Page 3 of The Cardinal's Daughter
‘Come, my duck,’ Dame Elizabeth commanded, sweeping me away to the convent enclosure.
The novices’ dorter was a long room lined with wooden beds separated by curtains of unbleached cloth. I was allocated a bed near the far end, on which had been laid out a simple grey gown and a white linen veil. Dame Elizabeth took my bag, went through my things and carried most of them away, including the bag of gold coins that constituted my dowry, which she said she would give to the treasuress.
‘We are not allowed personal possessions,’ she said, ‘but you may keep the missal.’ It had been a gift from my mother for mytwelfth birthday. ‘Now change into your postulant’s clothes and put those you are wearing into the bag, to be given to the poor. I will wait for you without.’
Quickly, I shed my worldly clothes, stuffed them into the bag and pulled on the grey gown, which hung like a sack on my thin frame. I plaited and pinned up my long hair, then covered it with the veil.
Dame Elizabeth frowned at the bulging bag. ‘Here, we fold things neatly,’ she admonished, pulling out my dress and re-folding it.
I followed her to the lavatorium, where lots of nuns were washing their hands at the stone sinks along the wall, then followed them – at the end of the line because I was the youngest in religion – into the vast refectory. There were no other postulants, so I was seated with the novices, who were distinguishable by their black habits and white veils; the professed nuns, of whom there were more than fifty, wore black veils and white wimples.
We ate in silence. The food was plenteous, but plain – a rabbit stew, chunks of brown bread, and fruit – all washed down with weak ale. I soon learned that if you wanted something, like salt, you had to wait until someone passed it to you; you could not ask for it. Later, the novice mistress told me that a nun should always be alert to the needs of her fellow diners.
The Abbess sat in a high-backed chair at the high table with the Prioress and Sub-Prioress and other high-ranking nuns – the obedientiaries. They were served the same food as everyone else. Throughout the meal, one of the sisters stood in a pulpit and read out passages from the Scriptures. I wondered when she got to eat, and tried to catch the eye of one of my fellow novices to ask, but they were all looking down at their food.
The novice mistress, who was seated at the end of the table, frowned at me. ‘It is important to learn custody of the eyes, Sister Dorothy.’
Blushing, I stared hard at my plate. How many rules must I learn not to break?
During supper, I was startled when a nun entered the refectory, lay down on the floor with her arms stretched out before the Abbess, and said, ‘Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.’
‘What have you done, my child?’ the Abbess asked.
‘I have committed the sin of gluttony and must beg my bread.’
‘Go then and do so, in the name of Jesus Christ.’
The nun got to her knees, then shuffled to the end of the first table. ‘Of your charity, give me some bread,’ she asked of the nuns eating there. Without any response, they each broke off a piece of bread and gave it to her. The same performance was repeated several times along the tables. When my turn came, I followed the example of my sisters and handed over some bread, only my piece was larger than any others because I felt sorry for the poor girl. I was so thankful that I had not bolted all my bread (for I was hungry after the long journey), since I could not have borne the humiliation of having to beg for it. I think I would rather have died.
When the bizarre ritual was completed, the nun rose and bowed to the Abbess.
‘Go in peace, my daughter,’ Mother Elizabeth said. ‘It is a fitting penance; because of your sin, you have deprived your sisters of some of their hard-earned food. I am sure you will not fall victim to gluttony again.’
It was a stern lesson in humility.
After supper was finished, I was allowed to join the novices for recreation. They sat in a circle sewing and chatting. I noticedthat when one wanted to gain another’s attention, she tugged at her sleeve.
Dame Elizabeth, who was present, saw me watching. ‘Nuns do not touch each other, Sister Dorothy. Nor do they have particular friendships. We are all equals here.’
I felt a little crestfallen, as some of the young women seemed very likeable and I had looked forward to making new friends.
‘It is the interior life that matters,’ Dame Elizabeth said. ‘Our relationship with Christ, our Holy Bridegroom.’
I bowed my head, but cheered up when one of the novices fetched a lute and began strumming an old ballad.
‘You play secular music here?’ I asked, surprised.
‘Yes, and we dance too, on feast days,’ she told me.
They also gossiped. Nuns love to gossip. The talk was all of the King’s ‘Great Matter’. Everyone knew that King Henry wanted to put away good Queen Katherine and marry Anne Boleyn, whom many deemed a whore. I did not tell my sisters that my father was the mighty Cardinal Wolsey who had failed to secure an annulment and was now in disgrace. I did not want them to think I was a bastard, or single myself out for special attention. Anyway, it would not be politic to mention the Cardinal, who was clearly not popular.
They were speculating about what would happen now.
‘The King will have to send Mistress Anne away,’ Dame Elizabeth said, lips primly pursed. ‘That is what heshoulddo.’
‘But will he do it?’ one of the novices asked.
‘And who will succeed him on the throne? The Queen has borne him no son,’ another chimed in.
