The Proud Sinner

by Priscilla Royal

  Thomas imagined that Odo’s servant with the palsied hand might have especially appreciated the assistance and wondered why Ralf’s brother had particularly chosen him for this journey. “He apportioned out all the food to you and the abbots?” the monk chose to ask instead. “Other than the ale, you did not seek food that he did not help you with?” This is promising, he thought.

  “He did it all,” Mordredus’ servant said, “although we did not eat until after the abbots had their meals. He did ask a few questions about the preferences of some of our masters.” He grinned at Odo’s man. “Yours got extra meat while mine got a little less, being more temperate.”

  The lay brother seemed oblivious to the hint of mockery and pursed his lips in thought before continuing. “After we had settled our masters into their narrow beds that night, some of us came back to the table and stayed quite late, considering the early hour we were expected to rise.”

  “While some of us went to the stables as soon as we could,” Gifre’s man said with a hint of disapproval.

  Thomas turned to Odo’s servant and asked what he had done.

  “I found a quiet place to pray, Brother, and then sought rest. It has been many years since I had a young man’s bladder. I cannot withstand much ale.”

  “The man who had helped with the meal joined us at the table later,” Didier’s servant said.

  Thomas, trying not to betray his eagerness to learn more about this man, kept his tone casual. “Are you sure he was an inn servant?”

  “We assumed that to be the case. Just as we arrived, he came out to greet us,” Mordredus’ man said. “Yet none of the inn’s serving women or cook seemed familiar with him. At the time, I wondered if he was new there.” The man hesitated. “The innkeeper did not acknowledge him, either, but he did not seem to pay attention to any who served the inn as long as they did their jobs. The man did return to the kitchen after the meals. I think he slept there. Why would he do so if he had not been hired by the innkeeper?”

  “Why did he help you?” Thomas asked.

  “I thought he was asked to do so by Abbot Mordredus,” Gifre’s servant said. “I saw him talking to the abbot.”

  Mordredus’ man scratched his chin as he struggled to remember. “I know nothing of that. I was talking to the groom about my master’s horse,” he said, “but it is possible.”

  “Could you describe him?” Thomas was growing more hopeful that something important might be revealed.

  The servants looked at each other. No one spoke. Finally, the elder lay brother said, “He was not memorable, Brother. I, for one, could not even tell you the color of his hair, which was mostly hidden by a hood.” He looked apologetic. “I might have seen him clearer in the light of the kitchen fires, but, as God is my witness, we do not concern ourselves with the forms of mortal men. Our minds remain on God.”

  Even the two secular servants agreed, although they refused to meet Thomas’ gaze. The monk suspected their thoughts that evening might have been far less on prayer and more on those daughters of Eve who served a variety of men’s wishes at the inn.

  Odo’s servant grasped his ailing hand to tame the trembling. “He did leave the inn the next day with those who joined us for the journey to Norwich. Most of them were pilgrims waiting for a large number of other travelers to guarantee safety from outlaws.”

  “Did he say anything to any of you about his background or purpose in traveling? Did he seem familiar with any of the others in the group?”

  Mordredus’ servant looked around at his fellows, but none had anything to add. “To your first question, he said nothing, nor did he talk to us again once we left the inn. I paid little enough attention to him myself, but I did not notice that he spent any time with the others who traveled with us either.”

  There was a low rumble of agreement.

  “He did not come to this priory with you,” Thomas said. “Does anyone recall if he stayed with the rest of the party who went into the village or if he disappeared along the route?”

  This time, the dead abbot’s servant did not look over his shoulder. “For my sake, I could not tell you if he left our party before Abbot Ilbert fell mortally ill. I truly did not pay any attention to him.”

  Others confirmed that no one knew when he parted company with the abbatial party, although Gifre’s servant said he thought the man must have gone with the pilgrims to stay at Tyndal’s village inn. There was no side road or habitation between the inn they had stayed at the night before and the village after which this priory was named.

  Thomas suspected the man had gone on to the village with the others because he was well aware that there was little else between the first inn and here. If so, the mysterious servant could still be at Signy’s inn. But he might also have turned back the way he had come when he learned the road to Norwich was impassable. Others must have done so by now.

  “If any of you remembers something not mentioned, no matter how minor, please send for me. The smallest detail may be important.”

  When Thomas dismissed them, the men rose and quickly vanished to attend what duties their masters demanded.

  Yet one did linger behind. It was Abbot Didier’s servant.

  “I had no wish to discuss this in the presence of the others, Brother,” he said, “but my master occasionally breaks his vow of chastity. That night at the inn, I left the company and table of my fellow servants and found him a whore to serve his needs. He spent the night with her in the stable hay while I slept nearby, lest he require me for some other service.” He smiled, a little too innocently. “I reveal this only to confirm that my master could not have harmed anyone. His attention was fully engaged in another activity.”

  With a sympathetic look he hoped would encourage even greater confidence and details from the man, Thomas indicated the fine cloth of the servant’s robe. “At least your master rewards you well for the difficulties you must face in his service.”

  “My master has given me a warmer robe, but he has more pressing needs which demand precedence in his generosity.” Didier’s servant winked. “So I find no sin in seeking an extra coin or two here and there, Brother. Should you or someone in your priory wish any service…?”

  “When you were so engaged outside the inn, did you see anything else untoward?”

  “Only Abbots Tristram and Mordredus rushing for the jakes.”

  “Nothing of the man who helped you serve supper to the abbots?”

  The man shook his head. “But I can confirm that those who claim to have sought the stables early were there as they said. They would never admit to this, but a few took awhile to fall asleep. It seems they found the antics of my master and his whore quite interesting, even inspirational.”

  At least the man had been honest, despite his arrogance and the sinful activity of Abbot Didier. The innkeeper’s story had also been essentially confirmed, although Thomas’ interest was aroused by the reference to this helpful inn servant. The innkeeper claimed no one of his had served the abbots, yet had mentioned someone Abbot Odo brought to the kitchen to serve the supper. It was a contradiction and a puzzling detail he must pursue with the crowner.

  But that question to Ralf must wait, the monk thought. First, he had to go back to Signy’s inn because of the young woman who was bleeding and the man with the rash on his hand. If he were fortunate, this mysterious servant would still be there and could answer any questions Thomas posed. Signy had had time to reflect and would be able to identify others who arrived around the same time as the abbots and their servants.

  Thanking Didier’s servant and then leaving the guest quarters, Thomas prayed that God would let him find this servant. If not that, at least someone who could reveal some detail to help him unravel the secret of how and why the dead abbots had been poisoned.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Gracia had always loved the warmth and bustle of Tyndal’s
kitchen. When Sister Anne first brought her here five years ago, Sister Matilda had cried out in horror at the sight of her emaciated body. From that moment, she had taken on the task of fattening her. At first, Gracia resisted but eventually surrendered and developed a deep affection for the often sharp-tongued but always loving nun.

  It was for this reason that Prioress Eleanor had suggested that Gracia talk to Sister Matilda about the serving and cooking arrangements between the original kitchen and the new one. The nun might truly fear condemnation if her prioress visited with yet more questions. If Gracia asked them, the conversation might be less fraught.

  Nonetheless, Sister Matilda was wary and eyed the young woman standing before her with caution. “You did not come to question me about the cost of seasonings, my girl. What new fault has our prioress discovered in my work since our last discussion?”

  “None, Sister, but she confesses she suffered willful pride in the matter of this additional kitchen and failed to properly plan the overseeing of the work there. Prior Andrew has tried to do so but freely admits he is no better at it than Brother Beorn. With deep humility, Prioress Eleanor begs your advice on how to immediately improve the methods used to cook and serve, so our future guests must seek elsewhere should they wish to find cause for complaints.”

  Sister Matilda’s look softened and she gestured her visitor to a seat on a bench against a wall. “I cannot stand as long as I once did, child. My joints protest too much.”

  “I am grateful,” Gracia said to keep the nun from feeling ashamed of any perceived weakness. “I have been walking all day.”

  Looking around, she noted that the preparations had begun for the baking of tarts made of apples taken out of the winter store from the priory tree harvest. They were being sweetened with honey from Tyndal hives, and the aromatic scent made her hungry.

  Her eyes bright, Sister Matilda went over to the nun forming the crust dough. She took an unused piece of it, rolled it in honey and spices, folded it, and hurried back with the treat to Gracia.

  “You shall make me fat,” the young woman said, taking the gift with a laugh. The comment had long been a standard jest between them.

  “And it will take far more years for that to happen.” Sister Matilda sat and leaned her chin on her hand. “What does Prioress Eleanor truly need to know? In this priory, she has never used spies to seek out faults. We honor her too much to lie, and she is always fair in her punishments. I shall answer her required questions frankly, even if the truth reflects badly on me.”

  “Her confession of pride and longing for your advice are sincere,” Gracia said. “But she also needs your thoughts on what might have occurred earlier.”

  Sister Matilda relaxed.

  “You have heard that one abbot died at dinner today. Another sickened but may live. Prioress Eleanor and Sister Anne are convinced the two men were poisoned.”

  Stiffening, Sister Matilda grew wary once more.

  “No one doubts you are innocent of any wrongdoing. What Prioress Eleanor must know is where poison could have been added to the food. Only you understand all the faults this new kitchen must have. She relies on your experience and knowledge to enlighten her.” She reached out and gave the nun’s hand an affectionate squeeze. “Our prioress needs your help so much!”

  Taking in a deep breath and closing her eyes, Sister Matilda thought for a moment. “I oversaw the preparation of the roasted vegetables and the mushroom tarts here in this kitchen. As I always do, I sample the food at various stages to make sure the taste is pleasing and the texture of each ingredient is perfect. The lay sisters who work here are experienced, known to us all, and are utterly reliable. At no time could any poison have been administered in this place.” She jabbed her finger at the floor in emphasis, looked around, and scowled. “I shall personally check the spices…”

  “That shouldn’t be necessary,” Gracia said. “The poison has been identified as the leaves of monkshood.”

  For a woman whose joints gave her pain, Sister Matilda jumped to her feet with impressive alacrity. “Sit while I check our supplies of seasonings,” she said. “Now that I know what the poison was, I can quickly see if anything has been contaminated.”

  It did not take long before the nun returned with a look of relief and a cup in her hand. “All is well. No monkshood came from my kitchen.” She held out a mazer of ale. “You look cold, child.”

  Gracia thanked her and sipped. “Were the foods cooked here and transported to the guest quarters?”

  “Since the only oven is here, we baked the tarts as we always do but did not cook the vegetables except for boiling. Those were cut, seasoned, and tasted by me in my kitchen.” She looked heavenward. “I prayed before sending them to be pan-roasted in the new kitchen, but we followed our usual custom in the delivery of the food. Lay sisters took the tarts and seasoned vegetables to the hole in the wall between the monks’ and nuns’ quarters and passed everything to lay brothers. Those men have been with us for many years, as have the lay sisters. This has been their duty since our prioress arrived twelve years ago. Nothing was left unattended.”

  “So only the vegetables were finally cooked in the new kitchen by the lay brothers assigned there?”

  “That was the plan. They did heat the tarts with instructions sent by me. But it was decided that this first test of their skills must be an easy one. Pan-roasted vegetables are not difficult…” The nun tightly closed her eyes and sighed. “I begged God to bless their attempts so they would not burn them.”

  Gracia stifled a laugh at the nun’s use of the word attempts. “Did Prior Andrew choose the lay brothers?”

  “Brother Beorn eventually did. As our oldest lay brother, he knows their skills best. But Prior Andrew decided they should follow the Rule and let all the older lay brothers take their rotation there. Brother Beorn was opposed.”

  “And spoke with great passion against the idea?” Gracia grinned.

  “We could hear them arguing through stone walls,” the nun replied, and a flash of humor finally sparkled in her eyes.

  “No rotation had taken place before the arrival of the abbots?” An idea was beginning to form in Gracia’s mind.

  Sister Matilda shook her head. “There was no reason to do so. This kitchen had just been completed, and we did not have guests before the abbots arrived. The kitchen brothers had not yet performed any of the duties.”

  Gracia fell silent, thought for a moment, and decided to go on to another issue. “When the mushroom tarts left here, were they adorned with a sprinkling of herbs on the top or were any decorative herbs sent with those tarts to be added before serving?”

  “No! We do not decorate food in the priory like they do in the king’s court. As God’s servant, committed to a simple life, I believe that food should nourish both body and spirit, but adornment is affectation and pleases only the Devil’s eye!” She snorted in disgust. “Dyeing food with alkanet root to make something look like dragon’s blood?” Slapping her hand on her thigh, she muttered, “And does it not take enough time to pluck a bird? Why would I wish to put the feathers back on?”

  “Let me make sure I am clear on what did happen so I can explain to our prioress.”

  Sister Matilda nodded.

  “According to common practice, and using the monastics who have been doing these tasks for years, the food for the abbots’ midday dinner was prepared under your eye in all respects, except for roasting the vegetables, and delivered to the lay brothers at the dividing wall. They carried it to the new kitchen where the lay brothers, chosen by Brother Beorn, finished the vegetables and reheated the tarts. Nothing was sprinkled on top of the tarts after cooking as seasoning or ornamentation.”

  “There are no supplies of seasonings in the new kitchen,” the nun said. “It was the one battle I won. Until we can trust that the men can cook, all dishes would be started here where I can taste them.
”

  Gracia was beginning to understand how complicated the running of two kitchens might be and why her prioress missed the help of a sub-prioress. It would be a long process to find a man who had Sister Matilda’s fine sense of taste and quality. “A wise decision,” she said.

  “I cannot swear to the details of what happened in the new kitchen, but Brother Beorn would never choose lay brothers of questionable character for the task.” She winced. “At least I have no quarrel with that,” she murmured with her head bowed.

  “Did these same lay brothers also serve the abbots?”

  “That was the original intention. You should ask either Prior Andrew or Brother Beorn if it was followed. Since this was a new experience, it is possible that a change was made and other lay brothers served. But I repeat my conviction that Brother Beorn would not choose men who were new in the priory or of unproven character for such an important task. Consider the rank of the guests served!”

  Gracia drained her cup of ale and thanked Sister Matilda for the help she had given to Prioress Eleanor, then hugged the woman she loved as if she were blood kin. “Prioress Eleanor gives you her word that your knowledge shall rule in reorganizing the way this new kitchen is run after the abbots have left.”

  Sister Matilda pressed some dried fruit into Gracia’s hand and shooed the young woman on her way.

  Hurrying back to Prioress Eleanor, Gracia grew more excited about her new idea on how to discover any problems in the second kitchen and perhaps even reveal the poisoner.

  Since the prior wanted the kitchen staff rotated according to the Rule, Brother Thomas might be willing to volunteer himself as an act of humble service. For a reliable assistant to him, she would suggest the young lay brother, Brother Anthony. Whatever her errant feelings for him, he had impressed her as clever and observant. He asked good questions of Sister Anne or Sister Oliva, and she had never overheard him engage in gossip. That suggested he was discreet. Brother Beorn would know him best, however.