Satan's Lullaby

Chapter Five

Brother Thomas had just finished overseeing the care of the horses brought by the visitors. Although others might find horse manure and sweat offensive, he loved the beasts and did not care that he reeked of them. Rubbing down a horse had calmed him. After stroking a munching rouncy on the neck, he walked out of the stables and looked across the priory grounds to the cemetery, orchards, and hidden clearing where the bees were tended.

Father Etienne’s interminable sermon and the coming investigation of priory affairs had set him on edge. Perhaps it was unfair to dislike the priest simply because he had been sent on an unpleasant task, but Thomas liked neither the man nor his duty. If horse manure stank, he thought, there was something about this visit that smelled fouler.

Hearing familiar voices nearby, Brother Thomas was surprised to see Prior Andrew, Sister Anne, a lay brother, and Gracia hurrying toward the guest chambers. “Is something amiss?” he called out and hastened along the path to meet them.

When Sister Anne saw him, she raised her hand, her eyes sparkling with relief. “Please come with us, Brother. Prioress Eleanor sent word that one of Father Etienne’s clerics is ill. Your observations would be welcome.”

Gracia started to say something, then quickly covered her mouth.

Prior Andrew looked down at her with a questioning glance.

“I fought off a sneeze, Prior,” she said. “I did not wish to invite the Devil in.”

He patted her shoulder and called out to Thomas with a question about the horses.

As soon as the monk joined them, Sister Anne sent the lay brother back to the hospital. “Your skills with cuts, sprains, and blood-letting will be sorely missed there, and Brother Thomas can take your place in this matter,” she explained to the man. What she did not say, lest the lay brother be unduly pained, was that this sensitive situation needed the monk’s proven knowledge and talent of observation.

“What is the clerk’s complaint?” Thomas sniffed at his sleeve. Horse manure might not please a man favored by a king’s brother.

“Father Etienne did not tell our prioress,” she replied and then dropped her voice to a quieter tone. “I do not like this priest.”

“I do not like that Abbess Isabeau sent him,” Prior Andrew muttered.

“We have no cause to worry,” Thomas said. He might not like this visitation either, but he was trying hard to assume a benevolent motive. “The accounting rolls are current and detailed. Our prioress adheres to the Rule. Perhaps Rome questioned the ability of prioresses to rule their houses with a firm enough hand. If so, what better priory to quell Rome’s fears than Tyndal? ”

“Why not send Father Etienne to Amesbury? That is the most prominent English daughter house in our Order.” Prior Andrew was rarely angry, but his pink face suggested this time was an exception.

“Although Sister Beatrice is not the prioress there, she would be questioned about the novices under her rule.” Thomas laughed and looked heavenward. “May God forgive me for saying this, but I fear even He would hesitate to suggest that our prioress’ aunt owned any faults in her training or supervision of those young women.”

“You have met her, Brother, and I trust your opinion!” The prior’s expression relaxed with amusement.

Turning to Sister Anne, the monk asked, “What was the subject of the priest’s sermon to you?”

“How the Evil One tempts women. Although he did not accuse us of lust, he said we were most likely to suffer the vice. All women are cursed with that weakness, but he said that Satan tries hardest to lead those women who vow themselves to God into breaking their vows of chastity.” Her eyes revealed a flash of sadness.

Thomas noticed it and wondered if her thoughts were of her husband or the doctor from London they had met a few years ago.

“We were told that obedience was a man’s usual failure,” the prior said. “That message is not new, but I was surprised at his emphasis. Why did he warn us about following sinners and not the righteous?” Prior Andrew stumbled on a raised part of the path but quickly recovered his balance.

Thomas feared his prior’s old wound was bothering him but knew better than to offer assistance to the former soldier. As for the sermon, he had been bored by it until the priest warned against following the Devil in the guise of a beautiful angel. Thomas was sure that Davoir was looking directly at him when he said that. Instinctively, he put a hand to his auburn hair. Perhaps this priest believed those many tales that counseled men to be wary of those with red hair.

“A warning against the leadership of a woman?” Sister Anne stopped as they reached the gate to the guest quarters.

“I should not have suggested that, even in jest. Rome has no quarrel with our Order,” Brother Thomas replied. “As for Father Etienne, his own sister is the abbess in Anjou. If he were opposed to the leadership of women, which our Order demands, she would not have sent him here.”

Prior Andrew called to a servant standing inside the small courtyard behind the gate. “We have been summoned by Father Etienne.”

The man nodded, then hurried off to announce them.

***

Gracia wished she could escape, but Sister Anne needed her presence in this crowd of men. The maid did not know what to do.

Ought she to have spoken up when Sister Anne invited the monk to accompany them? Was it her place to do so? Her mistress had said nothing about Father Etienne’s refusal to include Brother Thomas when she asked that they visit the ill clerk. The prioress had only told them that he asked for Prior Andrew and did not want Sister Anne to touch the youth.

Even though Gracia had wished to tell the sub-infirmarian that the prioress had cause not to include the monk, she did not want to contradict the wishes of Sister Anne. Was she wrong to remain mute, respectful of the nun’s decision? Neither choice felt right now, and she longed for guidance but there was no one to ask. How could she tell Brother Thomas of her difficulty when he might be insulted upon learning of the priest’s curt dismissal of his skills?

Gracia slipped her hands inside her robe, twisted them with painful indecision, and longed to be anywhere but where she was.