They stood in the yard. The sun was at its zenith. The castle wall sheltered them from the rising wind. Lydia clutched the fur lined cloak Dame Paston had given her. It covered her gray pilgrim's robe. The round pilgrim's hat with the red cross on it obliterated a good bit of her peripheral vision, it also hid her face, which was a good thing. Vagrant tears kept leaking out of her eyes. In her hand was her pilgrim's staff. It was a tool of locomotion and a weapon of defense. A pilgrimage was not without its dangers. Beneath her cloak and robe was the bag of her most treasured possessions, candles, writing tools and the sprig of yew. It grieved her to know her bag did not contain a single thing from her Aunt Rachel and then she remembered. The wax in the candles had been made by Aunt Rachel's bees. It was a small thing, but it was something.

Beside Lydia stood a very young monk. He possessed exactly two whiskers on his chin. Under his arm was a leather wallet with their pilgrimage papers. He was in such a good mood, it was irritating. James' mother stood across from them. Her face was grim and her eyes were dark. With too much enthusiasm Brother Matthew said, “Do not worry, dear lady God has opened this door.”

She cut her dark eyes at the monk. “Aye? Has he, Brother Matthew?

“Yes of course He has. Just as Dame Paston dreamed her angel appeared. Miracles do happen. More will come, you will see. Where is your son? I am impatient to begin my first adventure in faith.”

In a voice steeped in bitterness, James' mother said, “Adventures in faith are not all glory, or have you not read the scriptures Brother Matthew?"

Her question did not dim his smile. "All things come at a price."

"Aye, and you will find out soon enough the expense of being a fool." Her words were hard, and they tore through Lydia.

Brother Matthew simply laughed.

From the barn James and an older man appeared. By the look of the older man, he must be James' father. Behind them was a brown mule hitched to a pony cart.

At the sight of the mule Brother Matthew's good spirits evaporated. "MOSES AARON, I will not be toted to Rome by MOSES AARON! That mule is diabolical and contrary."

A sharp glint came into the older man's brown eyes. “Ah, Moses Aaron, dunna listen to the daft monk. A finer more sure-footed creature God has never created." The man's voice caught. He leveled his gaze at Brother Matthew and said, "You dunna be abusin' this mule. Mark my words, in the Alps you will thank God for him. Hye now, undertide is long past. You best be goin' or night will catch you out.”

Brother Matthew did not move. "I want horses and a wagon."

The glint in man's eye turned to fire. He barked, "Lord Geoffrey Paston did not clear horses or a wagon for this journey. Make you conspicuous, bait for thieves and such like. Now stop your bellerin' and get on your way."

Perturbed Brother Matthew scrambled onto the cart. Lydia did the same. James hugged his mother. "I will be back Moder, I promise."

"A promise you have no power to keep." Silent tears slipped down her cheeks as she studied her son's face. She kissed him and let him go.

James' father said, “Take care my son.”

“I will Fader.” James climbed up beside Lydia and clucked to the mule. The cart wheels crunched the frozen earth beneath them.

As soon as they left the protection of the castle wall the full force of the icy wind struck them. The mule's breath was white. His hooves made a steady clip clop on the road. Ahead the hearths of Southampton spewed their smoke into the sky. At the sight of them Lydia felt her heart contract.

*

At eventide they stopped at a derelict chapel. Beside the front door was a collection of walking staffs. Other pilgrims were inside. James drove Moses Aaron to the sheltered side of the chapel and tied him to a post. Brother Matthew pulled a slip of parchment from his robe and murmured, "Saint Anne's chapel." With a charcoal stick, he put a slash through the first line.

Lydia asked, “What are you doing?”

“Marking off our stops.”

“Our stops, I thought we were headed straight for Rome.”

Brother Matthew shook his head. “Nay lad. A pilgrim never heads straight for any place, save heaven.” With the forefinger of his left hand, he counted the lines on the paper. Lydia counted with him and exclaimed, “Thirty-three!”

“One for every year of our Lord Christ’s life. It is what the Dame prescribed.”

“If we visit all those places it will take more than a twelvmonyth to reach Saint Peter’s.”

“Nay. James will not let us linger over long. He is not fond of shrines and churches.” He shoved the list and stick into his robe pocket.

James called, “Hye, lads.” Brother Matthew hopped down. For Lydia, the decent was a bit treacherous. She had not yet mastered getting down alone. If she had just been wearing britches it would have been easy enough, but the damned robe confined her like a dress and encumbered all movement. When she reached the oak door riddled with wormwood, James opened it. The rusty hinges screamed. A group of pilgrims were gathered around the eastern wall. A gray bearded priest said, “Do come in quickly, lest all our warmth escapes.”

"Of course." James closed the screaming door behind him. Without the dying light of day, the chapel was immediately cast into a smokey darkness. Acrid tallow candles burned on the altar. James, prodded Lydia and Brother Matthew to the group. On the wall was a portrait of Eve, the fallen mother. Unlike the modest Eve, Sister Clare had drawn in wax, this Eve was very masculine. Her hair was blown back revealing breasts that perched on her bare chest like two round apples. She did not have any nipples or any other feminine anatomy. Her eyes were closed. The snake, coiled in the tree of Knowledge, flicked his tongue at her. The priest said, “Behold our carnal history. If God had not made woman the world would not have been thrown into chaos.”

A small snort came from Brother Matthew. He asked, “Are you saying God made a mistake when he created woman?”

Tartly the priest replied, “I am only saying He should not have.”

“So you are saying God made a mistake.”

The priest turned cold eyes on Brother Matthew. “I know God does not make mistakes. But woman, that vile creature forsook her God. Do you not recall the words of of Tertullian*?" Before Brother Matthew could answer, the old man quoted, “Do you not know you are Eve?...You are the devil’s gateway; you are the unsealer of that forbidden tree; you are the first deserter of the divine law; you are she who persuaded him whom the devil was not valiant enough to attack. You destroyed so easily God’s image, man. On account of your desert-that is, death-even the son of God had to die.”

Brother Matthew looked at him steadily. “No, I have not heard that before, but if memory serves me correctly, when God chose to redeem the world he sent his agent through the body of a woman. Also, after all but one of Christ’s disciples deserted him at the cross, it was the women who remained with him until his death. It was to women that he first appeared after his resurrection. Why do you think that was?”

The old priest scowled at Brother Matthew and said, “God’s ways are too mysterious for me to decipher, and certainly beyond your foolish contemplation.” He turned his attention to the other pilgrims. “Now, come see what we have in our reliquary boxes" The priest limped to the altar and pulled out a wooden box. The box was illustrated with paintings of John the Baptist's life. The pilgrims gathered closer around him as he opened the box. Inside was a tiny broken pearl.Brother Matthew pushed Lydia forward. They went to the edge of the circle. The priest proclaimed, “'John the Baptist's baby tooth.” Everyone, including Brother Matthew, oohed and aahed. Lydia glanced back at James. His face was expressionless.

The priest pulled out a second box. It was copper gilt and enamel. On it were tiny copper medallions of the Holy Mother. The medallions caught the flicker of the acrid altar candles. Their stench was overwhelming. Lydia felt like she was about to be sick. In the wavering candle light, the priest opened its lid and exclaimed, “Now for the shred of the Virgin Mary’s veil!" The priest pulled a shred of ancient, stained, dark blue wool from the box. "This is but a remanent of the veil Mary wore the night our Lord was born. Touching this scrap of cloth has blessed many a womb with healthy thriving children.”

What?! A miracle had been a mere half days drive away and Fader had not brought Moder to this place just because did not believe in miracles. Moder believed in them! Would Moder be alive now, if Fader had brought her here? Did the scrap of wool possess power or was it rubbish? Lydia turned from the priest to look at the other pilgrims. They were all male. No one touched the cloth. Males did not need the power it was supposed to possess.

After the priest finished his presentation, an old woman approached them with a basket of mementos. James purchase three. The mementos for Saint Anne’s were loops of blue cloth. The blue symbolized Mary’s robe. James affixed Lydia's first mento to her pilgrim's robe. For a brief moment their eyes met. His kindness reached out to her, but it could not soothe the ache inside of her.

Across the road from Saint Anne's chapel was a daub and waddle barn to shelter pilgrims and their beasts. At the door James paid the fee and lead Moses Aaron and the cart into the far corner of the barn. While he untethered Moses Aaron, fed him and rubbed him down, Brother Matthew sought out the company of other pilgrims. Lydia sank down into the rotting hay and pulled her knees under her chin. She felt like she was about to fly to bits. That little scrap of blue wool had brought her mother closer to her than even driving by Southampton had. It also had brought Aunt Rachel near. Aunt Rachel who had devoted her life to birthing babies, living and dead ones. Tears slid down her cheeks.

James stooped down beside her and whispered, “Are you alright?”

She shook her head.

“It must have been hard going by Southampton today.”

Lydia could not talk about the scrap of wool, it would be improper, but she did say, "It was hard. There is no one left in Southampton that I love except Father Peter, if he is still living."

Gently, James said, "He is living."

That was some comfort. The only two men she knew well in Southampton were Fader and Father Peter. There had been Jacob, but she did not think of him as a man. And, there had been James from time to time, in and out of the shop. Until last night, she and James had not ever been together for any length of time and now she was bound to him for only God knew how long.

"Come," James said, "some food and wine will improve your spirits."

If only it were that simple. James offered her his hand and she took it. His hand was warm in her cold one as he helped her stand. The instant she was upright he squeezed her hand and let go. Under his breath he said, "I must be remembering you are a lad. I do not want to give you away."