His pounding heart quieted as he realized that the thief would not have brought light if there was anyone outside to see it. That meant he knew the monk was the only one who might be nearby, and he was supposedly across the river, busily swyving a woman. The lay brothers must have seen it as well and known that the thief had arrived. He should take comfort in that, Thomas decided.
The man hesitated, then silently walked to the book chest.
Thomas was sure it was Sayer. So that there would be no doubt about the man’s intent, he would wait until the roofer began to leave with the Psalter in his arms.
The figure bent, holding the light close to the storage box. Within the briefest of moments, he had broken the lock, lifted the lid, and grasped the Psalter. The lid dropped with a dull thud. The man turned and walked toward the monk.
Thomas rose to face him, but something to his left caught his attention. He jerked to one side. The blow struck the side of his head. Light flashed before his eyes, and everything went black.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Thomas blinked. He was lying on his side. His head hurt, and there was something warm trickling down his neck. How long had he been unconscious?
“I said I would bring it to you.” The voice was Sayer’s.
Thomas shut his eyes and held his breath.
“Stupid pup,” a man replied, his hoarse voice barely above a whisper.
Feeling a wave of nausea, Thomas willed himself not to vomit.
“You did not recognize a trap when you saw it.” The man kicked at Thomas.
The monk bit his lip but did not groan.
“You are fortunate that foolish women run this place and sent but one monk to stop you.”
“Did you kill him?” Sayer asked.
“Bring your light.”
As the small flame flickered with weak warmth over his face, Thomas willed himself to look like a man who had just died. He should have seen enough of them, he thought, to feign the expression well. If he failed, he would no longer have to pretend.
“He’s bled enough to be a dead man,” Sayer said, touching the monk’s neck gently with his fingers. The light moved quickly away.
Thomas prayed God would take mercy on his soul.
“I will make sure of it.”
“You need not bother. I felt his neck. There is no life in him.” Sayer’s voice was angry.
“Fancied him, did we?” the man scoffed.
Sayer did not reply, but Thomas heard a noise as if something was being shaken.
“Stop that, whelp! Have you no idea what a valuable work the Psalter is? You’ll damage it!”
“Then take the thing if you do not want harm to come to it.”
The light went out, and Thomas heard a grunt. As much as he longed to rise, he knew he might faint from his injury. There was nothing he could do but lie in his own blood.
Sayer laughed. “A child could have done more harm with that blow. I think I shall keep this for myself.”
“Mock if you will, but the Psalter is worthless without me.”
Thomas felt himself drift toward unconsciousness. He willed himself back.
“I might have another buyer.”
“Your lies are as wanting as your manhood.”
“You are not the only one in Amesbury who needs money and knows the worth of this piece of painted sheep skin.”
The man hissed. “You could not have found another.”
“Can you afford to doubt me? Or consider this: I might choose to save my soul, rather than take money, and confess who has led me to this crime.”
“You would gain nothing by trying to expose me. Who would believe you, blasphemous rogue that you are?”
“Dare you chance that? You have now killed three men, including my own father.”
“A robber? Two womanish monks? Killing your father was but long-delayed justice for ancient sins. As for the monks, I was kind, sending them to Heaven sooner than either had dared hope.”
“And Eda? Even you dare not claim she killed herself. You drowned her, did you not? She had overheard us talking about plans to steal…”
“I’ll kill you!” the man roared.
Sayer laughed.
“Give me the manuscript, cokenay.”
“Only if you can catch me.”
The sound of running feet echoed in the floor under Thomas’ ear. He heard the door crash against the wall.
Slowly he opened one eye. Both men must be gone, he decided, but hesitated a moment to make sure. Weak and dizzy, he began struggling to his knees.
A hand came to rest on his shoulder.
“It seems you are still alive, Brother,” a man said.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Brother Infirmarian cursed the clouds that had just covered the moon. His phrasing was most secular.
“Brother Thomas has not called for help, and the light has been extinguished in the library.” A lay brother pointed to the now dark window.
“The agreement was to do nothing until our brother gave the signal,” the infirmarian whispered back. “We must wait a while longer before going inside.” He fell silent and stared with evident unease at the gloomy building. “I dare not spring the trap too soon, but I do not wish harm to come to our brave monk either.”
“Wait!” another exclaimed softly. “I heard a man’s voice. That must be the sign!”
Brother Infirmarian rose and called for the group of lay brothers to follow him. As he did, the clouds mercifully parted like a fortress gate and the moon shone forth just enough to outline two figures emerging onto the scaffolding high above the band of monastic rescuers.
The first shadow leapt onto the roof, scrambling loudly up the steep incline. The second stumbled, caught himself, and awkwardly crawled after him.
Brother Infirmarian ordered his men to halt.
“Is one Brother Thomas?” a lay brother asked him.
A cloud drifted back across the moon, dimming the light.
“I think not, but I cannot be sure. They could both be the Devil’s imps.” Brother Infirmarian quickly ordered several of the lay brothers to assail the library but gestured for one to remain behind with him. The two men slipped closer to the walls and stared upward, raising their crosses to frighten any demon that might lurk there.
The grey forms on the roof looked like sooty ghosts against the darker roofing. The apparition higher up laughed with wicked merriment.
The men below clutched their crosses to their hearts. “Has the Devil released his minions to befoul God’s priory with obscene antics?” the lay brother whispered.
The moon once again escaped its cloud, and the men on the ground could see one apparent mortal stand and wave something over his head.
“Give me that!” the other shadow shouted.
Brother Infirmarian looked at his companion. “Do you recognize that voice?”
The lay brother said nothing, his eyes wide-open with terror.
“Catch me if you can,” the first one sang and climbed farther upward.
“Devil’s spawn!”
“How fond you are of slandering others! I may be a rogue, but I would never defame the innocent. Now that you are on God’s ground, surely you must confess that you lied about Eda. She never committed adultery, did she? Shout the truth to God, and I may give you this Psalter.”
“She never forsook virtue,” Herbert roared. “Give me the manuscript!” He pulled himself closer to the desired object.
The leaner shadow waved it over his head once again. “And a woman who so loved God would never have committed self-murder, would she? Even you could not claim otherwise, although you let others condemn her. Come,” he said, holding the Psalter just out of reach. “Tell me how she died, and I shall release this.”
“I held her head under the water until she drowned.” The vintner grabbed at the Psalter, then slipped. As he slid down the roof, he screamed, but he landed safely on the s
caffolding.
“On this holy ground, will you not ask His forgiveness?”
“Give me that Psalter! Dare you call me a sinner when you are Satan’s own bedmate?”
“Now you have hurt my feelings.”
To the right, two more men could be seen pulling themselves through a window onto the narrow wooden walkway.
The figure high on the roof lifted the Psalter over his head. “Beg for this.” Suddenly he lost his footing. “Here! Catch it!” the man cried out, tossing the manuscript out into the darkness as he tumbled downward.
Master Herbert bent backwards to seize the manuscript as it flew over his head. The thin railing at his back snapped.
Brother Infirmarian, ignoring the screams above him, raced to the man who had just hit the ground.
“The hangman has been thwarted,” he said softly.
The vintner’s neck was broken in two.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Sayer lay in the monks’ infirmary, his face pale and one arm bound to his chest.
“Does your shoulder hurt?” Bernard asked with frank concern.
“Brother Infirmarian pushed the bone back in quickly enough.” Sayer’s expression spoke more of indifference than any relief. “I am weak and may not move this arm. That is all.”
“When we pulled you back onto the scaffolding, I wept for your pain.” The glover wrung his hands and glanced over at the monk beside him. “Had Brother Thomas not been with me, you would have died. I did not have the strength to save you by myself.”
“I should thank you both for that,” the roofer said, “but I heal only to face the hangman. You should have let me fall to my death and saved the cost of a rope.”
“You have killed no one,” Brother Thomas replied.
“If I had not agreed to play a ghost to keep everyone inside at night so the vintner might steal the manuscript, my father would have lived. Although I did not strike the blow, I still murdered my father with my greed and wicked foolishness.”
“God wants to forgive, and your actions tonight will do much to assuage the evil you have done in the past,” Thomas replied, touching the binding around his head without thinking. He winced. “You did not know that my prioress had a plan to catch the guilty, yet you had already plotted to expose both killer and thief.”
“Then only my hand will be cut off for my own part in attempting to steal the Psalter? I would rather kill myself than become a further burden to my mother.”
Bernard gasped. “Your mother loves you as does Alys. Why make them suffer by committing that cruel and sinful act?”
“When the sheriff chops off the hand, I may die anyway. Satan will get a fine jester when he receives my soul.”
“Justice will not be a secular one,” Thomas said. “Your sheriff has proclaimed, in front of witnesses, that Church law rules in the matter of ghosts. Since you were the ghost, the priory will decide your punishment.”
“Have I not profited from leading monks to sin? Did I not agree to help steal a holy work? Surely the Church would say that I am to blame for the death of my father and Brother Baeda, a most virtuous monk who joyfully shared the Psalter’s sacred beauty with this wicked man.” He turned his face away. “The Church will love me even less than King Henry’s men.”
“You conspired to catch Master Herbert in the theft and arranged for me to witness his confession of murder.” Bernard folded his arms. “Does that not show repentance for any past sins?”
“Repentance?” Sayer laughed. “I but wanted you and Alys to marry! Once the vintner’s crimes were exposed and your courage in catching him out was told, my aunt would accept your suit.”
“More is involved, I think,” Thomas added.
“Consider the advantage to me if Bernard heard the vintner’s confession. It absolves me of killing my father. When he was murdered on the path outside the priory, I suspected who had done it. Only Master Herbert knew about the toeholds I had gouged into the mortar when I finished repairing the wall for my father. When I confronted the man, he did admit the deed, claiming my sire had to die because he recognized him escaping from the priory after a monk cried out in fear.”
“If he confessed, why did you not report it?”
“He reminded me that many had heard how my father and I quarreled and the threat I made in the heat of it to kill him. It would be easy to make sure I was arrested for my father’s murder.”
“A threat most did not believe you meant,” Thomas added.
“Dear cousin, why do you continue to cover your soul with foulness? Admit your honest deeds.”
Sayer raised an eyebrow. “Cousin? You should not stain your honor by adding me to your family.”
“As Alys’ beloved cousin, you are mine as well.” Bernard raised his chin. “If you insist on confessing your evil deeds, at least add how you planned to trap the man.”
“And failed to do so before a kind monk was killed.” The roofer’s mouth trembled. “Since the vintner had not asked my help in his first attempt to steal the Psalter, I should have known he did not trust me, or else had grown impatient with greed. Once again and without my knowledge, he climbed the wall and managed to slip into the library. Brother Baeda caught him and died. For that, I grieve.”
Thomas shook his head. “Yet you came for the Psalter last night. How did you regain the man’s trust?”
“I squirmed on my knees and beseeched him for coin, a longing he well understood. Since he had failed twice, I convinced him to let me try. I knew the building best, having reached the scaffolding to the roof from inside the library.” Sayer shrugged, then winced with the pain. “When he agreed, I knew he would probably follow, hoping to kill me as soon as he could get the manuscript in hand.”
“Surely the ghost could only be accused of so much violence before someone suspected a human hand. How dare he chance another corpse?”
“Queen Elfrida would be blamed for only two murders. Need I remind you how cleverly he disguised his wife’s death, Brother? He was most confident, and, although I think his guilty soul may have really wanted hers to seem an accident, he would have had no scruples about making mine look like suicide.”
“From guilt because you sold women’s flesh? London would be bereft of whoremongers if men were so conscience-stricken.”
“This is Amesbury, Brother. Some here would most certainly conclude I had killed myself over sins of the flesh.” Sayer’s smile was fleeting.
“Might no one have asked if his travel to Gascony was connected to the disappearance of the Psalter?”
“Why? The man was a respected merchant. Even honest men see only what they are led to believe if the telling is cunning enough. Consider how quickly all decided the verdict on Mistress Eda’s death because a few were most persuasive.”
Bernard slammed a fist into his other hand. “The theft would have been the perfect crime, had you not arranged for me to witness it.” Horror washed over his face. “And you might have died if Brother Thomas had not been there! Surely you realized…”
Sayer winked at the monk. “Mayhap I would not have fallen.”
“Mayhap,” Thomas replied, doubt coloring his voice.
“I have long wondered why Master Herbert claimed you had bedded his wife,” Bernard said softly. “Surely there was no truth to that?”
“Never! I fear the reason for his wife’s murder and that accusation are found in the same tale. As our monk here may not know, Alys grieved over Mistress Eda’s painful illness. Knowing me to be a merry rogue, she asked that I spend an hour playing the fool to make the lady laugh. Instead, Eda burst into tears when she saw me. When I sought to comfort her, she confessed her sorrow. She had overheard her husband’s proposal to me about the theft of the Psalter one night when we thought she was deep in sleep. Although she could not quite believe her husband would plan such a blasphemous act, she feared she was not mistaken. My heart broke, and I confirmed that what she had heard was true.”
>
“Why had he planned the theft? Was he not wealthy enough?” Thomas asked.
“His show of wealth was false. Before her illness, she found proof that he had sold his vineyards. When she questioned him, he insisted she did not understand what she had seen, that he had sold but a portion to pay debts left by his father. Although the vintner could be most persuasive in his lies, she was suspicious and looked further, discovering that he had followed his father’s example in acquiring debts beyond his ability to pay. Soon after, she fell ill and began to draw away from any interest in those worldly cares, although the blasphemy in stealing the Psalter deeply troubled her pious soul. Nonetheless, he feared her knowledge. When he overheard us talk about the Psalter, he decided she knew too much and killed her.”
“That does not explain how he decided you had cuckolded him,” Bernard replied.
Sayer snorted with contempt. “He knew that to be untrue. While I was holding his wife, attempting to stop her tears, the vintner came upon us. He flew into a feigned rage, swearing to expose us as adulterers.”
“You could have countered the charge with the tale of the theft and repented of your agreement with him.”
“With some, Brother, any accusation has the whiff of truth. Were either of us to speak of her discoveries or the theft, the vintner would have claimed we were trying to hide our sin with lies. Mistress Eda was an honest wife. I did not want her honor soiled on my account.”
“Why would any man put horns on his own head? He himself told the tale of adultery to the woolmonger and I overheard it. Others must have as well,” Bernard said.
“The sharpness of a cuckold’s horns may be dulled by cleverness. First, he made sure my reputation grew darker by suggesting the adultery might have been rape. His pride, therefore, suffered a lesser wound. Next, he showed Christian charity by defending the soul of his dishonorable wife. Can you not hear the crowds exclaiming, ‘What a noble man’? You see what a crafty teller of tales he was.”
Bernard smiled. “You may paint yourself with the Devil’s colors, Sayer, but he does not have your conscience.”
Justice for the Damned Page 20