Wine of Violence

Chapter Thirty-Two

Eleanor walked slowly up her private stairs from chapel to chambers. The evening communal prayers were complete. Her own hard penance on the stone floor had been performed. The evening air was cool and no man in the moon’s chilly face peeked through the drifting clouds of the evening sky. It would be a black night tonight, she thought, as she stood in her chambers and looked out the window near her narrow cot.

As she prepared for sleep, folding her head veil and wimple neatly before placing them into the chest at the bottom of her bed, something soft brushed up against her leg, causing her to smile.

“Well now,” she said with a gentle tone, looking down at the orange cat. “I suppose you are looking for a warm bed after your hard work in the kitchens today?”

The cat looked up at her with hopeful green eyes.

“I did hear from Sister Matilda that you hunted well. She seems more pleased with your efforts than Sister Edith was. Perhaps you have improved on your presentation.”

The cat reached out with a paw and tapped her leg.

“One of these days I suppose I should ask Brother John whether there is any sin in a cat sleeping with a nun. And a male cat at that.”

The cat jumped up on the cot.

“Perhaps I will just leave the question be. You’ve earned a soft, warm bed after your good work keeping the vermin at bay who set siege to Tyndal.”

And as Eleanor lay down on her back on the cot and crossed her hands over her chest, the orange cat stretched himself out along her side. In a minute, both weary ones were sound asleep.

***

Eleanor sat straight up.

The orange cat had used her body to hurl himself, hissing and snarling, out of the bed.

She cried out, as though from a bad dream, not yet awake, eyes still shut. The brush of something down her back, the yell of pain not her own, and the sound of running feet against the rushes on her chamber floor did not arise from any dream.

She opened her eyes. In the dim light, she could see the cat standing by her open door, back arched, growling angrily. With heart pounding, Eleanor flew out of bed to the chamber door and heard the footsteps running down the stone steps to the cloister below.

“Help!” she shouted. “Someone has been in my chamber. Stop them!”

Sister Anne ran through the prioress’s private entrance to the chapel. “My lady! What has happened?”

Eleanor grasped the nun hard as if her very sanity depended on the human contact. “I don’t know. Someone was in my room. The door is wide open. I heard footsteps running down the stairs.”

“I will alert the monks, then return to you immediately.” With that, Anne dashed from the room.

Suddenly Eleanor felt chilled. She turned back toward the bed to pull a warming blanket from the chest, then stopped. Her hand covered her mouth in horror.

On her bed lay a knife.

***

Thomas couldn’t sleep. He had tossed and turned since Compline and it was still many hours until Prime. Giving up, he put on his shoes and slipped down the stairs from the dormitory to the cloister. Perhaps some exercise, followed by kneeling on the stone slabs of the chapel, would be sufficient penance and God would grant him a few hours of rest.

As he walked along the outside wall of the refectory, he heard a commotion behind him, coming from the area of the passageway to the outer court. It was a moonless night, and he could see nothing, but curiosity piqued his interest. He turned toward the sound. From the passageway under the dormitory, he saw two dark figures racing toward him.

“Stop him. Stop him! He is a murderer!” The voice sounded like Brother Simeon’s.

Thomas did not hesitate. He ran toward the figure coming at him. The man’s face was turned to look behind him as Thomas dived at his feet and brought him down. The man struggled but Thomas held him pinned to the ground.

As Simeon came up, panting, Thomas forced the captive onto his back. Staring back at him was the face of Brother John.

“He tried to kill Prioress Eleanor,” Simeon puffed.