Chapter Two #2
The cards, the first of which had been produced only six months before, had been distributed at first without cost to wealthy women on Market day, and they caught on like a wildfire.
Not only did the cards speak of things no decent woman would openly speak of, but they were absolutely beautiful to look at.
That first poem, called Oswalda’s Secret, created a rush the likes of which no one had ever seen, and the wealthy of Lynn now flocked to St. Margaret’s on the first of every month for the newest cards.
The demand exceeded the supply.
Lily-Elsie was the lucky one with the very last card.
She closely examined this particular shingle, with the poem in the middle and the border decorated with branches from an apple tree and a snake.
There was even some expensive gold leafing on it and the author of the poem, Lady Dark, printed down near the bottom.
As Cadelyn counted out the money to Yerik, Lily-Elsie began to read softly.
“Bickford and Cedrica…
His blood touches Cedrica, o’er the miles
His praises, she sings,
In the dead of night, she calls to him,
Feeling him against her, of flesh and soul
The magic of creation
As his lips touch her nipple.”
Dreamily, she sighed, holding the card against her breast. “This one is more beautiful than the last one, Cadie,” she said. “I thought Alvina’s Lament was my favorite one, but I adore Bickford and Cedrica.”
Susanna was watching their surroundings for anything threatening considering they had a great deal of money out in the open, but she paused long enough to cast Lily-Elsie an impatient glance. Lily-Elsie, the feisty lass with a sappy romantic streak, stuck her tongue out at Susanna.
“Well, it is,” she insisted as Susanna scowled. “Alvina’s Lament was so beautiful, but Bickford and Cedrica is delicious. Cadie, it is wonderful!”
Cadelyn heard her but was too busy to reply.
She finished counting out the last of the money to Yerik, who held the coins in the folds of his robe.
A young man in his twentieth year, he wanted to be a priest but his talent for writing and art had him managing the clerics at St. Margaret.
He had known Cadelyn for several years because Lady Summerlin was a great patroness of St. Margaret’s and she brought her wards to attend mass there, and not being particularly pious, Cadelyn often wandered the grounds during mass rather than pray.
On one such wandering, she had come across a rather full-bellied young man, unhappy with his role in life, and a friendship was born.
Now, that friendship was a lucrative business arrangement.
“There you are,” Cadelyn said to Yerik. “Make sure everyone gets the money they have earned. This is the best we have ever done.”
Yerik tucked the money away eagerly. “I shall,” he said. “Do you have the next poem for us?”
Cadelyn nodded as she dug into the silk purse on her belt and pulled forth a rolled piece of parchment. Handing it over to Yerik, the young cleric unrolled it excitedly as Cadelyn recited the words cast upon it from memory.
“In the Garden of Passion,
He comes upon me as a warm wind
His heat fills my veins
I can feel nothing else but his touch,
Taste nothing else but his skin
He feasts upon Venus in the Garden of Passion.”
Yerik’s eyes widened as Lily-Elsie giggled. “This shall be the best one yet,” he said, tucking the parchment away with the money. “I will push the men to do more than one hundred cards this time. We shall do as many as we can and make more money than ever.”
Cadelyn was flattered that the cleric and Lily-Elsie seemed so excited about the new poem. “Do you think so?” she said. “I stayed up nearly all night composing it.”
Yerik nodded eagerly. “The wealthy women of Lynn like nothing better than to read your lewd poems during the week and then come to mass to pray forgiveness on Sunday. It keeps their blood flowing and our pockets full.”
Cadelyn grinned. “Those poems are a work of art on your beautiful cards,” she said. “Please thank your men for their fine work. I shall write something new and bring it to you soon.”
“We shall be ready, my lady.”
“Yerik, I want to know something,” Susanna said in her matter-of-fact, almost masculine manner. “How is it that the priests do not see what you and the other clerics are doing?”
Yerik looked at the woman. She was tall, with muscular arms, and long, wavy hair the color of copper. She wasn’t unattractive in the least but there was something quite intimidating about her.
“It is simple, my lady,” he said. “We work on the poetry cards when the priests are busy with any number of canonical duties. When they are not, we keep the cards well-hidden. We are very careful.”
“But you use supplies purchased by the church,” she pointed out. “All of those cards are from pieces of wood that are provided to you by the church, are they not?”
Yerik shook his head. “We make our own,” he said. “We go into the forest to the east and cut the wood ourselves for the prayer cards that we make for the priests. While we are there, we simply cut extra wood. That is why Lady Dark’s cards are the exact size and shape as the prayer cards.”