Wine of Violence

Chapter Eleven

“Please join me in some refreshment before you go back to the hospital, sister.”

Eleanor put her hand on Anne’s arm. The unusual animation she had seen in the tall nun’s face during the exchange with the crowner had faded back into her habitual look of sorrow.

Anne glanced down at the ground. “My lady, I overstepped my bounds today and I beg forgiveness.” Her voice was soft.

“Come.” Eleanor gently squeezed her arm. “Explain what you mean. After that, I have some questions for you.”

“You are too kind, my lady.”

Eleanor looked over at Thomas. “Brother, please take the crowner to the cloister to examine the spot where Sister Anne found the body and answer any questions he may have. Should either of you need me,” she nodded to the men, “I will be in my chambers.” Then the prioress gestured to Anne to accompany her down the nuns’ choir to the private steps leading to her rooms.

“Do you mean I am too kind when I offer wine after your trying encounter with our gentle crowner?”

Anne gave her a faint smile. “It was not trying. I have known Ralf since childhood and understand the good heart under the dark looks and singular manner. No, I meant that you were kind to tolerate my outspokenness in front of you and Brother Thomas.”

“I asked you to speak your mind.”

“You asked me to tell what I saw, not what I had concluded.”

Eleanor frowned. “I do not understand. Your observations and conclusions were astute. None of us noticed the details as you had, or put together the facts as well as you did. I must believe you made the crowner’s task easier.”

Sister Anne looked away. “I must tell you that our late prioress found my ways arrogant and chastised me often for lack of humility.”

Eleanor stopped and in silence looked up at the ceiling of the long choir. The simple triangular design of dark wooden braces and supports, repeated along the length of the pitched roof, was soothing in its geometrical certainty. If the minds of mortal men were so formed, as many believe they should be, we’d have no cause for dispute, she thought, then prayed briefly for greater wisdom than she possessed.

“It is true that although we are made in the image of God, we must never forget we are flawed. In that, Prioress Felicia was right,” she said, “but to ignore inspired insight is also a sin. I saw no sin in your words. I saw unusual perception, a gift from God surely. Would my predecessor not have agreed?”

“As you say, my lady.”

Eleanor caught a fleeting smile of amusement on her companion’s face. Perhaps the older prioress had not appreciated the questioning intelligence and independent mind of the sub-infirmarian. These were not qualities that fit easily and amiably into a standard conventual life, but Eleanor had not grown up with meek and spiritless nuns at Amesbury. Sister Beatrice was not the only religious who believed mindless humility often suffered from its own form of sinful pride.

As they continued their walk, Eleanor reached over and touched Anne’s sleeve. “Tell me why Sister Christina was put in charge of the hospital and you were made sub-infirmarian.” She asked the question not just for the information but to see how it was answered.

“Sister Christina is ardent in her prayers for the sinful souls of the sick. Prioress Felicia said that it is sin that brings sickness to a person, and thus prayer for them is the most effective treatment for their disease. My herbs and potions treat only symptoms, not the cause. Indeed she felt I should pray more and spend less time with my secular treatments.”

“And what did you think?”

“Surely you do not expect me to contradict my superior!”

“By your heated response, I must assume you did contradict her, in thought, if not in words.” Eleanor looked up at Anne. The woman’s eyes were as unblinking as those of a child awaiting chastisement for some misstep. Did she think Eleanor was trying to trap her into saying something for which she would be punished? Eleanor shook her head in answer if that was indeed the unspoken fear. “When I ask for honesty, I do not punish it even if I disagree with what I hear. Tell me, sister, what you really thought of her conclusion.”

Sister Anne stood silently, her face averted. Then she turned and looked straight down into Eleanor’s eyes. “My lady, I have no desire to offend with my frankness and limited understanding. If I do so, I beg your pardon. To answer your question, I did not resent or disagree with Prioress Felicia’s decision. Sister Christina gives much comfort to the ailing with her prayers. The sick who come to us are frightened. They not only fear their own physical pain and the effect of their deaths on their families but they are also terrified about the fate of their souls. In comforting their souls, Sister Christina has often cured their bodies. This I have seen.”

Eleanor nodded. “And?”

“I have also seen the good effects of the remedies I was taught by my father. He was a physician and studied manuscripts brought back by those who had been to the Holy Land. Before his death, he was famous for his treatments.”

“And he taught you, his daughter?”

“Aye, my lady, he did.” Sister Anne smiled. “I loved to follow him and help whenever he would let me.” She measured a short distance from the floor with her hand. “When I was this tall, he let me grind herbs and make simple potions. He spoiled me, I fear.”

Eleanor looked at the height of the nun’s hand, then glanced up at the top of her head. “You were young indeed to begin such learning!”

For the first time, the laughter between the two women was comfortable.

“I did interrupt you, sister.”

“My lady, I work best with the physical body, but Sister Christina labors more effectively with man’s immortal soul. Since she is better at curing the sinful, it was wise of Prioress Felicia to choose her to head the hospital instead of me. I was, and I am, content.”

“Then I shall make no changes, sister, at least for the time being. Someday you must tell me more about your father, however, and what he learned from the Holy Land.”

The two had almost reached the top of the stone steps when the wooden door to the prioress’s chambers flew open, booming loudly as it crashed against the wall. A bright orange streak with a large, dark object gripped firmly in its mouth flashed by, just ahead of a swinging broom.

“Shoo! Out! Begone!”

The female voice behind the broom had a quite un-Norman, very local cadence to it.

Eleanor put her hand on Sister Anne’s arm, cautioning her to stay where she was, then climbed the few remaining steps and stuck her head around the door.

A short but sturdy-looking girl, of just marriageable age, with heavy blond hair twisted into two long braids, stood staring at her. She held a broom raised to strike in her hands.

“You meant me, perchance?” Eleanor smiled.

“I did not see you, my lady. Forgive me!” Flushed with apprehension and embarrassment, the young girl dropped the broom, lowered her eyes, and curtsied.

“Fear not. I do not bite.”

Eleanor stepped into the room and gestured to Sister Anne to follow.

“What just passed us on the steps?” the prioress asked, glancing back down the dark passageway.

“That wretched cat! Prioress Felicia hated him. Dirty, sneaky thing, she called him. He’d slip in when the door was open, then hide and drop mice at her bedside. She ordered me to drown him, but I could never catch…” The young woman blushed again and turned her head away, unable to finish an obvious lie.

“Dead ones, I hope?”

“My lady?”

“He left only dead mice at her bedside?”

“Aye. He’s a good hunter, he is.”

“And your name, child?”

“Gytha, from the village. I served Prioress Felicia.”

“And well?”

The girl straightened herself to full height and looked at Eleanor with pride. “I am honest, my lady. Neat and efficient.”

“And you would serve me as well?”

“If you’ll have me.” The girl then dropped her head and stared at the rush-covered floor.

And if I won’t, your family will suffer, Eleanor thought. Even more than two hundred years after William the Great’s conquest of England, life for someone not of Norman descent was beset with trials, regardless of education or former status.

“What complaints did Prioress Felicia have of you, Gytha?”

“I sometimes forgot my place and spoke out of turn.”

“And?”

“She caught me feeding my dinner scraps to the cat.”

Eleanor tried not to smile. “Do you not take direction well?”

The girl hesitated. Her face was square, body lithe but strong, and her gaze was guileless. “In all but the matter of the cat.”

“Then I must assume you had words together over the cat?”

The girl’s blue eyes flashed with indignation. “A house of God is no place for killing, is what I said! She told me killing that filthy thing was against no law. But I couldn’t do it. I pretended I couldn’t catch him.” The look of outrage faded quickly and Gytha lowered her voice. “It really was hard to catch him, my lady. As you saw, he is very quick.”

Eleanor sighed. “I think you would be a trial to one’s patience, child.”

Gytha looked as if she were about to cry.

“Which is why you should stay and serve me. I fear I need the ordeal for the good of my soul.”

“Bless you, my lady!”

Gytha fell to her knees, reached out and kissed Eleanor’s hem. Then the girl began to weep.

“Child, never do that again! I am not Our Lady and am certainly no saint.” Eleanor lifted her up and hugged her.

“Nonetheless, you are kind.” Gytha smiled and rubbed her hand across her eyes.

“Perhaps, but let us be clear on a few things.”

The girl nodded eagerly.

“The cat? Oh, be at ease, child! He stays. Indeed, a house dedicated to God is no place for killing a harmless creature. If he is such a fine hunter, the kitchen will find good use for him. We have few enough things from our garden as it is without the mice taking a share. I will introduce him to Sister Edith. Should you see him in here, however, let him be.”

“Of course, my lady, and willingly!” Gytha grinned.

“But keep your own dinner scraps for better use. I will make sure the kitchen trades him meals for mice. After all, we do pay for good service. And lest you fear he will lose in this bargain, I will have his food sent here where you may feed him yourself.”

The girl grinned wider. “Agreed!”

“And one last thing, Gytha.”

“Yes, my lady?”

“I will expect you to always speak your mind to me.” Eleanor hesitated. “Although it might be best if you did so only when we were alone together.”

Gytha giggled.

“And I must trust you always to tell me the truth. Is that agreed?”

“Always, my lady!”

As the girl went to bring wine for the two nuns, Eleanor turned to look up at Sister Anne. The expression of absolute delight and understanding she saw in the older woman’s face brought her a warmth and comfort she had not felt since she had left Amesbury. Perhaps she had gained one ally amongst her nuns.