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of our old friendship. Not only do I command you to stop begging me to grant this wicked plea, but I order you to treat all women who serve you with the sweet kindness Our Lord embodied.”
    The anchoress bowed her head but remained silent.
    “On the other hand, I must ask if any of these women has done you harm? If so, tell me for I shall not tolerate that.”
    “Their only vice lies in their sex, my lady.”
    “Then you owe them the compassion God grants all women, for you share their frailty.”
    “I shall obey, my lady,” Juliana whispered.
    “There is one other matter.”
    “I beg that you teach me all my sins.”
    “The visitors to your window. They are mostly women and come only at night, when they should be safe in their beds. It is the hour the Devil loves most…”
    “No one at my window has been attacked by imps, my lady. If God had not taken away what desire I might have for sleep, these mortals would have no one to bring His balm to their battered souls. Show me the possessed, if I speak with the Fiend’s tongue. That is how I answer those critics who wish to cover innocence with the stench of their own filth.”
    For a long time, Eleanor studied the bent figure of her old friend, then blessed the woman and left without speaking further.
    The door slammed shut. The bolt was drawn.
    Sister Juliana remained on her knees, staring in silence at that heavy wooden door which had failed to protect her from the world she hated.

Chapter Eleven
    Ivetta grumbled as she focused on the callused heels of the lay brother leading the way. Walking through the nuns’ cloister made her nervous, and she was not at all pleased about coming to the priory. There was something unnatural about all this hush, she concluded, but then she was happiest surrounded by the deep voices of men and the soaring laughter of women.
    Her bad-temper had begun even before Brother Beorn arrived at her hovel. Ivetta had just awakened, a time of day not reckoned her most cheerful, and then vomited. She felt as sour as her mouth tasted when the lay brother informed her that Prioress Eleanor had some questions about the cooper’s death. Would she come with him to the prioress’ chambers?
    As if she had had any choice!
    Out of the corner of her eye, she watched two nuns pass her in the walkway. The elder was short and square. The younger still possessed a soft, youthful roundness. “And that blank stare of holiness,” Ivetta muttered, not quite under her breath.
    The older nun glared, twitching her nose as if she had smelled the smoke of Hell emanating from the whore’s robe.
    Brother Beorn turned around. “Did you ask a question?”
    Ivetta shook her head, and the unlikely pair continued on. At least the dark frown with which he had graced her was no different from the glare he gave everyone else. In all the time she had known him, Brother Beorn had never suffered from hypocrisy. Other than children, to whom he showed a saintly patience, he disliked all mortals equally.
    When they reached the stairs that led to the prioress’ chambers, Ivetta grimaced. The very thought of climbing them exhausted her. Nor did she want to talk about Martin Cooper’s death. Who would, under the circumstances? Just as he had gotten into bed with her, he had begun his death throes. Ivetta dry-retched as the memory returned. Sweat began to drip down her cheeks.
    These holy virgins would never understand what she had suffered that night. What did they care about a woman’s passions? Martin had been different from her other men. When he took her in that open field the summer she turned thirteen, she forgot the weeds that scratched her back and remembered only the sweet scent of flowers. Since that day, she did whatever he wished, opening her legs for a price and giving him the coin. None of that mattered. Other men might ride her, but they all remained faceless and transitory. Martin had possessed her.
    Brother Beorn cleared his throat.
    Ivetta began to climb