Monday’s child is fair of face,
Tuesday’s child is full of grace,
Wednesday’s child is full of woe,
Thursday’s child has far to go,
Friday’s child is loving and giving,
Saturday’s child works hard for a living,
But the child who is born on the Sabbath Day
Is bonny and blithe and good and gay. . .
A: Guess what?!
D: You’re going to write in a tale about my romance with Zenobia, Queen of Palmyra, who rebelled against Rome and ruled over Egypt and Anatolia for a time? Her son was technically the one in charge, but Zenobia really called the shots. Tough lady, but lovely.
A: . . . That’s not . . . wait, your what?! D!
D: You left it pretty open, A.
A: I don’t even want to tell you, now.
D: Don’t pout, A.
A: Fine. I was going to say that you were born on a Monday, under the full moon.
D: So, I’m fair of face and long-lived. I could have told you that, A.
A: . . .
D: Wait, are you sure you did that right? I was born during the Julian calendar, A, not the Georgian. Don’t tell me that after all these years I’m really—
A: I did it right, D. I found a website that produces calendars for 500-4000 AD with the Julian vs Georgian calendar issue factored in.
D: I’m astounded, A. Flabbergasted, really. Pray tell, why?
A: Research, D – and thanks for the sarcasm. I had to make sure I was referencing the moon correctly. It wouldn’t do to say “meet us at the rising of the moon,” when the moon set 2 hours prior, would it? I lost an hour of my life on this site.
D: An hour? Aren’t you being a little stingy with the truth, A?
A: Okay, three hours, but it was worth it. Now I know I’m referencing the moon accurately and you know your day of birth and the moon phase.
D: . . .
A: It’s important, D.
D: I have no words.
A: My work here is done.
. . . As they crested the hill, the newly risen moon came out from behind low clouds. Its light threw into stark relief the young oaks, circling the low stone building and straining towards the sky. . .
. . . The moon was nothing but a sliver again, and its silvery glow barely illuminated the outer room, let alone Maureen’s prison. The candle was a warm and welcome friend. . .
. . . Liam turned to his youngest brother. “Owen, you must take a horse and our provisions and wait for us on the route to Bray. If you do not see us by the setting of the moon, make your way to Bray as fast as you can and board the Éadaí Baintrí. . .”