“The only one going to hell is him,” said Palmer. The woman’s refusal to comfort Theodosia with reason enraged him.
Voices came from the door, cutting him off. He looked around to see Edward enter with Brother Paulus.
The elderly hostel monk stopped dead and crossed himself with determined vigor. “Who is that poor wretch?”
“A violent vagabond,” said Edward. “He attacked the two sisters here when Palmer and I were at the market, and during his attack, he fell on his own sword.”
Brother Paulus looked over the scene and turned to Edward with raised eyebrows. “I can’t see how that happened.” He sniffed the air. “For a start, his face is burned to naught with my lye. Moreover, his hands are cut. From trying to pull the sword out.” His lips pursed and made his thin face even sharper. “I think you need to call the constable, Brother Edward. I’m not sure the women’s account is true.”
Palmer read Theodosia and Amélie’s panic. He shared their fear. Bringing in the law could cost them their freedom, maybe even their lives.
“There will be no constable, Brother Paulus,” said Edward.
“I’m in charge of this establishment,” said Paulus, “and I’m saying it’s necessary.”
Palmer’s look went to Edward. Any inquiry, even if they walked free, would mean missing their sailing. They couldn’t afford that, now they knew the ferocious Eleanor was behind this terrible chain of events. They needed to get to Henry, and fast. “Let the brother know a bit more,” he urged.
“Brother Paulus, under normal circumstances I would agree with you,” said Edward. “But believe me, there is more to this than you can possibly imagine.” He gestured to Fitzurse. “What you see here is a man who was involved in the murder of the Archbishop of Canterbury.”
“Never.” Brother Paulus gave the corpse a look of open loathing.
“Indeed he was,” said Edward. “I’m afraid I can tell you no more. As you’ll appreciate, it’s a matter of great delicacy.”
“Then I’ll see to him,” said Paulus, “and he won’t be receiving the blessing of hallowed ground neither.”
“Thank you, Brother.” Edward’s relieved glance met Palmer’s. “Now, Sir Palmer, can you help the good brother here?”
Palmer nodded. Disposing of Fitzurse for good would be no sorry task for him.
“Sister Theodosia, while they do that, I believe you have a confession to make?” Edward extended a hand to usher her to his room.
“Go, my blessed.” Amélie kissed her on the cheek and loosed her hold.
As Palmer bent to assist Paulus in lifting the corpse, Theodosia walked past him to follow Edward, head bowed.
“You acted bravely, Theodosia,” said Palmer. “Like a knight.”
But she didn’t acknowledge him. Instead, she walked out after Edward, shoulders bowed in sorrow, without a backward glance.
♦ ♦ ♦
“In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.” Sat on the side of his bed in his room, Brother Edward crossed himself with the familiar gesture.
Knelt before him on the hard wooden floor, Theodosia also made the sign of the cross. The familiar gesture felt so odd in the strangeness of this place. She joined her hands and bent her head to them. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been…” She paused to work it out. So much had happened, it felt like a thousand years. “It has been…been...” Dear God, she didn’t know. For the first time ever. “A long time since my last confession.”
“What sins have you committed in that time?”
“I have committed mortal sin.” She knotted her fingers tightly together.
“Tell me, my child.”
May the Lord bless Brother Edward. It mattered not that they held this sacrament in a strange room, away from the church, that she was a sinner. He was there for her useless, sinful soul, to bring her back to God, to everything she was promised to. “I have killed a man. Taken his life from him.”
“The gravest of sins, Sister.” His voice was steady, measured.
“I know, I know. I’m so sorry, so very, very sorry. I will never, ever commit such a deed again, even if my life were to depend on it.”
“Did you intend to commit that sin?”
“No, I did not. It was the only way to protect those I love.”
“Those?”
What had she said? A flush stole across her face and neck. Edward would have a perfect view of her embarrassment as she knelt before him in this immodest dress. “My mother.”
“And?”
The flush grew warmer.
“Remember, you are talking to God. He sees what’s in your heart.”
“And Sir Palmer,” she whispered.
“You have love for a man? A fighting man, a godless murderer?”
God knew her heart. So did Edward, it seemed. “Yes.” She swallowed hard. “And I have another mortal sin to confess.”
“Another?” Surprise tinged his voice. “Go on.”
“I broke my vow of chastity. With Sir Palmer. Last night.”
She tensed, waiting for his livid reaction.
Instead, Edward gave a long sigh. “Oh, my child, my child. You really did turn away from God, didn’t you?”
Theodosia risked a glance up.
Edward’s face held no anger, only a deep disappointment.
“Yes, I did.”
“As soon as you did, you allowed the serpent of evil to whisper in your ear, just as he did to Eve in God’s own garden.”
She nodded, unable to speak with the lump of tears and regret gathered in her throat.
“Tempted you with lust, with Palmer a willing companion in that sin.” He sighed once more. “The taking of a man’s life the next day, again with wickedness learned from Palmer and his murdering ways. Mortal sin followed by mortal sin.” Edward thumped his fist on his knee for emphasis. “Do you not see?”
“I do, Brother, I do. I beg the Almighty for His forgiveness, though I deserve to burn for all eternity through my sinfulness.”
“The climb back to holiness will be a steep, rocky one. Your penance has to be severe.”
Punishment meant at least hope of redemption — she wasn’t completely damned. Praise God. “I deserve it. I will atone for what I have done.”
Edward sat in silence for a few moments. “Then your penance is this. You will not eat or drink for one entire day a week, from Lauds of one day to Lauds of the next. For the night in between, you will not sleep. You will instead pray the rosary all night. That is for taking the life of Sir Reginald Fitzurse.”
“I will try with all my heart, Brother.”
“You will do more than try, Sister.” His tone hardened. “You will succeed. If there are any failures, you will start afresh the next night, or the next day, until you do succeed. This will be your path from now till the day you die. Do I make myself clear?”
She risked a glance up. Edward’s green eyes held no warmth or compassion. But who was she to think she could deserve any? She dropped her head once more, with her resolve to do a perfect penance set like stone.
“And for your fornication with Sir Palmer, for your breaking of one of your sacred vows.” Edward bent down to reach for a leather satchel stowed under the bed. “This first.”
She looked up to see him stood over her with a flat-bladed razor in his right hand. Her mouth dried. She knew what was coming.
“Your hair,” he said. “A reminder of the day you took your vows. When the razor of God removed your unsightly hair, that you would be more pleasing in his presence. Hold still.”
Theodosia closed her eyes as she felt the pressure of the metal against her skull. This shouldn’t matter, shouldn’t matter at all. Her head would soon be concealed beneath her wimple and veil again. But tears pooled in her eyes, streamed down her face.
“Your sorrow reveals your soul’s repentance, as it should.” Edward worked fast and sure, with each slide of the blade chopping a hefty clump from her skull.
Her shorn hair tickled her face and shoulders, the dry shave a painful rasp. But it was what she deserved. It had to be. Fornication. That’s what she’d done. Benedict’s strong hands, his lips, his touch…Oh, dear God, here came the impure thoughts again. Oh, please, Lord. Forgive me.
“Done,” said the monk.
She opened her eyes, the dark-blonde tendrils of her hair fallen around her.
“And the rest of the penance for Sir Palmer.”
Her spirit quailed as she met Edward’s gaze. There was more?
The monk patted a string-tied bundle. “This will have to suffice before you get your new habit.” He sliced open the string with the razor, then held a hand up and murmured a blessing over the folded garment. “This is at least a holy garment now.” His mouth turned down in disapproval. “Unlike that immodest frock you wear. Get rid of it, cast it off as you do your sin.”
“Yes, Brother,” she whispered.
He went to step outside. “All of it, do you hear me? You will wear only the coarse wool I have provided. Your nakedness beneath will be a constant reminder of your lustful use of your body.”
Theodosia opened her mouth to appeal her judgment, but Edward cut across her.
“By all that’s holy, still you argue. Do as you are told. When you are back with the church, you shall have a fresh habit.”
A new sacred garment, one to replace the one Benedict had torn from her. A new beginning.
But Edward went on. “Your new habit will have barbs sewn inside. It will be a constant torment against your flesh, flesh that has sinned so abominably. Lust is the scorpion with the tail of poisonous lechery, so you should suffer its constant sting for the rest of your days.”
No. She dropped her head into her hands.
“I’m glad to see you start to realize your wrongs. Now get changed.” He went out of the door and closed it behind him.
With hands that shook, Theodosia ran her palms over her newly shaven scalp. The prickly sensation sickened her enough; at least she couldn’t see how dreadful she must look. Not that it mattered. At all.
She took off Gwen’s torn dress with an unexpected grief. Then the shift, the shift she’d undone for Benedict’s touch, the petticoats. Her heart wept — she had to stop it.
She unfolded the dress Edward had blessed. Made of wiry wool the color of charcoal, it had the stale, horrid smell of another’s unwashed flesh. She took a deep breath and pulled it over her head. It slid down her body, a shapeless, malodorous, uncomfortable sack. No matter. Her physical adornment, her joy in her body, was in the past. “I am ready, Brother Edward.”
The monk reentered and looked her up and down with a nod of unsmiling satisfaction. “Your first step on the journey to redemption.” He made his way over to the bed and picked up the discarded linen underskirts. He removed a length with a cut of his razor. “Come here.”
She stood before him and he placed the white cloth across her forehead, then looped it round the back of her head. He made quick work of wrapping her head, leaving her face exposed. Her neck followed, with the material tighter and tighter as he secured each layer.
“Can you loosen it a little, Brother?” she said.
He shook his head. “Looseness is what brought you to this sorry state. You need to be brought back, mind, body, and soul.” He picked up the length of string from the bed and brought it round her waist. With a low grunt of effort, he secured it tight. “Discipline is never pleasant and at the time may seem painful. But for those trained by it, it yields a harvest of peace.”
Theodosia bit her lip. The tight makeshift belt made the wool of her dress dig right into her skin.
Edward picked up the last section of linen and arranged it atop her wimple as a makeshift veil. He took a step back from her to consider his handiwork and smiled at the result. “You are returned as an anchoress, at least to the eye. We have redeemed your body as we will redeem your soul. Now kneel to make your act of contrition and to receive absolution.”
Theodosia did as Edward instructed. The discomfort of her garments became even more apparent if she had to move. Her neck had been wrapped so tightly, she could hardly breathe when she tried to bow her head. The wool scraped against the soft skin of her breasts, and she could imagine the sensation when her new habit enfolded her, sewn through with a hundred sharps. But worse than the physical discomfort was the sense of humiliation in how she was dressed, although she was perfectly modest to an outside observer. Oh, Brother Edward had taught her well of the foolishness of bodies and bodily things.
Edward raised his right hand to make the sign of the cross. “One more thing. From now until he leaves us for good, Sir Palmer is to be addressed as Sir Palmer. No more Benedict or any other sinful familiarity. The slide to ruin is speedy, as you have experienced firsthand. There is no other remedy but flight from temptation. And believe me, Palmer is the devil’s own instrument of that temptation. He must be dead to you. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Brother.”
He began the words of absolution, a sign to Theodosia that God had forgiven her sins.
No more Benedict. Of course Brother Edward was right. She’d been wrong. But it didn’t stop her heart from breaking.
Edward concluded and nodded for her to start her act of contrition.
“Oh my God, I am heartily sorry…” Sobs broke over her words, and she wept her way through the prayer.
“That’s it, my child. Repent before God.”
But she wasn’t crying to God. She cried for her foolish, impossible, stupid love for a sinful, misguided man. A man that forevermore would have to be a distant stranger to her. She would save her soul, do whatever she had to. Though her heart would shatter as she did so.
EPISODE 6
CHAPTER 28
Palmer stood on the dockside in a deserted part of the harbor, keen to dispose of the unsavory load he’d carried with Brother Paulus.
In the pale blue of the dusk sky, the red ball of the sun would soon dip from sight. With the finish of daylight came a chill deep enough to freeze a man to death. Unless they were already dead.
“On three,” said Paulus, his thin cheeks ruddy from cold and effort.
“One moment.” Palmer adjusted his hold on the body of Reginald Fitzurse, wrapped tight in an old sack. He carried the heavier, shoulder end, while Paulus staggered under the weight of the feet. “Whenever you’re ready.”
“One, two, three.”
Palmer flung the packaged corpse with all his might while Paulus added his strength too.
It broke the surface of the water with a smaller splash than he’d imagined, then started to sink from sight.
“That should see the end of him,” said Paulus, “and good riddance, I say.”
The object sank from view, with only a few ripples on the quiet surface of the calm black ocean. But on flooded, waterlogged battlefields, the half-rotten bodies of fallen knights would resurface as if rejected by Satan from hell. “What if he floats back up?” said Palmer.
“Not with the stones I secured in there,” said Paulus. “They’ll keep him on the seafloor for all eternity, while the crabs pick over his every bone.”
“No wonder he weighed so much,” said Palmer. “I’m guessing the stones were at my end?”
“’Course. What do you take me for?” Paulus set off back along the dockside, and Palmer fell into step beside him.
“Happen you’ve done this before, eh?” said Palmer.
“What makes you say that?” said Paulus.
“This is a very quiet spot, looks like it hasn’t been used for years. And you knew to weigh a body down in water.”
“Let’s just say you come across all sorts when you’re running a dockside hostel,” said the monk. “Not all of it good. You have to have ways of dealing with things.”
“What kinds of things?” said Palmer, his interest captured by this elderly monk.
Paulus obliged him with a couple of astonishing tales that passed the time of their
journey back to the hostel. Night had closed in, and lamps and lanterns lit every window they passed.
Once they arrived, Paulus excused himself on hostel business.
Palmer climbed the stairs to their rooms, a warm glow within him. Eleanor’s knights were defeated. The boat was due to sail in an hour or two, and he still had a couple of days left with Theodosia; she’d be finished with Brother Edward by now. He wouldn’t let anything spoil this last time — it was far too precious. He knocked on the bedroom door, and Edward’s voice replied.
“Come in.”
“Good evening, one and all…” Palmer’s greeting died on his lips.
Edward, Amélie, and Theodosia knelt in a circle, rosaries in hand. But Theodosia was robed as a nun once more. The gray woolen dress served as a habit, and she wore a linen wimple and veil.
“Have you come to join us in prayer, Palmer?” said Edward, with an irritated frown at being interrupted.
Amélie continued with her quiet recitation of prayer, eyes closed, fingers swift from bead to bead.
Palmer’s gaze locked on Theodosia, who dropped her glance in an instant. “No,” he said.
“Hardly a surprise,” said Edward.
The monk’s superior attitude riled him. “I came to ask if you wanted any food. Theodosia?”
She shook her head but didn’t look up.
“Come on,” he said. “You must have an appetite by now.”
“Appetite is no longer an issue, “ said Edward. “The sister is reining back her consumption. Certainly she will have no more meat.”
“I wasn’t asking you,” said Palmer with force. “I asked her. Now, Theodosia — ”
“No, thank you, Sir Palmer.”
Her subdued reply brought him up short. “Benedict,” he said.
“Sir Palmer, as I am Sister Theodosia,” she repeated. “It is proper we should address each other correctly.” Her face showed as pale as the confining wimple that enclosed it and her neck. Her red-rimmed eyes showed recent, many tears.
From the corner of his eye, he noted Edward’s smug expression.
“I don’t know what nonsense Edward’s been filling your head with,” he said. “But we don’t need formal names.” He waited for a rebuff from Edward, but none came. Instead, it came from Theodosia.
E. M. Powell Page 28
