Malka gasped, covering her mouth in shock. “Benedict of Norwich? My husband and I knew him well. We…” She stared at the monk. “His daughter is a nun at this priory?”
“She is also an apothecary and trained in medical wisdom by her father before he died.”
Malka’s eyes grew large as she placed the heel of her palms against her cheeks. Then she knelt beside Jacob. “We must let her come. I knew her father. He was a good man, and I remember this daughter when she was a child.”
“She is a nun,” Jacob replied in horror. He gestured at Thomas. “They, she, he will…”
“…do nothing except allow Benedict’s daughter to save Belia’s life and that of my grandchild. I shall remain by my daughter’s side.” She looked up at the monk. “Do you swear it? Give me your word that you will not strip my Belia and her child of their faith and heritage.”
“I swear that we shall not baptize the child or the mother, even in the face of death and at the cost of their immortal souls,” Thomas replied. It had not been his intent to say that, and his voice shook. Oddly, his heart remained at peace. He looked up at the heavens. A soft breeze from the sea touched his face. Apparently, God was not about to strike him dead over such a promise.
“Then bring Sister Anne to my child,” the mother cried. “I beg you for that mercy!”
Thomas turned and ran back to the priory much faster than he thought possible.
15
Eleanor looked down from her window and watched Brother Beorn, Gytha, and Sister Anne hurry along the mill pond path toward the village. The lay brother’s galloping pace was well-matched by Sister Anne’s long legs, but the maid struggled to keep up.
Had their mission been less dire, the prioress might have smiled with fond amusement. Instead, her heart ached, as it always did when women faced perilous births. Although she knew the danger and pain were Eve’s legacy for rebelling against God’s will, she never forgot, nor quite forgave, the death of her own mother in childbed.
She turned around. “How old is the wife?”
Brother Thomas stood near her carved audience chair and held a large orange cat in his arms. As the monk absently stroked Arthur’s head, this patriarch of priory felines and hero in the wars against kitchen rodents closed his eyes and purred like a kitten.
“I believe that she and Gytha may share a similar length of time on this earth,” he replied after a moment and, again falling into silence, went back to petting the cat.
This time Eleanor did smile, a delight shared by the young nun in attendance who stood near the chamber door. Many feared cats, believing them to be Satan’s followers. Others concluded they were merely useful in keeping mice and rats away from edible stores. Yet this monk found as much pleasure in Eleanor’s favored beast as she did herself. And, perhaps, the cat also brought him peace and comfort after the ordeal he had faced, braving the rioting villagers. She shuddered at the risk he had taken but was proud of his courage. This time, her smile reflected her admiration for the man she both sinfully and virtuously loved.
The monk looked up, his expression contrite. “Forgive me, my lady, I did not mean to offend. My thoughts had taken a strange turn, and I was calling them back.”
Knowing he had caught her smile, she said: “I meant neither mockery nor censure, Brother. Indeed, I was thinking that your well regarded gentleness was matched by your courage in preaching compassion to the villagers.”
He blushed with modesty, then shook his head as if dismissing any virtue in what he had done. “Your decision to send Brother Beorn to guard Jacob ben Asser’s family, while his wife gives birth, was both wise and an act of great charity, my lady.”
“I did not want those men whom you faced in the road to harbor the smallest doubt that this priory follows the direction of Pope Gregory. As for the choice of Brother Beorn, that was a logical one. He is a man of the village and one known rarely to suffer fools. If he stands before the entrance to the stable, scowling as is his wont, those who are tempted to breach the fragile walls may be reminded of the cherubim with their flaming swords at the gates of Eden.”
Thomas chuckled but again fell silent as he continued to stroke the cat.
“Something troubles you greatly, Brother.”
Realizing that the monk’s attention was drifting from him, Arthur leapt out of Thomas’ arms and onto the floor.
The cat’s bearing as he trotted through the chamber door reminded the prioress of a manor reeve going to inspect lands for which he was responsible.
“I may have condemned a babe’s soul, my lady.”
Peace fled, and she felt a chill. “How so?”
“I promised Jacob ben Asser and his mother-in-law that we would not baptize the newborn child even if it were in danger of dying. The same promise was given for the babe’s mother, but she is of an age to know the consequences of her deeds.”
The prioress said nothing and walked back to the window.
He waited. A light breeze flowed through the chambers, the salt smell hinting that more rain would fall within a few hours. From the orchard of priory fruit trees, birds chirped loudly to herald the coming showers. He wondered how Brother Gwydo’s bees were doing under his tender care and felt an odd ache in his heart when the lay brother came to mind.
At last, the prioress turned around to face the monk, her brow furrowed.
“I shall be as forthright with you as you have been with me, Brother. I suffer doubts about the efficacy of forced baptism. As a priest, you understand better than I about these matters, but surely God knows when a conversion is not truly desired.”
“I agree, my lady, but we speak primarily of a child whose reason is unformed and who is therefore dependent upon the judgment of his parents. Jacob ben Asser and his family have rejected our offer of Christian salvation. That is a dangerous decision.”
“We might conclude that it is better to override their will and cloak their babe’s soul in a faith the parents do not own. But if the baptized child lives, both they and we know it must be taken from them. A Christian may not be raised by a Jewish family. Shall we not trust that God will have mercy on the babe and thus let the mother know she may keep her child? The anticipation of holding an infant to her breast gives a mother comfort and strength in the throes of a dangerous birthing.”
“Many men would say that salvation is of the greatest importance, that the family’s faith is a delusion nurtured by the Devil, and that any comfort the mother felt was born in evil.” Thomas looked away. “Yet learned voices joined with mine when I made that promise regarding the child. For one, the good Thomas Aquinas, so recently taken into God’s hands, spoke of a dead infant’s state of eternal joy which would be untempered by knowledge of what he had lost without baptism. And St. Paul’s wisdom also echoed in my soul. Is not charity the highest virtue, even above faith?”
Eleanor nodded. “I am grateful for your teaching, Brother. It may be wiser to change men’s hearts by practicing love and compassion, the tenets of our faith. Should mother and babe live, due to Sister Anne’s skill and the grace of God, this family may yet see the error of their beliefs and come willingly to ours.”
“I shall hope for that, my lady.”
“Yet I do not believe even this question of a child’s soul, no matter how important, is the sole cause of that shadow veiling your eyes.”
Thomas looked down at the floor. “Rumor’s face is scarred with the pox of lies and envy, her speech filled with curses, but men love her nonetheless. I fear she has recently uttered a particularly vile blasphemy.”
She visibly trembled. “We have always been of one mind on the need for plain speech. What have you heard, from whom, and what is your opinion of the tale?”
“While I was questioning Adelard on his reasons for wishing to take vows, he said that the world was too wicked for him. I pressed him for examples. He claimed that Evil is so rampant that those who dress in virtue during the daylight strip themselves of it to revel in sin at night.”