The Wandering Harlot (The Marie Series Book 1)

by Iny Lorentz

  “What’s the matter?” Hiltrud asked, concerned.

  “I was thinking about Gerlind. Tell me, who has changed more, me or her?”

  Hiltrud laughed out loud. “That’s obvious. You’ve both changed, you for the better and she for the worse. I must say, I’m looking forward to soon saying good-bye to her for the last time. It makes me feel wretched just to look at her anymore.”

  Marie nodded silently and started pushing again.

  The following days were mostly uneventful but not apt to soften Marie’s and Hiltrud’s hostility, now directed less at Gerlind than at Berta, who did everything she could to make their lives harder. The first night she told Marie and Hiltrud that they weren’t welcome at their campfire but that they instead needed to set up their tents some distance away. Nevertheless, Berta insisted that they take half of the night watch while helping herself to some of the wood that the two had gathered for themselves.

  Hiltrud didn’t object to the guard-duty assignments, since she didn’t trust the others and was afraid she’d lose her goats to a bear or a stray wolf. Marie just prayed that the wild animals would spare her, for her knife was not a suitable weapon. Even Gerlind’s iron-studded stick was no longer what it used to be. Its point, once so sharp, had worn down and become bent. That first night, however, they had set up camp near a large farm, and Marie was happy that the noise of the barking dogs was so loud, it would keep beasts of prey away, even if it kept them awake.

  On the second day, Berta caught six fat hens that had wandered into the street, and she wrung their necks. Marie’s mouth watered at the sight of the birds, as she’d always liked chicken, especially the way Wina used to prepare it, crispy brown with tasty stuffing. Unfortunately, the four other women had no intention of sharing their meal with their two companions.

  Instead, Hiltrud prepared a little dough cake with flour that she baked on a stone in the fire along with onions and wild fennel. Marie kept an eye on other women, shuddering as she watched them hastily scorch the chickens in the campfire, then hungrily devour the half-cooked insides. She preferred Hiltrud’s crispy dough cakes to that.

  By the next day, they could see the forested summit of Mount Fürstkopf in the south, and their path merged onto a wider road where fresh hoofprints of large horses, deep wheel ruts, and trampled grass were visible. The tracks suggested that a large merchant’s convoy had recently passed through, and Gerlind and Berta became extremely excited, as there were no doubt plenty of men in the group willing to spend their money on women. Gerlind therefore didn’t look for a campsite in the late afternoon, but instead quickened her pace and hurried her companions along so they could set up their tents and collect firewood before nightfall.

  “The wagon train is at most an hour ahead of us, and if we rush, we’ll soon be sitting by a warm fire with a cup of wine in our hand . . .”

  “And a man between our legs,” Berta interrupted with a giggle.

  By the time they finally spotted a blazing bonfire in the valley ahead, the hour had long passed, and darkness had descended over the land. Gerlind pointed triumphantly. “There they are! In no time at all their silver pieces will be jangling in our pockets.”

  As they turned off the road, they could hear loud laughter and voices, as if a big party were going on. Distrustful, Marie stopped and listened. She had spent the night close to many wagon trains, but these noises were unusual. It was also strange that the people were camped out in the middle of the forest rather than staying at an inn. Merchants and wagon drivers traveled from one inn to another if at all possible, because they could otherwise easily fall prey to robbers out in the forest or be attacked and robbed by knights or townspeople. At night, with no witnesses to report the attack, even a safe-conduct letter purchased at great cost was of no value to the merchants.

  Marie warned other women to stay away, but it was too late, as rough male voices were already calling out to Gerlind and Berta.

  “Hey, what are you women doing out on the road at night?” Two men holding torches walked toward them.

  “Look! They’re whores!” the second one shouted, waving the torch excitedly. “Men, the evening is saved. Whores are coming our way.”

  At that, more than three dozen men came running through the forest toward the women, cheering. Some held up their torches while others boldly grabbed and groped them, pinching their bottoms and breasts.

  “Stop that!” Marie shouted furiously, punching one of the men, and he grabbed her by the chin, forcing her to stare into the light.

  “You’re a damned pretty little bird. I think I’ll help myself.” He was about to throw her on the ground when a powerfully built fellow lay a hand on his shoulder.

  “Keep your hands off her. This fine girl is something for the noblemen, or do you think they’d want to let you take her away from them?”

  As Marie reached under her skirt and grabbed the handle of her knife, the man snorted angrily and let her go. She tried to withdraw inconspicuously and disappear into the bushes, hoping to slip away under the cover of darkness. Gerlind had led them straight into a camp of mercenaries, and Marie knew from talking with other prostitutes what they could expect there.

  These were roving mercenaries of the worst sort: Swiss deserters, Swabian lance bearers, and people who’d rather cut throats than earn an honest living. Even in the torches’ flickering light it was clear that their equipment was anything but uniform. There were no coats of arms on their surcoats since they didn’t belong to a nobleman’s army, and some of them were wearing shirts with faded marks on the chest from where they had removed a nobleman’s insignia upon leaving his service.

  Thinking only of escape, Marie had slipped away from the torchlight and was about to disappear into the pitch black of the undergrowth when a huge man grabbed her and pressed her against his chest. “Here’s the little bird for our Sir Lothar! Now you owe me something,” he called out to the large man.

  Understanding the seriousness of their situation, Gerlind tried to negotiate. “Don’t be so rough with us, fellows. We have no objections to spreading our legs for you. This pleasure costs only a few pennies, and we’ll see that each of you gets his turn.” Though she tried to sound cheerful, her voice trembled with anxiety.

  One of the men began to laugh loudly. “If you can find a Haller in our purses, old lady, you’re lucky. Our spare change has long ago been spent in drinking and whoring, but we’ll take you just the same. Don’t you agree, men?” Those standing around grinned and nodded vigorously.

  The men dragged the protesting women back to their camp, which was inadequately lit by the bonfire in the middle but where Marie could see two wagons heavily laden with barrels and war supplies, and another wagon with two dismantled cannons. Directly in front of the wagon with the cannon was a tent presumably belonging to the group’s leader, since the mercenaries had set up their beds of blankets and coats under the open sky.

  Marie had heard many times that wandering prostitutes were often raped. She herself had been lucky up to now, but it looked like her luck had run out. The entrance flap of the tent was turned up, and a young man dressed like a nobleman stuck his head out. Marie began to hope it wouldn’t be as bad as she’d feared.

  “Why all this noise?” he asked sharply.

  “We have visitors,” a mercenary replied with a grin. “We ran into a few whores, and we’ve reserved the prettiest little bird for you, Squire Siegward, a treat that will certainly be to your taste.”

  Shocked, Marie knew whose hands she’d fallen into. Old Siegbald of Riedburg Castle was the declared enemy of Lady Mechthild’s relatives at Büchenbruch Castle. He had a reputation as a highway robber—and his sons, of whom Siegward was the eldest, had even worse reputations. If this man learned that Marie had spent the winter at Arnstein Castle, he’d probably kill her out of anger toward Lady Mechthild, who had sent help several times to her relatives in their figh
t against the Riedburgs.

  Siegward von Riedburg licked his lips and looked her up and down as if she were a calf being delivered for slaughter. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a warrior’s build that would make Sir Dietmar envious. His dull, pale blue eyes revealed that he wasn’t very bright, however, and his jutting chin suggested a domineering personality.

  The squire pinched Marie’s breast and nodded to his people. “Well done, men. This is exactly what I need tonight. In the meantime, amuse yourselves with the other whores.”

  “We will, sire,” replied the soldier, nodding vigorously. “But to do that, we need to fill our bellies with something more than the porridge we had for supper. Hey, fellows, how about roasting those goats?” He pointed to Hiltrud’s animals standing on the nearby roadside where they were eating grass.

  “Hands off my goats!” shrieked Hiltrud, but the men only roared with laughter as one of them drew his sword and chopped off a goat’s head. Hiltrud tore herself free and rushed at the perpetrator, clawing at his face with her fingernails. Several of the soldiers grabbed her immediately, however, and threw her to the ground.

  Turning away from the scene, Squire Siegward lifted Marie in his arms and carried her into the tent. A simple but bright oil lamp lit up the interior, where two men playing cards looked up expectantly. Judging by the younger one’s resemblance to Siegward, Marie assumed he was one of Siegward’s brothers. The other man was stocky and broad-shouldered with long arms and short, crooked legs.

  The beds were filthy, as if the occupants had wallowed in dirt before getting in, and strewn with clothing and weapons. On the folding table in the middle of the room were three cups alongside a pile of playing cards and stacks of coins, and beneath the table an empty wine jug. The men must have had a wild party, for when Siegward forced a kiss on Marie, she could smell the strong, acrid odor of wine.

  He tore open her dress and pulled her toward him, his younger brother dancing nervously around him to ask if he could also grab the girl. “The whore is for all of us.” Siegerich von Riedburg let out a demented laugh as Siegward pushed Marie back onto one of the beds.

  The look on his face was not promising. He jumped on Marie, and as Hiltrud had taught her, she went completely limp. She felt the pain caused by his lack of consideration, but in her mind’s eye another scene was playing out, one that she had repressed as much as possible in recent years. Suddenly it was no longer Siegward panting and groaning on top of her, but Utz, the wagon driver. Instinctively she stiffened and opened her eyes, then was brought back to the present by the sight of the young squire rearing up over her, his face flushed, while his brother stood over them, awaiting his turn.

  “I’m next,” Siegerich begged his brother like a young boy after a piece of candy.

  Siegward answered without pausing in his violent contortions. “But only with the armorer’s approval, lad. You know we have to humor Gilbert. After all, he’s the one with the job of destroying Büchenbruch Castle with his artillery.”

  “I’ll go and enjoy myself somewhere else for a while and let your brother go first.” The armorer raised the canvas over the opening and stepped outside.

  Finally, bellowing loudly, Siegward finished and made way for his brother. Siegerich tried to compensate for his inexperience with vigorous movement, but after a few breaths he collapsed on top of her. At that moment the armorer returned, a contented look on his face. “The fellows broke open a barrel of wine and started drinking. If you don’t do anything to stop them, you’ll never get them moving again in the morning.”

  Siegward waved him off with a laugh. “One day doesn’t matter, so let them have their fun.” His gaze fell on the empty wine jug, and he pushed it over to his brother with his foot. “Bring us something to drink, too. We shouldn’t have to enjoy a tasty little chick with a dry throat.”

  Siegerich grabbed the pitcher and ran out.

  After a long while, Gilbert sank down on top of her, overcome by wine and exhaustion, and began to snore. The three had abused her so much that it felt like every bone in her body was broken, and she struggled to crawl out from under the armorer.

  As she tried to get up, her knees buckling with exhaustion, her first impulse was to run away. However, the laughter and savage groaning outside the tent made her realize that the other mercenaries were still busy. Not wanting to fall into their hands as well, she collapsed on a stool and thought about what to do next. She felt horribly dirty, but she couldn’t find any water, so she dipped a corner of her underdress in the wine still remaining in the pitcher and washed herself with it. The alcohol burned like fire, but that didn’t bother her nearly as much as the shrill screams of the women outside.

  As she sat tying her shirt together with strips of cloth ripped from the knight’s clothing, an almost unbearable hatred welled up inside her. Searching for her knife that Siegward had torn from the sheath on her leg and weighing it in her hand, she considered slitting the three men’s throats, running her fingertips along the knife’s sharp blade. But as she approached Gilbert, she caught sight of his purse that was full to the bursting point with coins.

  In the meantime, her anger had subsided somewhat and she was reluctant to commit murder, so she simply used her knife to cut the armorer’s purse from his trousers, then likewise seized Siegerich’s purse. It took her a little longer to cut Siegward’s purse from his belt, since it was attached by a broad, strong leather strap. Unfastening the strap holding the leather bag closed and looking inside, she almost forgot her misery. The first two men’s purses were full of good silver coins and smaller pieces of gold, but Siegward was carrying golden ducats and guilders of considerable value. This was even enough money to hire an assassin to murder a nobleman, to say nothing of an illegitimate offspring like Rupert.

  Marie clenched her fists triumphantly. If this money helped carry out her revenge, then the disgrace, fear, and pain she had endured that evening had been unexpectedly worth it. Raising her dress, she made a belt with long, hanging strips of cloth to which she attached Siegward’s money pouch, her own little bag with the Württemberg guilders, and Master Jörg’s purse. She then tied all three purses around her thighs with additional strips of cloth so they would not reveal their presence by jangling. Later she would sew pockets into her dress so she could serve her customers without first having to remove and hide the purses. As for Gilbert’s and Siegerich’s purses, these coins she would share with the others, as they were also entitled to compensation for this dreadful night.

  VIII.

  Several hours passed before the last mercenary finally succumbed to the wine and their wild orgy. Marie didn’t want to imagine what would happen if her own torturers awoke to discover she had robbed them, but luck was on her side, and Siegward, his brother, and their armorer remained fast asleep. When it became quiet outside, with only the sound of a sobbing woman, Marie snuffed out the oil lamp’s wick and carefully exited the tent.

  Only a few glowing embers still shone in the campfire, and the moon appeared in the clear sky as a thin crescent, so Marie had trouble putting one foot in front of the other. Her eyes slowly becoming used to the faint light, she saw sleeping men everywhere before she discovered a woman wandering around naked.

  “Hiltrud? Is that you?” Marie asked in a whisper.

  “Marie?” She sounded both surprised and relieved as she embraced her. “I hurt so much, I can scarcely walk. How are you feeling?”

  “I feel like a pack of rabid dogs attacked me. Where are the others? We must get out of here as soon as possible.”

  “Not until I have slit the throats of the men who murdered my goats,” she replied, her entire body shaking. Marie grabbed her arm so tightly that she groaned.

  “That won’t bring them back to life again,” Marie said. “Be reasonable and come along with me. We’ve got to put a lot of distance between us and these fellows before morning, as I’ve stolen their leaders
’ purses. The money will help compensate for your goats and everything they did to us here.”

  Hiltrud clenched her fists, then quickly opened her hands again. “Well done. But you’re right—we must get out of here as fast as we can, because when they discover the theft, they’ll want to cut us up into little pieces.”

  Putting on what remained of her dress, Hiltrud looked at Marie. “Hurry and get the others. In the meantime, I’ll get a few things from our cart that we can take on our backs, since we’ll unfortunately have to leave most of our possessions behind.”

  Heading toward the sound of sobbing that she heard earlier, Marie found Märte slumped along one of the large wagon wheels. Even though she shook and cajoled the young girl to get ahold of herself, Märte only cried louder when she saw Marie. Not until Gerlind came staggering toward them like a pale, haggard ghost did Märthe calm down enough to stand up and pull together the tattered shreds of what had once been her dress.

  Gerlind said nothing, but the furious kicks she gave to some of the sleeping drunks showed that her anger was greater than her fear. Her dress was so torn that it wasn’t even fit for a scarecrow, but since she had nothing else, she tied what was left of it together. Gerlind’s cursing attracted the attention of a completely naked Berta who was wandering around with a torch in her hand and examining the mercenaries lying on the ground. Finding a man who matched her in size, she took his shirt for herself.

  “I wasn’t even treated this badly when I was an army camp follower,” she complained, straightening up and looking at Gerlind. “That was a fine idea, leading us into a camp of mercenaries. You’re such a great leader! From now on, I’m in charge, do you understand?”

  Though her face contorted in a furious grimace, Gerlind didn’t try to defend herself against Berta’s accusations. Instead, she quietly suggested patting down the sleeping soldiers to search for anything valuable. Turning her back on the three quarreling women, Marie joined Hiltrud who had spread out her possessions and was picking out things to take along by the light of a burning stick. Marie also chose her most essential possessions; then they put everything else in the cart and pushed it into a marshy area behind the camp. There the two women came upon a whimpering Fita. Apparently she had been trying to get to the water, but was instead lying helplessly in the reeds.