The Greenest Branch

by P K Adams

  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 about the rule of stabilitas loci?” Juliana asked. It was rare for her to speak without being addressed, and it was all the more valuable to me when she did. Being the best educated among us, she brought up an issue I had preferred to ignore but one which would have to be dealt with sooner or later.

  I considered my answer carefully. “The principle that monastics do not move away from their abbey is an important one, and it has been largely observed since our founder’s time. But”—I raised my finger—“there are certainly precedents for monks leaving their mother houses to establish new foundations elsewhere. So there is an argument to be made in our favor, and I intend to make it if necessary when the time comes.”

  A faint smile flickered on Juliana’s lips, another rare sight. I knew how much she detested St. Disibod, and it occurred to me that that alone would be a sufficient reason to move.

  “Would it be Sister Jutta’s wish too?” Griselda’s quiet voice floated up.

  I had thought about that, and although I could not have absolute certainty, something told me she would approve. “I believe that for all the choices she made for herself, she would want us to be respected. And that is not possible for as long as we remain a part of this abbey.”

  “But Abbot Kuno is good to us.” Gertrude offered timidly. She was the only one who seemed worried about the plan. “And who is to say with certainty that Prior Helenger will replace him?”

  “There is never any certainty about anything in life,” I replied, perhaps a little too harshly, “but he is the most senior of the obedientiaries, and that alone puts him in the direct line of succession. But even if that does not come to pass—if, for example, he dies before Kuno—what I have just told you will still stand. None of the other monks will grant us the freedom we need.” A woman’s role was not to speak but to listen, to nurture, and stand behind. There was no abbey in the land where my work would be fully acceptable. I would always have to fight for the right to practice medicine and to share my knowledge. I would never be certain of having access to a library or a scriptorium. I would always be at the mercy of someone else’s goodwill, whim, or greed.

  I could only count on myself.

  Ricardis was the only one who had not spoken up but only gazed at me, smiling and radiant as ever. I had no reason to doubt her support.

  I had the sisters behind me.

  There was only one other I needed to tell.

  31

  January 1130

  I stood at Jutta’s grave on a frosty afternoon.

  Her tomb was the largest in the abbey cemetery and made of stone, in contrast to the tiny mounds with wooden crosses that marked the monks’ resting places. It had not started out that way; it was the humblest grave of all on the day she was reburied, but with so many pilgrims flocking to it, the abbot had ordered a sturdy stone cross carved and placed over it. On its arms, visitors had been leaving rosaries and wooden crucifixes on leather thongs in such quantities that they had to be removed from time to time.

  As I watched them fluttering in the icy wind, I could not help but think that Jutta would be unhappy at such prominence. But it also made me proud because she deserved it, although for reasons different from those that attracted the pilgrims. For me, Jutta was my magistra, a teacher alongside Wigbert who had planted a seed in my mind that had blossomed into a belief that my pursuits were just as worthy of consideration as those of any man.

  I came on this little private pilgrimage to tell her that I had been made abbey physician. A few days after our last month’s supper, Kuno had summoned me to let me know of his decision, Helenger hovering over his shoulder. I was surprised and pleased, yet something bothered me about the announcement, and it was not just the unusual fact that the prior had remained silent.

  On my way back from the abbot’s house, I had met Ricardis as she came out of the side door of the cloister that we, as women, had to use to enter the scriptorium to avoid walking through the monks’ quarters.

  “Is everything all right?” The glow on her face dimmed somewhat when she saw the frown creasing my forehead.

  I smiled in an effort to soften my face. “I was just offered the position of abbey physician.”

  Ricardis’s big eyes rounded into two lovely pools of liquid dark. “That is wonderful!” She joined her hands together the way she did when finding something very exciting.

  We started toward the convent, and I wondered if I should mention my misgivings to her. But Ricardis was a sweet and innocent creature whom I trusted almost as much as I did Volmar. “It is practically unheard of for women to hold such positions”—I thought back on Trota of Salerno—“which makes me wonder why the abbot would do it. I know it was not at the prior’s request.” I could not help the sarcasm.

  “But there is nobody here with the skill and experience that match yours.”

  That was true enough; still, doubts gnawed at me. “But why so suddenly? Why now? We could have gone on like t
his indefinitely, with me fulfilling the role of physician without being officially called so.”

  “Patients ask for you and leave generous gifts to the abbey.” She walked slightly ahead of me as we approached the enclosure. When Griselda opened the gate, Ricardis slid between her and the door and held it for me. “It makes perfect sense for Abbot Kuno to elevate you like this,” she added with assurance as we continued to the chapel, for it was almost vesper time.

  I grimaced. The reduction of my relationship with the monks to a transaction guided by a calculation of cost and benefit had never sat well with me, even though I had taken advantage of it more than once.

  “I must accept it and be glad,” I said as the other sisters arrived and we filed into the chapel. “It is un-Christian not to show gratitude for a gesture of goodwill, especially when it is so unexpected.”

  In the pew, I opened my Book of Hours just as the first notes of the chant floated from the church and the sisters intoned, “Deus, in adiutorium meum intende. Domine, ad adiuvandum me festina.” O God, come to my assistance. O Lord, make haste to help me.

  I looked over my shoulder at Ricardis, her head bowed and eyes closed, and was charmed by her humbleness as much as I had been by her exuberance.

  Now at the grave, I reached into the pocket of my robe and took out the little box with the heart-shaped lump of salt my mother had given me. My mother had been so strong and protective of me and had not hesitated to confront the monks to ensure my right to make my own decision. Through this gift, the memory of her wisdom had guided me through the years, reminding me where I had come from and of the work I had been called to do.

  I turned the piece over in my fingers, as pure and white as it had been on the day I first laid my eyes on it, then closed the lid again. “I promise I will spare no effort to shield our community from attacks, save it from neglect, and give it independence so we can control our present and determine our future,” I said, my words caught by the wind and carried away into the universe.

  As I walked back to the convent, I wondered whether I had made that pledge to Jutta or to my mother, or perhaps to both.

  What I did not know was that on that same day Abbot Kuno wrote a letter to Abbot Heinrich of Fulda, a monk learned in canon law, and an authority on Regula Benedicti.

  You see, my plans had already reached the abbot’s ears. He was quite certain that as my nominal superior he would have to consent to my relocation, and if I defied him he could escalate the matter to Mainz. There, the archbishop would be unlikely to side with me, especially as the monks had a new ally at his court—Helenger’s nephew Walter who, although only twenty-three, had just been made a junior canon and was poised for a brilliant career. Kuno’s letter to Fulda was just a way of reassuring himself.

  But I would not learn about any of it for years. For a long time, I would not be aware that just as I was vowing to save the convent and free the sisters, the monks were preparing to ensure that everything remained as it was and that the order of things was preserved.

  Thank you for reading The Greenest Branch. I hope you enjoyed it. Would you kindly take a few minutes to support independent publishing by leaving a review on Amazon and/or Goodreads? I will greatly appreciate it!

  If you would like to learn more about Hildegard or about my future writing projects, feel free to get in touch via my website's Contact Me form at www.pkadams-author.com. You can also follow me on Twitter @pk_adams.

  GLOSSARY OF TERMS

  As clocks were not in use in the Middle Ages, the passage of time was typically measured by the eight daily services of the Divine Office. The exact timing of these services was dictated by the rising and setting of the sun and therefore varied depending on the season. Here’s a rough approximation:

  matins - in the middle of the night, any time between midnight and 2 a.m.

  lauds - at dawn (around 3 a.m. in the summer)

  prime - first office of the day, around 6 a.m.

  terce - mid-morning office, around 9 a.m.

  sext - mid-day office, around 12 noon

  nones – mid-afternoon office, around 3 p.m.

  vespers - the evening office, between 5 p.m. and 7 p.m.

  compline - at nightfall, around 9 p.m.

  Anchorite monasticism – an early form of monasticism particularly popular in the Middle Ages. It was characterized by complete isolation from the world for the purpose of practicing religious devotion. Most commonly, anchorite enclosures (cells or anchorholds) were attached to a church in the form of a wooden shack or a stone-walled annex. There were more women than men who practiced that form of monasticism, and they were referred to as anchoresses. Anchorite monasticism was in contrast to cenobitic (community-based) monasticism as exemplified by priories or abbeys, although sometimes, as in this story, the two could co-exist in the same place.

  Rule of Saint Benedict (Lat. Regula Benedicti) – a set of rules governing the daily life in the Benedictine communities. It covers both religious practices and non-religious activities like work, study, recreation, and meals. It was written by Benedict of Nursia (Norcia) the founder of the order (c. 480-550). Note: Benedict was only canonized in the year 1220, much later than the events in this story.

  Obedientiary – in the context of cenobitic monasticism a senior monk or nun who held an office within the community. In addition to the abbot/abbess and prior/prioress, they included such posts as cantor, kitchener, cellarer, porter, bursar, matricularius, novice master, infirmarian, etc.

  Magistra – the Latin term for ‘teacher’, sometimes applied to leaders of female monastic communities who held a rank lower than abbess.

  Investiture controversy – the power struggle between the papacy and the secular rulers of the Holy Roman Empire (encompassing roughly today’s Germany, Northern Italy, and parts of western France) over who should have the right to appoint bishops by symbolically investing them with the insignia of their authority. It lasted some 75 years from the second half of the 11th to the early 12th century. It resulted in a state of civil war in most of the German territory as well as the appointments of several anti-popes by successive emperors in an effort to ensure a more pliable papacy that would allow them to preserve their investiture rights. The most acute phase of the conflict was ended by the Concordat of Worms in 1122, but attempts of kings to control ecclesiastical appointments continued intermittently for the rest of the 12th century and beyond.

  Bibliography

  In researching this book, I found following sources particularly helpful:

  The Letters of Hildegard of Bingen ed. by Joseph Baird and Radd Ehrman

  The Creative Spirit. Harmonious Living with Hildegard of Bingen by June Boyce-Tillman

  Heretics and Scholars in the High Middle Ages by Heinrich Fichtenau

  Original Blessing. A Primer in Creation Spirituality by Matthew Fox

  Planets, Stars, and Orbs. The Medieval Cosmos 1200-1687 by Edward Grant

  The Holy Roman Empire by Friedrich Heer

  The Ways of the Lord by Hildegard of Bingen (ed. Emilie Griffin)

  Scivias by Hildegard of Bingen (ed. Elizabeth Ruth Obbart)

  Hildegardis causae et curae ed. by Paulus Keiser

  Cambridge Illustrated History of Germany by Martin Kitchen

  Medieval Thought: St. Augustine to Ockham by Gordon Leff

  A History of the Church in the Middle Ages by F. Donald Logan

  Hildegard of Bingen. The Woman of Her Age by Fiona Maddocks

  Daily Life in the Middle Ages by Paul B. Newman

  Frederick Barbarossa by Marcel Pacaut

  Natural History by Pliny the Elder (Book XXVI)

  Life in Medieval Times by Marjorie Rowling

  The Gracious God: Gratia in Augustine and the Twelfth Century by Aage Rydstrom-Poulsen.

  The World of Hildegard of Bingen. Her Life, Times, and Visions b
y Heinrich Schipperges

  “Hildegard of Bingen and the Greening of Medieval Medicine.” Bulletin of the History of Medicine, 1999, 73:381–403 by Victoria Sweet

  “Text and context in Hildegard of Bingen’s Ordo Virtutum.” by Patricia Kazarow im Maps of Flesh and Light. The Religious Experience of Medieval Women Mystics ed. by Ulrike Wiethaus

  Lyrics to Hildegard’s chants in Latin and English can be found at http://www.hildegard-society.org

  For biblical quotations I used the New International Version translation.

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to express my gratitude to the Boston Public Library for finding – through the interlibrary loan program - the more academic texts they did not have in their system (particularly the three volumes of the Baird and Ehrmann translations). Public libraries are an invaluable resource for readers and writers alike, and well worth our support.

  Many people contributed to helping me make this book the best it can be. They include my beta readers Elaine Buckley, Viksit Gaur, Bill Laforme, and John Shea to whom I owe a debt of gratitude for their insightful feedback. Enormous thank you to my editor Jessica Cale and cover designer Jenny Quinlan from Historical Editorial. Any errors that remain are mine.

  I also want to give a shoutout to the ladies from the Fearless Female Writers group—Anne Marie Carmody, Deborah Coffey, Kim Jaso, Quenby Solberg, and Elise Tanimoto—who listened patiently; and to the small but tenacious group from the Boston chapter of the National Writers Union. The monthly dinners at Christopher’s help me unwind and keep things in perspective.

  Finally, thank you to my family for cheering me on. Liam, you are a ray of sunshine.

  About the Author

  P.K. Adams is the pen name of Patrycja Podrazik. She is a historical fiction author based in Boston, Massachusetts. A lifelong lover of history and all things medieval, she is also a blogger and historical fiction reviewer at www.pkadams-author.com. She graduated from Columbia University where she first met Hildegard in a music history class. The Greenest Branch is her debut novel and the first in a two-book series about one of the medieval era’s most fascinating women.