Justice for the Damned mm-4

by Priscilla Royal

  On the nearby table a servant had placed a generously filled plate of thickly cut apples, so carefully preserved that their skins were still brightly splashed with red and green; a huge wedge of green-veined orange cheese; and a large loaf of grainy bread, hot from the baking. In a tone suggesting that the welfare of her soul depended upon the nun's assent, the widow begged the prioress to sample everything.

  Eleanor voiced courteous appreciation for the bounty presented to her, then carefully selected a slice of cheese, one of apple, and positioned each on top of the fragrant bread according to some obscure plan. In this manner, she disguised her scrutiny of the woman before her.

  Jhone's face and hands were as devoid of color as her robe. A narrow scar, shining white, sliced through the woman's upper lip; another cut through her left eyebrow. Tiny wrinkles crossed her forehead, and the looseness around her neck suggested that she should be two decades older than her undimmed brown hair and her daughters sixteen years would support. Only the corners of her eyes and the skin around her mouth lacked any mark, an absence Eleanor found distressing. Had the woman never laughed?

  Alys may not have exaggerated in the tale about her father, Eleanor concluded. The signs of grief gouged into the face of this widow might well be explained by the death of a husband, but she saw no evidence that any joy for his life had preceded it. As the prioress glanced at the widow's pale eyes, she wondered how Mistress Jhone could lament the death of such a spouse. Newly freed of a brutish mate, the widow remained subdued as if afraid any speech might still invite pain.

  The law permitted a man to strike his wife, for cert, but there were limits. Although some secular and religious men suggested there was merit in these beatings, Eleanor knew of no rule requiring such cruel treatment. In any case, she had known few men who did not honor their wives, even those they no longer loved or perhaps never had. Compared to this woolmonger, godless beasts showed more tenderness in their mating than he had to his wife.

  Eleanor suddenly realized that she had let the silence linger too long. "Your generosity in sharing this gift from God is praiseworthy," she said, looking up at the widow with a smile.

  "You are kind to grace us with a visit, my lady," Jhone whispered.

  "I could do no less. Your sister's husband was foully murdered outside the priory. We all grieved to hear of this worthy man's death."

  Jhone's eyes shifted nervously from left to right. Her face flushed in uneven splotches of pink. Clearing her throat, she raised her mazer of wine and drank deeply.

  "Sister Beatrice knew that the discovery of his body made the horrible blow twice as painful to you. I have come to offer God's comfort and soothing prayer."

  The widow set her cup down on the table with excessive care but remained silent.

  Eleanor shook her head. "No one at the priory could imagine who could have hated him so much, for the act was not one of common violence."

  "The ghost."

  Eleanor blinked at the hushed accusation. "Forgive me, but I do not understand."

  Her color now a mottled crimson, the woman jumped up, grabbed the plate of food from the table, and thrust it at the prioress. "Please have more!"

  Eleanor rescued the plate from the widow's shaking hands. "Surely his death was caused by a mortal creature. Although I have heard of this spirit, I cannot imagine what quarrel Queen Elfrida might have with Wulfstan."

  "Master Herbert believes the ghost is not the ancient queen but the wronged soul of his dead wife, Eda. As evidence, he says witnesses claim the specter's crown is made of glowing spikes, not gems or gold." The widow's usual pallor returned. "He must be right."

  Eleanor raised her eyebrows with encouraging curiosity. "Did Mistress Eda have reason to harm Wulfstan?"

  "He died for his sin in begetting such an evil son as Sayer, a man whom Satan most surely favors."

  Eleanor noted that moisture now glistened on the woman's forehead. "Is this the same man who repairs the priory roofs?"

  Jhone's eyes flashed with reflective anger. "The very one, my lady. As we all know in Amesbury village, he is a rogue."

  Eleanor looked down at her hands. She was still holding the plate. "Wherein lies his sin? If he is so evil, I must wonder why he is allowed to work within the monastery walls," she asked, setting the serving dish back on the table.

  The widow licked her lips. "I believe my husband asked the same question, my lady. He considered Sayer a worthless fellow in all respects, although one deemed uncommon handsome. When my nephew was hired by the priory, my husband joked that the nuns must have enjoyed seeing him up on the rooftops, near naked…" The woman covered her mouth, her eyes widening with fearful distress.

  That gesture must be an habitual one after many years of marriage to such an evil-minded man, Eleanor concluded. What right did the woolmonger have to cast any stones? Some nuns most certainly did sin in the heart but rarely willingly and almost never with any joy. With difficulty she managed not to counter a dead man's lewd accusation with the outrage she felt. It would serve no purpose.

  "Forgive me, my lady, he said that only for my ears. I should not have repeated it." She extended her hands as if begging for mercy. "My heart knew differently."

  "What did Prioress Ida say when he spoke to her about this threat to religious chastity?" Eleanor took care to ban indignation from her tone.

  "He did not do so, believing there was no purpose." Jhone quickly lowered her head. "Women's minds are incapable of reason, he said, because their bodies itch constantly for coupling."

  Eleanor shut her eyes as she felt her face grow hot. This woman did not deserve her wrath for repeating what a husband had said, and those cast down eyes spoke eloquently enough of the widow's own shame at his words. Women sin, Eleanor thought. We are mortal, but neither my aunt nor Prioress Ida is a fool. They would not allow any man to behave in such a bawdy manner around the religious of the priory. She took a deep breath. It calmed her.

  "Queen Elfrida's spirit might be angry with the roofer if Sayer tempted the religious with unchaste imaginings. Of that, I can conceive. Why she would extend her quarrel to the man who sired him is less clear to me." Eleanor's lips turned up with a thin smile. "But perhaps a queen may have reasons we cannot comprehend. Yet you say that the ghost is that of Mistress Eda. Why would she murder Wulfstan for fathering a rogue?"

  "For the same reason King Edgar's spouse might have. You see, my husband told me that Sayer had seduced Master Herbert's wife." A spasm began to throb in Jhone's cheek. "I never accepted that Eda would have sinned with him, but my husband believed she did. Thus he added his voice to those who said she must have committed suicide from the pain of her tumor, although he thought she had done so out of adulterous shame."

  "He proclaimed her adultery at the crowner's inquest?" Eleanor asked, noting this one difference of opinion between the woolmonger and his meek spouse. She wondered at what price Jhone had held it or if she had even voiced the thought until now.

  "Nay. He said self-murder was a sin, whatever the reason for it, and refused to put public horns on Master Herbert, a man he called friend."

  "Was your husband a witness to the adultery?" As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Eleanor knew she had erred. Lulled by the widow's brief show of independence over Eda's virtue, she had forgotten how effectively this husband had used terror to rule Jhone for so many years. The widow had been well-trained to defend him. Casting doubt on his word so soon after his death was most ill-advised.

  As expected, Mistress Jhone's back straightened like a stone pillar. "I would never have questioned him on such a matter. I was ever a dutiful wife, my lady." Her voice snapped with outrage.

  Scornful laughter shattered the brief silence between prioress and widow.

  Startled, Eleanor turned around.

  Alys stood in the doorway.

  "How dare you repeat such a loathsome tale, Mother? Have you forgotten how Mistress Eda bathed your wounds after my father beat you until you almost died and the
babe you carried did? You may choose to set aside her benevolent acts, but I will not forget the food she brought for me or the broth she helped you sip when my father disappeared for days, drinking himself senseless at the inn. As for my cousin Sayer, he would never have touched her any more than she would have bedded with him!"

  "Unnatural child!" Jhone shouted at her. "Satan has bought your tongue and put lies in your mouth about your dear father."

  The two women stared at each other with such great anger that they lost all power of speech. Then Mistress Jhone wilted like a flower deprived of water and turned away.

  Alys stepped back, shaking from the war of words with her mother. "I beg forgiveness, my lady," she said to Eleanor. "After suffering the shock of finding my uncle's body, I was blinded by my grief and failed to recognize or honor you as the Prioress of Tyndal."

  "There is never disrespect in calling me sister, z. title all women share in God's world."

  "Even if this holy lady forgives you for that rudeness, Alys, you have more wickedness to repent. No child has the right to speak as you have just done either to or about a parent." Jhone's words hissed like flames struck with water.

  Alys slipped to her knees. "I have sinned, Mother. Strike me but forgive as well. My heart honors you despite my harsh speech."

  Jhone raised her hand. The first slap snapped her daughter's head to the right, the second to the left.

  Eleanor winced with each blow but dared not intervene.

  Turning from the sight of the red marks she had left on her daughter's cheeks, Jhone grabbed the plate abandoned on the table and waved it around at arm's length as if the offering would keep some malevolence at bay.

  Eleanor accepted a slice of fruit she did not want.

  Alys bent her head and said nothing.

  "I forgive you, daughter," Jhone whispered, now pulling the plate to her breast as if it were a babe. The food fell to the floor. A small dog leapt up from one corner of the room and chased after a rolling bit of cheese.

  Alys remained on her knees. "My lady, I beg admission to the priory as a novice in your Order."

  Jhone slammed the plate down on the table with such force that it might have cracked had it not been pewter. "You most certainly do not!"

  "I do!"

  "And you will fall into mortal sin just like your aunt after she claimed she had a true and holy vocation!" Jhone's voice rose with contempt. "That randy youtb you want in your bed is no different from Wulfstan. Bernard will mount you in the shadow of those holy walls and, like Drifa, you will lose all calling to chastity…"

  "That is not true!"

  "Did Wulfstan not get my sister with child? Ask her, if you refuse to believe your own mother. Only one full moon shone between the time they came to the church door and the day she bore Sayer in much pain, a most worthy reminder of her carnal sin." Jhone reached out to grasp her daughter's hand. "Listen to me, child, please!"

  Alys rose and turned her back on the two women. "Bernard is not like my uncle and would marry me first," she muttered, "although I see less sin in conceiving a child in joy than out of loveless duty."

  "Had your aunt married as our parents wished, she would have been the wife of a prosperous man. Instead, look at her! Is her face not lined with cares and have you not seen her fingers bleed from hard work? Now that Wulfstan is dead, who will earn the bread to feed her family? An eldest son, who may one day hang for his evil ways, or the younger ones who have no skills except begging? If your eyes are not blinded by the very Devil, you cannot deny the truth of what I say. Honor the greater wisdom of your parents and you will prosper. Follow your lust and you shall end up like my poor sister."

  "My aunt is a good woman," Alys replied. "You have never, until now, said otherwise."

  "I love Drifa," Jhone said to Eleanor. "As my daughter says, she has been a faithful wife and a blameless mother. Nonetheless, she went contrary to the wishes of our parents and has paid in suffering for that offense."

  Eleanor nodded. "Perhaps your sister did not have a true calling, but your daughter might…" She looked over at Alys with sympathy.

  "My lady, I long to keep my only remaining child nearby to comfort me in old age and to close my eyes at death. I want grandchildren, and I want a secure future for my family." Tears blanketed her cheeks as Jhone gestured weakly at Eleanor. "Is that so much to ask of a daughter?"

  Alys put her arms around her mother. "Bernard and I would give you such a home and, if God so blessed us, grandchildren enough." Then stubbornness once again set her features, and she stepped back. "I cannot marry Master Herbert."

  If I cannot stop this quarrel between these two, Eleanor decided, I might as well attempt to guide it. "And this young man of whom you speak? Is he so unacceptable?" The prioress put a soothing hand on the mother's arm. "I only ask to better understand."

  Jhone shook her head. "He is like a fledgling, my lady, with but twenty years on this earth…" She reached out and touched her child's hand.

  "Twenty-one, Mother," Alys replied but did not resist the widow's touch.

  "And a glover," Jhone sniffed. "He has nothing and will starve if God destroys the crops or sends other plagues for our sins. At such times, men give their spare coin to God, not glovers."

  "And Master Herbert?" Eleanor asked, observing that both mother and daughter looked much alike when arguing.

  "A vintner, a man successful in his trade, and now a widower with whom my husband became friends."

  "At the inn," Alys said in a low voice, "where, it seems, they serve friendship along with ale."

  Her mother ignored her daughter's words. "My husband knew his health was failing. You see, the strain of becoming such a successful woolmonger had aged him much." The widow's pride in the achievements of her merchant husband gave brightness to her tone.

  Alys rolled her eyes but said nothing.

  Jhone glared at the girl before continuing. "Since I failed to give him the son he needed, my husband decided that the vintner should marry our only living child and learn the wool trade from him. After which, Master Herbert could take over the business. That plan suited the interests of them both."

  Not an unreasonable proposal, Eleanor decided. Fatigue began to fill her body with heaviness. If she stayed longer, would she have the strength to walk back to the priory? She willed the tiredness away.

  "My father had a competent man who could have run the business for him, and the man is still there. He can handle everything for us now. There is no need for me to marry Master Herbert."

  "That man is leaving to take on his own apprentices, although he promised that he would find another experienced in wool who can work under Master Herbert's direction. The business is well established but needs the firm hand of a clever merchant, not a mere boy!" Jhone looked at the prioress, her eyes pleading for understanding. "I beg of you, my lady, speak reason to this willful child for it seems she must hear it from someone other than me."

  Eleanor nodded.

  "Sadly, my mother wishes only to hear her husband's voice," Alys said with more tenderness than her words would suggest.

  "How dare you speak as if he were not your sire?"

  Alys shrugged. "My father thought only of earthly profits. He would never have seen more gain in a heavenly marriage than in an earthly one, but I shall not make the same mistake-if I am forced to choose only between a vintner and God."

  Although Alys' argument reminded Eleanor somewhat of her own when faced with a similar choice some years ago, the prioress knew this girl would prefer a secular life as long as she could marry Master Glover.

  "Your father was a true Christian! How dare you suggest otherwise?"

  Alys threw her hands up in disgust.

  Jhone twisted a handful of her robe. "You should be grateful that he chose Master Herbert, a most kind and charitable man, for you to wed. How many would be willing to marry into a family whose reputation has been soiled as ours has been by your uncle's past and your cousin's present sins?"


  "Bernard does not care about old or unfounded rumors! Why will you not see this same quality in him?"

  "Your glover is an impractical youth, someone who would rather ride out to that pile of pagan rocks and imagine things that never happened. Master Herbert is a sensible man, one who knows the importance of profit and will provide well for you and your children."

  "Bernard has virtues!"

  "You see," Jhone said with a conspiratorial glance at the prioress, "she cannot deny that her boy is a dreamer."

  Eleanor's head was starting to spin.

  "His gloves are finely made, and he has a craftsman's eye! Have you not seen the beautiful objects he has given his mother?"

  "Pretty baubles, things she cannot use like we do our pewter and plate. He should be investing in items of worth, not buying useless trifles."

  Mistress Jhone might have won that argument, Eleanor thought.

  "He is moderate in his ways, has never raised a hand in anger, and…"

  "… is easily led by others, especially women."

  "He listens to my ideas and believes I would be a valuable partner in his trade. Where is the sin in that, if we prosper? As to the rest, dare you say I speak falsely?"

  The mother snorted her contempt.

  To my mind, at least, Alys won that point, Eleanor decided.

  The church bells began to ring the hour.

  Eleanor brightened. Now she had reason to leave before she fainted with weariness. Slowly she rose. "I fear it is close to None, and I must return to the priory."

  "My lady, will you return and give my daughter the benefit of your wise advice? Surely you can see that she has no calling to become a nun?"

  Delighted at the invitation, Eleanor nodded. If God grants me wisdom, she thought, I might bring the balm of peace to this mother and daughter. If He is willing, I may also find out what sins Wulfstan committed long ago and why a vintner's dead wife would wish to kill the father instead of the son, a man who may have helped send her soul to Hell.

  "We will speak together soon," Eleanor said, looking at Alys with a reassuring smile. "Sister Beatrice would wish it."