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woman.” She said, “Yes, I know. You are a country girl. I will train you, but the work will be hard. You will lie at night and know every muscle of your body by its cry. And someday, you will stand naked before the duke, or perhaps the archbishop, or some prince from Arabia… And you will be proud.”
    Hannah shook her head, mute, denying it.
    “No one knows where you are,” said Maria. “No one is searching for you. Don’t expect to leave, that will cause only misery.”
    After a moment, she said, “Yes, cry. We all do. For our parents, our filthy cottage, the bread and milk to eat—or nothing—for growing old before our time. Or for a few years with a young man who comes home smelling of gin and takes us and soon is snoring.” She nodded her head, “We weep for loss of that.”
    Hannah shook her head.
    “It does not matter,” said Maria. “You will begin tomorrow. If you resist, you soon will beg to begin.”
    She stood up and Hannah began to rise. “No, sit,” said Maria. “I have more to tell you, so you will understand.” Her body seemed to stretch in one sinuous motion as she pulled her garment over her head. Almost as quickly, she bent, pushing down the rest, kicking it off her ankles. She was naked. For just a moment, she stood over Hannah, then she walked to the beautiful basin at the side of the room. As she turned to walk away, Hannah gasped; her hand flew to cover her lips.
    The woman’s tall body was perfect, long legs rising into the sculpted buttocks, and then the slender waist, and the straight shoulders. The hips were sensuous. But it was as though someone had melted this flesh to the consistency of butter, and, mischievously—diabolically—drawn in the soft butter—over the buttocks, the back, and the shoulders. Maria turned around and Hannah drew her breath sharply. So lovely, but her legs, her whole belly, her breasts were crisscrossed with overlapping furrows, a veritable thicket of lines that went across the breasts, that crossed the hair at the base of her belly. On the fine, firm breasts, the lines overlaid each blood-red nipple and seemed to smudge it.
    The instructress stood before the bronze basin, turned on running water—water flowing at the turn of a handle—and picked up a thick towel. She wet it in the stream of water and began rubbing herself. “I made a terrible mistake,” she said, simply. “I blame no one.”
    Who could have done this? Why was this woman still alive, still speaking to Hannah easily, casually?
    “I was the cynosure. Men begged the duke for me. Earls, and princes from other lands. The duke was jealous; I knew that he was, he adored me. But some he could not refuse, and afterward, those men would make me presents. It happened once at a gay celebration after we performed. There was a foreign countess who was a monster. Men and women were drinking wildly. I should have been wary. Where there is one man, you are safe. Where there are many… And where there are women, too, you can find yourself in Hell.
    “I boasted of my training, I had muscles stronger than any man’s, I could hang from a bar and lift my legs straight up and hold for 10 minutes!
    “Suddenly, the duke said, ‘We will see this trick’”! It scared me, but I thought, ‘I am the king’s favorite. Beloved. And a great actress. I was so proud!
    “So they stripped me naked and hung me by my wrists. The duke said, ‘now she will keep her legs elevated in this wonderful trick. But if she lets them drop, I will lash her with my riding crop.’
    “Perhaps the others did not want to do it. But the duke was powerful, feared. Who could oppose him? I thought: I shall be whipped on my arse, and later the duke will weep over me.
    “‘Now!’ the duke shouted, and raised his riding crop I lifted my legs, straight out, tight together, my toes pointed. I felt my stomach muscles tighten; my belly crawled with fear.
    “‘How long? How long must I hold?’ I asked him, but he would not