Catherine, Called Birdy (15 page)

This sewing of sheets makes a marriage seem more real. What am I to do? Am I doomed?

25
TH DAY OF
M
AY
,
Feast of Saint Zenobius of Florence, who raised from the dead five people including a child run over by an ale cart in front of the cathedral

Grown full restless with the rain, I thought to sing some of my songs to Odd William. He is after all a great scholar and could give me an opinion of them. I had just begun my Lenten song when he commenced talking of his own work and the difficulty of obtaining enough paper and how he is contemplating next a life of Merlin the Magician in rhymed couplets. He did not see me or hear me at all. Finally I wandered off to throw gooseberries into the fire. They popped and hissed—made as much sense as Odd William. He will have to find another apprentice.

28
TH DAY OF
M
AY
,
Feast of Saint Bernard of Aosta, who used dogs to help lost travelers on the Alpine passes

Walter Grey, the steward of Crossbridge Manor, stopped here today to drink our ale and to boast of a miracle in Crossbridge village. One of the villagers, he says, an unlettered
man with no language but English, woke up one morning suddenly able to speak fluent Hebrew. We once had a two-headed calf, which I think much superior to Hebrew-speaking villagers, but it didn't live very long.

29
TH DAY OF
M
AY
,
Feast of Saint Alexander, martyred in Milan

The news of the Hebrew-speaking villager has greatly excited Odd William. This, if true, he says, supports his growing suspicion that Brutus and the early Britons were not Trojans but members of one of the lost tribes of Israel, driven from their homeland by the Assyrians. A villager who miraculously remembers Hebrew from the Britons' long-ago past would confirm his theory.

William plans to ride to Crossbridge to see for himself. He has visions of glory and renown, with famed scholars coming from all over the world to consult him. Probably they will all want to sleep in my chamber.

30
TH DAY OF
M
AY
,
Feast of Saint Hubert, who became a Christian when he saw the image of the crucified Christ between the antlers of a stag

There was a wondrous strange spectacle in our yard this dawn. Odd William tied his writing table, parchments, and pens onto the back of the miller's mule and set out for Crossbridge and fame. His eyes, so well suited for close work like writing, fail at distances, so that William rides leaning greatly forward on the mule's neck, alternately squinting and peering far ahead, while rubbing that spot between his eyes where all this squinting and peering hurts him. Our villagers lined the road and called out to him as he passed, thinking him some sort of saint or holy man for his part in the Crossbridge miracle. Dogs, two goats, a goose, and several village children ran behind him, spattered with the drops the ink made as it
spilled its way to Crossbridge. I should like to paint a picture of this on my chamber wall, but I fear I would never then sleep for laughing.

31
ST DAY OF
M
AY
,
Feast of Saint Petronilla, who refused to marry a pagan count and starved herself to death

The rain has stopped and the world shines. Everything seems more hopeful in the sun. It will soon be summer and I am not Lady Shaggy Beard yet. I
will
find a way out.

1
ST DAY OF
J
UNE
,
Feast of Saint Gwen of Brittany, who had three breasts

Odd William has returned. He says the miraculous Hebrew the villager spoke was but gibberish, the product of a brain fever or an overactive imagination. Gone are William's hopes for greatness. He is standing again, his back to our fire, writing of the founding of Rome by twin orphans nursed by a wolf.

2
ND DAY OF
J
UNE
,
Feast of Saints Marcellinus and Peter, Christian martyrs, who converted their jailer while in prison

There was a message from Robert. His wife has died with as little fuss as she lived. I never once called her by name. It was Agnes. The child died too. It had no name.

Strange things are happening to me. I am having so many soft feelings. Mayhap I need to brew me some wormwood and periwinkle, to comfort my heart.

3
RD DAY OF
J
UNE
,
Whitsunday and the Feast of Saint Kevin, who lived on salmon brought to him by an otter and died at one hundred twenty

We dressed all in green and yellow to celebrate Whit Day and sang "Summer is icumen m," although it was so cold and
rainy that the dancers fought to wear the tree costumes, which are clumsy but warm, and all were wet and bedraggled. We were happy to think on the church ale to come.

4
TH DAY OF
J
UNE
,
Feast of Saint Edfrith, scribe and artist, like me

Quiet today. I am sore of head and sour of stomach but warm.

5
TH DAY OF
J
UNE
,
Feast of Saint Boniface, who wrote the first Latin grammar used in England

I helped an ant today. She carried a burden so heavy it looked to crush her. A crumb it was, or a speck of wheat. Or a drop of honey that had hardened in the sun. She was struggling to take it back to her nest, where it would feed her fellow ants for a day or a week, as small as it was. So intent was she on carrying her crumb that she didn't notice me at all. I watched as she staggered and fell and bumped and stumbled, making slow progress toward what must have been her home.

But day was nearly over. I knew the villagers would be driving their animals back through the meadow to pen them for the night. And the tiny ant and her precious crumb would be smashed into the dirt. I had to help her.

First I searched around for other ants, to see where they were going. I followed a line of ants running to and from a hole in the dirt, some in, some out, some sideways, all around the hole. This must be home, I thought.

I put a piece of a leaf in front of the ant. All intent on her burden and unaware of me, she walked onto the leaf. Then I went to the hole in the dirt where all the ant activity was. It was only a few steps for me but seemed a lifetime's journey for an ant. I put the leaf down by the hole. The ant walked around the leaf, up the stem and down the side, stumbled around in circles for a bit, twitched her feelers like my brother Robert hitching
up his breeches, and walked down the ant hole, still balancing her morsel. I felt as though I had saved the whole world.

6
TH DAY OF
J
UNE
,
Feast of Saints Gudwal, Jarlath, Norbert, Agabard, Artemius, Candida, and Pauline. Truly. I am not making this up

The beast my father woke up roaring like a real beast this morning. Toothache. He rubbed garlic on his thumb and left the smelly paste there all day, but that reliable remedy failed him. He roars that he will go to Lincoln to the tooth puller, but my mother is afraid that pulling the tooth will leave a hole in his head where evil spirits can get into his body. I think it more likely that evil spirits could get
out.

8
TH DAY OF
J
UNE
,
Feast of Saint William of York, at whom my great-great-great-great-grandmother once threw a cabbage

My mother convinced the beast to send to the abbey for the Spanish physician. She thinks mayhap he can cure my father's toothache without leaving a hole.

11
TH DAY OF
J
UNE
,
Feast of Saint Barnabas, the first missionary

Two days ago the Spanish physician was here. He told my father that the toothache is due to an imbalance of humors in his body and recommended letting out some excess blood by cutting a vein under his tongue. The beast submitted meekly—for him—until the knife pierced his tongue. He swung out and knocked the little man from Spain from his stool. Finally the physician managed to cut the vein and caught the heavy dark blood in a cooking pot.

But today the beast still roared, so the physician returned. The toothache, it seems, comes not from unbalanced humors but from a toothworm, which has burrowed deep into my father's jaw. This new cause required a new remedy, so the
physician mixed henbane leaves with sheep fat, rolled this into little pellets, and dropped them on the fire. My father leaned over and breathed in the smoke through his mouth. Sparks kept leaping up and starting his beard on fire—he looked like a demon from the mouth of Hell, smoldering and bellowing. I went outside and helped Meg make cheese.

13
TH DAY OF
J
UNE
,
Feast of Saint Antony of Padua, who once preached to fish

We go today to Lincoln to the tooth puller! The physician came again yesterday, escorted by six of my father's men. He told my father that this toothworm was especially stubborn and malignant and that nothing would do but a poultice of raven manure on the sore tooth. I saw the little man running, robes pulled up over hairy skinny legs, followed by my father's roar, and not even his six escorts could bring him back.

Morwenna convinced my mother that we need new embroidery silks that none but she and I could select, so we go too! It is Corpus Christi week and on Thursday the guilds of Lincoln will deck their wagons with flowers and herbs and pull them through the town to the cathedral square, where they will perform their plays about the wonders of Creation and the life of Jesus and I will be there to see! God keep Morwenna!

19
TH DAY OF
J
UNE
,
Feast of Saints Gervase and Protase, whose relics restored the sight of a blind butcher in Milan

Corpus bones! Since last I wrote I have seen Heaven and Hell, angels and devils, and the tortures of the damned. I must be much changed.

We rode to Lincoln in a fine drizzle, but the city atop its hill was bathed in sunshine. From our room in the inn I could hear the sharp cracking of horses' hooves on cobblestone, the
cries of merchants and peddlers, the cook boys calling "Hot pies! Fat pigs and geese! Come and eat!" and the incredible noise of too many people in too small a space.

Lincoln is wondrous fair and curious. On our way to the tooth puller we walked streets so steep a fat bishop pushed from the top would not stop rolling until he reached the river Trent. On either side were merchants' booths with wares spread out upon the counters—cloth, ribbons, candles, needles, boots, belts, spoons, knives, arrowheads, and more. Above the shops the second stories leaned so far over the street that Mistress A could pass a sausage to Mistress B across the road without leaving her house.

The crowded city swarmed with dogs, cats, roosters, geese, pigs, horses, merchants, travelers, housewives hurrying to market, children running with their buckets to the well, serving maids emptying chamber pots, and all manner of busy, bustling creatures. Near the market square we passed a man with his head and hands held tight in stocks, being pulled through the streets in a wagon. Caught selling spoiled fish, he had some of his stinking goods hung round his neck like a necklace, and the wagon was followed by hundreds of cats, hungry and hoping. Children and even some vengeful housewives followed along, throwing sticks and mud and garbage at the wagon. One old woman threw rotten carrots and onions while another gathered them up in her apron and hurried off to make soup.

When we reached the tooth puller the beast roared again, but the tooth is now out. His jaw is black and swollen—I thought perhaps my mother was right and evil spirits had entered, but he roars no louder and swears no more and stinks no worse, so mayhap all is well.

The next day being Corpus Christi, we heard Mass and then followed a procession of priests and merchants into the
cathedral yard to see them play the story of the Last Judgment. A two-tiered wagon held Heaven on its upper story and Earth below. At the side was the mouth of Hell, smoke and flames belching out, and the awful cries of the damned, suffering every kind of beating, roasting, and grilling. I hope to have nightmares from this for months!

Heaven was remarkably crowded, considering how few people we are told are good enough to get there. Angels with golden skin and golden wings flew about on golden straps, playing on golden harps. One angel caught on the branches of an apple tree. The angel struggled and cursed devilish curses but finally climbed down unhurt, and the play went on, with God and the saints singing and dancing and blowing on golden horns, calling each man to answer for his deeds.

Below on Earth, demons bristling with horned horsehair masks tried to drag sinners into the mouth of Hell, while behind their backs the Virgin Mary pulled the poor souls out of the hellfire with her own hands. Then the Devil himself appeared, hoofed, horned, and tailed, clad in a wolf skin, bedecked in bells, shaggy and awful and smelling like last weeks herring. In a deep ringing voice he called, "Foul-tempered wives, who cause men to grieve, murderers, thieves, my welcome receive!"

If he had called for disobedient daughters, I think I would have repented my sins and cried for mercy right there in the cathedral yard!

One clumsy devil knocked over the ladder to Heaven, smashing it to bits and stranding players up above. While someone built another, God and the angels entertained us with songs and bawdy stories. Then the new ladder went up, we all cheered, God came down waving to the audience, and the play was over.

20
TH DAY OF
J
UNE
,
Feast of Saint Alban, beheaded by a soldier whose eyes then fell out. Saint Alban is buried near here. At Saint Albans

We returned in the midst of furious housecleaning. The courtyard and the orchard were bedecked with wet linen, hanging from ropes and walls and trees, while kettles bubbled with strong-smelling soapy water. Tonight my body will rejoice—clean linen!

Home can never match the excitement of Lincoln, but I was happy to see my mother again. She is well and the babe she carries too, God save us all.