“One of them new brides,” Claude said proudly. “I’m showin’ her the fur fair.”
The taller man smiled at her. “He’s not worth yer time. Let me show you.”
“She’smine,” the one called Claude growled. The men squared off, as if they might fight.
“Please,” Élisabeth begged, breathing in short, quick gulps. “I don’t want to see the fur fair.”
Her words broke the men’s hostility towards each other. They closed ranks and turned to face her.
“That’s not very polite,” the taller one said. He spat in the dirt and then rubbed his heel in his saliva. “My friend Claude is givin’ you a tour. It’s not nice to leave a man adrift.”
“And if my mate Graton wants to cut in, it’s only right to give him a turn.”
Élisabeth’s heart pounded. “My sister is waiting…” Her voice trailed off as both men took another step closer.
“D’you think you’re too good for the likes of us just because the governor came to your rescue?” The one with the brand grimaced. “He might get the first swive, but he won’t get the last.”
“The king only sent you girls over to convince us to stay in this hellhole,” the taller one leered. Élisabeth felt a jolt of terror when she saw he was rubbing a knife on his breeches. He laughed at her surprise, raising his knife so that she could see the glint of its blade. Claude leaned in, his mouth open.
“Don’t forget your place. You’re a whore sent to keep us happy.”
He licked her cheek with a warm, slippery tongue.
Overpowered by disgust, Élisabeth erupted.
In a surge of strength, she clamped her teeth down onto Claude’s face, pulling back so hard that she ripped his bottom lip. When she opened her eyes, she saw that it hung loose and bleeding from his face.
“Christ, what was that?”
“She bi’ me! Tha’ whore bi’ me!” He struggled to speak through his torn lip.
Before the taller man could grab her, Élisabeth swivelled and gouged at his eyes with her fingernails. He dropped his knife. As he scrambled to pick it up, she kicked him in the head. She heard a crack and he fell to the ground, clutching his face as the blood streamed from his nose and through his fingers.
Staring at the men on the ground, Élisabeth began to shake. It started as a deep pulsing in her thighs that travelled down her calves. Her stomach quivered and roiled, her heart pounded. What had she done?
She ran back towards Rue Saint-Paul, past the empty market stalls, towards the little chapel, now silent as a ghost.
How had she bested two men? Two men at once?
She tasted the branded man’s blood as it dripped into her mouth and recalled the priest’s words:Strength surpassing anything a mortal woman might be capable of.
In that moment she knew. There was no question of how she had managed to savage her attackers.
Like the nuns of Louviers, tormented and broken by unclean spirits, the Devil had control of her flesh.
The witch had not just cursed her.
She had sent a demon to dwell within her.
She was possessed.
10
The yelps of a wounded animal rang out across the dusty road, distracting Marthe from her companion. The young baker had been detailing his prospects in a nervous and halting manner, and she found herself smiling to encourage him. He was pleasant to look at after all, with a dark forelock he repeatedly pushed off his face. But Marthe steeled herself; she would not be swayed by the baker’s good looks and gentle disposition. He said he was without the means to take on an apprentice of his own, and that meant his enterprise could not grow until he had a son. Marthe knew well enough that a child could not be truly productive until he was at least eight or nine years old, and almost a decade seemed a long time to wait until she could prosper. Still, despite his youth, his house was situated in a fine location at the corner of Rue Saint-Paul and a little side street called Saint-Pierre, close to what he said were the largest merchant stores in the village.
She thought about the governor’s silk stockings and wondered what they would feel like on her own legs.
The baker pushed his forelock off his brow again and gave her a timid grin. Marthe caught herself smiling back. On the other hand, she knew she could never truly aspire to marry a nobleman like the governor, and she did not wantto give up a baker and be stuck with a shoemaker. When times were tough, one could not eat leather.
