PROLOGUE

IN THE YEAR OF OUR LORD 1355, THREE DAYS after the Feast of the Epiphany, God put in my mind that I must write a book.

“I am only a woman,” I said to the voice in my mind. “I have no letters, and do not know Latin. How shall I write a book, and what shall I put in it, since I have never done any great deeds?”

The Voice answered:

“Put in it what you have seen. There is nothing wrong with being a woman, and doing ordinary things. Sometimes small deeds can show big ideas. As for writing, do as others do: get someone to write it for you.”

“Voice,” I said, “how do I know you are from God, and not from the Devil, tempting me into something foolish?”

“Margaret,” answered the Voice, “isn’t it a good idea? God never gives bad ones.”

It seemed like a good idea to me. The more I thought on it, the better it was. I like to hear books read, I thought, but I have never heard one about women. Sometimes my husband reads to the household from a book of travels, about the marvels that lie in far places. Sometimes we have a priest to read high thoughts and worthy meditations for the improvement of our souls. I would like to hear a book read such as the one the Voice told me about.

I told my husband that a Voice in my mind which was clearly from God told me to have a book. He answered, “Another voice again, eh? Well, what is my money for, but to indulge my sweet poppet? If you wish a book, you may have it, as far as I’m concerned. But I must warn you that it will be no easy thing to find a priest to write for you.”

My husband understands a great deal about the world, because he has been in it much longer than I have. He was not wrong about the difficulty. The first priest I asked grew angry and refused all money for such a task. He looked at me with his sharp eyes and said, “Who put this in your mind, the Devil? He often plants improper desires in women. Women have no reason to write anything at all. They do not take part in great deeds, nor do they think sublime thoughts. These two things are the only proper reasons for writing books. The rest are all vanity, and will lead others into sin. Go home and serve your husband, and thank God that He has made you humble.”

I was very discouraged.

“Voice,” I said, “you’ve got me a tongue lashing, and I’m sad.”

The Voice said, “Keep at it, Margaret. I didn’t think you were the sort of person who gave up so easily.”

“It’s really too much for me this time. Everyone’s always telling me what’s impossible, and maybe this time they’re right. No man wants to write down what a woman has to say.”

“You just haven’t found the right one yet,” said the Voice. “Keep on looking.”