Wine of Violence (5 page)

Although the tonsure would suggest the man was from the Church, Thomas had no idea of the somber one's identity as he sat in the wardens room and silently examined the disgusting wretch Thomas had become. Whoever the man was, he had quickly ordered a stool brought for Thomas to sit on and some watered wine for his rusted throat.

"I have a proposition for you," the black-robed man had said, his voice undistinguished by any particular tone.

Thomas had stared at him.

"A slow death at the stake and your soul condemned to
Hell..."

Thomas blinked.

"...or your sins forgiven in return for becoming a priest with unquestioning obedience to a master whom you will never meet."

Thomas said nothing.

"Do you hear me?"

Thomas dipped his head.

"Do you understand the choice?"

Thomas nodded.

"And?"

"The Church," Thomas whispered. "I know Hell and wish no more of it."

And so they had cut the chains from his flesh, bathed his filth-dyed and rat-bitten body, put poultices on the worst of his festering wounds and shaved a monks tonsure on his head. When he was strong enough, they trained him further in priestly rites and draped chastity, poverty, and obedience over his head with a monks rough habit.

But Thomas didn't mind what he had been forced to swear.

He only minded forswearing Giles.

And who, with such sadistic humor, had chosen the penitential Giles to lead the ravaged Thomas to Tyndal Priory and leave him like an abandoned child to be encloistered with monks under the rule of women?

Thomas hoped he never found out.

Thomas rang the bell, then turned and looked down the road. There was nothing to see, not even settling dust, but Thomas continued to stare into the distance as tears slipped down his
cheeks. Shamed at his weakness, he wiped them away but bowed
his head as the ache of grief burst into his hollowed-out heart. The pain would linger for a long, long time.

The sound of the heavy wooden door opening on its metal hinges caused him to turn around. In front of him was a small monk of indeterminate age with deep blue eyes and a head so bald a tonsure was unneeded.

"Thanks be to God! And welcome to Tyndal Priory, brother," the man said with ritual greeting and a deep bow. "I am Brother Andrew."

Chapter Six

"We will, of course, handle the problem of our poor brother's body, my child... ah, my lady. Please don't worry yourself about
it. A great shock it must have been for you to find him lying dead
in your cloister. And a great tragedy for you to lose his counsel, to
be sure." Prior Theobald of Tyndal shifted in his ornately carved wooden chair, a slightly musty odor emanating from his dark robes with the movement. As he resettled, he grimaced, and in so doing brought his bushy gray eyebrows into brief collision.

He was a dour man of advanced years with an unusually large abdomen despite an otherwise skeletal frame. Resting on his stomach was a heavy gold cross, attached to a soft rope that looped around his birdlike neck. His long, bony fingers first clutched, then stroked the crucifix with a broken and irritating rhythm.

Eleanor lowered her eyes, not out of modesty but to prevent him from seeing her fury. The prior's tone had been dismissive from the moment she arrived at his quarters, and he had just interrupted her in the middle of a sentence. Again. At this rate, it might be the midnight hour before she was able to tell him the exact and very serious nature of Brother Rupert's death. Did he think she had nothing else of importance to do with her day as a result of it? She took a deep breath to calm herself.

She knew she had only herself to blame for his disrespectful behavior. Her aunt had given her good warning about what to expect at Tyndal. Although the clerical world, and indeed the secular one as well, found the idea of Eve leading Adam uncomfortable, the founder of Fontevraud had specifically declared that female leadership would be the rule in his Order of nuns and monks. The old prioress had not always been diligent in exerting her rightful authority over both men and women as the supreme head of a Fontevraud double house. Sister Beatrice had told Eleanor that she would have an upward battle to reestablish the rule.

"I am sure your assistance will be greatly appreciated, Prior," she replied, unclenching her teeth.

Some would have argued that Eleanor's first concern should have been to reestablish her authority immediately, despite the alarming circumstances and implications of the old monk's death. She knew that. Of course she should have summoned
Prior Theobald to her chambers where she could look down from
her raised chair and enforce obedience from that symbol of her superior status. Instead she had chosen to go to his chambers, in the monks' quarters to the south of the parish church, out of consideration for his advanced age and the effect she assumed the news would surely have on him. In going to him as if she were the inferior, she had committed a tactical error and further diminished her authority in the eyes of those who venerate form over substance.

Eleanor glanced up at the smug expression on the face of Brother Simeon. The receiver and sub-prior, who stood next to Theobald and idly stroked the grooves in the top of his prior's chair, was one who appreciated the power of symbols. Perhaps even better than his master, she thought. Ideally, such worldly games should have no place in a house dedicated to God, but
Eleanor was not so naive as to think a religious vocation stripped
men and women of ambition. She would have to learn to play
the game of symbols far better if she were going to succeed here,
or anywhere else.

She glanced over at Sister Ruth to see her reaction to the confrontation. The nun sat with hands folded in her lap and eyes staring in rapt concentration at the prior and Brother Simeon. Eleanor had no allies in this room, if, indeed, she had allies anywhere in Tyndal. Eleanor closed her eyes for just a moment. They burned.

"We will need a priest immediately to hear confessions, attend
the dying at the hospital, and perform Mass. The crowner has been summoned," she continued, concentrating on the rushes under her feet so as not to betray her feelings.

The prior blinked fretfully. "With all due respect, my lady, this is not a matter for the crowner. We need no such officer of a secular court to investigate and hold an inquest for our brother s death. I will send one of the monks to examine the body, if that would allay your fears that the death might be questionable, but there is no doubt that Brother Rupert died a natural death. He was an aged man. Surely, God must have called him.

"I did the preliminary examination with the aid of Sister Anne."

"What!" The prior rose halfway out of his chair, his face as pale as his wispy hair. "This was not proper for.

"Prior Theobald, as you well know, I am in charge of this priory and such actions are within my responsibility. A dead mans body is hardly a shock or a temptation to sin." She raised her hand as the old man opened his mouth. "Nor am I ignorant of the differences between bull and cow. Indeed, Brother Rupert did not die of age, he..."

The prior flapped his hand in the air as he eased himself back into his chair. "Disease of the lungs. Of course. Not uncommon
here, but I was unaware he was so afflicted. Although I may have
heard him coughing..." He glanced tentatively at the towering and well-fleshed monk standing beside him. Brother Simeon smiled down at Theobald with obsequious agreement.

Frustrated with the prior s inability to listen long enough to hear her out, Eleanor dropped all attempts to soften the news. "His lungs were not at issue. He was stabbed and castrated." She
sat back in her chair, raised her eyes, and waited for the expected
reaction, but the taste in her mouth was bitter.

"Castr...castrated?" Prior Theobald's voice shifted up an octave in shock. He pulled his cross over his heart. "Brother Simeon! Why was I not told that Brother Rupert was troubled with such lust? Why was he not brought to me for prayer and counseling?" His voice cracked.

Eleanor blinked at this unexpected interpretation and looked over at Sister Ruth with hope that she might have some understanding to give to her. The nun looked away but not before Eleanor saw that her face was bright red.

Simeon smiled without humor and showed a few gaps in his yellowed front teeth.

"Surely, my lord, you remember when I mentioned my concern over his, shall we say, unusual attachment to..." he nodded in Eleanor's direction and lowered his voice "...our revered Prioress Felicia? However, since her death, I assumed, in your wisdom, you had..."

Eleanor muttered a short prayer under her breath for the renewal of a patience she was quickly losing, then snapped. "Prior, he did not castrate himself. It was done to him. After death. A knife in the chest killed him, Sister Anne believes, but the blade was broken off..."

His face scarlet, Theobald leaned toward her. "How could you..."

Eleanor was about to tell him exactly how and why she could when a gentle rapping at the chamber door stopped her.

Theobald jerked upright in his chair. "Yes?" He squealed as his elbow hit the edge of his chair.

When Brother Andrew emerged from the doorway, he looked at the expressions of those in the chamber, then backed up and
ever so slowly reached behind him to feel for the door. He gently
pushed it shut before continuing. "My lord, the priest we have been expecting has arrived," he said. "He is a young man as you hoped. What shall I do with him?"

Brother Simeon's face softened as he bent to Theobald's ear and put his hand reassuringly on the prior's shoulders. "I suggest you bring him in to us here first, my lord. As a young

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man, surely he would have the energy to take over all a priest's responsibilities with the hospital and nuns. And, perhaps, he might help our prioress settle this matter of our poor brother's death in an expeditious fashion."

Theobald exhaled as if he had been holding his breath and relaxed in his chair. "My thoughts exactly," he said. "Bring him in, Brother Andrew."

Eleanor raised her hand. "Just a moment, brother."

The monk stopped in mid-step, but instead of looking to either Theobald or Simeon for direction, he turned to her. Perhaps, she thought with mild relief, she would not have to reeducate the entire priory.

"I have some questions before you bring him in. I was unaware we were receiving another priest; therefore, I must know something of his background and why he was sent here before I agree to his assignment as the spiritual advisor to my nuns and the afflicted. It would be discourteous to discuss this in front of him. We shall do so now."

Sister Ruth's eyes widened.

Simeon coughed and looked quickly in the direction of Theobald.

The prior nodded.

The interchange was not lost on Eleanor.

"In brief then, my lady," Simeon said, "Brother Thomas has been sent by our English administrative community at Grove-bury. Beyond that, we know little more except that his appointment to Tyndal has the approval of our Abbess at Fontevraud." He smiled. "As yours has as well."

Eleanor did not take the bait and said nothing. The silence grew long and tense as she waited for the receiver to give her the
little more
information she should have as head of the priory.

Simeon looked at Theobald, his forehead furrowed with irritation. Perhaps the receiver did not want to lose this battle of wills to a woman, but Eleanor noted that the prior gave him no support. Instead, Theobald looked away, leaving Simeon to flounder on his own.

Simeon cleared his throat and continued with some degree of dignity. "We had requested an additional chaplain, a young man we hoped. Many of our priests, poor Brother Rupert among them, are aging and no longer able to perform all their duties. Our few novices are too young."