The Wandering Harlot (The Marie Series) by Iny Lorentz Page B

wet tent and move it away from the city and down to the wetlands along the Danube where swarms of mosquitoes hovered.
    Marie now looked around the campfire at the other women, assessing each one in turn. Pretty and quiet Fita, the youngest at just over twenty years old, had brown hair and freckles sprinkled over her nose and cheeks. She had been a housemaid for a well-to-do master craftsman who took advantage of her regularly. When she got pregnant, his wife denounced her to the priest as a whore and demanded strict punishment. The pious man of God saw to it that Fita was whipped and branded on both shoulders. Marie had seen the scars when she and Fita were bathing at the brook. Even though the marks had faded over the years, they still looked dreadful.
    Fita’s chubby traveling companion, Berta, a small woman with a round, red face and short black hair, had an easier past and was quite happy with her life. She always brought the conversation back to herself and only ever talked about her experiences with men, using expressions that made Marie blush. Her body was her business capital, her investment. Nevertheless, by her own admission, she wasn’t especially fussy about her clients. Judging by her odor, she wasn’t too concerned about cleanliness, either. Though only a little older than Hiltrud, she already seemed spent.
    The third woman, Gerlind, was the oldest of the group. She had broad, matronly hips, but her face was as smooth as a young woman’s. Only a full gray head of hair that reached to her hips revealed her age. Clearly proud of how good she still looked, she took care of herself. Hiltrud treated her with shyness and respect since Gerlind knew the secrets of many herbs and how to prepare healing drinks and tinctures and, as Hiltrud told Marie in a hushed voice, had even more experience in it than Peter Herbmann.
    Berta, who was just telling another story, overheard Hiltrud’s remark about Gerlind’s herbs. “I could have used her potion to have been spared my four pregnancies. The poor little ones didn’t live very long. But I’m not complaining, because I’m glad I have the stuff now. I shudder when I think of the poor things in the city brothels who have to spread their legs for everyone from the village policemen to the dean of the cathedral, and have a kid every year. I’m glad to live freely and independently.”
    Turning away, Fita waved dismissively. “I’d give almost anything to serve a master again who fed me twice a day and gave me a roof to sleep under. I hate this life.”
    Berta looked at her in disbelief. “What’s so bad about being a wandering whore? We’re our own bosses and do what we please. If we want to move to Bohemia or the Rhine, we just do it. We are better off than the oh-so-honorable wives who are defenseless against their husbands. There’s no point getting worked up over these silly thoughts.”
    Despairingly, Fita raised her head. “I keep thinking about how it used to be, and it torments me that I must sin every day to survive.”
    Berta burst out in unkind laughter. “If you can’t stand that men sard you, then you’ll have to kill yourself.”
    Fita folded her hands as if in prayer. “People who kill themselves don’t make it into heaven, and I don’t want to take away my hope of making it there. God knows how I’m suffering, and didn’t Jesus accept Maria Magdalene even though she was a whore?”
    While the women continued their animated conversation, one of the carriage drivers exited the inn and looked at them. Berta stood up and headed toward him, swinging her hips. The others watched as she exchanged a few words with the man and then disappeared with him into the bushes.
    Gerlind shook her head disapprovingly. “Berta makes it too easy and doesn’t mind violating all the rules. She’ll regret that someday.”
    Marie, who had been listening quietly, turned to her. “What rules?”
    Surprised at Marie’s ignorance, Gerlind raised her eyebrows.