Forsaken Soul

Chapter Forty-Three

A few days later, in the tiny cell of the anchoress, Juliana, two women knelt together in front of the small, plain altar and prayed silently. When they had done, each opened her eyes and turned to the other. Neither spoke, nor did either doubt the other had finished her talk with God. Their smiles suggested a mutual understanding that words were sometimes mortal things, best left unspoken owing to their imperfection.

Prioress Eleanor opened her arms and embraced the anchoress. “Am I forgiven?”

“Am I?” came the reply.

“It is up to God to decide the severity of each of our sins. Yet He is merciful.”

“Mine led to murder.”

“As did mine.”

Eleanor rose, then helped the anchoress to her feet, and the two went to the small opening in the wall that provided entry for light from the world. Eleanor pushed aside the curtain and peeked out. “The earth still sings with joy, and the sun brings warmth to all creatures,” she said. “Despite men’s sins, God’s handiwork finds ways to rejoice overall.”

“My heart believes that is God’s message of hope, my lady.”

While the birds turned their babble of voices into a unique but strangely appealing polyphony, the two women fell silent and enjoyed those gifts of creation.

Eleanor turned at last to Juliana. “When I told my aunt in Amesbury that I wanted to take my final vows in our Order of Fontevraud, she asked whether I longed only for the sequestered life of prayer. Being yet a child, I must have answered with predictable eagerness, although I have no memory of my exact words. She put her hands on my shoulders, pushed me to my knees, and said, ‘You must pray daily that God gives you the strength to do whatever He requires.’ I have had cause of late to remember her advice and regret that I have failed, until now, to follow it.”

“I do not understand.”

“The nuns and monks of Tyndal, with some few exceptions, spend their days praying for souls in need. Had I stayed in Amesbury Priory with my aunt, I might have remained like them, but God had other trials for me and inspired King Henry to appoint me leader of Tyndal.”

“Your friends and family rejoiced at the honor given,” Juliana replied with a rare smile.

“As prioress, I must deal with worldly matters and even more worldly men. If our house does not prosper, our religious will lose the roof that shelters them, the altar before which they pray, and the food that gives them strength. In guaranteeing wealth and prominence enough to provide all this, I know I serve God’s purpose well.”

The anchoress nodded agreement.

“Nonetheless, my duties bring temptations, and I was led away from righteousness by concern with worldly reputation. Fearful of men’s censure, because I allowed you to welcome tortured souls at night, I stopped my ears to the words of warning you wished to speak. Had I listened, I might have prevented the blacksmith’s death.” She knelt and bowed her head. “I have begged God to pardon all my sins in this matter. He demands that I humbly seek your forgiveness as well.”

Juliana said nothing for a long while, her eyes sad as if she had seen or heard something in the prioress’ gesture of humility that troubled her. Finally, she spoke: “My lady, whatever forgiveness you have been commanded to seek from me is most heartily given, whether or not you ask it.”

A high color may have risen from Eleanor’s neck and spread over her face, but she did not reply.

“God has read our hearts, yours and mine, but He promises solace for our sorrows and forgiveness for our weaknesses. When we show our strengths, He praises us.” The anchoress knelt as well and took her prioress’ hands. “Like any mortal, we have longings held secret from other men. Seek His guidance.”

Eleanor nodded.

“Will you forgive the grief I have brought this priory, my lady? Believing that God may have chosen me as His vessel blinded me with pride. I failed to see the evil I let loose. If you blame yourself for one murder, I bear the burden of three.”

“This priory has not suffered from your presence, nor did your advice cause the Evil One to dance. When the herb woman sought solace for the tribulations she had suffered, she surely closed her ears when God spoke and instead beckoned Satan to come nigh. He urged revenge. Thus her soul bears the weight of the crimes she committed in his name.” Then the prioress kissed the anchoress’ hands. Her smile twitched with a hint of mischievousness. “There is only one sin of which you are guilty and must seek forgiveness from me. Will you hear what it is and the penance you must bear?”

“Tell me and I shall perform it.”

“It is the intolerance with which you greet all women who serve you.”

“We have spoken of that…”

“And I promised to find you a maid who would do honor to your calling.”

“You have discovered such a person?” Juliana’s words may have been spoken with submissive enough acceptance, but they most certainly did not sing of happiness at this prospect.

“Not yet, but I shall. In the meantime, I have discovered something that may teach you forbearance.” Eleanor rose and walked over to a covered basket she had placed near the door when she arrived. It was a small thing, of a loose and open weave.

The anchoress watched with a puzzled but curious frown.

The prioress lifted the cover off the basket, reached inside, and pulled out two small objects.

Juliana stared in amazement.

Eleanor gestured for the anchoress to stretch forth her hands. Then she carefully placed two sleeping female kittens in them. “These shall help teach you the sweet nature of good women,” she said, “and how to accept service from our sex.”

With that, the prioress kissed the anchoress on her cheek and quietly left the cell, pulling the heavy door shut behind her.

Sister Juliana looked down at the soft, purring creatures resting easily in her palms, and then held them gently against her face. Although she now began to weep, these tears were most certainly born of joy.