Janeta’s tone is so cold, Eleanor thought, as if the maid has lost all feeling. “You let your mistress take the blame for the crime. Had she not been good to you? Why did you allow this?”
Janeta’s eyes were now bereft of sense or emotion. “Satan closed my mouth when she refused to defend herself, my lady. He must have done so, for she always treated me with kindness while I served her.”
Eleanor went on. “Did the Devil also lead you to kill Brother Martin, a man who may have sinned with you but never deserved that fate?”
The icy hardness of the maid’s expression shattered into grief-stricken horror.
Chapter Thirty-five
Prioress Emelyne did not rise when her brother entered her chambers, nor did she speak. Instead, she opened two documents, resting one finger at a particular spot on each, and stared at him in rage.
“Why did you call me here, Sister? I have a corpse to bury.”
“Is this why you committed murder?” She poked at the parchments.
“You jabber like most women. I have neither the time nor the patience to humor you.”
“I am not prattling, Brother, but you are a liar and a thief. I only pray you have not committed even greater sins.”
He paled as he realized the documents she held down were accounting rolls.
“Explain, if you can, why the Prior of England sent a message to Prioress Amicia wondering at the sudden drop in revenue from the income for which you were responsible.” She banged her fist on one roll. “Yet the income sent from this preceptory was suddenly raised after the receipt of that query to match the lack.”
He started to speak.
She waved her hand for silence and bent close to study another document in front of her. “Do not bother repeating what Prioress Amicia sent in justification. I have a copy here. An accounting problem?” She snorted. “The nuns actually owed more and the brothers less?”
His tongue refused to help his lips form words.
“I am sick of lies,” she snapped. “Despite the explanation that the drop in your revenue contribution was due to an accounting problem between what the nuns owed and your religious, it seems that this interesting imbalance dramatically changed here.” She hit the second roll with her other fist. “And lest you wish to argue that I am a foolish woman, incapable of reason, I do recall that this latter change occurred at the time Mistress Hursel married the butcher.” She waited a moment. “I verified that fact with a reliable source.”
He began to study the rushes on the floor.
“And as you often mention with profound contempt, women chatter like the frivolous creatures we are. So I have learned when Mistress Hursel was banished from Prioress Amicia’s service as well as confirming when she married the butcher. These documents suggest that the sudden drop in contributions from the property under your stewardship and the subsequent increase…” With mock amazement, she looked back and forth at the two parchments. “…match the dates of those first and last significant events.”
“There is no connection…”
Leaping to her feet, the prioress picked up her cup of wine and threw it at him.
It struck his left shoulder and stained his white cross with a dark hue.
“I have just spoken with Prioress Eleanor. She knows Prioress Amicia is innocent of the crime for which she was convicted. Although you and I both agreed that the evidence against her was weak, you insisted that I vote for her condemnation. Why, Brother? What sin did she discover that made you so eager for her to be found guilty of such a vile wickedness?”
His face was turning red.
She walked up to him until they stood only inches apart. Raising her hand, she slapped him as hard as she could.
He fell back, his hand to his face. “Only our mother did that to me!”
“And she should have done it more often. When our father raged at you for being womanish, she defended you. Yet she never tolerated your lies. I always have, however, being your dutiful and younger sister. No longer, Brother!” She marched back to the table. “What transgressions have you committed?”
As if the blow had drained his strength, Damian staggered to the chair and collapsed into it.
“Tell me the truth now. I am willing to confess my sins in this matter. It is time you did as well.”
Trying to regain his control, he waved his hand at her, then looked up with the expression of a child begging mercy from an angry parent. “Wine?” he whimpered.
Shaking her head, she brought him a brimming cup.
Damian gulped at it. “When the Prior sent the message, Prioress Amicia realized something was amiss. Without consulting me, as she ought to have done, she spoke first to the steward who confirmed that the income from commandery lands had not dropped, which meant that only the amount I reported had done so.”
“Ought to have done? I think she was wise not to have asked you for your version first. Had I been prioress then, I would have done as you hoped and forced myself to believe whatever lie you chose to tell.” She stood with arms folded, but her anger was slowly replaced with deep sorrow.
He drank his wine. “She called me to account.” He drank again.
“And knew you were stealing money from the Order. That is clear enough, Brother. Do not try to cover your deed with your usual bluster. I will no longer tolerate it, and the Prior of England will most certainly not.”
He looked at her with terror. “You will inform him? My sister would do such a thing to me?”
“What did Prioress Amicia say?’
“You…”
“Answer my question.”
“She asked me what I was using the money for. I told her. She found my explanation adequate and promised to protect me.” He glared at his sister. “That should suffice.”
Emelyne reached over and swatted the cup he held. Wine splashed his face and he cried out from the sting of it in his eyes. “Why were you stealing? Why did she find your reason sufficient?”
“May the Prince of Darkness cut into your soul with his claws until you scream for eternity!”
“God will joyfully throw you into his clutches, if you continue to lie about your sins, for He sees transgressions that men do not. With even greater pleasure, the Devil will dig his claws into a part of your body that is far more tender than your soul.”
He looked into his cup and drank the remaining wine. “I was paying someone to keep secret something that happened to me in Outremer.”
“Mistress Hursel?”
With a growl, he nodded.
“Did you tell Prioress Amicia what the secret was?”
“She insisted. And she swore she would protect me.”
“I am baffled.” Emelyne glanced at the second roll on the table and then back at her sullen brother. “So Mistress Hursel threatened you with exposure of your foul deed before she came here, yet the payments stopped when she married the butcher?”
Damian snorted. “An honorable thief! She said she had funds enough with her marriage.”
“Yet when he died, the butcher left her only a widow’s portion, and her stepsons refused to add to her support. Did she come here to exact more money from you? And did you kill her in desperation? And did you want Prioress Amicia to take the blame so she would be discredited and thus unable to expose your secret?”
“I swear by every saint and all the holy names of God that I did not kill anyone, nor did I plan to have your former prioress silenced!” He slid from the chair to his knees and lifted his arms like a pleading beggar. “I confess that it did not grieve me that Mistress Hursel was dead or that Prioress Amicia might have killed her…”
“You still claim that you thought she had?”
“I had no cause to deliberately cast blame on her. When I told her about the demand for money from the butcher’s wife, your prioress understood, saying tha
t Mistress Hursel had tried to do the same with others. At first, I wondered if that was why she had dismissed the woman from her service. Later, I asked myself if she had also been threatened with exposure of a dangerous secret if she did not pay the woman for her silence.”
Emelyne did not say anything, and the silence grew unbearable between them. Finally, she asked, “Why should I believe you?” She kept her voice hard but turned her face away so he could not see her traitorous tears. “If Prioress Amicia knew you had a secret worth extortion, you had grounds to kill her as well as the butcher’s widow. Letting our prioress be condemned for murder must have suited you well.”
“I again swear my innocence! Of course, I felt no grief that she was found guilty, but ask yourself if she did not point to her own guilt by refusing to defend herself. I know of no reason for her to have done that.”
“Perhaps she had a reason besides murder for doing so. She was too frail to kill the woman. You knew it as well as I.”
“Ask me to do anything, Sister, and I swear to obey.”
When she looked back at him, she saw he, too, was weeping, and she softened. “Sweet Brother, we have both committed grave sins. You out of fear of exposure. I out of worldly ambition. We must both atone by admitting our crimes to the Prior of England and accepting whatever punishment he deems proper.” She knelt by his side and took his one hand in hers. “Together, we must humble ourselves. God will forgive the penitent, and it is our souls that must be cleansed. What difference does worldly rank matter if we suffer an eternity in Hell?”
“I gave my word to you. I will keep it.”
But she heard him grinding his teeth in fury as he said it, and her sympathy vanished. Knowing him well, she was aware that he would find a way out of his oath, leaving her to suffer a hard penance alone. Dropping his hand, she began to pinch his cheeks until he cried out. “Indeed you shall, Brother, for now you must tell me what you did in Outremer that was so terrible that you actually stole money from God to hide it.”
“Why should I?” he shouted.
“If you do not, I shall do everything in my power to discover your secret and expose every detail to all and sundry. Might this not be worse than a confession that you paid Mistress Hursel money stolen from God to stay silent about a vague and ancient sin?” She tilted her head. “After all, any such transgression would be one which you must have confessed and served penance for long ago.”
And when he told her what he had done, she found she could no longer weep, for all her tears had been shed over things far more deserving.
Chapter Thirty-six
Prioress Eleanor looked at the young woman who lay sprawled on the floor. Rarely had she felt so torn and in need of guidance. Her heart longed to show compassion while her mind argued for unwavering righteousness. Which was closer to God’s justice?
But her aunt was dead, and it was impossible to elicit thoughtful advice in an instant from Sister Anne and Brother Thomas. Of all the times she needed time to pray, this was one, but she could not escape to do so. In the silence of her soul, she uttered one short plea to God to grant her wisdom.
Janeta pushed herself from the floor and stood. Her appearance had gone from utter defeat to a sad defiance. “Tell me, my lady, what God would have advised.”
“He would not have told you to kill either Mistress Hursel or Brother Martin.”
Yet God was not always gentle, she reminded herself. He was the God of mercy but also of battles. Once He had stayed the sun until the Israelites could destroy their enemies. In recent times, the pope had declared it His will that Christian knights reclaim Jerusalem, shedding blood wantonly as needed. Which face of God ruled here?
“Most certainly not Brother Martin,” Eleanor added firmly. In that one statement she felt confidence.
Janeta’s eyes narrowed, and her lips curled into a sneer. She bit down on a finger until it bled.
In that moment, Eleanor realized that the maid’s humors were not just unbalanced. Her fears, sins, and deep grief had turned her wits. Yet the prioress was not worried about her own safety. She was most anxious that she lacked the ability to save the woman’s soul.
“When I told him I was with child, he said we must immediately confess our sins and repent. I replied that the penance would be tolerable for him. He might remain in the Order and be given food and shelter. I, on the other hand, must bear a child in the agony of all women cursed by the sins of Eve and then be cast out with the babe to die, beg, or whore.” Janeta’s words were so bitter that the very air in which they were uttered turned as sharp as a honed blade against the ear.
“Or give up the child,” Eleanor said softly. “You might still have remained here.”
The maid glanced at her belly and protectively covered it with both hands.
“The Hospitallers would have raised the babe until the age of reason was reached and a decision could be made to serve the Order or go into the world with a skill. They did this in Acre and even earlier in Jerusalem.”
As if the two women were speaking different languages, Janeta looked at the prioress in frustration, then shook her head and tried again to explain. “I begged him to wait before confessing, for I wanted to find a path I could take. He readily agreed and said he would pray for a while longer, asking God to forgive us both for our wickedness. He urged me to do the same and said He might give one of us a sign and guide us in the right direction if our prayers were sincere enough.”
A wise choice, Eleanor thought. Although the pair had sinned, their errors were pardonable. As for the child Janeta must bear, it would be agony for her to surrender it, but even then there might have been a way to…
Janeta’s eyes faded into blankness. “Then Mistress Hursel came here, and I killed her.”
Eleanor felt a flash of anger, not at Janeta but with Mistress Hursel. It was the butcher’s widow who had, with evil joy, led Satan by the hand into this priory. The maid and Brother Martin may have lain together, but their transgression was common enough. Many a babe had appeared months after what had begun with a few innocuous caresses.
Whatever compassion the Order might have shown two innocents had been destroyed by the butcher’s wife. Janeta had now committed two horrendous crimes because of this older woman’s cruelty. In her heart, Eleanor felt Mistress Hursel had deserved her fate, but it was Janeta who would suffer for implementing it.
“When I took a message to Brother Damian from Prioress Emelyne, I saw Brother Martin outside his door. He told me when to meet him at the ponds. His face glowed with joy. I felt hope. But when I arrived, he announced that God had finally spoken to him and demanded we confess our evil coupling without delay, including the news that I was with child. I begged him to wait a few more days. My mistress had just been convicted of murder. Even if she wished to beg mercy on my behalf, she no longer had the authority to demand it. I needed more time!” Her eyes were dulled with hopelessness. “I love the babe,” she whispered.
Yet the maid was willing to let her mistress accept blame for a crime she did not commit, Eleanor thought, and felt harsh reason beginning to win the battle over her weaker woman’s heart. It was not a victory she welcomed, but feared it was her only choice.
“I do not know why, but I told him it was too late anyway for a simple confession. I had killed Mistress Hursel because she was going to reveal that we had lain together. He stared at me in horrified silence. I shouted that I done so to keep our secret. Had it been discovered that I had quickened with child even before Mistress Hursel came, I would never have revealed he was the father and would have lied to protect him.” Her sob was bereft of tears. “So I pleaded for him to look after me, as I had promised to shield him, and not reveal my crime against the butcher’s widow until I had fled.”
Eleanor was speechless.
“He leapt back from me with terror in his eyes and began to weep. It had been sinful enough to li
e together, he cried, but now murder had been added to our wickedness. How much fouler would our souls grow if we delayed confession even a moment longer?”
The maid paused, as if hoping Eleanor would say something to make this agony cease, but the prioress could give little comfort.
“He turned to run back to the commandery and Father Pasche. I clutched at his sleeve, begging him not to do this. He was weeping but began to pull away, saying that God would not wait. We would soon be damned if we did not confess all. He was scared, as was I. I slipped and lost my grip on him.”
Eleanor held her breath.
“I was desperate to stop him, but he was leaving me. I picked up a rock and struck him. He fell. When I bent over him, I knew he was dead.” She stretched her hand out to Eleanor. “I never meant to kill, only to keep him from going to the priest. He was just a boy!”
Both of you were like children, terrified, and knew not where to turn, Eleanor thought. But what advice did she herself have at this moment? God was either remarkably silent or else she was unable to hear Him.
She took the maid’s hand. The question was cruel but must be asked. “Did you drag his body to the pond and throw him in?”
Janeta jerked her hand away and stroked her belly. A blank expression washed over her face. “I do not know what I did, my lady. All I remember was arriving at the priory and finding Father Pasche and your monk in the garth.”
A priest would take her confession now and speak of God’s mercy, Eleanor thought, but Janeta must still suffer the penalty of secular law and hang.
“Now you know I have killed two people, yet I am with child. I know what will happen to me. Unlike my mistress, I cannot be granted mercy by the Prior of England for I have never taken vows. I must bear my child first and then be dragged to the gallows.”
“There are other ways,” the prioress said, desperately trying to find the words she needed. But they refused to come, and she felt as if she were wandering in some dark cave, begging for light but seeing none. The murder of the butcher’s widow was deemed by many as just. Killing Brother Martin had been a tragic accident. Yet both were the result of yet another sin…
Wild Justice Page 18