The Parable of the Battle-Brides
Created | Updated Jun 1, 2006
There was once a place, somewhere in Europe. There were no towns nearby, only shallow, rolling hills and a straggle of run-down farmsteads. The only building of any consequence was a great fort. The people outside its walls had the misfortune to live in the border country between warring kingdoms.
Every few years, for as long as anyone could remember, there was a shift in the balance of power. The army occupying the fort was put to rout, and the other side came in and took charge. The women of the region all knew what would happen. They would be rounded up, and taken inside the fort, and the victorious soldiers would press themselves upon these luckless spoils of war.
Now, one time when this had happened all over again, there were three sisters living at one of the farms. Two of them had seen it all before. They were old beyond their years, although their sallow skin and careworn features were as much the product of the rigours of those times as of ill-use by a usurping army. Their husbands knew the shame, and a little of the pain too, and they were all of them inured and stoic. This was the way with most of the community. Its womenfolk called themselves the 'Battle-Brides', and their pragmatism protected their dignity.
The third and youngest sister was different. She thought herself a lady, whereas in truth she was anything but. She had come to womanhood but recently, and for about a year before she had consorted with the soldiers. Indeed, she counted herself the companion of the dashing young Captain who commanded the fort. She didn't believe she was merely his whim, of course, since he showered her with silks and fine hose, and had once presented her with a bejewelled brooch.
The third sister was briefly disappointed when the retreating Captain failed to ride up on his grey charger at the height of the battle for the fort. She had half-expected him to carry her off, racing down the valley towards a new and splendid life. When this didn't happen, she quickly made another plan, and resolved to build her climbing once again with the new incumbents. She told her sisters as much, and they did not sneer or mock, but they did not offer counsel either. So it was that three sisters set off towards the fort, and the contrast between them was extreme. One sister had sweetened her breath meticulously, and two had lately chewed on garlic. One was powdered and painted, while the others had rubbed their bodies with grime. One was beautifully coiffeured, whereas the two had wiped a hand in the crack of the cow’s arse and slicked their hair.
The plan of the two elder sisters worked, of course, and their rankness quelled the ardour of the soldiers. There was some half-hearted fumbling and thrusting, to be sure, and it was neither resisted nor encouraged. It soon ceased, and before midnight these unsatisfactory bed-mates were on their way home, knowing that years would pass before the unpleasantness would visit them again.
The younger sister's experience was quite different. At first she prospered, being quickly brought to the quarters of a young officer, moustachioed and vigorous. He plied her with brandy and they sported and giggled. She thought nothing of it when he asked her the origins of the brooch.
Then, all of a sudden, he leapt from the silken sheets, whispered something to the orderly at the door, and was gone. Very soon, a sergeant took his place, a little rougher but still distinguished enough. The younger sister did her best to please him, not wishing to seem too crestfallen, but then the sergeant took his leave, to be replaced by a base and drunken corporal, and so it went on.
I shudder to think how she was used that night. The word in these parts is that the entire garrison ravished her before it was over. Her broken body was found in a ditch some days later. Meanwhile, her two sisters scrubbed their linen even more diligently than usual, and carried on with their lives.
