Priscilla Royal - Covenant With Hell

“Prioress Ursell has no reason to be wary of you. Your reputation for justice and compassion is well-known.”

Eleanor bowed her head. “Perhaps she did not wish to trouble us. After all, I am here to do penance for my own sins, not to seek out the transgressions of others.” She looked up at her monk. “We must leave the investigation into Sister Roysia’s death with Ryehill Priory. Our efforts are no more welcome here than our presence.”

Thomas stepped back in surprise. “Someone was in the tower with her, my lady. The torn cloth in her hand is proof.” He fell silent. “Both Father Vincent and Prioress Ursell were unmoved by the death but were most concerned that it was I who found the body.”

“Prioress Ursell has been quite clear. She does not want us involved in this death. We shall honor her wishes and continue with our original purpose of doing penance at the shrines.” Eleanor looked up at the ceiling, then over to the altar, and sighed. “You long to draw us in where we are unwelcome. I understand why, for I share your concern about this death, but we ought to let this tragedy remain the responsibility of Ryehill Priory.”

“As you will, my lady.”

Eleanor looked up at him. “Brother, apart from your disappointment in my decision and anger at the discourtesy here, I believe you have more to say to me.” Her voice was soft. “You may speak freely.”

“God could have sent us here to perform another duty along with the worthy act of atonement.” With hopeful eagerness, he looked down into his prioress’ eyes.

“You are convinced of this?”

He nodded.

“Might your conclusion have less to do with the nun’s death than the offenses against our pride?” She looked back at the altar. Her expression suggested she was struggling hard to hold fast to her longing to avoid an inquiry into murder. “Should we not make a singular effort, while on pilgrimage, to turn the other cheek when treated rudely? If you have no greater cause to disobey their request than that…”

“In truth,” he replied, “Father Vincent has angered me so deeply that I am tempted to go against anything he wishes. He and I have quarreled over another matter, one in which he has ignored Our Lord’s commandment that we practice charity.”

Eleanor sighed. “Over what did you disagree?”

“It was about a child. She is a ragamuffin in tatters, very thin, who begs nearby. I asked that he find food and lodging for her. He refused and accused me of wanting to feed Satan’s whore.”

Her exclamation echoed throughout the chapel.

Thomas told her the story of Gracia’s rape and Father Vincent’s conclusion that she had bewitched the merchant into performing an unnatural act in a holy place.

“What age does this girl own? You call her child.” Eleanor’s whisper was like a hiss.

“And so she is, my lady. There is nothing womanly about her.”

“Why does he withhold compassion?”

“Unlike the merchant, she refuses to admit wickedness or confess that she was under the influence of evil. To give her food and shelter, he said, is no better than offering comfort to the Devil.”

She twisted her hands in fury. “And what shall you do in this matter?”

“I will continue to feed the child, my lady, and seek some other way of keeping her alive.”

“If you had decided otherwise, I would have reproved you, Brother.” Eleanor’s expression suggested she had no doubt he would do as she hoped. “Father Vincent’s lack of compassion shocks me. Another priest must be found who will gently guide her into more virtuous ways.”

“These are cruel people here, my lady. They have insulted you and mistreated a starving child. The questionable circumstances of the nun’s death are consistent with the endemic wickedness of this place. How can we not pursue the truth?”

“To begin with, Brother, I must reject vanity of birth and religious rank. I am a pilgrim here: a humbled, wicked, and lowly creature. Had this prioress a more kindly heart, she might have shown greater courtesy, but I am obliged to accept their rudeness as part of my penance.”

He started to protest.

She raised a hand to silence him. “I am not finished. We both dislike those who lead Ryehill. I might forgive Prioress Ursell’s rudeness to me, her implied insult to our priory, and, with difficulty, her treatment of you. What I cannot forgive is a priest’s disdain for a hungry child.”

He looked down at her with obvious relief. “Does that mean we may look further into the nun’s death, my lady?”

“I am as troubled as you by what you found, but this death may yet prove to be nothing more than an accident or even self-murder. We are prejudiced against those in authority here. That may be our error.”

“Other than feeding the child, you wish me to do nothing more against the commands of Father Vincent and Prioress Ursell?”

“If God wishes us to do more, He will make it impossible to do otherwise,” she replied in a whisper. “Keep your eyes open, your ears as acute as always, and report to me if you discover anything of interest.”

Thomas bowed and tried hard not to show his delight at her words.

“In the meantime, I am here to do penance, Brother.” She motioned toward the door of the chapel. “Let us find the shrine where the vial containing the Virgin’s milk is kept.”

***

After they had left the chapel, a skeletal figure slipped from the safety of a pillar’s shadow. Father Vincent’s heart still pounded from his near discovery by Prioress Eleanor. If she had walked only a few steps further…

He trembled so his knees knocked together.

Then he knelt for a brief prayer in front of his beloved Shrine of the Virgin’s Lock. As soon as he was done, he raced from the chapel to the chambers of Prioress Ursell.

After visiting the one shrine, Eleanor chose to return to the priory gardens rather than continue on to other holy places for contemplation.

Restless, she paced along the paths, ignoring the decaying plants, blackened by winter frost, and the paucity of emerging green tendrils. The bleakness suited her mood. It was not the rudeness of the prioress here that gnawed at her. It was the dark image of a child condemned by Father Vincent as if she had no right to a decent meal or a gently cleansed soul.

Only with great effort could she swallow her anger over the cruelty to the little vagrant and not go in outrage to Prioress Ursell. This was not her priory, she kept reminding herself, but that argument failed to win her heart. Like Brother Thomas, she was determined to do something for the child. And despite her profound longing to concentrate on her penance here, the soul of the nun, whose suspicious death was being ignored, begged for justice with compelling urgency.

“My lady!”

Fearing another tragedy had occurred, Eleanor froze and looked over her shoulder with foreboding.

Mistress Emelyne stood just behind her, hands fluttering like uneasy birds hesitant to land. But her eyes sparkled with unmistakable eagerness.

The prioress tried hard to disguise her annoyance. She wanted to be alone and resolve her dilemmas. Looking down at her fingers, Eleanor decided she had too few on which to count her conflicting priorities.

“How fortunate that I have discovered you here!”

With forced benevolence, she flashed a smile at this pert widow and swallowed her impatience. Anyone on pilgrimage should not succumb to even the pettiest of transgressions, she reminded herself, and tried to cast aside this unseemly intolerance. The attempt was short-lived. Eleanor could feign only so much virtue without committing the greater sin of hypocrisy.

“I have heard such amazing tales!” The widow raised her hands as if awed by the immensity of what she had learned.