Catherine, Called Birdy: March–April

My mother and her women like it not that Robert’s pale puny bride, so far gone with child, is jouncing and bouncing over the fens, but Robert thinks her father in his anger will try to keep the new-wed couple from the manor promised to the girl.

Musicians, sober and well shod, will lead us to the church playing on silver flutes and gitterns, on timbrels and cymbals and lyres.

Musicians, sober and well shod, will lead us to the church playing on silver flutes and gitterns, on timbrels and cymbals and lyres.

2ND DAY OF MARCH, Feast of Saint Chad, whose dust taken in water cures men and cows of their infirmities and restores them to health

The little book of saints says that Cunegund once slapped her niece for frivolity and the finger-marks remained on her face until death.

Edward has sent to us three holy books from which he says we must read each night during Lent to put us in the proper morose and holy mood.

11TH DAY OF MARCH, Feast of Saint Oengus the Culdee, an Irish bishop who genuflected frequently and recited the psalms while standing in cold water

I thought it quite an eloquent argument.

Each time I tried to write of Geoffrey yestereve, I swooned and could not control my hands.

A kinsman of my mother arrived today to celebrate Easter week.

Would they really sell me to that odious old man?

I will contrive something.

In the solar with my father this morning: “Daughters and fish spoil easily and are better not kept. You will, Lady Birdy, be wed. If this new suitor is stubborn enough to outlast your willfulness, he will be your husband. If not, I will find another, mayhap even less to your liking. Accept it.”

26TH DAY OF MARCH, Feast of Saint Liudger, bishop, denounced for excessive almsgiving

Until the day of the Last Judgment, when all the dead shall be made whole again, Heaven must look like the abbey gate where the maimed and injured and crippled gather for bits of bread from the almoner.

I am confounded.

3RD DAY OF APRIL, Feast of Saint Pancras of Taormina, stoned to death by brigands

Has my curse really blighted his life?

There are woolen kirtles and tunics and leggings hung from every tree and bush in the village and draped over the ovens and the dovecote here in the manor yard, while their owners run around near naked and white as plucked chickens, praying that the sun stay out until their finery is dry.

But it matters not, for I still refuse to consider this marriage and will ignore the whole thing and hope the pig will die or fall in love with someone else or grow tired of my indifference.

George says once long ago she was struck by lightning, which left her hair grizzled and her wits addled.

George says once long ago she was struck by lightning, which left her hair grizzled and her wits addled.

Remorse is eating my innards.

I decided to use my wiles to help drive them away.

27TH DAY OF APRIL, Feast of Saint Zita, a serving maid who would pray in ecstasy while angels did her chores