The Girl From Oto by Amy Maroney

Author:Amy Maroney [Maroney, Amy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Renaissance, Historical, Art, Women Artists, Women Sleuths, Fiction, Mystery & Detective
ISBN: 9780997521306
Google: Vx-VDwAAQBAJ
Publisher: Artelan Press
Published: 2016-09-19T23:00:00+00:00

12

Spring, 1498

Abbey of Belarac, Béarn

Béatrice

Sebastian accompanied Béatrice to the weaving workshop. A fire blazed in the hearth to keep the workers’ fingers supple as they toiled, and tall iron candelabras bearing stout tallow candles lit the space. Near the hearth sat a semi-circle of nuns spinning wool from piles of clean, dyed fleece. Behind them were two looms, the one Béatrice had been gifted by Carlo Sacazar, and the copy of it made by Arnaud. God willing, the boy would complete a third loom by summer. The hands and feet of the women working the looms flew, depressing pedals and flicking shuttles back and forth.

Béatrice drew out a length of black cloth from a cabinet.

“Our finest sample yet.” She handed it to Sebastian. “Merino, of course.”

Sebastian stroked the fabric with a finger.

“Excellent quality, Abbess.”

“I travel north this summer to find a market for our fabric.” She folded the cloth and replaced it on the cabinet shelf.

“Why not sell it in Nay?”

“I know better than to compete with Amadina Sacazar.” She kept her voice low. It was never prudent to speak of sensitive matters in front of the other women, no matter how trustworthy they seemed. “No, I must establish a foothold elsewhere, in another market town. Fabric this fine merits a high price. I must find a merchant who can pay it.”

“I know another source of income for this place,” Sebastian said.

His hood slipped off his head and he quickly pulled it back into place. The bear attack had left his face permanently deformed, with one eye obscured by a flap of scar tissue that had healed badly. He covered his ruined face, she knew, to protect the nuns from the shock of seeing it.

“The chapel walls are fully restored and more than half the job was done by Mira,” he went on. “You know the girl has a talent. Why not put it to use for the abbey? She could earn money for you if her skill is nurtured.”

“How so?”

“She could do what I did in Flanders—paint portraits of the wealthy. Nay is a merchant town. Send her there.”

“Mira is a novice nun. The artist’s life is impossible for her.”

“A novice nun—or a nurse? How many novice nuns spend their days tending to the ill?”

“The infirmary is where she is most needed at present,” Béatrice said.

“Because of her skill at healing?”

“Yes.”

“By the same logic, you should allow her to paint. I know of nuns who paint. There was one in Flanders. She received a number of commissions from merchants.”

Béatrice did not bother to conceal her irritation. “What is logical about putting the girl in danger? Life outside these gates would not be suitable for her, or safe.”

“You saw she had a talent to heal, and you nurtured it. Why is this talent any different? God gave her skill with a paintbrush, and now it must be nurtured.”

She bristled. Of course he would bring God into it. He was a sly man, for all his soft-spoken dreaminess, and he knew exactly the words that would needle her.

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