But, as he approached a wooded bend in the road, he heard an eerie squeaking as if a door was swinging open and shut.
When he rounded the bend, he saw the cause.
Bardolph, the hangman, was swinging back and forth in the wind, hanged from his own gallows.
The watchman screamed.
Chapter Seventeen
“She looks like a small angel.” Eleanor gazed down at the tiny face in the crib.
Little Alienor was smiling in her sleep.
“Not when she’s hungry or wet,” Elizabeth replied. “It is then we all become quite aware that she has a will of iron.”
“Just like her aunt.” Standing next to his sister, Robert winked mischievously at her.
Eleanor affectionately tapped her brother’s shoulder and went over to her sister-in-law. “How are you feeling?”
“Weak but otherwise well enough. God was kind to hold back the birth of our daughter until we arrived here. I might have had the babe in the forest,” she said, “and who knows what imps dance there to add even greater danger to the birthing of a new soul into God’s world?”
“I have delivered babes in harsher circumstances.” Sister Anne turned from where she was preparing a drink. She passed the mazer to her patient. “It is time for your steeped mint and nettle drink.”
“Ugh,” Elizabeth replied, but her expression betrayed her good humor and she drained it readily enough.
In passing the cup, Sister Anne casually touched the woman’s forehead, hesitated, and looked at her more closely. “Do you need another cover? I wondered if you were cold.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I feel a little warm.”
“I will come back, but I think I have another medicine that may help you heal faster.”
Eleanor watched her sub-infirmarian leave and had noted her expression. It was a brief shadow passing over her face, and she hoped her brother had not seen it. Perhaps there was nothing to fear. Sister Anne was always cautious and very knowledgeable, which is why she was so successful in the healing arts. Nonetheless, the prioress felt a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature of the day.
A servant slipped through the curtains and came over to the prioress. “Forgive me, my lady, but Abbot Gerald has arrived and begs a word.”
“The man’s a buzzing fly,” Robert grumbled.
Sighing, Eleanor turned to follow the servant. “He most likely wants to know what progress we have made on the ghost.”
“Since he could not solve the problem, and put all burden on you, he should leave you in peace until you have settled the matter in your own good time.”
“He has cause to worry, Robert. This is not as simple as it first seemed.”
He tilted his head. “Not a ghost then? Perhaps this should be placed before Sir William. He is sheriff here.”
“Whether or not there is a ghost remains a question. The priest most likely died a natural death, yet a man who was hanged not long ago was seen by his side. The witness, with whom Brother Thomas talked, swears he saw this Hywel. Others have apparently claimed seeing the hanged man since the priest’s death as well. We are trying to find out what happened and what has actually been seen. In that, we have lacked success, although I have not yet conferred with Brother Thomas, who spoke with several village merchants last night. He has been sleeping soundly, and I chose not to disturb him after a very long night.”
Robert shrugged his shoulders, then looked at his wife.
Elizabeth had fallen asleep.
He looked over at his sister and whispered, “Then go and content this abbot. The sooner done, the sooner he will leave us all in peace.”
* * *
Abbot Gerald clapped his hands with joy when Prioress Eleanor walked into the hall.
“I fear I have little enough to tell you,” she said, then saw a large roll resting on a nearby table. With a silent groan, she suspected what it was and the purpose of this special abbatial visit. “We believe Father Payn’s death was a natural one but remain troubled…”
“Oh, I have no doubt that you and Brother Thomas will solve this problem. What I came to speak with you about today is another issue entirely.”
Eleanor closed her eyes and prayed the abbot would have vanished by the time she opened them.
As she knew would be the case, she was profoundly disappointed.
The abbot now stood with the mysterious document in his hand. “I have here a remarkable work that will be of immeasurable benefit to our lord, King Edward.” He lifted the object heavenward.
“Indeed,” she said, regretting that courtesy demanded she listen to him.
“Allow me to explain a few important facts.” He took the stance of someone intending to enter into a long speech, feet spread and roll pressed to his heart.
Although she knew permission was not actually expected, Eleanor dutifully gave it.
“While my father came from a family who accompanied the Conqueror to this isle and fought valiantly by his side, my mother was Welsh.” His expression changed into one of stony gravity. “Some men, even those of good faith, question my loyalty. Yet I swear to you that I am unswervingly loyal to our king. My mother and her family were as well, despite their heritage.”
Eleanor nodded and prayed that God might be generous and grace the abbot with brevity.
“Although many say that my mixed birth can bring only sorrow, I have found the curse to be a blessing.” Once again, he lifted the roll. “In this hand, I hold a work, a rare gift to our king, that none of his subjects of pure English heritage could give him. It is…”
“May I see it?” Eleanor reached out her hand.
Offended at the interruption in his well-practiced plea, Gerald drew back and clutched the document as if her touch might set it on fire. “It would be of no value to you. It is written by me in the finest Latin…”
“A language I both speak and read,” she replied in the tongue under discussion.
The abbot’s mouth dropped open, and he almost let the precious document fall to the floor. “I did not know that you…” Further speech failed him.
“Few women do,” she conceded with a modest smile. “My aunt, Sister Beatrice of Amesbury Priory, raised and educated me in ways that would be of aid were I ever to lead a priory.”
“Sister Beatrice? She whose husband was…” He gulped in embarrassment.
Eleanor simply confirmed his guess. Her aunt had married a man of greater rank than any owned by her own family and produced fine sons before her husband died and she joined the Order of Fontevraud. After her retirement from the world, she spent her days teaching young girls many skills, some of which were controversial. Learning Latin was one.
Clearly not a man who could be deterred from his purpose for long, Gerald did not surrender the document. “Even knowing the language in which it is written, the subject is a difficult one to grasp. It would take anyone, unfamiliar with the subject, much time to read. Let me explain it to you!” His eyes brightened with anticipated pleasure.
Eleanor agreed. There was no point in arguing another petty issue. She had shocked him with her comfort in Latin. She would let him believe she was of lesser wit because of her sex.
“It is a well-argued treatise on how best to defeat the Welsh as well as a guide in how to rule them once they have been vanquished. Who better to know all this than I, a man who respects the Welsh for their strengths but knows their flaws equally well?”
As she listened to him go into detail, she realized that his suggestions might actually have merit. His mixed ancestry had most likely been a reason he had never advanced in Church hierarchy, and she could understand his frustration when he saw lesser men lifted in rank above him. Despite his insistence that she resolve this question of cursed souls returning to kill mortals, the abbot was not lacking in intelligence, competence, or knowledge.<
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Eleanor held out her hand. “Let me have the roll, Abbot Gerald.”
He actually blushed. “You will make sure the king sees it?”
“I cannot promise that. King Edward is in the middle of a troubling war. Although his eventual victory is in no doubt, both you and I know he has little time to concentrate on other matters now.”
He opened his mouth.
She raised her hand. “As for giving this to my brother, Baron Hugh, I am sure you understand that he is no more at liberty to appreciate and enjoy the subtle strengths of your logic than the king at whose side he fights.”
He looked devastated. “Then of what use is it if you take the work from me?”
“So that I may hold it until such time as my brother can consider your ideas and decide whether he thinks it merits a king’s time to consider.”
“That is little enough of a promise. I must be able to present my arguments to your brother so he is able to grasp the full importance and value.”
She lost patience. “My brother is a man of wit and perception, Abbot Gerald. I can assure you that he will give your work to a learned monk who will translate it for him and answer any questions…”
“Translate? Explain? The former takes time, and no simple monk could possible grasp the sophistication of it by reading.” He snorted. “I would be wiser to take it directly to King Edward and present it myself!”
“If you attempted to do this, there would be no guarantee that you would get an audience. If you did, you cannot be certain the king would agree to hear you explain all of it in sufficient detail.”
He stared at her.
“I shall therefore promise you one more thing. I will ask Brother Thomas to read your work as soon as possible. He is a thoughtful man, thoroughly educated in Latin and Church law. As a devoted student of Aquinas, he is well able to understand subtlety and will present your work to my brother in a manner I believe you would find acceptable. If my brother agrees that the king would benefit from your work, nay even consider it, Brother Thomas will do all he can to assist.”
Recognizing defeat, the abbot only hesitated a moment before agreeing to her proposal. He even did so with grace, although his eyes were moister than usual.
“For now, Brother Thomas and I must concentrate all our wits and faith in solving this problem of the damned soul returned from Hell. Once that is done, we will work equally hard to gain a hearing for your work, which, from what you have told me, is thoughtfully done and observes the demands of our faith for compassion to the conquered.”
He bowed his head. “You are right to take one step at a time. The malign spirit haunts our village.” Then he looked down at his roll and hugged it as if it were a small child who had skinned his knee and needed comfort. “I shall keep it for a while longer and read it again,” he murmured. “Perhaps I can refine my arguments further.”
Oddly touched, Eleanor assured him that his gift was not being rejected, only set aside until a more auspicious moment.
With luck, she thought, I may even have time to read enough of it to decide if it is truly worthy of Brother Thomas’ efforts and a king’s eye or whether I must find another excuse for delay.
Abbot Gerald took his leave with the sad grace of a man who believed he had been rejected as he always had been.
Watching him walk out, Eleanor felt pity for him. Had his mother been of the same ancestry as his father, he might well have been a bishop by now.
Then she turned to the servant who had remained in the hall with her and asked her to summon Sister Anne and send a man to awaken Brother Thomas. She could not delay hearing what he had learned any longer.
Chapter Eighteen
Prioress Eleanor and Sister Anne had just finished discussing observations from their meeting with Sir William and his wife when Brother Thomas arrived.
When the prioress turned, a smile on her face, she froze when she saw the monk.
Thomas had always been a fastidious man. Today he looked and reeked like a man who lived in taverns and disregarded the usual practice of washing away the stench of mortal clay that monks and nuns were wont to do. He stank of sour sweat, ale gone bad, and his eyes were an angry red.
Eleanor hoped the information Thomas had gotten at the inn last night was worth what he was clearly suffering. Her heart ached with concern, but she found that her mind was less compassionate. Her smile forgotten, she looked up at him with a mildly censorious expression and waited.
Thomas hesitated, looking at his prioress with a vague expression as if he had no idea where he was or why. Rubbing his eyes, he cleared his throat. His eyes slowly focused, and he said, in a speech made husky by the smoky fire in the inn, “I learned little enough last night, my lady, for the grievous sins I committed.”
Eleanor melted in sympathy. “I asked you to get information from residents of the village. I knew you were going to the inn. If you drank too much for a man vowed to God, I have no doubt you did so with cause.” She knew she could no longer be severe with him, and her voice softened. “Confess when you get back to Tyndal, Brother, but I must also admit to my confessor how I helped lead you astray.”
Instead of the expected calm response of gratitude before telling her what he had learned, he suddenly knelt and bowed his head to the floor. “I spent the rest of the night in the abbey chapel praying and wrestling with demons. When the sun rose, I left for my cot, knowing that forgiveness was impossible.” Raising his head, he let his tears flow as he gasped in sobs. “My lady,” he groaned, “I am a monster most loathed by God.”
Horrified, Eleanor instinctively reached out to touch him in comfort, and then quickly drew her hand back. That was not a gesture she was permitted to make.
What had happened last night? He should not be this devastated by a rare overindulgence in ale, especially when any penance would be mild under the circumstances. He had always been a monk of moderate habits and pleasant manner, although she knew he had had long periods when melancholy owned his soul. Of late, he had grown unusually silent again, a sign she feared meant that he was suffering the darkness. Yet he had always fought against it. Why had he succumbed now?
She glanced at Sister Anne, but the sub-infirmarian’s expression suggested she was as confused and shocked as her prioress.
One thought did occur to Eleanor, one that first struck her with dismay and then with a burning jealousy born of her own sins.
In his drunkenness, had he lain with a woman?
Eleanor felt her face grow hot and hoped that Sister Anne had not seen her reaction. Her friend was far too observant not to wonder and even correctly conclude the reason for her flushed cheeks. Looking away, she tried to stifle her selfish and wicked envy and argue against her fear.
Never once had her monk been accused of breaking his sacred vow of chastity. Several women had remarked that his virtue was saintly. In the many years she had known him, he had worn that vow like a comfortable robe. This was not a man who was likely to so easily break a vow, one he had steadfastly honored, because of one night of drunkenness.
She took a deep breath and felt her distress and hot jealousy fade. “Brother, rise…”
“My lady!” A servant, her face deadly pale, stood in the doorway to the hall.
The distress in her voice startled the two women and caused Brother Thomas to sit back and wipe the tears from his face.
“Are my sister-in-law and babe well?” Eleanor’s voice trembled with a far greater concern than a monk drinking too much.
“They are, my lady. Forgive me for entering without permission.”
“It is of no moment,” Eleanor replied. “But what message do you bring?”
“The sheriff has sent his servant and begs that you return with the man forthwith. Sir William says that the matter is urgent, cannot be set aside, and requires your immediate attention.”
Chapter Nine
teen
The sheriff thanked Prioress Eleanor for answering his summons so quickly.
Eleanor noticed that he lacked his previous choler and arrogance. In fact, she concluded with some surprise, his sweat smelled distinctly of fear.
“Bardolph, our hangman, has been found dead,” Sir William said, then turned a greenish pale as if he were about to vomit.
The man standing at his side clapped him on his shoulder. “He was hanged on his own gallows,” he said in an oddly buoyant tone.
“My brother, Rainold,” Sir William muttered as he gestured vaguely and turned away to regain his composure.
“Let me tell the story,” the younger man said. “I know it best.” He raised his hand and motioned to a servant just behind him for more wine.
Prioress Eleanor had already refused refreshment for the three of them, noting with relief that Brother Thomas had looked horrified at the offer.
Rainold waited for the servant to pour wine into his cup, sipped his drink, and savored the taste for a very long moment.
Feeling a sharp sting of impatience, Eleanor cleared her throat.
Rainold blinked as if he had just realized this might not be the time to muse on the quality of his brother’s wine cellar. Rather than immediately getting to the tale, however, he grinned and waved his raised cup as if inviting her to join in a playful moment.
“You found the body?” Eleanor’s tolerance had been tried enough that day. She didn’t need this childishness.
Rainold put his cup down. “Bardolph was found by the watchman last night when he was finishing his rounds. He immediately informed me.” He made a face. “Well, he intended to awaken my brother, but he saw me about to enter the house. I urged him to tell me instead, hoping any investigation of the crime could wait until the morning.” He again took time to drink. “Why not let my brother continue to sleep? I was already awake, having enjoyed a meal and a pleasant evening with a friend. Does his name matter?”
The Twice-Hanged Man Page 9