Wine of Violence (10 page)

"As you say, my lady."

Eleanor caught a fleeting smile of amusement on her companion's face. Perhaps the older prioress had not appreciated the questioning intelligence and independent mind of the sub-infirmarian. These were not qualities that fit easily and amiably into a standard conventual life, but Eleanor had not grown up with meek and spiritless nuns at Amesbury. Sister Beatrice was not the only religious who believed mindless humility often suffered from its own form of sinful pride.

As they continued their walk, Eleanor reached over and touched Anne's sleeve. "Tell me why Sister Christina was put in charge of the hospital and you were made sub-infirmarian." She asked the question not just for the information but to see how it was answered.

"Sister Christina is ardent in her prayers for the sinful souls of the sick. Prioress Felicia said that it is sin that brings sickness to a
person, and thus prayer for them is the most effective treatment for their disease. My herbs and potions treat only symptoms, not the cause. Indeed she felt I should pray more and spend less time with my secular treatments."

"And what did you think?"

"Surely you do not expect me to contradict my superior!"

"By your heated response, I must assume you did contradict her, in thought, if not in words." Eleanor looked up at Anne. The woman's eyes were as unblinking as those of a child awaiting chastisement for some misstep. Did she think Eleanor was trying to trap her into saying something for which she would be punished? Eleanor shook her head in answer if that was indeed the unspoken fear. "When I ask for honesty, I do not punish it even if I disagree with what I hear. Tell me, sister, what you really thought of her conclusion."

Sister Anne stood silently, her face averted. Then she turned and looked straight down into Eleanor's eyes. "My lady, I have no desire to offend with my frankness and limited understanding. If I do so, I beg your pardon. To answer your question, I did not resent or disagree with Prioress Felicia's decision. Sister Christina gives much comfort to the ailing with her prayers. The sick who come to us are frightened. They not only fear their own physical pain and the effect of their deaths on their families but they are also terrified about the fate of their souls. In comforting their souls, Sister Christina has often cured their bodies. This I have seen."

Eleanor nodded. "And?"

"I have also seen the good effects of the remedies I was taught
by my father. He was a physician and studied manuscripts brought back by those who had been to the Holy Land. Before his death, he was famous for his treatments."

"And he taught you, his daughter?"

"Aye, my lady, he did." Sister Anne smiled. "I loved to follow
him and help whenever he would let me." She measured a short distance from the floor with her hand. "When I was this tall, he let me grind herbs and make simple potions. He spoiled me, I fear."

Eleanor looked at the height of the nun's hand, then glanced up at the top of her head. "You were young indeed to begin such learning!"

For the first time, the laughter between the two women was comfortable.

"I did interrupt you, sister."

"My lady, I work best with the physical body, but Sister Christina labors more effectively with man's immortal soul. Since she is better at curing the sinful, it was wise of Prioress Felicia to choose her to head the hospital instead of me. I was, and I am, content."

"Then I shall make no changes, sister, at least for the time being. Someday you must tell me more about your father, however, and what he learned from the Holy Land."

The two had almost reached the top of the stone steps when the wooden door to the prioress's chambers flew open, booming loudly as it crashed against the wall. A bright orange streak with a large, dark object gripped firmly in its mouth flashed by, just ahead of a swinging broom.

"Shoo! Out! Begone!"

The female voice behind the broom had a quite un-Norman, very local cadence to it.

Eleanor put her hand on Sister Anne's arm, cautioning her to stay where she was, then climbed the few remaining steps and stuck her head around the door.

A short but sturdy-looking girl, of just marriageable age, with heavy blond hair twisted into two long braids, stood staring at her. She held a broom raised to strike in her hands.

"You meant me, perchance?" Eleanor smiled.

"I did not see you, my lady. Forgive me!" Flushed with appre
hension and embarrassment, the young girl dropped the broom, lowered her eyes, and curtsied.

"Fear not. I do not bite."

Eleanor stepped into the room and gestured to Sister Anne to follow.

"What just passed us on the steps?" the prioress asked, glancing back down the dark passageway.

"That wretched cat! Prioress Felicia hated him. Dirty, sneaky thing, she called him. He'd slip in when the door was open, then
hide and drop mice at her bedside. She ordered me to drown him,
but I could never catch..." The young woman blushed again and turned her head away, unable to finish an obvious lie.

"Dead ones, I hope?"

"My lady?"

"He left only dead mice at her bedside?"

"Aye. He's a good hunter, he is."

"And your name, child?"

"Gytha, from the village. I served Prioress Felicia."

"And well?"

The girl straightened herself to full height and looked at Eleanor with pride. "I am honest, my lady. Neat and efficient."

"And you would serve me as well?"

"If you'll have me." The girl then dropped her head and stared
at the rush-covered floor.

And if I won't, your family will suffer, Eleanor thought. Even more than two hundred years after William the Great's conquest of England, life for someone not of Norman descent was beset with trials, regardless of education or former status.

"What complaints did Prioress Felicia have of you, Gytha?"

"I sometimes forgot my place and spoke out of turn."

"And?"

"She caught me feeding my dinner scraps to the cat."

Eleanor tried not to smile. "Do you not take direction well?"

The girl hesitated. Her face was square, body lithe but strong, and her gaze was guileless. "In all but the matter of the cat."

"Then I must assume you had words together over the cat?"

The girl's blue eyes flashed with indignation. "A house of God
is no place for killing, is what I said! She told me killing
that filthy thing
was against no law. But I couldn't do it. I pretended I couldn't catch him." The look of outrage faded quickly and Gytha lowered her voice. "It really was hard to catch him, my lady. As you saw, he is very quick."

Eleanor sighed. "I think you would be a trial to one's patience,
child."

Gytha looked as if she were about to cry.

"Which is why you should stay and serve me. I fear I need the ordeal for the good of my soul."

"Bless you, my lady!"

Gytha fell to her knees, reached out and kissed Eleanor's hem.
Then the girl began to weep.

"Child, never do that again! I am not Our Lady and am certainly no saint." Eleanor lifted her up and hugged her.

"Nonetheless, you are kind." Gytha smiled and rubbed her hand across her eyes.

"Perhaps, but let us be clear on a few things."

The girl nodded eagerly.

"The cat? Oh, be at ease, child! He stays. Indeed, a house dedicated to God is no place for killing a harmless creature. If he is such a fine hunter, the kitchen will find good use for him. We have few enough things from our garden as it is without the mice taking a share. I will introduce him to Sister Edith. Should you see him in here, however, let him be."

"Of course, my lady, and willingly!" Gytha grinned.

"But keep your own dinner scraps for better use. I will make sure the kitchen trades him meals for mice. After all, we do pay for good service. And lest you fear he will lose in this bargain, I will have his food sent here where you may feed him yourself."

The girl grinned wider. "Agreed!"

"And one last thing, Gytha."

"Yes, my lady?"

"I will expect you to always speak your mind to me." Eleanor hesitated. "Although it might be best if you did so only when we were alone together."

Gytha giggled.

"And I must trust you always to tell me the truth. Is that agreed?"

"Always, my lady!"

As the girl went to bring wine for the two nuns, Eleanor turned to look up at Sister Anne. The expression of absolute delight and understanding she saw in the older woman's face brought her a warmth and comfort she had not felt since she had left Amesbury. Perhaps she had gained one ally amongst her nuns.

Chapter Twelve

A morning mist with the softness of tears caressed the faces of those who stood, heads bowed, on the day Brother Rupert was buried. As befitted a cleric vowed to chastity, only the monks clustered around the simple grave of their brother. Prioress Eleanor and the nuns of Tyndal honored him by standing at a distance sufficient to show respect for his vows even after death. Prior Theobald, supported by Brother Andrew and Brother Simeon, quietly spoke the last words that ever would be said over the priest's now discarded, silent, and rotting body.

For those whose first thought was for Brother Rupert's soul, it was a time of joy. For those who had loved the kindness of the mortal man, it was a time of very human grief as well as horror at the manner of his leaving them. When Eleanor looked around her, she saw more tears slipping down the cheeks of her charges, many of whom lowered their heads to hide them. Only the wide blue eyes of Sister Christina were free of tears and raised to heaven. Only on her smooth face was there a smile of happiness.

The service ended. Eleanor turned and gestured to the nuns, allowing them to return to the cloister, but Sister Ruth remained, lost in thought, her eyes moist as she gazed down her long, narrow nose at the damp grass around her feet.

Eleanor reached over and put her hand on the nun's shoulder. "Walk back with me, sister."

Ruth nodded. Her eyes, raised to meet Eleanor's ever so briefly, were black with sadness. For once the familiar look of bitterness was absent from them.

"He was a good man, Brother Rupert," Eleanor said.

The nun hesitated. "For a mortal one, yes." Her voice was harsh from soundless weeping.

"And one who did not merit such a death."

The two women walked together in silence. Their breathing and the gravel grinding under their feet with a harsh scraping noise were the only sounds in that rain-laden air.

"I wonder that no one saw anything strange that day," Eleanor asked at last.

"I saw nothing, my lady," Ruth replied, pursing her lips in
what was becoming a very familiar expression. Eleanor wondered
if the look was indicative of anger or just plain stubbornness.

"I am sure you did not or you would have reported it to me," Eleanor said, rather doubting that the porteress would have done any such thing. "Brother Rupert's corpse did not find its way into the cloister garth by itself, however. Haven't you heard anything from anyone who might have seen something out of the way?"

"This horrid act might not be the work of a mortal man. Satan is capable of wondrous things."

"The Evil One rarely expends such energy unless his purpose in astounding us is clear and will bear good fruit, however. The point of leaving our poor priest's mutilated body near the fountain remains a mystery. Thus I doubt bearing it there was the direct action of Satan, wondrous though he may often be."

Ruth sniffed audibly and raised her head. "Brother Simeon
believes it is a warning against lust. He noted that Brother Rupert
was far too fond of Prioress Felicia and was spending more time with her than was seemly near the end of her life. I, too, noted that with some dismay."

"If his mutilation was a warning against lust," Eleanor said, feeling somewhat uncomfortable on that subject in view of her own weakness for the auburn-haired Brother Thomas, "it was no work of Satan. The Prince of Darkness would surely choose to paint a more appealing picture of its consequences." She took a deep breath. "Tell me, was my honored predecessor ill long?"

Ruth blinked at the sudden shift in subject. "Not long at all. She felt pain in her chest and collapsed at Compline. By Matins her soul had left us."

Then most likely her death was a natural one, Eleanor thought. "And her age? I was never told."

"We understood she had entered her seventh decade." Sister Ruth's expression had changed to one of puzzlement.

Eleanor shook her head. Brother Rupert had been of much the same age, perhaps a few years younger. She discounted uncontrollable lust between priest and prioress or even in the heart of the priest alone as the cause of his death. As the all too palpable dream of Tyndal's young new priest that had visited her last night had taught her, the pain of passion burned with
unbearable sharpness in youth. It was as consolation that her aunt
had told her that the sting grew more blunted in well-advanced years, although it was never entirely banished. How she wished she had reached that stage of life!

"Did you have further need of me, my lady?"

Eleanor blinked. She had been woolgathering over her dream of last night and hadn't realized that she and Sister Ruth were now standing in the passage leading to the nuns' quarters.

"One moment more, sister. On the first day of my tenure here, Prior Theobald honored me by leading us all in prayer. I understand Brother Rupert usually did so when Prioress Felicia was still alive and would then attend her chapters."

Sister Ruth nodded.

"Did you expect Brother Rupert to come to my first chapter?"

"Prior Theobald had sent me a message through Brother Simeon that he might not. His absence from nuns' chapter was infrequent but not, certainly, uncommon."

Sent a message to Sister Ruth, Eleanor noted with irritation,
but not to her as prioress. "Did he give a reason for the absence?"
she asked, her voice calm.

"It was not my place to ask."

"Yet you said nothing when I asked Sister Christina if she had seen him. You knew I was expecting him."

"You did not ask me, my lady, and I would never presume to know what is in the mind of my superior."

Despite the sharp retort, Eleanor noted with interest that the nun had paled slightly. Indeed, she suspected that Sister Ruth either knew more about all this than she was telling or that she
simply would not give even an inch of cooperation to the woman
who had displaced her. The moment of human weakness Ruth had shown at the burial had passed, and the nun's expression hardened into a mask. Eleanor knew she would get nothing more from her.

"Very well, sister. I will not keep you longer."

As the prioress watched Ruth walk hurriedly through the cloister toward the Chapel of St. Mary Magdalene, she could not help wondering if her haste was due to something other than an urgent need to pray.

Chapter Thirteen

Thomas' eyes stung with hot tears as he sat by the bedside. The body lying there had been a boy of no more than six years. Now he was a corpse without age, slack-jawed and staring atop a reeking puddle of black flux. This fate will befall us all, he thought with bitterness. Brother Rupert lies a week in the ground, melting into worm food. This child dies. Death cares naught for goodness, beauty, innocence nor wit. In the end, we shall all stink just the same.

"Grieve not, brother. You gave him comfort, which is more than many of us are able to do for those facing death."

Thomas started. The hand on his shoulder was not that of Sister Anne.

Brother Andrew smiled, a look that held no humor but some gentleness. "I have seen you sitting with the dying, and I overheard you tell this child that Our Lord would have a puppy for him to play with in Heaven," he said, gesturing tenderly at the soft corpse. "Your words made him smile. That was kindness, brother. You made it easier for him to endure his pain. I think you have a talent for comfort, a talent I've not often seen, let alone in someone of your priestly inexperience."

"You are kind, brother." Thomas stood and looked down at the
small monk. "But you look as if you are in pain. Are you ill?"