Chapter 13: Nūntia
"Books have led some to learning and others to madness."
-Petrarch
It's gone!
Lisa scanned the room one final time in vain hope that perhaps, through some minuscule good fortune, her satchel had been salvaged. The satchel itself was worthless: it was weathered and worn out. But it had contained the one belonging that she treasured more than anything. Her precious copy of Physica was gone. She was filled with anxious grief to imagine that the beautifully illuminated book was lost, perhaps even destroyed.
I seem to be a harbinger of misfortune, she thought with frustration, sitting down heavily at the edge of her bed, fighting the tide of self-pity that welled inside her.
Domnica emerged at the doorway, a platter covered with a dishcloth in her hands.
"Here: eat now. Do not worry any further: I will ask the Dragon about your satchel tonight.
Although Domnica had meant nothing by it, Lisa bristled at her words. Domnica gave Țepeș nightly reports updating him on her condition, but he appeared to be avoiding her. Any communication between them was one-sided. His notes were impersonal; conclusions on ailments and treatment as if she were a case study and not the living, breathing woman he had held—
I extend to you all my hospitality, Lisa recalled the polite words he had written her and placed between them as a barrier.
Your understanding of 'hospitality' right now leaves much to be desired, she exhaled.
"It is a small matter: please do not trouble him with it." She curled over the bed despondently, her back turned to the doorway.
She braced the pillow and stared at the darkening sky beyond her window. She had been there—how many days now?—and he hadn't even deigned to see her since she had awakened. Instead, he had foisted her off on a poor girl, passing her off like an undesirable burden. Her hand wandered to her scratched cheek, where she traced the rough pattern of scabs. When she had first seen her reflection and taken in her bloodied and bruised face, her reaction had been one of disbelief and outrage towards the men who had done such a thing to her. But it wasn't until she saw that Țepeș had become elusive that she had begun questioning if he now viewed her as less worthy, since her appearance had been altered. Perhaps, she concluded, carding her fingers through the unevenly cut hair, I misunderstood everything and any fascination I may have possessed in his eyes went no further than skin deep.
The realization should not have wounded her so deeply, but she found the hurt impossible to dismiss.
"Do not trouble him further, he has done more than enough for me," she stated quietly to Domnica, before closing her eyes.
"What do you mean?" Țepeș leaned forward in his chair as Domnica demurely clasped her hands, standing before him.
"In very low spirits, my lord."
Țepeș ran his hand over his mustache pensively.
"She asked me to say nothing to my lord, but I—I never said to her I wouldn't!" Domnica quickly offered.
Țepeș leaned back and folded his hands over his lap. The gold signet ring with the dragon symbol etched in the likeness of an ouroboros glinted in the candlelight.
"What an unfortunate conundrum," he commiserated in his condescending manner. "Whatever you choose to do, you will risk displeasing your lord or your lady. I suggest you choose wisely."
Oh, it is definitely better to displease the lady! Domnica decided without hesitation. The lady is more understanding and forgiving.
"She is saddened because she lost something very precious to her. We have been searching for it and I told her I would ask if my lord had seen it, but she told me not to bother—"
"And what preciosity did she lose?" he asked, suddenly interested.
"It was a book that was in her satchel. She told me it had been a gift from someone who had been like a mother and instilled a love of learning in her."
He cast her a shrewd look.
"Perchance…would you know the title of the book?"
"It was…" Domnica paused to search her memory. She grimaced and squinted toward the ceiling for a few seconds. "It was something…Something in Latin."
Țepeș nodded tersely.
"Ah! That certainly helps." In his voice, ill-concealed irritation.
Domnica held still, unsure if she had been helpful. She, herself, did not know how to read well and did not concern herself with books and such too much.
"Go to her and only come back here when you are able to tell me the name of the book," he ordered.
And with that, he returned his attention to the heavy tome opened on the table before him.
When she glumly began to depart the room, Țepeș called her sharply and without another word, pointed at a container on the countertop where several empty glass beakers and alembics sat. She dutifully took it and slipped out the door.
When Domnica entered Lisa's room, her cheeks were ruddy from the effort of quickly climbing the many stairs.
"My lady—"
"Just Lisa, please."
"My lord sent you this."
"What is it?" Lisa wondered, approaching her and eyeing the small container in her hand. Domnica despaired: she had forgotten to ask him what the contents were, so mortified was she every time she was in the Dragon's presence. But for once, she had the spark of a brilliant idea.
"I will return to ask him!"
Lisa opened the container and sniffed at the small bundle of dried herbs.
"Oof! No need: it's valerian root." She thrust the container under Domnica's nose. It smelled ghastly. Domnica grimaced comically and Lisa couldn't help smiling.
"Not a scent one can readily forget, is it?" she commiserated.
"Still, it is best I confirm its intended purpose, no?"
"It's not necessary—"
"And what was the name of your missing book? Maybe I will find it while I am wandering down the halls again!" she offered eagerly.
"It's just a small leather-bound book."
The young woman squinted, feigning deep concentration.
"Yes, but the title, so I can tell it apart from any other books I may come across."
"In the hallways and stairwells?" Lisa grinned. "Have things fallen into such chaos and disorder?"
At Domnica's expectant stare, she finally relented.
"It is called Physica, by Hildegard von Bingen."
"Hilda? Illda?" Domnica winced, wringing her hands.
"Hildegard," Țepeș corrected her with unsuspected gentleness for once, rising from his chair and wandering toward his wall of bookshelves. She watched him peruse a few shelves, his long, pale fingers skirting over titles, searching. At last, he pulled a book out and after examining it and brushing his hand carefully over the cover, handed it to Domnica.
"Here. Tell her it is a gift." He thought back to that evening when they had only just met and she had gifted him a book from his own library. A smile crossed his lips. "Tell her I am gifting her a book she already owns."
Now, that went well! Domnica leaned against the parapet overlooking the stairs to catch her breath for a spell. She was halfway up to Lisa's room when she realized she hadn't asked Țepeș about the herbs in the container. She eyed the handsome book in her hands.
Oh, well. Perhaps it won't matter, once I give her the Dragon's gift!
Domnica burst through the door, clearly winded. Lisa sat up, concerned.
Despite the fact she had overexerted herself, the young woman had a cheerful, mischievous expression as she approached Lisa with her hands behind her back.
"And what do you have there?" Lisa played along.
When Domnica brought her hand forward, she extended the beautifully bound book to her mistress.
Lisa took it and gazed upon the blind-tooled calfskin cover aged to a deep, tawny hue and undid its delicate metallic clasp. The pages were of fine vellum and upon leafing to the title page, she found the word Physica in dark gold letters.
"A gift! From the Dragon, to you, my lady." She even felt the need to punctuate her pantomime with a low curtsey, slightly losing her balance and teetering to the left in the process.
When she looked up, instead of finding a radiant smile, she found a heartbreakingly pained look on her mistress' face.
"It is very kind, very generous…But I…I cannot accept this." Her hand shook as she returned to book to Domnica.
"Please give it back to him next time you speak to him." Lisa crossed her arms over her chest and abruptly turned away.
Could you not deliver it yourself? Do you think me so easily mollified, my sentiments so bland? Lisa lamented.
Oh, Blessed Mother, have mercy on us, sinners! Domnica thought miserably. The Dragon would chop her up into tiny little bits if she returned to the laboratory with his rejected gift—she was more than certain of it.
But perhaps there was hope: she could broach the topic subtly. She would ask about the blasted herbs first and somehow work the book in.
It will be fine, she told herself repeatedly, bunching up the side of her skirt in one hand as she braced herself for the long descent.
"It is a ceai, obviously," Țepeș replied aloofly without looking up. That suited Domnica just as well because she was leaning against the entrance wall trying to catch her breath. It was as if fire coursed up her muscles. "You toss it into a kettle of hot water. That is all. And you can do that much, can't you? Surely your training in midwifery went beyond just fervently praying for Saint Anne's intercession." His tone was prickly with contempt.
Domnica nodded contritely, the book held firmly behind her back.
"Ah, my lord…Also…Your lady sent me down with a message."
"Ah! Did she?"
Domnica pressed her lips tightly, ordering herself to move and get the entire ordeal over with.
"Do feel free to tell me what it is— at your leisure," he provoked, turning to contemplate her.
She approached the table slowly and once she was standing before him, extended her hand, placing the book on the tabletop.
He stared at it wordlessly. When he directed his gaze back at her, she fully expected to be turned into stone or incinerated into a pile of ashes, but what she saw instead confounded her deeply.
It was fleeting, but unmistakable, terrible in its rawness: he was hurt and the hollow ache was laid bare in his features. Domnica would have felt great empathy for her imperious lord if she wasn't already brimming with pity for herself and her own perilous circumstances.
"Leave," he commanded brashly.
"It's a simple ceai! Look at that! You were right!" Domnica cried out with forced verve before she slid down the wall into an exhausted slump on the ground.
Lisa turned from the window after latching one of the panes shut.
"Yes. But thank you for confirming it. You are always so very careful and I do appreciate all your care toward me." Lisa made an effort to grin.
"I also returned the book to my lord, as you asked."
"Oh." Lisa sat by the fire, reaching for the poker to hook under the kettle's handle. "Thank you, Domnica."
Oh, good. Now that whole matter was settled! No more scuttling up and down the stairs for a bit.
She rested against the wall watching Lisa silently hoist up the kettle and place it on the hook over the fire. She noticed Lisa had placed two cups on the room's small table. She was always generous and thoughtful like that. She gladly shared her food, insisted Domnica got rest and set her chores aside, and argued with her, trying to talk her into allowing her to convince the Dragon to send her home.
That night Lisa appeared so fragile and so…sad.
The same pain she had caught in the Dragon's eyes lingered in Lisa's.
Ah…Domnica rubbed her face. This is not my business, this is not my business, this is not my business…
"My lady," she began timidly.
Lisa looked up. She seemed so dejected, she hadn't even bothered to correct Domnica. "The Dragon was very pained when I returned the book."
"I doubt it." Lisa averted her gaze and stared at the kettle. "He disposes of so many books: it is nothing to him."
"No, no, he was distraught. I could tell."
Lisa tipped her head to the side.
"Distraught? That can't be. That doesn't sound like—"
"My lady, I fear a grave misunderstanding between you both."
Lisa fell silent.
"Perhaps it is time you made him privy to your thoughts," Domnica suggested tentatively.
How, when he will not even look upon me? Lisa despaired.
"You write him a note!" Domnica clasped her hands with delight at her own idea.
Lisa blinked a few times before nodding slowly.
"All right. Perhaps we could engage in a correspondence."
He may prefer that…It may be a start.
She wiped her hands, walking over to the desk and instinctively opening one of the drawers. Of course, she realized, upon finding the empty drawer, that along with her book, her small journal and writing stick had been lost with the satchel.
Lisa shook her head.
"Domnica, things only appear to get worse," she lamented. "My journal with all my notes—so much learning—is also gone. I am afraid I lack the writing implements now, but most of all, the resolve to—"
Domnica heroically pushed herself off the ground.
"Leave it to me, my lady! I'll fetch whatever you need."
And before Lisa could protest, the young woman had stumbled back out into the hallway.
Halfway down the stairs, Domnica had a disturbing premonition:
If I fetch parchment and writing implements from the Dragon, I suspect I will spark even more trips up and down these wretched stairs as I carry their missives back and forth.
This will not do.
She pondered her options. Would she be lying if she said what she intended to say to her lord?
No. It is not. It is the truth. After all, suffering can affect both the body and the spirit.
When she burst through the door, she did not give her master any time to rebuke or censure her. He did cast her a profoundly exasperated look, but before he could issue any taunt or insult, she spoke with a great sense of urgency:
"My lord: it is your lady! She is not well. She needs you. Now!"
Țepeș stood immediately. Without any further questions, he pushed past her as swiftly as a breeze, disappearing into the dimly lit hall.
Domnica hoped she wouldn't be in too much trouble after her little ruse. Her father, after all, had always told her that there was nothing more dangerous than becoming embroiled in the capriciousness of nobles; it was best to stay out of it.
Finding the laboratory suddenly pleasantly quiet and empty, Domnica plunked herself down on the rug before the fireplace and endeavored to take a well-deserved break.
A/N:
Thanks for the encouragement regarding my existentialist fanfic writing crisis! A few words of support really do go a long way.
And here are the notes for this chapter. A reminder that live links to sources and gorgeous images are available on AO3. :
Blind-tooled binding—This type of binding was popular in the Middle Ages up to the Renaissance. Here is a detailed definition: "Blind tooling is the most common decorative technique found on bindings up until the sixteenth century. A dark impression is made by impressing dampened leather with a heated brass finishing tool. The twelfth century saw an outpouring of creative blind tooling on leather book covers, and a number of these Romanesque bindings survive today, mostly in European libraries. This period of stamping with small decorative tools was short-lived, however, and most late medieval bindings were probably very plain, with any design limited to a few blind lines. In the fifteenth century, with the increase in book production brought by the printing press, bookbinding became a viable commercial and secular enterprise. Binders acquired assortments of decorative stamps, which came to distinguish their work from that of other shops. These stamps, made of brass and mounted into wooden handles, produced a wonderful variety of shapes and images: birds and animals, flowers and intertwining leaves, human figures and abstract graphic forms. We see them used in combination with blind lines in various layouts, often associated with differing regional styles." (From Princeton) Book binding was a big deal in the Middle Ages, and before the printing press, it was mostly the wealthy who could buy books (and could read them) and even then, titles were mostly religious ones. For a fantastic story on books, the Middle Ages, scriptoriums, suspicious monks, mysterious murders, and libraries (everything that screams "party"!), I recommend Umberto Eco's The Name of the Rose.
Ceai- Romanian for tea. Valerian root, by the way stinks to high heaven, but is known for its sedative and soothing properties. It has long been used to fight insomnia and some even claim it helps with anxiety and other psychological issues. Although there isn't sufficient data to back up these last claims, what is documented is that the herb "seems to act like a sedative on the brain and nervous system" (from WebMD).
Nūntia- Latin for "messenger" (feminine form of nūntius).
Ouroboros—"a circular symbol depicting a snake, or less commonly a dragon, swallowing its tail, as an emblem of wholeness or infinity." (From Google Dictionary). Țepeș' ring is actually the real historic deal. It is one of the two chivalric symbols used by the Order of the Dragon. One has the cross of Saint George on it, while the other, that I reference here, is the circular form that is far older and, I'd argue, more symbolically loaded from an esoteric, mystical, supernatural perspective. I think Țepeș would have preferred it, given its association with infinity and eternity. Here's a link to a sketch of what it may have looked like. We aren't sure because the original badge is missing! Dun dun DUN! I'm a dork! You can see the badge under the entry for the Order of the Dragon on Wikipedia.
Physica, by Hildegard von Bingen- Hildegard von Bingen: "Hildegard of Bingen OSB [Order of Saint Benedict], also known as Saint Hildegard and Sibyl of the Rhine, was a German Benedictine abbess, writer, composer, philosopher, Christian mystic, visionary, and polymath. She is considered to be the founder of scientific natural history in Germany." (Wikipedia). She was alive in the 1100s. Her book Physica is basically this: "Hildegard's Physica serves as a practical handbook of folk healing and monastic medicine. The majority of content derives from practical knowledge aggregated through Hildegard's personal experience. It is also likely that Hildegard compiled much of the information from contemporary writings of medical experts available at that time. Together, Hildegard's experience, as documented in Physica, was derived from the practice of monastic medicine over centuries." (From healthyhildegard dot com )
Saint Anne—Mother of the Virgin Mary. Among other things, she was the patron saint of women in labor. She would have been a well known saint in the Eastern Orthodox Church, as Justinian I established her worship early on by having a church built for her in Constantinople.