Forsaken Soul Page 6

  Besides, Ralf had asked for her aid. Not only was he crowner but he was also her friend, a king’s man who always honored her authority at the priory and had helped her two years ago when she had needed a favor, one that might have caused the crowner much grief had his brother, the sheriff, ever learned of it. She owed him something in return. The least she could do was interview two women.

  “A simple enough thing to accomplish compared to what I must do now,” the prioress sighed as she approached the anchorage door. There were times she wished she had never agreed to the admission of Sister Juliana as anchoress at Tyndal. Today was one of them.

  The lay sister who had most recently, and even more reluctantly, agreed to serve Tyndal’s recluse stood next to the anchorage entrance. The firmly bolted door was very thick, a precaution suggested by the bishop who had performed the entombing ceremony. Some women had chipped their way out, he said, when this austere life had begun to drive them mad.

  Eleanor nodded to the lay sister.

  “She often barricades this from the inside, my lady,” the woman said, unbolting the door.

  “I sent word that I wished to speak with her.”

  The lay sister knocked.

  The great door squeaked open.

  With head bowed, the woman inside fell to her knees, her hands steepled in an attitude of submissive prayer.

  How gaunt Juliana has become since her arrival at Tyndal Priory, Eleanor thought as she stepped into the tiny room. On those occasions, when she had brought Brother John for spiritual advice and discussion, she had asked if anything was needed. The only thing the anchoress ever requested was time for confession.

  Although Eleanor knew that any mortal, who vowed to resist all evil, was tormented by Satan with exceptional vigor and vivid temptations, she found herself asking how many lusty imps the Devil could possibly send to a room barely large enough for an altar and small bed.

  “You have rejected yet another servant,” the prioress said. “May I know why?” Space for an even smaller servant’s room had been included when the anchorage had been built, but Juliana had refused any resident attendant. Instead she was using the space to dig her future grave in the floor with her bare hands.

  “I am sure Sister Ruth has given reasons, my lady.”

  “I would hear the cause from you.”

  Juliana’s lips twitched into a humorless smile. “I do not wish anyone to attend me.”

  “You have no choice in this. Your duty is to pray, seek God’s wisdom, and comfort those who are compelled to seek your advice. Another must cook, clean, and care for you should you fall ill.”

  “When I begged an anchorage, I asked to be granted a forest hut where I could tend to my own needs. There, apart from all other mortals, I would have had the silence to hear God’s voice even while I tended to those few vegetables needed for my daily meal.”

  “That was rightly denied by the bishop. No woman may be granted a hermitage.”

  “Then permit my only other request.”

  Eleanor threw up her hands in frustration. “As you should know well, I shall not assign a monk or lay brother to care for you!”

  “I cannot pray with women in my room.”

  “You could not pray if a man was left alone with you! How dare you even ask that I permit such a thing?”

  “What if I told you that God demanded it?”

  “You cannot, for He would not.”

  “As Brother John told me, Robert of Arbrissel went to brothels. When he emerged, he did so cloaked in greater virtue than when he entered. I do not ask that a manservant enter my room, only that he serve my needs through that tiny space.” She pointed to a small opening in the wall that provided a view of the church itself.

  The prioress went to the curtained window in the other wall and glanced outside. No one was there to hear what she had to say. “As you should understand, your demand is outrageous. Why not permit a sober, modest, and elderly woman to perform the same service?” She gestured at the empty servant’s room. “You have always refused to allow anyone to stay there. What quarrel do you have with someone who lives without?”

  “As I told you long ago, apart from your own, I cannot abide the sound of a woman’s voice. I would not speak to those who come to my window if God did not command it as atonement for my sins.”

  “Not even the voice of Sister Anne who has had to come often enough to treat your wounds when you beat your head against the wall?”

  The anchoress bowed her concession in silence.

  “Juliana, you are taking advantage of our friendship in the world by continuing to insist on such a shameful thing. No prioress, or prior in any other double house, would listen more than once to such a proposition. If they were merciful, they would set you a severe penance. Most would conclude you were possessed by Satan. I would prefer to do neither. If I continue to hear complaints, however, I may have little choice except to take harsh measures to end them.”

  “I have never wished to couple with any man. As you know, I did not have to take a nun’s vows to become an anchoress. I chose to do so, and my vow to remain chaste is a true one.”

  Eleanor spun around. “I may believe that, although many would not. Even if your chastity remained inviolate, you must understand that such an arrangement would be a cruel test of any man’s vows?”

  “There are those who would either welcome it as a test of their virtue or else not find it troubling at all.” Juliana flattened herself on the floor. “My lady,” she whispered, “you know me well. Believe me when I swear my plea has no taint of wickedness.”

  “I might indeed,” the prioress sighed as she took her childhood friend by the arms and raised her. “That said, there is another reason to deny your plea. The sons of Adam rarely allow the daughters of Eve authority, for it was our ancient mother who took the apple from the serpent, offered it to Adam, and gave God cause to slam shut the gates of Eden. Men need little to remind them that tragedy results when women are not closely ruled; therefore, the virtue of our Order, where Eve has power over Adam, must remain undoubted. Even if I wished to do so, I could never grant your request.”

  The anchoress’ eyes turned dark.

  “I promise that I shall persist in searching for a woman who will serve you with the silence you require and who will not otherwise trouble you. In the meantime, the current lay sister will continue attending to your needs twice a day, and I command you to cease barring your door to her.”

  Juliana covered her eyes and groaned.

  “As you said, you willingly took a nun’s vows. Need I remind you that one of those was obedience? Do not attempt to take any further advantage of our old friendship. Not only do I command you to stop begging me to grant this wicked plea, but I order you to treat all women who serve you with the sweet kindness Our Lord embodied.”

  The anchoress bowed her head but remained silent.

  “On the other hand, I must ask if any of these women has done you harm? If so, tell me for I shall not tolerate that.”

  “Their only vice lies in their sex, my lady.”

  “Then you owe them the compassion God grants all women, for you share their frailty.”

  “I shall obey, my lady,” Juliana whispered.

  “There is one other matter.”

  “I beg that you teach me all my sins.”

  “The visitors to your window. They are mostly women and come only at night, when they should be safe in their beds. It is the hour the Devil loves most…”

  “No one at my window has been attacked by imps, my lady. If God had not taken away what desire I might have for sleep, these mortals would have no one to bring His balm to their battered souls. Show me the possessed, if I speak with the Fiend’s tongue. That is how I answer those critics who wish to cover innocence with the stench of their own filth.”

  For a long time, Eleanor studied the bent figure of her old friend, then blessed the woman and left without speaking
further.

  The door slammed shut. The bolt was drawn.

  Sister Juliana remained on her knees, staring in silence at that heavy wooden door which had failed to protect her from the world she hated.

  Chapter Eleven

  Ivetta grumbled as she focused on the callused heels of the lay brother leading the way. Walking through the nuns’ cloister made her nervous, and she was not at all pleased about coming to the priory. There was something unnatural about all this hush, she concluded, but then she was happiest surrounded by the deep voices of men and the soaring laughter of women.

  Her bad-temper had begun even before Brother Beorn arrived at her hovel. Ivetta had just awakened, a time of day not reckoned her most cheerful, and then vomited. She felt as sour as her mouth tasted when the lay brother informed her that Prioress Eleanor had some questions about the cooper’s death. Would she come with him to the prioress’ chambers?

  As if she had had any choice!

  Out of the corner of her eye, she watched two nuns pass her in the walkway. The elder was short and square. The younger still possessed a soft, youthful roundness. “And that blank stare of holiness,” Ivetta muttered, not quite under her breath.

  The older nun glared, twitching her nose as if she had smelled the smoke of Hell emanating from the whore’s robe.

  Brother Beorn turned around. “Did you ask a question?”

  Ivetta shook her head, and the unlikely pair continued on. At least the dark frown with which he had graced her was no different from the glare he gave everyone else. In all the time she had known him, Brother Beorn had never suffered from hypocrisy. Other than children, to whom he showed a saintly patience, he disliked all mortals equally.

  When they reached the stairs that led to the prioress’ chambers, Ivetta grimaced. The very thought of climbing them exhausted her. Nor did she want to talk about Martin Cooper’s death. Who would, under the circumstances? Just as he had gotten into bed with her, he had begun his death throes. Ivetta dry-retched as the memory returned. Sweat began to drip down her cheeks.

  These holy virgins would never understand what she had suffered that night. What did they care about a woman’s passions? Martin had been different from her other men. When he took her in that open field the summer she turned thirteen, she forgot the weeds that scratched her back and remembered only the sweet scent of flowers. Since that day, she did whatever he wished, opening her legs for a price and giving him the coin. None of that mattered. Other men might ride her, but they all remained faceless and transitory. Martin had possessed her.

  Brother Beorn cleared his throat.

  Ivetta began to climb the stairs.

  ***

  “Thank you for coming here, Mistress,” the Prioress of Tyndal said.

  Mistress, was it? Ivetta spat out the bitten-off nail she had been worrying about with her tongue.

  With a courteous manner but inscrutable tone, the prioress began to introduce her companions.

  Gytha smiled, a look completely lacking in condescension.

  Tostig’s sister and a decent enough sort, Ivetta had always heard. The brother had never sought her services, and he was polite enough when he passed her on the road.

  “Sister Anne, our sub-infirmarian.”

  So this was the famous healer? Ivetta had never met her. The only time she had ever needed potions and herbs was when she missed her courses. In her profession, that meant one thing, and she knew well enough how to handle the problem. A priory hospital would not serve her there.

  “I am called Eleanor, Prioress of Tyndal.”

  A woman reputed to see any evil that skulked behind men’s eyes. Ivetta quickly lowered hers and bobbed an awkward obeisance. But surely this prioress was too far removed from earthly concerns to recognize all the imps that squirmed in her soul? Most of her sins were common enough and well-known anyway. As for the uncommon ones, what did she have to fear from a woman who had rejected the world?

  Ivetta’s brief impudence withered the moment she looked up. She most certainly had much to fear, and those grey eyes now studying her did hold a scorching heat. Unless some priest came fast enough to forgive her on her deathbed, she knew she would instantly fall into the deepest regions of Hell. But she had little choice, did she? She could not afford to repent just yet.

  “You have nothing to be frightened of here,” the prioress said. “Our only purpose is to hear details of Martin’s death.”

  Ivetta realized how tense her muscles had been. She shrugged her shoulders to ease the tightness.

  “The crowner can be harsh…”

  “He wants to hang me.”

  “He is a fair man. You grew up in this village so must know him well…”

  “With respect, my lady, you were not there last night. He wants to hang me because I am a harlot.”

  “As was the sainted Magdalene. Our Lord did not turn his back on her, nor do we. Will you have some refreshment?”

  The Prioress of Tyndal rose, carried a mazer of wine to Ivetta, and offered both bread and cheese.

  The woman snatched the wine and gulped it down.

  The prioress carefully refilled her cup, then placed the platter near enough for Ivetta to reach. “Should you be hungry,” Eleanor said with a nod as she settled herself back into her chair.

  Ivetta stuffed some cheese into her mouth. Hungry or not, she could no longer afford to turn down any offer of food.

  “Please answer honestly. We are not here to condemn, indeed we wish you no harm. Anything you remember of the cooper’s murder might be helpful in finding the one who killed him.”

  “I know nothing of murder, my lady.”

  “But Sister Anne does. You may mention something, no matter how small, that would help her piece together what killed the man. I do not expect you to know how it happened, only to relate the events of that night. Will you answer the questions I must ask?”

  Ivetta nodded, snagged another hunk of cheese and reached back to tear off a large piece of bread. Taking a bite, she discovered that the heavy loaf was no lordly one. Instead it was rough with bits of broken grain. She looked at the prioress holding a similar dark-colored bit in her hand. Contrary to tales she had heard from some of the men she served, these religious were neither fat nor arrogant. Not only had this prioress personally served her, but the monks and nuns of Tyndal must eat no better than villeins.

  “Do not fear plain speech,” the prioress said. “As for your trade, who amongst us is not a sinner?”

  Her smile is not the haughty look with which one of her station might greet one of mine, Ivetta noted.

  “Nothing you say will cause offense. Our desire may be for the chaste and sequestered life, but that does not mean we are less mortal than you or do not suffer from human error. The world is no stranger to us and even less to Sister Anne who was an apothecary with her husband before she joined the Order.”

  Ivetta tossed her head in the maid’s direction.

  Eleanor nodded. “You may go, Gytha. Should we need anything more, I will send for you.”

  When the young woman had closed the door, Ivetta drained her cup again. “Martin said he had a night’s work for me, my lady. This was always done in the same room at the inn. When I arrived, he was already there.”

  “Did you contract with the innkeeper for the room or did Martin?” The prioress sipped her wine.

  “Martin did.”

  “Were you to serve him or others that night?”

  “I never knew. He always collected the price first so I was not surprised to see him.”

  “Was there anything different about the arrangements last night?”

  “Not that I knew.”

  “Had the food and wine been brought up before you arrived?” Anne asked.

  “No.” Ivetta turned away. “If a man wanted refreshment, he was told to sup with the others downstairs after my allotted time was done.”

  “Yet there was food and drink
that night…”

  “When Martin wanted me for himself, or with special friends, he always ate before we bedded. There was a game we often played when we were alone, you see. I pretended to be a beggar woman…do you want those details?”

  “Perhaps you need only say if you shared either food or drink after it had arrived that night,” Anne replied with a hint of amusement in her eyes.

  “I did not have the chance. I never ate until I had sated his other needs and he had fallen asleep. That was part of our game.”

  “And in this way your life may have been saved,” Eleanor said, her expression growing solemn. “So you came up to the room. Martin was waiting for you, but the food and wine had not been served. He was by himself…”

  “He was not alone, my lady.”

  “If refreshment was ordered, then they were friends rather than strangers staying at the inn?”

  “Friends. Hob and Will, the blacksmith brothers. Many times in the past he has shared me with the elder if there were no others in need of my service.”

  “Was that the arrangement for the night?” Anne asked, glancing at Eleanor. No mention had been made of the blacksmith and his brother.

  “I assumed as much when I first arrived, but the three were arguing.”

  “What was the dispute?”

  “Martin was ridiculing Will’s manhood.”

  “And Hob’s as well?”

  “Nay, only Will’s. His sex had become a cowardly thing on the tilting grounds, as I have oft discovered.” Ivetta snorted. “As for Hob, he has spurned my talents for a long time. For all I know, the heat of the smithy did melt his rod as well.”

  Eleanor coughed to hide her mirth.

  “You say the three were arguing?” Anne asked.

  “When I walked into the room, I heard Martin tell Will that he should dress in women’s attire because his sex was no bigger than…” Ivetta shrugged. “Will’s face was scarlet and he tried to strike out but tripped. Methinks he had drunk too much ale already. Then Hob swung at Martin. I did not want to get hurt so I backed out of the room.”