Alcuin.
“Take care to stay out of the sun,” Rakoczy said kindly, addressing Gynethe Mehaut directly. “And bathe often: skin such as yours can become injured when it isn’t clean. Do not worry about vanity: there is none in saving your body from damage. You have a most exceptional condition, and it imposes its burden upon you. Do not be frightened or ashamed: you are a singular woman; that is the whole of it.” He nodded once to Priora Iditha. “Watch after her, Priora. Care for her. She is a most delicate blossom, like the jasmine; she cannot easily sustain the blows of the world.” With that, he made a little reverence, then nudged his grey with his calf and went back to the Sant’ Martin group.
While they watched the Santa Albegunda travelers move to the side of the road, Alcuin whispered to Rakoczy. “In all your travels, have you ever seen anyone like that?”
“Yes, I have,” said Rakoczy. “Very rarely,” he added.
“I should hope so,” exclaimed the monk. “What a most terrible affliction! God visits strange suffering upon His children.”
“Is she a leper? So white?” the Comes asked, his voice raised half an octave in fear.
“No,” said Rakoczy before Alcuin could answer. “There is no rotting of her flesh, and no thickening of her features. The whiteness was on her when she was born, or I know nothing of the matter.”
“It may be a sign of great blessing, to be white as a newborn lamb. How remarkable.” Alcuin made a gesture of protection, just in case.
“No doubt,” said Rakoczy, a sardonic note creeping into his voice. “And that, as you say, good Alcuin, does not, perforce, mean un-Godly. Sometimes such singularity is a mark of favor.”
Alcuin nodded. “Yes. It could be so.”
Comes Gutiger shook his head emphatically. “Nothing so pale—she is whiter than a bled corpse!—can be—”
“The Lamb is white as fresh-fallen snow,” said Alcuin thoughtfully, pursuing his own ruminations. He made a gesture, and his party moved forward again. “The garments of the Angels are white.”
“But red eyes!” Comes Gutiger protested.
“Yes. That is troubling,” said Alcuin. “Well, let us pray for her preservation from all harm, and her deliverance from sin.” They were almost abreast of the carruca, and the monk averted his eyes. “How long will she remain like that?”
Rakoczy reminded himself that for Alcuin, the miraculous was an expectation of faith. “All her life, Sublime. I have never known of anyone born as she was to become as other humankind are.”
“How can that be? May not God intercede and transform her?” Alcuin asked. They were past the carruca now, and the leader of the men-at-arms held out his empty right hand in salutation; Alcuin sketched a blessing in his direction. “Surely God or one of His powerful Saints may bring about a change in her, so that she would be made like you and me.”
This was precarious ground, and required a careful answer. “Say rather how could any change come, since God has been pleased to make her in this wise,” Rakoczy corrected him gently. “I should worry for the health of anyone whose skin suddenly changed color, particularly for one born so pale. It could mean that she would have more to suffer than she has now.”
“Well, you have cared for the sick in many lands; I will suppose you have learned much.” The dubiety in his voice warned Rakoczy to change the subject shortly. “You have learned a great deal, haven’t you?” It was clearly a challenge.
“Not nearly enough,” said Rakoczy with genuine feeling, unwilling to dispute the matter. “I cannot tell when a man ails and nothing will avail him, why it has been so.”
The Comes snorted and tried not to laugh. “You aim high, foreigner.”
“Certainly. What else is worth my time, or the time of any man?” Rakoczy put a slight emphasis on the last word, and almost at once regretted it, for he was worried that this might be noticed and attributed
“Take care to stay out of the sun,” Rakoczy said kindly, addressing Gynethe Mehaut directly. “And bathe often: skin such as yours can become injured when it isn’t clean. Do not worry about vanity: there is none in saving your body from damage. You have a most exceptional condition, and it imposes its burden upon you. Do not be frightened or ashamed: you are a singular woman; that is the whole of it.” He nodded once to Priora Iditha. “Watch after her, Priora. Care for her. She is a most delicate blossom, like the jasmine; she cannot easily sustain the blows of the world.” With that, he made a little reverence, then nudged his grey with his calf and went back to the Sant’ Martin group.
While they watched the Santa Albegunda travelers move to the side of the road, Alcuin whispered to Rakoczy. “In all your travels, have you ever seen anyone like that?”
“Yes, I have,” said Rakoczy. “Very rarely,” he added.
“I should hope so,” exclaimed the monk. “What a most terrible affliction! God visits strange suffering upon His children.”
“Is she a leper? So white?” the Comes asked, his voice raised half an octave in fear.
“No,” said Rakoczy before Alcuin could answer. “There is no rotting of her flesh, and no thickening of her features. The whiteness was on her when she was born, or I know nothing of the matter.”
“It may be a sign of great blessing, to be white as a newborn lamb. How remarkable.” Alcuin made a gesture of protection, just in case.
“No doubt,” said Rakoczy, a sardonic note creeping into his voice. “And that, as you say, good Alcuin, does not, perforce, mean un-Godly. Sometimes such singularity is a mark of favor.”
Alcuin nodded. “Yes. It could be so.”
Comes Gutiger shook his head emphatically. “Nothing so pale—she is whiter than a bled corpse!—can be—”
“The Lamb is white as fresh-fallen snow,” said Alcuin thoughtfully, pursuing his own ruminations. He made a gesture, and his party moved forward again. “The garments of the Angels are white.”
“But red eyes!” Comes Gutiger protested.
“Yes. That is troubling,” said Alcuin. “Well, let us pray for her preservation from all harm, and her deliverance from sin.” They were almost abreast of the carruca, and the monk averted his eyes. “How long will she remain like that?”
Rakoczy reminded himself that for Alcuin, the miraculous was an expectation of faith. “All her life, Sublime. I have never known of anyone born as she was to become as other humankind are.”
“How can that be? May not God intercede and transform her?” Alcuin asked. They were past the carruca now, and the leader of the men-at-arms held out his empty right hand in salutation; Alcuin sketched a blessing in his direction. “Surely God or one of His powerful Saints may bring about a change in her, so that she would be made like you and me.”
This was precarious ground, and required a careful answer. “Say rather how could any change come, since God has been pleased to make her in this wise,” Rakoczy corrected him gently. “I should worry for the health of anyone whose skin suddenly changed color, particularly for one born so pale. It could mean that she would have more to suffer than she has now.”
“Well, you have cared for the sick in many lands; I will suppose you have learned much.” The dubiety in his voice warned Rakoczy to change the subject shortly. “You have learned a great deal, haven’t you?” It was clearly a challenge.
“Not nearly enough,” said Rakoczy with genuine feeling, unwilling to dispute the matter. “I cannot tell when a man ails and nothing will avail him, why it has been so.”
The Comes snorted and tried not to laugh. “You aim high, foreigner.”
“Certainly. What else is worth my time, or the time of any man?” Rakoczy put a slight emphasis on the last word, and almost at once regretted it, for he was worried that this might be noticed and attributed
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