Justice for the Damned (30 page)

Since
many details about the priory in 1272 are unknown, I have taken some liberties
in describing Amesbury at the time of my Eleanor's visit. Records show that
Henry III did donate ten cartloads of lead for roofing, but the tapestries in
Prioress Ida's lodgings were woven only in this author's imagination. I do not
know if there was a library, and there is no evidence of a scriptorium, but it
is reasonable to assume that there must have been at least some place to store
books. The religious at Amesbury would have been quite literate, and readings
at meals were a standard practice. I decided both sides of the priory deserved
a couple of illuminators and at least a small collection of books.

Although
some have argued that the extant parish church may not have been part of the
priory itself, I have made it so. There is evidence on the outside walls that
indicates roofing was attached and could have formed part of a cloister. There
is a blocked doorway that is consistent with an entrance to a Chapter House.
The church was clearly larger at one time with more chapels, and parts of this
building not only date to 1272 but much earlier. Work on the church has
revealed a stone column base that may have belonged to Queen Elfrida's original
foundation. The Saxon Cross, mentioned in this book, was too wonderful not to
place where my Eleanor could enjoy it, and this wheel cross may also belong to
Elfrida's time. Fragments are on display at the church and were discovered
under the chancel in 1907.

I
must confess that I brought a butterfly, the Marsh Fritillary,
to
Amesbury
a few weeks early to distract Sister Beatrice from her sad thoughts. The
Chalkland Blue, a butterfly with delicate markings that make the uniquely
colored wings look like embroidery, was so tempting, but they are a July and
August creature. This book may be fiction, but the wise mortal does not mess
too much with Mother Nature even in a novel.

To
the best of my knowledge, no one ever tried to steal the Amesbury Psalter,
which now rests quite safely in All Souls University Library at Oxford. The work was done about 1250 by the anonymous but famous Sarum Illuminator or
Sarum Master, whose Salisbury school also provided Psalters to royalty as well
as to Wilton Abbey. His work is evidence of a uniquely and well-regarded English
style: elongated bodies, delicate and expressive faces, elaborate and deeply
folded garments. For those who want to see a sample of the Psalter itself, the
Internet provides a color version of at least one page if one searches under
"Amesbury Psalter." Margaret Howell's book
Eleanor of Provence
has
a black and white photograph of the same page, and that biography may be
available through the public library system.

Although
many Psalters were intended for general monastic use, some predated the Book of
Hours, common in the later Middle Ages, and were used for personal devotion. In
the sample illustration mentioned in the paragraph above, we can see a small
figure at the bottom left of the page. We might assume that this woman is a
Fontevraudine nun, although her attire is not distinctive and could be either a
nun's habit or the simple dress of a widow. (Nuns, then as now, tended to dress
in a manner similar to seculars.) In any event, it is believed that the figure
was the original owner of the manuscript, since a generic depiction of that
person in the work itself was common practice. Her actual identity is unknown,
although I have let Brother Baeda believe it to be a nun of Amesbury. Either
she or the person who gave her the Psalter must have been quite wealthy,
considering the quality of the work. The inclusion of the two feast days of
Saint Melor (one of which was May 6) in the Calendar does point to a resident
of Amesbury Priory.

Although
the manuscript is in reasonably fine condition, I found a description that
noted a tear in the corner of one page which shows evidence of an attempted
mending. Needless to say, I took advantage of that detail for this story and
decided that Prioress Ida would have wanted any damage to such a precious item
properly repaired.

I
freely admit to a fondness for ghosts, dating back to Grade Three when I wrote
my first and last (until now) story about them. I am not alone in this
interest. People have been discussing and seeing them for as long as we have
records, a fact that suggests the spirits have been of importance, probably
from the time we first developed speech and could talk about them. Maybe the
desire to keep ghosts at bay was the real reason our ancestors discovered fire
with such delight, not some culinary interest or a desire to upgrade the cave
with better heating.

In
any case, the early Christian church had a major problem with the creatures.
They were a pagan thing, always inclined to bother the living if their earthly
bodies were not properly buried (Antigone scattered dust on her brother's body
at the cost of her own life), or if the living didn't properly pay Charon to
ferry souls across the Styx—the latter suggesting that pagans not only thought
you could but should take at least some of it with you. Thus Augustine of Hippo
insisted, in his
De Curapro Mortuis Gerenda (On the Care to Be Taken When
Dealing with the Dead),
that the dead were not able, by their nature, to
involve themselves in the affairs of the living.

Nonetheless,
belief in ghosts and the sightings thereof stubbornly persisted with the
secular crowd. As the first millennium approached, the Church began to agree
there might be some good reasons for ghosts to wander around. After all, the
times were troubling, and many believed the end of the world would come on
January 1, 1000. The dead could be as restless as the living under the
circumstances.

As
years went on, there was another reason to support acceptance of uneasy
spirits. Although the Christian concept of Purgatory had been around since the
beginning of the faith, it became increasingly popular until formally codified
in the 15 th century. In a society where killing in battle was rather frequent,
many died with less than cleansed souls. If nothing much could be done for
those in Hell, and those in Heaven didn't need prayers, increasing value was
placed on prayer for those in that interim spot for the spotted soul. Without
question, the idea that one could do something to help a distressed family
ghost move more quickly to Heaven was very appealing and found growing favor in
the Church, as did the idea that sightings could prove instructional (saints)
or frightening enough to change earthly behavior. Spectral wild hunts (where
spirits rode on spiked saddles or dressed in flesh-charring armor) were quite
effective at the latter.

As
we do today, the medievals varied in whether or not they believed in ghosts.
Some, like Beatrice and Eleanor, thought that only saints came by occasionally
for instructional purposes in dreams or visions. Others, like Wulfstan, were
equally certain that less perfect souls returned to trouble the living with
more malevolent intent. As for the truth, I leave that debate to others.

Since
I have discussed medieval views on sexuality and orientation at some length in
prior books, I will add only a short note to provide illumination on Thomas'
particular concerns in this one.

His
era was a warrior culture that essentially defined
masculinity
as one
man's ability to conquer another. The notion of
adulthood
involved a
more tribal concept of survival: taking on the responsibility of marriage, a
family, and the fathering of children.

For
monks, men who might fulfill a socially important function but were prohibited
from doing either of those above-mentioned things, a different definition had
to be developed. It should not come as a surprise that the definitions for them
were quite similar to the secular ones. A monk could prove his masculinity by
conquering temptation with the strength of his will. Manhood was achieved when
he took responsibility for leading others to God and defeating their erroneous
ways with his powerful reason as any father might his children.

The
battle against lust, especially after celibacy became the rule for priests,
appears to have taken up almost as much philosophical time as defining heresy.
There are numerous and erotically graphic descriptions of the temptations
saints-in-the-making overcame. Many in the Church concluded that men and women
who suffered most from sexual torments were deemed more worthy of God's grace
than those who did not. It seems that Satan found mortals who didn't experience
nocturnal emissions and erotic visions of many wondrous varieties just too
boring to care about.

In
any event, whether the monk wrestled against sexual longing for a woman or for
a man was somewhat irrelevant. Winning the battle defined the man. Whether he
participated in formal debates or struggled (like Brother Thomas) against those
possessing a particular darkness of soul, success was the mark of manhood.