Chapter Three - Unfurling

Anne knew the front gates had been standing open for half an hour. While hooves, carriage wheels and human footfall had scrunched over the gravel driveway, the servant nuns had been busy in the kitchen, filling the air with delicious baking smells even before Prime, the first prayers of the day.

Anne took her place in the chorus. Everyone was excited, nuns and orphans, trying to be on their best behaviour. There’d been slaps and tears, hair-pulling and screaming to bring them to this point. Anne knew she was not the only one with a headache.

The doors to the best clothes cupboard had been unlocked after Sext. When each child finished eating their lunch, they lined up to report to Sisters Agnes and Beatrix and receive their fine garments. Marie Therese and Sisters Blandine and Gertrude helped the children get ready, if it could be called helping. An element of force staunched some of the more restless, most of the children.

After those torments, there’d been pushing and pulling to get thirty-odd beings presentable and organised into the parlour. There were plenty of bodies with red stinging marks in places that couldn’t be seen under those ill-fitting, painfully-pinned garments as helpful reminders to know how lucky they were and to stand straight and mind their betters. Or else.

Anne knew it was important for orphans to look well-cared-for when rich donors visited so they could see their money was well spent. Hopefully, they’d be encouraged to donate more to ease their way into heaven. The whole convent knew this day was a grand invitation to future peace. On earth as well as in heaven.

Anne turned her attention to Sister Genevieve tuning her lute, a flat wooden egg almost as large as she, and Sister Beatrix, with her awkward round eyeglasses pinching her big nose, wiping her gleaming flute. They sat in the corner together with their music master, Mijnheer Gustav. He wore his serious face as he warmed his fingers on the harpsichord. He fluttered his sheet music as a warning before he introduced his harmonies, modelled on the way he normally extemporised upon the organ. After some sweeping inventions, he nodded to Sister Genevieve and Sister Beatrix, and they began his arrangement of the hymn so often played for the Virgin Mary;

The God whom earth and sea and sky

Adore and laud and magnify,

Whose might they own, whose praise they tell,

In Mary’s body deigned to dwell.

Anne sang the words to herself before brother Claude clapped his sticky hand over her mouth. He nudged her to watch as his clenched fingers over his top lip mimicked Mijnheer Gustav’s yellowed moustache waving in the air as the composer bobbed his head up and down in time to the music. Anne tried to prevent their sniggers by directing his attention to the public section of the room.

Mother Prioress, standing as large and erect as her spongy self could, stood on the other side of the grille and welcomed her guests into the parlour with affability. She was able to stand for so long because she was leaning hard on Marie Therese’s shoulder. The Mother was the maker of the rules and Marie Therese was a tertiary nun and therefore Anne understood both were not expected to be fully enclosed.

Anne, half behind the red velvet curtain, with her nose pressed to the grille, could see the grip with which Mother Prioress dug her fingers into the tertiary and the effort it took the Mother to stay upright. At first, Anne wasn’t sorry to think of the bruises forming under those fingers but when she realised this to be a sinful thought, she strove to hope for the Mother’s lighter touch instead. She focused her attention anew on the audience. She watched as friends and relatives of the nuns bowed and greeted each other as they jostled for seating. There were not enough chairs so there was a deal of jostling.

Anne cuddled up to Jeanette. ‘I wish we had family too.’

Jeanette gave her little sister a kiss. ‘What do you mean, silly? We have Claude!’

Jeanette reached over Anne and tickled Claude who held his fingers up to his lips in the universal sign for ‘Silence, please!’

Anne whispered, ‘You know what I mean.’

‘I do.’ Jeanette gave an extra squeeze to her hug.

Anne smiled up at her sister. Safe between her siblings, she turned her gaze back to the crowd.

Men, though not the red-faced, bulbous priest, Abbot Thierry Nicolas, for he famously gave little to anyone, gave up their seats for ladies struggling with their skirts in the warmth of the afternoon.

One such lady Anne knew as the gleaming Mevrouw de Tailly, the only noblewoman staying at the convent at this time. Hendrika de Tailly of Bruges had brought two of her waiting women, and two other serving women to help in the kitchen and laundry to keep the servant nuns from being overwhelmed with the extra duties resulting from the presence of a member of the Flemish aristocracy. Anne had heard Mother Prioress had encouraged Mevrouw de Tailly to send the rest of her entourage away. Four people looking after one lady seemed plenty to Anne and of course, Mother Jeanne de Jésus made it very clear she was very aware of the cost of consumables. Everyone knew noblewomen were expected to make a pleasing donation in return for their hospitality, but the Mother Prioress was not one to count her chickens before they were paid.

Anne hadn’t met Mevrouw de Tailly to talk to, but she’d seen her in the distance and noted her many beautiful costumes, especially her jewels and ruffs.

Mevrouw de Tailly tilted her head acknowledging the gentleman farmer who rose from his chair as soon as he saw her coming at him. With a faint smile of satisfaction, she nestled into his chair as he stalked to the rear of the room. He joined several other men at the rear, amongst whom, Anne was shocked to recognise, was the man who had rescued her from yesterday’s beating. She almost stood to get a better look but remembered where she was in time.

Why was he here? She examined him curiously.

He was not so browned by the sun as many of the local farmers and, in fact, many of the nuns and monks who worked in the fields. He looked strong. His back was straight. His brown shoulder-length hair was wavy. He too was looking about him, though not at the assembly. He was looking at the building itself. Anne saw him put out his hand to smooth the wall. He seemed to lean toward it and inhale. What kind of madman was this? She’d keep an eye on him. She knew any sign of impropriety would mean his immediate removal. She determined she’d be the first to alert the Mother if she noticed anything untoward although she hoped she did not. For this was the man who’d rescued her from torment, and she needed friends in town.

Armaud was busy between the gates, assisting people to enter the parlour and find seats. He signalled to the Mother that the influx of guests was nearing completion.

Anne crouched in her corner, couldn’t help the itching in her nose and when she inevitably sneezed, Claude hit her on the back of the head. ‘Ow!’ She shoved him back but not too hard because she was craning to see who else might enter. It was no surprise to see Abbot Thierry there, front and centre in the big red chair near Mevrouw de Tailly. Her waiting ladies were relegated to the rear of the room where a pew had been brought in and placed at the back wall for their comfort. They, like colourful birds imported from Africa, sat beside two of Abbot Thierry’s monks dressed in darkest brown tunics. One of the young men looked directly at Anne, his brown eyes rimmed red. Anne was shocked to see such naked pain. He couldn’t see her through the grille, surely? Anne seemed to recognise him with a strange kind of connection. But she was sure she’d never seen him before. Then he looked down.

She didn’t dwell on this mystery and turned instead to see the sparkling Marquis and his family in attendance to see their daughter, Sister Catherine. And quietly, a family with no jewellery or distinction, apart from their obviously oft-mended clothes, moved around the room trying to find a seat for the mother of the group. A young girl with downcast eyes trailed behind. Anne eyed her curiously. Perhaps she was thinking to be a nun? Not much dowry with her, then. A servant nun. Although she wore a small silver cross around her neck, Anne could see the white knuckles on her fingers as she clutched her hands together.

Mother Prioress looked around the room, making sure everyone was comfortable. She nodded imperiously to Mijnheer Gustav who promptly waved his little orchestra to a harmonious resolution. The Mother Prioress bowed to the gathering and said a short prayer. Then she began. Oh, no, Anne had forgotten about the talk.

Claude squirmed around to make himself comfortable. Anne jabbed at him with her elbow and then tucked her arm around his shoulders to keep him still. Anne must have been wriggling herself for she felt Jeanette tighten her hold as a warning. They’d all heard Mother’s talks before and settled down for a lengthy wait. The Mother cleared her throat with its wobbly wattles puffed by the tight wimple digging in around her face.

‘Welcome, one and all, to our Priory of Sainte Scholastique. How delightful to see you all, here in our humble home. My name is Prioress Jeanne de Jésus. I beg your forbearance to allow me to tell you just a little part about me. I could not tell you all,’ here a small gesture indicated her generous form. ‘For that would take far too long. As you perceive, I hold the wisdom of great age.’

The audience obligingly acknowledged her geniality.

‘If we’ve not met before, I was born in the Begijnhof of Lille. I came to Sainte Scholastique to assist my aunt who was then Prioress. When she died twelve years ago, I was proud to inherit her role. Keeping to her traditions, I always like to introduce our little community before these types of festivities to enable some understanding of our work. If you’ve been here before, please bear with my little history lesson. You never know, I may add something new this year … ‘

There was a gentle patter of laughter from her noble audience.

‘Or, then again, I may not.’

The Marquis particularly enjoyed this example of the Mother’s wit. It was said his daughter’s club foot made her dowry a cheaper option for heaven than it would have been here on earth. However, over the years it was clear that the Marquis would do anything to keep the Mother happy and his daughter, Sister Catherine, safe. Sister Catherine was never heard to complain about life in the priory and, out of the small set of examples she had seen in her short life, Anne thought the Marquis a fine example of fatherhood.

‘Once,’ the Mother continued, ‘There may have been a Temple to Mars here, erected to celebrate not only Mars’s favourite pastime, war, but also his second favourite, agriculture. These two aspects of life in Flanders determined the character of Templemars long after the Romans left, although we hope that the serenity of God now reigns over the fertile fields around us. However, given how close our neighbour France lies, we cannot realistically say anything lasts forever.

‘You will know, among his many interests, Saint Benedictine is counted as the patron saint of farming. So, it was fitting that around the year 950 a devout noblewoman granted this parcel of land to the Benedictine order. Our two monasteries were inaugurated; Saint Benedictine’s Abbey, and this, our Priory of Sainte Scholastique, named after his sister, for the care of women. They were built around the same time on either side of our beautiful Chapelle Sainte-Marie, which operates as our church.’

‘Although Templemars may be a small town, we are lucky to have several religious nuns here in Sainte Scholastique, as well as our tertiary and lay nuns who perform our day-to-day tasks. We are grateful today for the presence of the Very Reverend Abbot of Saint Benedictine Abbey, Father Thierry Nicolas himself. The Priory of Sainte Scholastique is honoured.’

Here the Mother bowed to the fat man in the middle of the audience and Anne wondered why he didn’t bow back. He did have a semblance of a smile playing around his lips, but it was difficult to tell from a grimace. Perhaps the poor old man had indigestion? She looked again at the young monks who accompanied him. They both looked tired. Their eyes were downcast. The weeping one now held his head in his hands. Was he praying?

The Mother continued with her wide smile fixed into her face, ‘This year, on her Holy Feast Day, we are called upon to perform a play describing the life of Our Blessed Virgin Mary, Mother of God. We beg you to forgive our mistakes and lack of professional polish. Some things you will see today may surprise, even alarm you. And some of what you hear may, let us hope, transport you.

‘This religious place offers shelter, food, and education to unfortunate souls with the aim of betterment. For young women to turn to God rather than to an earthly marriage need hardly be considered sacrifice, when it offers a glorious choice that promises eternal joy in union with Our Lord the Holy Father.’

‘It is with gratitude and humility we accept the support of our community and friends to be able to do this work to the best of our ability. We commit our souls to Our Holy Father in Heaven.’

Mother Prioress bowed to the assembled nobles and families. Everyone joined in a murmured ‘Amen’ and, after another indication from the Mother to Mijnheer Gustav, the music changed timbre to a cheerful wedding song.

Marie Therese led the Mother to the waiting seat at the side of the public gallery space where Anne watched her sit down heavily. Marie Therese made no effort to walk gently through the audience, rather she strode out of the door to the front gate and crunched around to the private nun’s entrance through the garden, her footfalls on the gravel path sounding like donkey hooves heading out to the field in spring. Anne and Claude nodded their heads in time to the march and giggled.

Inside, after a burst of exultation, the music master indicated the musicians should play quietus and the lilting tune softened.

Too many people crushed into the spaces surrounding the playing area. As she stood to join the chorus, Anne was pushed into Sister Catherine who, as the narrator, pushed back none too gently as she limped into the centre of the playing space to begin the call and response with the choir. Then she smiled around the audience, particularly at her family in the front row. She continued, ‘Today, a young innocent woman, Mary, is formally betrothed to Joseph. The young couple are blessed by her parents.’

The two parents, Sister Gertrude playing Mary’s mother, and Sister Matildé, her father, stepped from either side of the playing space to arrive at their door, beaming at the audience. They came forward and to the side, allowing Jeanette to appear between them, creating a charming tableau with Mary, a blue shawl covering her head, looking down, blushing and modest, flanked by her proud parents. They left space beside their daughter and, with dignity, Joseph, played by Colette, came to stand in the gap.

Sister Matildé said proudly, ‘A carpenter is welcome into our family, Joseph,’ and shook him by the hand.

Anne was surprised to hear a chuckle from the back of the auditorium. It was the man from the market.

What, she wondered, did he find so funny? But his smile faded as something on stage captured his attention. Anne saw that when Jeanette had lifted her head to look directly at the audience the shawl had slipped from her golden tresses. Her head held high on her neck and her perfect features shone in the reflected candlelight. There was a hush as Mary’s family stepped away from her and Jeanette was left in the middle of the playing area. Even Anne was spellbound for a moment before she turned back to look at the man from the market. She could see he was transfixed, and Anne wasn’t sure she liked it. He was supposed to be her friend.