Godiva by Nicole Galland

harnessed to a sleepy-looking ox. As if an elaborate dinner feast were to be assembled, the table was lined with neat, small piles of fist-size objects, each of which Avery showed her, to demonstrate how ably they had prepared.
    â€œHere is the earth,” he said, pointing to four small pieces of sod. These had come, she knew, from the four corners of the farmland that was about to be blessed. Beside the turf were four jugs—“holy water, honey, oil, and all the milks,” recited Avery. “All the milks” meant milk from each kind of livestock, or at least the sheep and cow. She wondered if one could milk a sow, and then decided it was too early in the morning to worry about it.
    Avery now walked her down the table, showing her chunks taken out of different trees, to represent each kind of tree but oak, which was exempt; the aspen, unlike the ash, birch, hawthorn, and other shards of wood, was neatly cut and fastened to make a cross. Next along the table was the most unruly pile, a heap of stems of every known plant on the property to be blessed, from what was grown to what was gathered. These included wilting daffodils, primroses, celandines, violets, and hazel flowers.
    â€œIt is well done,” she said, sensing his desire to please her. He smiled with satisfaction, and led her back to the head of the table.
    Four weary girls each picked up one piece of turf and turned it upside down in their hands. Avery was about to coax Godiva, but she politely brushed him away, remembering this part of the ceremony from when Lyfing had led it.
    She took the smallest jug, which held the holy water, and put her hand into it. As Avery held the lantern close, and all the farmers and their families craned to see, Godiva carefully dripped three drops of holy water on each piece of turf, and over each piece she recited, “Grow and multiply, and make the earth replete with harvest. Pater Nostrum . . .” The congregation joined her for the rest of the prayer.
    That was her first role in the ritual, and she felt a thrill, even for that small gesture. The farmers and their wives gathered into aprons and sacks all of the flora on the table, as a few of the men carefully picked up the jugs of milk, honey, and oil, and led by the girls holding the pieces of sod, the entire group moved toward the stone walls of the monastery, where a waiting monk silently let them in through the narrow post-door. Inside the compound, they herded themselves into the church.
    At this point, Bishop Lyfing would typically have taken on his more conventional priestly role to sing four masses over the turf (still upside down, so that the damp muck would not spoil the altar). With the local mass-priest performing this, Godiva struggled to stay awake in the chill dark. Finally the priest—whose name she ought to know, and did, when she was more alert—placed a token of the four saints upon the arms of the aspen cross. He picked up the sod, and lay each piece upon an arm of this cross. The congregation stirred themselves again and all of a voice they chanted “ Crescite ” over and over, before segueing again to the Pater Nostrum .
    And now again Godiva had a role to play. This one she did not know well enough, and Avery stepped up to her, kissed her hand with his dry lips, gestured her to face east, and held up a piece of battered vellum and a lantern with enough light for her to read the charm:
    â€œI stand facing eastward, for I’ve favors to beg,” she began, chanting in a monotone as she remembered Lyfing chanting. Her chest resonated with the depth of her tone, but her voice was nothing near as sonorous as his. She wished she sounded more like Edgiva, at least. “I ask the great and glorious Lord, I ask heaven’s holy guardians, I ask the earth below and the heaven above, and the holy, righteous Mother Mary, and the hallowed halls of Valhalla, that I might be worthy, by God’s grace, of