Forsaken Soul

Chapter Twenty-Five

The man fumbled with his braes.

Would he never get dressed? Ivetta thought. Even her skin crawled with impatience to push him out the door, but he must be made to pay first. With Martin dead, she had to worry about earning enough to feed herself-and the babe as well.

“There’s a chicken I laid just there.” He gestured drunkenly. “That’ll do it.”

“The price was two, as you well knew.”

“For riding an aged slut?”

“For performing a miracle. Did I not transform a drooping stalk into an iron rod?”

“I can get this free, you know.”

“From your pigs, for cert, and methinks you’ve tried. You stink enough of them.”

The man cursed and grabbed for the door but hesitated before opening it. “I’ll bring the other tomorrow,” he said, his voice suddenly gentle. “Sorry about the cooper.” Then he was gone.

Ivetta sat on her straw mat and began to twist a strand of greasy hair. Looking down at her naked belly, she smiled at the rounding. “I should give you to the priory if you’re a boy. They could use strong arms like your father had,” she said. “If you’re a girl, I must do so.” She nodded. “Other priories would sneer at a whore’s daughter, but Prioress Eleanor might take you on as a servant. She wouldn’t want you to follow my trade any more than I do, and someone has to scrub the hospital linen. You’d have food enough in exchange for reddened hands, lass, and that is more than I can provide.”

Her shoulders sagged as she gazed around the small space. This stinking place with drafty walls made of dung and straw was all she had now, a shelter her younger brother had made for them both before he died in the road, stabbed by another drunk in a fight over something long forgotten.

“Martin promised me more,” she sighed. But Martin was dead and she had nothing. Everything she ever earned on her back, or more often on her knees, went to him. In truth, he had fed and clothed her as well as he did himself and made sure she had a soft bed. When the bouncing got rough, she did not bruise as quickly. Standing, she rubbed her buttocks. With only this straw to buffer a man’s weight, there would be marks soon enough from that swineherd’s pleasures.

Pulling a loose gown over her head, Ivetta went to open the door. As she stared up at the twinkling stars, she felt her spirit plunge into melancholy. What was she going to do? Angry though she may have been over the swineherd’s insults, she knew her value as a harlot was lessening. Without Martin to bring clients who were willing to pay for special acts, she was reduced to serving the poor, maimed, the drunk, diseased or aged. Virile lads, who might even bring her a little joy, always seemed to find enough girls with taut maidenheads eager for bursting. She would never feel their muscular arms around her on that rough mat.

She turned, went back into the stifling room, and yanked the badly fitted door shut.

If only I could store this heat for the dark season when the babe is due, she thought. The damp cold will be so bitter then we shall both surely turn to ice.

She took a mouthful of the ale still left in the jug. “Fa!” she spat. The brew had turned foul.

She had nowhere to go. Her parents were dead, not that they would welcome such a wicked daughter back. When she had returned from the field, bleeding after Martin’s breaching, they had cast her out with one loaf of bread as a mercy and the gown she wore. The only living kin she had left was an elder brother, but his wife would refuse to let her in their house. That fine woman spent most of her waking hours and, if truth be told, most of the sleeping ones on her knees in prayer. Charity to sinners, especially those guilty of carnal wickedness, was not one of her reputed virtues.

Ivetta was very much alone.

“I’m sure the priory would take me in to do hard labor,” she muttered. “They hinted enough that I should repent, but I cannot confess guilt over Martin. I loved him.” Her mouth puckered as if she had bitten into sour fruit. “If I’m going to Hell, at least he’s there as well. We might as well burn together.”

Covering her face with her hands, she began to weep. “I am going to die, and the babe with me,” she moaned. “Curses on Signy! The blood of the three of us will be on her hands and she’ll just grow fat…”

There was a knock at the door.

Ivetta roughly ran fingers under her eyes to dry the tears. Who was this? she wondered, resentful that she could not be left in peace right now. Yet she did need the trade. If she were fortunate, it would be the swineherd with the other chicken. If not, it might be some lusty leper who knew she could not afford to turn anyone away if she were to survive.

As she opened the door, however, she drew back in shock when she recognized the dark figure outside.

“I have come to make peace,” the shadow said.