Snowfall

We continued seeing each other nightly until we reached Rome without incident. There it became more difficult. I had no way to sneak out to meet Amar and I found myself longing to be back on the road home so that we could be together again. I did my best to hide my depressed state from the priests and the wonders of Rome were able to take my mind off my own loneliness for short stretches of time. It was laying in bed at night that was the most difficult for me.

The days trudged along at a maddeningly slow pace until one evening there was a commotion at the entrance to the Church. Most of the monks, Father John and I included, had just sat down to eat the evening meal. A brother came in looking for someone with more authority. He said that there was a uprising going on in the city and that the citizens were claiming there was a monster loose. They have claimed to have captured it and wish to execute it. By the grace of God someone had enough sense to suggest receiving the Church\'s blessing before killing what may be an innocent person.
My heart pounded in my chest, could this be Amar? Surely he was no monster but most of the world and certainly the church would disagree. I sat in agony waiting on news. There was no way for me to get out to see for myself. I could only hope that the Cardinal that went to investigate did not choose to be rid of the demon right then and there. An even better wish was that it was not Amar at all.
After agonizing hours of waiting, word came back that the Cardinal had brought the creature back to the church in order to better determine what should be done with it. I begged Father John to let me go see. The creature was said not to be very hostile but was being closely watched all the same. Father John at first refused but at my continued questioning and keen interest, he finally assented. We both were lead down to a lower cell were the monster was being kept. Standing in front of a large wooden door waiting for the monk that was on watch duty to unlock it, I felt cold fear course through me like ice water. I felt sick, afraid to look and have my fears confirmed but more afraid not to. The brother moved out of the way and gestured us forward. I saw nothing at first and then caught sight of a form huddled in the corner of the cell. Amar? I walked forward haltingly trying to get a closer look. The body in front of me was curled with its knees pulled tightly to its chest and its head down, black hair hiding any glimpse at a face.

\"Mia Amico?\" I asked quietly, figuring the term for friend was vague enough to not alert either the monk or Father John. I knelt beside the figure and waited. Slowly the head came up and black eyes watched me warily.

I smiled in relief. It was not Amar at all! It was a she. The woman in front of me smiled tentatively back but hide her face again peeking out at me from behind one upraised arm. She had been burned and scarred. The right side of her was now lower than the left and did not seem to respond at all. The eyelid drooped and the lips were mangled, the left side showed that she was once beautiful to behold but it too was marred with a long scar that ran from her temple to the edge of her lip. Her feet showed signs of damage as well but not her hands. My heart went out to her, she was no monster but someone who had been tortured severely and judging from the wounds upon wounds I would say over a long period of time.

\"Il mio nome e\' Albin.\" I said pointing to myself. \"Ed il vostro? \" I asked.

She watched me but said nothing. The monk at the door replied. \"I don\'t believe she is capable of speaking. We\'ve not heard a word from her and they say she made no sound at all in the city even when hit by the mob that had formed.\" He shook his head sadly.

I turned back to the woman and asked if she could understand me. She slowly nodded an affirmative. It was unlikely that she could write so I had no way of finding out her name. I turned to the brother at the door. \"What have you been calling her?\"

\"Nothing. We do not know her name.\" He looked at me with some confusion.

I looked back at the girl in front of me. \" May I call you Winefride? \" She shrugged which I took as assent.

\"Albin..\" Father John began. \"You do not know that she is not rightfully accused of her crimes. To name her after a Saint may not be so wise a choice.\"

\"Would it harm the Saint,Father? Perhaps Saint Winefride can help her.\" The priest said no more. I came to visit Winefride often in the next week. She took my mind off my own loneliness and I seemed to bring her some comfort while she awaited the deliberation of her own case between the Church and the City. If she were deemed a monster then the Church would be responsible for judgement but if she were deemed merely a woman then it would be a town matter.
I heard many different opinions while sitting with the brothers. Some said that she was an ugly creature obviously cursed by God for her foul deeds others said she was just an unfortunate woman. I was surprised to learn that more people seemed to agree with the first version. Even more shocked to find people speaking vehemently about the issue who had never even seen Winefride. How could they judge truly if they did not go see for themselves? Over the next days I learned that the Church was very much full of men. Even those in positions of power had differing opinions on the matter and they could not be both correct. These servants of God were in the end just human. I had known this with my mind but not with my heart until this moment. They were no better than those in the town. It was easier to keep the tenants of faith while locked away in a monastery but that did not make the person more holy or any less fallible. They had merely removed themselves from much of the world\'s temptations. Father John told me that the trials and tests that the Lord gave to us were the foundations of our character. So what did that say for those who\'d lived their whole life locked away from the world and faced nothing more trying than whether to take an extra slice of bread at dinner?

I came to see Winefride one day to find her crying. I asked the Brother at the door if he knew what was wrong. The Brother stated that the Church had deemed Winefride merely a woman after all. In fact, she was said to be the wife of the man she was supposed to have killed. For this she was to be handed over to the town courts. Since Winefride could not speak it had already been decided without her presence that she was to hang for the murder of her husband.
I reached out to Winefride and held her as she cried. Those who had watched her had come to believe that she was nothing more than a frightened woman and many of the monks had treated her with kindness. They listened to the stories I had told her during my visits and watched her shoulders shake with laughter at some of them. I relayed my adventures with the Abbey\'s crazed rooster much to her delight. She motioned to herself and flapped her arms and then held up fingers. After some questions we understood that she had 5 chickens and 1 rooster. I asked if he was as bad as the terror I dealt with and she shook her head no. I had never asked her what had happened to her, it was not my place nor was it my purpose. I had come each day to ease her pain. I should have asked, now her fate had been decided by people who didn\'t even try to find out the truth.
She clung to me as I rocked her and her sobs became quiet sniffling. Winefride felt so weak in my arms, like a bird. I knew she must be exhausted from the crying and it was doubtful that she\'d been able to eat. I brushed her hair back from her face. It took several days for her to stop hiding behind her hair and arms but eventually she ceased to worry about me seeing her. I was still seated in the corner of her cell holding her when they came to take her away. Two of the town guard pulled her from me and placed her in the manacles they had brought.
She tried to scream and reached out for me. She had no tongue. I stood up quickly and looked to the man who was in charge of the guards.

\"Please Sir.\" I asked. \" She cannot speak but she could answer yes or no questions. Give her a chance to explain.\"

He looked at me as though I had asked to allow a dog a chance to speak in its own defense. \"She would say what? That she is innocent? She is not. There were those that lived near her, she and her husband fought many times. Ask you can see.\" He pointed to Winefride. Was he saying that her husband had done these awful things to her?

\"But sir, if he had done these things, then surely he received his just punishment.\"

\"Punishment does not come at the hands of his wife. God and Rome make the laws here. Perhaps it is different in less civilized places.\" The officer sneered at me and jerked his hand over his shoulder pointing to the outside of the cell. The guards took her away. I reached for her hand one last time, tears of anger and pain running unheeded down my face.

\"Thou shalt not kill.\" The officer said as he turned to leave.

They hung Winefride the next day in the middle of the city in front of a large crowd of cheering onlookers. I did not go, nor was I expected to, but somehow I felt like I had failed her by not being there in that last moment. She died alone and friendless amongst an unsympathetic mob. Some may even have known her but that did not stop the bloodlust and the eagerness for violence and scandal.