The curtain flapped in the sweet-scented breeze. The anchoress caught a glimpse of the pale moon’s position in the sky and longed for morning light.
“Why do you condemn me? I listened for God’s direction. I heard it. I acted. All this did you advise.”
Sister Juliana shut her eyes and prayed, but no answer came to her in the dark silence of her soul.
“Why do you now say I should beg for mercy? Did I not render His justice upon a wicked man?”
“Your sin is grave.” Juliana’s lips trembled.
“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.