The Golden Braid

by Melanie Dickerson

  “I could argue that, and I believe my brother monks would agree with me, brother knight.” Brother Andrew failed at hiding his grin. “You need only leave your door open when she is here. The brothers passing by your room will keep you from breaking your vow with the maiden.”

  “I happen to know her mother would not approve of her learning to read from me, and I do not want to teach her!”

  He chuckled and shook his head. “You always were overly excitable.”

  Andrew’s words struck him like an accusation. His first inclination was to defend himself and demand why Andrew would say such a thing. But instead, he studied his friend’s face. Andrew couldn’t know about Gerek’s father. Gerek had never told any of the other knights. He tried to push back the memories that were invading his thoughts and making his face and neck feel hot and prickly. Was he his father’s son?

  “You have nothing else to do,” Andrew explained calmly, “but if you are so adamant about not teaching her, I suppose I could find an older monk to do so.”

  Before he could stop himself, Gerek asked, “Which older monk?” In his experience, a monk’s age did not necessarily end his lasciviousness.

  “Oh, any monk over the age of thirty should do.”

  Gerek sputtered, then cleared his throat.

  “You are not afraid,” Andrew said, “that the maiden will try to seduce you, are you?”

  “Are you afraid she will try to seduce you?”

  Andrew shrugged. “I am much more handsome than you.”

  Gerek glared at him.

  “And since you have too much self-control to seduce her, I believe you are the safest person to teach her.”

  Gerek growled. Why did his life have to be so frustrating? Was God preparing him for some huge, sacrificial quest? “I suppose I can make an attempt at teaching her. But if for any reason it seems a bad idea, I will end it.”

  “Of course. But do not worry. Your vow of chastity should remain safe.” Andrew hid his mouth behind his hand.

  Andrew was laughing at him. Gerek wanted to tell his old friend that he was not treating him nobly, as befitted a knight who was nearly killed trying to protect the people of the Hagenheim region from brigands and thieves. But Andrew might tell him he was being excitable again.

  He did not want to teach the maiden to read, but she might give up after a lesson or two, thinking it was too hard. Or her strange mother would force her to cease them. He couldn’t imagine her mother would approve of Rapunzel learning to read, especially from him, since she seemed to have a special dislike of him from the moment she saw him.

  Brother Andrew soon left and returned a few minutes later with Rapunzel. Her hair was completely hidden by an opaque wimple, but her cheeks were pink and she was smiling. However, when she saw Gerek, the smile faded.

  “Rapunzel, I believe you know Sir Gerek van Hollan, a noble knight of Hagenheim. He has agreed to teach you to read, so I will leave you two to your studies.” Andrew ducked out of the room before either of them could say anything.

  The coward.

  Chapter Eight

  Rapunzel stared at him, her mouth open. She had expected to see an older monk, or perhaps a bedridden invalid, but to find Sir Gerek here . . . “Brother Andrew is forcing you to teach me, isn’t he?”

  He looked up at her through his eyelashes as he lay on the low bed. “I don’t mind telling you . . . yes, he is forcing me to teach you.”

  Rapunzel crossed her arms. She wanted to tell him she’d rather not learn to read than to be taught by someone who did not wish to teach her. She imagined herself leaving the room and slamming the door. But if she did that, she might be giving up her one chance to learn to read.

  Closing her eyes, she reminded herself that Mother would only be gone a few hours and Rapunzel had already spent at least two hours cleaning the monastery rooms.

  “I can only stay an hour, so let us get this lesson started.”

  “Why can you only stay an hour?” he asked. “Is it because your mother doesn’t know you’re here?” He raised his brows at her.

  Was he trying to make her feel bad? To make her go back home?

  “Yes, if you must know, but I am not leaving. I will stay right here for an hour.”

  He made a grunting sound, then turned, leaning over the side of the narrow cot, and picked up a large book.

  Rapunzel was breathing hard. She focused on his splinted leg, which was stretched out on the low bed, and his splinted arm, bent at the elbow and lying across his stomach. Looking at them helped her feel a bit of pity for him, and her breathing gradually returned to normal.

  “Since I saved your life from that brigand who was about to slit your throat”—she lifted her head an inch or two higher—“I would think you would want to teach me, to repay me.”

  When she deigned to glance down at him, he was glaring up at her from half-closed eyes.

  “If I had not first saved you from said brigand, you would not have needed to save me from him.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “Why can’t you just be grateful and stop being arrogant?”

  “I am a knight in Duke Wilhelm’s service. I am not accustomed to being bullied by a novice monk and a peasant girl.”

  “You are insufferable!”

  “Why can’t you just be grateful,” he shot back, “and . . . be quiet.”

  “Be quiet? Oh, yes, I’m sure that’s what you think all women should do. You probably think a clout or two to the head once or thrice a day would do them good too.” She tried to calm down, to take slower breaths. Did she sound like an imbecile, arguing with a knight over who should be the most grateful? But when she looked back down at him, he had turned a shade paler.

  “No.” The arrogant look was completely gone from his face. He stared down at the book in his lap, away from her, and spoke softly. “That is not what I think. I do not think women should be struck. Ever.”

  Why had her words created such a reaction? She waited to see what he would say next, to give a clue as to why his demeanor had changed so.

  “Won’t you bring that stool over here so we can begin?”

  Rapunzel stared. He looked earnest, actually meek, so she complied.

  Sir Gerek stared down at the book and frowned. “Do you know how to read any words at all?”

  “No,” she admitted. “I don’t know any words.”

  “This is a copy of the Holy Writ that I commissioned—”

  “What? You have a copy of the Holy Writ? How did you get it? I’ve never seen one before.”

  Now that she was sitting and they were at the same level, he stared into her eyes.

  “As I was saying,” his voice was quiet, and he spoke slowly, “it is a copy of the Holy Writ that I commissioned from the monks at this same monastery.” He opened the book.

  “You are not going to teach me to read using the Bible, are you?” Rapunzel leaned away from the large tome. “A priest once told me that people who have not said their vows or been consecrated to God should not interpret the Bible for themselves. I do not want to be excommunicated.”

  Gerek frowned. “You will not be excommunicated.”

  “How do you know? A woman in Heidelberg was ordered beaten by the bishop, and she only saw a vision and said she heard the voice of God. If I were to read God’s words . . .”

  Sir Gerek sighed very loudly. “Listen. You are not considered a heretic just for reading the Bible. I have been reading it for years and—”

  “But you are a man! A knight noble born. I am a woman, and a peasant woman at that. Will you swear an oath that you will not tell anyone I read the Holy Writ?”

  “I don’t even know if you will learn to read it. Now stop with your ignorant fears and let me begin before you have to go.”

  Rapunzel’s cheeks burned at his calling her fears “ignorant.” She pressed her lips together and watched him turn the pages.

  He pointed to the open page. “See this? It’s the first missive to Timotheus written
by the apostle Paul. See this word? It says ‘Timotheus.’ The first letter is tay.” He pointed with his large forefinger at a mark on the page. “And there is another tay there.”

  “But that doesn’t look like the other tay you pointed to.”

  “That was a tay at the beginning of someone’s name. These tays are not at the beginning of a sentence and are not names or nouns, and therefore they are small tays and not big tays.”

  Rapunzel fought to understand the seemingly random thing he was telling her. Why would you call something a tay and something else a tay when they looked completely different? Perhaps he was lying to her, trying to confuse her. But she had little choice but to trust him.

  “Each letter makes a sound,” he continued. “This letter tay sounds the same as these other tays. All tays make the same sound.”

  “Oh. You said this word is ‘Timotheus’ and this is a book in the Bible?”

  “Yes. Now this word is—”

  “Is this written in German? I thought the Bible was only written in Latin.”

  “Yes, but occasionally you can find someone who will translate it into German for you.”

  She wouldn’t tell him, but she was impressed that he would spend his money on Scripture books and then carry them around with him.

  “This is not the entire Bible. It is only the parts that were written after Jesus came. I do not have the Old Testament writings in German, except for what is in my Psalter.”

  “Is the Bible very expensive?” she asked.

  “Yes, and when I have a home of my own, I shall commission a copy of the entire Bible, all the holy writings.”

  “But even this much must have been very costly. The illuminations are very bright and color—”

  “Yes, now pay attention. This word is “Pavel.” See? It is the first word of the first verse in the first missive to Timotheus.”

  “What sound does this letter make?” Rapunzel pointed to the second letter in the word Timotheus.

  He sighed, then made the sound. He pointed to each letter and made the sound, which might have made her laugh, hearing him saying, “Tuh, ee, mm, oh, tuh, ee, oo, ss,” if she had not been afraid of offending him. Then he went back to the beginning of the word and made the sound of each letter, but a bit faster than before.

  “So I only have to remember what sound each letter makes and I will be able to read?”

  He shrugged and nodded.

  She wanted to ask him more questions but forced herself to tuck them away for later.

  “The first three words are: ‘Pavel, an apostle.’ ”

  “Will you teach me the letters?”

  “Yes, of course. But I will need something to write on and a writing instrument. I can get those from Brother Andrew. Do you think you can find him?”

  Rapunzel jumped up and hurried out. When she found Brother Andrew in the large garden behind the dormitory, he was hoeing around some young plants. He agreed to find the implements they needed, and Rapunzel went back to Sir Gerek’s room. She opened the door without knocking, and he gave her a piercing stare. “Do not enter this chamber until you have knocked and have been invited to come in.”

  “I was just here, and you knew I was returning, so I didn’t think it necessary—”

  “Do not do it again. You must not be careless around men. It is very unwise.”

  Rapunzel huffed. “If there is one thing I am not,” she said, trying to infuse her voice with cold dignity, “it is careless around men.”

  He narrowed his eyes, his brows lowering to create a crease across his forehead. “Very well.” He continued speaking about the first verse of the missive to Timotheus, but Rapunzel could not understand what he was saying—something about words being put together to form ideas and different words having different meanings, depending on what order they were in or what the words around that word meant. It all sounded like gibberish.

  “I think you’ve made my brain hurt.” Rapunzel rubbed her temple.

  “If you don’t want to continue, I understand. It will only get more difficult.”

  “I will not give up and I will learn to read. That is, if you are a good enough teacher.”

  He gave her that narrow-eyed look again.

  Just then, Brother Andrew came in the door—without knocking or announcing himself—and said, “I brought you a slate and some chalk rock. I can probably get someone to make a wax board for you, if you’d rather have that.”

  Rapunzel took the small slate, which was about as big as her two hands, and the chalk from Brother Andrew. “Thank you very much.”

  “And I can bring you a bit of parchment and a quill, but the abbot is not very free with parchment. It’s rather expensive.”

  “I have a bit in my supplies,” Sir Gerek said. “I need it so that she can have a permanent copy of the alphabet to memorize.”

  After Brother Andrew left, Gerek asked her, “What makes you want to learn to read so badly? Most people never learn.”

  “Do you mean most people of my peasant class? Or most women?”

  He shrugged. “It is only a question. Why do you want to learn? What use will it be to you?”

  He was probably thinking she could have little need for reading. She would probably never even be able to afford a book. “I have a use for it.” But since she had already confessed to him that she liked to make up songs . . . “I wish to write down the words of my songs.”

  “Only the words? There is a way to write music as well as words. Did you not know?”

  “I did not know.” The blood was rising to her cheeks at how ignorant he must think her, but she was glad to know this. Once she learned to read and write, she would also want to learn to read and write music. She had always wanted to learn to play an instrument, but that had seemed an even less likely dream than learning to read.

  The door was darkened again and Brother Andrew stood there, holding out a small square of parchment. “This is a list of the letters in the German language. You may have it if you wish.” And then he was gone again.

  Rapunzel stared down at it. She did not know what any of the letters were, except for the T.

  “I will tell you the sound each letter makes. You will have to memorize them all before you can begin to read.”

  “I can do that. I am very good at memorizing.”

  He told her very quickly what each letter sounded like. When he asked her to tell which ones she remembered, she got almost all of them correct.

  “Very good.” His smug look had disappeared.

  He held up the Bible text and asked her to sound out the first few words.

  “I already know that the first three words are ‘Pavel, an apostle’ because you told me that.” She stared at the words, sounding out each letter. “Puh. Ah. Vuh. Eh. Ll. Pavel. I did it! I see how it works now.” Rapunzel did the same with the next two words and was able to sound them out and see how the letters made the words. Then she tried the fourth word. Sir Gerek had to help her with that one since she had already forgotten some of the letters’ sounds. Finally, she sounded it out. “Uh. Vuh. Of. Yuh. Eh. Ss. Oo. Ss. ‘Jesus.’ I did it. ‘Pavel, an apostle of Jesus!’ ”

  “Keep reading.”

  With help from Sir Gerek, Rapunzel read the next word and the next. Finally, she had read the entire first sentence. “ ‘Pavel, an apostle of Jesus Christ by the command of God our Savior and of Christ Jesus our hope, To Timotheus my true son in the faith: Grace, mercy, and peace from God the Father and Christ Jesus our Lord.’ ”

  “What does it mean?”

  “It’s a greeting, from a letter. Pavel is greeting his friend Timotheus.”

  “Oh. I’ve never had a letter. Is this how people greet someone in a letter, by telling their name?”

  “Usually they greet the person they are writing first, and then at the end they write their own name. I suppose letters were written differently in those days, with the writer introducing himself first.”

  How exciting! If she received a
letter, she might actually be able to read it. Of course, who would write one to her? Her mother had never learned to read. But now that she could read, what would she read? She had no books, nothing with words written on it. She would worry about that later.

  “Oh.” How long had she been sitting with Sir Gerek? Rapunzel jumped up, knocking over the stool. “I mustn’t be late. Mother might not let me come back.” She put the stool back where she had gotten it. “Fare well, Sir Gerek!” she called and ran out the door.

  Chapter Nine

  Mother brought back some bread, some oats for the pottage, and a few other things they needed. She had also found some pregnant women who might be interested in her services.

  “Did you find the person you were looking for?” Rapunzel asked her. “The one who was coming back from England?”

  Mother concentrated on putting the leftover oats away. “No, he is not in Hagenheim yet. What have you been doing while I was gone, Rapunzel? I thought you were going to paint some of your pretty flowers and vines and birds on the walls today?”

  “I suppose I was . . . thinking of other things.” Rapunzel hated deceiving Mother, but it seemed the only way she would be able to take reading lessons.

  “Making up a new song?” She patted Rapunzel’s cheek. “I don’t know how you think of them.”

  Rapunzel shrugged and smiled. “I don’t know either.”

  Together they made a plum pie and some fried pork. “Meat is as plentiful as ever in Hagenheim,” Mother said. “The butchers sell everything here—pork, goose, pheasant, chicken, and even some beef. Are you pleased we came here, Rapunzel?”

  “Yes, of course, Mother. Are you pleased?”

  “Not missing your old friends in Ottelfelt, are you?”

  “No.” Rapunzel sighed. “I don’t think I was ever friends with anyone the way other people are. Most of the other girls my age thought my paintings and songs were strange. They thought I was strange.”

  “They were just jealous. Forget about them.”

  That was Mother’s solution to everything—to forget about it. Perhaps it was better to put out of her mind anything that bothered her, but she was more likely to brood about it, to consider how she could make it better, how she could change it, or how it might affect her in the future. She kept thinking that if the villagers had thought she was strange—and they often spoke of how strange they thought Mother was—then wouldn’t the people of Hagenheim think them both strange as well? Not that she cared what most people thought, but it would be nice to have at least one friend, someone to talk to and confide in.