At the top of the stairs, Simon found Baldwin staring at a heavily built partition. Simon himself had eyes only for the ceiling and the hole in it. While outside in the cloister, Simon had thought the breezes almost unnoticeable, here within the sleeping quarters there was a constant low moaning as if the souls of the damned were filing through in an unending procession.
It was only with difficulty that he dragged his attention away and studied the room. The dorter was perhaps sixty or seventy feet long, and all along it, on either side, were wooden screens, each open to the hallway, which separated the sleeping cubicles one from the other. He took a few paces forward and peered into one. It contained a rough mattress and pillow, covered with a blanket and some sort of coverlet, and a three-legged stool at the side. By the wall stood a large chest, its lid down and apparently locked. Certainly the hasp was firmly shut.
Idly he wandered along the corridor formed by the outflung partitions. Some beds were made, but equally many were not; some had chests, and those with the more ornate ones had chairs. A few of the beds appeared not to have been slept in, and when he looked up he could see why. Directly above was the hole. Beyond, several of the partitioned areas seemed more heavily used, and Simon rightly guessed that here nuns and novices shared beds to keep away from the rain or snow that fell in.
At the far end was a billowing curtain, and he was about to haul it aside and glance behind it when Bertrand coughed. “No! You don’t want to… That’s the rere-dorter, Bailiff!”
Simon quickly drew his hand from the curtain. Thank God Bertrand had warned him. It would have been appallingly embarrassing to have entered the nuns’ toilet and encountered one of them in a – in a compromised position. He turned and made his slow and thoughtful progress back along the dorter to join the others. They were still standing at the partitioned area near the door. “What is it?”
“You are not aware of the strictures of the Rule, of course, Bailiff,” Bertrand said stiffly. “No nun – and that includes the prioress of a convent – should divide up the dorter so as to give herself more space than other nuns.”
“Especially,” Baldwin added, “when that nun intends to shut herself off from her sisters. This is almost sacrilege. You see, she is not superior to her sisters, just an elected leader.”
“This is not the worst, Sir Baldwin,” Bertrand intoned “That was one of the points I was forced to include in my report to the Bishop of Exeter, but so was the fact that the prioress has seen fit to permit her nuns to keep their own possessions. She allows them to keep personal items locked away in their own chests.”
Simon could see that Baldwin was surprised by these revelations, but the knight was determined not to jump to conclusions. “Fine. Now, we were going to see whether the man Margherita saw could have gone anywhere else other than into the prioress’s chamber, weren’t we?”
Returning to the top of the stairs, Baldwin looked about him. There was a small landing, created by the prioress’s partition and a large board which was evidently designed to limit the draught that howled through the room. Beyond the prioress’s wall was a small doorway.
“The infirmary,” Bertrand confirmed.
“Margherita said that the infirmarer prevented her from entering, didn’t she?” Baldwin mused. He made as if to walk towards it, but then gave the visitor a quick look. “What else was in your report, Bishop?”
“About the prioress? Well, I had to comment that she keeps a pet dog…”
“That is hardly a crime.”
“… and takes it to Mass with her.”
“I see,“ Baldwin murmured. Being fond of his own hounds, he was not prepared to condemn the woman for that, but he could see that the visitor was working himself into a fine fever. To stem the flow of outrage, Baldwin held up his hand and smiled soothingly. “We were told that the lady would see us after Vespers, were we not? Shall we see whether she is here now?”
Bertrand shut his mouth and nodded. Half-heartedly he knocked on the door to her room but there was no response. She hadn’t yet returned. “Where can she be?” he muttered.
“Perhaps while we are here, we should take a short look at the infirmary?” Baldwin suggested.
Bertrand agreed ungraciously. There was little point, he felt, in going to take a look inside, not when the treasurer had already told them that the prioress had been making love with a man. Wasn’t that enough?
A good oaken door on well-greased hinges opened silently, and they walked inside quietly. The infirmary was a small hall, but warm and comfortable. A fire burned steadily in the grate, the glowing logs throwing out a golden light that invited drowsiness after the chill, wind-swept atmosphere of the dorter. Baldwin felt as if his face was absorbing the whole of the heat from the flames.
Down the left wall three wooden partitions jutted into the room, making four units in all, each holding a large bed so that eight invalids could be accommodated with ease.
At one end was a small altar with a cross so patients could always see the symbol of their faith; at the other was a screen with a curtained doorway. The only noise was a snoring from the bed nearer the curtain.
“Is it time for Compline?”
The reedy voice came from an old nun huddled near the fire. They had not seen her at first because she was so low in her chair that her head hardly rose above the bed between her and the three men.
Bertrand made no effort to speak; he was still furious that the prioress was not attending to him, and so Baldwin answered. “Not yet, Sister. Compline will be a while yet. What is your name?”
“Who are you?” she asked in a quavering voice. “What are you doing here? Men aren’t permitted inside the nuns’ cloister.”
“It was the visitor who invited me in, Sister. I am the Keeper of the King’s Peace in Crediton.”
She studied his face with frowning concentration for a while. “If you say so. You look more like a lay brother, though. Are you sure the visitor invited you?”
Baldwin showed his teeth in a grin. “He’s here. Why don’t you ask him?”
She followed his gesture and stared full at Bertrand. “Him? A visitor? He doesn’t look like he’s got the bollocks for it… Looks more like a pox-ridden tranter.”
“Oh, damn this community!” Bertrand exploded. “I will not stay to be insulted by a decayed and ancient vixen! If you wish for me, I’ll be in the quadrangle.”
With a glance towards the woman in which loathing and rage were equally mixed, Bertrand stormed out of the room. Baldwin could hear his boots stomping down the stairs, and then out into the yard.
“He has a temper like a visitor,” the nun observed calmly.
“What is your name, Sister?”
“I’m Joan. I used to be the cellarer,” she grinned, “but now I can spend my time in contemplation.”
Baldwin smiled back, sinking down to his haunches. “I expect you have seen many changes here.”
“Things move ahead, but often too fast. It’s not right that the prioress should be looking to so much building. She ought to take stock, think about what she’s doing. We’re not some sort of business; we’re God’s house, and ought to behave like it.”
“You think the prioress is failing in her duty to the convent?”
“Don’t assume things like that, young man,” she said sharply. “There are too many tales being told in this convent about people. It doesn’t do the place any good, and only leads to us all looking like fools. I never said the prioress was failing. She’s a good woman, in her own way, and shrewd too, which is more than you can say for some. No, I only meant that I don’t agree with her way of trying to ensure the future of the place. Building another chapel won’t help much.”
“But you need the money from Sir Rodney’s church.”
“Oh, piffle! So what if we do? If the convent has need of the money, wouldn’t we be better off saving it for the use of the church and protecting some of the existing buildings rather than putting up yet another?”
“That is what you would do?”
“Perhaps. Or maybe I’d prefer to spend it on ale and crumpets! There are worse things, when you pass your life sitting before a fire in the cold weather. At least you can eat crumpets without teeth.” And she opened her mouth wide to display toothless gums.
“It must have been a great shock when the novice died,” Baldwin said gently.
“At my age you’re used to the sight of death,” she shrugged matter-of-factly.
“Did you know her well?”
“Young Moll? Yes. She wasn’t a nice person, but then so few of them seem to be. All outward penitence and humility, but too keen on seeing what others are up to rather than making sure their own behaviour is beyond
