candles.
Alienora knelt near the front of the chapel, deep in prayer. When she saw me light a candle and place it at the Virgin’s feet, she came up to me and put her hand on my shoulder.
“I feel the Holy Mother’s presence here,” she said softly. “What troubles you, Falconer?”
When I looked into her eyes, I felt the maternal warmth of her being. Her face was like an arc of light in my dark world.
I told her of my troubles, and she took my chin in her soft, warm hand. “Have faith. If your mother is as you say, then she will be found innocent in the Lord’s eyes. Our priest and abbé know what is of Heaven and what of Hell.”
“You do not understand,” I whispered. “And I dare not tell you more.”
“Please,” she said. “Please tell me.”
“If I tell you, will you promise not to be angry with me for this? For the telling?”
She nodded. “On the Blessed Mother’s womb,” she said. Then she went and kissed the statue of the Virgin, first at the feet, then at her womb, as was then the custom of maidens who sought the Virgin’s protection.
She brought me to kneel on the hard stone floor. We clasped our hands together in prayer.
“Tell me,” she said. “What strikes fear in your heart?”
“You have lived in comfort,” I said. “You have, since childhood, known no want. You have known no care. When you are sick, you are healed. When you are sad, you are made gay. When you desire meat, it is cooked for you. Drink, it is there. You adorn yourself with jewels and fur, at which price someone must go hungry, but you have not met whoever hunts the bear or barters for the gemstones or captures the wild boar and slaughters and dresses it for the feast. I am one of those who pay that price. I have known a different life.
“When I was a child, there were days of hunger. Long nights of fever while I watched a sister die slowly, and without any help, except from the Forest crones. Here, in your home, it is warm in the wintertime. Where I lived, we simply froze. We slept with dogs and each other for warmth, upon straw thrown on the frozen ground. My mother is old before her time. My life, to her, seems like the life of a prince, and yet I sleep in a place where even your hounds would not venture.
“If you were accused of this crime of sorcery, your father would pay tribute to the abbey, and you would soon be released. But my mother does not have a father to protect her. She does not have powerful friends. She has no influence in the village, and she has been kept from Mass on too many occasions. I dread saying this at the foot of the Virgin herself. But she is a whore, and has many children to still care for. She is not someone who, like you, would have others to speak for her or to pay the jailer’s bribe. I am afraid that she will die.”
Alienora leaned forward and kissed me gently on the cheek, right where a tear had fallen. Her lips must have tasted that tear, for when she drew back from me her lips shone with it, and her cheeks were flushed with red where they had been snow-white a moment before. “Your love for your mother is strong,” she said. “I will help you. I will help her.”
She reached up to her neck and drew a pendant over her head. She asked me to open my hands, cupped. I did so, and she placed the pendant in them. “This was brought to me by the man I was to wed. He died in the Holy Crusades, but it was a gift he sent before his death. They call it an encolpion.”
I looked at the image on the medallion. It was the face of the Virgin Mary, Mother of God. Above her, to her right, a small white dove. It had a Byzantine cast to it, and gold filaments within the metal. On the other side was a picture of Our Lord, surrounded by gold, holding the Bible in his left hand, his right hand raised up. There were strange figures written below this, and Alienora told me that it was a prayer for safety and glory.
“You must wear this for me,” she said. “Wear it and Our Lady
Alienora knelt near the front of the chapel, deep in prayer. When she saw me light a candle and place it at the Virgin’s feet, she came up to me and put her hand on my shoulder.
“I feel the Holy Mother’s presence here,” she said softly. “What troubles you, Falconer?”
When I looked into her eyes, I felt the maternal warmth of her being. Her face was like an arc of light in my dark world.
I told her of my troubles, and she took my chin in her soft, warm hand. “Have faith. If your mother is as you say, then she will be found innocent in the Lord’s eyes. Our priest and abbé know what is of Heaven and what of Hell.”
“You do not understand,” I whispered. “And I dare not tell you more.”
“Please,” she said. “Please tell me.”
“If I tell you, will you promise not to be angry with me for this? For the telling?”
She nodded. “On the Blessed Mother’s womb,” she said. Then she went and kissed the statue of the Virgin, first at the feet, then at her womb, as was then the custom of maidens who sought the Virgin’s protection.
She brought me to kneel on the hard stone floor. We clasped our hands together in prayer.
“Tell me,” she said. “What strikes fear in your heart?”
“You have lived in comfort,” I said. “You have, since childhood, known no want. You have known no care. When you are sick, you are healed. When you are sad, you are made gay. When you desire meat, it is cooked for you. Drink, it is there. You adorn yourself with jewels and fur, at which price someone must go hungry, but you have not met whoever hunts the bear or barters for the gemstones or captures the wild boar and slaughters and dresses it for the feast. I am one of those who pay that price. I have known a different life.
“When I was a child, there were days of hunger. Long nights of fever while I watched a sister die slowly, and without any help, except from the Forest crones. Here, in your home, it is warm in the wintertime. Where I lived, we simply froze. We slept with dogs and each other for warmth, upon straw thrown on the frozen ground. My mother is old before her time. My life, to her, seems like the life of a prince, and yet I sleep in a place where even your hounds would not venture.
“If you were accused of this crime of sorcery, your father would pay tribute to the abbey, and you would soon be released. But my mother does not have a father to protect her. She does not have powerful friends. She has no influence in the village, and she has been kept from Mass on too many occasions. I dread saying this at the foot of the Virgin herself. But she is a whore, and has many children to still care for. She is not someone who, like you, would have others to speak for her or to pay the jailer’s bribe. I am afraid that she will die.”
Alienora leaned forward and kissed me gently on the cheek, right where a tear had fallen. Her lips must have tasted that tear, for when she drew back from me her lips shone with it, and her cheeks were flushed with red where they had been snow-white a moment before. “Your love for your mother is strong,” she said. “I will help you. I will help her.”
She reached up to her neck and drew a pendant over her head. She asked me to open my hands, cupped. I did so, and she placed the pendant in them. “This was brought to me by the man I was to wed. He died in the Holy Crusades, but it was a gift he sent before his death. They call it an encolpion.”
I looked at the image on the medallion. It was the face of the Virgin Mary, Mother of God. Above her, to her right, a small white dove. It had a Byzantine cast to it, and gold filaments within the metal. On the other side was a picture of Our Lord, surrounded by gold, holding the Bible in his left hand, his right hand raised up. There were strange figures written below this, and Alienora told me that it was a prayer for safety and glory.
“You must wear this for me,” she said. “Wear it and Our Lady
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