“You saved Prioress Eleanor’s life. Had the woman discovered that our prioress was still alive, she would have pushed her over the edge of the roof onto the street. After one fall already and that blow to her head, our lady surely would have died.”
Gracia’s eyes widened. “Do you think so?”
He nodded. Assuming Prioress Eleanor was not critically injured, the child’s cry for aid might well have saved his lady’s life.
Pulling Gracia into his arms, he hugged her. “May God give you all blessings,” he said. “Poor mortal that I am, I shall beg His mercy comfort you for all eternity because of what you did.”
As if he were her father who had just returned from a long journey, she snuggled closer to him.
Chapter Thirty-one
Thomas eased himself slowly down the stairs while Gracia followed, reminding him to take care and that his injured hands would need tending. It was a good lesson, he thought, that she, who lived her own life on the edge of death, cared about the needs of another mortal.
When they reached the bottom and entered the hallway, he saw a nun waiting by the door, her head bowed. He recognized her as the one who had rushed to summon Prioress Ursell with Gracia by her side. Thomas put his hand on the child’s shoulder as assurance that he would protect her if there was any dispute about her continued presence.
“Sister?”
She looked up.
“You are weeping,” he said. “What grieves you?”
“My sorrow includes the violence done to Prioress Eleanor, Brother, but begins with Sister Roysia. Is this tragedy part of hers?”
“I fear it is,” he replied, “but the slander hurled against the good nun has been proven wrong.”
“Are you Sister Roysia’s friend whom she called her most beloved?” Gracia suddenly asked.
The nun flushed, then nodded.
“There is a message I vowed to deliver to that nun, Brother.” The girl looked up at him with a worried expression.
He reassured her that there was no offence in this.
“Sister Roysia remained true to her vocation,” Gracia said, turning to the nun. “She swore me to silence about her meetings with the craftsman but feared for her life. If she should die, she said I must tell you that she did this to save the life of God’s anointed king. Each time she met with this man, excluding the first, I hid in the bell tower so she might not be alone with Master Larcher.”
The nun gasped.
“Were you there the night she died?” the monk asked.
Gracia shook her head. “I knew nothing about this last encounter. The decision to meet must have been made after the hour when I walked by the priory to see if the front door was open. I found it locked and assumed Sister Roysia had not been able to find a way to let me in so I might sleep safely in the tower. That night, I found shelter in the streets.”
The young nun reached out and hugged the child. “Thank you for telling me this!”
Thomas waited while the two talked, but finally his growing concern overcame him. “Have you heard anything about Prioress Eleanor?”
The nun’s face was almost luminous after the news she had just received from Gracia. “Forgive me, Brother, for my selfishness. The infirmarian has gone to attend her, and the messenger told her that your prioress is injured but alive.”
He almost leapt with joy but restrained the impulse as unseemly. “Then I shall go to her as well.” He glanced at the vagrant child and urged her gently toward the nun. “Will you take this child and make sure she is fed, Sister? I have heard that Prioress Ursell denied her scraps, but this girl saved my prioress’ life.”
The young nun looked down into Gracia’s eyes and a smile tickled the corners of her mouth. “No one would dare deny her sustenance now, Brother.” She looked at the monk. “Prioress Ursell must certainly agree.” She reached out a hand and took the tiny and very grimy one in hers. “Come with me. There is soft bread and cheese in the kitchen.”
Thomas bent to whisper in Gracia’s ear that he would come for her soon with news, then he smiled at the nun and rushed out the priory door.
***
A crowd surrounded the ladder from which Prioress Eleanor had been lowered off the roof, but Thomas edged his way through the men and women with ease, whispering that he served the lady lying on the ground. Many simply honored his calling, when they saw him, and stepped aside without hesitation.
As he reached the empty space at the center, he saw Prioress Ursell pounding her staff of office into the earth as she stalked the perimeter and glowered at any who dared move closer. Oddly enough, she reminded him of Moses with the shining face after he had climbed down from the mountain in Sinai. It was a strange image, but he meant it as a compliment.
Looking around, he did not see Father Vincent. That did not surprise him.
As he walked toward Ryehill’s prioress, she stopped. Her look changed from that of a mighty prophet to one of a mortal filled with shame. Honoring her office and taking mercy on her humiliation, he humbly bowed to her. “May I have permission to go to Prioress Eleanor’s side?”
Biting her lip, she nodded. “Most certainly, Brother. She will welcome your comfort.” Her voice was tense with a rare excess of emotion.
As he approached the small figure lying on the ground, he saw a lean nun kneeling beside her.
The Ryehill infirmarian glanced over her shoulder. With a look of gentle understanding, learned from many years caring for the sick, she nodded. “Welcome, Brother Thomas. Our lady was just asking for you.”
Trying to maintain a properly somber mien, he knelt close by and swallowed his tears of relief.
“I shall be a short distance away,” the infirmarian said. “She is weak and needs rest. If I may advise, please do not stay here long. We would like to take her as soon as possible to the priory for the complete care she needs.”
This infirmarian was older than Sister Anne at Tyndal, but she reminded him of his friend, a woman who cared more about healing than judging any sin that might have caused the illness. He swore to keep his visit brief.
As the woman rose and walked away, he wondered how many nuns went to her for comforting when discipline and the harsh life at Ryehill grew too hard to bear.
“I am grateful you are here, Brother.” Prioress Eleanor’s voice was surprisingly strong.
“God was kind to us all at Tyndal Priory, my lady, when He kept Death from snatching you away.” Her arm was in a small splint, he noted, and bound close to her body. Blood still stained her face. He hoped the infirmarian had used comfrey for better healing.
“Your prayers would give much comfort to this frightened soul,” she said with warmth.
“I offer them with all my heart,” he replied, “but I grieve that you suffered this and I was not there to protect you.” She was pale but had smiled at him as if he truly was the one person above all she longed to see. He swatted at an errant tear on his cheek.
“You are Tyndal Priory’s own Galahad,” she said, her eyes twinkling. Then she grew more serious. “Has anyone seen Mistress Emelyne? It was she who killed Sister Roysia and confessed it to me. I found her torn robe in the chest where I had stored herbs sent with me by Sister Anne. The widow carried that robe when she took me to the tower. Perhaps she dropped it there? I think we might compare the hole with the cloth found in the nun’s hand.”
He shook his head. “I fear she may have escaped, my lady. We saw her on the roof, and a wine merchant sped off to capture her.”
“A wine merchant?”
Thomas felt his mouth go dry. He cleared his throat. “I was on my way to speak with Master Larcher and met Master Durant on the way. Since he had some questions of theology, we walked together. It was he who found that the craftsman had been-”