Belladonna at Belstone aktm-8

by Michael Jecks

  Baldwin gazed at the dorter. The nuns slept on the first floor; the entire ground area was given over to a large storage room. Inside were barrels of wine, salted meat and fish, haunches of meat and sacks and boxes. The smell was wholesome and spiced, not at all musty, although there was a slight tang in the air – probably rats. A solitary cat stood and arched its back at him from its vantage point on a tun of wine. From the look of this place, no matter what privations the nuns suffered, with the loss of roofs, the damp and so on, at least they wouldn’t starve.

  Simon suppressed a grin when he saw Baldwin graciously motion the visitor towards the dorter’s entrance. Bertrand glowered, but jerked the door wide and stepped inside. From his expression Simon felt sure that he was beginning to regret having asked Peter Clifford to advise him on whom he could bring to Belstone.

  When Simon trailed after them, he found that just inside the doorway was a staircase, roughly formed of square-hewn blocks of wood which had been sawn on the diagonal to give a triangular section, then fitted to planks at either side to produce uneven steps. It was the sort of arrangement Simon had been thinking of putting into his home for some time – for he and his wife still depended upon a ladder to reach the bedchamber in their little house.

  At the top of the stairs, Simon found Baldwin staring at a heavily built partition. Simon himself had eyes only for the ceiling and the hole in it. While outside in the cloister, Simon had thought the breezes almost unnoticeable, here within the sleeping quarters there was a constant low moaning as if the souls of the damned were filing through in an unending procession.

  It was only with difficulty that he dragged his attention away and studied the room. The dorter was perhaps sixty or seventy feet long, and all along it, on either side, were wooden screens, each open to the hallway, which separated the sleeping cubicles one from the other. He took a few paces forward and peered into one. It contained a rough mattress and pillow, covered with a blanket and some sort of coverlet, and a three-legged stool at the side. By the wall stood a large chest, its lid down and apparently locked. Certainly the hasp was firmly shut.

  Idly he wandered along the corridor formed by the outflung partitions. Some beds were made, but equally many were not; some had chests, and those with the more ornate ones had chairs. A few of the beds appeared not to have been slept in, and when he looked up he could see why. Directly above was the hole. Beyond, several of the partitioned areas seemed more heavily used, and Simon rightly guessed that here nuns and novices shared beds to keep away from the rain or snow that fell in.

  At the far end was a billowing curtain, and he was about to haul it aside and glance behind it when Bertrand coughed. “No! You don’t want to… That’s the rere-dorter, Bailiff!”

  Simon quickly drew his hand from the curtain. Thank God Bertrand had warned him. It would have been appallingly embarrassing to have entered the nuns’ toilet and encountered one of them in a – in a compromised position. He turned and made his slow and thoughtful progress back along the dorter to join the others. They were still standing at the partitioned area near the door. “What is it?”

  “You are not aware of the strictures of the Rule, of course, Bailiff,” Bertrand said stiffly. “No nun – and that includes the prioress of a convent – should divide up the dorter so as to give herself more space than other nuns.”

  “Especially,” Baldwin added, “when that nun intends to shut herself off from her sisters. This is almost sacrilege. You see, she is not superior to her sisters, just an elected leader.”

  “This is not the worst, Sir Baldwin,” Bertrand intoned “That was one of the points I was forced to include in my report to the Bishop of Exeter, but so was the fact that the prioress has seen fit to permit her nuns to keep their own possessions. She allows them to keep personal items locked away in their own chests.”

  Simon could see that Baldwin was surprised by these revelations, but the knight was determined not to jump to conclusions. “Fine. Now, we were going to see whether the man Margherita saw could have gone anywhere else other than into the prioress’s chamber, weren’t we?”

  Returning to the top of the stairs, Baldwin looked about him. There was a small landing, created by the prioress’s partition and a large board which was evidently designed to limit the draught that howled through the room. Beyond the prioress’s wall was a small doorway.

  “The infirmary,” Bertrand confirmed.

  “Margherita said that the infirmarer prevented her from entering, didn’t she?” Baldwin mused. He made as if to walk towards it, but then gave the visitor a quick look. “What else was in your report, Bishop?”

  “About the prioress? Well, I had to comment that she keeps a pet dog…”

  “That is hardly a crime.”

  “… and takes it to Mass with her.”

  “I see,“ Baldwin murmured. Being fond of his own hounds, he was not prepared to condemn the woman for that, but he could see that the visitor was working himself into a fine fever. To stem the flow of outrage, Baldwin held up his hand and smiled soothingly. “We were told that the lady would see us after Vespers, were we not? Shall we see whether she is here now?”

  Bertrand shut his mouth and nodded. Half-heartedly he knocked on the door to her room but there was no response. She hadn’t yet returned. “Where can she be?” he muttered.

  “Perhaps while we are here, we should take a short look at the infirmary?” Baldwin suggested.

  Bertrand agreed ungraciously. There was little point, he felt, in going to take a look inside, not when the treasurer had already told them that the prioress had been making love with a man. Wasn’t that enough?

  A good oaken door on well-greased hinges opened silently, and they walked inside quietly. The infirmary was a small hall, but warm and comfortable. A fire burned steadily in the grate, the glowing logs throwing out a golden light that invited drowsiness after the chill, wind-swept atmosphere of the dorter. Baldwin felt as if his face was absorbing the whole of the heat from the flames.

  Down the left wall three wooden partitions jutted into the room, making four units in all, each holding a large bed so that eight invalids could be accommodated with ease.

  At one end was a small altar with a cross so patients could always see the symbol of their faith; at the other was a screen with a curtained doorway. The only noise was a snoring from the bed nearer the curtain.

  “Is it time for Compline?”

  The reedy voice came from an old nun huddled near the fire. They had not seen her at first because she was so low in her chair that her head hardly rose above the bed between her and the three men.

  Bertrand made no effort to speak; he was still furious that the prioress was not attending to him, and so Baldwin answered. “Not yet, Sister. Compline will be a while yet. What is your name?”

  “Who are you?” she asked in a quavering voice. “What are you doing here? Men aren’t permitted inside the nuns’ cloister.”

  “It was the visitor who invited me in, Sister. I am the Keeper of the King’s Peace in Crediton.”

  She studied his face with frowning concentration for a while. “If you say so. You look more like a lay brother, though. Are you sure the visitor invited you?”

  Baldwin showed his teeth in a grin. “He’s here. Why don’t you ask him?”

  She followed his gesture and stared full at Bertrand. “Him? A visitor? He doesn’t look like he’s got the bollocks for it… Looks more like a pox-ridden tranter.”

  “Oh, damn this community!” Bertrand exploded. “I will not stay to be insulted by a decayed and ancient vixen! If you wish for me, I’ll be in the quadrangle.”

  With a glance towards the woman in which loathing and rage were equally mixed, Bertrand stormed out of the room. Baldwin could hear his boots stomping down the stairs, and then out into the yard.

  “He has a temper like a visitor,” the nun observed calmly.

  “What is your name, Sister?”

  “I’m Joan. I used to be the ce
llarer,” she grinned, “but now I can spend my time in contemplation.”

  Baldwin smiled back, sinking down to his haunches. “I expect you have seen many changes here.”

  “Things move ahead, but often too fast. It’s not right that the prioress should be looking to so much building. She ought to take stock, think about what she’s doing. We’re not some sort of business; we’re God’s house, and ought to behave like it.”

  “You think the prioress is failing in her duty to the convent?”

  “Don’t assume things like that, young man,” she said sharply. “There are too many tales being told in this convent about people. It doesn’t do the place any good, and only leads to us all looking like fools. I never said the prioress was failing. She’s a good woman, in her own way, and shrewd too, which is more than you can say for some. No, I only meant that I don’t agree with her way of trying to ensure the future of the place. Building another chapel won’t help much.”

  “But you need the money from Sir Rodney’s church.”

  “Oh, piffle! So what if we do? If the convent has need of the money, wouldn’t we be better off saving it for the use of the church and protecting some of the existing buildings rather than putting up yet another?”

  “That is what you would do?”

  “Perhaps. Or maybe I’d prefer to spend it on ale and crumpets! There are worse things, when you pass your life sitting before a fire in the cold weather. At least you can eat crumpets without teeth.” And she opened her mouth wide to display toothless gums.

  “It must have been a great shock when the novice died,” Baldwin said gently.

  “At my age you’re used to the sight of death,” she shrugged matter-of-factly.

  “Did you know her well?”

  “Young Moll? Yes. She wasn’t a nice person, but then so few of them seem to be. All outward penitence and humility, but too keen on seeing what others are up to rather than making sure their own behaviour is beyond reproach.”

  As concise an obituary as he had ever heard, Baldwin thought to himself. “Did you hear anything on the night that she died?”

  Joan pulled a face. “No. Nor did the other girl.”

  “The lay sister?”

  “Cecily.” She nodded towards the snoring figure huddled in one of the beds. “She’s got a broken wrist. The infirmarer made us dwale to help us all sleep. Needed it with Cecily’s racket.”

  “Is she asleep now?”

  “Listen to her!” Joan cackled. “She couldn’t be much more asleep whatever you did to her!”

  Dwale, Baldwin mused. Not a flavour to be mistaken: although the precise mixture varied, it was inevitably sour and unpleasant. Dwale was another name for belladonna, deadly nightshade, but leeches used it mixed with henbane or hemlock and a soporific, usually poppy syrup, to comfort those in pain. Many patients took it – especially when their surgeon needed them quiet. “You all slept when Moll died?”

  “The infirmarer had made it a powerful dose, but even the smallest amount knocks me out at my age. I know Cecily was well gone, because she spent all her time whining with pain beforehand. After she’d drunk it, she went quiet.”

  “Was Moll served first?”

  “No. I asked Constance to give Cecily hers first. The poor girl was in terrible pain, and I couldn’t sleep with the row. Then Constance brought me mine and Moll last.” She shifted slightly, and now her face was turned to the fire. Her features were lighted by it, and the benign flickering of the flames tended to smooth some of her wrinkles, lending her a more youthful aspect, but the sadness of old age was upon her. Although she had no apparent regret, her life was almost over, and she was contemplating the life to come. She had little interest in earthly matters.

  Baldwin glanced at the beds. When he asked, Joan pointed at the bed nearest the door. “That was hers – my bed is that one.”

  There was a third bed between them, Baldwin noticed. “Did you fall asleep soon after drinking?” he asked.

  “Very soon,” Joan agreed. “As I say, Constance had made the potion strong and I remember Constance smiling at me as I drank, then going to Moll. I saw Moll take a sip before putting the cup on her table, but then I began to feel drowsy. Soon I was asleep and I didn’t wake until morning.”

  Simon frowned uncomprehendingly. “But shouldn’t you have gone to Nocturns?”

  Joan shrugged. “I often miss them. So do many others. Even the prioress herself is sometimes too tired to go.“

  “You usually sleep through the whole night?” Baldwin asked.

  “No, Sir Knight. I am usually too wakeful. I’ve been living here in this convent for most of my life, and the horarium has eaten its way into my soul. When I am bored I will often walk about the cloisters, and I find my bed a tedious place at night. As I get older I need less sleep. But Constance believes that I need to rest. That was why she made me drink her strong dwale.”

  Baldwin nodded slowly and he saw her face light as if with amusement.

  “Sir Knight, there’s no need to look at me in that suspicious manner. If you doubt my word ask Constance, the infirmarer. She stood over me to ensure I drank her potion. She’ll tell you that I was dead to the world all that night.”

  Baldwin smiled and rose to his feet, knees cracking. “Thank you for your help.”

  She gave him a sharp look. “Help? I didn’t think I told you anything new. Are you as foolish as that visitor?”

  “I hope not.“ Baldwin beckoned Simon and the two men walked out to the small curtained chamber at the far end of the room. Inside they found another locked chest, and a shelf or two set into the wall, on which were placed bottles of powders and liquids.

  None looked appetising to Simon, but he distrusted most of the potions given out by tooth-pullers and other quacks.

  Baldwin pulled half-heartedly at the lid of the chest, but it was locked. “Everything in this place is stowed away, hidden from sight,” he complained. “They must know it’s against their own ordinances, so why is it allowed?”

  “Why shouldn’t they be allowed to store their own goods apart from each other’s?” Simon asked. “It sounds daft to expect everyone to leave their stuff out on show.”

  “Men or women joining a convent give up their worldly possessions. As soon as they enter the cloister they reject material things, taking nothing with them. All they have is owned by the institution. These chests point to the heart of whatever is wrong here.”

  Simon gave him a sidelong glance. “Really? I’d have thought that the lay sister and old Joan there being utterly intoxicated would be more to the point. If they were all so heavily drugged, is that because the murderer chose to silence them all? Which begs the question of whether the infirmarer was told to drug them.”

  “Or whether the infirmarer herself was the murderer,” Baldwin mused thoughtfully, absently shaking a glass beaker with a pale white powder inside. He set it back on the shelf. “If she was, then why should she have bothered to smother Moll? All she needed do was give the girl a stronger dose of dwale, enough to make her, unconscious, and then open her vein.”

  “Perhaps she got the quantity wrong,” Simon suggested. “Anyway, why should the infirmarer wish to kill the girl?”

  “An excellent question,” Baldwin said. “And yet if Margherita is right and a man did come up these stairs, he could have gone into the infirmary. Drugging the patients would guarantee they wouldn’t see him.”

  Lady Elizabeth sat in the chapterhouse and watched as Simon and Baldwin left the building and strolled to meet the visitor. Bertrand was bitter at being frustrated in his wish to see her. His anger would have increased if he had known how his dramatic gestures, intended to demonstrate his irritation, only served to make her smile broaden.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Where on God’s good earth is that woman?” demanded Bertrand. “God’s balls, but she’ll regret this! I’m tempted to go and wait in her room; force her to see me. She’s avoiding us, and that’s a clear enough sign o
f her guilt.”

  “I feel we should seek her down here rather than waiting in the nuns’ dorter. Were we to be found in the nuns’ sleeping area, I think it might give rise to talk,” Baldwin mentioned with a twinkle in his eye.

  Bertrand was not of a mood to see the humour of the situation, but at last he gave his ungracious agreement. The last thing he needed was an accusation of impropriety against himself. Glancing about the quadrangle, he saw two novices walking to the frater.

  “If I know the religious mind at all,” Baldwin said, following his gaze, “they will be drinking until Compline.”

  “Well, they can’t object to our joining them,” Bertrand said with determination, and set off after the two girls.

  “Baldwin,” Simon said quietly. “The visitor has obviously made up his mind. If he could, he’d have the prioress strung up for murder.”

  “Yes,” Baldwin agreed. “And to be fair, he may well be right. But I want to give the woman the benefit of the doubt. And even if she were guilty in some way, that doesn’t mean no one else helped and was not equally to blame. Is it conceivable that the prioress helped mix the dwale, or helped pass it to the invalids?”

  “If the infirmarer was her accomplice, yes. You’re quite convinced it was murder?”

  Baldwin nodded. “There is no doubt. Moll had something thrust over her face, and her arms kept still while her artery was opened. She died of asphyxiation, but someone wanted to cover their tracks. There was a clear second cut that went to the artery.” They had come to the door that gave into the frater. Simon’s face held a worried frown. “Do you reckon the prioress could have done it?”

  “Moll was a young girl, but strongly enough built,” Baldwin theorised. “She should have been able to fight – but not while drugged.”

  “Which makes the infirmarer more suspicious than the prioress.”

  “I suppose so. Although I confess I am beginning to think they all are. Margherita wandered the cloisters regularly, as did Joan; Denise liked sitting up with a drink, and from the sound of it, Moll herself and this other novice, Agnes, both saw men about the place. Do any of these nuns stick to their Rule? Can we take anything for granted about their behaviour?“