'Women of London! Will ye not repent!'

He had pointed at their painted faces, plucked eyebrows, ornate headdresses covered in wisps of lawn. He mocked their damask-covered gowns with their narrow waists and brocaded stomachers, cut low to reveal swelling, creamy flesh and fluted swanlike necks, their beauty greatly enhanced by silver and gold collars.

The preacher leaned back against the taproom wall and licked his lips. He'd noticed one, youngish, big-bosomed and broad-hipped, with a naughty look in her eyes and a saucy pout to her lips. Would she be lively and enthusiastic in bed? He closed his eyes. He could just picture her, blonde hair falling down. Not like the common whore he had taken in that meadow near the mud flats.

The preacher felt a flush of excitement and opened his eyes. The young whore sitting across the taproom was ever so pert and comely. In fact, she reminded him of a woman he had glimpsed earlier in the day on Cheapside. The preacher, truly a wicked hypocrite, rubbed his stomach. He had eaten and drunk well. He'd done the Lord's business. Was this the Lord's way of rewarding him? Had not King David taken comely young maids to his bed to warm his blood and render him more fitted for the Lord's work? He clawed back his oily black hair and smiled across at the whore, then lifted his tankard. The whore turned away, glancing flirtatiously at him from the corner of her eye. The preacher studied her intently. He would not be brooked. He noticed her smooth face, the rich brown hair, its tresses piled high. She now took off her threadbare cloak, stretching forward. The preacher glimpsed milk-white breasts, the laces of her bodice half undone, and quietly groaned with pleasure. He took a silver coin out, twirling it between his fingers. Was not every saint tempted, he thought? And how could he know the depths of such sin if he did not plumb them himself? He would repent. He would reflect but, for now, his belly was full and the ale made his blood sing like a harp. The whore came over, her high raised pattens slopping on the floor. She moved rather languidly, submissively, head slightly down, hands hanging by her side.