The Age

Chapter I

In September 1340, my father a well-known merchant, decided that he wanted to journey a much more exotic and unfamiliar land, the Middle East. Being his only daughter (even though he had seven sons) he decided to take me with him knowing how much I pondered about other cultures.

'You've been blessed with seven healthy sons and an immense fortune, it's ridiculous how the only thing you value is your daughter, such young ladies should be with their husbands, serving them not learning about nonsense'. Such words made my father furious, he didn't want me to get married so young. 'Why is it that my sons get to live there childhood and play around yet Catherine must stay at home, to stay polished and tidy cause god forbid she gets a speck of dust on her'. So after much debate with mother, it was settled, I was going to voyage through the foreign land, where brilliant inventors, philosophers and scientists' uncovered knowledge that would certainly help build and create a world that should differ in ways we can't imagine.

The wagon that would take us would arrive two days later, enough time to pack.

As I threw my crespines, leather shoes and anything I might possibly need, I was excited and overjoyed that I hadn't noticed my mother lurking around, watching as I rummaged through my drawers. 'Catherine Borin Roddick, what on earth are you doing? You look like a pig frisking in the mud '. 'Mother, you startled me, what do you mean by that? I'm packing father, has told you about the trip hasn't he?' 'Yes, yes don't worry your pretty face about it, I have agreed, on the condition that you do return in four months to meet the suitor I have picked for you'. 'But father would stay there for at least a year and besides I've told you I shan't marry at fifteen. 'Child you will end me. Do you expect me to allow you to just be! What would others say, she repelled all of them men and now she lives in her parent's comfort and what about when you finally decide to let those antics go? Who would marry someone so old?' 'MOTHER, YOU DON'T UNDERTAND...' 'What do I not understand? I want you to be happy...' 'you want me to marry a man who is twice my age and hopefully has a disease lurking around to end him so that we,  correction you can swim around in his wealth and let's not forget about carrying this thirty-year-old man's child, because no one, NO ONE, can touch a penny other than you.'

I was flooded with emotions. Mostly sadness and shame at the ideas that have been implanted in women's heads, such as my mother. Why is it that I must be forced to do something that I know will only lead to my misery?

As I furiously stomped around the hallways I noticed my father's office lite, as per usual he had his maps laid next to him as his finger circled the monochromatic globe. He was planning the route of our trip, would we possibly stop in Paris or a village nearby to have dinner? I knew that we most likely would take a wagon to the port where we would take a boat to the Holy Roman Empire, we would have a carriage await us that would take us across the Roman Empire through Balkans and it would continue until it came to a halt at our final destination. But what filled me with curiosity is our final destination. I knew I would be going to the Middle East but where?

All hopes where that it would be Baghdad. The magical city, that's ore was knowledge and the understanding of everything.

The day had finally arrived, as I quickly dashed to the wagon, I could sense my mother's disapproving eyes glaring at me. She always thought that I was the most disobedient, mischief lady that she has ever come across. As I hopped in, I could see her friends circling her asking questions such as, 'where on earth is she going?' 'Won't she be meeting the suitor that you've picked for her?' 'What on earth is she wearing?' 'Margret isn't your daughter ever going to grow up?' I was relieved that I would finely be leaving this hell. A place of verbal torture, where the only thing that mattered here was others' opinions of you. Let's not forget those beautiful Sundays after church when all the merchant's and Nobel men's (and anyone who was wealthy enough to make others flip in the air on their command) wives would set around drinking tea and gossiping about all those unfortunate enough to be brought up in their conversation that should certainly be the reason why they would be thrown in hell.