Michael JECKS - Belladonna at Belstone

Hearing the shuffling of feet in the nave, Luke fitted a contemplative expression to his face and walked slowly to the altar. There he genuflected to the cross, and began the service.

Uttering the words he knew so well, Luke found his mind wandering. It was good to be here, safe in this little convent. Agnes was a very willing companion, and there would always be other novices when she lost her charm or became too demanding. That was the good thing about being in a convent; there was no need to be tied to any one girl.

Women were confusing. Luke had been so certain that Moll was giving him the eye. But when he got her on her own and she realised what he wanted, she’d gone frigid, then pious. Worst of all, she had started preaching, urging him to give up his life of debauchery. He told her of Agnes’s willingness, thinking to make her jealous, but the shot went wide of the mark. Moll said he must confess his sins, then she hinted that she would speak to Agnes.

Luke shook at the thought. Agnes was terribly jealous. If she heard that he’d tried it on with Moll, she would be furious.

Moll was not only pretty, she had the attraction of being a challenge. Agnes had the face of an angel but was a nervous type, always looking for praise. She could be boring – complaining about how others were putting her down.

In contrast Katerine had been assured and self-confident. Luke knew she was experienced with men the first time she kissed him. Like Agnes she hadn’t needed much persuading. The one who was different was Moll. She believed in her vocation; wouldn’t swallow his guff about a priest being able to take upon himself any sin. No, that kind of rubbish was only accepted by nuns who wanted an excuse. It wouldn’t work with Moll; just as it hadn’t worked with the worldly wise Katerine.

Katerine, when he had whispered to her in the few moments he had managed to snatch with her when no one – and especially not Agnes – was watching, had not reddened, but simply met his look with a measuring gaze. Luke had tried to use his arts of persuasion on her, but she had laughed, mocking his pseudo-religious arguments, saying, “If you want to bed me, say so and have done.”

And then, as if to demonstrate that she was worth his while, she had reached up and kissed him full on the lips, with a loose, lubricious lustiness that made him squirm just to remember it.

It was a shame she was dead, he sighed. But at least Agnes was still alive.

Hugh watched the infirmarer warily. There was no need for her to go quite so close to the knight, nor to stop and stand near Baldwin when she was walking past on her way to the chamber. He was about to demand what she was doing when she suddenly went off behind the curtain.

“Well? Did you expect her to stab him in front of you?” Joan asked, then cackled to herself.

Hugh glowered at the floor and shrugged his shoulders, evading her sharp eye. “I was told to keep a lookout on my master’s friend.“

“Course you were, young man, but there’s no need to act so oddly around Constance. She’s a good lass.”

“I am, am I?“ Constance said, reappearing in the doorway. ”And you’re a dreadful old woman, Joan.“

“Now then, Sister. Don’t forget, we nuns always maintain a polite distance in front of men,” Joan said disdainfully, and then laughed, slapping her thigh with delight at her witticism.

Joan gave Hugh a tolerant smile. It was easy to like Joan. She was known to all the nuns; for many her face was the first they would see on entering the cloister. Certainly she was fearsome, almost dragon-like to the younger entrants, but once the girls got to know her, they saw the warmth of her heart. Joan was a permanent fixture of the place, and she felt that she had the right to make jokes at the expense of any of the other sisters or of the institution itself, just as she saw fit.

Woe betide the fool who tried to join her in belittling the convent, however. That was tantamount to a felony in Joan’s view. She would tolerate making fun of the other sisters, but the place itself was sacrosanct. Joan had earned the right to have digs at the priory, but only as the reward for her life of service. There was no excuse, she felt, for youngsters taking the rise out of the place, and she would be quick to snap at them.

“Why in front of men?” Hugh said, glancing doubtfully from one to the other.

“Who knows what you men would make of us if you knew what truly went on in our minds, young fellow?” Joan chuckled.

Constance felt her face redden, and she busied herself with cleaning some pots and carefully drying them.

“People think nuns are religious and spend their whole time walking about with their hands in their sleeves, heads down, daydreaming about the life to come, don’t they? Or they think all women in convents are so starved of sex that any man who cuts a well-shaped thigh and ankle in hose would be exhausted after two seconds flat in a place housing so many lusty young women. That’s right, isn’t it?” she said, her voice suddenly louder.

Hugh was startled into a partial reply. “I doubt it. Most men think women in the cloisters are already part of the way to heaven, so they don’t figure much in our thoughts.“

“Ah, but why? Because the women are the Brides of Christ, or because it’s too much bother to walk all the way to their convents, and too much like hard work to go to the effort of climbing the claustral wall to get at them, especially when the precinct might have guards to defend the women’s innocence?”

Hugh was flustered by her questioning and shrugged again, his face growing darker with his suspicion that Joan’s conversation had a point, and that point was to belittle Hugh.

Joan watched him like a viper staring at a mouse, bolt upright, her watery blue eyes intent, but then she suddenly sank back. “I know what men are like, young fellow; after living here for more than fifty years, I have a good idea what goes on in the mind of the average villein or freeman, because I meet them when they come here, and always it’s the same. Nuns are either mad because they can’t cope with “real men” in the “real world” and run away from the smelly and rather foolish acrobatics which go hand in glove with sex – and if they don’t think that, they assume that all nuns are lusty wenches who will fulfil every erotic dream of the most pox-ridden and pox-marked bastard born to a serf.“

“I’m sorry,” Hugh said and his head was hanging now, recalling his thoughts in the tavern on his way to this place. He had been persuaded that the only reason why his hose would stay resolutely tied to his tunic was the fact that he was too low-born for a wealthy nun, he recalled and now, listening to the bitter, tired old woman, he felt guilty.

“Don’t be so silly, fellow! What sort of a churl are you?” Joan said. “You forget that women here are the same as women outside, except we have taken the vow of chastity. We have the same dreams and desires as any woman who lives outside. Often nuns will fail in their oaths, but they can be forgiven that, because to fail is human. Such women can regain their position in God’s love, because He understands our frailty, and while many will enter His kingdom after a life of unremitting effort and good works, I always like to think that He would prefer one or two darker horses up there with Him, just to protect Him from the utter tedium of dealing with the most perfect people.” She suddenly shot him a sharp glance. “Don’t you think He would soon be bored with only do-gooders to talk to?”

Hugh mumbled, but Constance gave a short laugh. “Joan, you are cruel to tease the fellow. He knows he shouldn’t answer: if he agrees with you, you’ll tell him he’s no better than a heathen, and if he disagrees you’ll tell him he’s a fool. Leave him be.”