Eleanor nodded. “Perhaps your sister did not have a true calling, but your daughter might…” She looked over at Alys with sympathy.
“My lady, I long to keep my only remaining child nearby to comfort me in old age and to close my eyes at death. I want grandchildren, and I want a secure future for my family.” Tears blanketed her cheeks as Jhone gestured weakly at Eleanor. “Is that so much to ask of a daughter?”
Alys put her arms around her mother. “Bernard and I would give you such a home and, if God so blessed us, grandchildren enough.” Then stubbornness once again set her features, and she stepped back. “I cannot marry Master Herbert.”
If I cannot stop this quarrel between these two, Eleanor decided, I might as well attempt to guide it. “And this young man of whom you speak? Is he so unacceptable?” The prioress put a soothing hand on the mother’s arm. “I only ask to better understand.”
Jhone shook her head. “He is like a fledgling, my lady, with but twenty years on this earth...” She reached out and touched her child’s hand.
“Twenty-one, Mother,” Alys replied but did not resist the widow’s touch.
“And a glover,” Jhone sniffed. “He has nothing and will starve if God destroys the crops or sends other plagues for our sins. At such times, men give their spare coin to God, not glovers.”
“And Master Herbert?” Eleanor asked, observing that both mother and daughter looked much alike when arguing.
“A vintner, a man successful in his trade, and now a widower with whom my husband became friends.”
“At the inn,” Alys said in a low voice, “where, it seems, they serve friendship along with ale.”
Her mother ignored her daughter’s words. “My husband knew his health was failing. You see, the strain of becoming such a successful woolmonger had aged him much.” The widow’s pride in the achievements of her merchant husband gave brightness to her tone.
Alys rolled her eyes but said nothing.
Jhone glared at the girl before continuing. “Since I failed to give him the son he needed, my husband decided that the vintner should marry our only living child and learn the wool trade from him. After which, Master Herbert could take over the business. That plan suited the interests of them both.”
Not an unreasonable proposal, Eleanor decided. Fatigue began to fill her body with heaviness. If she stayed longer, would she have the strength to walk back to the priory? She willed the tiredness away.
“My father had a competent man who could have run the business for him, and the man is still there. He can handle everything for us now. There is no need for me to marry Master Herbert.”
“That man is leaving to take on his own apprentices, although he promised that he would find another experienced in wool who can work under Master Herbert’s direction. The business is well established but needs the firm hand of a clever merchant, not a mere boy!” Jhone looked at the prioress, her eyes pleading for understanding. “I beg of you, my lady, speak reason to this willful child for it seems she must hear it from someone other than me.”
Eleanor nodded.
“Sadly, my mother wishes only to hear her husband’s voice,” Alys said with more tenderness than her words would suggest.
“How dare you speak as if he were not your sire?”
Alys shrugged. “My father thought only of earthly profits. He would never have seen more gain in a heavenly marriage than in an earthly one, but I shall not make the same mistake—if I am forced to choose only between a vintner and God.”
Although Alys’ argument reminded Eleanor somewhat of her own when faced with a similar choice some years ago, the prioress knew this girl would prefer a secular life as long as she could marry Master Glover.
“Your father was a true Christian! How dare you suggest otherwise?”
Alys threw her hands up in disgust.
Jhone twisted a handful of her robe. “You should be grateful that he chose Master Herbert, a most kind and charitable man, for you to wed. How many would be willing to marry into a family whose reputation has been soiled as ours has been by your uncle’s past and your cousin’s present sins?”
“Bernard does not care about old or unfounded rumors! Why will you not see this same quality in him?”
“Your glover is an impractical youth, someone who would rather ride out to that pile of pagan rocks and imagine things that never happened. Master Herbert is a sensible man, one who knows the importance of profit and will provide well for you and your children.”
“Bernard has virtues!”
“You see,” Jhone said with a conspiratorial glance at the prioress, “she cannot deny that her boy is a dreamer.”
Eleanor’s head was starting to spin.
“His gloves are finely made, and he has a craftsman’s eye! Have you not seen the beautiful objects he has given his mother?”
“Pretty baubles, things she cannot use like we do our pewter and plate. He should be investing in items of worth, not buying useless trifles.”
Mistress Jhone might have won that argument, Eleanor thought.
“He is moderate in his ways, has never raised a hand in anger, and…”
“…is easily led by others, especially women.”
“He listens to my ideas and believes I would be a valuable partner in his trade. Where is the sin in that, if we prosper? As to the rest, dare you say I speak falsely?”
The mother snorted her contempt.
To my mind, at least, Alys won that point, Eleanor decided.
The church bells began to ring the hour.
Eleanor brightened. Now she had reason to leave before she fainted with weariness. Slowly she rose. “I fear it is close to None, and I must return to the priory.”
“My lady, will you return and give my daughter the benefit of your wise advice? Surely you can see that she has no calling to become a nun?”
Delighted at the invitation, Eleanor nodded. If God grants me wisdom, she thought, I might bring the balm of peace to this mother and daughter. If He is willing, I may also find out what sins Wulfstan committed long ago and why a vintner’s dead wife would wish to kill the father instead of the son, a man who may have helped send her soul to Hell.
“We will speak together soon,” Eleanor said, looking at Alys with a reassuring smile. “Sister Beatrice would wish it.”
Or will after I tell her what I have heard, the prioress said to herself, then left to collect her obedient escorts from the kitchen.
Chapter Seventeen
Eleanor walked slowly back to the priory. At this sluggish pace, she would miss the Office, but surely God would understand and accept her humble, silent repetition of prayers. Had she not been kept in the village by the need to restore peace to His house?
The meeting with Jhone and Alys had brought many interesting things to light about both ghost and murder, troublesome questions that hung like broken threads from a tapestry. They must fit somewhere, but she could not see how they should be placed to make the pattern clear. Perhaps Brother Thomas had some enlightening news and was waiting for her to return.
As the image of the monk occupied her mind, she was surprised that her thoughts of him were unaccompanied this time by the usual pang of guilt. The cooling of her flesh, temporary though that might be, had most certainly been a welcome respite from her relentless and gnawing hunger to bed the man. By pushing back the fiend who tormented her so, God had brought a gentle shower of hope to her scorched soul.
Wasn’t there a treatise that dealt with love between monastics and spiritual friendship? Her aunt had mentioned it years ago when Eleanor was ready to take final vows, but she had never read it. Now she remembered: it was written by Aelred of Rievaulx. Might his words help her cope when the Prince of Darkness sent his imps once again to set fire to her loins? Although the great Cistercian abbot would not have discussed the possibility of such a thing between men and women, Eleanor wondered if his principles could apply in an Order where
the two sexes must interact in holy purpose.
Her step lightened. When she finally had time alone with her aunt to seek advice on her sinful longings, Eleanor would ask her opinion on whether the abbot’s treatise had insights to help both a prioress and a frail woman.
Meanwhile, what sin could there be in appreciating a man who had proven his worth as an instrument of God’s justice? Without question she liked his courtly wit, but she also respected his gentleness as he consoled those in Tyndal’s hospital, in particular the suffering children. She doubted he had come to the priory with a strong vocation, but she found him diligent in his duties and wise as a confessor to her nuns.
All told, he had proven himself to be a good man, and she had grieved when his black humors recaptured his spirit on his father’s death. Even Sister Anne had failed to comfort him as he fell into a silence darkened with sorrow. She prayed he broke it with his confessor.
At least he had cheered when her aunt had given him the task of discovering what lay behind this ghost, she thought, then frowned. Was it the chance to serve God that refreshed his soul, or had he simply enjoyed escaping from walls he never wanted to surround him in the first place? The thought troubled her. How strongly did the world pull at her monk?
Eleanor glanced back at her two attendants. Although they had remained meekly quiet during this trip into the village, she noted the eagerness with which they now looked around, as if storing rare glimpses of the secular world to savor once they were back within priory confines. Were either truly suited to the contemplative life, she wondered, or were all mortals so joined to the dust from which they came that no one could truly leave the world? Maybe Brother Thomas was no different from any other.
Neither, perhaps, was she. She stopped to take delight in the sight of her beloved Avon. On the path along the river, she noticed a plump young merchant in close conversation with one of his men. The laborer gestured toward the priory walls. The merchant laughed, a sound that seemed both hearty and full of joy to Eleanor’s ears. As she smiled at their merriment, she decided that Man might be weak to find pleasure in the earth, but surely God found little sin in this appreciation of His wondrous creation.
She nodded in sympathy at her two attendants, now pink-faced with embarrassment from their not-so-secret thoughts, and resumed her walk to the priory gate. There were less innocent enjoyments here than the sight of a river, however. Had it been too cruel to send Brother Thomas to the inn, a place full of worldly temptations? She had good reason to be confident that he was true to his vows, but she knew from her own experience how quickly flesh joined Satan’s games. If she, a woman who had no doubt about her vocation, had suffered lust, how much harder would it be for one who had less of a calling? She closed her eyes and prayed the monk had sinned little beyond taking more drink than might be wise.
The issue of religious vows turned Eleanor’s mind back to the contentious debate within the woolmonger’s family. Alys had no true calling to become a nun in any Order. That was quite clear. She was most suited to becoming a wife, and her mother had good reason for choosing a successful merchant as the girl’s husband.
Although Eleanor had never met the glover, she had not found Master Herbert either ill-favored or insensitive. The match between the pair might not start out with mutual love, but that could grow if each treated the other with thoughtful respect. The marriage between her own father and mother had been arranged as a union of property, not hearts, yet Baron Adam still grieved over his wife’s death some sixteen years later. Despite her sympathy for Alys, Eleanor knew it would be best if she found some way of getting the girl to make peace with her parents’ choice of spouse.
That aside, what had she learned about this ghost? According to Jhone, there was a connection between Wulfstan’s death and the vintner’s dead wife, but Eleanor could see no logic in the supposition. Even assuming the soul of Eda was seeking vengeance for her place in the Devil’s kingdom, why kill the father and not the son who led her there? And who, besides the vintner himself, would have reason to seek revenge?
She shook her head. That last thought was ridiculous. Why would Master Herbert kill the adulterer’s father but pursue marriage with the cousin of the seducer? And why would any killer pointedly bring attention to a tie between his adulterous wife’s death and Wulfstan’s murder, a link that could well point back at him?
Stopping at the gate, Eleanor closed her eyes and forced her tired mind to see reason in any of this. Nay, the laborer must have been killed by someone who had a quarrel with him, not with Sayer.
“My lady!” The porter’s tremulous voice broke through her jumbled thoughts. Although bowing out of respect for her rank, his expression resembled that of a loving father.
She greeted him with affection.
“Brother Thomas has begged an audience when you return.”
“Please send him to Prioress Ida’s lodging,” she replied.
As she started to walk in that direction herself, she stopped, her mouth open in wondrous amazement. Had she not returned from the house of Mistress Jhone filled with deep weariness? Yet now her body had lost that exhaustion. God was most kind!
***
Brother Thomas accepted a mazer of wine and watered it well. “I fear I bring little news.”
“May I ask if you slept well, Brother?” Anne teased.
The monk’s face flushed. “I did oversleep all the Offices until now. For that, I will do penance…”
“And drank more than you are accustomed to do?” The prioress’ voice suggested no reproach.
He nodded. “Far more than any man ought, my lady. Brother Porter must have long been in his bed when I returned. I slept in the grass, quite near the priory walls. Today, I swear Satan has taken over Hell’s smithy and is pounding an anvil in my head.”
“That is penance enough,” Eleanor replied. “You were toiling at God’s work, and if that is the worst of your sinning…” His admission of drunkenness was frank enough. Surely he had committed no greater error than this one touch on Satan’s hand. She exhaled with relief and quickly nodded for him to continue.
“There are no recent strangers in Amesbury, except ourselves, according to a young merchant I met at the inn. He knew of no one who might have a grudge against this priory.” He hesitated.
The pause was not lost on the prioress. “No one?”
“The merchant said he was the only one who might, then swore he was jesting.”
“Did he explain what he meant?”
“He is unmarried and grieved that the priory was able to win so many pretty girls to God’s service when he could not gain the hand of any. Perhaps he feared he would be forced to marry some elderly widow.”
“You spoke only to this merchant?” Anne offered more wine to Thomas.
He refused with an amiable wince. “He had much to say, including that many in the village believe demons have lurked for years near the mammoth stones that lie not far from here.” He hesitated, as if waiting for his prioress to ask a question.
Imps so long in residence did not interest her. She gestured for him to go on.
“Some lawless men as well, he said, but they rarely trouble local folk and may be from the village itself. As for the priory, he told me it brought so much custom to the town that anyone would be hard-pressed to find any enemy. Standing as high as it does in the king’s favor brings honor to Amesbury as well as coin.”
“What had he to say about the ghost?” Eleanor asked.
Thomas lowered his eyes to a silent study of his mazer. “The merchant discounted the rumor that our ghost was Queen Elfrida since the priory has disciplined the wayward monks.”
Eleanor saw his face turn red. Surely, she thought, he was not embarrassed by their particular sins. After all, he could not have come as a virgin to the tonsure. “Did he mention the other possible wandering spirit?”
“He denied that tale as well. According to him, Mistress Eda, the vintner’s w
ife, was too charitable a soul on earth to be so cruel in death, even if she was in Hell for her sins. Sweet Eda, he called her.”
“Was he kin to this woman?”
“I fear I did not think of that question, my lady.”
“His words indicate some devotion. Perhaps he was in love with her before she married?”
“I do not know the lady’s age, but the merchant is younger than I while the vintner is much older.”
Eleanor turned pensive. “Disparate age does not always repel passion, even if the woman is the elder.”
Thomas blinked.
“It is a question worth answering, I think. From what you have reported, your merchant seems doubtful that either alleged ghost truly drifts in the river fog. Did he suggest any source or basis for these rumors?”
“Nay.”
“Did he mention the murder? In particular, was there any hint of rancor between Wulfstan and a family here? Perhaps Mistress Eda’s?”
“He said that Wulfstan had no enemies and had had no part in the verdict condemning the woman’s body to burial in unholy earth.” A look of confusion spread over his face. “Forgive me, my lady, but I thought you did not want me to ask anything about the man’s death.”
“Nor did I, when I sent you out to seek gossip about phantoms, but now I have reason to be curious about any tales that are abroad. Did you not tell me that Mistress Jhone is related by marriage to Wulfstan?”
Thomas nodded.
“I had a most noteworthy conversation today with the woolmonger’s widow and learned that the vintner’s wife was her close friend. Although she seemed quite distressed by the idea, Mistress Jhone claims Mistress Eda was seduced by Wulfstan’s son. As a consequence, she believes that the woman’s damned soul must have murdered the father in revenge for her adultery with the son. Not a logical conclusion, I freely admit, but an interesting accusation.”
“The son who works at the priory?” Anne asked as she passed a well-watered mazer of wine to the prioress.
“Sayer,” she replied. “Did you see him last night, Brother?”
Justice for the Damned Page 11