Chapter 3: At the Convent of the Holy Martyr

That night I was terrified. After all, I had fucked a nun – and in a convent. All evening I sat in a state of anxiety, half expecting the policeman’s knock at the door. That said I was very conflicted. After our hasty uncoupling, Sister Agatha changed from her former cheerful, almost playful, self.

That change took place immediately, as she was wiping my cum off from her inner thighs. She looked up and saw me watching, and her expression changed. Not to hostility, but to confusion, embarrassment. She turned off the timer on the ovens and we hastily returned to work. We didn’t speak, and after an hour or so unloading the bread and packing them into bread trays, she said simply:

‘You can go now.’

She didn’t look at me, and I left feeling both deflated and crushed. When I got home, two things dominated my mind. Firstly a fear that she would report what had happened. The worry made me so anxious I couldn’t eat dinner and my mother noticed, commenting grumpily about my lack of appetite. Secondly, I couldn’t get Sister Agatha out of my mind. I could still feel her hot thighs pushing against mine and the memory of her grip on my penis kept stimulating me to an erection that I could only release by masturbating twice, despite the little balls of dough that clung obstinately to my pubic hair.

There was no knock at the door, and a whole weekend passed before I made my way back to the convent again. I knocked on the gate with considerable trepidation, but was admitted as normal. The elderly nun who met me cast no dark looks in my direction, but behaved completely as she had done previously.

Sister Martha was sat at her desk as usual, but the room being warm, she was wearing an open cardigan over a black shirt. Her eyes remained fixed to the screen as I slid into the chair in front of her.

‘Now,’ I thought to myself. ‘This is where it’s going to happen. This is where the fury of the holy order is unleashed onto me. ‘

But when Sister Martha looked up, her dark, brown eyes were inscrutable for several long moments.

She typed for a few more moments and then said: ‘I hear you did well on Friday.’

My heart leapt into my mouth. Was this code?

‘I did?’ I asked.

The dark eyes passed over me slowly.

‘Sister Agatha has reported warmly on the energy and enthusiasm you applied to your tasks.’

I almost burst out laughing. I just managed to restrain this but couldn’t avoid a grin forcing itself to my lips. ‘Oh, I’m glad I gave satisfaction,’ I replied. It was cheeky of me, but I couldn’t help it.

The precentor’s eyes rose slowly from the screen and fixed on me until I felt distinctly uneasy. Eventually, I croaked:

‘And will I be working there again today?’

The rich brown gaze returned to the screen and her head shook slowly.

‘No. That will not be necessary. The two Sisters have recovered and will supply Agatha’s needs in the bakery.’

I doubted that, but managed to suppress any sign of mirth. It would have been too crude a giveaway.

So instead of returning to the bakery, I was told to return to gardening duties, with the notice that Sister John, the herbalist might seek my aid later.

Making my way to the garden, I found myself blessing the lovely Sister Agatha. Whatever regrets she may have had after our vigorous engagement, they had not been of sufficient significance to report it to authority.

In truth the garden was a delight after the heat of the bakery anyway. Over the weekend, the temperature had soared under clear blue skies and the shimmering corn fields through which I rode in the early morning already smelt of baked earth and straw.

The convent garden, by contrast was partly shaded by trees, so that whatever the time of day, there was always a cooler corner. I certainly wished that I could exchange jogging pants for shorts, but at least I had managed to find a light tee shirt in which to work.

For the morning, I continued working my way through the beds on my knees. Using fingers and a fork to weed out plants which appeared – to me at any rate – to be undesirables.

Occasionally one of the sisters would pass through one side of the garden, but the only one who stopped was the older one who brought me a mug of tea. With birds singing from the thickets surrounding the convent, it really was quite a pleasant environment. It was peaceful. Just, I assumed, as it was supposed to be.

After a couple of hours though, it struck me that the place seemed a little quieter even than usual. As I drank my tea I wondered whether, in fact, there were fewer sisters than usual. True, they weren’t often to be seen anyway. But I had the feeling that several weeks before, when I had started work there, they had been more numerous.

Around mid-day, as the sun reached its zenith, I sat under a tree and ate the sandwiches that I brought with me. I had barely finished when I felt a tap on my shoulder. Standing slightly behind me stood one of the sisters. She was dressed in a rather shapeless grey dress, gathered by a belt at the waist. On her feet were a pair of ankle-length soft brown slip-on leather boots, over what appeared to be pale pink tights. A broad straw hat covered her head.

‘I’m sister John’, she smiled at me, extending a hand. I clambered to my feet and took her hand. It was warm, the skin slightly rough as though used to manual work. Now that I was standing I was better able to see her face. Under the hat, she wore a pale grey scarf or hijab which framed a plain but handsome face, made more attractive by the healthy tan which coloured it. I guessed that Sister John was probably in her thirties.

‘You’re the herbalist?’ I asked.

She nodded and laughed. ‘Well that’s what they call me anyway. I supposed traditionally I would have been the Infirmarer.’

Seeing my puzzled look, she explained.

‘In the middle ages I would have been in charge of the convent’s infirmary or hospital. But nowadays, anyone who is sick enough to need medical care, goes to the local hospital.’

‘So what do you do nowadays’.

Sister John led me to a long brick wall and opened a gate. We stepped into a large walled garden, divided into a series of neat flower beds.

‘Grow vegetables and some herbs. We eat the vegetables and sell the herbs.’

I followed her through the garden to the far wall where a neat hedge hid a long, low wooden shed. From the garden, bright with flowers and buzzing with insects, we stepped into relative darkness. As my eyes accustomed to the light, I saw we were standing in a narrow shed with a low, ancient tiled roof. The roof was suspended on crooked old timbers of considerable age – and along the back of the shed stood a very long bench of equal antiquity. It was stacked with wooden plant trays and terracotta plant pots. Hessian sacks of various sizes hung from the roof and walls, tools of various types and size were heaped at one end. Bunches of herbs were hung from the ceiling and there was a pervading, pleasant fragrance of lavender, rosemary and mint and other plants which I couldn’t identify.

Sister John then led me out into the sunlight again, guiding me through the beds to a bare earthy area which needed digging. To my surprise she set-to working alongside me and being easy company, we were soon chatting. By the end of the day I had learned a lot about the convent.

The Holy Order of St Elfrith’s was one of the oldest – probably THE oldest in Britain. It had survived various purges and Reformations over the centuries because it was comparatively small and modest in its activities. Thomas Cromwell’s agents had satisfied themselves with ruining the original monastic buildings and Henry VIII had turned a blind eye when a powerful sympathiser had bought the site and quietly returned it to the Order. They had lived in considerable poverty nearby until the mid-19^th century when a wealthy benefactor had enabled them to rebuild the accommodation, incorporating most of the original structures. For most of the last thirty years, the number of women joining the Order had fallen, as had income. The nuns had managed to supplement the latter by the ingenious device of inventing the artisan bakery and selling honey, herbs and dried flowers to local health-food shops.