Jumping to his feet, he scoured the room to see if it was kept somewhere else but there was no sign of it. He went over to the ransacked chest again and picked through the objects on the floor with increasing frenzy. The one that he wanted had gone. The precious heirloom, which his wife had left in her will to her eldest son, was missing. Hamo’s fatigue had lifted. Fresh anger seized him. He grabbed the lid and slammed it down with such force that the sound echoed throughout the whole house. The most valuable item in the chest had been taken. It was like a further mutilation of the body of Guy FitzCorbucion.
Prioress Mindred polished the cup with loving care then set it beside the crucifix on the tiny altar in her quarters. The silver chalice sparkled afresh and she allowed herself a few minutes to admire its quality. The workmanship was truly superb. Tall and elegant, the chalice had the most intricate designs etched into its gleaming surface and they were thrown into sharp relief by the four rubies that had been set into the silver with equidistant care. Mindred could only guess at its cost but she was more concerned with its value to her little community. Poverty was enjoined upon the holy sisters but Mass
deserved to be celebrated with the finest chalice and paten. Anything less was an insult to the Almighty. The prioress glanced at the crucifix and then genuflected before crossing herself in gratitude.
There was a gentle tap on her door. She opened it. “Come in, Sister Tecla,” she invited.
“You sent for me, Reverend Mother?” “Indeed I did. Please sit down.”
Mindred closed the door while Tecla lowered herself onto a stool so that her back was to the altar. The prioress gave a sweet smile and sat opposite her.
“It is good to be back in Maldon, is it not?” she said. “Yes, Reverend Mother.”
“God watched over us on our journey.”
“God and St. Oswald.”
“We must never forget the blessed saint,” agreed the older woman. “Shall I make a confession to you?”
“You are the one to receive confession.”
“I have sins of my own, Sister Tecla,” said Mindred with a wry expression. “Although I cannot believe that this thought is in any way sinful except that it shows too much ambition.”
“Ambition?”
“I wish I had taken the veil at your age.”
Sister Tecla was not quite sure how to react to this disclosure. It aroused somewhat mixed feelings in her own breast but she was in no mood to discuss those at that moment and so she opted for an obedient nod and a modest enquiry.
“Is that your only confession, Reverend Mother?”
“It is but the beginning,” explained the other. “If I had entered a religious house when I was young and strong enough, I would have prayed to God to put my youth and my strength to some real purpose. I could have fulfilled my ambition and kept the memory of St. Oswald alive in his own part of the country.”
“Northumbria?”
“That name has perished along with so much else. But I would have tried to revive some of its former glory. When Christianity first came to England, it took the firmest root in Northumbria.” She took Sister Tecla’s hands in her own. “Do you remember what Abbess Aelfgiva was saying to us about houses of nuns?”
“There are but nine in all-and this small priory.”
“Each and every one of them serve the Lord truly but they all do so in the south of the country. There is no nunnery to the north of the River Trent.” Mindred squeezed her hands. “Can you not see why I was fired with ambition? I would like to have founded this priory where it could rekindle a flame of hope. Maldon may need us but Yorkshire would need us even more. We would have been missionaries.”
“St. Oswald would have blessed the enterprise.” “I am too old and weak to pursue it now.”
“The wish is a noble one,” said Tecla, “and I am honoured that you have shared this secret with me.”
Prioress Mindred released her hands and sat back to appraise her. There was a serenity about the young nun, which was altogether pleasing, but she still found herself unsure about the depth of Sister Tecla’s belief and commitment.
“Are you happy with us?” she said.
“A bride of Christ enjoys the greatest happiness.” “That is not what I asked, Sister Tecla.”
“I have no cause whatsoever for complaint.” “Sister Gunnhild is still concerned.”
A long pause. “Sister Gunnhild is most kind,” she resumed, “but her concern is quite unfounded. Everything I want is within these walls.”
“That is as it should be.”
“I am at peace with the world.”
“It gladdens my heart to hear that.”
“I have seen the face of Jesus,” said Sister Tecla.
Prioress Mindred reached forward to squeeze her hands again then stood up and walked around behind her. She took a moment to find the right words.
“Sister Gunnhild has voiced some worries.” “Worries?”
“About your spiritual needs. I have asked her to … look after you.” “Is that your wish, Reverend Mother?”
“It is, Sister Tecla.” “Then I abide by it.”
Her voice was as soft and submissive as ever but the prioress could see that her body was tense. Mindred felt the need to reassure her.
“Sister Gunnhild is a woman of rare qualities,” she said. “I know it well.”
“Nobody in our convent has her insight and holiness. Such things only come from long years of devotion. I am the prioress here but I tell you this. There are times when I feel inadequate in that role if I compare my humble gifts with those of Sister Gunnhild.”
“All this I accept,” said Tecla quietly. “Then take her as your mentor.”
“I will.” “Good.”
The prioress felt relieved that she had passed on her directive. She knew that it would not be entirely welcome to the nun, and she herself had vestigial reservations about it, but her word had been given to Sister Gunnhild and she had to honour it. Mindred was
more relaxed when she came back round to face the other woman, able to relate to her more easily now that her decision had been announced. They discussed the books that they had brought back from Barking Abbey, and they shared a smile at Sister Lewinna’s propensity for laughing at Aesop’s Fables at the most inappropriate times.
“I heard her giggle in the chapter house today.”
“Why?”
“She said that she was thinking about the fable of the fox and the grapes.” The prioress gave a fond sigh. “I suppose we should be grateful that dear Sister Lewinna was at least thinking.”
“There is no harm in her, Reverend Mother.”
“Indeed, no. But she must learn to curb her giggling.” “Thank heaven that Sister Gunnhild was not there!”
Sister Tecla blurted out the comment before she could stop herself and it brought the conversation to a halt. Sister Lewinna was a devout nun with a girlish exuberance, which had not yet been suffocated beneath the demands of convent life. The prioress and the others treated her with an affectionate indulgence while trying to correct her by means of persuasion. Sister Gunnhild merely admonished her and tried to frighten the last sparks of vitality out of her. Sister Tecla obviously feared that the Danish nun would do the same to her.
After a strained silence, she rose to go. The prioress conducted her to the door and put her hand on the latch.
“You have been working in the garden, I see,” she said.