Michael JECKS - Belladonna at Belstone

“Then allow me to inform you,” Baldwin said steadily.

Simon cast a look at Hugh. His servant was staring away, plainly bored by the conversation, and Simon could well understand why. Baldwin appeared to be talking about something that had no relevance.

“Watton,” the knight said, “was a small convent far from here, but it was not dissimilar to St Mary’s. It was Gilbertine, I think, which means it was a double convent, with the two cloisters, just like this one.”

Godfrey sipped from his pot and refilled it carelessly, Simon thought, as though slopping the drink over the table was proof that he was hardly paying heed to Baldwin’s words.

“But in this little place there was a great sin committed,” Baldwin continued. “Because in Watton it was discovered that a nun had been dallying with a monk, and the nuns were deeply shocked; more so still when they found that the girl concerned was now with child. Of course this sort of thing is common enough, isn’t it, Godfrey? We know how it can happen, but at Watton, the nuns took an extreme view. They condemned the girl and the man. They forced her to cut off his… let’s just say that he was gelded by her. And then the nuns locked her away in a cell. In chains. She was allowed to give birth to her child, I think, and the baby was brought up in the monastery, but the mother was never released.”

“An interesting story, Sir Baldwin. But hardly relevant to our…”

“What I always wondered, after I heard that tale, was how had the two managed to meet?” Baldwin said, peering into his cup. “If they were in a double convent, then there would have been great controls over who could cross between the cloisters, wouldn’t there? Like there are here.”

“Of course. No one is permitted to go to the nuns’ area unless…”

Baldwin interrupted him once more. “Unless they have a good reason to. Like, for example, a doctor, a specialist in the arts of surgery.”

Godfrey avoided his eye. His hands were shaking slightly, like a man suffering from too much wine the night before, and his face was red. “I don’t think I understand you,” he managed after a few moments.

“I think you do, Godfrey,” Baldwin said quietly. “I think some of your colleagues have enjoyed visits over to the nunnery. Perhaps you yourself have made the trip occasionally, eh?”

Godfrey set his cup down and made as if to rise.

Baldwin grabbed his wrist. “Godfrey, the girl is dead.”

“May she rest in peace. I know nothing about that. I did everything in my power to save the poor child,” the brother said in a low voice.

“And what of her soul, Godfrey? Did you do all you could to save that as well?”

Suddenly exhausted, Godfrey dropped back down into his seat. “I didn’t touch her. Never! I only opened her vein that one time.”

“How is it done normally?” Baldwin said, his tone cold and relentless. “You tell the young nun or novice that she need not fear, that making love with a priest is no rejection of her vows to God. Is that not how it’s done? And then, of course, the priest gives absolution. He can confess her, so she need not even look to another man for forgiveness, which could be embarrassing. No, she can gain that from the man who serviced her.”

“It’s not like that!” Godfrey said, and now at last he looked up. He held Baldwin’s gaze a moment, then his eyes dropped again. “It’s not like that,” he repeated, and glanced over the room. Luckily the place was almost deserted, with most of the canons having gone about their duties, some to study, others to work. He didn’t see Elias, who sat behind him. “Sir Baldwin, I shall tell you all I know, but you must trust me when I say that I am innocent.”

“Tell us what you know.”

“I know that the connecting door between the cloisters is rarely locked. Men can cross from one to the other as often as they wish. I have to visit the infirmary regularly enough when Constance needs assistance. But I also go to talk to ladies whom I know.“

Baldwin nodded, but his face showed no compassion or sympathy. He had been a monk himself, and once he had taken the vows, he had never broken them. To him, an oath was itself sacred, and he knew perfectly well that breaking one of them meant breaking his own solemn word. If a man could do that, he was capable of anything. “What of the dead girl?”

“Moll? She never knew of my visits.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Easy, Sir Baldwin!” Godfrey gave a sheepish smile. “When she knew of any such affairs, she would instantly break with the nun concerned, and try to persuade her to alter her evil ways!”

“You mean that your ”friends“ never had such a conversation, so Moll never saw them with you. Would you say that Moll was a very religious young woman?”

“How should I know?” Godfrey said, taking a drink from his pot. “It’s hard to tell with these young novices. Some of them look ever heavenwards, others are always concentrating on the world here, professing their purity as a means to acquire power. When they’re playing that game, it’s hard to see what they’re really like,” he added gloomily. “I mean, they don’t react like real women. Look at that appalling woman, the treasurer. I wouldn’t trust Sister Margherita further than I could throw her. She’s determined to win power, and God Himself knows what she’ll do with it.”

“But Moll never gave you the impression that she was not honourable and devout?”

“She never gave me cause to doubt her sincerity, no. Others, maybe, but not her.”

“Who did?”

“That little Agnes. She’s been put here by Sir Rodney as the first of the women he claims the right to install here, because of his generous donation towards the Lady Chapel, but she is hardly chaste, from what I’ve seen. Perhaps that’s why Sir Rodney decided to have her imprisoned here.”

“You have seen her misbehaving with a canon?”

Godfrey gave him a twisted grin. “I appear to be talking more than usual, Sir Baldwin. Perhaps I have seen her, perhaps I haven’t – but I seem to recall the good suffragan telling you that you should consider packing your things. So why should I tell you any more?” He stood. “I shall leave you. If you want to know anything else, find another informer.”

Elias watched him go with waves of relief washing over him. For an instant he had thought Godfrey would give Constance away. It was fortunate that this knight was about to leave: his questions were approaching the truth. However, as a secular man, Sir Baldwin was potentially dangerous. What if he told others?

Elias chewed his lip as he considered the unpalatable results of Baldwin’s letting slip rumours of what was happening within the convent.

Lady Elizabeth squatted before the weeping infirmarer and used the end of her sleeve to wipe away her tears. “Constance, don’t trouble yourself in this way. What do you mean, you killed her?”

“It’s true, my Lady,” Constance said, and the tears flooded down her cheeks as she stared hopelessly at her prioress. “I gave her dwale so that she wouldn’t hear me or see me with my lover. I killed her as surely as if I’d stabbed her – I poisoned her.”

Lady Elizabeth opened her mouth to speak, but thought better of it. The woman before her clearly believed what she had said, and although Elizabeth herself didn’t, she should give Constance an opportunity to explain why she was so convinced of her guilt. Elizabeth returned to her desk, and nodded seriously. “Go on.”

Constance closed her eyes and allowed her head to fall at an angle. She took a shuddering breath, then, “My Lady, I mixed dwale for Cecily, the lay sister, because she had broken her wrist and would not otherwise sleep. I gave her a strong helping. The infusion of poppy seed acts as a good soporific, and… and I wanted to ensure that Joan and Moll were peaceful as well.” She looked up at the silent prioress. “I did it so that I could enjoy my lover alone, without fear of discovery by one of my patients.“