Read Online The Chatter of the Maidens by Alys Clare - Free Book Online
Authors: Alys Clare
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‘Are you all right?’
‘I am perfectly all right, thank you, Brother Saul. Please would you and one of the brothers – Brother Michael, perhaps – escort Sister Alba here to the punishment cell.’ There was an instant buzzing sound as several nuns and monks all began whispering in horror. ‘Make sure she has water and something in which to wrap herself. Then lock her in.’
The lay brothers did as they were bid. All resistance seemed to have leaked out of Sister Alba; she accompanied them with lowered head and without a word.
There wasn’t a word from anybody else, either. What had just happened was too awful to be spoken of. At least, until the shock wore off.
The punishment cell at Hawkenlye was a small and windowless room built into the stonework beneath the nuns’ dormitory, where it formed part of the undercroft. It was chilly and damp and, once the door was closed and barred, almost totally dark. There was just enough room for someone not above average height to lie down stretched out.
In the near half century of Hawkenlye Abbey’s existence, the cell had never before been used.
Helewise’s first reaction was fury, that she had been forced to this terrible and drastic response to Sister Alba’s intransigence. But, as she knelt before the altar, all alone in the church, soon fury changed to remorse. Oh, dear God, what have I done? I’ve sent a human being to that awful place! Forgive me, I—
But her fervent, panicky prayer stumbled to a stop.
You had no choice, her conscience said firmly. No nun is permitted to strike another. Sister Alba should really have been sent straight to the punishment cell for her attack on Berthe. When she compounded that by trying to hit her superior, you were left with no alternative.
Helewise felt a sob rise in her throat. She suppressed it. It was, after all, the lot of those in command to impose harsh penalties from time to time. No use weeping about it.
She continued her prayers, slipping into some of the familiar and beloved forms of words that always brought comfort. And, eventually, she felt calm.
As she got up from her knees and left the church, the sole emotion she had left was pity.
She had been anticipating a quiet end to what had been anything but a quiet day. Sister Alba had been provided with food and water, and two of the nuns had wordlessly handed covers from their own beds to Sister Martha, to be given to their Sister in torment. Special prayers had been said at Compline and now, Helewise fervently hoped, there remained nothing further for the community to do but to settle down for the night.
But, as the nuns left the church and headed for their dormitory, they all heard the sound of pounding footsteps from outside the gate, swiftly followed by loud banging and a voice shouting, ‘Open up! I need help; a man’s been attacked on the road to the Vale! Open up !’
Sister Ursel glanced at Helewise, who nodded her permission. As the porteress rushed to unbolt the gates, followed by several more of the nuns, Helewise caught at the sleeve of Sister Martha. ‘If you would, Sister, slip out of the rear gate and find Brother Saul. We have more need of him and his companions, I fear.’
The man at the gate had been admitted and, shaking and clearly in shock, he was blurting out his story. There was blood on the front of his tunic.
Helewise approached him. Holding up her hand to quieten him, she said, ‘Help is coming. We have summoned some of our lay brothers, who will accompany you back to where this poor man lies and bring him here to the infirmary, where we may tend him.’
‘Reckon you’ll be too late, Abbess,’ the man said. Calmer now, he was looking at Helewise with heavy-lidded, sorrowful eyes. ‘Reckon nobody could survive long, not with half their head bashed in.’
Somebody gave a low moan of distress. Belatedly, Helewise ordered the horrified nuns to go to the dormitory. I have only the trials of today, she thought ruefully, to excuse
‘I am perfectly all right, thank you, Brother Saul. Please would you and one of the brothers – Brother Michael, perhaps – escort Sister Alba here to the punishment cell.’ There was an instant buzzing sound as several nuns and monks all began whispering in horror. ‘Make sure she has water and something in which to wrap herself. Then lock her in.’
The lay brothers did as they were bid. All resistance seemed to have leaked out of Sister Alba; she accompanied them with lowered head and without a word.
There wasn’t a word from anybody else, either. What had just happened was too awful to be spoken of. At least, until the shock wore off.
The punishment cell at Hawkenlye was a small and windowless room built into the stonework beneath the nuns’ dormitory, where it formed part of the undercroft. It was chilly and damp and, once the door was closed and barred, almost totally dark. There was just enough room for someone not above average height to lie down stretched out.
In the near half century of Hawkenlye Abbey’s existence, the cell had never before been used.
Helewise’s first reaction was fury, that she had been forced to this terrible and drastic response to Sister Alba’s intransigence. But, as she knelt before the altar, all alone in the church, soon fury changed to remorse. Oh, dear God, what have I done? I’ve sent a human being to that awful place! Forgive me, I—
But her fervent, panicky prayer stumbled to a stop.
You had no choice, her conscience said firmly. No nun is permitted to strike another. Sister Alba should really have been sent straight to the punishment cell for her attack on Berthe. When she compounded that by trying to hit her superior, you were left with no alternative.
Helewise felt a sob rise in her throat. She suppressed it. It was, after all, the lot of those in command to impose harsh penalties from time to time. No use weeping about it.
She continued her prayers, slipping into some of the familiar and beloved forms of words that always brought comfort. And, eventually, she felt calm.
As she got up from her knees and left the church, the sole emotion she had left was pity.
She had been anticipating a quiet end to what had been anything but a quiet day. Sister Alba had been provided with food and water, and two of the nuns had wordlessly handed covers from their own beds to Sister Martha, to be given to their Sister in torment. Special prayers had been said at Compline and now, Helewise fervently hoped, there remained nothing further for the community to do but to settle down for the night.
But, as the nuns left the church and headed for their dormitory, they all heard the sound of pounding footsteps from outside the gate, swiftly followed by loud banging and a voice shouting, ‘Open up! I need help; a man’s been attacked on the road to the Vale! Open up !’
Sister Ursel glanced at Helewise, who nodded her permission. As the porteress rushed to unbolt the gates, followed by several more of the nuns, Helewise caught at the sleeve of Sister Martha. ‘If you would, Sister, slip out of the rear gate and find Brother Saul. We have more need of him and his companions, I fear.’
The man at the gate had been admitted and, shaking and clearly in shock, he was blurting out his story. There was blood on the front of his tunic.
Helewise approached him. Holding up her hand to quieten him, she said, ‘Help is coming. We have summoned some of our lay brothers, who will accompany you back to where this poor man lies and bring him here to the infirmary, where we may tend him.’
‘Reckon you’ll be too late, Abbess,’ the man said. Calmer now, he was looking at Helewise with heavy-lidded, sorrowful eyes. ‘Reckon nobody could survive long, not with half their head bashed in.’
Somebody gave a low moan of distress. Belatedly, Helewise ordered the horrified nuns to go to the dormitory. I have only the trials of today, she thought ruefully, to excuse
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