‘Now,’ Villiam began, ‘who shall I take next as a wife?’
‘The nun—is she still upstairs?’ Father Barnabas asked. He was joking.
‘Doesn’t make a sound. Better than Dibra, then. Shall I marry her?’ Villiam was serious.
‘Isn’t she ugly?’ the priest asked. ‘I can’t remember.’
‘Let’s have a look and see.’
Father Barnabas went along with the charade, not thinking that Villiam would really take another wife. The lord seemed to be enjoying himself, spending evenings with Klarek, horsing around. But Villiam could not forget the words of his mother: ‘A man becomes a man when he marries a woman. Until then, he is just a little brat.’
And so Agata was summoned and examined.
Villiam kept the vetting process very brief. ‘Strip. Lie down.’ Etcetera. The nun seemed to understand basic instructions and peeled off her red dress without protest. She had no obvious diseases. Her sunburn had peeled and healed nicely. Her face was a pleasant shape, if a bit gaunt. Her hair was red, which Villiam liked, and she didn’t speak. Her arms and legs were thin and freckled, which was fine. Better to have something to see rather than plain skin. Villiam didn’t like plainness.
Villiam and the priest saw the odd bulging of her pelvis.
‘What is that?’ Villiam asked. ‘Pregnant?’
‘I doubt that,’ the priest said. ‘Are you pregnant?’
Agata shrugged. What could she say? Nothing.
‘Lie down on the table,’ Barnabas said.
‘Yes, you test her out, Father,’ Villiam said. Luckily the priest knew little about the female anatomy. When he examined her sheath, it seemed to him that she was intact. He couldn’t tell the difference. ‘A virgin, I guess,’ Barnabas pronounced. ‘But pregnant, too?’
Villiam examined her sheath as well, hardly any less ignorant. To him, too, she felt like a virgin. He weighed this in his mind. Such a miracle would arouse great interest and discussion. He would have to send word of this to the council, the king, whoever might be interested in a virgin birth.
‘Wasn’t Jesus born to a virgin?’
‘Well yes, I think so,’ Barnabas answered.
‘If I marry this nun, I’ll be father to the son of God,’ Villiam realized. ‘That’s quite an honor, is it not?’
‘I suppose,’ Barnabas replied warily.
The two watched Agata’s bum as she turned to dress. There was a redness on her cheeks where she had pressed her buttocks against the wooden table so that they could examine her pubis. Villiam didn’t dislike the look of her bum, which was dimpled and small, the bum of a teenage boy, more or less. But her hips were wide, and her body was swaybacked and thin, except for the strange roundness of her abdomen. Marek was watching through the crack in the door, fuming with jealousy.
‘A man without a wife makes everyone suspicious,’ Villiam went on, as though to convince himself. ‘A virgin birth is a great boon. It will put Lapvona on the map. The high church will give us money, won’t it? Imagine all the pilgrims who will come here to see the child, to be blessed, and all of that. They’ll need inns to sleep in, food to eat. The town will grow, and it will all be mine.’ Villiam looked as giddy as a little boy.
‘Congratulations,’ Barnabas said fretfully.
‘Should we build a theater?’
‘Oh, certainly,’ the priest nodded.
‘And a circus?’
‘I don’t see why not.’
‘Will I be famous throughout the land?’
‘You’ll be as famous as Joseph was with Jesus. And the nun will be your Mary.’
‘That settles it. I’ll marry her,’ Villiam said, clapping his hands.
‘Excellent,’ the priest grimaced. This would all mean more work for Barnabas. He had no idea what to do in such circumstances.
‘Bless her, Father,’ Villiam told him.
Barnabas blessed Agata as she pulled her dress back on. She hung her head in shame. To the priest, this gesture looked like humility, or real devotion. He was nervous. Surely the nun saw through his act to the man of sin he truly was. If those of the high order came to visit, Barnabas might be questioned. His hypocrisy could be exposed. ‘Thank God the nun is mute,’ he thought. Still, he would have to spruce up the church. The congregation would need to be reoriented. He barely knew the villagers’ names.
‘I’ll tell Jenevere to make her a nice dress,’ Villiam said. ‘And to stitch a picture of my face on the belly in golden thread.’