Catherine, Called Birdy (12 page)

I was sent to my chamber without supper. Before I left, I declared, "I do not remember Our Blessed Lord ever condemning spitting. He did not make it a deadly sin like pride or gluttony or greed." Here I looked meaningfully at my father. "In fact," I continued, "did not Our Lord Himself once mix spittle with clay to heal a man of blindness?"

I thought it quite an eloquent argument. What it won me was another day in my chamber,
without
my inks.

14
TH DAY OF
M
ARCH
,
Feast of Saint Matilda, persecuted by her children for generosity

There is a new boy here for fostering, although who would trust their son to my father's care I cannot imagine. He looks to be about my age and is comely enough from afar. I will ask his name.

15
TH DAY OF
M
ARCH
,
Feast of Saint Longinus, the soldier who pierced the side of the crucified Christ with his lance. Christ's blood cured his blindness, so he became a Christian and a monk, had his teeth knocked out and his tongue cut out, and died. My uncle George once saw bis lance in a church in Antioch

Geoffrey! Geoffrey! Geoffrey!

16
TH DAY OF
M
ARCH
,
Feast of Saint Finnian the Leper, abbot of the Monastery of Swords

Each time I tried to write of Geoffrey yestereve, I swooned and could not control my hands. He is not just comely but as beautiful as an angel, with golden hair and blue eyes and the habit of catching his lower lip between his teeth that makes me want to lie on the rushes and sigh. I stared boldly at him as he served my father at dinner yesternoon, but he looked only at the floor. I must take care always to wear my best shoes.

17
TH DAY OF
M
ARCH
,
Feasts of Saint Patrick, apostle to Ireland, and Saint Gertrude, who protects us from rats

A kinsman of my mother arrived today to celebrate Easter week. He is called Odd William to distinguish him from William Steward and Brother William at the abbey. He is writing
a history of the world in Welsh and has been for all the fourteen years I have known him, living first with one cousin and then another, all across England. He is gray. His hair is gray, his eyes gray, and the rest of him stringy and gray. We housed him all last summer and he looks to stay this time until Christmas.

At least he does not sleep in my chamber but in the hall for the warmth, and it is his habit to write there, too, back to the fire, day after day, so that the back of his gown is all pocked with burn holes, like Sym's face after the spotted fever. My mother kindly pretends that he is a great man. The rest of us usually overlook him, ofttimes stumbling into and over him as if he were some invisible obstacle.

18
TH DAY OF
M
ARCH
,
Feast of Saint Edward, king of England, killed by bis wicked stepmother, who was very beautiful and became a nun

Still Lent. No feasts, fairs, or visiting minstrels. No almond custard or roasts of beef. No singing, no dancing, just eating fish, listening to Jerome, and feeling sad until Easter. I have made a Lenten song:

Gray Lent comes bringing Jesus' doom.
Church and hall are filled with gloom.
Chant silently of sorrow.

Forty days of feeling sad
About the pain that Jesus had.
Hum quietly till morrow.

On the Cross the Christ hangs slain
But promises to come again.
Sing bright like a boy.

Lenten ends with Easter Day.
Off with black, put on the gay.
Shout loudly of joy!

I wanted to end with lines about hope but can think of no rhymes but rope, soap, pope, and mope, and none of these seem to fit the song. I think Lent is all about hope. No matter how bad we feel about Jesus dying or how sick we get of fish, Easter Day always comes. We just need to hope and believe.

There are new kittens in the barn.

19
TH DAY OF
M
ARCH
Feast of Saint Joseph, foster father of Jesus, husband of Mary, patron of carpenters and fathers

A messenger arrived this night for the beast my father. From Murgaw, lord of Lithgow, the shaggy-bearded pig of the wedding feast. My father has said nothing to me yet, but I fear it is a request for me to wed and bed with Shaggy Beard's son. I will not. God's thumbs! Is there no end to this procession of unsuitable suitors? Perhaps I should ask Thomas Carpenter to help me construct a trap door in the hall and just drop them into the river as they arrive.

20
TH DAY OF
M
ARCH
,
Feast of Saint Cuthbert, whose body remains undecayed five hundred years after his death

Shaggy Beard has not asked for me to marry his son. It is Shaggy Beard himself who wishes to take me for wife! What a monstrous joke. That dog assassin whose breath smells like the mouth of Hell, who makes wind like others make music, who attacks helpless animals with knives, who is ugly and old!

My father called me into the solar this morning. He was smiling. I knew it meant no good for me. "My beloved daughter," he said.

Trouble, I knew. "Who?" I said. "I am your daughter, God help me, but hardly beloved. So who is it you address?"

He still smiled, so I knew the matter was serious. "My lady of Lithgow," he said. "Your bridegroom awaits you and none of your tricks will profit you this time."

Twenty words and a crack on the rump and I was out in the hall again, betrayed and betrothed. Lady Shaggy Beard. Good fortune and goodbye.

I must make a plan, for I will not, of course, wed the pig. Deus! I cannot even conceive of such a fate. Could it be? Would they really sell me to that odious old man? I cannot think so. I will contrive something. Luckily I am experienced at outwitting suitors.

21
ST DAY OF
M
ARCH
,
Feast of the Martyrs of Alexandria, killed by a mob of angry heretics

My mother lectured to me today on a daughter's duty, and she sees mine as marriage where my father wills. She has no great love for Murgaw the Shaggy Beard, but seems overcome by his title and his wealth and his land, so is no ally to me against my father. Leastwise she insists we make no further plans until Lent be over.

It seems so long ago that I wrote a Lenten song and spoke of hope and the promise of Easter Day. Now I would that Lent would last forever.

22
ND DAY OF
M
ARCH
,
Feast of Saint Darerca, sister of Saint Patrick and mother of fifteen sons, ten of them bishops

This morning, feeling trapped, I got it into my head to run away. I accept that I cannot be a monk—my chest is too big—or a crusader—my stomach is too weak—but there must be something I can do.

I ran to Perkin on the meadow to help me unriddle this. I said, "Perkin, I must escape or be Lady Shaggy Beard until I die. I am thinking to run away and be a puppeteer at a fair."

Perkin said, "You tangle your spinning. You tangle your weaving. You would tangle the puppet strings. You cannot be a puppeteer."

"A wandering singer," I said.

Perkin said, "Remember the monk who tried to escape from the terrible King John by disguising himself as a minstrel although he couldn't sing, and how he was found out and hanged by his thumbs until they grew as long as a mule's ears? When you sing, it sounds like someone slammed a door on a goat's tail. You cannot be a wandering singer."

"A wart charmer," I said.

Perkin said, "You must first have the talent to make warts fall off."

We tried it on the wart on his elbow. I do not have the talent.

"I could teach birds to talk," I said.

"Most people," he replied, "think there is already more than enough talking in this world. You cannot teach birds to talk."

"I could have a booth at a fair and sell things," I said.

"What?" he said.

"Ribbons."

"Where would you get them?"

"Sausages."

"Who would make them?"

"My old clothes."

"Who would want them?"

I pinched him and went home. God's thumbs! Sometimes Perkin is so sensible it makes my gut wamble.

23
RD DAY OF
M
ARCH
,
Feast of Saint Gwinear, who grew thirsty while hunting so struck the ground with his staff and three fountains sprang up, one for himself, one for his horse, and one for his dog. The Irish have always taken good care of their animals

In the solar with my father this morning: "Daughters and fish spoil easily and are better not kept. You will, Lady Birdy, be wed. If this new suitor is stubborn enough to outlast your willfulness, he will be your husband. If not, I will find another, mayhap even less to your liking. Accept it."

Will I then be caught in this marriage trap? If I must be wed, I'd rather it be to someone young and comely like Geoffrey.

24
TH DAY OF
M
ARCH
,
Feast of Saint Hildelith, Saxon princess and abbess of Barking

Although it is Lent, I contrived a game of Squeak, Piggy, Squeak after dinner. I thought to find Geoffrey alone but instead was caught by Walter Rufus, grinning and making kissing noises. Gods thumbs, this marriage business is very complicated.

25
TH DAY OF
M
ARCH
,
Feast of Our Lady in Lent. First day of the new year

It is 1291. I pray the new year brings us joy and wealth, that George comes back for Easter and that Robert does not, and that God assist me in this marriage matter.

26
TH DAY OF
M
ARCH
,
Feast of Saint Liudger, bishop, denounced for excessive almsgiving

Tonight I stayed awake for the holy book, for we read of all the ways martyrs have died for the glory of God: being disemboweled or boiled alive or skinned or eaten by lions or torn apart by the torture hook. Until the day of the Last
Judgment, when all the dead shall be made whole again, Heaven must look like the abbey gate where the maimed and injured and crippled gather for bits of bread from the almoner. Morwenna says unless my behavior improves, I will never know.

27
TH DAY OF
M
ARCH
,
Feast of Saint Rupert, bishop of Worms. I do not know why worms have their own bishop and other creatures do not

As it rained so hard this day, we sat by the fire and told stories. William Steward told of the nut-brown maid who fell in love with an outlaw and followed him to the woods to share even outlawry with him. I cried so hard I had to wipe my tears on the table linen, for my sleeves were drenched. I knew those feelings of devoted love and the desperate need to be free.

I saw Geoffrey near the door to the buttery, tears on his face, and knew he felt as I did. Mayhap we could be like the nut-brown maid and the outlaw, living in the forest beneath the sheltering trees, sleeping in each other's arms under the stars. Would Geoffrey follow me into the forest? If only he would look at me, I might read the answer in his eyes. Since he will not, I suppose I must ask him.

28
TH DAY OF
M
ARCH
,
Feast of Saint Alkelda of Giggleswick, Saxon princess, strangled to death by Viking women

Odd William says Worms is a place.

29
TH DAY OF
M
ARCH
,
Feast of Saints Gwynllyw and Gwladys, who bathed in the river Usk summer and winter and went for long walks completely naked until their son, the holy Cadoc, made them stop

It rains again. I have spent the morning in my chamber making a new song:

Every face has eyes, I mark,
Large or small, light or dark,
Brown or green or in between,
Black or gray or light as day,
Or blue as the wing feathers of a lark.

Why then do some eyes flash a light
Turning darkness into bright,
Saying words too proud to speak aloud,
Haunting my dreams, or so it seems,
Whether it be day or night?

Why do some eyes make me want to shine,
Become more gentle, true, and fine,
Make of me what I best could be,
Even when those eyes I so highly prize
Have never once looked into mine?

30
TH DAY OF
M
ARCH
,
Feast of Saint Zosimus of Syracuse, renowned for being the last saint in my little book of saints

As soon as he has wood and thatch for a cottage and her father has three pigs for her dowry, the oldest son of Thomas Baker will wed Meg from the dairy. He has been looking lustily after her for three years, since they were twelve and chased birds from the field together, and she finally looked back. Their fathers bickered, bargained, and agreed, so it is settled. They are very happy and giggle at each other when they pass on the road. Why can villagers have a say in whom they marry and I cannot? I wish I were a villager.

31
ST DAY OF
M
ARCH
,
Feast of Saint Balbina the Virgin, maiden of Rome, buried on the Appian Way

I am confounded. What should I be doing these days? Packing up what I will need living in the forest with Geoffrey? Refusing to eat until Shaggy Beard gives me up? Making another plan? Only two more weeks of Lent.

1
ST DAY OF
A
PRIL
,
All Fools Day and Feasts of Saints Walaric, Agilbert, and Tewdric

After Mass, I sent Tom the kitchen boy for pigeon's milk and asked William Steward to order me striped paint. They just grunted. I asked Morwenna to help me gather hen's teeth but she says I ask her that every Fools Day and it has never yet fooled her. I spent the rest of the day sulking in the barn. The kittens have grown.

2
ND DAY OF
A
PRIL
,
Feast of Saint Mary of Egypt, a female hermit who lived on berries and dates and was buried by a lion

Mayhap I could be a hermit. I wonder what they do.