Justice for the Damned mm-4

by Priscilla Royal

  Alys shrugged. "As I have said, I cannot explain why his words trouble me. When he murmurs in my ear that he is capable of riding me until I scream with joy, I should conclude that he means to convey how skilled a lover he will be. Yet I hear only that I will scream. In that prospect, I find neither comfort nor joy."

  Surely the man was not cruel, Eleanor thought, and is unaware of the violent mating between the girl's parents. Yet there was something in the way Alys had repeated the man's words that troubled her. "This Master Herbert may not possess skilled phrasing, but surely… Was he not acquainted with your father?"

  "Aye, and must have known full well what manner of a husband he was to my mother. Only she believed that she hid the bruises from the neighbors, and, if I could hear her piercing cries outside the house, they did as well. Master Herbert cannot be ignorant of any of this."

  After hearing this tale, I shall always be grateful that I knew how tenderly my parents loved each other before my mother's cruel death, Eleanor thought. Children are not without ears or eyes, although many seem to think they are.

  Alys looked up at the sky in shock. "Sister, I did not hear the bells, but the time must be past None! I promised my mother that I would accompany her to prayers, and she will be worried." She reached out her hand and grasped Eleanor's much smaller one in hers. "I thank you for listening to my woes."

  The prioress squeezed the hand that held hers. "Should you wish to speak further, ask Brother Porter to summon Eleanor of Tyndal."

  Watching the girl rush away along the path to the gate, Eleanor knew she had not served her well. She must seek the young woman out on the morrow, before fatigue had dulled her wits, and provide wiser and more comforting advice.

  Anne helped her rise, and the two walked slowly back through the gardens. Alys' sadness over the death of her uncle reminded Eleanor of the black humors cursing Brother Thomas.

  He should go into the village to seek the truth behind these apparitions, she decided, and do so tonight. The sub-infirmarian had been right about the eagerness that had returned to his eyes when Sister Beatrice suggested he find meaning behind the ghost. If she did not have to snatch that joy from him, she would not. A crowded inn was safe enough. The task should not pose any danger.

  Before Wulfstan's death, the hauntings had been benign. Why would they have suddenly turned deadly? She could see no apparent reason, which surely suggested there was no connection between some jape and murder. The sooner the two things were separated, the better. Cautious fear of a mortal killer was reasonable, but rumors of ghosts often allowed Dread to let loose her most foul child, Panic.

  She had already warned the monk to take care lest the spirit turn out to be a man or imp with malicious intent. Now she would order him to leave the inn if he began to suspect that the phantom and slayer were the same, or if he learned something that pointed to the murderer's identity. Under no circumstances was he to investigate further. She would not allow it. That was the work of the sheriff.

  After all, Wulfstan had been killed outside religious walls. Once the ghost had been revealed as a man, the sheriff would no longer have his pretence of an argument and must drag himself back from his boar hunting.

  Eleanor brightened at the thought. Then she might consider her own duty to Wulfstan's family done and retreat to her sanctuary from the world's violence with a clear conscience. She grew eager to resolve this matter quickly.

  Chapter Eleven

  Thomas waited for Brother Porter to open the massive wooden gate and wondered what the old monk thought of this strange command to let him go into the village when he should be at prayer.

  "God be with you," the porter whispered.

  "Pray for me," Thomas replied with sincerity, noting only benevolence in the old man's eyes. With a sigh, he wondered if he would ever be capable of such unquestioning obedience.

  At least the air was mild tonight, he noted, as he walked toward the bridge leading to the inn. Had God tempered it as a kindness, wishing to remind all mortals that the season of life was upon them despite Wulfstan's cruel death?

  Looking around, the monk saw nothing that resembled any ghost. He felt a momentary disappointment, almost as if he had been found unworthy of some crucial test. Reasoned arguments may have proven that no such spirit could exist, but he, Thomas, was troubled by Sayer's fears and even by the merchant's suggestion. Men of accepted wisdom have been wrong before, he thought with some irreverence, although he would not voice his fleeting doubts about wandering souls to either Sister Beatrice or her niece.

  When he reached the bridge, he stopped. He would have no problem finding the inn. Even at this distance, he could hear the laughter, shouts, and snatches of song. A memory flashed through his mind of another inn, one in London where he and Giles had often found a woman to share for an evening. Something twisted painfully inside him. He struck his heart with his fist, and the image shattered like some fragile object.

  "I should never have decided to go to this inn as a traveling monk," he muttered aloud as he started across the Avon. Belatedly, he realized that he had been wrong about a disguise. He should have hidden his tonsure with a hood and dressed as a farmer on pilgrimage. In religious robes, he would stand out in the crowd, and the sight of monks at an inn either shut men's mouths or opened them with rude jests. It was too late to return, and he strongly doubted that either his prioress or her aunt would approve of a secular disguise.

  He ground his teeth in frustration. Was he wasting his time tonight? He would certainly try to discover what was behind this haunting of the priory, but his real purpose was to find out anything he could about threats to the Amesbury Psalter. His prioress was troubled over Wulfstan's death, but she had no idea that the man was reputed to be a thief or at the very least had associated with robbers many years ago.

  When he told her about the conversation with Mistress Jhone and Master Herbert, he had omitted that bit of information. He understood her clever mind well. After all, he was forbidden to tell her of his mission, and he feared she might begin to ask too many questions if she knew this detail. Although it was unlikely she would conclude the Psalter was in peril or guess his involvement in its protection, he could not chance it. Her mind was capable of amazing leaps of logic, an observation he had had frequent opportunities to make during the last two years.

  Fortunately, Prioress Eleanor seemed most concerned that Wulfstan's death was being linked to the phantom and shared his own suspicion that the ghost was but a boy's sport, a mischievous act beginning to turn nasty. As for murder, she had forbidden him to pursue any such thread on the reasonable assumption that it was the sheriff's job to do so, despite the man's blatant disinclination to investigate much of anything.

  Thomas was grateful that Amesbury's sheriff had decided to go off hunting. This gave him time to look into any possible relationship between the murder and this manuscript theft. It troubled him that he would be disobeying his prioress. Had he been able to explain what he had been sent to do, she might well have approved and aided him in his task. Once again, he cursed his spy master for refusing to inform her of his role for the Church.

  Even if he resolved the ghost issue tonight, Thomas decided he must keep this knowledge to himself, at least for a short while. If he claimed that someone, who might know the facts about the jape, would be at the inn the next evening-or even the next-he could provide reason for being outside the priory again if need be. The deceit would be innocent enough, but he did hate lying to Prioress Eleanor, whom he held in such high regard.

  Thomas spat. He could do little as he willed in this matter. Had he been able to choose what action to take first, he would not be on the way to the inn. He would be visiting Jhone for answers to some questions without the presence of Herbert, a man he strongly disliked.

  A loud splash startled Thomas, and he stopped by the side of the bridge to peer into the darkness. Had a dead limb from some winter-damaged tree fallen into the river, or was the cause something more sinister
? Seeing nothing, he shuddered and continued on.

  Of course he did not trust the man. Herbert was of the prosperous merchant class, a greedy lot as far as the monk was concerned, demanding prompt payment of debts from those for whom coin was scarce. No student or poor clerk liked them, and Thomas had been both. As far as he was concerned, the fellow would say anything to make a profit. When Herbert mentioned the ghost, Thomas could not imagine what gain a wandering spirit might bring, but he would not dismiss his belief that there might be something.

  His strongest reason for disliking the tradesman was the indisputable fact that he had bested Thomas in their battle of wills. His honor had been befouled, and he was disinclined to let that pass. "I should turn the other cheek as a monk with a true calling would," he muttered aloud, "but I likely shall not and, without question, not tonight."

  He was falling into a black mood and disinclined to benevolence. Satisfying his pride must wait, of course, until he had pleased his masters in the Church, but he would make sure the eventual restitution would be even sweeter for the delay. In the meantime, he had been granted freedom by Sister Beatrice that allowed him to look into the Psalter theft. For that he would have to be grateful even if he was annoyed by the restrictions placed on him.

  He shrugged his shoulders. He would make the best of the situation, discovering what he could. If he listened with discretion, he might still hear something of use. Maybe he would learn more from ale-loosened village tongues in gossip as the night wore on than from anything Mistress Jhone might tell him. After all, the shock of seeing her brother-in-law's headless corpse was surely cause enough for horror. The merchant's snide comments aside, Thomas had no wish to increase the poor woman's pain.

  Deep in thought, the monk arrived at the village side of the river and headed toward the inn. Suddenly a movement caught his attention, and he paused to peer into the shifting patches of shadow.

  Two men emerged from a gloomy lane just in front of him. One he did not recognize, but the other he most certainly did.

  Keeping a safe distance, he slowly followed.

  The men leaned toward each other in earnest but whispered conversation before stopping some yards away from the inn door.

  Thomas slipped into the darkness between two houses.

  "It would not be wise if we were seen together," he heard Sayer say to the plump young man beside him.

  "Aye, you have the right of that. This matter is too important to have anyone suspect we are in it together. Yet are you sure…?"

  "I am your man on this and shall not fail you, but let us not seem friendly or be seen to speak together in public."

  "Aye. Go into the inn, although I shall follow in a while and find myself a quiet corner. This talk of plots and plans has made me thirsty." He put something into Sayer's hand. "Something for your thirst as well, my friend."

  As the roofer opened the inn door, enough light fell on the other man's face for Thomas to note his features well.

  A merchant by his dress, the monk thought. If this one had some guilty secret he wanted no one else in the village to discover, he might welcome the distracting company of a stranger. Were Thomas particularly fortunate, the man might even find some comfort for his troubled soul in talking to a man of God.

  Chapter Twelve

  A spotty-faced serving woman gaped when Thomas walked in, licked her lips, and tossed her head in the direction of the rooms upstairs. He lowered his gaze and inched into the mass of sweating men.

  One burgundy-cheeked fellow, a wooden tankard of brown ale in hand, stared pointedly at the monk's tonsure, poked him in the ribs, and made a lewd gesture. Feeling his face turn hot, Thomas transformed his blush of outrage into an expression of sheepish unworldliness. The man snorted but let the monk edge by.

  If God were willing to grant him just a little grace, Thomas thought, He would lead him to the plump merchant and keep him away from Sayer. If He were truly merciful, He would let him get answers to his questions and allow him to escape this place before he broke some lout's jaw.

  When he had at last untangled himself from the milling crowd, Thomas found himself in a comparatively quiet corner of the hostel. At a small table, next to a large pitcher of wine, sat the round young man with dimpled pink face.

  He was in luck.

  The man rested his cup against his lips as if interrupted by a thought in the act of drinking. Something heavy crashed overhead and he blinked, raising his pale brown eyes and studying the ceiling, fearing perhaps that those carousing above might fall into his lap.

  Thomas smiled. "May I join you in what passes for solitude in this worldly place?"

  The young man's eyes came to rest on the monk's tonsure. "You are new to the area, Brother?"

  "Aye," Thomas replied, happy to answer this one question with truthfulness.

  "There is the priory of Amesbury across the river. You would find more congenial company there." He examined the monk with some curiosity. "Your habit is not one commonly seen on the king's roads. Is your Order…?"

  "…that of Fontevraud. In truth, I knew about the priory, since I bring a message of greeting from another daughter house, but my journey has been long. The hour is now late, and I fear the gates have been closed." Thomas looked around him with wide-eyed amazement. "I thought I might clear the travel dust from my throat before I found a stable in which to sleep, but I have long been out of the world. I had no idea that this inn would be so…"

  "Popular?" The man's laugh was merry and utterly devoid of ridicule. "Forgive my discourtesy, Brother." He gestured to a seat opposite him. "I am Bernard of Amesbury, a glover in this town. Will you join me in some wine?"

  Although this Bernard was as sober as he had looked, he turned out to be a most sociable man, much inclined to talk as he poured Thomas a generous cup of wine. The stout fellow might be a merchant, but Thomas warmed to him as he sat back and listened to the glover tell him about Amesbury and its unusual environs. With more drink, he thought, the man's tongue would surely loosen, and he could pose some questions.

  "There is a great stone circle not far away. If you came to Amesbury by the western road, surely you saw it."

  Thomas shrugged. It was just as well, he decided, to remain vague about his journey. Even though they had traveled from the east, he had heard talk of this circle on the way. "The sun was setting, and our party was hurrying to reach the village before dark. I noted it but little. A strange pile of huge rocks?"

  "Perhaps you were wise not to tarry, for many believe it a haunt of Satan and his minions. The plain on which it sits is bleak enough for hellish things, and there are always robbers to beset lone travelers even if the Devil is not about."

  "Robbers, imps, or both? What is your opinion?" Thomas carefully sipped his drink and was surprised to find that the wine was a pleasant one. He hoped he was not sampling Master Herbert's wares.

  "Lawless men are everywhere in England, Brother, but I cannot believe the stones shelter imps." Bernard shut his eyes and smiled as if falling into a pleasant dream. "It is a wondrous place. Sometimes I have imagined that a knight of the Round Table raised it as a monument after King Arthur's death on Salisbury Plain, or else Brutus of Troy came here, hoping to rebuild the city of his father. When the days are at their longest, I ride out to watch the light playing amongst the stones and how the shadows dance. I feel no fear, even when I walk to the center. Instead, there is only profound silence, one that is as calming as if God had blessed the place. I doubt any evil lives there." He laughed, dimples plunging deep into his cheeks. "I burden you with my fanciful thoughts and beg pardon!"

  "Nay, Master Bernard, do not apologize, but please forgive me if I ask this: do you write verse? Singing well-turned phrases at court might serve both you and your gloves well!" Thomas grinned with genuine pleasantry. "I have heard that King Henry and his queen happily part with coin and gifts for finely crafted art. Business might come your way as well."

  Bernard quickly sang the one English line fro
m Dou Way Robyn. His voice grated like a saw on metal. "That may prove my lack of talent in the art of music, Brother. In truth, one of my neighbors has forbidden me to sing, lest my voice hurt the ears of his pigs. He claims the sows would miscarry should they hear me."

  "Surely your neighbor jests."

  "He is my sister's husband."

  Thomas laughed and took another appreciative sip of the wine. "Your stone circle does intrigue me. If there are no imps in residence, our party had only lawless men to fear. We must have been most fortunate to avoid them."

  "They do not bother large or armed groups, nor those from our village. I suspect they are local men." The glover's expression soured. "Were there not some honor amongst them, we would be severely troubled. Our sheriff fancies boar chasing more than he does the pursuit of men who break the king's law."

  Thomas raised an eyebrow. "A corrupt sheriff?"

  "Nay. A lazy one."

  The monk fell silent as he pretended to drink. Since he had gained little from the discussion so far, he had to turn the discussion into another path. "Your priory here is famous in our Order. Was it not founded by a Saxon queen who murdered her stepson and sought forgiveness for her sin?"

  Bernard brightened. "Queen Elfrida. She died not long before King William came from Normandy, yet many claim the site is far older than that. Others in England may say that Queen Guinevere died elsewhere, but we in Amesbury insist it was here. After all, it would have been fitting that she live her last days in penance near the place Mordred slew the king she wronged."

  "For cert! The presence of such an ancient place of faith should be the reason the village is little disturbed by evil, even if your sheriff is lax. The prayers of so many monks and nuns would surely save you from all demons."

  As the monk had hoped, Bernard's expression turned gloomy. "One would think so, yet a strange spirit now troubles us."

  Thomas leaned back, gazing at the glover with expectant curiosity.