“I hope to put a name to the corpse first,” Ralf replied. “If I can assure my brother that the pursuit of justice is well in hand, he may not feel obliged to muddle my quest for the killer with ill-conceived interference and vain posing.”
“Then I shall add my prayers to yours,” Eleanor replied and summoned Gytha so she might instruct her on what was required to assist the crowner.
Chapter Thirteen
Father Eliduc walked along the path leading from the church. Glancing back at the dank stone building, he saw how thick moss blackened the glass of the window behind the altar. He stopped to glare at the offending growth. How reprehensible and inexcusable!
He also breathed a sigh of relief.
Earlier, when he had knelt inside for prayer, he noticed that the light in the chapel was inexplicably murky despite the intense summer sun outside. This dimness had distracted his worship and filled him with foreboding. Now he knew that God had not draped a cloud over the sun to signify ominous displeasure with mortals or to announce that the Day of Judgement had come. The darkness was due solely to improper care of the altar window.
Surely there was someone to perform the simple task of removing the foul moss. Was the priory so poor that a village man might not be found to clean the windows for the good of his soul and a pittance for his belly? Turning his eyes skyward, he muttered, “I should not expect competence in a place run by daughters of Eve.” His expression suggested he was confident that God would concur.
Then he swiftly looked around. When he saw no one nearby, he closed his eyes and allowed himself just a moment to turn from the world and let his spirit drift in peace. Standing motionless, he listened to the birds sing, a sound so sweet his heart ached.
“I do miss the fine choirs of my lord’s church,” he sighed. Men’s deep voices raised to honor God’s glory uplifted his soul, something he often needed when his earthly work grew wearisome.
The instant passed. He opened his eyes.
Eliduc never allowed his soul self-indulgence for long.
As the priest’s gaze dropped back to earth, he saw Lady Avelina’s mute servant hurrying toward the guest quarters with something in hand. “Men say that one has been cursed by God for his part in assisting Simon’s wicked father when the de Montfort faction captured King Henry at Lewes,” he murmured, in part to himself and partially to God. “The old king may have been unwise in enriching his wife’s foreign kin and choosing too many counselors amongst them, but he was anointed with holy oil at his coronation. God frowns when men fail to honor those whom He has blessed.”
In contrast to any sins committed against the old king, Kenard had shown tender devotion to his mistress during the long journey here. Had the man not lost all voice, Eliduc wondered if he would be praised for his faithful service, not feared for his lack of speech.
For a moment, the priest pondered the scope of such loyalty which was both laudable and useful. Piously folding his hands, Eliduc bent his head as if in prayer while he continued to watch the servant until the man disappeared into the quarters.
In Eliduc’s experience, common assumptions must often be discounted. The priest never cast inconvenient reality aside so he might continue to lie in the soft comfort of convention. He formed his own conclusions. Men who ignored exceptions to any general rule did not survive long in struggles for power.
His thin lips bent with subdued humor as he turned that logic from Kenard’s situation to the oft bemoaned inadequacies of Eve’s progeny, one of whom ruled here.
No matter what the Church preached about Eve’s daughters, suppositions he himself willingly voiced in the company of his fellows, Eliduc knew there were women who did not suffer from the illogical minds and feeble resolve that were the common faults of their sex. One of those women who possessed a man’s stout heart and a masculine mind was Prioress Eleanor.
Eliduc liked the Fontevraudine prioress and enjoyed jousting wits with her. Even though he had always been confident of his eventual triumph, he found her more of a challenge than most men and he did like a good contest. He was not so foolish as to imagine she might not hone her talents into more formidable skill over time. Her errors were youthful ones, born of inexperience.
If God granted the two of them a long life, the priest hoped to have many future contests with Baron Adam’s youngest child. Despite Tyndal Priory’s insignificant status, its leader was exceptional in birth and ability. Competent kings took note of such things, their queens often more so. What also delighted Eliduc was the possibility that he and this prioress might one day find themselves joined together to achieve some mutual purpose. After all, they both served God and the Church.
“In the meantime,” he sighed wistfully, “this visit might be my last victory over her for some time.” Before he left the priory, he planned to accomplish something of great significance to him and his own liege lord. Although the deed would be done almost before her eyes, he hoped she would not be aware of its value to him now or for some long time to come.
In return for her unwitting cooperation, he would leave her a gift. It would be one that both showed his appreciation and be of great worth to her. For this he knew she would suffer profound gratitude, and suffer she most certainly would. An honorable woman, she’d understand the debt she owed him and that she must repay the favor in the future. To that time, he definitely looked forward.
The sound of voices behind him caught his attention. Shading his eyes against the sun, he turned around.
Three men approached.
Eliduc recognized Prior Andrew. Accompanying him was a gaunt giant of a lay brother with an angry expression and a secular man who bore a strong resemblance to Sir Fulke. The priest concluded this must be the sheriff’s younger brother.
Eliduc folded his hands, inclined his head with proper gravity, and waited for the men to come closer.
It was Crowner Ralf who spoke to the priest first. “You are from the queen’s party?”
A lesser man might have taken offense at the brusque tone. Balancing the potential insult against other matters and concluding it was of little moment, Eliduc simply nodded assent. He knew the crowner’s reputation for honesty and believed him cleverer than the elder Fulke.
“A dead man was found nearby,” Prior Andrew said, his voice noticeably unsteady. “Brother Beorn and I wish to see if we recognize him as one who might have sought care at the hospital.”
Eliduc’s expression reflected surprise, quickly blended with caution. “This discovery has brought the crowner within the walls of a house dedicated to God’s peace. Might I conclude the death was not natural?”
Ralf nodded concurrence, then his expression brightened with a wicked grin. “Perhaps he was one of the men who provided protection for you on the journey here, Father. Would you like to come with us? Although his throat was cut, he’s not too bloody.”
“Your brother might be the better choice to accompany you, Crowner.”
Ralf snorted with contempt at Eliduc’s quick response. Brother Thomas excepted, the crowner believed that most priests had strong stomachs for feasting on succulent meats, accompanied by better wine, and weak ones when confronted by mortal violence.
Crossing his arms, he continued to prick at the man. “A soul may hover, Father. Our hermit has tried to give it comfort. A familiar priest might be more effective in easing it toward God.”
Eliduc thoughtfully nodded. “Since I was the one you first met, He must intend that I do as you have suggested. When the body is identified, there will be time enough for the sheriff and the king’s law to take over.”
He walked to the prior’s side and gestured his willingness to continue on.
Ralf scowled. His expression betrayed just how deeply he disliked underestimating this priest.
As they started toward the mill and the path leading to Tyndal village, Eliduc’s heart filled with joy. Dare he hope that this discovery meant God favored his cause?
Then he realized that the murder migh
t have other meanings as well, implications that would bode ill for his hopes. He hurried on, his spirit subdued by caution.
Chapter Fourteen
The swelling corpse was covered by a writhing blanket of flies.
Prior Andrew’s face paled to sea-green. Cupping his hand over his mouth, he rushed into the nearby shrubbery and retched painfully.
“He’s been a soldier,” Ralf muttered to Thomas, “and has seen both living and dead with far worse wounds than that over-ripe carcass.”
Tilting his head in the direction of the dead man, the monk whispered, “Be prepared for greater amazement.”
Father Eliduc was kneeling in the blood-tinged mire.
Ralf’s eyes widened.
His robes pulled up around his thighs, the finely clothed priest was murmuring with fervency into an ear that would never again recognize human voice.
“I’ll see to our prior,” Brother Thomas said and disappeared into the bushes.
Ralf looked over at Brother Beorn who was standing several feet from the corpse. The lay brother remained motionless and silent, his eyes unblinking. The crowner could not decide if the man was stunned by the horror of this scene or had fallen into a trance.
Eliduc broke the silence with a disgusted grunt. Rising from the body, he looked with dismay at his filthy knees, then turned to Ralf. “God has granted your prayer for knowledge, Crowner.” He pointed at the body. “This is the mortal flesh of Baron Otes, his soul most cruelly torn away and sent to God’s hand.”
Were I to take an oath on this, Ralf thought, I would swear that yon priest was more distraught over the mud on his knees than unhappy about the murder of one of his company.
Father Eliduc briefly studied the crowner’s face, then scowled. “Without doubt, this is murder. Queen Eleanor will not be pleased to learn that she may not send any loyal servant here, lest some local felon kill him.”
“More likely, someone in your party had a quarrel with this man and found the timing of the journey propitious,” Ralf snapped.
Eliduc slowly raised an eyebrow. “Whom might you suspect, Crowner? Sir Fulke perhaps?”
Ralf reddened with fury.
The priest gestured toward Tyndal. “I only wish to point out how absurd your accusation is. If someone in the queen’s party had cause to commit this foul deed, do you think he would wait until now? There was frequent opportunity for murder on the long journey, and flight would have been easier as well. Had the killer hidden his identity and followed us, he would have found the bustle of inns better suited to swift murder and safe escape. For these reasons, I counsel you to look closer to those dwelling nearby for the man who did this.”
Although Ralf reluctantly conceded that the priest was right, he would not tell him so. He willed his temper to cool and turned to watch Brother Thomas assisting the prior down a slippery part of the embankment toward the pond.
Brother Beorn began to mumble something that sounded like a prayer, then covered his mouth as if fearful his words might be overheard.
With deepening frown, Ralf waited for the two men to approach.
“Forgive my weakness,” Prior Andrew begged with evident embarrassment. “I have been fasting today.”
“Might you have a name for this corpse?” Ralf asked.
Father Eliduc’s expression remained impassive as if taking no offense when the crowner requested confirmation of the priest’s word. Instead, he ripped a handful of tall grass up by the roots and began to scrape at the dirt on his knees.
Andrew nodded. “It is Baron Otes. I stood with Prioress Eleanor to greet the queen’s party and remember him well.”
Pausing, Eliduc glanced at the prior. “You seemed shocked to see him then,” he remarked, and then returned to rubbing the drying mud with renewed vigor.
If anyone so pale could blanch further, Andrew succeeded.
The long silence amongst the men was broken only by the bubbling murmur of the stream on its way to serve the priory mill.
Eliduc tossed the muddied grass into the flowing water and carefully lowered his robe. “I may have construed shock for pain when you cried out,” he continued, his tone devoid of any particular meaning. “You did step back awkwardly, and I feared you had injured yourself.”
“Aye.” Andrew’s ambiguous response was barely audible.
Thomas gently touched his superior on the arm. “Methinks our prior needs to rest in the shade of my hut. The day is hot, and this baron’s mutilated corpse stinks enough to trouble anyone, let alone one who has been fasting.”
The crowner nodded. As he turned around to speak with the other two men, he saw Father Eliduc walking away.
The priest gestured to the dazed Beorn that they should return to the priory. Ignoring all courtesy, Eliduc had not sought permission to leave from the king’s man, nor did he ask if the crowner had further questions.
Ralf said nothing. His lips twitched with amused satisfaction, knowing he had succeeded in insulting this arrogant priest. “Delighted to annoy you,” he murmured as he watched the religious disappear.
Meanwhile, Thomas helped Prior Andrew climb the steep path, leaving the crowner alone with the rank corpse.
***
Andrew grasped the empty mazer with such force his knuckles whitened.
Thomas poured more ale from the sweating jug. “I am curious to know why this priest joined you and the crowner on the way from Tyndal.”
“His name is Father Eliduc,” the prior whispered.
The monk almost confessed he knew this, then quickly thought the better of it. Instead, he sat down on the end of the rough bench and waited for what more this man, who rarely showed such unease, had to say.
Despite pressing his fingers against his eyes, the prior failed to stop the tears from rushing down his cheeks.
“Did you perchance know the dead man?” Thomas knew that fasting had never before caused his prior to weep.
“Aye, and have no cause to love him.” Andrew raised his cup and emptied it in one gulp.
Thomas refilled it. “Whatever quarrel you may have had with the baron was surely long ago and before you took vows.”
“Your loyalty and faith in me gladden my heart, Brother.” Andrew reached out and touched Thomas’ sleeve. “We both have lived long enough in the world to remember how the ways of men can bring mortal hearts pain and malignity.”
Briefly grasping his prior’s rough hand, the monk nodded. As for loyalty, Andrew earned that soon after Thomas’ arrival. The prior who was then porter had noted the strong resemblance between the new monk and another man of high rank. Sensing Thomas’ agitation, Andrew remarked that all men had secrets that could be left folded into the depths of the heart and never mentioned the matter again. From that day the monk knew this prior was a master craftsman in the art of compassion and quieting men’s fears.
“You are aware I served Simon de Montfort and fought at Evesham before I entered this priory.”
“That you told me not long after I arrived at Tyndal.”
“And I informed Prioress Eleanor of my past as well, knowing her family had supported King Henry. Our lady forgave me with her usual grace.”
“And you have rewarded her with loyal service ever since. Not only has God blessed this priory with a wise and compassionate prioress, He has given us a man of honor as its prior.”
“What I did not tell her, for I saw no reason at the time, was that my beloved brother also fought with me at that battle.”
Thomas raised an eyebrow, sipped his ale, and waited.
“He was killed.” Andrew fell silent. Although he covered his face, the deep furrows in his brow betrayed the grief he suffered. “Death in a battle fought for honorable reasons should not…” His last words stumbled on the sharp pain of his sorrow, and he could speak no further.
“Many praiseworthy men fought for de Montfort and some believe he is a saint, claiming miracles at his tomb. It is well-known that King Edward himself showed much favor to the earl’s
cause until the end.”
“It was not the cause that brought disgrace to my sibling.” Straightening his back, Andrew wiped his cheeks, his face now scarlet with anger. “Dishonor was smeared on our family like ordure from a pig sty.”
“And Baron Otes was involved?”
“More! He was the man responsible.”
The monk poured more ale for them both.
Taking a deep breath, Andrew began talking as if the rush of words might heal him like the release of pus from a festering wound. “My brother and I were nearby when the Earl of Leicester fell. There I received the wound in my leg that still troubles me, and my brother staunched the blood flow, an act that saved my life. Had he not taken the time, he might have saved his own. Before he could escape, we were seized by Baron Otes’ men.”
“I thought you were captured by someone else.”
“Nay, Brother, although it was the Earl of Cornwall who finally decided my fate and demanded mercy for many others who fought for de Montfort.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “Had my brother been alive, I do not doubt we both would have received the same clemency.”
“Continue, please. I shall not interrupt you again.”
“There is little enough to tell. Baron Otes decided my wound would kill me soon enough, but he castrated my brother, as others had de Montfort, then stabbed him in the back to suggest he had been fleeing the battle out of cowardice. To further insult our family, the baron stuffed my brother’s genitals into his mouth.” Stretching his hands out as if begging God to banish the memory, Andrew wailed with indescribable agony.
Thomas grasped the man’s hands, understanding one cause for his unhealed pain. “Do not blame yourself for what happened, Prior. You could have done nothing to save him.”
“For the sin of not trying, I should have died unshriven.”
“Your brother would have wanted you to live to pray for his soul.”
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