A Killing Season (11 page)

Chapter Twenty-Two

Standing at her brother’s side, Eleanor rued all the lies she had told and must still utter. Some were deliberate falsehoods, others the easy failure to add details. She suspected these omissions of fact were the same as any other deception. Did the purpose ever cleanse the sin?

She shook her head, then glanced at her brother and hoped he did not see how confused and troubled she was. “Surely you have learned something more,” she said and instantly regretted her sharp tone. Knowing Hugh, she realized that he would have told her if he had and did not deserve a rebuke born of no cause but her frustration.

He clenched his fists, then cracked his knuckles.

She winced. “Never do that again in my presence! Such a reminder of the sound when bones and shoulders are set is loathsome.”

The knight stepped back and stared at his sister. “You are no longer the little girl I remember!” He bent and held his hand about knee level. “You have learned the voice of command, my lady.”

Eleanor knew he was trying to defuse the tension between them and was quite willing to allow it. With a forced laugh at his jest, she spun around and stared out of the window. “Oh, Hugh, what is happening here? Can you think of any reason for these deaths? Poor Umfrey!”

“If I did, I would not be standing here like that weak-kneed monk of yours.”

Eleanor hid her curiosity at the remark. Now was not the time to question it, and she chose instead to wait for what else he had to say.

He cleared his throat with a growl. “We may learn something soon. A servant arrived not long ago and asked for Master Gamel and the monk. When Baron Herbert heard of his son’s death, he called them to his chambers. I was not summoned.”

Surprised and perplexed in equal measure, she asked him for more detail.

“Then you knew nothing of this either?”

“After I finished speaking with the physician, I went to the chapel with Sister Anne to pray for Umfrey’s soul. She and I discussed the need to comfort Lady Margaret, then my sub-infirmarian left to wait upon that bereaved mother. I sought you. I have not seen Brother Thomas or Master Gamel since I left him.”

Hugh scowled.

Although the prioress understood her brother’s annoyance at being denied a place in the meeting with Herbert, she had greater hope that the baron might finally cast light on why these murders had occurred. Her plan to force the killer’s hand might have yielded early fruit.

For so many reasons, she hoped the baron was not guilty of these crimes, but, until she knew more, she dared not discount Umfrey’s reported accusation. It had been very difficult to keep her brother ignorant of this son’s survival. Secrecy was one matter, but loyalty was another. Even though Hugh would share her horror at the possibility of filicide, Baron Herbert was his friend. She did not know the full extent of her brother’s devotion to his battlefield commander.

He grunted. “Baron Herbert should have asked for you. On your behalf, I am offended that he chose the company of an ordinary monk over that of an esteemed prioress.”

For a moment, Eleanor considered the tone of those words and concluded his meaning had little to do with concern over the difference in rank between a prioress and one of her religious. “He is a priest. When any mortal requires such a servant of God, there is no affront to my honor.” In silence, she studied her restless sibling. “Has Brother Thomas offended you, Hugh? As his prioress, I must know of any insult.”

He shook his head.

Eleanor’s first suspicion was that her brother knew of Thomas’ former work as a Church spy. If so, he might not wish to speak of it, fearing she was ignorant of the monk’s dual loyalties. He would still be angry at the trickery and might wish to resolve the matter without alerting her to the problem. Despite his protestations, he did think of her as a little girl. She struggled not to smile with affection.

“We all have committed sins,” she said, “but God forgives us when we confess our transgressions. Mortals are then obliged to do the same. Should you know of any recent wrongdoing, however, that may be whispered into my ear.” She hoped her words suggested that she knew of Thomas’ past and had forgiven him.

For a moment, Hugh seemed to mull what she had just said. “He has served you well, my lady, and I know of his kindness when Death danced around my son’s bed that winter I was in Outremer.” He grimaced as if those words had stuck like a fishbone in his throat.

She nodded as another reason for his evident dislike of Thomas occurred to her. This, she hoped, was the true cause, one that could be more easily resolved than perceived disloyalty.

“Are you angry that Richard grew fond of him? If so, chase that from your heart,” she said. “The monk brought comfort to your son during the years you were gone. Now that you have returned, the boy will turn again to you as his father. Give the lad time. The bond of your mutual love is strong despite the long absence.”

Hugh bit his lips and stared up at the ceiling. “You give wise counsel.” He forced a smile. “Now that my son is at court in the service of our king, I see him often enough. Indeed, Richard has little enough time to…” He stopped. “Our father is proud of him,” he hurried to say. “Says he rarely indulges in boyish mischief—or at least is not often caught at it.” This time he grinned with evident pleasure.

Inclined to agree that anything her nephew did was a matter for pride, Eleanor laughed, sharing her brother’s delight and choosing to accept the shift in the discussion away from her much-loved monk.

But memory of recent violence blew a chill breath on their levity, and they quickly grew more somber.

Hugh leaned against the wall and sighed. “I beg forgiveness for my sharp words. I have grown querulous over this delay in discovering Baron Herbert’s need to call us here.”

“The unfortunate deaths give cause enough for postponement.”

“Your charity is a credit to you.”

“You did say he was not a man prone to undue fears or exaggeration.”

“He has been called severe, but he is hardest on himself. Even when suffering a near-mortal fever, he demanded that he be tied to his horse so he might join his men in combat.” He shook his head. “That was one of the few times anything proved stronger than his will. The fever was so fierce it rendered him unconscious, and he was carried back to his bed. After he recovered, his hair dropped out, eyebrows as well, and he never recovered the feeling in one hand. Nonetheless, he still rode into battle. We honored him for his resolve and loved him for his courage.”

“Your testimony to his valor is one reason I did not question his fears that some malign thing had taken residence.”

“A prioress with your reputation would only honor his rank and be a match for any evil he suspected here.” Hugh’s eyes betrayed the love he had for this little sister who had grown into such a formidable woman. “You are much like our aunt at Amesbury,” he said.

Eleanor flushed with pride at the comparison and turned away to hide that failing. “You praise me too much, sweet brother.”

“And you are too kind to condemn me for my overweening pride, pricked because the baron did not include me in those he has called to his side. What I should pray for is enlightenment from Master Gamel. The baron may have slipped into deep melancholy after Roger drowned, but the subsequent deaths of Gervase and Umfrey are beyond any father’s endurance. Only Raoul is left now, a son who offers little comfort. I pray there is an earthly remedy to match the pain of such worldly woes.” He hesitated as if about to say more but fell silent.

Eleanor was about to ask questions about the baron’s relationship with his sons, when the sound of men’s voices echoed down the outside corridor. Their actual words were muted by the invading wind and thick stone walls.

Brother Thomas and Master Gamel walked slowly together, their heads bowed in thought. As they approached, they looked up, evidently startled by the presence of the knight and prioress.

Glancing at Brother Thomas, Eleanor was shocked. Rarely had she seen such misery as she noted in his eyes.

Master Gamel turned his face away as if he feared to meet anyone’s gaze.

What new tidings of dire import had the two men brought? Eleanor turned to Hugh and saw that he shared her apprehension.

The arrivals looked at each other, their expressions suggesting that each hoped the other would speak first.

“What have you learned?” The prioress could not will her voice to rise above a whisper.

Gamel‘s eyes shifted back and forth with evident discomfort. Then he bowed awkwardly. “My lady, I would reply but beg your indulgence. I must consult with your sub-infirmarian. May I ask where Sister Anne is?”

“She remains with the Lady Margaret, I believe. She was preparing a weak potion infused with poppy to allow the poor woman some healing sleep. Shall I summon her?”

“I see that she, too, has learned the use of that plant from those who came from Outremer. I am not surprised,” he murmured, a smile briefly smoothing the furrows in his brow. In the next instant, he grew somber again and studied his feet.

“I myself shall seek her. If her skills are no longer needed by the baron’s wife, I will sit with the lady until she falls asleep and allow Sister Anne to attend you. A woman servant can be found for company,” Eleanor said. “Where do you wish to meet?”

“In the Great Hall, if that is acceptable. She and I may have privacy to confer, and we shall be within the clear view of others for propriety.”

She wished she might join the pair, yet was wise enough to recognize that her presence would be less help and more of an intrusion. Now her heart began to pound, but she did not know whether that was due to fear or thwarted curiosity. In either case, these men knew something of significance. She was equally convinced the news, when related, would not be cause for joy.

With grace, the physician thanked her and left.

Eleanor also departed to seek Sister Anne, then glanced over her shoulder at the two men remaining.

Hugh and Thomas stood some distance apart, glaring at each other.

The prioress sighed and walked on, wishing she could stay to heal the discord between them. Other matters must take immediate precedence, she decided, and set her mind to the next task. As she entered the stairwell leading to Lady Margaret’s chambers, she felt a chill and spun around.

Hugh had turned to look out the window.

Thomas was watching her, his face pale with terror and woe.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The two men watched Prioress Eleanor disappear into the stairwell. The door fell shut behind her with a thud.

Folding his arms, Hugh turned to the monk. “I have the right to know what you learned from Baron Herbert,” he snarled. “Any new information might help capture a killer. Your willful delay of this hunt is reprehensible.” He rudely gestured at the monk. “A man of your ilk may find the need for principled action difficult to grasp, but surely even you can understand that the rest of us must react swiftly.”

There was such contempt in the knight’s narrowed eyes that Thomas felt his temper flare like a blacksmith’s fire. Only rarely did he want to cast aside the vocation thrust upon him and strike back like any other man whose honor was ridiculed. This was one of those times.

He put his hands behind his back and clenched them. This is my prioress’ brother and Richard’s father, he said to himself. Whatever Hugh had against him, he ought to simply remind the man that the priesthood was owed courtesy even if he himself was not. The words stuck in his throat and instead he chose to say, “I may not speak of it.”

Instantly he knew he had betrayed his fury with his tone.

“Master Gamel has decided otherwise, it seems, and chooses to share his knowledge even with a woman.”

Thomas ground his teeth but kept silent.

“Or is the truth of it that you know nothing at all? Perhaps my lord smelled your rank impiety, shut the door in your face, and spoke alone with Master Gamel. Surely you are not claiming the sanctity of confession for the baron?”

Thomas’ ears burned from the acidic scorn in the knight’s voice. “If you will,” he muttered, knowing that any attempt to explain or dispute would be futile.

Those three uttered words were still three too many.

“If
I
will? It is
God’s
command if you dare claim that the baron confessed anything to you for His ears.” He shrugged. “Yet your soul is so befouled that I doubt you even risk uttering His name. He might strike you with lightning for your blasphemy if you did.” Hugh stepped forward to wag a finger in the monk’s face. “I see rage burning inside you, Brother. In Outremer, King Edward’s gaze often turned earth into fire when he was displeased, but he is God’s anointed and that conflagration purifies. You are the Devil’s liegeman. Your passions pollute creation.”

Thomas grew dizzy as fury mixed with fear. This man did know who he was.

“You mock those of honest vocation when you wear a monk’s robe, Thomas of London.”

“All men sin, but God forgives those who beg His mercy.”

Hugh laughed. “You must have failed to repent and win His pardon. The stench of your true master still emanates from you.”

“What offence have I committed against you?” Thomas shouted, his words slicing the air like the sword he did not have. “Since I am a man who serves God, I may not take up a sharp blade and fight for my honor’s sake. My only recourse is to beg that you have mercy on me and forgive.” But his evident flash of anger contradicted any claim of meekness in his heart.

“What mercy did you grant Giles when you raped him?”

Thomas staggered backward.

Hugh pushed the monk up against the wall. “His father was my friend and told me the story of his only son. Giles screamed, did he not, begging you not to use him like some woman. Nonetheless, you defiled his manhood, an abomination that still festers, leaving him tormented with moments of madness.” Hugh grabbed the monk by the robe, twisting it in his hand until the cloth grew tight around Thomas’ throat. “His father is now dead, a good and pious man whose life was cut short by the ruination of his son.”

The monk gasped for air, and what little he was able to inhale was sharp with the rank sweat of panic.

“I should castrate you. Would that not be proper justice?” The knight laughed, then hit Thomas with the flat of his hand.

Blood splattered as a cut opened in the monk’s cheek.

Now outraged and desperate for air, Thomas swung his own fist, an ineffective blow on the ribs, but his knee hit the knight’s thigh.

Surprised, Hugh loosened his hold.

The monk shoved him away and struck again.

Ducking, the knight rammed his head into Thomas’ chest, forcing breath from the monk’s lungs.

Wide-eyed and gasping for air, Thomas summoned will and strength enough to grab Hugh around the neck, immobilize him, and strike again at his groin. This time he succeeded.

Howling with pain, the knight fell to the floor.

The monk collapsed as well. Crouching on all fours, Thomas struggled to pull air back into his lungs.

Hugh cupped his genitals and moaned.

The smell of hate filled the hall like acrid smoke.

It was Hugh who first staggered to his feet.

Thomas sat back on his heels and looked up at his adversary, fully aware that he would lose any further fight. He was weak, his position vulnerable. Should the knight press his advantage, however, the monk swore he would not leave the man unscarred. After the cruel lies Hugh had flung at him, Thomas would not face defeat without making sure that the knight had permanent mementos of the monk he had attacked.

But Hugh stepped away. “Grovel to God, cokenay,” he jeered, “and thank Him that I did not cut off your balls. For the good service you have rendered my family, I shall leave you in peace unless you ever fail my sister or address one word to my son. Should you do either, remember this fair warning: I shall find you, tie you to a tree, and slowly peel your genitals as if they were apples until you beg Satan to take you home to Hell.”

Biting his tongue to keep silent, Thomas nodded. His temper cooled. Reason returned. No matter how Hugh treated him, the monk repeated to himself, the knight was still Prioress Eleanor’s brother. Owing her fealty, he must also honor her kin, even when the sibling was this man who hated him for a horrible crime Thomas had never committed.

Bowing his head, the monk hoped he could hide his agonized grief. From Hugh’s tale, profound anguish had festered in Giles, unbalancing his humors with even greater severity than Thomas endured. Were he to insist on telling the truth of what happened, his boyhood friend would suffer still greater humiliation and far more than his fragile spirit could ever bear.

Thomas had loved Giles too much and too long to cause him further distress. He had little choice but to remain silent and accept full blame. Tears, bitter with loss and outrage, stung his eyes.

Hugh strode down the corridor.