Priscilla Royal - Satan's Lullaby

“Her treatment of my clerk has not been successful. Perhaps God chose this time while I was here to demonstrate His displeasure with her.”

Eleanor flushed with outrage. If Sister Anne had improperly diagnosed the clerk, she did so because of the priest’s interference. “May I suggest that she and Brother Thomas be allowed to examine the young man together? Prior Andrew is not an apothecary. His skills lie in other areas, such as administering our lands and rents, which you found capably executed.”

He stiffened. “I find your stubborn insistence in this matter unseemly, despite my clear objection, and I reject your renewed suggestion. Although I would have preferred to reveal the purpose of my investigation in a gentler manner, you now force me to be blunt. This visit was not something my sister wished to order, nor did she want to send me away from court at the very time when I might be offered a bishop’s miter.”

Eleanor felt a chill course through her. Had winter come so soon? Trying not to show her fear, she clutched her hands, prayed for strength, and waited.

“It has come to Abbess Isabeau’s attention that you and Brother Thomas have an unchaste relationship.”

Stunned beyond belief, Eleanor leapt to her feet. “That is a lie! Who has dared to make such a vile accusation?” Her outraged expression of innocence was honest enough. Although she might long for a different union with the handsome and gentle monk than one of brother and sister in God’s service, she knew Brother Thomas had never once been accused of sin with any woman since he took vows. Most certainly, he had never shown the slightest carnal interest in her.

“The source of this news shall remain anonymous.”

“Ask anyone in this priory or in the village outside our walls. Brother Thomas has never once broken his vows by lying with a woman or even looking at one with lust. And, if he is innocent of that, then you may conclude that he and I are joined only by our love of God.”

“I have not yet begun my questioning of the religious in this priory.”

“Then start immediately!” Eleanor slammed her staff of office against the floor. All courtesy due this man because of his mission, relationship to the Abbess of Fontevraud, and his stature in the French king’s court had just ended.

Davoir blinked in the face of such rage and hesitated before he also rose to his feet. “I shall begin with your sub-prioress.”

It was Eleanor’s turn to pause. Of all the people he might have queried, he would choose the one who viewed her with much ill-will. But on quick reflection, she believed that even Sub-Prioress Ruth would not stoop so low as to accuse her of bedding Brother Thomas.

“She is an excellent choice,” Eleanor replied. “She will answer your questions in a forthright manner and will hide nothing to my discredit. She is an honorable servant of God.”

The silence in the chambers grew as heavy as the lead roof over the adjacent chapel.

A loud knocking startled them.

Shocked and outraged over the accusations leveled at her mistress and Brother Thomas, Gracia was red-faced with anger when she ran for the door. Who had dared disobey her mistress’ order to be left in peace while she spoke with this priest? If she had had a broom, Gracia would have gladly swept the rude intruder away.

But the lay sister on the other side of the door fell to her knees and reached out in supplication. “Please, my lady!”

Eleanor hurried to the door. “What is it?”

The messenger’s face was gray. “The clerk, Jean!”

Davoir stepped forward. “What has happened? Speak!”

“He is dead.” The woman buried her face in her hands and wept.

Eleanor and the lay sister waited outside the chamber where the corpse rested.

Within, Davoir knelt by the body of his beloved Jean and wailed with unrestrained grief.

“He was like a son to him, my lady,” a voice nearby said.

The prioress turned to see the other clerk she had seen with the priest when they arrived. This time, there was no hint of his previous boredom. His thin lips trembled.

“My name is Renaud,” he said, opting to remind her of his name as a courtesy lest the tragedy of this moment had chased it from her memory. “I am second in responsibility to my dead companion.” A tear wove its way down his cheek.

Eleanor caught herself wondering why only one eye wept, then chastised herself for such a petty thought. “I grieve for you as well. The death of a friend, even one who has surely found God’s favor, is a wounding loss,” she said. Although compassion required that she honor his grief, her loyalty to Sister Anne equally demanded she probe into this inexplicable death.

“Father Etienne told me that the remedy offered by our healers did nothing for poor Jean,” she said. “I did not know of this, nor, I suspect, did our sub-infirmarian. She would have sought an explanation for why her measures were failing before this death took place.”

Renaud rubbed the dampness from his cheek. “She must have known, my lady. I told the lay brother, who brought the cure, that Jean failed to thrive. He said the treatment would take time and that he had informed Sister Anne of the symptoms I mentioned.”

How odd, the prioress thought. The sub-infirmarian had mentioned none of this, and, if the lad only suffered from a surfeit of ale, he should have been cured by now. “What was this lay brother’s name?” If there was blame to cast here, this information was the place to start.

“Brother Imbert.”

“Imbert?” The prioress frowned. “Are you certain?”

“I am, my lady. He mentioned his name several times.” He flushed. “I cannot be mistaken.”

She looked at the lay sister who shook her head. “We have no monk or lay brother bearing that name.”

“Someone lies!” Davoir leaned against the door to the dead clerk’s room, his eyes swollen from weeping. He gestured to Renaud. “Bring this sub-infirmarian here. Now. She has much to explain.”

“Her duties…”

“Now!”

Eleanor flushed at the imperious tone. This was her priory, not his, but she swallowed the insult and chose silence.

Davoir gestured to his clerk and pointed at the main door.

Renaud ran from the room.

***

It did not take long for Sister Anne to arrive. Seeing Eleanor’s troubled expression, she knew the summons involved a grave matter.

“Who is Brother Imbert?” Davoir’s eyes flashed.

The light in his gaze reminded Eleanor of sermons describing hellfire.

Anne looked at Eleanor, then at the priest. “I am perplexed by the question, Father. There is no such man at Tyndal Priory.”

The priest’s mouth twisted with contempt. “Tell her what occurred,” he said to Renaud. “Let her explain herself.”

“But you sent Brother Imbert!” the youth protested. “He brought the remedy for Jean and gave instructions for its use. He insisted that the directions came from you. When I repeatedly told him that my fellow clerk did not improve, he said he had conveyed the news and that you insisted we must be patient. The remedy would take time. Today Jean suffered convulsions and…” He covered his face.

“But I sent no such person to you!” Anne looked around in horror. “A clerk came at your command, Father Etienne. Once only. I did give him the treatment and instructions.”

“Name this clerk,” Davoir snarled.

“I cannot. He gave me no name. I never saw him again. Might he have been the Imbert of whom you speak?”

“Describe the man.”

“I am unable to do so with any detail.” She clenched her fist and shut her eyes. “Medium height. No distinctive accent or tone of voice.” Anne threw her hands up in frustration. “The light was poor. His hood cast his face in shadow…”