On the morning before the Festival, she woke to snow blowing into the cracks of the room where she slept, though she was warm in the deep-piled hay. A midwinter storm had blown down, wailing, from the Wall Around the World, and the monastery courtyard was knee-deep in fresh powdery snow. She put on both pairs of warm stockings when she dressed, and her extra tunic, and even so she shivered as she went out into the yard to wash at the well; but the little novices and students were running about barefoot in the snow, and she wondered how they could do it, laughing and gossiping and tossing snowballs at one another. They looked rosy and warm, whereas her own hands were blue with cold!
She went in to care for the riding-animals, and stopped in dismay; Dom Carlo’s horse was not in the stable! Had it been stolen? Or had Dom Carlo gone out, into this bitter storm? It was still snowing, a few flakes drifting down now and again from the overburdened sky. As she was lifting forkfuls of fragrant hay to the beasts, Orain came in, and she turned to him in distress.
“Dom Carlo’s horse-”
“Hush, lad,” he said in a low tone, “Not even before the men. His life could be in your hands; not a word!”
Romilly nodded, and he said, “Good boy. After midday, walk to the town with me; perhaps, who knows, I shall have a Midwinter gift for you, away as you are from home and family.”
It seemed as if he must be reading her mind, and she turned away. “I expect no gifts, sir,” she said stiffly. Did he know, had he guessed? But he only grinned and said, “Midday, remember.” and went away.
At midday Romilly was trying, in the deep snow, to get the sentry-birds to fly a little – they got little enough exercise, in this weather – before they were fed. They screamed rebelliously as she snapped them on lure-lines and tried to encourage them to fly – they were temperamental and did not like the still-falling snow. The snow in the cobbled court, too, was so deep that it came over her boot-tops and trickled down inside, and her feet were cold and her fingers stiff. She was chilled and cross, and even little Caryl’s cheerful face could not lighten her mood. She thought, it might, in this weather, be just as well to be a lady by the fire, with nothing to do but make embroidery stitches and bake spicebread! Caryl was wearing only a thin tunic, his arms bare, and his feet were bare in the snow, and she asked crossly, “Aren’t you freezing?”
He shook his head, laughing. “It is the first thing the monks teach us,” he said, “How to warm ourselves from within, by breathing; some of the older monks can bathe in the water of the well and then dry their clothes by their body heat when they put them on, but that seems a little more than I would want to try. I was cold for the first tenday before I learned it, but I have never suffered from the cold since then. Poor Rumal, you look so cold, I wish I could teach it to you!” He held out his arm to take Prudence, saying seriously, “Come, birdie, you must fly, I know you do not like the snow, but it is not good for you to sit all the time on your perch, you must keep your wings strong.”
Prudence flapped away and circled at the end of the line, while Caryl cast out the lure, watching her swoop down. “See, she likes to play with it, even in the snow! Look at her!”
“You are happy,” Romilly said sourly, “Do you like the storm as much as that?”
“No, I would like to go out, but in this weather I have to stay indoors, and the arms-master cannot come, so I will miss my lesson at sword-play,” said the boy, “but I am happy because tomorrow is a holiday, and my father will come here to visit me. I miss my father and my brothers, and father is sure to bring me a fine gift – I am twelve years old and he promised me a fine sword, perhaps he will give it to me for a Midwinter-gift. And he always takes me walking in the town, so that I can buy spicebread and sweets, and my mother always sends me a new cloak at Midwinter. I have been working very hard at all my lessons, because I want him to be pleased with me.”