Pip Vaughan-Hughes - The Vault of bones

‘I have told you these things because I wish you to leave me be’ I told her sullenly, when I was done. We are not friends, make no mistake.'

Well, we are thrown together, friends or not. And thank you for your tale, though it was less interesting than the songs. Now listen: you know nothing of me, although you assume much. So be silent, and I will tell you of my life, and then you may judge me – but only then. I was born in Smooth Field perhaps two-and-twenty years ago’ she went on in a rush, as if afraid that I would prevent her.

'Mam was a troubadour – nay, she called herself such’ she added with a grave smile, seeing me cock my head sceptically. 'She could sing like a blackbird, trip a neat step and play enough upon the lute. And she had a lovely body – "bumps in all the right places", as she would say – such that gentlemen like to stare at until their wives break jars over their heads. She, for there was no father around to do it, and I never knew who he might have been, earned us pennies by singing at parties, fine and not so fine. When I was starting to grow hair upon my quim she began to bring me too, for folk like to give coins to a pretty little girl, and when I passed the oblation cup around they would fall over themselves to fill it for me’

'I saw Smooth Field – it is a grim place,' I said grudgingly.

You would say that, wouldn't you?' she shot back. 'If all you knew was Balecester, I am sure that all of London seemed a bit grim!

'Balecester? I am not from that poxy kennel,' I told her, laughing. 'I am a Devon boy – to me, Balecester might have been Babylon itself when I first came there. God rest you, girl, but since then I have seen some of the world, and Smooth Field is grim by any comparison.'

Worldly-wise,' she said, shrugging. Well then, you are right: there are prettier and kindlier places to live. Yes, I grew up in a dung-heap, with people who would pay to watch two dogs fucking. And yes, I fingered purses, and watched my mam do things the quality don't. What of it? Do you want to hear my tale, or what?'

'Go to, go to,' I said, feigning unconcern, although in truth her company had become more welcome, for I had been alone save for my anger, and anger is a poor companion.

When I was in my sixteenth year – I suppose I was sixteen, but… well, the year that the king locked up the Earl of Kent…'

'So five years ago’ I put in. That would make you one-and-twenty.'

'All right then, Ptolemy’ she said. Well, well: younger than I thought. Anyway, in that year my mam took up with a merchant from the Aldgate. A rich man, very rich indeed. She was dancing and singing for his company one night, he took a shine to her, and next thing I knew we were living in his house. My God, it was lovely! I mean, we were up in the attic and all, but still… And that went on for all of three months, the nice clothes, having enough to eat, not being bothered by smelly old men with grey whiskers and dead-bird breath. I used to prance up and down Cheapside like royalty, I can tell you, and did I go over to Smooth Field and play the queen? Too right I did. So, all very lovely, until the bloody old fool of a merchant decides he has to crown his virtuous life with a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. He set about gathering a merry band of like-minded fellows, all as rich as himself, and servants, mules and muleteers – and of course such a party must needs have entertainment. My mam was bought for a fine purse of gold and the promise of saving her soul.

'She brought me along, of course, for I begged her, and I was useful, and the old codger had taken a shine to me as well. We set off in the spring, crossed the sea with everyone puking over the side even though it was flat as a millpond, and had a lovely time all the way through France: I even got my own donkey. Now it was easy living, for the old codger put us up in the best inns. Mam danced and drank at night and I kept to myself in the daytime, but there wasn't much pawing, for the whole crew of them had their minds on higher matters. So it was sweet, even crossing the mountains, which they'd all been dreading. Down into Italy we went, and very pretty it was. We were headed for Venice, there to take ship for Jaffa. It was before Frederick had returned, so there was peace all the way from Milan to the sea, and hot sun, ripe fruit… and Mam getting closer and closer to the old codger, and hinting that I might be getting a new dad.. She paused, and shook her head, a tiny, wry smile hovering on her lips.

We came into Venice, and the very next day Mam wakes up with a fever. And the day after that, she didn't wake up at all. Just like that: a fever, a bloody flux, and she was dead in a shit-filled bed. Well, the purse of gold was gone, grabbed up by the old codger, who did not want to be my daddy any more. I tried dancing for the gentlemen, but they laughed at me. In their haste to save their souls they made sure to leave me behind when the ship sailed.

'There I was, in the clothes I stood up in and without a groat, wandering about in Venice, not being able to speak a word of their language. And if I thought I'd been pawed in London – Christ almighty! Venetian men are like lice: they get everywhere. I was… you are looking at me with that expression men get, you know: how shocking! Tell me more!’

'Ballocks!’ I spluttered, all wounded dignity. She was right, though.

‘I was going to say that I was no maid of easy virtue, but I was no maid neither, if you catch my meaning. I was hungry, of course, but I knew how to steal, and it kept me going for nigh on a week, until I ran into a mob of bravoes who decided to rape me. I ran from them and kept running, into parts of the town I'd never been, until I stumbled into a square full of… whores. Windows full of them, going up into the clouds it seemed to me, all shaking their tits and cawing at the men below like randy rooks. I was clever enough to work out that I would be safe from the bravoes in one of those houses, so I dashed in and begged the madam to hide me. She did. And before I knew it I was a Venetian whore. I could dance and sing, remember, so I paid my way; and the madam thought I was exotic – Smooth Field, exotic! – so she kept me by for the special customers…' 'Ah. Like Nicholas Querini, perchance?' I ventured.

'Like Messer Nicholas. He took a fancy to me – a bit more than a fancy, in fact, for he bought me from the madam. Bought me, yes, for at some point I had become her property! She hissed the word, and bit her lip. 'Bought and sold, that's me. Nicholas has a wife and a pretty family, so he kept me in an old palace round the corner from Saint Mark's. I was happy, I'll admit. There was a roof terrace, with flowers and a little tree, and do you know? I had my own monkey! Men do like to buy their courtesans monkeys, you know, and pappagallos. A hazard of our trade, you might say: they bite and peck and eat squishy fruits, which makes them shit everywhere, but you know, it is exotic. Tra-la. Nicholas would come around to bed me, and we would talk, and then the talking came before the bedding, and afterwards; and I liked that. He taught me to read, you know: bought me my very own tutor, an old monk – hated my guts.' She threw back her head and barked a harsh laugh. 'He didn't think women should read, and tried to teach me scripture by rote, but I would threaten him with the monkey – he hated the monkey – and in the end I did learn. Funny, it was the parrot killed him in the end, for they carry fever, dirty creatures. Why I didn't get it I don't know, but I didn't.' ‘I like monkeys,' I said. 'They 'Don't start!' she told me.

'All right,' I assured her. 'So you learned your words. Then what?' 'Nicholas brought me things to read, and he noticed that I could pick them apart and find what they really meant, the gold in the dross, if you like. At first he did it for his own amusement – got him worked up, talking to a clever wench. Then he started bringing me other things, his things, papers to do with his affairs. I hadn't realised what a big man he was, but he is very, very… he has power, lots of it. He's as rich as the Doge, oh, more so, and he is always, always plotting. I used to think his skull was full of ants, never resting, always bringing in more ideas, building more schemes. He wore me out, really. Wears everyone out eventually.'