Page 58 of Wolfehound
As he drew closer, he could see the livestock area as well as the garden, which was extensive. The entire thing was encircled by stone walls and wooden fences, designed to keep the livestock in and any predators out. But it had an unwelcome feel about it and he was fairly certain that a lone rider would be viewed with suspicion, especially since he wasn’t a priest. However, he was a knight and his vocation was sworn to the church, and he also bore a missive from the Archbishop of Canterbury explaining to the prior that he must be allowed to interview the nun who bore the name of Gwenllian of Wales. His presence there was simplyan inquiry into the health and welfare of the royal hostage and he didn’t anticipate any refusal.
Still, he proceeded carefully. People of the church, and particularly those who lived in isolated areas like this, tended to be skittish and he didn’t want to frighten anybody because, in the end, it would only be more difficult for him to complete his task. As he wound his way through a couple of garden gates, he could see people working a large vegetable garden. There were several of them. They all stopped when they saw him pass through, staring at him as if he were an object of fascination. But Tyrus ignored them, heading for the church itself because that was the most public space in the entire complex. A visitor would be expected to go there first.
He had a man to find.
After tethering his horse outside the church, he entered the dark, cool structure that smelled heavily of animal habitation. It smelled like a barn. As he walked slowly into the bowels of the place, he could see that straw was strewn all over the dirt floor. The ceiling overhead was arched, with big wooden beams, strangely elaborate in so remote a place. His boots thumped on the ground as he made his way to the front, all the while looking for someone to speak to. The church had been empty so far. Once he reached the altar, he continued around it and ended up at a door that led out into the cloister. He wasn’t sure if it was the male or female cloister, so he took a timid step out into the dirt only to be met by a woman in worn woolen robes.
“Stop,” she said firmly. “Who are you? What is your business here?”
Tyrus came to a halt, turning to see the older woman as she came around the corner of the church. “My name is le Mon,” he said. “I am looking for the prior. I come with a message from the Archbishop of Canterbury.”
That seemed to bring the woman pause. She was older, with plump, unusually smooth skin and no eyebrows. She eyed Tyrus suspiciously.
“Canterbury?” she repeated. “What use does he have for us?”
“A great deal,” Tyrus said. “I am instructed to find the prior or the prioress and deliver the missive.”
The woman looked him up and down a few times. She visually inspected the tunic he wore, the scarlet of Canterbury, and she inspected the sword at his side, the boots at his feet.
“Why send a knight?” she finally asked. “Why not simply a messenger?”
“Because this missive is important.”
“Why?”
“Take me to the prioress so that she may discover that for herself.”
The woman didn’t reply right away. She was still looking him over, trying to determine if he was telling her the truth.
“Show me the missive,” she finally said. “Show me the seal.”
He had it in his left hand, the one under his cloak that she couldn’t see. He tossed his cloak back and lifted his hand, holding the seal out so she could see it. She took a couple of suspicious steps in his direction, peering at the seal. It took her several moments before her suspicion turned to concern.
“Come with me,” she said.
She was motioning for him to follow, and he did. They headed toward the collection of buildings to the north, long dormitory buildings and a few smaller ones. They were all connected by stone walkways, one to the other. Tyrus followed the woman into one of the smaller buildings where there was what seemed to be a common room of sorts and two smaller chambers. She went into the common room, where there were neatly scrubbed tables, and indicated for him to sit. She sat opposite him and extended her hand.
“I am Mother Cecelia,” she said quietly. “Give me my missive.”
He wasn’t going to take her word for it. “Send for another nun.”
“Why?”
“Do it or no missive.”
She frowned, peeved, and got up from the table. He watched her walk to a door facing east, with sunlight streaming in through it, and stick her head out, shouting to someone nearby. In little time, a woman entered, wiping her dirty hands off on her apron as Mother Cecelia pulled her over to the table to face Tyrus.
“There,” Mother Cecelia said. “Here is another one. What do you want with her?”
Tyrus looked at the woman. She was young, with light brown hair peeking out from underneath her wimpled head, a sweaty face, and dark hazel eyes.
“What is your name, woman?” he asked.
The woman looked at Mother Cecelia fearfully before answering. “Wentliane, my lord.”
Tyrus pointed at Mother Cecelia. “Who is this woman?”
Confused, the young nun looked at the older woman. “She… she is the mother prioress, my lord.”
