Covenant With Hell (Medieval Mysteries)

by Priscilla Royal

“Perhaps they did not wish to show their grief to a stranger.”

  He shook his head. “You heard what Prioress Ursell said about the tragedy. Sister Roysia’s death was a possible cause for scandal, an annoyance. I have seen men banish tears of grief and grow pale with the effort. Prioress Ursell and Father Vincent had no need to hide what they did not feel.”

  Eleanor frowned as she considered his words. “They have reason to fear scandal. All religious houses do, and the prioress argued the concern well. Her duty lies in providing for her nuns, and I believe she cares deeply about that. ”

  Thomas concurred with her conclusion, then continued. “I confess that I did not tell them all I knew,” he whispered.

  She looked at him with surprise. “Why not? Prioress Ursell said that she did not welcome conjecture, but that would not prevent you from giving them all the facts.”

  “From the start, they treated me like an unwelcome guest and ignored the simplest charity of offering ale to ease the early morning chill. Soon after I began relaying my news, the prioress silenced me, called to her priest, and they spoke together in low voices as if I were not in their company.”

  “They did lack civility.”

  “Although Father Vincent failed to provide a guard for the body, when he went to alert the priory, I remained by the nun’s corpse so that wild dogs would not despoil it. No one thanked me. Before you arrived, Prioress Ursell ordered me to say nothing about this matter, especially after my return to Tyndal. She felt obliged to remind me ‘because all monks are like children and guilty of telling tales.’ Forgive me, my lady, but I was angered.”

  “With cause.” She frowned. “They greeted me with disrespect as well. Although pride is a sin, the expectation of courtesy is not. I do not understand why it should be so, Brother, but they seem to find our presence here unwelcome.”

  “When my temper cooled, I might have excused their rudeness to a simple monk, but I could not tolerate their insult to you, a prioress worthy of the highest honor. That was unconscionable.” He bowed.

  Her face grew pink in the delicate light. “Their treatment of us both was unwarranted, yet to withhold information that was pertinent…”

  “My failure to tell all was spiteful. That I admit, but withholding a little would only have delayed the discovery of evidence they should have found. From their manner toward me, I concluded they did not want to hear what I had to say. Father Vincent asked only one question. He wanted to know if I had seen or heard anyone in the vicinity of the tower. When I suggested they examine the bell tower, lest there be more to this death than was immediately apparent, Father Vincent mocked me.” His face flushed with anger. “He seems to delight in doing so, and I find that intolerable.”

  “Set aside your anger, Brother, and tell me the entire story, including all you omitted.”

  “I respected the dead nun’s corpse but did seek the cause of her death. Her neck was broken and her head cracked open, both of which were consistent with the fall from the tower. But I doubted she was alone in the tower and was troubled that I did not hear another voice crying for help, although I had arrived shortly after she fell.”

  “Prioress Ursell said the nun in charge of ringing the bell had failed to do so on the previous night, and I understood that Sister Roysia was there to make sure the error was not repeated. Perhaps the bell-ringer had not yet arrived when Sister Roysia fell.”

  “If she feared the nun might sleep through the hour again, why did she not bring the bell-ringer with her?”

  Eleanor agreed.

  “I have not yet told you the one significant detail I did not tell them. It argues against the conclusion that Sister Roysia was the only one in the tower.”

  Eleanor raised an expectant eyebrow.

  “Sister Roysia had something clutched in her hand, a piece of torn cloth. The weave was of good quality and the color dark. This is why I doubted she had been alone before she fell. That cloth must have come from a garment.”

  Frowning, Eleanor thought for a moment. “Prioress Ursell said she had seen the body and could only conclude that the death had been a tragic accident. Yet, as you said, the piece of cloth suggests other possible deductions. It was a detail she, or the nun who examined the body, ought to have noticed as well.”

  “Yet they said nothing about it. I am bothered by that.”

  “Even if the death was an accident, the torn cloth raises questions about why she fell. Assuming she and the bell-ringer were together, quarreled, or struggled, Sister Roysia might have lost her balance and fallen.” Suddenly she froze and looked around as if she had heard something.

  “Were that the case, and there was no wicked intent, the other person would have cried out in horror.” Instinctively, he lowered his voice.

  “I agree. And, if the nun was deliberately pushed, this is not a simple tragedy.” The prioress paused. “I wonder if they questioned the bell-ringer.”

  “There was little time to have done so and examine the corpse before I arrived.” He shrugged. “I did not ask. They would not have welcomed the question.”

  “I just remembered something else, Brother. The bells for the next Office rang while we were all in the prioress’ chambers. If Sister Roysia was in the tower because she was afraid the nun would oversleep, she was there far too early for such a purpose. As I recall, the prior hour of prayer had occurred some time before.”

  “The earlier bell did ring long before I heard her cry out. The nun had no reason to remain there between the two Offices.” Thomas looked up and watched a steady drip of water from the ceiling that was creating a growing puddle on the floor. The roof needed patching, he thought, a repair that never would have been left untended at Tyndal Priory. “Either they are lying or choosing to ignore the facts.”

  “I shall be honest, Brother. I fear they lie. Their observed lack of interest in the truth smells foul. Prioress Ursell was so fearful that we would discuss this between ourselves that I wondered why we should not.” She looked up at him, eyes twinkling. “Her words were like the serpent in Eden offering the apple. I was tempted to disobey her, and here we stand, doing what they forbade us.” Once again, she glanced into the shadows. “The real tragedy may not be the poor nun’s death but what is being hidden behind it.”

  “Had it not been for the torn cloth she held, I might have concluded that Sister Roysia was alone, slipped, and fell to her death as they wish us to believe. The floor of the bell tower is probably as damp as the stones on which we knelt. But unless this is murder, the person with her would have cried out and run for help.”

  Eleanor gestured for him to stay where he was as she walked a short distance away, looked around, and returned. “I thought I saw someone in the shadows.” She thought for a moment, then asked, “Are you certain that the piece of cloth was not lost when the corpse was moved?”

  “I tucked it back into the nun’s hand. When they wrapped the body and took it back to the priory, I did not see the cloth fall to the ground. I am certain they must have found it.”

  “They did not ask you about it?”

  “No, and they do not know I found it.”

  “The more flawed part of my nature rejoices that you remained silent in the face of their discourtesy to you.”

  Thomas grinned.

  “This death is their responsibility. If Sister Roysia died accidentally, there is no scandal, only grief. If she was killed, Prioress Ursell must investigate and determine what should be done to protect Ryehill as well as punish the murderer. But why distrust us so much? Had I been faced with a similar death at Tyndal, which was discovered by a religious, I would have been grateful for any information received, even if I begged for silence so I might resolve it myself. I do not understand why she and her priest asked no questions and behaved so strangely.”

  “Prioress Ursell has no reason to be wary of you. Your reputation for justice and compassion is well-known.”

  Eleanor bowed her head. “Perhaps she did not wish to trouble us
. After all, I am here to do penance for my own sins, not to seek out the transgressions of others.” She looked up at her monk. “We must leave the investigation into Sister Roysia’s death with Ryehill Priory. Our efforts are no more welcome here than our presence.”

  Thomas stepped back in surprise. “Someone was in the tower with her, my lady. The torn cloth in her hand is proof.” He fell silent. “Both Father Vincent and Prioress Ursell were unmoved by the death but were most concerned that it was I who found the body.”

  “Prioress Ursell has been quite clear. She does not want us involved in this death. We shall honor her wishes and continue with our original purpose of doing penance at the shrines.” Eleanor looked up at the ceiling, then over to the altar, and sighed. “You long to draw us in where we are unwelcome. I understand why, for I share your concern about this death, but we ought to let this tragedy remain the responsibility of Ryehill Priory.”

  “As you will, my lady.”

  Eleanor looked up at him. “Brother, apart from your disappointment in my decision and anger at the discourtesy here, I believe you have more to say to me.” Her voice was soft. “You may speak freely.”

  “God could have sent us here to perform another duty along with the worthy act of atonement.” With hopeful eagerness, he looked down into his prioress’ eyes.

  “You are convinced of this?”

  He nodded.

  “Might your conclusion have less to do with the nun’s death than the offenses against our pride?” She looked back at the altar. Her expression suggested she was struggling hard to hold fast to her longing to avoid an inquiry into murder. “Should we not make a singular effort, while on pilgrimage, to turn the other cheek when treated rudely? If you have no greater cause to disobey their request than that…”

  “In truth,” he replied, “Father Vincent has angered me so deeply that I am tempted to go against anything he wishes. He and I have quarreled over another matter, one in which he has ignored Our Lord’s commandment that we practice charity.”

  Eleanor sighed. “Over what did you disagree?”

  “It was about a child. She is a ragamuffin in tatters, very thin, who begs nearby. I asked that he find food and lodging for her. He refused and accused me of wanting to feed Satan’s whore.”

  Her exclamation echoed throughout the chapel.

  Thomas told her the story of Gracia’s rape and Father Vincent’s conclusion that she had bewitched the merchant into performing an unnatural act in a holy place.

  “What age does this girl own? You call her child.” Eleanor’s whisper was like a hiss.

  “And so she is, my lady. There is nothing womanly about her.”

  “Why does he withhold compassion?”

  “Unlike the merchant, she refuses to admit wickedness or confess that she was under the influence of evil. To give her food and shelter, he said, is no better than offering comfort to the Devil.”

  She twisted her hands in fury. “And what shall you do in this matter?”

  “I will continue to feed the child, my lady, and seek some other way of keeping her alive.”

  “If you had decided otherwise, I would have reproved you, Brother.” Eleanor’s expression suggested she had no doubt he would do as she hoped. “Father Vincent’s lack of compassion shocks me. Another priest must be found who will gently guide her into more virtuous ways.”

  “These are cruel people here, my lady. They have insulted you and mistreated a starving child. The questionable circumstances of the nun’s death are consistent with the endemic wickedness of this place. How can we not pursue the truth?”

  “To begin with, Brother, I must reject vanity of birth and religious rank. I am a pilgrim here: a humbled, wicked, and lowly creature. Had this prioress a more kindly heart, she might have shown greater courtesy, but I am obliged to accept their rudeness as part of my penance.”

  He started to protest.

  She raised a hand to silence him. “I am not finished. We both dislike those who lead Ryehill. I might forgive Prioress Ursell’s rudeness to me, her implied insult to our priory, and, with difficulty, her treatment of you. What I cannot forgive is a priest’s disdain for a hungry child.”

  He looked down at her with obvious relief. “Does that mean we may look further into the nun’s death, my lady?”

  “I am as troubled as you by what you found, but this death may yet prove to be nothing more than an accident or even self-murder. We are prejudiced against those in authority here. That may be our error.”

  “Other than feeding the child, you wish me to do nothing more against the commands of Father Vincent and Prioress Ursell?”

  “If God wishes us to do more, He will make it impossible to do otherwise,” she replied in a whisper. “Keep your eyes open, your ears as acute as always, and report to me if you discover anything of interest.”

  Thomas bowed and tried hard not to show his delight at her words.

  “In the meantime, I am here to do penance, Brother.” She motioned toward the door of the chapel. “Let us find the shrine where the vial containing the Virgin’s milk is kept.”

  ***

  After they had left the chapel, a skeletal figure slipped from the safety of a pillar’s shadow. Father Vincent’s heart still pounded from his near discovery by Prioress Eleanor. If she had walked only a few steps further…

  He trembled so his knees knocked together.

  Then he knelt for a brief prayer in front of his beloved Shrine of the Virgin’s Lock. As soon as he was done, he raced from the chapel to the chambers of Prioress Ursell.

  Chapter Nine

  After visiting the one shrine, Eleanor chose to return to the priory gardens rather than continue on to other holy places for contemplation.

  Restless, she paced along the paths, ignoring the decaying plants, blackened by winter frost, and the paucity of emerging green tendrils. The bleakness suited her mood. It was not the rudeness of the prioress here that gnawed at her. It was the dark image of a child condemned by Father Vincent as if she had no right to a decent meal or a gently cleansed soul.

  Only with great effort could she swallow her anger over the cruelty to the little vagrant and not go in outrage to Prioress Ursell. This was not her priory, she kept reminding herself, but that argument failed to win her heart. Like Brother Thomas, she was determined to do something for the child. And despite her profound longing to concentrate on her penance here, the soul of the nun, whose suspicious death was being ignored, begged for justice with compelling urgency.

  “My lady!”

  Fearing another tragedy had occurred, Eleanor froze and looked over her shoulder with foreboding.

  Mistress Emelyne stood just behind her, hands fluttering like uneasy birds hesitant to land. But her eyes sparkled with unmistakable eagerness.

  The prioress tried hard to disguise her annoyance. She wanted to be alone and resolve her dilemmas. Looking down at her fingers, Eleanor decided she had too few on which to count her conflicting priorities.

  “How fortunate that I have discovered you here!”

  With forced benevolence, she flashed a smile at this pert widow and swallowed her impatience. Anyone on pilgrimage should not succumb to even the pettiest of transgressions, she reminded herself, and tried to cast aside this unseemly intolerance. The attempt was short-lived. Eleanor could feign only so much virtue without committing the greater sin of hypocrisy.

  “I have heard such amazing tales!” The widow raised her hands as if awed by the immensity of what she had learned.

  The prioress shut her eyes. On the brief journey here, this woman had tried to amuse her with innumerable stories of misdeeds, great and trifling, committed by the widow’s neighbors in Norwich. Eleanor had often bitten her tongue, resisting the temptation to chastise Mistress Emelyne for bringing worldly matters on a pilgrimage intended to escape them.

  Normally a decisive woman, she was therefore puzzled when she could not choose between ordering the woman to be silent or letting he
r talk. Concluding now that the former was based in arrogance, a sin she feared she owned, she once more chose the latter as a lesser evil.

  “To what could you possibly refer?” She began to walk briskly down the path, hoping her clipped speech lacked the warmth of encouragement. With God’s kindness, the widow might take the hint and leave her in peace.

  Mistress Emelyne broke into a trot, just keeping pace by the prioress’ side. “To the death of Sister Roysia,” she puffed. “Have you not heard the news?”

  Eleanor avoided the temptation to lie and had to agree that she knew. Why was God testing her with so many forms of sin?

  The widow bent as close to her companion’s ear as she could and murmured, “She was seeing her lover in the bell tower. Everyone knew she met him there.”

  Stopping abruptly, Eleanor stared at the woman in astonishment. This time, her reaction was genuine.

  “Oh, I may be a stranger here, my lady, but my late husband always said that the wise must keep ears open for any news. One never knows when there may be value in it.” Her expression grew suitably solemn. “Of course I would never spread this tale to others, but you are a woman devoted to God. Telling you can be no sin.”

  That was a new concept to Eleanor, but she did not want to discourage this important confidence. She was eager to hear what Mistress Emelyne had to say, yet still feared the woman would think she welcomed such stories. Deciding the widow was inclined to believe she welcomed them no matter what she did, the prioress told her conscience that any virtue in rejecting gossip had long been lost.

  “Surely this is but idle tale-telling on the part of the unkind,” the prioress said. Realizing her tone suggested censure, she quickly smiled to prove her interest in learning more.

  “I heard it from several sources as I wandered through the shops today.” Emelyne took a deep breath, girding herself for a longer exposition. “It grieved most that Sister Roysia had been bringing such shame to her priory.” For a moment she hesitated, studying the prioress’ face for any clue that she had taken offense. “From the way the story was told, I believed that the tellers were God-fearing and well-meaning folk.”