Hoodsman: Queens and Widows

by Smith, Skye

  Raynar tried to lift their things to pass to the boatman, but he winced at the first bag. Margaret grabbed it from him and finished the passing. The boat could hold perhaps ten on a calm day. They were alone save for the boatman. The boatman smiled widely at Margaret's disguise, not fooled for even a moment. That her motherly breasts were pushing the mans robe out of shape was quite noticeable.

  "Raynar of the Peaks,” said Margaret, without even trying to disguise her woman's voice, "may I present the Prior of Saint Serbs". At his look of disbelief, she added. "The prior is the only one of the order who must remain worldly. There is another boatman who is training to be the next prior."

  "So are you 'thee' Raynar?” asked the prior-come-boatman once they were gliding across the still waters and he was into the rhythm of an easy stroke. "I have a package for you, still unopened. Obviously a book and therefore a thing of value. It was amongst Bishop Aethelwine's library which was sent here from the Holy Island for safe keeping after he was killed. He had many Greek books, and the abbot of the island feared that the new Romanized bishop in Dun Holm would order them burned."

  "Burn books,” Raynar looked in horror at the prior. "No one would burn a book. That could destroy a piece of ancient knowledge that then may be lost forever."

  "The Roman church is burning or confiscating every non Latin book they find. My hope is that somewhere in Rome they are keeping a library of one copy of each book they have burned. If not, then they are worse than the Mussulmen who burn any book that contains a picture of a man."

  "The Mussulmen do that?” asked Raynar.

  "So the Romanized bishop in Dunfermline has told me. You ask if I believe the bishop?"

  "Don't answer that,” she warned him. "These monks play word games of logic to pass the days. Do not provide sport for them. They will destroy all that you thought you believed in."

  "I believe in your goodness, Margaron. They cannot destroy that belief.” he said softly.

  "We believe in this lad's goodness too, Raynar," the prior whispered nodding to the unconvincingly disguised lad. "To destroy your belief would be to walk on the dark side. If this lad would join us here, he would achieve sainthood as did the blessed Serb." He winked at them and then said "Saint Margaret would be an unusual name for a male saint."

  Raynar looked at his precious Margaron, "But Cristina says you have been building convents and nunneries across the land of the Scots. Are they all Romanized?"

  "Cristina has been building them. I provide the land and the coin to pay the builders. The bishop provides the priests. The endless wars, the endless carnage of good men, provide the widows to fill the nunneries. It was part of my agreement with Rome. For every old church that is allowed to slowly melt into Romanization, I must build a new church for Rome."

  "You and Malcolm and Cristina."

  "It was all Cristina. She has the courage to laugh in the face of popes and kings and bishops. When we first inked the agreement, she said: I will build these churches for you sister, but they will not be used to support the greed of twisted priests. They will be used to support widows and orphans and the sick and the injured and the illiterate. They will all be better served by convents to house the many widows now in our kingdoms."

  "And everyone agreed to Cristina's plan?” he asked.

  "It does not matter to Cristina whether a man agrees or disagrees with her. She does what she thinks is right, and then asks forgiveness afterwards. What man could not forgive her."

  The prior was chuckling softly as he took one last sweep of the oar which put them beside the island's dock. There were monks all around them sitting on the spring grass, but none twitched a muscle to help them with their packs. Raynar gave the youngest a hard stare but was ignored.

  "They are ascetics, love,” she said. "They have all vowed to ignore earthly things. These packs do not exist to them. They are our burden and therefore we should carry them."

  "Not even to help a woman?” he asked.

  "There is no woman here,” replied the prior softly, "it is not allowed. You two lads follow me. I trust you do not mind sharing a cell. You can push the pallets together."

  "Is it that obvious,” she asked.

  "Lad,” the prior chuckled, "your auras are as one."

  "You see auras?"

  "Well, I must confess, I have recently been in the cow pastures on the mainland picking mushrooms for next weeks holy day, and I take the occasional nibble while I pick them,” the prior saw a questioning look from Margaret, and a knowing nod from the Englishman.

  "On the holy day," the prior continued as he led them away from the dock and up towards the buildings, "all of the order will eat the mushrooms, but not the two boatmen. They must make sure that no one arrives or leaves the island and that no one comes to harm. Since I pick them, and I cannot use them to see god on the holy day, then I eat some as I pick them. Just a few. Just to make sure they are strong enough."

  "Margaron,” Raynar explained, "He has been picking the blue mushrooms. You must have heard of them. Freyja's gift to healers and seers. The mushrooms with the blue dye."

  "You have been eating poisonous mushrooms? Ongos?” Margaret was visibly shocked. "You are seeing auras. Do you need help. We have Loch Fitty salts with us. They will purge you of poisons. Do you want some?"

  "Margaron,” the prior whispered half to himself. "Greek for pearl I believe. A fitting name, but not for a lad."

  "Never mind, prior,” he apologized, "I will explain it to her, er, him later."

  When they came to their cell Raynar gasped. "This is a cell?” It was a small free standing bungalow with a hedge that gave it privacy down to the water's edge.

  "We often have guests that are not monks,” smiled the prior, "Kings, even. We have a few cells that have some basic comforts.” He turned to leave them. "The meal is at sunset. Silence must be observed during meals."

  She led him through a double door that could be left open so that you could sit in the small bungalow and have a full view of the northern mountains across the loch. She pushed the two pallets together immediately and then changed their angle so that they could sit in bed and look out at the view. He lay back on the pallet and was asleep within minutes, exhausted. She undressed him and covered him with the clean linen and then went to fetch food from the kitchen. He was still too weak to join in the communal meal.

  * * * * *

  His weakness left him within days. He was truly healing now and every day he was much stronger than the last. After three days he decided to begin rowing the ferry to rebuild the strength in his arms, but was careful not to strain his lower back. Taking this as a sign of improving health, the prior fetched him one morning and led him to the scriptorium.

  "This is yours,” said the prior handing him a package tightly wrapped in linen. It was obviously a book.

  Raynar looked at it, then turned it over and looked at it again. He put it on a desk and broke the wax seal on the ribbons. Every monk in the room was consumed with curiosity and were crowding close to see which book it was. There was a message written in Greek underneath the ribbons. "In private.” He looked around. The monks had all walked away without a word.

  The prior laughed. "Here we are all Greek scholars. Why we resist the Roman bishop is that we fear for our Greek library.” He bowed slightly. "We will not be offended if you open it in your cell."

  * * * * *

  "It is that strange book of diagrams from Aethelwine's library in Dun Holm,” Margaret said as she opened it.

  "He promised me that it would never fall into the hands of the Normans. He may have sent all of his Greek books to this priory, just to help hide the existence of this one. Did you know that these men are all Greek scholars?"

  "My dear, why do you think I chose this place to come,” she said, "There are many Greek scholars in the old church. It is only the new Roman church that treats Greek as if it were the devil's tongue."

  "I have been told that the Roman church has changed the anc
ient holy writings to fit their vision of Christianity,” he told her softly, not sure if he would offend her, for she had grown up in Romanized convents. "For this reason they do not want anyone reading the original Greek manuscripts, only their translated Latin versions."

  She was silent for a long time. Finally she sighed deeply and said, "Dearie, I spent my younger years in Hungary which still follows the Greek Church. I believe in the one God, the Christian god, the God of Abraham. Yes I have read many scriptures, but frankly there are more interesting things to read. The good that I do as a Christian is the good I do on behalf of the holy women and motherhood.

  I pray to the blessed Mary. It is from Mary that my own goodness flows. When you said that mushrooms were a gift from Freyja, I did not cross myself at the mention of the name, because for me it is just another name for the greatest mother of all, Mary."

  He pulled her to him and cuddled her close. He had always admired her mind. She and her sister Cristina were the most educated women he had ever met, by far. Knowing them had changed his life, changed him by changing his vision of womanhood.

  "Tell me more about these mushrooms,” she said as she curled into his body.

  "The blue mushrooms are a gift from the goddess to seers, to help them to see beyond their eyes, and to healers, to help them to sense beyond their touch. The blue dye in them effects your mind and your senses. They put aside your adult knowledge and your adult memories and allow you to see the world as a child again."

  "But that could be terrifying,” she whispered.

  "You choose someone you trust intimately to be you keeper, to keep you away from ugliness and harm."

  "I choose you,” she said.

  He looked at her long before he replied. "So you wish to eat of the blue mushrooms. So be it. But not here. If all of these monks are eating them on the holy day, then on that day you will join that meal, but afterwards I will take you away from them. It is only fair, as your presence may disturb their own visions."

  * * * * *

  * * * * *

  The Hoodsman - Queens and Widows by Skye Smith

  Chapter 13 - Vision of St. Margaret at St. Serb's Inch in June 1079

  At first light the next morning, the prior encouraged the lad, Margaron, not to break her night's fast but to eat only the mushrooms cooked in fresh butter. When Raynar ate eggs instead of mushrooms, the prior encouraged him to use the priory's boat to take Margaron away from the island for the day. They were pleased to comply.

  Raynar had been rowing every day. The oars felt good in his hands and he felt his strength returning through them. He first rowed them to the foot of Ben Artis, for the initial surge of mushroom energy would take them both to the top of the steep hill.

  Margaron had the beaming face of a twelve year old. While Raynar tramped slowly up the steep slope, she danced around him and pulled him along, and then sat with local sheep and was like a beacon that attracted every lamb in the fold.

  They stayed at the top for only a short while, but the wonder of the scenery, the loch, the mountains, the valley, the sky, the clouds, made her so breathless that she had to sit still and not watch it. She would turn away or close her eyes, and then open them and look out, and then again become breathless at the beauty of it all and have to close her eyes.

  It took longer to go back down the hill because she stopped at every different plant to look at it and to smell it and to touch it. Those that Raynar recognized he told her of, especially if they had healing qualities. He stayed just far enough away so that he could keep her from harm, but not close enough to stop the animals from coming to her and sniffing her. So fearless were the animals of her that even a greedy weasel emerged from his hole to sniff her though he bared his teeth at Raynar when he tried to shoo it away.

  The heat of the day was building now, and he carried her rough monks robe for her. Underneath she wore a long shift of light blue silk to protect her skin from the scratch of the wool. She rowed now, in just her shift, and she rowed perfectly and effortlessly and the boat glided silently across the loch. It was a long loch that reached north into the valley there, and when it became narrower and shallower she pulled into a small bay out of the wind, pulled off her silk and tried to go swimming.

  "No, love,” he said holding her back. "Water on the head stops the mushroom magic. We will go swimming later. He handed her the shift and when she was again covered he helped her from the boat and to the shore. It was a lush meadow filled with clover and wild flowers. In the wet sand at the edge of the loch there were clouds of small blue butterflies flitting and flying. In the clover there were many bees and he warned her not to step on any. She reached out and a butterfly landed on one of her hands and a bee on the other, and she stood entranced by the intricacy of the tiny beasts.

  Raynar left her with her butterflies to follow a small path along the bank to see if there were any folk about. They had passed a village and another small island and he expected there to be a cartway. Margaron was in such a wonderful goddess space that he did not want other folk anywhere around her.

  The fates were cruel. Though he had left her but for moments, when he returned to her there were two rough looking men standing on a path looking at her. He rushed ahead, but then he noticed there were more than two men. It was a holy day and there was an entire holy procession with priests and statues and women and children following the first two men.

  He called out to a priest dressed in black, a Norman looking priest, "Where do you go?"

  The priest answered back in French, "To the bank to bless the loch."

  "Hold for moment,” replied Raynar in courtly French, "and the woman I will get into the boat and leave."

  "Who are you and why are you here?” asked the priest.

  Before Raynar could answer, Margaret did. She stood tall in her thin silk shift which hid none of her womanly shape and in the local dialect told them, like an innocent child, "I am the Queen of the Scots, and I am here to discuss the future of the priory with the prior, but today is their holy day."

  Most of the women had never seen such fabric as the blue silk before and were willing to believe that she was at least noble, and began to bend their knees to her. After Margaret’s words were translated to the priest, he called out in anger, "I will have you in the pillory for telling such lies at our queen's expense. Grab her."

  The two men in the lead were unsure but began to move towards her, as did Raynar. Their movement disturbed the blue butterflies and they left the damp sand in a blue cloud and once flying began to circle the woman wearing blue silk. The men stopped in their tracks, not from fear, but from appreciation of such a wondrous sight on such a special holy day.

  Raynar called out to the priest "The queen is on a pilgrimage here, and has been praying to the angels all the morning. The angels are using the butterflies to hide her from the eyes of men. Call your men back so I may row her away from your eyes."

  Margaret was oblivious to everything except for the butterflies swirling around her, and landing on her.

  The two men backed towards their women folk and spoke words of apology to the blue cloud. The priest was not amused. He stomped forward cajoling the men to take her. When the women held their men back, he stomped closer to the blue cloud to grab her with his own hands.

  And then there was a hum, a hum that grew louder and louder and then another cloud leaped into the air, this time from the clover not the damp sand. The bees were not amused. Perhaps the stomp of the priest's boots squashed some bees, or perhaps it was a message from the bee that was still resting on Margaron's hand, but the bees decided that the priest was a threat to them all, and attacked him from all sides and all levels.

  The priest panicked at the cloud of buzzing bees and waved at them and slapped at them, which made the bees even more fearful and they began to sting him.

  "Priest,” yelled Raynar, "run into the water. Go completely under water. Quickly.” He had to yell it twice and the men then yelled it too, and finally
the priest stumbled to the water's edge and then launched himself into the shallows.

  Raynar trod as softly as he could through the clover to Margaret's side and reached through the swirl of blue wings to take her hand and lead her to the boat. With her standing in the stern calling to her butterflies, and him rowing carefully so as not to unbalance her, they glided away with the blue swirl following them. Away from the bank, away from the procession, and away from the angry brown cloud that was hovering above some dark ripples next to the bank.

  Raynar yelled back to the men. "Tell the good priest that he should never threaten a queen when there are bees around. Any child knows that.” The entire procession laughed at his words, while the two original men stood ankle deep in the loch and splashed water at the cloud of bees to disperse them. By the time the boat was a hundred yards from shore, the priest was standing.

  "Priest,” yelled Raynar, "she is the queen, and she will forgive your disbelief if you bow to her now.” Margaret, meanwhile, was dancing with her arms and making the swirls of blue cloud dance above her head.

  The priest looked at his flock, and saw everyone on the ground kneeling and praying, and decided to join them. "It is a miracle,” he declared. "The queen can perform miracles."

  Raynar rowed them to the other side of the loch, which was closer to the throat of the valley where there seemed to be no villages. There they played again in the meadows and Margaron became a perch for songbirds whenever she stood still. Only after Raynar felt the first hint of chill in the breeze, did he take her swimming to start her on the voyage back from the goddess.

  As is often the case, once the head is in water, the visions cease and the mushroom energy returns. Raynar used this energy to teach her how to swim under water. Finally, when he was exhausted, he forced her to cease being a mermaid and lie beside him on the soft grass to dry her skin in the late afternoon sun.

  He dressed her again in her silk smock and rough robe so that she would not take a chill during the boat ride home, and they arrived back at the sunset side of the holy island just as the sun was dropping behind the mountains. All of the monks were sat on the meadow watching the sun, and waiting for it to drop even lower and create the red sky that was promised by the eastern clouds. They joined the monks, and as no one spoke, they did not either.