Satan's Lullaby (6 page)

Chapter Eleven

The tiny cell had no windows. No rushes softened the stone floor. This room had once been used for storage, then converted to a cell to hold a monk accused of murder. One person had died here, and the room thereafter remained empty of all but ghosts. A few claimed there was one in particular, who sometimes hurried through the outside corridor in a stinging mist, wailing for mercy from his place in Hell.

Sister Anne sat on the prickly mat that would be her bed and stared at the lone flickering candle she had been allowed to banish darkness and evil spirits. There was nothing else to give comfort, but if her fortitude had weakened, she did not show it. Hands folded, she stared at the rough walls without blinking.

With no warning, the door squeaked open.

Prioress Eleanor and her maid walked in.

Sister Anne rose to her knees, bowed her head, and only now began to weep.

From the hall outside, a hand reached in and slammed the door shut.

“Forgive me, my lady!”

Eleanor grasped her friend’s arm. “Rise! You need not beg forgiveness.”

“I have added to your burden!” Anne looked around as if some solution to this nightmare might be found in the trembling shadows. “I swear I sent the right remedy and proper instructions with a clerk who claimed to come from our abbess’ brother.”

“I know you are telling the truth. We must discover who had motivation to do this thing, why, and how.”

“And you have been accused of a vile misdeed by some unknown person? Who would dare do such a thing?”

“There is too much awry,” Eleanor said with a thin smile. “You have not asked the nature of my crime, but the word will soon be out. Brother Thomas and I are accused of lying together in lust. That was the purpose for which Father Etienne was sent on this visit.”

Anne turned white with horror.

“I do not believe that our abbess sent her brother because she longs to discredit me. She is an honorable woman, and her elevation to abbess brought us great joy. I am convinced they both want facts, not an easy resolution based in half-gathered information.”

“Hasn’t Abbess Isabeau always found Prior Andrew’s reports on Michaelmas or Easter satisfactory?” Anne could barely speak. “How could she give any credence…?”

“She must do so. Recently, she has had cause to fear Rome’s displeasure. I heard that some of her abbey monks have grown rebellious under a woman’s rule. If Rome learns that one of her prioresses has also broken her vows with a monk, many more bishops will demand intervention, claiming these disciplinary problems prove that a woman’s leadership is against God’s law. If her brother can satisfactorily resolve the difficulty here, while she quells the restless abbey monks, Rome will be less inclined to interfere with the practices of our Order.”

“Someone must want you found guilty and removed from your position,” Anne finally said. “Why else damn you for lust and me for killing a young clerk?”

“Perhaps the reasons for the charge of wantonness and the death of Jean are not the same.” Eleanor turned thoughtful. Although she had not yet told Ralf of this, she was reminded of the soldier’s death on the way to the priory. The guard captain had suggested it was the result of some grievous quarrel between two men, a conclusion Eleanor would not have questioned if the death of Davoir’s clerk had not occurred so soon after. Was there another motive that linked the guard’s death with Jean’s? “To condemn me for unchaste behavior is one thing. That suggests malice. Killing a clerk to add to that accusation is excessive.”

“Unless the malice has turned the soul gangrenous, and then murder would not be such an extreme act.” Anne looked over at Gracia. The girl’s face was wan in the muddy candlelight, and the sub-infirmarian’s expression spoke of her grief that this child should hear this and suffer another threat to her security.

Eleanor shivered. She could imagine there were some who would enjoy embarrassing her by claiming she had broken her vows. There was no one she knew who hated her so much that he would kill to force her removal from the leadership of Tyndal. She shook her head to clear it.

Jean’s death, the soldier’s murder, the accusations against her sub-infirmarian, and the initial claims of her own transgressions could be related. Or not. There were too many coincidences to discount a connection. Yet she had few facts, many paths she might follow, and little time to determine what properly fit together for the most logical conclusion.

If only she could learn who had initiated the original claim of immoral behavior, she might be able to decide if everything had the same foul origin. Regarding the guard’s death on the journey here, the event might have been, as Davoir reported, the result of a quarrel between two men. She should leave that matter to Ralf, she thought, but she knew she could not forget about it.

“Dare you investigate this matter at all, my lady?” Anne’s voice was soft with concern. “Might you not be accused of tainting evidence or obscuring facts for your own benefit?”

“Nor may Brother Thomas on the same grounds,” the prioress replied. “I can only pray that Father Etienne does not conclude he must take over the investigation into his clerk’s death since neither Brother Thomas nor I can be trusted to do so.”

“Ralf must examine the body.”

“But the priory is under the jurisdiction of the Church. All he can do is determine cause of death and help in the investigation. Were he to discover the killer, he could not send him for punishment unless the guilty one is subject to the king’s law. Otherwise, the Church decides the penalty.”

“I may have been the source of the accusation of murder against you, my lady, but Brother Thomas remains free of that.”

Eleanor shrugged. “He is not tainted with the claim of murder, but he remains suspect in breaking his vows and doing so with me. He will be watched. We cannot be seen together.”

“How could anyone have accused you both of such acts?”

Eleanor shook her head. “Had this death not occurred, I feel certain that Brother Thomas would emerge from the charge, his virtue untarnished. You know him well. Has there ever been one word spoken against him?”

“Even your sub-prioress has high praise for his piety and goodness.”

“Let us hope she will be half as kind to me,” Eleanor said. “Father Etienne plans to question her first about my own chastity.”

Anne stiffened. “She would not dare…” She stopped, but her tone suggested she thought the sub-prioress capable of doing just that.

“Despite our quarrels over the years, and her justified grievance against me, Sub-Prioress Ruth is a woman of honor.”

“She has no justified grievance.”

“She was elected Prioress of Tyndal before King Henry overruled the priory and sent me to head this place instead. That is grounds for acceptable resentment.”

“And you have honored her by placing her in charge during your absences, including her in discussions about the priory businesses, and treating her with respect.”

“And I have usually not agreed with her opinions on the way the priory should be run, how best to serve God, or even how to pay our debts.”

“You have been proven right in your decisions.”

Gracia watched the conversation between the two older women with fascination. Seeing her interest, Eleanor put a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Our sub-prioress owns virtues. Has she not welcomed Gracia to our priory and arranged a fine education for her?”

Anne smiled for the first time. “Even the Devil might accidentally fall into goodness against his will.”

Bending forward, Eleanor whispered, “Be careful, Anne! He might hear you.” Then she grew serious again. “Despite the difficulties strewn in the path, I shall not remain idle in the matter of Jean’s death, even if my involvement must remain secret. Tell me in more detail about the remedy you sent to treat the youth.”

Quickly, the nun repeated what she had said before.

After a moment, the prioress asked, “Can you recall anything odd about the person who came to you? A twitch, an odd way of pronouncing a word, some other habit or identifying mark?”

“I did think it strange that the priest would send a clerk when I had promised to deliver the cure by a lay brother who could answer questions, if needed, about the use.” She paused. “This clerk spoke very softly. I thought he was shy, but when I asked him to repeat something, he seemed unable to do so in a louder voice. I remember hoping he understood what I was telling him. He did not ask any questions.”

“He spoke our tongue well?”

“Yes. But, after I thought more on it, I realize he did have a slight accent. That was why I believed Father Etienne had sent him.”

“And you could not see his face?”

“No. He held the hood around his mouth and nose like we do in bitterly cold weather. At the time, I wondered if he was so cold because the climate where he had come from was so much warmer.”

“The color of his eyes?”

“I could not see in the shadows.”

“Where, I assume, he stayed.”

Sister Anne nodded.

“You gave him the container of ground ginger and chamomile with the instructions. Did he leave immediately?”

The nun stared at her prioress. “No! A lay sister came to tell me I was urgently needed. After I resolved the problem, I returned, but the man had left.” She shook her head. “I did not think I was gone long and assumed he wanted to hasten back to Jean with the cure and, perhaps, had understood my directions perfectly.”

“Was he alone in the apothecary room while you were gone?”

“I thought the lay sister was going to stay with him. When I came back, neither he nor she was there. It is possible that he was alone.” She frowned in thought, then shook her head.

Eleanor raised an eyebrow.

“It is nothing. I was thinking that I had been called away so quickly by the lay sister that I wasn’t sure I had put the gout remedy back in its place, as is my wont. I must have. It was not on the table when I got back to the hut.” Her smile was wan.

“Who would know best about your routines in preparing cures and where you keep the ingredients? I ask because this person might know if more is missing than should be or if something has been moved.”

“There is one young nun who is showing promise in the healing art, my lady. She might be able to answer your…” Anne put her hand against her mouth.

“You are right. I cannot go there and ask these questions.”

“And Brother Thomas?”

“It would be wise if he did not either.”

Anne covered her face.

Prioress Eleanor reached over and hugged her friend. “Weep not,” she said. “For every obstruction, there is a path around it.” And she turned to Gracia with a warm smile.

The warmth was matched by the eager glow in the maid’s eyes. “I would be honored to help in any way you ask, my lady,” she said.

Chapter Twelve

Davoir nodded curtly at the nun who admitted him to Sub-Prioress Ruth’s empty audience chamber. As he waited to be announced, he gazed at the small room. The few furnishings showed no elegance of form, he thought. Even the prioress owned little that suggested fine craft. How primitive this Tyndal Priory was compared to the abbey in Anjou.

He sighed with annoyance. Perhaps he should have waited until his anger dissipated before meeting with this sub-prioress. Without question, he was a man of good judgement and fairness, with the rectitude expected in one dedicated to God’s service, but grief over the death of his favored clerk had scorched his heart until the pain made him lash out in fury. He had been right, of course, to condemn the incompetent sub-infirmarian, but his passionate denunciation of Prioress Eleanor had been unseemly. He would do penance for that. Later he would also apologize to her, but only if she was innocent of the other alleged crimes.

Sadly, he had no choice about continuing this investigation, no matter what grief he suffered over Jean’s death. His sorrow would not fade any time soon, despite his efforts to will it away, and his obligation had not changed. He must return as soon as possible with a complete, irrefutable report to Fontevraud Abbey.

The religious of Tyndal must be questioned about their prioress, and it was his duty to do so. Others might peer into fish ponds or test roofs for leaks, but only he had the authority to investigate moral failings of those vowed to God.

Davoir closed his eyes and bent his head in prayer. “May God give me the strength to shake off this womanish frailty of emotion,” he murmured. “As a man, objectivity and logic must rule within me.”

He looked up. There was still no sound from the other rooms. How long must he wait for this sub-prioress? With growing impatience, he loudly cleared his throat.

How he yearned to be back at court where the world was understandable. Even under better circumstances, he would have found his duty here onerous. His sister might be abbess at Fontevraud, and Rome had given the Order its blessing, but he believed a woman’s leadership over men was against the laws of creation. Nonetheless, his disapproval was secondary to the needs of family honor in this undertaking. His sister led this strange Order, and he was obliged to do anything for her that would keep the name of Davoir from disgrace.

If the arrogant Prioress Eleanor, her assertive monk, and her incompetent sub-infirmarian were innocent of the alleged wrongs, the findings would cleanse his sister of any hint of misrule. If the trio were as guilty as he believed, he would make sure their punishment was harsh enough to turn dishonor into praise for his family name.

A voice interrupted his thoughts.

Casting his musing aside, he turned to see a stocky woman lumbering painfully into the room, assisted by the younger and vacant-eyed nun who had admitted him.

The presumed sub-prioress fell into her high-backed chair with an inelegant grunt.

Despite the sub-prioress’ modest veil, he noticed a forehead creased with scowls and eyes narrowed as if in perpetual disapproval. Perhaps she had as much cause as he to be angry against the rule in this priory. Or, glancing at her foot now resting on a stool, was she simply in pain?

He was annoyed that this nun did nothing to honor his standing before God and his position as the representative of Fontevraud Abbey. He waited while the attendant nun settled the sub-prioress into a more comfortable position and then took her own place against the wall by the door.

“I beg for your pardon, Father,” the sub-prioress said, gesturing at her foot. “I suffer from gout and cannot stand.”

He forgave the fault and quickly gave the blessing she begged. As a man honored in the court of his own king, and soon be named one of the Church’s bishops, he concluded she would be especially grateful for his benevolence. Indeed, she flushed with evident thankfulness. He was content.

“Were you present for my opening sermon?” He did not remember this square-bodied woman, but he might not have noticed her.

“I fear my affliction did not permit it, Father, but Sister Christina repeated as much as she could remember of your words.” With a fleeting smile, even more briefly warmed with a hint of affection, she gestured at the nun who kept her eyes lowered.

He caught himself resenting the sub-prioress for having a cherished attendant when his own had just died. Stiffening his back, he attempted to expel the imp-inspired jealousy with a sharp cough.

“I do know that your purpose here is to review all aspects of our life, recommend improvements, and order punishments for any lapses that offend God.” She put her hands together in an attitude of prayer. “We are all sinners,” she murmured, “and each of us suffers some vice.”

His brief moment of sinful imperfection defeated, Davoir studied the sub-prioress with his accustomed objectivity. Gruff as this woman looked, he suspected she possessed as much intellect as any woman could honestly own while still retaining a proper meekness. His sister also had a more manly sagacity, but she had preserved a modest demeanor. In this priory, however, he had found at least two women who lacked that essential feminine virtue of humility. He bestowed a benevolent smile on Sub-Prioress Ruth, who had not lost the attribute.

“How may I assist in your investigation, Father?” She winced and reached to touch her foot, then drew back with an expression of horror at the pain she had almost caused.

He understood, having known men at court who suffered this disease. It was rare for a woman. Davoir wondered if the prioress had lied to him about the simple fare offered here, and others did the same out of fear of her chastisement. Perhaps she had only provided him with food and drink according to the Rule, while the monastics drank fine wines and the flesh of four-footed beasts when no one was here to see them.

It would please him if that were true, and he could point to this woman’s gout as proof of a rich diet. But this sub-prioress’ sternness suggested honesty to him, and he suspected she would speak only of facts. He would confirm with her what others of lower rank in the priory had said about diet.

“It is indeed my duty, as decreed by your abbess in Anjou, to look into the practices of Tyndal and the virtue of all inhabitants here.” Davoir was encouraged by the sight of a scowl so deep that the sub-prioress’ eyebrows collided. “My first questions are whether the Hours for prayer are honored, if the diet prescribed by the Rule of Saint Benedict is practiced, and whether the nuns keep their vows and remain sequestered.”

“And it is my responsibility to make sure our nuns honor the canonical hours, their vows, do not communicate with the world unless family concerns or God demands it, and spend their waking hours in prayer or other holy work. In these matters, I can confirm strict obedience. If any have said otherwise, I shall explain or provide proof of their error.”

Her demeanor pleased him, and her brevity was refreshing. According to his sister, this sub-prioress also had no cause to love Prioress Eleanor since she had been supplanted by the younger woman at the will of the English king. For this reason, he had chosen the sub-prioress to interrogate first. If anyone would tell the truth about the leadership here, it would be she. Even Prioress Eleanor did not dare say otherwise. “And diet?”

“Sister Matilda is in charge of the kitchens. Although our beloved Prioress Felicia expected each nun to take on new responsibilities after a certain period of time, Prioress Eleanor has chosen to retain nuns in positions when she finds them well-suited.”

Ah, he thought with a shiver of excitement, a criticism of the woman who led here. “This practice might promote unacceptable pride amongst the few.”

“I would have chosen to follow the direction taken by our former prioress in that matter.” She gnawed on her lip. “Yet our adherence to a strict diet grew lax during her last years. When Prioress Eleanor arrived, she ordered a return to a more careful observance of the Benedictine Rule on food. Only the sick and aged are allowed wine and meat. There are other exceptions but all within the Rule. Some say she follows a more austere interpretation than most, but I cannot fault her for that. The blessed Robert, our founder, believed that even the sick should abstain from meat.”

Davoir nodded. Then the monastics had not lied to him. The young prioress had certainly given him unremarkable refreshment, although she had not stinted on the quantity of fruit and cheese. The ale had actually been of good quality, and there were no worms in the fruit. “Pride in accomplishment still troubles me. If this nun in charge of the kitchens does well…”

“Sister Matilda performs her duties with joy, a form of prayer that God accepts. Sister Edith, who has remained in charge of directing the lay sisters in the gardens, does the same. God has blessed us with abundant vegetables and fruit from our orchard.” She raised her chin in defiance. “If I believed either nun owned sinful pride, I would have admonished her in Chapter.”

He agreed there was no fault in pious joy and went on to another concern. “Why are there only nuns in charge of the hospital?”

Ruth flushed behind her veil. “Sister Christina is our infirmarian, a nun whose virtue is exemplary and whose prayers have healed many.” Discreetly, she indicated the woman by the door.

“Prayers are worthy,” he said. “I was more troubled by the sub-infirmarian, a woman who uses herbs and roots more than prayer.” He grew solemn. “Her forceful manner is also troubling in a woman who has taken vows.”

“Prioress Felicia would have agreed with you. She feared that Sister Anne’s potions gave ease to men whose sharp pain might otherwise bring about repentance of their grave sins.” She shook her head. “Still, God has not punished us for wickedness. The sub-infirmarian’s skills have cured many, and their gratitude has brought us gifts of land, rents, and flocks. I still have doubts, but God has shown no sign of His.” She smiled at the silent nun nearby. “Perhaps it is Sister Christina’s prayers that please so much, and, for that, He has forgiven any other fault?”

As anger stabbed at his heart, Davoir failed to acknowledge her question. My clerk died due to Sister Anne’s remedies, he thought. Perhaps that was a sign that God had lost patience with the arrogant sub-infirmarian.

He cleared his throat. “I must now ask an especially troubling question, one that will try your loyalty to your prioress but which must be answered honestly. God demands it. Your abbess does as well.”

Ruth’s face turned pale, but she assented firmly. “Prioress Eleanor knows that I do not often agree with her and that I will speak my mind. She has always allowed me to give my opinion without fear of public rebuke.”

“Abbess Isabeau has been informed that Prioress Eleanor and the monk, Thomas, have an unchaste relationship, that they lie together to satisfy their unholy lusts, and that their wickedness is well-known.”

The sub-prioress’ head snapped back as if she had been struck. Her mouth opened, but all she could utter was inarticulate sound.

Sister Christina rushed to her side.

“Please bring me a cup of ale,” Ruth managed to gasp. She closed her eyes and covered her face. “A mazer for our guest as well,” she whispered.

Davoir shook his head at the offer and stared at this woman he expected to rejoice in the accusation against her prioress. If proven, the sub-prioress would be the likely choice to replace the disgraced leader. Not knowing what to say, he waited for her to finish her ale and recover her composure.

She sipped at the drink, and her complexion regained a more uniform color. “Forgive me, Father, but those particular charges were so unexpected…”

He tried not to show his disappointment.

“As I said, Prioress Eleanor and I have had many disagreements. For years, I resented the manner in which I was set aside from the position she now holds, not because of God’s will but rather the wish of our earthly king.” She gave the cup to Sister Christina who remained by her side. “Indeed, I admit my failure to cast this sin from my heart each time I see my confessor.”

“Is the claimed offense against the prioress correct?” The priest in charge of this woman’s sins could deal with her soul, he thought. He wanted an answer to his question.

Sub-Prioress Ruth sat up in her chair and stared at him. “Brother Thomas is known by all, in the priory and including those he serves outside, as a virtuous and kind man. Never has anyone claimed that he has broken his vows of chastity. Like our blessed founder, he has walked into the midst of wickedness and emerged shining and victorious because of his goodness. You may ask anyone.”

“And Prioress Eleanor? Has she remained chaste?”

“Most certainly she has never lain with Brother Thomas!” She gazed at the ceiling, swallowed several times, and fell silent, then looked back at Davoir with an inscrutable expression. “Nor has anyone questioned her chastity. A prioress must step outside the priory walls to serve God and talk with wicked mortals, a duty that puts her resolve on trial. As proof of her virtue, many here believe that the Virgin blessed her with a vision, yet our prioress claims she could never be worthy of such a thing and went on pilgrimage last year to expiate any sin of pride she might own. That speaks to her humility.”

He had hoped for another response and was surprised by the sub-prioress’ defense of a woman she despised.

“On my hope that Heaven shall welcome my soul as it flies to God’s judgement, I swear to you that I believe Prioress Eleanor is innocent and that the accusation against her is not only without any basis but was spoken with foul intent.”

Even though he detected an element of sorrow in her tone, Davoir found no good cause to argue against her forceful oath.

With minimal courtesy, he stood and abruptly left the chambers.