Come Hell or High Water: The Complete Trilogy

by Stephen Morris

  Mother Deborah cleared her throat and seemed about to say something when one final outburst of lightning shattered the darkness with a violent crack of thunder that cascaded down the rocky promontory, across the river, and rolled over both the Jewish Quarter and the Old Town.

  The old abbess’ mouth snapped shut. Later, when they heard what had gone on in the Old Town Square that afternoon, Hyanthé wondered if she hadn’t also heard distant cries and shouting as the echoes of the thunder slowly faded.

  Florina had grown up in the great capital of Prague, her parents among the nobility who attended the glittering court of the newly crowned emperor and had despaired of any of the sons of the other courtiers ever wanting to marry her. Furthermore, she had declared her love for one of the serving boys and insisted that she would marry no one but him. Her parents had been livid with outrage and had sent her to the ancient convent of St. George’s for an education and—hopefully!—a vocation. She had difficulty with even the simplest lessons the nuns assigned her and often found herself wandering the halls of the convent, attaching herself to one of the less noble of the sisters and assisting her in her obediences: washing, scrubbing or the other daily work necessary to keep the convent running. She might have enjoyed making beautiful things and joined the efforts of the sisters in the scriptorium as they adorned the liturgical and other manuscripts with stunning illuminations, but her attention span was too brief to allow her to sit still and concentrate long enough to produce a serpent or even a grapevine trailing along the margins of a page.

  The convent followed the Rule of St. Benedict and was the oldest in Bohemia, founded by royalty almost four hundred years earlier, sitting next to the chapel of St. George and across from the old royal palace. The new cathedral that the emperor Charles had begun building had turned the courtyard in front of the convent into a messy construction site and was draining some of the usual contributions from the nobility (who had typically supported the aristocratic nuns who were their sisters, daughters, widowed mothers and cousins), as Charles expected his court to support his project. The convent, despite its vast resources, had begun to feel the loss of revenue.

  The St. Martin Fast had begun last week, following his November 11 feast day. Even though it was not nearly as strict a fast as Lent would be, Florina always had a difficult time adjusting to the changed regimen of the convent during this season. Even with the expectation of Christmas hanging in the air, it was hard for her to see the value in the reduction of meal portions and the increased time devoted to silence. Her heart also ached to see or hear from the serving boy Damek that she had left behind. It had been more than a year since her parents had sent her to the convent, and although they sent messages to her with some frequency (and had even visited twice), she was not allowed to send word out of the convent without permission and no permission would ever be given for her to contact Damek. He was in no position to contact her either. The sense of obedience and obligation hung heavy on her. She always seized what small opportunities for freedom that she could.

  Florina was avoiding one of the tasks assigned to her that afternoon and was walking in the cloister, looking expectantly towards the iron-gray sky. “Will there be snow soon?” she wondered excitedly, rubbing her hands together in anticipation of making snowballs to throw at some of her sister novices. Then she realized that two older nuns were sitting on the edge of the stone balustrade running along the edge of the central courtyard, between two of the columns supporting the arcade above. Not wanting to intrude or startle them, Florina stopped short and stood just out of sight—but not earshot—of the nuns. She held her breath, hoping she would not be discovered. “I’m not even supposed to be walking out here by myself,” she fretted under her breath. “They’ll assign me to a week of scrubbing floors for sure, if they know that I’m here.”

  Hyanthé was speaking. Florina recognized her voice immediately, although it took another moment or two to realize that Sister Hyanthé was speaking to the novice mistress. Her tone betrayed her anxiety.

  “The stores of grain and oil are already low,” Hyanthé was fretting. “There will be just enough to make the Christmas feast, and after Epiphany, the supply cellar will be empty. If we are careful, we might be able to stretch the supply of grain until Candlemas, but it will be a difficult, delicate task. Furthermore,” she continued, “does not the Rule of our life, given by our holy father Benedict, enjoin us to welcome all visitors to the convent as Christ Himself? Our hospitality to the guests whom God sends us will be meager and found wanting, indeed, if we do not take steps to safeguard our resources before the shortages become too great.”

  “We should approach Mother Deborah about asking the families of our sisters for special alms at Christmastime,” the novice mistress suggested. Florina could picture the two nuns huddled close together, for warmth as much as for secrecy. They must have come outside to talk in the chill afternoon air thinking that no one else would be likely to overhear them. Florina swallowed. The temptation to sneeze tickled her nose. Did she dare rub her nose, or would that only make it worse? Or would the sound of her rustling habit attract the attention she was trying to avoid?

  “Mother Deborah will never agree to that,” Hyanthé replied. “She would not dare rouse the emperor’s anger at what might seem efforts to divert funds from the new cathedral. But there must be some other approach.” Florina heard the nun’s veil rustle as she shook her head.

  “Then I see no other course to adopt,” the novice mistress concluded. “We may indeed be forced to sell some of our holdings, as I believe you mentioned to our sister treasurer last week.”

  “But the council must be united in its counsel to pursue that course when speaking to our reverend mother abbess,” Hyanthé pointed out with steely determination. “She may hesitate to embrace such a bold move, but if all the deans and sisters of the advisory council insist that it is the only responsible course of action, she may agree.”

  “Do you really think she will agree, even if all the deans urge her to do so?” The novice mistress’ voice faltered. “Even that move could be interpreted by the emperor Charles as a diversion of funds from the cathedral. Or the families of our sisters could take it as an affront that our stewardship has been faulty. That could also have repercussions unfavorable for the recruitment of new vocations, Sister Hyanthé. We have to remember that. Our goal must always be to insure the continued growth, not mere survival, of our gracious convent. St. George would never want to lose the good offices of our sisters at his basilica next door. Neither would St. Ludmilla, whose relics are enshrined there, ever give her blessing to any action that would threaten us. We must consider what the saints would have us do, sister. ”

  Florina bit her lip. The chill made her teeth want to chatter even as the tickle in her nose grew. She stared at her feet, willing herself to melt into the stone and disappear. “Why did I come this way?” Florina chided herself. “This is becoming the longest shortcut I’ve ever taken!”

  “But even the emperor cares for his people,” Hyanthé reminded her sister on the cloister balustrade. “He is famous for giving alms and not wanting to see his people suffer. It is said that he even goes out to distribute alms by his own hand! If we could compare our need to sell land or some of the smaller objects in our treasury to his charity for the poor, then I’m sure the emperor—and the saints!—would approve our actions.”

  The novice mistress remained unconvinced. Florina could hear a rustle suggesting one of the nuns was slowly shaking her head. Hyanthé resumed her argument.

  “This decline in the tithes and rent could be the aberration of a single summer’s poor harvest. We can recover from that easily enough. But what if this is the beginning of a large-scale famine? That could be a disaster—not just for us and our convent, but for the kingdom as a whole. If there is no bread, even the emperor Charles will feel the hunger pangs.” Hyanthé was striving to paint the scenario in its direst possible terms. “Imagine the good we can do then: assi
sting in the relief efforts to feed the hungry and relieve the suffering of the emperor’s capitol city. He will be grateful then that we took the care to act as thoughtful stewards and put enough by to sustain both our convent and his people. But we must take the precautions now if we are to be able to be in a position to help.” Hyanthé argued. “Surely, it is the saints who will judge us then if we do not seek their blessing now to prepare for this possibility.”

  Florina felt her head spinning. Was the convent in such dire straits that its lands and treasures were in danger of being sold? Was starvation a real possibility? Her father would be aghast at this news and her mother would surely come to take her home.

  The church bells rang out overhead. The evening service of Vespers would be starting. Florina glanced at the sky. She had lost track of time eavesdropping on her friend Hyanthé and her spiritual director, the novice mistress. That, and the fact that Vespers began earlier now that winter sunsets came earlier in the afternoon. A random snowflake drifted lazily down from the darkening iron-gray clouds.

  She heard the nuns stand. She was petrified. Would they see her? Not only was she in the cloister when she should be elsewhere, she was now privy to news about the convent’s inner working that she had no right to know. The reluctance of the Mother Abbess to ask for alms. The possibility of selling the monastic holdings. The gathering of support, by Sister Hyanthé, to seemingly bend the abbess to accept Hyanthé’s will in the matter. The apparent difficulty gathering this support, judging by the response of the novice mistress. Florina clenched her teeth and waited.

  Sister Hyanthé and the novice mistress stood, their backs toward Florina. They each adjusted their veils and wrapped the long black cloth around their shoulders. They bowed their heads to each other and the novice mistress murmured, “I will certainly meditate on what you have told me, Sister Hyanthé. I always value your thoughts and trust your opinions. You know that. But this step seems so… drastic. I must consider it carefully.”

  “I understand,” the other nun murmured in reply. “Meditate, sister, and let me know what seems best to you.” The two walked away, never casting a glance in Florina’s direction.

  The novice slumped against one of the stone pillars. She gasped in relief and drew her first full breath since she had come across the other nuns. Now that the Vespers bell had rung, the cloister was filling with women and girls on their way to the chapel. The sound of footsteps and scuffing along filled the air as another snowflake drifted past Florina.

  “What do I do?” she wondered anxiously. “This is too important to not tell someone. But I cannot tell my parents,” she realized, “because then it will become common knowledge that I was in the cloister and everyone will say that I was spying on Sister Hyanthé and the novice mistress. The emperor will be angry at the nuns and they will still be unable to feed themselves this spring. Oh, what to do? What to do?”

  She pulled herself together, not wanting to be found leaning against the pillar. She stepped out from the pillar and hastened towards the chapel, just ahead of a group of novices, one of whom would surely have asked what she was doing there. She slipped through the chapel doors and into the twilight shadows that gracefully draped the stonework within.

  “O God, make speed to save us,” intoned the cantor.

  “O Lord, make haste to help us.” Florina joined in singing the response and crossed herself.

  It was more than she could bear, this need to tell someone what she had learned. It bubbled and seethed within her throughout Vespers, rising and falling as the notes of the plainsong rose and fell. As the last note of the final “amen” hung in the air and the sisters began to move about—some exiting the chapel, some congregating around the statues of the saints, some kneeling to pray before the tabernacle on a side altar—Florina moved through the nuns and novices, looking for one face in particular.

  “Seïa!” she hissed into the ear of the other novice whose elbow she seized with a force that startled them both. “Come quickly!”

  Seïa darted out of the chapel with Florina. About the same age as Florina, Seïa was also the daughter of a noble family and the two girls, on meeting in the convent, had quickly become best friends. Seïa, unlike Florina, had not been sent to the convent to avoid an ignoble suitor but in grateful fulfillment of a vow her parents had made at her birth: after giving birth to a series of sons, her mother had vowed to give her next child to God if He would vouchsafe them a daughter. Florina knew Seïa had never expected any life other than that of the convent, and she felt at home here in a way that escaped Florina.

  “What’s going on, Florina?” whispered Seïa as they stepped out of the chapel doors.

  “The convent!” Florina whispered back, pulling her friend into a shadow-draped niche. “I was walking in the cloisters before Vespers and I overheard Sister Hyanthé and the novice mistress talking and they said that the tithes and rents for the convent won’t be able to sustain us through the winter and they need to convince Mother Abbess to sell some of the convent’s lands or treasures but they cannot ask for alms because that would anger the emperor—and that even the hospitality of the convent is at risk because of the shortages.” She gasped for breath. It had all tumbled out of Florina’s mouth in one excited breath.

  Florina watched Seïa stand there in a daze, trying to understand everything she had just heard. Seïa glanced at her elbow and Florina relaxed her grip on it.

  “Famine? What are you talking about, Florina? There is no famine. We would have heard about it already. Sell the convent’s lands and treasures? Why would the convent asking for alms anger the emperor?”

  “I said, I don’t know why, but Sister Hyanthé said he would, so it must be true.” Florina insisted.

  “All right. But what should we do about it? We can’t sell anything belong to the convent,” Seïa retorted. “Can we?”

  “No, silly goose, we cannot.” Florina felt so worldly wise sometimes when she was talking with Seïa, who had never given much attention to her parents’ management of their estates. Florina, however, had been partially aware of the financial necessities of managing such a large household—if only because Damek had pointed them out.

  “So, what can we do?” Seïa asked.

  “Well,” Florina began. She hadn’t quite thought that far ahead. She had primarily wanted to share her tremendous news. But what to do after that, she hadn’t considered.

  The two young novices stared at each other. Seïa’s eyes glittered as she hunched her shoulders forward in excitement at the same instant Florina did. They locked arms and shook each other. “I know!” they each shrieked, but of course, as quietly as they could. Florina was aware that a few of the sisters nearby glanced around for the source of the noise, but they quickly returned to their devotions.

  “I know! I know!” babbled Florina. “The convent cannot ask for alms—“

  “But we can!” Seïa interrupted and completed her friend’s sentence.

  “That’s right!” Florina nodded eagerly. “We might not be given much at first, but after awhile, we might be given enough so that the convent needn’t sell any of its valuable holdings. Then, when we give the alms we’ve collected to Sister Hyanthé and to Mother Abbess—“

  “They will be ecstatic!” concluded Seïa. “The convent will have enough to live on and the estates, holdings and treasures of the convent will be safe!” Seïa considered another probable outcome of their actions. “Do you think they’ll call us heroes? Or even saints? After all, how many people get to save such an important convent?” She brought her hands together as if to clap them but seemed to halt the motion. Older, fully professed nuns walked past the niche where Florina and Seïa conspired. None seemed to notice them.

  “We should start tomorrow!” Florina decided. “We need to collect enough alms soon enough that Sister Hyanthé knows that she doesn’t have to worry about the convent’s resources being squandered.”

  Seïa nodded eagerly in agreement. “Do you think we
will need to change our habits so no one can recognize which convent we are from?” she asked Florina.

  The next morning, after the noontime office of Sext, the girls slipped away when they thought they would be least missed. Not going much further than the Little Town Square below the castle, they had darted among the townsfolk going about their business. Eventually they settled in the general area of the church on Bridge Street.

  “Alms? Alms for the nuns?” Florina asked excitedly, reaching out to everyone—apprentices, merchants, maids, matrons, gentlemen, anyone walking past. Many gave her a coin or two, asking her to remember them or their family in the prayers of the nuns. Some ignored her. Others tossed a coin at her as they hastened by, seemingly as much to make her go away as to be charitable.

  Seïa was a bit more sedate, standing a short distance from Florina. She kept close to the church wall, no more than a few steps in any direction. Her plaintive, “Alms for the nuns, sir? Alms for the sisters, ma’am?” won her several coins and requests for prayers. At one point, Florina noticed that a particularly stout but well-dressed maid seemed irritated by the youthful novice standing in her way as she attempted to navigate through the crowds. Unable to get around Seïa, the maid rummaged in her purse. Finally, a smirk bursting across her face, she pressed the coin she’d selected into Seïa’s hands.

  Later that evening, after Vespers, Florina stole quietly down a corridor to meet with Seïa in a dark corner not much used, where they had agreed to count the alms they had received. Although the “Great Silence” had begun and no talking was allowed within the convent walls, they piled all the coins together on the stones beneath them. Squatting down, they counted the coins in hushed tones and sorted them into piles according to their value.