Sayer was carefully removing a piece of slate.
Chapter Three
Although the morning had promised warmth, the day remained quite chill. Accompanied by her aunt and Sister Anne, Eleanor retreated to the lodgings belonging to the prioress of Amesbury. There they found a lively fire. A servant quickly brought both wine and cheese for refreshment and just as promptly departed to allow the women private conversation.
As they all rubbed their hands near the fire, Eleanor looked around at her temporary residence, rooms she had rarely seen when she was a young novice and nun. When she had been brought to these chambers some days ago, Eleanor had commented with due courtesy on how comfortably appointed the quarters were. In this she had spoken the truth, for her own at the East Anglian priory were quite poor in comparison.
Three of the stone walls in this public room were softened with well-crafted and colorful hangings, whereas Eleanor had but one near her bed at Tyndal. Above the door here hung a smaller embroidered cloth which depicted Adam and Eve leaving Eden, a work that must have given Prioress Ida pause for thought each time she left the tranquility of her quarters for the chaos of the world without.
Against the other two walls, full-length tapestries kept any cold at bay. One illustrated the falling walls of Jericho, beside which stood a blond Joshua bearing a shield with three lions. Eleanor wondered if this had been a gift from King Henry or his queen in honor of their son, Edward, who was on crusade. The other showed a matronly Virgin holding the infant Jesus; the mother's face vaguely resembled that of the prioress in charge during Eleanor's youth.
Close to the fourth wall stood an altar and an elaborately carved prie-dieu, the wood of which glowed with a reddish cast in the firelight.
A comfortable enough room, Eleanor thought, yet she had discovered one lack. The Amesbury Psalter was missing, an elegant, illuminated work that had always been used by the prioress for her own prayers. Or so she remembered.
She turned to her aunt. "Does the priory still possess the Psalter done in Salisbury? You sometimes used it to teach us to read."
"Rarely, child, rarely." Beatrice shook her head. "Prioress Joan agreed that I might do so only as a reward for those most diligent in their work." For a moment, she fell silent as if lost in a past memory, then she sipped her wine. "It would never have left this room, but one corner is torn. Prioress Ida sent it to the library and scriptorium where a monk more talented than any of our own will come to do the needed repair."
"I must take you there to see it," Eleanor said to Anne.
"An excellent walk for us both on a warmer day," the sub-infirmarian replied as she rose and offered a plate of cheese to the other two women.
Eleanor shook her head in refusal and turned to Sister Beatrice. The novice mistress was examining the contents of her mazer, but her expression suggested that the quality of the wine was not her concern. Had the news brought to her by the man at the gate been so troubling? The prioress settled into her chair, grateful for the support of the firm wood. Her back ached.
"Did you learn something distressing from the laborer?" Eleanor asked.
"I did not expect to hear that Wulfstan, of all people, would see a ghost coming out of the reeds by the river." Beatrice raised her hand in a gesture of disgust. "Had it been almost anyone else, I would have assumed that the vision was a wisp of fog that wound around a winter-killed bush or even a large bird. We have a crow nesting in a tree near the library. He may have seen it flying out of the fog near the river, but I am troubled indeed. Wulfstan is a steady fellow, not given to imaginings."
"You said that he was not the first to see such a vision?"
With evident dismay, Beatrice shook her head. "All it takes is for one person to see something that frightens, something inexplicable, and rumors of ghosts multiply like mice." She put down the wine and rested her chin against her folded hands. "Although I thought Wulfstan a more sensible man, he has apparently been infected with the same affliction shared by others who work on our lands. Even some of our own monks have run to us of late, claiming the priory itself is haunted."
"When did this begin?" Eleanor asked.
Beatrice rubbed her hands together, reached again for her cup, and listened to the snapping flames before answering. "The sightings started some time before you arrived. At first, they were mere annoyances, but now they occur almost every night or early morning. Many say that some spirit from Hell has a quarrel with our priory. I fear that we must do something soon to dispel these ideas. The villagers are becoming fearful and our own monastics…" She smiled. "Ah, well! At least some of our monks have become more ardent in their prayers out of dread of this ghost. Perhaps I should bless the shade!"
"Has the spirit injured anyone?" Anne asked, politely ignoring the suggestion that any Amesbury monk might be less than devout.
"Some have suffered scrapes and bruises in their rush to run away." Beatrice sipped her wine and set the cup down on the table.
"You said in the cloister that the creature had taken the shape of the priory's founder?" Eleanor winced as her cramps returned.
"Most of the witnesses maintain that our ghost is that of Queen Elfrida, wife to King Edgar. Others, fewer in number but vocal enough, claim it resembles a local woman who drowned herself in the Avon and was buried in unsanctified ground. Mistress Eda was her name."
"What cause has either spirit to trouble this priory?" Anne asked.
"According to legend, Sister, Amesbury was founded by Queen Elfrida in atonement for her part in the murder of her stepson, Edward the Martyr. For over two hundred years, our monastics have prayed that her soul might have ease in Purgatory and ascend quickly to Heaven, but some villagers believe we have become so sinful ourselves of late that her ghost has grown angry and returned to rebuke us."
"Sinned? How?" Eleanor asked. "Are we not all sinners?"
"Our religious community has had some weak-fleshed members, although no more than many others. As a double house, and one run by women at that, we are especially prone to these rumors. Most in the village know us too well to accuse us of habitually wanton behavior, but I will not hide the truth here. The inn did attract some of our lay brothers and the occasional monk."
"Surely Prioress Ida has dealt with this problem?" Eleanor replied.
"She learned from Brother Jerome about a break in the wall on the monks' side of the grounds and promptly had it repaired before she left. I have since discussed the matter with our prior, and he believes that the repair has solved the problem. Where the mended wall might have failed to ensure chastity, the tales of this wandering spirit have succeeded. This, I have confirmed with a trustworthy source in the village itself. The inn has seen no tonsure for some time."
"Thus the spirit of your founder should be satisfied and leave you in peace," Anne said.
"Not yet, for Wulfstan claims he saw her last night." The novice mistress' tone conveyed her vexation.
"Might the thing be the wraith of the woman damned for self-murder?" Anne glanced briefly at her prioress, who was leaning forward, quite attentive to the conversation. "What quarrel had she with the priory?"
"Other than the burial, Mistress Eda had none. Before her death, she suffered from a growth in her womb. The disease resisted prayer and the aid of mortal medicine, both of which we gave her. One day her husband found her missing, and her body was soon discovered floating in the Avon."
"And who adjudged the death self-murder?" Eleanor asked, glancing at the food on the table.
Anne reached over and passed her some cheese.