Domingo had definitely earned another afternoon of wine and conversation."Merchant van Voorthuysen," I said, folding my hands neatly in my lap. "I am told you know more about the cloth trade than any two men, and you are very good friends with the Merchants of the Cloth Hall in Ypres. I am sure you also understand your fellow men. To you, and many of your peers, what you say is true, the only thing that truly matters to you is the size of my purse. To the good wives of your friends, though, and to others from outside this city, I am a woman without a man. To them that is far more important than my purse. The wives will see strangeness and independence, in their eyes a threat. Most men would see my sex and take it as a weakness. To most of them I would be an opportunity ripe for the taking. We women are so weak, after all," I added. French is a good language for sarcasm, and his quick smile showed me he understood my point. "Everyone knows we have no head for business." My hands. She was cold and she let her mind drift."How's she doing?" Mike sat on the edge of the bed and gently stroked her face. It was still cold, but her lips were no longer blue. "Come to that, how are you doing?" He said pointedly at Tim.Tim sighed. Mike had been looking after him ever since they were kids, and sometimes forgot Tim was well and truly grown up now."I'm fine, dude. She's like cuddling an iceberg, but she's not shivering as badly any more. You need to shed some clothes, Mike." Tim could see Mike sweating in the elevated room temperature, his heavy shirt no longer necessary.Mike grunted. Until Tim had mentioned it, he hadn't noticed, being too preoccupied with the woman's distress to notice his own. He ditched his boots and peeled off the heavy shirt and T-shirt beneath then turned back toward the bed."Don't stop there," the woman's eyes were open and she was smiling at him.Mike gave her his best you-ain't-seen-nothing-yet smirk. "Nice to meet you too, sweetheart." The smirk.
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