Sylvia (9 page)

There had been much applause and Reinhardt was forced to hold up his hand for silence. When all was quiet he smiled. ‘What a fine village!' he announced. ‘We have wandered far and wide but have seen few finer. And such dancing! I think you a merry folk who enjoy music?' Smiles appeared all round with many a nod and ‘Aye!' following. ‘Then you must have more!' he promised.

He turned to me and placed his hand upon my shoulder. ‘With me is Sylvia Honeyeater, so named for her sweet and tender voice, sweet as the nectar from the honey bee and tender as the summer night.' The village folk commenced to clap but Reinhardt held up his hand again. ‘But first there is a small price.'

A groan escaped from the assembled crowd. ‘We are poor folk!' a male voice shouted.

‘Who spoke of money?' Reinhardt shouted back. Then, in a gentler voice, he said, ‘We ask only for shelter for the night and enough to fill our bellies, for we have not eaten since the sunrise of the day before this one.' It was a lie, for we had stopped at noon when I had prepared the last of my corn to make a meal.

‘You may stay with us!' several voices called out. ‘We have food enough for two more souls!'

‘Thank you, thank you!' Reinhardt called, then placing his flute to his lips he blew a few bars. ‘You are most generous and kind.' He paused. ‘But there is one thing more.' He turned towards me. ‘We are not brother and sister, nor are we betrothed. I must have a widow's bed for my partner to share, one who does not snore!' He looked back at the crowd and asked, ‘Is there a widow who would share her bed with an angel?'

At this the crowd laughed and a woman stepped forward who seemed in good health and appeared no older than my mother when she'd passed away. ‘She is welcome to share the bed with me and my three children – there are none among us old enough to snore!'

This caused more laughter and several of the women called out, ‘We will bring food, Johanna!' I was thrilled at this prospect and smiled my gratitude to the widow. Reinhardt the Ratcatcher had kept his promise and I was to be safe this night.

Now he removed his broad-brimmed hat and bowed to the woman. ‘Thank you, good dame, then it is settled. As for myself, I am happy with clean straw spread in the corner of a cowshed.'

‘Nay, you may share with us – we all snore!' a man with a large belly, rubicund face and a wild bush of fiery red hair called out. ‘There is cider and fresh ale. My wife is a most worthy cook!'

Under cover of the crowd's laughter I nudged the ratcatcher. ‘Reinhardt, I am freezing, can we not start?' I whispered.

While my voice was affected by the cold and not at its best, we seemed to greatly please the villagers with the rendering of several folksongs. When we finally came to the end it was almost dark and Reinhardt addressed them I hoped for the last time, as the hem of my gown was not yet completely dry and I was truly cold.

‘We will sing a Gloria in the name of Jesus Christ the Saviour, who has given us the ripened summer corn, the cow's milk, cheese from the sheep and the goats, pickled cabbage and turnips, the fare to see us through the darkest winter. We ask Him to cause the rats to be barren and to give the cats sharp claws and to keep them hungry.' With the mention of rats a cheer came from the crowd. It seemed clear the household corn bins must be greatly troubled by these wicked rodents. I hoped this mention of rats and cats to be the last of his speechifying, but alas, his gift for yapping was not yet done and I must shiver and shake with a grin fixed to my face yet a while longer. ‘We thank you all for your welcome and for your hospitality, and if any of you return here at sunrise, then you will witness a scene so strange you will tell of it to your grandchildren and they to theirs forever and a day!' With this astonishing promise Reinhardt raised his flute and blew the opening notes, whereupon I sang the
Gloria Patri
while many of the village folk fell to their knees.

At this, the long day's journey had finally reached the night. My fears of being the object of the ratcatcher's desires had been in vain. So what is it about a woman with a man? That having maintained my chastity and remained pure in spirit, I felt somewhat discontented.

A night breeze had risen blowing cold. The villagers wished themselves beside their hearths and there was no time to ask Reinhardt what he meant by the invitation to sunrise in the square the following morning. The widow Johanna quickly gathered me up, while ‘Red the Belly', as I had named the ratcatcher's fat host, bade Reinhardt follow him to a
krug
of ale or cider and a meal worthy of his wife's talent as a cook.

The widow Johanna, a slim and comely woman, reminded me somewhat of my mother; her house was well scrubbed and clean and a fire burned brightly on the hearth. All three children, daughters all, the youngest three and the eldest seven, were quiet and well behaved and the two older ones were much taken with the stories I told them. Several other children arrived with food delivered from their mothers. One brought pork sidemeat, another the first of the salted fish for winter, a third, walking with care mindful of spilling it, a jug of ale, yet another goats' milk. Then arrived variously a loaf of white bread, cheese, pickled kraut, autumn pears, nuts and apples. At one stage the widow brought her hands to her head and cried, ‘How shall we eat it all?'

‘I will take some for tomorrow's journey if you will allow it?' I asked politely.

This she promised and more. Warmed at the hearth and well fed, with the children finally sent to bed, we sat a short while. She told me her husband had died during the spring when a ploughshare had severely cut his leg when he'd gone alone into their field to plough on St Peter's Day. He had bled to death while the remainder of the village prayed in the church situated in an adjacent village. ‘Folks say it was God's wrath for working on a holy day that struck him down.' She paused. ‘But I think no such thing. He was a clumsy oaf, lazy and too ignorant to take advice and always careless with the harnessing of the ox. He was ploughing too early in the spring and the plough jumped on the frozen soil, the harness broke loose and the plough severed an artery in his leg.'

‘But who will plough for you next spring?' I asked.

‘The cottage is mine and also three fields, six cows, five goats and a gaggle of geese. Most days there comes some greedy oaf knocking at my door, all toothless grin and promise of his fealty. I would rather share a portion of my barley or oat crop in return for work than take another such clodhopper to my bed.' She looked at me sternly. ‘Your womanhood will soon ripen, Sylvia. How old are you?'

‘Eleven,' I replied.

‘Then next birthday you will be a woman and may be betrothed. When the time comes choose carefully. Men are for the most part poor company, dull lovers and wine-bibbers; you are better served remaining in the company of women.'

‘I have no wish to be a nun,' I laughed.

‘Nay, that's not what I meant,' she said. ‘Do not rush to the altar, there is lots of time. Though the Church allows it, twelve is too young to become some brute's wife!'

‘I would hope not to choose such a man,' I said quietly.

‘My dear, at first we all think we have chosen well, but alas, we seldom do.' She reached out her hand to me. ‘Come, it is time we went to bed.'

‘I have no nightgown and the hem of my dress is damp,' I confessed.

The widow Johanna laughed. ‘Goodness, Sylvia, we are five women, there are logs on the hearth to last the night and the bed is well covered and already warmed by the children. What care you for a nightgown? Why, I do not myself possess one.' She held out her hand. ‘Come, give me your dress and we will hang it by the fire to dry.'

‘I am not sure,' I said, hesitating.

‘What is it child, are you bleeding?'

‘No!' I said, alarmed. ‘It is just that I have not been naked in the presence of women since my mother died near three years ago.' I decided the disrobing by the stream in front of Fraus Anna, Frogface and Gooseneck didn't count.

‘What fear you then?'

Of course I couldn't say, and even now I hesitate. I had always feared that my father's brutal mounting would show that I was no longer a virgin, that his wanton thrusting had changed my woman's part. The three old fraus who had seen me naked knew of his wickedness and so would not have pointed out an alteration to my body, though what form such might take I had no idea. ‘It is perhaps modesty,' I said shyly.

‘Modesty is a luxury only afforded by knights and fair maidens, by my lords and their grand ladies. It is a dainty game they play in courtship, but it's not for such as us, Sylvia. We are peasants and our men know little of courtship and even less of gentleness – only of rough passage and grunting. They will pass by a rose and leave it unplucked, then bring you a pickled pig's trotter and not know the difference.' She gave a short laugh. ‘Remember always, the one-eyed serpent overrides all sensibility! Men are pigs and so will treat you like a sow!' She looked at me steadily, then asked gently, ‘Soon you will become a woman, what know you of your time of bleeding? If modesty forbids you asking, how will you manage these female matters?'

Frau Anna had also inquired about my bleeding but I was still not sure what it was. Only that it would soon occur and that it was a most frightening passage I must endure to become a woman, though I had no idea what I would need to do when it did. ‘Since my mother's death there have been no women to tell me these things,' I confessed to Johanna.

‘Aye, I thought as much. You poor child. Now, off with your dress, let me look at you,' she instructed in a no-nonsense manner.

I removed my dress standing within the warmth of the hearth, the fire and the pale lamplight revealing my naked body. I stood with my hands cupped between my thighs as Frau Johanna took a step towards me and stooped to pick up my dress and arranged it so that the wet portion around the hem lay nearest to the warmth. ‘Your breasts are budding, it will not be long now, Sylvia,' she said in a matter-of-fact voice. ‘Tomorrow I will show you how to prepare linen strips to make a pouch,' she said, ‘but now it is to the bed,' she pointed to where I held my hands, ‘where I will examine you.'

She had said all this in such a straightforward and womanly manner that I hadn't the words to object, and her promise of instruction in the morning I thought most generous. She would see that I was no longer a virgin and expose my shame, but if I must confess, I thought Frau Johanna, with her apparent repugnance for what men do to women, the one who might best understand. ‘I would very much like instruction on the matter of this bleeding, but, perforce, I must be at the village square at sunrise,' I said.

Frau Johanna laughed. ‘Be careful of that sweet youth, he is the type who will pluck the rose in passing,' she advised me. ‘We will rise before sun-up and I will show you what is necessary.' Then without further ado she removed her dress and, turning down the lamp, she took me by the hand and led me to the bed where the three girls lay asleep, firelight playing across their faces, the youngest with her thumb stuck in her mouth.

The room was warm and it was most snug under the eiderdown, but my anxiety grew as Frau Johanna placed her hand upon my pubescent breasts. ‘Sylvia, you will soon be a woman with all of a woman's needs. I will show you how to care for yourself without a man. It is something we can share for it is called “the widow's husband and the virgin's knight” but every maid and every woman needs to know it for the comfort it brings.'

‘I'm not sure,' I said, my voice hesitant. I was about to be exposed; she would touch me down there and she would know immediately. ‘Frau Johanna, I am not chaste . . . It . . . it . . . w as my father!' Unable to contain myself I burst into tears. Frau Johanna took me into her arms. ‘Shush, sweet Sylvia. Men are wanton pigs and if I should have a
pfennig
for every married man who this very night will “pluck the poulet” in his family then I should be the richest widow in Christendom. You should count your blessings that you were still too young and your belly isn't swollen with a child that, should you not abort, would bring yet another idiot into the world.' She kissed me lightly on my eyes. ‘Dry your eyes, it is not a shame of your own making.' She reached over and took my right hand, and then my second finger. ‘Have you found the way to please yourself, do you know the way of the virgin's knight?' she asked.

‘No,' I replied, frightened.

She pressed my finger. ‘This is the knight's dream rod and I will show you how to use it.' She released my finger and I felt her hand slip across my belly and soon her finger found a spot to rest. ‘Here it is, know you this tender spot. I must needs touch softly, tell me if I rub too hard. Slowly, play slowly for there is no haste and the longer you tarry the better; there needs be time to linger, to think of loving things. Close your pretty eyes, relax, this is time well spent.' She fell silent, her finger gently working within me until I felt a pleasure grow such as I had never known. I began to pant and then to gasp. ‘Feel you how good it is, this loving of a woman's own making,' she whispered, and kissed me lightly on the cheek. I had become wet and Frau Johanna's finger started to increase its rubbing until I could bear it no longer and cried out in ecstasy as an overwhelming joyousness filled my entire body. I lay panting, gasping, unable to speak when Frau Johanna said softly, ‘Next time you will please yourself, Sylvia.' Then she took me into her arms and we lay still.