“Here, now, little one, this is no weather for a child to be playing outside.” The voice came from behind them. Helen continued her singing and stomping without pause.
Anna turned to see Prior Humilicus walking down the street with several attendants. The cathedral tower loomed behind him, marking the town square that lay just past the northwest corner of the mayor’s palace. The prior of the new monastery dedicated to St. Perpetua was a familiar sight in town these days, especially in the months since the abbot, Prince Ekkehard, had ridden off with Lord Wichman to fight in the east. Humilicus visited the biscop every day no matter the weather.
“Ah,” he said, seeing Anna’s face and her burden. “You’re the weaver’s niece.” Like all noble folk, he had the habit of touching without asking. He stripped off his sheepskin mittens and fingered a bolt of cloth admiringly. “Very fine, indeed. A rich scarlet. Did Mistress Suzanne dye this wool herself?”
Anna nodded. Helen had come to the last of the string of frozen puddles and was crushing the grainy ice that made a lacework of its miniature shoreline.
The prior’s lean face tightened and his lips pressed together. “You’re the mute one, are you not? God have surely afflicted your family twice over.” Anna didn’t like the way he examined Helen. From a filthy, abandoned, half-starved toddler, she had grown into an angelically pretty little girl, some four or six years of age. “She has a remarkably true voice,” he mused. “I wonder if she can be trained to sing hymns.”
His gaze shifted past Helen. The long wall of the mayor’s palace had once been painted with vivid scenes of the death and life of the blessed Daisan but had been painted over for the third time three days ago. Humilicus picked up a rose encrusted in hoarfrost, examining the wilted flower with the kind of scrutiny most folk reserved for maggots crawling on rotten meat. “I thought all these leavings were picked up last week.”
“They were, Prior,” said the eldest of the monks, whose thin nose was blue with cold. A gust of wind shook the banners set atop the palace wall and set Anna’s teeth chattering. “The biscop’s clerics go around every week collecting such offerings. They brought in two wreaths, one carving, and four candles yesterday.”
Helen darted forward to pluck the rose out of Prior Humilicus’ fingers, then scurried away to hide behind Anna.
“Here, now!” scolded the thin-nosed man.
“Nay, let her go,” said Prior Humilicus. “A whitewash won’t erase memory. If the common folk still lay offerings here after all this time, then chastising one witless girl won’t have any effect on the stain that’s crept into them. It was that stout lad who let the pollution in, he and his tongueless accomplice.” Despite his grim looks, he had a mild if somewhat sardonic disposition. He paused to examine the wall with an ironic smile. “A clever and well-spoken lad was Brother Ermanrich. It passes my understanding that God should have allowed the Enemy’s work to enter such a fitting vessel.”
“God’s ways are a mystery, Prior,” agreed his companion. “It is a good thing those young monks rode away with Prince Ekkehard.”
Humilicus bowed his head as if in submission to the unfathomable mind of God. The procession of monks moved away down the street.
Anna stamped twice, sharply, to get Helen’s attention. The little girl followed happily, skipping and singing, as they walked down to the waterfront gate, to the fullers’ yard. The mistress allowed them to sit on their cloaks by the hearth while she inspected each finger of cloth with an eye to flaws, but Anna didn’t mind waiting, since it was warm. She carried distaff and spindle with her, and began spinning fiber to yarn. Helen pried all the thorns from the rose and tucked it behind her ear, like an ornament. Sleepy, she yawned so widely that her mouth looked ready to split. A few girls their ages sat or stood in the hall, spinning, although most of the activity at this time of day took place out in the yard or in the tenters’ field situated below the city walls.
“That’ll do,” said the fuller, who usually hadn’t a kind word to say about anyone. That she couldn’t find any flaws in the weaver’s work was high praise. “I don’t want anyone saying we’d damaged the goods in the fulling or tenting.” An assistant hurriedly took the cloth away to the yard. “I’ve twelve lengths done for you to be taking back to your aunt, although I see you’ve an errand to run before you go home.” She indicated the scarlet cloak, already fulled and finished, that Anna had set on the bench behind her. The fuller fingered the cloth in the same avaricious way Prior Humilicus had. “Not many can get such a good scarlet color. Did Mistress Suzanne get the wool already dyed?”
Anna allowed herself a vapid smile. She hated being mute. The lack of a voice was like lacking hands, most noticeable when you weren’t thinking about it and reached instinctively to tighten your belt or take a slice of apple, but occasionally it had advantages.
“Well, you’ve nothing to say! And no wonder. Your aunt has made much of herself in Gent since the Eika were driven out. If I didn’t know you were mute, I’d suppose you were simply too proud to talk to such as me!” The fuller had the kind of face easily creased by smiles, round and full, but she hadn’t any smiles in her gaze, only envy. “Still, you’re old enough to be betrothed, and you look as though you’re likely to be moving to the women’s benches come St. Oya’s Day. Has Mistress Suzanne found a husband for you yet?”
Anna shook her head. She didn’t mind that her body was changing; that was part of the natural order. But she didn’t like the way people tried to tempt her with marriage offers. After all, no one actually cared about her.
“You’ve a funny color of skin, it’s true, but you’re healthy enough and it would be a good alliance with a prosperous family, and advantageous for both our households to be allied one with the other. I’ve a likely nephew. He’s a good lad, almost nineteen—” The fuller seemed ready to go on at length, but shrieks erupted from the yard, followed by angry voices. She rose with a grunt of anger. “Gutta, give the weaver’s niece the cloth that’s done.” To Anna’s relief, she strode out to the yard, where Anna heard her voice raised in a blistering scolding.
A girl no older than Anna transferred the fulled and dried cloth into Anna’s keeping as soon as Anna tucked distaff and spindle into her belt. She layered the good scarlet cloak in between the other cloth, for protection, and stamped twice to attract Helen’s attention. She held a dozen folded lengths of cloth that Mistress Suzanne would either trade to tailors’ row or finish herself into cloaks and winter clothing. With a sigh of satisfaction, she left the fullers’ yard behind.
As usual, she had saved the best delivery for last.
She loved visiting the mayor’s palace; The guards at the gate recognized her and let her and Helen inside without any trouble, although one of them, a lad not more than twenty years of age, bent down to speak to her.
“I beg you, sister, say a good word for me to the lovely Frederun. I know she favors you for the handsome cloth you bring.”
The other guard snorted. “This girl’s mute, Ernust. She can’t say anything to the lovely Frederun, not that it would mean much to you if she did! She hasn’t taken a man to her bed since Lord Wichman went away. Get on with you, then, child, and leave us out here in the cold. Maybe poor Ernust’s nether parts will cool off a little!”
The palace compound had a neat layout, easy to get around. The stables and storerooms lay to one side, the palace on the other, and the kitchens at the far end of the central courtyard so that any fire that might break out wouldn’t spread to the other buildings. Despite the Eika occupation, the palace had survived more-or-less intact. One wing of the stables still lay in ruins, and three of the storerooms had burned to the ground and lay in various stages of repair. The eastern gate had fallen in completely to make a great heap of stone, but it had taken all this time to make the palace interior habitable and only this winter had his lordship sent to Kassel and Autun to find engineers who could direct the rebuilding of the gate.
o;God’s ways are a mystery, Prior,” agreed his companion. “It is a good thing those young monks rode away with Prince Ekkehard.”
Humilicus bowed his head as if in submission to the unfathomable mind of God. The procession of monks moved away down the street.
Anna stamped twice, sharply, to get Helen’s attention. The little girl followed happily, skipping and singing, as they walked down to the waterfront gate, to the fullers’ yard. The mistress allowed them to sit on their cloaks by the hearth while she inspected each finger of cloth with an eye to flaws, but Anna didn’t mind waiting, since it was warm. She carried distaff and spindle with her, and began spinning fiber to yarn. Helen pried all the thorns from the rose and tucked it behind her ear, like an ornament. Sleepy, she yawned so widely that her mouth looked ready to split. A few girls their ages sat or stood in the hall, spinning, although most of the activity at this time of day took place out in the yard or in the tenters’ field situated below the city walls.
“That’ll do,” said the fuller, who usually hadn’t a kind word to say about anyone. That she couldn’t find any flaws in the weaver’s work was high praise. “I don’t want anyone saying we’d damaged the goods in the fulling or tenting.” An assistant hurriedly took the cloth away to the yard. “I’ve twelve lengths done for you to be taking back to your aunt, although I see you’ve an errand to run before you go home.” She indicated the scarlet cloak, already fulled and finished, that Anna had set on the bench behind her. The fuller fingered the cloth in the same avaricious way Prior Humilicus had. “Not many can get such a good scarlet color. Did Mistress Suzanne get the wool already dyed?”
Anna allowed herself a vapid smile. She hated being mute. The lack of a voice was like lacking hands, most noticeable when you weren’t thinking about it and reached instinctively to tighten your belt or take a slice of apple, but occasionally it had advantages.
“Well, you’ve nothing to say! And no wonder. Your aunt has made much of herself in Gent since the Eika were driven out. If I didn’t know you were mute, I’d suppose you were simply too proud to talk to such as me!” The fuller had the kind of face easily creased by smiles, round and full, but she hadn’t any smiles in her gaze, only envy. “Still, you’re old enough to be betrothed, and you look as though you’re likely to be moving to the women’s benches come St. Oya’s Day. Has Mistress Suzanne found a husband for you yet?”