Emelyne’s lips twitched into a brief smile. If God were kind, this future message would include word that her troubling guest had healed and was eager to leave this priory.
“I shall obey, my lady.”
Emelyne reached out for another charter.
Janeta hesitated.
“You have something more to say?”
“What shall I tell Prioress Eleanor if she asks why Brother Thomas has not come to do her biding? I fear she will.”
“Indeed, she shall, as would I if I had been so cruelly confined with that painful injury.” Emelyne slapped her hand sharply on the desk.
The maid flinched.
“You must say that he has been delayed and you do not know when he will come.”
Now Janeta was sweating.
Sitting back, Emelyne felt a twinge of pity for this creature who had, for all her faults, been a loyal servant to the former prioress. “Fear not, child. If Prioress Eleanor insists on further explanation, tell her that I will respond to her if answers are, in truth, required.”
Doubt remained on Janeta’s face.
Emelyne took a deep breath. Must she tell this maid every word to speak? “And should she ask if you spoke directly to her monk, you may say, with no stain on your conscience, that you had first to seek permission from Brother Damian to do so. Such is only proper and is our practice. And further say that when he asked the purpose and you relayed the simple message, he told you that he would speak to Brother Thomas himself. I can assure you that he will say just what I have told you.” She and her brother had always thought alike. She had full confidence that he would do what was required.
Bowing with courtesy, Janeta finally left, much to the prioress’ relief.
Emelyne rose, went to warm her hands at the joyfully snapping fire, and tried to turn her thoughts to something more agreeable than irksome monastic guests.
Pets, she thought. Some prioresses have pets. Perhaps a small dog would bring her comfort when she was appointed permanently to this position. Glancing around, she decided a basket with a bit of old wool might go over in the corner near the door to her private chamber. Of course, she would not allow the beast to sleep with her. Somehow that seemed inappropriate if one were vowed to God. On the other hand, she might. She would pray about it.
With a sigh, she returned to her desk, stopping briefly to pick up a couple of rolled parchments from the floor.
Prioress Amicia had had a more masculine mind, Emelyne thought, one that retained figures and details as if a monk had carefully inscribed each thing in her head. The former leader had rarely needed to find the document to remember all the pertinent facts.
Emelyne did not have a similar facility. She had to read everything, refer back to sources, and file things in an order she could recall. Not that she doubted her ability to lead the priory in a profitable fashion, as was her duty, but her method could never be the same as that used by the woman locked in a nearby cell.
She set the rolls to one side and spread out the charter she had been reading before Janeta arrived. Immediately she began to rub her eyes. She had read so much, they began to hurt the moment she started reading again. What was this one about? A fine gift of thirteen acres of meadow plus eight acres of wood populated with deer!
Was the steward using this to the greatest benefit? Was he adequately competent, or did he let some things slip by his notice? Not only did she want to send more money to Clerkenwell for the efforts in Outremer, but she would like some needed repairs done for the benefit of the religious.
If only she had an advisor, she thought wearily. Brother Damian might aid her, but his first responsibility lay with his few monastics and the priest. If there was any question about use of resources, he would insist on his priorities superseding hers. They might have shared the same mother’s womb, and most certainly were often of one mind, but he was still a brother and his word must rule.
Perhaps, once these Fontevraudine pests had left and she was confirmed in her position, she could consult with the former prioress. They had always had differences of opinion, but Sister Amicia was dying, and surely such trivial issues would no longer matter. Service to God was paramount to them both.
Emelyne turned away from the smoking candle and gazed at the stone walls around her. Why was she so uneasy? Wasn’t she properly elected by the religious? And Amicia was dying. What difference did it make if her own elevation was now or after the former prioress’ death?
Closing her eyes, they burned unbearably. She let the parchment roll up on itself, rose, and sought a cup of the mulled wine left for her comfort on the table beside the fire.
Chapter Seventeen
The canonical hour observed, Brother Thomas and the tiny band of Hospitallers emerged from the chapel.
Looking to the heavens, Thomas wondered if God wished to show His satisfaction with their orisons. The sky had lightened from an earlier dull grey to a recognizable blue. Sunlight actually spread across the courtyard with enough vigor that the men smiled, their eyes shining with pleasure.
But the monk had more important things on his mind than the weather. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Brother Martin had gone immediately to Brother Damian’s side and was engaged in animated conversation.
The commander bent his head to listen, but his narrowed eyes betrayed impatience.
After their brief conversation the day before, Thomas might still think Brother Martin owned a certain innocence, but he held no such opinion of Damian. Forcing an expression of eager friendliness, Thomas approached the silent brother knight and the garrulous youth.
“May God grant our pleas,” the monk said with noteworthy enthusiasm, “for the Office was well honored with sweet song and fervent prayer.”
The two men jumped apart like lovers caught in a compromising position.
But Thomas doubted very much that they were. He knew the signs of plotting as well as the difference between guilty love and blameworthy deceit. With a broad grin, he waved at the sky as if suggesting God might send another sunbeam. In this case, he specifically longed for a light to shine on the crime he was trying to investigate.
Brother Damian recovered first. “We have brother knights and sergeants fighting in Outremer, Brother Thomas,” he said without warmth. “That adds an even greater zeal to our humble devotions.”
“I’m sure Prioress Eleanor would discover the same ardor in the preceptory if she were able to worship with the nuns.” He waited.
Both men nodded, but there was an obvious hesitancy.
“Now that the Hour has been observed, I shall visit her.” Thomas hoped his simulated heartiness was not too obvious.
Brother Martin blanched.
Not well-versed in deception, Thomas thought, but he was oddly pleased that the youth was not.
Brother Damian frowned. “I fear she may not be able to welcome you, Brother. Did I not hear that Prioress Eleanor’s ankle was so badly injured she could not walk? If so, I doubt she prayed with the nuns and therefore must be confined to her chamber in the nuns’ dormitory. Unless a nun is dying, not even a priest is allowed to visit therein.”
Thomas knew he had made a mistake by suggesting his incapacitated prioress might attend the Office for prayer, but his shock that he was being denied the right to visit her was genuine.
Now he was worried. Prioress Eleanor would never deny him access to her unless she was afflicted with some vile plague. If conventions prohibited his visit in the nuns’ quarters, she would find a way to be carried to where they could meet. Something felt amiss here, but he was not sure exactly how serious this attempt was to keep them apart. A chill struck him. Was she even safe?
“I knew she was in pain but did not know the full extent of the severity. She had not been thoroughly examined by Sister Anne before I was brought here. This news gravely concerns me, Brother Damian.
I must speak with Sister Anne,” Thomas replied. “She can relay any message our prioress has for me as well as explain the state of Prioress Eleanor’s health. We do not wish to abuse your hospitality any longer than need be.”
“I fear such a meeting with your sub-infirmarian will be difficult...”
“If Brother Martin accompanied me to meet with Sister Anne? I understand that a stranger, albeit a monk and counselor to Prioress Eleanor, might trouble the good nuns at Mynchen Buckland.” He smiled with forced geniality at the aforementioned lad.
The lay brother greeted him with a blank expression and turned with a desperate look to his commander for guidance in how to respond.
Brother Damian ignored him.
Thomas countered the leader’s intimidating frown with a gaze filled with a longing to accommodate. “Surely Prioress Emelyne would find no fault if Sister Anne came to the cloister where others often meet with Hospitaller nuns. With Brother Martin by my side and all of us in clear view of many others, there is no chance…”
“Brother Martin can relay any message to a nun or Prioress Emelyne that you might have and return with the reply. Why go at all, only to wait for a response in the garth, when you can stay here on your knees, praying to God for the swift recovery of your prioress?” Damian’s grin was strained. “Surely, you would find that the most profitable activity.”
Trying not to be insulted by the implication that he was less than devoted to the efficacy of prayer, Thomas replied to this suggestion with an expression of innocent puzzlement. “I am sure you did not know that I have often assisted Sister Anne at our priory hospital, conferring with her on treatment. Both she and our prioress would be perplexed if I did not offer advice in this matter.”
He glanced first at Brother Martin, who bowed his head, and then at Brother Damian, who did not. “Indeed, it is my duty to do so, as I am sure you would now agree.”
Brother Martin shifted from one foot to the other.
Thomas continued when Damian said nothing. “Yet I would not be the cause of any disquiet amongst the nuns,” he said. “Surely the presence of Brother Martin, while Sister Anne and I conferred in the public area, would be adequate reassurance for them.”
Brother Damian stared at Thomas.
Thomas failed to blink.
Damian clutched his scarred stump. “A wise solution, Brother,” the commander quickly said.
Thomas wondered at the swift change. The man’s eyes were glazed and his cheeks pale, as if he had just seen a frightening vision.
“Provide your greater wisdom to your sub-infirmarian so that your prioress’ recovery may be swift. Although we have no wish for you to leave until she is able to travel, I know you all long to return to Tyndal Priory as soon as possible.”
“Your Christian charity is exemplary in its kindness,” Thomas replied, “and we do not wish to abuse it.” He bowed. “If you will give Brother Martin permission, we will be on our way to the women’s preceptory now and may thus return quickly.”
Brother Martin’s brow furrowed with worry.
Sweat had broken out on the commander’s forehead. “I ask that you wait for only a short while longer to do so. Brother Martin has another duty he must perform for me first. When he is done, I will send him back to you. This task should not take long.”
Thomas was not pleased, but he feared that further argument might not be wise. So he bowed his head and uttered his willingness to wait.
With an abrupt nod to the monk, Damian put his hand on Brother Martin’s shoulder and firmly guided him in the required direction.
Thomas watched them depart. He did not resent being forced to accept the company of Brother Martin, a man who could easily be distracted and had not yet proven he was possessed of much sagacity. That was an easy enough problem to circumvent. What troubled him most was that the commander did not want him to communicate with Prioress Eleanor.
Somehow he must find a way to convey this strange plan to Sister Anne. How they could then find a way to freely communicate was a harder question to resolve.
Chapter Eighteen
Brother Damian slammed the door shut, grateful to see the back of Janeta the maid.
He had never liked the woman. In recent days, she bore herself with a feigned meekness because her mistress had been convicted of murder and was no longer prioress. In the past, she exuded an unnatural arrogance for a woman of her birth. Why Sister Amicia had tolerated her was beyond his comprehension.
But today this creature had accosted him in her old manner at his chamber door, demanding he listen to her message before he could obtain the relief he desperately sought. Had he not been in such agony, he would have shoved her to the ground where she ought, by all rights, to be groveling.
Another jagged pain cut into his upper arm from the stump below his elbow. Each time it felt like the blade that had sliced off his hand had struck him again. He could still see it arcing through the air with cruel precision, the sword flashing in the sun of Outremer like the weapon held by the angel at the gates of Eden. It was an image that often invaded his dreams and tore him screaming from sleep.
Groaning, he hastened to the table and grabbed the vial containing the pain-easing poppy juice. For just an instant, he glanced at the mazer he used to portion out his dosage but threw back his head, upended the vial, and drained the contents.
The easing warmth seeped through his body and even more swiftly dulled the pain from his old wound. Tears rolled down his cheeks. Slowly, he began to look on the world with greater ease. As for failing to adhere to the proper dose, he would tell Sister Richolda that he had spilled the bottle and must therefore beg for more.
The agony he suffered was the main reason he had insisted that Brother Thomas delay his visit to the preceptory by claiming Brother Martin had a task to perform. In fact, Damian could no longer bear this pain that often attacked without warning and seared its way from his stump into his shoulder. He had been in no state to decide the exact instructions he should give the youth. After his dose, he knew he could handle the problem of the monk’s desired visit with greater ease.
When he and Brother Martin had arrived at Damian’s chamber, he had ordered the lad to remain outside so he could take his medicine in private. As he opened his door, Janeta ran up to him, shouting that she had an urgent message from Prioress Emelyne. He had no choice but to take her into his audience chamber. So he might honor his vows, he kept the door partly open but ordered Brother Martin to stand further away so the message would not be overheard.
Since he had already told Brother Thomas that he could not speak with his injured prioress, he ordered the maid to tell his sister that all had been done in a satisfactory manner, then abruptly dismissed her with no further details. Emelyne would expect him to handle this wisely. He and his sister had always understood each other very well.
Sliding into his chair, he grew quite pleased with himself. Although his sister had used the excuse that the Prioress of Tyndal was in too much pain to see her monk, Damian decided he had been cleverer by claiming the meeting would be improper.
Because the primary work of the Hospitaller Order was charity done in the secular world, not enclosed contemplation like the Benedictines, questions were often asked about how strict the Order religious were in matters of chastity. To allow a monk to enter the nuns’ dormitory would cause scandal.
He blinked. His chamber seemed to be slowly tilting at an odd angle. It was not an unpleasant sensation, but he decided to remain seated.
Suddenly, he raised his arms in delight. As much as he loved his sister, she could never have thought of this cunning plan!
“Brother Martin!” He roared so the lad could hear him.
The young man looked around the partially opened door, his expression suggesting both fear and confusion.
“Stop staring like a dull-witted ass. Come in!”
Brother Martin edged into the room and softly closed the door.
“You will not accompany Brother Thomas to the preceptory. There were rats in the chapel today. Find a cat and set him on the hunt to destroy the vermin.”
Looking oddly relieved, the youth bowed his head with respectful obedience and reached out for the door.
“I am not done with you.”
Brother Martin stopped and instantly folded his hands with the proper humility.
“First, you must find Father Pasche and tell him to come to me immediately. Then seek the cat.”
The youth did not move.
“Now!”
The young man fled, and Damian leaned back in his chair. It was just as well that Martin not be sent with Brother Thomas.
The lad owned a usefully pliable nature. Although his spirits had seemed low when he first arrived, Brother Martin was not prone to querulousness and disobedience like other youngest sons, forced to vows, and had never once slipped into the village to swyve willing women. Of late, he had actually grown more eager to spend time on his knees in the small chapel.
All that was commendable and the reason why Damian had chosen Martin to attach himself like a leech to the side of the Fontevraudine monk, but the youth was also simpleminded. He was not the one who should watch over Brother Thomas when he spoke with Sister Anne. Father Pasche was far better suited to what the commander now had in mind. In fact, he smiled, the priest was almost as clever as he.
Gazing up at the ceiling, he found the bracing of surprising complexity. Why had he never noticed this before? Pleasantly bemused, he became lost in contemplation of it.
Then he blinked, suddenly realizing that too much time had passed. Where was Pasche? Hadn’t he sent for him a very long time ago?
A mild irritation began to infect his current serene mood, and he thumped his fingers on the arm of his chair. Had Brother Martin failed to promptly deliver the message? What other reason had Father Pasche for taking this long to obey his summons?
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