Sisters of The Bruce 1292-1314 (Abridged Version )

Sisters of The Bruce: Part 2; Chapter 8.7

                                                                                         VII

England

Priory of Sixhills

October 1314

Kirsty sat down upon a nearby stool. Brother Robert had just delivered the most astounding news. She was to be ransomed for some English knights and was to leave for London under escort in a few days. From there, she would go by land and ship, home. Home to Scotland.

It was beyond belief – a miracle! They were in the prioress's office, to which Kirsty had been called with urgency. The prioress herself was in the infirmary for her indigestion grew worse. Unable to eat and with a distended stomach, her days on this earth were numbered. Aethelrida tended her as if she were her own mother. The monk watched as the news filtered through the miasma of shock. It was the first time he had seen Kirsty since the Scots' victory at Bannockburn. He thought again of the death of Walter Ross; another promising man cut down in his prime by the hideous war. At least now Kirsty could return home, for he knew how much she had suffered during her time at St Mary's.

Kirsty rose. "I must tell Aethelrida," she cried. A fleeting look of sadness touched her eyes.

"Ah yes, Gwladys," mused the monk, as he gazed out of the window at the murky autumn day.

Kirsty turned on her heel. "Why call her by that name?"

"Of course, ye do not know. Sit ye down, for it will be as well if ye hear her story." Kirsty settled back upon the stool and looked up at the monk whom she had come to trust.

"Many years back, a babe was brought here by the soldiers of old King Edward. She was removed from her mother after her birth and a wet nurse found until she could be weaned. The prioress named her Aethelrida, a good Saxon name, but her birth name had been Gwladys: she was, is, a princess of Wales. Her father, Dafydd, grandson of the great Llewellyn, Prince of Wales, was executed and her brothers imprisoned in Bristol Castle. Gwladys does not know of any life but this one, and believes herself to be English. It would serve only to cause her immense and unalterable pain if she knew otherwise. She is doomed to spend the rest of her life here, for she is as much a prisoner as ye are, or were, but she knows it not." Brother Robert spoke the latter as he saw the angry bile rise in Kirsty at the appalling injustice done to her friend.

"Why tell me this now?" she demanded, her voice rough and broken, choked with tears.

"Because it is important to understand how immeasurably lucky ye are, to have a family and a home. Just know there are many tragedies in this world and yours is, but one. Let the bitterness fester and it will poison the rest of your life. Think well on this. Leave your anger here. Do not take it home as part of your baggage. I wish ye well, my child."

With that, Brother Robert shook his head as if to release himself from the bonds of knowledge. It was no wonder he had chosen the sanctuary of the priory leaving behind the cruelty of the outside world. He rose, loosening his stiff limbs as he did so, and placed his hand upon Kirsty's bowed head. A whispered blessing crossed his lips. His task complete, he turned and without a backward look, ducked beneath the arched doorway and disappeared down the darkened corridor to the infirmary. The sound of his leather sandals slapping against the stone flags receded into the distance. Kirsty sat, stunned. There was so much to take in all at once. She glanced up at the figure of the Christ on the cross. It left her cold. A bleak residue of pain crossed her flushed face. Anger was futile, she saw that now. In time, her breathing became more regular. Sadness and joy mingled in a solitary, painful heartbeat.

Slowly, she rose. A shaft of bleak sunlight entered the chamber through a window niche. Dust motes stirred by her rough habit sweeping the floor danced upwards and were caught in her vision. So little, and yet so much, had happened to her here. Only shadows of her past remained. Could she ever put it behind her? When the chapel bells began to toll, Kirsty started from her reverie. She rubbed her chilled hands together. A slow, secret smile lit up her strained features. Shivering with anticipation, she departed the chamber. Before her, the vaulted corridor stretched out into the darkness.

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Kirsty took several steps through the opening between the heavy oak gates. A malodorous smell hung in the air from the nearby drains. Beneath her coarse cape, the wind teased her hair, now streaked with plentiful strands of grey. Overhead, thick clouds drifted, tarried and hurried on, causing shadows to cross her face. At any moment, Kirsty expected someone to run after her and draw her back into the confines of the cobbled courtyard. Her legs felt soft and boneless. Her breath caught in her throat. Ragged, hot gasps seared the chill air. On the rough road outside, a litter bearing the royal emblem of England waited to carry her to the Tower in far off London. From one prison to another, she thought and frowned. Would Brother Robert have lied to her? Mistrust and doubt had been her companions for so long. It would take some time for that habit to leave her.

She shook her head, forcing herself to believe well of the monk for he had shown her much kindness over the years. Tears scalded the back of her eyes and blurred her vision. Kirsty raised a hand to her face and smoothed the pulse beating at the apex of her temple. Over to her left on a hill, she managed to make out the towers of Lincoln Cathedral piercing the Lincolnshire sky. The last time she had seen them had been eight years ago when she arrived hollow with fear and shame.

Now, she tasted freedom, sniffed at it on the air like an animal released from its pen. The irony was not lost upon her. For a fleeting moment, the sun emerged. The clarity of light startled her eyes, so used were they to the shadows of her chamber, whose vaulted ceiling was now replaced by the panorama of the sky. Kirsty stretched her head back to look well upon it. Indeed, it was a glorious sight! As if on cue, she heard the monks singing the requiem mass for the prioress. Their monotone voices lifted, blended and soared. Pulling her cloak about her, Kirsty breathed deep to quell the fluttery feeling in the pit of her stomach. Then, tapping into a half-forgotten well of fortitude, she straightened her back and walked forward.