Chapter Twenty #2
“Confess?” she repeated, hoping she didn’t sound terrified and cornered. “I have not gone to confession today, but I shall confess to you if you wish.”
The Mother Abbess ended up over by her windows, her favorite place to stand as she surveyed her empire beyond.
“I have no time for foolishness,” the woman said patiently. “Tell me where you have gone and who you have spoken to. Tell me now.”
Andressa held her ground. “You know where I have gone, Gracious Mother,” she said.
“Yesterday morning, a baker was kind enough to feed me, and then I returned to finish the laundry. I delivered Lady Hinkley’s undergarments and then returned last night at her request. Where is it that I am supposed to have gone other than what you already know? ”
Before the Mother Abbess could answer, the door opened and Sisters Agnes and Dymphna appeared.
One nun was holding a long, thick branch that had been carved out with heavy thorns projecting from it.
It was a horrifying device of torture. The other nun was carrying leather bindings, larger versions of what falconers used to tether their birds.
When Andressa saw the items, her eyes widened.
“Gracious Mother,” she said, swiftly turning to the woman. “What is it I am supposed to have done?”
“Tell us who the man was who escorted you home last night,” Sister Petronilla burst. “I saw him standing by the postern gate. Who was he?”
Shocked, Andressa turned to the woman. In truth, she hadn’t realized Maxton had been seen and she struggled for an answer.
“A… a man I could not be rid of,” she said quickly, thinking of the first lie that popped to mind. “He saw me returning from Lady Hinkley’s in the dark and would not go away. I told him to go away, but he refused.”
Behind her, Sisters Agnes and Dymphna were closing in. Andressa could feel it. Nervously, she tried to back away, turning so she could see what all of the nuns were doing, and she knew she was in a grave situation. In a panic, she turned to the Mother Abbess.
“Please,” she begged. “What have I done?”
The Mother Abbess showed absolutely no emotion.
“Someone has spoken of our command from our Holy Father,” she said.
“Someone has told the king’s men that it is our intention to eliminate the king come feast day.
I know it could not be my faithful attendants; moreover, none of them have left St. Blitha since we received the orders.
But you have left St. Blitha. Who have you told, Andressa? ”
Now, it was all out in the open and Andressa had never been so terrified. If she could make it past Sister Dymphna, who was standing near the entry door, she might have a chance to run for her life, but she couldn’t guarantee the sister, who was long-legged and fast, wouldn’t catch her.
Besides… running would make her look guilty. It would make it worse when she was caught. Fighting off tears, she turned to the Mother Abbess.
“You trusted me with information,” she said.
“I told you I would not fail you. Why would you think I would speak of something you entrusted with me? Sister Dymphna has several nuns she is in charge of and everyone knows they gossip terribly. She has told them of what you do to women in The Chaos and they spread lies about you and they speak to those on the outside. Why not ask Sister Dymphna what she has told them? It must have been her!”
It was a well-known fact that Sister Dymphna had the inability to keep things to herself, and in Andressa’s panicked state, that was all she could think to say – to try and turn the situation off of her and onto another nun.
Unfortunately, it was Sister Dymphna who was holding the thick branch with the thorns, called simply The Rod, and in her rage, she swung the thing at Andressa, catching her in the shoulder.
Andressa screamed in pain, trying to move away as Sister Dymphna went after her, bring the rod down again and barely missing her.
By this time, Andressa was running, and she came across the Mother Abbess’ expensive sideboard, grabbing the nearest thing she could, which happened to be a pewter pitcher. It was heavy, like a hammer.
Sister Dymphna came up behind her and swung the rod again, and Andressa ducked beneath it.
As Sister Dymphna staggered sideways with the momentum of the swing, Andressa came up and hit her on the side of the head with the pitcher with all her might.
A dull, cracking sound filled the air as metal met with bone.
Sister Dymphna dropped like a stone.
Armed with the pitcher, Andressa wielded it like a weapon as she faced the other three nuns. “You’ll not take me down without a fight,” she snarled. “I will not confess to something when there are others who just as easily could have committed such an offense.”
Shocked that someone they had attacked was fighting back, Sister Agnes and Sister Petronilla looked at Andressa with a mixture of outrage and surprise, while the Mother Abbess seemed oddly pleased by the display of force. She appreciated physical violence, in all forms.
“Then all you need say is you did not tell anyone,” she said calmly.
“I did not tell anyone!” Andressa screamed.
It was a lie, but it was a lie to save her life. She saw no sin in lying to murdering, dishonorable women. The Mother Abbess simply nodded her head.
“I believe you,” she said evenly. “And you know nothing of the death of Alasdair Baird Douglas?”
Andressa was poised to swing the pitcher again; she hadn’t moved. When Sister Dymphna stirred, she was close enough to bash the woman on the skull again. Sister Dymphna fell still.
“The Scotsman?” Andressa said, trembling and cocked, pitcher over her head as if to smash Sister Dymphna’s brains in. “He is dead?”
The Mother Abbess nodded slowly. “He is,” she said. “You never saw him last night?”
More lies were to come, but she felt no guilt. “Nay,” she said. “Why do you ask?”
The Mother Abbess didn’t push her. In fact, she put up a hand as if to ease the situation.
“It does not matter,” she said. “Please put the pitcher down, Andressa. Come and sit and we shall discuss this calmly. In fact, the feast day is tomorrow and there are still preparations to come. We shall speak of that. All will be well now.”
Her manner was calming, which had a soothing effect on Andressa.
But Andressa didn’t put the pitcher down until Sister Agnes set down the bindings that she had in her hands, and the Mother Abbess ushered the two nuns to her fine table.
Shaken and still terrified, Andressa reluctantly put the pitcher down, but still within arm’s length should she need to get to it.
She sat at the end of the table, where the Mother Abbess indicated.
With the situation calming, Andressa felt somewhat relieved but she was still on edge, still afraid there was something more to come.
It was an instinct she should have listened to because as the Mother Abbess took her seat at the table, she passed behind Andressa with the Staff of Truth still in her hand.
And that was when the situation went from bad to worse.
One swing of the big, heavy iron and wood cross at the head of the staff at Andressa’s head, and she was knocked silly.
A second blow to the head sent her to the ground where she lay, dazed and nearly unconscious, looking up at the ceiling of the chamber and seeing the three nuns standing over her. The Mother Abbess knelt by her head.
“Now,” she said softly. “If you do not understand the need for obedience and discipline yet, you will by the time we are finished with you. As for telling the king’s men of our plans, it is of little consequence.
Men are so arrogant to believe that a woman can do them no harm, and they certainly will never believe that nuns are capable of ending a monarchy.
But they will suffer in the end, as will you.
Remember that death comes from the most unexpected sources, Andressa. ”
The third blow from the Staff of Truth caught Andressa in the left arm, a powerful blow that sent her rolling over onto her side. As the blows from the staff and the thorny rod commenced, all Andressa could do was roll into a ball and protect that life growing inside of her.
Odd how she thought of the child at that moment over herself.
To protect the child she’d tried so hard to ignore was the only thing on her mind, that inherent maternal instinct protecting the baby from blows that were drawing blood and leaving gouges in her body.
In truth, she was more terrified what would happen to her should they discover the child, so maternal instincts were only part of it.
She had to hide the pregnancy.
She had to protect them both.
Curling up on the cold, stone floor of the Mother Abbess’ fine solar, Andressa could hear her cries of pain echoing against the old walls.