“You are pensive, wife.” Master Ranulf winced and shifted. A jagged edge in the stone floor of the chapel was cutting into his knee. Perhaps that was meant to remind him of Hell’s agonies?
“I am praying, husband, as should you.” Even in the flickering light of the torch on the wall, the angles of Mistress Constance’s face were not softened, and she seemed to be chewing her knuckles.
“Apart from begging forgiveness for my foul mortality,” he replied, “I have even greater reason to praise God tonight. His kindness knows no limits. He has sent the Prioress of Tyndal to my father’s door, a woman devoted to God. My heart is full of gratitude.”
With an impatient sigh, Constance rose and gave obeisance to the tortured figure on the cross before turning to leave the chapel.
Ranulf quickly followed his wife, taking time only to light a candle so they might see their way to the floor above.
As they climbed the twisting stairway to the solar, she remained quiet. Since they rarely spoke after the nightly prayer, this alone did not trouble him. Tonight, however, Ranulf sensed an unusual chill. Something was amiss, and fear kept him from daring to envision what the cause might be. Only when he had shut the door to their small chamber did she deign to enlighten him.
“This house belongs to the Devil, husband. I knew evil was in residence here, but the strength of those dark powers is stronger than I had imagined.”
Something churned inside him, and Ranulf pressed his hand against his stomach. “What do you mean?”
“The prioress was most loath to grant me her blessing tonight.” Her tiny eyes blinked in the smoky candlelight.
The husband stiffened. “Did she deny you?”
“Nay, but she granted my request only after I begged. Indeed, I had to offer coin.”
“How much did you give her?” Ranulf’s mouth had gone dry, and his words caught in his throat.
“Have you added avarice to your usual transgressions, husband? Do you value a silver penny more than your immortal soul?”
He stared at his wife. “Do I not tithe? In fact, our local priest praises my generosity. My question had harmless enough intent.”
Constance stared back, her thin lips pursed in flinty anger.
“I mean only to suggest that, if this holy prioress required much, then the evil she saw would be greater than if she accepted but little.” He could explain no further and fell silent.
“Oh, she did bless me freely enough in fact. It was her reluctance that troubled me.”
“Why then did she hesitate?”
“Sin!” Constance spun around and pointed to the bed. “There lies one reason. You demanded satisfaction of your foul lust last month. The Prioress of Tyndal must have smelt the reek of sin that you left on my body.”
“A wife owes her husband payment of the marriage debt! There is no sin in that. Even Saint Paul said it was better to marry than to burn…”
“Coupling should never be done at prohibited times!” She turned her back on him but glared over her shoulder, disgust evident in her gaze. “I was still suffering my courses, yet you would not listen.”
“You bleed often, wife. As for other prohibited times, I wonder that a woman would know so many more of them than our priest does. You have never quickened, except once after we were first wed. Then the child died in the womb. Might not God finally bless us with offspring if we abstained only on those days our priest recognizes as forbidden?” He shrugged, suspecting she would still find this argument feeble.
She shook her finger at him. “Our seed refuses to unite. When will you understand that my failure to bear a child must be a sign? I have long argued that we should take a vow of celibacy and live as brother and sister. Such a marriage is holier than one where two people couple like the beasts in the field.” She raised her narrow nose and sniffed.
Ranulf looked away. “I have done penance for lying with you that night.”
“As have I.”
For a moment, neither spoke. As often happens between any couple long married, peace can be made in silence, and the tension in the room did seem to lessen.
“Then the sin has been acknowledged, and our souls have been cleansed,” Ranulf said. His lips twitched. “There must have been another reason for the prioress to be so unwilling to give her blessing.”
Constance blinked and hesitated as if listening to that last sentence again. “As I have said often of late, not that anyone has heeded, the reek of evil in this house is painfully sharp. If my nostrils burn with it, and I am but a weak and sinful woman, how foul must the stench be to someone like Prioress Eleanor?”
“By our very nature, all mortals are wicked. What greater pollution do you believe exists here?” Staring at his wife, Ranulf now clutched his hands together just below his belly.
Her thin lips curled into a snarling smile. “Your father is lecherous.”
“My mother led a most saintly life! Surely you cannot accuse her of conspiring in sinful ways during that marriage. As for my father’s subsequent marriage to Mistress Luce, he had the right to gain greater wealth by that alliance and to lie with her for his health.”
Constance snorted, her contempt for that argument obvious. “Dare you claim that your brother is not impious?”
Ranulf frowned. “Shall we condemn him so quickly? I have not yet spoken to him since his return but have prayed most diligently. You and I must beg God’s mercy in that matter and not give up hope that Huet will find the strength to fling Satan’s hands from his eyes.”
“Your stepmother…”
“Wife! Your accusations are no more than just but, other than my brother’s arrival, nothing has changed in this manor for months. Unless you have other cause to claim a greater evil, of course…” He shifted as if something had pricked him.
“Mistress Maud, that wicked woman, has come and tonight dared to greet the Prioress of Tyndal. Her presence is recent.”
Ranulf exhaled, then raised his eyebrows as if hoping his wife would think him surprised at the shocking act rather than how ignorant he was of the particular evil this woman possessed.
“Had the woman any decency, she would have hidden herself in the solar! Instead, she had the audacity to suggest treatment for that sick woman in the prioress’ company.”
“Ah!”
“Brazen, she was! How your father tolerates her, I will never understand. Instead of urging the sick to pray that God will forgive the sins that made them ill, she brews foul potions that stink of the Devil. Women like that are his very handmaidens.” She sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed her hands together.
“Yet she has had some success…”
“Oh, you are too much a sinner yourself to see it all, husband. If a mortal does not die, the cause is God’s mercy. Her concoctions have no merit.”
“I would never argue that the Devil’s art is stronger than God’s grace.”
“Just how much she worships Satan you do not know,” Constance muttered and fell silent, her brow creasing with dark furrows.
Ranulf licked his lips as he watched her lost in thought, then sat down on the bed and edged closer to his wife, tentatively reaching out with an encircling arm.
She drew back and crossed herself. “How dare you! Have you learned nothing?”
He bowed his head and rose. “My bowels are troubled, wife, and I must seek relief in the garderobe. Afterwards I shall go to the chapel to pray again. There will be time for your servant to prepare you for a chaste rest. When I return, I will be careful not to waken you.”
After closing the door to their chamber, Ranulf walked a short distance before becoming aware he had forgotten a candle. He reached out for the wall, then leaned against the stone and began rubbing his back against the roughness. Crossing his arms across his chest, he moaned with the sharp, yet sweet, pain.
Dare he seek the garderobe tonight? Satan often sent a succubus to meet him there, and his weak flesh now swelled with aching anticipation. At least that was one sin his wife had not yet rooted out. For that he was most grateful. Her righteous wrath could be terrible, making him tremble in the winds of her fury.
If he prayed hard enough, he might conquer his weakness this time. If not, surely God understood. Mortal women were whores enough, enflaming lust in otherwise godly men, but the female imps sent by the Prince of Darkness were skilled in practices beyond any man’s endurance to resist.
Pushing himself away from the wall, he stumbled onward along the familiar route to the garderobe. If he failed again to triumph over this temptation, he would spend hours in the chapel, praying for mercy as his heart cursed the day God had made Eve.