by Mary Bale
‘You’ve told her? Were you not forbidden to tell her?’ asked Ursula frowning.
‘I have made a decision based on the changes in our circumstances. It became necessary to tell her for her own safety.’
‘You too have come across danger?’
Abbess Eleanor clearly decided she’d said too much to her old friend and looked down at the broth. Therese used the pause in conversation to down the broth before her, again forgetting to wait for the blessing.
‘Only Sister Agnes knows I am alive,’ said Ursula. ‘You have to believe me, I did try to stop the girl with the ink. I don’t know how she got the key to the room. I chased her up the little tower at the end of the corridor and the silly girl threw herself off the top, but she pulled me after her.’ Ursula shook her head. ‘The poor girl broke my fall, but I was as conscious of this world as a stone. Agnes told them all I was quite dead and had me sent to the infirmary. It was a blessing that one of our other Sisters had recently gone to her Maker under totally natural circumstances and my body was swapped for hers, while Agnes called for my brother. She is the only one there who knows I am alive.’ Ursula turned to Therese and added, ‘Your ward has grown into a beauty.’
‘You do her no favours by flattering her,’ said the Abbess with a flash of temper. ‘Her face is but a shell, it is her heart and soul that count.’
‘I only say what I see,’ returned Ursula.
The two women held each other’s gaze for a moment trying each to sum up the other’s honesty and integrity. Their faces broke into smiles and they hugged each other.
‘Now tell me,’ said Ursula. ‘You must be here because of what happened at St Thomas’s?’
‘I am,’ said Abbess Eleanor. ‘I have come to find out the truth about who is behind this act.’
‘I have come to trust no one,’ Ursula repeated her earlier statement. ‘Not even Bishop Odo of Bayeux, nor Archbishop Lanfranc of Canterbury. I do not know which way to turn, or what to do. But I will help you any way I can.’
‘Have you learnt anything from the kitchen gossip?’ asked the Abbess.
‘I have been listening to all that and watching the travellers as they come and go, but I have seen no hint or heard anything that could benefit you. I do not know who has been trying to destroy the work. No one has even come by looking for the dead girl. And to show how much is seen and heard, it was gossip in the kitchen here that told me you were up at Christ Church. And what is more I know you had difficulties there.’
Abbess Eleanor’s mouth dropped noticeably. ‘What do you know?’ she asked.
‘I know that the Archbishop Lanfranc would not see you.’
‘We were sent away,’ said Therese.
The Abbess straightened her back and spoke with authority: ‘I have to tell you Bishop Odon de Bayeux sent me.’
Therese noticed both Alfred and Ursula shudder in panic.
‘Please do not tell him I’m here,’ said Ursula. ‘I hoped you were here under your own volition. My brother insisted you would have your orders.’
‘I have my orders, Ursula, but they are to investigate this matter. If you are innocent of wrong doing you have nothing to fear, for God sees us and will judge us. I will keep your secret.’
‘You are alarmed at how much someone can learn by watching and listening, Abbess?’ queried Ursula. ‘But that is the way to find out what you want to know. Let me guess why you went to Archbishop Lanfranc instead of going straight to St Thomas’s.’
Abbess Eleanor challenged her with her gaze.
‘You,’ said Ursula slowly, ‘wanted to place a spy inside the priory without them knowing you were behind the new person.’
‘You know me too well,’ complained Abbess Eleanor.
‘It is what I would have done.’
‘But why,’ asked the Abbess, ‘do you not trust our two mightiest bishops?’
‘Archbishop Lanfranc sees Bishop Odo as a challenge to his authority. Bishop Odo is Earl of Kent, while the Archbishop’s bishopric is also part of the same area. Two powerful men, both men of the church, but they are so different in their views.’
Therese could see Abbess Eleanor go on the defensive as she gathered herself in. She said, ‘Bishop Odon was appointed as a young man in Normandy by his Duke long before William became your King. He is not a monk like Archbishop Lanfranc. He is a man of the secular world, but he is no worse for that.'
‘I agree, of course. But power struggles can have many innocent victims.’ Ursula looked down at the bowls.
‘Do you consider,’ asked Abbess Eleanor, ‘that the events at St Thomas’s are connected to such a struggle.’
Ursula shook her head. ‘The embroidery is nearly finished. We were working on the last panel when the girl struck. I saved it, but look at the slant that has been put on what I did. I am being called a traitor.’
‘You know it is just gossip.’
‘But Bishop Odo believes the gossip, doesn’t he?’
The Abbess looked at her full bowl of broth in confirmation.
‘Of course he should condemn me,’ said Ursula. ‘I should have stopped her from taking her own life. Her soul will always be in purgatory.’
‘I am sure God does not blame you,’ said Abbess Eleanor.
While Therese felt the gloom covering their group a worm of an idea wriggled into her head. ‘I can be your spy,’ she said without any further thought. ‘They don’t know me at St Thomas’s. They obviously know you, Ursula, and the Abbess.’
The two older women shook their heads in unison.
‘No, that is quite out of the question,’ said Abbess Eleanor. ‘I had in mind Sister Agnes. She is already there; she is in Ursula’s confidence. She would be ideal.’
‘That is not as good an idea as it sounds,’ said Ursula.
Abbess Eleanor raised a questioning eyebrow.
‘She,’ continued Ursula, ‘is the kitchener. That was why she was the first to reach me when I fell. She is not involved in the embroidery at all.’
Alfred sighed, got up from the table and walked across the stone floor.
Ursula nodded at him. ‘He doesn’t like the thought of any of us endangering ourselves. I tell him life is dangerous. He accepts that I will do what I have to, whatever he says.’
Therese leaned across the table to Ursula realising too late that this was an over-familiar gesture towards a woman who was formerly a Prioress. ‘I am a novice,’ she said, ‘No one will notice me.’
‘No, Sister Therese,’ said Abbess Eleanor, ‘You will remain here.’
‘Bishop Odon commanded me to use my skills to help you,’ said Therese. ‘My youth is my way into the Convent.’
‘She is right,’ said Ursula. ‘She is a brave girl. Bishop Odo was wise to send her with you and not just so she could come back to the land of her birth.’ She touched the young girl’s white hands.
Therese wanted to pull them away. They were cold with fear. Her blood and her flesh seemed to be working against each other. Her blood seemed to be boiling with determination and excitement yet her flesh was almost trembling with chill. Ursula smiled at her. She was sure she understood how she felt.
‘I fear for you, Therese,’ said the Abbess. It was a long time since she’d called her just by her name, Therese realised. It almost made her cry. She bit her lip. The Abbess Eleanor continued, ‘But I know you are right. It is the simplest solution. We must not tangle ourselves up in any difficulties between our two bishops, and acting on our own not only ensures this is the case, it also reduces the number of people who know what we are about.’
‘Alfred will take her,’ said Ursula. ‘You will need to write her a letter saying that she is a novice from Normandy you are placing in the care of St Thomas’s. You need not travel with her. That may look as if you are giving too much importance to the matter.’
‘I will travel with her, and you have given me the perfect excuse.’
Ursula looked at her puzzled.
‘By dying,
Ursula. I,’ said the Abbess, pulling herself up to her fullest height, ‘will be going to visit your grave.’
Ursula blushed and rose. Abbess Eleanor checked her progress by placing her hand on her forearm. She said,
‘We have already lost one of our knights sent to protect us. He went over-board while we were at sea. The other one I have left injured and lying in Christ Church’s infirmary.’
Ursula smiled, but her eyes were serious. ‘Alfred will stay near St Thomas’s.’ She turned to Therese. ‘Sister Agnes will always help you, but if you should need Alfred you need only run to the other side of the wood at the bottom of the hill. He will camp there and wait for your news.’
Alfred looked around and nodded in agreement. His face was grave.
‘Now eat up, Abbess Eleanor,’ said Ursula, ‘or the kitchener will be cross with me.’
The Abbess obeyed.
Chapter 5
Therese squeezed open her eyes against the sun. Naps were difficult, despite her exhaustion, when taken in the back of a jolting wagon. But at least the morning sun warmed her as they headed northwards. She observed Alfred driving a fresh set of mules over the lumps and dips in the road. They passed a junction and Alfred told the Abbess that it was a shorter route from Canterbury, but it involved a ferry and he’d wanted to avoid the ferry man’s gossip.
Therese was lulled by the sun back into a stupor only to be stirred by a little knot of excitement caught between her heart and her liver. It was beyond noon when she sat up and saw the building of St Thomas the Apostle. The stone walls were surrounded and topped by wooden scaffolding and lifting gear. Therese caught the salty smell of the sea but could not see it as the mules were reined off to the right onto a track, which approached the priory from the north. The wagon went down a hillside. To the east there was an encampment.
‘Builders,’ explained Alfred with a catch of exasperation in his voice. That sound people made when ants got in the honey pot. ‘I will make my camp on the south side, beyond the woodland. You cannot see it from here. I will be out of the way of all the traffic.’
Therese wondered briefly if the whole of England was a building site. All these people, yet she would be alone with her secret inside the convent. Contact with Sister Agnes would be difficult, and probably inadvisable with so many prying eyes and ears.
At the bottom of the hill they forded a stream and started to rise again to the priory. The incomplete building dedicated to St Thomas The Apostle seemed to be being constructed on the site of an old fort as it was on a hill with a valley all about it with rising ground beyond the valley like a protective embankment. The church, she noted, was foreshortened. The front end had been created for the use of the nuns, but the nave was a skeleton of piled stones and partly built walls. The gatehouse on the northwest corner was complete. And as they went under it Therese felt chilled from the sun being cut out by the stonework above her.
She smiled at Abbess Eleanor whom she realised was now driving. Alfred was no longer with them. The Abbess smiled back reassuringly and drove the mules into the courtyard.
‘Wait here in silence,’ she said climbing down from the driving seat. ‘I will tell them I am here on a private visit as they will be suspicious of my arrival being unattended by the usual retinue. However, this is less likely to make tongues wag than turning up with Norman knights.’ Her mouth twitched with a little conspiratorial smile.
Panic started to rise inside Therese’s ribs and clutch at her throat. She wanted to run. Instead she steadied herself and picked up her rosary. She would pray not to be so jumpy. After a while she felt her mind start to think. The only way to serve Bishop Odon in this matter was to be a free agent; to be able to observe without concern for others. She had to become self-reliant.
She still had her eyes tight shut when Abbess Eleanor touched her elbow.
‘You have been accepted,’ whispered the older nun.
Therese opened her eyes. A movement attracted her and she looked up at a window overlooking the courtyard. They were being observed by a nun whom she took to be Prioress Ethelburga. Therese hid her face with her veil as she asked Abbess Eleanor, ‘How?’ She wondered if her boldness at coming here to spy on the nuns had only been bravado after all. She found that part of her had hoped that Prioress Ethelburga would not take her in.
‘I told them that you were one of the best needle-women in Normandy.’
‘But I’m not that good,’ protested Therese. England was renowned across Europe for its standard of needlework, she knew she could not match that.
‘Don’t worry,’ said the Abbess. ‘They won’t want you to stitch the embroidery straight away. By the time they let you touch it, hopefully, your work will be done. Prioress Ethelburga thinks you will be an ideal person to clean the embroidery room each day after work is over. It could not have gone better, Sister.’
‘So why is she watching us?’ asked Therese. She looked up at the window, but the figure had gone.
* * *
Abbess Eleanor stood over Prioress Ursula’s grave and prayed for forgiveness for the deceit she and little Therese were now involved in, and for Ursula. Wicked Ursula. Funny Ursula.
She’d avoided watching Therese enter the convent and had asked no questions regarding the arrangements for her. She had not wanted to appear too interested.
She would leave directly for Canterbury. The problems here were created from afar; she could almost smell the politics involved in this affair. She could not believe Bishop Odon could have put her and Therese in such a position. And surely Ursula was wrong: Odon himself could not be involved. The commission for the embroidery was his own. And Archbishop Lanfranc, such a great man. He could not have anything to do with the destruction of the hard work of women working for God – could he? But Canterbury, she resolved, was the place to investigate such matters. Perhaps she could solve the matter before Therese became embroiled here.
She also prayed for the dead nun who’d taken Ursula’s place in the grave and for the misguided girl buried outside of hallowed ground for taking her own life.
* * *
Therese woke. Her first day, yesterday, was a blur but what stood out in her mind was the fact that she had been shown round but had not been shown the sewing room or any of the needlework done by these accomplished stitchers. In the moments before she knew she must rise for Prime she tried to focus on her tasks for the day. Her main aim must be to encourage the other nuns to trust her so that an early entry to the sewing room could be engineered.
The bell rang and she dressed with the others in her dorter. Each woman was involved in arranging their tunics and girdles and paid no attention to any other. This was no different from home. She was used to sharing and these women were the very people she’d come here to observe. But not now. She counted ten nuns as they made for the stairway directly into the church.
The church stood on the north side of the cloister and the dorter ranged along the east side. But the cloister was not yet complete and this, for the present was the only access from the convent to worship even when prayer was not close to sleep time. Therese tried to remember her tour of the priory as the prayers were chanted.
Standing at the corner of what had been finished of the cloister Therese had observed the strange little tower on the south-western corner where Ursula and the Impostor had fallen. So, she assumed, the building on the south side was the sewing room.
Rays from the rising sun flooded through the church windows. So mouthing the words of the prayers and still looking down, she knelt in the choir and scanned the interior of the church. It was plain compared with home. There were some striped stone pillars, but the walls were not yet painted as the builders had not finished making dust. Even shabbier was the temporary back wall put up for the benefit of the nuns. Half way across it a large sheet was pinned. This had been decorated with a scene of St Thomas meeting Christ after the resurrection and doubting that it was He.
As for the nuns she could only see the
backs of those in front and the stooped heads of those opposite her and the hands clutched in prayer of those beside her. They all were quite still until the Prioress led the way from the church to the refectory.
After a small breakfast the nuns filed into the chapter house for the daily reading from St Benedict’s book. She found herself placed, as she expected, in the lowliest position by the door. Next to her was a short, broad elderly nun with coarsened hands, and next to her was a tall slim nun, a little younger than Abbess Eleanor and Ursula.
Once Prioress Ethelburga finished reading she closed the book and looked carefully at each of the faces before her. ‘Today, I wish to introduce you all to Sister Therese,’ she said. ‘She has come from Normandy to study our great work. However, this, as you all know, is a great honour and one that has to be earned. Therefore until I say so no one is to speak of such matters to her. Nor has she access to the work or workroom.’
The group looked at Therese with unbridled suspicion.
‘Sister Hilda, you will take Sisters Sybil and Beatrice with you this morning,’ continued Prioress Ethelburga. She said, ‘Sister Hilda,’ and passed a key to the nun she addressed. She paused while they left. Therese noted that these three were all of an age. Mid-twenties? She wasn’t very good at guessing ages but they were certainly older than herself and they were smooth faced. But, out of them, Sister Hilda held herself the straightest and carried her well-formed head and features with less modesty than befitted her role.
Prioress Ethelburga barked at the remaining nuns, ‘Sisters Winifred, Leofgyth and Aelfgyth you will go to the garden today. Sisters Maude and Mabel are to assume your usual duties with the animals. Much needs to be done if we are to be fed this year.’
So that puts Hilda, Sybil and Beatrice in the sewing room, thought Therese.
The gardeners were of mixed ages. They shuffled uneasily. ‘Prioress, with the greatest respect why are you sending us to the garden? Is not the work much more important? Will we not be supplied by our benefactor Bishop Odo? Will not the land work damage our hands?’ asked the youngest – a girl not much older than Therese.
