“Has anyone come here asking for autumn crocus?” Gracia asked.
“Sister Christina,” Sister Oliva said, her voice hoarse. “But all know she is close to God. She would never harm that clerk!”
“Why did she ask for it?”
“Sister Anne had given her a few, carefully measured packets for our sub-prioress. Sister Christina was the only one who could get her to take it. After Sister Anne was arrested, the infirmarian ran out of her supply and came back for more. I could not give her any because I am not trained in this treatment, nor could anyone else.” The nun glanced back at the chest. “And because there was nothing we could do to help our infirmarian without Sister Anne’s help, I did not even look for the item in the chest.”
Gracia had been in the priory long enough to know that Sister Christina was too saintly to bring harm to anyone. Sub-Prioress Ruth, although known for her dislike of Prioress Eleanor, might own a murderous tongue, but she would never poison someone. “Fear not,” she said to the nun. “You are not to blame for this missing item. It will be found. I am confident of it.”
Indeed, it had been found, or at least some of it, in the dead clerk’s room, but this was not information Gracia believed she had any right to divulge. She asked no more questions, and let Sister Oliva finish the preparation for the anchoress.
Taking the packet she had allegedly come for, she thanked the still-troubled nun, hurried out of the apothecary, and found the anchoress’ servant praying alone in the chapel.
As they left the hospital, Gracia tried to think how she could question Sub-Prioress Ruth about her supplies of the gout remedy without offending her. Perhaps Prioress Eleanor would think it was wiser for another to do that. If need be, Gracia knew she could talk to Sister Christina.
Glancing at the packet in her hand, Gracia decided that her teeth still troubled her on occasion, and she would keep this cure for herself.
Chapter Fifteen
Brother Thomas paced up and down the path near the hospital, unable to dampen his anger. How dare that arrogant priest accuse Sister Anne of murder?
Proving her innocence should be simple, he thought with bitter sarcasm. All he had to do was find the hooded and unidentifiable messenger who had come for the remedy, and do so without offending Davoir, who seemed to dislike him anyway.
Thomas knew the elusive one could not be a lay brother or monk from the priory. He must be one of the clerks, slipped like a venomous snake into Tyndal by that accursed priest. Or, he thought, he was one of the soldiers who had accompanied the band of investigators here. If he found a man he suspected, he wondered how he could arrange a meeting between the suspect and Sister Anne with the hope she would recognize the voice if she heard it again.
“Brother!”
Thomas turned to see a gray-faced crowner behind him. “You have finally been summoned?” He had tried to keep his sour mood out of his tone but failed.
“Only after a miscarriage of justice and much reluctance by that priest.” Ralf threw his hands up in despair. “The man may have the unquestionable right to do as he wishes with those vowed to God on priory grounds, but I tried to argue on Sister Anne’s behalf, believing my long acquaintance with her was useful. He silenced me with a churlishness not even a confessed thief deserves.” Ralf swallowed a curse. “If God dared to disagree with him, I doubt this Davoir would even listen.”
Despite the crowner’s sharp words, Thomas thought Ralf looked both weary and distraught. “You have examined the body?” he quickly asked. His own anger fleeing in the face of his friend’s unease, the monk’s voice grew gentle.
“That I have, for all the good it did me. My conclusion is that the clerk, Jean, is dead.” He flashed a scornful smile. “Beyond that, I can say little with any certainty. He bears no stab wounds, signs of a crushed skull or garroting. Has he been murdered? I fear he has. That other fool of a clerk whimpered about convulsions and wild visions but claimed the lad never had a fever.”
“Was that the clerk called Renaud?”
Ralf nodded in disgust. “But, when I tried to question him further, all he did was blubber like my brother, Odo, when he was a boy and I yanked his hair.”
Thomas tried not to smile. Ralf’s ill-loved and second-oldest brother had since taken vows, become an abbot, and grown fat on the king’s frequent gifts of venison.
“I need Annie’s opinion just like I did when Martin Cooper was killed. Poison is not a weapon I know well, and that seems the most likely explanation for the death.”
“Jean had no enemies?”
“After I yelled at Renaud to stop whining, I asked. According to him, the clerk was the saintly beloved of this pest from your abbey. The worst Renaud could say about him was that he was unsure whether Jean was wrestling with a demon in bed, having visions from God, or was sick.” Ralf ran a hand under his nose, and then sneezed. “Don’t bless me, Brother. The Devil and I meet with such frequency over villainous deaths that we have become like kin.”
“You are not only a father once but soon to be twice. You need a blessing, Crowner.” And he gave him one to keep evil from filling the space left by the sneeze.
Now that his contempt of clerics was vented, Ralf sank into unhappy silence.
“You have learned from Davoir or his clerk about the accusations against Sister Anne?”
“From that vermin sent by your abbess. How could he be trusted to review anything when he is blind to all facts?” He spat. “I swear I saw ears on Davoir. If he owns them, why can he not hear when those with knowledge of Annie’s virtue speak so eloquently on her behalf?”
“I do not understand how he could insist on her arrest and confinement either. Father Etienne may have the authority to examine the state of Tyndal Priory, but Prioress Eleanor still rules here.”
Ralf hit the monk on the shoulder. “Have you not heard the rest of the foul news? This I learned from the sniveling clerk.”
The monk stared at him as if unable to comprehend that something even worse than the arrest of the sub-infirmarian could have happened.
“Davoir also threw suspicion on Prioress Eleanor regarding his clerk’s death. And do you know why?” His voice had risen to a shout.
The force of his friend’s outrage was so numbing, Thomas found he had lost the ability to ask for an explanation.
“That tonsured louse claims that our good prioress may have ordered Annie to kill the clerk.” His face flushed red, and he turned away. “The priest accused her of doing this to make him flee, lest he discover the truth about…”
“The purpose he was sent here? He finally said why this visit was ordered?”
“You and Prioress Eleanor have been accused of lying together in unholy lust.” Ralf could not face the monk as he said that. Instead, he stared back at the guest quarters as if willing them to spontaneously combust.
Thomas’ mouth dropped open.
Ralf spun around and shook his fist. “Swear you will defend yourself against this vile accusation!”
Thomas stared at him. “I have heard many lies, Ralf, but this is one of the most abominable. As for defense, I must rely on the strength of the truth. ”
“Who could have accused you both of such a thing?” Ralf laid a hand on his sword hilt. “Since your vows preclude you from doing violence, tell me the name. I shall render the justice due the lying fiend.” He lifted and dropped the sword back into its scabbard.
Thomas fell silent as he thought, then shook his head. “I do not know, Ralf. Our prioress owns great virtue and ably serves God. She feeds and clothes us all well. The poor are given food. The sick receive the finest care in England. The mill grinds the village grain at no profit. And, when she is not running this priory with an integrity and skill most men would envy, she brings murderers to justice. The reason for this condemnation is not based in any fault she owns. Someone has grown jealous of her virtues
.”
“She may run the priory with the aid of others, but it is you who stands by her side in matters of unlawful bloodshed. Someone hates you with equal fervor.”
“I do little enough, Crowner. It is she who leads me to the truth, just as she leads all at Tyndal to God. The insult is against her, not me.” Thomas shuddered. “Sinner though I may be, and God knows best what frailties I own, I am not guilty of lying with our prioress nor is she, virtuous woman that she is, guilty of breaking her vows with any man.”
Although he had once suspected her of suffering lust, he had also seen her battle with the evil spirit of desire until it fled and she saw the wicked heart the man possessed. For her valor and fortitude in that struggle, he respected her even more. He often told others in confession, that it was not the temptation God abhorred. It was the succumbing He loathed. As for his own sinning, he had surrendered only once to his greatest weakness. Yet it was an act he could not fully repent and one still debated with God.
“The accusation against you both remains unaddressed,” Ralf said, “and most probably will until this clerk’s death is solved. The resolution will be difficult. Annie is locked away. Prioress Eleanor cannot help prove her innocence. If she tries, she will be accused of tainting the evidence to protect herself. And you…”
Thomas felt ill. “And I am hobbled like a horse because I am accused of being our prioress’ lover.”
Ralf nodded. “Someone has been fiendishly clever. Those most able to solve this problem have been rendered impotent.”
“You are left to do it. Alone.” Thomas might be frustrated over his inability to act, but he had no doubt about his friend’s competence.
“I cannot do it all, Brother. Although I may investigate a suspicious death, I am treading on God’s earth at the priory. There are people I cannot question without a witness present. If Davoir chooses that person, the monk or nun might hesitate to give an honest statement out of fear of the priest’s retaliation. If I find the culprit, and he falls under God’s law, I cannot take that person into custody. Church justice outranks the king’s here, as does the final questioning. And it is hard to imagine that the killer slipped over the walls to administer a lethal dose of some poison to a clerk in the company of Father Etienne. I fear the man is one of yours, not mine.”
“You must still ask the priest questions.”
“Which he can refuse to answer because he denies my authority to do so. Not only is he vowed to God, he is the brother of your noble abbess, and he is the confessor to one of the French king’s brothers.”
“If nothing can be resolved quickly about the clerk’s death,” Thomas said, “the accusation against our prioress festers. Prioress Eleanor will not meekly submit to the injustice rendered against her. The matter will go to Rome.”
“And we may all be dead by the time Pope Nicholas III renders judgement. After the roof fell and killed his predecessor, he might be leery of making decisions without long consultations with God.” The crowner turned pale. “And my wife needs our Annie with her at the birth. Gytha is a brave woman, but this is her first babe. If anything goes wrong…”
“Has Sister Anne said there was any possibility of a problem?”
“Would she?” Ralf covered his face. “Remember the horrible birthing of that young mother when the Jews were almost murdered by the mob here?”
Thomas put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Not all women suffer so. If our sub-infirmarian is confident this late in Gytha’s pregnancy that all is well…”
“Women have died after being told they had no cause to fear the birth.” Ralf’s voice grew hoarse. “My first wife was given no grounds to doubt her survival. Sibley was born healthy, but my wife died a few days later. Gytha resides where my heart lives, Brother. Without Annie’s care, she might die and so shall I.”
Ralf turned his back on his friend, but Thomas saw the tears. “Then we must prove Sister Anne innocent and free her in time for the birthing.”
As he spun around, the crowner’s face was scarlet with rage. His fist clenched as if he longed to strike the monk, but he wilted in an instant and fell to his knees on the path. “Were Gytha to die, I will leave this world. I swear it.”
Thomas dragged his friend to his feet. “You would be a most troublesome monk, Crowner. And if you meant you would commit self-murder, I advise against it. Your wife, a good woman and a loving spouse, would be in Paradise while you spent an eternity far away from her in Hell for your crime. I suggest we set our minds to figuring out how to get across the moat the wicked and the fools have dug around us. We shall find the truth.”
Ralf glared at his friend, then burst out laughing. “You are right, monk. I have no calling for chastity or obedience, although poverty might suit me well enough. But should I fall into Hell, I think even God would pity Satan, for I would surely make the Devil as miserable as I.”
“I fear even I might feel some sympathy for the Prince of Darkness!” Thomas grinned, then took Ralf by the arm and whispered in his ear. “Let us consider our choices.” He looked around, but no one was close enough to hear.
“Do we have any?”
Someone called out to them. Looking up, they saw Gracia running toward them.
“Come!” she said, skidding to a stop and panting from the exertion. She looked over her shoulder, then lowered her voice. “Prioress Eleanor calls you both to attend her. She has something to discuss. But you must arrive without being seen, lest a wandering clerk report the meeting to a certain high-ranking guest. I see none on this path. Hurry!”
“If our prioress has joined our conspiracy, Crowner, I begin to hope,” Thomas said to Ralf.
As the trio hurried down the path to the prioress’ chambers, Ralf glanced back and saw Conan walking toward the guest quarters. Fearing the man had seen the three of them together, the crowner raised his hand in greeting as if he wished to tarry with the guard captain. In fact, he only hoped to distract Conan lest the man see Thomas walking toward Prioress Eleanor’s quarters.
But Conan ignored the gesture and continued on his way.
Chapter Sixteen
Gracia poured each of the men ale, and then offered warm bread and a white goat cheese.
The usually ravenous crowner glanced at the food and refused it.
”You have now heard everything Gracia has discovered from Sister Oliva,” Eleanor said.
Thomas smiled at the maid. “God gave you good wits,” he said, “and you apply them well.”
The girl flushed with pleasure. “It was my lady who thought to send me, Brother. If I have shrewdness, it is she who directed the use of it.”
Silent and melancholy, Ralf stared into his mazer.
“Something troubles you, old friend,” Eleanor said. “What is it?”
“I beg pardon, my lady. The moment I heard that Ann…” He glanced at Gracia and cleared his throat before rephrasing his concern. “Now that I know no one can identify the man sent to Sister Anne by the priest, it is hard to chase away my fears. As you know, I honor her and refuse to give up hope that she will be released. But that time seems even further off now, and my wife is near her term. Gytha must bear our firstborn in terrible pain without Sister Anne’s comfort and skill. I can only hope God listens to my wife’s prayers and shows mercy…”
“Sister Anne will attend your wife’s birth if I have to take our sub-infirmarian from that cell myself and stand guard outside the birth chamber like the cherubim at the gates of Eden.” Eleanor knew he was terrified for Gytha’s safety, a woman he cherished more than his own soul. Nor was Ralf the only one worried. Gytha had been her maid for several years before she married the crowner. The entire priory loved her, and the woman was as dear to the prioress as a younger sister.
Thomas watched his prioress’ hand form into a fist. Although she might otherwise tread carefully in this sensitive matter that could wound the t
ender pride of God’s anointed kings, Davoir and his army of clerks could not stop her from freeing Sister Anne when Gytha’s birth pains began. His spirits rose. Prioress Eleanor was no novice in the clash of wills and usually won the jousts.
“My lady, neither my wife nor I want to put the outcome of this ill-considered investigation, ordered by your abbess, at risk…” Tears trickled down the crowner’s cheeks. There were many in Tyndal village who would be shocked to see this often rough man weeping.
Eleanor shook her head. “Until Abbess Isabeau orders otherwise, Ralf, I rule this priory, not Father Etienne. I shall not allow the health and comfort of a new mother and her child to be set aside because one man has made a bad decision, one he shall soon rue. Sister Anne has been unjustly accused. She shall be at your wife’s side and bring both Gytha and the babe safely through their ordeals.”
“Your kindness is beyond measure,” Ralf murmured. “I shall reassure my wife.”
“And no matter what malicious lies have been spewed forth against us with unknown but foul intent, the God we serve at Tyndal Priory is loving and compassionate.” Eleanor’s face was white with fury. “He will vindicate the honor of us all, but the matter of Sister Anne’s innocence comes first.”
Thomas had rarely seen his prioress this angry or determined. “How to do so remains a mystery to me,” he said.
Ralf swallowed the last of his ale, and, his fears for his wife abated, he glanced at the food with renewed interest.
Gracia filled his cup and brought him the bread and cheese.
He thanked her with a smile.
“Neither you nor I can investigate without casting doubt on the validity of any evidence we find,” Thomas said to his prioress. “And Ralf’s authority here is limited.”
“You and I have always worked together in perfect accord, my lady, but Davoir will not allow me that freedom of consultation or investigation.” The crowner raised a fistful of food and then bit into his cheese.
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