The Moon in Daylight

Scotland: 1558

That morning, the hunting party departed early. Margarete was grateful. For the first time, she accompanied Lise across the fields, carrying a gathering basket of her own. With the men gone, she felt free to do her own will and, of a sudden, the relative stillness of the Dying house did not appeal to her.

It felt very good to stride in amiable silence at Lise's side. Though the landscape was wildly different from southern France, she was comfortingly reminded of many such walks with Lise in earlier years. Occasionally, Lise would point out an herb or flowering plant that she had become familiar with, telling Margarete what she had learned of its properties. When they passed by the lake, Lise told her of her afternoon swim. Margarete was appalled when she put a tentative hand into the water.

"But that water is like ice! What possessed you to enter it?" Lise smiled.

"It was a suggestion of Owen's. I saw him here one afternoon swimming. He recommended it. I thought him mad but... I was very warm, and craved to do something reckless."

"I'll take a fast ride on a spirited horse thank you! I can't imagine any recklessness that would drive me to enter this water!" They walked on, speaking little, often glancing at one another, enjoying the quiet and their solitude.

Sometime after midday, Margarete pointed upward.

"Look!", she said eagerly, "The moon is up. How I love to see it in the day time! There's something magical about it."

It was not long after that when Lise remarked, "Someone's lit a fire, there's smoke ahead, just over this rise. Shall we investigate?" They had already begun to ascend, and continued toward the top, the smell of smoke carried lightly to them on the slight breeze. Margarete wondered what was being burned to cause such a unique scent.

As they neared the top of the rise, a sound was carried to them. It was a human voice, somewhere between a song and a chant. There were words in it, but they could not make them out. More and more curious, Margarete quickened her pace. Somewhat more hesitant, Lise followed. At the top, she reached out a hand to catch Margarete's arm, halting her that they might observe.

At the base of the down-slope stood a tall stone, upright in the Earth. It was difficult to tell from above, but it seemed perhaps twice the height of the human figures near it, perhaps taller. Between the stone and the rising ground was a small fire, the source of the smoke. There were two figures, one on either side, both obviously women. One had her back to them, but the other faced the rising groaned, and Lise recognized her as Iona, the shy and reclusive herb-gatherer. Margarete opened her lips to speak a question, but Lise tightened her grip on Margarete's arm, urging silence.

Iona was bent forward, coaxing the fire, then arranging several items around it which they could not make out. All the while, she continued the indecipherable chanting song. Occasionally, the less consistent voice of the other woman joined hers.

At length, Iona stood and raised her eyes deliberately toward the moon in its unaccustomed place in the afternoon sky. Her voice rose louder, but still her words were inaudible. So surprised was Lise to hear Iona's voice raised for any reason, that she barely felt curious about what was being said. After a time, Iona's eyes left the moon, and came to rest calmly on Margarete and Lise. Both women had the sense of having intruded on something private, though its meaning was obscure. Iona raised a hand and beckoned authoritatively for them to come to her. Both women were shocked at the baring of the normally timid and self-effacing Iona. They would wonder later that they had felt no impulse to do other than as she instructed.

Casting sidelong looks at one another, they paced slowly down the slope. As they drew closer, they could see that bundles of herbs were arranged about the fire, as well as a small cooking pot, a tiny woolen garment sized to fit an infant, a small, flat, rounded stone with a depression on one side, and two drinking vessels. They could see also that the large standing stone was carved with shapes whose significance was not immediately apparent.

"We saw and smelled the smoke of your fire," Lise said quietly.

"It is nae right for women tae merely observe without participating," Iona replied in a level, almost flat tone, somewhat more robust than her usual soft utterances. "Having seen, you must now join us, else the outcome may be ill-favored. You are foreigners, so I will tell ye what any woman of this land would ken already. We are here tae attend tae women's matters. You will nae speak tae men o what we say and do here. This woman wishes tae bear a child and has had much waiting and false hope. You hae seen that the moon shows her face in the day sky; the Great Lady is close. We will appeal to her tae answer the prayers o this woman. This woman's name is nae important tae ye, only her wish, and your will. More women present will make what we do more potent. She wished for no others, but we will welcome who The Lady sends."

Lise felt uneasy. She had no thought of refusing or disputing Iona, nevertheless, she felt a shrinking from whatever was about to happen. She glanced at Margarete and saw that her feelings were not mirrored. Margarete's face wore the absorbed, wide-eyed look Lise recognized, having been the complacent cause of it more than once. Margarete was eager and curious.

Iona indicated that they should each take places around the fire. She bent to tend it, and resumed her chanting song whose words were now audible to them.

"Great Lady, Shining Moon, Holy Mary, Great Mother, come tae us. Great Lady, Shining Moon, Holy Mary, Great Mother, come tae us. Great Lady, Shining Moon, Holy Mary, Great Mother, come tae us."

When she rose, she held a leafy bough in her hand. Stepping behind Lise, who was on her left, she began a slow circle that encompassed the three women and the fire between them. Seven times she walked in the clockwise direction around them, dragging the bough on the ground, and chanting. The voice of the stranger joined hers. When the seventh circle had been completed, Iona took her place among them once more, and raised her eyes again to the moon.

"We stand between the stone of generation, and the mound of the mother, come tae plead a ripe womb for this, your daughter. We welcome the Daoine Matha." She took up one of the bunches of herbs and cast them into the fire. Immediately, the four women were enveloped in fragrant smoke. "We welcome you from all four directions." She revolved slowly where she stood, razing her eyes to the horizon. "Look wi favor on this woman, who longs tae bring forth life from her body. Each o these women offer our pleas for her, offer our women's strength and fruitfulness."

She took up a bundle of herbs that had been braided into a rigid cord and lit one end in the fire. Then, moving slowly to each woman in the circle, she walked around her, bathing her in the fragrant smoke. During this process, Lise met her eyes, then looked down, but Margarete's eyes remained wide and intense. She stared deeply into Iona's eyes, marveling that she had ever thought this woman dim and colorless. It seemed to her now that Iona was alive with force and controlled energy. The look reminded her of something, but in the flood of provocative strangeness, she could not recall what it was. As Iona moved slowly from one to another of them, she had begun to chant once more. As she broke eye contact with Margarete and moved back to her original place with her back to the stone, Lise heard, without real surprise, Margarete's voice join that of the other two.

Still chanting, Iona poured water from one of the drinking vessels into the small pot, and placed it over the fire. Taking up another of the herb bundles, she broke off a few sprigs, crushed them slowly and carefully between her fingers, and dropped them into the empty second drinking vessel. As she did this, her eyes roved among the three women, coming last to Lise, the only one still silent. Iona's eyes commanded those of Lise, and Lise, with a sense of resigned fatalism, joined her voice to those of the others. Iona's gaze dropped to the herbs falling from her fingers into the empty cup.

When she had finished, she moved toward the woman, went behind her, and reached her hands around to rest on the woman's lower belly, over her womb. With one hand, she gestured that Lise and Margarete should move forward and do the same. Each woman reached out a hand and laid it cautiously with Iona's. Over the chanting, Iona said softly, "Wi our women's force, we will ripen and open her womb, making it ready."

Margarete felt a thrill run down her spine, and settle in her own belly. Her spirit was reminded of the day in the pine grove when she had truly discovered what transpired between a man and a woman. Though this woman was a stranger, whose name she did not know, and whose face she had never seen, Margarete looked fully and calmly into her eyes, so close to her own. Aware of her own desire to conceive, she directed her thoughts and will towards the realizing of this unknown woman's desire. In a manner she could not have imagined an hour before, she felt that she had something real, if intangible, to give, some unnamable but essential thing.

After an unmeasured time, Iona broke the connection by moving slowly away. As the women resumed their places around the fire, Margarete caught Iona's eyes on her, piercing and intent; then she looked away to the pot on the fire.

The water was boiling. Iona poured it into the vessel containing the crushed herbs. The chant had faded, and the sound of the water falling into the cup was loud in the silence of afternoon. An aromatic scent rose from the cup. Iona turned it gently between her hands, encouraging the steeping process with gentle agitation.

"Daoine Matha, Great Lady, Holy Mary, blessed Saint Bride, strengthen these herbs so that they may open and ripen the womb that a child might grow there, answer our prayers."

Iona repeated these words several times while continuing to move the cup between her hands. Finally, she sniffed its contents, and looked satisfied. She held out the cup to Margarete.

"Drink only a sip." Margarete obeyed, and handed the cup back. Iona then held it out to Lise. Lise looked as though she wished to refuse, but she did not. She also sipped, then returned the cup to Iona's hand. Last, Iona gave the cup to the stranger. "Drink it all slowly," she commanded.

As the woman began to obey, Iona took up the smooth, flat stone. "This stone hae been clasped in the hands o women I have attended during childbirth. Only the hands o women whose baby lived and thrived hae held it." She held it out to the woman. "Take it and hold it against your womb as you drink.""

As the woman did so, Iona began to recite the Hale Mary. After a moment of dazed surprise, Margarete found that her mind was soothed by the words, so familiar as to be almost without sense to her reason. She joined her voice to Iona's, welcoming the association of tranquility achieved, which the familiar repetition evoked in her memory. Lise's silence went unchallenged.

When the cup was drained, the woman handed it back to Iona, who threw the dregs into the fire. She picked up the bundle from which she had extracted the herbs for the tea, and held it out.

"Drink a tea from these herbs at morning and evening. Bath in the creak under the moon as often as ye may, particularly at the end of your bleeding time. Keep this stone with ye at all times, it's power is great; and pray tae the Mother tae quicken a child in your womb."

The woman listened to these instructions solemnly, and nodded. "I will do all you say," she said gratefully.

Iona took up the bough she had used to draw the circle around them. With it, she circled them three times, bidding farewell to those unseen who had joined them, and opening the circle. When she had done this, she cast the bough onto the fire. To Lise and Margarete, she said simply, "Ye are free tae go."

Lise collected herself at once, and moved, not hastily, but with no reluctance, away from the fire. Margarete stirred more slowly. She felt the finality of an ending, but lingered to examine the tall stone more closely.

At first, she could see only faint markings, what looked like random scratches on its surface. Moving next to her, some of her usual diffidence returning, Iona reached out a gentle fingertip and drew Margarete's attention to lines whose significance was not immediately apparent. With deliberation, Iona traced a shape which began to emerge into something recognizable to Margarete's eye. She gasped. She was reluctant to break the silence, but she must share this remarkable sight.

"Lise," she called softly, but with an undercurrent of excitement. Lise, reluctant, came to Margarete's other side. Margarete pointed to the lines on the stone, tracing the shape with her own fingertip.

"It is... It is a man's... It is..."

"It is the male organ o generation," Iona finished for her. "Many of these stones bare such. They are very old. Look there." She turned and indicated the rise of ground down which Margarete and Lise had come. Margarete looked, and saw nothing but the uneven ground and natural seeming contour of the slope. Her face showed her bafflement. Lise thought she saw what Iona was trying to point out.

"See how the ground of the slope has a furrow in line with the stone. The female organ lies near the male."

Margarete's eyes widened even further. She supposed that what she had taken for a natural and random depression of the ground could be said to present a likeness to a female's opening. Part of her wished to erupt into wild laughter at the idea, but she would not insult Iona so. She stood, studying the rock and the slope as one vista. To her own surprise, she felt an unmistakable twinge at her centre, the sensation she had come to associate with the desire for Colin, for him to enter her and fill her, to please her. She shivered and looked quickly away. Iona smiled faintly.

"Good day My Lady," she said softly, correctly interpreting Margarete's sudden desire to leave this place.

Lise and Margarete walked back the way they had come, maintaining a deep silence for a long time. Each was very conscious of the presence of the other. They walked closer together than they had done earlier in the day. After a long time, Margarete spoke.

"What did you think of that? How did it make you feel?"

Lise considered for a long time. Finally, she said rather flatly, "I think you should remember what Iona said about not sharing memories of it with any man; and remember also the fate of the Cathars and their descendants." Margarete stopped walking and gazed full at Lise, who stopped also. When Margarete spoke, her voice was flat, and rather harder than Lise was used to. "I did not ask you for advise, I asked you how you felt about what we saw and experienced." Lise gazed back, seeing something arresting in Margarete's expression.

"I am sorry. Offering advice is a habit that I fall into when I cannot give an easy answer. I would like to think on it before I speak."

Margarete nodded slowly. Her eyes wandered vaguely around them. "I long to climb to the top of a tall tree." Lise was not surprised.

"We may not tarry too long," she said resignedly.

"I know." Margarete set off toward a dense cops of trees that stood some distance from them.

Lise followed more slowly. As Margarete entered the cops, however, and disappeared among the trunks, she called out softly, "Wait." She sped up, and moved close to Margarete, who waited, leaning against a smooth trunk.

Lise opened her arms and placed them gently around the other woman. She felt safe from prying eyes among the crowded trees, and had been seized with a sudden and sharp longing to feel Margarete close to her.

Margarete answered the embrace eagerly. Both women sighed with deep satisfaction that came from being close. They leaned together, inhaling one another's familiar scent, feeling once more the familiar shape and contour of the others body.

Lise spoke after a long time, her voice low and intimate, the way Margarete liked it most. "What we experienced... It stirred me, in many ways. I wish it hadn't." She shifted restlessly. "I know it stirred you also. I did not mean to speak to you like a child, but such things... They require caution for many reasons. I feel that I can speak no more about it now."

Impulsively, she lifted her head and found Margarete's lips with her own. She meant it to be a gentle caress, but unsatisfied desire, and things the afternoon's events had aroused in her, caused her to turn the kiss into something more urgent. Margarete's body responded eagerly. With the new confidence that had begun to grow in her since their departure for this outland, Margarete was not simply a passive and eager recipient of Lise's desire. Even before her marriage, Margarete had begun to appreciate and enjoy the active giving of pleasure, the sense of confidence and fulfillment it brought. Added to this growing awareness, she now appreciated fully the abstinence Lise had been enduring. Margarete, since the consummation with Colin, had known new, absorbing and ecstatic pleasures. Lise had known only duty, friendship, patience, and, Margarete suddenly considered, loneliness.

Margarete turned them so that Lise's back was to the tree trunk, pressing her against it while she took control of the kiss. "How I love you!" she murmured passionately, trying to convey her sudden realization of what Lise had been enduring. Her hands moved rapidly over the familiar curves of Lise, wanting to touch her everywhere at once. Her lips moved hungrily down Lise's throat, kissing her below her ear, and over her collar bone where she knew Lise was most sensitive, tracing her fingers knowingly on the back of her neck. Lise groaned deeply. She gave one final thought to their safety. The trees were thick, the copse remote. She was so filled with a many-facetted longing which Margarete could satisfy. In her pragmatic way, she decided that they would trust to the sacred protection invoked by Iona, then ceased to worry about risk.

She leaned her head back against the tree trunk, giving herself wholly to Margarete's touch. Long desire and almost unacknowledged fears caused words of candor to flow with unaccustomed ease from her lips.

"How I have missed you. You are so beautiful! I have longed to feel you, to kiss you, for you to touch me so!" Her breath caught on a cry of pleasure. Margarete had fastened her lips over one of Lise's nipples through her clothing. The hot breath and muted stimulation were a tormenting pleasure. "Oh Margarete, you are my love, yes! Yes! I want to tell you..." Her voice trailed off as Margarete straightened up and pushed her body fully against Lise, pressing her against the tree trunk.

"Sh," Margarete said with a smile of mischievous command. She leaned forward and Covered Lise's parted lips with her own. After a deep and probing kiss that left Lise weak and leaning against the tree for support, Margarete said in a low, throaty voice that Lise thrilled to, "I have been stirred in many ways also. We have no comfortable bed, nor leisure to take off our clothes and frolic as we have before, and will again," she squeezed Lise's full breast in an eager hand while she brushed her lips over her throat, "But I am going to bring you such pleasure and satisfaction that you will weep to feel it!"

Lise closed her eyes. She was flooded not only with the physical pleasure that Margarete was so skillfully evoking, but also with a deep and heart-healing relief. She sensed that Margarete had fully come back to her. It was not that anything would be different with her husband, but that Margarete had remembered, like one emerging from a befuddling dream, what they were to one another.