ridiculous rule was it anyway that wouldn’t let you look at the person you were speaking with? Maere pulled back, aggravated. She couldn’t see a thing. And she couldn’t very well push the curtain aside. Someone would see her for certain if she did.
Maere took another drink and cleared her throat. “What do you need?” she finally asked, a little afraid of the answer. Could it be the man she saw last night? Or was it the red-eyed demon? Had he found her already?
“Ah, you sound much better now, but very young. Are you certain you’re old enough to be offering consultations?”
She could hear the amusement in his voice. This curbed the fear that had begun to swell within her, quickly replacing it with annoyance. Well, lucky for him she was inside this anchorage, praying and performing charitable duties, or she’d be forced to give him a tongue lashing for sure.
“I’m only recently enclosed, but I assure you I will help in any way I can,” came her reply, though she wasn’t certain how she managed to be so polite. “Perhaps you could tell me who you are, Sir. What is it you seek at St. Columba’s?”
“To tell the truth, I am only a poor pilgrim on my way west,” he said. “West to Tintagel.” There was a pause before he added, “Have you ever been there?
Something in the name of the region stirred Maere’s blood. But why? Should she know of this place?
The man interrupted her thoughts. “Draw back the curtain,” he bade, echoing her own desire. “I would like to see to whom I am speaking.”
Maere looked sharply at the embroidered white cross. As tempted as she was to comply, she couldn’t. “I’m sorry, but I cannot. It’s not allowed by the law.”
“By whose law?”
“It’s the law of the Church. The law of God.” What an odd manner of pilgrim, that he wouldn’t know the proper etiquette for approaching a hermitess.
“Of which god do you speak? Anu? Lugh? Or one of the others?”
Maere took a step away from the window, her eyes wide. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The man laughed, the sound sending a chill up Maere’s spine. “How can you not know? Have these Christians cleansed your brain so thoroughly you would forget the tales of the Dumnonii?”
“I know nothing of which you speak,” she insisted, close to tears. What was he saying? That she was pagan? That she should know these things?
“Answer these questions for me, Anchoress. Is your hair dark copper like a chestnut horse? Are your eyes as green as the sea?” His voice grew gentle. “Do light brown freckles dance across your fine nose and high cheek bones?”
Maere put her hands over her ears. How did this man know everything about her? “Stop it! I tell you, you must leave!”
He pressed on. “Can you deny you are Maere cu Llwyr, daughter of Manfred and Rhea?” His voice was smooth, but there was no denying the strength beneath it, almost as if he were daring her to lie to him.
Maere’s hand flew to her mouth and she stumbled against the chair, knocking it over. How could he know her name? Before she could reply, she heard the sound of feet crushing their way through dried leaves.
“Good day, Pilgrim. Is there anything I can help you with this beautiful spring morning?” Abbess Magrethe asked.
Thank God, Maere thought, for the dear lady and her careful ways.
“No, thank you. I was just leaving. Peace to you, Anchoress. Please accept my gift.” He pushed a rolled piece of parchment past the curtain. “May God have mercy on your soul.”
Maere’s head reeled as he spoke the words that had become a litany for her. Over and over she repeated them last night as she cried. Until, finally, she’d fallen into an exhausted, dreamless sleep. Her hand shook as she took the offering. More rattling of leaves told her he was walking away.
“Maere?” the abbess called. “Appears a good thing I thought to check on you this morn, what with already receiving your first visitor. I hope
Maere took another drink and cleared her throat. “What do you need?” she finally asked, a little afraid of the answer. Could it be the man she saw last night? Or was it the red-eyed demon? Had he found her already?
“Ah, you sound much better now, but very young. Are you certain you’re old enough to be offering consultations?”
She could hear the amusement in his voice. This curbed the fear that had begun to swell within her, quickly replacing it with annoyance. Well, lucky for him she was inside this anchorage, praying and performing charitable duties, or she’d be forced to give him a tongue lashing for sure.
“I’m only recently enclosed, but I assure you I will help in any way I can,” came her reply, though she wasn’t certain how she managed to be so polite. “Perhaps you could tell me who you are, Sir. What is it you seek at St. Columba’s?”
“To tell the truth, I am only a poor pilgrim on my way west,” he said. “West to Tintagel.” There was a pause before he added, “Have you ever been there?
Something in the name of the region stirred Maere’s blood. But why? Should she know of this place?
The man interrupted her thoughts. “Draw back the curtain,” he bade, echoing her own desire. “I would like to see to whom I am speaking.”
Maere looked sharply at the embroidered white cross. As tempted as she was to comply, she couldn’t. “I’m sorry, but I cannot. It’s not allowed by the law.”
“By whose law?”
“It’s the law of the Church. The law of God.” What an odd manner of pilgrim, that he wouldn’t know the proper etiquette for approaching a hermitess.
“Of which god do you speak? Anu? Lugh? Or one of the others?”
Maere took a step away from the window, her eyes wide. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The man laughed, the sound sending a chill up Maere’s spine. “How can you not know? Have these Christians cleansed your brain so thoroughly you would forget the tales of the Dumnonii?”
“I know nothing of which you speak,” she insisted, close to tears. What was he saying? That she was pagan? That she should know these things?
“Answer these questions for me, Anchoress. Is your hair dark copper like a chestnut horse? Are your eyes as green as the sea?” His voice grew gentle. “Do light brown freckles dance across your fine nose and high cheek bones?”
Maere put her hands over her ears. How did this man know everything about her? “Stop it! I tell you, you must leave!”
He pressed on. “Can you deny you are Maere cu Llwyr, daughter of Manfred and Rhea?” His voice was smooth, but there was no denying the strength beneath it, almost as if he were daring her to lie to him.
Maere’s hand flew to her mouth and she stumbled against the chair, knocking it over. How could he know her name? Before she could reply, she heard the sound of feet crushing their way through dried leaves.
“Good day, Pilgrim. Is there anything I can help you with this beautiful spring morning?” Abbess Magrethe asked.
Thank God, Maere thought, for the dear lady and her careful ways.
“No, thank you. I was just leaving. Peace to you, Anchoress. Please accept my gift.” He pushed a rolled piece of parchment past the curtain. “May God have mercy on your soul.”
Maere’s head reeled as he spoke the words that had become a litany for her. Over and over she repeated them last night as she cried. Until, finally, she’d fallen into an exhausted, dreamless sleep. Her hand shook as she took the offering. More rattling of leaves told her he was walking away.
“Maere?” the abbess called. “Appears a good thing I thought to check on you this morn, what with already receiving your first visitor. I hope
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