“Indeed.” Thomas hesitated. “Forgive me for my bluntness, brother, but I cannot help but wonder that a man of your ability and stature ever entered the Fontevraud Order. Why not the Benedictines or the Cistercians?” Thomas glanced at his own, nearly full goblet and took a small sip.
The corners of Simeon’s eyes grew moist. “I was the youngest of too many boys. My father was of good birth but had little land and could not afford a knight’s training for all of us.” He gulped some wine. “He held the Benedictines in contempt. Too corrupt, he said, and two of my brothers were already Cistercians. He needed to put me somewhere and Fontevraud is small but powerful.” He blinked, then wiped a hand across his mouth. “Told me I could at least be in the company of queens since I wasn’t suited for that of kings.” Two large tears slid from the inside corners of his eyes and dropped from his jaw onto the table.
Thomas winced at the cruel implication of the remark but nodded sympathetically. He also knew better than to ask Simeon if the monk had felt even the slightest hint of a religious calling.
“But he never would have put me here if he had thought a woman would so humiliate his son.” Simeon sat up in brief defiance. The goblet wavered near his mouth, and a tiny rivulet of red wine slipped down his chin, dribbling onto his robe. “He died almost two years ago,” he said in a whisper.
“And you must grieve for his loss,” Thomas said, lowering his voice into concerned tones. “Surely your father must have loved you to have given you to such a powerful order.” He deliberately emphasized powerful.
Simeon swayed, took another long gulp of wine, then reached over and put his hand over Thomas’, caressing it in silence. “He hated me, you know. I knew it. He called me fat, soft like a woman. Then one day he caught me with another boy.” Simeon ran his fingertips down Thomas’s arm. “We were doing nothing more than other boys often do when manhood arrives, but he mocked me and took my clothes, saying I could walk home naked so the world would see what a slut I was.”
“Surely he must have relented. You were his son.”
“You are a sweet boy to say so,” he said, his lips and chin trembling. “No, he beat me when I got home. Called my brothers in to watch while he tied me to a bench and whipped my bare buttocks until the blood ran down my legs. Just like a woman’s courses, I remember him saying.” Then Simeon closed his eyes, his head dropped, and he slid across the table. The receiver and sub-prior of Tyndal had just passed out.
Thomas sat looking at the monk for a long time. He glanced down at his hand, which the receiver held like an overgrown child would his parent’s or a lover would his beloved’s, then gazed at the gold cup that Simeon still clutched. Perhaps this man was guilty of diverting some priory income to pay for these visible symbols of his competence in managing Tyndal. Surely no man of logic and reason would blame him for that. An ill-judged act it most assuredly was but no greater sin than men of higher authority in the Church had committed. If gold cups were the reason for the vague accusations of impropriety, luxuries that would enhance the standing of the priory amongst honored guests as much as they signified the competence of the receiver, Simeon would have little to fear. A jealous, petty monk was probably the source of the letter. As soon as he identified him, Thomas would be through with this assignment.
He felt a stab of pity as he looked at the receiver. How humiliated this proud man would be if he knew anyone had seen him in this drunken state, a small pool of drool from his open mouth puddling near his cheek. Thomas, however, would not mock him for it. He had grieved for the story he had just heard. As distant as his own father had been, he had been far kinder to his by-blow than Simeon’s was to the issue of a lawful wife. No wonder the receiver held on to his well-earned authority over the priory with such ferocity. No wonder he hated the woman who threatened to take it from him, despite her right in the doing. And, Thomas thought, looking down at the drunkenly snoring monk, no wonder he was taking solace in fine wines.
Very gently he removed the monk’s large hand from his and slipped out of the room.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“What if you fall, my lady?” Gytha said, “and no one came by. The stones of the cloister are uneven. If you are further injured, I would have failed you.”
Anne had just left for the hospital with firm instructions to her prioress to stay off the foot for the remainder of the day, instructions which both she and Eleanor knew would be ignored as soon as the sub-infirmarian was out of sight. As Eleanor stood with her weight on her sound foot and looked down the steep stairs from her chambers to the cloister, however, she had to concede that both Gytha and Anne were right.
“Very well, then. Help me down the stairs, but bring that sturdy branch I brought back from the forest. It will give me support on level ground, and I will let you watch me for a bit so you can see for yourself that I am able to walk safely on my own.”
So the young girl, who was slightly taller already than her mistress, agreed and the two walked with cautious, slow steps down the stairs. At the bottom, Eleanor braced herself against the wall and rested. Gytha put her hands on her hips, watching with an worried expression.
“Tostig bred a fine beast, my child. Your brother is a man of many talents,” Eleanor said, trying to switch the subject away from herself.
Gytha glowed with pleasure.
“You are proud of him.”
“He is a good man, my lady. When our parents…well, he has been father and mother both to me.”
“Not married?”
“Not yet. He wants to regain some land and wealth first.”
“Regain?”
Gytha blushed. “I’m sorry. I should have…”
“Honesty, child. You promised me honesty.” Eleanor smiled.
“Our family were thegns to Harold before…”
“And lost your lands to those who followed William, but it has been a long time since then, Gytha. Your family has surely had opportunity to prove your worth and advance your interests with men who are now your neighbors, not your enemies?”
Gytha was silent, her head bowed and her face turned away from the prioress.
“What is it? What are you trying to say?”
“You will not be angry, my lady?”
“If honesty angers, it is not true anger but rather confusion over what is truth. I would not punish you for my failure to understand something when no spite was intended. I promise to think about whatever you have to say.”
“My lady, I am an ignorant person and my words will be ill-chosen, but I would never intend malice or insult against you, nor would Tostig. I will try to explain as best I can what my brother’s thoughts are. Please do not condemn him for my inadequate expression of them.”
Eleanor nodded.
Gytha gestured toward the land beyond the priory. “You may see neighbors out there, and for sure they are to you, perhaps even kin, but my kin are a conquered folk. We may speak your language, but we speak it with an accent. It is not our tongue. And we have learned your customs, but, no matter how hard we try, we will never quite look, sound, or act like you. Your barons look at me and do not see the daughter of a thegn, worthy of marriage to one of their sons, but a lowly creature, unsuited to anything but service to their ladies or labor for their fields. Yet we once held all this land and had honor in our king’s eyes, more perhaps than a Norman baron has in King Henry’s. Now we have little land and little honor with this king. We work land for others that once belonged to us. My brother makes ale and cheese, and breeds donkeys. For this our new lords respect him, but no Norman will trust Tostig with land. Should Tostig have land, he might think himself the equal to a Norman. There can never be two lords over one land, my brother says.”