Catherine, Called Birdy (5 page)

My uncle George has brought gaiety and wonder into my life. I will not give him to Aelis and satisfy myself with wormwood cordials!

1
ST DAY OF
N
OVEMBER
,
which the Saxons call the Month of Blood, Feast of All Saints

We took down the hazel branches from the doors and windows and blessed God for keeping us free of witches for another year. Would that it were so easy to keep the abominable Robert away. He is coming for Christmas. The first memory I have of this brother is his drowning ants by pissing on the anthill. He has plagued me ever since.

2
ND DAY OF
N
OVEMBER
,
Feast of All Souls

I joined the village children today as they went from cottage to cottage begging for soul cakes. Our cook makes the largest cakes but Perkin's granny makes the best. Ordinarily I do not mind Perkin's granny's muddle-mindedness, for she is the most roomy-hearted person I know, but sometimes she forgets to make her cakes and we all are disappointed. One year she made cakes at Michaelmas and was full angry that no one came begging for them. Another All Souls Day, as we stood at her window singing, "Soul, a soul, a soul cake, please good mistress, a soul cake," she wished us a Holy Christmas and sang back, "Here we come a-wassailing among the
boughs so green." This year she got the day right and I snuck extra cakes into my chamber for tomorrow. I have already eaten them.

3
RD DAY OF
N
OVEMBER
,
Feast of Saint Rumwald, who at three days old said "I am a Christian" and died

The beast my father roared especially ugly roars today. I never seem to please him, although it is true I never try. When I was a child, I ofttimes thought I was a foundling or, even better, the beloved daughter of our good king Edward Longshanks, left here with this beast and his wife for fostering. Mayhap it is true, and now that I near fourteen my real father will call me home. And I will live in a castle with Turkey rugs on the floor and glass in the windows and dress my hair with a comb of gold and ivory. No, even better, my real father is a woodsman from the west who lives in a treehouse made of sticks and branches. He calls me home and we live with the beasts of the forest and dance in the moonlight in the wet grass and no one calls us in to go to bed or finish our sewing, which Morwenna is doing now, the Devil take her.

4
TH DAY OF
N
OVEMBER
,
Feast of Saint Birstan, who once when praying for the dead heard them answer "Amen
"

Brought my popinjay to dinner. He fell off my shoulder into the boiled mirling and I had to take him to the kitchen to wash the sauce off his feathers and let him dry himself by the fire. My father roared because there were a few feathers in the fish. He has eaten worse. As I passed his chair after dinner, the beast hit me hard enough to crack my rump.

Afterwards, my uncle George winked at me and made all the uproar worth it. My heart almost stopped.

5
TH DAY OF
N
OVEMBER
,
Feast of Saints Zachary and Elizabeth, parents of John the Baptist although they were much too old

Father Huw came for dinner after Mass. He is infested with boils and blotches and sought the aid of my lady mother. To test my skills in doctoring, she asked what I would advise. I thought the best remedy was to throw himself in the river, but aloud I advised an ointment made of oil of bay and a bath once in a while.

6
TH DAY OF
N
OVEMBER
,
Feast of Saint Illtud, who once sailed to Brittany with corn ships to relieve a famine

Went to the high meadow to meet Aelis as we planned. I waited all day but she never came. Morwenna caught me sneaking back after supper and I have been made to do extra sewing. My belly is croaking with hunger and I have seven ticks.

7
TH DAY OF
N
OVEMBER
,
Feast of Saint Willibrord, archbishop who killed sacred cows, destroyed idols, and still lived to be eighty-one

Aelis did not come to the meadow yesterday because she was with my uncle George. I have made myself another draft of wormwood and mint.

8
TH DAY OF
N
OVEMBER
,
Feast of the Crowned Martyrs, who were either four Roman soldiers or five Persian stonemasons

I put a toad in George's bed. I don't know why. I cried at dinner and left the table before the almond cream. I don't know why. I looked for Perkin to pinch him but he was gone with the goats. I cannot be a monk nor a crusader nor a tumbler. I must stay here and hem sheets until I die. My humors are greatly out of balance. I prescribe for myself wormwood in spiced wine and some of the custard left from supper. And I will let all of the dogs sleep in my bed.

9
TH DAY OF
N
OVEMBER
,
Feast of Saint Theodore the Wonder Worker

It appears a storm is coming. Father Huw says storms are the work of the Devil. Does that mean if the Devil is busy with some other mischief, the weather is good? Or if the Devil is occupied bringing a storm to Stonebridge, there is no sickness or evil or bad weather elsewhere in the world? Is the Devil then, being in charge of the weather, more powerful than God?

10
TH DAY OF
N
OVEMBER
,
Feast of Aed Mac Bricc, bishop and physician of Ireland, who could travel through the air

Father Huw is ringing the bells to drive the storm away, but the Devil is winning this time.

11
TH DAY OF
N
OVEMBER
,
Martinmas, Feast of Saint Martin of Tours, who gave his cloak to a beggar who was Christ in disguise

The wind ripped the roofs off several of the cottages and the unlucky villagers crowded into our hall last night. Trees fell and the lowlands were flooded with a foot of water as our normally dilly-dally river leapt its banks and ran through the fields, looking for things to devour.

Perkin said babies in their cradles were washed out of the cottages and sailed away to lands unknown like Moses in the Bible. This morning we can see the river tumbling with dead rats, turnip tops, and cooking pots.

12
TH DAY OF
N
OVEMBER
,
Feast of Saint Cadwaladr the Battle Shunner

Why, I wonder, did God make faces with the nose over the mouth instead of the other way? Why do noses have two openings and mouths only one? And why do we need to blow our noses but never our ears? Or our eyes?

I thought to ask Morwenna these questions, but when she doesn't have answers she just bellows at me and sends me to do embroidery, so I dare not risk it. It rains today, so I am sitting in my chamber listening to the music of my birds and wondering.

13
TH DAY OF
N
OVEMBER
,
Feast of Saint Abbo of Fleury, killed in a fight between serving men and monks

My father is confined to his bed with severe ale head. I ground some peony root to soothe his pain but he drank the powder in more ale so I don't know how much good it will do. I wonder why every occasion for mourning or celebrating seems to call for ale: birth ales, church ales, bride ales, funeral ales, harvest ales. Every week our hall is filled with guests who are marking some occasion with ale on one day and violently ridding themselves of it the next. Birds and animals and children, being smarter, never get drunk and never have ale head or putrid stomach.

14
TH DAY OF
N
OVEMBER
,
Feast of Saint Dyfrig, the bishop who crowned Arthur king of Britain

All is ashes. I was in the high meadow today with Aelis, who says she loves my uncle George, and he loves her, and they wish to wed. I must doubt that her father the baron will let her be given to a younger son with no land and no title, but she says she always gets her way, so I am greatly afeared. Will they, my two most favorite in the world, abandon me for each other? I am sore stricken.

I have heard that if lovers meet a pig while walking, it is certain to doom their love. If only I could arrange for them to meet a pig. Or, even better, a weasel. Where do I get a weasel?
And how do I get them all three together? I think to need more wormwood tonight.

15
TH DAY OF
N
OVEMBER
,
Feast of Saint Malo, a bishop who sang psalms to his horse

A gray and drizzly day. I have done extra hours of embroidery, for it gave me time to think undisturbed about Aelis and George. I thought to make a spell to curse them but I do not know where to get dragon dung. Mayhap I should pray instead but I am not very good at asking nicely for things, even from God.

16
TH DAY OF
N
OVEMBER
,
Feast of Saint Margaret of Scotland, queen and needleworker

They are cleaning out the privy today. The stench drove me from the house into the muddy fields, but when they started to spread the manure on the fields, I went back into the house. One thing I will never do is run away and be a privy cleaner.

17
TH DAY OF
N
OVEMBER
,
Feast of Saint Hilda, abbess of Whitby, said to be a relative of my mother

They found the remains of several spindles, many skeins of wool, and an unfinished tapestry in the muck from the privy. Why is everyone so certain they are mine?

18
TH DAY OF
N
OVEMBER
,
Feast of Saint Mawes, who can cure headaches, worms, and snakebite

I have developed a rash on my body where the rough cloth rubs on my skin. I wanted to take a bath, thinking that the dirt on my skin made the rash worse, but the bathing tub has been turned upside down and is being used as an extra table in the
kitchen and I cannot have it until spring, so I just spread goose grease on my rash. The dogs are following me everywhere.

19
TH DAY OF
N
OVEMBER
,
Feast of Saint Ermenberga, succeeded as abbess by her daughter, Mildred

Heard Mass three times today. My father must want something of God. A rich son-in-law, no doubt, although there have been no further prune-faced suitors.

No more news of George and Aelis, the uncle thief. Mayhap their love is but a dream of Aelis's. George for certain has said nothing, albeit he has new dark circles about his eyes and no winks for me.

20
TH DAY OF
N
OVEMBER
,
Feast of Saint Edmund the King

It is a strange and wonderful story, about King Edmund. He was hacked to pieces by invading Vikings, and his head rolled under a thorn bush where it lay calling "Help, help" until his friends could find it and carry it home. I have added to the picture on my wall Edmund's head hiding in the bush, calling "Help, help." His teeth are yellow because I have no white paint. But maybe they truly were yellow. Most people's are.

21
ST DAY OF
N
OVEMBER
,
Feast of Saint Gelasius, pope, who insisted bishops give one-quarter of their wealth to the poor

Morwenna says today is the day Noah entered the Ark. I asked her how did she know, was she there? She hates when I make jests about how old she is, so she just sniffed.

22
ND DAY OF
N
OVEMBER
,
Feast of Saint Cecilia, who refused to sacrifice to pagan gods and was suffocated in her bathing room

We were visited by a procession of musicians today celebrating the feast of Cecilia, their special saint. We had music at dinner, with lutes and gitterns and pipes and drums. My favorite song was about Arthur and Guinevere. It was beautifully tragic. I have no talent to be a musician, but I now have it in my mind to be a song maker.

One of the musicians showed me a jest to do with lute strings. He cut one and sprinkled the pieces on a bench near the fire. As they grew hot, they moved and twisted like worms or maggots. One of the dogs was fooled and started barking and scratching at the bench. Then she ate the strings. No one else noticed. A poor jest.

23
RD DAY OF
N
OVEMBER
,
Feast of Saint Clement, thrown into the sea with an anchor around his neck

My mother, Morwenna, and I are spending some days crushing, grinding, boiling, steeping, and straining herbs. The taste and smell of agrimony, betony, feverfew, and dill are in my clothes, my mouth, my hair, my ears. While we worked, my mother told the story of how she first met my father.

She said, "I was the ward of the baron Fulk Longsword, my father having died some years before, and was living at the time with his family in their castle near York. One day appeared a young knight of no great fortune or renown, with great strong arms and shoulders, and eyes like a raven's. He claimed the baron had cheated his father out of a plot of woodland and he, the knight, wanted it back. When the baron laughed and refused, the knight challenged him to a contest on the field of honor.

"The baron bade his men throw the young knight out and we all sat down to supper. I remember we ate minnows and eels baked with white apples. But all night we could hear the knight banging on the gatehouse door with the hilt of his sword, calling
out his grievances. It began to rain and then to snow but day after day the knight stayed there, pounding on the door and shouting.

"I was most impressed with his strength and his stubbornness, and so too was the baron, it seems, for he would not let his knights run the young man through with their swords but instead brought him in and listened to him, gave him the woodland, and sat him at his side for dinner. Then the young knight's eyes found me and I knew that strength and stubbornness would win me as they had the baron, whether I would or no, and so I went right upstairs and packed my clothes. In three days we were wed and off to Stonebridge. We were both fifteen."

That was the end of her story. I cannot imagine my father a young knight, but I certainly can see him pounding on the gatehouse door all night. I told my mother then some of my wonderings and about my wanting to be a song maker.