Chapter Eleven
“They must leave Walsingham.” Prioress Ursell glowered like an avenging angel aiming a spear at a snaggletoothed demon.
Father Vincent rubbed his dripping nose. “Prioress Eleanor said she was disinclined to rush the cleansing of her soul and insisted that only Brother Thomas may decide when her penance is done.”
“That means little. Her mind can be changed.”
“My lady, he is a willful man and yet his prioress did select him to guide her. Perhaps a bishop or other cleric would have chosen more wisely for her, but the Order of Fontevraud is unique in the authority it gives women.”
She waved this aside. “Speak firmly with him. As I have heard, he owns no rank in his own priory. As a common monk, he should seek guidance and direction from a priest owning higher merit in God’s eyes.” She waited, her expression suggesting that the response should be obvious.
He blinked repeatedly.
The silence grew tedious.
“You!” She thumped her hand on the arm of her chair. “Were you not found worthy by a penitent to take possession of a holy relic? Men do not give such precious gifts without asking for a boon in return. Since the man who gave you the sacred hairs from the Virgin’s head did not even mention his name, you, with great humility, wondered if it was an angel who blessed you with the gift.” She looked up at her staff of office, shut her eyes, and mumbled a prayer.
Father Vincent flushed and bowed his head. “Brother Thomas troubles me.” The priest’s eyes narrowed with disapproval. “We are all obliged to grieve over our many sins, but I have seen little evidence that he does. The monk does not behave as a penitent ought. When I ask him to join me in prayer, he walks away. For a tonsured man, I have observed little piety and far too much inclination to wander in the streets.”
“Stroll amongst the wicked sons of Adam? This is the man that Prioress Eleanor relies upon for guidance?” Ursell’s eyes bulged in horror. “Her reputation would suggest better judgment, and her religious rank more prudence. I have heard only high praise when her name is spoken.” She hesitated, then thumped her staff on the floor for emphasis. “Yet the high praise of mortal men often polishes the truth so well that deep flaws are hidden.” She smiled, tilted her head as if listening to the echo of her words, and then nodded, quite pleased with her phrasing.
“As for Prioress Eleanor, I do not question her piety in coming to Walsingham. To leave her priory for any pilgrimage, she had to seek permission from her abbess and convince her that the journey met a great spiritual need. Once here, she has proved her sincerity. None of her rank has ever walked a mile down the pilgrim road in bare feet as she did.” He coughed, and his cheeks became red. “Other than you, my lady! I remember well when you walked along that same path before assuming the rule of this priory. Does that not prove my point that few are so pious?” To judge her reaction, he glanced at her, and then quickly turned his gaze, replete with reverence, heavenward.
She lowered her head with suitable modesty. Neither of them mentioned that she had walked on well-shod feet and only the distance between the Walsingham Priory gate and that of Ryehill.
“As I also learned, she rode a simple donkey, not a good horse, the entire way from Tyndal Priory. All these things point to a penitential humility far exceeding that possessed by the usual pilgrim, let alone one of her noble birth.” He cleared his throat and murmured, “Of course there can be no comparison to your own exceptional piety.”
“The walk was another ill-considered decision. I have seen her hobble about in pain.” The prioress grimaced. “There is such a thing as virtue befouled by the sin of pride.”
“I, too, have witnessed that failing in her, yet I must convey a rumor I heard from a pilgrim who resides just west of Norwich. As he told the story, some in the village near her priory claim she was granted a vision of the Virgin last summer. Prioress Eleanor has replied that she is too unworthy for such a gift. Since only Walsingham has been blessed by a visit from Our Lord’s mother in our realm, this prioress seems to have come here to humbly beg forgiveness-”
“She doubts visions?”
“It is not lack of faith in visions but rather the location and recipient in this instance. Our site was uniquely favored when the Virgin not only told Richelde of Fervaques that she should build an exact copy of the house where the Annunciation occurred, but even moved the building when it was not put in the proper place. I share Prioress Eleanor’s doubt the Queen of Heaven would appear to her as well and that the Virgin would do so in such a remote place as Tyndal village. That worry suggests humility resides in her soul.”
Prioress Ursell frowned as she considered this.
“I have seen her praying before the Shrine of the Virgin’s Lock more than most pilgrims. Her sorrow is profound, and she has not only donated a candle to our shrine, but coin.” He looked very pleased.
“Even if her motive for pilgrimage is worthy, and I do not doubt your conclusions, it is still best that she and Brother Thomas leave us.”
Father Vincent twitched with evident discomfort.
“Surely you do not disagree, Father! You know their reputation. If a suspicious death occurs near them, whether or not there is any true wrongdoing, they grow inquisitive. Like dogs, they eagerly sniff about.” She curled her hand and bounced it around to suggest a leaping hound. “And like those beasts, they show little concern over the consequences of their unwelcome interest. Sister Roysia’s fall from our bell tower is just such a death.”
The priest nodded in agreement.
“You do not want them jabbing sticks of idle curiosity into this matter anymore than I.” She clenched her fist, winced, and rubbed at a swollen knuckle with her finger. “It took me far too long to reclaim our reputation after the last prioress allowed a nun to flee Ryehill with a chapman.” She glared at him. “I have trusted your judgment in these matters, but you know as well as I that we cannot afford any more hint of scandal. Surely it must be simple enough to find a way to make them leave.”
Father Vincent licked his lips. “At least Sister Roysia is dead, my lady.”
“And yet we must still consider what to do with Master Larcher.” Ursell twisted her staff back and forth. The gray light in the room caused the curve of the silver crosier to flicker with dulled radiance.
Shivering, Father Vincent went to the window. Outside, a light rain was falling. The scent of dampened dust in the road, mixed with the smell of wet animals, drifted upward and into the chamber. He grimaced at the odor, closed the shutter, and walked back to face the prioress with his hands in his sleeves.
“Sister Roysia has been duly punished for her sins,” he said. “I agree that the craftsman has not, but we would be wise to set the problem of Master Larcher aside until after the departure of this troublesome pair.”
Her scowl might have frozen Hell. “Must we wait so long? They have no reason to link the craftsman with Sister Roysia.”
“If they should hear or see anything else untoward after Sister Roysia’s death, they will certainly remain to pursue their curiosity as you have so well described it.”
“Do you think Brother Thomas saw what she had in her hand?” She shifted in her chair, but her look of displeasure did not change.
“He should not have seen it. A tonsured man must never touch any woman, but especially not one who had given herself to God.” Father Vincent shook his head with disapproval.
“He must have touched her neck because he concluded it was broken.”
“But he did not mention the cloth. That was hidden in her hand which lay under her body. Although his examination may have been inappropriate, he seems not to have done more than he claimed when we questioned him.”
“You heard them talking in the chapel. What did they reveal?”
“I could not understand all they said.” His voice rose as if he had been accused unjustly of negligence.