The Prioress' Tale

Начало книги

The late-October days had mellowed back toward a memory of summer, warm and clear all of the week since Monday. Only the golden slant of the early-afternoon sunlight-too long and low for any summer’s early afternoon-betrayed how far this year of our Lord’s grace 1439 was gone.

But it had been a good year, Alys thought as she watched the last of her nuns hasten along the cloister walk ahead of her into the church for the office of None. It was a short office, thank God. As prioress of St. Frideswide’s, she had enough to do without her days being eaten up with time in church.

As Sister Emma’s skirt tail disappeared through the doorway, Alys paced forward, closing on her heels to hurry her. Alys’ dignity as prioress necessitated she come last to her place, all her nuns standing in their choir stalls waiting until she did. Then she would sit, and when she had, they could. It was a satisfying moment, a reminder to herself and them seven times in every day of who she was and how important, but Alys’ impatience moved her almost invariably to hurry dignity along. Sooner begun, sooner done-that was plain enough, but she seemed to be the only one able to see it. Some of them-and Sister Emma was only the worst-would probably dawdle leaving their graves when the Last Call to God’s Judgment came.

Читать дальше →