Covenant With Hell

Chapter Fifteen

Master Durant was not pleased. His visit to a lay brother at Walsingham Priory had proven no more useful for his purpose than the discussion with Master Larcher. As he approached the inn, he was met with a sight that troubled him even more.

Prioress Eleanor and Brother Thomas were engaged in earnest conversations with several men and women, both townspeople and strangers on pilgrimage. How odd for a monk and prioress to be so occupied, he thought.

Although he knew he should discover their purpose, he concluded it would be unwise to openly sate his curiosity. Inquisitiveness was a failing common to all mortals, and satisfying his would not bring him undue attention, but he did not want to be questioned himself, lest their interests touch upon things he had no wish to discuss.

Circling the outside of the crowd, he entered the inn as quickly as possible to avoid notice. His decision proved wise, for he soon learned much from the innkeeper without endangering himself.

Most of the inn’s patrons had gone to the shrines. The remaining few stood in the doorway and watched the activity in the road. Durant sat on a bench some distance from the door and ordered wine. He was hungry, and the serving woman went to the innkeeper to ask if the Lenten meal was ready.

The innkeeper walked over to the wine merchant. “I can offer you a root vegetable stew now,” he said with an apologetic tone, “but the fish is not yet roasted. I don’t like to serve it cold or overcooked, and the midday meal is some time off for most, in particular those who are worshipping at the Holy House.”

Durant smiled and accepted the kind offer of stew, then expressed his appreciation of the man’s concern over the quality of the fare he offered. Gesturing at the wine, one of the innkeeper’s best, the merchant asked if he would join him in a cup.

The man agreed with enthusiasm. Finding a mazer, he slid onto the bench opposite, poured himself a generous amount, and asked, “Did you learn any news from those outside?” Sipping the vintage, he briefly closed his eyes with pleasure.

The steaming bowl arrived. With a sigh of satisfaction, Durant breathed in the warm scent of spices. “I was curious but confess I was too eager for some of your good fare to tarry long enough to find out.” Taking a bite of the fragrant root vegetable stew, he nodded with unfeigned delight. “Someone knows a good spice merchant,” he said with a grin, then asked, “What started this commotion in the street?”

“The prioress and monk from Tyndal Priory near the North Sea seek the child named Gracia who often begs outside the inn door.”

Durant widened his eyes in amazement, then summoned the serving woman to bring another small jug of the same wine. When she did, he poured more into the innkeeper’s cup. “Are they hoping to rescue her soul?” He asked the question with a pilgrim’s eagerness.

The man’s eyes were sparkling from the wine, and he took another long, appreciative swallow. “I can think of no other reason they would want to speak with her.” He shook his head sadly. “It is well if they do, for they seem like gentle folk. Our Father Vincent hurls curses at her as well as stones.”

“A child, you say? What evil has she done to warrant such harshness?”

The innkeeper shrugged. “The priest calls her a whore. There are rumors she has paid for food with her body, and perhaps that is true. I never saw her lure men but do not follow her when she leaves here. To my knowledge, all she does is sit quietly outside my inn with her hand outstretched. I pity her and let the girl be, most of the time.”

“Has she no kin or does she beg for them as well?” The wine merchant took another bite and savored it with a sip of wine.

“Her family was poor, but not beggars, and all but the girl died with last summer’s tragic fever. She has no one to take her in. The nuns of Ryehill struggle enough to feed themselves, and they hire no servants. The monks of Walsingham Priory are occupied with pilgrims and the tending of the sacred sites. They have no place for a girl.”

“No one cares for orphans in Walsingham? That is most unusual.”

“That fever killed many. The merchants have given shelter to their own so their charity is stretched thin. The religious have few scraps to offer compared to the number of mouths open for bread. Some poor boys with strong backs were taken in by Walsingham Priory to work, but most of the poor children became beggars and many of those died in the last winter.”

Durant sipped his wine. “Yet she lived. Does she do so well at begging?”

“She’s clever and must find places to stay warm.” He bent his head toward the stables. “I suspect the groom lets her sleep in the straw. He thinks I do not know, and I let him believe it. But she won’t live much longer even if she has gone as feral as a cat.” His expression darkened. “Most girls in her situation do sell themselves to men. I might have found some place for her here, but I have hired all I can of others whose families have died. Now that she has been accused of whoredom, I dare not or I would lose custom from pilgrims.” He bent his head toward Ryehill. “The nuns know I do not countenance the vice, and they send travelers here with that understanding.”

Durant lifted the jug and refilled the man’s cup. “Father Vincent must have cause to accuse her.”

“He claims he caught her lying with a merchant in that chapel where he houses his new relic.”

“A fine acquisition of which he is rightly proud. I can understand why he was angered over such a sin committed there.”

The innkeeper snorted. “There is a tale about that relic, but the priest would not be happy if he heard it.”

Durant sipped his wine and winked. “You might tell me before I leave Walsingham. I swear to take the story far from the ears of townsmen.” He grinned and then said, “I hope the merchant of whom you speak was not Master Larcher. I had some pleasant conversation with him.”

The innkeeper leaned forward and murmured, “I won’t mention the guilty man’s name, but he was not the badge craftsman. That one was too busy swyving a nun.”

Swallowing a gasp of shock, Durant let his spoon fall into the bowl of stew.

The innkeeper’s reddish face deepened in color, and he quickly changed the subject. “I take you for a kind man, Master. If you will, give the child a coin. She’s never caused trouble outside our door and is thin as Death. Even if the priest is right and she has gone down the Devil’s road, I would rather she find God’s forgiveness and live.”

Someone called to the innkeeper from across the room, begging his attention. He downed what was left in his mazer, promised to tell the tale about the relic to the merchant later, and went to speak with the man who had summoned him.

Durant slowly finished his meal alone, as he preferred it. Turning pensive, he considered what he had learned, drank a final cup of wine, and climbed the steps to his room.

There he opened his shutters, stood to one side where he might remain out of easy sight, and looked down on the activity below.