THE LOVELY MAGDELINE

The inn-keeper's wife has a new bundle of joy to cherish...

“Twins!” muttered the Inn-Keeper's wife, she who had attended Maria in the stable as midwife and helper during the birth of her two infants. She hadn’t been able to help herself … the girl needed help and she was the only one anywhere near who might offer it.

“What's that?” demanded the Inn-Keeper, busy with a flagon of red wine that seemed to have gone off, trying to rescue it using a special formula of his own. If his customers had known the effectiveness of horse dung in this regard he might have had fewer of them. As it was they didn't, and his business flourished despite his personal lack of popularity.

“The silly little s**t’s had twins,” continued the Inn-Keeper's wife. “One of each. And not only that, but the little trollop doesn't want the girl. Says girls are nowt but trouble and no good comes of 'em.”

“She's not far wrong,” grinned her husband, hearing what she said, for once. “I'm glad we only had a boy. He's got broad shoulders and an eye for business, but I'd guess here and now that a girl would be neither use nor ornament, not in this business. Or if she had looks which is possible despite her ma, she might be a bit of an ornament, but still no use when it comes to lifting some of the stuff I have to lift!”

“I'd thank you to know I was born a girl,” growled his wife. “And you can't say as I haven't been useful, especially when you put your back out that time! You remember? When you developed an eye for the plump b***h down the road and thought you could pick her up like she was a feather!”

“I beat you into shape when you were nowt but a trollop!” he growled.

“Aye, you took the switch to me a few times when I was a no more’n a kid, and for nowt but that it pleased you, you b*****d!” she growled. “But that's not the point.”

“What is the point, then?” He sipped some of the spoiled wine from a wooden goblet, and pulled a wry face. “Tastes like puke,” he grumbled.

“The point, Mr Inn-Keeper, is that I've been lumbered with this!”

She held a bundle towards her husband, and the bundle, detecting a change in position, squawked.

“What's that, then?” he asked, alarm touching the already grim corners of his mouth.

“It's the girl,” she said. “The silly b***h didn't want her.”

“What silly b***h?” He was clearly displaying the kind of inattention he was famed for.

“Her in the stable. Her with the soldier and his crooked legs looking after her. For the Lord’s sake learn to listen!”

“Oh, her. What about her?”

“The kid, husband of mine, the kid: it's hers.”

“Then best give it back to her.”

“She don't want it.”

“She's got to have it, if it's hers.”

“It's a girl and she don't want it, and, tell the truth, she's got her hands full with the boy.”

“What boy?”

“Don't you ever listen to a word I say to you? The twin boy, this little mite's bawling brother!”

“Oh, him.”

“Yes: him.”

“So what are you going to do with her, woman, and don't say you'll keep it 'cause if you do I'll remember where I put that switch you used to be so fond of when you got on my wick.”

The Inn-Keeper's wife put her nose to within an inch of her husband's and scowled.

“You'll not beat me again,” she growled, knowing that life had made her the stronger by far. “'Cause if you do we'll be forced to find out who's the toughest between us, and I'll tell you this for a fact: it ain't you!”

“A woman should obey her man!” The Inn-Keeper raised his voice, frowning. “A man's in charge in his own home, and what he says goes! And if I say no babies then I mean no babies, 'specially girl ones, and if I say I'll beat you then I'll beat you. It's the law, don’t forget!”

“I'm keeping her,” spat his wife. “I wasn't going to, I wasn't going to do anything with it but hand it over to Mistress Varmint in the end house, her as takes in waifs and strays, and nobody knows what comes of ‘em, but Mistress Varmint can get hung! I'm keeping it, and you want to know why? No, shurrup! I'll tell you for why. It's because you're a b*****d! There, I've said it: you're a b*****d who don't ever listen to what's said to him and don't think one kind thought about the woman who's kept his bed warm this last too many years, and brought his boy into the world, and suckled him with her tits ‘til he was big and strong like he is!”

“You're not keeping her, then!”

“That I am, and I'd like to see you try and stop me! I'll get milk from the goat, and you'll not get in my way!”

The argument might have carried on, but there was a polite cough from the doorway, which was, as ever, open ready to welcome passers by.

It was the crippled Roman soldier, the one who had been attacked by a gang in Nazareth and left for dead. He'd survived, but his legs had been bent out of shape, and when the bones had healed they had healed badly.

“I hope I'm not interrupting a domestic,” he said.

“Domestic phooey!” snarled the Inn-Keeper. “What the hell do you want? Haven't you brought us enough trouble?”

“I've come to warn you,” grinned the soldier, enjoying himself. “There's some foreign toffs on the way, toffs with money, three of them, with gold and spices and stuff, and they'll be looking for somewhere to stable their camels and a bed for at least one night! How about that, then? Foreign toffs in your grubby little Inn, but you've got time to tidy up a bit, and break out your finest wine!”

“Gold, you say?”

“Aye, coin. I've seen it. So look to.”

The Inn-Keeper's wife vanished into another room, taking the baby with her.

“Come on, Mary my dear Magdeline,” she whispered, “we'll get out of the b*****d's way. He'll come round. Of course he will: he knows he can't win this one like he can’t ever win any one. The last thing he wants to be seen with when he's out and about is a black eye administered by your new mummy!”

She smiled wickedly, and sang:

“Dearest, sweet dearest

and infant of mine,

suckle your fill, angel,

of the milkiest wine

and the stars they will twinkle

at the end of the day

while our hearts will be beating

as we bend down to pray....”

© Peter Rogerson 23.11.12, revised 29.11.16