Forsaken Soul

Chapter Nineteen

Ivetta leaned back against the lime-washed, straw and clay daub of the stable wall and absently ran a hand around her quickening belly. Had the babe grown? She smiled.

But the memory of Martin’s death quickly shattered that brief happiness, and she began to whimper like a hurt child. “He was jesting. It was what he always did. He never meant what he said!”

That horrible night, she had thought his trembling hands spoke of his especial eagerness to mount her. He must be excited about becoming a father at last, she remembered thinking, and his cruel words about the babe had meant nothing, nothing at all.

When he then began to jerk and twist so oddly, she imagined he had found some new way to pleasure himself, but she grew perplexed when he did not enter her and had twisted around to look at what he was doing. The memory was as vivid as if she were seeing it all again, every hideous detail of it.

Martin had fallen to the floor, twitching and clawing at himself. His lips were painted white with foam, his bowels had loosened, and his eyes were wide with unholy terror.

Was it then she had screamed?

She opened her eyes and looked around wildly as if she had just awakened from a nightmare. Staring at the familiar shape of the inn brought her comfort, and the image of his twisted features began to fade. Surely this must all be just a bad dream, she thought.

“Martin will be waiting in that upstairs room. He’ll laugh when I walk in, slap me on the tout, and tell me he never meant a word he said.”

Won’t he?

She had not told the prioress what Martin had said when she revealed she was with child. There was no reason to mention any of that, was there? It had nothing to do with his murder, and God’s holy virgin could not possibly understand what often passed between a woman and her man. How could she explain to such a woman that he had often said one thing while thinking another? Despite what others might conclude from his words, she always understood what Martin truly meant.

She had heard many call him cruel and selfish but she knew better. Hadn’t his smile betrayed his joy when she gave him her news? Surely he had only meant to be considerate when he said she could birth or bury the child for all he cared. Foolish man! Of course she was happy but he had only wanted to make sure she was.

She shut her eyes again and tried to remember his exact expression. Wasn’t that a delighted smile he gave her? His lips were twisted as they always were when he spoke mean words, but didn’t that sparkling in his eyes shout a most paternal happiness? An uneasy doubt pricked at her heart, but she quickly disregarded it.

And then there was that business about Signy. At first, she had grown angry when he said he would soon replace her in his bed with the innkeeper’s niece, but her temper had cooled when he began to fondle her as he always did. No matter that she did not like the idea of another in Martin’s arms, but a man must have a woman lest his seed grow weak and die. Accordingly, she had decided he could swyve the tavern wench for relief if he wanted, while she herself was big with child, but it would be a temporary thing as it had always been.

Yet he had been cruel to tease her and bring up things she’d rather never remember like the other women he’d bedded. Of all times, why did he also have to do it that night when she was so happy about their first son and the coming marriage he had once promised her?

And why did he have to die? Who would have been so pitiless as to kill him, especially before he could marry her? As his wife under law, she would have gained possession of all he owned, a portion for herself and the rest for their child. Now she had nothing and might starve before the babe was even born. She began to shake with icy terror and pulled herself closer to the stable wall for support.

When she felt some ease, she loosened her grip on the rough surface and looked with longing toward the inn where her beloved had died. A figure coming along the path from the priory caught her eye.

Ivetta tensed. Anger rose with the heat of Hell’s fire from her belly, and an idea burned itself into her mind. Why had she not thought of this before? Now she knew what had happened that night. Like a wild woman, she flung herself away from the stable.

“You killed him!” she screamed and ran toward the innkeeper’s niece.

Startled by the screeching woman racing toward her, Signy stopped so quickly that she stumbled, lost her balance in the rutted ground, and fell to her knees.

In an instant, Ivetta was on top of her, pummeling Signy with both fists. “You murdered him because he loved me! You knew you could never have him to yourself!”

The innkeeper’s niece twisted first to one side and then the next, shouting for help and trying to protect her eyes and face. Being far taller and heavier-boned than Ivetta, she finally dislodged her attacker and jumped to her feet. “You’re mad!” she shouted.

Ivetta struggled to her feet. “Lecherous woman! Martin only bedded you out of pity. When he came back to me, he mimicked how you had howled with longing, and then writhed with lust under him.”

“How dare you call me wanton!”

A crowd was now gathering outside the inn.

Ivetta noted the growing audience and gleefully threw her arms out to them. “May not an honest whore expose a dishonest one? Of course, I can. Shall I be more specific to prove the truth of what I say?”

A few voices urged her to continue.

“Do you deny that you have a red mark on your left breast, just above the tit? Was that where the Devil bit you when even he failed to sate your lusts?” Ivetta shouted.

Signy froze.

“And the mole on your pryvete?”

“Liar!” The innkeeper’s niece screamed, covering her ears.

Ivetta threw her head back and laughed.

Signy began to weep.

A heavy-set man suddenly appeared at the doorway of the inn, then pushed his way through the crowd toward the women.

Seeing the innkeeper amongst them, a few men left, assuming the entertainment was over. Others stayed to watch what would happen next.

“Go back inside,” he ordered. “This is but a spat between women, of no greater import than the sparring of two cats over a vole. Tonight we have a band of jugglers passing through, far better amusement than this silliness.”

In good humor after such merry sport and needing ale to wet their throats on a summer eve, the crowd dispersed, most returning to the inn.

The innkeeper took the trembling Signy by the arm. “Come, niece,” he said gently. “Dry your tears. The cook needs help with the fish.”

By then, Ivetta had disappeared into the shadows of the slowly fading light.