But the village was unremarkable, with nothing worth stealing, and attracted attention from neither thief nor marauder.
Lizabeta lived on the western outskirts of the village, far from the shadow of Gorubun.
Each day she walked out to the meadows beyond her familys home to tend to their hives.
Credit: Christina Guerra; Hachette Children’s Group
She wore no gloves or bonnet.
The bees let her take their honey without a single sting.
Lizabeta ran home to tell her father.
Its probably nothing, he said.
The village due west is burning their trash.
This is none of our concern.
Your father is right, he assured her.
Perhaps a roof caught fire.
This is none of our concern.
Now leave us to think on the mysteries of the world.
All agreed with the wise men of the village.
The merchant returned to his manor house, and Lizabetas father took her home.
But when Lizabeta sat and prayed among the hives, no peace came to her.
So back through town she went and up the crooked hill; alone she climbed the narrow path.
She began to feel quite silly as her legs grew weary and sweat bloomed on her brow.
Surely such concerns could be left to her father and the merchant and the wise men of the village.
Still she pressed on, between rocks and boulders, feeling more foolish with every step.
And she knew that it was not just refuse shed smelled burning or a kitchen fire.
Shed caught the scent of churches set alight and bodies too.
She ran back down the hill, fast as she could without falling, and into the town square.
An army is marching!
She told them shed seen pillars of fire, one for each town between their village and
the sea.
We must gather swords and arrows and go to our neighbors
aid!
We will discuss it, said the wise men of the village.
We will raise a defense.
The wise men had all been children the last time fighting had come to the village.
They had no desire to pick up blades and shields.
They did not want to see their sons do that either.
Surely the soldiers will pass us by, as they always have before, the wise men told themselves.
And they went to have dinner and to ponder the great mysteries of the world.
She waited as the sun drifted higher and the bees hummed around her.
She waited as the roses wilted beneath the heat, their white petals browning at the edges.
She heard voices raised in battle song and felt thunder through the earth.
She understood then that there would be no rescue.
But Lizabeta did not turn to run.
Mercy, she pleaded.
Mercy for my father, for the merchant, for the wise men who cower in their houses.
The men were mad with bloodlust and triumph.
She was a sapling before them to bend and be trampled.
She was a river that must part.
The soldiers turned their backs on Lizabeta and her tiny army, and ran.
But none of these things came to pass.
Word spread, of course, that the raiders had come to the coast and marched inland.
But no one outside the village knew why theyd suddenly changed their course and fled back to the sea.
Well, we cannot say, the wise men offered.
But we know a merchant who can.
I cannot be certain what happened, he told them.
But surely my daughter will know.
She is in the meadow, tending to her hives.
Lizabeta met them there.
What made the enemy turn in their tracks?
demanded the general of the girl in the meadow.
What made them flee this nothing of a village?
Lizabeta told the truth.
Only the bees know.
He was out of patience.
His men bound Lizabetas wrists and her ankles and placed the ropes over the bridles of four strong horses.
Again, he asked Lizabeta how she had stopped the soldiers.
Only the bees know, she whispered.
For she hadnt any idea how shed done it or what miracle had transpired.
Do not bother waiting, she said.
No one is coming.
Its said her blood watered the roses of the field and turned the blossoms red.
But the bees have long since left those hives and want no business with those flowers.
The roses remember, even if wise men choose to forget.
Lizabeta is known as the patron saint of gardeners.
