tall and broad-shouldered—always have been—and my mother saw nothing wrong with me wearing boys' clothes and climbing up into the mountains with the village lads when I was little. I still climb upon occasion. I'm used to it. If I had to give it up, I'd be unhappy, and probably quite irritable.”
“What does this have to do with me?”
“Everything, Miriam. You're used to being hunted, pursued, and in fear of your life. Regardless of whether or not all that was pleasant, it's still what you're used to and now it's all changed. I can understand why you act the way you do. What I am asking is that you understand it also.”
There was respect in Roxanne's voice. She sounded like a teacher, one who honored her student as much as she expected to be honored in returns. Her gown was simple, dark, girdled by a woven cord of black and silver, and Miriam noticed an ebony-handled knife at her side. Roxanne had called herself a priestess, and though Miriam did not know what she had meant by it, she admitted to herself that the weaver seemed to be deserving of the title.
After a while, Miriam spoke. “All right. So I understand. It doesn't help much. Is everyone in this town so damned accepting of Elves, healers, and—Lord knows—witches?”
Roxanne toyed with the end of her cord. “The Elves are known by sight in the town. Varden often comes, and occasionally one of the elven ladies comes with him. No one is afraid, but only a few in Saint Brigid know the Elves well. Andrew the carpenter and his wife Elizabeth and their family often entertain Varden. Likewise David the carver and Charlotte who live on the edge of Malvern. Kay, of course Charity, whom Andrew and Elizabeth adopted six years ago, is much loved by the Elves.”
“And you?”
“Varden is my l over. And I am his.”
“The Church would call you a witch.”
Roxanne smiled, but sadly. “I am a witch, Miriam. But not in the way the Church thinks, and not because I took an elven lover. Long before the Church came to this land, my ancestors worshiped a Goddess. When the Church came to power, it declared that the old beliefs should die and be forgotten. Churchmen preached that witches did great evil, and they should be destroyed. The persecutions have gone on for a long time, and will continue for a long time to come.”
“Don't talk to me about persecutions.” Miriam had been shaken by Roxanne's admission, but was determined not to show it.
Roxanne nodded slowly. “Very well, I won't. Let's just say that I am one of only two in Saint Brigid who keep the old ways. Not many know what I am. Most know me as weaver, herbalist, and midwife. But the Elves, and Kay, and Charity and her family know that I am a witch, a priestess of the Goddess.”
“And Kay tolerates this?”
“He comes to me for advice, and I go to him. Our paths are different, but they lead to the same goal. Kay says mass and administers the sacraments, and I bless the crops and call the rain when it's needed.”
“And blast an occasional priest?”
Roxanne laughed merrily. “Alban? No. Though I confess I was tempted.”
“Well, someone did some blasting. Francis said something about an old hag. Was she a witch, too?”
“We called her the Leather Woman because she made bits of harness and tackle for a living. She worked magic, but she wasn't a witch. Nor was she particularly happy. She was crippled and deformed, and she had spent her childhood being ridiculed and her adulthood being feared. Once, she struck at Francis, and Varden healed him. Later on, she disappeared.”
“It seems that unpleasant people have a way of disappearing in this town. What did the Elves turn her into? A butterfly? Am I next?” Miriam laughed harshly. “Maybe I could convince them to make me a warrior.”
Roxanne regarded her appraisingly. “It would be a difficult path, Miriam,” she said at last. “Before you ask for anything, make sure you know exactly what it is you want.”
Miriam was puzzled.
“What does this have to do with me?”
“Everything, Miriam. You're used to being hunted, pursued, and in fear of your life. Regardless of whether or not all that was pleasant, it's still what you're used to and now it's all changed. I can understand why you act the way you do. What I am asking is that you understand it also.”
There was respect in Roxanne's voice. She sounded like a teacher, one who honored her student as much as she expected to be honored in returns. Her gown was simple, dark, girdled by a woven cord of black and silver, and Miriam noticed an ebony-handled knife at her side. Roxanne had called herself a priestess, and though Miriam did not know what she had meant by it, she admitted to herself that the weaver seemed to be deserving of the title.
After a while, Miriam spoke. “All right. So I understand. It doesn't help much. Is everyone in this town so damned accepting of Elves, healers, and—Lord knows—witches?”
Roxanne toyed with the end of her cord. “The Elves are known by sight in the town. Varden often comes, and occasionally one of the elven ladies comes with him. No one is afraid, but only a few in Saint Brigid know the Elves well. Andrew the carpenter and his wife Elizabeth and their family often entertain Varden. Likewise David the carver and Charlotte who live on the edge of Malvern. Kay, of course Charity, whom Andrew and Elizabeth adopted six years ago, is much loved by the Elves.”
“And you?”
“Varden is my l over. And I am his.”
“The Church would call you a witch.”
Roxanne smiled, but sadly. “I am a witch, Miriam. But not in the way the Church thinks, and not because I took an elven lover. Long before the Church came to this land, my ancestors worshiped a Goddess. When the Church came to power, it declared that the old beliefs should die and be forgotten. Churchmen preached that witches did great evil, and they should be destroyed. The persecutions have gone on for a long time, and will continue for a long time to come.”
“Don't talk to me about persecutions.” Miriam had been shaken by Roxanne's admission, but was determined not to show it.
Roxanne nodded slowly. “Very well, I won't. Let's just say that I am one of only two in Saint Brigid who keep the old ways. Not many know what I am. Most know me as weaver, herbalist, and midwife. But the Elves, and Kay, and Charity and her family know that I am a witch, a priestess of the Goddess.”
“And Kay tolerates this?”
“He comes to me for advice, and I go to him. Our paths are different, but they lead to the same goal. Kay says mass and administers the sacraments, and I bless the crops and call the rain when it's needed.”
“And blast an occasional priest?”
Roxanne laughed merrily. “Alban? No. Though I confess I was tempted.”
“Well, someone did some blasting. Francis said something about an old hag. Was she a witch, too?”
“We called her the Leather Woman because she made bits of harness and tackle for a living. She worked magic, but she wasn't a witch. Nor was she particularly happy. She was crippled and deformed, and she had spent her childhood being ridiculed and her adulthood being feared. Once, she struck at Francis, and Varden healed him. Later on, she disappeared.”
“It seems that unpleasant people have a way of disappearing in this town. What did the Elves turn her into? A butterfly? Am I next?” Miriam laughed harshly. “Maybe I could convince them to make me a warrior.”
Roxanne regarded her appraisingly. “It would be a difficult path, Miriam,” she said at last. “Before you ask for anything, make sure you know exactly what it is you want.”
Miriam was puzzled.
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