Covenant With Hell

Chapter Eighteen

Larcher laid the pewter badge on the table and admired his intricate work. It glittered like old silver in the pale beam of light flowing from the window above. Impatient, he began to pace around the empty audience chamber at Ryehill Priory. He had made a great effort to finish the badge for the prioress of Tyndal as requested. Where was Prioress Ursell?

Twitching with annoyance, he looked around as if the woman must be hiding somewhere just to infuriate him. He had no time to wait for her to grace him with her presence. Kicking at the rushes, he muttered a curse unsuited to a religious setting.

The chamber door swung open. Outside, two women held a brief conversation before the prioress of Ryehill entered with a small nun in tow.

He glanced at the attendant, half expecting to see Sister Roysia. A chill shook him as if a ghost had touched his arm, and he began to sweat with rank fear.

“It is about time you finished that badge, Master Larcher,” the prioress said as she seated herself with a muted thud onto her dark wooden chair. “Let me see it.” She pointed to the item.

He bowed, then reached for the requested object and passed it to the prioress, taking care not to touch her.

No longer brightened by the outside light, the badge looked dull.

Ursell felt the weight of the badge in her hand, scowled, and hefted it again. Then she stretched the object out at arm’s length to study each nuance of design.

The silence in the room felt far heavier to the craftsman than this intended gift for the prioress of Tyndal. Master Larcher’s temper was growing short, and he longed to go back to his shop. The apprentices were surely growing slack in their labor without the threat of his arrival and the whip he always held in his hand. As he nervously watched the prioress, her glare suggested displeasure. He fingered the details of the Virgin in the badge, and decided he would first stop at the inn for a soothing cup of wine.

“I saw the look you gave my current attendant,” Ursell said, lowering the badge and bestowing her disapproving look on the craftsman instead.

Her voice made Larcher think of the Archangel Gabriel’s horn announcing Judgment Day. He swallowed, but his throat remained too dry to speak.

“She will not succumb to sin like Sister Roysia did.” The prioress waved her hand toward the shadowy figure by the door. “I have made sure she understands the horrors of hellfire for any bride of Christ who breaks her vows.”

Although he could not be sure, the craftsman thought he heard a muted cry of pain from the unnamed nun. “I do not understand, my lady,” he whispered.

“You both thought I was a fool, Master Larcher. I knew of your meetings in the bell tower.” She waited, then hissed, “I pray that Sister Roysia’s death has opened your eyes to how a wrathful God punishes vile sinners.”

“What meetings? What sins?” As if expecting a dagger blow, he crossed his arms across his chest.

Ursell sneered. “I smell your lie. Your sweat reeks like a sow in heat. That is the reek of unholy lust.”

“Lust?” He straightened, and his pallor began to fade. “I felt nothing of the kind for your nun, nor did she for me.”

“How dare you insult me and add that to your many sins!” Clutching her staff, she rose from her seat and approached the merchant. “Lest you think me an innocent, know that I left the world understanding all too well what wickedness is common in it. You met Sister Roysia in the bell tower and coupled with her like a dog.” She stood so close, her spittle sprayed his face. “There is no other reason for a man and a woman to meet covertly.”

He wiped his cheeks and stared at her, unable to speak.

The prioress raised a fist in front of his nose. “Deny it as the Evil One demands, but God knows what you did there.”

He bent to one side and reached over to touch her staff of office. “On this I swear. God may strike me now if my hand ever touched your nun with lust.”

Pulling the staff away from him, Prioress Ursell stepped back. “I hear the Devil’s voice coming from your mouth.”

“We did nothing of which you accuse us.”

“Do you deny you met each other in the tower?”

“Bring me the witness!”

“That accusation you dare not deny. I am not so easily fooled by your weak attempt to divert me, Master Larcher.” She carefully placed her staff between them. “You met, you coupled, and you killed Sister Roysia for the sin you forced upon her in her woman’s frailty.”

“If someone has told you this, they lie! We were chaste, and I most certainly did not kill her.” He cursed himself for his phrasing. He had as good as admitted to one of her accusations.

“Then you did meet. How did you get into the bell tower?” She bent forward, her voice shaking with fury. “Tell me that, confess your sins to Father Vincent, and you might escape Hell. Sister Roysia burns there now, screaming in agony, for what she did. Do you wish to join her? Lust never burns as hot as those flames.”

“I deny these accusations, my lady. I am innocent. If the dead nun burns, she does so for reasons I know nothing about.” A brief smile teased at his lips. “I have naught to confess to Father Vincent that he does not already know.”

She slammed her staff on the floor. “I must know how you got into the tower!”

He glared at her for a moment, then pointed to the badge she had dropped on the table while she raged at him. “That badge I now give to you as a gift, my lady. Such generosity should prove my innocence. I have been maligned by some enemy. I asked for a witness, you did not reply, and you refuse to name the person. I can only imagine the reason and none speak well for the truth of your accusation.”

She stepped back and stumbled against the table edge.

He grew confident and smiled. “Perhaps you wish to find another craftsman to make your badges, although no one else in Walsingham has the skills to provide the volume at the speed you require.” He waved his hand at the door. “I shall leave you now to consider the implications of your allegations. When you realize your error, I may forgive you for your attempt to throw excrement on my character, but in the future I shall expect you to give me a far better price for my work than you have heretofore.”

With a gesture filled with mockery and confidence, he bowed and marched out of the chamber.

The door thudded shut.

Prioress Ursell glanced down at the pewter badge cast aside on the table. “This gift has cost me much,” she muttered. “May it at least buy my flock peace from meddling, unwelcome eyes and speed Prioress Eleanor and her monk on their journey home.”

Then she spun around to face the little nun near the door. “You will say nothing to anyone about this meeting, Sister. Should I hear any rumor suggesting you have ignored my command, you shall be stripped at the next Chapter and I shall personally whip you.”

The nun nodded, bowed her head, and silently wept.

***

The merchant was more angry and frightened than he dared let the prioress see. When he slammed the chamber door, he closed his eyes. Rage almost blinded him. His head spun, and he stumbled with dizziness. As if he had just eaten rotten meat, his stomach roiled.

“I humbly beg pardon, Master Larcher!”

With horror at the sound of the woman’s voice, he flattened himself against the wall. After the charges flung at him by Prioress Ursell over his relationship with Sister Roysia, had he now added to his crimes by bumping into a nun?

“Are you unwell?”

He stared at her, then sighed with relief. This was no member of Ryehill’s thin-cheeked religious flock. Although her dress was simple and gathered around her waist by a narrow rope, the merchant noted the fine quality of cloth. Not even Prioress Ursell could afford such attire. In fact, he reminded himself with contempt, the prioress wore a robe that was almost as patched as those of her nuns.

“I suffered only a brief moment of fatigue, Mistress,” he said, his smile growing warm.

“I am most relieved!” The woman’s hands fluttered with delight before settling into a demure rest. “I believe we are well met, Master Larcher.”

“How so? Are we acquainted? If we are, I beg you to…”

“We are not, but I know your craftsmanship. The fame of your work has spread far beyond Walsingham.” She lowered her head. “I am Mistress Emelyne of Norwich. My late husband was a prominent merchant of that place.” When she looked back at him, her cheeks became a delightful shade of modest pink.

Glancing with approval at her well-rounded bosom, high forehead, and unblemished skin of fashionable pallor, Larcher found himself inclined to please this woman. And, as he admired her further, he noted that she seemed appreciative of his evident regard.

Mistress Emelyne is a pilgrim here and will soon leave, he thought. His leman need never know if he spent a few hours in bed sport with this woman. That the widow was equally inclined to find pleasure with him was unquestioned. Her fluttering eyelashes gave him all the permission he needed.

“Your praise honors me.” He bowed.

“I have seen so many examples of your work in pilgrimage badges,” she said softly. “Have you not also crafted a fine pewter badge for the prioress of Tyndal?”

His eyebrows arched in surprise. “But you could not have seen it. I just now brought it to Prioress Ursell.”

“In the local shops, I heard much talk of your unique skill. All say that any discerning customer would find your personal crafting of fine objects remarkable.” Again her cheeks flushed an alluring shade as she dared to glance briefly into his eyes. “Rumors abound that you have recently favored Prioress Eleanor.”

He puffed out his chest. “I confess the tales are true.”

“Then I would like to order something to remember my visit here as well. In your finest pewter, of course, and I am well able to pay the price for such a fine object.”

“A special order would require consultation.” He lowered his voice and stepped slightly closer to her.

“I would expect no less,” she murmured.

“Will you come to my shop,” he asked, “and grace my house by dining with me? My cook is well regarded, and I offer good wine.” He mentioned an hour when the apprentices were not in the shop and nothing could interrupt an enjoyable courting. “Discussions of this nature are best done in comfort. Do you not agree?”

“Of course, Master Larcher. We must speak at some length about the order. You are most kind to offer refreshment and hospitality.”

After he gave her directions to his shop and home, he left the priory well satisfied with himself.

For the moment, he set aside his worry over Sister Roysia’s unfortunate death, his need to hide where he had been that night, and the displeasure of Master Durant. As for Prioress Ursell’s curses on him, he was now free of the priest’s threats. Someone had told her about his visits with the nun. Had it been Father Vincent despite their agreement?

In any case, he was now convinced that God did not condemn him for the sins he committed by meeting the nun in the bell tower, no matter what their purpose in doing so. After all, why else would his wife have chosen this time to spend a few days with her sister outside Walsingham, a visit that allowed him to share his own comfortable bed with Mistress Emelyne?

Hurrying along the road back to his shop, he chuckled. His servants were paid well enough for discretion, and he was quite pleased by the prospect of such a lush woman to delight his manhood.

He rubbed his hands. He would also make a nice profit on the badge for the widow, enough to make up for the one he had gifted that avaricious prioress.

Without question, God was smiling on him.