Summer came and went leaving Lydia with a new magic. New purpose had come to her. The power of words was a new country. Words strung to words formed sentences and ideas. She was reading the Bible, not just hearing it. Deus was God, and God was no longer invisible but a word recorded over and over in Scripture. He did things, He said things, He felt things.

After Summer break the Nobles returned. Each had their own new bobbles, dresses and shoes. Susanna heard nary a thing during Masses. Her eyes were locked on these privileged females. Her eyes and heart coveted what she would never have.

One night after Evensong, Susanna whispered, “I wish I had me some fine clothes. I bet I could snag me a to do husband if I did."

Lydia remained silent.

Susanna continued, "I heard today that our King Edward Longshanks has taken a new bride.”

The only way Susanna could have heard this is if she had been eve's dropping again. Lydia was not in the mood for gossip. “Shh, you will get us in trouble.”

Susanna did not heed the warning. “Guess how old King Edward is?”

“I do not know or care. Now, hush. We are not supposed to talk.”

Refusing to be shushed, Susanna continued, “They say he is still handsome for a man of his age. Sixty he is with both feet in the grave. Guess how old his bride is?”

Lydia would not answer.

Undeterred, Susanna said, “His bride Princess Marguerite, the gorgeous King Philip the Fair’s sister, is only seventeen.”

Lydia did not comment. Poor Princess Marguerite, married off to a man so much older than she was, ousted from her home in Paris, all because Pope Boniface VIII had decided a marriage could heal the rift between the realms of King Edward and King Philip. If the new queen was lucky, King Edward would make her widow sooner rather than later.

The next day talk of the Royal marriage was on everyone’s tongue. All hoped that the truce between King Edward and King Philip would hold and peace would finally reign between the two kings. Gossip and hopes were forgotten when the pox broke out. It swept through London and the countryside. Many of the noble's daughters left the Abbey school and returned to their homes. The Abbey became like a tomb, as all waited to see who the pox might claim.

*

One evening at the end of October, Susanna was sitting on the edge of her bed when Lydia entered their room. She asked, “Do you want to come with me to Samhuinn?”

“Of course not. The pox is still about. Only a fool would go to Samhuinn this year."

Susanna swung her legs back and forth. This was something she did when she was thinking hard, which was not often. "If we see a single scab, or rash we will come right back."

"No."

Susanna said, “Dunna you want to see Cailleache Bheare*?"

"Risk catching the pox to see a bear. No."

A look of amazement came over Susanna's face. "Lydia you have never heard of Cailleache Bheare? She is not a bear bear she is a powerful crone. She blows her cold breath upon the earth bringing winter. I heard one of the nobles say, they saw her last year. Dunna you want to see her?”

There was something very familiar about this crone. What was it?

Susanna's voice dropped low, “Dunna you want to see the moment when the dead and the yet to be born walk side by side."

A chill went through Lydia. In memory she saw Bab flying overhead. Every detail thar terrible strange dream she surged to recollection. Bab was not a crone. She was a sweet old Jewish woman, a midwife not some powerful witch. Her mother was not a blue light, trailed by the spirits of Lydia's dead sisters. They were in heaven safe from this world. And what of the glowing gold baby she thought belonged to her...it was just a dream. She was to be a nun and would never birth a baby living or dead.

Susanna whispered, “I have heard stories of people seeing their dead relatives and their future children dancing in the fields and forest together.”

Lydia snapped, “But we are novices. We will not have children.”

"Oh Lydia, please. I hear the food is wonderful, and the music. So much music. It is magical celebration. Brewer Lecot will be giving away free beer. I adore beer. I must get out of this damned convent. If you dunna go with me, I will go alone."

Susanna was Lydia's first real friend. She was also careless girl sure to get into trouble, sure to get them both in trouble if Lydia went with her, sure to get in worse trouble if she went alone. For several long moments Lydia considered what to do. "All right, I will go with you if you promise we will be back before Compline."

Susanna leapt from her bed and hugged Lydia hard. "I promise."

No one had hugged her like this since she left home. Susanna gave her a big smack on the cheek, grabbed her hands and said, "You are the best friend ever!"

Doubt filled Lydia as Susanna turned away from her. Was she being a good friend or a fool?

Wrapped in their heaviest shawls they snuck out of the Abbey gate. Lydia had not been out the convent gate since her birthday. The smoky light of dusk beckoned them to the outskirts of town. All around freshly harvested fields were stubble. She could hear the sound of water running. It was the River Test, the river that flowed to her home. Viol music drifted in the air. It was sweet but unfamiliar. Lydia felt drawn to it.

"Come on you turtle!" Susanna grabbed her hand and propelled her toward the beer booth. To the left of the booth two bonfires were being built. A shudder vibrated in Lydia's body. There had been two bonfires in her dream.

At the beer booth, Brewer Lecot eyed Susanna and smiled a peculiar smile. He handed her a clay cut of beer. In a single gulp Susanna finished it off. She smacked her pink lips and said, "Be better than my brother's."

"Would you and your friend like another?"

"No thank you," said Lydia. She had to keep her wits.

Susanna had two more cups then said, "I will be back for more." Brewer Lecot tipped his hat to the girls.

Physically stronger than Lydia, Susanna literally drug her from booth to booth. They saw beads of wood and glass, strange trinkets, plates and bowls. At the herb booth Lydia stopped and fingered a branch of rosemary. Aunt Rachel, how she suddenly missed Aunt Rachel. Had her aunt and her sisters survived the pox? She prayed so.

As they moved to the next booth Lydia suddenly became aware that male eyes were following them, many male eyes, both young and old. It had been ages since she had caught the eye of a man. It made her feel funny inside. It made her want to run back to Romsey Abby.

Darkness fell all at once. A cold wind began to blow. The stars pricked through the darkness, tiny points of distant light. Lydia pulled her shawl closer. A long line of cattle were being lead to the bonfires. Their eyes were wide and white with terror. Several bawled in the most piteous way. Susanna covered her ears and shouted, "Such a racket!"

Lydia asked, "What are they going to do with the cows?"

"Oh, you are a dummy Lydia. They drive the cows between the bonfires. The ones that looked too thin or too poorly will be slaughtered for winter. The rest will live to have more babies in the spring."

A man with an oozing scab on his cheek passed within inches of them. Instinctively Lydia held her breath and pointed.

Susanna shrugged.

Heavy coats and shawls could hide the pox! What a fool she was! Lydia had left all she knew lest she die birthing Jacob's babies. Here she was risking her life for what, trinkets and free beer! Firmly she said, "We need to go back now."

All the kindness drained from Susanna's face. "I am stayin'. You can go if you like."

Torn Lydia stared at her and then looked at the sky. It was almost time for Compline. "Please come."

Susanna shook her head. "Go on, good little novice."

The words stung. She would not fight Susanna or cause a scene. Angry and hurt Lydia turned and walked away. Near the edge of the field, she heard again the music that had first caught her ear. In the noise and confusion of her arrival, Lydia had not seen the young man with a halo of light brown hair. His booth contained musical instruments, recorders, flutes, viols and drums. He held a recorder to his lips and played a tune Moder had learned as a child in Paris. Her mother's voice filled her mind:

Kar vasselage par sens nen est folie,

Mielz valt mesure que ne fait estultie.

The translation echoed inside of Lydia:

For courage mixed with prudence is not foolish,

And moderation betters recklessness.*

Guilt seized Lydia. She had not been courageous or prudent. She must get back to the Abbey. She took off down the road. Through the trees she saw a blue glow. It shimmered. The single glow separated into individual shapes, individual female shapes of tiny stature. The tallest light held an orb of gold! Lydia could not breathe. The wind shrieked and she looked up at the sky. A small shadow hovered overhead. Bab? Could it be Bab? A cold blast of wind hit her full in the face. Terrified she pulled her hem up as high as she dared and raced back to the Abbey. What mischief had she loosed this night? A terrible foreboding filled her. She and Susanna should have stayed safe. They should have stayed in their room.

When she reached the Abbey gate it was latched! In fear and frustration Lydia yanked on it begging it to open.

Cobb appeared out of garden shed and saw her. With lantern in hand, he came and unlatched the gate. He shook his head at her. His disappointment was obvious. "Be you alone?"

Lydia shook her head.

"I figured as much. I will go fetch the other Miss. Ye keep yer mouth shut about sneakin' out. No good will come of it." He shook his gnarled finger in her face and said, "Dunna ever do it again."

"I will never do it again."

Irritated, Cobb spat out, "I will hold ye to yer word. Now get!"

Lydia obeyed. When she reached her room, she sank to her knees beside her bed and buried her face in her hands. A prayer of repentance flew from her lips and her heart. Oh that God might forgive her for her trespass and bring Susanna safely home. The bells began to ring. It was time for Compline.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*Cailleache Bheare see author's note.

*Song of Roland see author's note.