The Anchoress of Shere

only for six more months, at the very most. He would have to accelerate his special ministry for her. Yes, if she became totally acquiescent to his plans, he would leave the Church and maintain his life with her. He could just afford to retire, keep her and share their spiritual union, together until death. But what if she refused to understand that this would be a perfect future for her? He might be forced to let her starve herself to death. Duval dreaded the thought of losing her. He would, for her own good, make her believe. She would live then, with him, forever. Marda would be his lasting spiritual project, but he couldn’t contemplate another failure. No, he would make her believe, and he would complete his book. He gave himself three months.

The first thing he did was to make a pot of coffee and take it down to Marda’s cell. He desperately needed to be with her, the one living person who brought some meaning to his life.

Marda, who had learned that it was wise to be supportive, noticed at once that he was troubled. “What is it, Michael?” she asked solicitously. “Has someone died? Or has someone stolen your book-you told me you had only one copy?”

“No, Marda”-sometimes when he was angry he refused to address her directly; she felt good to be a person with a name rather than an animal in a living tomb-“I still have the manuscript. I haven’t finished it yet. There is much more we have to do until it is complete. No, it’s my bishop again.”

Marda had not heard him mention the bishop in such terms. That there was a chain of command, that there was somebody in charge of him, sent a fresh surge of hope rushing around her brain.

“What has he done, Michael?”

“He wants to send me away from here. From my work, from you.”

Marda realised that a sign of relief could be fatal. She listened intently as Duval explained the bishop’s plans for him.

“Do you have to go?” she said cautiously.

“No, I could resign and stay here with you. It depends on you.”

“How?”

“Well, your studies have gone well. You are a willing and able student. I like teaching you.”

“But what is all this learning for? Do you want me to become a nun in a convent?”

“No, I don’t want you ever to leave me.” He said this with an utter conviction that horrified Marda.

“Then what? Surely you don’t want to keep me locked up here for ever.”

“No, of course not.”

They were both standing in the cell, a few feet apart, their eyes locked on one another.

“Then I don’t understand. May I ask: do you intend to leave the Church in order to get married? To me?”

Duval appeared shocked, but he managed a hollow laugh. “Good Lord, no. It’s quite simple what I want. I want to share my life with you, but on a spiritual level. I want you to become”-he had never really defined it so succinctly to himself, let alone to any of his guests-“to become, as it were, a modern anchoress…I will always teach you and spiritually support your seclusion. I intend to renovate a room upstairs that will be more comfortable. You would be secluded from the world, but it would have a small window, in the shape of a quatrefoil, looking on to the rear garden. You need some light, not this dungeon.”

He hesitated, uneasy at how this young girl could make him seem foolish. “But a period of penance,” he said with forced authority in his voice, “is good for the contemplative life. I want above all for you to desire this yourself. In the end I cannot force this vocation upon you.”

“So if I said no, you would let me go?” She knew she was risking all with this question.

Duval hesitated for a second. “No, I cannot let you leave me.”

“Even if I swear on all the religious meaning you have given me that I won’t tell anyone, the police, my family…”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, although it would be hard to hide so many months’ absence.”

He looked uncomfortable as he tried to do something with his hands. He searched around in his jacket pocket for his pipe and started to fill it with tobacco. Marda sat on her bench, deflated.

“I cannot bear you to live without me,” he confessed. “Perhaps I should say I cannot bear to live without you.”

Marda wanted to contrast his comments about her spiritual renunciation and the hypocrisy of his wanting to possess people, but she said, “If you go to South America, can’t you free me then? You will be so far away and I’ll be grateful for all you have taught me. I’ve been cold and hungry and I did hate you at first, but I’ve learned so much. I’ve come to understand a great deal about life and intellectual ideas. If you go, will you let me go?”

Then a final stab at persuasion: “Perhaps I could come to South America?”

Duval looked at her, incredulous but half-pleased. “I don’t think the bishop has a female companion in mind. I haven’t decided anything yet. Perhaps you are right: if I do go to South America I can let you go then. Unless you decide you want to stay with me…I need to think, Marda. And so do you. I shall give you a small fustian kerchief to embroider. It will aid your reflections.”

He walked out and carefully locked the cell door.

Duval, sitting bolt upright in his cold bath, beat himself with a walking stick. His self-mortification was brief, but some of his anger and frustration were lifted. Deliberately not shaving after his bath, he threw on some old clothes and slouched on the wooden seat by his desk. He glared at his typewriter for a while before rolling in the first white page.

July 1333

Christine, crouching on her bench, stared at the pattern on the embroidery she was doing as part of her penance. It felt strange being enclosed again after the months of sunshine, greenery and people, but the smells and sounds of Guldenford, the bustle of a visit to the town, even the domestic clamour in Ashe Cottage, had been overwhelming.

She summoned her senses to commune again with nature, to commune again with her God by worshipping the sounds of His Creation. Before dawn she listened intently to the churring of a nightjar; the song thrush then began its beguilingly repetitive chorus. She anticipated eagerly the two entirely different songs of the wood warbler, and, although she could not see them, she knew that the wood pigeons and stock doves would squabble with the jackdaws. Her hearing was beginning to reach the intense levels of her previous enclosure, and she could almost sense the beating of tiny wings as butterflies perched on the ledge of her external grille. That summer the large tortoiseshell butterfly, with its tiger-like markings, and the peacock butterfly, with two blue-black eyes on its wings, would affirm the glory of the Creation and her place within it. As the light faded, the woodcocks’ duck-like call announced Vespers, and, at Compline, the tawny owls promised food to their hungry youngsters. When a moth fluttered on to her ledge, she knew that the long-eared brown bats, one of the most delicate of God’s creatures, would emerge from their roost in the church’s eaves to feed. To complete the cycle, the nightjar sang once more to announce that it would share its nocturnal nesting duties with its mate. All awaiting the miracle of another sunrise.

Nature would aid her contemplation, her insight into God; perhaps soon the calor, the heat of divine approval, would descend on her, and finally she would reach the canor, the ability to hear the sound of heaven, the musica spiritualis.

That was the future. As she listened to the Mass in the church of St. James, she took stock of her past life: the events that had led to her calling as an anchoress and the two years enclosed in the cell; the horrific news that her sister had been grossly abused at the hands of the same tormentor, her search for guidance and what she believed was the blessed sign from God; her escape in time to comfort poor Margaret and the birth of her nephew; her sister’s death; the harrowing trial and Sir Richard’s punishment; the blessed personal intercession of the Pope himself and, finally, her re-enclosure. Her short life had been very full, and now it was time for reflection, peace…

“Christine, are you ready for communion?”

The familiar voice startled her, but she responded quickly. “Aye, Father Peter,” she said resolutely. “I shall commune here forever. Enough venturin’ have I done for life. By the grace of God, I shall die within these sacred walls.”