Satan's Lullaby (4 page)

Chapter Seven

Ralf drank his ale, rubbed his hand on the edge of the wood table to ease an itch, and stared at nothing in particular.

He had stopped by the inn to tell Signy the latest details of his wife’s health. Although he and the innkeeper shared a troubled history, the tension between them eased after his marriage. Signy’s close friendship with Gytha tempered the innkeeper’s bitterness, and she no longer greeted him with sharp words and mockery as was her wont in times past. She even sat with him willingly now, something she had refused to do before his marriage unless he came with questions in his position as crowner.

But the innkeeper was eager for news of her friend. It was rare that she could take time from the business to walk out to the manor house, although she gave her word that she would be there with Sister Anne for the birth. “And I shall even if the inn is burning to the ground,” she had solemnly vowed. Ralf had no doubt she meant it.

When he sat down to drink his ale today, Ralf had commented to Signy about the large number of strange men at the inn tables, and she explained their presence. He had heard that the abbess of the Order of Fontevraud was sending a host of clerks to the priory but not the date of their arrival.

He glanced around and decided the men should be a peaceful enough group. If these soldiers were sent by the king to protect the company of quill-bearing clerks, they would have been warned to behave themselves near the priory. The most he had to fear was drunkenness and a few unwelcome hands on the buttocks of the inn’s serving women.

Thinking about the latter, he grinned over his cup of ale. The soldiers would have to seek their pleasures elsewhere. Signy was more than capable of dealing with rude gropings, protecting herself and her women.

Having left him with the finest ale brewed by Tostig, a man who was now the crowner’s brother-in-law, the innkeeper walked around the benches of patrons, stopping briefly to chat but never pausing long. Without regret or lingering desire, Ralf watched her.

Signy was a strikingly beautiful woman, despite her somber attire. Had he not known who she was, he might have wondered why a nun or widow dwelled in such a rough place. Although he never quite understood the reason, Signy had chosen not to marry yet expressed no longing to take vows. Instead, she had taken over the inn on her uncle’s death and brought two orphans to her home and into her heart as foster children. One of them, Nute, was growing tall and looked more like a man each day. He never saw Nute’s younger sister, whom Signy kept away from the eyes of men.

“May I join you?”

Ralf started with unwelcome surprise. It was rare for him to let down his guard. Representatives of the king’s justice did not live long if they did, although he was safe enough in Signy’s inn. He grunted as he looked up at the man. Had marriage softened him, he asked himself, and then determined that it was just fatigue. Since his wife did not sleep well, he often awoke himself and worried over her health.

The man smiled down at him. “I am the captain of the guard sent by the king to accompany Father Etienne and his clerks from the coast to this priory. Conan is my name.”

Ralf gestured to a serving woman for more ale. “A Breton?”

The man laughed. “My forbearer followed the Conqueror, and the family has loyally served the kings since. It has long been the custom to name the first son
William
and the second
Conan
after the one who fought at Hastings.”

And this man has swung enough swords himself, Ralf thought, considering the scarred face of the one who now sat across from him at the table. “You have seen a few battles.”

“Ah, you see the beauty it has left me with!” Conan rubbed a hand over his scars. “The Welsh fight like demons and little care if a man might want to bed a woman before dark when she might still see his face.” He smiled, then looked around. “The only thing that saddens me is that I sometimes frighten the wee ones.”

Ralf felt the sorrow and liked the man for that particular regret. “Guarding a priest and a company of clerks must be a relief from battling the Welshmen.”

Conan raised the half eyebrow still remaining and bent closer to speak softly. “I’d rather the howls of the Welsh devils. I pray as much as any Christian, but we had to stop every time we heard a church bell toll on the journey here. The ride to this village took twice as long, and we did not always reach decent inns or priories by nightfall. These clerks are not accustomed to sleeping on beds of leaves. Soft creatures, they are, despite the hair shirts they claim to wear.”

Ralf raised his cup in agreement.

“Tell me about this inn and the village of Tyndal,” Conan took a long drink of ale and nodded with appreciation.

“Yes, the ale is good here, as is the food. You will sleep in clean straw, suffer no flea bites, and get honest value for your coin.” Ralf hesitated. “No whores. The innkeeper will not allow her women to offer that comfort to any patrons.”

“Are you sure?” Conan tilted his head in the direction of one woman.

“If they do, they find another place to lie with a man.”

The captain smiled. “And what pleasure does the village offer?”

Ralf laughed. “If pious talk delights you, there are enough pilgrims stopping at the inn on the way to shrines in Norwich to the east or Walsingham to the west. Many more come to the priory to seek cures for the ills men suffer. The hospital there is known throughout England for successful cures.” He winked at Conan. “With the king’s invasion of Wales, Tyndal’s reputation may have spread to that land as well.” He waited but got no response. “Otherwise, there will be a market day soon for entertainment.”

Conan briefly looked over his shoulder when someone shouted, then he turned his attention back to Ralf. “Can the hospital cure a man of ugliness?” Lest Ralf think he was serious, Conan laughed.

“If it did,” Ralf retorted, “my face would have blinded you with its perfection.”

A silence fell as the men drank.

“Tell me more of this famous priory. I have heard that it has a mill and fine guest quarters.” He shrugged. “We did not enter the gate. Once we safely delivered the priest and his wagons full of clerks, we were directed to the inn. I was hoping to see more of this unusual place that houses both monks and nuns.”

“If you walk back on the road toward the main entrance, you will find a gate in the wall. Those who use the mill take their grain in there, and so the grounds are open. Occasionally, you may see a monk, although it’s mostly lay brothers who trim the trees, tend the hives, and serve the needs of the mill. The guest quarters are to the right of that path, across a small bridge over a branch of the stream. You can see the buildings easily enough from the path.”

Conan smiled. “I will need exercise. I have been a soldier too long and cannot sit still as merchants can.” He reached for the pitcher and poured more ale.

“You still serve the king?” Ralf asked as he also poured himself another cup.

“Aye, and the men under me. To provide this safe passage for these guests from the continent is our reward for battles well fought.”

For a while, the two men shared stories of wars and battles, Ralf as a mercenary and Conan as the king’s man.

Finally, Conan rose. “I have enjoyed our talk, Crowner. I hope we may meet again. Indeed, I have much time on my hands until those clerks are done, and we can deliver them safely to their ships for France. I’ll be glad to see their backs. I do not like the idleness here or fancy the long journey back. The priest and his lead clerks speak enough of our language to offer conversation on the road, but no one else does and we do not understand either Latin or their Frankish tongue. Pity King Edward could not offer us something in the nature of coin or proper land instead of this.” He grinned, turning what might be called ingratitude into a jest, then walked off through the inn to the door and disappeared into the village street.

Ralf wondered what this man might do in an isolated East Anglian village with little vice to tempt a man who did not seem inclined to great virtue.

Then he sat back and frowned. The captain had called him
crowner
. How did he know that? Ralf knew he had not mentioned it.

He shrugged. Presumably, someone had told him, but, if so, why had this Conan chosen his company? Few did, even men with no cause to fear one whose work was to seek those who ran afoul of the king’s justice.

Chapter Eight

Arthur, the prioress’ orange cat and lord of the kitchens, marched through the door and into the audience chamber.

Sister Anne swiftly followed. “He has sired another litter of kittens,” she said to the prioress.

Out of the corner of her eye, Prioress Eleanor noted a spark of interest in Gracia’s expression. “The hospital will remain free of rodents,” she replied, then frowned. “I thought the dam there was still nursing her last litter.”

“This one belongs to the anchorage. One of Anchoress Juliana’s dams slipped out the window and had a fruitful tryst with Arthur. I have heard some now call him
Lancelot
to honor his many conquests.”

Eleanor laughed heartily. “Is she angry?” She tried to give her cat a disapproving look but failed and picked him up instead.

Snuggling into her arms, Arthur half closed his eyes and purred, secure in the belief that his charm could conquer any female heart.

“Our anchoress has been heard cooing over the kittens. Her servant has gotten bits of food from Sister Matilda for the nursing mother. I suspect they would prefer to keep all the kittens, but the anchorage is too small.”

“Most will not survive, I fear.” Eleanor glanced at Gracia again.

The young girl looked sad.

Eleanor instantly looked concerned. “I think I saw a mouse just over there yesterday.” She nodded in the general direction of the opposite corner. “Since Arthur spends so much of his time protecting our food in the kitchen from pillaging rodents, we might need more protection in these chambers. Gracia?”

The girl straightened.

“Do you think you could look at the litter and choose a healthy kitten to bring here?” She gestured around the chambers. “I think we might need another cat to keep the vermin out. Have you not seen mice in these rooms?”

“A tail, perhaps.” Gracia was smiling. “I would be happy to do your bidding, my lady.”

“Then go seek our anchoress’ servant. She might be in the kitchen now. Oh, and do you think you might take responsibility for the care of this new charge? Arthur is grown and fends for himself, but a kitten needs special care.” She smiled. “Arthur will surely adjust to the new arrival.” She looked down at the purring bundle of orange fur in her arms. “It is time you took some responsibility for your progeny, good sir!”

Gracia nodded with enthusiasm.

“The kitten must stay with its dam for a while longer. Look for a sturdy one.”

Gracia headed for the door.

“You might want to name the creature and visit often so it will get used to your voice.”

The girl agreed and danced out the open door, before running back and shutting it softly behind her.

“You have a problem with vermin?” Anne raised an eyebrow.

“Gracia needs the gift of a creature to love.”

“She still does not trust her good fortune?”

“Nor would we if we saw our kin die of fever, learned to survive by our wits through winter, and suffered rape. Oh, and all this before we reached womanhood.”

The sub-infirmarian lowered her gaze in sympathy.

Eleanor put the cat down and rubbed the arm that had been broken during her pilgrimage to the Walsingham shrines. Although fully healed, it ached on occasion and reminded her how close she had come to death.

“Would you like some ale?” Sister Anne reached for the jug on the table. “Does your arm still hurt?”

“The memories cause far more pain.” The prioress took the offered mazer.

“Then let me distract you with some news!” The nun smiled with mischievous delight.

“Perchance our visiting priest has realized that he should be in Nuneaton instead of Tyndal?”

“Sadly, no, but I wanted to tell you that our beloved and revered sub-prioress has gout.”

Eleanor coughed to hide what she knew was unkind amusement. “I am grieved…”

Sister Anne waved aside the need for charitable thought. “She is in pain, but I have shown sympathy enough for us both. When I asked if I could touch the afflicted toe, she stifled a scream and refused. It is very swollen and red, but I have a treatment that might help if taken faithfully and for a long time. That would require patience, a quality our sub-prioress is not known to possess.”

“I have never heard of such a remedy.”

“It is as old as Jacob and the pharaohs,” Anne said. “My father had a recipe for the treatment, which I believe he had gotten from a physician who was very familiar with the work of Alexander of Tralles, and I memorized it as a girl. It is made from autumn crocus, a remedy that can be almost as deadly as monk’s hood, if not used properly, and therefore is infrequently applied. But I have used it to help some who suffer the affliction. The dosage requires adjustment for weight and balance of humors, but the sub-prioress is resident here, not a courtier who wants to leave quickly. I can take the time to carefully and slowly make the required modifications.”

“Why should she not try it? I have seen men who suffer from this. It often inflames feet until the person can no longer walk.” Eleanor grimaced. “Gout is a great affliction.”

“To quote our sub-prioress, she will not take ‘potions or powders devised by the Devil.’”

“Since when have you offered any remedy that was not a gift from God?” Eleanor shook her head in disgust at her subordinate’s obstinacy. “I would counsel her, but I fear she will not listen to me either.”

The nun smiled. “I did find a solution!”

Eleanor threw up her hands in mock amazement. “Our sub-prioress rarely listens to reason. How have you coped with her aversion to logic?”

“I spoke to Sister Christina. Our sub-prioress respects our sweet nun, as we all do, for her gentle saintliness. When I told her Sub-Prioress Ruth’s concern, our infirmarian said she would take the remedy and place it on the altar while she prayed. After that, she will take it to our sufferer, explain that it was been cleansed of all evil, and insist she take the blessed potion as instructed.” Anne’s expression softened. “Sister Christina has a wise heart as well as a kind one. She whispered in my ear that she would warn our sub-prioress about impatience. If God has blessed the cure, the patient must emulate the fortitude of Job.”

“Those who think Sister Christina is a saint may not be wrong,” Eleanor replied. Despite their differences in approach to healing, the two nuns had always worked together with mutual respect. In truth, having seen them consulting, the prioress concluded that two sisters from the same womb could not love each other more.

Of course Sister Anne prayed for the souls of those who came to her for a cure or relief, but she had been taught by her physician father that remedies were gifts from God for the comfort of men. Sister Christina might prefer prayer as a cure, and knew nothing of
potions and powders,
as Sub-Prioress Ruth called them, but she rejoiced when her sub-infirmarian used them with success and counted the cures as miracles.

“She might have been the better choice to care for Father Etienne’s clerk,” Anne said. “The priest was very angry when I arrived to diagnose the lad’s ailment, but he was even more annoyed when Brother Thomas argued for my involvement and with Prior Andrew’s next suggestion that Brother Thomas examine him.”

Eleanor started. “Why was our good brother there? Father Etienne specifically refused his help when he told me about young Jean. That is why I had to ask for a lay brother to go with you and not Brother Thomas.”

“I fear the error in bringing him with us was mine.” Anne bowed her head. “Prior Andrew, Gracia, and I met him on the way to the guest quarters. I was surprised you had not included him in our party so I asked him to come with us.” She looked at the shut door. “Poor Gracia knew the priest had refused to let him examine the clerk…”

“And she said nothing? Poor child! She probably believed it was not her right to contradict an adult.”

“It was not until later that Gracia confessed that she knew he was not supposed to be there. She was in tears over the matter, believing she could have prevented the rudeness suffered by us all.” Anne shook her head and smiled at Eleanor. “She is so much wiser than her years that I often forget she is still a child. I assured her that she owned no fault.”

“And I shall tell her again, for it was I who erred in not telling you more than I did.” She looked down at her hands. “When Gytha was not much older than she, I explained that I welcomed honesty, although I emphasized that it was usually wiser to speak to me that way in private. I shall repeat those words to Gracia and confirm that you are in agreement.”

Anne nodded. She knew how much her friend missed her former maid so was delighted when the young orphan arrived at Tyndal and began to fill the hole in the prioress’ heart.

“The priest’s restrictions made a diagnosis difficult,” the sub-infirmarian continued, “but Prior Andrew gave me enough information from the questions I asked and the observations he made. Growing weary of the awkward method, I suggested he confront Jean about the probable cause of his illness.”

“Which is?”

“Too much wine or ale the night before. The youth finally confessed it.”

“If Jean is wise, he will confess his sin to someone in this priory and not to his master. Our abbess’ brother seems to have little tolerance for weakness or opposition and much faith in the infallibility of his opinions. I fear he may find great fault with the youthful clerk where others might see the need for kind guidance.”

Sister Anne shook her head in sympathy. “What is the purpose of this visit? Has he told you why the abbess sent him?”

“No, but I hope to hear soon. If he has offered any clues, they would be in his welcoming sermons.”

“The brothers were told they owed obedience to righteous leaders. We were warned against incontinent lust. Prior Andrew, Brother Thomas, and I could find no hint in those sermons that related to our priory.”

Eleanor frowned. “Unless someone has suggested to Abbess Isabeau that my leadership is lax and someone is slipping over the walls to whore in the village.”

“No one here has a complaint against your rule.”

“Sub-Prioress Ruth?”

“She has never forgiven you for taking her place as prioress, but, as you have often noted, she obeys you, albeit with ill-grace.”

“Have you heard any rumors about any of our religious breaking their vows?”

Anne looked away. “None except me, my lady. But Brother John has become a hermit, and our meetings were never sinful before my husband left the priory for his hut.”

Allowing the pair to meet was a decision Eleanor often regretted, although she never doubted that the pair had remained chaste. “If that is the complaint, I shall have an answer for it and will do penance.” When her friend started to protest, Eleanor put a calming hand on her arm. “Fear not. I never questioned your virtue or that of your husband. If there was sin, it was in my judgement, not in your acts.”

The two fell silent.

Outside, birds sang to celebrate the last days of autumn warmth.

“If this visitation follows the usual practice for such things,” Eleanor said, “he will send out an army of clerks tomorrow to look for foul drains, cracked floor tiles, leaking roofs, and fruit carelessly left unplucked from the trees. Then he shall demand the accounting rolls to review for errors, irregular rent-gathering, the purchase of frivolous baubles, and other horrors expected in any religious house run by a woman.”

“How can he think that when his sister is Abbess Isabeau, the head of the Order of Fontevraud?”

“He must bow to Rome’s decision that our Order is not heretical, but I suspect he would have concluded otherwise had he been the one to decide.”

“He did tell Prior Andrew that he accepted a woman standing in the place of Our Lady as abbess and prioress in our Order, but all other sisters in this priory must obey the natural rule of men. I believe he does expect to find errors which would not exist if Tyndal were led by a prior.”

“He will be disappointed.” Eleanor shook her head. “I do not fear his review of the accounting rolls, and I know he will find maintenance needed on priory buildings. We have drawn up a list of repairs ourselves, put into the order of importance. He may point these things out. I shall bow my head, thank him profusely, and swear an honest oath that I shall have Prior Andrew attend to these urgent matters.”

“You know what you must face. Why are you still worried? And do not deny it. I know your expressions well enough to read unease in them.”

“The abbess of Fontevraud would have ordered a visit not long after I was given leadership of this place if there had been concern that I was unable to turn the finances of Tyndal around. She did not. All know this was once a Benedictine priory, converted to a double house in the reign of King John. It is old. Repairs are constant. Unlike other houses, we have had no roof or wall collapse, nor have we begged funds for major repairs. When Prior Andrew last traveled to Anjou after Easter, he gave a full report of what we had done, how we planned to address the remaining issues, and a complete account of expenditures. Abbess Isabeau was satisfied, even complimentary.” Eleanor rubbed at her eyes as if longing to see more clearly.

“There is another purpose then.”

“And no one has told me what it is. That troubles me.”

“He must tell you.”

“And he shall, but I do not know what he will do before that. If he believes the priory is guilty of significant wrongdoing, he will not confer with me before he speaks to as many of our religious, choir, and lay, as he deems necessary. In his questioning, he may put my authority and competence in doubt, even if this priory is innocent of any accusations.”

“And who would cast such aspersions on the life we lead here?”

“Who knows what enemies we have made or what person of influence found a treatment, a bed, or a meal here to be unacceptable?”

“Surely this will be a small matter and quickly resolved without such damage,” Anne replied.

Eleanor walked over and gave her friend a hug. “And, God willing, we shall laugh about it after the dust from the hooves of his departing palfrey has settled.”

“In the meantime, I shall go back to my apothecary and prepare the remedy to calm the wine-battered stomach of the clerk, Jean.”