Covenant With Hell (4 page)

Chapter Seven

Father Vincent scurried down the road to the chapel where Prioress Eleanor and her monk had preceded him. Prayer would have been his chosen goal, but the reputation of both priory and shrine demanded he follow another.

In no particular order, he asked God to curse Sister Roysia for the sins that caused her death, Brother Thomas for finding her body, and Prioress Eleanor for betraying a most unwomanly determination to do as she alone willed. At least Ryehill’s prioress remembered her place in creation often enough.

As he drew within sight of the inn, responsible for disturbing his sleep and prayer with unholy merriment, he stopped to catch his breath. The accursed place was quiet at the moment, and for that he thanked God. Revelers from the night before must be sleeping off their indulgence in rich food and strong wines, neither of which ought to be in the diet of any pilgrim. Recently, he had overheard two men comment on the innkeeper’s Lenten fare, claiming it was delicious. If true, eating it must be a sin in these weeks dedicated to renunciation.

Much to Father Vincent’s disgust, he suspected that some families actually came here less for true repentance than to escape the drudgery of their labor for a few days. Yet they did buy badges to prove their piety and thus fed the monks and nuns of Walsingham. And most did confess a few sins, perform a little penance, and contribute to his own sacred shrine.

A troubling question smote him, causing him to take in a sharp breath. Did God disdain gifts from the insufficiently repentant? Did He care about the source of the offering and the motive for giving it?

The priest bit at his knuckle.

Then came the flash of revelation, and he realized with relief that any gift given to God must be instantly cleansed of all foulness. He raised his hands to the skies in gratitude for this gift of understanding. He need not spurn coin for the Shrine of the Virgin’s Lock just because it might have come from the fingers of those, foreign or local, who were wicked. His conscience grew easy about accepting all gifts for his holy site.

Walking on, he still cast a contemptuous look at the offending inn. As he did, his gaze fell upon a man watching him from the entrance.

Something about the figure caused the priest to stop. He looked familiar. Was this a pilgrim with whom he had previous dealings? He blinked, trying hard to remember.

The man began walking toward him, raising his hand in friendly greeting.

Father Vincent struggled to bring some name to mind. With a swift assessment of the man’s finely made attire, he concluded he was an affluent merchant despite the modest lack of ornamentation in his dress. Surely he had spoken to this man before, but the priest could not recall either time or occasion. Unfortunately, it was too late to pretend he had not seen the merchant and avoid embarrassment by quickly passing on.

“What a fortunate meeting, Father Vincent!”

The priest was still struggling to find an excuse to escape when he saw the bright flash of a coin in the man’s fingers. His impatience forgotten, Vincent smiled with benevolence on this supposed pilgrim and even prior acquaintance. With hope and discretion, he also opened his hand.

“I remember you well,” the man said. “That I was given this opportunity to speak with you suggests that God has truly smiled on my pilgrimage here.”

The priest bowed his head with expected modesty, and the coin was softly dropped into his moist palm.

The merchant knelt. “I beg a blessing.”

The boon was quickly granted.

The merchant rose, his lips moving with the final words of some silent prayer.

Rubbing his fingers around the edges of the coin, the priest noted with delight that it was newly minted. Some pilgrims tried to pass off severely worn or even clipped ones of much reduced value. Suspecting that a blessing was not all this man wanted, Vincent waited to hear what was expected in exchange for the fine coin given.

But the merchant seemed more inclined to casual conversation as he took the priest by the elbow and suggested they walk on. “I am grateful to see Walsingham so peaceful during this visit. I have been here before when the crowds have been thick and the lines to get into the shrines very long.”

“It is still the season of Lent. We pray that the weather will soon grow warm and more pilgrims will arrive,” Father Vincent said, feeling relieved when the man ceased to direct him quite so firmly onward.

“During my early supper at the inn last night, I overheard mention of a visit from the king. As it was time for my prayers, I could not question the speaker further and thus remain ignorant of whether he has already been here or not. Have I missed him?”

“King Edward had not yet come to Walsingham,” the priest said, “but we pray that he will honor all the shrines with his presence soon.”

The man sighed. “Now I am truly perplexed. Shall I stay or must I leave? There will be so many who want to welcome our earthly lord. They and his attendants will demand comfortable lodgings.” He shook his head. “My room is small, but the bed lacks fleas. Were I to stay, one of his men might toss me out of the chamber and claim it for himself.” He laughed, a sound that lacked both mockery and cheerfulness. “What then should I do?”

Father Vincent again ran his finger over the clean edge of the coin and dared to hope there might be more of these if his reply was cleverly phrased. “I beg pardon, but my memory fails me on occasion. Your name, Master?”

“Durant, a merchant of fine wines.” The man lowered his gaze as if discomfited by possessing such a worldly occupation.

“Of course! I do recall your other visits here.” That was not true, but the name did sound familiar. “If you wish to stay longer, I could arrange plain but clean quarters so you need not fear if the king’s men required your present room at the inn. King Edward himself will be given lodging at Walsingham Priory, but I can offer you my own chambers attached to the chapel next to Ryehill Priory. Perhaps this transformation had not yet taken place when you were last here, but that chapel has become the glorious Shrine of the Virgin’s Lock. I have the honor of caring for it.”

The Augustinian priory and Prior William would be obliged to find a spot for him to sleep if he had to give up his small room, Vincent thought, and this pilgrim seemed inclined to a generosity that should compensate him for that temporary discomfort. Staying at Walsingham Priory might also give him the opportunity to direct the attention of one of the king’s courtiers, or even the king himself, to Ryehill’s small shrine. Trying not to smile, the priest grew quite pleased with the merits of his idea.

Master Durant’s expression blended gratitude with pleasure. “Your charity to this lowly pilgrim is admirable, Father, and God demands that such kindness not go unrewarded.” He discreetly ran his hand over a bulging pouch near his waist.

The priest licked his damp lips and hoped this man did not habitually go into the streets with so much obvious wealth. Coins like the one he had just received were better given to God than some unholy thief. He opened his mouth to advise caution, but words failed to come forth. His eyes were fixed on that pouch.

The merchant rested a gentle hand on Father Vincent’s shoulder. “Do you think the king might be visiting very soon?”

“We have not yet heard the precise date.”

“But surely he would send a messenger so you could prepare the setting of this newest relic for a royal viewing. Although I have not yet visited the shrine of which you speak, I have heard others praise it. The king must have as well.”

The priest’s thin chest puffed with pride. “Our king is deeply attached to all the shrines here. He credits the Lady of Walsingham for saving his life.”

“I believe I have heard that tale. Was he not playing chess when Our Lady inspired him to move just before a large stone fell from the roof?”

Vincent nodded. “It landed on the spot where he had been sitting, yet he was unhurt.”

The merchant’s expression grew soft with admiration. “Many say that his devotion to this place exceeds even that of his devout father,” he murmured.

“You must be correct that he would want to seek our tiny but holy shrine.” The priest looked meaningfully at the merchant. “Who would not long to worship strands of the Virgin’s hair?”

The man smiled and put two fingers into that rounded purse. “And might you send word to me as soon as you know when our king will be entering Walsingham?” He nodded at the inn. “I shall remain there for the time being, as I have many sins and much penance to perform. When I know the date of the king’s arrival, I shall arrange with you to lodge in the chambers of which you spoke. It would bring me joy to glimpse our king after visiting the shrines during this more peaceful time. And I shall not fail to offer a suitable gift to honor your own holy relic.” He stretched his hand toward the priest.

Father Vincent swore to do as the merchant required, then closed his eyes and his hand. The man had given him
two
coins, so newly minted he could feel the details of the king’s image on them. Fondling them, he savored this welcome gift.

But when he opened his eyes, the merchant had disappeared. The priest looked around, but there was no sign of him. Were he not holding these coins as proof, he might have wondered if he had imagined the conversation.

He tried to picture the man’s face, but it had been of such common form that it was quite unremarkable. Now he feared he might not recognize him again.

He took in a deep breath and calmed himself. After all, he knew the man’s name and where he was staying. That was sufficient to send a messenger as the man had asked.

Looking heavenward, Father Vincent smiled. All he need do is tell this merchant the date the king would enter Walsingham, endure a short time as a charity guest in the priory of the favored shrines, and find a way to urge King Edward to visit a new shrine near Ryehill Priory, acquired after the king’s last visit.

Were God to smile with especial kindness on the little shrine, the priest was sure the coin from the wine merchant and any gift from the king would be enough to repay in full what he had secretly taken from alms due the priory to acquire that relic. For so great a blessing, he would cheerfully tolerate the itching from a flea-ridden straw bed.

Gripping the three coins he had already received, he hurried on to the chapel, praying that Prioress Eleanor and her troublesome monk were still there. If they had left, Prioress Ursell would be deeply angered over his failure to achieve what she required. And her fury could be awesome. Had he not seen her bow to the cross, an act no imp would perform, he might have wondered at the source of such hot rage when she was thwarted.

The merit in his delay was not anything he dared explain. The prioress knew nothing of what some might call
theft
from her coffers. Had he asked for the sum to buy the relic for the Shrine of the Virgin’s Lock, she would have refused, citing the poverty of her nuns, but he was certain the holy object was worth a little less bread and ale for the religious. Women lacked a man’s wisdom in these matters, and so he had gone ahead with his plan. He had told her the relic was a gift from a penitent, a tale that brought him respect and even awe from a prioress who occasionally failed to show the deference owed a man of his vocation.

He shrugged. After the relic was finally paid for by money from merchant and king, Prioress Ursell would conclude that he had increased income for Ryehill as offerings rose to what they had been before he had borrowed from them. In time, he was certain the relic would bring more pilgrims to the chapel and alms for the priory. When that occurred, and he was duly praised for acquiring the precious object, he would relish the acclamation but with eyes lowered. A show of humility was a virtue too often ignored by those less than pious. He sniffed with contempt.

As he rounded the corner of the inn, he saw the street child disappearing down a narrow street, and he clenched his fist in fury. Had he not been so delayed in his purpose, he would have chased after her, throwing rocks and casting forth imprecations.

Instead, he slipped inside the chapel and contented himself with asking God to send the vile creature the same fate suffered by the wicked Sister Roysia. Unlike the nun, whose vocation allowed her some mercy, he would make sure Gracia’s corpse rotted in unsanctified ground.

Chapter Eight

Daylight struggled to enter the little chapel from one window placed high in the wall behind the altar. Where shafts of light struck the ground, the damp stones glistened, and the air was rife with the stench of must.

A few pilgrims wandered in, but they spent little time on their knees before the small box containing the Virgin’s hair. Reverence was sincere but they quickly left, longing to see the sacred wells and the famous Holy House of the Annunciation, called England’s Nazareth and maintained by the religious of Walsingham Priory, farther down the road.

Brother Thomas and Prioress Eleanor rose from where they had knelt. Seeking privacy, they walked to the inside columned walkway nearby, cupped their hands over their mouths, and bent their heads to muffle their voices lest someone overhear their words.

“Prioress Ursell wishes to conceal something about Sister Roysia’s death, my lady.”

“Perhaps she does, Brother, but there is no reason to believe this matter must be our concern.”

Thomas looked around, then whispered, “More happened before your arrival that troubled me.”

With evident reluctance, she permitted him to continue.

“When Father Vincent ordered me to return with him to the prioress’ audience chamber, I assumed they wanted to hear what I had found and any conclusions I had formed. After making me wait, Prioress Ursell greeted me with a coldness to match the air in this chapel.” He shivered. “What distressed me more was the lack of sorrow shown by either priest or prioress. Their eyes were as dry as a road in summer heat.”

“Perhaps they did not wish to show their grief to a stranger.”

He shook his head. “You heard what Prioress Ursell said about the tragedy. Sister Roysia’s death was a possible cause for scandal, an annoyance. I have seen men banish tears of grief and grow pale with the effort. Prioress Ursell and Father Vincent had no need to hide what they did not feel.”

Eleanor frowned as she considered his words. “They have reason to fear scandal. All religious houses do, and the prioress argued the concern well. Her duty lies in providing for her nuns, and I believe she cares deeply about that. ”

Thomas concurred with her conclusion, then continued. “I confess that I did not tell them all I knew,” he whispered.

She looked at him with surprise. “Why not? Prioress Ursell said that she did not welcome conjecture, but that would not prevent you from giving them all the facts.”

“From the start, they treated me like an unwelcome guest and ignored the simplest charity of offering ale to ease the early morning chill. Soon after I began relaying my news, the prioress silenced me, called to her priest, and they spoke together in low voices as if I were not in their company.”

“They did lack civility.”

“Although Father Vincent failed to provide a guard for the body, when he went to alert the priory, I remained by the nun’s corpse so that wild dogs would not despoil it. No one thanked me. Before you arrived, Prioress Ursell ordered me to say nothing about this matter, especially after my return to Tyndal. She felt obliged to remind me ‘because all monks are like children and guilty of telling tales.’ Forgive me, my lady, but I was angered.”

“With cause.” She frowned. “They greeted me with disrespect as well. Although pride is a sin, the expectation of courtesy is not. I do not understand why it should be so, Brother, but they seem to find our presence here unwelcome.”

“When my temper cooled, I might have excused their rudeness to a simple monk, but I could not tolerate their insult to you, a prioress worthy of the highest honor. That was unconscionable.” He bowed.

Her face grew pink in the delicate light. “Their treatment of us both was unwarranted, yet to withhold information that was pertinent…”

“My failure to tell all was spiteful. That I admit, but withholding a little would only have delayed the discovery of evidence they should have found. From their manner toward me, I concluded they did not want to hear what I had to say. Father Vincent asked only one question. He wanted to know if I had seen or heard anyone in the vicinity of the tower. When I suggested they examine the bell tower, lest there be more to this death than was immediately apparent, Father Vincent mocked me.” His face flushed with anger. “He seems to delight in doing so, and I find that intolerable.”

“Set aside your anger, Brother, and tell me the entire story, including all you omitted.”

“I respected the dead nun’s corpse but did seek the cause of her death. Her neck was broken and her head cracked open, both of which were consistent with the fall from the tower. But I doubted she was alone in the tower and was troubled that I did not hear another voice crying for help, although I had arrived shortly after she fell.”

“Prioress Ursell said the nun in charge of ringing the bell had failed to do so on the previous night, and I understood that Sister Roysia was there to make sure the error was not repeated. Perhaps the bell-ringer had not yet arrived when Sister Roysia fell.”

“If she feared the nun might sleep through the hour again, why did she not bring the bell-ringer with her?”

Eleanor agreed.

“I have not yet told you the one significant detail I did not tell them. It argues against the conclusion that Sister Roysia was the only one in the tower.”

Eleanor raised an expectant eyebrow.

“Sister Roysia had something clutched in her hand, a piece of torn cloth. The weave was of good quality and the color dark. This is why I doubted she had been alone before she fell. That cloth must have come from a garment.”

Frowning, Eleanor thought for a moment. “Prioress Ursell said she had seen the body and could only conclude that the death had been a tragic accident. Yet, as you said, the piece of cloth suggests other possible deductions. It was a detail she, or the nun who examined the body, ought to have noticed as well.”

“Yet they said nothing about it. I am bothered by that.”

“Even if the death was an accident, the torn cloth raises questions about why she fell. Assuming she and the bell-ringer were together, quarreled, or struggled, Sister Roysia might have lost her balance and fallen.” Suddenly she froze and looked around as if she had heard something.

“Were that the case, and there was no wicked intent, the other person would have cried out in horror.” Instinctively, he lowered his voice.

“I agree. And, if the nun was deliberately pushed, this is not a simple tragedy.” The prioress paused. “I wonder if they questioned the bell-ringer.”

“There was little time to have done so and examine the corpse before I arrived.” He shrugged. “I did not ask. They would not have welcomed the question.”

“I just remembered something else, Brother. The bells for the next Office rang while we were all in the prioress’ chambers. If Sister Roysia was in the tower because she was afraid the nun would oversleep, she was there far too early for such a purpose. As I recall, the prior hour of prayer had occurred some time before.”

“The earlier bell did ring long before I heard her cry out. The nun had no reason to remain there between the two Offices.” Thomas looked up and watched a steady drip of water from the ceiling that was creating a growing puddle on the floor. The roof needed patching, he thought, a repair that never would have been left untended at Tyndal Priory. “Either they are lying or choosing to ignore the facts.”

“I shall be honest, Brother. I fear they lie. Their observed lack of interest in the truth smells foul. Prioress Ursell was so fearful that we would discuss this between ourselves that I wondered why we should not.” She looked up at him, eyes twinkling. “Her words were like the serpent in Eden offering the apple. I was tempted to disobey her, and here we stand, doing what they forbade us.” Once again, she glanced into the shadows. “The real tragedy may not be the poor nun’s death but what is being hidden behind it.”

“Had it not been for the torn cloth she held, I might have concluded that Sister Roysia was alone, slipped, and fell to her death as they wish us to believe. The floor of the bell tower is probably as damp as the stones on which we knelt. But unless this is murder, the person with her would have cried out and run for help.”

Eleanor gestured for him to stay where he was as she walked a short distance away, looked around, and returned. “I thought I saw someone in the shadows.” She thought for a moment, then asked, “Are you certain that the piece of cloth was not lost when the corpse was moved?”

“I tucked it back into the nun’s hand. When they wrapped the body and took it back to the priory, I did not see the cloth fall to the ground. I am certain they must have found it.”

“They did not ask you about it?”

“No, and they do not know I found it.”

“The more flawed part of my nature rejoices that you remained silent in the face of their discourtesy to you.”

Thomas grinned.

“This death is their responsibility. If Sister Roysia died accidentally, there is no scandal, only grief. If she was killed, Prioress Ursell must investigate and determine what should be done to protect Ryehill as well as punish the murderer. But why distrust us so much? Had I been faced with a similar death at Tyndal, which was discovered by a religious, I would have been grateful for any information received, even if I begged for silence so I might resolve it myself. I do not understand why she and her priest asked no questions and behaved so strangely.”

“Prioress Ursell has no reason to be wary of you. Your reputation for justice and compassion is well-known.”

Eleanor bowed her head. “Perhaps she did not wish to trouble us. After all, I am here to do penance for my own sins, not to seek out the transgressions of others.” She looked up at her monk. “We must leave the investigation into Sister Roysia’s death with Ryehill Priory. Our efforts are no more welcome here than our presence.”

Thomas stepped back in surprise. “Someone was in the tower with her, my lady. The torn cloth in her hand is proof.” He fell silent. “Both Father Vincent and Prioress Ursell were unmoved by the death but were most concerned that it was I who found the body.”

“Prioress Ursell has been quite clear. She does not want us involved in this death. We shall honor her wishes and continue with our original purpose of doing penance at the shrines.” Eleanor looked up at the ceiling, then over to the altar, and sighed. “You long to draw us in where we are unwelcome. I understand why, for I share your concern about this death, but we ought to let this tragedy remain the responsibility of Ryehill Priory.”

“As you will, my lady.”

Eleanor looked up at him. “Brother, apart from your disappointment in my decision and anger at the discourtesy here, I believe you have more to say to me.” Her voice was soft. “You may speak freely.”

“God could have sent us here to perform another duty along with the worthy act of atonement.” With hopeful eagerness, he looked down into his prioress’ eyes.

“You are convinced of this?”

He nodded.

“Might your conclusion have less to do with the nun’s death than the offenses against our pride?” She looked back at the altar. Her expression suggested she was struggling hard to hold fast to her longing to avoid an inquiry into murder. “Should we not make a singular effort, while on pilgrimage, to turn the other cheek when treated rudely? If you have no greater cause to disobey their request than that…”

“In truth,” he replied, “Father Vincent has angered me so deeply that I am tempted to go against anything he wishes. He and I have quarreled over another matter, one in which he has ignored Our Lord’s commandment that we practice charity.”

Eleanor sighed. “Over what did you disagree?”

“It was about a child. She is a ragamuffin in tatters, very thin, who begs nearby. I asked that he find food and lodging for her. He refused and accused me of wanting to feed Satan’s whore.”

Her exclamation echoed throughout the chapel.

Thomas told her the story of Gracia’s rape and Father Vincent’s conclusion that she had bewitched the merchant into performing an unnatural act in a holy place.

“What age does this girl own? You call her
child
.” Eleanor’s whisper was like a hiss.

“And so she is, my lady. There is nothing womanly about her.”

“Why does he withhold compassion?”

“Unlike the merchant, she refuses to admit wickedness or confess that she was under the influence of evil. To give her food and shelter, he said, is no better than offering comfort to the Devil.”

She twisted her hands in fury. “And what shall you do in this matter?”

“I will continue to feed the child, my lady, and seek some other way of keeping her alive.”

“If you had decided otherwise, I would have reproved you, Brother.” Eleanor’s expression suggested she had no doubt he would do as she hoped. “Father Vincent’s lack of compassion shocks me. Another priest must be found who will gently guide her into more virtuous ways.”

“These are cruel people here, my lady. They have insulted you and mistreated a starving child. The questionable circumstances of the nun’s death are consistent with the endemic wickedness of this place. How can we not pursue the truth?”

“To begin with, Brother, I must reject vanity of birth and religious rank. I am a pilgrim here: a humbled, wicked, and lowly creature. Had this prioress a more kindly heart, she might have shown greater courtesy, but I am obliged to accept their rudeness as part of my penance.”

He started to protest.

She raised a hand to silence him. “I am not finished. We both dislike those who lead Ryehill. I might forgive Prioress Ursell’s rudeness to me, her implied insult to our priory, and, with difficulty, her treatment of you. What I cannot forgive is a priest’s disdain for a hungry child.”

He looked down at her with obvious relief. “Does that mean we may look further into the nun’s death, my lady?”

“I am as troubled as you by what you found, but this death may yet prove to be nothing more than an accident or even self-murder. We are prejudiced against those in authority here. That may be our error.”

“Other than feeding the child, you wish me to do nothing more against the commands of Father Vincent and Prioress Ursell?”