Covenant With Hell by Priscilla Royal Read Free Book Online Page A

refused, citing the poverty of her nuns, but he was certain the holy object was worth a little less bread and ale for the religious. Women lacked a man’s wisdom in these matters, and so he had gone ahead with his plan. He had told her the relic was a gift from a penitent, a tale that brought him respect and even awe from a prioress who occasionally failed to show the deference owed a man of his vocation.
    He shrugged. After the relic was finally paid for by money from merchant and king, Prioress Ursell would conclude that he had increased income for Ryehill as offerings rose to what they had been before he had borrowed from them. In time, he was certain the relic would bring more pilgrims to the chapel and alms for the priory. When that occurred, and he was duly praised for acquiring the precious object, he would relish the acclamation but with eyes lowered. A show of humility was a virtue too often ignored by those less than pious. He sniffed with contempt.
    As he rounded the corner of the inn, he saw the street child disappearing down a narrow street, and he clenched his fist in fury. Had he not been so delayed in his purpose, he would have chased after her, throwing rocks and casting forth imprecations.
    Instead, he slipped inside the chapel and contented himself with asking God to send the vile creature the same fate suffered by the wicked Sister Roysia. Unlike the nun, whose vocation allowed her some mercy, he would make sure Gracia’s corpse rotted in unsanctified ground.

Chapter Eight
    Daylight struggled to enter the little chapel from one window placed high in the wall behind the altar. Where shafts of light struck the ground, the damp stones glistened, and the air was rife with the stench of must.
    A few pilgrims wandered in, but they spent little time on their knees before the small box containing the Virgin’s hair. Reverence was sincere but they quickly left, longing to see the sacred wells and the famous Holy House of the Annunciation, called England’s Nazareth and maintained by the religious of Walsingham Priory, farther down the road.
    Brother Thomas and Prioress Eleanor rose from where they had knelt. Seeking privacy, they walked to the inside columned walkway nearby, cupped their hands over their mouths, and bent their heads to muffle their voices lest someone overhear their words.
    “Prioress Ursell wishes to conceal something about Sister Roysia’s death, my lady.”
    “Perhaps she does, Brother, but there is no reason to believe this matter must be our concern.”
    Thomas looked around, then whispered, “More happened before your arrival that troubled me.”
    With evident reluctance, she permitted him to continue.
    “When Father Vincent ordered me to return with him to the prioress’ audience chamber, I assumed they wanted to hear what I had found and any conclusions I had formed. After making me wait, Prioress Ursell greeted me with a coldness to match the air in this chapel.” He shivered. “What distressed me more was the lack of sorrow shown by either priest or prioress. Their eyes were as dry as a road in summer heat.”
    “Perhaps they did not wish to show their grief to a stranger.”
    He shook his head. “You heard what Prioress Ursell said about the tragedy. Sister Roysia’s death was a possible cause for scandal, an annoyance. I have seen men banish tears of grief and grow pale with the effort. Prioress Ursell and Father Vincent had no need to hide what they did not feel.”
    Eleanor frowned as she considered his words. “They have reason to fear scandal. All religious houses do, and the prioress argued the concern well. Her duty lies in providing for her nuns, and I believe she cares deeply about that. ”
    Thomas concurred with her conclusion, then continued. “I confess that I did not tell them all I knew,” he whispered.
    She looked at him with surprise. “Why not? Prioress Ursell said that she did not welcome conjecture, but that would not prevent you from giving them