Father Lucas is finally home. Six weeks I have not been allowed in the library. The Brothers will not let me unless he is here. I am a girl. They think it sacrilege that I can read. What would they think if they knew I scripted copies for Father Lucas? And of holy texts, too.
This makes me smile, that I know things they do not.
But Father Lucas is here now and has brought new books with him from Strahov. He has given me the Bestiary so I might learn about the creatures of the world and the trees and the souls of man.
I already know about souls. But I am not supposed to talk about that.
The new book has the most beautiful pictures. I want to paint pictures like that, but I am not allowed to use the colored inks or gold leaf. I will learn to make my own I think and then I can paint whatever I want.
I like the Bestiary's dog and panther, but the scribe has not drawn the mouse well. He also writes that mice are puny.
He knows nothing about a Mouse.
Day Sixteen, 1246
We took the dead chickens to families living between here and the village. Mother Agnes and I. Her white habit was brown with mud. We are Norbertines at the Abbey. At least the Brothers and Sisters are. I do not know what I am.
It was a hard winter and there is still sickness. Mother tends them. She is a healer, and I help her. I am ten, but I have no dowry and Mother Agnes tells me the Church is not for me. So she is teaching me a healer's skills that I might be useful someday.
But today my task was one of penance. For the chickens.
Mother Agnes says that it is not good enough that I felt sorry for what I did. She said the stone bruises on my feet from walking all day and the soreness in my arms from carrying the chickens--these will serve as reminders to keep my temper and hold my tongue.
The others think I wrung the chicken's necks, but Mother Agnes knows I did not touch them. She knows I am a good girl.
But sometimes I think she might be afraid of me.
I love her still.
It was a hard winter and there is still sickness. Mother tends them. She is a healer, and I help her. I am ten, but I have no dowry and Mother Agnes tells me the Church is not for me. So she is teaching me a healer's skills that I might be useful someday.
But today my task was one of penance. For the chickens.
Mother Agnes says that it is not good enough that I felt sorry for what I did. She said the stone bruises on my feet from walking all day and the soreness in my arms from carrying the chickens--these will serve as reminders to keep my temper and hold my tongue.
The others think I wrung the chicken's necks, but Mother Agnes knows I did not touch them. She knows I am a good girl.
But sometimes I think she might be afraid of me.
I love her still.
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