My father bowed. “That is our sincere wish also.”
The abbot rose as the bells rang out for terce. “I will send Brother Adam, our guest-master, to show you around the abbey,” he said, bidding them wait in his parlor.
A moment later, my parents watched the two monks cross the courtyard toward the church, the prior talking animatedly and the abbot shaking his head. When they were out of earshot, my father turned to my mother. “Did you just give an ultimatum to the abbot of St. Disibod?” He tried to sound severe, but the brazenness of it was almost entertaining.
“It was not something I relished, husband, but I had to make sure Hildegard was not enclosed for life while being little more than a babe, and the way your petitioning was going—”
“But what if he said no?! You know very well we cannot afford any of the other places.”
She impatiently swept her hand to encompass the abbey compound. “Just look at this place. It may have an ambitious abbot at its helm, but it still needs a lot of work, and that requires funds. You saw the state of the guesthouse.” The walls of their quarters had not been whitewashed in a long time, and the door hinges squeaked atrociously. When the lights were out, she could swear she saw the sky through cracks in the roof beams.
“We are not offering a dowry that will make a significant difference.” In addition to the golden bezants, my father was gifting a bale of white silk for altar cloth and a reliquary containing a finger bone of St. Simeon, an early Christian martyr, also from Jerusalem. “It is not as valuable as fertile land or a good acreage of forest with sturdy oaks.”
“That may be, but the future of Church lands is uncertain.” My mother dropped her voice as many people did when mentioning the imperial conflict with the pope. “Any income counts to abbots like Kuno. I am sure that is what he was just explaining to the prior.”
My father narrowed his eyes; he had not thought of it like that.
“Besides,” she added, “it did not hurt to remind him that we are on friendly terms with Count Stephan, who is quite possibly his largest benefactor.”
He nodded admiringly. “If you were a man, you would make a fine diplomat,” he said, just as the door opened and Brother Adam, a pale-faced monk with a deferential manner, appeared and apologized for the wait.
Outside, the sky was overcast again, threatening rain. All around, there were signs of a community in transition: new buildings, ongoing construction, and structures that were old and would have to be replaced. The much-mended palisade wall looked ancient at a time when stone was increasingly the choice of builders. But the church was new, its gray stone silhouette looming over the courtyard. The monks’ cloister was attached to it on one side. The bulk of the church was finished, though work was still being done on the roof; scaffolding surrounded the tower that crowned the structure at the point where the nave intersected the transept.
They stopped outside so as not to disturb the monks who were singing terce, the mid-morning office, and Brother Adam explained that the church had replaced a wooden chapel that had become too small to accommodate the growing community.
“How long has it been under construction, Brother?” my father asked.
The monk thought about it. “Must be nine years now. It was started by the previous abbot, but work proceeded slowly for lack of funds. It picked up after Abbot Kuno took over.”
“Count Stephan von Sponheim speaks highly of his efforts.”
“Our abbot knows many great lords in the Rhineland, and his dedication has inspired much generosity. In fact,” Brother Adam added, “Sister Jutta’s endowment contains a quarry downriver near Bingen, and the stone was used to finish the church.”
My father shot my mother a glance that said, This is what a large dowry can pay for. Meanwhile, a thin drizzle began to fall and the guest-master led them toward the smaller, unpaved courtyard on the southern side of the church. At one end stood a pair of thatch-roofed buildings, one of which faced a garden hemmed by shrubs that formed a natural hedge. Brother Adam said they were the infirmary and the medicine workshop, run by Brother Wigbert, the abbey physician.
At the other end, the women’s convent was nestled in a corner of the abbey. Unlike the infirmary, it was surrounded by a fence of simple logs tied together, tall enough to obscure the view of the inside. Consisting of two plain buildings of roughly hewn planks with small, shuttered windows, it had a cheerless, makeshift look to it.
“This is where Sister Jutta and two others are living.” Their guide lowered his eyes decorously. “They are the first women to have ever resided at St. Disibod.”
The courtyard-facing house was the anchoresses’ dorter, he added, while the other was the chapel. My mother felt a lump in her throat as she took in the poor space that was to become my new home, which looked even more miserable in the rain. Having exhausted the subject, the monk was already turning back.
Then he noticed my father examining the section of the abbey wall that ran from the convent to the kitchens behind the church. It was taller and thicker than elsewhere, and it had a disused-looking watchtower embedded in it. “You may be wondering why this wall is so fortified, my lord,” the monk said politely.
“Indeed, I am.” He peeked through the doorless opening into the watchtower. Despite its bigger size, the wall was in even poorer shape. Some of its beams were broken at the top, giving it a forlorn appearance.
“When St. Disibod, our holy founder, arrived here centuries ago to baptize the local Franks, he camped on this mountain with his
