“I came on this journey with a twofold purpose.”
And so the circling of his real prey grows tighter, the prioress concluded with a nod of encouragement.
“When Queen Eleanor asked me to travel her proposed pilgrimage route, I agreed at once, knowing she values my opinion most highly.” His sigh conveyed the immense responsibility such a regal appeal entailed. “When I first learned she had included a stay at Tyndal, I was quite perplexed until I did realize that this remote priory could be a proper destination for a pilgrim, even one of her rank.”
There is less honey than sour wine in those phrases, the prioress thought.
“I began to hear talk of its saintly infirmarian and an anchoress as well. Now I have learned that you have a blessed hermit nearby.”
Eleanor lowered her gaze, hoping to convey modesty while praying she could hide her anger at such thin courtesy and poor flattery. Not that more skillful praise would have fooled her, even though clever phrasing did entertain, but the baron had offended with his insufficiently veiled disdain. Even if she set her own pride aside, a prioress represented the Queen of Heaven in the Order of Fontevraud, and Eleanor would not so easily dismiss the insult to her office. She chose to counter the offence with a cautious and suitable response. Raising her head, she graced him a look of contrived benevolence to match his false smile.
He had misjudged more than the sharpness of her wits. Although King Edward and his queen favored other Orders, the king’s ancestors had always looked fondly on their Angevin Order, and many were buried in the mother house of Fontevraud Abbey. The king would be displeased should he learn of any insult given to one of its prioresses, and the baron might discover that his alleged status in court had diminished when he returned.
Baron Otes was a fool.
She patiently awaited the full revelation of his intent.
“With so many signs of holiness at Tyndal, I saw possible merit if I offered your priory some gift in return for the nuns’ prayers after my death.” He put a hand to his breast. “As you must know, I am a man whom God has favored with worldly riches.”
Eleanor felt her interest quicken, then reined it in with caution. Without question, her priory suffered an ongoing need for income to feed the religious and care for the suffering as God demanded. Some in her position cared little what a gift cost in sin if it brought better wine to the priory table. Eleanor was not one of them. She believed some offerings came at a price incompatible with the demands of faith.
Nonetheless, she was also a practical woman and prepared to offer guarded appreciation. She waited for Otes to tell her all he expected in return for his proposed beneficence.
“In obedience to our Lord’s command that we perform the charities encompassed in the Seven Comfortable Acts,” he continued, “I thought to give this priory a bit of land. The income from it would provide enough to care for and feed some needy few, but I would also require that the nuns of the priory pray daily for my soul’s swift release from Purgatory.”
“You are most generous, my lord, and I do thank you for this offer. Most of our nuns are sequestered and spend hours in fervent prayer for souls. A gift of profitable land pays for the fare that sustains them. As for the poor, it is our duty to care for them, and your grant …”
“Of course, my lady, but another, who must remain anonymous, has also shown interest in this property and has sworn to put the needs of my soul before the feeding of the poor should the crops fail in any particular year.” Once again, his hand went to his breast. “I fear my many sins demand priority.”
Eleanor stiffened, then decided she could easily devise some plan to continue feeding the poor while also supporting the nuns needed to pray for this man’s spotted soul. “I can promise that our prayers shall be equally devoted to shortening your time in Purgatory.”
He bowed. “Might you also swear to offer pleas on my behalf in perpetuity to God? That provision was not included by the other interested party.”
She agreed without hesitation.
Then he folded his arms, his eyes glittering
Eleanor was reminded of a snake, basking in the sun.
“There is one other matter which must be resolved before I grant title of this generous gift to Tyndal Priory.”
Eleanor silently ran through the usual list of stipulations attached to bequests of this nature and knew she could accept most.
“You have given refuge to a traitor’s kin.”
Stunned, she was rendered speechless.
He stared at her, waiting for a gasp of horror. When his comment was greeted with continued silence, he scowled. “I fear that King Edward might misconstrue any gift I give you as my approval of such betrayal to kingship.”
“I am quite ignorant of your meaning, my lord,” Eleanor said at last. Although she knew she had concealed it, she was shocked by this accusation. Glancing at Sister Ruth’s blank expression, she saw that the sub-prioress was just as unacquainted with the news as she. “What traitor’s kin do you think we harbor?”
Otes looked appalled. “You do not know?”
Most certainly I do not, she thought. Then with great relief she realized that the baron must have heard false rumor about her prior.
Andrew, before he took vows, had fought in Simon de Montfort’s army. When she first arrived as Tyndal’s prioress, the monk had confessed this past to her, knowing her father had remained loyal to King Henry. As they were obliged to do under God’s commandments, they forgave each other for any offenses committed by themselves or kin. Soon thereafter they had learned mutual respect. After Prior Theobald’s death, she had prayed that Andrew would be elected to replace him.
“Surely you do not mean Prior Andrew,” Eleanor replied at last. “He received a pardon after the battle at Evesham on condition he expiate his sins by entering a monastery, as he himself had ardently requested. Perhaps you had not learned that information.”
Sister Ruth gasped.
The prioress bit back a groan. Although Sister Ruth would never spread rumors amongst the nuns, she’d not treat this knowledge with tact or compassion and would make sure Prior Andrew suffered her scorn. Eleanor regretted this had been revealed in her hearing. On the other hand, considering Sister Ruth’s reverent attitude toward any of high rank, a reminder that the present king’s uncle had pardoned Andrew might be sufficient to dull the woman’s sharp tongue.
Eleanor grew ever more eager to conclude this increasingly unpleasant audience.
Baron Otes licked his lips as if savoring the taste of roasted venison. “Although Prior Andrew might have been forgiven, his elder brother was not, and it fell to me to execute him. For my loyal obedience to our anointed king, this prior of yours vowed to murder me.”
An icy stillness filled the room like snowfall at the midnight hour.
This was news of which she most certainly did not have knowledge. Eleanor tucked her hands into her sleeves and gripped her arms with such ferocity that she feared she’d bruised herself. To give herself another moment to respond, she gave the baron a stern look.
“If that is the case, my lord, I must ask why you considered offering any gift at all to this priory.”
“I believed that you would understand both the value of my gift and the need to rid your priory of a man who has shown disloyalty to a rightful king and has sworn to break one of God’s commandments.”
“And thus your gift is contingent upon my willingness to arrange the banishment of Prior Andrew from this house?” Eleanor began to smell something sharp in the air. Considering the day’s heat, she might have concluded that the odor was honest sweat. She now suspected it was the stench of cruel arrogance emanating from the baron.
Otes nodded. “The land is very rich.”
“Then I must refuse your most generous offer, my lord. Perhaps you were not told this: the man who issued the pardon was close kin to our King Edward. Soon after, Prior Andrew took vows and swore allegiance to God and all His commandments. Although he may ha
ve uttered menacing words after the execution of his brother, I see you before me many years later and in good health.” Her smile was fleeting. “Since he has not acted on that threat and has long been a dutiful servant of God, I conclude he has regretted, confessed, and done penance for those heated words.”
“He recognized me when I arrived, and his look belied such a conclusion.”
“Have you seen him since?”
With evident reluctance Otes shook his head.
“I did not think so. After your arrival, he begged leave to retire to the monk’s quarters so he could pray in the chapel.” She shook her head. “You have given me no reason to doubt his continued devotion to those vows he willingly took long ago.”
Otes started to speak and then seemed to think better of it.
The prioress rose.
Seeing the grim expression on her face, even the baron dared not argue that his requested audience had just concluded.
Chapter Nine
Brother Thomas reached up to lift the cloth-covered, woven basket off the hook above the door of his hut, then bent to retrieve the pottery jug of fresh ale. This daily offering of food and drink was meant to be anonymous. It might have been, had the gift been left by an adult more skilled in deception. When he saw little Nute disappear down the road, he knew the donor was Signy from the inn.
The woman’s charity had never surprised him, for he had gotten to know her best at the time Martin the Cooper was poisoned. Her gifts of sustenance after Thomas entered this hut as a hermit were indicative of her frequent small graces. Many who suffered as she had turned inward and bitter. She had softened with kindness. Although he was thankful for her benevolence, he was more grateful she had found peace. He had grown fond of the new innkeeper.
Pushing open the door, Thomas stepped inside.
The hut was tiny, but it pleased him. Ivetta the Whore had lived here until her death during the last summer season. When he begged permission to spend some time in solitude, hoping to earn God’s guidance in dealing with his own tormenting sins, he decided her former lodging would be most appropriate. That no one understood his choice mattered little to him. He knew the reason, and he was content to let others come to whatever conclusions they wished.
On first arrival here, he saw that the roof had collapsed and tall weeds were taking firm hold in the ground between the slanting walls. The hut had never been well-built, and he was grateful. Each morning he awoke, rejoicing in the prospect of strengthening the walls, restoring the roof, building a small altar, and finally crafting the rough bench and table where he ate.
In the spring, he had planted a small garden just outside his door. Some of the vegetables he ate himself. Most he gave to the needy. And to honor the desert fathers, whom he was determined to emulate for now, he had let his hair and beard grow wild. The sight of him did frighten young Nute. That was his only regret.
Thomas was unsure what this time alone had accomplished. He was not a man suited to long silence or the rejection of human companionship. Despite the Church’s belief that there was much virtue in such a life, he dared to question the idea, his soul being a most contrary thing. Yet he was so wretched that he was willing to try almost anything once lest he miss what God wanted to teach him.
He had not been left completely alone, although he discouraged local visitors and sent the poor travelers he was obliged to shelter on their way as soon as was meet. Brother John came often to hear his confessions, and Thomas also urged him to return to the priory as quickly as courtesy and kindness allowed. The novice master might be compassionate, but Thomas hesitated to confess his specific agonies to him, as he had to other priests. No matter how dark Brother John believed his own sins to be, Thomas knew him to be a good man who suffered simpler lusts.
Only God could heal Thomas, and he was waiting for Him to explain why the act of sodomy was a grave sin while lying in arms of another man filled him with such peace and so much love. Although God might not have graced him with an answer, he believed He had not minded the question and would respond in time. Patience was a virtue the monk was trying to learn.
As he sat down on the bench and stared at the crude cross hung from a slim rafter over the altar, he could not suppress the bitterness that too often assaulted his heart. Squeezing his eyes shut, he put all his strength into fighting back. “Get thee behind me, Satan,” he growled. “I know I am a flawed creature. Go trouble those who deem themselves otherwise.”
The heavy darkness inched back, leaving Thomas exhausted from the struggle. Bending forward, he rested his head in his hands and wept.
When his sobs ended and Thomas sat up, questions began buzzing in his head like bees outside a hive. Was a hermit’s life no longer the path he should be traveling? If not, what was he supposed to do next? Abandon this place, return to the priory, and again take up his work at the hospital?
At least that work had often given him solace, he thought. And he was growing ever more uneasy when others looked on him as some holy creature because he was a hermit. He shuddered. For a sinner to be called a saint was surely a travesty of all that was holy.
And why had Ralf chosen this day to visit? Perhaps the decision to do so had meant something. When Thomas took residence here, the crowner avoided him. A few months ago, Thomas might have even turned Ralf away. Today his old friend arrived at his hut, despite fearing that the monk would not welcome the sight of him, and Thomas had been filled with delight when he saw the crowner in the doorway. Walking down to the pond for a swim, they had talked together much as they were wont to do in the past.
Something had changed. God might be pointing out some new path for him to take. When next Brother John came to see him, Thomas would seek his advice in the matter. Signs from God were things with which the novice master had had much experience, and Thomas could ask his counsel without misgivings.
He had been musing too long and had not knelt to honor God since rising at dawn. “As penance, I shall delay my one meal until after the next Office.” It was a small denial but would do until he decided on a worthier deed to offer in return for his negligence.
Lowering himself to the hard earth in front of the altar, he prepared to approach God with total humility. He pressed his cheek against the dirt, closed his eyes and ears to the world, and fell silent in reverent and hopeful anticipation.
A chill instantly filled him and he shivered, trying not to let rising fear suggest the meaning of this. Do not be anxious, he told himself, and then cautiously opened one eye.
A dark shadow extended over him, flowing from the doorway. He prayed that a cloud had only veiled the sun.
“I did not wish to interrupt your prayers, Brother.”
Leaping to his feet, Thomas stared at the dark-robed figure standing in the entrance.
Father Eliduc gestured toward the bench inside. “May I?”
“Would I ever refuse you,” the monk replied. “Please sit down. I confess I have neither good wine to offer as refreshment nor fine chalices from which to drink.” His voice trembled, cravenly betraying his pounding heart.
Lightly running his fingertips over the rough boards of the bench, the priest replied with a modest upturn of his thin lips. “Out of respect for this hermitage, I shall stand.”
Thomas walked to the table and uncovered the basket from the inn. He pulled out a loaf of bread and a sweating cheese with high odor. “There is this gift from the local inn.”
Eliduc stared at the presented objects in the monk’s hands before replying, “I am fasting.”
It was rare that Thomas was able to discomfit this man and so he felt some joy. The pleasure was fleeting. He knew this visit did not bode well.
“Come, Brother, do not look so bleak. Is the sun not warm? Do the birds not sing with delight? Are you not free—to worship God in this hermitage?”
How cleverly this man reminds me of my past, the monk thought as the melancholy he had chased to the borders of his soul came thundering back with the force of
destriers charging into battle. Shall I ever be free of him? Begrudgingly, he acknowledged he did owe Father Eliduc gratitude. It was this priest, and whomever he served, that had plucked Thomas from prison and kept him from rotting like the corpse of some rat.
“What a profound sigh! Oh, fear not, Brother. I have not come to wrest you from this tiny hut and drag you into the world.” He fell silent, studying the monk for a moment that seems endless. “Dare you claim that I have ever summoned you when God’s purpose did not demand it?” The priest’s smile was as thin as the edge of a knife.
Thomas refused to reply.
Walking over to the simple altar, the priest studied the roughly made cross. It was constructed of two unevenly carved pieces of wood, bound together by rope. He inclined his head as if considering the workmanship and whether it suited its holy purpose.
Outside, a cart rumbled by, the wheels squeaking. Laughter from the men accompanying it balanced the heavy stillness between the two men in the hut.
“Why are you here?” Thomas shattered the hush first, conceding victory to the priest’s stronger will.
Eliduc folded his hands into the sleeves of his soft robe and turned. “Queen Eleanor is planning a pilgrimage. Since she may stay at Tyndal, it is my duty to make sure the priory is prepared to uplift her spirit in godly ways and as she most ardently desires.”
“Does our prioress know you are here?”
“Before the bells rang for the last Office, she and Prior Andrew greeted the entire party from court, of which I am but one humble member. Contrary to your suspicions, I did not fly over the priory walls, dropping venom from my jaws to poison the local wells, and land outside your hermitage.”
Thomas dropped his gaze.
The priest glided closer until his body almost brushed against the monk. “You have grown rebellious, Thomas. Have you forgotten how you lay in a bed of your own excrement and were raped like some enemy woman?”
The monk covered his face and groaned.
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