My mother was the mystery of mysteries to me. It was as though she did not share with me the same earth or air. She expressed her perfection in the way that she moved, her shoulders straight, her arms by her side, her dress tucked into her girdle, yet even with her feet exposed, she glided across the ground in a way that invited a processional, that beckoned flowers. When she smiled, she never committed entirely to smiling. Her teeth stayed in her mouth, which made people believe that further amusement or joy could be earned in games of wit or humor. All expression took place in her eyes, which were a mix of green and blue like the river in summer. She wore her dark hair in a net and barbette and even as she aged, she never appeared to cross that threshold where a wimple or veil would seem more appropriate. Perhaps she owed this to my father, who still had hopes for a second child.
When she appeared in my doorway, she did so without anger, but this did not keep me from crying at the sight of her. She crouched down beside the bed, smoothed my dress over my lap, took my hands in hers.
Herrad, what I am about to say will be very painful for you.
What do you mean? I asked. Am I in trouble?
No, not in trouble. It is merely that, for your own protection, life is going to be different for you now.
When I asked her what she meant, she climbed into bed and pulled me into her arms. The way she ran her hands through my hair reminded me of how I used to curled up in her lap when I was little.
Herrad, when a girl sheds her first blood, it means she will soon become a young woman able to bear children of her own. Thus, she must begin to behave as a woman should, must act proper and wisely in all matters, must think about what others see before considering herself.
Why the seriousness? I did not understand. Was I not already a "young lady?" Did I not already curtsie instead of bow? Wear dresses? Behave appropriately? Follow in a dance? My mother must have seen the expression on my face, for she spent a long moment to consider her words.
Thusfar, Herrad, you have been living as a child lives. And the world and the people in it have looked at you and have seen only a child. We are fortunate in our Christian world that only a depraved person would hurt a child. But this changes when a little girl becomes a woman. When a girl becomes a woman, especially when she is a pure woman, a woman who retains her innocence, which is to say, a woman who has not lain with men, the entirety of the world conspires to do harm to her. We women in our wisdom have crafted our ways of being ladylike, our customs of decorum, in order to protect ourselves from wrongdoing or perhaps even more importantly, accusations of wrongdoing. We do this because of men. A man will do anything in his power to convince you to let down your guard so that he may do harm to you, for if he does harm to you, he can often do so without consequences, while the consequences of a woman's lapse in judgement are carried with her as a black mark for the rest of her days. She risks losing everything, from inheritance to good standing.
Your innocence touches the hearts of everyone you know. You cannot see that we grown men and women envy you and wish we could return to such youthful and wonderful ignorance about the world. But ours is an ugly world mired with shame and guile. It is unfair that, save for own fathers, those men we trusted in childhood, who once hoisted us upon their shoulders, lose our trust because they are incapable of seeing the unchanged soul, passed from childhood to the woman's body, and see only the body instead. That body must be guarded like the most precious of treasures, for a woman cannot marry without her maidenhead intact, and while I know you are not of the age where love or marriage concern you, you are of an age where you can begin to realize exactly where you stand and with how much power.
You must understand, Herrad, that I love you beyond measure, that if harm were to come to you, I would never forgive myself. I would lose all reason for living. You are all your father and I have. If we bear no sons, and at my age, hope is dwindling, it is you who will inherit Montpreis and Hörberg, and by extension, they will belong to your husband. If something happens to you, you will inherit nothing and all we have built will be claimed by others when we die. A common man will look at you and see only a body for the taking, but a nobleman will look at you and see both a body and two castles, countless men and half a dozen fiefs. Both will try and fool you because you have power. Had you a brother, this power would be diminished, and you would become an ordinary woman with a sizeable silver dowry, a loss for this family instead of its very continuation. Bearing this in mind, you should carry yourself not only with honor but with the highest honor because you have more than most, certainly more than I had when I was your age. It is for the sake of your honor that you must now behave differently.
But what do you mean differently.
There will be many changes. To begin, when you ride horses, you must do so side saddle.
I turned to face her at once, saying, but you know I hate side saddle! It is so slow! Do you not trust that I can treat myself with gentleness when riding?
I am not finished speaking, said my mother sternly. Furthermore, an attenant must be with you always - no more disappearing off into the towers or the woods. Wherever you go, someone must be able to testify to your presence.
So now I must live as a prisoner, too!
Herrad, it despairs me to tell you that what you do does not matter, whether you are innocent or not does not matter, it is only what others think you do or have done that matters. Every step you take must be considered in relation to all other steps, and you are safer assuming that a stranger is bereft of a Christian heart than you are trusting them blindly. Be coy. Do not behave in an inviting way. Do not give anyone a reason to question your morals. It is for this reason above all that to be alone with men or boys from this point forward is forbidden.
Even father?
No, of course not.
Thinking of all the men I knew and loved, and there were countless, for men made up half of all human souls, I looked upon my mother with utter hatred.
How unreasonable you are being, I accused. How fearful you are! Do you really believe so little of others? You think my father's own garrison men and their sons who walk the same morning journey to church on Sunday care solely about doing harm to me? You think the blacksmith who makes our swords and the ferrier who shoes our horses, the stonemason who repairs our walls here at Montpreis and at Hörberg, men who I have known all my life, think only about dispicable acts against me? And what of our friends? The Peilensteins and Drachenbergs whose castles we rest at should storms interrupt our journey to Hörberg? What of those families of far higher standing than our own? What of my friend Frederick of Pettau, whom I look so forward to seeing at Shrovetide and harvest? And his brother? His steward who carries me on his shoulders so that I may pick apples from the orchard?
The thought of those faces turned away from me for reasons I could not change, the image of myself treating my friend coldly and him looking on bereft of understanding, when our companionship owed itself to the feeling that it was all others who were bereft of understanding for us. The thought brought such pain even tears could not answer it.
I knew this would become a topic of discussion, she sighed. Yes, Frederick is your friend from childhood. And by all accounts he is a nice boy, though one who could perhaps benefit more from rigor. But the world changes for men, too. They train for war and for politics and must adopt a certain degree of cruelty to endure such a world. You remember him as he is, which is as a child not so different from you. But when you see him next time, he will belong to the world of men, and the knife he carries to pare fruit and whittle wood will be replaced on his hip by a longsword. He will be instructed, too, to speak to you in a different way. Men also learn propriety, though they do not often use it.
But how could that be? When he sees me again, will he not carry the same memories as I do?
You speak to me as though I am trying to hurt you.
You are hurting me!
Here she pulled me into her arms again. I pawed at my dress, for the linen between my legs had caused a terrible itch.
It is cruel that all mothers must serve as the Hermes to their children's womanhood, said my mother. Whatever pain you feel, know that I have shared that pain before you.
I did not believe her. I told her to leave me alone.
When she did, I did not set foot outside my room for the rest of the day. I had my dinner brought to me. No matter how I tried, I failed to grasp by what means I had awoken free and would go to sleep unfree.