The Seer and the Scribe (12 page)

Jutta had tried to explain it all to the servant girl, Hiltrud. “I am sorry to have to put you under such a strain,” she had said gently to the fourteen-year-old girl, “but there are causes greater than our own needs. By bidding farewell to an ordinary life, you will be given the opportunity to live at the gates of heaven.”

Hildegard knew the truth. Jutta was headstrong and wanted to be the one devoted to God in a highly conspicuous way, to wield power as a spiritual intermediary for the faithful. As Disibodenberg's Anchoress, Jutta would be sought after for her advice and her wisdom, becoming the focus for the communal religious life of the village. For an ambitious woman of twenty, who spurned the love of men, this was the answer to her dream, not Hiltrud's. Hildegard thought of it as an odd sort of insolence that could hardly be reprimanded.

Hildegard did not share in Hiltrud's misgivings. Like Jutta, she felt this was where she should be, especially on such a fortuitous occasion
⁵⁸
as All Saints Day. But her reasons were altogether different. At last she could devote herself completely to the love of God. She craved the separateness and mental independence given to an incluse
⁵⁹
. Ironically, in a world where silence and passivity were the highest ideals for women to aspire to, sharing a stone cell with Jutta
and Hiltrud would give Hildegard the freedom and a life of contemplation she had been looking for.

Jutta walked back to a large tub filled with scented hot water. Hiltrud rose from the tub, red-faced and dripping, her eyes still puffy from having seen her own ghastly, hairless appearance in a mirror. Jutta passed Hiltrud the towel as she leaned forward to touch the water. It was still warm. In a small gesture of one used to getting her way, she ordered the room's servants, “Take all of our clothes and give them to the poor,” before immersing herself into the pool of purification, heavily scented with rosemary
⁶⁰
, sage
⁶¹
and lavender
⁶²
.

“Wait,” Hildegard said, rushing over to her long blue cape. She was in the habit of keeping her drawing utensils and books inside its many hidden pockets. “Please, if you will, take these to the Anchorage.” She handed the elder servant a stack of small codices,
⁶³
bound parchments, and various writing instruments. A pressed clover and a single leaf of wormwood fell to the floor. She picked them up and carefully placed them back in her journal on herbal remedies that she was compiling. She smiled apologetically as she kept digging further into the myriad of deep pockets in her cloak, finding more and more oddities, such as a string of pearls, some jasper, chalcedony, and an old feather from a cuckoo bird.

“Please take my wardrobe to the Infirmary. I'd like my clothes to be a gift to a certain young lady named Sophie.” She unfastened the silver filigree brooch and unobtrusively tucked it between the leaves of parchment to be taken to the Anchorage. “Thank you,” she replied before turning away to take her turn on the small stool.

Nave of the Disibodenberg Church

Feast of All Saints, 1
^st
of November, Friday, the Year of Our Lord 1112

As Brother Hans rehearsed the psalm to be sung in accordance with church traditions in celebration of All Saints Day, Volmar went about his duties in silence, thinking of Hildegard.

Volmar had taken many precautions to prepare for this night. He knew it was to be a continual struggle for a monk to exert mastery over his carnal desires and to remain dead to the delights of the world, but he didn't think it would be so difficult. He'd taken cold baths, refrained from eating meat, which was known to inflame desire, and had even contemplated harming himself, hoping that the wounds of the flesh might heal the wounds of his wayward obsession with Hildegard. And yet no matter what he tried, she kept dancing her way into his mind, caressing his lonely thoughts, and setting aflame his passions. Would he never find peace from these fiery, fitful temptations?

One by one he replaced the usual yellowing candles with long white ones. He then smoothed out a wrinkle in the altar cloth, before turning to survey the nearly empty sanctuary. The words Brother Hans so plaintively sung
a cappella
in Latin, shattered the stillness and all hope.

Nave of the Disibodenberg Church
Feast of All Saints, Dusk, 1
^st
of November, Friday, the Year of Our Lord 1112

An hour later at dusk, the three young women entered the sanctuary. They followed the Bishop, his entourage of lesser priests and monks, and the Abbot from the Sacristy
⁶⁴
into the Chancel
⁶⁵
. Volmar stood alongside his fellow brothers in the individual stalls of the choir, witnesses to this most ancient of rituals.

The young women stood barefoot before the stone altar and the cross, humbly attired in white linen shifts. Their heads were bowed, reciting prayers as they prepared to become brides of Christ. The words of the Psalm hung in the chilly night air:
untouched by time's rude hand
. Volmar was close enough to see that the young women were shivering. He was shocked at Hildegard's transformation. He knew that all three of them had to have their heads shaved as part of the ritual preparations for the ceremony, but nothing really prepared him for how other-worldly this made Hildegard appear to him.

Volmar stirred himself, realizing suddenly that he was not the only one suffering because of this spectacle. He searched the people standing in the nave watching the ceremony and was arrested by the pained expression etched on Reginald's face. He wondered how deep Reginald's affections had been for Jutta. Rumor had it that the Archbishop's son had courted Jutta for over five years, since she was fifteen.

Taking turns, Jutta, Hildegard, and Hiltrud knelt and made their professions of faith, followed by the Bishop repeating, “
Confirma hoc Deus
.
⁶⁶
” After each affirmation, five collects
⁶⁷
were said. Three times, Bishop Otto invited them “to come,” and three times they replied, “and now we follow with all our heart.”

Volmar recognized excerpts from the Book of Job and bore witness to the solemn kiss of peace given to each on their foreheads during the Mass
⁶⁸
. The Bishop then administered communion. There was a hush over the gathering crowd. It was the most sacred and mystical part of the ceremony where the three women entered into a supernatural union with God through the Eucharist
⁶⁹
. By eating His body and drinking His blood, they became one with the heavenly Father.

Following the communion were more prayers and blessings; these, though, were associated with the last rites and the Office of the Dead. The Bishop gave to each woman a cross, placing it in their arms as he spoke. “Receive this image of the crucified one, taking care to always keep His passion and death in your heart.” The Abbot followed behind the Bishop and pressed the candle of death into their hands. All of these rituals symbolized their vow to live out the rest of their lives on the threshold that stretches between life and death.

Three funeral biers
⁷⁰
were then lowered. One by one, the young women stretched out on the biers. Over each of their bodies, the bishop genuflected, motioning the cross and intoning more Latin prayers. His censer
⁷¹
swayed forward on its long golden chain as the smoke from the sweet-smelling incense rose in unity with his prayers up to God.

Over Jutta, the Bishop spoke aloud into the hazy, thickening silence. “Grant, O Heavenly Father, that the Devil, our adversary, may never find Disibodenberg's Anchoress, Jutta of Sponheim, off her guard, or out from under Thy protection. Make her mindful of her weakness and fortify her soul against all temptations of the world, the flesh, and the Devil.”

Bishop Otto paused, clearly in command of the people's attentions, before posing his question. “Jutta of Sponheim, do you wish to live in seclusion as Disibodenberg's Anchoress until you die?”

Jutta of Sponheim responded in a confident voice. “I do indeed.”

Volmar watched as Reginald hung his head, acknowledging what the young monk suspected was final defeat.

The Bishop passed the censer to the Abbot and clasped his hands in prayer. His loud yet tremulous voice echoed through the stone cavern and rose up as if it were knocking triumphantly on heaven's golden doors. “Our Father, we deliver unto Thee Jutta of Sponheim, Hildegard of Bermersheim, and Hiltrud of Rupertsberg.”

Volmar felt the hot tears welling behind his eyes and held back a cry of anguish. He had also prepared for this moment. He reached into his pocket for a small peppercorn and popped it in his mouth, while pretending to cough. His teeth went to work, grinding down the beastly hot and bitter seed, hoping to deceive his own spirit from what he knew it could not swallow.

“In their hearts,” the Bishop continued, his voice sealing Volmar's heart forever, “they have promised to live apart, separated from the errors and vices of the age we live in, choosing to dwell in Your house and for Your glory apart from worldly infidelities, wicked principles, profanities, heresies, and the faithlessness of this Godless age.” The Bishop's voice grew more passionate as he continued. “O Christ, our Refuge and Strength, in this hour of their deaths, grant the beginning of eternity, of true faith, sure hope, ardent love, unshaken fortitude, deep humility, unconquered patience, and whatsoever other virtues they will need to reside at heaven's doorstep.”

The Bishop dramatically raised his hands towards the heavens. “And into Thy Hands, O Lord, I commend their spirits; and whatsoever sins they may have committed through the frailty of their mortal natures, in Thy merciful loving kindness blot out forever; through Christ our Lord. Amen.”

Volmar watched as the biers were carried aloft in a solemn processional by twelve hooded brothers all dressed in black robes. From the church it was only twenty-odd paces to the Anchorage, the young women's earthly tomb. As each of the three young women made their way down the aisle through the fog of incense and extinguishing candles, they began chanting in turn: “This is my resting place forever, here shall I dwell for I have chosen it.” The psalm was shortly followed by another. “I shall go up into the place of the wonderful tabernacle.” And another: “Let us enter the house of the Lord with rejoicing.”

Volmar winced as he heard Hildegard's voice rise above the others, its lyrical tone resounding strong and true as she recited the mantras of denial and death. So final, he thought, bearing in silence the guilt of his sinful affection for her. From now on Hildegard and the other women would live isolated from the outside world, the door of their cell bolted tight, and the windows covered with black leather curtains and shutters. Tradition dictated that they live as if at the gates of heaven, praying day and night while in the seclusion of their cell. A
Vita Angelica
, a Life of Angels. The Bishop sprinkled dust on them as they passed under the entrance of the church.

Forecourt of Disibodenberg Church

Feast of All Saints, 1
^st
of November, Friday, the Year of Our Lord 1112, Evening

Volmar had observed many religious rituals, but this was his first enclosure ceremony. As the villagers filed out in an orderly fashion following the processional, Volmar lingered, observing the rest of the guests. Reginald had backed himself into a corner and was staring ahead with a frown, seemingly waiting at the empty altar. It would be his right, Volmar thought, for Reginald to walk away from this ceremony, which should have been his wedding, condemning love and feeling justified in his own self-pity. It was impossible to tell from this distance which direction Reginald's mind would take.

Why would God create male and female? Was it simply to complicate our lives, plague us with consuming passions, or distract us from contemplating paradise? This mystery troubled Volmar as he also wondered why Reginald's friend Atif was not standing there beside him. Instead, he noticed, the Aramaic scholar was across the room meeting with a messenger of some sort, who looked as if he had just slipped in from the outside road, judging by the red clay still clinging to his muddied boots. Volmar watched as the messenger reached under
his cloak and gave Atif a bound set of small papers. Atif took the booklet quickly from the man and flipped to the first page. He read through it, his expression suggesting nothing less than elation. After he had finished, Volmar watched as Atif held the small book up to his lips and kissed it softly before tucking it safely under his heavy cloak. As the messenger quietly took leave, Atif slipped back silently into the throng of people and disappeared. Volmar held back, wondering what would motivate a man to kiss a book, unless it represented something more to him than simple words. Such misplaced passion reminded him of his own guilty passions towards Hildegard.

Volmar exited into the forecourt, relieved to find that the rain had eased and a quarter moon was valiantly trying to peek through the ominous gathering of clouds. A slight rustle from behind was the only warning Volmar had. He turned with a start the very moment an old woman grabbed his arm and pulled him into the shadows.

“Hear me out,” the old woman spoke in earnest, placing a papery thin finger to the young monk's mouth before Volmar could complain. “I have a message from God, meant only for your ears and yours alone. Her life, I've been told, is intricately woven into your own.”