Stalling for time, I said, 'Are you sure that all of them are virgins? Have your wife check it.' I ate a meal and drank a pot of wine at the small table that had been reserved for me. I had in mind that his wife should simply ask them, but she felt obligated to actually check for an intact hymen. She passed fourteen of them. How many left because they were embarrassed, I don't know. Apparently, room and board was good wages for a maid. Twelve pence a week on top of that was fabulous.
'And now will you choose the six, my lord?'
Well, one of them was attractive, up to Krystyana's standards. The rest of them were hopeless ducklings, and I felt sorry for them. 'No. Let the crowd choose one of them. You talk to them. Have them choose the best five, then the best two, and then a final vote.' It seemed the fairest way, and it didn't get me involved.
'But only one?'
'Just do it all again for five more days. Remember what I said about entertainment? Well, this is entertainment.'
They took in four hundred pence that night, and afterwards the crowds got bigger.
A week later, as I ate dinner, I got a visit from a local priest, a Father Thomas. I offered him wine, but he refused and immediately got down to business.
'I am worried about your actions, my son, and about your soul.'
'But why, Father?'
'You have been responsible for the hiring of young women-virtuous, Christian women from good families-- and parading them half naked in a brothel.'
'A brothel? By no means, Father! They are waitresses at a good inn, which is the farthest thing from a brothel. They live most virtuous lives, on threat of dismissal! There is no convent that protects its nuns better than we protect our waitresses.'
'Aside from the morality of it-and both the innkeeper and I are moral men-aside from it, I say, running a common stews would be bad for business. There are a lot of them in your parish, and they aren't very profitable.'
'That others sin is well known. They are not the subject of this conversation.'
'But why don't you try to do something about the real fleshpots? Why come to an honest inn?'
'The fleshpots, as you appropriately call them, are sanctioned by their own guild and to a certain extent by the law, if not by the Church. What you are doing is new and is best nipped in the bud.'
'Father, we do nothing more than serve food and drink. The waitresses are pretty, but that's the way God made them, and 1, for one, appreciate His good work. We do offer lodging, but we do not offer bed partners.'
'You dress them in a manner that encourages lechery.'
'We dress them in an attractive manner that fully covers their breasts and privy members. Any man wanting to see more may simply go to the public baths, Father.'
'The baths have their own guilds and sanctions. The Church will close them down in time. You evade my charge Of lechery.'
'Father, it is normal for men to appreciate the beauty of women. If looking at pretty girls is a sin, then every normal male in Poland is doomed to hell!'
'Please go and inspect the waitresses' rooms. Talk to the girls. Prove to yourself that we are moral.'
'I fully intend to make such an inspection,' he said, and left.
I was just finishing my meal, washing down my cheese with beer, when the priest returned.
'Sir Conrad, I admit that the situation is much as you described it. If anything, the girls complain of the restrictions placed on them.'
'The price of morality, Father.' I made a mental note to see just how serious their complaints were. 'While you are here, there is another matter that I would like to discuss. One of our waitresses has become fond of a local boy. I have talked with him. His intentions are honorable and his character good. Since she is employed by the inn, it seems fitting that the inn should pay her wedding expenses. Would it be possible for you to perform the ceremony?'
'Why, I suppose that this is quite possible. In fact, I would be delighted.'
'Wonderful! I expect that most of our waitresses will soon be married. Virtuous and attractive young ladies don't stay single for long. Perhaps we should discuss group rates.' In the next hour, I made an ally of Father Thomas.
As he left, I said, 'Father, how did you know that I owned the inn?'
'The Church has its own sources of information, my son.'
It was early afternoon, and only one waitress was on duty. Troubled about the waitresses' complaints to the priest, I went back to the girls' dorm, what had been 'the ducal suite,' even though the duke never slept there. Actually, almost- no one had ever slept there since it was priced beyond the means of the usual guest. It made sense to convert it. If it was more magnificent than necessary, well, young girls like that sort of nonsense.
I had arranged inexpensive group rates at a local bathhouse-early afternoons only-for the inn's staff, at the inn's expense. Our people were encouraged to take a daily bath, and the waitresses were required to.
When I called on the girls, the five of them were in various stages of undress, with a preponderance of full nudity. They let me in without bothering to dress. Perhaps their status as untouchables, along with their recent adolescent discovery that men noticed them and that they liked it, was the cause of this display.
I didn't like it. On the one hand, I could hardly break my own rules with regard to their virginity, and, well, a really decent man simply doesn't take a virgin in a casual way. I think that half the world's frigid women are the results of a klutzy male on their first night. Properly done, it takes patience and warmth and a great deal of love. Back in the twentieth century, I'd had two virgins. They'd both left me as wonderful lovers. I was rather proud of my workmanship.
But just then I was horny as hell. I had been three weeks without, and the last thing I needed was five pairs of budding nipples staring at me.
'Put some clothes on, damn it! You'd think we were running a brothel here!' I shouted.
They scurried to cover themselves with towels and blankets. 'We were just back from the baths,' one of them said. 'We were hot.'
'Yeah, sure. Fourteen years old and hotter than hell. Now, what are these complaints you've been making about your jobs?'
'Complaints, Sir Conrad? We have no complaints. The pay is wonderful, and the work, I mean, it's like being at a party,' the short redhead said.
'Then why were you complaining to the priest who was here today?'
'Oh, that,' said a well-endowed blonde, managing to drop her blanket below her belly button. 'We were just doing what Mrs. Wrolawski told us to do.'
'Cover your breasts. Now, what exactly did the innkeeper's wife tell you to do?'
'She said that if we didn't act as pure as nuns in a convent, the Church would shut down the inn and we'd each be lacking our twelve silver pence per week.'
'She also threatened to send us to a nunnery if we weren't convincing,' the redhead added.
So Mrs. Wrolawski had eavesdropped on my conversation with the priest and had set things up. Well-a-day. All's well that ends well.
'Okay. But put some clothes on, damn it!'
Most of the waitresses found suitable husbands within six months. The inn paid the wedding expenses, and there was always a 'new hiring' the day after. This happened at least once a month and often once a week. For most of our customers, it was their first experience with voting. In my own mind, I could never sort out the morality of it a.
I had no difficulty with the morality of a situation that occurred much later that evening. The inn had closed for the night, but I was up in my room, drinking and doodling with some ideas about a gear-cutting machine. I do much of my best thinking late at night over a bottle. Oh, in the sober light of dawn I throw out three-quarters of it, but the quarter that is left is often very creative.
My room was directly above that used by Tadeusz and his wife. The cooks lived out, the waitresses were fourteen-year-old girls, and it happened that at the time there were no overnight guests. The only men in the inn were Tadeusz, the guard, and myself when the innkeeper's wife screamed. I was shocked sober in an instant.
'Guard!' Tadeusz shouted.
