Priscilla Royal - Chambers of Death

“You must follow the path you have found most successful,” Eleanor said.

The corners of Maud’s lips twitched upward at the confidence shown. “If this fails, we shall try other remedies to chase the excess heat from her and restore the balance of her humors. Cooked onions are often successful in these conditions.” Smoothing the cloth out to dry on the stand, she gazed at the girl with evident concern. “At least she is young and looks strong enough to fight against this ill.”

Eleanor closed her eyes. “I fear I slept toward morning.”

“You need not fall ill yourself, my lady, and I think your prayers will have done this child more good than staying awake. As you see, she has survived the night. Had there been a crisis, the harsh rattling would have awakened you. There is no mistaking the sound of Death’s chains when he comes to drag souls off for judgment.”

“All my prayers were for her last night,” Eleanor replied, “and I thank you for forgiving one who showed even greater carelessness than the five foolish virgins waiting for the bridegroom.”

“My manner may be too blunt on occasion, my lady, but I meant no ill. A servant should have been assigned to stay with her while you slept. I saw how you stumbled with fatigue…”

“…and thus you took a far longer vigil than you allowed me, demonstrating both wisdom and kindness. It may have been my responsibility to watch all night, but I now see the imprudence in even considering it.” She smiled to dispel any fears that she had been insulted by the widow’s decision.

Maud chose not to reply and instead indicated that the prioress should lay the girl’s head back down on the pillow. “Might you wish to break your fast now that I am here to watch your charge?”

The words may have been posed as a question, but Eleanor recognized it as a transparently disguised command. But a prudent one, she decided, without taking offence. Stubborn adherence to what she perceived as her duty would only add to the burdens on this household if a fever struck her down too. “Might you direct me to the main hall? I fear I paid little heed to how we came to these chambers when we arrived last night.”

***

Once in the lower hall, Eleanor found all appetite had fled, and she found no pleasure in the one bite of cheese, its sharp flavor enhanced by warm bread fresh from the oven. At least the weak ale chased away some of the chill she had caught, sleeping against the damp stone of the chamber wall. Pouring more into her cup, she sipped. The bitter taste matched her mood. Perhaps she should delay her return to Mariota’s side until she could lighten her own troubled spirit. At least she would try.

Dawn may have completed its announcement of the reluctant day, but the light remained dull and unenthusiastic. Most servants had left the hall to perform whatever duties they had been assigned and most probably with regret at the loss of this warmer haven. Eleanor prayed that they be given some respite on such a foul day. And stormy it most certainly was, she had noted on her way here, with intermittent rain slashing at any living thing within reach of the high wind.

At least the stone walls of the manor offered good protection against both draft and wet. Eleanor noted, however, that this main floor, where the manor court must be held, was aisled with wooden pillars that resembled trees where the bracing split to support the flooring of the solar above. Although the design was pleasing in its suggestion of a wooded grove, the presence of the aisles proved the house was older than the more modern use of stone walls would suggest.

Had the owner’s sole desire been to make this a warmer manor or had he some other purpose for rebuilding the walls? Stone was most certainly a stronger defense against attack than wood. She must ask the steward about the history of this place, Eleanor decided. Although it was doubtful that the Earl of Lincoln had any traitorous intent or would even consider using such a minor residence as defense, she would pass the information on to her father in case he found the strong, new walls of interest to those loyal to the king.

She had delayed long enough, she decided. After all, she must relieve the physician’s widow and let her attend the steward’s wife. Willing herself to rise, the prioress left the hall.

The stairwell to the solar was steep and the steps narrow, even for the prioress’ small feet. A clever device, she realized. Armed men would find the ascent more difficult here than in her father’s castle of Wynethorpe. Thus the steward’s family would be well protected. She nodded in appreciation of the design.

Near the top, where a window offered a view of the fields and outer buildings, she stopped. The opening had been fitted with a shutter, but that now banged against the wall with each gust of wind.

Perhaps it had been carelessly shut and the storm had finally blown it open, Eleanor thought, and tried closing it to keep the chill from the rooms in the solar. The alignment was askew, or else the boards were warped with the rain; thus she struggled awkwardly with the heavy wood. Finally, she gave up and sat in the window, putting her back to the recalcitrant shutter as if testing her ability to make the object obey her. “Indeed,” she muttered to herself, “if I cannot force my own being to obey, how dare I hope that anything else will surrender to my command?”

What a foolish creature she was! Again she condemned her folly for taking this journey. The property issue on priory land so far from Tyndal could have waited for resolution until wild storms were rare and some warmth had returned to the earth. If she had been wiser and delayed the matter, Sister Anne and Prior Andrew could have accompanied her. Instead, she cared only that Brother Thomas be forced to come and stay close to her side.

She still loved this man-in all the wrong ways. When her prayers for relief from lust were answered, she was often grateful that Brother Thomas was at her priory, for their different natures allowed them to work most efficiently together in God’s service. The rest of the time, she was obsessed with hunger to couple with the monk.

In the beginning there had been a certain sweetness to the longing. More recently, her lust had made her feel like a decaying corpse, and the rotten stink of her sin assaulted her nostrils with such foulness that she was surprised the stench had not spread throughout the entire priory.

As a counterweight, however, her vow of chastity remained stubbornly sincere. A child when she first promised to remain a lifelong virgin, she had not understood the full meaning of what she had sworn. Now she did. Yet she never took vows lightly. If Satan, with God’s permission, set her body alight with these searing flames to test her steadfastness, she would battle the Prince of Darkness with the passion of a true knight and win the joust whatever the cost in physical suffering. After all, her body was only a shell that housed her immortal soul.

Nor would she ever tempt a man into sharing her wickedness. Even though she often questioned the sincerity of Brother Thomas’ own calling, Eleanor had no reason to doubt that he had laudably kept his own vows. Thus she might choose to test her fortitude-or please herself, if she were ruthlessly honest-by keeping him close while she fought against her sinfulness, but she would never try to make him break his oath. At least she prayed she never would.

These thoughts began to stab too painfully at her heart, so she chased them off with the image of Mariota. Had she sinned by bringing the girl with her? Of course she could have asked another nun to provide proper attendance, but in this matter at least, she had meant well.

Mariota’s family had begged entry for her at Tyndal, hoping she would become a nun. Eleanor had had doubts from the beginning about the strength of the young woman’s calling. Even the girl’s mother had whispered some fear that her daughter might not be willing to completely forsake the world to serve God. Nonetheless, there was a generous dowry for the priory if Mariota stayed, and Eleanor was well aware that no religious community survived long without such beneficence.