Are there limits to courage?
Are there limits to courage?
Anonymity, secrets, and overwhelm.
The Fulcrum of Courage, Part 15
Inside a herd, a zebra’s stripes make it very difficult to track.
As the herd moves, zebras jostle for safety by trying to get away from the edge. The strongest end up in the middle and the weakest end up more visible to predators.
Still, even on the edge, a zebra is safer than on its own.
To a lion, a healthy zebra is a better kill than a sickly one. It is more nutritious. There is less risk of exposure to parasites and diseases.
Lions eat weak and wounded zebras because they are easier to catch. Nevertheless, they prefer the robust ones, and hunt those who stand out.
Growing up, Meridiana learned to negotiate by helping her sisters get along.
They needed the freedom to act independently, or they couldn’t function together. Any information confided privately needed to stay secret to maintain trust.
Meridiana’s presence made resolving their differences easier.
In person, she was well-mannered with a light disposition. She was patient, politely honest, and tolerant. She was very perceptive and rarely got angry.
Meridiana also took care to maintain the suppleness of both her mind and body. She read most days and enjoyed writing letters. Even in her 50’s, she moved with ease.
She was inclined to take merciful social positions, and people found it charming.
Most assumed she was married and from a noble family. They never suspected she was a voluntary concubine.
The provost’s daughter knew about Gerbert and Meridiana from the start.
She understood Meridiana would cherish his poem. She also expected Meridiana would attend his funeral procession.
While the Vatican prepared, the provost’s daughter rewrote the poem she intercepted from his messenger.
By temperament, Meridiana was rarely overwhelmed by anxious concerns. Yet when she heard the news of Gerbert’s death, she was angry at him for not saying goodbye.
Normally, she was resourceful and aware of her options, but things got blurry. It was hard to accept. Nothing seemed real. She wanted to withdraw from the world.
Yet she knew Gerbert would not have avoided her emotions. Fearing a profound loneliness ahead, she maintained hope for a farewell letter to arrive.
His funeral would be held in two days. She checked their usual places for messages and waited as patiently as she could.
The evening before the funeral Meridiana cried and cried.
No message had arrived and she missed Gerbert desperately.
She even considered buying an ecclesiastical preferment to unburden Gerbert of his sins and ensure he would ascend to Heaven – but he had publicly opposed simony, and it would besmirch his name. So instead, she pleaded for him in her prayers.
Gerbert, Pope Sylvester II, was buried at the Basilica of St John Lateran, about an hour’s walk from the Vatican.
Gerbert was honest with Meridiana about his flaws and failures. Love was a worthy cause for them both. So was friendship. Honoring his memory was important to her.
She was awake all night, considering the risks and weighing her options.
Despite the rumor she was a succubus, Meridiana knew she was human. She also had plenty of experience blending in with crowds.
At sunrise, despite her fears, she deliberately chose to attend.
Meridiana’s residence was just over 90 minutes’ walk north of the Vatican. She thought it safest to walk south along the western bank of the Tiber River.
Along the way, she came across a small garden and stopped to rest for a moment.
She noticed her shadow, and recalled the day she met Gerbert.
She remembered him kneeling in the dirt trying to figure out how to harvest medicinal plants, and how they laughed about his belly.
She mentally replayed conversations from when they were leaving Lombardy. She remembered him agreeing not to make a pilgrimage to Jerusalem.
Meridiana wiped away a tear and saw a single borage growing close to her shadow. Somehow, cherished memories got easier to recall.
In that moment, she understood she could let him go and still keep those memories alive. Her life’s journey would be shared with him even after she said goodbye.
She plucked the borage and took it with her, hoping to place it on his memorial.
Meridiana often met Gerbert’s messenger at the Castel Sant'Angelo, near a bend in the Tiber, close to St Peter’s Basilica.
Passing by would be an opportunity to check if he sent a letter one last time.
The provost’s daughter knew the location from spying on them. That morning, she paid a peasant to wait at the castle with her rewritten poem.
When Meridiana saw the peasant with a letter in his hand, standing in the very spot their messenger normally waited, her heart skipped a beat.
The peasant said their usual messenger was sick and paid him to deliver it. He handed the poem to Meridiana and disappeared into the passing crowd.
She wanted to read it on the spot except there were too many people around. It was still an hour’s walk to the basilica, and the funeral would soon be underway.
She would not miss this chance to say goodbye.
Meridiana tucked the letter into her dress and blended in again.
Meridiana usually observed crowds before entering them. It enabled her to avoid danger. She also had a knack for adopting local customs and manners.
Along the way, she overheard people talking about a prophesy that Gerbert would be killed in Jerusalem. They said he cheated death by skipping a pilgrimage to the holy land, only to die after visiting the Holy cross of Jerusalem in Rome.
Meridiana gasped when they agreed he must have been tricked by a succubus.
She noticed how the rumors painted a strangely coherent picture that completely misrepresented her. They contained a simmering hostility.
Some said Gerbert was un-saintly because he was beholden to a succubus. Others thought his chopped-up body would be scattered around the city.
It was frightening to realize there were so many people acting as if the rumors were true. The strength of their convictions seemed to nibble at her soul. She began to second-guess her choice to attend.
Meridiana was tempted to condemn the gossip and set the story straight, except she knew that most people still believed Gerbert was a sorcerer. The only person who would sound crazy was her.
Revealing her objections was likely to unleash their hostility.
The temperature was comfortable but Meridiana was perspiring.
Her heart was pounding.
The closer to the funeral procession she got; the denser and more irritable the crowd became. The closer people stood; the more she sensed danger.
Somewhere in the jostling, Meridiana became disoriented and lost the borage from her hand.
She felt separated, adrift, from her body.
As she stood in line to pay her last respects outside the Basilica of St John Lateran, she feared she might never escape the distortions and hostility.
Next: Does courage matter in the end? The way of resilience.