|
My full name at birth was Dionisia Acacia DuMonde. Born in 1200 during the reign of Phillip II Augustus, in the city of Bruges, on the northern tip of France. We were but a mile or so from the ocean, and the city was a bustling center of trade activity. I was the daughter of a nearly-wealthy textile merchant, who worked heavily with the traders who would follow the land and sea trade routes from Milan and Venice--some of the most beautiful textile producing cities in the world! The fabrics that passsed through my hands were breathtaking, and I was allowed to wear clothing that other girls would envy all their lives, no matter how wealthy their family. I was, in a nutshell, spoiled.
At the age of 9, as was common, I was sent to live and study with another noble family in Paris, to learn the ways of a good woman and wife. The journey was long, but I was told that once there I would learn all the skills necessary to be a fine wife and run an efficient household of my own someday. The family was one that my father knew by reputation only, and I was firmly reminded many times before my departure that I was lucky to be joining such a well-to-do household. I should mind my manners and make the most of my time there, as by the age of 14 I would be sent home to Bruges to take a husband, and only if I worked very hard would I be ready to return to my family. |
|
|
I thought nothing could have been more difficult than the long trip, but no sooner had I arrived, I would have gladly braved a journey twice as long to have left. The family was well-to-do--that was not in question. But they became wealthy through skinflint habits which only those living within the walls of their home would know of. I was eager to pursue my sewing and embroidery skills, of which I had found a passion for in the house of my family, surrounded by the finest of materials and the handiwork of master tailors, and learn the ways of running a household as a proper wife. Instead, much of my day was spent listening to rants and rumors about every nobleman and noblewoman in the city walls; and the rest of the time being chided for my "oppulet habits" as a "spoiled little princess", and of course bad manners, no matter how I strived to please. The Lord and Lady of the house were firm taskmasters, and I was set to work continuously at the least desireable tasks they could see fit to give over to a nobleman's daughter from the hands of their hired servants. Of course, their children, who were not yet of age to be sent for their own studies, taunted me relentlessly, adding to my burdens. My only respite was found on the Holy Day of Rest each Sunday, for it was in church that I found peace in the song and quiet of prayer, and once home I was left to myself and was allowed to sit and do needlework or read without interruption. Nary a day passed that I did not pray to Our Almighty Father that I might be whisked away from this house and all of its unpleasantness. I swore I cared not where I would be sent, so long as it was far from these walls.
As I have often lamented since, one must be very careful for what one prays. My prayers were answered in the dim light of morning on the cusp of autumn in the Year of Our Lord 1212. A young shephard boy, Stephen, set out from Cloyes, at the command of Our Savior himself in a vision, to recover the Holy Sepulcher from the Muslims. The throng of children who took to the road at Stephen's call had reached hundreds strong when it passed through our burrough, and I slipped quite easily into the teeming mass of youthful holy crusaders to make my escape and march on in the name of Christianity. The Mediterranean Sea dissected our path, but just as The Lord parted the Red Sea for Moses, so did Stephen promise that The Lord would repeat this miracle and allow us to pass unhindered into the land of the infidels and recover our rightful relic--none other than the Tomb of Jesus Himself. So we marched away the days and weeks, and a harsh march it was for any man, let alone ones as young and inexperienced as we. I watched youths die around me. Some from starvation and exhaustion. Others from illness and disease which found them in the dirty streets and cold, shelterless pastures in which we made our beds each night. How I survived, I can only attribute to God's Mercy. I had invited this trial upon myself due to my naivete and petulence, both of which saw fit to leave me quickly now that the harsh reality of the world surrounded me.
|
|
