A Simple Choice

"They have tied me to a stake; I cannot fly, but, bear-like, I must fight the course."

October 23rd

Nerissa glared at the ledgers, threatening them with general doom if they didn't give her happier numbers. A sweep of summer illness had dented their profits in August. Now, the neighborhood was hiding from a rumored action by the Ducal Guards. Brothels were not illegal in Verona, but there were plenty of traps in the relevant laws. Everyone at the Palamon brothel had agreed it was best to wait out the witch hunt. Nobody would starve on Nerissa's watch, but some fresh income wouldn't have hurt.

When the locked door shook as it had so many times tonight, Nerissa ignored it. The customers usually gave up after two or three shakes. The first time, she had nearly called out that they were closed. She only thought better of it in the last moment, when she wondered if it was a Guard shaking their door. This time, she remained silent. If the Guards wanted to make an example of someone, they would have to go somewhere else.

But this customer wouldn't do away. The door shook constantly; then, a pounding fist was added to the noise. Curious, Nerissa slid off her stool and took the knife under the desk with her to the window. She couldn't see the face, but she recognized the gray gown and cloak. Nerissa tossed the unnecessary knife onto the card table.

"We're closed." Contrary to her words, Nerissa allowed Miranda to come inside.

"As I supposed you would be." Miranda had never known a door to be closed to a Capulet. When she finally noticed the question in Nerissa's eyes, she explained, "The bishops and cardinals are in the capital for their annual Council meeting. The church is leaning into the Guards to prevent any chance of a repeat of last year." Politics wasn't among Miranda's interests, but she had been keeping an ear open for anything to do with brothels for several months now.

Nerissa couldn't recall an uptick in business this time last year. If she was looking to become a moral hypocrite by breaking a solemn vow, she supposed wouldn't hire just anyone to help her. This was more proof that being 'just anyone' was bad for business. "Is a pack of undersexed men paying for a fuck really so shocking to anyone?"

"Not so long as they play their part. Last year, however," Miranda continued, "an aide to one of the bishops tried to ingratiate himself to the church by writing an explicit accounting of all that went on that week. Part of that account found its way into a pamphlet."

"And where should I be looking for a copy?" Heaven knew Nerissa would enjoy a salacious accounting of clergymen's gross hypocrisy. Better still, that pamphlet could be a key to a new market.

"My mother has one in her collection." Hal had been caught reading it over the summer. "I'll bring it with me next time." Miranda couldn't decide if she liked Nerissa. She was clever and determined, but she exuded a certain irreverence that unnerved Miranda. "Is your brother in?"

"Upstairs, in his usual room."

As she climbed the worn stairs, Miranda reflected on the previous climbs. She had to come back the first time; it wouldn't do to let a nobody think she was afraid of him. Then, she had stayed away for a while. But as the wedding loomed, Miranda had visited regularly. Pan relieved and infuriated her by turns. He refused to take her money. He called her 'princess'. He teased her for being the only customer he had who only wanted to talk. On the other hand, he was a decent listener. He never tried to make her be reasonable when she wanted to be dramatic. And there was no denying that he was physically beautiful. No, Miranda had to admit he seemed to be a decent sort of nobody. She was counting upon that decency tonight.

Pan's eyes hardly believed what they saw when his door opened. "The queen, visiting my rundown hovel?" After their last meeting, Pan had told himself not to expect to see Miranda again. The buffoon was officially a cuckold, and Miranda would find herself able to manipulate him however she wanted. She wouldn't need him anymore. He watched intently as she discarded her cloak and her head covering, a little afraid he had drifted off and this was all a dream.

"I'm a queen now, am I?"

"You got married."

Miranda rolled her eyes as she sat down. "Unless one is simply marrying a king, that is not how one achieves the title of queen."

When he realized that Miranda didn't understand his surprise, he shrugged it off and played along. "As you wish, princess. We aren't much for titles here."

"Then you are the perfect opposite of my mother." The bed creaked under Miranda when she shifted her weight. It was rickety and uncomfortable - nothing to her own, and likely even worse than what the servants were given at home. And still, if she had to share one, this would be her preference. "Titles are of the utmost importance to her. Her face was as red as her gown when Father Laurent informed her that the cardinal was too ill to perform the wedding. That a mere priest officiated was the greatest indignity of the day to her. The arrogant prick I married is to be tolerated as the means of acquiring a secondary title."

Pan had never met Miranda's husband, of course, but he didn't need to know him to despise him. Miranda had told him plenty of all his flaws. The only redeeming qualities he could make out were a disinclination toward violence and a contentment with his situation. Pan didn't need to know any of this to nurture a dislike of Miranda's husband. As it often had before the fact, Pan's mind latched onto his sole opportunity to strike back. "And did your arrogant prick at least react the way you'd hoped that night?"

"I haven't given him an opportunity to react."

Pan's eyes grew in surprise. "You haven't had sex? At all?" He snorted when she shook her head. "And how in Hell have you managed that?"

"I told him I was bleeding."

"For six weeks?"

She glared at him indignantly. "I am a Capulet. We do not bend to men to pay service to others' ignorant customs. We will..." Miranda hesitated. The first time she had come here, she had been so angry that the vulgarities had rolled off her tongue. Since then, Pan hadn't spared her any teasing about her noble origins. They both knew she didn't say 'fuck' or 'cock' in her everyday life. Miranda didn't come here to be genteel, but it wasn't half so easy to be crass as it had been in the first bloom of her rebellion. "We will go to bed when I say so and no earlier."

"Then why do you look fit to puke, princess?"

"My mother. I need your help, Pan." Miranda didn't know how it had come to this, her needing help from a foreign peasant to fix her life. Her oldest, roughest gown was worth more than anything this man would ever own. And yet, his worth as a person was significantly more than most people Miranda knew. He had never asked for or taken anything from her. He was always happy to see her. If she ever felt ashamed of complaining about her noblewoman's problems to him, it was never because of anything he said or did. The worst he had ever done was tease her for trying to pay him for 'nothing'. Their conversations were sometimes the furthest thing from nothing to Miranda.

"Advice on how to fuck someone you despise?" Pan smiled. Behind the smile, he felt sick. You don't have a right to be sick. Get on with it. "I might know a thing or two about that."

"No."

"No?"

"I need you to give me a baby." Miranda avoided looking at Pan's face, expecting it to explode with surprise. While her stomach tightened and burned with anticipation, she fought to remain calm. "The witch wants heirs immediately, you understand - a boy for the Normans and at least one girl for us. She has a spy in the laundry reporting on the state of my bedsheets every morning. This morning, I was informed that I have a week to consummate my marriage and commence an 'honest' effort to conceive." The threat had been vague but sobering. Miranda had miscalculated how long a show of deference would satisfy her mother. The facade would have to be fed more often to keep the pressure bearable. "I can't do it. I won't. I won't be a broodmare to that idiot. I won't let something of his clamp onto me, feed off of me for nine months." Miranda's voice caught in her throat. "If your baby is inside me already, he can't give me one. I can enjoy peace and quiet for a little while, and my mother won't know she has lost."

Pan took a moment to recover from the shock of a request he hadn't heard before. If a woman mentioned pregnancy to him, it was to prevent it. He understood that. Babies were noisy, messy, and costly - moreso if one was chucked out into the street by one's cuckolded husband. Babies were for couples if it could be helped. Pan never saw himself as part of a couple.

And this wasn't an invitation to be part of a couple, he knew. Miranda had only come to him to start because he was so far below her. Somewhere under the words of her request was a repeat of that preference for his lowliness. That would be part of the revenge; the children would not only be illegitimate but also fathered by the most common man Miranda knew. He had a right to be insulted, really, but he wasn't. It was a strangely simple choice. "Done."

"Done?" she asked, her voice cracking with disbelief. Miranda had prepared herself for a debate. This was an agreement to life-long deception and danger of discovery, not to mention the creation of new life. The first night, he hadn't spared her a reminder of what could have become of him for his participation. After everything Miranda had intimated about her mother (and Lord Norman), Pan had to know what was ahead of him if they were uncovered. And if he didn't, she couldn't afford to remind him.

"Why not? When else does rubbish like me get to save the princess?" Pan didn't bother hoping for an objection. "Chances are I'd fuck up and make a kid or two before I die. Better they're your little lords and ladies than filling out the dregs with me. Besides, I've already been up to my balls in you - why not up to my neck?" He watched her closely, his mouth flickering toward a wicked grin, for any sign of life.

"Are you so vulgar to everyone who visits you?"

"Of course I am, princess, but nobody else visits me just to talk."

"Naturally." Miranda exhaled deeply. "I think we ought to get an early start on this." Her eyes met his. "If that is agreeable to you."

"It doesn't seem, uh, agreeable to you. You still look like you're fit to puke."

She sighed, "I don't like not knowing what I'm doing."

"Come here, Miranda." He draped an arm over her shoulder, pulling her a bit closer to him. Aiming to only be friendly, he stopped short of too close. "Have you really thought hard on this one? Maybe you would rather talk to one of the girls. It's not an accident they aren't lousy with babies. Not having the baby is the best way to know it isn't his. You can pretend to be trying and give yourself some time to think." And maybe your bitch mother will drop dead in the meantime.

She shrugged away from him with a frustrated sigh. "You sound like Hermia." Hermia had cried through the entire wedding. Since then, Hermia had suggested any scheme of relief that crossed her mind, including ways of preventing a baby. When Miranda told her what her mother had said, Hermia would undoubtedly repeat the offer, but it wouldn't do. "If I do that, I still have to sleep with him. If there's a baby, I have no hope that it isn't his. And if there isn't a baby, my mother will keep paying attention to me until there is one. I need help, and you gave your word, if you remember."

He had. And if I don't help her, she's mad enough to find someone who will. "I do. But since you're always asking what you owe me, this one costs."

Miranda steeled herself. "How much?"

"More than you'll want to pay," he teased. As he expected, Miranda insisted she would pay whatever he asked. "Last time we tried this, you said I was only good enough for a fuck. This time, you've got to let me make love to you."

"I absolutely do not." When glaring at Pan didn't work, Miranda weakened. He isn't joking. Why isn't he joking? "And if I did, why would you want to?"

"Because you're a high and mighty princess who keeps turning up at my brothel. Because someone ought to be making love to someone this beautiful and this senseless, and I want it to be me."

If Miranda was senseless, it wasn't entirely. Some part of her objected wildly to this. He was nothing, a nobody with whom she could have no meaningful contact. They had no place in each other's worlds. What sort of man resorted to running a brothel, after all? He could even be deceiving her. He could be taking her in for the kill later, when she claimed his child was her husband's. That was just what a conniving peasant would do. But if he did, he was only a conniving peasant. Miranda would find a way to crush him if he deceived her.

But he wouldn't. If she knew him at all since meeting him in February, Miranda knew Pan was a decent person, far above either her husband or her father. She had come here tonight because she believed in that decency. His children wouldn't be spirit-crushing monsters. And if he wanted to make love to her, why shouldn't she let him? She was a married lady now. There wasn't a chance she would be treated as anything more than a hole and a pair of breasts by Stephen. That was not far below what most people who were supposed to care about her did, ether. "Fine. But afterwards, we have to discuss a better meeting place. I can't risk coming here twice a week for too long." 

Twice a week? God Almighty, this just keeps on getting better. "Name the place, princess, and there's nowhere I'll rather be."

Next Post: "As good luck would have it."