Michael JECKS - Belladonna at Belstone

The woman most on Bertrand’s mind was at that moment surprised, on opening her door, to find a nun, weeping piteously, waiting in her room.

“My daughter, what’s the matter?” she asked solicitously, crossing the room to Constance’s side. “Come – sit here, and tell me all about it.”

Constance allowed herself to be drawn away from the window, and rested in a chair, gratefully taking the cup of wine which her prioress thrust into her hands.

It was miserable, this existence. She had only wanted to do good and look after others, but now she thought she’d have done better never to have come to Belstone. She had never wanted to join a convent, and if she’d had any say, she’d have remained outside, living in peace, but when her brother Paul had insisted that she should find a husband, one with whom he could work, her life changed for ever. The only man to suit her, in Paul’s opinion, was someone who already had a good fortune or possessed a ship for trade. It was all Paul ever thought of – money and the means of securing more power for his family. There was never any consideration for his sister’s feelings: Constance was only a useful pawn to be swapped in exchange for suitable concessions.

It was that which led to her incarceration here. She would not have come to Belstone, except the only man whom Paul could find for her who possessed the right attributes was Master Gerald, a burgess in Exeter: a gross, fat man, with pendulous jaws and slack mouth, piggy eyes, and perpetually sweating brow. Master Gerald was certainly rich, but he was repulsive as well. The thought of his drooling mouth approaching her in their marital bed was repellent, and Constance had instantly spoken to the local priest, declaring her intention of joining a cloister.

That was over nine years ago, when she had been already old, at almost two-and-twenty. In truth she could say that she had never had any difficulty with her vows. She had made them in good faith, and intended to stick to them. When she came to the convent, she was a virgin and believed that she could keep to the claustral life. Celibacy was a small price to pay for the escape from Master Gerald, and as for poverty and obedience – well, poverty was her lot now that she was cut off from her family, and obedience was a feature of everyone’s daily existence. We all obeyed someone else, a lord, a king, an abbot – or a husband.

And then everything changed again – for she had met Elias.

Constance was tending to her tiny herb garden out at the western edge of the cloister, behind the lay sisters’ dorter, and picking leaves for a poultice when she had cut her thumb on her little sharp knife. She had been down at the southernmost corner of the garden, where the wall dividing the canonical side from the nunnery was a simple metal fence with iron bars to separate men and women without leaving all the nuns’ plants in the shade. As Constance stood, staring at her bloodied finger with dismay, Elias had appeared in the grille, and from that moment Constance had known love.

She felt the prioress’s arm about her shoulder, and drank again. Lady Elizabeth was a kind woman, Constance knew, though sometimes her advice was not useful.

Lady Elizabeth sat at her desk and gazed sympathetically at the weeping nun.

“I wondered why you did not attend Matins,“ she said softly. ”But I see you wouldn’t have been able to concentrate. Well and good. It is better that you should come to sing praises to Christ with a happy heart, not one which is downcast.“

“My… my Lady,” Constance stammered. “I have broken my vows.“

“You have made love with a canon?”

Constance stared up at the prioress. “You knew?”

“My dear, I know much of what goes on here, but it did not require great intuition to guess what you meant. It was a sin, but you could hardly have broken the oath of poverty without my knowing, and as for obedience, I have always found you most straightforward. What else could it be, then? Now, you are not the first to have done this. Are you with child?”

Feeling her face redden, Constance turned away in her shame.

“That is a pity, my dear – a child can be an embarrassment, and it is difficult to conceal something that can grow so large. Still, there are ways of keeping such matters quiet.”

“But it’s not the point! What of my promise to God?”

“He has many problems to look at, and I fear your lapse is only one of many, even among nuns. He has other, more serious issues to occupy Him.”

“But what about Moll? I killed her!”

Elias walked into the frater just as the bishop hurried out, and Elias had to stand back as Bertrand shoved past, rude in his urgency. He left Elias standing at the doorway staring after him with surprise as the suffragan darted back along the cloister towards the church. When Elias peered into the frater, he saw Baldwin and Simon, both looking bitterly angry, and Godfrey sitting opposite them with an expression of resentment marring his normally pleasant features. Hugh sat close to his master, looking sulky.

Although he had no wish to be questioned by the knight or the bailiff, Elias was thirsty, and he also wondered whether he could learn anything useful about the investigation. He walked in and collected himself a jug of ale before wandering as if idly to a bench nearby. This early in the morning the frater was nearly empty. Elias sat as close as he could without looking conspicuous; he was at the next table with Jonathan, a man whom Elias usually tried to avoid, but today he had little choice if he wished to hear what the men were saying.

At first he could hear little, and what he did hear made no sense to him.

Baldwin: “What do you think, Godfrey?”

Godfrey, peevishly: “Me? Why do you persist in asking me? The good bishop has decided upon his actions. He’s wrong, though. My Lady Elizabeth is…”

Baldwin: “You know about Watton. Almost anyone in a double convent like this will have heard of the story. Could it have happened here?”

Godfrey, dismissively: “Oh, rumours! If you listen to half the gossip that circulates around a nunnery, you’ll believe that the Devil invented them for his own amusement.”

Baldwin: “Has the same crime been committed here?”

Godfrey: “Leave me alone, Sir Knight. I don’t know anything about this Watton.”

It was at this point that Jonathan nudged Elias. “I think that knight has got a shrewd idea what’s been going on here. You should watch yourself, Elias, eh?”

Elias could have hit him. The canon sat with a suggestive leer on his face, nodding knowingly when he saw his bolt strike the mark. Instead, Elias stared over the other man’s shoulder and spoke softly from the corner of his mouth. “You think so, Jonathan? If I were under any danger, it would be as nothing compared to what would happen to you if I were to tell our Lady the Prioress whom you have been trying to tup.”

Jonathan’s face changed. “Come, there’s no need for that. I only made a comment in jest, Elias.”

“So did I. Don’t make me have to repeat it in seriousness, will you?”

Jonathan gave him a fawning smile and moved further along the bench, leaving Elias fuming. He knew his behaviour was wrong, against the teachings of St Benedict, and ran utterly against the Rule designed for their convent; he was guilty of failing in two of his oaths – he had been neither obedient nor celibate – and still worse, he had tempted a nun to fail in her own oaths.

Yet that wasn’t the worst of it, he reminded himself. Far worse even than that was the fact that he was planning to remove Constance from the convent, leading her into the crime of apostasy.

“Watton!” Godfrey exclaimed. “You keep referring to it. I know nothing of the place.”