The Wandering Harlot (The Marie Series) (21 page)

In the meantime, her anger had subsided somewhat and she was reluctant to commit murder, so she simply used her knife to cut the armorer’s purse from his trousers, then likewise seized Siegerich’s purse. It took her a little longer to cut Siegward’s purse from his belt, since it was attached by a broad, strong leather strap. Unfastening the strap holding the leather bag closed and looking inside, she almost forgot her misery. The first two men’s purses were full of good silver coins and smaller pieces of gold, but Siegward was carrying golden ducats and guilders of considerable value. This was even enough money to hire an assassin to murder a nobleman, to say nothing of an illegitimate offspring like Rupert.

Marie clenched her fists triumphantly. If this money helped carry out her revenge, then the disgrace, fear, and pain she had endured that evening had been unexpectedly worth it. Raising her dress, she made a belt with long, hanging strips of cloth to which she attached Siegward’s money pouch, her own little bag with the Württemberg guilders, and Master Jörg’s purse. She then tied all three purses around her thighs with additional strips of cloth so they would not reveal their presence by jangling. Later she would sew pockets into her dress so she could serve her customers without first having to remove and hide the purses. As for Gilbert’s and Siegerich’s purses, these coins she would share with the others, as they were also entitled to compensation for this dreadful night.

VIII.

Several hours passed before the last mercenary finally succumbed to the wine and their wild orgy. Marie didn’t want to imagine what would happen if her own torturers awoke to discover she had robbed them, but luck was on her side, and Siegward, his brother, and their armorer remained fast asleep. When it became quiet outside, with only the sound of a sobbing woman, Marie snuffed out the oil lamp’s wick and carefully exited the tent.

Only a few glowing embers still shone in the campfire, and the moon appeared in the clear sky as a thin crescent, so Marie had trouble putting one foot in front of the other. Her eyes slowly becoming used to the faint light, she saw sleeping men everywhere before she discovered a woman wandering around naked.

“Hiltrud? Is that you?” Marie asked in a whisper.

“Marie?” She sounded both surprised and relieved as she embraced her. “I hurt so much, I can scarcely walk. How are you feeling?”

“I feel like a pack of rabid dogs attacked me. Where are the others? We must get out of here as soon as possible.”

“Not until I have slit the throats of the men who murdered my goats,” she replied, her entire body shaking. Marie grabbed her arm so tightly that she groaned.

“That won’t bring them back to life again,” Marie said. “Be reasonable and come along with me. We’ve got to put a lot of distance between us and these fellows before morning, as I’ve stolen their leaders’ purses. The money will help compensate for your goats and everything they did to us here.”

Hiltrud clenched her fists, then quickly opened her hands again. “Well done. But you’re right—we must get out of here as fast as we can, because when they discover the theft, they’ll want to cut us up into little pieces.”

Putting on what remained of her dress, Hiltrud looked at Marie. “Hurry and get the others. In the meantime, I’ll get a few things from our cart that we can take on our backs, since we’ll unfortunately have to leave most of our possessions behind.”

Heading toward the sound of sobbing that she heard earlier, Marie found Märte slumped along one of the large wagon wheels. Even though she shook and cajoled the young girl to get ahold of herself, Märte only cried louder when she saw Marie. Not until Gerlind came staggering toward them like a pale, haggard ghost did Märthe calm down enough to stand up and pull together the tattered shreds of what had once been her dress.

Gerlind said nothing, but the furious kicks she gave to some of the sleeping drunks showed that her anger was greater than her fear. Her dress was so torn that it wasn’t even fit for a scarecrow, but since she had nothing else, she tied what was left of it together. Gerlind’s cursing attracted the attention of a completely naked Berta who was wandering around with a torch in her hand and examining the mercenaries lying on the ground. Finding a man who matched her in size, she took his shirt for herself.

“I wasn’t even treated this badly when I was an army camp follower,” she complained, straightening up and looking at Gerlind. “That was a fine idea, leading us into a camp of mercenaries. You’re such a great leader! From now on, I’m in charge, do you understand?”

Though her face contorted in a furious grimace, Gerlind didn’t try to defend herself against Berta’s accusations. Instead, she quietly suggested patting down the sleeping soldiers to search for anything valuable. Turning her back on the three quarreling women, Marie joined Hiltrud who had spread out her possessions and was picking out things to take along by the light of a burning stick. Marie also chose her most essential possessions; then they put everything else in the cart and pushed it into a marshy area behind the camp. There the two women came upon a whimpering Fita. Apparently she had been trying to get to the water, but was instead lying helplessly in the reeds.

She didn’t react to Hiltrud’s urgings to stand up, and when Marie bent down to touch her, she raised her head slightly and said, “Let me die.”

“You’re not going to give out on us now, Fita,” Marie replied with feigned cheerfulness, but the woman just rolled over feebly.

Hiltrud picked up a stick she had just stumbled over, placed it in the still-smoldering campfire, and blew on the stick until the point had caught fire. In the light of the flame, she and Marie could see how badly Fita had been beaten.

Hiltrud looked back at the camp and shook her fist. “These aren’t men. They’re beasts. I hope the devil takes them soon.” She and Marie carried Fita down near the swampy pond to a clear brook where they washed her.

“It’s a shame we already sank our cart in the swamp,” Hiltrud said. “We could have used some clothing for her.”

“I can give her my spare skirt,” Marie suggested.

“By the way she looks, she doesn’t need a dress—no doubt she’s going to die soon,” said a voice behind them. It was Berta who had come down to the water with Märte to wash, and they did so more thoroughly than Marie and Hiltrud had ever seen before. They even used a rounded stone to remove the clinging filth on their bodies.

Holding up the torch, a smirk passed over Marie’s face. “I made sure we had a little reward from this mess. I took the men’s purses. But if we don’t get out of here quickly, they’ll kill us.”

Berta laughed loudly and started walking toward Marie. “You’re going to share your spoils with us, as we agreed.”

It sounded like a command, but Marie nodded eagerly and patted the two purses on her belt. “I will, but not here. We’ve got to be far away by the time these fellows wake up.”

She put her extra skirt on Fita with Hiltrud’s help. Then the two women fastened their bundles on their backs and stood Fita up between them. Berta cursed at the waste of time, bluntly telling Marie that it was stupid to bring a half-dead person along with them.

Marie reared back. “One more remark like that and I won’t give you anything of what I stole.”

Her threat had an immediate effect. Berta closed her mouth and turned grimly silent, steering clear of Marie, Hiltrud, and Fita for the rest of their night’s journey. Gerlind, too, didn’t say another word to them and paid no attention to their injured companion, though she did light the way for Hiltrud and Marie with the burning branch she was holding. Märthe hobbled along behind them, constantly moaning to herself, though she seemed the least hurt of them all.

Tired and sore and with clenched teeth, the women staggered through the night that was gradually giving way to a new day. Afraid of being pursued, they headed deeper into the forest, avoiding the main roads and paths. Not until the trees had become almost impenetrable around them did they stop, sinking to the ground with exhaustion.

“The mercenaries certainly won’t find us here,” said Berta, groaning and feeling her feet. Though she was accustomed to going without shoes, her bare feet were so stung by thorns that she said she wouldn’t be able to walk for three days. Since none of the other women were any better off, no one paid attention to her whining. Looking up, Gerlind told her to stop complaining and go to sleep, and after grumbling a bit more, Berta lay down, her arm under her head.

Soon after, they were awakened by Fita’s soft whimpers. Berta rose again and nudged Hiltrud. “You should have brought along some food rather than that half-dead girl over there.”

Marie responded angrily. “Berta, you are the most heartless person I’ve ever met. Remember, I’m going to share the money!”

Hiltrud sighed. “Let’s not quarrel. I’ve packed something to eat.”

Evidently she’d thought ahead, and she took a package from her bundle, spreading out the contents in her lap. Berta, Gerlind, and Märthe practically tore the food from her hands, and Hiltrud had to be careful that there was enough left for the three other women.

After Hiltrud had eaten, she vainly tried to coax some food into Fita’s mouth while Marie went to a nearby stream to fill her leather water pouch. Fita drank almost all of it, then leaned back with a barely audible thank-you. Hiltrud sprinkled the rest of the water on a cloth that she applied as a compress on Fita’s bleeding abdomen.

In the meantime, the sky had brightened and was beginning to turn red in the east with the promise of a beautiful day. Gerlind and Berta looked around anxiously, realizing now that the thicket in which they had spent the night was really rather open and that there was nothing to shield them from prying eyes. Beyond the thicket was a sparsely wooded stand of oaks and beeches through which horsemen could easily pass; Berta even thought she could make out a trail. Shortly afterward, the women were terrified to hear ringing and clattering.

“That sounds like a swineherd leading his pigs in our direction. If he sees us and betrays us to the Riedburgs, we’d be in terrible trouble.” Gerlind picked up her bundle and was about to run quickly away, but Hiltrud held her back.

“Marie and I sat up with Fita half the night. Now it’s your turn.”

“We should take her a bit farther into the forest. No one would see her there, and we’d be rid of her. I’m not going to go along with her.” Jutting out her chin, Berta placed her arms on her hips provokingly.

Gerlind gave her a contemptuous look and told Märthe to help Fita walk. Hiltrud also lent a hand while Marie walked ahead, clearing a way for them with her stick. Berta, on the other hand, stomped sullenly along behind them, and only Gerlind’s sharp words finally made her hide their tracks using a birch branch. They continued on like this for hours, losing the path behind them.

As the day drew to a close, Marie found a place that they all agreed looked secure. It was an area where a storm had mowed down the trees as if they were grass. Since then, new growth had appeared, but the lower vegetation was so dense that no reasonable person would even attempt to enter. Hiltrud and Gerlind checked the surroundings for bear tracks, but to their relief they found only a deer path leading into the new growth. All six of the women slowly followed the path until it ended in a dry spot beneath two huge overlapping tree trunks lying on their sides.

Marie and Gerlind gathered some moss and branches and set up a shelter where they could care for Fita. Even though the bleeding had stopped, her abdomen still looked battered, and her stomach felt hot and as hard as a stone.

Helplessly, Marie waved Hiltrud away from Fita and spoke quietly. “Do you think we can help her?”

“It doesn’t look good, but maybe my salves and tinctures will help.” Hiltrud went to get her medicines and began to treat Fita.

Meanwhile, Berta had been talking quietly but intensely with Gerlind and Märte, and she finally approached Marie with an outstretched hand.

“Now we can divide up the booty. Hand over your purse!”

Putting her hand on the two leather pouches, Marie wanted to tell Berta to go to hell. She regretted she hadn’t hidden the money, but now all she could do was to try to put on a good face, for Berta and Gerlind would give her no rest until they had gotten their share.

“We’ll divide up the money, but only under the condition that we’ll all stay in this hiding place for a few days, or at least until we can be sure that the mercenaries have left,” Marie told her.

Gerlind agreed impatiently and sat down next to Marie. “Yes, yes, we’ll do that. Now hand it over.”

Marie shook her head so hard that her hair flew in all directions. “First I’ve got to see how much I have, and then I’ll figure out what everyone’s share is.”

Hissing like a snake, Berta stepped closer to Marie and reached for the purse. “Each of us, of course, gets the same.”

Marie pushed her away. “Hiltrud lost her goats and her cart, so she deserves more.”

“And you get a larger share, Marie, because you took the money,” added Hiltrud, who tended to be generous but was repelled by the others’ greed.

Berta pouted and stepped back a few paces, but she didn’t take her eyes off Marie’s belt. “Well, fine, but you don’t need to include Fita in the calculations, as she’s not going to be around much longer, and she’d just take her share to a church offering box before she kicks off, anyway.”

“Fita will get her share, and what she does with it is her business.” Marie had to tamp down her fury, for she saw how Fita, who had been Berta’s companion for many years, quivered at hearing the nasty words. Under Gerlind’s and Berta’s watchful eyes, Marie emptied the two purses in her lap and counted out the money. The total was more than she’d expected, as there were no coins of lesser value among them. She made four equal piles from the first purse for Gerlind, Berta, Märthe, and Fita. The second purse was distributed equally between Hiltrud and her. Gerlind was visibly unhappy even though the sum that Marie put into her hand was at least five times as much as what she earned in a good year.

Berta wrapped her coins in a strip of cloth she had ripped from her shirt, and put them away without saying a word. Then she reached for Fita’s share, as if to pocket that as well. “After all, we were always comrades.”

Marie slapped Berta’s hand away. “I’ll keep Fita’s money for her until she’s back on her feet. That way, I can be sure she’ll really get it.”

“You’re a disgusting wench! I’m not going to let you cheat me.” Berta jumped up and lunged for Marie while Hiltrud tried to hold her back, grabbing her from behind, but before they could exchange blows, Gerlind stepped in.

“We’re not going to fight over a few pennies, are we?” she said.

Hiltrud, who was ordinarily very even-tempered, flushed with anger. “You got your share, and I’m not going to let you cheat a sick companion. Berta should be ashamed of herself. That’s more money than she’s ever held in her hands at one time, but now she also wants to steal money from Fita, whom she’s always exploited.”

Gerlind put her left hand around Hiltrud’s shoulder and patted her cheek with her other hand. “You’re right, dear. Berta has no reason to complain, and I don’t, either.” But she kept staring at the money Marie had piled up, as if she wanted to devour the coins with her eyes.

Forcing a laugh, Gerlind finally turned away. “Do you know what? I was able to save a few of my things, too, and I’ll make us all a strong cup of tea to help us get our strength back.”

She winked at Berta. The fat whore made a face, but she did as Gerlind asked and fished out the tin cups they’d taken from the camp. Gerlind and Märthe beckoned for Berta to help them gather enough wood to make a little fire, and before long, the tea water was simmering in Gerlind’s battered kettle. The old woman sniffed at the brew several times, sprinkled the contents of a little bag into the liquid, and let it steep for a bit. Finally she filled the six cups, handing Marie and Hiltrud theirs.