Priscilla Royal - Covenant With Hell

Thomas watched him disappear and suddenly felt bereft. If this was the last he would see of the merchant, he would have preferred a different parting. Then he shook away such thoughts.

He had prayers to offer for his prioress’ recovery, and he turned toward the road leading to Walsingham Priory. He would never again kneel at the Shrine of the Virgin’s Lock.

A dusting snow was falling outside, but there was little need for a fire in the chambers of the prioress of Ryehill. The anger flowing from Prioress Ursell was hot enough to fry the Devil.

Thomas almost felt sorry for Father Vincent. Almost, he thought, for I shall never forget what he did to a child.

The prioress of Ryehill nodded to the monk. Dark circles, like the ashes of mourning, were etched under her eyes. “You have much to tell us. I may fear your news, but I must learn each foul truth.” She glanced at the priest who knelt before her like the penitent he ought to be. “It is my duty.”

“I shall keep the tale brief, my lady. You have been betrayed by those whom you had reason to trust, but not by the ones you were led to believe had brought shame on this priory.”

She stiffened but did not blench.

The priest muffled a whine.

“Sister Roysia was murdered, not by Master Larcher, but by one who came to Walsingham as an alleged pilgrim.”

“Not by her…” The prioress gulped and then mumbled, “her lover.”

“She brought her virtue into question by meeting Master Larcher as she did, but he was never her lover. She remained chaste, although a few might question if she did so within the spirit of her vows.”

The priest looked up in horror. “But…”

“Silence!” Ursell slammed her staff on the floor. “The sooner I hear all from Brother Thomas, the better for this priory and even you.”

“When Father Vincent caught the craftsman climbing down from the bell tower, he assumed the man had entered the priory for carnal purposes. Larcher let him believe this but refused to give him the name of the nun until Father Vincent tricked him into revealing that it was Sister Roysia.”

“And you might have stopped these meetings then,” the prioress hissed at the priest. “I said as much at the time.”

“We had no choice,” the priest howled. “Who would make the badges if not this man?”

She looked at the monk. “I take full responsibility for my part in this. As a frail woman, it is my duty to follow the greater wisdom of a man of God, and this priest insisted I obey his wish to delay action.” Her eyes narrowed. “Yet I should have known he spoke with Satan’s voice. That I allowed the impropriety to continue is reprehensible.” She waved her hand at the priest.

“I fear that Father Vincent did take bribes from Master Larcher as payment for his silence and permission to continue the meetings.”

“This is true? I have prayed that you were wrong.” She looked at Thomas as if longing to hear he had lied.

The priest’s expression suggested he had just seen an avenging angel with a flaming sword standing over him. “Not bribes, in truth,” he mumbled, trying to soften his previous confession. “Donations.”

“A witness has come forth. A reliable one.” He would not mention Gracia’s name. Confident she was telling the truth, he feared he might strike this foul priest if he again called her a whore.

It was the prioress who silenced Father Vincent before he pursued the identity of the witness. “I take your word, Brother, for you have proven yourself to be an honest man.” She glared at the priest. “Had I been told the truth, I would have dealt with both nun and craftsman as God demands, even if you chose otherwise. Bribes! How dare you?”

“The money was needed to feed your nuns.” He whimpered.

Her eyes widened in horror. “I would have appealed to the Bishop of Norwich, Roger Skerning. We serve God with righteousness here, and I would not have touched one coin you obtained in that manner.”

Thomas had saved the worst news, a tale Master Durant told him after hearing it from the innkeeper. The man recalled a relic seller, who had stayed at his inn in the winter. When the relic seller enjoyed too much wine on his last night, he had boasted of his lucrative deal with Father Vincent. Although the innkeeper did not doubt the sacred nature of the item acquired, he told Durant that he knew the priest had paid a great sum for a few hairs from the man’s large collection of strands.

“There is more, my lady. Do you recall when you suddenly had less income for the care of your flock? Was it around the time your priest told you about the new relic?”

“No!” Father Vincent began to beat his fists on the floor. “I only borrowed money from the priory for this relic. I knew it would bring greater rewards, well worth the minimal suffering of fewer mouthfuls of food.…”

Prioress Ursell’s eyes blazed. “Miscreant! You stole money to pay for that relic, then told me how few alms there were during the winter and that we must make do with less? One nun died because our infirmarian could not pay for the herbs to treat her.” She bent forward and snarled at the priest. “You lied when you said a penitent had given you the relic and suggested the gift might have been from an angel. I was blinded by your pretty tale and mistook the Devil’s work for God’s! ”

The priest put his hands over his eyes.

“The money he received from Master Larcher was intended to pay back the price of the relic, or so I believe.” Thomas said softly.

Sitting back, she looked at Thomas, her ire turned to sorrow. “I shall inform the bishop. The relic will be sold.”

Father Vincent sobbed.

Ignoring him, the prioress shifted uneasily. “You swear that the merchant and my nun were not lovers. If that is true, I would know why they met in such an unseemly fashion.” She whispered the last sentence.

“I give you my word that Sister Roysia never broke her vows, my lady.” Thomas bowed his head to gain himself time. He did not want to explain as she required but could not avoid doing so in part. Durant had given him permission to tell what he must but begged him to keep as much secret as possible.

The monk straightened. “The king is planning to visit this town soon, and one of his courtiers learned that an assassin had been sent to kill him while he was here. Master Larcher, who was the king’s man in this place, was told to discover the traitor’s name. Since pilgrims stay in the priories here, and impart news while visiting, he was to contact specific religious in the Walsingham priories, whose loyalty was unquestioned and were in the best position to overhear important information. These sources were told to report anything to him that might lead to the capture of the assassin.”

Father Vincent and Prioress Ursell looked equally horrified.

“Sister Roysia was one, but she could neither read nor write and verbal messages sent by courier were unsafe. She suggested to the craftsman that they meet in the bell tower when she had news. Master Larcher was often in your chambers, my lady, and she could give him a signal at one of these frequent meetings. By the phrases spoken, she indicated time. She let down the rope. He climbed it and they talked.”

Looking ill with grief over all she was hearing, the prioress groaned.

“Sister Roysia called on the child, Gracia, to hide in the tower while she met with the craftsman so she would have proper attendance.”

The priest opened his mouth to protest, then thought better of it.

“Why not tell me of this?” the prioress whispered.

“The good sister did not want to endanger any of Ryehill’s religious with this perilous knowledge, including you, my lady. Having seen the child in the streets, she offered to let Gracia sleep in the tower if she would come on those special occasions when a signal was given.”