‘The Benedictine Rule observes the Divine Office eight times each day, beginning in the dead of night at two in the morning and concluding at nine in the evening. They sing every three hours. It’s like being in Heaven.’
Although I did not have the same appreciation of Hildegard’s musical ambition as Father Alun, I could certainly hear the soaring harmonies. I was moved by what I heard, as was the Duke. He looked around at the simplicities of monastic existence and listened to the melodies in the air. Then he nodded at me, and smiled.
Father Alun came back down to earth and reverted to the mundane.
‘My Lord Duke, let us get our men settled. Abbess Hildegard is expecting us for dinner.’
‘Where do we stay?’
‘Sire, you, Ranulf and Negu may stay with me in Hildegard’s cloisters. But remember, the cells will be very austere. The men are excluded from the proximity of the nuns’ cells and must make camp outside the monastery walls. And they need to be reminded that they must keep their pricks in their braies.’
‘Does that injunction apply to me as well?’
‘Of course, sire. The only passion you will find here is a love of Jesus.’
Duke Richard looked as if he had been scolded by his mother.
‘Father, why do you reprove me, even before I have sinned?’
‘Sire, my rebuke is based on prior experience. Your previous behaviour suggests that it might be wise to admonish you
‘Oh, ye of little faith!’
It was good to see the Duke relaxed. The almost relentless energy that he showed during his campaigns in Aquitaine had faded. For once, he had the air of a man at peace with himself. Father Alun smiled broadly, pleased that the Duke was happy to engage in banter with him and impressed that he was able to quote from the New Testament.
The Lionheart jumped from his horse and put his arm around Father Alun’s shoulders.
‘The chanting of the nuns is very soothing. Let us go inside; I want to meet the woman who creates such sounds.’
When we arrived, Abbess Hildegard was sitting in the locutory, surrounded by half a dozen nuns.
She was dressed exactly as the others. Framed by a pristine white wimple, her face had the same pale countenance as the nuns who attended her, which contrasted sharply with her dark habit and the gloom of the shadowy interior. The only difference was her heavily wrinkled complexion. The single candle on the table in front of her illuminated the ravaged skin of a woman of great age – at least seventy-five, or even eighty. Her back was hunched, and she was frail to the point of being not much more than skin and bone. Her hands, one of which grasped a walking stick so tightly that her knuckles gleamed like ivory, had no flesh on them, but were just scraggy bones, traversed by bulging blue veins.
Although she had a body racked by age, she looked serene as one of the nuns read to her in Latin from an ancient tome. When she saw us arrive, she tried to get up, but Duke Richard stopped her.
The Lionheart sank to his knees at her feet.
‘Abbess, we are honoured to visit you here at Rupertsberg.’
Father Alun then made the introductions.
As he did so, Hildegard smiled benignly at each of us in turn. But when it came to Negu’s introduction, the Abbess called her over and put a hand on her head and stroked her hair.
‘Where are you from, child?’
‘I am a Basque, Reverend Mother.’
‘Ah, that is why you are so dark. You are very beautiful. You must sit next to me tonight at dinner. I prefer to have girls next to me when I eat; men smell too much.’
She then turned to Duke Richard.
‘Your Grace, you and your companions are very welcome in our humble home. You must be tired from your journey, and I must go to pray. Let us talk this evening.’
We withdrew, leaving the nuns to help Hildegard make her way to her cell.
Dinner that evening, although good humoured with fine conversation, was a frugal affair, a thin stew of meat and vegetables, but at least the bread was fresh and the sweet fruit beer intoxicating. Hildegard ate like a horse and swilled copious pots of beer; she belched regularly and occasionally lifted one buttock to fart loudly. The other nuns were just as uninhibited with their digestive functions.
After the food, the Abbess was helped to the locutory by a pretty young novice. Here the Duke, Father Alun, Negu and I joined her. Hildegard began drinking kirsch, and the novice poured the strong, clear liquid into small wooden bowls for us. It was a new taste for me and one that took some getting used to. However, Hildegard was well beyond the beginner’s stage and quaffed it with abandon.
She insisted that Negu sit at her feet so that she could stroke her hair. ‘Do you mind me stroking your lovely hair? Here, we cut our hair short and our wimples mean I can never feel the tender silk of a woman’s hair.’
‘Not at all, Reverend Mother; you have gentle hands.’
‘Can you sing, child?’
‘I don’t know; I’ve never tried.’
‘Listen to the nuns singing in the chapel now. Can you make sounds like those?’
Negu immediately produced a high-pitched note as clear as a Sanctus bell.
‘I thought so; you have a clear and crisp voice, and a young throat. I knew you could sing. If you would like, I will teach you how to sing like the nuns. In every church I know, the monks sing and the nuns do the chores. Here my girls sing. It is through our singing that we express our love for one another and for Our Lord.’
Negu beamed from ear to ear.
‘I would love to learn, Reverend Mother. I have never been able to do anything other than make a man happy in bed.’
‘Well, that is a gift too, child, but it is always good to have another string to your bow.’
Hildegard was unlike any nun I had met before. She exhibited a generosity and a sense of mischief that was infectious. She had made Negu feel welcome and charmed her with her openness and lavish attention. She then turned her focus to the Duke, who had been sitting patiently, drinking the kirsch that the attentive novice kept pouring for him.
‘We make it ourselves, you know, from our own morellos, which we also use to make our Kriek Lambic, the beer you had with dinner. Our kirsch is particularly potent, and it is good for the flatulence we get from the beer – which visitors are often relieved to know, after they’ve suffered for two hours listening to my girls break wind in the refectory. You see, I encourage them not to be inhibited about any of their bodily functions.’
Hildegard delivered her comical homilies in a totally matter-of-fact way, making it difficult to know whether she realized how droll she was being.
‘Father Alun tells me that you are called “Lionheart”. So, I wonder how I should address you?’
‘As you like, Reverend Mother.’
‘Good, then I shall call you Richard. And you may call me Reverend Mother. Father Alun tells me that you are seeking wisdom?’
‘I am, Reverend Mother.’
‘Are you sure? He also told me that you only agreed to come here because your father had a much more onerous penance for you in the Holy Land.’
‘That is true.’
‘Not an auspicious introduction, Richard, but at least you’re honest; that’s a good start.’
On Hildegard’s signal, the young novice then leaned forward to fill the Duke’s bowl with yet more kirsch.
‘Would you like to bed her?’
‘Well…’
He hesitated. Hildegard finished the sentence for him.
‘You mean, if she was not in a nunnery and not wearing the white habit of a novice.’
‘Exactly.’
‘She is very pretty and may well oblige you. I rescued her from Robert, Count of Nassau, who threw her out
