Sisters of The Bruce 1292-1314 (Abridged Version )

Sisters of The Bruce: Part 2; Chapter 3.3

                                                                                      III

England

May 1309

Kirsty stretched, sinuous as a cat, upon her cot. Her thick blankets slipped down and landed upon the stone flags. On a trestle, a jug of ale and a half loaf of bread remained from the previous night's meal. A knock sounded at her cell door. A whispered voice bid her good morn. Kirsty rose, a smile upon her face. Aethelrida had some task for her.

Through the grill, a thin scroll was pushed which Kirsty was to translate. Only a few of the nuns had been taught the art of reading or writing in Latin. Strangely, Aethelrida was not one of them. Upon the prisoner's trestle lay the accoutrements of writing: a few sheets of vellum, a feathered quill, a horn scraper and container of ink. At a quick glance, it seemed this treatise spoke of skin complaints and the foods which would aid the skin's healing. Aethelrida heard the approach of the novices on their way to nones and bid Kirsty farewell. She must hurry. It did not pay to be late for the early morning ritual of prayer. Once more, Kirsty thanked the good lord for this angel who had saved her life and made her life in the nunnery bearable. Now, she had warm bedding, wholesome food in her belly and tasks to fill her day.

It had been a long time since neglect and harsh treatment saw Kirsty's body riddled with infection. Aethelrida's bitter complaints to the prioress saw some, though not all, of the restrictions set by the previous king reduced. The prisoner's sentence of solitary confinement was to remain in place until alternative orders came. Aethelrida made it her business to reduce the harshness of Kirsty's punishment. This led to a running battle with two brutal nuns: diminutive Mertha and lanky, hatchet-faced Eriface. From observation, it seemed to Aethelrida the pair operated as one for neither was particularly bright on her own. When she first became aware that Kirsty was literate in French and Latin and could manage her letters, she suggested to the prioress the prisoner be given the difficult job of translating medical treatises. The last nun who had this capacity died of a stomach complaint not long back. Since then, the prioress had lost her sight for reading – words blurred into a muddle at her every attempt, causing her head to ache – and she was quite agreeable. It was most timely. The woman was keen to conceal her poor eyesight. Thoughts of being replaced by a younger, more able nun were often in her mind. Upon consideration – as long as no conversation occurred – she supposed this also would meet the essence of the king's punishment. There was nothing to say the prisoner could not earn her keep in the nunnery. And was it not true they were all expected to contribute?

Mertha was rancorous at what she perceived to be the special treatment offered to the prisoner and made every effort to hinder Kirsty's work, initially by slopping food as it was delivered onto her trestle. Sometimes, she shoved her victim at the same time, spilling ink across the parchments. Whenever Mertha and Eriface arrived together, Kirsty knew the outcome would follow a more vindictive pattern. Somehow, Aethelrida developed a sixth sense and managed to outwit them. It became a game of fox and hare. A message would be proffered by a smiling, guileless Mertha, for the infirmary nun to attend the prioress urgently. Aethelrida would feign interest. Shortly thereafter, she would catch the women in the act of some hideous brutality: either forcing Kirsty face down into her latrine pail or whipping her senseless for some alleged misdemeanour.

The prisoner was caught between the two extremes: one kindly and the other, brutal, but strangely, she found she could cope better with her incarceration. Now, it felt less hopeless with Aethrida's endless compassion as well as the mental stimulation of the tasks that came her way. When Kirsty's translation showed that the consumption of fruit, in its dried form of course, and vegetables as well as increased cleanliness would stop carbuncles, which so plagued the nuns, the prioress softened. It was obvious Kirsty's skills could be of benefit to the community. She permitted the prisoner to be moved to a cell nearer to the infirmary for convenience. Most importantly for Kirsty, it was within hearing distance of Aethelrida's chamber. Only then did some of the more obvious harassment come to an end. Instead, subtle punishments emerged. Tight balls of grey, matted hair, thick-ridged toenail clippings or the occasional rat's tail, sliced of course, appeared in her bowl of food at night. Kirsty had taken to examining each spoonful before allowing it to touch her lips. This, too, backfired upon the offenders. Late one eve, Kirsty gagged at the sight of small pellets of dung floating in her thin stew. Aethelrida happened to be passing the chamber. Quickly, she came to her aid, and the offending food was shown to the prioress. The malicious nuns were given a choice: either eat the food themselves or clean the latrines on their hands and knees as if they were junior novices.

In the corridor, Aethelrida caught the sounds of a high-pitched, nasal whine. She peeked around the corner of the lavarium. Tiny, she may have been, but Mertha held sway over the hapless Eriface who lay hunched upon the floor. "Ye great lump, I warned ye to mash the pellets!" Mertha's weapon of choice was a foul cloth. In her fury, she slapped it against her companion's bowed head. Wet shanks of hair flapped across pallid skin, adding to the woman's misery. Her snivelling could be heard down the corridor. Several novices shuffled towards Aethelrida and she departed hurriedly to the infirmary. In a low voice, she delivered a compelling account of the events to Kirsty and was rewarded with a rare dimpled smile. Neither could hide their gleeful satisfaction. They must be on their guard even more, for some heinous act would surely follow this public humiliation. Indeed, one could almost hear the duo's thick minds calculating their revenge.

It was a strange time for the Scotswoman. All these events were but light relief from a greater drama. At a deeper level, she felt unhinged from her own reality as if she had never lived her previous life, nor loved those whom she knew she had lost. Perhaps, in time, the memories of home and family might even fade altogether. In the night especially, numbness entered her being; grey melancholy followed, seeping into the vacuum where feeling had once lived so warmly. She feared this place – the stone of its edifice – would feed upon her body and soul, till she perished old and wizened like Mertha. Death would claim her and she would be buried out in the icy ground to lie forever in English soil. For a noble daughter of Scotland, this was the final, pitiless twist in King Edward's cruel punishment.

It was a natural progression now that the prisoner began to ask questions of her confidante, to seek a tentative link with the outside world. Aethelrida looked at her blankly. Of course, she thought to herself, Kirsty would have no knowledge of the priory's history.

Many years ago, an English monk, Gilbert of Sempringham, initiated priories which were loosely based upon the Cistercian model. It was quite an unusual arrangement, the nun granted, for the Gilbertine priories housed monks and nuns in their own separate, cloistered chapter houses with a mix of lay persons, both male and female, to carry out the basic tasks such as farm work and laundering. Even the church itself was divided down the centre by a wall and the monks passed the sacraments through a small window to the nuns on the other side.

Apart from the receipt of the treatises from Brother Robert, who had a special teaching role, this was a closed nunnery. Surely, the Scotswoman realised this? Dolefully, Kirsty shook her head. Aethelrida had no idea what was happening in the outside world and, in all honesty, she did not care. For the prisoner, white-knuckled desperation set in. All that existed lay within these thick stone walls. She would be entombed here forever, lost to her family and her world. Once more, Kirsty's night terrors raised their spectral heads.