The Proud Sinner

by Priscilla Royal

  “Not many have ever gotten sick from her cooking, and some have since discovered that they suffer distress whenever they eat certain foods, no matter how well prepared, while others remain in good health.” Sister Anne’s face betrayed her vexation. “I agree that two men falling ill at the same time raises questions, but I must repeat: they each suffered different, albeit severe symptoms.”

  “We have fish from our ponds, honey made by our own bees, ale from our respected brewery, birds from our flocks, and vegetables or fruit grown in our own earth,” Eleanor said. “Other than portions sufficient to help the sick regain strength, I have refused gifts of venison and boar from the king, citing our steadfast adherence to the dietary rule dictated by Saint Benedict. Our spices do come from a reputable merchant, but we are otherwise self-sufficient in our food supply. Even our grain is grown on nearby priory land.”

  “And so we do not suffer from the temptations of merchants to cut corners on the quality of our food in order to make greater profit,” Thomas added.

  Eleanor concurred. “Any contamination of priory food is highly unlikely.”

  “We must still talk to Sister Matilda,” Anne said.

  “And we shall,” the prioress replied, “but the food served last night was no different from what we all ate here. Nothing was done in the new kitchen except heat the stew after it was delivered to the monks’ side of our priory.”

  “Something might have happened during the journey between the kitchens,” Anne said.

  “No other abbot got sick, nor did any of their servants,” Thomas replied.

  “I must still make sure we are not guilty of any fault in causing Abbot Tristram’s illness. The guest quarters and adjacent kitchen have just been completed. The lay brothers working in the new kitchen are unaccustomed to their duties, although Brother Beorn swears they know the difference between a roasting spit and a cleaver.”

  Thomas laughed. “Does he, himself?”

  Sister Anne noted that their prioress did not share the levity and gave the monk a warning look.

  “Prior Andrew is in charge of them,” Eleanor continued, “but confesses his knowledge of cooking is that of a former soldier who might once have cooked a small bird over an open fire beside the battlefield. As is justified, he planned to fall back on the rule requiring monks and lay brothers to rotate through the kitchen. He recognizes that some may have more talent than others, and could be retained in the kitchen longer, but these abbots are our first guests. He has not yet had the opportunity to find anyone to match the skills of Sister Matilda among the men under his rule. He has done his best and is not the one to blame.” She pointed to herself instead.

  “You are condemning yourself in this,” Sister Anne said. “No one else would.”

  “I am still prioress here and have grown careless in some areas that need greater oversight. This new kitchen is one of them.”

  “Prior Andrew…” Brother Thomas stopped when he saw his prioress’ solemn expression.

  “He is a good man of wisdom and talent, but his skills lie in the breeding of sheep, judicious use of rents, and the purchase of lands for our benefit.”

  “This is not laxity on your part,” Anne said, reaching over to grasp her prioress’ hand. “You cannot do everything. The affluence of the priory, and the burdens that royal favor have occasionally placed upon us, make your duties more onerous than they were in the past.”

  “Then my fault lies in not appointing a sub-prioress.” Eleanor smiled at her two friends. “You are kind to find excuses for me, but I fear we will all agree when I say that the reputation of Tyndal Priory, and even our hospital, will be sullied if word spreads that we might have poisoned our guests, no matter how unwillingly.”

  With reluctance the two monastics nodded.

  “So let us finish our cider and send word that Prior Andrew must meet us in the old priory kitchen. Sister Matilda will be grieved to hear her cooking questioned, even condemned, but she will answer honestly and confess if there was any way she might have erred.”

  “If I may have your permission, I would like to talk with the abbots to see if they remember some detail about the meal that would point to a cause for Abbot Tristram’s illness.” Thomas grinned. “Sister Matilda’s kitchen is too dangerous a place for me. I fear I would suffer the sin of gluttony were I to join you. The smell of her baking is far too tempting to mortals like me who feel all resolve weaken when faced with her elderflower pie.”

  Eleanor laughed. “Go, Brother! But I fear we may more quickly succumb to temptation ourselves without you. Even if she is not baking fruit tarts or making custards, we shall miss your greater strength and restraining counsel. Pray give us a gentle penance for our frailty!”

  Once he gave his solemn promise, she rose and spoke briefly to Gracia, who needed few words to understand what her mistress required.

  As the others left the prioress’ quarters, the young woman ran to seek the prior.

  Chapter Eight

  Sister Matilda was a round woman of middle years, her fingers already knotted with the joint disease, but her indignation so inflamed her humors that she hopped from foot to foot like an outraged child of two summers.

  “Have I ever been careless with food cooked for other notable guests? Why should I suddenly become so, my lady?”

  “Calm yourself, Sister.” Prioress Eleanor laid a gentle hand on the woman’s plump shoulder and held her down. “No one is accusing you of anything.”

  Sister Anne added her concurrence. “We only want to make sure nothing happened by accident and that no blame can be placed on the priory.”

  “I have never approved of building this new kitchen.” Righteous irritation dripped like fresh vinegar from Sister Matilda’s every word. “As I asked at the time it was planned, how can I make sure the food retains the purity God gave it if I cannot oversee the lay brothers who prepare it, and taste what they cook to make sure the seasonings are right?” She took a deep breath. “Brother Beorn, good man though he is, wouldn’t know a loaf of bread from a pile of cow dung. How could he choose men to prepare meals as they should be done in that…?” She waved her hand in the general direction of the offending structure.

  Prior Andrew blushed and addressed his prioress. “I must defend Brother Beorn. He did the best he could in choosing the first lay brothers to work there, but it is my responsibility to approve his choices and make sure all is done properly in the kitchen. I have failed.”

  “Not one of you has failed,” Eleanor replied. Although she had managed not to laugh at Sister Matilda’s description of Brother Beorn’s ignorance about food—a man who would forget to eat were he not forced to the common table twice a day—she knew the nun was right. Good food required the oversight of someone who knew how to prepare dishes, the skill to create new ones, and had the ability to taste each item as it cooked to adjust the seasonings to perfection. The elder lay brother was definitely not the right person for that. As for Prior Andrew, he was too busy with his stewardship of priory wealth to spend time with those lay brothers assigned to the new cooking tasks, nor did he have the knowledge required to choose a lay brother with Sister Matilda’s skilled palate.

  Eleanor swallowed a bitter sigh. Blame was due, indeed, but she was utterly convinced it lay solely with her. Why had she been so remiss in her failure to appoint a sub-prioress? Was it wayward pride in thinking she could do everything?

  Slowly, the bright red color in Sister Matilda’s face faded, and she bowed her head. “My lady, I beg pardon for my choler. It was unseemly. I can only tell you that, when I received word we had an unannounced party of seven abbots to feed, plus their servants, I was hard-pressed to increase the stew with enough chicken. The root vegetables were easily found. But this was not the first time we have had to do this. God blessed us with a miracle akin to the loaves and fishes, and one of the lay sisters discovered another old chick
en to help feed the increased number.”

  “Your anger is justified and forgiven, Sister,” Eleanor replied. “I was certain that all was properly done here. My questions are only about the process after the meal left this kitchen. How was that done?”

  “I sent word that lay brothers must be summoned to meet the lay sisters at the opening in the stone wall that divides the monks from the nuns. It is the one we always use to deliver meals to the men on the monks’ side of the priory. This is our common practice, and we did not deviate from it.” She raised her head and added, with a hint of pride, “Nor did it take longer to deliver that stew.”

  Eleanor turned to her prior and asked for an explanation of what happened next.

  “When the lay brothers received the food through the window, they rushed it to the new kitchen where it was heated again in a pot that was new. The men may be less skilled in kitchen craft than desired, but Brother Beorn would only choose responsible people.” He raised a hand. “I questioned them. They admitted they were uneasy considering the high rank of these guests and longed not to fail in this first test of their duties. But all they had to do was keep the food hot until the abbots were at their table. I did confirm that one of the lay brothers tasted the stew first to make sure it was warm enough.”

  “But was it overcooked?” Sister Matilda muttered under her breath and quickly lowered her gaze to hide her scorn. Her lips moved as if she prayed to be forgiven for thoughts that might verge on the sinful.

  “And the lay brother remains in good health?” Sister Anne knew he must, but wanted the fact confirmed.

  Prior Andrew verified it.

  “That means there is no fault in our cooking here,” Sister Matilda said, straightening her back, and then added in a charitable tone, “nor in the reheating of the dish.”

  “We did not doubt it,” Eleanor replied, “but it was my duty to make sure nothing questionable occurred after the stew left your well-run kitchen.”

  Now that Sister Matilda was mollified, the prioress thanked her for her precise description of events. Dismissed with her honor intact, the nun walked over to a table and took out her remaining anger by pummeling a rising loaf of bread.

  The trio of religious retreated to the prioress’ chambers.

  ***

  Sister Anne paced the room. “Of course, I do not pretend to have the skills of a trained physician!” Her expression tempered her denial. Although she was always humble about her learning, she had also been trained by her father, a well-respected physician, and thus expected more competence from herself than she had shown with these abbots. “Yet I fear I have not observed what I should, or else my knowledge is far more limited than even I had thought.”

  “At least the death of Abbot Ilbert may not have been caused by a common sickness,” Eleanor said. “Do not forget what Brother Thomas said about his past experience. The abbot might have suffered more from the hand of an enemy than from a mortal illness. You were in agreement after you both examined the corpse.”

  “Does that suggest a similar attack was made against Abbot Tristram?” Prior Andrew lowered himself into a chair. He was always allowed to sit without Eleanor’s permission. His old battle wound especially pained his leg in the winter months, despite the relief from one of Sister Anne’s potions made with the milky juice of the Oriental poppy.

  When the prior spoke, the sub-infirmarian stopped and seemed to relax. “He did mention that he had fallen ill at the inn the night before arriving here. By that next morning he felt better but became ill again the morning after sleeping here.”

  “The problem might lie in something that happened at that inn, not anything he encountered in our priory,” Eleanor replied. “Brother Thomas is currently talking with the abbots. If he learns something of value, the cause of the illnesses may soon be resolved.”

  But Eleanor feared otherwise. If Ilbert had been murdered, and one of the abbots was a killer, she hardly thought any details would be confessed that would reveal the slayer.

  But she was not a naïve child. After twelve years of ruling this priory, she knew full well that these abbots were ambitious men, each eager to advance in the ranks of Church hierarchy. Murder, as a way to remove a competitor, was not limited to the courts of kings. It also occurred among those who claimed God as their liege lord, including, it was rumored, two or three popes.

  “And if he learns nothing to help us discover the reasons?” As she often did, Sister Anne chose to voice the least desirable, but equally likely, outcome.

  “Then I shall beg Crowner Ralf to grant us a great kindness,” the prioress said. “I hate asking him to leave his family to travel in this weather, but only he can ride to the inn and ask the questions for which we all desperately need answers.”

  Chapter Nine

  The abbots were seated, backs rigid, in the large dining hall which was encircled by their individual quarters. Knowing that a plain monk dare not sit in the presence of an abbot without permission, they had shown their displeasure with Brother Thomas’ commission from Prioress Eleanor by deliberately making him stand.

  The monk found humor in the insult. Bastard though he was, the rank of his paternal family far exceeded that of any man before him. Had they known it, they might have trembled in fear, contemplating the possible consequences of their insolence. In fact, there would be none. His father, now dead, had never spoken to Thomas since his son’s arrest for sodomy years ago, and his cousins either chose to ignore his kinship with them or quickly forgot that he had ever existed.

  “Speak, Brother, and ask your questions.” Abbot Odo shifted in his chair with a hefty show of impatience.

  Or else his back is troubling him, the monk decided with a flash of charity. According to Sister Anne, men of such great weight often suffered severe pain in their backs and knees that could become unbearable. It was a punishment for the sin of gluttony.

  “I do not understand why Prior Andrew did not come to speak to us instead of you,” Abbot Ancell said.

  Abbot Didier sat in silence and with such a distant expression that it was clear his thoughts were far removed from this or possibly any other cloister.

  “Sister Anne is concerned about the death of Abbot Ilbert and the illness of Abbot Tristram. Although the former is in God’s care, she had hoped to hasten the latter’s healing by asking some questions. Because I sometimes assist her at the hospital, she asked our prior for permission to send me on her behalf. She, as a woman vowed to God, should not do so out of respect for the vows all have taken. Prior Andrew was in agreement, and I have come at his request.”

  Abbot Mordredus snorted. “The answer to all her questions is that she is a poorly educated woman and suffers from pride if she thinks to emulate the healing skills of a physician.”

  Blinking, Didier suddenly opted to join the discussion. “She is unnaturally tall,” he remarked, “which suggests she is abnormal for her sex. Perhaps that is why she believes she can treat illness as well as a man? I hope she is not possessed by Satan.”

  Thomas bowed his head to hide his anger. “Our Infirmarian, Sister Christina, is respected by all as a saintly woman. It is her opinion that Sister Anne has been blessed by God with unique skills so that her healing of wicked men might bring them to repentance and a renewed commitment to virtue.”

  To that, the abbots chose not to reply, although two of them murmured something that sounded as if they were sending a brief protest over this matter to God.

  “Very well, Brother,” Gifre said, flinging a sharp glare in the direction of Odo, as if the man had done something offensive. “Ask your questions.”

  Odo smirked at him and shifted again in his chair.

  “I shall be as brief as possible,” Thomas replied with suitable humility. “If you will, think back to the inn where you spent the night before you traveled on to Tyndal Priory.”

  Didier licked his lips
.

  “Wine? I need wine for my dry throat if I am to reply,” Odo said, looking over his shoulder for his servant to bring what he requested.

  A man disappeared into the abbot’s chambers and quickly returned with a large pewter cup. Odo drained it and shoved the cup back in the servant’s hands for more.

  The other abbots showed no interest in similar refreshment.

  Thomas waited for the servant to replenish Odo’s restorative drink. “What happened that night at the inn?” he asked after the Abbot of Caldwell had sighed with apparent satisfaction.

  “What happened every night we had to stay with impious men because there was no monastery nearby.” Odo sipped before continuing. “We arrived. Our horses were stabled. We were given beds together because separate rooms were not possible.”

  “Unlike the fine quarters here,” Ancell added. He smiled at Thomas.

  “We required a table for eating apart from the women, many of whom were whores, and located in a quiet part of the inn so the raucous laughter of drunken men would not infect our souls with wantonness. The food was dreadful and sleep impossible. We found it difficult to honor the hours of prayer. In the morning, we left as soon as the sun rose.”

  “You said the food was appalling. What was wrong with it?”

  Odo shivered.

  “Our brother prefers fine wines and dishes served only in the king’s court,” Gifre said, his lips curling with scorn. “The inn food was the fare of common men. An elderly ox had been slaughtered, roasted, and added to a stew of vegetables grown pallid from months of storage. The meat was tough, but men of our vocation should thank God for any bounty and not complain. Does the sparrow ever curse God for the sustenance He provides? As for the drink, it was ale made by the innkeeper’s wife. Thin, flavorless, but not sour.”

  “No one sickened?” Thomas was secretly pleased that the other abbots seemed to feel the same disdain for Odo as did Crowner Ralf. Yet he had also noticed that they allowed the Abbot of Caldwell some authority over them. However begrudging, that was a sign of respect. Perhaps the man did possess more ability than his brother wished to acknowledge.