Forsaken Soul

Chapter Thirty

The buzzing of some bees, finding brief respite from their labors and the day’s heat, was the only sound that broke the silence in the close confines of the anchorage.

The woman knelt and clutched her body as if fearful it might otherwise break apart like a carelessly scattered handful of dust.

Gently, the prioress took Sister Juliana’s chin in hand and raised her face until their eyes met.

“I did nothing to harm the lay sister, my lady.”

“Truly, I did not think you had,” the prioress sighed. “Only once have I seen you behave with cruelty to another and that was at Wynethorpe Castle.”

“An act for which I perform daily penance.” Tears began to flow down her cheeks. “How does the lay sister?”

“The wound is grave enough, but Sister Anne believes God may be gracious and it should mend.”

Juliana lowered her eyes and whispered a prayer.

“Although I know you did not strike her, there was something that caused the lay sister to trip and hit her head on the stone floor. What so filled her with blinding terror that she fled this anchorage? ”

Juliana turned around on her knees, slipped her robe down with careful modesty, and exposed her back.

Eleanor gasped.

“Do I not have the right to discipline myself alone?” Juliana said, her jaw tightening despite her humble tone. “Formerly, I blocked the door to my tomb while I used the whip, but, in obedience to your command, I have ceased to do so. In return, I expected kind courtesy from her, but she never asked permission to enter, my lady. Had I known she was opening the door, I might have prevented her from seeing what she cannot understand.”

“Then I, too, must perform penance since my orders contributed to this cruel accident,” Eleanor said after a moment’s pause. “My judgement has been proven to be a feeble thing, and I shall seek counsel from those more knowledgeable. Your actions have surpassed my own poor abilities to comprehend. Although I do not quarrel with the need to discipline an unruly body, I confess honest doubts about the value of such extreme mortification, Sister.”

“I take full blame for this near-tragedy and will seek absolution from priest and victim,” the anchoress replied, easing her robe back over her shoulders.

“We both must beg forgiveness.”

“Punish me as you see fit, but I beg you to believe me! I had no idea she was watching until I heard her scream. When I turned around, I saw the door to my tomb wide open and she was lying on the ground, motionless. Since my vows prohibit me from leaving this space, I prayed loudly and God showed mercy by sending Sister Ruth. When she saw the lay sister on the ground, blood pouring from her head, she cursed me. After that, I remember nothing.”

Eleanor lifted Juliana from her knees. “Until now, I have shown much tolerance and defended your singular ways, although Sister Ruth has complained of your conduct since you arrived at the priory. With this incident, she has proved to be the wiser. In addition, I confess to finding your choice of self-mortification a strange act to perform in a place dedicated to the worship of a forgiving God. I can understand why the lay sister fled from the sight of your gory back. That said, I would listen to your reasons for…”

“Then I plead with you, once again, to let me stay in solitude! Send no one to serve me. I cannot bear it nor, it seems, can they.” Juliana’s boldness suddenly failed her. “Do not, I beg of you, cast me from this sanctuary!” she whispered. “In this place lies my only hope for salvation.”

“I will not send you from your anchorage. That I may promise, but you must have a woman to watch over you, even if she does not serve you in other ways. You fall into convulsions. You whip yourself most cruelly. Once, you beat your head against the walls until all sense left your body. Were you to die of your wounds without a priest to hear confession, you would not only die unshriven but also be guilty of self-murder.”

Juliana’s eyes grew large, her body now trembling. “Murder?” she murmured. “My lady…”

“Aye, murder. Nor is that the only concern that must be addressed. Although many of your calling commonly receive visitors at different hours, you do not sleep and keep court by your window only at night.”

“None of this is by my will!”

“Then whose will demands this of you?”

“God’s, my lady. I have begged Him to choose another, someone far worthier than I, but He has not answered those prayers. Indeed, that is the reason for the mortification. I have committed such grave sins He has not come to me at all since…”

“You quickly point to God, claiming He supports many of your questionable desires, Sister.” Gazing into the anchoress’ pleading eyes, Eleanor instantly regretted her harsh words. How darkly circled with fatigue those eyes are, she thought, and I should know well enough what secret torments God chooses not to spare us even when begged to do so. “He will comfort you again with His presence,” she promised in a softer voice.

“All I wish to do is spend my days entombed here with no voice to disturb my prayers on their way to Heaven. If God did not demand me to speak His words, I would seal that window with bricks or stone and have cause enough…”

Eleanor waved that aside. “Before any decision is made to keep pilgrims from your window, I shall seek counsel from a priest and ask him to question you. Satan has been known to speak with honeyed tongue to mortals, Sister, and is oft mistaken for God. If the priest finds no sin in your words or thought, then you must be His instrument. You have no choice.”

“I will welcome that examination with prayer and joy, my lady. In the meantime, leave me here in solitude so I will not endanger another innocent like the good lay sister. I beg it!”

“Why are you so stiff-necked in this matter of servants?”

“If God did not protect me, I would bear worse wounds than these paltry welts on my back. I do not need a warden.”

With both hands, Eleanor cradled one of Juliana’s. The bones and flesh were so delicate that the prioress wondered how tenuous a connection the anchoress had to anything of this world. “Then consider this,” she continued. “As humble service, most anchoresses are obliged to give modest guidance to pilgrims seeking comfort, but no one else, to my knowledge, welcomes troubled souls only at night. No matter what I might say, others will contend that women, who come at night when the Devil is dancing with his imps, must brush closely with evil. When men kneel at your window, some doubt your virtue. An attendant would confirm that you commit no sin during this time of dangerous shadows.”

“And at such dark hours, many souls are unsettled, my lady. Not all are women, although I confess that most are. Those men who come are few, and I believe God protects my virtue by setting cherubim with blazing swords at my window, much like those standing at the gates of Eden. As for the women who come to me, they have returned home safely enough. Is that not proof that God gives them protection when they come to hear His words through my mouth?”

“Did Ivetta ever come to you, Sister?”

“Not being from this land, I would not know her voice.” Juliana looked puzzled by the question.

“She was the harlot of Tyndal village.”

“I do not take confessions, my lady. Many at my window bemoan lust, cursing the terror and pain of childbirth. Lust is one of Satan’s most powerful afflictions. When women fall victim to carnal longings, I may hear bitter weeping but I cannot say if any earned her bread thereby.”

“Signy, the innkeeper’s niece? Did she seek counsel?”

“Nor do I ask names.” Juliana hesitated, then whispered: “Unless it was she who came to seek confirmation that God would agree…”

“It is no matter.” Eleanor dropped the anchoress’ hand and turned away. “I will ask Brother John to come here and pose questions. Afterward, he will report his conclusions to me.”

Juliana lowered her eyes, her face ashen in the pale light. “Might you not send Brother Thomas instead?” she murmured.

Eleanor tensed. “Why the one rather than the other?”

“At Wynethorpe Castle, it was the sight of him that confirmed my belief I would find sanctuary in this priory. He is a gift from God, my lady, and has always understood what lurks in my heart with clarity and compassion.”

Color rose to the prioress’ cheeks. “How can you speak of his perceptions with such familiarity? You have not met him since that winter when you begged an anchorage at Tyndal.”

“He has come to my window, my lady.”

“To seek advice?” Eleanor hissed.

“I think not,” the anchoress said softly. “Rather to raise issues for honorable debate.”

“Brother John will visit you, Sister. That is my decision,” the prioress snapped, each word as sharp as a dagger’s point. Without any courteous word of farewell, she spun on her heel and stormed out of the anchorage.

Shocked, Juliana raised both hands in futile supplication.

The door slammed, the very wood shuddering from the force of Eleanor’s fury.