Covenant With Hell

Chapter Thirty-one

Thomas eased himself slowly down the stairs while Gracia followed, reminding him to take care and that his injured hands would need tending. It was a good lesson, he thought, that she, who lived her own life on the edge of death, cared about the needs of another mortal.

When they reached the bottom and entered the hallway, he saw a nun waiting by the door, her head bowed. He recognized her as the one who had rushed to summon Prioress Ursell with Gracia by her side. Thomas put his hand on the child’s shoulder as assurance that he would protect her if there was any dispute about her continued presence.

“Sister?”

She looked up.

“You are weeping,” he said. “What grieves you?”

“My sorrow includes the violence done to Prioress Eleanor, Brother, but begins with Sister Roysia. Is this tragedy part of hers?”

“I fear it is,” he replied, “but the slander hurled against the good nun has been proven wrong.”

“Are you Sister Roysia’s friend whom she called her most beloved?” Gracia suddenly asked.

The nun flushed, then nodded.

“There is a message I vowed to deliver to that nun, Brother.” The girl looked up at him with a worried expression.

He reassured her that there was no offence in this.

“Sister Roysia remained true to her vocation,” Gracia said, turning to the nun. “She swore me to silence about her meetings with the craftsman but feared for her life. If she should die, she said I must tell you that she did this to save the life of God’s anointed king. Each time she met with this man, excluding the first, I hid in the bell tower so she might not be alone with Master Larcher.”

The nun gasped.

“Were you there the night she died?” the monk asked.

Gracia shook her head. “I knew nothing about this last encounter. The decision to meet must have been made after the hour when I walked by the priory to see if the front door was open. I found it locked and assumed Sister Roysia had not been able to find a way to let me in so I might sleep safely in the tower. That night, I found shelter in the streets.”

The young nun reached out and hugged the child. “Thank you for telling me this!”

Thomas waited while the two talked, but finally his growing concern overcame him. “Have you heard anything about Prioress Eleanor?”

The nun’s face was almost luminous after the news she had just received from Gracia. “Forgive me, Brother, for my selfishness. The infirmarian has gone to attend her, and the messenger told her that your prioress is injured but alive.”

He almost leapt with joy but restrained the impulse as unseemly. “Then I shall go to her as well.” He glanced at the vagrant child and urged her gently toward the nun. “Will you take this child and make sure she is fed, Sister? I have heard that Prioress Ursell denied her scraps, but this girl saved my prioress’ life.”

The young nun looked down into Gracia’s eyes and a smile tickled the corners of her mouth. “No one would dare deny her sustenance now, Brother.” She looked at the monk. “Prioress Ursell must certainly agree.” She reached out a hand and took the tiny and very grimy one in hers. “Come with me. There is soft bread and cheese in the kitchen.”

Thomas bent to whisper in Gracia’s ear that he would come for her soon with news, then he smiled at the nun and rushed out the priory door.

***

A crowd surrounded the ladder from which Prioress Eleanor had been lowered off the roof, but Thomas edged his way through the men and women with ease, whispering that he served the lady lying on the ground. Many simply honored his calling, when they saw him, and stepped aside without hesitation.

As he reached the empty space at the center, he saw Prioress Ursell pounding her staff of office into the earth as she stalked the perimeter and glowered at any who dared move closer. Oddly enough, she reminded him of Moses with the shining face after he had climbed down from the mountain in Sinai. It was a strange image, but he meant it as a compliment.

Looking around, he did not see Father Vincent. That did not surprise him.

As he walked toward Ryehill’s prioress, she stopped. Her look changed from that of a mighty prophet to one of a mortal filled with shame. Honoring her office and taking mercy on her humiliation, he humbly bowed to her. “May I have permission to go to Prioress Eleanor’s side?”

Biting her lip, she nodded. “Most certainly, Brother. She will welcome your comfort.” Her voice was tense with a rare excess of emotion.

As he approached the small figure lying on the ground, he saw a lean nun kneeling beside her.

The Ryehill infirmarian glanced over her shoulder. With a look of gentle understanding, learned from many years caring for the sick, she nodded. “Welcome, Brother Thomas. Our lady was just asking for you.”

Trying to maintain a properly somber mien, he knelt close by and swallowed his tears of relief.

“I shall be a short distance away,” the infirmarian said. “She is weak and needs rest. If I may advise, please do not stay here long. We would like to take her as soon as possible to the priory for the complete care she needs.”

This infirmarian was older than Sister Anne at Tyndal, but she reminded him of his friend, a woman who cared more about healing than judging any sin that might have caused the illness. He swore to keep his visit brief.

As the woman rose and walked away, he wondered how many nuns went to her for comforting when discipline and the harsh life at Ryehill grew too hard to bear.

“I am grateful you are here, Brother.” Prioress Eleanor’s voice was surprisingly strong.

“God was kind to us all at Tyndal Priory, my lady, when He kept Death from snatching you away.” Her arm was in a small splint, he noted, and bound close to her body. Blood still stained her face. He hoped the infirmarian had used comfrey for better healing.

“Your prayers would give much comfort to this frightened soul,” she said with warmth.

“I offer them with all my heart,” he replied, “but I grieve that you suffered this and I was not there to protect you.” She was pale but had smiled at him as if he truly was the one person above all she longed to see. He swatted at an errant tear on his cheek.

“You are Tyndal Priory’s own Galahad,” she said, her eyes twinkling. Then she grew more serious. “Has anyone seen Mistress Emelyne? It was she who killed Sister Roysia and confessed it to me. I found her torn robe in the chest where I had stored herbs sent with me by Sister Anne. The widow carried that robe when she took me to the tower. Perhaps she dropped it there? I think we might compare the hole with the cloth found in the nun’s hand.”

He shook his head. “I fear she may have escaped, my lady. We saw her on the roof, and a wine merchant sped off to capture her.”

“A wine merchant?”

Thomas felt his mouth go dry. He cleared his throat. “I was on my way to speak with Master Larcher and met Master Durant on the way. Since he had some questions of theology, we walked together. It was he who found that the craftsman had been-”

“I heard he was killed. That, too, was done by Mistress Emelyne.” She winced. “I realized she planned to murder me as well when she grew eager to brag about the details of her cleverness. She is the assassin waiting to kill the king, Brother. You must send word.” Again she winced, clenched her teeth, and uttered a moan of pain.

A figure cast a shadow over Thomas. He looked around and saw the infirmarian.

“Brother, your prioress is in pain. I beg that you let us take her to the priory so I can offer her a soothing draught. She needs to sleep and suffer less so the healing can occur more quickly.” She smiled. “And, lest you fear otherwise, I used both comfrey and mallow leaves on that wound.”

He looked back at Eleanor.

“We shall speak soon, Brother. Pray for me.”

“I shall.” Giving her a blessing, he rose.

The infirmarian motioned for the bearers to come forward. Gently lifting the litter, they carried the prioress away. At the head of the party was Prioress Ursell, her staff of office glittering in the pale sun. The infirmarian followed behind, watching to make sure the trip was accomplished with as much gentleness as possible.

Thomas looked up at the sky. Late in the season though it was, he wondered if the hazy light meant a late snow. He hoped not.

“Brother Thomas!”

Master Durant ran to his side. The man was sweating, and his eyes were dark with anger. “The killer has escaped.” He spat out the admission as if it were rotten meat.

“Prioress Eleanor said that it was a woman and her name is Mistress Emelyne, a merchant’s widow of some means from Norwich. Gracia also recognized her as the pilgrim who accompanied my prioress on the visits to the shrines. The widow was a member of the same party we joined when we came on pilgrimage.”

Durant raised an eyebrow. “I find it strange that she claimed she came from Norwich and owned such wealth. I know her not, Brother, and I should.”

“She confessed much to Prioress Eleanor before she tried to kill her. My lady says she is the assassin you seek.”

“How diabolically clever to use a woman,” Durant said and suddenly looked weary. “The king shall be told.” He fell silent and his gaze grew distant with thought. Murmuring something Thomas could not hear, he bowed and abruptly walked away without another word.

Thomas watched him disappear and suddenly felt bereft. If this was the last he would see of the merchant, he would have preferred a different parting. Then he shook away such thoughts.

He had prayers to offer for his prioress’ recovery, and he turned toward the road leading to Walsingham Priory. He would never again kneel at the Shrine of the Virgin’s Lock.