Eleanor rubbed her eyes. The verbal jousting with her father had left her exhausted, as had the long days of worried attendance on her nephew. When the news of Hywel’s death came, her father had left her alone at the high table but not before ordering some food brought so she might break her fast.
The morning was now fully born, although the young light was a feeble thing and the huge dining hall where she sat facing a cup of watered wine, a manchet of white bread, and a small portion of salted fish in butter was more gray than bright. Fatigue flowed over her with greater force than the sun’s light, and the exertion needed to slice bread or chew fish suddenly seemed overwhelming. She sipped at the wine and the warmth chased away some of that weariness. Perhaps a bit of that buttered fish might be worth the effort, she thought, and she reached out to retrieve a bite from the bowl.
“Alone, my lady?” There was a hint of supplication in the voice.
Eleanor looked up at sound of the once familiar voice. Juliana had entered the hall so quietly the prioress had heard no step. Her old friend was now standing, hesitantly, at the end of the long table, her thin face as colorless as the gray hood that framed it.
“Alone, indeed,” Eleanor replied. “I fear I have just my company to offer.”
“It is only your company that I seek.”
“Will you join me in…?” Eleanor gestured at the food in front of her.
Juliana shook her head, then bowed it as if the weight was too much for her to hold upright. “You have heard the sad news about your father’s retainer?”
“Aye, I have that,” Eleanor said gently. “I will take whatever poor comfort my words may bring to the family.” She hesitated. “It was an accident, I’ve been told, but I grieve for the wife and babes he left behind.” She knew they would not starve, but even the security of knowing that would do little more than blunt one sharp edge of the pain they were suffering.
“As do I. My father swore he’d make provisions for them. He feels responsibility for Henry’s ill-considered act that caused the horse to shy.” She shuddered. “Nonetheless, his family will long rue this horrible day.”
Where was that joy that once gave light to her friend’s eyes and a flush to her cheeks, Eleanor wondered with a growing sadness. Juliana had always had a kind heart and suffered over the death of any of God’s creatures, but her nature had been such that she had always quickly regained a delight in life, a joy that was contagious even to those who suffered the many sorrows of a mortal world. What was it, then, that had cast such a shadow on the spirit of her old playmate?
“Would you walk with me on the ramparts this morning, Juliana?” Eleanor asked. “The sight of a new day may help raise our spirits, and it has been many years since we last spoke. We have much to tell each other.”
“I would be honored,” Juliana replied, her voice almost a whisper.
“Come then and let us greet the sun. It is God’s gift even in the dark seasons,” Eleanor said and reached out to take her friend’s hand. It felt so frail and dry, like that of an aged woman nearing death. She squeezed it with tenderness.
***
High on the castle wall, the air was biting sharp to the nostrils and brought pink to the cheeks of the two women standing quietly on the stone walkway. As they looked down over the dark-wooded valley, they could see mists swirling, hiding sights from view for a moment and exposing them with teasing brevity the next. White smoke from a few of the village houses, below the hill on which Wynethorpe rose, curled upward and disappeared into the growing haze. Wives were tending stews and baking breads to sustain their men and babes over the cold day. In the center of the village, surrounded by hovels, lay a small church. The women on the castle ramparts could see a cluster of diminutive figures, dull with the colors of poverty, coming for alms as well as for the fat-soaked trenchers and discarded scraps from the dinner the castle inhabitants had enjoyed the night before. Although they could not see them through the mists, Eleanor and Juliana knew that cattle wandered in the fields between the village and the forest in search of winter-faded grass beneath the snow. Dark-haired goats stood on their hind legs to nibble on low branches and brindled sheep huddled together for warmth. Indeed, they could hear their bleating cries through the frosty air. At such a distance and with the softening of the hazy light, it was an idyllic scene.
“I have a favor to beg of you, my lady,” Juliana began, her breath turning into white curls like the outline of decorative letters in an illuminated manuscript.
Eleanor smiled at her. “My lady? Have you forgotten our youth together? We were Eleanor and Juliana once.”
“Now you are head of Tyndal Priory. As prioress, I honor you.”
“The honor is my father’s. I wear it on his behalf.”
For the first time, Juliana smiled. “From what we hear, you have earned enough on your own. George has told us how many at court sing of your wisdom and bravery.” She reached over and touched Eleanor’s arm. “He sends greetings and, aye, a brother’s love as well.”
“Were his greetings why you wished to speak to me alone?” Eleanor asked. She felt a knot of worry in her stomach. If George was sending a brother’s love, she told herself, that was a good sign. Perhaps he had forgiven her? Perhaps he had even married by now?
“No, my lady, but he would not have you think he had forgotten you.”
Eleanor smiled, but her friend’s words were not exactly the news she had hoped to hear. “Then tell him I send him my greetings and affection as a sister would to her dear brother.”
“He will be honored, my lady.”
For a moment Eleanor let the silence hang between them. She watched her friend’s eyes turn dark with sorrow. What little joy had briefly taken residence when she spoke of her brother now more quickly fled.
“May I speak from my heart.” Juliana blinked as if to hold back tears. “I have no wish to offend. You must believe that.”
“Speak, Juliana, and I will listen to your heart with my own.”
“Then I must tell you that I have no desire to marry your brother.” She stopped. Her face lost what color only the brisk air had brought to it.
Eleanor took her friend’s hand. How thin Juliana had grown in the years since she had last seen her. Her gray woolen robe fell straight down from her shoulders to just above her shoe tops with no hint of a woman’s curves underneath. She had always been a slender and lithesome lass, but now she looked as fragile as a dry twig. Had illness done this to her, madness perhaps, or was it the grief her father had suggested?
“You may say what you will. I promised I would listen out of the love and friendship between us,” she said at last.
Juliana squeezed Eleanor’s hand, the grip reassuringly strong. “Robert is a fine man, a man any woman would be honored to wed.” She looked down, her voice fading to a whisper. “Please believe me when I say I know our marriage would not only give Robert the wealth he deserves but would provide me with a good husband as well. He would treat me with respect, even if he did not love me, and the alliance with your family would give honor to mine.” With that, Juliana buried her face in her hands and began to weep, her sobs racking her delicate body.
Eleanor pulled the woman into her arms and rocked her like a child until the crying subsided. Then she drew back and wiped the tears from her friend’s eyes. “Juliana, I am wed to Our Lord and have never been a wife in the earthly sense. Perhaps you need to talk to an older woman who has had joy in her husband…”
“You! It is you to whom I must speak!”
“Then I will listen,” Eleanor said, as the deluge of hot tears began again and her friend buried her head into the prioress’ shoulder.
“I do not wish to marry at all!” The voice was muffled, but there was no mistaking the determination in it.
“I know the dangers, if those cause you worry. My own mother died in childbed, and I would be false if I did not tell you that you would suffer pain in becoming any man’s wife. Nonetheless, Robert is a kind man and will be gentle in taking your maidenhead. Pain is a part of our lives as children of sin, but God gives joy too. There is no reason not to believe He would give you both as much happiness as anyone can expect on earth. You and my brother are as well matched in your manners and wit as you are in your estate. I do believe you could be very happy together, and Robert would provide good stewardship of the land you brought to the marriage…”
“My lady, I do not dread bedding with a man nor is it childbirth that I fear.” Juliana laughed, but the sound was brittle. “There is greater pain than the loss of a maidenhead or the hard labor of birthing an heir. Indeed I will confess to you that I am unwomanly and do not long for either a man or a babe in my arms, but that would be insufficient reason to refuse marriage with your brother. As you have said, he and I would be well-matched and deep affection would surely grow in our hearts for each other. We are both quite sensible about our prospects and responsibilities in this world, and we are each wise enough to be kind one to the other.”
Eleanor stepped back and looked at the white-faced woman at arm’s length, then she pushed back the cowl that had covered her friend’s head and ran her hand across the rough stubble of blond hair. “Then tell me why you have cut your hair thus, Juliana?”
“As I said, my lady, there is greater pain than the loss of a maidenhead. I speak of what the soul feels, stinking with mortal frailties and standing at the fiery pit of Hell, longing to know, aye, even to understand the perfect and all-forgiving love of God.”
“Are you telling me that you wish to enter a convent?”
“Not just any convent. I have a harsh calling.” She quickly put a finger against Eleanor’s lips as the prioress began to speak. “Nay, I care not for the degrees of strictness in enclosure between, say, a Benedictine house and one of the Cistercian Order. Such distinctions are but petty. My longing is for a life far harder than that. I desire a hermit’s cell apart from other mortals where I may spend my life as an anchoress and ponder the complexity of God’s love. Whatever wisdom He grants me, I will pass on to others who, like me, beg for such understanding.”
Eleanor watched as Juliana’s brown eyes turned almost black. She shivered, but knew the cause was something other than a gust of cutting wind. “How may I help, my child?”
Juliana threw herself on her knees and raised her hands in supplication. “I beg you to support my plea before the bishop. I want to be entombed as an anchoress. At Tyndal, Eleanor. Will you have me?”