Murder in the Cloister Read online

  Contents

  Cover

  Also by Tania Bayard

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Tania Bayard

  The Christine de Pizan mysteries

  IN THE PRESENCE OF EVIL *

  IN THE SHADOW OF THE ENEMY *

  IN THE COMPANY OF FOOLS *

  Non-fiction

  A MEDIEVAL HOME COMPANION

  SWEET HERBS AND SUNDRY FLOWERS

  * available from Severn House

  MURDER IN THE CLOISTER

  Tania Bayard

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  First world edition published in Great Britain and the USA in 2021

  by Severn House, an imprint of Canongate Books Ltd,

  14 High Street, Edinburgh EH1 1TE.

  Trade paperback edition first published in Great Britain and the USA in 2021

  by Severn House, an imprint of Canongate Books Ltd.

  This eBook edition first published in 2021 by Severn House,

  an imprint of Canongate Books Ltd.

  severnhouse.com

  Copyright © Tania Bayard, 2021

  All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. The right of Tania Bayard to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.

  British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-8945-4 (cased)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-78029-757-6 (trade paper)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4483-0495-0 (e-book)

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is purely coincidental.

  This eBook produced by

  Palimpsest Book Production Limited,

  Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland

  PROLOGUE

  The Royal Priory of Saint-Louis at Poissy. Late March, 1399

  Matins and Lauds (early morning, before daylight)

  This office is observed so that the first motions of the soul and mind may be dedicated to God, and so that we admit nothing else into our minds before we have rejoiced in the thought of God.

  Saint Basil, fourth century

  The young nun was nearly alone in the dark dormitory. One other sister, who’d been ill, lay snoring at the far end of the cavernous room, but the sound was so far away it hardly reached her. Everyone else, shaken out of sleep by Sister Claude, had gone to the church to chant matins and lauds. She’d been excused because she’d just returned from a journey, and the prioress, seeing how tired she was, had given her permission to stay in bed. She’d intended to tell the prioress something, but she’d fallen asleep before she could say it. It would have to wait until morning.

  Lumps in the flocking of her mattress dug into her back, and the unfinished wool of her blanket scratched her face, but in spite of the discomfort she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. Then, all of a sudden, she was awake. She lay in the darkness, breathing air so cold it stung her nostrils, and tried to think what had disturbed her. She reached for an embroidered tapestry that was used as a bed cover during the day and curled up under it, pressing her hands against her stomach. The bed shook as her body was racked by sobs.

  After a while, the weeping subsided, and she lay quietly in darkness so complete it seemed to weigh on her, pressing her down into the hard mattress, drawing her into an abyss. She felt as though she were enclosed in a coffin, wanting to scream but unable to make a sound.

  Then she saw a light. It floated through the gloom, emitting a faint crackling sound. She sat up and stared through the darkness as it came close, then moved away. She rose and followed it out of the dormitory into a passageway beside the church. She could hear the other sisters chanting in the choir, and she thought she should join them, but the light beckoned, drawing her away, out into the cloister, across a lawn wet with rain, and under the branches of a huge pine tree whose water-laden branches grazed her cheeks. The light stopped. She saw a small dog. She reached out for it, but an unseen hand pulled it away. Then there were two figures, and the dog was circling them. She reached for the dog again and caught its collar. The collar broke. She felt a sharp pain in her chest. She cried out and fell to the ground.

  Prime (first morning light)

  After morning prayers let it not be lawful to return to sleep; but when matins are finished let prime be said forthwith. Then let all employ themselves in reading until the third hour.

  Saint Aurelian, sixth century

  After matins and lauds, none of the sisters returned to the dormitory for more sleep because they’d been summoned to the chapter house to confess their faults and receive their penances. Silence reigned in the dormitory as the first morning light came through the windows and revealed row upon row of empty beds.

  Terce (mid-morning)

  The Holy Ghost descended on the disciples at the third hour.

  Saint Cyprian, third century

  At nine, the sisters filed back into the choir for terce. Only then did they notice that someone was missing. They looked at the prioress, but she turned away. The chantress raised her
hand to gain the attention of those sisters whose attention had wandered.

  Sext (midday)

  The Lord was crucified at the sixth hour.

  Saint Cyprian, third century

  After the office of sext, they assembled for mass. Then they gathered for the midday meal. The prioress remained in her own residence, so they were not able to question her about the missing sister.

  Nones (mid-afternoon)

  At the ninth hour Christ washed away our sins with His blood.

  Saint Cyprian, third century

  At nones, the sisters filed into the choir again. The prioress and the infirmaress were not with them.

  Vespers (sunset)

  The Eucharist was delivered to the apostles by the Lord the Savior in the evening.

  Saint Cassian, fourth century

  After vespers, the sisters were called to the chapter house, where the prioress told them that one of the novices had unexpectedly died. They were not to mourn, but to rejoice, because Sister Thérèse was now with the Blessed Mother in Heaven.

  Compline (before going to bed)

  With what hope will you come to the season of night; with what dreams will you expect to converse, if you have not walled yourself round with prayers to keep you safe?

  Saint Chrysostom, fourth century

  Each sister prayed fervently for protection throughout the night, for who could say that she might not be taken without warning, like Sister Thérèse.

  ONE

  Paris, the first week of April, 1399

  Since my youth and earlier occupations were behind me, I returned to what most suited me – a life of solitude and tranquility.

  Christine de Pizan, L’advision Christine, 1405

  It rained every day. Sometimes the water poured down so heavily the trees bent under the sudden weight of it. At other times, the drops fell lightly for days, and the sound of the incessant dripping nearly drove people mad. The gloom that enveloped Paris invaded Christine’s house, where Francesca was preoccupied with the rain, peering out first thing every morning to see if it had stopped and then muttering imprecations as she slammed the door against the never-ending stream of water. She told everyone to watch out for ants. ‘If you see one, don’t step on it!’ she cried. ‘Stepping on ants causes rain.’

  Francesca was even more downcast because she missed two of her grandchildren: Jean, Christine’s older son, now fifteen, who’d gone to England as a companion for a rich man’s child, and Marie, Christine’s eighteen-year-old daughter, who’d become a Dominican nun at the Royal Priory of Saint-Louis at Poissy. Christine felt their absence deeply, too, but she kept her feelings to herself. She told her mother she should be happy: Jean was living in luxury in a wealthy man’s home, and Marie was doing exactly what she’d always wanted to do.

  Francesca was not comforted. ‘The house is so lonely without them,’ she muttered to herself early one morning as she tried to push parsley seeds into the wet soil of the little garden she tended behind the house. ‘Maledizione!’ she cried as the seeds stuck to her finger. ‘Nothing goes right, now that those two are gone.’

  The hired girl, Georgette, stood at the kitchen door, very pregnant and reluctant to go outside where she might slip in the mud and fall. ‘At least Jean and Marie are alive, not like my poor brother,’ she said, referring to her brother Colin, who’d died in the disastrous crusade against the infidels at Nicopolis three years earlier.

  ‘I am so sorry, Georgette.’ Francesca said as she made her way through the muck to the door and put her arms around the girl. ‘I miss Colin, too. I wish he had not volunteered to go on that foolish campaign.’

  Georgette, who had married her beau, Robin, one of the palace guards, and was now expecting their first child, covered her face with her hands and started to cry. ‘He wanted to take care of the horses. Poor Colin. I wish I’d been nicer to him. He had some nonsensical ways, but he meant well.’

  ‘You must not be sad. You have Robin, and soon there will be a little one to care for.’ Francesca wiped her muddy hands on her apron. ‘Come with me. I know what will cheer you.’

  Georgette followed Francesca into the kitchen and watched her light a taper in the flames of the fireplace and hold it in front of one of the copper pots hanging on the wall. As the reflection of the taper’s flame flickered over the surface of the pot, Francesca stared at it as if in a trance. She grasped Georgette’s arm. ‘Do you see it?’ she asked. ‘There! In the flames! It is Colin’s face! I often see my husband this way. You can do the same with your brother.’

  Georgette stared at the reflection. ‘I think I see him. Hold the taper closer.’

  ‘You two will be accused of necromancy!’ Christine cried as she stormed into the kitchen, followed by her son, Thomas, her niece, Lisabetta, and the family’s two dogs, Goblin and Berith. ‘Do you know what happens to necromancers?’

  ‘I do,’ Thomas said. ‘They get burned at the stake for trying to call up the dead. Sometimes, just before they die, they cry out and say they’re sorry, but nobody believes them.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ Christine asked.

  ‘I’ve seen them.’ At fourteen, Thomas knew where to look for all the hangings, burnings, and other gruesome punishments that took place at the city’s street crossings and open spaces.

  Georgette started to cry again. ‘Don’t talk about those things. I don’t want to think of people dying. I just want to see Colin again!’

  ‘Don’t feel so sorry for yourself,’ Thomas said. ‘You’ve lost a brother. The king has lost his mind. Don’t you think that’s worse?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Georgette wailed. Lisabetta, who was eleven, put her arms around her and started to cry, too.

  ‘That’s not an apt comparison, Thomas,’ Christine said. She took the taper from her mother’s hand. ‘Don’t you have anything better to do, Mama?’

  Francesca sighed and sat down on the bench by the table. ‘It is the rain, Cristina. Will it never stop?’

  Christine didn’t mind the rain. It gave her an excuse to stay at home. She earned her living as a scribe, often working at the court, but now that she had a little money, she’d gained enough confidence to think she might be able to support herself and her family with her own writing. At home, she had to listen to her mother holding forth about her outrageous superstitions, Georgette weeping for her brother, Thomas telling silly jokes and Lisabetta worrying that her father, who’d gone to Italy to settle some family affairs, was never going to come back. But any of that was better than the turmoil at the court, where the king had gone mad, his uncles battled for power, and the queen was always in tears. At home, she could at least go to her room, close the door, and concentrate on her writing.

  ‘The rain will stop someday, Mama. In the meantime, I’m going to make the most of the opportunity to stay here.’

  ‘I am glad when you do not go to the court. There is evil there. But if you are going to stay at home, you might help with the housework.’

  ‘You know I hate housework. I’m too old to start fussing around in the kitchen and trying to sew straight seams.’

  ‘So what are you going to do?’

  ‘I’m going to finish the poem I started yesterday.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Thomas said. He’d gone to the front door to see if it was still raining, and he’d come running back followed by a messenger who bowed to Christine and said, ‘The king requests your presence at the palace immediately.’

  TWO

  Oh Fortune … the force of your gale threw him to the ground so violently that he lay there from that time on, his feathers and his whole body ripped apart.

  Christine de Pizan, L’advision Christine, 1405

  Christine was used to being summoned to the palace. In the past, when Georgette’s brother, Colin, had been the messenger, Francesca had always warned her not to go. ‘The palace is infested with sorcerers and magicians,’ she’d say. ‘They claim they can cure the king, but they are really putting s
pells on him.’ Colin loved this kind of talk and encouraged Francesca to tell him more. But now Francesca was silent. She sat on the bench and stared at the solemn young man dressed in a green tunic with black sleeves – the king’s livery – as he stood waiting for Christine, who’d gone upstairs to put on a suitable gown, a starched linen headdress, and a cloak to keep off the rain.

  Thomas and Lisabetta sat at the table and stared, too. Georgette began chopping onions, keeping her head lowered and muttering, ‘Who needs clothes like that? Colin was fine without them.’ Then she broke down and wept. The messenger didn’t move a muscle. ‘I wonder what he’d do if I pinched him,’ Thomas whispered to Lisabetta. The messenger stood straighter than before, but the corners of his mouth twitched.

  Christine came back carrying a scarf to put over her headdress. ‘You will not need that,’ the messenger said. ‘The king has sent a covered carriage for you.’

  Thomas let out a whoop, Lisabetta giggled, and Francesca gasped, but Christine and the messenger were out the door before anyone could speak. Standing in the street was a four-wheeled carriage decorated with broom flowers and white stags, the king’s devices. The magnificent vehicle, the roof and sides of which were covered with densely woven woolen cloth to keep the rain off its passengers, was drawn by two large brown horses who pawed the ground and shifted uneasily as the messenger helped Christine into her seat. She rode away, oblivious to the fact that her mother, Georgette, Thomas, Lisabetta, Goblin, and Berith were standing in the rain in front of her house watching her go.

  The messenger stood at the front of the carriage and looked at her shyly. She smiled, hoping that would encourage him to say something. She missed Colin and his incessant chatter. He drew a deep breath. ‘I know who you are, Madame. My late grandfather worked for the old king, and he told me about your father.’

  ‘How did he know my father?’

  ‘My grandfather was a footman, and he was often with the king when his doctors visited him. My grandfather told me that, of all the physicians, your father was the best.’

  Christine was not surprised. Her father had been summoned from Italy to the court of Charles the Fifth in Paris because of his impressive reputation. She and her family had lived at the royal palace, the Hôtel Saint-Pol, when she was a child, and she knew how much the old king had relied on Thomas de Pizan for medical as well as astrological advice.