Justice for the Damned mm-4

by Priscilla Royal

  "Did Master Woolmonger perhaps deny that his nephew was the seducer?"

  Bernard shook his head.

  How very odd this matter is, Eleanor thought. "Were you well-acquainted with Mistress Eda?"

  "As well as I knew most of my mother's friends, although the vintner's wife was younger by some years. My mother praised her faith and sweet temper, saying she wished her own daughters would follow Mistress Eda's example. All who knew the lady respected her charity and honesty."

  Eleanor had listened to his words most carefully. They did not suggest any untoward passion between the glover and Eda. "Perhaps she was innocent of adultery, but what of Sayer? Might he have tried to bed her and been refused?"

  Bernard opened his mouth.

  "Do not claim improbable ignorance of the man as you did before." The prioress lowered her voice. "Is he not Alys' cousin?"

  The glover coughed as if he had swallowed wrong. "Did I say I knew him not? Although I am not well acquainted with her cousin, Alys has vouched for his gentle and honorable treatment of women. I myself have no direct knowledge that would contradict her opinion," he added quickly.

  "A man who treats women with honor-except tavern wenches. Those he sends to tempt weak-fleshed monks," Eleanor countered.

  "Of these rumors I should not speak, my lady," he stammered, "but I shall confirm that Mistress Eda was not capable of being a faithless wife. She was most devout."

  "A pious woman who committed self-murder?"

  "I may be one of the few who disbelieved that tale, but I am not alone. Even those who said she must have committed the sin were sympathetic and believed the agony of her illness brought such deep despair that her many hours of prayer could not daunt it. Despite his story of adultery, her husband defended his dead wife, claiming she had fallen into the river and died by accident. He was quite distraught when her body was condemned to burial in unsanctified ground."

  "How could he have grieved so if he thought she had crowned his head with a cuckold's horns?"

  "Maybe he was a most forgiving spouse."

  "Was the woolmonger such a close friend that Master Herbert might confess this humiliation to him?"

  "My lady, I know not all that transpired between the two men. I have often seen them together, and did overhear that one discussion, but it is not my custom to listen to private talks." The glover was showing signs of an uneasy impatience.

  "Forgive my curiosity, Master Glover. I shall ask no more about that." Indeed, she added to herself, I doubt you will tell me more anyway.

  The color in the young merchant's face quickly faded to a more natural pink.

  "More to your concerns, I fear you have little hope of gaining Alys' hand if you have neither coin nor the blessing of a dead husband."

  Bernard sighed. "I do not mean to wrong Mistress Jhone. She most truly loves her daughter and only wants the best for her as is right. Had my father died, leaving me more wealth than hope, I might still be able to persuade her to grant our wish for marriage, despite her dead husband's plan. Master Herbert demonstrates his prosperity daily by his dress and most public generosity in alms. In comparison, I am a poor man. My brother and I support our mother, and I confess we both do what we can to help her recover some joy in life. To that purpose, we spend our spare coin on things to delight her heart, for her grief at my father's death has been most profound."

  Eleanor's heart sank. She had hoped to dismiss the possibility that the theft and sale of a manuscript might be this young man's way of finding the coin to buy his love. Reluctantly, she put Bernard Glover back on her list of suspects.

  Chapter Thirty

  A man flew backward through the inn door, hitting Thomas with such force that he landed on his back in the dust of the road.

  "Satan's black balls!" the stranger roared. Struggling to his knees, he gagged and spat out teeth.

  Thomas grabbed at the man's arm. "Are you not injured enough? Go home," he urged.

  "Nay, monk, he must stay. He is still alive," a familiar voice scoffed.

  Thomas looked up at Sayer. From the high color of the roofer's face, he guessed the fellow was drunk.

  With another oath, the unknown man rose and took to his heels down the street. When he was a safe distance away, he stopped to yell further abuse before quickly disappearing around a cart.

  The roofer helped the monk up. "Are you hurt, Brother?"

  As he grasped Sayer's proffered hand, Thomas felt a dampness and saw a rivulet of blood trickling over the man's fingers. "You are bleeding," he said. "Was the fight worth that?"

  "Spoken like a monk," the man replied, but his tone was gentle.

  "I will buy you a drink. There are some questions I have for you.

  Sayer stiffened and dropped Thomas' hand. "Like a dog you are, sniffing about so eagerly." Then his mouth twitched into a lopsided grin. "But I would be foolish to turn down the offer of ale from a monk with coin to buy it. That is such a rare wonder I will save the story to amaze my grandchildren when I am too old to keep their respect otherwise!"

  Directing Sayer to a quiet table, Thomas gently shoved the roofer onto the bench and slid in so close to him that the man was pushed against the wall where he could not escape. The monk gestured for a serving wench to bring ale.

  "Why did you and your father quarrel?" he asked when it arrived.

  "That was between my father and me."

  "There are those who say you, not some ghost, killed your father."

  Sayer pointed to the inn door. "You saw the last man who suggested that to me, but I would not strike a monk. I earn bread for my mother and kin from the priory."

  "I did not say you had done the deed, only that others have claimed it. My curiosity is not idle, nor do I accuse. I ask only for the truth. Do you not think the priory that gives you work has the right to know? If you do not answer me, another may well demand it and with less kindness."

  "Two pitchers are on your bill." The young man tossed back his ale and poured again. For a moment, he said nothing, then looked at Thomas with unfocused eyes. "My father did not approve of some of my ways," he slurred. "Is that enough for you?"

  "Was that disapproval reason enough for you to threaten murder?"

  "Ask yourself why I would kill him. Might I not prefer to find a wife and start my own family rather than support my mother and my siblings?"

  "Yet you were heard to say…"

  Sayer shrugged with evident annoyance. "I no longer recall the exact cause of our fight. He was drunk as was I, a condition that offers sweet forgetfulness after days filled with the questionable joys of unrelenting soberness."

  "Had he enemies?"

  "All men do."

  "I grow impatient with evasion. You know well enough what I mean, and, if you are innocent, you would serve your cause better by speaking the truth."

  Sayer rubbed at his eyes. "Although I accused the ghost after seeing my father's corpse, no such creature had any cause to harm him. Queen Elfrida would not have cared what my father did as long as his labor provided her monks with enough food to sustain their prayers on her behalf. At that he worked hard, although he sometimes spoke ill of the priory's religious when his back ached."

  Thomas nodded.

  "As for Mistress Eda's spirit, my father agreed with my mother that she was wrongly accused, thus her phantom had no reason to harm him. The vintner's wife was honest and caring in life. Even after suffering the agonies of the damned, her soul would be incapable of murdering anyone so foully."

  "You loved her?"

  "Even rogues may honor goodness."

  "There are tales abroad that you bedded her."

  "You say such a story is about?" Sayer's face darkened with anger. "A fool told that lie, Brother, and a greater one believes it."

  "Then I must ask again about old enemies. Did your father have them, perhaps from the days when he performed service to men who broke the king's law?"

  Sayer gave the monk a meaningful look as he poured the remain
ing ale into his mug.

  Thomas waved for more drink.

  With a thud, the serving wench set another jug down on the table.

  "There is no truth…"

  Thomas growled a warning.

  Sayer drank deeply, poured, and drank again. "I knew the stories well enough from others, but my father never spoke of those times. Most of the men either died long ago or else returned to more lawful pursuits, as did he." The roofer fell silent.

  Compassion battled against suspicion inside Thomas' heart as he watched Sayer clutching his cup like a shipwrecked sailor holding onto a floating spar. "Why did you two fight?" he asked at last, his voice soft. "You remember well enough. Do not feign addled wits with me and claim your reason has grown rotten with ale. Your words have been too quick."

  Sayer looked up at the ceiling, his mouth quivering with barely controlled grief. "Brother, ask not why we fought." His voice hoarsened with tears. "This I do swear to you on any holy relic: I did not kill my father. My soul may be so black that even God in His mercy would turn His countenance away, but I loved the man who sired me!" With that, Sayer began to weep.

  Thomas reached out to touch the man with a gesture of sympathy but his hand froze. Instead, he quickly slid from the bench and found a serving wench. "Here is coin," he said, gesturing back at the roofer. "Make sure he has what he wants to drink, plus food and a bed for the night, should he need either."

  The agony he had seen in Sayer's eyes was an emotion he himself had hoped to set aside one day. Now he doubted he ever could. Filled with his own confused fears and sorrows, Thomas hurried from the inn.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  "Prioress Eleanor! What a pleasant surprise to chance upon you here." Master Herbert bowed with grace. "Are you on your way to visit Mistress Jhone and her daughter?"

  "I am returning to the priory," she replied, praying that her tone concealed the dismay she felt at this meeting. After the recent discussion with Wulfstan's widow, then Master Bernard, she longed to return in time for the soothing prayers of the next Office.

  "I fear that you think ill of me," the vintner said, blocking her path.

  Eleanor cast a covert glance at the sun and then heard the bells. Even if she left now, she would be late for prayer. Maybe God had sent the vintner to speak with her and He would bring her that understanding later when she knelt alone in her chambers. With a quiet sigh, she surrendered to the circumstances and inclined her head with an encouraging gesture toward the merchant.

  He smiled. "I do understand why Alys might prefer a tender boy to this man with hints of hoarfrost on his brow…"

  Silver-headed was not a word anyone would use to describe this still dark-haired and well-favored merchant, Eleanor thought, and she found that unsubtle plea to affirm his manhood mildly offensive. Swallowing her irritation, she gestured sympathetically.

  "… but I had hoped to win her over in time. Such a union is in both our interests, and I am not so aged that she would have any reason to complain of me."

  "You do not long for the lady herself?" The prioress shaded her question with the tone of one who understands the merits of mutually profitable marriages.

  "It would be rude of me to suggest I fancied only her dead father's business." He stroked the thick nap on his robe. "A business I need not, but one I am most willing to take on for a wife able to bear sons. Of course, I do find her most comely."

  Eleanor looked at him askance. "A woman worth bedding, but will you treat her kindly even if she does not bear those sons?"

  To his credit, the vintner looked abashed. "My lady, I would never treat her ill."

  "Would your first wife have agreed?"

  Herbert's brow furrowed deeply. "Who has accused me of cruelty?"

  Eleanor shook her head. Although the vintner clearly expected her to continue, Eleanor remained silent, hoping he would feel obliged to say more himself.

  "I am confused by your question, my lady. My wife was a most pious woman, and we bedded only for sons. It was our share of earthly grief that none lived, but I treated her with respect as a man should his wife and did my best to persuade the crowner that she died by accidental drowning. No woman who spent so many hours in prayer would have killed herself." He shrugged. "Do these actions point to a thoughtless husband?"

  How very strange, Eleanor thought. Once again she was faced with a man who tells another that his wife cuckolded him, then shows forgiveness by arguing against any verdict of self-murder. Although she should have respected him for his Christian charity, she felt oddly uncomfortable with it.

  "You testified at the hearing?" she asked.

  "Grief tried to keep me away, but I spoke on her behalf most passionately."

  Herbert's story of Eda's piety and his defense of her manner of dying certainly matched that of the glover. Even if she heard a hint in the vintner's words that he might have preferred a more eager bed partner than he found in Eda, she detected nothing that fostered suspicion that he had been harsh to her. Alys' fears seemed to have less and less basis.

  Herbert suddenly looked over Eleanor's head, his widening smile one of peculiar delight. "Is that not your monk, my lady?"

  Eleanor spun around. Rushing toward them, from the direction of the inn, was Brother Thomas.

  When Eleanor greeted him, Thomas did not know whether he should feel gratitude for the interruption to his grim mood or dismay at the sight of the fine-looking merchant standing so close to his prioress. He quickly dismissed both thoughts and replaced them with concern for Tyndal's honor. His prioress might know he had reason to be outside monastic walls, but her companion did not.

  "My lady," he said. "I am most pleased to see you. I have just returned from offering solace to Sayer as you requested."

  "At the inn?" The vintner's tone dripped with contempt.

  Thomas felt his body grow rigid with anger at the disapproval he saw in Herbert's eyes. He swallowed his sharp reply, but his throat burned with the effort. "I saw Sayer enter the inn and followed him there," Thomas said, folding his arms. "The son laments the death of his father."

  "And uses his sorrow as an excuse to grow into a sot from drink," Herbert snorted. "Yet I am sure the boy must grieve for a father who was murdered just after they quarreled. It would be an unnatural son who did not, although Sayer has always been a strange one." He shook his head. "Do not accuse me of being uncharitable, Brother, for I am not the only one in the village who thinks his soul does not praise God."

  "For what reason is he so maligned?" Thomas continued, his tone as icy as a northern wind.

  "Surely you would not ask me to repeat cruel gossip? If you spoke with him for any time, you must have seen the color of his soul for yourself." He bent his head toward the inn. "Satan finds joy in those who choose worldly indulgence over godly acts."

  Thomas clenched his hand into a fist, then pressed it behind his back to keep from striking the man down.

  Herbert smiled without humor. "Yet he may well have made peace with Wulfstan before the killing." He shrugged. "I would not know that."

  Eleanor, who had remained quite silent throughout, now turned to Thomas. "I am grateful you have performed the mercy I requested, but I believe Sister Beatrice has another service for you."

  The monk bowed. "I was just returning to the priory to seek her out, my lady." He suspected there was nothing the novice mistress wished him to do, but he guessed that his prioress had read his anger well. In any event, he was grateful to escape this offensive vintner.

  As he walked away, and Eleanor resumed her conversation with Herbert, Thomas heard an uncharacteristic animation in her voice. The thought that his iron-willed and most virtuous prioress might be attracted to the dark-eyed merchant flitted briefly through his mind. The very idea made him uncomfortable, and he quickly turned his thoughts elsewhere.

  Perhaps he should visit Brother Jerome? Now that Brother Baeda was dead, the irascible monk had taken on the librarian's duties, including care of the Amesbury Psalter.
Time having somewhat faded the horror of murder, the witness might remember more about the killer he had seen.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Had Eleanor known about Thomas' momentary displeasure and the cause, her reaction might have been guilty delight mixed with surprised amusement. Herbert was an attractive man, even clever were she to be fair in judgement, but no imp would ever take on his form to torment her in dreams. Whatever charms this vintner might possess, they were not unflawed. He was an easy temptation to set aside.

  "Your words have touched this heart, my lady, and I have found merit in them," the vintner said as he shifted his gaze from the departing monk back to the prioress.

  "What frail logic have you transformed into something of value, Master Herbert?"

  "God has surely sent you to bend me to His will. You see, I have suddenly lost all desire to go abroad and think I would find comfort in remaining near my first wife's lonely grave. I would never step on cursed soil, but might not my presence and daily prayers give her tortured spirit some comfort even in Hell?"

  Souls in Hell were not granted ease, but Eleanor did not want to discourage the man from an act that might bring him respite from grief. "Yet you still wish to remarry?" she asked.

  "Aye, I do, weak of flesh that I am. I would surely die of burning if I did not find a wife." He flicked his hand toward the priory. "Unlike your young monk, I have no religious calling, and sons are needed if any business is to continue and prosper."

  "Have you new hope that Alys will accept you as husband?"

  He shook his head. "You spoke of kindness and thus persuaded me that further delay in this marriage is hurtful to all concerned. Until Alys is firmly pledged to me, she will persist with her dream that she may yet wed the glover. While I have tolerated a young girl's itch for a boy, I now understand that there is great danger in continuing to do so." His gaze was almost caressing as he looked down at Eleanor. "Women who stay in the world have led men to their damnation since Eve gave Adam the apple. Master Bernard would have to be a saint not to bed Alys if she continues to give him encouragement. No matter how much patience and compassion I might wish to show in this matter, I do require that my first born be of my seed. Is that not reasonable?"