Damian leapt to his feet. “Do not mock me, Priest!”
“Sit down, Commander. There is no ridicule in my words, only anger. You tell a twisted tale of our discussion that night, and now I suspect you have lied to me for your own secret reasons. Perhaps you have done so for some time now.”
“Lie?” It was Damian’s time to grow pale.
“The evidence against her was weak. How could a dying woman thrust a blade into another with such force? Why not assume she had simply found the body and her hands were bloodied from handling the corpse? As for not mentioning Prioress Amicia’s dark secrets, you most certainly did!”
“It is you who have chosen to forget our discussion. Perhaps,” he said, looking at the cup in the priest’s hand, “you had drunk too much of my wine that evening. Shall I remind you of what was actually said?”
Pasche glared. “If I did drink more than is my custom, I was not alone,” he muttered. “Yes, do continue with your version of the facts.”
“Remember when I asked if you never suspected that the manner of your brother’s death was questionable?” Damian was shouting. “We both concluded she had committed the crime because she has killed before!”
“The story was that he was stinking of wine. He was drunk. He fell down the stone stairs.” Pasche swallowed the rest of his wine and put the cup down. “You did not say she had killed before but did ask me that question, and then suggested she had dark secrets.” With a sneer, he glanced at the commander, then at the ewer of wine, and poured another cup.
“I did not speak in some language you do not know. I assumed you understood my meaning. You admitted you had always wondered why he fell that night, as opposed to other drunken nights when she was not present.”
“There were rumors. Yes, I wondered. But she is a woman, tall but never possessed of unnatural strength for her sex. My brother was a soldier, a knight…”
“Now it is you who lie. At the Chapter trial, you did not defend her as a weak woman, incapable of thrusting a knife into the heart. You reminded all that Satan could have given her the strength.”
Pasche pressed a finger to his temple as if pondering a complex religious mystery. “Was it your voice or the Devil’s I heard as I argued that?”
“Your own! Dare you now attempt to say that you did not think further on it, after you had heard the news of his death, and realize that your brother had been killed by his wife? You admitted your suspicions!”
Pasche fell silent, drained his cup, and poured himself more. “I confess that I did when we talked of it after Mistress Hursel’s death because you tempted me with Satan’s voice. Now that I have recovered my reason, I doubt that she could have done so. The Devil would have had to have sent ten of his imps to give her hands the necessary power. My brother was a huge man.” His voice was hoarse.
“He was drunk, staggering. You’d seen him after he had too much wine. A child could push him over.”
Pasche looked at him in amazement. “You sound as if you had been there.”
“Mistress Hursel told me that Sister Amicia pushed him down the stairs,” Damian roared.
The priest laughed but his face was pale. “Did Mistress Hursel see the crime? Or was the butcher’s widow so dear to my sister-in-law that they chattered together like little girls, holding hands? Servant and mistress? Did my sister-in-law confess to the crime with a giggle or with a tear?”
Damian grunted. “She never told me exactly how she knew, only that she did. Those were the dark secrets of which I spoke, and you understood exactly what I meant.”
For a long moment, the priest studied the commander. His pallor had faded, but his eyes were now narrowed in anger. “Why did you think this woman was telling the truth?”
Damian waved his hand in vague circles. “Details. I have since forgotten them, but, at the time, they convinced me.”
“And why tell you? Why not take her tale to the sheriff?” Pasche put down his cup and folded his arms.
“She knew the dead husband and I had fought together in Outremer. It was he who saved my life when…” He looked at his stump.
The priest hesitated as if waiting for the commander to say more, and then he said, “I ask again. Why not go to the sheriff? A woman who kills her husband is hanged or even burned at the stake. A husband is like the king, monarch of the family. This is treason. And were you not angry that your friend, the man who had saved your life, and my brother, had been murdered?”
“Would you have wanted the scandal?” Damian whispered.
“Now I must conclude that she told you because she wanted something to stay quiet.” The priest’s voice was low as if talking to himself.
“A small gift of money. The woman’s own husband had just died and left her a pauper.” The commander’s voice had also dropped.
“I think there was more to it than that.”
Damian shrugged. “She was a collector of secrets. She led me to believe there was much more she could tell that would bring shame on your family.” He now slammed his fist on the table. “God’s blood, Pasche! I was protecting you and your kin! Is that a sin? And I continue to believe that a woman who killed her husband was perfectly capable of killing the woman who knew her secret.” He sat back in the chair and glared. “And you concurred when we spoke together that night.”
“Let us return to the issue at hand!” The priest’s voice shifted to a growl. “Brother Thomas has declared that Brother Martin’s death was an accident. Why do you insist there is a murderer still free and suggest it is the same one who killed Mistress Hursel?”
“Because I think the monk lied. I now think the person who killed Mistress Hursel must have killed Brother Martin. Even Egypt was not cursed with a plague of murderers when the pharaoh denied the Israelites their freedom. Why would we suffer far worse than they?” He banged his fist. “There is one killer!”
The priest turned scarlet. “You think. You think!” he shouted. “You base your conclusion that my sister-in-law killed my brother on the word of a woman of questionable veracity whose primary motive in telling you her tale was extortion. You assume a monk of some reputation is lying when he says our brother died accidentally. I have had enough of your thinking, Damian.”
Damian’s face was scarlet in the pale light. “Conclude what you will, Father Pasche. I am going to see Prioress Emelyne since she must know of this death.” With that, he pushed the priest aside and escaped down the hall.
Father Pasche put a hand against the wall to steady himself, turned to the ewer of wine and poured another large cup.
He swiftly drained it.
Chapter Twenty-four
“Brother Martin is dead?” Prioress Emelyne stared at Damian in horror.
Her brother explained the circumstances of his discovery, where the body had been found, and then added, “Brother Thomas and Father Pasche were returning from your preceptory. I called on the monk to inspect the body.”
With an incredulous look, Emelyne sat back in her chair. “Please explain, dearest brother, why we are keeping the Prioress of Tyndal and her clever monk apart, lest they grow unnecessarily curious about Mistress Hursel’s death, if you have chosen to involve Brother Thomas in your lay brother’s death?” Her smile suggested more than a hint of mockery.
“It is inappropriate for your infirmarian to touch the body of a man vowed to God.”
“Was there any doubt that he was dead?”
Damian glared. “That question is unworthy of my reply.”
“Your first response was feeble. Perhaps your second will be better. So I ask again. Why? Was there any reason to think a violent misadventure had occurred?”
He bowed his head and said nothing.
Prioress Emelyne jumped up and shook her brother by the shoulders. “You have fought in Outremer! You know the signs of violent death better than most physicians. Wh
y not examine the corpse yourself, if you feared a crime had been committed?”
“I could not trust my judgment in the matter.”
“You need not tell me. You wept like a woman when you saw his corpse.” Her acid tone oozed contempt.
He stiffened. “I do not like your implication. There was nothing sinful in my affection for the lad. You knew him. He was a dullard but had a pious and virginal heart.”
“Nor did my words mean what you suggest.” She stood back with hands on her hips. “I have known women with sterner resolve than you usually own. As a boy, you wept when you skinned your knee.”
His face scarlet with rage, he picked up the empty candlestick from her desk and hurled it against the wall. “How dare an inadequate creature, made from the rib of Adam, question my courage and determination?”
A nun opened the door and peeked in.
Emelyne waved her away, then bent to pick up the cracked candlestick. “The cost of your fit of temper will come out of the next allotment planned for your maintenance projects.” She gestured for him to sit.
He remained on his feet, breathing like an asthmatic dragon.
“Let us discuss this problem with greater calmness. Arguing with each other is not wise until the ankle of our nemesis has healed and the party of Tyndal monastics has left us in peace. We must resolve any misunderstanding without the use of verbal trebuchets.” Glancing at the candlestick still in her hand, she placed it on the table. “Or the use of my few possessions as a substitute for a boulder.”
He sat down. “Bring me a cup of wine.”
She did as he bade. “I remind you that we share our father’s sinful choler, and warn you that mine is as ready to flare as yours. So, as a start to our reasoned conversation, I shall begin with the news Janeta brought me. Brother Thomas and Father Pasche were in our garth, talking to Sister Anne. I had thought you would tell the monk he could not visit because his prioress was in too much pain.”
“He was prepared for such a simplistic excuse,” Damian growled. “He argued that he must confer with Sister Anne about Prioress Eleanor’s health. She would expect him to do so, as he often does at their priory. I concluded that we must allow them to continue their reasonable practice, as it would be unnatural if they did not. For all her reputation, Sister Anne is still a woman and needs the guidance of a man in her work.”
Emelyne’s face glowed pink, and she bit her lip as he spoke. Then in a steady voice she replied, “I agree.”
He smirked. “Although I had already assigned Brother Martin to watch over the monk, I decided that Father Pasche was the wiser choice to accompany Brother Thomas to your preceptory. His wits are swift enough to deflect any problems, and he was willing to assist. I planned to learn all the details of the meeting later.”
His sister nodded with greater approval. “Another wise choice. And what did occur in my cloister garth? Janeta arrived too late to tell me many details of their conversation.”
Damian spent a moment flexing his only hand as if it pained him.
Knowing her brother’s methods of delaying response, Emelyne closed her eyes and swallowed twice to avoid shouting at him.
“Nothing of interest,” he replied. Then he dropped all pretense of a painful hand. “I have since found cause to wonder about our priest.”
Surprised at his change of tone and subject, his sister tilted her head to indicate he had her full attention.
“When he saw the lad’s corpse, he was visibly upset. That did not trouble me, as any man who had known Brother Martin would feel the same.” He glowered at his sister, but the look was brief and perfunctory. “The youth lay on the ground, his soul still hovering nearby in fear and longing, and no one was offering the hope of God’s mercy. It was Brother Thomas who suggested the priest whisper comfort in the youth’s ear. Father Pasche should have done so without being reminded and has performed the ritual before.”
Leaning forward with interest, Emelyne nodded.
“When we retreated to my chamber, he began to drink heavily, as he has been wont to do in recent days, and expressed doubt over my decision to let the monk examine the dead body.”
Emelyne lowered her head. This was not the time to remind him that she had just done the same and therefore had no quarrel with the priest.
“After some discussion, I told him that I believed Brother Martin had been murdered by the same person who killed Mistress Hursel. He was visibly shaken.”
As he might well be, Emelyne thought, for I am, as well. But she had sworn not to argue so chose courtesy and said, “Before you continue, I beg a response to two questions. Did Brother Thomas do a thorough examination of the corpse? What was his verdict?”
“He was thorough. He said the death appeared to be accidental.”
“Then why…?”
“Because the monk lies!”
“If you did not trust him, I see absolutely no reason to have him inspect the body.” This time there was an edge to her voice.
Damian leaned toward her with a smug grin. “Because I wanted to know whether he would give me the truth or a lie.”
“And thus you confirmed that the monk is as devious as we had already suspected.” Emelyne tried unsuccessfully to rid her voice of fury.
His face grew red.
“Have you considered that we may have overreacted to the arrival of these particular monastics, Brother, and thus caused them to wonder about events here more than they would otherwise have done?”
He did not respond, and his color remained fiery.
“Prioress Eleanor has injured herself on the uneven stone floor. She is forced to remain in bed for a few days until it heals. According to Janeta, she expresses frequent dissatisfaction with her state and grows impatient to return to her priory. Her sub-infirmarian suffers ill-health but wants to learn from Sister Richolda about her experiences in Acre. What is either unreasonable or suspicious in all that? You said yourself that Brother Thomas should be expected to consult with Sister Anne about their prioress’ ankle. When you sent Father Pasche with him, did the monk protest?”
“I confess he did not. Initially, he even suggested Brother Martin accompany him.” Suddenly, he put his hand to his eyes and muttered, “And I now wish I had done so!”
Emelyne offered no solace.
Wiping his eyes, he continued. “The Tyndal monk seemed willing to be governed by our practices.”
“And now you believe that the monk lied about the nature of Brother Martin’s death and that proves he plots against us? I see no basis for suspecting it. Our former prioress continues to accept her guilt, or so Janeta has told me.” Opening her hands in appeal, she said, “Explain to me why we continue to worry about Prioress Eleanor and her monk wanting to delve into a crime they have no cause or authority to investigate?”
“You agreed to exercise caution with these monastics. They have the reputation of being overly curious about things they should not.” He looked pleadingly at his sister.
Emelyne recognized the expression as his concession to her logic and decided to be satisfied with a silent victory. “And I still do, Brother. There is no reason why the verdict should be questioned and confirmed by the Prior of England. I only wished to point out that we may have taken our caution too far. Perhaps it is enough to rely on Janeta’s reports to me. It will not be long before Prioress Eleanor has healed and leaves us.”
Damian nodded but remained grim. “Then we are in agreement, Sister, but we have another problem to consider, as I was about to explain before you interrupted me with questions about the Fontevraudine religious.”
“Please continue.” Despite their disagreements, she felt a chill when she heard the concern in his voice.
“I do believe that the monk either lied to me about Brother Martin’s death, or he was less thorough than I assumed he would be.” He nodded with courtesy to his sist
er as if kindly conceding she may have been partially right. “But Father Pasche’s behavior at the fishponds and his later manner in my chambers, when we discussed the boy’s death, are still disconcerting. His reactions might be innocent, but there is another factor that casts doubt on that.”
Now curious, she urged him to continue.
“I did think Prioress Amicia killed Mistress Hursel, and she may still be guilty, but now I have qualms. Father Pasche had grounds to kill Mistress Hursel himself and cast blame on your former prioress.” He gestured a plea not to interrupt. “And, if he did so, he may have killed Brother Martin for a reason I have yet to fully uncover.”
Emelyne opened her mouth in shock.
For once, her brother showed no inclination to gloat.
Chapter Twenty-five
Sister Anne and Sister Richolda had been explaining their preferred treatments of various ailments to each other with increasing enthusiasm.
Janeta was now fast asleep on the bench against the wall of the apothecary.
The infirmarian nodded in the maid’s direction to her companion.
Anne looked over her shoulder, and the pair drew closer.
“The ring you found belongs to our former prioress,” Richolda whispered. “According to her, it was a gift from someone dear to her and she used to keep it with her at all times, although she never wore it after she took vows.”
“Does she know how she lost it?” Anne was disappointed with the news but not surprised.
“When I asked, she smiled in that perceptive way she has. We often saw it when she was not taken in by our petty evasions.” Growing sad, Richolda continued. “She always was observant, and I failed this time to disguise my purpose for inquiring. She knew I was not asking for myself and merely shook her head when I tried to find a way to question her further. So I did not try and returned the ring to her.”
“I had hoped for a different response.”
Richolda touched her companion’s arm. “So did I.”
A loud snort from Janeta made Anne turn around, but the maid seemed to be in a deep sleep. Not willing to take any chance of being overheard, however, she bent closer to Richolda’s ear. “Do you believe she is innocent or guilty? Tell me the truth.”
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