CHAPTER TWENTY
St. Blitha
It was a cold, misty morning, much colder and denser than the day before, but the Mother Abbess and her attendants were up before dawn, preparing for the day. With the Feast Day on the morrow, there was much for them to do.
They had a traitor in their midst.
“Is she awake yet, Sister Petronilla?” the Mother Abbess asked. “Is she at her duties?”
Sister Petronilla was over near the windows that overlooked the garden. She peered out, trying to see through the mist that had settled. The sun was just rising, turning everything a lighter shade of gray, like a mystical land the color of silver.
“Aye,” she said after a moment. “I see her and some other women over near the kitchens.”
The Mother Abbess sighed faintly as Sister Agnes adjusted her wimple. “And you are sure what you saw last night, Sister?”
Sister Petronilla turned away from the window. “I am certain,” she said. “I was watching the postern gate to ensure she returned from Lady Hinkley’s. There was a man with her; I could see him standing outside the gate when she came through.”
“And she had no laundry from Lady Hinkley?”
“None that I could see, Gracious Mother.”
The Mother Abbess finished fussing with her wimple and made her away across the floor, looking from the windows just as Sister Petronilla was doing, seeing Andressa across the misty yard as she worked with the other nuns. Because she was so tall, it was easy to spot her among the other women.
“So Andressa has a lover,” she said, but there was an icy edge to her tone. “A lover who must have killed Douglas when the man strayed too close to her. Do you suppose that is what happened, Sister? Mayhap Douglas stumbled onto something he should not have heard and was killed for it.”
Sister Petronilla lifted her shoulders. “Andressa spends far too much time wandering the city,” she said, disgust in her voice. “She has more freedom than anyone else because of her duties as the laundress and she has taken a lover because of that freedom. She has taken advantage of your generosity, Gracious Mother. Something must be done.”
The Mother Abbess was calm, unnaturally so, as she watched Andressa go about her tasks. “Something will be done,” she said as she turned away. “She will understand her place in all things or The Chaos will swallow her, too. It is something we must do. Bring her to me.”
Sister Petronilla left her post at the window, a smug expression on her face because she was happy to summon Andressa to face the Mother Abbess’ punishment. She wasn’t happy about Andressa joining their exclusive group as it was, so the fact that the woman had proven herself unworthy was quite a joyful thing for Sister Petronilla. As she quickly left the Mother Abbess’ solar, the Mother Abbess turned to Sister Agnes and Sister Dymphna.
“Bring my rod,” she said quietly. “And the bindings. We shall get to the bottom of this.”
The two sisters fled the chamber to do the Mother Abbess’ bidding.
The Mother Abbess was alone in her solar now, waiting for what was to come. She’d been at the helm of St. Blitha for many years, and she’d seen many women during that time. Scores of them. It was rare that a nun died of old age at St. Blitha, simply because the Mother Abbess liked to play God with the women under her care, but it was something they didn’t know until it was too late.
For Andressa, she was about to receive a warming before it was too late.
Or perhaps it already was.
In any case, the girl had gone out, at least twice that day that she knew of, both times with the excuse of delivering or gathering laundry at Lady Hinkley’s fine manor home. But when she returned last night, it had been with no laundry and a male escort.
A lover.
The Mother Abbess had a lover, too, but she was well past the age of worrying over conceiving a child, so her activities were without fear. When the Bishop of Essex came to St. Blitha as he did several times a year, she would join him in the Abbot Lodge on the grounds, and they would fornicate most of the night. He chose her over younger women, because he’d had trouble in the past with nuns bearing his children. At least, they’d become pregnant, but the children were never born.
He’d made certain of it.
The Mother Abbess knew all about that, so their trysts were mutually beneficial – Aatto de Horndon, Bishop of Essex, was a tall, thin, and weak-looking man with a long tongue and a manhood that was nearly half the length of his thigh when it was aroused. He could bring a woman to her pleasure in mere seconds, and the Mother Abbess looked forward to his visits to St. Blitha. Rumor had it that he shared lovers with the king, though the Mother Abbess had never been part of that particular exchange. Not that she cared. Her life was such that she didn’t care, nor was she attached, to anyone or anything.
Meaning she had little to no feelings towards Andressa and what was about to happen. If the girl wasn’t guilty, there would be no regret, but if she was guilty, then there would be some pleasure in punishing her.
And then The Chaos could have her.
The Mother Abbess moved away from the window, thoughts turning away from the bishop’s impending visit to Andressa. Her great Staff of Truth was propped against the wall over near the entry door and she went to collect it. In fact, she stood next to the doorway, just inside it, holding the staff, waiting for the door to open.
It wasn’t long in coming.
Sister Petronilla entered first, followed by Andressa. They entered the chamber, not seeing the Mother Abbess because she was standing back by the door, against the wall. They only noticed her when she shut the door behind them.
“Andressa,” the Mother Abbess said. “I understand you came back late last night.”
Andressa, who hasn’t been inordinately concerned when Sister Petronilla summoned her to the Mother Abbess’ private solar, was now filled with fear at the sight of the Mother Abbess standing by the door with her Staff of Truth in-hand.
It was the staff that had her eye, because that was the Mother Abbess most fearsome weapon. When it was in her hand, there was always the chance that somehow, she might use it.
Andressa took a deep breath.
“I did, Gracious Mother,” she said, trying not to sound terrified. “Is there a concern?”
The Mother Abbess came away from the door, using the staff as a walking stick at this point. Her movements were casual, slow, but that was deceptive. It was like watching the lethargy of a serpent before it lashed out.
“I would like for you to tell me if there is,” she said. “Where is the washing you said you would collect from Lady Hinkley?”
Andressa faced her with as much courage as she could muster. There was no washing, even though she’d made a point of stopping by Lady Hinkley’s late in the night, with Maxton by her side. If Lady Hinkley was asked, she wanted the woman to confirm that she had, indeed, been there. It had been a carefully executed action to cover her tracks.
“She gave me none, Gracious Mother,” she replied. “She did ask me to return, thinking her clothing from the day would need washing, but she decided not to give it to me.”
“Did she say why?”
“She wanted to wear the garments today for a visit.”
The Mother Abbess came to stand next to her, the staff in her hand just a few inches away from Andressa.
“I see,” she said. “And if I were to ask her if you had visited her, would she tell me you had?”
Andressa nodded firmly. “I would encourage you to do so, Gracious Mother,” she said. Then, she glanced at Sister Petronilla before returning her attention to the Mother Abbess. “Is something wrong? Have I done something?”
The Mother Abbess’ gaze lingered on her, the weight her stare so very heavy, for a few moments before turning away.
“I am not certain,” she said. “Do you have something to confess to me, child?”
Now, they were getting to the meat of the situation. Andressa knew this moment would come at some point. She thought it would have come last night after she’d returned, but everything had been dark and silent. She never asked Maxton what happened to Douglas, and he’d never told her, but surely the nuns would have been suspicious when he didn’t return to St. Blitha. They’d sent him out to follow her, after all.
But Andressa had been the only one to return.
Given what Douglas had said to her last night, Andressa knew that the Mother Abbess was aware the plans for the king were no longer secret. She’d known enough to send the man to follow Andressa when she left the abbey, presumably for Lady Hinkley’s. But it had been far more than that, and Lady Hinkley’s laundry had nothing to do with it.
She knows yer guilt, Douglas had said.
Now, the confrontation had come.
As Andressa looked at the woman, it occurred to her that she was on trial. All of this; it was a trial. The Mother Abbess was the judge and her minions were the jury. They knew she had discussed their plans and were more than likely deciding what to do about it. How they knew of her guilt didn’t matter, only that they did. Someone had told them that Andressa had confessed their darkest plans to men loyal to the king.
Oh, God…
Fear surged through Andressa but she fought it. She had to stay calm if there was any hope of coming out of this alive. To pretend as if she had no idea what they were talking about was her only defense, but there was a distinct problem with that – she had never been very good at lying. Now, she had to lie as if her life depended on it, because it did. She knew it did.
She was closer to death than she’d ever been in her life.
God help me!
“Confess?” she repeated, hoping she didn’t sound terrified and cornered. “I have not gone to confession today, but I shall confess to you if you wish.”
The Mother Abbess ended up over by her windows, her favorite place to stand as she surveyed her empire beyond.
“I have no time for foolishness,” the woman said patiently. “Tell me where you have gone and who you have spoken to. Tell me now.”
Andressa held her ground. “You know where I have gone, Gracious Mother,” she said. “Yesterday morning, a baker was kind enough to feed me, and then I returned to finish the laundry. I delivered Lady Hinkley’s undergarments and then returned last night at her request. Where is it that I am supposed to have gone other than what you already know?”
Before the Mother Abbess could answer, the door opened and Sisters Agnes and Dymphna appeared. One nun was holding a long, thick branch that had been carved out with heavy thorns projecting from it. It was a horrifying device of torture. The other nun was carrying leather bindings, larger versions of what falconer’s used to tether their birds. When Andressa saw the items, her eyes widened.
“Gracious Mother,” she said, swiftly turning to the woman. “What is it I am supposed to have done?”
“Tell us who the man was who escorted you home last night,” Sister Petronilla burst. “I saw him standing by the postern gate. Who was he?”
Shocked, Andressa turned to the woman. In truth, she hadn’t realized Maxton had been seen and she struggled for an answer.
“A… a man I could not be rid of,” she said quickly, thinking of the first lie that popped to mind. “He saw me returning from Lady Hinkley’s in the dark and would not go away. I told him to go away, but he refused.”
Behind her, Sisters Agnes and Dymphna were closing in. Andressa could feel it. Nervously, she tried to back away, turning so she could see what all of the nuns were doing, and she knew she was in a grave situation. In a panic, she turned to the Mother Abbess.
“Please,” she begged. “What have I done?”
The Mother Abbess showed absolutely no emotion. “Someone has spoken of our command from our Holy Father,” she said. “Someone has told the king’s men that is our intention to eliminate the king come Feast Day. I know it could not be my faithful attendants; moreover, none of them have left St. Blitha since we received the orders. But you have left St. Blitha. Who have you told, Andressa?”
Now, it was all out in the open and Andressa had never been so terrified. If she could make it past Sister Dymphna, who was standing near the entry door, she might have a chance to run for her life, but she couldn’t guarantee the sister, who was long-legged and fast, wouldn’t catch her.
Besides… running would make her look guilty. It would make it worse when she was caught. Fighting off tears, she turned to the Mother Abbess.
“You trusted me with information,” she said. “I told you I would not fail you. Why would you think I would speak of something you entrusted with me? Sister Dymphna has several nuns she is in charge of and everyone knows they gossip terribly. She has told them of what you do to women in The Chaos and they spread lies about you and they speak to those on the outside. Why not ask Sister Dymphna what she has told them? It must have been her!”
It was a well-known fact that Sister Dymphna had the inability to keep things to herself, and in Andressa’s panicked state, that was all she could think to say – to try and turn the situation off of her and onto another nun. Unfortunately, it was Sister Dymphna who was holding the thick branch with the thorns, called simply The Rod, and in her rage, she swung the thing at Andressa, catching her in the shoulder.
Andressa screamed in pain, trying to move away as Sister Dymphna went after her, bring the rod down again and barely missing her. By this time, Andressa was running, and she came across the Mother Abbess’ expensive sideboard, grabbing the nearest thing she could, which happened to be a pewter pitcher. It was heavy, like a hammer.
Sister Dymphna came up behind her and swung the rod again, and Andressa ducked beneath it. As Sister Dymphna staggered sideways with the momentum of the swing, Andressa came up and hit her on the side of the head with the pitcher with all her might. A dull, cracking sound filled the air as metal met with bone.
Sister Dymphna dropped like a stone.
Armed with the pitcher, Andressa wielded it like a weapon as she faced the other three nuns. “You’ll not take me down without a fight,” she snarled. “I will not confess to something when there are others who just as easily could have committed such an offense.”
Shocked that someone they had attacked was fighting back, Sister Agnes and Sister Petronilla looked at Andressa with a mixture of outrage and surprise, while the Mother Abbess seemed oddly pleased by the display of force. She appreciated physical violence, in all forms.
“Then all you need say is you did not tell anyone,” she said calmly.
“I did not tell anyone!” Andressa screamed.
It was a lie, but it was a lie to save her life. She saw no sin in lying to murdering, dishonorable women. The Mother Abbess simply nodded her head.
“I believe you,” she said evenly. “And you know nothing of the death of Alasdair Baird Douglas?”
Andressa was poised to swing the pitcher again; she hadn’t moved. When Sister Dymphna stirred, she was close enough to bash the woman on the skull again. Sister Dymphna fell still.
“The Scotsman?” Andressa said, trembling and cocked, pitcher over her head as if to smash Sister Dymphna’s brains in. “He is dead?”
The Mother Abbess nodded slowly. “He is,” she said. “You never saw him last night?”
More lies were to come, but she felt no guilt. “Nay,” she said. “Why do you ask?”
The Mother Abbess didn’t push her. In fact, she put up a hand as if to ease the situation. “It does not matter,” she said. “Please put the pitcher down, Andressa. Come and sit and we shall discuss this calmly. In fact, the feast day is tomorrow and there is still preparation to come. We shall speak of that. All will be well now.”
Her manner was calming, which had a soothing effect on Andressa. But Andressa didn’t put the pitcher down until Sister Agnes set down the bindings that she had in her hands, and the Mother Abbess ushered the two nuns to her fine table. Shaken, and still terrified, Andressa reluctantly put the pitcher down, but still within arm’s length should she need to get to it. She sat at the end of the table, where the Mother Abbess indicated.
With the situation calming, Andressa felt somewhat relieved but she was still on edge, still afraid there was something more to come. It was an instinct she should have listened to because as the Mother Abbess took her seat at the table, she passed behind Andressa with the Staff of Truth still in her hand.
And that was when the situation went from bad to worse.
One swing of the big, heavy iron and wood cross at the head of the staff at Andressa’s head, and she was knocked silly. A second blow to the head sent her to the ground where she lay, dazed and nearly unconscious, looking up at the ceiling of the chamber and seeing the three nuns standing over her. The Mother Abbess knelt by her head.
“Now,” she said softly. “If you do not understand the need for obedience and discipline yet, you will by the time we are finished with you. As for telling the king’s men of our plans, it is of little consequence. Men are so arrogant to believe that a woman can do them no harm, and they certainly will never believe that nuns are capable of ending a monarchy. But they will suffer in the end, as will you. Remember that death comes from the most unexpected sources, Andressa.”
The third blow from the Staff of Truth caught Andressa in the left arm, a powerful blow that sent her rolling over onto her side. As the blows from the staff and the thorny rod commenced, all Andressa could do was roll into a ball and protect that life growing inside of her.
Odd how she thought of the child at that moment over herself. To protect the child she’d tried so hard to ignore was the only thing on her mind, that inherent maternal instinct protecting the baby from blows that were drawing blood and leaving gouges in her body. In truth, she was more terrified what would happen to her should they discover the child, so maternal instincts were only part of it.
She had to hide the pregnancy.
She had to protect them both.
Curling up on the cold, stone floor of the Mother Abbess’ fine solar, Andressa could hear her cries of pain echoing against the old walls.