CHAPTER 1
Abbey of Fontevraud, Anjou, Spring 1200
Sabine de Nevers floated toward the chapter house in a cloud of perfume, a cloak of the finest Flanders wool, and a gown of the greenest cendal, its fashionably long sleeves trailing on the convent’s floors. Not appropriate attire for the house of the hand-maidens of the Lord, but well chosen to keep the chill from her bones, and to show off those famous Nevers eyes and what used to be, in her time, a famous figure.
A countess in her own right, she could afford to flaunt conventions, to turn aside pointed remarks that she had reached an age when she should have long retired to a convent, perhaps joining her only daughter. As the confidant and lady-in-waiting to the queen-duchess Aliénor of Aquitaine, Sabine dealt with these barbed monitions the same way her mistress did—by ignoring them.
She knew that Aliénor had not entered Fontevraud to take the veil either, as the world vainly hoped, but rather to conspire and plot, as the world justly feared. The Duchess of Aquitaine’s plots required meticulous planning, and that required time, which was the reason for Sabine being sent to Abbess Mathilde. Beyond the half-opened door, Sabine could hear the abbess’s voice, uncharacteristically elevated.
“Are you certain you have unburdened yourself, Sister Eustace?”
“I think so, Mother.”
Sabine peeked inside. On the tiled floor, a figure in novice’s robes prostrated herself in front of the abbess.
“Your memory must be failing, child. You placed a toad in Sister Emma’s night lantern and nearly frightened her to death. Sister Domenica tells me you’ve asked Father Osbert impertinent questions. Last week, Sister Susanne found you reading a book you took from the armarium without Brother Egremont’s permission.” Abbess Mathilde paused dramatically. “She told me you had picked the door lock.”
“Brother Egremont doesn’t mind when I read his books, Mother. I always return them. His eyes are not very good but he doesn’t want to relinquish his position. I read to him, and he teaches me and allows me to borrow a book or two.”
“And what have you read these days, Daughter?”
The repentant tone gave way to an enthusiastic one. “Saint Augustine and Saint Gregory, and Horace and Ovid. I mean Origen. And Abélard.”
“Abélard!”
“And Abbé Bernard’s condemnation of him, of course, Mother.”
“Of course.” Abbess Mathilde sighed. “You may kneel now, Daughter.”
Although Sabine disliked disobedience in one’s inferiors, she found herself smiling. She was about to take her leave when the abbess called out, no doubt alerted by the movement at the door, “Countess, do join us.”
Sabine did as asked because despite her rank and the queen’s generous gifts to Fontevraud, their small court was, after all, a guest of the abbey.
Abbess Mathilde, a petite, dignified woman of threescore years, stood under a wooden cross, her hands folded under her scapular. The calamitous Sister Eustace knelt in front of the abbess, her head bowed and hands clasped hard. “You may bring the countess a chair, Daughter,” the abbess said.
The girl jumped up and set about the task in a swirl of white veil and robes. Sabine watched her with increasing amusement. Her task completed, Sister Eustace remained standing in front of the abbess, her hands properly inside her sleeves, her head again bowed.
Abbess Mathilde assumed a stern tone. “What would you advise, Countess, that we do with a person who has heeded few of our admonitions?”
Sabine fought to hide a smile. The queen’s entourage did not include young demoiselles anymore, as it had long ago at her court at Poitiers. Sabine missed the laughter and the teary, inconsequential crises and spats. “Perhaps that person should be allowed to contemplate the error of her ways and come up with her own suitable penance.”
“A most excellent idea. You will retire to the chapel, Sister Eustace, and remain there at prayer until you are called. You may go now.”
The girl curtsied to the two women and fled in most unseemly haste, the doors slamming loudly behind her. This time, Sabine laughed. “Sister Eustace seems a little distracted.”
Smiling, the abbess sat in her chair. “Sister Eustace, yes. Juliana de Charnais can be quite determined. That child must have read every book in the library. The brothers call her Sister Scholastica. She claims she is not ready for her solemn vows, and I could not agree with her more, but what can I do? She inherited Tillières and thinks one day she will reclaim it. Unfortunately, she has already refused one husband.”
“That viscounty of the Norman march? Was the queen informed that one of John’s fiefs passed to a female heir?”
“Of course, but I suppose there are more pressing matters.”
Indeed, there were. After the death of Richard the Lionheart a year ago, John Plantagenet had become Duke of Normandy as well as King of England in the face of fierce opposition from the supporters of his thirteen-year-old nephew, Arthur of Brittany, son of John’s late elder brother Geoffrey. To complicate the dynastic mire, the newly installed king-duke lacked an heir. In fact, he was about to divest himself of his childless marriage to his current wife with no new wife on the horizon. His mother, Aliénor, knew it, and it worried her; hence Sabine’s mission. “Her Grace asked me to inform you that she is expecting another visit from the Earl of Pembroke. Please instruct the gate mistress to let the earl and his party pass.”
“The earl is always welcome. We pray the queen finds other such worthy champions. It is difficult enough for a female liege to maintain the loyalty of her vassals. Fortunately, we can always rely on the One who sustains us all.” The abbess crossed herself.
Sabine joined in the gesture. “Blessedly so. But I would yet hold my faith in the queen.”
The way to the queen’s apartments took Sabine past the great, single-naved church. Through the open door, she caught sight of Sister Eustace. The kneeling girl appeared to be absorbed, but somehow Sabine doubted it was in prayer. Something about the girl’s hunched shoulders compelled Sabine to enter the nave.
High above, four cupolas hovered, miraculously suspended between columns punctuated by slender blades of windows, their panes casting rainbows of colors onto the floor stones. The heavy scent of incense and beeswax filled the air.
“So, have you contemplated the error of your ways, Sister?”
The girl started but quickly composed herself. “For five years, Madame.”
The forlorn tone kindled in Sabine mixed emotions. It was nothing more than an impulse, she told herself, that made her say, “Will you walk with me to the gardens?”
The girl hesitated before nodding and they walked around the cloister garth into the high-walled abbey garden. Sabine chose a stone bench underneath a still-bare chestnut and patted the seat next to her. The girl took up the bench edge, hands in her sleeves, eyes downcast. Sabine watched Sister Eustace’s gloomy face, with its pouting lower lip and a slight crook in the bridge of the nose, a splash of childhood freckles across it. She was no great beauty, but a handsome enough girl, if thin. “I am told you now wish to attain status conjugatorum, after all. But are not chastity and obedience the highest virtues in a woman? Does not Saint Jerome teach that only in our innocent flesh can we near the perfection of angels?”
Sister Eustace’s gloom vanished in a burst of scholarly fervor. “But Saint Augustine says that chastity cannot be violated without the consent of one’s will. And he says that Adam and Eve’s status conjugatorum received the blessing of our Lord. And doesn’t he say that the lust of another cannot pollute the innocent?”
Sister Scholastica certainly had a knack for drawing others into knotty disputations. “Do we not all in the end put aside worldliness? Isn’t that what the Church teaches?”
Juliana winced inwardly and tucked in her chin. Oh Mary, her runaway tongue. Would the countess tell on her to the mistress of novices? But how could she put aside thoughts of worldliness when the scandalous queen-duchess had settled at the abbey, and when her presence drew a steady trickle of visitors? She tried to catch glimpses of them and snippets of their world even if it earned her the penance of scrubbing the floor of the refectory. Her disquietude grew. She feared that one day she would deeply discomfit Father Osbert by screaming at the top of her lungs during the benediction, another mad nun. “Yes, but how am I to renounce this world when I have not experienced any of it?”
“I see. Then you would not know that the queen strives to secure the rights of heirs of faithful vassals?”
“Others know better than I do in these matters, Madame.” Juliana thought it better to tame her answer.
Sabine noticed and it drew another smile from her. “Oh, I think you know more than you allow, Sister. I believe Mother would give you leave, provided, of course, the queen agrees to find a master for Tillières loyal to Duke John. Would you like me to speak to her?”
Juliana looked up. The grand lady appeared to her like an angel descending from heaven, offering her the world. “Oh, yes!”
How eager the young were to savor the world, Sabine thought, knowing yet so little of it. The bell announced Vespers, and Sabine crossed herself and rose from the bench. As they took the path toward the garden gate, the girl two paces behind her, Sabine said, “So, are you willing to raise the white flag to a husband this time?”
“Surrender to a worthy foe is not a defeat.” Her father used to drum that into his squires’ heads, and it was as good an answer as Juliana could conjure.
This time, Sabine laughed. “Then I shall have to ask the queen to find you someone worthy to surrender to!” She grew somber. “Choose carefully, my dear. The queen’s utmost concern will be not your wishes, but your viscounty.”
Black-robed sisters began to converge on the chapel. Juliana watched them, the long, eternal line of black. “I have chosen. I am the last de Charnais. I want my home.”
