The Wandering Harlot (The Marie Series Book 1)

by Iny Lorentz

  Standing in the doorway, Marie glanced at the view across the road. The former goat pasture was now covered with tents, primitive huts, and houses, some still under construction; beyond that she could see the brick tower farther down the Rhine. Her heart began to race at the sight, and she realized that every time she stepped out that door she would be reminded of the day her life had been destroyed. She almost wanted to change her mind and ask Jobst for a bordello room, but then she scolded herself for being so foolish. The sight of that massive tower was no worse than the yellow ribbons on her dress that reminded her daily of her disgrace and the humiliation and pain that followed. She looked over toward Saint Peter’s as if the church could give her the strength, reason, and inner peace that she would need in the coming days.

  Upon entering the house, Marie saw that some fifteen monks were sharing the two ground-floor rooms, while a knight and his two servants were using the small attic space. Hiltrud peeked into one of rooms and shuddered. Clearly, the monks who had been living there were more concerned about caring for their souls than for their surroundings.

  When Jobst told them all to leave, they cursed and threatened to hurt him. Before the quarrel could escalate further, the droopy-eyed nobleman intervened and gruffly told the knight to look for another place to stay. To Marie’s amazement, the knight immediately complied.

  While the lower-ranked monks and the knight’s servants carried out their belongings, the knight and the higher-ranking brothers clearly intended to have the three women sweeten their departure. The knight expressed specific interest in Marie, but the nobleman wrapped his arm around her, pulled her to him, and glared at his rival with one open eye. Sighing, the knight shrugged his shoulders and turned to Kordula, who gave Madeleine a questioning glance, since she didn’t know what to do.

  The spokeswoman for the harlots nodded. “Since the gentlemen were so obliging, you should show them your gratitude. That holds true for you, as well, Marie. After all, Wolkenstein came to the aid of you and your companions.”

  The name Wolkenstein didn’t mean anything to Marie, but the knight told her she was fortunate to have met such an excellent man. According to him, Wolkenstein was a favored liegeman of the kaiser as well as a renowned singer and poet, and she had to thank God for becoming acquainted with such a famous man.

  Interrupting the knight with a few kind words, Marie thought that she’d thank God if Wolkenstein didn’t turn out to be a crude bungler in bed. As Hiltrud and Kordula disappeared with their customers into the rooms on the ground floor, one of which also served as a kitchen, Marie led Wolkenstein up a ladder to the loft. The room was so small that only one person at a time could stand upright, and the filthy gable window barely let in any outside light. In the near darkness, Marie could only feel and smell the old straw sacks covering the floor.

  None of that seemed to bother Oswald von Wolkenstein as his hands glided smoothly over her body and he removed her dress with experienced movements. He tore off the oilskin covering the window and laid Marie down so that the sunlight played over her head and breasts. Then he sat down beside her, raising his hanging eyelid with his fingers so he could admire her with both eyes.

  “You are beautiful, woman. I don’t think there’s a single harlot in Constance who surpasses you in beauty. If I were a rich man, I’d put you up in my house and make you my mistress.”

  Marie stroked the gold embroidery on his jacket. “You have beautiful clothing for a poor man.”

  “Anyone who wants to amount to something at the kaiser’s court can’t cut corners on his clothing,” Wolkenstein answered, laughing.

  Pulling off his jacket and opening his shirt, he moved closer in order to fondle her. He ran his fingers along the contours of her body and began reciting short, tender verses praising her curving hips, firm rosy-tipped breasts, and the small, blond, curly triangle between her thighs. It seemed he was almost more enraptured by his own words than by the anticipation of possessing her. Finally, he undressed completely, then lay down on top of her slowly and with visible pleasure. When he was finished, he didn’t stand up right away but remained lying there, pressed tightly against her while whispering precious verses about love in her ear.

  In general, prostitutes weren’t especially fond of men who clung to them like leeches after the act was finished, as it hindered potential earnings. But Marie wasn’t interested just then in finding any more customers and instead enjoyed the verses praising her beauty. She wondered if married men used similar words to thank their wives for their nocturnal bliss.

  VI.

  Within two days, the women’s busy hands transformed the little house into a comfortable home. Removing the filth and old reeds by the shovelful and burning the old straw sacks, they scoured the wood floor with soap and pumice until it gleamed.

  After purchasing simple but solid bed frames, the women laid linen sacks filled with straw over them. Three chests with locks, a table, three stools, and new kitchen and dining utensils completed the household furnishings. Lastly, they decorated the walls with woolen hangings and spread fresh reeds mixed with fragrant flower petals and herbs on the floor. When they were finished, they looked at one another with satisfaction, congratulating themselves on their new home.

  Marie sank down onto Kordula’s bed. “Even the noblest gentlemen will feel so at home here that he’ll want to come again.”

  Kordula’s shoulders sank. “They’ll have to. I’ll no doubt have to double Madeleine’s prices because of all the money I owe you.”

  Laughing dismissively, Marie waved her hand. “We could hardly have let you sleep on the floor.”

  Hiltrud understood Kordula better than Marie did. “We’ve already discussed it. You would have paid a higher fee to a bordello owner and couldn’t make nearly as much money as you can working on your own. So you’ll pay us back soon. Now, hear that? There’s a customer at the door again.”

  To Kordula’s great disappointment, the visitor was Oswald von Wolkenstein, who immediately led Marie to her attic room, paying her price with a sigh. Once again, he remained lying beside her after he was pleasured, reciting verses that caricatured Constance high society as well as council participants. He seemed happy to have found an attentive audience for his sarcasm, for many a harmless verse had offended listeners in the Imperial Court.

  Shamelessly encouraging him, Marie listened to him and let him play with her body, as she thought she might be able to use what he knew. Indeed, he seemed to know everything and everyone, and she quickly learned many council participants’ names and political opinions, as well as the fact that the knight Dietmar von Arnstein and his wife were expected soon.

  A number of other highly ranked people also hadn’t arrived yet, including those coming from Spain. Apparently, Wolkenstein was infuriated because nobles on the Iberian Peninsula refused to recognize the council’s right to pass judgment on Pope Benedict XIII, whom they supported. If Kaiser Sigismund failed to win the support of the Spaniards, there would be a division in Christianity. Marie wasn’t especially interested in the outcome of the kaiser’s plans, but she proved such good company that Oswald von Wolkenstein called on her every day.

  Finally, Oswald told her he had to leave Constance the next day, as the kaiser had given him the honorable task of traveling to Spain and Portugal with messages for those rulers. He said a mournful good-bye to Marie, but she was glad because he was becoming tiresome. Bidding him farewell like a tender, loving mistress, she uttered a big sigh of relief only after he’d left the house.

  The following morning, Marie decided to visit the quarter where her father’s house stood. Fearful of being recognized, she had avoided going into the city before then except for trips to the market. Even when she had met people she knew in the marketplace, no one had given her a second glance, as if her yellow ribbons had cast a magical cloak of invisibility over her. Just the same, she tucked her hair under a scarf before entering
the narrow street leading from the Ziegelgraben to the cathedral.

  Despite the early-morning hour, large groups of mercenaries and other loiterers were hanging around. Though some yelled obscenities at Marie from a distance, not even the drunks got too close. The yellow ribbons afforded her a degree of protection that honorable women and girls did not have, since a man who pestered or molested a harlot would find the doors and tents of all the other prostitutes closed to him. Even though the harlots came from different countries and were often fierce competitors, here in Constance, they stuck together.

  As Marie strolled down the lane where she had once lived, she almost walked right by her family’s home. Totally rebuilt with a pretentious façade, where there used to be a courtyard with sheds and outbuildings, the new structure several stories tall that Rupert had erected didn’t seem quite finished. Nevertheless, servants were entering and leaving the building, and armed guards stood at the entrance. She guessed that was the building where Wolkenstein had told her that Rupert was housing his half brother, Konrad von Keilburg, as well as other high-ranking dignitaries and their retinues.

  Not wanting to attract attention, Marie quickly moved on, struggling with tears at the sight of the house. Up until then, she at least had her memory of home, a place to which she could return in her daydreams, and now this, too, was taken from her. She squared her shoulders and was upset at herself for even coming.

  Suddenly, Mombert Flühi’s house appeared in front of her, and she realized she’d instinctively taken the turn into Hundsgasse Lane where she’d often gone as a child to visit her uncle and play with little Hedwig. She wondered how they were and for a moment considered going up to the front door. Then she laughed at herself. The door would probably be opened by a servant or her uncle’s wife who would stare at her yellow ribbons, then curse her and send her on her way before she could defend herself. Her eyes welled up with tears again, and she was annoyed at her self-pity.

  She fled quickly to the next lane, not paying attention to where she was going. Bumping into a man, she tripped and would have fallen if he hadn’t caught her and pulled her up onto her feet.

  Before her stood a man in a palatine guard’s uniform. Startled, Marie knew it was best not to tangle with council guards. “Pardon me, sir. It was unintentional,” she cried, reaching for the scarf that had slipped off her head.

  Waving her off with a friendly smile, he was about to keep walking, but then grasped her arm, pushed her scarf back again, and looked at her closely. His eyes widened with surprise. “Marie? By all the saints, I thought you were dead!”

  Marie looked at him and swallowed hard. Though he had changed a lot in the last five years, she recognized him at once. “Michel? Oh my God!”

  She was so ashamed to be facing her childhood friend dressed as a disgraced prostitute that she wanted nothing more than to be swallowed up by the earth. She tried to pull away and run off, but he took her in both arms, drew her to him, and spun her around, laughing.

  “Marie, what a joy to see you. I was so worried about you. My God, how happy Mombert is going to be. Come, we’ll go and see him right away.”

  Putting her down, he tugged at her hands, but she struggled to break away, shaking her head violently. “No! My uncle doesn’t need to know I’m still alive, and you should forget me as well. The Marie you knew is dead.”

  Michel stared at her, baffled. “What do you mean? Why would you say such a thing?”

  “Just look at me!” she hissed, holding one of her yellow ribbons under his nose. “This is the reason, don’t you understand?”

  “That won’t bother your uncle. He’ll be happy you’re still alive and will surely want to help you.”

  “No thanks, I don’t need any help. After all, I’ve been banned from Constance for life and only allowed to enter the city as a whore invited to serve the noble gentlemen.” Marie took a deep breath and glared at Michel, ready for a fight. “Do you think I’d want to have people pointing their fingers at me and saying they’d always known I was nothing but scum?”

  Michel thought it over, shaking his head and stroking her cheek to comfort her. “But it wasn’t because of something you did.”

  “But that isn’t what it says in the Constance court records. People here think I’m a hussy who’d bed anyone, even the murderer Utz.” That last part had slipped out unbidden.

  Michel squinted. “Utz, the wagon driver, a murderer?” It sounded a bit like a reproach, as if he didn’t quite believe her, as if he thought she was just trying to say the worst thing she could about the man who’d accused her.

  When a passerby stared at them, he took her by the shoulders and pushed her against a wall as if he were flirting with her. “Don’t you have a little room where we can make ourselves comfortable?”

  “Where you can bed me, you mean,” Marie shot back. “You can put that out of your mind right now.”

  Michel held her at arm’s length. “I don’t think I should. You’re really the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

  “I don’t just sleep with anyone!” Marie tried to pull away from him, but Michel wouldn’t let go.”

  “Don’t act like that,” he replied, with a broad smile. “Can’t you see that people are staring at us? Take me to your room, or I’ll go straight to Mombert and tell him about our meeting.”

  Marie turned up her nose and stuck out her chin, trying to look as disdainful as possible. “How disgusting! You’ve turned into a wretched extortionist, running around in an officer’s uniform of the palatine guards! Very well, you can come along with me, but a block of wood would show you more tenderness than I will.”

  Michel gave her a gentle slap across her rear. “I don’t believe that. I’m usually said to be a good lover.”

  Since he wouldn’t release her, Marie led him to the house in the Ziegelgraben. Looking it over, he glanced into the downstairs room, then let Marie lead him up to her loft. After examining the furnishings, he nodded with satisfaction. “I like it here. I think I’ll stop by often.”

  “Just who do you think you are? You won’t be welcome here.” Marie wanted to throw him out, but his threat to tell her uncle held her back.

  Inwardly she was writhing in frustration. Didn’t Michel understand she’d left her past behind and that his presence now only ripped open the wounds in her soul? Did he just want to demonstrate how he was now of higher social standing, and that she was just something he could buy? She couldn’t possibly have offended him that much before.

  Growing up, she’d really liked Michel and remembered how sad she’d been when her father forbade her to wander with him through the fields. Wina had kept her in the house for weeks afterward, telling her that being seen with such a boy would damage her reputation and harm her marriage prospects. She’d never been able to tell him why she hadn’t played with him again, and now it was too late.

  She’d have to shake him off soon, since it was imperative that neither he nor her relatives stand in the way of her revenge. She briefly wondered if he could find her a hired assassin, but one look at his face made her reject that thought. Michel was still the same honorable lad as before, and if she let him in on her plans, he might stand in her way and try to protect her from herself.

  Without hesitating, she pulled her dress over her head and lay down on the bed. “Hurry up. I don’t have forever.”

  Michel had actually only wanted to talk with Marie and learn what had happened in the last five years, but he couldn’t resist her nakedness, undressing and lying down alongside her. To his disappointment, she withdrew from his tender touch like a snail into its shell, clenching her fists. Annoyed, he knew that she had certainly slept with more men than there were in the entire army of palatine guards. Why was she so unwilling to sleep with him?

  As a teenager, he had dreamed of her at night and was willing to do whatever it took to make her his wife. But she was the daug
hter of an important Constance businessman, and he didn’t stand a chance. After her banishment, he had hoped to make his dream a reality, and he looked for her wherever he went. But after searching for three years, he had gotten discouraged and finally gave up, rarely thinking of her anymore. It wasn’t until he met Hedwig that he remembered her, and now she was lying under him, available at long last as his heart desired. Nevertheless—or perhaps for just that reason—he didn’t enjoy himself.

  Since she completely ignored him, he slid down from her almost before he had finished. She seemed to expect him to get up, dress, and go, but he wasn’t about to do her that favor.

  He lay down next to her, pulling her close to feel the warmth of her body.

  “That wasn’t nice of you, Marie. After all, we’re old friends.”

  “I kept still, as is proper for a whore. What more do you want?”

  Michel realized he hadn’t gone about this correctly. He should have first earned her affection, building on their former friendship, before sleeping with her. But instead, it had seemed like he had simply been motivated by desire, like any other paying customer. He was determined to redeem himself, and he started by complimenting her.

  “You’re even more beautiful than I remember. Your cousin Hedwig bears a resemblance, but she can’t hold a candle to you.”

  Shrugging, Marie rolled her eyes at his cheap flattery. “You can’t compare a whore with a decent daughter of the middle class. A moral young woman’s purity and innocence are what give her true charm.”