Eda was now asking Gracia about the illnesses of the abbots and explained that she had over overheard two lay brothers discussing this while she was waiting for the soothing medicine needed by the anchoress.
Gracia realized she did not have the facility in hand language to explain and told Eda in words what she knew and how Sister Anne was confused by the symptoms.
Eda took a moment to think and began to make more signs. Her hands outlined a window and next mimed a man speaking with great remorse.
As the maid continued, Gracia suddenly stopped her. “Anchoress Juliana must be told about this matter of the abbots! Let us hurry, and I shall explain it fully to you both.”
***
The Anchoress Juliana sipped the remedy, cleared her sore throat of phlegm, and listened to Gracia’s tale of the dying abbots.
“You have spoken of the possibility that at least one abbot was murdered.” She swallowed and winced. “Eda was right to mention the man who came to my window, and you were wise to want to hear more. Not knowing the tale of the abbots, I assumed the man was only a troubled soul seeking advice. Now, I see that Prioress Eleanor should hear the tale and decide if his visit relates to the abbots’ deaths. It is the timing of the two events that suggests a connection. Otherwise, I confess that many suffer the same torments of ignorance that this man did.”
Eda pointed to the cup, then at the small fire and her mouth to ask if her mistress wanted the potion warmed.
Juliana shook her head. “Unless God wills otherwise, Sister Oliva’s cure will soothe my throat soon enough.”
Eda nodded, pointed to the entry door to the anchorage, made eating motions, and signaled for permission to leave.
The anchoress chuckled. “You may go to Sister Matilda for our noon meal, but please wait a moment longer until I finish with Gracia or she will be locked in the anchorage until your return. She did not ask for entombment here!”
Eda grinned at the prioress’ maid.
Juliana swallowed more of the soothing drink. “Please relay to Prioress Eleanor what I shall quickly tell you and convey my regret that I delayed to do so out of ignorance. I beg her forgiveness if I have erred.”
Gracia swore to do so, although she was certain that the prioress would find no fault.
Juliana thought for a moment before beginning her tale. “The man came to seek my humble counsel after the sun had set, although that is not unusual in the dark seasons. He longed to understand how a mortal can know whether or not something is truly God’s intention. Did a man sin if he abetted an act that might be a sin but, on the other hand, might be God’s will? How could one comprehend what was sin and what was not? At first, I thought he wanted me to address the scope of what a priest could advise, but he soon made it clear that he was troubled most over something he had done, or perhaps failed to have done. He grew agitated, and he began to weep. He seemed unable to explain exactly what he meant, but he said he feared the fires of Hell.”
“Did he give you any other details?” Gracia was memorizing the story and leaned closer with her intense desire to recall every word spoken.
“Although I asked for that, he refused to say anything more specific. At one point, he pounded on the wall outside my window and groaned, but he could not bring himself to utter more than the questions he asked. I fear I erred in some way, although I told him, as I must, that he should seek a priest if he wanted absolution for any sin or explanation of whether any act in a given situation is a transgression. He fled without another word to me. As a simple woman, I may never take the place of a priest. He was obliged to seek one.” She bowed her head.
Gracia knew that no woman could ever forgive sins, but she also knew that God often conveyed His wisdom and will through the human tongues of holy anchoresses.
After a moment, Anchoress Juliana raised her eyes. Her expression was now vague, as if her soul had started on a journey in another direction and longed to continue it.
The meeting with the anchoress was done. Gracia rose, followed Eda from the anchorage, and hurried to take the news to Prioress Eleanor.
Chapter Thirteen
Brother Thomas cheerfully bade farewell to the young girl lying in the bed.
She smiled bashfully and cuddled her cloth poppet. It may have been made from worn rags and tied to roughly form the appropriate arms, legs, and head, but she had lovingly draped it with a piece of wool to make a dress. Pulling her covers up, she carefully made sure her doll was warm as well.
Signy took a deep breath and put a gentle hand on the lad standing beside her. “Keep watch on your sister, Nute, and don’t let her out of bed for long. Keep the fire…”
The lanky boy, who was taller than she, laughed. “Have I ever failed you or my sister, Mother?” He winked at the monk.
The woman he called mother pulled his head down and kissed him on his still-smooth cheek, then left for the entry door with Brother Thomas following. Once outside, she shut the door firmly to keep out any hint of chill. “Nute is a good boy,” she said with obvious pride.
“Almost a man, I would say,” Thomas replied, glancing back at the innkeeper’s new house.
“He is, Brother, but I have a little time yet before I must admit to him that I know it.” Her laugh was rich and melodically deep.
As they walked toward the nearby inn, Thomas watched this woman who dressed like a widow, although she had never married, and who raised two orphans, but had never borne a child of her own. Despite her plain dress and middle years, she possessed a body of rare perfection in an imperfect world. Even men who had known her for years stopped to admire when she passed by. Women did as well, gazing with awe at her hair sparkling red-gold in the sun and bright, even on the greyest days.
Yet she had not, for many years, bestowed a promising smile on any man who longed for her to share his bed, even those who wished to marry her. Her charity was vast but anonymous. Had she not been an innkeeper with a clever head for honest profits, she might have been called saintly in the daily speech of the villagers. Among those who received her charity, however, many whispered that she was one of the blessed.
“You are busy despite the snows,” Thomas said, entering just after her into the warmth of the inn.
“The timing of the storms was a godsend to me.” Signy called to a serving maid. “Bring a flavored ale for Brother Thomas. He needs the warmth for both body and spirit.”
With gratitude, he thanked her.
“A few have tried to go back to their homes after they learned that drifts had buried roads and heavy snow caused bridges to crumble on the road to Norwich. Others stay on, hoping for a warm day when their particular route might become passable once again.”
The innkeeper and monk sat down.
The table had been rubbed spotless. No rotting scraps of food were ground into the rushes under their feet. A burly red cat, seeking foolishly bold rodents, edged his way along the wall toward the kitchen. Meticulous about the state of her inn, Signy had worked hard to gain a well-earned reputation for providing decent lodging at a fair price.
“I see a few pilgrims.” Thomas indicated a table of solemn folk. Each was dressed in somber robes with a leather travel bag around the waist and a stout walking stick placed carefully on the floor. “Some travel in winter because they believe the great hardships are especially good for their souls. Perhaps they are ones waiting for the road to Norwich to clear?”
He looked around at others huddled at tables. A few men sat on the floor, playing a game of dice. The pilgrims looked at the ceiling or each other and ignored them.
The serving woman brought the warmed ale and shyly put the cup in front of Brother Thomas, then begged a blessing.
Signy smiled approval, although she was well aware that requests for blessings often hid a woman’s more worldly desire to spend a moment longer near this handsome monk. But everyone in the village knew
that Brother Thomas remained strong in his vows and had never succumbed to feminine wiles. His virtue might be regretted from time to time, but women also knew their own chastity would never be questioned when they needed to confide a secret to him in more private settings.
After the woman left, Thomas sipped the warm ale. He had not realized quite how much he needed it after walking here through the cold breeze. “You have heard that a party of abbots has come to Tyndal?”
“I have.”
“Perhaps you have not yet learned that one was ill and died soon after he arrived. Another fell ill, and he, too, has died.”
Signy’s expression suggested a growing concern. “What was the cause of these deaths, Brother? I assume that Prioress Eleanor would have sent word if there was danger of contagion.”
“Sister Anne has no reason to fear there is, or the village would have been warned, but she is puzzled by the causes of both deaths. Each man died in different ways. Their symptoms match many illnesses, yet possess some that match none.”
“That is a rare failure for our talented sub-infirmarian. Many ills are beyond mortal aid, but she is swift to know what she can treat and what is solely within God’s grace to cure.”
“I am looking for any others who traveled with the party of abbots. Perhaps they can give me details that might help Sister Anne find the reasons for the two deaths.” He looked hopeful. “The religious came to our priory three days ago.”
“A few arrived here for lodging at that time,” she replied, glancing over the inn inhabitants, “but I am unsure which of these were members of that party. Some, I recall, but not everyone.” Her eyes twinkled with gentle humor. “I also do not know why they sought my inn instead of the priory if they had traveled in the company of God’s servants. I have heard Tyndal’s new guest quarters are comfortable, and surely most would seize the opportunity for ongoing conversation with those dedicated to God as good for their souls.”
“Not all men like the monastic diet,” Thomas said with a laugh. “And, perhaps, they had had enough of the company of abbots.”
Surprised, the innkeeper asked why.
“One of them is Ralf’s brother, Odo, who is Abbot of Caldwell.”
“Odo?” She slapped the table with her hand and laughed until her cheeks became a spring flower pink. “Him? Truly? I hope you do not jest!”
This was one of the few times in many years Thomas had ever seen her possessed of such unabashed merriment.
She glanced around, and then bent her head closer so she might keep her voice low. “Of course, our Ralf has always hated him for being a sanctimonious ninny, but Odo never had more than one or two friends in the village. Shall I tell you a scandalous tale about him?”
Now Thomas leaned closer.
“It is said that Odo found his vocation in God’s service when a girl saw him emerging naked from swimming. She proclaimed in a loud voice for all to hear that he must be a lass for she saw no evidence of manhood.”
“Even Ralf has never told that story,” Thomas chuckled.
“I tell you the tale, and swear I shall add the wickedness to my next confession, only to illustrate how despised he was by many here, not just his brother. As to the truth of the story, I was not the girl, I do not know her name, and have no knowledge of whether it occurred or not. It is true that Odo never lusted after women as a boy. Food was his passion, and it is a mistress to whom he has reputedly remained faithful. We might have forgiven a bastard seeded by him in a willing lass, or lauded his choice of God over mortal flesh, but we could never forgive his scorn for us all as if he had been God’s finest creation and we were His mistakes. From boyhood, he judged anyone living in Tyndal or even Norwich to be contemptible.”
Thomas nodded thoughtfully. “I wonder why Ralf paid for his brother’s entry to the great Caldwell Abbey and eased his way into the rank he currently holds if he loathes Odo so much? Our crowner could have found an abbey or priory of lesser status in which to place his detested brother. Family honor would have been satisfied.”
“For all his roughness of manner, Ralf is both kind and generous. He may hate Odo, but he is still his brother. He would never deny the man the right to be in a place where he could best serve the liege lord he chose with the skill even our crowner knew his brother possessed.” Signy turned her face away.
Thomas saw her flushed cheeks and felt a deep sadness on her behalf. Her words about Ralf were charitable. Years ago, she had deeply loved the crowner but soon discovered that he had taken her into his bed only because he needed the comfort of a woman’s body. Until he married this last time, his great love had been Sister Anne who, before she took vows, had wed another.
Signy looked at Thomas again with a calm look and dry eyes. “Gytha is still too good for him,” she said and laughed. Despite the innkeeper’s regret over Ralf, she and his wife were loving friends.
“A statement with which he would agree.”
They fell silent and let the cheerfulness of the warm inn surround them for awhile. The great red cat returned, trotting jauntily by with a grey object in his teeth.
Thomas put down his cup and refused more. Gazing around the inn again, he asked, “Have any here suffered from fevers or agues, loose bowels, or nausea?”
She thought a moment before shaking her head. “Yet there are other ills. The young man and his wife near the fire seem troubled. She is quite pale, and he hovers over her with evident uneasiness. In that corner over there, the man sitting alone has a rash on his hands. I assumed it was chilblains, but he has not been outside since his arrival and the condition does not seem to trouble him any less. Both he and the young couple came here about the time your abbots arrived at the priory.” She briefly shut her eyes and frowned. “Others may have done so as well, but my memory fails me. Will you need a more accurate answer to your question?”
“I may,” Thomas said as he rose.
“Tomorrow I will be able to provide it.”
“At the moment, I should talk to those you have pointed out. Perhaps I can alleviate their ills, and they may tell me something that could be helpful to our sub-infirmarian.” He read her growing look of concern well. “As for your daughter, fear not. She is on the mend.”
“Her poppet is healing, you mean.” Signy’s good humor restored, she exhaled with relief. “You cleverly got her to take the medicine you brought and to feel easier about her illness. I tried not to laugh when you explained that my little girl must serve as an example to the sick doll by replicating her treatment. The wile was successful, even though a little medicine was wasted!”
“Then repeat my advice that her poppet is almost well but must not overdo. They both must obey you about eating and resting.”
The innkeeper swore to do as he recommended and left to oversee the kitchen.
The monk went to talk to the young couple.
***
They looked up at him, and the man hastily put his arm around the ashen-faced woman.
Sliding onto the bench across from them, Thomas noted a faint scent of blood and a suspicion began to form about the cause of their dismay. “I am from the nearby priory and bring cures from the hospital to those who cannot travel there. If I am not wrong, you are ill,” he said gently to the young woman.
She looked away, and Thomas was now convinced he knew the ailment, although the cause might be one of two. He prayed it was not the more grievous one.
“It is nothing worthy of your kind attention, Brother,” the man said.
Thomas bent closer to them. “I think it is,” he said. “Your wife bleeds, does she not? It is not the normal courses, and she needs a cure.”
The young woman began to weep softly.
“What did you take?” Thomas whispered. “Confess your sin and be forgiven first, but also let me help your body heal so you may live to perform your penance.”
“She
took nothing!” The man hissed with outrage and more firmly clutched her to him. “She began to bleed just before we arrived here, and it has not stopped.”
“But she was with child?”
The man said nothing. The woman whispered in the affirmative.
“Is the discharge a heavy one?”
The young man looked nervously at the pale woman.
She glanced at the monk, her blue eyes watery with fear. Slowly, she looked down and refused to speak further.
Yet, as she did, Thomas thought she might have murmured, “I have sinned,” but he was unsure. He asked further questions but got few answers from the husband. All he learned was that the bleeding would not stop but was not a steady stream.
“There is snow outside,” he said to the young man. “Take your wife to a private place and have her sit in a drift as long as she can bear the cold. I shall come tomorrow with lady’s mantle. The herb will give her relief. In addition, I will consult with our sub-infirmarian for any other efficacious treatment.” If this was a self-induced abortion, there was nothing else that might be used. At least the blood flow was minimal and might even have stopped by the time he returned.
The couple bent their heads and murmured nervous gratitude.
Thomas gave them the comfort of a blessing and left to attend the man in the corner.
***
He was not a pilgrim, the monk thought, but his shabby dress suggested he was not a merchant either. Why, if neither faith nor necessity demanded it, had this man decided to travel in inclement weather and on dangerous roads when the wise would not?
As Thomas approached, he saw the man trying to flex his hands as if they hurt him. “I might be able to ease your discomfort,” he said. “I bring medicines from the hospital at Tyndal Priory and have a little knowledge of ailments.”
The Proud Sinner Page 8
