Covenant With Hell (Medieval Mysteries)

by Priscilla Royal

  “We shall speak soon, Brother. Pray for me.”

  “I shall.” Giving her a blessing, he rose.

  The infirmarian motioned for the bearers to come forward. Gently lifting the litter, they carried the prioress away. At the head of the party was Prioress Ursell, her staff of office glittering in the pale sun. The infirmarian followed behind, watching to make sure the trip was accomplished with as much gentleness as possible.

  Thomas looked up at the sky. Late in the season though it was, he wondered if the hazy light meant a late snow. He hoped not.

  “Brother Thomas!”

  Master Durant ran to his side. The man was sweating, and his eyes were dark with anger. “The killer has escaped.” He spat out the admission as if it were rotten meat.

  “Prioress Eleanor said that it was a woman and her name is Mistress Emelyne, a merchant’s widow of some means from Norwich. Gracia also recognized her as the pilgrim who accompanied my prioress on the visits to the shrines. The widow was a member of the same party we joined when we came on pilgrimage.”

  Durant raised an eyebrow. “I find it strange that she claimed she came from Norwich and owned such wealth. I know her not, Brother, and I should.”

  “She confessed much to Prioress Eleanor before she tried to kill her. My lady says she is the assassin you seek.”

  “How diabolically clever to use a woman,” Durant said and suddenly looked weary. “The king shall be told.” He fell silent and his gaze grew distant with thought. Murmuring something Thomas could not hear, he bowed and abruptly walked away without another word.

  Thomas watched him disappear and suddenly felt bereft. If this was the last he would see of the merchant, he would have preferred a different parting. Then he shook away such thoughts.

  He had prayers to offer for his prioress’ recovery, and he turned toward the road leading to Walsingham Priory. He would never again kneel at the Shrine of the Virgin’s Lock.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  A dusting snow was falling outside, but there was little need for a fire in the chambers of the prioress of Ryehill. The anger flowing from Prioress Ursell was hot enough to fry the Devil.

  Thomas almost felt sorry for Father Vincent. Almost, he thought, for I shall never forget what he did to a child.

  The prioress of Ryehill nodded to the monk. Dark circles, like the ashes of mourning, were etched under her eyes. “You have much to tell us. I may fear your news, but I must learn each foul truth.” She glanced at the priest who knelt before her like the penitent he ought to be. “It is my duty.”

  “I shall keep the tale brief, my lady. You have been betrayed by those whom you had reason to trust, but not by the ones you were led to believe had brought shame on this priory.”

  She stiffened but did not blench.

  The priest muffled a whine.

  “Sister Roysia was murdered, not by Master Larcher, but by one who came to Walsingham as an alleged pilgrim.”

  “Not by her…” The prioress gulped and then mumbled, “her lover.”

  “She brought her virtue into question by meeting Master Larcher as she did, but he was never her lover. She remained chaste, although a few might question if she did so within the spirit of her vows.”

  The priest looked up in horror. “But…”

  “Silence!” Ursell slammed her staff on the floor. “The sooner I hear all from Brother Thomas, the better for this priory and even you.”

  “When Father Vincent caught the craftsman climbing down from the bell tower, he assumed the man had entered the priory for carnal purposes. Larcher let him believe this but refused to give him the name of the nun until Father Vincent tricked him into revealing that it was Sister Roysia.”

  “And you might have stopped these meetings then,” the prioress hissed at the priest. “I said as much at the time.”

  “We had no choice,” the priest howled. “Who would make the badges if not this man?”

  She looked at the monk. “I take full responsibility for my part in this. As a frail woman, it is my duty to follow the greater wisdom of a man of God, and this priest insisted I obey his wish to delay action.” Her eyes narrowed. “Yet I should have known he spoke with Satan’s voice. That I allowed the impropriety to continue is reprehensible.” She waved her hand at the priest.

  “I fear that Father Vincent did take bribes from Master Larcher as payment for his silence and permission to continue the meetings.”

  “This is true? I have prayed that you were wrong.” She looked at Thomas as if longing to hear he had lied.

  The priest’s expression suggested he had just seen an avenging angel with a flaming sword standing over him. “Not bribes, in truth,” he mumbled, trying to soften his previous confession. “Donations.”

  “A witness has come forth. A reliable one.” He would not mention Gracia’s name. Confident she was telling the truth, he feared he might strike this foul priest if he again called her a whore.

  It was the prioress who silenced Father Vincent before he pursued the identity of the witness. “I take your word, Brother, for you have proven yourself to be an honest man.” She glared at the priest. “Had I been told the truth, I would have dealt with both nun and craftsman as God demands, even if you chose otherwise. Bribes! How dare you?”

  “The money was needed to feed your nuns.” He whimpered.

  Her eyes widened in horror. “I would have appealed to the Bishop of Norwich, Roger Skerning. We serve God with righteousness here, and I would not have touched one coin you obtained in that manner.”

  Thomas had saved the worst news, a tale Master Durant told him after hearing it from the innkeeper. The man recalled a relic seller, who had stayed at his inn in the winter. When the relic seller enjoyed too much wine on his last night, he had boasted of his lucrative deal with Father Vincent. Although the innkeeper did not doubt the sacred nature of the item acquired, he told Durant that he knew the priest had paid a great sum for a few hairs from the man’s large collection of strands.

  “There is more, my lady. Do you recall when you suddenly had less income for the care of your flock? Was it around the time your priest told you about the new relic?”

  “No!” Father Vincent began to beat his fists on the floor. “I only borrowed money from the priory for this relic. I knew it would bring greater rewards, well worth the minimal suffering of fewer mouthfuls of food.…”

  Prioress Ursell’s eyes blazed. “Miscreant! You stole money to pay for that relic, then told me how few alms there were during the winter and that we must make do with less? One nun died because our infirmarian could not pay for the herbs to treat her.” She bent forward and snarled at the priest. “You lied when you said a penitent had given you the relic and suggested the gift might have been from an angel. I was blinded by your pretty tale and mistook the Devil’s work for God’s! ”

  The priest put his hands over his eyes.

  “The money he received from Master Larcher was intended to pay back the price of the relic, or so I believe.” Thomas said softly.

  Sitting back, she looked at Thomas, her ire turned to sorrow. “I shall inform the bishop. The relic will be sold.”

  Father Vincent sobbed.

  Ignoring him, the prioress shifted uneasily. “You swear that the merchant and my nun were not lovers. If that is true, I would know why they met in such an unseemly fashion.” She whispered the last sentence.

  “I give you my word that Sister Roysia never broke her vows, my lady.” Thomas bowed his head to gain himself time. He did not want to explain as she required but could not avoid doing so in part. Durant had given him permission to tell what he must but begged him to keep as much secret as possible.

  The monk straightened. “The king is planning to visit this town soon, and one of his courtiers learned that an assassin had been sent to kill him while he was here. Master Larcher, who was the king’s man in this place, was told to discover the traitor’s name. Since pilgrims stay in the priories here, and impart news
while visiting, he was to contact specific religious in the Walsingham priories, whose loyalty was unquestioned and were in the best position to overhear important information. These sources were told to report anything to him that might lead to the capture of the assassin.”

  Father Vincent and Prioress Ursell looked equally horrified.

  “Sister Roysia was one, but she could neither read nor write and verbal messages sent by courier were unsafe. She suggested to the craftsman that they meet in the bell tower when she had news. Master Larcher was often in your chambers, my lady, and she could give him a signal at one of these frequent meetings. By the phrases spoken, she indicated time. She let down the rope. He climbed it and they talked.”

  Looking ill with grief over all she was hearing, the prioress groaned.

  “Sister Roysia called on the child, Gracia, to hide in the tower while she met with the craftsman so she would have proper attendance.”

  The priest opened his mouth to protest, then thought better of it.

  “Why not tell me of this?” the prioress whispered.

  “The good sister did not want to endanger any of Ryehill’s religious with this perilous knowledge, including you, my lady. Having seen the child in the streets, she offered to let Gracia sleep in the tower if she would come on those special occasions when a signal was given.”

  He hurried on, hoping neither priest nor prioress would ask for details he did not want to divulge. After all, they need not know that the nun had chosen to give shelter to Gracia every night after the rape in defiance of Father Vincent’s curses. Some of those nights also coincided with the meetings. “Sister Roysia gave her oath to one of the nuns here that she had never broken her vows, even if others condemned her for lewdness. If need be, that nun will confirm that.”

  “There is no doubt that Sister Roysia was murdered?” A tear fled down Prioress Ursell’s cheek and was brusquely swept away.

  “She was. I believe she learned that the assassin had arrived in this priory and sent for Master Larcher so she might reveal her name. The assassin met her in the tower instead and pushed her to her death.”

  “Her?” Father Vincent’s mouth gaped.

  “Mistress Emelyne, the woman who also tried to kill Prioress Eleanor, was in the pay of the king’s enemies. She confessed all to Prioress Eleanor before she tried to kill her.”

  “A woman!” The prioress gasped.

  “Who better to hide her mission?” Thomas looked down at his hands. “She claimed to be a merchant’s widow from Norwich and was part of that band of pilgrims we joined on the way here. Prioress Eleanor found her torn robe in the chambers they shared here. The missing cloth was in Sister Roysia’s hand.” He looked at Ursell, daring her to criticize him for failing to mention he had even seen the fabric. “I have confirmed that the piece matches the hole in the garment.” Since he had not trusted Prioress Ursell to let him have the evidence, he asked the infirmarian to retrieve it for him. It was a favor he would keep secret.

  “We harbored a traitor.” Prioress Ursell nervously rubbed her neck. “Even the Church will not protect us from condemnation. King Edward stands in high regard for his service in Outremer.”

  “You did so without knowledge, my lady, and it was, after all, your nun who died trying to save his life. Prioress Eleanor herself will swear to your loyalty, proven by Sister Roysia’s death, and beg that King Edward grant you rents or property to make up for the loss of income from the pilgrimage badges. She cannot promise her plea will be successful, but, as you know, her brother enjoys the king’s favor.”

  This time tears of relief did pour down her cheeks. “You and your prioress are compassionate beyond measure, Brother.” Then she turned to Father Vincent. “As for you, I shall inform the bishop of how you betrayed your calling, tried to cast shame on this priory, and how you lied to me while robing yourself in holy merit. The relic will be sold for the benefit of the poor.” She shuddered. “I would not allow one morsel of food bought with the proceeds to touch the lips of any of my nuns. It would pollute their souls.” She rose. “Plead for mercy, priest, for I now cast you from my sight and will beg for a praiseworthy man to replace you. May you be thrown into a dark prison for the remaining of your miserable…”

  But Thomas did not stay to hear all her curses, and escaped while she was still uttering them. He had a child to tend and a wounded prioress to comfort. The less he saw of this pair, the better, although he admitted that he had found a small redeeming aspect to the dour Prioress Ursell.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Durant turned away from the window of his room at the inn and smiled at the monk standing at the open door. Gesturing to the table, he said, “I ordered food, Brother, with the hope you would join me.”

  “That is a feast.” Thomas sniffed the air, pungent with herb-rubbed and roasted fowl. An abundance of steaming root vegetables glistened on a small platter. In the middle of the table, a pewter jug sat with two goblets nearby, suggesting a good wine was to be part of the meal.

  “I fear my tastes were formed in the markets of Norwich and the vineyards of the Aquitaine, not in the kitchens of a priory.”

  Thomas laughed and was happy he could do so. Durant knew his past too well, yet the monk sensed he had nothing to fear from this man, although others surely did. He was also pleased the merchant had summoned him again. “Nor, as you well know, were mine, Master Durant. Yet I am surprised you and your wife were not captivated by the miracles created by Sister Matilda, overseer of our priory’s kitchen, during your stay at Tyndal Priory. Her version of monastic simplicity does not lack earthly delight.”

  An ill-defined expression passed quickly over the wine merchant’s face, then he nodded. “I do recall the meals there. They were remarkable. Sadly, my opinion was skewed because ale was served, not wine, and I am better acquainted with the grape.”

  Thomas grinned. “The ale is a local marvel. Had you stayed longer, you might have learned to prefer it.”

  With a laugh, Durant bowed. “Please sit and let me pour some of this wine. The innkeeper is well-stocked with items that satisfy all tastes, and today is a feast day. I find his wine very pleasing.” Durant poured a deep ruby liquid into each cup and handed one to the monk.

  Thomas raised his. “To the King of Heaven and the king of England.”

  “Well said, Brother.”

  And the two raised their goblets to the respective lords.

  After Durant had insisted on serving the monk, then himself, the two men sat and ate in a silence that both found comfortable. Occasionally, one nodded in appreciation of the cook’s skill with bird or turnip, but they savored the offerings as men of taste might.

  Refusing another helping, Thomas sat back and sipped his wine. “To what do I owe this invitation? Do not think me ungrateful, but I have served as you do, only for a different master, and know there are reasons for everything.”

  “You are both correct and in error. I do have a reason, but I also missed your company.” The merchant blushed.

  Thomas raised an eyebrow, then felt foolish. He saw vulnerability flicker in the man’s eyes, a betrayal of weakness he had not expected. “I am glad you did,” he said gently. “Not many knowing of my imprisonment and ancestry would be so kind.”

  Durant looked away. “The rank of your sire puts you far above me.”

  “And that of my mother places me far below.” The monk waited a moment. “Shall we agree that their union and the lack of God’s blessing on their bed places me somewhere in the middle of God’s greatest creation?”

  “Still, I see your kin reflected in your eyes.”

  Instinctively, Thomas shut them. “I may be a changeling for all you know and own no kinship with those you mention.” He reached out a hand. “Shall we agree that I am simply Brother Thomas of Tyndal Priory and due honor only as I best serve God?”

  Durant took the offered hand. “You should have served the king. Did you take vows out of profound conviction?”

 
Thomas did not pull his hand away, finding comfort in the man’s touch. “I did not, but I discovered a home and true calling at Tyndal Priory. Prioress Eleanor is a wise leader, and I am happy in her service.”

  “God has given you peace?”

  “He granted me what may be the greater gift, that of patience.” Thomas realized that the merchant had withdrawn his hand. Looking up, he noticed that Durant’s eyes seemed to have changed color from green to a soft brown. “Peace comes from a purer faith than I own.”

  The merchant sipped at his wine, as if considering a new aspect of it, and then nodded. “How does Prioress Eleanor?”

  “Her arm was broken, but the infirmarian at Ryehill is skilled. She said the break was an easy one to set, and there is no sign of corruption in the flesh of the outer wounds.”

  “You sound surprised to learn that the nun here is competent.” Durant chuckled.

  “Are you not as well? Did you think anything good could come from that priory?”

  The merchant shrugged. “Sister Roysia gave her life to save God’s anointed king.”

  “That she did, and surely God has found a place in Heaven for her soul, but we failed to arrest the traitor.”

  “That was my news, Brother.”

  Thomas sat up. “You captured her?”

  Durant poured them both more wine. “We were given her body.” He held up a hand to delay any questions. “I think God must have arranged this strange form of justice.”

  “Can you tell me what happened?”

  “Mistress Emelyne, or so she called herself, joined a party of pilgrims returning to their homes along the road leading to London.”

  “Not back to Norwich then.”

  “She was never from that place, Brother. I knew no one by that name, rank, or wealth, and discreet inquiries proved me right. Her masters provided all she brought here to establish her identity as a merchant’s wealthy widow.” He smiled. “At least Ryehill Priory has her fine horse and a few gems to sell for holier purposes. They will be allowed to keep them.”