Eleanor knew that she would not be here now had she not been so angered by both priory and priest. As she first told her monk, they ought not to pry into something that was neither their responsibility nor concern. Father Vincent’s actions, along with Prioress Ursell’s apparent collusion, had caused her to reverse her argument.
Anger is rarely a good reason for doing anything, she thought, but hers was born from indignation. There had been maltreatment of an innocent, or rather two. Her monk had committed no sin worthy of being reported to Rome, and she doubted Gracia had done anything to warrant curses and a slow death from starvation.
It seems Brother Thomas has been right, she thought. Although God was doing it obliquely, He was pushing them into this investigation.
She sighed and climbed higher. Prioress Ursell still had reason to be outraged if she caught her fellow prioress exploring where she had no reason to be. Were the situation reversed, Eleanor would be offended over a guest’s rude and equally arrogant presumption. Thinking about the insult to her monk and the crime against a child, however, she felt less empathy for the prioress of Ryehill.
Reaching the end of the stairs, she pressed against the wooden panel above her head. It was light in weight. She pushed it to one side, climbed out of the stairwell onto the tower floor, and looked around.
The area was not large. The bell itself was enclosed in a high wooden frame, braced by crudely cut timber. A ladder rose into the loft, presumably to access the bell and wooden headstock for repairs. Although the bell was in shadow, she noted it was a small one and easily rung by a nun. The sound would be lost amidst the deeper tones and melodies from the Walsingham Priory bells, but this bell was only intended to alert the priory nuns to the hours for prayer.
Now that she was here and had seen the space, what did she expect to learn about Sister Roysia’s death? All evidence, pointing to either fair or foul causes, would have vanished for equally acceptable or illicit reasons.
A cutting wind attacked from the northeast and bit with the sharpness of a dagger through her woolen habit. Backing away, she sought shelter in a protected corner, and then looked behind her just in time.
The wall there was only waist-high. Falling to her knees in terror, she edged closer and looked straight down into the street. The trembling that struck her had little to do with the cold wind and much to do with the realization that Sister Roysia must have fallen from this spot.
Quickly, she crawled back and braced herself against the tower containing the bell. Closing her eyes, she tried to banish the image of the horror on the nun’s face as she fell to a certain death. The soul might long for the afterlife, but the mortal body was terrified by the process of dying.
She opened her eyes. Had she heard a noise other than the wind? But as she peered around, she did not see anyone who had joined her in this place, and the sound of the coming storm muted noise from the road below.
“Surely that was only a welcoming tower rat,” she muttered. The weak jest did calm her, but she was certain she had heard something and decided to see if it had come from an inquisitive rodent or a curious mortal.
The wooden panel leading to the staircase was where she had left it. If a nun had climbed to the tower, she could not have left so quickly, nor would she likely have done so without speaking. Yet the prioress grew more convinced that someone was nearby.
Remaining on her knees, she crawled slowly and silently closer to the open stairwell entry. She held her breath and swiftly peeked over the edge.
A girl was sitting just a few steps down. Seeing the prioress’ face, her eyes widened as if she had just seen a ghost. “Forgive me, my lady! I meant no ill.”
“Nor did I think you had,” Eleanor said, trying not to laugh with relief. “I am not a nun of this place but rather a pilgrim to the shrines here. My home is Tyndal Priory on the North Sea coast where I am prioress.”
The child shifted uneasily. Despite the wind and fresh air, her movement sent a waft of foul odor from her long unwashed body.
“You have nothing to fear from me, for I have no authority here, but I would learn who you are and why you have come here.” She smiled. “Is it the view?” She hoped the jest would calm the child.
“When I saw you, I thought you were Sister Roysia, or else her shade for I know she is dead.” She wrapped her arms more tightly around her bony knees.
“I doubt the good nun’s spirit would have any reason to do you harm. I have heard she was a good woman.”
The child stared at her, and then asked, “Are you alone, my lady?”
Eleanor glanced around and nodded.
“I meant to ask if you were accompanied when you came to Walsingham.”
“One monk. Brother Thomas is his name. We arranged to come with a party of other pilgrims.” The prioress suddenly looked on this girl with new interest. The approximate age is right, she thought, and the girl’s eyes shine with quick wit. “Is your name Gracia?”
The child slipped down another few steps as if to flee, but then she stopped and looked back up at Eleanor. Her expression suggested a mix of uneasiness and curiosity.
“Brother Thomas has told me of your plight, and we have been seeking you.”
“For what reason?” The girl’s eyes took on the look of a cornered animal.
“You deserve an honest reply, but I beg you return the favor before I give it,” she said, making no move toward the child but instead sitting slightly back of the entrance.
The girl studied her, her gaze swiftly taking in as much as she could see of the small woman sitting above her. Then she nodded.
“Why do Father Vincent and Prioress Ursell dislike you so?” She held up a hand. “I know the story of the merchant’s rape, but God demands we succor those who have been wronged. He is the defender of all who have no one else in the world to protect them.”
Gracia folded her arms but said nothing.
As the silence lengthened, the prioress let the girl stare. Others would have grown impatient with the delay, or deemed her behavior uncouth, but Eleanor suspected that this child was taking in every nuance of her expression and listening again to every word the prioress had uttered. The experience was unsettling, but there was neither threat nor true discourtesy in the study. Gracia was simply assessing danger, her skill honed beyond anything a child of such youth should need.
The prioress’ heart ached.
“You do not believe I am the Devil’s spawn?”
“When Father Vincent questioned you, you claimed the man forced you to lie with him. Is that true?”
Gracia slipped up two steps closer, pressed her back against the wall of the stairwell, and bent her head before murmuring, “I told the priest that my entrails bled, and then I asked him why I would willingly suffer that.”
This was more than Eleanor could bear, and she stretched her hand toward the girl. Tears began to flow down her cheeks.
Gracia hesitated, then placed her bony fist into this strange woman’s palm.
“If you told the priest that,” Eleanor said, her voice rough with emotion, “why does he treat you with so little charity?”
“Because I knew that he helped Master Larcher meet in this tower with Sister Roysia.”
Shocked, Eleanor almost drew back but stopped herself. She did not want the child to think she had been offended. “Will you tell me more?”
Keeping a firm hold on the prioress’ hand, Gracia scrambled out of the stairwell and tugged at Eleanor until the prioress followed her to the opposite side of the tower. The girl stood near the low wall and pointed downward. “Look there, my lady.”
Frightened that she would be greeted with another sight of the dizzying void, Eleanor edged slowed forward.
“It is not so far.” The child smiled and raised her other hand. “You may take both of these to steady yourself.”
Eleanor almost said that she was too small to pull a grown woman back should she slip, but Gracia’s offer revealed a kind heart. She murmured g
ratitude instead.
And so the prioress knelt by the wall, calmed her fears, and carefully peered down. To her surprise, the distance was not so terrifying. The priory roof was just below. The distance was great enough to cause injury, if a man were to fall, but unless he rolled off the roof, the fall should not prove fatal.
As she gazed across the roof, she noticed how close the houses on the other side of the street were to the priory. If she judged correctly, a man might safely jump the short distance between house and priory roof. The question remained how he might climb the tower. Taking courage, she looked down at the stones of the tower. There was nothing to give a foothold for climbing.
She stood up and pointed toward the roof and houses. “Please explain what this means.”
“One of those houses is empty, my lady. The family died in last summer’s fever.” Gracia pointed to a house. “In the back of that house, there is a ladder that rises to the roof. From there, a man can easily reach the top of this priory.”
“But from the priory roof to here?”
“A rope,” the child replied. Then she urged the prioress to follow her back to a corner of the tower and pointed out a coiled rope lying there.
Eleanor knelt to study it. “Sister Roysia knotted this well enough so he could climb from the roof to the tower?”
The girl nodded. “Sister Roysia left it here, claiming it was meant to replace the one for ringing the bell should that one fray. When she arranged to meet Master Larcher, she secured it to a timber brace inside the bell tower itself and tossed the rope over the wall. The badge craftsman had strong arms and hands. He had no difficulty climbing it.”
“Then the story is true that they met for an unchaste purpose.”
Gracia firmly denied it. “They talked,” she said.
“And why are you so certain?”
“I was here when they met.”
Eleanor looked around in amazement. “How did you get up here?”
“Ryehill Priory has few nuns and no servants. I had sometimes seen the front door open and crept in without being caught, then hidden in this tower. But Sister Roysia once saw me outside and, having heard the story of the merchant’s rape, suggested I might henceforth find the priory entry unsecured and unattended while the nuns prayed at night before their rest. It is easy for me to swiftly climb the stairwell, and I could sleep in safety. I hid in a dark corner when the nun ascended the stairs to ring the bell. She never tarried when the wind was pitiless.”
“But Sister Roysia and the craftsman must have remained longer, and surely they saw you.” The prioress gestured around the tower. “There is no place so dark that a sharp eye could not penetrate.”
“For someone of my size there is, my lady. As you discovered, it is easy to remain just below the tower entrance and remain unseen. I know of other places for concealment as well.”
“And did you observe them often?”
“They met only a few times, my lady, but I was here when they did with but one exception.”
This is quite extraordinary, Eleanor thought. Although she once allowed a nun to meet with a monk, who had been the woman’s husband in the world, and was confident that their encounters were chaste, she remained doubtful about Master Larcher and Sister Roysia. Yet this girl was not ignorant of sexual matters, being both poor and abused. “What did they talk about, child?” The answer to this question should give her a better idea of the circumstances.
Gracia shrugged. “Stories that Sister Roysia overheard from those who visited Prioress Ursell. I could not always hear details but understood the intent. The first time they…”
Suddenly they heard a sound like a door slamming.
Eleanor froze, but no one emerged from the entrance. She walked over and looked down the stairwell. It was empty. Perhaps she had not shut the entrance door firmly enough, and she prayed this happened often enough with such an ill-fitting door that a passing nun would think nothing of it if the wind sucked it shut.
Then she looked over her shoulder, intending to continue her conversation with Gracia.
The child had disappeared.
She called softly to her but got no response. Where could the girl have gone?
A quick glance confirmed the rope remained coiled in the place she had last seen it. Other than the wind, there was no sound in the bell tower, a place that had suddenly grown ominous and lonely.
From deep in the bell tower, a raven screamed a warning from a hidden roost, then swooped down at the prioress. She fell to her knees. The bird swerved and flew away.
Eleanor shuddered and decided she would look no further for the vanished girl. It was time she left herself. Backing down into the stairwell, she carefully replaced the wooden slat over the bell tower entrance. The descent seemed to take forever, but at last she returned to the door.
It was firmly shut.
I am sure I left it that way, she thought, then carefully listened for any noise on the other side. Praying it was safe, she slowly pushed the door open.
No one was in the hall when she emerged.
As Eleanor returned to the room she shared with others, she grew increasingly curious. How had Gracia escaped?
Chapter Eighteen
Larcher laid the pewter badge on the table and admired his intricate work. It glittered like old silver in the pale beam of light flowing from the window above. Impatient, he began to pace around the empty audience chamber at Ryehill Priory. He had made a great effort to finish the badge for the prioress of Tyndal as requested. Where was Prioress Ursell?
Twitching with annoyance, he looked around as if the woman must be hiding somewhere just to infuriate him. He had no time to wait for her to grace him with her presence. Kicking at the rushes, he muttered a curse unsuited to a religious setting.
The chamber door swung open. Outside, two women held a brief conversation before the prioress of Ryehill entered with a small nun in tow.
He glanced at the attendant, half expecting to see Sister Roysia. A chill shook him as if a ghost had touched his arm, and he began to sweat with rank fear.
“It is about time you finished that badge, Master Larcher,” the prioress said as she seated herself with a muted thud onto her dark wooden chair. “Let me see it.” She pointed to the item.
He bowed, then reached for the requested object and passed it to the prioress, taking care not to touch her.
No longer brightened by the outside light, the badge looked dull.
Ursell felt the weight of the badge in her hand, scowled, and hefted it again. Then she stretched the object out at arm’s length to study each nuance of design.
The silence in the room felt far heavier to the craftsman than this intended gift for the prioress of Tyndal. Master Larcher’s temper was growing short, and he longed to go back to his shop. The apprentices were surely growing slack in their labor without the threat of his arrival and the whip he always held in his hand. As he nervously watched the prioress, her glare suggested displeasure. He fingered the details of the Virgin in the badge, and decided he would first stop at the inn for a soothing cup of wine.
“I saw the look you gave my current attendant,” Ursell said, lowering the badge and bestowing her disapproving look on the craftsman instead.
Her voice made Larcher think of the Archangel Gabriel’s horn announcing Judgment Day. He swallowed, but his throat remained too dry to speak.
“She will not succumb to sin like Sister Roysia did.” The prioress waved her hand toward the shadowy figure by the door. “I have made sure she understands the horrors of hellfire for any bride of Christ who breaks her vows.”
Although he could not be sure, the craftsman thought he heard a muted cry of pain from the unnamed nun. “I do not understand, my lady,” he whispered.
“You both thought I was a fool, Master Larcher. I knew of your meetings in the bell tower.” She waited, then hissed, “I pray that Sister Roysia’s death has opened your eyes to how a wrathful God punishes vile sinners.”
Ursell sneered. “I smell your lie. Your sweat reeks like a sow in heat. That is the reek of unholy lust.”
“Lust?” He straightened, and his pallor began to fade. “I felt nothing of the kind for your nun, nor did she for me.”
“How dare you insult me and add that to your many sins!” Clutching her staff, she rose from her seat and approached the merchant. “Lest you think me an innocent, know that I left the world understanding all too well what wickedness is common in it. You met Sister Roysia in the bell tower and coupled with her like a dog.” She stood so close, her spittle sprayed his face. “There is no other reason for a man and a woman to meet covertly.”
He wiped his cheeks and stared at her, unable to speak.
The prioress raised a fist in front of his nose. “Deny it as the Evil One demands, but God knows what you did there.”
He bent to one side and reached over to touch her staff of office. “On this I swear. God may strike me now if my hand ever touched your nun with lust.”
Pulling the staff away from him, Prioress Ursell stepped back. “I hear the Devil’s voice coming from your mouth.”
“We did nothing of which you accuse us.”
“Do you deny you met each other in the tower?”
“Bring me the witness!”
“That accusation you dare not deny. I am not so easily fooled by your weak attempt to divert me, Master Larcher.” She carefully placed her staff between them. “You met, you coupled, and you killed Sister Roysia for the sin you forced upon her in her woman’s frailty.”
“If someone has told you this, they lie! We were chaste, and I most certainly did not kill her.” He cursed himself for his phrasing. He had as good as admitted to one of her accusations.
“Then you did meet. How did you get into the bell tower?” She bent forward, her voice shaking with fury. “Tell me that, confess your sins to Father Vincent, and you might escape Hell. Sister Roysia burns there now, screaming in agony, for what she did. Do you wish to join her? Lust never burns as hot as those flames.”
Covenant With Hell (Medieval Mysteries) Page 11
