Although the morning had promised warmth, the day remained quite chill. Accompanied by her aunt and Sister Anne, Eleanor retreated to the lodgings belonging to the prioress of Amesbury. There they found a lively fire. A servant quickly brought both wine and cheese for refreshment and just as promptly departed to allow the women private conversation.
As they all rubbed their hands near the fire, Eleanor looked around at her temporary residence, rooms she had rarely seen when she was a young novice and nun. When she had been brought to these chambers some days ago, Eleanor had commented with due courtesy on how comfortably appointed the quarters were. In this she had spoken the truth, for her own at the East Anglian priory were quite poor in comparison.
Three of the stone walls in this public room were softened with well-crafted and colorful hangings, whereas Eleanor had but one near her bed at Tyndal. Above the door here hung a smaller embroidered cloth which depicted Adam and Eve leaving Eden, a work that must have given Prioress Ida pause for thought each time she left the tranquility of her quarters for the chaos of the world without.
Against the other two walls, full-length tapestries kept any cold at bay. One illustrated the falling walls of Jericho, beside which stood a blond Joshua bearing a shield with three lions. Eleanor wondered if this had been a gift from King Henry or his queen in honor of their son, Edward, who was on crusade. The other showed a matronly Virgin holding the infant Jesus; the mother’s face vaguely resembled that of the prioress in charge during Eleanor’s youth.
Close to the fourth wall stood an altar and an elaborately carved prie-dieu, the wood of which glowed with a reddish cast in the firelight.
A comfortable enough room, Eleanor thought, yet she had discovered one lack. The Amesbury Psalter was missing, an elegant, illuminated work that had always been used by the prioress for her own prayers. Or so she remembered.
She turned to her aunt. “Does the priory still possess the Psalter done in Salisbury? You sometimes used it to teach us to read.”
“Rarely, child, rarely.” Beatrice shook her head. “Prioress Joan agreed that I might do so only as a reward for those most diligent in their work.” For a moment, she fell silent as if lost in a past memory, then she sipped her wine. “It would never have left this room, but one corner is torn. Prioress Ida sent it to the library and scriptorium where a monk more talented than any of our own will come to do the needed repair.”
“I must take you there to see it,” Eleanor said to Anne.
“An excellent walk for us both on a warmer day,” the sub-infirmarian replied as she rose and offered a plate of cheese to the other two women.
Eleanor shook her head in refusal and turned to Sister Beatrice. The novice mistress was examining the contents of her mazer, but her expression suggested that the quality of the wine was not her concern. Had the news brought to her by the man at the gate been so troubling? The prioress settled into her chair, grateful for the support of the firm wood. Her back ached.
“Did you learn something distressing from the laborer?” Eleanor asked.
“I did not expect to hear that Wulfstan, of all people, would see a ghost coming out of the reeds by the river.” Beatrice raised her hand in a gesture of disgust. “Had it been almost anyone else, I would have assumed that the vision was a wisp of fog that wound around a winter-killed bush or even a large bird. We have a crow nesting in a tree near the library. He may have seen it flying out of the fog near the river, but I am troubled indeed. Wulfstan is a steady fellow, not given to imaginings.”
“You said that he was not the first to see such a vision?”
With evident dismay, Beatrice shook her head. “All it takes is for one person to see something that frightens, something inexplicable, and rumors of ghosts multiply like mice.” She put down the wine and rested her chin against her folded hands. “Although I thought Wulfstan a more sensible man, he has apparently been infected with the same affliction shared by others who work on our lands. Even some of our own monks have run to us of late, claiming the priory itself is haunted.”
“When did this begin?” Eleanor asked.
Beatrice rubbed her hands together, reached again for her cup, and listened to the snapping flames before answering. “The sightings started some time before you arrived. At first, they were mere annoyances, but now they occur almost every night or early morning. Many say that some spirit from Hell has a quarrel with our priory. I fear that we must do something soon to dispel these ideas. The villagers are becoming fearful and our own monastics…” She smiled. “Ah, well! At least some of our monks have become more ardent in their prayers out of dread of this ghost. Perhaps I should bless the shade!”
“Has the spirit injured anyone?” Anne asked, politely ignoring the suggestion that any Amesbury monk might be less than devout.
“Some have suffered scrapes and bruises in their rush to run away.” Beatrice sipped her wine and set the cup down on the table.
“You said in the cloister that the creature had taken the shape of the priory’s founder?” Eleanor winced as her cramps returned.
“Most of the witnesses maintain that our ghost is that of Queen Elfrida, wife to King Edgar. Others, fewer in number but vocal enough, claim it resembles a local woman who drowned herself in the Avon and was buried in unsanctified ground. Mistress Eda was her name.”
“What cause has either spirit to trouble this priory?” Anne asked.
“According to legend, Sister, Amesbury was founded by Queen Elfrida in atonement for her part in the murder of her stepson, Edward the Martyr. For over two hundred years, our monastics have prayed that her soul might have ease in Purgatory and ascend quickly to Heaven, but some villagers believe we have become so sinful ourselves of late that her ghost has grown angry and returned to rebuke us.”
“Sinned? How?” Eleanor asked. “Are we not all sinners?”
“Our religious community has had some weak-fleshed members, although no more than many others. As a double house, and one run by women at that, we are especially prone to these rumors. Most in the village know us too well to accuse us of habitually wanton behavior, but I will not hide the truth here. The inn did attract some of our lay brothers and the occasional monk.”
“Surely Prioress Ida has dealt with this problem?” Eleanor replied.
“She learned from Brother Jerome about a break in the wall on the monks’ side of the grounds and promptly had it repaired before she left. I have since discussed the matter with our prior, and he believes that the repair has solved the problem. Where the mended wall might have failed to ensure chastity, the tales of this wandering spirit have succeeded. This, I have confirmed with a trustworthy source in the village itself. The inn has seen no tonsure for some time.”
“Thus the spirit of your founder should be satisfied and leave you in peace,” Anne said.
“Not yet, for Wulfstan claims he saw her last night.” The novice mistress’ tone conveyed her vexation.
“Might the thing be the wraith of the woman damned for self-murder?” Anne glanced briefly at her prioress, who was leaning forward, quite attentive to the conversation. “What quarrel had she with the priory?”
“Other than the burial, Mistress Eda had none. Before her death, she suffered from a growth in her womb. The disease resisted prayer and the aid of mortal medicine, both of which we gave her. One day her husband found her missing, and her body was soon discovered floating in the Avon.”
“And who adjudged the death self-murder?” Eleanor asked, glancing at the food on the table.
Anne reached over and passed her some cheese.
“The crowner did, based on evidence given by several villagers.”
“Yet someone believes the decision was in error or else the rumor would not be rife that Mistress Eda is the ghost.” Eleanor smiled at Anne in thanks and took a piece.
“Her childhood friend, Mistress Jhone, is the source of that, and the widower agrees with her. Few others concur.” Beatrice watched her niece eat one bite of cheese and then another.
“Mistress Jhone and the bereaved husband think...?”
“…that Mistress Eda slipped, but was so weakened by her illness that she was unable to pull herself from the water.”
“Why did the crowner’s verdict find otherwise?” Anne said, casually placing the plate of food closer to her prioress’ elbow.
“Everyone here knew that Mistress Eda hated the river and would never have walked there willingly. When she was young, she had taken her younger brother down to the Avon but fell asleep in the sun. The boy decided to go swimming and drowned. She never forgave herself,” Beatrice replied. “After she grew ill, all knew her pain. When her body was found, they concluded that she had given up all hope and turned against God in her suffering. Satan, they said, must have seen his chance to gain her soul and lured her to the river in the guise of her brother.”
Eleanor now tore off a small bit of bread and nibbled at it thoughtfully.
“All these rumors and tales are nonsense.” Beatrice slammed her fist down on the table. “There is no ghost. No matter what is claimed, imagined, or believed, Saint Augustine taught us that there is no communication between the world of the living and that of the dead.”
“Spirits seen are more likely Satan’s imps dressed up as mortals to fool us than truly tortured souls of the dead,” Eleanor finished. “Although you taught me to seek out mortals more than imps when evil has been done.”
“And I have not changed my mind. Mortal and flawed as we are, we see what we expect to see and in the guise we most fear. In using our frailties against us, Satan is a most clever creature.” Beatrice’s anger gave way to a merrier laugh. “Nor have I forgotten what I taught you, dearest one! I am not yet so aged that my memory has begun to drift into that tranquil land many find before death.”
“Were I even to suggest such a thing, my father would come roaring to your defense all the way from Wales!”
“He and I have always butted heads like goats, but that is how we show our love for each other. As for our haunting, I do suspect the ghost is made less of spirit than flesh, but, if the acts were intended as a jest, the game has turned cruel. Those who work hard in the priory fields now fear to take the shorter path to the village along the river and return home even wearier. Honest men should not be made to suffer so.”
“Then you must dispel these rumors and the growing fear.” Eleanor smiled at her aunt with fond expectation.
The novice mistress looked heavenward and gave an immense sigh. “I would, but I have no time to devote to this pagan nonsense. With Prioress Ida gone, I must continue with my old duties, plus hers, and a few other tasks as well. The spring planting season is full upon us…”
Eleanor blinked. “Might the prior take this matter in hand?”
“He could, if he were not such a fool and inclined to believe in ghosts himself.” Beatrice folded her hands and placed them in her lap. Still gazing at the ceiling, her features slowly formed into what one might call a study in perplexity.
Anne and Eleanor looked at each other in silence. The sub-infirmarian raised one questioning eyebrow at her friend.
“If you will allow it, Aunt, I might look into this matter for you,” Eleanor said, her voice showing an enthusiasm that had been much lacking of late.
The novice mistress waved one hand in a dismissive gesture. “You are too weak.”
Eleanor’s face turned scarlet. “I am not…”
Anne laid a hand on her friend’s sleeve. “Might I make a suggestion? You could conserve your strength but still help.”
The aunt continued to look upward as if in deep thought, then replied with a measured hesitation. “How so, Sister?”
“Accompanying us was Brother Thomas, a brave and clever man who has been of great service to your family as well as Tyndal in matters of justice. Might Prioress Eleanor set him to the task of finding the source of these apparitions?”
Eleanor paled. “I would rather not…”
“Ah!” Beatrice brightened. “A most original idea! My noble brother was uncharacteristically fulsome in his praise of your monk as I recall.” Her lips twitched and her eyebrows rose. “I, too, found your Brother Thomas quite memorable.” The novice mistress’ expression could only be described as appreciative. “A man with hair the color of Satan’s own fire and a body so muscular that Sir Lancelot would be jealous? I would guess he might be bored with no better company than our aging and placid monks on the other side of the priory. Perchance he would welcome a bit of innocent adventure outside the walls, searching for a jester who must have strayed from court?” She clapped her hands with a merry vigor. “Set him to the task, child, and report to me on his success. Or failure. I do think you could help me so much in this matter without exhausting yourself. Meanwhile, I can see to the planting of our herb garden...” Her voice trailed off as she gazed with affectionate delight at her niece.
Eleanor bowed her head. Although the gesture spoke of respect to her aunt, it succeeded in hiding her troubled expression.
“It is a task that should be started soon,” the novice mistress declared, rising with evident stiffness from the table. “Now, I fear, I must go to our infirmarian for something to give me some ease. I am an old woman whose joints ache more than I would wish, and I need something to help me sleep.”
“It shall be done.” Eleanor rose as well, kissed her aunt, and watched in silence as she limped away.
Suddenly, Anne leapt up and turned to Eleanor. “I might have a remedy for your aunt…”
“Go to her then.” Eleanor gestured toward the disappearing nun. “Quickly!”
“Sister,” Anne called out, running after the elder nun. “We have found something at Tyndal that has proven successful…”
When the two tall nuns were far enough from Eleanor to speak without being overheard, Sister Anne asked, “Do you think she is strong enough to handle this matter?”
Beatrice nodded. “My niece has ever been one to gain strength from a challenge. Did you not see pink return to her cheeks and a sparkle to her eyes? She even ate more than has been her wont. This task may be just the medicine she needs, and it is an easy enough one with your Brother Thomas doing the work of investigating. If I had thought otherwise, I would not have whined so about my trifling duties and aged joints. Now return before she suspects we are conspiring!”
But when Anne reentered the room and Eleanor greeted her with one eyebrow arched, the sub-infirmarian of Tyndal knew full well that she and the novice mistress had utterly failed to deceive.