Satan's Lullaby Read Free

new mothers to face in the days after.
    Gytha fought off those grim thoughts. Sister Anne would use all her skill and knowledge to keep her from Death’s clutches. Despite her unease, Gytha knew she had every reason to be confident. She prayed she was not being sinfully so.
    Without warning, a shiver coursed through her like a malevolent premonition of evil. Had she been so very unkind in her thoughts about Sub-Prioress Ruth? She had not intended malice, only humor, and truly did not wish the woman ill.
    Gytha looked heavenward and swore she would seek Brother Thomas on the morrow to confess her sins and seek absolution. No woman entering the perils of birth dared face the trial without cleansing her soul. Perhaps this uneasy feeling was His way of telling her that she had unwittingly erred of late or been insufficiently contrite.
    As for her remarks about the sub-prioress, had she not turned her cheek many times when the woman hurled invectives at her or unfairly cursed her? Yet she had just disparaged Ruth to her husband, and that was unkind. If such was her sin, Gytha would perform any penance due. But why not tell God in advance of a proper confession that she recognized her failing?
    Sighing, she thought of the walk to Tyndal Priory to see Brother Thomas. Of course she could summon him to the manor house, but Gytha gained no more pride with her elevation in rank than her husband owned in his birthright. And Brother Thomas had always been as much a brother to her in her heart as Tostig was in blood. Although the journey to the priory seemed interminable with her belly so huge and her feet so swollen, she would walk the distance to find the kind monk.
    Looking down at her resting husband, she felt more at ease. After confession, and until she had safely delivered this babe, she vowed to avoid the grave errors committed by her foremother Eve.
    Her last thought, before she let herself float into a doze, was that she would henceforth let her husband pick his own apples.

Chapter Three
    “Abbess Isabeau, my beloved sister, sends her blessing from the mother house at Fontevraud. I know your heart gladdens at my coming, for I am eager to expose the imperfections at Tyndal Priory. Rejoice, my daughter, as well you ought! When your dedication to Him falls short, your prayers reek in His nostrils like rotten meat. But if the errors are corrected, the scent grows sweet, and you please Him once again.”
    The priest’s two attendants mumbled “Amen.”
    Something in the manner of these dark-robed men filled the room with foreboding. Prioress Eleanor had always been fond of crows with their sailors’ walk and raucous cries. But gazing at the man who sat before her, with his young attendants standing on either side of him, she was reminded that the black-feathered birds were considered harbingers of doom for a reason. She was grateful her abbess had sent her blessing. She was in need of it.
    “Please be assured that I welcome your inspection,” she replied calmly. That the abbess had sent her youngest brother, a priest so favored by the French royal court of Philip the Bold that he would soon be invested with a bishop’s miter, was a gesture of respect appropriate for the prioress’ status. Not only was Eleanor’s own eldest brother a valued companion of the English king, but she was the daughter of a baron. Nonetheless, this man’s presence was unsettling.
    Father Etienne Davoir smiled but said nothing. He watched her as if waiting for something to happen which inexplicably had not.
    Was he expecting to see fear, she wondered. If so, she would not satisfy his longing. Pride might be one of her failings, but she refused to tremble over vague hints.
    Although Eleanor knew there had to be a specific purpose for this investigation, she was ignorant of the precise intent. Other religious houses, under the authority of a local bishop, might expect these comprehensive reviews often, but the Order of Fontevraud served only Rome.