An interesting journey, Eleanor thought. The stop in Rome was understandable for anyone of Christian faith. Solerno was a more curious choice. Paris suggested troubling reasons of a more secular nature.
As for the stay in Solerno, the renowned medical school was a likely cause. The possibility that he had become impotent did occur to her, but surely the excellent physicians there would have told him whether or not his condition was hopeless. He would not have needed to seek medical advice elsewhere, especially in Paris. Since Baron Herbert had not shared a bed with the Lady Margaret since his return, however, there was no reason to ask her if he was still virile.
After Rome and Solerno, he could have sailed from Italy, a much faster route to England. If he did not need the services of doctors in Paris, there was one other reason men went there. That was to sell their loyalty to the French king.
Yet the baron had made no attempt to hide his visit. This fact boded well, leading the prioress to doubt he had any intent that reeked of treachery. The many relics available in Parisian churches suggested he was probably satisfying a vow made during his sojourn in Outremer.
All considered, nothing about the baron’s journey home explained why he had banished both wife and sons from his favor. Eleanor was left with the same obvious conclusion with which she had started: Baron Herbert had an unknown reason for delaying his return for as long as possible.
“My brother also traveled by land rather than sailing,” she said at last. “Our family may have regretted the choice, but he had many adventures as a result. Our patience has been rewarded with his fine tales.”
“You are fortunate. When my lord arrived at our gates, he counted the number of sons awaiting him, then turned his back on us all with no explanation. He lives apart, and although we have begged audience with him, he always refuses. Any messages are sent through Sir Leonel.” She looked away. “That is a harsh task to demand of the young man. Yet he balances his duty to my husband with respect and compassion toward us.”
“Sir Leonel seems a worthy man. I have heard that he fought valiantly at your husband’s side. Was he not knighted for his valor?”
Margaret nodded. “My husband was rightfully proud when King Edward chose to honor our family by including our nephew in the ceremony.” She sighed. “I fear my lord has found his nephew to be a better son than those I gave him.”
“If he found fault with any, surely it was because most were unformed boys when he left. With such a noble sire, they must have grown into worthier men.”
“Before he left for Outremer, he called them all sniveling creatures because not one showed any longing to wield a sword.” The lady’s laugh was sharp. “Only our eldest, the heir who died of a fever before my husband’s return, inspired any praise and that was faint enough. My husband said of him that he might wield accounting rolls well enough, but they would be soft swords were this castle attacked.”
A hard man, Eleanor thought. Although her own father was an experienced and skilled warrior, Baron Adam never condemned his youngest son who had always preferred farming to battle. His only other son, however, had proven his mettle in war.
Unlike her father, this baron had not known most of his sons as men, first because of his absence in the cause of capturing Jerusalem for Christian sovereignty and next because of his inexplicable delay in returning. His knowledge of them remained that of babes clinging to their mother’s robe. Did he fail to understand that boys eventually matured?
“I had hoped that Raoul at least might find favor with his father when he came home. He has grown into a man who reminds me much of my husband when I first knew him.”
Eleanor raised an eyebrow at this unexpected remark. “How so?”
“Our youngest keeps his own counsel, then acts with swift, firm purpose. Although his demeanor is stern, this mother knows he owns a loving heart. I fear he mocks what he should not, but his father’s faith deepened only after God had proven His favor with so many sons.”
An interesting assessment, the prioress thought, and quite different from my brother’s. This Raoul was no sniveling creature, yet the lady’s opinion was softened with a mother’s vision.
Margaret frowned. “It is a pity that Umfrey is now my husband’s heir. He has no love for swords and is best suited to a place in the Church. With only two sons left, and Umfrey ill-suited to the task, Raoul may have to remain here, providing his brother with the strong arm and wily spirit needed to survive in this sinful world. That grieves me. We had wished to give one son to God’s service.”
“What of Sir Leonel? Will he remain with this family that raised him?”
“Unless he finds a place amongst the king’s men, he has few choices. Leonel’s father, my lord’s only brother, gambled inordinately, and my husband was forced to sell Leonel’s lands to pay the sire’s debts. Truth be told, my husband sold some of his own patrimony as well to save the family honor. Since this meant there was less to give to the Church, the call to take the cross won my husband’s heart more firmly. If he could not buy fine plate for God’s altar, he knew he should give his soul to the cause in Outremer.”
“Your husband is a worthy man, generous to both kin and God.”
Margaret turned her face away.
Eleanor suspected the lady had disagreed with both the baron’s choices but also concluded that the opposition was never given voice. If she did not speak of this to the baron, she would never admit it to any stranger.
“As for the future,” Margaret said, “Umfrey will find some work for his cousin to perform here, after my husband’s death, unless my lord begs the king for a small favor. Although Leonel did bring wealth back from Outremer, it was too little to buy enough good land to support the needs of a knight of his rank.”
Eleanor was reminded of a young man she met last summer whose father lost all by supporting Simon de Montfort. It is difficult, she recalled, to be sired by a father of noble birth, then be left nothing with which to provide a suitable living. Leonel had shown only grace, from what she had heard, but he must still suffer from the loss of his estate.
“Perhaps the king will grant him more than a simple living,” the prioress said. “Unlike his father, your nephew has behaved with honor and showed bravery in God’s cause.”
“For the time being, he shows no inclination to leave my husband’s side, nor, it seems, does my lord wish him to do so. Perhaps this is selfish of me: I do not long for the day when he must depart. The young knight lightens our cruel sorrow under the weight of my husband’s silence.”
Eleanor asked herself what else she could say to comfort this woman. Although there must be a reason why the baron had chosen to act as he had, she saw no cause. Nor did the Lady Margaret seem to know more than anyone else.
Unless the wife was hiding something, this treatment of Herbert’s sons was unwarranted and illogical. Although the baron might have held his young, unformed sons in contempt before he left, most fathers would be willing, even eager to see how they had grown into men after such a long absence.
Was Baron Herbert so rigid in his expectations that he refused to grant them a chance to prove themselves? Had he learned something troubling about them, of which even his wife had no knowledge? Or had something else happened in Outremer to make him this unbending in his contempt? Hugh might know, but Eleanor doubted it. He had seemed as perplexed as she about what was happening here.
There was only one thing she might say, based on conclusions made after seeing her own brother so changed on his return, as well as other crusaders who had come to Tyndal Priory for healing. Her words might bring little comfort, but they could result in patience.
“From all you have said,” the prioress said, “your husband has changed greatly during those many years of your separation. I have witnessed the same in my brother, although I saw him little enough after our mother’s death. Greeting him when he returned from Outremer, I felt as if I were seeing his face in a mist. The image was recognizable, yet not as clear as it
had been. Although I delight in my beloved brother, he has become a stranger in small ways. In the midst of conversation, for instance, he may fall silent and walk away as if he forgets that I am in his company.”
Margaret tilted her head, listened, but said nothing.
“War is a man’s lot. They grow up with it, learn the skills to survive, and then do battle. I overheard my father once say to a friend, that no one could understand what war was like except another man who had also fought.”
“We suffer as well.”
“My aunt agrees and once told me that women often do experience the havoc of war, but our pain is different and should remain unspoken. When husbands return from battle, changed beyond recognition, we must greet them with patience and charity. It becomes our duty to teach men the strength of the meek and pray they hear what God has taught us. If they do not, a wife is left with only the comfort God may grant, and she must pray for eventual peace in her husband’s soul.”
The lady looked away. “I do not have that fortitude you tell me the meek should own.”
“I think you do,” Eleanor said, reaching out to lightly touch the wife’s wrist. “You have shown just such courage during the long years of your lord’s absence.”
Suddenly the door to the chamber crashed open.
Both women jumped to their feet.
A servant rushed in and gestured wildly, his mouth opening and closing without sound.
“Speak!” Margaret ordered.
“My lady, I have sorrowful news. Your son, Umfrey, has been found dead in the chapel!”
The baron’s wife screamed.
Chapter Twenty
Raoul shook with terror.
From the hall, he had heard the servants chattering in high pitched horror over Umfrey’s death. They might fear wraithlike imps and stinking demons, but he could feel a very tangible noose cutting into his neck.
Foul sweat dripped from his body. Baron Herbert’s heir he might now be, but any rational sheriff would place him even higher in rank amongst those most likely to have committed murder. Did he not have good reason to kill his elder brother?
As the offspring of Baron Herbert, he would receive more courtesy than many others in similar circumstances, yet he doubted King Edward would allow him leniency. Cleaning up the lax judicial system inherited from his dead father meant too much to the new monarch. He had been ruthless in his handling of corrupt sheriffs. Raoul could imagine what he would do with a son who committed fratricide.
“I must flee now,” he whispered to unsympathetic stone walls and tightened his arms around his chest to quiet his trembling. Any way to escape seemed impossible.
All reason fled. Tears stung his eyes. A pitiful whimper escaped his lips.
“How dare you whine like a castrated sheep! Either you still pretend you are a man or you had best borrow one of your mother’s robes and learn to mince about like the woman you’ve become.”
Raoul looked around, half expecting to see his father standing in front of him and mocking his fear. But the words had burst from his own mouth, even if he had borrowed the tone from his sire.
He cleared his throat. “Weapon. Disguise? Food and drink. A horse? Place to hide. Where to flee?” Recitation of the simple list calmed him and he began to plan how to avoid capture.
A weapon was required. He always carried a knife, but a sword might be well-advised. Even if he had little practice using it, others might treat him with caution if they saw it by his side. They would not know how much skill he actually possessed.
There was yet another advantage to the martial display. Should he wish to join a traveling party on the road, he would be welcomed as an additional defender against lawless men. Many soldiers also left England to sell their fighting skills as mercenaries. If he hinted that was his purpose, he would not have to elaborate further on the purpose of his journey.
He fell to his knees and reached under his bed. There he had hidden the sword he stole from his eldest brother’s room after the man died of fever. “Thought to sell it someday,” he muttered, pulling the weapon out. “Now it may be worth more in the salvation of my neck.”
He checked the rough sacking in which he had rolled the sword. With luck, no one would suspect what lay inside if he carried it like a tool or a bundle of sticks. Once outside the castle, the weapon would be an advantage, but no common man owned such a thing. If anyone saw the sword within the fortress walls, they would either stop him for questions or remember seeing him leave when an organized search began for Umfrey’s killer.
Standing, he reached over and lifted the lid of his storage chest and picked up a robe. He shook it out.
Well-worn and of rough material, it also had a hood large enough to cast his face in shadow. It had served him well enough as a disguise when he wished to seduce some servant girl without revealing his kinship with the baron. If the women mistook him for a common laborer in the dark, others might conclude the same when he mingled with the crowd in the pale winter light of the bailey. A purposeful stride should suggest he was engaged in honorable labor, one man of low rank indistinguishable from so many others.
He snorted as he dropped the robe over his head. Remaining anonymous should be an easy task. When in his life had anyone ever noticed him except when they looked for an object to mock or scold?
He went to the door and quietly opened it, then looked about with caution.
The hall was empty.
He slipped out and hurried down the corridor to the stairs. With luck he could filch bread from the kitchen and enough wine to fill his deer-leather wineskin. The servants were used to the baron’s sons stealing bites and would pay no attention to him in the hustle of meal preparation. If these later remembered seeing him passing through, he did not care. He only wanted to escape the castle itself without leaving any hints as to where he might have gone.
And, he decided, he would have to walk. Riding might gain him distance from here more quickly but taking a horse from the stable was dangerous. One of the grooms could decide it would be to his advantage to stop him if rumors of his involvement in Umfrey’s death were circulating. Taking the time to saddle the beast himself would slow him down, and he would be more noticeable on horseback as he left the castle.
He would have to find a local hiding place until the hue and cry was done. Once the assumption was made that he was probably far away, he could safely join a party of travelers down the mainland road and take on the guise of a battle-worn soldier with little patience for chatter. Until he reached the nearest city or, better yet, a harbor, his best hope of escape was to remain inconspicuous.
As Raoul flew down the steep steps, he thought of Umfrey and realized that he truly regretted his death. He had grown almost fond of his quivering cokenay of a brother since Gervase had taken flight from the window. As he thought more on it, he acknowledged that Umfrey had never been cruel to him like their father or even the other brothers. A little name-calling and that was about the extent of it.
In truth, Umfrey was more like a woman, having lost all claim to manhood. Raoul had seen this elder brother often enough, groaning with pleasure, as that soldier swyved him like a bull would a cow.
“A pity I never had sisters,” he murmured. “I might have gotten along better with them.”
But it was too late to think more on the past. Umfrey was dead, and Raoul wanted very much to live.
He pulled the hood of his cloak over his head and set his mind to quickly stealing the sustenance he needed to survive. Then he would slip into the bailey and become one more in a crowd of faceless people, coming and going, all of whom had some business in the fortress or with its lord.
As for a hiding place, he knew the perfect location.
Chapter Twenty-One
Sister Anne dipped her hands into the basin, turning the pale chill water into a glistening red. “We must send this joyful news to Lady Margaret and Baron Herbert.”
Prioress Eleanor bowed her head. “We may not.”
“I did not make that decision to be cruel but rather to save the parents even sharper grief.” She put a hand against her breast. “I do understand that their anguish may push them beyond mortal endurance if they think Umfrey has been killed. May their torment be brief.”
“Then why force them to suffer so?” Anne reached out in supplication. “Enduring far less than this, men have been known to deny the very existence of God.”
“Had someone voiced to me what I have just uttered to you, I would have cried out in the parents’ defense as well.” The prioress grasped her friend’s hand. “Consider this. The next victim might be Raoul, Leonel, Lady Margaret, or the baron. If the killer is not caught swiftly, others will surely die while we flounder in search of justice. Shall we allow the slaughter of all to give only a brief respite to any survivors?”
“You believe this attack was not the first against the family?”
Eleanor nodded. “A pattern is emerging. The death of the eldest was undoubtedly caused by fever. Although the second death might have been accepted as an accident, even self-murder, the third took place too close in time and was most peculiar in nature. This last death, being so curious, makes men begin to think too much on all the deaths. The murderer has begun to make mistakes. Not only was he careless in the stabbing of Umfrey, he has tried to kill too many, far too fast, and perhaps with too much cleverness.”
“What is the killer’s purpose?”
“I am not sure. The reason must be hidden in the baron’s past, an act he committed that has led to this awful vengeance. Nor do we know how many deaths will satisfy the killer’s longing for retribution. Until we know who he is, we may not understand why he is doing this.”
“The rumor I have heard is that Satan cursed the family and sends his liegeman to collect their souls.”
“A man is the more likely perpetrator even if wickedness rules his heart.” Eleanor looked away. “I do not know his name but hope to trick him into revealing his identity. Umfrey’s attacker may be emboldened to strike again soon if he believes he has murdered another successfully. He has already become imprudent. Greater arrogance would render him even less cautious, making him easier to trap. Were he to learn of Umfrey’s survival, he might grow wary, more difficult to catch. Such reasoning forms the foundation of my plan.”
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