But it was not long before my knees started to hurt, and I felt the chill of the beaten-earth floor creeping up my thighs. At Bermersheim we had prie-dieux, but here there were none. I held the position for as long as I could, then my bottom sank slowly until I was sitting on my heels, hoping the folds of my robe would hide the offense. Relieved of the discomfort, I looked right and left out of the corners of my eyes, but the two sisters were so engrossed in their prayers that they were quite oblivious to the world. Jutta was in a similar state, judging by the low but constant murmur that caused her back to tremble slightly.
This went on for some time, and my gaze began to wander again. How different this chapel was from the one at Bermersheim. The stone building erected by my great-grandfather boasted pews lined with soft cushions, and wood-carved statues of saints he had commissioned —according to family lore—as a gesture of support for Pope Gregorius during his struggle against the old emperor and the wealthy bishops who had stood in the way of Libertas ecclesiae. I did not know what exactly the term meant, but I liked the clean, elegant sound of it.
Just when my legs were getting stiff again, Jutta rose and the two sisters followed nimbly. I, though much younger, found out just how difficult it was to quickly stretch limbs unaccustomed to such lengthy devotions, and fell back to the floor with a cry of pain.
Adelheid helped me to my feet. “Are you unwell?”
“I am fine, Sister.” But the strain of the long day was beginning to take its toll, and I swayed on my feet.
“You should rest now, child,” Jutta said. “The sisters will take you to the dorter.”
“Are you not coming with us?” I asked from the threshold.
“I will stay a little longer to finish my prayers,” Jutta replied, turning to the altar once more.
The dorter occupied the only other building within the convent. It was also a single chamber, with a row of straw pallets placed directly on the floor, under the windows that looked onto the smaller of the abbey’s two courtyards. A table and a chest stood against the opposite wall. The only decoration was a simple cross above the door.
I was unsure which pallet to take because there were only three.
“Sister Juliana and I use the two closest to the door,” Adelheid explained, seeing my confusion. She had a rosy face, smiling eyes, and a liveliness about her movements that Juliana, quiet and grave, seemed to lack. She was also clearly in awe of the magistra, for she added, with a mix of admiration and regret, “Sister Jutta prefers to sleep directly on the ground.”
I eyed the uninviting hardness of the dirt floor. “Does it not hurt her back?”
Adelheid’s face grew serious. “This is what all of us aspire to because true piety is the ability to suffer pain and discomfort like our Lord did.”
What a strange idea, I thought, to try to please God by making oneself cold and miserable. I wanted to ask about it, but Adelheid was already pointing to a new-looking pallet at the far end of the room. “Father Abbot sent this one for you, if you wish to use it.”
If I wished to use it? A wave of weariness swept over me. Sleep, ideally on something other than a hard floor, was all I wanted right then. I took off my robe, and in my linen shift, slipped under the thin blanket. Nestling there, I asked sleepily, “So why do you use a pallet, Sister?”
“I truly wanted to follow her example when I first joined, and I did sleep on the floor for a few days, but then I caught a terrible chill of the chest.” Adelheid sighed. “I spent weeks in the infirmary, and Brother Wigbert warned me that my constitution was too weak for it.” Her voice was tinged with regret again.
I stifled a yawn. “I am sorry.”
“I have refused to use a blanket, however, even in winter,” Adelheid added proudly. “God had a reason in making me unable to sleep on the floor, though I can always . . .”
But I was already drifting off to sleep, the candlelight-illuminated swirls of incense I had seen in the church dancing and then extinguishing themselves under my eyelids.
I was awakened by a shake of the arm and opened my eyes to find Adelheid’s face hovering over me. It was still dark, the only light coming from the candle she was holding. For a few moments, I struggled to remember where I was.
“Wake up. The matins bell has sounded.”
“What?” The haze of sleep was slow to dissolve, but I was beginning to recall the events of the previous day. I had arrived at the enclosure after the oblation ceremony, and after praying in the chapel, fell soundly asleep only to be roused in what seemed like the middle of the night.
“Matins. The midnight office,” Adelheid explained. “Put on your robe and follow us.” She held out the folded garment.
I slipped the robe on, and the three of us walked to the chapel, dimmer now in the light of only the altar candles. Jutta was there already—or perhaps still—praying as she waited for us. Adelheid took the breviaries from the table, handed one to Juliana, and made a motion to share the other with me. Blinking, I focused on its cover until I made out the title: Officium Divinum. I had never prayed from a real breviary before—my family possessed only a small Book of Hours—and was unsure how to proceed.
Just then, a faint sound of chanting from the church floated in through the window. Adelheid opened the book on a page with the heading Matins, and they intoned Venite exultemus Domino, the invitatory psalm, in unison with the monks across the courtyard. For a
