Medieval Mysteries - Box Set II by Priscilla Royal

Author:Priscilla Royal [Royal, Priscilla]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781781857373
Publisher: Head of Zeus Ltd.

25

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.

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