How profound was this woman’s fatigue? Had the heat and long journey strained her health so much or was she sickening? Eleanor stole a quick look over her shoulder to make certain that Sister Anne had arrived and was close by.
Surely, the lady would not have come if she had been unwell, the prioress concluded. The heat was certainly intense in this gallery, or perhaps Avelina’s lethargy was due to boredom. Eleanor decided to see if a few details about what they were about to see would spark interest.
“We have had little time to improve the presentation. If God graces us, the pleasure with which Brother John has prepared the novice choir and the boys’ enthusiasm may dim the imperfections. Our novice master himself will sing one of the parts. The role of Daniel went to a man who came to our hospital for healing and has remained to serve the priory both as recompense and penance. Our performance may be crude, compared to what the queen has seen elsewhere. May our zeal and dedication to God’s teachings make up for the deficiencies, touch her heart, and allow her to smile on our efforts.”
“Edward’s queen is a pious lady. This pilgrimage was never intended to seek worldly amusements, and her heart will grow joyful in your company of God’s servants.” Sweat glistened on Avelina’s forehead in the reflected light. “I know Father Eliduc expressed doubts that Tyndal Priory could entertain our queen. After he spoke with the novice master this morning about this Play of Daniel, he has grown quite enthusiastic.” Avelina smiled. “I have rarely seen him so excited by anything. He reminds me of my son when he was a little boy and was given a toy trebuchet!”
Eleanor bowed her head, a gesture that suggested humility while hiding her delight in surprising her adversary. “With his joy, the good priest reminds us that God is always generous when simple hearts honor Him with well-intended offerings,” she murmured, “even if they do lack worldly elegance.” And, she prayed with some apprehension, may Brother John’s art not disappoint this priest who bowed more to kings than he bent knees to God.
Avelina swallowed several times and then bent forward to gaze down into the nave. “Father Eliduc told me that this rendering of Daniel would not be as rustic as he feared.”
The prioress nodded modestly in acceptance of the compliment. Concerning his work with the novice choir, Brother John was as self-effacing as his vocation demanded. Brother Thomas balanced this humility with high praise. Although she herself had little understanding of music, other than to take pleasure in the reverent joy it brought her spirit, she believed her monk knew far more about the subject. After all, he had heard the finest choirs in London churches before he took a monk’s vows.
Suddenly her heart suffered a familiar ache. How she missed Brother Thomas. His absence had cooled her wretched longing to couple with him, but she also missed his wit and insight, pleasures that gave her a more chaste joy.
Curtailing further thoughts of the auburn-haired monk, she prayed that Eliduc would not be dissatisfied after he saw Ludus Danielis and quickly turned her attention back to the small group of men below.
Father Eliduc now stood alone. In the beam of dusty sunlight, his robe had taken on the hue of burned wood. All but the crowner kept their distance from the priest, and even Ralf stood several feet away.
How strange, Eleanor thought, and wondered if they had stepped back out of respect for the priest’s status as envoy from the queen or whether they shared her almost primordial unease in the man’s company. She shook the question away and studied the others who had come to watch this play.
There were lay brothers and monks, all to be expected, and several in secular dress as well. Although Eleanor recognized the religious, the others were unknown to her and thus not from the village. One man balanced on a crutch; another had a large poultice wrapped around the back of his neck. They must have walked from the priory hospital.
If the crippled and suffering could find the strength to come here, surely she could set aside her own troubling concerns. There was much to learn from this Daniel tale, Eleanor thought, and she should open her spirit to the lessons, rather than brood over murder, lust, and the whims of worldly creatures. Leaning back in her chair, she willed herself to relax and eagerly waited to see what Brother John had created.
No matter what Father Eliduc thought of it, Eleanor knew the performance would be special for the faithful in both Tyndal Priory and village. The Play of Daniel was a favorite, traditionally performed during the season of Christ’s birth, but it had not been done here since Eleanor had become prioress. Although she had been told how much Brother John’s choir delighted all several years ago, those novices had grown into men, their clear voices cracking, and the monks who sang in deeper tones had died. If Queen Eleanor was truly coming to Tyndal at the time announced, it was propitious that the choir master had again found that combination of voices he wanted to best portray the contrast between virtue and iniquity.
Quickly glancing around the nun’s gallery, she decided there was not a better place for the queen to see the drama than here. Although it was now only used by the nuns on those rare occasions when the entire priory and village came together, the prioress believed that the location was a special favor to women.
When the monks performed the Quem quaeritis at Easter, the sound of their voices rose with especial power and resonated in her ears like the voices of angels, not mortals. When she had spoken of her experience with Prior Andrew, he confessed he might have felt like a real witness to the empty tomb with the Marys on Easter morning, but he had not heard the voices as she had.
The ringing of hand bells and the mellow tones of a recorder brought silence to those in the church.
A hooded monk walked out of a side chapel and stood, head bowed, in the center of the nave. Behind him, two youths appeared with a chair, placed it to the monk’s right, and quickly disappeared.
“It is about to start,” the prioress whispered.
Avelina moved to the edge of her chair, and Sister Anne slipped forward to stand behind her prioress.
The monk raised his head and began to speak, each word of his deep voice resounding with a cornet’s clarity throughout the church.
“He tells the tale in our language,” Avelina murmured.
“So that the meaning of the story may be understood by all, not just the religious who can follow the Latin in the choral songs,” the prioress said. “See! Here comes the novice choir.”
The high, bright voices of the young boys blended with the eager joy of the hand bells and the warmth of a recorder as the choir walked through the nave from the back of the church. Following behind were four monks, their deep voices lending both gravity and foreboding to the celebratory processional. Brother John, at the very end, carried a simple scepter to indicate he was meant to be King Belshazzar.
Avelina clasped her hands together as the novice master sat in the chair and waved his hand.
From the left chapel, two boys emerged, one raising a golden chalice and the other a glittering platter as they approached the king’s throne. When they placed them on the ground at his feet, two deep-voiced singers rejoiced that the sacred vessels from Jerusalem’s desecrated temple had become mere ornaments for the royal table.
Awestruck, Avelina looked at Eleanor.
“The plate belongs to the priory,” the prioress whispered. Brother John had welcomed the offer to use them in the play, and they both hoped the items might finally be cleansed of their sad origin by performing this sacred role as vessels from Jerusalem’s holiest site. They had been bought at the time when a former sub-prior had almost destroyed the priory with his greed for the flashing plate. That had also been a time when blood stained the cloister garth and Brother John had been accused of murder.