits briefly raised, they were suddenly dashed again when she realized she might meet someone who had witnessed her whipping. She wasn’t sure she had the courage to approach someone from Constance, and her mood wavered between the hope of being rescued and the hopelessness of her situation, until she no longer knew what to think. Returning to the tent, she lay down without saying a word.

  Hiltrud bent over her to wish her good-night and saw that Marie was silently sobbing, overcome with sadness. She wanted so much to help the girl, but she knew there were no words to ease her inner pain, so Hiltrud just pulled the girl close and held her.

  The next morning, Marie and Hiltrud took down the tent and packed it loosely onto the wagon so that it would dry in the sun. After a scanty breakfast of goat’s milk and dry bread, they hitched up the goats and silently strolled down to the road.

  It wasn’t long before a line of covered wagons appeared, each pulled by six strong oxen and with wheels almost as tall as a man. Hiltrud cleverly returned the drivers’ grins and suggestive gazes cast in their direction. But the grim-looking armed guards who were protecting the train of wagons from robbers snorted and turned away, showing no interest in the two women.

  Hiltrud went to greet the leader, a middle-aged, sturdily built man wearing the simple but durable clothing of a traveling merchant.

  “Here we are, Ulrich, and thank you again for allowing us to come along with you.”

  Ulrich Knöpfli glanced derisively at the team of goats. “You’ll have to hurry to keep up with us. We won’t stop and wait for you along the way.”

  “Don’t worry. We won’t hold you up.” Hiltrud laughed, tossing the towing rope over her shoulders in order to help her goats, and took her place at the rear of the procession.

  VI.

  Though dusk had not yet completely given way to night, sparks from the campfires flew through the sky like tiny shooting stars before vanishing into the darkness. Marie propped her head on her knees and couldn’t help thinking how quickly her former life had vanished as well. She glanced at the four other prostitutes sitting around the fire, casting their flickering shadows into the grass. Hiltrud seemed as serene and calm as always as she held a stick into the fire with a piece of dough wrapped around the point.

  When the crust had turned black, she broke off a piece and handed it to Marie. “Here’s your share.”

  “Thanks.” Marie reached out for it, then sucked in her breath. The piece was still glowing hot, so she juggled it back and forth between her hands while it cooled. The bread consisted only of flour and water, but Marie gulped it down hungrily. Aside from a cup of goat’s milk that morning, it was the first meal she’d had that day, as the procession stopped only when the animals needed to drink.

  Ulrich Knöpfli had wanted to reach the inn before nightfall, and now he sat inside the brightly lit tavern with other higher-class merchants and travelers while the wagon drivers and servants were drinking wine in the courtyard. Since Hiltrud and Marie were turned away with indignant looks, they set up their tents near a hawthorn hedge outside the gate where they were soon joined by these three other women.

  While Marie was licking the last bread crumbs from her fingers, she observed the three strangers who, like Hiltrud, had been on the road for years. In recent days, she had begun to understand what it meant to be a wandering outcast, and she wondered how the women could tolerate such a life. On this short trip, they were not admitted into cities or inns, so they had to sleep outdoors or in Hiltrud’s tent somewhere among the bushes and trees, protected from prying eyes only by the foliage.

  A couple days earlier in Tuttlingen, Marie had been confronted with yet another kind of danger. A fat, bald man had approached them and warmly invited them to his inn. Laughing at the man, Hiltrud told him she had no desire to fall into the clutches of a brothel owner. In a rage, the man left and reported them to the city bailiff who then confronted them at their tent site with rude threats. That night, in the dark and in a rainy drizzle, they had to take down their wet tent and move it away from the city and down to the wetlands along the Danube where swarms of mosquitoes hovered.

  Marie now looked around the campfire at the other women, assessing each one in turn. Pretty and quiet Fita, the youngest at just over twenty years old, had brown hair and freckles sprinkled over her nose and cheeks. She had been a housemaid for a well-to-do master craftsman who took advantage of her regularly. When she got pregnant, his wife denounced her to the priest as a whore and demanded strict punishment. The pious man of God saw to it that Fita was whipped and branded on both shoulders. Marie had seen the scars when she and Fita were bathing at the brook. Even though the marks had faded over the years, they still looked dreadful.

  Fita’s chubby traveling companion, Berta, a small woman with a round, red face and short black hair, had an easier past and was quite happy with her life. She always brought the conversation back to herself and only ever talked about her experiences with men, using expressions that made Marie blush. Her body was her business capital, her investment. Nevertheless, by her own admission, she wasn’t especially fussy about her clients. Judging by her odor, she wasn’t too concerned about cleanliness, either. Though only a little older than Hiltrud, she already seemed spent.

  The third woman, Gerlind, was the oldest of the group. She had broad, matronly hips, but her face was as smooth as a young woman’s. Only a ful
l gray head of hair that reached to her hips revealed her age. Clearly proud of how good she still looked, she took care of herself. Hiltrud treated her with shyness and respect since Gerlind knew the secrets of many herbs and how to prepare healing drinks and tinctures and, as Hiltrud told Marie in a hushed voice, had even more experience in it than Peter Herbmann.

  Berta, who was just telling another story, overheard Hiltrud’s remark about Gerlind’s herbs. “I could have used her potion to have been spared my four pregnancies. The poor little ones didn’t live very long. But I’m not complaining, because I’m glad I have the stuff now. I shudder when I think of the poor things in the city brothels who have to spread their legs for everyone from the village policemen to the dean of the cathedral, and have a kid every year. I’m glad to live freely and independently.”

  Turning away, Fita waved dismissively. “I’d give almost anything to serve a master again who fed me twice a day and gave me a roof to sleep under. I hate this life.”

  Berta looked at her in disbelief. “What’s so bad about being a wandering whore? We’re our own bosses and do what we please. If we want to move to Bohemia or the Rhine, we just do it. We are better off than the oh-so-honorable wives who are defenseless against their husbands. There’s no point getting worked up over these silly thoughts.”

  Despairingly, Fita raised her head. “I keep thinking about how it used to be, and it torments me that I must sin every day to survive.”

  Berta burst out in unkind laughter. “If you can’t stand that men sard you, then you’ll have to kill yourself.”