The religious of Tyndal must be questioned about their prioress, and it was his duty to do so. Others might peer into fish ponds or test roofs for leaks, but only he had the authority to investigate moral failings of those vowed to God.
Davoir closed his eyes and bent his head in prayer. “May God give me the strength to shake off this womanish frailty of emotion,” he murmured. “As a man, objectivity and logic must rule within me.”
He looked up. There was still no sound from the other rooms. How long must he wait for this sub-prioress? With growing impatience, he loudly cleared his throat.
How he yearned to be back at court where the world was understandable. Even under better circumstances, he would have found his duty here onerous. His sister might be abbess at Fontevraud, and Rome had given the Order its blessing, but he believed a woman’s leadership over men was against the laws of creation. Nonetheless, his disapproval was secondary to the needs of family honor in this undertaking. His sister led this strange Order, and he was obliged to do anything for her that would keep the name of Davoir from disgrace.
If the arrogant Prioress Eleanor, her assertive monk, and her incompetent sub-infirmarian were innocent of the alleged wrongs, the findings would cleanse his sister of any hint of misrule. If the trio were as guilty as he believed, he would make sure their punishment was harsh enough to turn dishonor into praise for his family name.
A voice interrupted his thoughts.
Casting his musing aside, he turned to see a stocky woman lumbering painfully into the room, assisted by the younger and vacant-eyed nun who had admitted him.
The presumed sub-prioress fell into her high-backed chair with an inelegant grunt.
Despite the sub-prioress’ modest veil, he noticed a forehead creased with scowls and eyes narrowed as if in perpetual disapproval. Perhaps she had as much cause as he to be angry against the rule in this priory. Or, glancing at her foot now resting on a stool, was she simply in pain?
He was annoyed that this nun did nothing to honor his standing before God and his position as the representative of Fontevraud Abbey. He waited while the attendant nun settled the sub-prioress into a more comfortable position and then took her own place against the wall by the door.
“I beg for your pardon, Father,” the sub-prioress said, gesturing at her foot. “I suffer from gout and cannot stand.”
He forgave the fault and quickly gave the blessing she begged. As a man honored in the court of his own king, and soon be named one of the Church’s bishops, he concluded she would be especially grateful for his benevolence. Indeed, she flushed with evident thankfulness. He was content.
“Were you present for my opening sermon?” He did not remember this square-bodied woman, but he might not have noticed her.
“I fear my affliction did not permit it, Father, but Sister Christina repeated as much as she could remember of your words.” With a fleeting smile, even more briefly warmed with a hint of affection, she gestured at the nun who kept her eyes lowered.
He caught himself resenting the sub-prioress for having a cherished attendant when his own had just died. Stiffening his back, he attempted to expel the imp-inspired jealousy with a sharp cough.
“I do know that your purpose here is to review all aspects of our life, recommend improvements, and order punishments for any lapses that offend God.” She put her hands together in an attitude of prayer. “We are all sinners,” she murmured, “and each of us suffers some vice.”
His brief moment of sinful imperfection defeated, Davoir studied the sub-prioress with his accustomed objectivity. Gruff as this woman looked, he suspected she possessed as much intellect as any woman could honestly own while still retaining a proper meekness. His sister also had a more manly sagacity, but she had preserved a modest demeanor. In this priory, however, he had found at least two women who lacked that essential feminine virtue of humility. He bestowed a benevolent smile on Sub-Prioress Ruth, who had not lost the attribute.
“How may I assist in your investigation, Father?” She winced and reached to touch her foot, then drew back with an expression of horror at the pain she had almost caused.
He understood, having known men at court who suffered this disease. It was rare for a woman. Davoir wondered if the prioress had lied to him about the simple fare offered here, and others did the same out of fear of her chastisement. Perhaps she had only provided him with food and drink according to the Rule, while the monastics drank fine wines and the flesh of four-footed beasts when no one was here to see them.
It would please him if that were true, and he could point to this woman’s gout as proof of a rich diet. But this sub-prioress’ sternness suggested honesty to him, and he suspected she would speak only of facts. He would confirm with her what others of lower rank in the priory had said about diet.
“It is indeed my duty, as decreed by your abbess in Anjou, to look into the practices of Tyndal and the virtue of all inhabitants here.” Davoir was encouraged by the sight of a scowl so deep that the sub-prioress’ eyebrows collided. “My first questions are whether the Hours for prayer are honored, if the diet prescribed by the Rule of Saint Benedict is practiced, and whether the nuns keep their vows and remain sequestered.”
“And it is my responsibility to make sure our nuns honor the canonical hours, their vows, do not communicate with the world unless family concerns or God demands it, and spend their waking hours in prayer or other holy work. In these matters, I can confirm strict obedience. If any have said otherwise, I shall explain or provide proof of their error.”
Her demeanor pleased him, and her brevity was refreshing. According to his sister, this sub-prioress also had no cause to love Prioress Eleanor since she had been supplanted by the younger woman at the will of the English king. For this reason, he had chosen the sub-prioress to interrogate first. If anyone would tell the truth about the leadership here, it would be she. Even Prioress Eleanor did not dare say otherwise. “And diet?”
“Sister Matilda is in charge of the kitchens. Although our beloved Prioress Felicia expected each nun to take on new responsibilities after a certain period of time, Prioress Eleanor has chosen to retain nuns in positions when she finds them well-suited.”
Ah, he thought with a shiver of excitement, a criticism of the woman who led here. “This practice might promote unacceptable pride amongst the few.”
“I would have chosen to follow the direction taken by our former prioress in that matter.” She gnawed on her lip. “Yet our adherence to a strict diet grew lax during her last years. When Prioress Eleanor arrived, she ordered a return to a more careful observance of the Benedictine Rule on food. Only the sick and aged are allowed wine and meat. There are other exceptions but all within the Rule. Some say she follows a more austere interpretation than most, but I cannot fault her for that. The blessed Robert, our founder, believed that even the sick should abstain from meat.”
Davoir nodded. Then the monastics had not lied to him. The young prioress had certainly given him unremarkable refreshment, although she had not stinted on the quantity of fruit and cheese. The ale had actually been of good quality, and there were no worms in the fruit. “Pride in accomplishment still troubles me. If this nun in charge of the kitchens does well…”
“Sister Matilda performs her duties with joy, a form of prayer that God accepts. Sister Edith, who has remained in charge of directing the lay sisters in the gardens, does the same. God has blessed us with abundant vegetables and fruit from our orchard.” She raised her chin in defiance. “If I believed either nun owned sinful pride, I would have admonished her in Chapter.”