The merchant rested a gentle hand on Father Vincent’s shoulder. “Do you think the king might be visiting very soon?”
“We have not yet heard the precise date.”
“But surely he would send a messenger so you could prepare the setting of this newest relic for a royal viewing. Although I have not yet visited the shrine of which you speak, I have heard others praise it. The king must have as well.”
The priest’s thin chest puffed with pride. “Our king is deeply attached to all the shrines here. He credits the Lady of Walsingham for saving his life.”
“I believe I have heard that tale. Was he not playing chess when Our Lady inspired him to move just before a large stone fell from the roof?”
Vincent nodded. “It landed on the spot where he had been sitting, yet he was unhurt.”
The merchant’s expression grew soft with admiration. “Many say that his devotion to this place exceeds even that of his devout father,” he murmured.
“You must be correct that he would want to seek our tiny but holy shrine.” The priest looked meaningfully at the merchant. “Who would not long to worship strands of the Virgin’s hair?”
The man smiled and put two fingers into that rounded purse. “And might you send word to me as soon as you know when our king will be entering Walsingham?” He nodded at the inn. “I shall remain there for the time being, as I have many sins and much penance to perform. When I know the date of the king’s arrival, I shall arrange with you to lodge in the chambers of which you spoke. It would bring me joy to glimpse our king after visiting the shrines during this more peaceful time. And I shall not fail to offer a suitable gift to honor your own holy relic.” He stretched his hand toward the priest.
Father Vincent swore to do as the merchant required, then closed his eyes and his hand. The man had given him two coins, so newly minted he could feel the details of the king’s image on them. Fondling them, he savored this welcome gift.
But when he opened his eyes, the merchant had disappeared. The priest looked around, but there was no sign of him. Were he not holding these coins as proof, he might have wondered if he had imagined the conversation.
He tried to picture the man’s face, but it had been of such common form that it was quite unremarkable. Now he feared he might not recognize him again.
He took in a deep breath and calmed himself. After all, he knew the man’s name and where he was staying. That was sufficient to send a messenger as the man had asked.
Looking heavenward, Father Vincent smiled. All he need do is tell this merchant the date the king would enter Walsingham, endure a short time as a charity guest in the priory of the favored shrines, and find a way to urge King Edward to visit a new shrine near Ryehill Priory, acquired after the king’s last visit.
Were God to smile with especial kindness on the little shrine, the priest was sure the coin from the wine merchant and any gift from the king would be enough to repay in full what he had secretly taken from alms due the priory to acquire that relic. For so great a blessing, he would cheerfully tolerate the itching from a flea-ridden straw bed.
Gripping the three coins he had already received, he hurried on to the chapel, praying that Prioress Eleanor and her troublesome monk were still there. If they had left, Prioress Ursell would be deeply angered over his failure to achieve what she required. And her fury could be awesome. Had he not seen her bow to the cross, an act no imp would perform, he might have wondered at the source of such hot rage when she was thwarted.
The merit in his delay was not anything he dared explain. The prioress knew nothing of what some might call theft from her coffers. Had he asked for the sum to buy the relic for the Shrine of the Virgin’s Lock, she would have refused, citing the poverty of her nuns, but he was certain the holy object was worth a little less bread and ale for the religious. Women lacked a man’s wisdom in these matters, and so he had gone ahead with his plan. He had told her the relic was a gift from a penitent, a tale that brought him respect and even awe from a prioress who occasionally failed to show the deference owed a man of his vocation.
He shrugged. After the relic was finally paid for by money from merchant and king, Prioress Ursell would conclude that he had increased income for Ryehill as offerings rose to what they had been before he had borrowed from them. In time, he was certain the relic would bring more pilgrims to the chapel and alms for the priory. When that occurred, and he was duly praised for acquiring the precious object, he would relish the acclamation but with eyes lowered. A show of humility was a virtue too often ignored by those less than pious. He sniffed with contempt.
As he rounded the corner of the inn, he saw the street child disappearing down a narrow street, and he clenched his fist in fury. Had he not been so delayed in his purpose, he would have chased after her, throwing rocks and casting forth imprecations.
Instead, he slipped inside the chapel and contented himself with asking God to send the vile creature the same fate suffered by the wicked Sister Roysia. Unlike the nun, whose vocation allowed her some mercy, he would make sure Gracia’s corpse rotted in unsanctified ground.
Chapter Eight
Daylight struggled to enter the little chapel from one window placed high in the wall behind the altar. Where shafts of light struck the ground, the damp stones glistened, and the air was rife with the stench of must.
A few pilgrims wandered in, but they spent little time on their knees before the small box containing the Virgin’s hair. Reverence was sincere but they quickly left, longing to see the sacred wells and the famous Holy House of the Annunciation, called England’s Nazareth and maintained by the religious of Walsingham Priory, farther down the road.
Brother Thomas and Prioress Eleanor rose from where they had knelt. Seeking privacy, they walked to the inside columned walkway nearby, cupped their hands over their mouths, and bent their heads to muffle their voices lest someone overhear their words.
“Prioress Ursell wishes to conceal something about Sister Roysia’s death, my lady.”
“Perhaps she does, Brother, but there is no reason to believe this matter must be our concern.”
Thomas looked around, then whispered, “More happened before your arrival that troubled me.”
With evident reluctance, she permitted him to continue.
“When Father Vincent ordered me to return with him to the prioress’ audience chamber, I assumed they wanted to hear what I had found and any conclusions I had formed. After making me wait, Prioress Ursell greeted me with a coldness to match the air in this chapel.” He shivered. “What distressed me more was the lack of sorrow shown by either priest or prioress. Their eyes were as dry as a road in summer heat.”
“Perhaps they did not wish to show their grief to a stranger.”
He shook his head. “You heard what Prioress Ursell said about the tragedy. Sister Roysia’s death was a possible cause for scandal, an annoyance. I have seen men banish tears of grief and grow pale with the effort. Prioress Ursell and Father Vincent had no need to hide what they did not feel.”
Eleanor frowned as she considered his words. “They have reason to fear scandal. All religious houses do, and the prioress argued the concern well. Her duty lies in providing for her nuns, and I believe she cares deeply about that. ”
Thomas concurred with her conclusion, then continued. “I confess that I did not tell them all I knew,” he whispered.
She looked at him with surprise. “Why not? Prioress Ursell said that she did not welcome conjecture, but that would not prevent you from giving them all the facts.”
“From the start, they treated me like an unwelcome guest and ignored the simplest charity of offering ale to ease the early morning chill. Soon after I began relaying my news, the prioress silenced me, called to her priest, and they spoke together in low voices as if I were not in their company.”