She would have to mention it to her confessor. It was pride. Wicked pride
Pride the oldest sin. The first sin and the hardest penance Adam and Eve were driven out of Eden. Lucifer was cast from Heaven as punishment for his pride.
Would God forgive her, her vanity? Lucifer had been an Angel. Adam and Eve had been formed by the hand of God themselves. They had been subject to wrath
She was comparing herself to the Mother of God simply due to the species of her mount.
Her Mule was clearly more Donkey then horse. As her own form remembered her mother
It still was a mule. So the analogy was not even that accurate. The good Mule would have surely reared up and released itself of its burden. If it had the wit. If for a moment dumb beast had realised what sinner bestrode it.
If she had been born a man she could sit astride.....
Not Mary but Eve. Her pride would be her undoing. Eloise chastened herself. The shame was harder than a flagrante lash.
Was she ungrateful for the gift of life as a woman? Had not Elizabeth and Ann be content? Had not the women of Jerusalem been given the honour of wiping the blood from the head of Christ?
Unlike the Holy Mother or the common mother of all Mankind. She like her Mule would remain childless. They would not
Sister Eloise prayed inwardly for forgiveness, and strove to remember it to her confessor.
The sun was proud. It was not a day for dark thoughts. Her confessor would learn of her sins. He would prescribe her penance for her repentance. She would be forgiven
Her companion Sister Ines was refreshing her soul with the waters of the rosary. Eloise would have accompanied her sister. Her mind unquiet. She had been too long in the sun perhaps.
Two of the O’Neil’s tenants, rode just a little in front of them. A dark haired woman sharing her choice of mount (Eloise despite being able to recite Homer had forgotten her chaperones name.)She was a Vasco though. Like her Husband thus they were both fairer than the multitudes of the town. The Matron was approaching the autumn of her life yet she could look forward to a prosperous feast of the saints. The lady had married well her greying Husband had something of a pot belly. Though the lady’s taste was modest. It was clear she lacked nothing. Excepting conversation Antonio was a touch laconic. Though thoroughly respectable in manner, and breeding. The lady indeed refrained from the deplorable excess of vanity, unlike Eloise.
No, No it was, not the time for that. She would see her confessor in time The Pious Vasco lady was a blessing she should be thankful for. Her companionship had enabled Eloise and Ines to call upon their sisters. Offer there thanks, condolences and service
Thus the honour of the O’Neill and the dignity of the daughters of Christ stood fast
The brief spiritual crisis of its passenger aside, the Mule plodded onward. This traveller had the comfort of her cell to look forward to. There would be more of a welcome for her. Then the holy family had, in the seat of David the claims of the Irlandessa were grandiose yet despite their boasts the Irlandessa’s genealogy did not stretch that far back what they insisted on in their cups was myth and hearsay. Often pagan she suspected. Duels had been fought when such thoughts had been put into words
The caravan made its way to the town. Slowly and surely as the great river made its way to the sea. The herd of horses and their backstairs kin the mules were followed by a few carts, trundled on. Carts full of hides, wool and dried dung Mercifully Eloise was ahead of that cart, and well upwind too
The strong sunshine had one slight unfortunate side effect there. To the van of the travellers there were the carriages with whatever lumber could be found. That was worth more than her mistresses’ wedding ring at the moment. Behind her the drovers followed with a goodly amount of Cattle and sheep. The O’Neill’s tenants and sworn men riding guard kept beast and Indio’s at bay
She prayed for dry weather to last. The Lord had sent rain, to save the port of Buenos Aires. The downpour had smothered the flames of the heretic fireship. Was it one Fire ship or fireships?
In the plains rumours grew as high as corn. There were stories that the English had landed. That the churches were sacked by an invading army. That the Irlandessa and the Portuguese factions of Buenos Aires had fallen into stasis. There were even those who claimed it was the second coming. There had been some fretful hours. When smoke and rumour where the only reference to the events. Than the Vasco, and his old wife, had returned. They brought word from the O’Neill. The news of the terrible fire had lead the port and its people had been saved by the great saviour
Now his mercy would be shown in the broad sunshine. With the sun shining hands could carve and cut, in the open air. Under a generous sun men would be able to climb up onto roofs and thus the burned shingles and slates would be replaced. A dry night would preserve the health of those who slept under blankets of stars. The families sleeping on rushes had no door to protect them from flux and fever. Sunshine meant that the paths to bring cattle and sheep into the town would be dusty and firm, rather than a mire the labourer and craftsman would need meat.
The Irlandessa had opened their hand. Such generosity would be remembered by the King of Kings
Such generosity would be remembered by the poorest of the poor too.
The act was as politique as Constantine after the battle of the Bridge. It did not matter why the little children and peasants came to Mass. As long as they came they could be saved.
The axels groaned as the cartwheels span. The noise unfortunately resembled the sound of the bedchambers of a bride on her wedding night for the more demure ears of a bride of Christ. One of their escort took off his hood, and nodded to her. A pious man paying his respects to his sister in Christ The rider spurred his grey mare to the van of the procession. It was a relieving army in a sense, an army mobilised against want! A general who relived a city was remembered in schoolbooks, and statues
The ram would not strike the wall.
Rather they would feast on the fatted lamb
The drovers sang as they toiled. The song was based on a hymn. Their melody was simple, and the lyrics mercifully modest. The voices betrayed their origins, some were Irlandessa. The oldest and youngest voices, few Wilde Irish slipped into the town.
It was a point of pride for the old Irlandessa families. To have nursemaids who babbled in Erse. Some were the sons, or rather grandsons and great grandson’s of the first shiploads to land here. There lonely cottages and scattered farmsteads being little islands of Irish in the great sea of Spanish.
It was a form of Spanish. Eloise found herself, having to concentrate when she heard the young and common folk of the port speaking. They were as ignorant of grammar, as the millions of Cathay were of Jesus. The shouting and cat calling from behind the convent walls betrayed a great ignorance. The differences between Masculine and feminine speech never having been mastered, were discounted
The chorus revealed Galician and Navarese accents. There was one of two voices she could not place. The blond man, with the snub nose could be heard over the melody. His vowels where sheared when the others singers let theirs grow long
An odd Indio baritone could be heard in the chorus. The man driving the sheep before her was of mixed breed. There cattle would have made Papa sigh the calves were plump and healthy. If they had been women, they would have been goddesses or nymphs. A fitting subject for art
The song of the men Godly and humble inspired Eloise. She offered thanks to her Master in heaven
If nothing else, the cartwheels and cows, was muted. The Sun stood proud in the sky.
They could see the smoke from the town on the horizon. The chimneys smoked the bonfires blazed. The tanneries and bakeries Mankind had not forgotten the gift of Prometheus. The smoke spoke of blacksmiths and coppersmiths sweating and cursing until they could take their lunch. Soon the smell would be overpowering. The dung that witnessed the hundreds of thousands of head of livestock that ended their days at the butchers, and tanneries the stench of rotting fish. The privies, chamber pots’s and piss of a busy port. Industry and squalor were bedfellows.
Alas there was no Hercules to cleanse these stables
The House of the sisters of Christ was towards the outskirts of town. Away from the temptation and troubles of a port. Yet close enough for the duties of charity. It was also under the eyes of the honest men of the militia. In case any Indio’s or the mob, should try to impose themselves on the sisters the house of women that had fallen to the lust of the heretics came to mind. The vengeance of the Lord was doubted by the proud and the Godless.
It would be good, to see her companions in Christ again. Her duties with the O Neill's had not been onerous. Indeed her charge had been blessed with some wit. The rod and a few raised eyebrows dealt with her childish excesses. The Mistress of the house had joined her and Sister Ines in their prayers. She had endeavoured to keep the conversation at dinner from digressing to the horses. The prospects for the corn harvest. The Don Neill’s house was full of music. Before the Nuns retired of evening, their hosts made an effort to keep their choices of song, if not Pious then polite
Her home was among her sisters. She had entered the order, as a novice not long after she had arrived in the port. The long journey had been difficult. Papa had been fearful for her virtue and never let wander too far. The ship was a Babel the seas were rough and the rations worse. She had been but an animated skeleton when they reached the port of Buenos Aires. She smiled remembering her determination to join the sisters. Father had wanted her to sell fish, or become a laundress in the service of some house. For a moment she considered her life. As a path which reached a fork. She had taken one path, the path of modesty of charity and of service. Suppose she had not listened to the voice inside her. Did not Samuel ignore the voice of God, for a few moments repose? What had she been but a mere girl? Suppose she had become a washerwoman for the O’Neill’s. The path of her life would have reached almost the same place. Like a river determined to reach the sea. She would have been here, in Buenos Aires, at the service and in the train of the Irlandessa
The sun shone brightly the song of the drovers began to ebb. They were close to the outskirts of the town. The steeples of the churches could be made out. As could the masts of the ships in the harbour be seen too. The O’Neill’s family seat was close by. It was bare rugged building a block of Atlantic stone defiant against the plains. The Convent where she resided was all the more elegant. She had heard that the O’Neill’s now had a town house. Where the son of the great house received polite society
She remembered he had a daughter... The young prince had mentioned it
Then she remembered
The girl’s s Mother had been Portuguese.
