Pater Noster and knew then the sisters were at prayer. From the direction of the sweet, musical sound, he guessed the nuns were sequestered on the floor above.
"We have only one large room in which to house the sick who come to us," the abbess explained. "Just one week past we were filled to capacity, but today only one Saxon soldier remains under our care. You do agree, don't you, Baron, that all men are equal inside these walls, be they Norman or Saxon?"
"I agree," Royce answered. "Is this Saxon soldier Lady Nicholaa's brother?"
The abbess turned around. "Yes," she answered. "Justin is resting inside."
"Is he dying, as I was informed?"
"Only God can answer that question," she replied.
"Justin refuses to accept the cross thrust upon his shoulders. He fights our every treatment. He prays for death while we diligently pray for his recovery. I can only hope God will not become confused by our contradictory pleas."
Royce wasn't certain if the mother superior was making a jest or not. Her brow was puckered into a frown. He nodded again, shifted Hugh over his shoulder, and then said, "I would like to get my friend settled. Can we not discuss your concerns after Hugh has been made comfortable?"
"I've only one concern now," the abbess announced. "You'd best know I have every intention of placing your friend in the bed next to Justin's. I can see from your frown you've little liking for this decision, but I have a sound, practical reason. Sister Felicity is best qualified to care for both men. She's quite elderly now, and I won't have her running from one end of the room to the other. She'll sit between the soldiers. Do you accept this condition?"
Royce nodded. The abbess looked relieved. She turned and opened the door. The room Royce entered was gigantic. He squinted against the sunlight that poured in from three large windows in the far wall. Wooden benches stood beneath each window. The walls were sparkling clean from a recent whitewashing.
Along the opposite wall were over twenty beds. Next to each bed stood a small chest. A single white candle sat on each chest.
Each bed and chest could be enclosed on all sides by white curtains that hung from ceiling to floor. When the draperies were pulled, the area became a cell of privacy.
All but one of the beds was exposed to the sunshine now. Royce surmised that the square white cocoon near the center of the room was the cell where Justin rested.
He settled Hugh in the bed next to the curtained cell. Within minutes he'd stripped his friend of his heavy outer garments and covered him with a mound of thick, soft fleece blankets.
"The wounds on his arms and shoulders are festering," the abbess remarked with a worried frown. "Sister Felicity will know what to do." She bent down and stroked Hugh's forehead in a motherly gesture. "God willing, this one will recover."
Royce nodded. He continued to be very accommodating until the nun suggested he and his men take their leave. Royce shook his head then. "No," he said. "A Norman soldier will guard Hugh until he recovers. He will not be allowed to eat or drink until the food has been tasted by one of your own," he added in a hard voice.
It was obvious from the surprised look on the abbess's face that she wasn't used to being contradicted. "You're a suspicious man, Baron," she said frowning. "This is a sacred house. No harm will come to your friend."
When Royce only shrugged his shoulders, the abbess asked, "And if I do not accept your conditions?"
"You won't turn Hugh away," he countered. "Your vows won't let you."
Her smile surprised him. "I see you're every bit as stubborn as I am," she said. "We'll both spend a bit of time in purgatory for that flaw in our natures. Very well, then. I'll accept your conditions."
Hugh moaned in his sleep, drawing the mother superior's attention again. She gently tucked the covers around the warrior, whispering soft words of comfort all the while. Then she closed the curtains and went in search of
"We have only one large room in which to house the sick who come to us," the abbess explained. "Just one week past we were filled to capacity, but today only one Saxon soldier remains under our care. You do agree, don't you, Baron, that all men are equal inside these walls, be they Norman or Saxon?"
"I agree," Royce answered. "Is this Saxon soldier Lady Nicholaa's brother?"
The abbess turned around. "Yes," she answered. "Justin is resting inside."
"Is he dying, as I was informed?"
"Only God can answer that question," she replied.
"Justin refuses to accept the cross thrust upon his shoulders. He fights our every treatment. He prays for death while we diligently pray for his recovery. I can only hope God will not become confused by our contradictory pleas."
Royce wasn't certain if the mother superior was making a jest or not. Her brow was puckered into a frown. He nodded again, shifted Hugh over his shoulder, and then said, "I would like to get my friend settled. Can we not discuss your concerns after Hugh has been made comfortable?"
"I've only one concern now," the abbess announced. "You'd best know I have every intention of placing your friend in the bed next to Justin's. I can see from your frown you've little liking for this decision, but I have a sound, practical reason. Sister Felicity is best qualified to care for both men. She's quite elderly now, and I won't have her running from one end of the room to the other. She'll sit between the soldiers. Do you accept this condition?"
Royce nodded. The abbess looked relieved. She turned and opened the door. The room Royce entered was gigantic. He squinted against the sunlight that poured in from three large windows in the far wall. Wooden benches stood beneath each window. The walls were sparkling clean from a recent whitewashing.
Along the opposite wall were over twenty beds. Next to each bed stood a small chest. A single white candle sat on each chest.
Each bed and chest could be enclosed on all sides by white curtains that hung from ceiling to floor. When the draperies were pulled, the area became a cell of privacy.
All but one of the beds was exposed to the sunshine now. Royce surmised that the square white cocoon near the center of the room was the cell where Justin rested.
He settled Hugh in the bed next to the curtained cell. Within minutes he'd stripped his friend of his heavy outer garments and covered him with a mound of thick, soft fleece blankets.
"The wounds on his arms and shoulders are festering," the abbess remarked with a worried frown. "Sister Felicity will know what to do." She bent down and stroked Hugh's forehead in a motherly gesture. "God willing, this one will recover."
Royce nodded. He continued to be very accommodating until the nun suggested he and his men take their leave. Royce shook his head then. "No," he said. "A Norman soldier will guard Hugh until he recovers. He will not be allowed to eat or drink until the food has been tasted by one of your own," he added in a hard voice.
It was obvious from the surprised look on the abbess's face that she wasn't used to being contradicted. "You're a suspicious man, Baron," she said frowning. "This is a sacred house. No harm will come to your friend."
When Royce only shrugged his shoulders, the abbess asked, "And if I do not accept your conditions?"
"You won't turn Hugh away," he countered. "Your vows won't let you."
Her smile surprised him. "I see you're every bit as stubborn as I am," she said. "We'll both spend a bit of time in purgatory for that flaw in our natures. Very well, then. I'll accept your conditions."
Hugh moaned in his sleep, drawing the mother superior's attention again. She gently tucked the covers around the warrior, whispering soft words of comfort all the while. Then she closed the curtains and went in search of
Similar Books
The Secret Eleanor
Cecelia Holland
The Half Life of Stars
Louise Wener
Nationalism and Culture
Rudolf Rocker
The Man Who Collected Machen and Other Weird Tales
Mark Samuels
American Blood
Ben Sanders
Wolf's-head, Rogues of Bindar Book I
Chris Turner
Night Work
Thomas Glavinic
What an Earl Wants
Kasey Michaels
The Immortal Heights
Sherry Thomas
The Electrical Experience
Frank Moorhouse