Forsaken Soul by Priscilla Royal Page A

Thomas went to the church to beg for comfort. Her anchorage was near the path he took, and he grew much amazed at how many others were rendered sleepless by their sorrows. There was always some shadow pressed against the wall, whispering at the curtain. Once he caught himself concluding with some irreverence that the Church might soon proclaim her the patron saint of the sleepless.
    Yet, for all his discomfort with her, he had been tempted to kneel at the window himself and seek what she might advise. Then a dark shape would approach, and he had scurried off to the gloomy chapel. At Wynethorpe, he feared she had glimpsed his soul in all its pitiful nakedness. If that were the case, he wondered what her response would be if he came to that small and curtained opening. Would she offer gentle comfort or call for God’s flaming wraith to scorch his soul? He shook these musings aside with a shiver and turned his thoughts to those who had visited her.
    Sister Juliana did not seem to mind if someone came more than once. Thomas had seen the baker’s wife every night for awhile, although not of late. Hadn’t Signy approached her for some reason, and maybe old Tibia as well? And now that he thought more on it, he wondered if he had seen Ivetta at the window too. Tostig had sought her advice, although fewer men than women came to the anchoress’ window.
    Why did women seem to come more often than men? Was the cause to be found in their greater mortal frailty? Nay, as he thought more on it, he realized that men were more likely to seek wisdom from pious hermits while women sought out the anchoress’ window. God must not care who gave moral direction as long as souls were saved.
    But what could an innkeeper’s niece and a village whore have sought from an anchoress? Ivetta had continued her trade. Her soul was as fouled by lust as it had ever been, so the road to chastity had not been her concern. And what had troubled the innkeeper’s niece? Signy seemed no more sinful than any other woman in the village. On the other hand, the baker’s wife had certainly found some answer because her husband’s bread began to rise again shortly after her visits to Sister Juliana—or so the story went. Perhaps Signy’s woes had more in common with those of the baker’s wife, something to do with stews and ale.
    “Ah, well,” Thomas said, entering the hospital courtyard. “I have sins enough of my own with which to struggle. Whatever problems bring Ivetta and Signy to see the anchoress are not mine to solve. It is time I got back to His service.”
    But the monk, like any other man, was still nibbled by curiosity. As he started down the rows of straw beds, filled with bodies whimpering in pain and terror, he caught himself asking again why Sister Juliana sat by her curtain only after the sun set. Unlike most mortals, she must be very bold to defy the Prince of Darkness, when he tortured man’s spirit the most, and offer refuge to quivering souls during such bleak hours.
    As he recalled his meeting with her, in the swirling snow on the walls of Wynethorpe Castle, he decided Sister Juliana most certainly did have that courage.

Chapter Nine
    Sister Anne agreed to visit the inn.
    Eleanor chose to accompany her.
    When the prioress heard the growing rumor that many had seen Satan swooping about the inn when the cooper was murdered, she decided that an immediate monastic presence was required to calm village fears. Of course, this vigorous foray against the Fiend would not only drive panic away, but it might also free the villagers from thoughts about malign imps and thus send them back to memories or observations that should help find mortal killers.
    As a result, when the religious contingent from Tyndal Priory walked to the inn, Sister Anne may have borne her worldly knowledge of herbs and potions, but Prior Andrew carried a large cross.
    Eleanor left the good prior downstairs to speak with the fearful and curious while she and her attendants