All characters and persons involved in sexual activities in this story are over the age of 18.
6: Nunnery of Lady St Mary, Werham, Dornsæte, Wessex (modern day Wareham, Dorset, England): AD876
Burwenn of Wilton and Hala Frostulfdottir
The constant heavy drone of the Mother Superior's sermon washed over Burwenn as she knelt dutifully with her sisters before the altar. It being a Sunday, they always started out the day before dawn in prayers to give thanks to God for his blessings. The endless latin surrounded the young nun and she automatically chanted along with those parts that the congregation were required to call in on. But her mind was elsewhere, and Burwenn allowed the habit of three years in the nunnery to take control of her body through the motions of the sermon as she daydreamed peacefully.
She remembered a day last summer, when the air was filled with the distant scent of cut straw and the sun flexed its long fingers down to caress her face lightly with its warmth. She had been out in the gardens, helping the elder Sister Gytha tend to the many herbs that she grew there. The old nun had fallen asleep in the shade, as she often did, which allowed Burwenn to finish clipping the buds of overgrown stems on her own.
But she hadn't been in the garden alone for very long. She heard a scrabbling sound just over the stone wall which enclosed the abbey gardens and the next moment a thin, scrawny boy carrying a small sack vaulted over and landed with a tumble in the rosemary. For a moment Burwenn had been too shocked to react, not only was the boy trespassing, but he was thoughtlessly lying prone on the precious herbs she had just spent the last hour carefully trimming. And also, men were not allowed inside the nunnery walls! It was a place of virginal sanctity, protecting the bridges of God from the ravishings of the cruel mundane world beyond its walls.
With a groan the intruder moved slowly, reaching up to hold their head, which was covered in a messy thatch of dirty-straw hair, clutching the bag still with the other. Burwenna had clutched at the small pair of iron clippers in her hand in self-defence. She wondered now why she hadn't called out or why she hadn't just run, something about the boy had perplexed and intrigued her.
As they finally got to their feet and looked around them, the boy had clapped eyes on Burwenn and froze completely still, like a statue, their eyes darting around in a panic. The two of them stared at each other like that, for what had seemed like an eternity, neither one breaking eye contact for a moment. Then the boy had smiled ruefully and swept their hair back from the face before confidently taking a couple of steps towards Burwenn, crushing a few more rosemary plants in the process.
'Good morrow Sister, might I trouble you for a moment?'
In the corner, Sister Gytha had shifted a little in her sleep, but the boy's voice failed to rouse her.
'Stay back... boy!' Burwenn stammered, holding the shears out in front of her, 'I am a blessed sister of the Nunnery of St Maria, you shall not touch me!' Even Burwenn had thought her voice had sounded small and timid.
'Boy?' the intruder replied, then looked down at themself, at the dirty linen shirt and patched dark-green trousers.
'Yeah I guess that figures.' With a quick, deft movement, Burwenn had felt the shears knocked aside, and her wrist grasped firmly, but not viciously in the intruder's hand. She had been too shocked to even react, which is why the intruder had been able to pull her arm forward until it grasped the soft, plump flesh of the woman's right breast hidden under her tunic.
'Still think I'm a boy now?'
Burwenn looked up to meet those same deep blue eyes again and saw the relative softness of the girl's features properly this time. The strong but still gentle curve of her jawline, hairless perfection of her skin and the full ripeness of her lips, curled into a cheeky smile. In that moment Burwenn had realised that she was still lightly cupping the girl's breast in her open hand and with a small squeak she had snatched it back, triggering a small laugh from her assaulter.
'Now you get it,' the messy-haired blond said, 'Look I don't want any trouble, especially with a cute little søde like you. So just point me towards where I can find a way out to the river and I'll get out of your face, all right?'
Now that she knew the truth, Burwenn recognised that the voice was definitely feminine, but had a strange accent, unlike any she had ever heard in Wessex.
'Who are you? Where are you from? Why are you here?'
'Woah woah woah, lots of questions, suddenly very talkative little puttegøj. Look if i tell you, you keep this quiet okay? No screaming, no shouting, no raising hel and the sleeping dead, and you tell me which way I need to go to get to the river?'
Burwenn's eyes had flashed from the woman, to the door back into the nunnery, back to the woman and the shears she had held in her hand. She could probably run and make it back inside, but the woman looked fierce and desperate and Burwenn wasn't sure that she would make it to safety before this marauder cut her throat. Besides she found a deep burning curiosity about this strange wild creature welling up inside her.
'Okay... if you follow this wall around to the right until you reach a gate, go out and follow the hedgeline, you'll see the river beyond the copse of trees.'
The woman's eyes flicked to the wall and the direction that Burwenna had pointed her, then dwelled on the nun for a moment longer than Burwenna had felt comfortable, her eyes scanning up and down her plain woollen shift with her head cocked to one side.
'Perfect, thanks søde, I'll be on my way.' The woman replied, moving past Burwenn closely and flicking a rakish smile her way as she turned her back.
'Wait, you haven't told me who you are?'
The mop of dirty blond hair turned back for just a moment,
'My name is Hala Frostulfdøttir, I come from Daneland, and I came here to scout out this land so that my brothers and I can return to pillage, loot and rape this land for all it's worth. I'll see you again my lille blomst.'
And with that, Hala had turned her head and scarpered off into the nunnery gardens and out of Burwenn's life forever.
- - - -
More than a year later and Burwenn snapped out of the remembered daydream of that summer's day. She had never mentioned her strange encounter with the strong, forceful blond woman that she had encountered. She didn't know why, perhaps it was fear of judgement for the kiss that she had stolen? Or that she had liked it? Or just the thrill of having a secret that nobody else knew. The movement of her fellow sisters around her aroused her from her distraction and she clabbered to her feet with the rest of the congregation. Mother superior was performing the last acts of the rites and the blessing and Burwenn could make out the first glimmers of dawn through the windows of the chapel.
With the ceremony complete, she filed out with the rest of the nuns in the small nunnery to attend to their daily chores. There was breakfast to get started on, as well as the laundry and tending the small family of pigs that they kept on the grounds. A life of perpetual, holy, devoted boredom is what sister Derehild had called it. Burwenn had giggled along with the other young nuns, pleasantly scandalised by the girl's darring.
Burwenn knew of course that God saw and knew all that she did and said and thought, and forgave her for sinfully thinking that life in the Nunnery was anything but perfect. On one level she knew that she was very lucky to have been taken in and made a bride of Christ, to live in peace with her Sisters. But on another deeper level, she wondered if there was more to the world beyond these walls, more to see and do, and experience. A life like the stange woman Hala seemed to lead. A life dedicated to God was no bad thing, she was doing The Lord's work, which was good for her and for everyone. But Hala had been something quite beyond this life of quiet service. A creature unfettered by tradition, dedication or unseen chains.
But such thoughts were cruel and unholy. God saw her heart and soul and would judge her harshly for such wanton desires. She pushed them down, tramelling their quiet pleas with hard work and dedication. That was her path as a Sister of St Maria's and nothing would keep her from her duty.