5. I knew it was risky but the unlocked door was just too great a temptation. Besides I was starving! No one had offered me any food since I arrived at the Abbey. So I got myself into a sitting position on the edge of the bed, and waited until the room stopped spinning.
Then I looked about for something to wear. Much to my surprise, the brown woolen shift I had used to mop the floor that morning had been replaced. I gathered it up, pulled it on over my head and stood up as the scratchy coarse material slithered down over my whip-marked torso. The shift turned out to be a bit shorter than expected, barely covering my ass, but it was better than going around naked.
Cautiously I crept over to the door, opened it slowly to avoid any loud creaking noises, and peeked out into the corridor. No one was around. I stepped out and scampered down to the end of the passage way and turned the corner. Coast was still clear.
This time I picked my way along, stopping to gaze from time to time to gaze through the stone tracery windows at the green lushness of the cloister garden, and to test each of the many doors along the passageway.
On the third try, I found what I was looking for ... food. The room had a table on which a half-eaten loaf of bread, some cheese and a pottery carafe of wine had been set out for someone, but no one was around. I gathered it all up, retreated to a dark corner of the room, sat down on the floor and ravenously devoured the lot of it.
Having satisfied my hunger, I decided to explore a little more, so I slipped out into the passage way and continued on until I found myself outside the Abbess' door. There I stopped.
The door was closed but I could clearly hear voices inside. I recognized that of the Abbess, sounding quite shrill and agitated, shouting angrily at someone. There was also the voice of a young woman, pleading for mercy, screaming hysterically, and then begging again. Her accent was unmistakably Irish. I once knew another servant girl who spoke exactly the same way and who said she was from the southwest of Ireland.
Curious, I knelt down to look through the keyhole. There was the Abbess, her back to me; one arm pointing at a naked dark-haired girl, shackled to the stone wall, arms raised over head, a torn novice's shift lying bunched on the floor under her feet. My stockily-built nemesis, Sister Hilda … stripped, as usual, to the waist, her fleshy bare back lathered in sweat … was busily engaged in mercilessly flogging the poor thing with a multi-tailed whip.
The poor girl’s backside was literally covered with angry red stripes from lashes already administered, and the Abbess was ordering her to turn around so that the whipping could be continued on her as yet unmarked breasts and belly. The young novice turned around as told, the chains on her wrist irons rattling as they wound around themselves, until she faced Hilda, teary-eyed, chest heaving, legs shaking. The squat woman promptly and expertly laid the tails of the cat across the novice’s ribs, just under her wobbling breasts.
I couldn't take my eyes from the scene. What kind of place is this I wondered? What is she being punished for? Is it just because she is Irish? Does this go on here every day?
As I crouched, eye to the keyhole, transfixed, I was startled by a hand placed firmly on my shoulder. I spun around, struggled to my feet and came face to face with a young nun. I stammered something lame about being hungry and looking for food.
She said nothing as she calmly picked some bread crumbs from my hair, and nodded knowingly. A wisp of blonde hair poked out from under the starched white coif that framed her thin, sweet face and little parenthetical smile lines broke out on either side of her mouth. My eyes searched her face only to become focused on and lost in the magical depths of her bright blue eyes.
She broke the spell by saying, “Come. It’s not safe out here, please follow me.”
Taking me by the hand she led me back down the passageway, pulled some keys from under her habit, unlocked a door and guided me inside. The room was identical to my own, but better furnished … a slightly larger bed, a wardrobe, small table and chair … and no shackles bolted to the wall!
She sat down on the bed, and patted the mattress, signaling me to sit beside her. My name is “Kathleen,” she said gently, “Here I am called Sister Kathleen.”
“And I am Barbara,” I replied.
“I know,” she said, “I have been watching you.”
“Who is that Irish girl … the one being whipped in the Abbess’ office?”
“Never mind her. They always have to have someone to whip. They are like that here. She was the unlucky one today. They heard her giggling after prayers. Listen to me! For your own good, Barbara, you must find a way to escape this awful place!”
“Why? I came here for refuge. The Abbess was kind enough to take me in. I can’t just leave.”
“You really must, they have already chosen you for the Competition!”
“What is that? It is mentioned, but no one ever tells me what it is.”
“Oh, it happens once a year when the Cardinal visits the Cathedral town for the feast of Saint Andrew, which will soon be upon us. Each of the four Abbeys in the area competes to stage, for the Cardinal’s private pleasure … no one outside knows about it … a live reenactment of the crucifixion of our Savior.”
“Oh, I see. I am guessing then that each Abbey puts forward one of its novices to be mock crucified, as I was at morning prayers today, right? That was hard and painful, but I managed ok. It wasn’t so bad. Apparently they are thinking of grooming me for the role. I heard the Abbess and the monks say something to that effect. Listen Sister Kathleen, if that is what I have to do in order to stay here, I am ready.”
“Um, Barb, in the Competition, they use nails, not ropes, and the novices are brutally tortured and crucified! They don’t take you done until you are dead!”
“Oh, shit! Really? What should I do?”
“Nothing for now; we have some time to think about a plan of escape for you.”
Then, looking at me once again with that mystically captivating smile, she loosened her habit, sucked in her breath, reached out for the hem of my shift and gave it a playful little tug. I lifted my butt to free it. She pulled it off over my head, shoved me down on the bed and climbed on top of me.
“Did you think to lock the door?” I said, breathlessly.
TO BE CONTINUED.
