Chapter 5 – The Wool
The thirteenth morning began with the wool already folded beside the cot.
I woke, the thin blanket pulled to my chin. My knees were sore, but the ache was now a dull, familiar pressure rather than the sharp pain of the first days. I sat up, swung my legs down, felt the balance in my shorter frame, the dress brushing my ankles. My feet touched the cold floor, and I paused a second longer than I used to, testing the feeling.
I washed my face, the water cold against my skin. I dressed, buttoning the dress more quickly than yesterday. I made the bed, pulling the blanket tight at the corners. I wiped the table with the cloth, moving in small, careful circles. I prepared the tea with less herb and the same tiny spoon of honey, stirring it slowly so the honey dissolved.
I was setting the cup on the tray when the door opened.
She entered.
She stopped at the table, looked at the cup, took a sip.
"Good," she said.
"Thank you, Your Majesty."
She nodded and opened her book.
I stood behind her, hands clasped, eyes lowered, the thin cotton gloves on my hands. The gloves were already a part of me; I didn't think about them anymore.
After a few minutes she said, "Come closer."
I stepped forward.
"Your hands," she said.
I lifted them.
She took my right hand, turned it over, felt the fabric.
"The gloves are still intact," she said.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
She released my hand.
"Kneel."
I knelt, placing the wool square under my knees.
The stone was cold, but the wool made it bearable. I adjusted the square so it covered both knees evenly, then settled my weight onto it. I kept my head bowed, hands on my thighs, back straight.
She read.
I knelt.
The pain came, very faint, a low throb at the joints. I breathed in through my nose, out through my mouth, slow and even. I focused on the sound of the pages turning, on the faint smell of ink and old paper, on the quiet of the room.
She turned a page.
"You are still," she said.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Good."
She continued reading.
I knelt longer.
The faint pain stayed faint. I didn't shift. I didn't fidget. I kept my breathing steady.
When she closed the book, she said, "Stand."
I stood. My legs were steady, no sway. I felt the stiffness, but it was mild, easy to work out with a small bend of my knees.
"Go and rest."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
I went to the cot.
She left.
I sat and folded the wool neatly, smoothing the edges with my palm. I placed it beside the cot where I could reach it tomorrow.
The order had been the same.
But today the wool was part of the routine.
I lay back and stared at the ceiling.
My knees hurt less.
My body was learning.
I closed my eyes.
---
The fourteenth morning the wool was under my knees before she entered.
I woke, went through the routine, prepared the tea with less herb and the same spoon of honey.
When she entered, she drank, said "Good," and opened her book.
After a few minutes she said, "Come closer."
I stepped forward.
"Your hands," she said.
I lifted them.
She took my right hand, turned it over, felt the fabric.
"The gloves are still intact," she said.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
She released my hand.
"Kneel."
I knelt, placing the wool under my knees.
The stone was cold, but the wool made it bearable.
She read.
I knelt.
The pain came, fainter than yesterday. It was barely there, more of a memory of pain than pain itself.
She turned a page.
"You are still," she said.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Good."
She continued reading.
I knelt longer.
I noticed the sound of her breathing as she read. It was calm, even. The room was quiet except for the page turns.
When she closed the book, she said, "Stand."
I stood. My legs were steady.
"Go and rest."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
I went to the cot.
She left.
I sat and folded the wool neatly.
The order had been the same.
But today my stillness was more complete.
I lay back and stared at the ceiling.
My knees hurt less.
My body was learning.
I closed my eyes.
---
The fifteenth morning the wool was under my knees before she entered.
I woke, went through the routine, prepared the tea with less herb and the same spoon of honey.
When she entered, she drank, said "Good," and opened her book.
After a few minutes she said, "Come closer."
I stepped forward.
"Your hands," she said.
I lifted them.
She took my right hand, turned it over, felt the fabric.
"The gloves are still intact," she said.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
She released my hand.
"Kneel."
I knelt, placing the wool under my knees.
The stone was cold, but the wool made it bearable.
She read.
I knelt.
The pain was almost gone. I could feel the pressure of my weight, but it didn't hurt.
She turned a page.
"You are very still today," she said.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Good."
She continued reading.
I knelt longer.
I kept my eyes down, my breathing even, my body relaxed.
When she closed the book, she said, "Stand."
I stood. My legs were steady, no tremor at all.
"Go and rest."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
I went to the cot.
She left.
I sat and folded the wool neatly.
The order had been the same.
But today the pain was almost gone.
I lay back and stared at the ceiling.
My knees felt almost normal.
My body was learning.
I closed my eyes.
---
The sixteenth morning the wool was under my knees before she entered.
I woke, went through the routine, prepared the tea with less herb and the same spoon of honey.
When she entered, she drank, said "Good," and opened her book.
After a few minutes she said, "Come closer."
I stepped forward.
"Your hands," she said.
I lifted them.
She took my right hand, turned it over, felt the fabric.
"The gloves are still intact," she said.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
She released my hand.
"Kneel."
I knelt, placing the wool under my knees.
The stone was cold, but the wool made it bearable.
She read.
I knelt.
There was no pain.
I could feel the wool under my knees, the weight of my body, the straight line of my spine. I could feel the quiet.
She turned a page.
"You are very still," she said.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Good."
She continued reading.
I knelt longer.
I didn't think about the pain at all. I thought about the sound of the page turning, about the way the light fell on the book.
When she closed the book, she said, "Stand."
I stood. My legs were steady.
"Go and rest."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
I went to the cot.
She left.
I sat and folded the wool neatly.
The order had been the same.
But today there was no pain.
I lay back and stared at the ceiling.
My knees felt normal.
My body had learned.
I closed my eyes.
---
The seventeenth morning the wool was under my knees before she entered.
I woke, went through the routine, prepared the tea with less herb and the same spoon of honey.
When she entered, she drank, said "Good," and opened her book.
After a few minutes she said, "Come closer."
I stepped forward.
"Your hands," she said.
I lifted them.
She took my right hand, turned it over, felt the fabric.
"The gloves are still intact," she said.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
She released my hand.
"Kneel."
I knelt, placing the wool under my knees.
The stone was cold, but the wool made it bearable.
She read.
I knelt.
There was no pain.
I kept my breathing even, my posture straight, my mind quiet.
She turned a page.
"You are very still," she said.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Good."
She continued reading.
I knelt longer.
When she closed the book, she said, "Stand."
I stood. My legs were steady.
"Go and rest."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
I went to the cot.
She left.
I sat and folded the wool neatly.
The order had been the same.
But today there was no pain.
I lay back and stared at the ceiling.
My knees felt normal.
My body had learned.