“How can you denounce me so? Hasn’t God’s will been done? He spoke…”
“You must seek a priest,” the anchoress cried out. “You must ask for absolution. That I have no right to grant!”
“God speaks through your mouth. I have heard Him.”
“I am Eve’s daughter: feeble of mind, irresolute in spirit, sinful in body.”
The only response was the sharp intake of mortal breath.
The anchoress bent forward until her forehead hit the stone wall. “I may pray that He fill me with His spirit, unworthy vessel that I am,” she groaned, “but I am still a wretched creature. Believe me when I say I have no right, no authority, to cleanse your soul. Only a priest has such power.”
“My soul is at ease. My act was a righteous one. When you told me to wait for God’s voice, you said I would feel at peace when I heard it. I believed your words and I now rejoice. What need have I of any priest?”
“This is murder!” Juliana wailed.
Only the soft whish of tall grass broke the stillness as the figure moved from the window and walked away.
That night God did not grace Juliana with sweet visions or a honeyed voice. Instead she experienced only that bitter despair suffered by lost souls. In anguish, she sought the small whip, bared her back, and beat herself until blood dripped, making tiny circles in the dust on the anchorage floor.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Signy trembled.
Such a reaction might be caused by either outrage or fear, Eleanor decided as she sat back in her chair.
“He lies!”
“One of you does, perhaps both. Were I possessed of a more credulous mind, I might conclude that memory had simply betrayed one or the other of you. I am not, however, nor do I sympathize with trivial fears. Whether or not he was a good man, Martin’s soul has been torn from his body by unlawful violence.”
The length of the silence, as the prioress studied her, must have given Signy some foretaste of how unpleasant eternity could be. Discomfited, she dropped her eyes.
“By repute, you are a sensible woman. If you are innocent, there is no reason to lie other than shame. Compared to the sufferings of a soul sent to Hell without the chance for repentance, I think humiliation is a very minor thing indeed.”
“I did not kill him.”
“Then you should be eager to do everything to prove that,” the prioress replied. “Surely you agree as well that this killer must be found and punished? In the search for truth, I may ask many questions. Answers to some may not be relevant, and if so, I shall cast them from my mind, leaving those transgressions to your conscience and your confessor. That said, all details must be exposed and investigated further if needed. Justice shall be hastened.”
Sweat glistened on Signy’s brow.
“Would you like some ale?” Eleanor asked. Although her voice was gentle, she was angry. Lies stank like night soil at midday, and she was concluding that the reek in the room was growing too potent.
“I would be grateful, my lady.” Signy’s shoulders drooped with resignation.
Against her better judgement, Eleanor’s heart began to soften. “Do not imagine that I ignore the beam in my own eye when I see the mote of dust in yours. Not one of us is free from sin; thus I promise to hear all you have to tell me with compassion.” The prioress poured a pottery mazer full and passed it to the innkeeper’s niece. “Unless, of course, it proves murder.”
Signy quickly swallowed the ale. “Will is a hateful man,” she said.
“Why would he tell such a story?” Eleanor refilled the woman’s cup. “Before you reply, be aware that I heard the tale of what Ivetta shouted out during your argument near the inn. She was quite specific in her details. Many have repeated her words.”
Signy flushed deeply. Her hand shook, and she quickly set her cup down, spilling ale in the process.
“The tale will be forgotten soon enough. Since we all struggle with our failings, most of us will readily forgive if another rejects deceitfulness and humbly admits the truth,” Eleanor reminded her gently. “God, of course, is always willing to forgive the contrite heart.”
“So said your new anchoress, my lady.”
Eleanor raised a questioning eyebrow. “You have sought her counsel?”
“Most of the village women have and found comfort from her.”
“At night?”
“The Evil One troubles sinners most when there is no light in the world, my lady. Sister Juliana understands that and gives welcome solace to those tortured by Satan’s imps in the dark hours.”
“Most certainly proof that God is compassionate with the penitent,” Eleanor replied with heavy emphasis on the last word. Although refusing to be distracted from murder, she did tuck the woman’s testimony away for the next time Sister Ruth brought forth her complaints about the anchoress. “Was the matter troubling you related either to Martin’s murder or the allegations that you might be sharing the cooper’s bed?”
Signy took in a deep breath. “In part, my lady, but the tale is a long one.”
The prioress nodded, offering both ale and cheese. “To give you strength in the telling,” she said with a smile.
“I have reason enough to hate Martin,” Signy began with evident lack of enthusiasm. “After my parents died and I had gone to my uncle’s care, the cooper sought me out and often soothed my battered heart with soft compliments. I was ignorant then of how desire can erupt from a few caresses so let him touch me for it brought a curiously sweet solace. One night he drew me down beside him in a hidden spot near the inn and taught me howling lust. I was frightened at the power of it and tried to break away, but he first covered my mouth and then shattered my maidenhead. I was younger than Gytha.”
“You told your uncle of this?”
“I dared not! Without question, he is a most charitable man but he has always treated me as if I were an apprentice, kindly but with no great affection. And so I feared to anger him, lest he cast me out. Martin swore he would claim I had encouraged him if I spoke of what he had done. Had he accused me of lewdness, my uncle might well have turned his back on me and I have no other family.” She rubbed her eyes. “I did not give the cooper opportunity to swyve me again.”
“Indeed?”
Signy bit her lip.
“Do not think me a fool,” Eleanor said, resting her chin in her hand. “I doubt Martin was silent about his conquest even if you were, but the scandal has lost its bite after all this time. Too many other broken maidenheads have since brought greater glee to the withered hearts of tale-tellers. Why should this especially trouble you now?”
“I did not kill the cooper!” Signy protested once again, her eyes round with terror.
“Then confide in me. Let me help you free your conscience as well as prove your innocence. I know you did not consult Sister Juliana because the inn ale had gone sour, nor, I suspect, did you suddenly long to find forgiveness for virginity lost long ago.”
“Might I not realize the horror of my sin, even at this late date, and seek advice on how best to repent?”
Eleanor leaned forward, her eyes narrowing with anger. “I believe you and Martin have bedded more recently, something you wish would remain secret. That is why you screamed at Ivetta when she publicly denounced you, not out of shame for a young girl’s weakness years ago. In this fresh sin lies a reason for you to have killed the cooper.”
“A lie!”
“A word you have used with ease today.” The prioress sat back, her expression devoid of pity. “If I can conclude such a thing, others will as well. Even if the blacksmith has told no one else except the crowner what Martin most surely told him, he shall do so now if he thinks he is a suspect in his friend’s death. Once the tale is bruited about, our crowner must arrest you, whether he wants to do so or not. You would be wise, therefore, if you told me now why you should not be found guilty of murder and let me keep you from some fetid hole while you wait for a trial.”