Satan's Lullaby

by Royal, Priscilla

  “Your clemency is gracious, my lady.” But he knew that her comments on the world reflected her fears for her brother’s safety in Wales. “I pray daily for Sir Hugh,” he added softly.

  “Prayers for which he and I are most grateful.” Although she never knew exactly why her eldest brother had initially disliked Brother Thomas, the monk had saved Sir Hugh’s life. Since then, there had been no discord between the men. “After the service you have rendered all of us in my father’s family, you have become my third brother in the world as well as my spiritual kin.”

  He bowed his head with humility, and the two fell silent, lost in their particular thoughts as they hurried on to the meeting with the soon-to-be Bishop Etienne Davoir.

  ***

  Clerks tossed their meager bundles of possessions to others and clambered into the wagons that had brought them to Tyndal Priory. Their shouts and laughter at departure contrasted with their sedate hush on arrival.

  No one rebuked them for the din, or suggested it was unseemly. Even Father Etienne turned his back on it as if accepting their eagerness to return to more peaceful lodgings where the worst violence might be an impassioned quarrel over a tiny theological detail.

  Outside the gates, the party of mounted guards had gathered, ready to escort the Frenchmen back to the coast and their waiting ship. Even their horses seemed impatient to leave, snorting and shaking their heads.

  As a reminder of Jean’s tragic death, a riderless horse was tied to the back of one wagon which had been filled with all the records of this visitation, a carved prie-dieu and a bejeweled cross. No one approached the horse. Three passing clerks suddenly changed direction when they realized they would be passing too near.

  Bereft of attending clerks, Davoir stood with Prior Andrew. The prior was assuring him that the lay brothers of Tyndal would take care in preparing Jean’s corpse so it could be sent home without an embarrassing incident.

  Thomas noticed Conan dismount and walk through the gate. He hoped the guard captain would rotate the soldiers assigned to watch over Renaud. The clerk’s ranting, day and night, would be torture. As the monk leaned to one side, he could see Renaud bound and tied to his horse. Although the general noise of departure muted the sound, Thomas could see the youth opening and shutting his mouth as he alternated between raving and weeping. He had heard that the youth had refused all nourishment and wondered if he would survive the voyage home.

  ***

  Glancing up, Davoir saw the prioress approaching. He nodded to Prior Andrew and went to meet her, his head bowed. “I beg forgiveness for any sorrow I have caused you, my lady, with these wicked and false accusations.”

  “A most serious allegation had been made against me, Father. You came seeking the truth and found it,” she replied. “There is no shame in doing as you were commanded or wishing to serve our abbess well.” But Eleanor could not help thinking that few men could perform an act of humility, as Davoir had just done, and still retain an arrogant demeanor. It was not uncommon for younger sons of great families to enter the Church more out of ambition than faith, but the prioress had met some whose hearts God had softened. This man was not one of those.

  “But I accused your sub-infirmarian and you of far worse than breaking vows of chastity. For that, I shall beg a harsh penance.”

  “We knew we were innocent and had faith in God’s justice.” The prioress tried not to bite her tongue too hard to keep from saying more. Tempting as it was to ignore or even refuse his request for forgiveness, Eleanor knew she could not. “What we might have suffered was over in a moment, and our hearts are joyful that we have been vindicated. Forgiveness is not needed, Father. You had a duty to perform. God cast His light on the facts as we knew He would.” She wondered if he would mention Renaud now and express some sorrow or regret. Surely the priest knew he bore some responsibility for what had happened.

  Davoir clutched his hands together. “Your sub-prioress has resigned her office because of her brother’s actions, but she is a worthy woman and a good servant of God. I pray you will have mercy on her.”

  “I have accepted her plea to be released from the duty she has long performed with honor, Father. It is her wish, not mine. Once she has returned to health, I shall speak with her about her desired path of service, as well as what is best for our priory, but I assure you that I bear her no enmity. It was her brother who sinned against us, not Sister Ruth.” It seems he has entirely forgotten about Renaud, she thought, but then the clerk was a steward’s son. All souls might be equal in God’s judgement, but rank still raised some above others in the eyes of mortals.

  He smiled with relief. “It is with great joy that I return to my sister at Fontevraud Abbey, not only with complete repudiation of the false claims against you, but a fine report on your leadership in all aspects at this daughter house.” He swallowed and looked away for a moment. “She has always held you in especial regard, among all her daughters, for the work you do in God’s service. She will not be surprised at my laudatory report, but she will be most pleased.”

  Since he was so much taller than she, the priest stared down at her. His smile and gaze made her uneasy until she realized that they reminded her of her cat when he approached a fine piece of fish she had saved for him. She struggled not to laugh. Then, with exemplary humility, Eleanor knelt. “Give this unworthy woman your blessing, Father, for I am mortal and suffer many sins.”

  Standing as straight and grave as the bishop he would soon become, Davoir granted the request and waited for her to rise. Briefly, he glanced at Thomas but chose to ignore him.

  The monk managed not to smile. He was pleased that the priest knew nothing of his father’s rank or the man might have been more conciliatory despite Thomas’ illegitimacy. At least one king’s bastard had held higher rank in the Church than this man ever will, the monk thought. But he was grateful he would always be a simple monk within the priory he happily called his home.

  He stepped away but kept his head bowed while his prioress and the prior bid their guest a formal farewell.

  “Brother, may I interrupt your meditations?”

  Startled, Thomas looked up to see Conan by his side.

  “I have a message for you.”

  The monk brightened. “Gytha…”

  “No, I have no message from the manor house, but I do have word of another birth.”

  Thomas blinked, then noticed the smile twinkling in the guard captain’s eyes. Suddenly, he felt his face grow hot.

  “Durant of Norwich wishes you to know that your blessing last year brought great joy. His wife has been safely delivered of a healthy son. Although the good wine merchant has vowed to return here with them both at some future date, he will first send a worthy gift to this priory in gratitude for God’s kindness—and yours.” The guard bowed.

  “Will you see Master Durant soon?” Thomas knew his voice trembled.

  “After I have delivered this company to their ships, I return to court to report on my adventures.” Conan’s expression was inscrutable. “Master Durant provides some of the king’s wine and is often in attendance there. I believe I may meet him.”

  “Will you tell him…?” Thomas turned away, and then forced himself to finish his sentence. “Will you say that I continue to consider him my brother after our time together in Walsingham? I pray daily for his health, that of his wife, and now his babe.” With a genuine smile, he looked back at the captain. “You say a son? What is the babe’s name?”

  Conan grinned. “He was named after his mother’s favorite uncle, a man who died only a few months before the birth. Coincidentally, his name was Thomas.”

  The monk did not bother to hide this blush, suspecting this man might not care about the cause. “I am sure the boy will be a credit to his good kin and will become a far worthier man than another who also bears that name.”

  Conan agreed to relay the messag
e, and, with a pat on the monk’s shoulder, returned to his horse and men outside the priory gate.

  ***

  When the party had left, and the sound of the travelers’ horses had faded, a great sigh rose from the three monastics who could now return to the tasks that had been set aside for no better reason than a man’s petty longing for revenge.

  Although Prioress Eleanor had given the priest her forgiveness, and most certainly forgave her former sub-prioress, she was not so sure she could forgive Sister Ruth’s brother. She did ask herself if she should tell her own brother about what had happened, then rejected the idea. To do so would be as petty as what the baron had done. In time, she decided, God would render some justice on him, and she was glad to let Him do it.

  After some discussion with her prior about what tasks must be done first, Eleanor and Thomas walked back along the path that led to the hospital and to her own quarters.

  Before they had gone far, they heard a voice calling out.

  Nute raced down the path toward them.

  “What news?” the two monastics shouted in unison.

  Nute skidded to a halt in front of them, stood up straight, and took a deep breath. “Sister Anne has announced that Mistress Gytha was safely delivered of a healthy son. He shall be named Fulke.” Then he frowned. “I could hear the babe outside the manor house, my lady. He has the crowner’s lungs.”

  And with great relief, Prioress Eleanor and Brother Thomas laughed and shouted for joy.

  Author’s Notes

  A few years ago, while enjoying an author tea at The Poisoned Pen in Scottsdale, Arizona, I had a delightful conversation about medieval history with fellow reader, Paula Davidon. When she asked if I had read Archbishop Eudes Rigaud’s account of his travels around his archdiocese in thirteenth-century Normandy, I confessed I hadn’t. In such moments the process of plot development often begins.

  Not long after, Paula sent me a copy of the archbishop’s dictated chronicle in which he discusses, with fascinating detail, his visits to the religious houses under his authority, the inadequacies he found, and the remedies he recommended. I knew then that I would have to put Prioress Eleanor through this ordeal. Life must never get too comfortable for her.

  There was one problem. Almost all Orders did live under the oversight of a local prelate, like Archbishop Eudes Rigaud of Rouen, and received regular visits from him to make sure the physical buildings were maintained, fiscal affairs were in order, and everyone kept to their vows in both major and minor ways. The Order of Fontevraud was different.

  Instead of the local prelate, Fontevraud was under the rule of Rome and placed there in 1244, with the approval of Pope Innocent IV, which suggests that the Order was well-regarded and skillfully run. Popes did not allow lax Orders to have this privilege because it gave the Order leaders more leeway in decision-making and control over their daughter houses. The abbots and abbesses of houses under Rome’s rule could order the investigative reviews as they saw fit. Records indicate that they were a little less dedicated about scheduling them than Eudes’ chronicle would suggest he was.

  Although the abbesses in Anjou approved some visitations, very few have been recorded for the English daughter houses of Fontevraud and these were almost exclusively concerned with fiscal affairs. The pattern suggests that Prioress Eleanor would have had good cause indeed to wonder why her religious house was being singled out if Abbess Isabeau ordered an assessment of all aspects of Tyndal Priory from fish ponds to monastic shoes.

  Isabeau Davoir (or d’Avoir) was the fourteenth abbess at Fontevraud Abbey and ruling head of the Order from 1276 to 1284. Her kin were the noble family of d’Avoir in Anjou, and her problem with querulous monks, who did not like female rule, is part of historical record. Eventually, she got papal approval to send the rebellious ones off to other priories. Her second notable achievement was the successful acquisition of a relic from the true cross for the abbey.

  Nothing else is known about her, including anything about brothers. Presumably there was one to inherit the family title. If she also had a younger one, he might well have opted for a career in the Church. His birth would have put him on the fast track for ecclesiastical promotion much like the fictional Father Etienne Davoir, a man who bears absolutely no resemblance to Archbishop Eudes whom I found quite charming.

  There is a general assumption about religion in the medieval era. This can be summed up by the image of Christians kneeling in a church, a group whose frequent adherence to ritual was set in stone and whose beliefs were standardized or else deemed heretical.

  The image is fallacious. First, not everyone in Europe was Christian, although that was the dominant creed. Second, the average Christian had little in-depth understanding of the faith, and practices deemed common today in Catholicism were not always honored. Third, there were long periods in which a fair tolerance for differences of opinion existed as long as certain fundamentals weren’t questioned. (Jesus was the messiah, for instance.)

  In this book, I do portray some differences amongst the professional religious. Prioress Eleanor believes in a compassionate and tolerant God who is outraged most by cruelty and injustice. Brother Thomas feels free to argue constantly with his. Father Etienne sees God as a stern, unbending task master who must be strictly obeyed without question. Some theologians said a Christian must never doubt or question but just accept the faith as preached by the professionals. Others argued that Christian tenets could and must be proven with reasoned arguments and that questioning was an acceptable path to faith.

  If the theologians exhibited variety in their approach to the Christian religion, the laity was just as diverse. Canterbury Tales offers a good survey course. In my series, Gytha and Signy are conventionally devout, but the critical and casual approach, suggested by Ralf and Conan, was not unusual.

  In all religions, faith leaders worry about the laxity of the lay folk. Will they follow those in religious authority on morals, compliance with financial support, and attendance at group rituals? For medieval Christians, it was no different.

  Baptism was a non-negotiable, basic requirement for entrance into the faith, and Christian families did this dutifully. Once that was done, however, there was surprising variance in almost everything else having to do with the faith. Some of this was understandable. The complex rules over when a dutiful Christian couple might have sex would drive a modern computer mad, let alone a medieval human. There was a lot of disobedience going on with that.

  What might surprise many is that knowledge about the intricacies of faith was not obligatory for the laity. Robert Grosseteste, the mid-thirteenth century bishop of Lincoln, clarified that the average Christian was only required to know the Ten Commandments, the seven Deadly Sins, and have a rudimentary understanding of the seven sacraments. (Others did think memorizing a prayer or two was good.) Those with vocations to serve God were expected to have a far greater understanding in order to advise and preach. In reality, many of those, especially the local priests, were as ignorant of the rules and details of the faith as the laity.

  In general, attendance at Mass on Sundays and feast days was expected, but non-attendance was so common it was regularly bewailed. Tithing was part of a Christian’s obligation, but tithes were not always collected with any regularity, except in England where compliance seems to have been rather good. Annual confession was a duty around Easter as was taking the Eucharist. Many did adhere to that. Many others did not.

  As for respect due the professional religious, the literature of the day was filled with mockery of the foibles of priests, monks, and nuns. Bishops came in for their share when they chose to chastise local priests for having unsanctioned wives—despite having mistresses themselves. (And I won’t even get into the Borgias.) Like an archaeological dig of the town dump that brings us a picture of life amongst the common folk, secular literature provides us with a peek into what the average Christian practiced
(or didn’t) and thought.

  So Ralf’s contempt for the more lenient punishments given clerics is echoed in historical quotes by kings; his snide comments about the professional religious, his friends excepted, is repeated in much literature of the time; his infrequent church attendance is supported by recorded theological wailing. Conan’s remarks and behavior also fall into that category. Unapproved scoffing and lax adherence to ritualistic practices was scolded but not ardently punished most of the time.

  That noted, medievals, like many moderns, were frightened of the afterlife. This terror eventually brought most medieval Christians back to the fold in times of stress or on their deathbeds. Ralf is a different man when faced with the possibility that his wife could die in childbirth. Even Conan might utter a prayer before he next faces the Welsh. Rulers, notorious for lifetimes of brutality and rampant greed, often donned a monk’s robe and took religious vows on their deathbeds. King William Rufus, overcome with fear during a dire illness, piously chose a later sainted Archbishop of Canterbury, a decision he came to rue when his health crisis passed. Like Rufus, Ralf will probably return to his irreverent self after the child is born.

  Autumn crocus is an ancient remedy. The first mention is in the Egyptian Ebers Papyrus, the oldest known medical text from approximately 1500 BCE, where parts of the plant were mentioned as useful in the treatment of inflammation. Later, the Greeks discovered it could be an effective remedy for acute cases of gout, although Alexander of Tralles in the sixth century CE wrote the most complete treatise on its specific value as a gout medication. The medicine was composed of the plant’s dried seeds, flowers, and corms. It wasn’t until 1820 that the alkaloid colchicine was isolated and discovered to be the valuable element. Today, modern medicine still prescribes the vital part of autumn crocus for acute gout attacks in the form of a tiny purple pill called Colchicine.

  The problem with autumn crocus is its toxicity. Before 1820, it was very difficult to concoct a remedy with it that didn’t cause serious side effects or even death. In fact, the plant was best known as a poison. The amount of the alkaloid colchicine in the various parts of the plant varies dramatically, and a safe dosage would not have been easily measurable many hundreds of years ago.