For a while, the two men shared stories of wars and battles, Ralf as a mercenary and Conan as the king’s man.
Finally, Conan rose. “I have enjoyed our talk, Crowner. I hope we may meet again. Indeed, I have much time on my hands until those clerks are done, and we can deliver them safely to their ships for France. I’ll be glad to see their backs. I do not like the idleness here or fancy the long journey back. The priest and his lead clerks speak enough of our language to offer conversation on the road, but no one else does and we do not understand either Latin or their Frankish tongue. Pity King Edward could not offer us something in the nature of coin or proper land instead of this.” He grinned, turning what might be called ingratitude into a jest, then walked off through the inn to the door and disappeared into the village street.
Ralf wondered what this man might do in an isolated East Anglian village with little vice to tempt a man who did not seem inclined to great virtue.
Then he sat back and frowned. The captain had called him crowner. How did he know that? Ralf knew he had not mentioned it.
He shrugged. Presumably, someone had told him, but, if so, why had this Conan chosen his company? Few did, even men with no cause to fear one whose work was to seek those who ran afoul of the king’s justice.
Chapter Eight
Arthur, the prioress’ orange cat and lord of the kitchens, marched through the door and into the audience chamber.
Sister Anne swiftly followed. “He has sired another litter of kittens,” she said to the prioress.
Out of the corner of her eye, Prioress Eleanor noted a spark of interest in Gracia’s expression. “The hospital will remain free of rodents,” she replied, then frowned. “I thought the dam there was still nursing her last litter.”
“This one belongs to the anchorage. One of Anchoress Juliana’s dams slipped out the window and had a fruitful tryst with Arthur. I have heard some now call him Lancelot to honor his many conquests.”
Eleanor laughed heartily. “Is she angry?” She tried to give her cat a disapproving look but failed and picked him up instead.
Snuggling into her arms, Arthur half closed his eyes and purred, secure in the belief that his charm could conquer any female heart.
“Our anchoress has been heard cooing over the kittens. Her servant has gotten bits of food from Sister Matilda for the nursing mother. I suspect they would prefer to keep all the kittens, but the anchorage is too small.”
“Most will not survive, I fear.” Eleanor glanced at Gracia again.
The young girl looked sad.
Eleanor instantly looked concerned. “I think I saw a mouse just over there yesterday.” She nodded in the general direction of the opposite corner. “Since Arthur spends so much of his time protecting our food in the kitchen from pillaging rodents, we might need more protection in these chambers. Gracia?”
The girl straightened.
“Do you think you could look at the litter and choose a healthy kitten to bring here?” She gestured around the chambers. “I think we might need another cat to keep the vermin out. Have you not seen mice in these rooms?”
“A tail, perhaps.” Gracia was smiling. “I would be happy to do your bidding, my lady.”
“Then go seek our anchoress’ servant. She might be in the kitchen now. Oh, and do you think you might take responsibility for the care of this new charge? Arthur is grown and fends for himself, but a kitten needs special care.” She smiled. “Arthur will surely adjust to the new arrival.” She looked down at the purring bundle of orange fur in her arms. “It is time you took some responsibility for your progeny, good sir!”
Gracia nodded with enthusiasm.
“The kitten must stay with its dam for a while longer. Look for a sturdy one.”
Gracia headed for the door.
“You might want to name the creature and visit often so it will get used to your voice.”
The girl agreed and danced out the open door, before running back and shutting it softly behind her.
“You have a problem with vermin?” Anne raised an eyebrow.
“Gracia needs the gift of a creature to love.”
“She still does not trust her good fortune?”
“Nor would we if we saw our kin die of fever, learned to survive by our wits through winter, and suffered rape. Oh, and all this before we reached womanhood.”
The sub-infirmarian lowered her gaze in sympathy.
Eleanor put the cat down and rubbed the arm that had been broken during her pilgrimage to the Walsingham shrines. Although fully healed, it ached on occasion and reminded her how close she had come to death.
“Would you like some ale?” Sister Anne reached for the jug on the table. “Does your arm still hurt?”
“The memories cause far more pain.” The prioress took the offered mazer.
“Then let me distract you with some news!” The nun smiled with mischievous delight.
“Perchance our visiting priest has realized that he should be in Nuneaton instead of Tyndal?”
“Sadly, no, but I wanted to tell you that our beloved and revered sub-prioress has gout.”
Eleanor coughed to hide what she knew was unkind amusement. “I am grieved…”
Sister Anne waved aside the need for charitable thought. “She is in pain, but I have shown sympathy enough for us both. When I asked if I could touch the afflicted toe, she stifled a scream and refused. It is very swollen and red, but I have a treatment that might help if taken faithfully and for a long time. That would require patience, a quality our sub-prioress is not known to possess.”
“I have never heard of such a remedy.”
“It is as old as Jacob and the pharaohs,” Anne said. “My father had a recipe for the treatment, which I believe he had gotten from a physician who was very familiar with the work of Alexander of Tralles, and I memorized it as a girl. It is made from autumn crocus, a remedy that can be almost as deadly as monk’s hood, if not used properly, and therefore is infrequently applied. But I have used it to help some who suffer the affliction. The dosage requires adjustment for weight and balance of humors, but the sub-prioress is resident here, not a courtier who wants to leave quickly. I can take the time to carefully and slowly make the required modifications.”
“Why should she not try it? I have seen men who suffer from this. It often inflames feet until the person can no longer walk.” Eleanor grimaced. “Gout is a great affliction.”
“To quote our sub-prioress, she will not take ‘potions or powders devised by the Devil.’”
“Since when have you offered any remedy that was not a gift from God?” Eleanor shook her head in disgust at her subordinate’s obstinacy. “I would counsel her, but I fear she will not listen to me either.”
The nun smiled. “I did find a solution!”
Eleanor threw up her hands in mock amazement. “Our sub-prioress rarely listens to reason. How have you coped with her aversion to logic?”
“I spoke to Sister Christina. Our sub-prioress respects our sweet nun, as we all do, for her gentle saintliness. When I told her Sub-Prioress Ruth’s concern, our infirmarian said she would take the remedy and place it on the altar while she prayed. After that, she will take it to our sufferer, explain that it was been cleansed of all evil, and insist she take the blessed potion as instructed.” Anne’s expression softened. “Sister Christina has a wise heart as well as a kind one. She whispered in my ear that she would warn our sub-prioress about impatience. If God has blessed the cure, the patient must emulate the fortitude of Job.”
“Those who think Sister Christina is a saint may not be wrong,” Eleanor replied. Despite their differences in approach to healing, the two nuns had always worked together with mutual respect. In truth, having seen them consulting, the prioress concluded that two sisters from the same womb could not love each other more.
Of course Sister Anne prayed for the souls of those who came to her for a cure or relief, but she had been taught by her physician father that remedies were gifts from God for the comfort of men. Sister Christina might prefer prayer as a cure, and knew nothing of potions and powders, as Sub-Prioress Ruth called them, but she rejoiced when her sub-infirmarian used them with success and counted the cures as miracles.