E. M. Powell (36 page)

The monk reentered and looked her up and down with a nod of unsmiling satisfaction. “Your first step on the journey to redemption.” He made his way over to the bed and picked up the discarded linen underskirts. He removed a length with a cut of his razor. “Come here.”

She stood before him and he placed the white cloth across her forehead, then looped it round the back of her head. He made quick work of wrapping her head, leaving her face exposed. Her neck followed, with the material tighter and tighter as he secured each layer.

“Can you loosen it a little, Brother?” she said.

He shook his head. “Looseness is what brought you to this sorry state. You need to be brought back, mind, body, and soul.” He picked up the length of string from the bed and brought it round her waist. With a low grunt of effort, he secured it tight. “Discipline is never pleasant and at the time may seem painful. But for those trained by it, it yields a harvest of peace.”

Theodosia bit her lip. The tight makeshift belt made the wool of her dress dig right into her skin.

Edward picked up the last section of linen and arranged it atop her wimple as a makeshift veil. He took a step back from her to consider his handiwork and smiled at the result. “You are returned as an anchoress, at least to the eye. We have redeemed your body as we will redeem your soul. Now kneel to make your act of contrition and to receive absolution.”

Theodosia did as Edward instructed. The discomfort of her garments became even more apparent if she had to move. Her neck had been wrapped so tightly, she could hardly breathe when she tried to bow her head. The wool scraped against the soft skin of her breasts, and she could imagine the sensation when her new habit enfolded her, sewn through with a hundred sharps. But worse than the physical discomfort was the sense of humiliation in how she was dressed, although she was perfectly modest to an outside observer. Oh, Brother Edward had taught her well of the foolishness of bodies and bodily things.

Edward raised his right hand to make the sign of the cross. “One more thing. From now until he leaves us for good, Sir Palmer is to be addressed as Sir Palmer. No more Benedict or any other sinful familiarity. The slide to ruin is speedy, as you have experienced firsthand. There is no other remedy but flight from temptation. And believe me, Palmer is the devil’s own instrument of that temptation. He must be dead to you. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Brother.”

He began the words of absolution, a sign to Theodosia that God had forgiven her sins.

No more Benedict.
Of course Brother Edward was right. She’d been wrong. But it didn’t stop her heart from breaking.

Edward concluded and nodded for her to start her act of contrition.

“Oh my God, I am heartily sorry…” Sobs broke over her words, and she wept her way through the prayer.

“That’s it, my child. Repent before God.”

But she wasn’t crying to God. She cried for her foolish, impossible, stupid love for a sinful, misguided man. A man that forevermore would have to be a distant stranger to her. She would save her soul, do whatever she had to. Though her heart would shatter as she did so.

EPISODE 6

CHAPTER 28

Palmer stood on the dockside in a deserted part of the harbor, keen to dispose of the unsavory load he’d carried with Brother Paulus.

In the pale blue of the dusk sky, the red ball of the sun would soon dip from sight. With the finish of daylight came a chill deep enough to freeze a man to death. Unless they were already dead.

“On three,” said Paulus, his thin cheeks ruddy from cold and effort.

“One moment.” Palmer adjusted his hold on the body of Reginald Fitzurse, wrapped tight in an old sack. He carried the heavier, shoulder end, while Paulus staggered under the weight of the feet. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“One, two, three.”

Palmer flung the packaged corpse with all his might while Paulus added his strength too.

It broke the surface of the water with a smaller splash than he’d imagined, then started to sink from sight.

“That should see the end of him,” said Paulus, “and good riddance, I say.”

The object sank from view, with only a few ripples on the quiet surface of the calm black ocean. But on flooded, waterlogged battlefields, the half-rotten bodies of fallen knights would resurface as if rejected by Satan from hell. “What if he floats back up?” said Palmer.

“Not with the stones I secured in there,” said Paulus. “They’ll keep him on the seafloor for all eternity, while the crabs pick over his every bone.”

“No wonder he weighed so much,” said Palmer. “I’m guessing the stones were at my end?”

“’Course. What do you take me for?” Paulus set off back along the dockside, and Palmer fell into step beside him.

“Happen you’ve done this before, eh?” said Palmer.

“What makes you say that?” said Paulus.

“This is a very quiet spot, looks like it hasn’t been used for years. And you knew to weigh a body down in water.”

“Let’s just say you come across all sorts when you’re running a dockside hostel,” said the monk. “Not all of it good. You have to have ways of dealing with things.”

“What kinds of things?” said Palmer, his interest captured by this elderly monk.

Paulus obliged him with a couple of astonishing tales that passed the time of their journey back to the hostel. Night had closed in, and lamps and lanterns lit every window they passed.

Once they arrived, Paulus excused himself on hostel business.

Palmer climbed the stairs to their rooms, a warm glow within him. Eleanor’s knights were defeated. The boat was due to sail in an hour or two, and he still had a couple of days left with Theodosia; she’d be finished with Brother Edward by now. He wouldn’t let anything spoil this last time — it was far too precious. He knocked on the bedroom door, and Edward’s voice replied.

“Come in.”

“Good evening, one and all…” Palmer’s greeting died on his lips.

Edward, Amélie, and Theodosia knelt in a circle, rosaries in hand. But Theodosia was robed as a nun once more. The gray woolen dress served as a habit, and she wore a linen wimple and veil.

“Have you come to join us in prayer, Palmer?” said Edward, with an irritated frown at being interrupted.

Amélie continued with her quiet recitation of prayer, eyes closed, fingers swift from bead to bead.

Palmer’s gaze locked on Theodosia, who dropped her glance in an instant. “No,” he said.

“Hardly a surprise,” said Edward.

The monk’s superior attitude riled him. “I came to ask if you wanted any food. Theodosia?”

She shook her head but didn’t look up.

“Come on,” he said. “You must have an appetite by now.”

“Appetite is no longer an issue, “ said Edward. “The sister is reining back her consumption. Certainly she will have no more meat.”

“I wasn’t asking you,” said Palmer with force. “I asked her. Now, Theodosia — ”

“No, thank you, Sir Palmer.”

Her subdued reply brought him up short. “Benedict,” he said.

“Sir Palmer, as I am Sister Theodosia,” she repeated. “It is proper we should address each other correctly.” Her face showed as pale as the confining wimple that enclosed it and her neck. Her red-rimmed eyes showed recent, many tears.

From the corner of his eye, he noted Edward’s smug expression.

“I don’t know what nonsense Edward’s been filling your head with,” he said. “But we don’t need formal names.” He waited for a rebuff from Edward, but none came. Instead, it came from Theodosia.

“True repentance is not nonsense, Sir Palmer,” she said. “At least I can say I am a sinner, and can spend my life seeking forgiveness. You too need to do the same, or your soul will be damned for all eternity.”

Not a spark of recognition for their time together. None of the last days and nights, where they’d fought so hard for each other. When he’d held her, kissed her, when she’d slept in his arms. “Then I’m just a poor sinner, am I?” he said.

“You are.” Cold as ice.

Amélie prayed on, lost in her devotion.

Edward cleared his throat and clinked his metal rosary beads.

“If you’re not going to join us, Sir Palmer,” said Theodosia, “then perhaps you could leave us in peace until the boat sails.”

“Whatever you say, Sister,” he said, his voice a low growl of fury. “You can all pray. I need to drink.”

He stormed out, with a slam of the door that echoed through the whole building.

♦ ♦ ♦

Palmer strode down the first narrow alleyway he came to, the lights and noise of an alehouse at its end calling to him. He entered the crowded house, thirst for ale, and lots of it, on his tongue.

The server at the counter filled flagon after flagon, while another man carried them to the packed benches.

Palmer nodded to the server, who filled a vessel in readiness. He put his hand in his pocket to take out his payment. Forcurse it. He hadn’t a bean. His pocket held only the little wooden cross he’d traded his dagger for earlier. He turned quickly on his heel and left again. The ale server would be either annoyed or pitying, or both, once he saw Palmer had no money. Palmer couldn’t face either reaction, he’d seen too much of it as a boy. He’d rather walk the streets while he waited for the boat, cold as the night was.

His angry pace would keep his blood moving, if nothing else. He made his way along, Theodosia’s rejection of him an ache in his chest. Though the hour was late, people still walked here and there, some talking in tongues he didn’t recognize, and with faces he’d only ever seen on distant campaigns. Carts rumbled past him, while workers filled and emptied open warehouses by the light of lamps and candles. The world carried on as before, but for him without Theodosia, it might as well have stopped.

As he turned yet another corner, he saw Edward and Amélie pass by, bundles in hand. They must be headed for the boat. He gave a curt wave, but they didn’t see him.

Palmer filled his lungs but stopped his call. If they’d set off, Theodosia may well be at the hostel still. It was his last chance to try and speak to her alone.

He soon climbed the stairs of Saint Michael’s hostel. The door to the room in which Edward had heard Theodosia’s confession stood open, lit with meager candlelight.

With quiet steps, he went to the doorway.

Theodosia crouched on the floor, scooping at something with her hand.

“Brother Edward has you cleaning his floors for him now?”

She shot to her feet, hands closed around whatever she’d collected. “Oh, Ben — Sir Palmer. You did startle me.”

“I didn’t mean to, Theodosia. Can you forgive me, or should I add it to my list of sins?”

She flushed at his heavy sarcasm. “That is entirely up to you and your conscience, sir knight.”

“Benedict.” He walked in and stood in front of her. “My name is Benedict. You’ve used it often enough. You don’t have to stop.”

“Yes, I do. Like I have to stop speaking to you, being with you. It is part of my penance.”

“Penance for what?”

“For Fitzurse’s death.” Her gray eyes wouldn’t hold his gaze. “For my fornication with you.”

Palmer snorted. “Fitzurse brought his end on himself. It was what he deserved.” He gripped her by the shoulders with both hands and forced her to look at him. “He was going to kill you and your mother. Same as he did to Becket, and God knows how many other innocent souls.” He tightened his grip. “He was going to cook you alive, Theodosia. So seek all the forgiveness you want. I think I know God’s mind on this judgment.”

She squirmed in his grasp. “Unhand me, you blasphemer.”

He held her with ease. “Not blasphemy — the truth. And the other truth is, we did not fornicate. We had pleasure. Not sin. And it was what you wanted, asked me for, and it was my deepest happiness to share it with you. You said yourself your vocation was a lie. But here you are, back in the clothing of that lie.”

“It was Satan telling me it was a lie, trying to get me to stray from the path to heaven. He nearly succeeded, made me believe I was something I am not, and he used you to do it.”

“Let me guess: Brother Edward told you that? The smug, arrogant — ”

“He did in confession, which means he is the voice of God.”

“He’s twisted your mind.”

“He has shown me the truth.” She strained to break his hold again. “It is your soul that is filled with poison, Sir Palmer. I will pray for it, pray that you can be saved. I shall do that to add to my penance.”

“I don’t want to be saved. I want you to have the life you deserve.”

“It is the life of a servant of God, Sir Palmer.” Her brow creased in anguish. “Now, I beg you, let me go. Every moment you have your hands on me is another sin for me to repent.”

“There’s no sin in my touch.” He held her tighter, shook her to hammer home his words. “Why can’t you listen to me?”

“Benedict, you’re hurting me!”

He froze, breathing hard, her cry pulling him back to sense.

“Let me go, Sir Palmer.” The extra meaning her words carried was plain as day.

Palmer dropped his hold. Sadness and loss waged war with the anger inside him. “I’ll go to my grave swearing you’re making the wrong decision. You can repent without burying yourself away in the church for the rest of your life. And it plagues me to think that I’m part of the reason you would want to do that.” He rummaged in his pocket and pulled out the little cross. “I know it’s a poor swap for the cross I took from you — it was all I could manage. But I give it to you as I gave you my heart: with every good wish, and never to cause you ill, never to be the mark of sin on your soul.”

“Then Sir Palmer, I thank you for your gracious gesture.” She reached to take it in a quick movement, hand curled over what she already held.

“What’s that in your hands?” he said.

“It is nothing.” She went bright pink and shoved the cross into her pocket.

He grabbed her other fist and pried it open, ignoring her protests. Clumps of her soft, beautiful hair lay on her open palm.

“What have you done?” He looked at her aghast.