Sex in the Middle Ages by Deborah Hale

Author:Deborah Hale
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin Enterprises
Published: 2007-10-14T16:00:00+00:00

Thronged on all sides by the amassed peasants stood a young woman, uncovered brown hair straggling down to her waist, a ragged hem encrusted with mud. Her painful thinness served only to highlight the late stage of her pregnancy. Great hollows were carved out beneath her dull eyes, emphasising her exhaustion. She looked on the verge of passing out…and no oath-helpers, no one to cite her innocence. My God, thought Eadita, the woman wouldn’t survive, whatever her crime might be.

‘Fetch this woman a chair, Hacon, and quickly,’ Eadita ordered, rising from her seat. With her knowledge of midwifery, she judged the woman’s labour to be imminent. The peasants muttered uneasily, the worrying chatter rising and falling in waves of disapproval. Hacon turned to Gronwig, seeking his assent.

‘As usual, niece, you are too soft. Let’s hear her crimes before we give her a seat.’ Gronwig smirked, the blue silk of his tunic drawing tight over his chest as he slumped back in his seat.

‘She needs to sit, Gronwig—’ Varin’s imposing tones supported Eadita’s request ‘—otherwise she will be unable to speak her crimes.’ Judhael, and the other eolderman murmured their agreement. Curling his bottom lip petulantly, Gronwig nodded grudgingly at Hacon, tapping his pale fingertips on the table. The woman lowered her bulk gratefully on to the stool, a glimmer of a smile tracing her lips as she glanced at Varin. A pang of envy whipped through Eadita and she quashed it brutally before it had time to flourish. Hacon cleared his throat theatrically.

‘The villagers of Thunorslege bring this case, my lords. This woman, named Margaret, came to the village seeking shelter and a place to birth her child.’

‘Our villagers always help people in need. Why not her?’ Gronwig questioned against a growing, dissatisfied chatter. The sun, peeping through the upper window embrasure, sent a bright shaft down on to the woman’s head. The collective grumbling grew louder, the crowd shuffling restively as a few of the peasants crossed themselves.

‘She has the mark of the Devil.’ Hacon deepened his voice melodramatically. The jumbled words of the crowd became more distinct.

‘Out, out, out with her!’

Margaret faced the jury of thegns, lords and eoldermen impassively; indeed, she appeared too tired to fight.

‘Silence!’ roared the Earl. ‘Someone speak for the villagers.’ Heads turned; a large man stood up, clutching his woollen cap nervously between agitated hands.

‘What is this mark?’ Gronwig asked.

‘Her foot, my lord. She has the Devil’s foot,’ he stuttered.

‘Show me!’ Gronwig ordered the woman. ‘Show me your foot!’ Lifting the tattered skirts, the woman stuck both feet out in front of her, a touch of defiance on her face. One bare foot, besmirched with mud, was dainty and high-arched. The other, wrapped in filthy, stained cloth-bindings, took on the ungainly proportions of a clubfoot. Eadita sucked in her breath. It was common practice amongst the peasants to smother babies with this affliction at birth, because of its associations with evil.

Hacon seized the momentary pause to continue. ‘The villagers don’t want her or

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