He agreed there was no fault in pious joy and went on to another concern. “Why are there only nuns in charge of the hospital?”
Ruth flushed behind her veil. “Sister Christina is our infirmarian, a nun whose virtue is exemplary and whose prayers have healed many.” Discreetly, she indicated the woman by the door.
“Prayers are worthy,” he said. “I was more troubled by the sub-infirmarian, a woman who uses herbs and roots more than prayer.” He grew solemn. “Her forceful manner is also troubling in a woman who has taken vows.”
“Prioress Felicia would have agreed with you. She feared that Sister Anne’s potions gave ease to men whose sharp pain might otherwise bring about repentance of their grave sins.” She shook her head. “Still, God has not punished us for wickedness. The sub-infirmarian’s skills have cured many, and their gratitude has brought us gifts of land, rents, and flocks. I still have doubts, but God has shown no sign of His.” She smiled at the silent nun nearby. “Perhaps it is Sister Christina’s prayers that please so much, and, for that, He has forgiven any other fault?”
As anger stabbed at his heart, Davoir failed to acknowledge her question. My clerk died due to Sister Anne’s remedies, he thought. Perhaps that was a sign that God had lost patience with the arrogant sub-infirmarian.
He cleared his throat. “I must now ask an especially troubling question, one that will try your loyalty to your prioress but which must be answered honestly. God demands it. Your abbess does as well.”
Ruth’s face turned pale, but she assented firmly. “Prioress Eleanor knows that I do not often agree with her and that I will speak my mind. She has always allowed me to give my opinion without fear of public rebuke.”
“Abbess Isabeau has been informed that Prioress Eleanor and the monk, Thomas, have an unchaste relationship, that they lie together to satisfy their unholy lusts, and that their wickedness is well-known.”
The sub-prioress’ head snapped back as if she had been struck. Her mouth opened, but all she could utter was inarticulate sound.
Sister Christina rushed to her side.
“Please bring me a cup of ale,” Ruth managed to gasp. She closed her eyes and covered her face. “A mazer for our guest as well,” she whispered.
Davoir shook his head at the offer and stared at this woman he expected to rejoice in the accusation against her prioress. If proven, the sub-prioress would be the likely choice to replace the disgraced leader. Not knowing what to say, he waited for her to finish her ale and recover her composure.
She sipped at the drink, and her complexion regained a more uniform color. “Forgive me, Father, but those particular charges were so unexpected…”
He tried not to show his disappointment.
“As I said, Prioress Eleanor and I have had many disagreements. For years, I resented the manner in which I was set aside from the position she now holds, not because of God’s will but rather the wish of our earthly king.” She gave the cup to Sister Christina who remained by her side. “Indeed, I admit my failure to cast this sin from my heart each time I see my confessor.”
“Is the claimed offense against the prioress correct?” The priest in charge of this woman’s sins could deal with her soul, he thought. He wanted an answer to his question.
Sub-Prioress Ruth sat up in her chair and stared at him. “Brother Thomas is known by all, in the priory and including those he serves outside, as a virtuous and kind man. Never has anyone claimed that he has broken his vows of chastity. Like our blessed founder, he has walked into the midst of wickedness and emerged shining and victorious because of his goodness. You may ask anyone.”
“And Prioress Eleanor? Has she remained chaste?”
“Most certainly she has never lain with Brother Thomas!” She gazed at the ceiling, swallowed several times, and fell silent, then looked back at Davoir with an inscrutable expression. “Nor has anyone questioned her chastity. A prioress must step outside the priory walls to serve God and talk with wicked mortals, a duty that puts her resolve on trial. As proof of her virtue, many here believe that the Virgin blessed her with a vision, yet our prioress claims she could never be worthy of such a thing and went on pilgrimage last year to expiate any sin of pride she might own. That speaks to her humility.”
He had hoped for another response and was surprised by the sub-prioress’ defense of a woman she despised.
“On my hope that Heaven shall welcome my soul as it flies to God’s judgement, I swear to you that I believe Prioress Eleanor is innocent and that the accusation against her is not only without any basis but was spoken with foul intent.”
Even though he detected an element of sorrow in her tone, Davoir found no good cause to argue against her forceful oath.
With minimal courtesy, he stood and abruptly left the chambers.
Chapter Thirteen
As that hour approached when God tints the sky with blues and lavenders, the time when weary creatures long for the blessing of rest after their labors have ended, Philippe of Picardy slipped out of the hospital grounds and found the path that led to the guest quarters.
Lest someone look curiously at him, he slowly hobbled on his crutch. If anyone chose to question why he was walking that particular way, he could honestly say that he was healing and the easy path let him strengthen the ankle before he traveled on. One look at his ragged attire would confirm that Philippe was too poor to pay for a horse or a ride in a cart and needed two sturdy feet for any journey.
As the sun slipped into its bed below the earth’s edge, the air swiftly cooled and he shivered. Briefly, he wondered if the world was flat, like some claimed, or round, as others averred, but quickly decided it was a question too immense for any flawed mortal to answer. All he knew for sure was that the earth was the center of God’s universe and the sun must be obedient to it. He thought it regrettable that the orb had not retained that submission a bit longer so he need not suffer this nighttime chill.
As he approached the quarters, he looked around. In that moment, there were no others to see him. He slipped to his knees and crawled into the shrubbery where he had previously found a comfortable clearing with a nice mat of leaves on which to sit and view the place where the hated priest stayed.
It was regrettable that the clerk had died, he thought. The lad was innocent, but Philippe did not overly grieve. Anything that hurt Davoir gladdened his heart, and Jean was as beloved as a son to the man. “Of which he has had many,” he muttered with sharp bitterness. Jean was but one of those the priest had begun to prepare for a career in the Church that would complement the stellar heights Davoir hoped he himself would eventually obtain. Or perhaps Jean would have been cast aside to suffer the oblivion of poverty no matter what his talent.
This time Philippe shivered for a reason besides the chilly air. Then his eyes filled with hot tears. He rubbed them away, but the pain lingered, for the heat was born of hatred. Only one thing would purify his heart of this rage, and he was feeling more confident that he could soon achieve it.
His one fear in coming to this place was the knowledge that Prioress Eleanor and Brother Thomas were blessed by God with uncanny abilities to ferret out guilty souls. Although he might be willing to die if he could make sure Father Etienne suffered agony enough to pay for his cruelties, Philippe preferred to escape back to France and live with the sweet peace he believed revenge would bring him.
Now that Jean was dead and a rumor was spreading that Sister Anne was accused of murder, perhaps under the direction of her prioress, he felt more certain of survival.
Even before he met her at the hospital, Philippe had heard of this sub-infirmarian’s reputation for healing and her keen eye for a suspicious death. That she had been cast into a cell was good news. And the prioress herself was under enough suspicion that she dared not investigate lest she be charged with unlawful meddling.