Priscilla Royal - Covenant With Hell

She motioned for him to follow her into the quiet of nearby shadows, and then asked him to explain.

“I find no kindness at Ryehill Priory.” His eyes glittered in the gray light.

“We have already agreed that we found little of it there.” She waited for him to continue, but he said nothing more. “What has happened since we last spoke?”

“I have had another conversation with Father Vincent.”

Although she had seen him driven by anger, she had rarely seen him so furious. One of the reasons she both admired and loved this man was his uncommon gentleness to others, a quality many others had praised.

He struck his hand on the stone wall. “I do not know whether to weep over this man’s cruelty or ask God how an imp had so easily taken on the form of a priest.”

“Strong words.” Eleanor spoke softly and struggled not to touch him with a comforting gesture as she longed to do.

He took a deep breath. “Only a thing without a heart could so stubbornly refuse food and shelter to a child.”

“I agree and also fail to understand how he cannot see that we must first feed a child’s hungry body and then seek ways to give succor to her soul.”

“With your permission, I continue to bring food to this girl while remaining silent in the face of Father Vincent’s rebukes.” His face flushed as his indignation rekindled.

What more could this priest have done to anger Brother Thomas so? Eleanor wondered. She urged him to say more.

“When I last asked the cook in the priory kitchen for a soaked trencher and bits of cheese, she refused to give me as much as an eggshell. I was shocked, and then saw tears flowing down her cheeks. When I asked her the reason, she said that Prioress Ursell had forbidden any in the kitchen to give me food, no matter why I claimed to need it. Clearly the cook would have chosen otherwise, but she was bound to obey her superior. I did not argue.”

“What a strange command for the prioress to give. We knew Father Vincent had condemned the child, but I wonder what cause Prioress Ursell has to sentence Gracia to death?”

“The tale grows darker. Next I went to the innkeeper for scraps. He also refused me and explained that Father Vincent had threatened him with hellfire if he gave me the food I asked. Unlike the nun from the Ryehill kitchen, he was more perplexed than grieved. I was tempted to explain that the priest was stricken with a hellish obsession, one he should have rejected, but I silenced myself in time. Dare I cast blame on anyone who bends to the command of one who claims to speak for God?”

Eleanor felt a moment’s discomfort. Had she not gone against a priest’s wishes, an act by a woman most would condemn? She straightened her back, reminding herself that she was a prioress in the Order of Fontevraud. As such, she was the earthly representative of the Queen of Heaven. Surely she had that right to oppose Father Vincent. And the Virgin was a mother, Eleanor decided, and must smile on her longing to save this child.

“Finally I said that Father Vincent must have his reasons for this warning, and I would require nothing that might put the innkeeper’s soul in danger.”

“Despite those words, I know you have not surrendered, Brother.” Eleanor looked around but saw no lurking shadows. “I believe you have found a way around this prohibition. Confess it. I shall most likely praise, not rebuke, you.”

“I fear I have acquired the sin of gluttony during this season of Lent, my lady. After the last meal, I worried that I would grow hungry before the next and slipped my small trencher into my sleeve to nibble upon later. I confess I also added bits of fish from the table.”

Eleanor put a hand to her cheek in mock horror, but her cheeks grew rosy with the effort not to laugh at her monk’s cleverness.

“But I did win the war against Satan. Soon after I left the refectory, I saw little Gracia. My conscience surrendered to virtue, and I gave her all that I had stolen.”

“And by that act of charity you have been cleansed of the vice of gluttony, Brother. I am sure Brother John will agree when you tell him of this after our return to Tyndal.” But her smile quickly faded as the sadness of the child’s life overwhelmed her. “Well done!” she whispered. “Unlike others in this priory, you have followed Our Lord’s commandments.”

“I wish my thievery had resulted in a happy ending to the tale.”

“I pray no one took the food from her.”

“Father Vincent saw to whom I gave the scraps, screamed at me to snatch the offering back from her hands, and rushed at us. I stood between him and the child so she might flee with her small meal. In a rage, he clutched my sleeve and pulled me toward the chapel. Since I did not want him to hurt the child, I did not resist, concluding that it was better to suffer his rebukes than allow him to harm Gracia by word or deed.”

“That was both compassionate and wise.”

“Once we were in private, he accused me of consorting with wicked daughters of Eve, disobeying prohibitions meant to preserve my vow of chastity, and being so filled with evil pride that I would not listen to the wise counsel he gave me in God’s name.”

Eleanor started to protest but fell silent. Her face grew hot with anger over both the treatment of the child and the unjust accusations suffered by her monk.

“Once again, he demanded that I obey him in this matter of Gracia and remain in the chapel to pray, as he would expect any penitent pilgrim to do. If I longed to visit other shrines, I should do so only in his company. Were I to continue to disregard his instruction, he vowed to report my wickedness to Rome, saying that I was unchaste, disobedient, and showed signs of being the minion of Satan instead of any servant of God.”

Eleanor stiffened. “Circumventing my authority in this matter is disdainful enough. To ignore the right of our Abbess Isabeau d’Avoir to render judgment in any complaint is arrogant beyond comprehension.”

He bowed his head. “I told him that, my lady.” Thomas was not fooled by her calm tone. He noted the whiteness of her knuckles as she gripped her hands together.

“And his reply?”

“That you must be blinded by the Devil since you had not put a stop to my wicked deeds.” Thomas wondered if he was imagining the growing warmth of the air surrounding them. If not, the cause must be the fire of Prioress Eleanor’s now evident rage. “As for our abbess at the mother house in Anjou, he was sure she would understand a priest’s right to go directly to Rome with such a grave matter.” He had rephrased the priest’s actual remark which suggested more strongly that men would always have authority over women in crucial spiritual issues.

“Being descendants of Adam and Eve, we all require guidance to avoid mortal sin,” she said after a palpable moment of silence. “That includes Father Vincent.” Her eyes narrowed.

Thomas prayed he would never commit a crime worthy of suffering the effects of her profound outrage. A little voice hidden deep within him expressed delight that this priest had.

She glanced heavenward and sighed. “But in order for me to conclude whether or not he has any merit in his accusations…”

Thomas froze.

“Fear not, Brother. I find no fault in anything you have done.” A brief smile appeared as she overcame her anger. “Indeed, this ignorant man is unaware that our founder, Robert of Arbrissel, brought many magdalenes to a chaste life by walking boldly into brothels where he preached most gently to the women there. His great virtue was his armor, and he had no cause to be afraid of temptation. If Father Vincent fears someone he denounces as a whore, either his faith is weak or his body suffers from temptations he hopes will never be known.”