The apostate's tale by Margaret Frazer Read Free Book Online

then stood aside while Cecely did the same. The water must have been hot when it was first set here. It was barely tepid now, chilling quickly in the evening air. It chilled her already cool hands, too, so that she barely dried them in her haste to tuck them under her arms and against her body to warm them. Dame Juliana’s look at her reminded her that was unacceptable, and Cecely grimly folded them together humbly in front of her and bowed her head. Satisfied, Dame Juliana led her finally into the refectory.
    Did nothing ever change in this place? This room, too, was the same as it had been nine years ago. Open-raftered to the roof and with plain-plastered walls, it was hardly different from a well-made barn except for the nuns’ long table stretched down the room’s middle with benches along both sides and a stool at one end for the prioress to over-watch what were laughably called meals. Single candlestubs burned at either end of the table, casting a deceptive sheen over the tabletop’s scrubbed boards, while in a far corner a taller candle was set at an upper edge of a long-legged, slant-topped desk where a nun stood alone, waiting to read aloud while the other nuns ate. The rest of the nuns were standing with bowed heads at their places along the table. No one looked around at Cecely as she followed Dame Juliana into the room, though Cecely thought there was here and there the glint of an eye shifted toward her, curious.
    They should be curious, she thought. They had never dared anything but being here. She had dared to go out into the world, had loved, been loved, and even if she was back here now, she had all that to hold to and remember, while all they had was a bare-roomed, comfortless nunnery, each other’s dull company, and their prioress’ heavy hand over them.
    Dame Juliana led her to a dark corner at the far end of the room from anyone and with a small gesture silently bade her stand and stay. Discomfited that she was not going to be allowed to sit and knowing she would not be allowed to lean against the wall either, Cecely tried to keep her irk hidden as Dame Juliana joined the other nuns along the table. Not that anyone was looking at her now. They were all thinking too hard toward their supper as Domina Elisabeth gave thanks for what they would receive.
    It was excessive thanks for not much, Cecely thought. This being Lent and food scant, every meal was desperately looked forward to. Not that there were that many meals, or what could be called meals. Something to silence the stomach in the morning, one true meal at midday, then a slight something for supper. Her own stomach was growling again. She could only hope she wasn’t going to be made to watch them all eat before she was given food, too.
    Domina Elisabeth finished thanks, the nuns sat down, and two servantwomen came in with laden trays, to set a cup of something and a portion of dark, unbuttered bread before each nun, with Domina Elisabeth’s no larger than anyone else’s, Cecely noted. What was the point of being prioress if you couldn’t have more or better than your nuns? But very likely she would have something else in her room, with no one to know it, Cecely thought resentfully.
    Her stomach roiled more, and she had the frightened thought that maybe she was going to have no supper at all but be made to fast until tomorrow; but when everyone else had been served, had begun to eat and the reader to read, one of the servantwomen came back silent-footed from the kitchen, bringing to Cecely a thick-cut piece of heavy, dark bread and a wooden cup. Cecely took them eagerly, but the servant kept hold, so that Cecely looked at her and found her looking back with both worry and question. More than that, Cecely knew her and said on a breath that was barely a whisper, “Alson!” She held back from a smile only because someone might be watching but knew what Alson was silently asking and shook her head in a small “no.” Alson, with her back to