Thomas reached out to touch the man with a gesture of sympathy but his hand froze. Instead, he quickly slid from the bench and found a serving wench. “Here is coin,” he said, gesturing back at the roofer. “Make sure he has what he wants to drink, plus food and a bed for the night, should he need either.”
The agony he had seen in Sayer’s eyes was an emotion he himself had hoped to set aside one day. Now he doubted he ever could. Filled with his own confused fears and sorrows, Thomas hurried from the inn.
Chapter Thirty-One
“Prioress Eleanor! What a pleasant surprise to chance upon you here.” Master Herbert bowed with grace. “Are you on your way to visit Mistress Jhone and her daughter?”
“I am returning to the priory,” she replied, praying that her tone concealed the dismay she felt at this meeting. After the recent discussion with Wulfstan’s widow, then Master Bernard, she longed to return in time for the soothing prayers of the next Office.
“I fear that you think ill of me,” the vintner said, blocking her path.
Eleanor cast a covert glance at the sun and then heard the bells. Even if she left now, she would be late for prayer. Maybe God had sent the vintner to speak with her and He would bring her that understanding later when she knelt alone in her chambers. With a quiet sigh, she surrendered to the circumstances and inclined her head with an encouraging gesture toward the merchant.
He smiled. “I do understand why Alys might prefer a tender boy to this man with hints of hoarfrost on his brow…”
Silver-headed was not a word anyone would use to describe this still dark-haired and well-favored merchant, Eleanor thought, and she found that unsubtle plea to affirm his manhood mildly offensive. Swallowing her irritation, she gestured sympathetically.
“…but I had hoped to win her over in time. Such a union is in both our interests, and I am not so aged that she would have any reason to complain of me.”
“You do not long for the lady herself?” The prioress shaded her question with the tone of one who understands the merits of mutually profitable marriages.
“It would be rude of me to suggest I fancied only her dead father’s business.” He stroked the thick nap on his robe. “A business I need not, but one I am most willing to take on for a wife able to bear sons. Of course, I do find her most comely.”
Eleanor looked at him askance. “A woman worth bedding, but will you treat her kindly even if she does not bear those sons?”
To his credit, the vintner looked abashed. “My lady, I would never treat her ill.”
“Would your first wife have agreed?”
Herbert’s brow furrowed deeply. “Who has accused me of cruelty?”
Eleanor shook her head. Although the vintner clearly expected her to continue, Eleanor remained silent, hoping he would feel obliged to say more himself.
“I am confused by your question, my lady. My wife was a most pious woman, and we bedded only for sons. It was our share of earthly grief that none lived, but I treated her with respect as a man should his wife and did my best to persuade the crowner that she died by accidental drowning. No woman who spent so many hours in prayer would have killed herself.” He shrugged. “Do these actions point to a thoughtless husband?”
How very strange, Eleanor thought. Once again she was faced with a man who tells another that his wife cuckolded him, then shows forgiveness by arguing against any verdict of self-murder. Although she should have respected him for his Christian charity, she felt oddly uncomfortable with it.
“You testified at the hearing?” she asked.
“Grief tried to keep me away, but I spoke on her behalf most passionately.”
Herbert’s story of Eda’s piety and his defense of her manner of dying certainly matched that of the glover. Even if she heard a hint in the vintner’s words that he might have preferred a more eager bed partner than he found in Eda, she detected nothing that fostered suspicion that he had been harsh to her. Alys’ fears seemed to have less and less basis.
Herbert suddenly looked over Eleanor’s head, his widening smile one of peculiar delight. “Is that not your monk, my lady?”
Eleanor spun around. Rushing toward them, from the direction of the inn, was Brother Thomas.
***
When Eleanor greeted him, Thomas did not know whether he should feel gratitude for the interruption to his grim mood or dismay at the sight of the fine-looking merchant standing so close to his prioress. He quickly dismissed both thoughts and replaced them with concern for Tyndal’s honor. His prioress might know he had reason to be outside monastic walls, but her companion did not.
“My lady,” he said. “I am most pleased to see you. I have just returned from offering solace to Sayer as you requested.”
“At the inn?” The vintner’s tone dripped with contempt.
Thomas felt his body grow rigid with anger at the disapproval he saw in Herbert’s eyes. He swallowed his sharp reply, but his throat burned with the effort. “I saw Sayer enter the inn and followed him there,” Thomas said, folding his arms. “The son laments the death of his father.”
“And uses his sorrow as an excuse to grow into a sot from drink,” Herbert snorted. “Yet I am sure the boy must grieve for a father who was murdered just after they quarreled. It would be an unnatural son who did not, although Sayer has always been a strange one.” He shook his head. “Do not accuse me of being uncharitable, Brother, for I am not the only one in the village who thinks his soul does not praise God.”
“For what reason is he so maligned?” Thomas continued, his tone as icy as a northern wind.
“Surely you would not ask me to repeat cruel gossip? If you spoke with him for any time, you must have seen the color of his soul for yourself.” He bent his head toward the inn. “Satan finds joy in those who choose worldly indulgence over godly acts.”
Thomas clenched his hand into a fist, then pressed it behind his back to keep from striking the man down.
Herbert smiled without humor. “Yet he may well have made peace with Wulfstan before the killing.” He shrugged. “I would not know that.”
Eleanor, who had remained quite silent throughout, now turned to Thomas. “I am grateful you have performed the mercy I requested, but I believe Sister Beatrice has another service for you.”
The monk bowed. “I was just returning to the priory to seek her out, my lady.” He suspected there was nothing the novice mistress wished him to do, but he guessed that his prioress had read his anger well. In any event, he was grateful to escape this offensive vintner.
As he walked away, and Eleanor resumed her conversation with Herbert, Thomas heard an uncharacteristic animation in her voice. The thought that his iron-willed and most virtuous prioress might be attracted to the dark-eyed merchant flitted briefly through his mind. The very idea made him uncomfortable, and he quickly turned his thoughts elsewhere.
Perhaps he should visit Brother Jerome? Now that Brother Baeda was dead, the irascible monk had taken on the librarian’s duties, including care of the Amesbury Psalter. Time having somewhat faded the horror of murder, the witness might remember more about the killer he had seen.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Had Eleanor known about Thomas’ momentary displeasure and the cause, her reaction might have been guilty delight mixed with surprised amusement. Herbert was an attractive man, even clever were she to be fair in judgement, but no imp would ever take on his form to torment her in dreams. Whatever charms this vintner might possess, they were not unflawed. He was an easy temptation to set aside.
“Your words have touched this heart, my lady, and I have found merit in them,” the vintner said as he shifted his gaze from the departing monk back to the prioress.
“What frail logic have you transformed into something of value, Master Herbert?”
“God has surely sent you to bend me to His will. You see, I have suddenly lost all desire to go abroad and think I would find comfort in remaining near my fi
rst wife’s lonely grave. I would never step on cursed soil, but might not my presence and daily prayers give her tortured spirit some comfort even in Hell?”
Souls in Hell were not granted ease, but Eleanor did not want to discourage the man from an act that might bring him respite from grief. “Yet you still wish to remarry?” she asked.
“Aye, I do, weak of flesh that I am. I would surely die of burning if I did not find a wife.” He flicked his hand toward the priory. “Unlike your young monk, I have no religious calling, and sons are needed if any business is to continue and prosper.”
“Have you new hope that Alys will accept you as husband?”
He shook his head. “You spoke of kindness and thus persuaded me that further delay in this marriage is hurtful to all concerned. Until Alys is firmly pledged to me, she will persist with her dream that she may yet wed the glover. While I have tolerated a young girl’s itch for a boy, I now understand that there is great danger in continuing to do so.” His gaze was almost caressing as he looked down at Eleanor. “Women who stay in the world have led men to their damnation since Eve gave Adam the apple. Master Bernard would have to be a saint not to bed Alys if she continues to give him encouragement. No matter how much patience and compassion I might wish to show in this matter, I do require that my first born be of my seed. Is that not reasonable?”
“You should expect it,” Eleanor replied truthfully, yet she was unsettled by his mocking tone.
“Thus all sweet courting must end. Although I am loath to do so, I have no choice but to make one final trip to Gascony, and so I go to Mistress Jhone to insist that the marriage be arranged before I leave.”
“You know that any woman may refuse a marriage...”
“Alys might have that legal right, but surely she understands both the profit in our union and her moral obligation. The marriage was her dead father’s wish. It is her mother’s. It is mine. How can she refuse?”
Eleanor nodded with barely concealed reluctance.
“Once Alys and I are vowed to each other, I can take this last journey without fear that the mother will weaken and let the girl marry Master Bernard.” Herbert folded his hands. “The boy is only interested in the wool business and would cast the widow from their hearth as soon as he had the daughter. I would not be so cruel.”
Why fear that Mistress Jhone would suddenly change, a woman who had shown no bending at all in this matter heretofore? Eleanor frowned, yet she could not quarrel with the vintner’s fears regarding Alys and Bernard. Their meetings might seem too brief to the pair, but the prioress knew how quickly lust flamed and how little time it took to find a mutual quenching. “When do you leave?”
“Within the next few days.” He gestured with frustration. “You see why I need an immediate answer. My courting skills are indeed rough, but I like Alys. She may be young, but she is not a child and has a quick wit. She is like a bright fire, and I am a cold man without a wife. My heart finds warmth in her light spirit. In time, we could surely learn to love each other…” He fell silent.
“I will pray for good fortune in this matter,” Eleanor said, carefully choosing her words. The vintner might have won her compassion with these latest arguments, and she feared that Bernard had an interest in stolen manuscripts, but her woman’s heart still sided with the younger couple.
Ignoring any ambivalence in Eleanor’s fair wishes, the merchant smiled as if God Himself had approved his venture. He quickly asked a blessing, then hurried off to the woolmonger’s family.
Eleanor longed to follow but knew she had no cause to interfere.
Chapter Thirty-Three
“Had this manuscript been stored properly, Brother Baeda would still be alive!” Brother Jerome might be an elderly man, but his opinions were as firm as his wiry body.
“What mean you?” Thomas asked, peering down at the item in question, now resting securely inside the priory book chest.
“This holy Psalter was handled without due reverence, and God does not forgive those who treat the work of devout monks, created with pious sweat, in such a casual manner.” Jerome slammed the wooden lid shut.
Several silverfish skittered out from under one metal-encased corner and disappeared into a crack in the floor.
“Indeed, Brother, indeed.” Thomas rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Considering the fate of Jerome’s depiction of Eve with Eden’s snake, he suspected the monk’s present outburst had more to do with the deeds of unruly young novices than any failure committed by the murdered librarian. “Yet I am at a loss to understand why a ghost would choose to visit it.”
Brother Jerome opened his gap-toothed mouth, looked puzzled, and shut it.
“You were about to say…?”
Jerome blinked rapidly. “I was? Aye, I was!” He struck his chest. “My spirit trembles at the thought, but I believe that Satan was at work here. Brother Baeda was an honorable man, and I shall pray for his early release to Heaven, but I fear he suffered from the sin of pride just before his death.”
“Ah, pride!” Thomas nodded grave agreement. “Tell me the tale, for we learn most about the Devil’s subtleties from the failings of honest men.”
Jerome exhaled through his mouth with virtuous disgust.
Thomas was reminded of a horse.
“The Psalter is a most prized possession. When I saw the tear, I told Brother Baeda that I could mend it. My talents in manuscript work may be modest, but they are a God-inspired skill.” He bent his head with due humility. “Nonetheless, Prioress Ida decided that no one here was worthy of touching it. Our dear brother informed me that some monk with special expertise had been summoned. Until this expert came, the Psalter should have been stored safely away. I think any reasonable man would agree?” He sniffed.
Thomas inclined his head with the anticipated concurrence.
“Bound as I am to obey, I did not argue with our leader’s decision, but I was struck with wonder at the careless manner in which the manuscript was treated. Brother Baeda was so willing to show it to anyone at all—even that young rogue Sayer—and thus I saw how Satan had filled our brother’s heart with pride. Of all the monks in the priory, he had been found worthy enough to care for the Psalter, and he wanted all to see the treasure he was given to protect.”
“I concur. When I asked to see it, he let me view any page I wished.”
Brother Jerome turned red, a color that gave bright contrast to the sparse white bristle on his cheeks. “I have no quarrel with a noble and godly interest such as yours. Sayer, on the other hand, is of base birth and the son of a thief. Our librarian should not have allowed a man like that to sully the holy work with his profane gaze.”
“Of course.”
“Besides being proud, Brother Baeda was too tolerant of young men’s sinful ways and often turned a blind eye on their wicked follies. In the afternoon, before the sad evening of his death, he told me that Sayer had come to talk with him yet again about the Psalter.” The monk pursed his lips with disgust. “How he could have ignored that youth’s wickedness is beyond my comprehension.”
“Did Brother Baeda say why Wulfstan’s son was so interested in the holy work?”
Jerome winced as if he had just bitten into a bitter fruit. “I am sure Sayer gave him some plausible reason. Our dear brother did not tell me what it was, but I made sure he knew of my disapproval.”
“And so you believe the ghost came that night for good purpose?”
“There could only be one reason: to bring the message of God’s displeasure.”
“A phantom you believe might be…?”
“Queen Elfrida, without a doubt.” Jerome’s eyes glazed with recollection. “The spirit was tall. A noble lady would be of greater height than one of lower birth.” He nodded thoughtfully. “I was confused when she struck me down with unwomanly force, but a soul released from Purgatory would be possessed of far greater strength than any mortal.”
“Edifying visions are so rare in the
se wicked times, and you have surely been granted one. Please tell me more.”
“The queen’s ghost had much reason to be here. Her sins were so heinous, and despite the wealth she gave at our founding, we had grown lax in our prayers for her soul. Prioress Ida punished the monks who…” He swallowed, unwilling to even name the sin, then continued. “Perhaps that problem was solved, but the queen still had cause for outrage when Brother Baeda gave more attention to young men on their way to Hell than he did to the proper care of her priory’s most sacred work.”
“Did the spirit tell you this?”
“She had no need for speech. By her presence at the library door, she made her message clear, as she did by our brother’s death.” His expression grew sad. “I grieve that she found it necessary to kill him so cruelly, but might he not have died from the shock of seeing her unearthly face?”
“Mayhap.”
“I pray hourly for his soul.”
Thomas nodded respectfully. “As a consequence, you have kept the Psalter away from impious eyes. For that zeal, both the ghost and God must praise you.”
Jerome slammed his hand on the flat lid of the chest, drew in his ill-defined chin, and straightened his narrow shoulders. “When Sayer came to me, asking to see the Psalter, I vigorously refused, telling him that his filthy hands would never again soil the illuminations on that precious work!”
“And I am sure you showed him the strength of that chest, lest he try to open it when you were away at prayer.”
“He was most curious about that, Brother, so I made sure he got a close look at the metal corners and heavy wood.” Jerome shook the key that hung from his waist. “He also knows that I keep this with me at all times.”
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