by Iny Lorentz
Taking her basket from the cart, she headed through the city gate and continued down the busy street to the market square. While most people gave her a wide berth after glimpsing her yellow ribbons, the market women and merchants at the stands were not averse to exchanging a few friendly words. Marie took her time, enjoyed the shopping, and returned with an overflowing basket and a sack of flour over her shoulder. When she arrived at their tent, the unpleasant expression on Hiltrud’s face told her that something had happened, but before she could ask, Gerlind came running toward them. She had a middle-aged craftsman in tow, judging by his expensive beaver-skin cap and long, fur-lined coat.
“Here you are finally! Get to work, Marie. The gentleman here wants a pretty bed companion, and I advised him to wait for you. Hurry to your tent so he can sleep with you.”
Marie stared at her in disbelief. “What did you say?”
“Sleep with him. He has already paid, and you’ll get your share later.”
Gerlind started pushing her toward her tent, but Marie was having none of it. She pushed back and raised her hand as if about to strike the old woman.
“Have you gone mad? I choose my own customers. And they pay me and no one else, do you understand? If the man wants a roll in the hay, let him take you or Märthe. In any case, he’s not getting into my tent.”
The man listened to the argument with visible displeasure. “What’s this all about? They promised me a pretty whore, and that’s what I paid for. So hurry up, girl. I don’t have all day.”
He grabbed Marie’s arm with a tight grip and started pulling her into the tent. Furious, she reached into her skirt and unsheathed the sharp knife she carried, holding it against the man’s stomach.
“Take your hands off me if you ever want to sard a woman again!” she snarled at him.
The man looked at the knife and let go. Stepping back, he opened his mouth, about to explode with anger, but then stared at Marie wide-eyed. Closing his mouth, he made the sign of the cross.
“By the Holy Virgin and Saint Pelagius, this can’t be true. Is it really you?”
Blankly, Marie looked at the man who had turned as white as a sheet. But then it dawned on her. “You . . . You are Jörg Wölfling, the cooper from Constance.”
“And you are Matthis Schärer’s daughter, Marie, who was driven out of Constance.”
“After they slandered, raped, and whipped me,” she added bitterly.
This was the moment she had feared most. She was so ashamed at being seen as a prostitute by one of her father’s friends that she wished the ground would open up and swallow her. But she quickly got control of herself and shook off her trepidation. After all, she wasn’t here through any fault of her own but because Rupert had ruined her, and Master Jörg hadn’t lifted a finger to help her.
The cooper pointed at the knife Marie was still holding threateningly in her hand. “Put that thing away, and let’s talk like reasonable people.”
Marie nodded and slipped the little knife back into its sheath.
“Tell me how you’ve been doing. We’ve thought a lot about you in the last four years.” Wölfling sniffled like a child and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. Marie did not know what to say. She wanted nothing more than to run away, but at the same time she had a thousand questions.
Using his sleeve, Wölfling dried the tears now running down his cheeks. “My God, Marie, it’s a miracle you’re still alive! How happy Mombert will be.”
Marie stiffened and shook her head vigorously. “I don’t want anyone to learn about me. No one needs to know I still exist, do you understand?”
Master Jörg reached for one of the yellow ribbons on her skirt and nodded sadly. “I understand, but nonetheless your uncle would be thrilled to hear from you.”
“It would be better if you’d keep our meeting to yourself, but I would be grateful if you could tell me how my relatives are.”
“I’d be glad to do that.” Master Jörg took Marie gently by the sleeve. “Come, let’s take a seat over there by the wine stand in the shade. It’ll be easier to talk with a pitcher of red wine.”
“I don’t think they’ll allow me to sit down there.”
Master Jörg dismissed the thought in consideration of the important person he was and led Marie toward the stand. As they walked up, the barkeep frowned and murmured that the master should take his whore elsewhere.
Wölfling opened his purse and gave the barkeep several coins. “A big pitcher of your best wine and two cups.”
The barkeep couldn’t resist the look of the shining silver pieces. “Take a seat over there,” he said, pointing to a bench off to the side where they could talk without being disturbed. Taking the pitcher filled to the brim with the best Rhine wine and two cups, they walked to the bench, lost in thought.
Wölfling raised his glass to Marie with a sad smile. “It’s really just by chance that we met today. I would never have come here if the kaiser hadn’t ordered the three popes to come to Constance to settle the problems of Christianity with a council. Because of that, we can’t keep up with barrel orders, and the Constance coopers’ guild asked me to come here to negotiate with the makers here for the delivery of more.”
Marie nodded congenially even though she wasn’t really interested in the barrel makers’ problems. “It’s surely an act of fate. But do tell me, Master Jörg, how is my uncle?”
Wölfling raised his hand hesitantly. “He is well, and his business is doing better than ever since word got out about the council.”
“He wasn’t doing so badly beforehand, either.”
Master Jörg sighed deeply. “That was before your misfortune. After that, things looked bad for him for a while, as his trials against Counselor Rupert Splendidus almost financially ruined him. Of course, you can’t know that your former fiancé confiscated all of your father’s possessions with the episcopal court’s help. Mombert lost each of the three times he took Rupert to court. Finally he tried to retrieve your mother’s dowry, but Rupert kept presenting documents to dispute Mombert’s claims.”
Marie wasn’t surprised as she had heard enough about how Rupert dealt with his opponents, but she continued asking questions. “What do you know about my father? Back then I hoped he would look for me and pick me out of the gutter.”
She looked at him intently, as she still hoped the sheepshearer had lied to Giso to get more wine out of him.
Helplessly, Master Jörg spread out his arms. “I’m terribly sorry for you, child! No one saw your father after that dreadful day. Master Rupert claimed that Matthis Schärer had bequeathed him all his possessions and gone to the Holy Land to atone for your sins. Some said he had left on a pilgrimage to Rome, and others said they had met him somewhere in Flanders, still looking for you. I tend more to believe what the sheepshearer Anselm said before he drowned in the Rhine.”
Marie felt a tightness in the pit of her stomach. “Anselm is dead?”
“Yes, it was bound to happen. A few foolish wagon drivers were plying him with drinks, and on the way to Gottlieben he fell into the Rhine. If his corpse hadn’t been found floating in the water, no one would have ever known what happened to him. But apparently, shortly before he died, he had told a stranger he’d helped bury your father in potter’s field. Marie, child, I’m so sorry for you, but I’m afraid the old drunk may have been telling the truth.”
Marie gasped, sure that the stranger was Giso. And she knew that Anselm’s death was no accident. Even though most people in Constance paid no attention to a drunk’s blatherings, she was convinced that Rupert and his accomplices had silenced him. She wondered if Utz was involved, having goaded a few friends into plying the old man with alcohol.
Shuddering, Marie dried a few tears. “My father never would have left his possessions to Rupert, so I can assume he’s dead.”
Wölfling placed his hand on Marie’s shoul
der. “Master Matthis loved you very much, Marie, and he would never have abandoned you. I’m ashamed to say that I was jealous of your father and the wealth he had accumulated as a bondsman’s grandson, while my family had to fight for survival even though we had played a leading role in the last civil war against the nobles. That was the reason I didn’t lift a hand to help you, and I have been severely punished for that.
“The reputation of my ancestors had secured me a city council seat, and I lost that forever because of you. The other council members accused me of allowing Counselor Rupert to take you before the episcopal court instead of the city courts, as was your right. But it all happened so fast. Before I could clear my head, you had already been driven from town, your father had disappeared, and Rupert had taken possession of your house.”
Judging from his bitter tone, Wölfling was less concerned about her misfortune than about the loss of his council seat, which came with all kinds of honors. She was unforgiving enough not to lament his fall from the ranks of the privileged, as she hadn’t forgotten how elated he and Master Gero had been to find the incriminating piece of jewelry in her bedroom.
Keeping her feelings hidden, she continued questioning Master Jörg, learning a bit more about what had happened in Constance since her banishment. “Mombert and his wife feel blessed to have Hedwig, who has turned out to be a very pretty girl. She looks like your younger sister, Marie, though I must say you have become even more beautiful in the last few years. If I had enough money, I’d buy you a house on the Rhine and keep you there as my lover.” He shook his head and sighed, wondering what was left to tell Marie.
“By the way, do you remember Michel, the son of the taverner? The boy must have really loved you since he left town that terrible day to follow you. But the two bailiffs played a trick on him, sending him in the wrong direction. His father went to search for him but lost track of him in Diessenhofen, and it’s said he signed onto a ship headed for Holland.”
“At least one person believed in me!” Marie exclaimed.
She tried in vain to picture Michel’s face. Though she couldn’t remember what he looked like, she could still clearly remember his voice that evening when he warned her about Rupert. The boy must have understood her fiancé better than her father, who had been blinded by the honor of having his daughter marry the son of a count. Marie silently hoped that Michel had been led astray, forced to wander homeless along the highway; at the same time she feared he might have paid for his loyalty to her with his life, as sailors were a notoriously rough crowd and the Rhine had pulled many down into its depths. Or Rupert might also have had Michel killed. Shedding a few tears for her former playmate, Marie nodded at Master Jörg. “I thank you for the news and ask you to please leave me to myself now. I need to think about all that I’ve learned today.”
“I understand. I’m sorry I couldn’t bring you better news. Do you really not want me to tell your uncle about our meeting?”
Marie nodded. Wölfling wondered if he should tell Mombert anyway, then decided it was better to keep quiet. He knew that if he spoke about seeing Marie, Counselor Rupert might get wind of it, and he didn’t want to have anything to do with that man.
He poured the last of the wine into his cup. Since Marie had only a little to drink, most of the wine had disappeared into his portly paunch, making him sentimental. He remembered all the meals to which Marie’s father had invited him, and he was struck by a bad conscience. Suddenly Marie seemed as beautiful and pure as a saint. What a virtuous and exemplary citizen she could have become! He despised himself for his weakness. Since his negotiations in Wallfingen had made him a nice sum, he impulsively undid the clasps fastening his full money bag to his belt. Opening the purse, he handed everything in it to Marie.
“Here, take this. You can surely use it.” He stood up quickly, as if afraid he might regret his generosity. “I believe I had better go now. May the saints protect you, Marie.”
“It’s about time they do,” she replied, standing and shaking his hand in farewell.
Master Jörg briefly embraced her and then suddenly let her go. Marie watched until he disappeared beyond the city gate, and then she returned to her tent. On meeting Gerlind, she was about to demand the money Master Jörg had paid the old harlot, but Marie shrugged and walked past her. At the moment she had no wish to quarrel. Moreover, Master Jörg’s purse contained far more than the few shillings Gerlind had taken for herself.
VI.
Marie’s meeting with Wölfling weighed so heavily on her mind that for a while she forgot about the new argument between Hiltrud and Gerlind. The old woman wanted to go over to Baden and then to the Rhine, where she thought there were better chances of making money, whereas Hiltrud thought it better to first go down the Neckar River to the Rhine. Mechthild von Arnstein was related to the House of Büchenbruch, and Hiltrud had heard at Arnstein Castle that there would be a feud between the Büchenbruch clan and the House of Riedburg. Hiltrud thought it dangerous to follow the route Gerlind suggested and possibly find themselves caught between the two warring factions.
Gerlind demurred with a scornful look. “That’s just foolish talk. If there were really going to be a feud, we’d have heard about it by now. I say we head straight for the Rhine, and then we’ll arrive early enough to meet the Black Forest raftsmen taking their logs down the river. They’ve still got plenty of silver jangling in their purses from the advances their bosses gave them upon taking the job, and they’ll be happy to relax with us after their hard days of work.”
Puffing out her chest, Berta tried to look down on Hiltrud, which was rather ridiculous given their difference in height. “I agree with Gerlind, and so do Fita and Märthe. So it’s four against two.”
“Against me and Marie, who also heard about the feud and would no doubt take my side,” Hiltrud replied, her face strained as she turned to look for her friend. She was nowhere to be seen, however, so Hiltrud gave in. “Very well, then, let’s go with your plan. I hope it’s safe for us.”
“And why shouldn’t it be?” Berta asked derisively. “If a fellow gets too fresh, I’ll whack him on the head so hard with my big knife that he won’t get up again until the last trump sounds.” She waved her weapon in front of Hiltrud’s face amidst general laughter.
Hiltrud stepped back instinctively, which made Gerlind laugh even louder, her belly and breasts bouncing up and down. “Six determined women like us don’t even need to fear God.”
Fita suddenly turned serious and crossed herself. Then she folded her hands and asked God for forgiveness for this blasphemy. Bertha walked up and shoved Fita headfirst into the grass. “Don’t act as if God doesn’t understand a joke. He’s certainly not as strict as the priests want to make us believe. Haven’t you figured out yet that they tell us so much about hell in order to get inside our skirts for free?”
Opening her mouth, Fita prepared to deliver one of her religious tirades, but Gerlind snapped at her before she could speak. “See those fellows hanging around over there? Go get one of them, or for the next few weeks you won’t be able to put a penny in an offering box or light a candle for the Virgin Mary. You’ve fallen behind recently in your earnings, and I don’t intend to let you live off us.”
Staggering to her feet, Fita wiped away her tears with the hem of her dress and ran over to the three men. Two of them gave her a contemptuous look and stared lustfully after Marie who was feeding the goats with her back turned to the other women. The third fellow let Fita take him to her tent from which a loud groaning and moaning could soon be heard.
“If the fellow’s banging her up as badly as it sounds, he’ll really hurt her,” Berta joked, and swinging her hips, she walked over to the two other men, waving at Märthe to follow.
Disgusted at the way the four other women acted, Hiltrud knew that their behavior diminished their value and made the better customers avoid them like the plague. She herself had been so fuss
y that day that she didn’t even earn enough to cover expenses. Nevertheless, rather than looking around for another customer, Hiltrud sat down with Marie in the grass and petted her goats.
“We’ll have to stay with Gerlind’s group until we get to the Rhine, but then I swear we’ll go our own way, even if we have to sleep with every single servant in the wagon train,” she said to Marie, telling her about the route Gerlind planned to take. Marie was only half listening, however. “I don’t care where we go, as long as we lose the four of them.”
VII.
The six women left at dawn the next morning. Gerlind and her companions carried a lighter load than before, as Hiltrud had allowed them, after a fierce dispute, to put some of their things on her cart. As a result, the goats had to strain a bit more, and even the kids were hitched up, tugging vigorously on the reins. As the road steepened, however, it became too much for the animals, and Hiltrud was forced to help pull the wagon while Marie pushed from behind. By the third hill, Marie suggested hitching up Berta or Märthe as well.
With a contemptuous wave of her hand, Hiltrud demurred. “They would just force Fita to help us, and she’d collapse like a tottering old nag after three steps.”
Marie heaved an angry sigh. “Four years ago I never would have imagined that I’d long for the day we could part ways with Gerlind.”
She would always be grateful for how friendly Gerlind had been, taking her in and helping her with such care over those first hard days. But this bitter woman in a filthy dress hobbling in front of them was no longer the Gerlind that Marie had gotten to know and admire. Nevertheless, she felt bad that she no longer was thankful to the old woman. Struggling with her guilt, she tried to shake off her feelings.
