Forsaken Soul

Chapter Ten

Had she been unwise to volunteer help in this matter of murder, Eleanor asked herself as she hurried along the path to Sister Juliana’s anchorage. Did she not have problems enough of her own, especially with Sister Ruth’s ongoing complaints about the anchoress? As for the revelations about Brother Thomas, she was still unable to force her mind firmly to the dilemma with full reason intact.

She quickly exiled that second thought before tears as traitorous as her monk once again breached the weakened walls of her resolve. The cooper’s murder was easier to contemplate.

Most would argue that this crime was no concern of those enclosed behind monastic walls. They might well be right, but if honest men saw Satan strutting amongst them because of this misdeed, then surely the religious of Tyndal were duty bound to help send him back to Hell.

Besides, Ralf had asked for her aid. Not only was he crowner but he was also her friend, a king’s man who always honored her authority at the priory and had helped her two years ago when she had needed a favor, one that might have caused the crowner much grief had his brother, the sheriff, ever learned of it. She owed him something in return. The least she could do was interview two women.

“A simple enough thing to accomplish compared to what I must do now,” the prioress sighed as she approached the anchorage door. There were times she wished she had never agreed to the admission of Sister Juliana as anchoress at Tyndal. Today was one of them.

The lay sister who had most recently, and even more reluctantly, agreed to serve Tyndal’s recluse stood next to the anchorage entrance. The firmly bolted door was very thick, a precaution suggested by the bishop who had performed the entombing ceremony. Some women had chipped their way out, he said, when this austere life had begun to drive them mad.

Eleanor nodded to the lay sister.

“She often barricades this from the inside, my lady,” the woman said, unbolting the door.

“I sent word that I wished to speak with her.”

The lay sister knocked.

The great door squeaked open.

With head bowed, the woman inside fell to her knees, her hands steepled in an attitude of submissive prayer.

How gaunt Juliana has become since her arrival at Tyndal Priory, Eleanor thought as she stepped into the tiny room. On those occasions, when she had brought Brother John for spiritual advice and discussion, she had asked if anything was needed. The only thing the anchoress ever requested was time for confession.

Although Eleanor knew that any mortal, who vowed to resist all evil, was tormented by Satan with exceptional vigor and vivid temptations, she found herself asking how many lusty imps the Devil could possibly send to a room barely large enough for an altar and small bed.

“You have rejected yet another servant,” the prioress said. “May I know why?” Space for an even smaller servant’s room had been included when the anchorage had been built, but Juliana had refused any resident attendant. Instead she was using the space to dig her future grave in the floor with her bare hands.

“I am sure Sister Ruth has given reasons, my lady.”

“I would hear the cause from you.”

Juliana’s lips twitched into a humorless smile. “I do not wish anyone to attend me.”

“You have no choice in this. Your duty is to pray, seek God’s wisdom, and comfort those who are compelled to seek your advice. Another must cook, clean, and care for you should you fall ill.”

“When I begged an anchorage, I asked to be granted a forest hut where I could tend to my own needs. There, apart from all other mortals, I would have had the silence to hear God’s voice even while I tended to those few vegetables needed for my daily meal.”

“That was rightly denied by the bishop. No woman may be granted a hermitage.”

“Then permit my only other request.”

Eleanor threw up her hands in frustration. “As you should know well, I shall not assign a monk or lay brother to care for you!”

“I cannot pray with women in my room.”

“You could not pray if a man was left alone with you! How dare you even ask that I permit such a thing?”

“What if I told you that God demanded it?”

“You cannot, for He would not.”

“As Brother John told me, Robert of Arbrissel went to brothels. When he emerged, he did so cloaked in greater virtue than when he entered. I do not ask that a manservant enter my room, only that he serve my needs through that tiny space.” She pointed to a small opening in the wall that provided a view of the church itself.

The prioress went to the curtained window in the other wall and glanced outside. No one was there to hear what she had to say. “As you should understand, your demand is outrageous. Why not permit a sober, modest, and elderly woman to perform the same service?” She gestured at the empty servant’s room. “You have always refused to allow anyone to stay there. What quarrel do you have with someone who lives without?”

“As I told you long ago, apart from your own, I cannot abide the sound of a woman’s voice. I would not speak to those who come to my window if God did not command it as atonement for my sins.”

“Not even the voice of Sister Anne who has had to come often enough to treat your wounds when you beat your head against the wall?”

The anchoress bowed her concession in silence.

“Juliana, you are taking advantage of our friendship in the world by continuing to insist on such a shameful thing. No prioress, or prior in any other double house, would listen more than once to such a proposition. If they were merciful, they would set you a severe penance. Most would conclude you were possessed by Satan. I would prefer to do neither. If I continue to hear complaints, however, I may have little choice except to take harsh measures to end them.”

“I have never wished to couple with any man. As you know, I did not have to take a nun’s vows to become an anchoress. I chose to do so, and my vow to remain chaste is a true one.”

Eleanor spun around. “I may believe that, although many would not. Even if your chastity remained inviolate, you must understand that such an arrangement would be a cruel test of any man’s vows?”

“There are those who would either welcome it as a test of their virtue or else not find it troubling at all.” Juliana flattened herself on the floor. “My lady,” she whispered, “you know me well. Believe me when I swear my plea has no taint of wickedness.”

“I might indeed,” the prioress sighed as she took her childhood friend by the arms and raised her. “That said, there is another reason to deny your plea. The sons of Adam rarely allow the daughters of Eve authority, for it was our ancient mother who took the apple from the serpent, offered it to Adam, and gave God cause to slam shut the gates of Eden. Men need little to remind them that tragedy results when women are not closely ruled; therefore, the virtue of our Order, where Eve has power over Adam, must remain undoubted. Even if I wished to do so, I could never grant your request.”

The anchoress’ eyes turned dark.

“I promise that I shall persist in searching for a woman who will serve you with the silence you require and who will not otherwise trouble you. In the meantime, the current lay sister will continue attending to your needs twice a day, and I command you to cease barring your door to her.”

Juliana covered her eyes and groaned.

“As you said, you willingly took a nun’s vows. Need I remind you that one of those was obedience? Do not attempt to take any further advantage of our old friendship. Not only do I command you to stop begging me to grant this wicked plea, but I order you to treat all women who serve you with the sweet kindness Our Lord embodied.”

The anchoress bowed her head but remained silent.

“On the other hand, I must ask if any of these women has done you harm? If so, tell me for I shall not tolerate that.”

“Their only vice lies in their sex, my lady.”

“Then you owe them the compassion God grants all women, for you share their frailty.”

“I shall obey, my lady,” Juliana whispered.

“There is one other matter.”

“I beg that you teach me all my sins.”

“The visitors to your window. They are mostly women and come only at night, when they should be safe in their beds. It is the hour the Devil loves most…”

“No one at my window has been attacked by imps, my lady. If God had not taken away what desire I might have for sleep, these mortals would have no one to bring His balm to their battered souls. Show me the possessed, if I speak with the Fiend’s tongue. That is how I answer those critics who wish to cover innocence with the stench of their own filth.”

For a long time, Eleanor studied the bent figure of her old friend, then blessed the woman and left without speaking further.

The door slammed shut. The bolt was drawn.

Sister Juliana remained on her knees, staring in silence at that heavy wooden door which had failed to protect her from the world she hated.