by Alan Gordon
I paid for a tub of fresh hot water, soap, and cloths, and we piled our motley and linens on the bench. A team of maids ran back and forth with steaming buckets to fill the oaken tub. One tested the water, winced, and added two buckets of cold water to bring the temperature down to a tolerable level. I stepped in and lowered myself until I was completely submerged, then surfaced and took Portia from Helga.
“Do my hair, girl,” I directed my apprentice, and she worked it to a fierce lather while I scrubbed Portia, who squealed with frustration. I plunged her down and up quickly, and she spluttered in indignation. Then I did the same with myself, holding her above the surface and blowing bubbles at her.
“Your turn, Helga,” I said.
Helga put her hands on the edge of the tub and kicked up into a handstand as the women in the other tubs gasped and clapped in delight. Then she flipped into the water, sending a geyser ten feet into the air.
“You’re supposed to leave some in the tub for washing,” I reminded her. “Hold Portia.”
She took the baby, and I washed her hair. Around us, women were happily exchanging gossip, recipes, stories about children. All of the currency of women. From different corners, songs suddenly arose, to be joined by others. There was freedom in this room that didn’t exist outside it.
I finished washing Helga’s hair and rinsed it with a bucket of water. “I remember now—you’re a blonde,” I said as I inspected the results.
She groaned in exasperation at the old joke.
“There’s nothing in this world that’s going to untangle this,” I said. “Do you ever comb it?”
“I do,” she said indignantly. “Sometimes. Every now and then. Ow!”
“They say Alexander solved the Gordian Knot by splitting it with his sword,” I said as I worked one cluster out. “Alexander would have taken one look at you and fled, screaming in terror. There, that’s another one loose.”
“I’ve seen gentler handling of horses by their grooms,” she grumbled.
“I’ve been meaning to speak to you about that,” I said. “About my hair? Or about horses?”
“About your running around to those places when you’re not with us.”
“I’m not doing anything I shouldn’t,” she said.
“Not yet,” I said. “And you may not want to do anything you shouldn’t. But no matter how much you like Zeus, and no matter how friendly the stable boys act, you may find yourself in a dangerous situation.”
“Unlike the ones you and Theo keep putting me in.”
“That’s different,” I said, working another knot loose. “Following deadly men through dark alleys, fending off attacks by ruffians in the woods, spying in great houses. All of these could get me killed, yet you worry about stable boys?”
“You are training to be a jester,” I reminded her. “A member of the Fools’ Guild. All the tasks we assign you are part of that training, and we would never send you into anything before you were ready.”
“If I can go into the seediest tavern in Montpellier alone, what makes you think I can’t hold off an amorous stable boy?”
“Because when you act as a jester, you keep your guard up,” I replied. “But when you are wandering off on these explorations, you don’t. And it’s when you let down that guard that you are at risk.”
“I am not,” she insisted. “And I’m not a jester all of the time. There should still be time for me to have some fun.”
“When you are overcome by several men who carry you behind the stables and have their way with you, fun will be the last thing you’ll be having.”
She looked at me in shock. “That wouldn’t happen,” she whispered. “I would never let that happen.”
“No woman ever thinks it will,” I said. “But it does. Women have to be on their guard all the time, just like jesters.”
“What about now?” she pointed out. “We’re naked, sitting in a tub of water. How are you on your guard?”
I showed her the washcloth in my hand, then let it fall open slightly to reveal the dagger concealed under it.
“I didn’t see you do that,” she said.
“No one did,” I said. “Remember—just because you think you know all about evil doesn’t mean that you’ll be able to avoid it. Lesson learned?”
“You’re not my mother,” she said.
“No,” I said. “I am your teacher and your guardian. Where is your dagger, by the way?”
“With my clothes on the bench,” she sighed. “Too far away to be useful. Lesson learned.”
“Good. No more gallivanting about. Understood?”
“Oc, Maman,” she said. She looked at me, her eyes brimming with tears. “Sometimes, I wish you had been my mother. You would have been a better one than the one I had.”
“The mother you had protected you from harm and molestation, then spirited you out of that bordel to the Fools’
Guild,” I said. “She must have been a courageous and resourceful woman to do that, and she passed those qualities on to you. You should honor her memory.”
“What was your mother like?” she asked suddenly.
“I never knew her,” I said. “She was carried off by a fever when my brother and I were but a few months old. Our father died when we were thirteen.”
“Theo’s mother died when he was born,” she said.
“Yes,” I replied, a little surprised at her knowledge.
“He’s always on his guard, isn’t he?”
“It’s what has kept him alive so long,” I replied.
“It must be hard being married when both of you are on guard all the time,” she commented.
I worked through the last knot and ran my fingers through her hair. “You see too much sometimes,” I said.
We dried ourselves and dressed. I did not observe where she concealed her knife on her person, and was pleased with that.
“Where to now?” asked Helga as I applied my whiteface.
“Back to the bordel,” I said.
“Right,” she said. “So that we may continue my righteous upbringing and education.”
“As a matter of fact, educating is exactly what I will be doing,” I said.
* * *
We stopped by the market on the way to the bordel, but saw no sign of Sylvie, so we continued on. As we crossed the yard between the leper house and the bordel, we were hailed from above. I turned and looked up at the window, shading my eyes from the late morning sun.
“Good day to you, Fools,” called my leprous admirer.
“And to you, senhor,” I replied, making courtesy.
“You are too early,” he said. “The ladies will not be at their posts until midafternoon. They are still asleep.”
“They are fortunate to have you watching over them,” I said.
“I did not watch enough, alas,” he said mournfully. “I will miss that fiery redhead. Will you perform for me when you are done with your errand?”
“Certainly, senhor,” I said. “But it will have to be dumb-show, for my music may wake the slumberers.”
“If they can sleep through a murder, they can sleep through your music,” he said.
“I thank you for the comparison,” I said, bowing again. Carlos didn’t even bother raising both eyelids this time. One bleary eyeball acknowledged our existences, then was hidden again. We took that as permission and went inside.
The only stirrings we heard came from the direction of the kitchen, accompanied by some wonderful aromas. We followed them in to find Sylvie up and cooking.
“Good morning, Na Sylvie,” I said. “I have come in my new capacity of tutor.”
“A waste of time,” she muttered. “These women are good at one thing, and one thing only, and reading will not make them any better at it.”
“On the contrary, a mistress who can read to her patron may find that she may soothe him just as readily as by love-making,” I said. “Or she may arouse him to new heights. It all depends upon the subject matter being read. Do you
read and write?”
“Enough to copy down my recipes,” she said haughtily. “More than that, I have no time for.”
“So, you are a veteran cook?” I asked.
She nodded.
“I am not surprised, given the tantalizing odors emanating from those pots,” I said. “I take it that you haven’t worked in this house in its principal activity?”
“Certainly not,” she snapped. “And I will thank you to show some respect for my station.”
“As a consumer of food, I respect all cooks,” I said. “Helga here has been showing some promise in that area. Could she assist you in exchange for some tips?”
“Can you stir a pot, girl?” asked Sylvie.
“One with each hand,” said Helga. “And a third with my right foot if necessary.”
“We have only two pots to stir,” said Sylvie, handing the girl two long spoons. “Keep your feet away from both of them.”
“Has the Abbess replaced La Rossa yet?” I asked.
“Why, do you want the job?” sneered Sylvie.
“Not I,” I said.
“Then what business is it of yours?”
“Curiosity,” I said. “Having avoided bordels all my life, I am fascinated to find myself actually in one. I want to know everything about it.”
“You have children,” said Sylvie.
“Obviously.”
“You know how that happened, don’t you?”
“Of course.”
“Then you know what happens here. There’s just much more of it, and with money changing hands.”
“And partners changing beds,” said Marquesia as she entered the kitchen, not bothering to conceal an enormous yawn. “Speaking of which, Sylvie, I need my bed linens washed.”
“Oc, milady,” muttered Sylvie, leaving us.
Marquesia grabbed a handful of nuts from a bowl and started cracking them.
“Good morning,” I said.
“I hate mornings,” she said. “I hate the light, I hate the birds singing, I hate how I look before I have my face together.”
“That’s where whiteface has an advantage,” I said. “There is no need for subtlety in its application. Are you ready for your lesson?”
“My what?” she asked.
“You wanted to learn how to read,” I said.
She looked at me, her mouth hanging open for a moment, a half-chewed nut visible. Not the most attractive prostitute at that moment, but she was off duty.
“You actually meant it when you made that offer,” she said, swallowing quickly. “I didn’t think you were serious.”
“An obvious conclusion, since no one ever thinks that we’re serious,” I said. “Do you know your letters?”
“Of course,” she said indignantly. “Well, most of them.”
“Let’s start with a quick review,” I said, pulling out a sheet of parchment. “Which is this?”
“A?”
“Good. And this?”
“Um …” She hesitated.
“R,” said Portia confidently.
“That’s right, Portia,” I said, turning to her in surprise. “Which one is this?”
“P!” she exclaimed happily.
“Wait, aren’t I supposed to be doing this?” asked Marquesia.
“I’m sorry, but I didn’t know Portia knew her letters,” I said. I looked at my daughter. “Did Papa teach you that?”
“No,” said Portia.
“Who did?”
“I did,” said Helga.
“You did? When?”
“I don’t spend all my time running after stable boys,” she said, grinning. “I get stuck with my sister an awful lot while you and Papa are off performing. So I taught her her letters and numbers.”
“You sweet, thoughtful girl,” I said, pulling her into an embrace.
“Maybe she should teach here,” said Marquesia.
“She could, but I would worry about what she might learn in exchange,” I said.
“Things that will serve her well when she finds a husband,” said Marquesia. “Or a stable boy.”
“That’s what worries me …,” I began.
Then Sylvie charged into the room, an accusing finger pointing in Marquesia’s direction. “You took her room!” she shouted. “You slept in her bed, you filthy, selfish whore.”
“It’s a much nicer room than mine, and the Abbess said I could have it,” sniffed Marquesia. “I’m sorry that you lost your favorite, Sylvie, but that room belongs to me now.”
Sylvie stood for a moment in helpless fury, then stormed out the back door.
“Guess I’ll be making my own bed for a while,” said Marquesia.
“And lying in it,” muttered Helga.
“What was that, little girl?” asked Marquesia.
“Nothing,” said Helga.
“Back to our lesson,” I said.
We went over the letters one by one, Portia and Marquesia seated side by side while poring over them. The proficiency of the toddler aroused Marquesia’s competitive instincts, and by the end, they both had them down. Sylvie did not return from the garden.
“That’s enough,” said Marquesia. “That’s as exhausting a workout as I have had lately.”
“If I were a man, that would be a compliment,” I said. “How has it been here since the—incident?”
“Busy,” she groaned. “The notoriety draws men like manure draws flies. The room was the main attraction—the blood on the wall, the holes in the coverlet. But the Abbess didn’t want that to be the center of attention, so she had it cleaned up, and now I’m there.”
“Aren’t you frightened, sleeping in La Rossa’s bed?” asked Helga. “I would be.”
“She was my friend,” said Marquesia. “I do not fear her ghost. If anything, I think that she would protect us.”
“Too bad no one protected her,” said Helga.
“Has the Count of Foix been in since then?” I asked. “Why do you want to know about him?” asked Marquesia. “I am to perform at his house tonight,” I said. “Any inside knowledge as to his likes or dislikes would be useful.”
“He likes women and food, not necessarily in that order,” she said. “He dislikes spending money. Oh, and closed doors. He always has us with the door wide open. It’s quite shameless.”
“Is he here frequently?”
“More for-“
“Marquesia, it is time for you to prepare,” said the Abbess, standing in the doorway.
“I shall come again,” I said.
“Thank you for the lesson,” said Marquesia. “I must wash. We do that every day here.”
“Cleanliness is next to godliness,” I said.
“It will take more than a bath for us to achieve that,” said the Abbess. “Get going, girl. There will be customers soon.” Marquesia fled, and the Abbess glided in.
“How was her lesson?” she asked.
“Good,” I said. “She is a quick learner.”
“Quick learners make good earners,” said the Abbess. “At least in this house.”
“And now she has a better room,” I said. “Any candidates for the vacant one?”
“Why? Are you interested?” she asked, smirking.
“I do fine as a jester, thank you,” I said. “I was just wondering how easy it is to replace someone like La Rossa.”
“I have been besieged by whores with their hair dyed red seeking her place,” she said. “I have no need for anything that garish in this establishment.”
“I am glad that you maintain your standards,” I said. “Helga, how is the cooking coming along?”
“I think the stew is ready,” she said. “But Sylvie should decide that, not me.”
“I will go and fetch her from the back, milady,” I said, picking up both Portia and my cue. “No doubt you have household matters to attend to.”
I was out the door before the Abbess could question why I bothered.
Sylvie was at the rear of the garden, digging up onions. “W
hat do you want?” she snapped without even looking up at me.
“To find out more about La Rossa,” I said. “Julie, I mean. She was your favorite, wasn’t she?”
She said nothing. I put Portia down, who waddled over to watch the digging. Sylvie looked at her, tears trickling down her cheeks.
“That can’t be from the onions,” I said.
“I remember when she was born,” said Sylvie, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. “She had that red hair from the start. The Devil’s hair. We all told her mother that she was going to be trouble someday. Thank God she didn’t live to see it. But she wouldn’t have been surprised.”
“Who was her mother?” I asked.
“A servant, like me,” said Sylvie. “A beauty, which I never was. Ambitious. Stupid to be ambitious when you’re a servant.”
“Where was this?”
“Here. In town,” said Sylvie.
“Sylvie!” called the Abbess from the rear doorway.
“I came to tell you the stew is ready,” I said.
“No, you didn’t,” said Sylvie. “But I will tell her that.”
We walked back together, Sylvie holding the onions in her apron.
“Thank you for the recipe,” I was saying as we passed the Abbess into the house.
“Will you remember it all without my writing it down?” asked Sylvie, dumping the onions on the table.
“I will come back if I forget anything.”
Sylvie took the spoons from Helga and tasted the stew. “It’s ready,” she said to the Abbess.
“Time to feed the ladies,” said the Abbess. “They will need their strength tonight. I will walk you out, Fool.”
It was no request.
As we passed through the front parlor, I saw Aude and Marquesia on display in full makeup and costume. Marquesia gave a furtive wave.
“M,” said Portia, pointing to her.
“P for Portia,” Marquesia called back.
We passed by Carlos, who was up and stretching now. “That reminds me,” I said. “We haven’t had juggling practice yet today. Shall we do some four-handed work for our invisible audience?”
