Angrily Lydia stalked to the stable where James was tending to Moses Aaron. In a broken down stall she found him brushing the mule. He looked up and asked, “Is everything all right?”

“Your nephew is an ass.”

James laughed. “Aye, poor boy, he is.” Suddenly his face sobered and he told her, "Be quick and do what must be done. This will probably be the only opportunity you will have tonight."

Her cycle, her damned cycle. How many times would she have it before they reached Rome? In the next stall, with only Moses Aaron between them she took care of all her business. It was excruciatingly embarrassing but it could not be helped. When she was done, James provided her with a bucket of water to wash her rags. He then returned to the other side of Moses Aaron.

The events of the day flooded Lydia's mind as she scrubbed. She could not get the man in the woods out of her mind. His face flashed from distinct to indistinct. The memory of the hanging made her shudder. Once again she heard the voice of the noble shouting, "I will find you boy! I swear I will, and when I do, another breath you shall not breathe." She needed to talk to James. With quick hands she wrung out her rags. Now what to do with them? They needed to dry. From the other side of Moses Aaron, James said, "The window shutter is busted. I think the bottom half might serve a purpose." As Lydia laid out her rags, she glanced up at the window. The stars reached out to her and steadied her. When she finished with her laundry, she went around Moses Aaron and said, "James, there is something I need to tell you."

His eyes narrowed when he saw her face. "It sounds serious."

"It is." She dropped her voice low, "When I was on my way to Romsey Abbey I was pitched by Crofter Gimbles' Old Agnes and hit my head on a field stone. When I woke up, I saw three men, a peasant, a noble and a man on horseback with a rope around his neck. The horse took off and the man was hung. The noble saw me. I was able to out run him. He vowed to kill me. I have not seen him since, but the man I saw in the wood today looked like the peasant who was with him."

A dark fire flared in James' eyes. He said, "Describe this noble."

"He was tall, long legged and his voice boomed. I do not remember much about his face except that his teeth seemed to flash when he spoke."

"How far were you from Romsey Abbey?"

"Half a day on foot."

James eyes narrowed. "That would have been last March?"

"Aye." It had almost been a year since that evening.

The fire in James eyes was carefully tamped down. His brows furrowed. He seemed very troubled.

"What is it James?"

He smiled reassuringly at her. "I just hate that you had to go through that.”

"Do you think the man I saw was Cyril?"

"I pray not. Cyril was Dame Paston's pigman for years, as was his fader before him. It broke Dame Paston's heart when he turned out to be a thief. If he did worse..." His voice trailed off. "Come it is best we get back to the others."

"No." Lydia did not want to get back to the others, well Antone. She said, "I would rather sleep in here with Moses Aaron." There was no way she would subject herself to Antone. He was not good or kind. Whatever he stirred in her was not love, but it was powerful.

James glanced at the broken window and said, "It is not safe in here. Come.” Reluctantly Lydia followed him.

*

The road to Paris was rutted. The cart bounced along. Moses Aaron was taking his sweet time and stopped every time he spied even the tiniest blade of new grass. Beside Lydia, James wore a pertpetual frown. Since their encounter with the man, who might have been Cyril, James had lost his usual calm. Brother Matthew noticed and asked him, “Are you well James?”

James said, "I am alright, but something is amiss, I feel it in my bones."

Though Lydia was uneasy too, the closer they got to Paris, the more her heart and her mind turned to Moder. Soon, soon she would walk where Moder had walked. The places she had only heard about, she would see with her own eyes. Excitement filled her.

Seated directly behind her, Antone was full of chatter and music this morning. Though she would never admit it to herself, her body liked the nearness of him. The River Seine, dark and reflective, flowed nearby. A single crane took flight. The beating of its wings sounded to Lydia's ear like the rising of angel wings.

Antone said, "Lovely, the way birds fly. Always wished I could fly."

"Me too," said Lydia.

"If I had wings," Antone continued, "I would fly straight to university. It will be good to have access to books and attend lectures. Nights on the left bank, loitering...I have missed it all."

James asked, "So, you will stay in Paris?"

"Oui. Life on the road is an adventure, but I would like a few comforts and some pretty girls about."

Jealousy pierced Lydia, followed quickly by resolve. No, she must not let silly, flirtatious Antone rob her of the beauty of this day. Ahead in the morning mist, Paris appeared. At the sight of it Lydia's heart took flight. They were almost there!

Once inside the city, they made their way steadily toward Notre Dame. The streets were filled with students rushing and calling to one another. Never had Lydia seen such a variety of males. Every size, shape and color was represented in the streets. There were rich, well dressed students in coats with buttons! There were others toting books and bags for the wealthier students. Antone waved and called out to a scruffy young man. “Theo!”

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The young man shouted back, "Ah, the music has returned to Paris!" Lydia did not even have to turn to see Antone's response to this compliment. She could feel him beaming.

James wanted to find lodging before they went to Notre Dame, but Brother Matthew protested, "Dame Paston said we must go there first. It is on the list in bold letters."

They passed a street that reeked. A tanner was on that street. Moder’s, papa had been a tanner. Moder never told the story of her first encounter with Fader. Only Fader had told the story. In memory, Lydia heard him boasting, “I had been in search of quality beef fat for tallow and had consulted your Moder's papa. When I saw the tanner’s pretty eldest daughter and realized the prosperity of her papa's business, I asked for her hand in marriage.” How Fader had smiled when he said this, but Moder, though she smiled, the smile was only on her lips and never in her eyes. In one afternoon, her fate had been sealed. A shiver vibrated through Lydia, such had almost been her fate. She turned back to look down the street. Did it lead to Moder’s old home? She wanted very much to see it, but she knew better than to ask. To see her grandparents, if they were still living, would compromise her identiy and possibly lead to them contacting her father. They had given Moder to him, why would the not give her to him, as well? It was a risk she would not take.

Ahead, she saw the bridge that led to the Isle. Beyond it, Notre Dame loomed large. At the hitching post, James stopped the cart and tethered Moses Aaron. Moses Aaron shook his head in protest. He wanted food and shelter. "In time, beast, in time," murmured James.

Brother Matthew paid the bridge toll. They crossed the River Seine behind a group of pilgrims. The closer they came to the cathedral the faster Lydia's heart beat. She was almost there, almost to the place where her mother had found refuge. While Amiens Cathedral had awed her, Notre Dame struck her dumb. The towers of Notre Dame soared toward heaven. Lydia's eyes followed their lines into the blue cloudless sky. Moder, could Moder see where she was?

In a reverent voice Brother Matthew said, “Tis Our Blessed Mother’s Cathedral. Dame Paston said it is the most beautiful house of God her eyes have ever seen.”

Antone nudge Lydia and said, "Take a breath Luke."

Lydia sucked in a big breath of air. She felt a little dizzy. They walked to the cathedral’s steps. Moder had stood on these steps!

Brother Matthew whispered, “It is more grand than I ever imagined. I thank God and Dame Paston for this opportunity.”

Lydia could only nod. Though Moder had done her best to describe the exterior of Notre Dame to her, she had not succeeded. No one could describe this indestructible magnificence. She looked and looked. Her eyes were too small to take it all in. Brother Matthew’s comments did not reach her ears. She heard nothing, was aware of no one else. In the stonework, Biblical characters stood one on top of the other. A long panel depicted Christ and his disciples. An impish figure of Satan clung to Judas Iscariot. She had always felt sorry for Judas. He had done a wicked thing betraying Christ, but he tried to give the money back. The priests would not take it. If only he had waited three days, he would have been forgiven. But, he had not been able to wait three days and he had hung himself. A chill ran through Lydia, once again in memory, she saw again the swinging body of the man at the hanging tree. Had Judas swung like that?

With a quick movement, Antone was at the doors. In a dramatic gesture he opened a door and exclaimed, “Come and be amazed!”

Going from the morning sunshine into the muted light of the cathedral was like entering another world. The air was charged with a hushed silence supported by the murmur of people in prayer. Shafts of light penetrated the shadows. The stained glass windows blanket the floor with colored light. Huge decorative columns soared upward. Tiny candle flames flickered on the altar that was so far away. Lydia took in a deep breath and smelled the essence of Notre Dame. It was sweet and smoky.

Behind her, Antone launched into the history of Notre Dame, “In 1163 this great Monument to our Blessed Mother in worship of God’s Holy Son was begun. For Seventy-two years artisans and masons toiled---” His voice, like background music, went on and on, but Lydia’s mind was too occupied to hear his words. She remembered the joy in Moder’s eyes when she described Notre Dame. Often she would lapse into her Lingua Franca as she spoke. In memory, Moder’s voice said, “The largeness of the ceiling, the height of it seemed to invite the angels. Every time I worshipped there I felt like I had fallen into a magic palace where anything was possible. Anything. It was the most beautiful place I have ever been. I thought, surely this must be what heaven is like and if so, then I will happy there.”

Was this like heaven? Was heaven filled with this mixture of light and shadow, beauty and vastness? In Amiens she had felt small and insignificant. This cathedral though vast, did not have the same effect on her. It welcomed her and held her. Beside the altar was the Blessed Mother with the Christ Child in her arms. Her stone eyes were vacant and dark, yet some how radiated strength. This was Notre Dame, honored for her power, her love and her sacrifice. As Lydia followed the men toward the altar, she became aware of the Blessed Mother's presence and a large loving silence. For the first time in her life, she experienced the meaning of the words, Blessed Mother.