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about it. A great shock it must have been for you to find him lying dead in your cloister. And a great tragedy for you to lose his counsel, to be sure." Prior Theobald of Tyndal shifted in his ornately carved wooden chair, a slightly musty odor emanating from his dark robes with the movement. As he resettled, he grimaced, and in so doing brought his bushy gray eyebrows into brief collision.
     
    He was a dour man of advanced years with an unusually large abdomen despite an otherwise skeletal frame. Resting on his stomach was a heavy gold cross, attached to a soft rope that looped around his birdlike neck. His long, bony fingers first clutched, then stroked the crucifix with a broken and irritating rhythm.
     
    Eleanor lowered her eyes, not out of modesty but to prevent him from seeing her fury. The prior's tone had been dismissive from the moment she arrived at his quarters, and he had just interrupted her in the middle of a sentence. Again. At this rate, it might be the midnight hour before she was able to tell him the exact and very serious nature of Brother Rupert's death. Did he think she had nothing else of importance to do with her day as a result of it? She took a deep breath to calm herself.
     
    She knew she had only herself to blame for his disrespectful behavior. Her aunt had given her good warning about what to expect at Tyndal. Although the clerical world, and indeed the secular one as well, found the idea of Eve leading Adam uncomfortable, the founder of Fontevraud had specifically declared that female leadership would be the rule in his Order of nuns and monks. The old prioress had not always been diligent in exerting her rightful authority over both men and women as the supreme head of a Fontevraud double house. Sister Beatrice had told Eleanor that she would have an upward battle to reestablish the rule.
     
    "I am sure your assistance will be greatly appreciated, Prior," she replied, unclenching her teeth.
     
    Some would have argued that Eleanor's first concern should have been to reestablish her authority immediately, despite the alarming circumstances and implications of the old monk's death. She knew that. Of course she should have summoned Prior Theobald to her chambers where she could look down from her raised chair and enforce obedience from that symbol of her superior status. Instead she had chosen to go to his chambers, in the monks' quarters to the south of the parish church, out of consideration for his advanced age and the effect she assumed the news would surely have on him. In going to him as if she were the inferior, she had committed a tactical error and further diminished her authority in the eyes of those who venerate form over substance.
     
    Eleanor glanced up at the smug expression on the face of Brother Simeon. The receiver and sub-prior, who stood next to Theobald and idly stroked the grooves in the top of his prior's chair, was one who appreciated the power of symbols. Perhaps even better than his master, she thought. Ideally, such worldly games should have no place in a house dedicated to God, but Eleanor was not so naive as to think a religious vocation stripped men and women of ambition. She would have to learn to play the game of symbols far better if she were going to succeed here, or anywhere else.
     
    She glanced over at Sister Ruth to see her reaction to the confrontation. The nun sat with hands folded in her lap and eyes staring in rapt concentration at the prior and Brother Simeon. Eleanor had no allies in this room, if, indeed, she had allies anywhere in Tyndal. Eleanor closed her eyes for just a moment. They burned.
     
    "We will need a priest immediately to hear confessions, attend the dying at the hospital, and perform Mass. The crowner has been summoned," she continued, concentrating on the rushes under her feet so as not to betray her feelings.
     
    The prior blinked fretfully. "With all due respect, my lady, this is not a matter for the crowner. We need no such