Forsaken Soul (14 page)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The day had dawned with pleasing warmth, tempered by a cool breeze from the coast.

Eleanor, however, was not soothed. “What am I failing to understand?” she asked, seating herself on the stone bench in the middle of the cloister gardens.

The previous night had been a restless one for the prioress, her dreams filled with writhing shapes and troubling images. This time, the creature shattering her sleep was not an incubus in the shape of Brother Thomas but the tormented soul of Ivetta. Even now the woman’s screams echoed sharply in her ears.

The sight of the blackened burns from Hell’s fire on the woman’s naked body was terrible enough, but her piteous cries had so distressed Eleanor that she abruptly awoke with hot sweat streaming down her trembling body. Mercifully, sleep failed to return. The prioress could bear no further meetings with the dead woman’s spirit.

Eleanor now shut her eyes, but the most terrible image from the night remained as if burned into her eyelids lest she try to forget it. In the dream, Ivetta had held the image of a perfectly formed but tiny child in her hand, stretching it out for Eleanor to take. “I promised her to the priory when she was born,” the spirit had howled. “I may deserve this eternity of fire, but she never had the chance for salvation. For pity’s sake, take her to your heart!”

The voice, as piercing now in bright daylight as it had been in darkness, chased Eleanor from her seat. She ran a few steps, then dropped to her knees and wept.

After a few minutes, she calmed, breathing in a fragrance of almost holy sweetness as if the breeze from the North Sea carried the scent of Heaven. “I shall find your murderer,” she whispered. “To deny a soul the chance for absolution is grave, but to deny a babe baptism before death is an unspeakable and most cruel sin.”

Prioress Eleanor rose and walked back to her chambers with a determined step, swearing that she would do more than she had in this matter. Martin’s murder may have been a secular concern, but God had made it quite clear that Ivetta’s death was her responsibility.

As she walked into her private room, her attention was drawn to the tapestry hanging on the wall at the end of her bed. The depiction of Mary Magdalene at the foot of Jesus never ceased to fascinate her, the expression of love and compassion between the two figures bringing comfort on dark nights when the wind howled outside her window. Now they seemed to rebuke her for not casting aside all other concerns when justice should have been the foremost one.

“Had I dealt with Ivetta differently, she might have repented and sought our cloister, thus saving her life and that of her child. I must find the killer,” she murmured, closing her eyes to banish all possible distractions.

“My lady, do you have need of anything?”

The prioress spun around and faced Gytha.

Her maid did not need to express her concern. Her eyes conveyed it eloquently enough.

“Stay, if you will. I have need of your advice,” Eleanor said, smiling as an idea struck her. “Indeed, I may even ask for gossip.”

“Of that I have some knowledge, my lady.” Gytha grinned with both humor and evident relief.

“It is about a priory matter. What does the village say about Sister Juliana?”

“Most believe she is a holy woman who speaks as if blessed with the tongue of Heaven’s Queen. A few are troubled that she sits by her window only at night. These voices are the same who question whether it is seemly for any woman to go to her after the sun sets. Yet others counter with the argument that our anchoress’ virtue might be more truly doubted if most of the visitors were men.”

The prioress reached down and petted the cat now rubbing against her robe. “Men do not seek her out?”

“I know of only two from Tyndal village, although a few strangers may have visited. Each of our local men came away uneasy, wondering why she did not seem to welcome them. My brother spoke with her and left as terrified as if God Himself had spoken. When he told me about it afterward, he said her words may have been wise but he could not convey the tone with which she spoke them. The very thought of returning filled him with dread. He mentioned only one other man from here who had sought her out. It was he who told my brother that he understood at last what it must have been like to talk to God in the burning bush.”

“Tostig is not a man who frightens easily,” the prioress remarked. “Who among the women have told any tales?”

“Signy. When she visited, she found both welcome and comfort in our anchoress’ words, unlike my brother and his friend.”

Eleanor clutched her hands tightly, hoping to hide her delight in the way this discussion was going. “She felt no terror?”

“Sister Juliana did beg her to kneel farther from the window, but Signy was not disquieted, believing that our anchoress would rightly fear corruption from a mortal woman if she came too close to her.”

“Did the innkeeper’s niece say why she had sought counsel?”

“I did not ask, my lady, nor did she offer to tell me.”

“Has anyone mentioned if Ivetta visited Sister Juliana?”

“Aye! Signy herself told me that she had seen the woman once or twice and wondered why a harlot, who did nothing to change her ways, would seek out an anchoress. As you must know, the innkeeper’s niece and Ivetta were not friends. There was no reason for either to confide her reasons for visiting or even acknowledge that one might have seen the other. If it would help you find who committed this crime, I could ask about. Someone might know why Ivetta wanted to speak with our anchoress.”

Either I have failed in subtlety or else Gytha is too clever by half, Eleanor thought with affection as she noted her maid’s eagerness to be involved in hunting down a killer. “I will not involve you in murder, and the asking of questions might bring you harm.”

The cat gave up trying to gain his mistress’ full attention, went to sniff at Gytha’s shoes, then left the chambers in pursuit of those things deemed important by his ilk.

“I am troubled by accusations against our anchoress, Gytha. As you are also aware, I am also concerned with two deaths, one of which we know to be murder and the other I believe must be.”

“We have a market day, my lady. No one would question my presence there as your servant, and I could carefully listen for any tales that might be abroad about the deaths. That would be safe enough if I do not show undue interest.”

“I will think about consenting to that but only if you promise to take care.”

Gytha eagerly agreed.

“In the meantime, I may be glad that Sister Juliana has been of service to the village, a mercy that most seem to agree upon, but Sister Ruth complains she cannot find any proper woman who is willing to wait upon her. I hear that our anchoress can be most frightening when she is possessed of this spirit that may be most holy.”

“If I may be honest, my lady…”

“…as I have always permitted.”

“Sister Ruth chooses servants much like herself. If our anchoress wishes to pray quietly all day and serve as a conduit of God’s wisdom by night, she does not need a woman in attendance who loves the sound of her own voice. Nor should she be cursed with a woman more desirous of a heightened reputation because she waits on a holy woman than any longing for true service.”

Eleanor laughed. “Methinks you have touched upon the truth of it. Nonetheless, I have no solution to the problem. Our sister cannot wait on herself and still spend every hour serving God. In addition, she has expressed horror at the very idea of any servant.”

“If I might suggest someone, my lady?”

The prioress looked delighted. “You know of a woman?”

“A cousin, my lady. She is younger than those Sister Ruth has recommended.”

“Not a young girl, surely? Will she not be terrified when our anchoress falls into her fits? And what of marriage? She could not continue serving an anchoress when a husband would need her by his side.”

“My cousin has no expectation of marriage and is possessed of a quiet, calm temperament. She will be content to sit until called upon and will not tremble when God’s spirit enters Sister Juliana.”

Eleanor frowned. “Why has Sister Ruth not suggested her to me?”

Before Gytha had any chance to reply, the door to the public chambers flew open and crashed against the stone wall. The aforementioned sub-prioress stormed into the room like Satan’s imp cloaked with the form of a wild-eyed horse with a stitch in its side.

“My lady, you must come immediately!” Sister Ruth’s face was gray.

“What has happened?” Eleanor exclaimed. The genuine fear in the woman’s urgent tone chased all annoyance from her heart.

“Sister Juliana has murdered a lay sister!”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

“Troubled?” Ralf stood at the door to the smithy.

The fire in the pit burned low while Will leaned against the wall, his eyes staring at nothing. One hand played absently with the tongs. At the sound of the crowner’s voice, his expression refocused with sharp anger. “What’re you doing here?” he snarled.

“Ivetta is dead.”

“And you’re now accusing me of her murder too?” Although the smith’s tone hinted at outrage, his brow furrowed as if he were more befuddled than wrathful.

“Did I say anything about murder?”

“Why else would you come with this news? Not out of some recently discovered courtesy. I know that much.”

“We were lads together, Will, and I knew Ivetta as well. Should I not share your grief?”

“Perhaps you
knew
her as we all did,” the man snorted, “but that was the sum of your acquaintance of her. As for any affection you claim to bear me from some boyhood shared, I’m not that slow of wit to believe your tale.”

“When did you see her last?”

The man pointed at him in triumph. “Ha! Caught you out. I was right, wasn’t I?”

“When you refused my sympathy, you reminded me that I am the crowner with murders to solve. When did you last see Ivetta?”

“The night Martin died.”

“Not since? Not even to console her after his death?” He winked.

Will struck out at Ralf. The crowner caught his hand, spun the man around, and twisted the smith’s arm behind him.

Will yelped but his struggles only made the pain worse. “Loosen your grip, Crowner!”

“Gladly, should you decide to tell the truth.”

“She was a
whore
! Why would I care about her?”

“I think you envied the extra coin Martin gained from her and went to visit her last night, hoping to take his place in her bed and as her bawd.”

The blacksmith spat.

“You’ve always had a hot temper. When she said she would not tolerate your useless fumblings and other rough ways, especially since she was with child, did you lash out?”

“With these visions of yours, you belong in the priory. I had little to do with the whore and most certainly not last night.”

Ralf tightened his hold on the man’s wrist. “She bedded you when the cooper was feeling generous. No woman would have you, including her, if she hadn’t been well paid for the effort. And effort it must have required, if what I hear of you is true.”

Will roared in fury.

“So you liked her. Maybe too much? Is that why you killed her? Were you jealous of the babe? Or could you not bear her rejection when she mocked your feeble manhood?”

“How often did you try to mount her, Crowner, or at least until Signy opened her legs to you? Maybe you killed her.” The blacksmith jerked and pulled but could not break the crowner’s hold.

Ralf twisted the hand.

The man screamed.

“Maybe you took Hob with you, thinking he’s the better looking and she might agree to be his whore. And being a loyal and generous brother, he would surely share Ivetta with you often enough like Martin did. Maybe Hob killed her when she spat in your faces? Or did he just hold her down while you…”

“For the love of God, Crowner!”

Ralf wrenched the man’s hand, then dropped it.

“You’ve broken my wrist!”

“Learn to work one-handed.”

“I’m innocent!” Tear were streaming down the man’s cheeks.

“Prove it. Tell me where you were last night.”

Cradling his limp hand, Will fell to his knees. “I went to see old Tibia last night,” he whimpered.

“Will she vouch for you?”

“She wouldn’t open her door. I waited. Then left.”

“Any witnesses? Her hut is close to the inn.”

“I hid. Who wants to be seen with Satan’s bitch?”

“I don’t blame her for barring her door. Even old crones aren’t desperate enough to let you try to swyve them.”

His face purpled with rage, the smith leapt to his feet, grabbed the tongs with his good hand, and swung at the crowner.

Ralf ducked, then quickly straightened and rammed his knee into Will’s groin.

Writhing, the man dropped to the ground and wailed like a beaten dog.

The crowner’s victory was short-lived. The moment he stepped away, something struck his head. As he fell into darkness, the last thing he remembered thinking was how foolish he had been not to guard his back.

Chapter Thirty

The buzzing of some bees, finding brief respite from their labors and the day’s heat, was the only sound that broke the silence in the close confines of the anchorage.

The woman knelt and clutched her body as if fearful it might otherwise break apart like a carelessly scattered handful of dust.

Gently, the prioress took Sister Juliana’s chin in hand and raised her face until their eyes met.

“I did nothing to harm the lay sister, my lady.”

“Truly, I did not think you had,” the prioress sighed. “Only once have I seen you behave with cruelty to another and that was at Wynethorpe Castle.”

“An act for which I perform daily penance.” Tears began to flow down her cheeks. “How does the lay sister?”

“The wound is grave enough, but Sister Anne believes God may be gracious and it should mend.”

Juliana lowered her eyes and whispered a prayer.

“Although I know you did not strike her, there was something that caused the lay sister to trip and hit her head on the stone floor. What so filled her with blinding terror that she fled this anchorage? ”

Juliana turned around on her knees, slipped her robe down with careful modesty, and exposed her back.

Eleanor gasped.

“Do I not have the right to discipline myself alone?” Juliana said, her jaw tightening despite her humble tone. “Formerly, I blocked the door to my tomb while I used the whip, but, in obedience to your command, I have ceased to do so. In return, I expected kind courtesy from her, but she never asked permission to enter, my lady. Had I known she was opening the door, I might have prevented her from seeing what she cannot understand.”

“Then I, too, must perform penance since my orders contributed to this cruel accident,” Eleanor said after a moment’s pause. “My judgement has been proven to be a feeble thing, and I shall seek counsel from those more knowledgeable. Your actions have surpassed my own poor abilities to comprehend. Although I do not quarrel with the need to discipline an unruly body, I confess honest doubts about the value of such extreme mortification, Sister.”

“I take full blame for this near-tragedy and will seek absolution from priest and victim,” the anchoress replied, easing her robe back over her shoulders.

“We both must beg forgiveness.”

“Punish me as you see fit, but I beg you to believe me! I had no idea she was watching until I heard her scream. When I turned around, I saw the door to my tomb wide open and she was lying on the ground, motionless. Since my vows prohibit me from leaving this space, I prayed loudly and God showed mercy by sending Sister Ruth. When she saw the lay sister on the ground, blood pouring from her head, she cursed me. After that, I remember nothing.”

Eleanor lifted Juliana from her knees. “Until now, I have shown much tolerance and defended your singular ways, although Sister Ruth has complained of your conduct since you arrived at the priory. With this incident, she has proved to be the wiser. In addition, I confess to finding your choice of self-mortification a strange act to perform in a place dedicated to the worship of a forgiving God. I can understand why the lay sister fled from the sight of your gory back. That said, I would listen to your reasons for…”

“Then I plead with you, once again, to let me stay in solitude! Send no one to serve me. I cannot bear it nor, it seems, can they.” Juliana’s boldness suddenly failed her. “Do not, I beg of you, cast me from this sanctuary!” she whispered. “In this place lies my only hope for salvation.”

“I will not send you from your anchorage. That I may promise, but you must have a woman to watch over you, even if she does not serve you in other ways. You fall into convulsions. You whip yourself most cruelly. Once, you beat your head against the walls until all sense left your body. Were you to die of your wounds without a priest to hear confession, you would not only die unshriven but also be guilty of self-murder.”

Juliana’s eyes grew large, her body now trembling. “Murder?” she murmured. “My lady…”

“Aye, murder. Nor is that the only concern that must be addressed. Although many of your calling commonly receive visitors at different hours, you do not sleep and keep court by your window only at night.”

“None of this is by my will!”

“Then whose will demands this of you?”

“God’s, my lady. I have begged Him to choose another, someone far worthier than I, but He has not answered those prayers. Indeed, that is the reason for the mortification. I have committed such grave sins He has not come to me at all since…”

“You quickly point to God, claiming He supports many of your questionable desires, Sister.” Gazing into the anchoress’ pleading eyes, Eleanor instantly regretted her harsh words. How darkly circled with fatigue those eyes are, she thought, and I should know well enough what secret torments God chooses not to spare us even when begged to do so. “He will comfort you again with His presence,” she promised in a softer voice.

“All I wish to do is spend my days entombed here with no voice to disturb my prayers on their way to Heaven. If God did not demand me to speak His words, I would seal that window with bricks or stone and have cause enough…”

Eleanor waved that aside. “Before any decision is made to keep pilgrims from your window, I shall seek counsel from a priest and ask him to question you. Satan has been known to speak with honeyed tongue to mortals, Sister, and is oft mistaken for God. If the priest finds no sin in your words or thought, then you must be His instrument. You have no choice.”

“I will welcome that examination with prayer and joy, my lady. In the meantime, leave me here in solitude so I will not endanger another innocent like the good lay sister. I beg it!”

“Why are you so stiff-necked in this matter of servants?”

“If God did not protect me, I would bear worse wounds than these paltry welts on my back. I do not need a warden.”

With both hands, Eleanor cradled one of Juliana’s. The bones and flesh were so delicate that the prioress wondered how tenuous a connection the anchoress had to anything of this world. “Then consider this,” she continued. “As humble service, most anchoresses are obliged to give modest guidance to pilgrims seeking comfort, but no one else, to my knowledge, welcomes troubled souls only at night. No matter what I might say, others will contend that women, who come at night when the Devil is dancing with his imps, must brush closely with evil. When men kneel at your window, some doubt your virtue. An attendant would confirm that you commit no sin during this time of dangerous shadows.”

“And at such dark hours, many souls are unsettled, my lady. Not all are women, although I confess that most are. Those men who come are few, and I believe God protects my virtue by setting cherubim with blazing swords at my window, much like those standing at the gates of Eden. As for the women who come to me, they have returned home safely enough. Is that not proof that God gives them protection when they come to hear His words through my mouth?”

“Did Ivetta ever come to you, Sister?”

“Not being from this land, I would not know her voice.” Juliana looked puzzled by the question.

“She was the harlot of Tyndal village.”

“I do not take confessions, my lady. Many at my window bemoan lust, cursing the terror and pain of childbirth. Lust is one of Satan’s most powerful afflictions. When women fall victim to carnal longings, I may hear bitter weeping but I cannot say if any earned her bread thereby.”

“Signy, the innkeeper’s niece? Did she seek counsel?”

“Nor do I ask names.” Juliana hesitated, then whispered: “Unless it was she who came to seek confirmation that God would agree…”

“It is no matter.” Eleanor dropped the anchoress’ hand and turned away. “I will ask Brother John to come here and pose questions. Afterward, he will report his conclusions to me.”

Juliana lowered her eyes, her face ashen in the pale light. “Might you not send Brother Thomas instead?” she murmured.

Eleanor tensed. “Why the one rather than the other?”

“At Wynethorpe Castle, it was the sight of him that confirmed my belief I would find sanctuary in this priory. He is a gift from God, my lady, and has always understood what lurks in my heart with clarity and compassion.”

Color rose to the prioress’ cheeks. “How can you speak of his perceptions with such familiarity? You have not met him since that winter when you begged an anchorage at Tyndal.”

“He has come to my window, my lady.”

“To seek advice?” Eleanor hissed.

“I think not,” the anchoress said softly. “Rather to raise issues for honorable debate.”

“Brother John will visit you, Sister. That is my decision,” the prioress snapped, each word as sharp as a dagger’s point. Without any courteous word of farewell, she spun on her heel and stormed out of the anchorage.

Shocked, Juliana raised both hands in futile supplication.

The door slammed, the very wood shuddering from the force of Eleanor’s fury.