Kuno raised his hand to silence him. “It is a difficult art to master; are you sure she is capable?”
“I have seen her work. It is exceptional.” It was true. Ricardis had a sure hand but a delicate touch. We had no dyes in the convent, but from what she had told me about her work at home, she had a good eye for colors. And her favorite designs were animals and flowers—perfect illustrations for my guidebook. “Sometimes she draws for us in wax. Her gift is a rough gem that needs a little polishing under an experienced eye.”
The servant brought in candied cherries and apricots which the abbot and I sampled eagerly under the prior’s disapproving gaze. Kuno sat back, thinking as he munched on the sweets, and I sought to give him more assurance. “I have faith in Ricardis’s talent, and I trust her completely.”
Those words had a strange effect on Helenger. His scowl morphed into an ironic lift of his thin eyebrows, giving him a calculating look as if he were trying to decide if I were telling the truth.
“It is an interesting idea,” the abbot said at length, casting an almost imploring glance at the prior.
Helenger turned to me, and just as I was expecting another outburst, he said stiffly, “I think it is a reasonable proposal.” We must both have stared at him, for he added, “Sister Hildegard’s reputation is undeniable”—he said that with a grimace one might make after biting into something bitter—“and if it can benefit us—benefit both of our houses, that is—then we should work together.” The statement had about as much enthusiasm as consenting to having one’s limb amputated.
The relief in the abbot’s face was all too plain. “It is decided, then.” He raised his cup and the tree of us toasted, though only the abbot and I drank our wine. “Have Ricardis come to the scriptorium tomorrow morning, and I will arrange for Brother Einhard to start training her.”
I smiled broadly, hoping, for the sake of Benedictine modesty, that my smile was not too triumphant. “By the time Brother Volmar finishes the first copy, she will be ready to start her work. And you won’t regret it, Father.”
The next morning it was Sister Juliana’s turn to read from the Bible, and her monotonous voice provided a steady background to the sound of spoons scraping against the wooden bowls of porridge. Once in a while, she would lift her eyes from the holy book to cast a somber, almost disapproving glance across the table, where the contrast of mood could not be greater; that was where Ricardis was seated between Elfrid and Gertrude, radiating beauty and enthusiasm even in the quiet act of breaking her fast.
As we rose from the table, I pulled Ricardis aside. Griselda was clearing the bowls, depositing them on a tray she would take to the gate for collection. “You will go to the library to start an apprenticeship with the abbey’s illuminator.” I paused to take in the mix of surprise and joy that lit up her features. “It will develop your talent and put it to use on embellishing copies of my medical book.”
Ricardis pressed both hands to her heart. “I am humbled.” Her face beamed with such light that it was hard to imagine anything less apt to be described as ‘humble.’ “You will not be disappointed. I will make you proud of me.”
As I watched her walk briskly to the gate, sidestepping the tray with our breakfast bowls, I hoped that she was right. For, in truth, I could not imagine feeling any other way about Ricardis.
I gathered all six of us in the refectory that night.
“An idea has been growing in my mind for a long time, a hope I dared not speak.” I started as five pairs of eyes stared at me unblinkingly. “But the time for silence is over, and we must work together to make it come true.”
I could feel the tension rising in the small chamber. “You may remember back in the spring, when the abbot was so gravely ill, Prior Helenger sent my patient Angmar away, even though she had not yet fully recovered.” Heads nodded somberly. “That showed me that in order to be able to implement cures as we see fit and work unfettered for the benefit of our patients, we must leave this abbey and establish ourselves elsewhere, where we will be free from the interference of those who know nothing about healing and who want us locked away.”
The women seemed frozen except for Elfrid, who absorbed my intention immediately, and, judging from her vigorous nods and a broad smile, already agreed with it. I knew I could count on her.
Burgundia was the first to recover. “When are we moving, Sister?” she asked practically.
I was comforted by her confidence. To her, it was an issue of “when,” not “if.” But there was a naïveté to her question that made me smile. “Not yet. It will require funds—significant funds. And we don’t have them.” I had to be honest. “Since Sister Jutta’s passing, we have acquired endowments that are entirely under our control and are bringing us income.” I acknowledged both Burgundia and Ricardis to whose dowries I was alluding. The income included rents from a swath of oak forest, three houses in Rüdesheim, a vineyard near Bergen, and two mills on the Nahe. “I have also obtained the abbot’s permission to sell copies of my medical writings that will bring us twenty to thirty marks a year.”
The women looked at one another, surprised and excited. To manage their expectations, I added, “But it will be a long time before we have enough set aside to acquire land and set up temporary accommodations as we build a new foundation. I cannot tell you how long—three years or five? Maybe more. I don’t know. But it will happen,” I stressed, seeing the deflated looks on their faces, “and it will be worth the wait.”
“What
