Fine Print
Asher Black
“The feudal contract was binding.” Dr. Avery glances back from the chalkboard. “Perhaps more binding than any business contract today.”
Only a few sniffs of interest now. Bored taking of verbatim notes. Amy is filling page after page. Even the most promising are essentially asleep. Bill is literally snoring, though not loudly. Kimmie, dead center, is doodling—probably a knight and a princess. Ray, in the back, is not even a member of the class; he sneaked in to avoid the campus security guards. Sharp enough that the ruffian bit can be overlooked. Michelle, as always, is right up front, feigning disinterest with herself while trying to make sure her professor sees her hair.
Visor down, bent forward, urging on a mount as black as the full-body armor, the peasant-scattering hurricane of a woman in a leather jacket brings calls of “Why don’t you trample someone else’s garden, curse all!” Spurring for momentum, the rider crouches in the saddle and leaps a walkway, already out of throwing range.
“The marriage contract was, in fact, nothing less than a contract of business guaranteeing the wife security, stability, and relative safety in the form of property rights and an armed guard. In exchange, the husband received exclusive rights to sex with the bride.”
No shortage of interest now. The breath in the room heats up. Its heartbeat jumps. Its fidget grows nervous, and he can suddenly smell its sweat. Even Bill sits up. Only one or two are oblivious. Still scribbling down the shocking statement as mere review material to be memorized for the exam.
“Maybe some people were thinking that.” It’s Kimmie. “Probably not everyone.” There are similar comments—most protecting a view of the status quo as functioning with the unimpeachability of unconsidered tradition.
“I’m less concerned with what the contracting parties were thinking than with what they were exchanging,” says Dr. Avery. “Just look at the marriage vows. For the wife, ‘with my body, I thee worship.’ For the husband, ‘with my property, I thee endow.’ Then look at the seriousness with which Church and King and society took the exchange, and the penalties for violating the contract.”
Right up the steps, dismounting only at the door, the rider passes security. The guards say nothing. They know who this is, why, and for whom. She flashes a smile. They will watch the transportation carefully. Surely pay if they don’t guard it well. The clack of boots down the hall. Other men and women avert their eyes when not greedily stealing a glance. Magnificent to look on a knight at any time, but this one has real presence.
“So that’s why the marriage had to be consummated.” It’s Amy. Maybe one or two will get her point.
“Naturally!” says Dr. Avery. “That’s the milestone at which the wife honors her legal part of the contract. Although implicit in the bargain was the bearing of sons to carry on the family business—the bloodline.”
“And a trophy wife,” says Ray, “required a LOT of property!” Avery has to cough to keep from laughing at Ray’s cleverness, transgressive as it may be.
Michelle chooses to be annoyed. “Is he even in this class?” The professor ignores the query and moves on.
“Naturally, wives could be valued as trophies. Of course, the husband could also be counted as a trophy. That was perpetuated through a series of precisely such agreements. Sons would marry, but daughters would be married off with dowries as compensation for beneficial partnerships and alliances.”
“What’s wrong with being a trophy wife?” says Michelle. “He gets someone that looks good, and what does she get? The woman has to hold out something to get the man to comply with his side of the contract. After all, he owns the wealth.”
Ray is not to be outdone. “Yeah, she stays wrapped up in virginal armor until he pays for it. What do you call that, Dr. Avery? Exchanging sex for money, I mean?” Of course, it’s exactly the point Dr. Avery is making, but stated at such a moment and in such a way, it is likely to be distorted if he doesn’t ask Ray to leave. Still, the boy deserves respect for his keenness and social cunning.
“Interesting point, young man. I believe you have another class to attend?” Ray smiles, stands, and salutes as he leaves. Avery is sure the boy knows the origin of that signal. One knight raises his visor to another, showing himself unarmed and means no harm. Don’t underestimate the ruffian. It’s 3:00, anyway. Time is up.
Entering through the side door, stiffly raising visor, then removing the helmet to reveal bobbed black hair and an intent gaze that makes the target’s heart leap. Approaching. A slow, deliberate walk. He doesn’t flinch; that’s good. The young ones watch her, eyes wide.
“You’re here. I’m ready.” Avery looks at the class. “No more questions today. Study for the test. See you on Monday.”
The visitor glances at Michelle, meets her eyes, and smiles knowingly just before the girl gathers her books and retreats through the exit, along with the rest of the class.
“Ready, lover?” the newcomer asks.
She has rock, and Avery has scissors. She will ride in back, him in front, and she will get to touch him on the way.
He kicks over the bike, revs the engine, and dons his helmet. They feel the wind filling their laughter as they speed home to make love. Without so much as a signature.