How Michael Scot Went to Rome
Here’s another story about Michael Scott, the famous wizard renowned for his miracles; the very same who split the Eildon Hills in two. According to an ancient custom observed among the enlightened and pious people of Scotland, every year a messenger was sent to Rome to the Pope to find out from His Holiness the exact date of the first day of Shrovetide.It was crucial for the people to know the exact day, as it determined when all the other church holidays of the year would be celebrated. Immediately after Shrovetide came Lent, and seven weeks later, Easter. And so on, one holiday after another throughout the twelve months.
It happened once that this honor of going to Rome fell to Michael Scott. But as he was too busy at the time, he completely forgot about the holy task entrusted to him and delayed his journey until Candlemas, the last holiday before Shrovetide.
There was not a second to lose. If any ordinary mortal were asked to make the journey to Rome and back in such a short time, they would have replied that only a madman would agree to it, and they were still in their right mind. But for Michael Scott, it was a trivial matter.
He rose early and went to a green meadow where magical steeds grazed—each with a white star glowing on its forehead and eyes that shone brighter than gold.
"How fast can you run?" Michael Scott asked the first steed in the meadow.
"As fast as the wind!"
"That won’t do," said Michael, and he asked the same question of the second steed.
"Faster than the wind!" it replied.
"That’s too slow for me!" said Michael.
"I fly like a March whirlwind!" said the third steed.
"Still too slow!" said Michael, and he approached the last steed. "Well, can you run fast?" he asked.
"Faster than a pretty girl changes her suitors!" replied the steed.
"That’s the one for me!" Michael exclaimed with joy, and without further ado, he mounted the horse, and they set off for Rome.
They flew like the wind over land and sea. Clip-clop, clip-clop, sparks flew from under the hooves—across the white crests of waves, over snowy mountain peaks, and green hills. Clip-clop, clip-clop! Faster than time itself! Soon the gray cliffs and stormy seas were left behind, and Michael Scott, on the golden wings of early morning, landed in the square before the Pope’s palace in Rome.
Without delay, Michael sent word to the Pope that a certain Scotsman awaited him at the doors, and the Pope immediately received him in his audience hall.
"I am the messenger of your faithful Scots, who asked to know, before Candlemas has passed, when Shrovetide will begin this year," said Michael.
"You’ve come a bit late," said the Pope. "Now you’ll never make it back to Scotland before Candlemas is over."
"Oh, I have plenty of time," Michael replied. "Just a few minutes ago, I was in my native Scotland. And now I’m here. So I’ll return just as quickly."
"Just a few minutes ago!" exclaimed the Pope. "I’ll never believe it! How can you prove it?"
At that, Michael handed the Pope his cap, which he had removed out of respect for His Holiness.
"Do you see the snow on it?" he said. "That’s snow from the Scottish mountains, where winter still reigns."
"Then it’s a miracle indeed!" exclaimed the Pope. "And though I don’t believe in miracles, I will still give you the answer to the question you came for. Shrovetide always begins on the first Monday of the first lunar month of spring."
Michael was thrilled with this answer. Previously, messengers had brought back only one reply: Shrovetide would begin on such-and-such a day this year. But Michael had discovered the secret of how the Pope determined the day—what luck!
"Thank you, Your Holiness," said Michael, and he immediately set off for home.
Mounting his magical steed, he reached Scotland just as quickly as he had traveled from Scotland to Rome and shared the news with his countrymen.
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