Catherine, Called Birdy (14 page)

This morning Aelis came to see George on his saint's day but he would not. He drooped and sighed about the yard, heedlessly throwing rotted apples at the pigeons. A wretched Aelis wept noisily all over my chamber. I was overcome with bitter guilt and had to doctor myself with clary wine and custard to lift my spirits.

It did little good, for my turmoiling guts caused me to fight with my father about Shaggy Beard, with my mother about my father, and with Morwenna about everything. Normally I
would talk to Aelis or George and feel better but they are too troubled to help me. I tried talking to Odd William who said, "In the illimitable sweep of time, what will it signify? What will you signify? What will any of us..." God's thumbs. I heaved a jug at him and fled the hall.

24
TH DAY OF
A
PRIL
,
Feast of Saint Ives of Saint Ives, from whose buried body a miraculous spring flows

Geoffrey has been called away from here. His father found a more important place for him to foster. I rejoice to see him go but still think sometimes on his golden hair and his lower lip.

25
TH DAY OF
A
PRIL
,
Feast of Saint Mark, writer of gospels, whose bones lie in Venice

I saw Shaggy Beard's messengers in the yard, talking solemnly to each other. Were the negotiations not going well? I decided to use my wiles to help drive them away. Finally I had something to do besides worry and wait.

I blackened my hair and teeth and acted like a fool, which worked once before, and for good measure let them hear me muttering to myself about meeting Gerd the miller's son in the barn. They looked at me with astonishment as I passed. Now, let it be over.

26
TH DAY OF
A
PRIL
,
Feast of Saint Cletus, third pope

Shaggy Beard's messengers left before dawn this day. No one will speak to me of what happened. Is it over? Am I delivered?

27
TH DAY OF
A
PRIL
,
Feast of Saint Zita, a serving maid who would pray in ecstasy while angels did her chores

I tried to talk to my father. He would not. When I pulled his sleeve, he cracked me and shouted, "Have off!" I think it is over. I have won.
Deo gratias.

28
TH DAY OF
A
PRIL
,
Feast of Saint Vitalis, martyred in Rome with his slave Agricola

My father suffering from a sore throat, I made him a gargle of strawberries, water, vinegar, and the dung of a white dog. Because of how hard he cracked me yesterday, I put in extra dung.

29
TH DAY OF
A
PRIL
,
Feast of Saint Endellion, who lived on the milk of one cow

We had a peddler in the yard this day. He brought hats, ribbons, gloves, pots, and other treasures to trade for goose quills, beeswax, and salt. My mother sent me to buy ribbons for her and I saw, hanging from the timbers of his cart, small cages of wicker woven like tiny castles with towers and gates. I had to have some for my birds, so I ran to my chamber to see what I might have to trade. I have no silks or velvets or laces and can't imagine anyone wanting my embroidery. Finally I rummaged through the rushes on the hall floor and found amidst the bones and grease drippings a penny and two farthings. The peddler had gone but I chased him down the road and traded the coins for three cages, which I have suspended from my ceiling beams with lavender ribbons. My chamber looks more and more like Heaven, let others who sleep there complain as they will.

30
TH DAY OF
A
PRIL
,
May Day Eve and Feast of Saint Erkenwald, bishop of London

The village is bustling as all prepare to go a-Maying tomorrow at dawn. My mother insists that Morwenna go with me, but I can easily avoid the old baggage if she spoils my fun.

I left open the window shutters in my chamber tonight so I could see the fires lit on every hill. I believe they are shining for me, for a future without Shaggy Beard. I am filled with hope.

1
ST DAY OF
M
AY
,
May Day and the Feast of Saint Marcoul, who cures corrupt and rotten ulcers, suppurating rashes, and other foul diseases of the skin

The loveliest day of the year. To the Maypole haste away, for it is a holiday!

Morwenna and I went out before dawn to gather hawthorn and rowan branches alive with flowers and wash our faces in the magical May morn dew, though I think it is too late to improve Morwenna's face.

Gerd the miller's son and Ralph Littlemouse brought down from the hills a small birch, which we stripped of leaves and branches and decked with flowers and ribbons. We leapt and danced around it, singing in our glee to have summer come again. John Swann from the alehouse and William Steward's red-haired daughter Molly were acclaimed king and queen of the May. John Swann also won most of the games, the wrestling and the running and the stick fighting, although Perkin climbed highest in the old oak. The village boys spent their time trying to kiss the queen and any other girl they could reach.

We feasted on berries and bread and cakes and ale in the
orchard, and near noon Jack o' the Green came dancing in, his face and body covered with leaves, singing about maidens and love and kissing. I tied leaves and flowers about myself and danced with Jack and then John Swann and then John Swann again. Molly pulled him off to dance with her, and I tried to dance off with Jack as he left the village, but Morwenna stopped me, as I hoped she would.

2
ND DAY OF
M
AY
,
Feast of Saint Gennys, not the one who carried his own head

I am confounded. Shaggy Beard's agents, gone these last days, have come again. Shaggy Beard, it seems, is determined, and my behavior and my wishes affect him not at all. Is he the suitor more greedy than my father and more stubborn than I? Oh, God, I pray not.

The messengers' return changes nothing.
I will not marry the pig!

A wonder: I have not the powers to avoid Shaggy Beard. Did I then truly have anything to do with George and Aelis? Or was there no curse?

3
RD DAY OF
M
AY
,
Feast of the Finding of the Holy Cross

May Perkin roast in Hell. I asked him this morning for a small kiss so I might know what all the fuss and poetry and song is about, but he just laughed and would not.

4
TH DAY OF
M
AY
,
Feast of Saint Monica, who overcame a violent husband and a tendency to heavy drinking to become mother of the holy Saint Augustine

I put my shoes on the wrong feet this morning and it brought me ill luck indeed, for the negotiations are over and I
am set to marry Shaggy Beard. My mother asked that I not be wed and gone until her baby is born in the autumn, so I have a morsel of time left to figure a way out of this trouble. If only I had been able to become a monk or a crusader or a pilgrim or anything but a maid about to be sold like a herring. I am sulking and have refused all food since dinner.

5
TH DAY OF
M
AY
,
Feast of Saint Hydroc of Lanhydroc, a Cornish hermit

Fought with the beast my father over this joke of a marriage. I roared, he roared, I threw things, he stepped on them, I pushed him, he shouted about stubbornness and pride which should long ago have been broken and delivered several hard blows to my face.

6
TH DAY OF
M
AY
,
Feast of Saints Marian and James, blindfolded, beheaded, and thrown into the river Rummel

Fought again with my father. God gave me this big mouth, so I think it can be no sin to use it. Even so, I plan to resume sulking instead of arguing—it is much easier on my face.

7
TH DAY OF
M
AY
,
Feast of Saint Stanislaus of Poland, killed by some king while he prayed

Still sulking and have added deep sighs and ill temper. My father looks about to burst with anger. Good.

I spent the afternoon in the far field with Perkin and the goats. He said my father manages me all wrong. Perkin said he learned about getting along with me by watching Sym with the pigs. If it is necessary to lead a pig forward, he said, Sym ties a string to its hind leg and pulls backward. The pig will then pull forward and so goes ahead. And so it is with me, Perkin
says. If my father pulled me backward, I would demand to go ahead.

I mislike being likened to a pig, so left Perkin in the field and am sulking in the barn—alone.

8
TH DAY OF
M
AY
,
Feast of Saint Indract, an Irish prince who with his nine traveling companions was set upon and murdered by brigands

More lady-lessons. It is impossible to do all and be all a lady must be and not tie oneself in a knot. A lady must walk erect with dignity, looking straight before her with eyelids low, gazing at the ground ahead, neither trotting nor running nor looking about nor laughing nor stopping to chatter. Her hands must be folded below her cloak while at the same time lifting her dress from the floor while at the same time hiding her mouth if her smile is unattractive or her teeth yellow. A lady must have six hands!

She must not look too proud nor yet too humble, lest people say she is proud of her humility. She must not talk overmuch yet not be silent, lest people think she does not know how to converse. She must not show anger, nor sulk, nor scold, nor overeat, nor overdrink, nor swear. God's thumbs! I am going out to the barn to jump, fart, and pick my teeth!

9
TH DAY OF
M
AY
,
Feast of Saint Beatus of Vendome, who lived and died in a cave, where he fought and slew a dragon

More arguing with my father and more bruises. As Morwenna bathed my face in rosemary water she said, "Child, a dog is wiser than you. He does not bark at his own master."

Perkin likens me to a pig, Morwenna to a dog. I wish I were one or the other.

10
TH DAY OF
M
AY
,
Feast of Saint Conleth, who was devoured by wolves

My mother still troubled by headache, I made her a tonic of chamomile, being out of goat dung until Perkin brings the goats home. No relief.

11
TH DAY OF
M
AY
,
Feast of Saint Credan, who killed his father and in remorse became a hogherd and a saint

I wonder how he did it.

14
TH DAY OF
M
AY
,
Feast of Saint Boniface, who led a dissipated life but was kind to the poor and died while protecting Christians

My mother being ill these past days, I have had no time for writing or, in truth, anything to write.

15
TH DAY OF
M
AY
,
Feast of Saint Dympna, protector of lunatics

We sent for the Spanish physician who is visiting the abbey to see to my mother's headaches, for Morwenna and I can do no more. He is a little man in a black cape and a flat black hat that looks very like a big burned pancake. He advised her to avoid bad smells, keep her head cool, and not to cry, sing high, or shout hallo. I advised her to get rid of the Spanish physician.

17
TH DAY OF
M
AY
,
Feast of Saint Madron of Cornwall, whose magic well one can still visit

My mother does better, I am still promised to Shaggy Beard, it is raining. Life goes on.

18
TH DAY OF
M
AY
,
Feast of Saint Aelgifu, queen of Wessex, mother of Kings Edwy and Edgar

I think Aelgifu a more suiting name for me than Catherine
or Birdy. I asked Morwenna henceforth to call me Aelgifu but she merely snorted.

19
TH DAY OF
M
AY
,
Feast of Saint Dunstan, who pinched the Devil's nose with tongs

Still raining. I sat in the hall with Odd William, who also refuses to call me Aelgifu but did read to me from his history of the world. He has just finished writing of the Trojan War and of Aeneas, who fled to Italy from the ruins of Troy, and his grandson Brutus, who was expelled from Italy for shooting his father with an arrow, thinking him an animal, although it seems to me a reasonable mistake. After many adventures this Brutus came to the island of Albion, inhabited only by giants, and he and his followers built homes and settled down to stay, changing the name of the island to Britain, after Brutus. I asked Odd William why in that case it was not Brutain. He humphed and stopped reading and I had to leave the comfort of the hall and find a place to hide from Morwenna and her everlasting weaving.

20
TH DAY OF
M
AY
,
Feast of Saint Ethelbert, king of Fast Anglia, a relative, no doubt, of my aunt Ethelfritha

Still raining. No one will agree to call me Aelgifu except Gerd the miller's son, who cannot pronounce the name and says Ugly-foo.

21
ST DAY OF
M
AY
,
Feast of Saint Collen, a Welshman who fought a duel with a Saracen before the pope, went home to Wales, and delivered the people in the Vale of Llangollen from a lady giant by slaying her

I asked Odd William about this story of Saint Collen, for it seems the sort of thing he would know. William says it is but a fable, that Saint Collen did indeed fight a Saracen and a lady giant but the pope was never involved.

How pleasant it has been to lie by the fire and hear stories and think about Greeks and giants and popes. Mayhap I could be William's apprentice.

22
ND DAY OF
M
AY
,
Feast of Saint Helen of Carnavon, builder of Welsh roads

In order to put an end to my idleness, which Morwenna says is the great pathway that leads to all evils, I have been made to hem sheets for my marriage bed. By cock and pie! Would that I had thread spun from deadly henbane or spurge!