I pondered the implications of my discovery; now that I could come out, I should explore the woods to see which herbs grew in them. But, of course, I had to avoid being seen. With the forest on three sides, it would be easy enough to avoid the monks who went to the abbey mill to check on the work or to the riverside to collect fish for supper, for they never strayed from the direct path through the town. But my gray oblate robe would doubtless be familiar to any lay people who might be encountered in the forest.
I waited for Griselda’s weekly visit and told her my secret. We were excited to share it, and she offered to procure a pair of trousers, a linen shirt, and a leather tunic for me. There were several servant boys around the abbey, and putting together an outfit should not be a problem. Indeed, I was in possession of a disguise of my own two days later.
I wore it under my robe and, once on the other side, hid the outer garment in the bushes. My first excursion took me away from the town and down toward the Glan, but I did not dare go as far as the riverbank. Instead, I ran and walked through the woods, rediscovering the delightful juiciness of a mouthful of fresh blackberries and the earthy taste of walnuts that satisfied a half-forgotten craving. Every now and then, I would stop to put my face to the rough bark of a tree and breathe its warm scent. I made careful note of the herbs I found, which were similar to those around Bermersheim. I spotted foxglove, angelica, wormwood, chamomile, yarrow, and many others, and was happy to find an abundance of horehound.
When I returned to the edge of the forest, I became aware of the sound of steps nearby. Light but deliberate, it was a person, not a beast. I stopped with bated breath, but the noise continued; in fact, it was growing closer. Small stones sprayed and dry twigs cracked under those unseen feet, and before I had time to lunge behind a nearby trunk, a boy emerged onto the path in front of me.
He looked to be about twelve and was a head shorter than I. He did not wear a robe, either, but I knew immediately that he was the one I had seen outside the church on the day of Brother Maurice’s funeral. But this time he had a small bow slung across his chest, a few makeshift arrows stuck in his belt, and he carried a dead rabbit in his hand.
After a momentary look of surprise, he broke into a grin. He bowed and made an elaborate gesture with his free hand as if I were a high-born lady. But even as he leaned forward, his hazel eyes, flecked with green spots and shining with mischief, never left my face.
So much for the disguise. I was momentarily annoyed at what seemed like a mockery on his part, but his face, under a ruffle of brown hair, looked so friendly and his grin was so good-natured that I could not help but laugh.
“I am Volmar,” he said gaily, straightening up. “And what do they call you?”
I hesitated. “Hildegard.” The less said, the better.
He frowned, then recognition dawned on his face. “I knew you looked familiar! You are the oblate girl who helps Brother Wigbert in the infirmary.”
I was mortified. No doubt he would tell the abbot, and I would be sent back to the convent.
“I am an oblate too,” he announced matter-of-factly. “I saw you in the church. I remember because we never see girls there”—that impish smile again—“except for a few from the town on feast days.”
The words came out of my mouth before I could check myself. “So what are you doing here?”
We gazed at each other for a few moments, then burst out laughing.
“Same thing as you, by the look of it!” Volmar appraised me from head to foot. “Though my disguise is not nearly as clever.”
“I found a gap in the wall,” I explained, feeling a surge of trust in my new acquaintance. “I missed the forest. It is the only place where one can find such perfect, pure green.” I ran my fingers over the leaves of a nearby ash. “Besides, there are many more herbs growing here than in our garden.”
He nodded. “We both have our reasons, then.” He lifted the rabbit up for me to admire. “I used to hunt with my father before I came here.”
“How long have you been sneaking out?” It was probably a while, I guessed, given his tanned, freckled face and obvious familiarity with the forest.
“Since Easter.” Volmar waved toward the abbey. “The breach I come out through is near the kitchen. I discovered it not long after I arrived here, a year ago this summer.” He paused as if marveling at that fact, but the smile soon returned to his face, where it seemed to be a frequent and natural guest.
It was getting late, and I took a step toward where my robe was hidden. I had to pass by him, and he moved aside. “Say,” he called after me. “Maybe we could go together sometimes?”
I turned, surprised. I enjoyed these solitary excursions, but I realized it would be good to have company. “I would like that.” I said, suddenly feeling shy.
He laughed again, then disappeared down the path.
10
August 1118
“I think I prefer this to the Bible,” I said out loud before I had a chance to stop myself, so impressed was I by an erudite passage in a translation of Galen. Having finished Lucretius, I had turned to the famous Greek’s anatomical drawings, the humoral theory, and the ways of reestablishing bodily equilibrium.
“You shouldn’t say that,” Brother Wigbert admonished me dutifully. “It is a sacred text from which all human wisdom
