Forsaken Soul

Chapter Thirteen

“You’re a godly monk, Brother.” Old Tibia’s voice began to slur as the sleep-inducing draught took effect.

Godly was not a word he would have used to describe himself, Thomas thought, but opted not to contradict her gentle words.

“And have a consoling angel’s smile.”

“You are most kind, but I am a sinful man like any other. I will convey your gratitude to those who make this potion. I am but the courier who delivers restful sleep from the priory.”

Tibia laid a light hand on Thomas’ arm and watched him as she did. “You don’t draw back at the touch of this crone?”

“Why should I?”

“Most bearing the tonsure do. How can a feeble old woman like me corrupt chastity? I’ve oft asked that.” Her expression suggested some distant memory had drifted like a cloud’s shadow across her face. “If the sex that bore them troubles monks so, how could they have been good sons? But you, you’re like a proper son, Brother. Touching you with a mother’s hand comforts me and makes the absence of my own boy more bearable.”

“We should praise the God who sent me to you.”

She turned her sharp-featured face from him.

Remembering his earlier, less compassionate thoughts about her, shame filled his heart. Why was it that we sing paeans to lush but wicked youth, he asked himself, and mock the hooked noses and hollow cheeks of those whose souls were soon to see God? Should we not pray instead for these scars left by grueling life and condemn the plump callousness of youth? At the moment, age’s pale warmth seemed preferable to Thomas than the heat of youth. What joy had the latter ever brought him?

“Is your mother dead?” Tibia’s voice was just a whisper.

“Aye, as are the women who took me in as a babe and young boy.”

“Your father?”

“He also.”

“More recently? There’s fresh sadness in your voice.”

“The brothers and sisters at the priory are my kin,” he replied, realizing that there was much truth in what he said, more than he had intended.

“A kind family,” Tibia murmured. “Your holy prioress brought good with her when she came to Tyndal Priory. The Evil One stays where he should in his stinking pit longer than he did in the past.”

“Like the beloved disciple, who took care of Our Lord’s mother after the crucifixion, I gain honor by serving Prioress Eleanor,” Thomas said. The words might have been spoken out of common courtesy, but his heart meant them.

The old woman suddenly gazed up at him, all sleep fled and her eyes shining with wide-eyed zeal. “And now the priory has a new anchoress. A holy woman, for cert!”

“You think her blessed by God?”

“Her advice brings hope to us in the village. And I’ve heard it true that pilgrims, even from London, delay their journey on the way to the shrine of Saint William to crouch by her window.”

Although he had seen some whom he had not recognized at Sister Juliana’s window, he had no idea that her reputation as a woman touched by God had spread quite so far abroad. “Have you spoken with the anchoress yourself?”

“What woman hasn’t?” Tibia sighed. “A friar traveling through the village preached that women are the most sinful creatures. We destroy any hope men might have to return to Eden.” She closed her eyes as if wearied by the effort to talk. “That’s hard to bear. Since I’ve committed much wickedness, I know I must take my share of blame. But those words must weigh heavy on a virtuous woman. If the Anchoress Juliana can spread balm on my evil heart, she’ll do more for the innocent.”

“Nevertheless, she cannot give you God’s forgiveness.”

The silence grew long, except for the sound of the old woman’s steady breathing. Had Tibia finally fallen asleep? He bent over to listen and decided that the potion had finally worked.

That was just as well, he decided. His curiosity about Sister Juliana and her advice was sparked, but he should not question this poor soul about her experience with the anchoress. As a priest, he might be able to hear any willing confession. As a mere man, he had no right to pry into what had transpired between the old woman and the young anchoress.

As Thomas rose to leave, he heard old Tibia mutter something. Was she just talking in her sleep or had she spoken to him? He leaned over and brought his ear closer to her mouth.

“A priest may bring a father’s forgiveness,” the woman said clearly enough, “but we all long for a mother’s embrace. A holy woman brings that from God, Brother.”

Startled by her meaning, he drew back.

Tibia now slipped into a sleep so deep it foretold the peace of death.