She helped Merielle to don the blue gown, and arranged the blonde hair over it in a sheaf of sultry gold, her emotions vacillating between contempt and envy. The young whore pushed her dainty white feet into a pair of soft leather slippers, added an extra dab of rose oil perfume to her generous cleavage, and was ready to go down to her client, a corpulent gold merchant called Edmund.
On the threshold, she turned imperiously to Julitta. 'Tidy this up,' she commanded, waving her arm to indicate the scattered debris of her preparations. 'Then come and help below. And mind you make haste.' Her dainty nose wrinkled. 'And tie your hair back too, you look like something out of the wild woods!' With which parting sally, she minced forth.
Julitta swore at Merielle's retreating back and with a toss of her head, wound her fingers through her hair, deliberately entangling it further. She looked like something out of the wild woods because she was something out of the wild woods, trapped in a noose and slowly strangling to death. It was no use complaining to Dame Agatha. There were other girls who worked at the bathhouse, but Merielle was the prize asset, and if it came to a choice between the whore and the housekeeper's rebellious fourteen-year-old daughter, Julitta knew who would win.
Julitta's memory of a secure existence was a distant, unreal point of colour like a passage from a bard's winter song. Once there had been a little girl, a princess who lived in a rich hall and had everything she wanted, horses, servants, fine clothes, the world at her beck and call. A witch from the north lands had changed all that, setting a blood curse upon the girl so that she was changed into a beggar maid. It was a fantasy to which Julitta often returned, promising herself that one day the beggar maid would regain her true inheritance. But not today, she acknowledged to herself with a disgusted glance around the cluttered room.
Julitta tidied Merielle's debris with nimble speed and a bad grace. Edmund the Goldsmith had bought his mistress a hand mirror in which she could admire her flawless beauty. Julitta picked it up to put on the coffer, and paused to study her own reflection. Her hair kinked in unruly close waves, its colour the dark, pure red of a Lothian garnet. The face returning her stare was of balanced proportions, the nose fine and straight, the eyes almond- shaped and of a deep, green-flecked blue, the jaw stubborn and slightly angular. She bore small resemblance to her mother lest it be in the generous curve of her lips and the width of her brow. Everything else, so she was told, was a feminine version of her father's.
'You are so like him,' Ailith would mutter, shaking her head. But Julitta had no true idea what her father was like. She remembered being swept up in strong arms, and a deep voice, bright with laughter, she remembered the deliberate nuzzle of stubble on her cheek making her squeal with delight, and of riding with him to look at a meadow full of grazing horses, her small finger pointing, following his. But such memories were inextricably twined with other, darker ones that she preferred not to explore. If he was so wonderful, why had her mother left him and gone into hiding like a wounded animal?
Abruptly Julitta turned the mirror over and placing it on the coffer, went down to the bathhouse, her hair falling to her hips in eldritch tangles.
Dame Agatha was the widow of a Galwegian mercenary who had made his fortune by changing sides to be on the right one at the right time. In their turn he had served Hardraada of Norway, Harold of England, and William of Normandy. With the profits of his plunder, he had built a bathhouse in Southwark and lived to retire and die of apoplexy.
The premises boasted six private bathing cubicles, each supplied with a large oval tub on a tiled floor, with sufficient room for a charcoal brazier to keep the bather warm, and a dressing couch, which had certain other uses. Dame Agatha's also contained a popular public steam room. The widow's husband had owned the foresight to build a cookshop next door to his bathhouse, so that his clients could send out for hot food, should their exertions make them hungry.
Ailith appeared, carrying two buckets of scalding water.
'I'll do that, Mama.' Julitta held out her hands, but Ailith shook her head.
'I'm almost there now,' she panted. Entering the nearest cubicle, she dumped the buckets on the floor. Immediately Julitta took over the task of pouring the water into the huge bathtub. She saw that it would take at least another three journeys to fill it to a sufficient level, and knew that her mother would make herself ill if she did not rest. The cough which had bothered her throughout the winter had not eased with the advent of spring, and Julitta had become alarmed at how gaunt her once robust mother had become.
Whisking the empty buckets from beneath Ailith's nose, Julitta was gone before her mother could protest. When she returned, the buckets full to the brim and steaming, Ailith was scattering herbs into the tub to scent the water. From the main room, where guests were greeted and made at home, they heard Merielle's alluring voice and the laughter of men.
'I thought she was only entertaining Edmund?' Julitta said, eyeing the tub which, although capacious, was certainly not large enough for three. Perhaps they would all go into the steam room together.
Ailith coughed harshly. 'Agatha told me he'd brought a friend with him. She's sent for Celestine to provide him with hospitality.'
Dame Agatha would be pleased, Julitta thought as she journeyed to and fro with the buckets to fill the bath. Edmund was one of her best customers, and if he was introducing all his rich friends to the location, then so much the better for business. Celestine was Agatha's second-best girl, and like Merielle, only involved herself with the wealthiest clients.
Julitta's assumption of Dame Agatha's delight was correct, for when the proprietor came to discover if the bath was prepared for their guests, her plump face was wreathed in smiles and she presented Julitta with a silver penny for herself. 'You're a good lass,' she declared, patting Julitta's cheek. 'I know I shout at you oftimes, but it's more bark than bite. You're a good worker. Now, I want you to go round to the cookshop and bring back two roast capons, a manchet, and a dish of pepper sauce.'
Julitta turned to leave on her errand just as Merielle emerged from the main room with the two clients. Edmund's arm was around her waist, his hand fumbling at her breasts already. His friend was red in the face and kept touching his crotch. When he saw Julitta staring at him, he grinned, and striding forwards, snatched hold of her wrist in a grip heavy with rings.
'How much is this one?' he demanded of Dame Agatha.
Dame Agatha looked slightly taken aback, but she rallied quickly. 'I am sorry, Master Wulfstan, but Julitta is my housekeeper's daughter. She does not serve as a bath maid.'
Julitta struggled against the biting grip on her wrist, but he only tightened it. 'I want her,' he said. 'How much?'
Dame Agatha's chins wobbled as she swallowed. 'Celestine is very accommodating and trained to the arts,' she said. 'I am sure you will find her more to your taste.'
'I think not. This one's a virgin? I'll pay you double for her maidenhead.'
'Leave my daughter alone!' Ailith burst furiously upon the little group, her hand dropping to the haft of the all-purpose knife at her belt. 'Let her go,' she snarled at Wulfstan, 'or I will geld you!'
The merchant recoiled, and Julitta was able to snatch herself free. Rubbing her wrist she ran to her mother's side for protection and stood panting and wide-eyed. The man gazed upon her and Ailith, his eyes narrowing. His hands went to his hips and a smile suddenly curved beneath his full, grey-gold moustache. 'Well, well,' he said softly, 'I always knew you would end your days in a brothel, Ailith. What happened, did your lover abandon you when your belly came between him and his pleasure?'
Ailith stared. An expression of loathing contorted her features. 'Wulfstan!' she almost retched.
'Aye, sweetheart, Wulfstan.' The goldsmith's smile grew mocking. 'You should have accepted my offer all those years ago. My wife dresses in silks and sables. She is the mother of four lusty boys, and mistress of a great household.'
'And her husband visits bathhouses on the Southwark bank,' Ailith retorted with contempt.
Wulfstan's complexion darkened, but he kept his smile. 'Aye, visits,' he sneered. 'I need not resort to living in one.'
Ailith tried to stare him out, but she was seized by a violent paroxysm of coughing that doubled her over. Her ribs felt as if they were going to tear apart. Blood filled her mouth.
'Mama!' Julitta put her arm around her mother, supporting her while she choked and spluttered.
Wulfstan eyed the two of them, then turned decisively to Edmund, who had been watching the proceedings with astonishment. 'Go on, get in the tub before it goes stone cold,' he said. 'You've paid enough for the privilege. I
