Catherine, Called Birdy (7 page)

The magpie's water was frozen over this morning, so I have covered all the cages with kirtles and gowns and mantles to keep my birds warm. Mayhap they will think it night until God warms the world again.

9
TH DAY OF
D
ECEMBER
,
Feast of Saint Wolfeius, first hermit in No folk

God's knees! A person can only wear one gown and one kirtle at a time, so why are my mother and her ladies making such a fuss about my covering the bird cages with their spare ones! I
cannot believe they would want my poor birds to freeze to death.

I will have plenty of time to think on this, for I am imprisoned in the solar, brushing feathers and seed and bird dung off of what seems enough clothing for the French army. I see no deliverance. Perkin is busy with his grandmother. Aelis is in London with the king. George and Thomas are from home much these days, riding and drinking and amusing other people and not me. God's knees, I might as well be an orphan.

10
TH DAY OF
D
ECEMBER
,
Feast of Saint Eulalia, virgin and martyr, who spat at her judge and was burned alive

God's nails, Morwenna is in a sour temper today. Every time I open my mouth, she cracks my knuckles with her spindle.

11
TH DAY OF
D
ECEMBER
,
Feast of Saint Daniel, who lived thirty-three years atop a pillar

Morwenna threatens to truss me like a goose and dump me in the river if I continue in my quest for the perfect profanity. God's chin! She treats me like a child.

12
TH DAY OF
D
ECEMBER
,
Feast of Saints Mercuria, Dionysia, Ammonaria, and the other Ammonaria, holy women killed by heathens

I have chosen. God's thumbs! What a time I have had in deciding. I chose God's thumbs because thumbs are such important things and handy to use. I thought to make a list of all the things I could not do without my thumbs, like writing, plaiting my hair, and pulling Perkin by his ear, but now it seems to me to be a waste of paper and ink, for I can think of no purpose for such a list unless some heathen Turk came from across the sea and threatened to cut off my thumbs with
his golden sword and I was able to convince him to spare my thumbs by reading him my list of how important thumbs are, but since it seems unlikely both that a Turk would threaten my thumbs and that a list would stop him if he did, I shall save the time and the ink and not make a list.

13
TH DAY OF
D
ECEMBER
,
Feast of Saint Judoc, whose hair and heard grew after his death and had to he trimmed by his followers

Storm again today. George and Thomas are still gone, but we are cooped up in here like chickens in a hen house. I stayed out of Morwenna's sight so she would not set me to some lady-task. I used the time to wonder and have made a wondering song:

Why aren't fingers equal lengths?
What makes cold?
Why do men get old and bald
And women only old?
When does night turn into day?
How deep is the sea?
How can rivers run uphill?
What will become of me?

14
TH DAY OF
D
ECEMBER
,
Feast of Saint Hybald, abbot of our own Lincolnshire. I wonder if he is a relative

I am in disgrace today. Grown quite weary with my embroidery, with my pricked fingers and tired eyes and sore back, I kicked it down the stairs to the hall, where the dogs fought and slobbered over it, so I took the soggy mess and threw it to the pigs.

Morwenna grabbed me by the ear and pinched my face. My mother gave me a gentle but stern lecture about behaving like a lady. Ladies, it seems, seldom have strong feelings and, if they
do, never never let them show. God's thumbs! I always have strong feelings and they are quite painful until I let them out, like a cow who needs to give milk and bellows with the pain in her teats. So I am in disgrace in my chamber. I pray Morwenna never discovers that being enchambered is no punishment for me. She would find some new torture, like sending me to listen to the ladies in the solar.

15
TH DAY OF
D
ECEMBER
,
Feast of Saint Off a, king of the Fast Saxons, who left his wife, his lands, his family, and his country to become a monk in Rome and die

I was seated at dinner this day with a visitor from Kent, another clodpole in search of a wife. This one was friendly and good-tempered, and had all his teeth and hair. But he did not compare with George or Perkin, so I would have none of him. Our talk at dinner went like this:

"Do you enjoy riding, Lady Catherine?"

"Mmph."

"Could we perhaps ride together while I am here?"

"Pfgh."

"I understand you read Latin. I admire learned women when they are also beautiful."

"Urgh."

"Mayhap you could show me about the manor after dinner."

"Grmph."

So it went until I conceived my plan, after realizing that the only thing my father would want more than a rich son-in-law is not to part with one of his pennies or acres or bushels of onions. So I grew quite lively and talkative, bubbling with praise for our chests of treasure and untold acres and countless tenants and hoards of silver and for the modesty that prompted my father to hide his wealth and appear as a mere
country knight. My suitor's eyes, which had already rested kindly on me, caught fire, and he fairly flew over the rushes to talk with my father in the solar.

The storm I expected was not long in coming. Poor Fire Eyes tumbled down the stairs from the solar, hands over his head, and rolled across the hall floor to the door and out while my father bellowed from above, "Dowry! Manors! Treasure! You want me to pay you to take the girl? Dowry? I'll give you her dowry!"

And as the comely young man ran across the yard on his way to the stable and freedom, a brimming chamber pot came flying from the solar window and landed on his head. Farewell, suitor.
Benedicite.

Even now as I pity the young man in his spoiled tunic, I must smile to think of my dowry. No other maiden in England has one like it.

16
TH DAY OF
D
ECEMBER
,
Feast of Saint Bean, lakeside hermit of Ireland

My breath stinks, my gut grumbles, and my liver is oppilated. It must be all this fish. Would that Christmas come soon and bring an end to fasting. I am turning into a herring.

A
FTER VESPERS, LATER THIS DAY:
My uncle George is leaving Stonebridge. He does not eat but only drinks his meals. His cheeks are dusky with unshaved whiskers. He has no stories or winks or grins for me anymore. Is it the curse? Do I have powers?

17
TH DAY OF
D
ECEMBER
,
Feast of Saint Lazarus, who was raised from the dead by Jesus and later went to France

George has gone to York. He did not say goodbye, so I do
not know if he will be back for Christmas. I do not know if the curse worked. I will miss him but I liked him better before he loved Aelis. I think love is like mildew, growing gray and musty on things, spoiling them, and smelling bad.

18
TH DAY OF
D
ECEMBER
,
Feast of Saint Mawnan, an Irish bishop who kept a pet ram

The cold has trapped us inside again and I am grown full restless. This is how I have spent my day: I was awakened at dawn by Wat dropping the wood as he lit my fire. I put on my undertunic and stockings while still under the covers for warmth and then, breaking the ice in the bowl, splashed water on my face and hands. I dressed in my yellow gown with the blue kirtle over, my red shoes, and my cloak, even though I was not going outside. Morwenna helped me plait my hair, which we trimmed with silver pins.

We could not hear Mass for we could not get through the snow to the church, so I breakfasted with bread and ale. The next two hours I hemmed sheets in the solar while I listened to my mother's ladies chatter about the Christmas feast. We ate dinner very quickly, for the snow falling through the smoke-hole in the hall kept dousing the fire. I then hurried back to the solar where it was noisy but warm, and here I am now, writing and wishing I were outside on the meadow and Perkin was playing the pipes and the goats were nuzzling one another and me. It is many hours until supper and bed.

19
TH DAY OF
D
ECEMBER
,
Feast of Saint Nemesius, acquitted of theft but executed for being a Christian

The little book of saints never disappoints me. I have kept it with me since the abbot sent it. I showed it once to my
mother, who exclaimed over the pictures, listened to a story or two, and then forgot about it. I therefore consider it mine. Or almost mine. Or near enough, for here it is in my chamber.

20
TH DAY OF
D
ECEMBER
,
Feast of Saints Ammon, Zeno, Ptolemy, Ingenes, and Theophilus, soldiers martyred by the Romans

Too dull for writing.

21
ST DAY OF
D
ECEMBER
,
Feast of Saint Thomas the Apostle, the shortest day and longest night of the year

The snow has stopped. Life begins again.

Last night I tucked a pin into an onion and put it under my pillow so I would dream of my future husband. I dreamed only of onions and in the morning had to wash my hair. It near froze before it dried.

We feasted this day in honor of my brother Thomas, whose saint's day this is. We had oceans of fish and acres of dried apples, and musicians and jugglers and tumblers, and so many guests there were no benches for the young men, who had to sit on the soiled rushes and grab at food as best they could. I am still dazzled by the acrobats and the magician who carried fire in a linen napkin and pulled roses from my ear!

22
ND DAY OF
D
ECEMBER
,
Feast of Saints Chaeremon, Ischyrion, and other Egyptian Christians, who were driven into the desert and never seen again

My chamber is full of visiting girls here to celebrate Christmas. They twitter and chatter louder than my birds, but it does not sound like music to me. I cannot think so I cannot write. No more to say. I miss Aelis. I worry for George. Did the curse work?

23
RD DAY OF
D
ECEMBER
,
Feast of Saint Victoria, a Roman virgin stabbed to death for refusing to sacrifice to idols

The abominable Robert has arrived for the Christmas feast. He brought no gifts, as did my uncle George, and no tales of court, as did Thomas, but only his gross yellow-toothed self. He sows turmoil everywhere. Pinched me where I sit and threatened to roast my birds for Christmas dinner. Made one of the maids cry. Set the dogs to fighting until my father threw them out into the snow. Teased Thomas about his obvious passion for the daughter of Arnulf of Weddingford. Robert told him that every man needs a horse, a sword, and a woman, but he should love only the first two.

24
TH DAY OF
D
ECEMBER
,
Eve of Christmas Day and Feast of Saint Mochua of Timahoe, an Irish monk who was once a soldier

Another bright clear day so we were able to search the woods for mistletoe, holly, and ivy to hang in the hall. Thomas and his friend Ralph acted out the battle of the holly and ivy, arguing over who God loved best, bickering in high voices and shamming a tournament of plants. We all laughed and cheered them. It was a treat to be without Robert, who now that he is twenty thinks our games childish and beneath him.

As I write this, I can see from the open window the parade of villagers leading a cow, an ox, and an ass to the manger in the church. Soon fires will be lit upon the hills, Wat will bring in the yule log, and Christmas will begin.

25
TH DAY OF
D
ECEMBER
,
Christmas Day

Waes hail!
The hall was overstuffed today for the Christmas feast, with villagers and guests and Thomas's friends from court. Even my nip-cheese father forebore to complain about the cost, today being Christmas Day. We ate, of course, boar's
head, which the cook's assistant carried about the hall on a platter decorated with apples and ivy. We also had herring pie, fried milk, onion and mustard omelette, turnip soup, figs stuffed with cinnamon and hard-boiled eggs, mulled pear cider, and more.

We had hardly finished eating when we heard "Please to let the mummers in," and the Christmas play began. Perkin was a wise man, of course. Thomas Baker was Joseph, and Gerd the miller's son played the evil King Herod, although, like Gerd, Herod seemed more stupid than evil. Elfa the laundress was the Virgin Mary; it was to be Beryl, John At-Wood's daughter, but since Michaelmas she is breeding and no virgin in real life or in mumming.

I was very stirred when John Over-Bridge carried in the gilt star on a long pole, which the three wise men and the shepherds followed to the Holy Manger. The villagers who played the shepherds thought to make the play more lively by leading real sheep to the cradle where the Christ Child lay. One began to eat the rushes off the floor and two others, frighted by the dogs, ran off, knocking into each other, the shepherds, the other players, the table, the torches. We all joined in a great chase about the hall after the bawling and kicking sheep. Finally Perkin used his best goatherd voice to calm the sheep and lead them outside, and the play finished with just two wise men. The shepherds were right. It was much more lively.

After the play we played Snapdragons. William Steward burned his hand trying to snatch a raisin from the flaming pan. I anointed it with a paste of sow bugs, moss, and goose grease, although he said he suffered more from the stink than from the pain of the burn. My mother then bade us play a game where no one gets burned, so we changed to Hot Cockles, where people only get smacked.

The hall is full of sleeping bodies tonight. I had to step carefully over those on the floor so I could snatch more figs from the kitchen. If there is sticky on these pages, it is from figs. I love them well.