Sorrow Without End (16 page)

Chapter Thirty-two

A bolt of pain struck him, lodging between his eyes. He grabbed his head, tearing at his face, but nothing he ever did could drive away this agony. Why had the affliction returned with so much strength? He had not suffered thus when his wife was with him. She had always known what to do.

His wife? Where was she? As he looked around, he suddenly grew faint and reached out to brace himself against the stone wall. “She is dead, is she not?” a voice echoed in his head. He wiped the sweat from his face. Of course, she was. He had killed her.

His hand slipped and he lost his balance, falling to the stone floor. As he lay there, his cheek pressed to the rough coolness, a surge of hot pain tore through his eyes. He howled. The sound blended with the moans of the dying.

“I could not have murdered her,” he cried. “I loved her!” He pulled himself to his knees. The pain eased ever so slightly, leaving him nauseous. “I must find her,” he whimpered. “She will cure me.”

A black shadow glided toward him. He stared, trying to see what it was, but his sight wavered. Everything before him rose and fell like waves. Quickly, he motioned the creature away, but, as he did, his hand passed through it as if it were fog. For a moment, the thing shimmered in front of him, then turned and drifted toward the glittering candlelight of the chapel. Slowly the phantom began to take solid shape against the yellow light of the entrance.

He crawled after it. The guise might have been deceptive, but Satan had underestimated him. He watched the figure fall to her knees in front of the altar. Why, he wondered, had the Devil dressed his wife as a sexless nun? Satan’s strumpet, that creature who called herself a prioress, must have decided on this cruel jest.

It no longer mattered. He had discovered the truth. He knew that his wife would never have left him to suffer like this. “Look at her, praying for my relief!” he whispered, then vomited air. Perhaps Satan let her pray only that his soul might come to Hell, but that would be a joy.

The pain in his head returned. It flashed in his eyes like lightning. He groaned. Surely she must love him still, he thought. Why else would she kneel so near the man who had butchered her? She could not be praying for that corpse’s burning soul!

“Why not? It was not he that was guilty of the deed,” a voice mocked. “You were. Had you told your fellow soldiers of the marriage and taken me to your dwelling as your wife, I would not have been butchered as an infidel whore!” It was her voice, he realized, and the sound of it stabbed like dagger blows inside his skull.

Trembling, he wanted to cry out to her but held his tongue. She had still not forgiven him for his cowardice. Perhaps she did not know that he had taken revenge against her killer? Might she not be satisfied with his gutting of the man who had done those unspeakable things to her?

He must speak to her, he decided. He must tell her. Then she might realize at last that he was not the weak thing she had called him. Perhaps then she would return to his arms, warm his heart with forgiveness, and chase this violent pain away.

He pulled himself to his feet and walked into the flickering chapel light.

Chapter Thirty-three

“My lady!”

Deep in unremarkable dreams, Eleanor scowled.

“My lady, please wake!”

Eleanor opened her eyes. Why the wavering torchlight? Surely they had just returned to bed from the Night Office. What strange vision was this that her maid should stand so over her bed?

“Brother Andrew is at the door.”

Eleanor sat up. “What has happened?”

“He said only that you must be awakened.”

Arthur mewed in protest as Eleanor eased the disgruntled cat off to one side, then slipped out of bed. From her basin, she splashed icy water over her head, rubbing her eyes and face to bring alertness back to her sleep-dulled mind. In the moment it took her to dress, she was wide awake.

“I am ready to receive him.”

Before she followed Gytha into the public chamber, however, Eleanor hastily tucked a warm blanket around Arthur and ran her hand over his soft fur. Perhaps now, she thought, she might be ready to confront whatever tidings the porter had brought.

***

“Sister Christina was attacked, my lady.”

“How seriously…?” Surely not dead, she prayed. Not that gentle soul.

“She will live. According to Sister Anne, our infirmarian was unconscious when found but has suffered only cuts and bruises.” He hesitated. “Nothing more, I believe.”

“Who found her and where?”

“You must ask Brother Thomas for more details, my lady. After Sister Anne came to tend her, he sent a lay brother to find me so that I could bring you the news. He wished to stay with our sisters in case the attacker was close by.”

“Has Sister Christina regained her wits? Did she see who injured her?” Eleanor started toward the door.

“I know little of that but was told that she has spoken but is still dazed and remembers nothing.”

“Let us go to her, Brother. Gytha, would you bring me a torch?”

***

As the two monastics made their way through the cloister, they remained silent as if any mention of this deed would trouble the innocent dreams of the sleeping nuns in the dormitory nearby. When they left the protection of the inner priory walls, speech became impossible in the howling wind.

The rain was falling so forcefully that the torch sputtered and died. Clinging to the hoods of their robes, they fought to stay upright against the fierceness of the gale. As the rain pelted down on her, Eleanor shuddered but more from fear of the malevolence lurking in her priory than from the cold.

At last they arrived at the shelter of the hospital entrance. Sister Anne and Brother Thomas were waiting for them inside.

“We came straight away,” Eleanor said, shaking what water she could from her robe. “Brother Andrew told me that you had further details.” She looked at Anne, then turned to Brother Thomas.

Thomas averted his eyes as if caught between the need to greet her with courtesy and his inability to do so.

“I did report that our dear sister would recover, but that she was too confused when she awoke to give information about the attack.” Brother Andrew gestured to his fellow monk. “Brother Thomas?”

Eleanor had been watching the monk while Andrew spoke and realized he was frightened. What had they not told her?

“I would hear what you have to report, Brother Thomas,” she said. “I would hear any observations you might have as well, for I respect your abilities in these matters.” And, she added to herself, I am most grateful that you called for our porter, not Brother Matthew.

“You are kind to say so, my lady, although I fear I am unworthy of your confidence.” This time he met her eyes and, briefly, smiled.

“Tell me what you have discovered.” Eleanor quickly glanced at Anne as well, fearing that her expression might not be quite a motherly one.

“The man, Walter, found me in the ward and begged that I bring Sister Anne forthwith. As soon as I did, he took us to the chapel.”

“Then he held us back until he looked inside. For our safety, he said,” Anne added.

“When we entered, we found Sister Christina unconscious and injured but alive. Nonetheless…” Thomas hesitated.

Eleanor looked over at Brother Andrew. The porter turned his head away. Then she looked back at Thomas. “You both hesitate. Why?”

Thomas spat as if bile had flooded his mouth. “When we found Sister Christina,” he said, his voice hoarse, “she lay on her back, her legs spread. Her garments were torn. We feared she had been raped.”

Chapter Thirty-four

The infirmarian lay warmly covered in bed, her body rigid as a corpse. Although her face was pale, both eyes were swollen and ringed with purplish bruises. Her lip was cut. She clutched a wooden crucifix to her breast and thickly whispered a prayer.

Eleanor knelt by her nun, placed one hand most gently over Sister Christina’s, and joined in the saying of the Morning Office. Behind her, the prioress heard rustling as Anne and Thomas knelt in the dried lavender scattered about to deter fleas. The muffled voices of the two, repeating the words in unison, were soothing in their ordered repetition. Even more comforting was the presence of the guard the prioress had ordered to remain outside Sister Christina’s room in the hospital until the infirmarian could be safely moved to the nuns’ quarters.

She had sent Brother Andrew off to a warm fire and dry clothes. She most certainly did not want her favored candidate for prior sickening or even dying from the damp. The idea of being left with Brother Matthew as the only candidate was not a happy one. Perhaps she should not think these things during prayers, she thought, and quietly chastised herself.

Nonetheless, while the infirmarian pursued her orisons with grim determination despite her wounds, Eleanor’s mind stubbornly persisted in wandering. She tried once more to concentrate on the Office—and failed.

Perhaps Sister Christina had recovered her memory of what had happened? If God was willing, she might even know who did this to her and he could be bound over to the crowner before he committed yet another or an even worse offence. On the other hand, she hoped the young nun did not remember anything about the attempted rape.

Even that was puzzling. Sister Anne had determined that the nun’s virginity was intact while Sister Christina was still unconscious. Thus her chastity had not been violated; yet, from the position in which she was found and her torn robes, the attacker had clearly tried to do so. Had he been interrupted?

Why had she been beaten and why was only her face injured? Surely such a gentle woman would not have made so violent an enemy. Each action by itself might suggest anger, personal vengeance or a Satan-inspired lust, yet only her eyes and lips had been bruised, and…

“My lady, you are kind to come.” The voice was plaintive, like that of a child who has just discovered there is evil in her world and does not understand why.

“I wished to observe the Morning Office with you.” Not the complete truth but a small lie with enough gentleness in it that Eleanor hoped her confessor would give her a lighter penance. “I see that you have the cross from your room.”

The bruised eyes blinked with joy. “Sister Anne brought it to me.”

For that kindness, Eleanor decided, Anne should be given more than a fingerhold on the edge of Heaven. For what she herself must ask next, little grace could be granted.

“Sister Christina, I beg your forgiveness, but I must ask some questions about your injury.”

The glow left the infirmarian’s eyes as she slowly turned to Eleanor, then that look of an uncomprehending child began to fade. In its place, a most beatific smile appeared until the pain of her cuts made the nun wince. “My prayer for understanding has been answered at last, my lady! You see, I did not comprehend all that happened, although I believed I had been granted a vision. Now I know the meaning!”

“Explain to us how you were so blessed, Sister.”

“I was praying in the chapel when I heard Our Lord calling to me.”

“Did He bless you with His presence as well as His voice?”

“Both, my lady.” The nun had lost her pallor. Now she was positively radiant. “First, He called out to me as I was kneeling in prayer. When I turned around to see where such a beautiful voice was coming from, I saw Him behind me. His arms opened wide and He said, ‘Come to me, my beloved wife. I have long wished to hold you in my arms.’”

Wife? How odd, Eleanor thought. Which patient might have confused the infirmarian with his spouse and committed this very mortal act of violence? “How did Our Lord appear to you?”

“As a man, my lady.” The infirmarian frowned, puzzled at the question.

“I meant to ask how you did recognize Him. You said you heard a beautiful voice…”

“Never have I heard these tones from any mortal! His voice was so deep, I felt each word shake my body like thunder.”

Eleanor raised one eyebrow. A most visceral vision, she thought, then rebuked herself. “Did He show you the wounds in His hands or the gash in His side?”

Sister Christina hesitated, then shook her head. “Nay, but He would not. I see little with clarity beyond here.” She brought one hand to within a few inches of her eyes. “Our Lord would know that.”

Eleanor had not realized that her infirmarian was cursed with such poor vision. That would surely explain her awkwardness in walking and the distant look she often had. Devotion to prayer did not account for all her ways, it seemed. “Aye, but do tell me what happened next.”

“He stood with his arms open, calling me His beloved. I was overcome with awe and could not rise. My eyes shut to His glory, I crawled toward Him on my knees, weeping for joy and calling Him my Bridegroom! Suddenly, He kicked me.” She pointed to her right eye. “Then again.” She pointed to her other eye. “I cried out with the pain, but He grabbed me, pulled me to my feet, and ordered me to open my eyes. Then He hit me with His fist. He cursed me!”

“Cursed? Why?” Eleanor tried to control her outrage. No loving God would ever punish this unworldly and gentle creature so brutally. How dare this man take advantage of her soul’s innocence!

Sister Christina blinked, but her eyes were still wide with wonder over the vision she thought she had been granted. “In my woman’s frailty, I, too, failed to understand at first. Now I know that He struck me because I have failed to understand the suffering I bring to Him. We are all so cursed with sin. Were we not filthy with it, God would never have had to sacrifice His Son, a Lamb to be slaughtered to save us all.”

Eleanor bit her tongue. “I am grateful for your wisdom, Sister.” She waited until her anger had cooled enough so she could choose her next words carefully. “Do tell us more. Was he bearded? What color was his hair?” What else could a woman so poor of sight be able to see? “Surely you can share some detail with those of us who long to know more of what you saw.”

“I saw little, my lady. He was in shadow, and it was dark in the chapel. My vision, well, then I remember nothing more. Yet…”

Something! Please, just one detail to pursue! “And that was?”

“His face had a strange hue, my lady.”

“Hue?” Eleanor quickly looked over her shoulder at Anne and Thomas, her raised eyebrows asking a silent question. Neither indicated this had been mentioned before. “In what way was it strange?”

The infirmarian clutched her cross even more tightly to her breast. “His skin did not have the color of any mortal man, my lady. It was suffused with a purplish tinge.” Then she cried out with joy: “By this noble hue, I knew He must be the King of Heaven’s Son. For cert, I have been blessed with a vision!”