Eleanor felt a moment’s discomfort. Had she not gone against a priest’s wishes, an act by a woman most would condemn? She straightened her back, reminding herself that she was a prioress in the Order of Fontevraud. As such, she was the earthly representative of the Queen of Heaven. Surely she had that right to oppose Father Vincent. And the Virgin was a mother, Eleanor decided, and must smile on her longing to save this child.
“Finally I said that Father Vincent must have his reasons for this warning, and I would require nothing that might put the innkeeper’s soul in danger.”
“Despite those words, I know you have not surrendered, Brother.” Eleanor looked around but saw no lurking shadows. “I believe you have found a way around this prohibition. Confess it. I shall most likely praise, not rebuke, you.”
“I fear I have acquired the sin of gluttony during this season of Lent, my lady. After the last meal, I worried that I would grow hungry before the next and slipped my small trencher into my sleeve to nibble upon later. I confess I also added bits of fish from the table.”
Eleanor put a hand to her cheek in mock horror, but her cheeks grew rosy with the effort not to laugh at her monk’s cleverness.
“But I did win the war against Satan. Soon after I left the refectory, I saw little Gracia. My conscience surrendered to virtue, and I gave her all that I had stolen.”
“And by that act of charity you have been cleansed of the vice of gluttony, Brother. I am sure Brother John will agree when you tell him of this after our return to Tyndal.” But her smile quickly faded as the sadness of the child’s life overwhelmed her. “Well done!” she whispered. “Unlike others in this priory, you have followed Our Lord’s commandments.”
“I wish my thievery had resulted in a happy ending to the tale.”
“I pray no one took the food from her.”
“Father Vincent saw to whom I gave the scraps, screamed at me to snatch the offering back from her hands, and rushed at us. I stood between him and the child so she might flee with her small meal. In a rage, he clutched my sleeve and pulled me toward the chapel. Since I did not want him to hurt the child, I did not resist, concluding that it was better to suffer his rebukes than allow him to harm Gracia by word or deed.”
“That was both compassionate and wise.”
“Once we were in private, he accused me of consorting with wicked daughters of Eve, disobeying prohibitions meant to preserve my vow of chastity, and being so filled with evil pride that I would not listen to the wise counsel he gave me in God’s name.”
Eleanor started to protest but fell silent. Her face grew hot with anger over both the treatment of the child and the unjust accusations suffered by her monk.
“Once again, he demanded that I obey him in this matter of Gracia and remain in the chapel to pray, as he would expect any penitent pilgrim to do. If I longed to visit other shrines, I should do so only in his company. Were I to continue to disregard his instruction, he vowed to report my wickedness to Rome, saying that I was unchaste, disobedient, and showed signs of being the minion of Satan instead of any servant of God.”
Eleanor stiffened. “Circumventing my authority in this matter is disdainful enough. To ignore the right of our Abbess Isabeau d’Avoir to render judgment in any complaint is arrogant beyond comprehension.”
He bowed his head. “I told him that, my lady.” Thomas was not fooled by her calm tone. He noted the whiteness of her knuckles as she gripped her hands together.
“And his reply?”
“That you must be blinded by the Devil since you had not put a stop to my wicked deeds.” Thomas wondered if he was imagining the growing warmth of the air surrounding them. If not, the cause must be the fire of Prioress Eleanor’s now evident rage. “As for our abbess at the mother house in Anjou, he was sure she would understand a priest’s right to go directly to Rome with such a grave matter.” He had rephrased the priest’s actual remark which suggested more strongly that men would always have authority over women in crucial spiritual issues.
“Being descendants of Adam and Eve, we all require guidance to avoid mortal sin,” she said after a palpable moment of silence. “That includes Father Vincent.” Her eyes narrowed.
Thomas prayed he would never commit a crime worthy of suffering the effects of her profound outrage. A little voice hidden deep within him expressed delight that this priest had.
She glanced heavenward and sighed. “But in order for me to conclude whether or not he has any merit in his accusations…”
Thomas froze.
“Fear not, Brother. I find no fault in anything you have done.” A brief smile appeared as she overcame her anger. “Indeed, this ignorant man is unaware that our founder, Robert of Arbrissel, brought many magdalenes to a chaste life by walking boldly into brothels where he preached most gently to the women there. His great virtue was his armor, and he had no cause to be afraid of temptation. If Father Vincent fears someone he denounces as a whore, either his faith is weak or his body suffers from temptations he hopes will never be known.”
The rumor that he might have been a nun’s lover remained unspoken in the silence of the chapel.
She looked toward the door of the shrine. “I must meet this child, Gracia, who is surrounded by such controversy before she has even reached womanhood. Do you know where to find her so that I may pose questions and determine why she has been so condemned? Like you, I doubt her part in the coupling was willful. Even if it were, God is always merciful if the heart longs for it, but if the sin was forced upon her, we must offer great comfort.”
Now understanding her intent, Thomas was relieved. “We can find her, my lady. She often begs near the inn close by and in quieter places when she must avoid those who wish her ill.”
“Then Father Vincent shall denounce us both for seeking the company of one he deems beyond salvation. Let him go to Rome, if he is so unwise. There he will be revealed as the heartless fool he is. I stand by our founder’s teaching and example. All manner of mortals must be offered God’s love, but most especially children.” She looked up at him and smiled. “As for my ability to recognize wise counsel, Brother, I am firm in choosing yours over that of this feckless priest. Have no doubt about it.”
Murmuring gratitude, he bowed.
Prioress Eleanor then walked toward a cluster of women who had braved the muddy road to pray here. They now rose and stood, hands clasped and eyes lowered, before the altar.
With affectionate pride, Thomas watched his prioress approach the women. Pride might be a sin, but he suspected this was one of the few times God would not condemn it.
When he had first arrived at Tyndal Priory, unmanned by abuse and mad with sorrow, he concluded that the decision to put him under a woman’s rule was meant to continue his humiliation. He might have found an older woman with knowledge of the world more acceptable, having been raised by such a person, but this tiny prioress was young and convent-reared.
Wretched though he was, but having no choice in the place of his exile, he had managed to retain enough wit to obey her as required. And so he had learned how wrong he had been to doubt her. Some men, both secular and religious, might often look askance at the hierarchy within the Order of Fontevraud, but Thomas had found the blessing of calm in the curse of women’s rule.
The prioress was speaking softly to one woman with a solemn expression and sobering years. Then the woman bowed, pleasure briefly sparkling in her eyes, and she accompanied Eleanor back to where Thomas stood.