Wine of Violence (21 page)

"Then Brother Simeon needs to be reminded that Saxons are not beneath us. Fontevraud has taken in monks and nuns of all ranks and origins, including prostitutes, as Jesus did Mary Magdalene. And after all these years of doing as he pleased, the good brother also seems to have forgotten that it is the prioress who makes the final decisions about the running of the priory. If he does not approve, he should ask to leave the Order and become, perhaps, a Cistercian."

"If I may say so, my lady, the practices of which you speak have been true at the mother house, but, except for the primacy of the prioress, we have seen little of the rest of it in England."

"Are you not a physician's daughter?"

"And I have never been accepted by Brother Simeon, nor, indeed, have I been fully accepted by some of the sisters here."

"Until they are ill, I would think."

Anne smiled.

"We shall see what Tostig thinks of my idea. Perhaps he will object himself to being under the authority of a woman while he works with the monks. Do you know if he has a woman sharing his life?"

"I do not believe he is married, my lady."

"Sister, not all relationships are as the lords of the Church would prefer. Does he have any woman to comfort him and tend to his needs?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"Then he is unaccustomed to being ruled by one of us. He may not know what he is getting himself into with me."

There was a fond warmth in Anne's smile as she replied, "I will not argue with you on that, my lady."

"Now tell me about our crowner. You know him well. He has made no progress in finding either the murderer or the one who attacked Brother Thomas, yet I feel he is a capable man. He quickly found the bloody garment and the knife hilt."

The nun blinked and turned her face away from Eleanor.

"Speak freely, sister. I need honesty. But if the subject brings you grief..."

"Ralf is both kind and competent, my lady, but he grew up wild. He was a frail child at birth, the last of those his parents bore, and his older brothers tormented him. He found his comfort more with the villagers than with his kin. He has great contempt for the courtly life his elder brother, the sheriff, loves; and, unlike his brother, Ralf is respected here as a diligent and just man."

"And he has contempt, I think, for the Church as well."

"There is no question of his faith.

"Nor was I suggesting otherwise. There may be as many ways of
showing faith as there are honest believers. The contempt I heard
was reserved for those men and women who have taken vows."

"He respects you, my lady."

Eleanor sat back and, in silence, studied the nun in front of her. Anne's head was still bowed and her face turned away. "Sister, you are protecting the man from something. Should I know the reason?"

When Anne looked up, Eleanor saw tiny rivulets of tears flow
ing down her cheeks. "I grieve for Ralf, my lady, but my feelings for
him are chaste. As a sister, I love him. As a sister, I want to protect
him for his spirit is in much pain. There is nothing more."

"You still fear answering my question about his contempt for those dedicated to a religious life?"

"If I may be so bold, my lady, your views and ways are very different from those of Prioress Felicia. The change will take some getting used to. Plain speech, while not punished in the past, was not often welcome."

"As I told Gytha, sister, I respect honesty without malice. If I do not like what I hear, I try to reflect and pray on it, not condemn out of hand. Now, please, answer me."

"Ralf's second eldest brother is high in the Church, my lady. He is known more for his acceptance of bribes in matters of
canon law brought before him than justice. This and his brother’s
childhood cruelty to him have colored his view of men in the Church."

Eleanor sighed. "I hope we may one day teach your Ralf that we are not all corrupt."

"I believe you have begun, my lady," Anne said. She wiped her cheeks dry.

"I would return to Adam, the donkey." For I have asked enough of you for one day, Eleanor thought. "Do you think he's lonely?"

Anne tilted her head in puzzlement.

"Might we consider whether to get a fellow for him?"

"Why?" Anne frowned.

"In case I need someone to ride in attendance when I go abroad." Eleanor smiled with mischievous delight.

"Brother Simeon is much too large to ride on a donkey, my lady. And if he were not the one to attend you, then perhaps Brother John or Brother Andrew, but they are.

"I was thinking of you."

Anne's eyes widened in shock. "Me? Why, surely if you need a nun to accompany you, Sister Ruth or.

"Who but you would remind me of my failings when I needed
it? Who but you would be comfortable outside the priory and would not mind being in the world when it was necessary?"

"You flatter me, my lady. I am grateful for your confidence and accept..."

"...out of duty, but will you come with some gladness of spirit as well?"

"With pleasure, but only if I can find and train a novice talented enough to learn about herbs and potions to replace me in my treatments at the hospital. Prioress Felicia would not allow me to do so. She was not completely convinced my methods were sanctioned by God, although Brother Rupert had so assured her many times."

"You shall have a novice, more than one if you find others to your liking. Question them and select the most promising. You will have time to do the training. I am not planning any visits except to the local farms and tenants. Brother Simeon could ride his horse for those."

"Then I agree with both gratitude and gladness, my lady."

"Good. That gladness is a first between us then! Now I need Gytha to help me down the stairs. Weak ankle or not, I must see Sister Matilda about her former trips to the forest as I promised our good crowner."

Anne looked at her with a frown, but, knowing she would lose this battle, gave in. "Just one question before I get Gytha, if I may?"

Eleanor nodded.

"Why did you name the donkey
Adam?"

"After the first man."

Anne bent and looked directly into Eleanor's eyes. "And?"

Eleanor laughed. "My father. As my newly chosen beast was roped, he dug his hooves into the earth and brayed in loud protest. I was reminded that those who are enemies of my lord father claim he can be bloody-minded in both action and speech. Those who love him concede that he is often strong-willed but with the speech and action of an honest man."

"Just like his daughter, I'd say," Anne replied with a grin and a glance at Eleanor's wrapped foot.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Brother Simeon paced in tight circles around the room, hands behind his back, face scarlet from too much anger and too much wine. Thomas watched in silence.

"How could she have embarrassed me like that? After all my years of service to Tyndal. After all I've done to keep the priory solvent. After the praise I have received from our Abbess for my fine annual accounts! And to do such a foul thing in front of a Saxon churl and his crude runt of a sister. For cert, the woman shows no judgement. She allows far too much familiarity from these low orders! A woman should never be put in charge of things she knows nothing about. Surely our founder never intended such a thing to happen."

"Indeed, brother, I understood that he meant only for us to experience humility by putting a woman above us. Surely he never meant for her to actually lead us." In fact, Thomas cared little for why Fontevraud's founder did anything, but agreement with Simeon seemed the wisest course in his ongoing effort to gain the receiver's confidence.

"Well said, brother. Something a man could easily see."

Thomas held up the pitcher of wine and raised his eyebrows in a question.

Simeon glanced at his empty goblet and nodded. "Of course,"
he said, taking several long swallows from the replenished supply,
"Robert d'Arbrissel never was made a saint. Rome must have known he had gone too far against nature with his radical ideas." He staggered slightly and slid with a heavy awkwardness onto the bench across the table from Thomas.

Thomas looked at Simeon, who was staring back at him with an intense but somewhat unfocused gaze, and felt pity. Here was a competent man, a man who was comfortable with responsibility but who was now being shoved aside into a secondary role after running Tyndal for years. Even though Thomas doubted the monk would lose his position as receiver or even sub-prior if the prioress found his account rolls acceptable, the prioress quite clearly intended to take back full charge of the priory. Simeon might have accepted such a change from a new prior, but never from someone he saw as an inferior. It must all seem so unnatural to a man of Simeon's cast of mind.

"Indeed." Thomas hesitated. "Forgive me for my bluntness, brother, but I cannot help but wonder that a man of your ability and stature ever entered the Fontevraud Order. Why not the Benedictines or the Cistercians?" Thomas glanced at his own, nearly full goblet and took a small sip.

The corners of Simeon's eyes grew moist. "I was the youngest
of too many boys. My father was of good birth but had little land and could not afford a knight's training for all of us." He gulped some wine. "He held the Benedictines in contempt. Too corrupt, he said, and two of my brothers were already Cistercians. He needed to put me somewhere and Fontevraud is small but powerful." He blinked, then wiped a hand across his mouth. "Told me I could at least be in the company of queens since I wasn't suited for that of kings." Two large tears slid from the inside corners of his eyes and dropped from his jaw onto the table.

Thomas winced at the cruel implication of the remark but nodded sympathetically. He also knew better than to ask Simeon if the monk had felt even the slightest hint of a religious calling.

"But he never would have put me here if he had thought a woman would so humiliate his son." Simeon sat up in brief defiance. The goblet wavered near his mouth, and a tiny rivulet of red wine slipped down his chin, dribbling onto his robe. "He died almost two years ago," he said in a whisper.

"And you must grieve for his loss," Thomas said, lowering his
voice into concerned tones. "Surely your father must have loved you to have given you to such a powerful order." He deliberately emphasized
powerful.

Simeon swayed, took another long gulp of wine, then reached
over and put his hand over Thomas', caressing it in silence. "He hated me, you know. I knew it. He called me fat, soft like a woman. Then one day he caught me with another boy." Simeon ran his fingertips down Thomas's arm. "We were doing nothing more than other boys often do when manhood arrives, but he mocked me and took my clothes, saying I could walk home naked so the world would see what a slut I was."

"Surely he must have relented. You were his son."

"You are a sweet boy to say so," he said, his lips and chin
trembling. "No, he beat me when I got home. Called my brothers
in to watch while he tied me to a bench and whipped my bare buttocks until the blood ran down my legs. Just like a woman's courses, I remember him saying." Then Simeon closed his eyes, his head dropped, and he slid across the table. The receiver and sub-prior of Tyndal had just passed out.

Thomas sat looking at the monk for a long time. He glanced
down at his hand, which the receiver held like an overgrown child
would his parent's or a lover would his beloved's, then gazed at the gold cup that Simeon still clutched. Perhaps this man was guilty of diverting some priory income to pay for these visible symbols of his competence in managing Tyndal. Surely no man of logic and reason would blame him for that. An ill-judged act it most assuredly was but no greater sin than men of higher authority in the Church had committed. If gold cups were the reason for the vague accusations of impropriety, luxuries that would enhance the standing of the priory amongst honored guests as much as they signified the competence of the receiver, Simeon would have little to fear. A jealous, petty monk was probably the source of the letter. As soon as he identified him, Thomas would be through with this assignment.