Sorrow Without End

by Priscilla Royal

  “The registrar of miracles at the shrine has just informed us that a man with your exact facial features has been twice cured by the grace of the young saint. The third time, the registrar denounced this person in his records as a fraud.” Brother Andrew turned to Brother Matthew. “We sent a messenger early this morning to the shrine and he has just returned. It seems the registrar has banned our prisoner from the presence of the saint, and, should he ever come again to the reliquary, he will be tossed out as an example to others.”

  The relic seller opened his mouth as if to argue.

  Brother Andrew shook a cautionary finger at him. “The fellow’s madness involved fits of dancing, quite strange and unknown by any at Norwich, until someone just back from the Holy Land recognized it as a dance done at wedding feasts amongst the infidels. He so informed the registrar of miracles.”

  “Were you once a soldier in the Holy Land?” Thomas asked.

  A stream of sweat began to slide down the man’s cheeks. “What if I had been? Many are these days.” The man’s sour stench wafted through room.

  “There lies in our chapel a butchered crusader…” the monk continued.

  “I had naught to do with any murder!”

  “Did you not?” Ralf stepped closer to the relic seller.

  “Liar! Anyone who said I had anything to do with that soldier is a liar.”

  “Do you not lie yourself? First you tried to sell bones to Tyndal, claiming they were relics of some local saint. Then you admitted they were sheep bones, but tried to say that the truly faithful could transform them into Saint Skallagrim’s. When our prioress confirmed there had never been such a saint, you alleged you had been sold the bones and thus could not be blamed if their validity had been misrepresented. Finally, you now blame every act of fraud on your madness, fits that have been proven false at Saint William’s shrine. Which of your many wondrous tales are we to believe? Methinks nothing you say is true,” Thomas continued.

  “You are trying to put the blame on me, monk. I saw you leave the road near the place the murdered man was found. Perhaps you killed him, and you are now trying to cast blame on me.”

  Thomas leapt at the man.

  Ralf and Brother Andrew grabbed him, but not before the monk had bloodied the prisoner’s already broken nose.

  “I had some sympathy for you, knave, but I will not stand accused…”

  “Brother Thomas, step back!” As the monk reluctantly did so, Eleanor turned to Ralf. “Perhaps you had best show all Cuthbert found when he was searching this man and his store of relics.”

  The crowner returned to the table and reached into the bottom of the bag, then pulled out a knife. The blade and hilt were curiously carved with a most graceful script.

  “This is no English knife,” Ralf said, waving it at the bound man. “Cuthbert discovered it with your purported relics. This is a Saracen thing, much like the one found in the corpse. Were you not in the Holy Land? Might the blade found in the corpse be a twin to this one?”

  “Yes! No!” the man screamed as he squirmed to escape Cuthbert’s firm grip.

  “Truth, knave, truth!” the crowner yelled at him.

  “Ralf! This is a house of peace and forgiveness,” Eleanor said, then turned to the prisoner. “Nonetheless, we will not countenance your lies. You have tried to sell false relics to me. That I can forgive. Being a woman raised with sheep and other country beasts, I recognized the fraud the moment I saw the bone.”

  Brother Matthew’s face turned quite scarlet in hue. Sister Ruth moved ever so slightly away from the angular monk.

  “In the interest of justice and compassion, I might ask for mercy on your behalf...” She raised a hand as the prisoner opened his mouth. “Make no mistake, your guilt in selling false relics has been established beyond doubt by witnesses in good standing under secular and church authority. What I will not forgive is your attempt to dress one of my priests in the guise of a murderer. If you continue refusing to confess your part in that foul deed, I shall beg the courts to make you suffer severely for all your crimes.”

  The man turned as gray as death’s shade. “I did not kill him, my lady,” he whimpered, his voice hoarse with terror as Cuthbert allowed him to slide to his knees. “What will you do for me, my lady, if I speak true? Will you protect me?”

  Eleanor glanced at Ralf. He hesitated, then nodded.

  “I will guarantee a fair hearing and mercy,” she said.

  The man inclined his head in Thomas’ direction. “He is innocent. I did see him, but he turned into the forest as I told him once before. I claimed otherwise just now only because the crowner bullied me.” He glared at Ralf. “Surely I would have accused your monk earlier if I had been guilty of murder and wished to find another to bear the blame?” Sweat was now pouring into his eyes. He blinked from the stinging.

  Eleanor reached over for a cloth from the table and gently wiped the man’s eyes. “Continue,” Eleanor said as the man hesitated. “As God’s servants, we believe in compassion.”

  “I traveled behind your priest when he left the village. With me was the bag containing the sheep bones, which Brother Matthew had agreed to purchase from me as relics for the priory.”

  Brother Matthew winced.

  “After your monk went into the forest, I rounded the road’s bend only to discover three men in front of me. Two were arguing.”

  Thomas frowned. “I heard nothing, yet that bend is not far from where I left the road.”

  “Nor did I, Brother,” the man explained. “With the rain and wind in the trees, the sounds must have been muffled until I made that turn.”

  Thomas nodded. “I accept your explanation.”

  “Go on,” Ralf ordered.

  “I hid myself in the brush. No one saunters past armed men in dispute. Madness I may suffer but rarely foolishness.” He looked at Eleanor again. “You have promised me mercy in this?”

  “As you speak true, so shall you be treated.”

  “Some wine, please, my lady?”

  Brother Andrew stood closest to the pitcher. “Good priory ale, but it serves as well for dry throats.” He poured a cup. Nodding at Cuthbert to help the prisoner rise, the monk gently assisted the man to drink.

  The relic seller coughed, then continued. “Two were crusaders. The third was not. One was a common soldier who bore a crude red cross on his quilted buckram. The other, the one between the quarrelling men, was as well, although his dress suggested a higher rank. He rested his hand on the other soldier’s chest as if to push him back.”

  “Two crusaders?” Ralf frowned as he considered this. “And the third?”

  “The third man, standing with his back to me, looked like a leper with his long robe and the cloth wrapped around his head. Suddenly, he screamed, and the crusader in the middle spun around. The common soldier began to run. That third man darted around the crusader and gave chase.”

  “He killed him?” Thomas interrupted.

  “He threw a rock, hitting the soldier on the back of the head. The man fell. As he did, the crusader grabbed the third and they struggled. The soldier was only dazed. He rose and began to laugh as he watched the other two. With the roar like that of a wild beast, the dark-robed man threw the crusader aside as if he were a stick and leapt at the soldier, lifting him into the air. I was terrified! No mortal could have that strength!”

  “Unless the Evil One gives them the power.” It was the first time Sister Ruth had spoken.

  “Then the demonic one lowered the soldier, pulled out a knife, and thrust it into the man’s belly, ripping it upward toward the heart. The man must have been alive when his guts fell out. I heard him scream. Once. I could not bear to look any longer.” The prisoner retched.

  No one said a word.

  The man began to weep and slipped to his knees. “I was scared! I did not know what to do. What could I do against three men?”

  “You are not to blame, for cert,” Eleano
r whispered.

  The relic seller lowered his head. “Good people, I have been in battle and seen monstrous things, but they are done only when the soul sleeps and the blood burns hot. This killing was done as if the killer savored the act.”

  Ralf broke the silence. “The rest of the tale. There is more.”

  “I have told the truth!” the man howled. “God is my witness! I have told…”

  Ralf grabbed the relic seller by his robe and yanked him upward. “Nay, not everything. By all that is holy I will hang you, then watch you slowly choke as you spin in the air…”

  The man began to sob.

  Ralf dropped him.

  “There is little more. The demon started to weep as the corpse twitched. The other crusader rose, then walked to the body and pulled the dagger out.” The prisoner gulped air. “He cleaned it in a puddle of water.”

  “The demon, as you call him, was…?” Thomas asked.

  “He was squirming in the mud like a witless creature. The crusader pulled him up into his arms and held him ’til he calmed. Then he turned him around so he’d face away and drew a short dagger from under his robe.” The man’s eyes grew large. “I thought he was going to kill the demon!”

  “But he did not.” Eleanor spoke as if lost in thought.

  “Instead, he stabbed the dead man in the chest, took off his own robe, and wrapped the corpse in it as if the man were but asleep and needed the warmth.”

  “You saw their faces?” Thomas asked.

  The man nodded vigorously. “The man who gave up his cloak later called himself Walter. In the fray, the cloth hiding the demon’s features fell away, and I recognized the man I later knew as Sir Maurice.”

  “And then?” Ralf asked.

  “That is the story, Crowner. When I saw these men in the priory hospital, I kept silent out of fear.”

  Ralf shook his fist at the man. “Nay. Cuthbert, take the man away. He longs for the rope.”

  “No! I am innocent. Please!” The man struggled back to his knees. “I have done no murder and have been promised mercy over the matter of the sheep!”

  “I think you killed the soldier for his fat purse,” Ralf said.

  “You have no proof!”

  Ralf reached for the cut purse that rested on the table. “I found this hidden in your bedding.”

  The captive squealed like a pig. “I confess! I stole from a corpse who would have no further use for a mortal man’s coin where he was going, but I did not kill him for it.” He turned, stretching toward Eleanor. “I waited until the two men had left the glade. Then I took the purse from the dead soldier. It belonged to no one. I am a poor man, my lady. He had a fat purse filled with blinding bright coins. I was starving…”

  “Silence, knave. You have eaten too many fat sheep,” Ralf said. “Why should any of us believe you? You commit crimes against the innocent by selling false relics to earn your bread. You are a proven liar.” He shrugged. “You believed Sir Maurice saw you kill the soldier and thus you killed him. In order to divert attention elsewhere, and thus give yourself time to escape, you attacked the infirmarian.” He looked around at everyone assembled. “I think we have our killer.”

  Chapter Forty-two

  “I did not murder any man, my lady!” The man tried to drag himself on his knees to Eleanor, but Cuthbert pulled him back. “Knave I may well be,” he cried, “but never would I do such a thing as was done to that crusader!” He raised his wide eyes to the heavens and wailed. “By all that is holy, my lady, I have been a soldier myself!”

  Ralf put his hand on his sword.

  “Do not draw a weapon in this place, Crowner.” The prioress looked down at the groveling man. In his terror, he had now pissed on himself and stank of both urine and sweat. “You cannot deny that you disappeared around the time Sister Christina was beaten and Sir Maurice was killed. Although Cuthbert saw you killing a sheep, you still could have committed the other two crimes. Have you a witness who can confirm that you were elsewhere at the time of either event?”

  Brother Matthew cleared his throat. “My lady.”

  Eleanor looked at the monk with pleasant surprise. “You have something to say in this man’s behalf?”

  “He is innocent. I cannot speak to the murder of the soldier, but, on my hope of Heaven, he is blameless, both of the attack on our beloved infirmarian and the murder of Sir Maurice.” Matthew spoke in a hoarse whisper.

  “Please explain, Brother.”

  “I would prefer to do so in private.” The monk briefly glanced at Brother Andrew, Brother Thomas, and Sister Anne, then settled his gaze on Sister Ruth. “If I speak in front of these, word will spread throughout the priory.”

  “Not from my lips, Brother,” Andrew said.

  “Nor mine,” Thomas seconded.

  Anne nodded concurrence.

  Brother Matthew continued to gaze at Sister Ruth, his look quite sad.

  She turned an angry red. “You, of all people, should know that I do not run about spreading gossip.”

  The monk bent his head.

  “It is important that we have witnesses, Brother, but whatever you have to say shall remain within these walls, unless the protection of the innocent and justice require otherwise. So I do order.” Eleanor looked at each person in the room. All nodded. “Should I find that this command has been disobeyed, my punishment will be swift and severe.” Eleanor gestured for the monk to continue.

  Brother Matthew sputtered as if longing to protest, then gave up and continued. “This man and I met the night Sister Christina was attacked.” He stared at the prioress as if no one else was in the room. “When you hesitated about buying this purported relic for a pilgrimage shrine, I knew I must do something to make you see the merit in my decision...” He coughed. “…rather, my way of thinking.”

  Eleanor smiled. “And thus gain greater support in the coming election.”

  “Persuading you to make Tyndal a station on the pilgrimage route would have enhanced my standing amongst the monks.” His eyes flashed with some indignation. “Yet I was, and am, convinced of the rightness of such a decision, my lady. My error was in the choice of the relic, not the premise.”

  “As I said at our last meeting, Brother, your idea had merit. Sadly, the bone you offered was that of a sheep, not a saint. Fraud is not unusual in the sale of relics; therefore, I felt caution was advisable.”

  Brother Matthew looked down at his long feet.

  “Do continue with your tale,” Eleanor said.

  “I had arranged with this man to get the relic…” He spat out the word.

  Eleanor nodded.

  “…believing that you would change your mind in the presence of the sainted…”

  “Indeed,” Eleanor said.

  “So I slipped out of the priory grounds and met him…” He shot a glance at the grim-faced Sister Ruth. “…at the local inn where we…”

  “Do not fear for the reputation of the priory, my lady,” the prisoner interrupted, his voice no longer trembling. “Brother Matthew was quite disguised. He borrowed a cloak left by one of the men building the stable and had put up the hood so his tonsure would not show...”

  “Silence, fool!” the monk shouted. “I’m trying to save your filthy neck!”

  “Do continue with your forthright tale, Brother,” Eleanor suggested mildly. “God does so love the truth.”

  The monk flushed vividly. “We shared a jug of priory ale at the inn, which, I might add, was quite good. We are wise to sell it to…”

  “Of that, we are well aware.”

  Brother Matthew walked over to the table and put his hand on the bones. “It was there that he gave me these for which he also had a most ancient box.”

  “When did you bring them back to the priory?” Thomas asked.

  “After we shared much more ale,” the relic seller added, “the pleasure of which was increased by the sight of the sweet serving wench.”


  “I protest, my lady! I am willing to provide this cur with an alibi, yet he insists on trying to defame me. Aye, I did drink more than one mug of ale. Surely you would agree that confirmation of quality is a prudent measure? I thought there might be improvements we could make in the flavor. Our only discussion of the serving wench, however, involved this impious crowner’s lewd attentions to her that evening. Under no circumstances would I ever participate in…” he spat, “…lustful talk!”

  “Would you not?” Sister Ruth asked under her breath.

  Eleanor glanced with sympathy at her sub-prioress.

  “When I left, our crowner had just disappeared up the stairs with the wench,” Matthew continued. “He was quite drunk. Respectable men were seeking more honorable beds.”

  “Not as drunk as you hoped, Brother, although I did not recognize either of you when you arrived. Then I noticed how careful you both were not to let your hoods slip after you saw me. Were you just dishonest men, I wondered, or priory monks come to test your virtue in a place rumored to provide worldly pleasures? As I recall, Brother, you were especially entranced by the bouncing breasts of the lass on my lap.”

  “Impious dog!”

  “Fie! I meant only to compliment you on your self-control. I admired your ability to hold your cowl with one hand so I could not see your face while, under the table, your other hand was so busy…”

  “How dare you accuse me…”

  “Which would you prefer? I could tell of your not-so-private pleasuring or I could charge you with corroboration in the murders. You may decide.”

  Brother Matthew stepped forward, but Brother Thomas grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

  Ralf shook his head. “Fear not, monk. You may be guilty of lust like every other mortal man, but I know that you and your companion were still there, as you said, when I went upstairs with Signy. It was past the Night Office, for I heard the bell ring. By then, I understand that Walter had reported the attack on Sister Christina to Brother Thomas.”

  “Why did you not say any of this before, Ralf?” Anne asked, her question voiced with tenderness.

  The crowner looked at her for a long time, his expression as grief-stricken as if he were biding her a final farewell. “I did drink deeply that night, and thus details of the earlier evening faded from memory until I searched the relic seller’s hospital cot. As my mind cleared, I thought back on the two men at the inn. One was so tall I thought he was the monk I had seen standing near where our relic seller rested. At the time I had thought he resembled Brother Thomas whom I believed still to be in…”