The Prioress’ Tale (7 page)

That was none so bad a wish and Alys drank to it, only to find when she lowered the goblet that he was looking down at her with a semblance of solemnity but a dimple showing beside his mouth, betraying him the way it always had when they were young and he was trying to deny a mischief.

“So, I’m forgiven?” he asked.

“Not yet nor by a long way,” Alys snapped. “Sit down.” Her head still ached. She refused to think about it, but that did not mean she wanted to crane her head back looking at him.

He sat and they eyed each other, their wine-warmed goblets between their hands, until Reynold leaned back in his chair with a deep sigh she did not believe came from as near the heart as he made it sound, and said, “So, what can we agree on about this girl?”

“Probably very little,” Alys returned without hesitation.

“It could be simple, if you’ll just let it be.”

“Simple for whom?” She did not wait for his answer but gave him her own. “She’s made clear she doesn’t want Benet, and beyond that she’s asked the priory’s protection. I can’t give her over to you or him.”

Reynold leaned forward earnestly. “Alys, be reasonable. If you keep her, there’s going to be trouble when her people and the Fenners find she’s here.”

“And that’s the real way of it, isn’t it? It’s not helping Benet to a bride you’re interested in, so much as doing down the Fenners.” But that was something she could understand and, more than understand, agree with. The Fenners had given the Godfreys trouble more than once over the years. Lord Fenner still held Godfrey property he had seized ten years ago, and neither force of arms nor law had been able to pry him loose from it. “It isn’t what you’ve done but that you’ve caught me in the middle.” She set her goblet down on the chair’s wide arm with exasperated force. “You shouldn’t have brought her here!”

“But I
have
brought her here.” Reynold spread his hands, appealing to her to see it his way. “Now let’s take the simple way out of it. If she’s fully married to Benet past redress before they find her here, there won’t be any trouble worth mentioning, from the Fenners or her family.”

“But she doesn’t want to marry Benet and I’ve given her the priory’s protection,” Alys repeated with what she meant for him to understand was dangerous quietness.

He did not. “The priory’s protection is yours to give or take as you choose, and what’s her wanting or not wanting Benet have to do with anything? She’s rich, Benet wants her, and if she’s married to him, no Fenner can have her. Give her over to Benet tonight—let your priest even marry them first, if you want—and I warrant you that come the morning, she’ll be thanking you for it.”

Alys’ face probably showed him he had taken the wrong way there because even as she started to open her mouth to answer him, ready to bludgeon such a quantity of stupidity out of his head—with words or otherwise—he rapidly shifted ground, leaned forward, and put his free hand on her knee, his voice dropping into warmth and urging. “Alys, let’s not quarrel over it. That won’t help anything. But what else is there to do? Because I’ve already sworn that she’s not coming out of here until she’s married to him.”

“Let him court her.”

“Court her?” Reynold echoed. He drew slightly back with surprise. “Court her?”

The way
you
do every woman that crosses your path, even so slight-brained a thing as Katerin, Alys thought but did not say it. “Court her,” she repeated firmly, enjoying his surprise.

Reynold made a short, disbelieving laugh. “Why? Why waste the time? Why not simply let him have her and be done with it?”

“Because I say so.”

They had neither of them ever lacked a temper and Alys could see Reynold’s rousing now, his face darkening with it as he said warningly, “Alys, I can have that girl out of here anytime I choose and there’s no way you can stop me, say what you want to.”

He could, and would care nothing for the consequences. Not her threats of God’s wrath, of fines, penance, episcopal displeasure, even excommunication if she forced him to turn the matter violent enough—and by St. Frideswide’s blessed veil she would before he had the girl that way. Alys had her temper, too, and was only holding it back because she was remembering one thing more than Reynold was. She laid her hand over his knee and squeezed it with what might have been affection but was hard enough to be a warning, too and said, “You could,” she agreed, “but you won’t.” And before he could ask why not, she answered, “Because Aunt Eleanor has taken her in charge, and whatever you might do against me or God, I doubt you’ll do anything against Aunt Eleanor.”

Reynold stopped, his mouth half-open, staring at her. They sat still long enough, in silence deep enough, for a log to pop and roll a little on the fire and Father Henry to grow nervous and clear his throat and Katerin to shuffle a little in the restless way she had when she did not understand what was happening.

Then a smile ticked at the corners of Reynold’s mouth. He tried to hold it in check, but it grew, forcing both his dimples into view, and he gave way to it, grinning openly. “You have me there, my lady. Of all things in the world, I don’t think I would care to go against Aunt Eleanor.” He pulled free his hand and sat back in the chair, still smiling but less widely, with a light frown of thinking between his eyes. More to himself than not, he said, “I wonder what she’s playing at?”

Before Alys could think of an answer, Reynold rose with abrupt grace, turning toward the table and the wine. “All right, then. Benet will come courting. Just don’t be blaming me if her folk and the Fenners come ranting to your gate and nothing has been accomplished. Now, about this mason of yours you’ve been complaining of. Is he still giving you trouble?”

Chapter 5

The morning Mass, like the offices and breakfast before it, was subdued under Domina Alys’ heavy eye, no one caring to chance her humor by unwary move or word. She had not come to Matins and Lauds at midnight but at dawn had carried through at a headlong pace that had warned Father Henry to be no less brisk about the Mass. In the few years since Domina Alys had become prioress, he had managed to efface himself from the priory almost entirely, spending most of his time in the village except for his necessary duties in St. Frideswide’s. This morning he managed the Mass at a pace just short of unseemly, and afterward, while he retreated to the sacristy to divest himself of his vestments, the nuns left the church to go along the cloister walk to the warming room for chapter meeting.

Frevisse walked in huddled haste with them, everyone with chins tucked into their wimples and their hands pushed up their opposite sleeves to hold on to what warmth they had left after the cold time in the church. Domina Alys had not yet given permission for the heavier woolen winter gowns to be put on, and though the day was shining with early light, the sky clear except for little feather wisps of sun-gilded cloud directly overhead—the only sky that could be seen from inside the cloister—the sun was still below the roof ridge and the cloister walk still shivering cold in shadow. Wealthier nunneries had a separate room for the daily chapter meetings, some of them most beautifully made, but at St. Frideswide’s the warming room sufficed, lacking elegance but with a fireplace that on cold mornings such as this one was much to be preferred over chill beauty.

So she was as bitterly disappointed, if not so loud about it as some, to find no fire there as they crowded through the door. Sister Amicia turned on Dame Juliana, who, as cellaress, would have to tell the servants of their failure. “Go tell them now!” she cried.

Dame Juliana shook her head miserably. “I can’t. I had to tell them not to light a fire here this morning. Domina Alys said so.”

“Why?” Sister Johane exclaimed. “It’s not fair!”

“Hush,” Dame Perpetua hissed from near the door. Domina Alys always came in to chapter meeting last and expected to find them standing silently, heads respectfully bowed, waiting for her. Dame Perpetua’s warning was that she was nearly there, and in quick silence they spread out among the low stools, to wait for leave to sit.

Sister Thomasine, as she did even when there was a fire, had already slipped to the farthest place and was standing with her head bowed, hands folded, no sign that her thin body felt the morning’s chill at all. Frevisse wondered if it were a sin to envy her that. For herself, wary of what Domina Alys’ humor might be today, not wanting to be noticed if she could help it, she tried for a place in the midst of the other women, neither too forward nor too back, but found Dame Claire, Dame Perpetua, and Dame Juliana all had the same desire. There was a momentary shifting of skirts and a scraping of stools, then sympathizing glances at each other as they realized they were at matched purposes and settled wherever they were.

The four younger nuns, lacking their wariness, were crowded to the stools nearest Domina Alys’ chair. Last night during recreation they had talked into the paving stones everything they knew or guessed about what had happened yesterday afternoon and been annoyed at Frevisse when she refused to embroider on the bare facts that she told them once and not again: a girl had been seized by Sir Reynold’s men in Banbury, had been rescued here by Domina Alys, and was now in Lady Eleanor’s keeping. Chapter meetings were for dealing with the nunnery’s daily business and they were looking forward to asking questions at length about this particular business.

Frevisse doubted it was going to be that easy. Domina Alys’ face was set this morning with a heavy-jawed stubbornness that did not bode well. Neither did her refusing them a fire. Admittedly, there were supposed to be no fires, except in the kitchen, from spring until Allhallows and they were barely to St. Crispin’s, so the warming-room fire had been an indulgence on Domina Alys’ part, one that she was within her rights to cancel if she chose. But shivering slightly, Frevisse thought that it was bitterly unfair they should lose it because Domina Alys was displeased over something that was none of their fault.

And, she promptly added with wry humor at herself, it was bitterly unfair for her to resent Domina Alys not keeping within the rules for some things and then being annoyed when she did if it led to discomfort. Diverted by how easily her own virtue could slide when she was faced with a cold room when she had hoped for a warm one, Frevisse made her curtsy with the rest as Domina Alys entered and then stood with her eyes down and hands folded in front of her, wishing she were as quiet in her mind as she hoped she outwardly seemed.

Domina Alys went to stand beside her chair, resting one hand on its high back as she looked them over with a darkly critical eye but saying nothing until Father Henry hurried in. As he took his place beside her, she declared,
“In nomine Patris, et Filü, et Spiritus Sancti.
Amen,” and proceeded to pray—or order—the Holy Spirit to guide and bless what they would do here. Then Father Henry read the chapter of St. Benedict’s Rule designated for the day, first in his uncertain Latin, then again in English, and made his brief commentary on the reading, to the effect that they should obey the holy St. Benedict’s Rule. With Father Henry the obvious was always his strongest point. He was deeply sincere but never profound, and Frevisse, having managed after a long effort to accept that, barely listened to him anymore, thereby saving herself much aggravation.

He finished, blessed them, and departed, and Sister Emma and Sister Amicia thrust up their hands. Domina Alys’ gaze flicked back and forth between them and then she chose to nod at Sister Amicia, who, eager as arrow from bow, sprang to her feet exclaiming, “About that girl Sir Reynold brought yesterday, was she really—”

Domina Alys snapped, “That’s not something for discussion now. Sit down.”

Sister Amicia stood staring, mouth open on her unfinished question.

“Sit!” Domina Alys ordered.

Sister Amicia sat, and Domina Alys turned a daunting stare on the rest of them. This was the time for accusations and confessions of faults to be made among the nuns, and disciplines and penances given, but today no one seemed inclined to rouse Domina Alys by either confession of their own faults or accusations against anyone else. There was only an uneasy shifting and silence under Domina Alys’ gaze while she waited for someone to begin; and when it was clear she would not go on with chapter until something had been said, Dame Perpetua ventured to suggest uncertainly that Sister Cecely might have been a little abrupt in answering her yesterday over a matter of a book that had not been put back where it should have been.

Domina Alys set her glare on Sister Cecely. “Were you abrupt to Dame Perpetua?” she demanded.

“I—I—I might have been,” Sister Cecely admitted. “Yes.” She tried to sound more certain about it. “Yes, I think I was.”

“Fifty paternosters on your knees sometime today before Compline,” Domina Alys said. “And mind your tongue better after this. And you,” she added at Dame Perpetua.

“Don’t be so careful over what’s said to you and not meant or you’ll be doing penance, too.”

Having established that she was not about to let anyone be innocent of anything, she looked at Dame Juliana and asked, “What have you to say?” to show she was ready to go on to the obedientiaries’ reports. As cellarer, Dame Juliana was supposed to see that the nunnery had all it needed of food and other necessities, and because St. Frideswide’s was small, she served as kitchener as well, with the kitchen and the daily preparing of meals under her supervision. The nunnery’s needs not only from day to day but for the months ahead was her responsibility. Frevisse suspected mat Domina Alys had appointed her to those duties, first, because of Dame Juliana’s unwillingness to impart ill news and then because she was unlikely ever to presume to challenge what Domina Alys chose to tell her about the nunnery’s accounts.

Unfortunately for Dame Juliana, that did not mean she was easy in her mind over any of it, and of late her formerly serene brow had begun to show the creases of concentration and worry. Now, at Domina Alys’ demand, she unconsciously drew a breath, let it out as a deep sigh, and stood up to answer. “There’s word… it’s being said… I’ve heard… that Yorkshire had a drier year than we did and…”