Otes was no longer young and had been giving lavish gifts to the Church. These efforts on behalf of his soul suggested he was either moved to repent his sins or, unable to satisfy favorite lusts with the ease of younger days, he had grown to fear the eternal consequences of past pleasures as each day brought him reminders of mortal decay.
Whether the baron was trying to bribe God to forget his sins or had learned He did love mended hearts, Otes’ pattern of munificent gifts suggested a man who was now responding more to the rotten stench of Purgatory than the perfume of willing women.
She ran her fingertips over the rough stone on which she knelt. Whoring was probably not the baron’s aim, yet she suspected he had left Tyndal to meet someone. With no reason to think that person was a local man, she concluded the killer was another member of the queen’s party. If so, she was left with the question of why the meeting took place in that particular spot. The men might have met within the walls of the priory, unless the murderer did not want to add sacrilege to murder.
A sharp flapping of wings over her head disrupted her thoughts. Looking up, she saw that a bird had flown in and was perched high in the rafters. In due course, it would fly out again. In the meantime, she was glad it had found refuge from the heat. Although Sister Ruth complained that birds often drank holy water, the prioress had no quarrel with the creatures. God made them too, and she doubted He begrudged the sips of water.
The concept of refuge reminded her that the location of the crime was close to Brother Thomas’ hermitage. And that made her think of Father Eliduc.
She asked herself if the priest had visited the hermit, hoping to lure him off for some task without her permission. That was an innocent thought compared to her second and more sinister one.
After visiting with her monk, Eliduc would have realized how remote the place was. If the priest had some quarrel with the baron, he might have lured him to the pond for private talk. If the two men then argued, the priest could have killed Otes.
A tiny voice within her quickly insisted that Eliduc would have done so only in self-defense. A louder one expressed doubt about that.
Eleanor shivered. Her logic was obviously flawed. She was equally certain there was a bit of truth in her suspicion.
The priest had shown interest in any gift of land that Otes might have offered Tyndal. As she thought more on her conversation with Eliduc, she remembered how relieved he had been when she said she had refused Otes’ offer. That land might have been the cause for disagreement between the men, especially if it was rich enough.
One flaw in this reasoning was that she had spoken with the priest after the killing. If Eliduc was the perpetrator, he would not have been so pleased to discover the baron’s death was not necessary after all.
“He is still a priest,” she murmured, bowing her head with shame that she would even consider him likely to break a major Commandment.
On the other hand, all mortals were prone to sin, priests included. Despite being convent-raised, Eleanor had not been sent out to head a priory like some lamb to face wolves. Her aunt, who had raised her in Amesbury, made sure her young niece understood that tonsures, vows, and pretty phrases were not always matched by honest or even kind hearts.
She made a fist and pressed it into the stone until pain made her stop. Would she have even considered the priest a suspect if she did not have a quarrel with him over Brother Thomas?
“My logic is fouled by my own anger,” she whispered. “Although his missions may have been to the Church’s benefit, Father Eliduc deceived me when he came, with sorrowing demeanor, to take Brother Thomas away on pretense of family illness. I have not forgiven him for those lies.”
Gritting her teeth, she reminded herself that she had been taught to be just even if the result was not to her liking. Aye, she hated the priest, even though God condemned that as a sin. The man was duplicitous, and she did have the right to complain of his treachery.
With significant effort she reversed her inclination to denounce. “Eliduc has done nothing on his own volition. The priest is only following the command of his own lord,” she muttered.
Those words had a hollow sound. “And were a poor defense,” she admitted to the surrounding silence. “Lies are unacceptable, but they are not the same as murder. I am still blinded by his deceptions.”
With a bitter sigh, she stepped away from the easy conclusion that a man she loathed must be capable of homicide, even if her heart refused to reject the idea as quickly as a logical mind demanded.
From behind the altar, an orange and grey-speckled kitten emerged and boldly approached to sniff at the Prioress of Tyndal. She whispered that this act was an arrogant presumption of familiarity, then contradicted her stern rebuke by petting him. As he wandered off, Eleanor noticed with guarded relief that the creature held no mouse clenched in its teeth. Of course, he might well have eaten it in the shadows.
As she tried to quiet that inner voice stubbornly arguing for Eliduc’s involvement in the violence, she knew that little was as straightforward as appearance suggested. “I do not know enough and have no actual reason to conclude Father Eliduc would slit a man’s throat,” she said to her willful heart.
In the silence of the chapel, she heard her heart reply that the priest might turn his head and let another do what he might not.
The fact remained that Eliduc acted only at the command of the man he served, someone who must be of high Church rank. The wily priest dressed simply, but his soft robes were finely made, his small gold cross skillfully crafted, and his grey horse notably well-bred. None of this spoke of a man in service to some poor lord. Surely such a mighty Church prince would never defile his own vows and order his servant to commit murder. The cost to both their souls was too great.
“And this piece of land must be of little value or the baron would not have offered it to my small priory. Should the gift be of more worth, a reasonable man would grasp that I might be agreeable to exchanging it for something just as useful to our needs here. Murder is far too extreme a solution for such a small problem.” Clenching her teeth, she muttered with forced charity, “Therefore, the killer cannot be Father Eliduc. He would understand all this. Who else might have murdered the baron?”
Was it Sir Fulke? She had little direct knowledge of him since he stayed with the king’s court and let Ralf handle all matters of wrongdoing in the county.
Her father, Baron Adam, had never said much about the sheriff except that he owned a fair cleverness and was reputed to suffer from no more than middling corruption. The crowner mentioned his eldest brother only with contempt, calling him a man who preferred comfort and prestige to catching thieves and keeping other lawless men far from Tyndal village. Between the two assessments, Eleanor concluded that Fulke might suffer a surfeit of ambition but shrink away from self-serving violence.
That assumption noted, many sheriffs were losing their positions as bribery and other unlawful deeds came to the king’s attention. King Edward was swiftly eradicating fraudulent practices in the shrievalty, corruption his father had let run rampant. If Sir Fulke had committed transgressions in the pursuit of power and feared he might lose his rank and influence, could he be driven to extreme measures to save himself?
If Fulke had something damaging to hide, Eleanor also wondered if the crowner knew about it. Dare she ask Ralf if his brother hid a secret that might drive him to kill a man known for using knowledge of such things for his own gain?
Out of family loyalty, Ralf might lie, no matter how honest he was himself. On the other hand, the crowner had always honored his friendship with Eleanor. Forcing her friend to choose between two conflicting, yet equally compelling, loyalties was not something she wanted to do.
She had grown weary with these numerous complications and unanswered questions. No firm conclusions could be made without more information, nor could any clear path to the truth be seen.
The prioress stood, bowed her head, and begged God to pardon her inattention
and negligence in prayer. If He willed it, she added, she would be grateful if He enlightened her in this matter of violent death. Being a frail mortal, she conceded that she would better attend her religious duties if she did not have this crime to distract her.
In the meantime, her promised visit to Lady Avelina was long overdue. Father Eliduc had said the lady was weakened by the hard journey and fearful because of Otes’ murder. Providing hospitality demanded Eleanor also supply comfort and ease. Of course she must find out if the woman had need of Sister Anne’s expertise.
“May God forgive me,” Eleanor said, knowing full well what she also intended. She was not so oblivious to her failings that she did not recognize another, less benevolent motive in her concern for this woman.
She turned and walked out of the chapel into the harsh glare of the summer sun.
Chapter Twenty-one
The hot afternoon air lay heavily upon the earth. All birds had fallen silent, and even bees were no longer tempted by the lure of dazzling flowers. As the prioress walked with measured pace toward the guest quarters, she prayed that all mortal creatures had found relief and, for those unable to rest, there was shade in which to continue laboring.
Eleanor had no wish to join any in respite. Her mind now eagerly seeking ways to discover a killer, she no longer felt the heat.
As far as she knew, no one, including Father Eliduc, had asked Lady Avelina any questions about Baron Otes. Although God had judged the souls of both sexes to be equal, mortals believed Eve’s daughters were cursed with feeble natures and weaker wit. Men did not often remember to query women, forgetting that powerless creatures survived by keeping their ears alert for sounds ignored by the more confident and their eyes vigilant for troubling details. It was possible Lady Avelina had noticed some small thing that might lead Crowner Ralf to Baron Otes’ murderer. Eleanor was keen to find out.
As she neared the guest house, someone called out to her. She looked over her shoulder.
Brother Beorn hurried down the path toward her.
Eleanor waited, apprehension gnawing at her gut. Had there been another untoward death? Shading her eyes, she tried to interpret the concern darkening the man’s brow as he approached. “Is all well?”
“My lady, I beg audience with you.” Sweat poured down his lean cheeks. The air was sharp with his stink.
“Can this matter wait? I have learned Lady Avelina is unwell.”
He hesitated.
“When I return to my chambers, I shall send for you.”
Although his face betrayed a hint of reluctance, he nodded. “I will pray for her recovery, my lady, and I am grateful you have agreed to hear me out. In truth, my concern may prove a small thing. I shall await your summons.” With that, he bowed and turned away.
Bothered by the hesitation she had heard in his reply, she watched him walk back up the path. A good man, she thought, one who was always obedient and never troubled her with petty matters. This time, he had suggested the problem might be a minor issue, and surely murder superseded most common priory concerns.
She continued on to the guest house.
***
Eleanor knocked, noting with pleasure the finely crafted woodwork on this entrance to the recently completed quarters.
The man who opened the door neither spoke nor bowed in greeting. Instead, he stared at her and waited.
She stiffened at such lack of respect. This was Kenard, Lady Avelina’s attendant, and the one whose hooded eyes unsettled her. It was a feature she had always found distasteful, for it brought to mind Eden’s serpent. Now his haughtiness gave her reason to dislike the man even more. She glowered and said nothing.
He bowed.
“Is the Lady Avelina within and able to receive me? I have learned your mistress was much weakened by her arduous journey and wish to offer whatever comforts and healing power we own to hasten her return to health.”
Gesturing for her to enter, the servant disappeared without uttering a single word.
Such unconscionably rude behavior from this servant must be worthy of rebuke. Her office should be honored even if she herself was not, Eleanor thought, and then reminded herself that she had been doing penance enough over the last year for her bristling pride.
She squeezed her eyes shut, willing her thoughts about the man to grow more charitable. She had been finding far too many reasons of late to argue that her office had suffered insult. Perhaps it was time to stop hiding the sin of pride behind that rightful claim.
The man returned and motioned in silence for her to follow him.
Bowing her head, she did as requested.
***
The room she entered was filled with shadows. Although the linen hangings around the bed had been pulled open to welcome both light and air, the windows were shuttered. Neither sun nor sea breeze could lighten the gloom or sweep away the stagnant odors common to mortal flesh.
Lady Avelina lay on the bed, her back supported by pillows and only a delicate silken quilt of checkerboard pattern covering her.
How frail she looks, Eleanor thought, then quickly decided that the pale shadows might have exaggerated the woman’s infirmity.
“You show much charity in visiting me on this hot day. Please sit, and my servant will bring cool refreshment to revive you.” Avelina pulled herself into a more upright position and pushed at her covering with peevish annoyance. “This heat sucks so hard at the body. Like enough to a ravenous babe. How could anyone have the strength left to walk or even stand?” Recognizing her tone as querulous and ill-mannered, Avelina tilted her head with shamefaced apology and gestured to a nearby chair.
Eleanor noticed it was set, convenient for conversation, near Avelina’s bed, and a small table had been placed close to hand. All had been readied for a guest’s comfort. She eased herself onto the chair and smiled.
Now that she was closer to the woman, the prioress saw that Avelina’s eyes were bright with wit, not fever. Perhaps the lady suffered only from the heat and fatigue of the journey, quite understandable for a woman of later years and heavier body. Indeed, her face had a reddish hue as if burned by the intense sun. How unfortunate that the lady had not been better protected on the long trip here.
Suddenly, out the corner of her eye, Eleanor saw something move and uttered a soft cry of alarm when a hand passed too close by her face.
It was only the servant who had reappeared with a bowl of dried fruit and a pottery jug, glistening with cool moisture even in the sallow light. Eyes half open, he glanced at her, his expression suggesting gratification over her reaction. Quickly, he set the items on the table and stepped back.
Eleanor shivered. Maybe this man was some malign spirit and no proper mortal at all.
He gestured at the pillows and waited for his lady to respond.
Avelina shook her head and dismissed him with words softly spoken.
His shoes scuffling in the lavender-strewn rushes, the man disappeared through the door.
The prioress was beginning to suspect a profound intimacy between servant and lady. Her reasons for concluding this were vague. Perhaps the cause was simply her dislike for Kenard and her disapproval that such a man would be treated with gentle courtesy when he had not offered the same to her.
As if reading the first of Eleanor’s thoughts, Avelina sighed. “Kenard must do all for me while my maid is resting. The girl suffers ill health.”
The prioress nodded. The swiftness with which this explanation was offered suggested the lady had too often made the same excuse. Although Eleanor did not witness any presumptuous look or gesture by the servant, she now realized there had been an ease between these two, most often seen in husband and wife long wedded.
The matter certainly did not concern her, although she did find it curious. Either the servant was in love with his mistress or else worshipped her far more than any mortal ought another. Whether or not the passion was returned, the prioress guessed Lady Avelina was both aware and countenanced it.
/> “Does your servant not speak at all?” Eleanor gestured in the direction the man had disappeared. As she did, she noticed the door was not quite closed.
“Not since the battle at Evesham. Kenard was my husband’s servant and saw him killed. Since then, he has served me loyally and with competence but has not uttered a word.” She bit slowly into a piece of dried fruit and chewed with the care of one suffering from sore teeth.
Eleanor gratefully sipped at her mazer of cool ale. “Sister Christina, our infirmarian, believes such afflictions are caused by a sickness in the soul. She has found a penance of fasting and a night of solitary, silent prayer helpful. If confession is needed, we have a priest who can interpret many hand gestures.”
Avelina tugged at her quilt, then pushed it away as if undecided whether she was too hot or too cold. “Your offer is most kind…” Her words drifted into silence, and she pressed the edge of her hand just under her breast.
“I have heard many sad tales of those who were engaged in that battle,” Eleanor said. “My father fought for King Henry but said there were brave men on both sides. As I think more on that, I believe Baron Otes was there too. Did you know him well?”
Avelina did not reply. She stared, eyes rounded as if she had just seen a vision.
Alarmed, the prioress rose.
“Do not trouble yourself, my lady. I suffer only from this heat,” Avelina waved her hand. “I thank you for your suggestion. Perhaps Kenard has already learned of your nun’s methods, although I shall certainly inform him of the treatment. Should he wish to seek the healing offered, I would give him leave to do so.”
Eleanor hesitated. If the lady was unwell, perhaps she should not question her about the baron. Until she made up her mind, she opted for caution and changed the topic. “I understand your son accompanied you here.”
Avelina laughed. “Simon did travel with me. Like most young men, he grew impatient with idleness once we arrived. He learned that a hermit lived near the priory and begged my permission to visit him. I sent him off.”
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