Forsaken Soul

by Priscilla Royal

  “When did you see her last?”

  The man pointed at him in triumph. “Ha! Caught you out. I was right, wasn’t I?”

  “When you refused my sympathy, you reminded me that I am the crowner with murders to solve. When did you last see Ivetta?”

  “The night Martin died.”

  “Not since? Not even to console her after his death?” He winked.

  Will struck out at Ralf. The crowner caught his hand, spun the man around, and twisted the smith’s arm behind him.

  Will yelped but his struggles only made the pain worse. “Loosen your grip, Crowner!”

  “Gladly, should you decide to tell the truth.”

  “She was a whore! Why would I care about her?”

  “I think you envied the extra coin Martin gained from her and went to visit her last night, hoping to take his place in her bed and as her bawd.”

  The blacksmith spat.

  “You’ve always had a hot temper. When she said she would not tolerate your useless fumblings and other rough ways, especially since she was with child, did you lash out?”

  “With these visions of yours, you belong in the priory. I had little to do with the whore and most certainly not last night.”

  Ralf tightened his hold on the man’s wrist. “She bedded you when the cooper was feeling generous. No woman would have you, including her, if she hadn’t been well paid for the effort. And effort it must have required, if what I hear of you is true.”

  Will roared in fury.

  “So you liked her. Maybe too much? Is that why you killed her? Were you jealous of the babe? Or could you not bear her rejection when she mocked your feeble manhood?”

  “How often did you try to mount her, Crowner, or at least until Signy opened her legs to you? Maybe you killed her.” The blacksmith jerked and pulled but could not break the crowner’s hold.

  Ralf twisted the hand.

  The man screamed.

  “Maybe you took Hob with you, thinking he’s the better looking and she might agree to be his whore. And being a loyal and generous brother, he would surely share Ivetta with you often enough like Martin did. Maybe Hob killed her when she spat in your faces? Or did he just hold her down while you…”

  “For the love of God, Crowner!”

  Ralf wrenched the man’s hand, then dropped it.

  “You’ve broken my wrist!”

  “Learn to work one-handed.”

  “I’m innocent!” Tear were streaming down the man’s cheeks.

  “Prove it. Tell me where you were last night.”

  Cradling his limp hand, Will fell to his knees. “I went to see old Tibia last night,” he whimpered.

  “Will she vouch for you?”

  “She wouldn’t open her door. I waited. Then left.”

  “Any witnesses? Her hut is close to the inn.”

  “I hid. Who wants to be seen with Satan’s bitch?”

  “I don’t blame her for barring her door. Even old crones aren’t desperate enough to let you try to swyve them.”

  His face purpled with rage, the smith leapt to his feet, grabbed the tongs with his good hand, and swung at the crowner.

  Ralf ducked, then quickly straightened and rammed his knee into Will’s groin.

  Writhing, the man dropped to the ground and wailed like a beaten dog.

  The crowner’s victory was short-lived. The moment he stepped away, something struck his head. As he fell into darkness, the last thing he remembered thinking was how foolish he had been not to guard his back.

  Chapter Thirty

  The buzzing of some bees, finding brief respite from their labors and the day’s heat, was the only sound that broke the silence in the close confines of the anchorage.

  The woman knelt and clutched her body as if fearful it might otherwise break apart like a carelessly scattered handful of dust.

  Gently, the prioress took Sister Juliana’s chin in hand and raised her face until their eyes met.

  “I did nothing to harm the lay sister, my lady.”

  “Truly, I did not think you had,” the prioress sighed. “Only once have I seen you behave with cruelty to another and that was at Wynethorpe Castle.”

  “An act for which I perform daily penance.” Tears began to flow down her cheeks. “How does the lay sister?”

  “The wound is grave enough, but Sister Anne believes God may be gracious and it should mend.”

  Juliana lowered her eyes and whispered a prayer.

  “Although I know you did not strike her, there was something that caused the lay sister to trip and hit her head on the stone floor. What so filled her with blinding terror that she fled this anchorage? ”

  Juliana turned around on her knees, slipped her robe down with careful modesty, and exposed her back.

  Eleanor gasped.

  “Do I not have the right to discipline myself alone?” Juliana said, her jaw tightening despite her humble tone. “Formerly, I blocked the door to my tomb while I used the whip, but, in obedience to your command, I have ceased to do so. In return, I expected kind courtesy from her, but she never asked permission to enter, my lady. Had I known she was opening the door, I might have prevented her from seeing what she cannot understand.”

  “Then I, too, must perform penance since my orders contributed to this cruel accident,” Eleanor said after a moment’s pause. “My judgement has been proven to be a feeble thing, and I shall seek counsel from those more knowledgeable. Your actions have surpassed my own poor abilities to comprehend. Although I do not quarrel with the need to discipline an unruly body, I confess honest doubts about the value of such extreme mortification, Sister.”

  “I take full blame for this near-tragedy and will seek absolution from priest and victim,” the anchoress replied, easing her robe back over her shoulders.

  “We both must beg forgiveness.”

  “Punish me as you see fit, but I beg you to believe me! I had no idea she was watching until I heard her scream. When I turned around, I saw the door to my tomb wide open and she was lying on the ground, motionless. Since my vows prohibit me from leaving this space, I prayed loudly and God showed mercy by sending Sister Ruth. When she saw the lay sister on the ground, blood pouring from her head, she cursed me. After that, I remember nothing.”

  Eleanor lifted Juliana from her knees. “Until now, I have shown much tolerance and defended your singular ways, although Sister Ruth has complained of your conduct since you arrived at the priory. With this incident, she has proved to be the wiser. In addition, I confess to finding your choice of self-mortification a strange act to perform in a place dedicated to the worship of a forgiving God. I can understand why the lay sister fled from the sight of your gory back. That said, I would listen to your reasons for…”

  “Then I plead with you, once again, to let me stay in solitude! Send no one to serve me. I cannot bear it nor, it seems, can they.” Juliana’s boldness suddenly failed her. “Do not, I beg of you, cast me from this sanctuary!” she whispered. “In this place lies my only hope for salvation.”

  “I will not send you from your anchorage. That I may promise, but you must have a woman to watch over you, even if she does not serve you in other ways. You fall into convulsions. You whip yourself most cruelly. Once, you beat your head against the walls until all sense left your body. Were you to die of your wounds without a priest to hear confession, you would not only die unshriven but also be guilty of self-murder.”

  Juliana’s eyes grew large, her body now trembling. “Murder?” she murmured. “My lady…”

  “Aye, murder. Nor is that the only concern that must be addressed. Although many of your calling commonly receive visitors at different hours, you do not sleep and keep court by your window only at night.”

  “None of this is by my will!”

  “Then whose will demands this of you?”

  “God’s, my lady. I have begged Him to choose another, someone far worthier than
I, but He has not answered those prayers. Indeed, that is the reason for the mortification. I have committed such grave sins He has not come to me at all since…”

  “You quickly point to God, claiming He supports many of your questionable desires, Sister.” Gazing into the anchoress’ pleading eyes, Eleanor instantly regretted her harsh words. How darkly circled with fatigue those eyes are, she thought, and I should know well enough what secret torments God chooses not to spare us even when begged to do so. “He will comfort you again with His presence,” she promised in a softer voice.

  “All I wish to do is spend my days entombed here with no voice to disturb my prayers on their way to Heaven. If God did not demand me to speak His words, I would seal that window with bricks or stone and have cause enough…”

  Eleanor waved that aside. “Before any decision is made to keep pilgrims from your window, I shall seek counsel from a priest and ask him to question you. Satan has been known to speak with honeyed tongue to mortals, Sister, and is oft mistaken for God. If the priest finds no sin in your words or thought, then you must be His instrument. You have no choice.”

  “I will welcome that examination with prayer and joy, my lady. In the meantime, leave me here in solitude so I will not endanger another innocent like the good lay sister. I beg it!”

  “Why are you so stiff-necked in this matter of servants?”

  “If God did not protect me, I would bear worse wounds than these paltry welts on my back. I do not need a warden.”

  With both hands, Eleanor cradled one of Juliana’s. The bones and flesh were so delicate that the prioress wondered how tenuous a connection the anchoress had to anything of this world. “Then consider this,” she continued. “As humble service, most anchoresses are obliged to give modest guidance to pilgrims seeking comfort, but no one else, to my knowledge, welcomes troubled souls only at night. No matter what I might say, others will contend that women, who come at night when the Devil is dancing with his imps, must brush closely with evil. When men kneel at your window, some doubt your virtue. An attendant would confirm that you commit no sin during this time of dangerous shadows.”

  “And at such dark hours, many souls are unsettled, my lady. Not all are women, although I confess that most are. Those men who come are few, and I believe God protects my virtue by setting cherubim with blazing swords at my window, much like those standing at the gates of Eden. As for the women who come to me, they have returned home safely enough. Is that not proof that God gives them protection when they come to hear His words through my mouth?”

  “Did Ivetta ever come to you, Sister?”

  “Not being from this land, I would not know her voice.” Juliana looked puzzled by the question.

  “She was the harlot of Tyndal village.”

  “I do not take confessions, my lady. Many at my window bemoan lust, cursing the terror and pain of childbirth. Lust is one of Satan’s most powerful afflictions. When women fall victim to carnal longings, I may hear bitter weeping but I cannot say if any earned her bread thereby.”

  “Signy, the innkeeper’s niece? Did she seek counsel?”

  “Nor do I ask names.” Juliana hesitated, then whispered: “Unless it was she who came to seek confirmation that God would agree…”

  “It is no matter.” Eleanor dropped the anchoress’ hand and turned away. “I will ask Brother John to come here and pose questions. Afterward, he will report his conclusions to me.”

  Juliana lowered her eyes, her face ashen in the pale light. “Might you not send Brother Thomas instead?” she murmured.

  Eleanor tensed. “Why the one rather than the other?”

  “At Wynethorpe Castle, it was the sight of him that confirmed my belief I would find sanctuary in this priory. He is a gift from God, my lady, and has always understood what lurks in my heart with clarity and compassion.”

  Color rose to the prioress’ cheeks. “How can you speak of his perceptions with such familiarity? You have not met him since that winter when you begged an anchorage at Tyndal.”

  “He has come to my window, my lady.”

  “To seek advice?” Eleanor hissed.

  “I think not,” the anchoress said softly. “Rather to raise issues for honorable debate.”

  “Brother John will visit you, Sister. That is my decision,” the prioress snapped, each word as sharp as a dagger’s point. Without any courteous word of farewell, she spun on her heel and stormed out of the anchorage.

  Shocked, Juliana raised both hands in futile supplication.

  The door slammed, the very wood shuddering from the force of Eleanor’s fury.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “You breathe, Crowner. Corpses cannot say the same. For that, you owe God much gratitude.” Brother Beorn skillfully applied a poultice to the back of Ralf’s head. “Stop squirming. Ponder instead why God has been merciful to a shameless sinner like you when others are more worthy of His kindness.”

  Since boyhood and for reasons lost to memory, the two men acted like threatened hedgehogs raising their quills in defense whenever they met. Neither could point to any fresh argument over the subsequent years, but their querulous banter had become a matter of habit. So much so, in fact, that some suspected each had discovered an odd but companionable pleasure in tweaking the other.

  Ralf grunted.

  “I’m done with you.”

  “Perhaps Sister Anne should check your work.”

  A tall nun stepped into the crowner’s sight. “I have never found that necessary. Our brother is a skilled healer.”

  Ralf flushed. “I beg pardon, Annie. I meant no ill.”

  “Sister Anne,” the lay brother growled.

  The sub-infirmarian smiled at Brother Beorn and nodded. He walked away without further word.

  “You might have granted him a word of appreciation, Ralf. He took you out of turn when Cuthbert pointed to the black blood on your neck.” Sister Anne bent over and looked at the skin around the poultice. “I would have thought that becoming a father might have gentled you a little and taught you some courtesy.”

  “Murder roughens me, but the sight of my daughter soothes the rawness like one of your salves.”

  Anne sat down beside him. “I have heard you named her after your wife?”

  “A woman who bequeathed much joy to me with the gift of this wondrous small creature, although she died from her beneficence.”

  “You loved your wife for herself, not just her lands?” Anne asked softly.

  Ralf stared at his clenched fists, then opened them as if in humble appeal. “I honored her with fidelity and courtesy, Annie, but felt no tenderness. Yet she was a good woman who deserved a far better husband than she got in me. I am not so rude a man that I did not understand that.”

  They fell silent, and the nun started to reach out, as if give the crowner a consoling touch, but quickly drew her hand back. “I doubt not you were kind to her, Ralf, but do not be so fearful in loving. Let your daughter teach you that.”

  He sighed. “Loving my child demands no effort from me. As for grown women, you well know the most grievous and festering wound my heart has suffered and why I have little hope of any affection from your sex.”

  “Each of us is given what God deems best for us, Ralf. You alone know why we two could not have married, and why I have found sanctuary at Tyndal where my husband led me. And if you still believe you do not deserve a good woman as wife, remember you have a daughter now, one who deserves a loving mother. Do not wallow like some pig in rank selfishness!” Her voice was light and teasing. This time she did not hesitate to put her arm around his broad shoulders for just a moment, an act that would have brought her censure if observed but one that was no more sinful than compassion ever could be.

  Despite the pain in his head, Ralf laughed. “As always, you have the right of it, Annie, but since you must continue to refuse me, show some mercy and reveal the name of this good woman to whom I must give my heart.”r />
  “She will reveal herself to you—and prove her suitably meek nature by giving you no choice whatsoever about marrying her.” The sub-infirmarian stood and walked a short distance away, one deemed more appropriate to her calling. Turning around, she smiled and gestured at his head. “While we wait for that miracle to occur, tell me why this happened to you.”

  “I had questions of Will and twisted his hand to force answers from him. When he cried out that I had broken it, Hob must have heard him and struck me. Cuthbert saw him running from the smithy, dragging his brother with him. I swear Will did not deserve such a defense, but I do not blame the brother for his loyalty. As the king’s man, I might seek vengeance, but I will not trouble Hob if he is otherwise innocent of murder.” He grinned weakly. “An old soldier who forgets his battle wisdom deserves what he gets.”

  “Do you truly suspect the blacksmith of murder?” Anne asked, frowning.

  Ralf shrugged.

  “If not, why treat him so harshly? That is not like you.”

  “He is a coward!” the crowner barked, then winced. “In truth, I do not think he killed either Martin or Ivetta. Will is too hot-tempered and more likely to swing his fists than poison anyone. Making a potion of yew requires planning and, as I have already said, more wit than the man owns.” The crowner cautiously shook his head. “My quarrel with him lies in his malicious attempt to divert suspicion from himself and bring it down on the head of Signy, the innkeeper’s niece. I also believe he knows who did kill the two but fears he will be blamed himself.”

  “Or else the blacksmith was afraid he would be accused just because he and the cooper happened to quarrel that night.” She hesitated before asking, “Why do you set aside the possibility that Signy might have killed both Ivetta and Martin?”

  “It is not in her nature.”

  Anne smiled at his quick defense. “Even the most virtuous may be vulnerable to Satan’s corruption given the right cause and temptation.”

  “Guilty we each might be of lust, greed, gluttony, or all these things, but murder is the cruelest act. I cannot see Signy killing anyone.”