A Killing Season (17 page)

Chapter Thirty-Three

Thomas threw the rock.

As if propelled from David’s sling toward Goliath, it flew straight, striking the baron’s nephew in the back of the head.

Leonel crumbled. His weapon dropped from his hand and clattered on the rocks.

Thomas raced to the three men. Bending down, he confirmed that the baron’s nephew was alive but unconscious. Then he grabbed the fallen sword and slashed the ropes binding Hugh.

The knight staggered to his feet, briskly rubbing feeling back into his feet and hands. “Why did you do that, Brother? I am no friend to you.”

Thomas fell to his knees by Raoul’s side. “You are my prioress’ brother and Richard’s father.”

Frowning, Hugh picked up one sword, dropped it into his scabbard, and knelt by the baron’s son. “Surely he does not live.”

“He breathes but has lost much blood. The bolt hit him high enough he may survive if we can get him to Sister Anne for care.” He grunted as he began to lift Raoul. “I need help, Sir Hugh. We must get him out of here before the tide comes in and drowns us all.”

A sudden noise startled them, and the knight leapt to his feet, spun around, and drew his weapon.

Leonel was running to the cave entrance.

Hugh started after him.

“Let him escape!” Thomas shouted. “Either you capture him or we save Raoul.”

Hugh hesitated, then turned back.

Hoisting the unconscious man between them, the two struggled to edge Raoul through the narrow entrance to the cave.

Outside, the sea lashed the shore with increasing fury and had almost reached the hidden cave. As they stumbled across the pile of loose rocks and onto the small remaining strip of beach, long fingers of water stretched out to them like claws of a ravenous beast. Once Hugh slipped, caught himself, and the men staggered on.

Panting, they reached the mare Thomas had taken to higher ground.

The other horse and Leonel had vanished.

With the last of their strength, they raised Raoul and draped him across the mare. Hugh mounted, then turned to Thomas, reaching out a hand to pull him up behind.

“Go!” Thomas shouted. “I can run fast enough to reach the path, but my weight will overburden the horse and slow you down.”

Hugh paused as if to argue.

“Go!” Thomas screamed.

The knight turned the dark mare toward the rising path. She leapt forward without further urging.

Thomas held his breath and watched mare and rider climb steadily to the top of the cliff. When they were well out of the way of the incoming sea, he exhaled.

Now he looked down at his feet. Water swirled around his ankles and sucked at the sand underneath him.

He had lingered too long.

Thomas stumbled forward, his feet finding little purchase in the liquefied earth. Willing himself not to panic, he knew he still had a chance to flee to the path and safety once the water receded. The opportunity was also brief. If a high wave caught him, he would drown.

He fell, sliding to his knees in the wet sand. Staggering upright, he murmured a plea to God for the strength needed to save himself.

A wave struck the shore. From the hissing sound, he knew it was weak and resisted the temptation to look back. The sea howled behind him, and he dared not slow. The next wave would surely have greater force, and he would not survive it.

Suddenly, his feet went out from under him and he splashed into a shallow muddy pool.

Desperate, he reached out, grabbed a piece of driftwood, and clawed his way forward, not caring that his fingers bled with the effort.

Then he found rougher ground and pulled himself upright. With a roar of defiance, Thomas stumbled and ran until he was halfway up the road. Only then did he turn and shake a bloody fist at the sea.

Gasping for breath, he watched the waves strike the base of the precipice below like a maddened viper. Exhaustion swiftly claimed him, and he began to shake with previously denied terror. Sweat stung his eyes, but he had nothing dry to wipe it away. Instead, he raised his face to the sky and let the heavy mist cleanse him.

Now he turned his back to the cove and began the final ascent to the top. It was not far, but he felt as if it were as distant as London. Determined not to give in to weariness, he concentrated on not slipping in the mud.

When he reached the crest, he stopped and peered into the thin woods. He could hear nothing over the roar of the incoming tide below, and the mist swirled too thickly to see any shape more than a short distance away.

There was no sign of Hugh, Raoul, and the mare.

At least the three had gained the crest of the cliff, he thought, and sighed with hope. It was likely that the they were riding through the forest and back to the castle.

But where was Leonel?

If the baron’s nephew were wise, the monk thought, he would be on his way to some port where he could seek a boat to take him to the continent. A man with his experience could sell his sword. Many mercenary leaders cared little what innocent blood might have been shed with the weapon as long as it was sharp.

Had Thomas been less weary, he would have grown hot with anger at the failure to exact justice for Baron Herbert’s dead sons. Instead, he looked down at his wounded hands as if they had failed him and walked back to the edge of the cliff. Perhaps all he should ask of God was that Raoul survive. He waited to see Sir Hugh cross the narrow isthmus to the castle.

The fog was too dense, and he could see little except the precipice edge when he approached it. Then the mist parted like a curtain moved by an unseen hand. Looking across at the fortress, Thomas froze at the sight.

A lone rider galloped toward the castle gate.

Thomas squinted to see more clearly. Was that his prioress’ brother? What had happened to Raoul?

But the horse was light in color, and Thomas realized it could not be Sir Hugh. The knight was riding a dark horse, and, with the weight of two men, the beast could not move quickly. Surely they were still traveling through the forest, but Leonel had left the cove before them. The rider must be the baron’s nephew.

Thomas stared in disbelief. “Why return to the castle? The man should have fled.”

Just as the rider reached the narrowest part of the road, a company of mounted soldiers clattered across the drawbridge toward him. There was no room for the man to pass through them, and the troop did not slow their swift pace.

The pale horse reared, slipped and fell backwards, rolling over onto its side in the middle of the road.

Throwing himself free, the rider landed on the sloping edge of the sheer cliff.

With the roar of the surf, Thomas could hear nothing but knew Leonel must have screamed.

Clutching at air, the baron’s nephew slid off the edge, flailing and twisting as he plunged toward the sea. Then his back struck a rock. Chiseled sharp by wind and tides, it pierced Leonel’s body through like a well-aimed lance.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Umfrey sat up in bed and bent his head. Pressing his folded hands tight against his brow, he mumbled a torrent of words.

Brother Thomas bent forward and gently touched his shoulder.

On the other side of the room, braced against the wall, Raoul sat on a stool, one arm immobilized in a wrapping of linen. He tried to cut a fingernail on that hand with a small knife. Difficult though the task was, he stubbornly persisted. “I would never have left you to drown.” He glanced up at Hugh and flashed a roguish grin.

“So you claimed then and now.” The knight’s reply was sharp-edged.

“I needed time to escape, but, once I loosened the ropes, you could have freed yourself and climbed to safety on the higher ledges. Surely you were familiar with the tides and how far you must climb to escape them.” The baron’s son tilted his head and studied the effect of his words on the older man.

“And you believe I would have been able to do so before the sea flooded the cave?” Hugh snorted.

Raoul set the knife on the floor with a exasperated grunt.

The knight ignored him and watched Thomas whisper into Umfrey’s ear, the monk’s face a study in compassion. Hugh frowned as he considered this. “Perhaps wicked men can change,” he murmured with reluctant charity.

“So Christ taught.” Despite his often expressed contempt for faith, Raoul’s words were heavy with hope.

Hearing the longing, the knight knew this son sought forgiveness, but it was a gift he could not grant. He did not, and never could, trust him. Instead, Hugh shrugged and said, “You are healing faster than I expected from such a wound.”

Raoul gazed at him with disappointment but disguised it with a wave of his good hand. “I shall not die easily. Were Satan to battle too little for my soul, he would not value it highly enough. I want a place of honor when I arrive in Hell.”

This time, Hugh responded with sincere agreement, and then added, “Sister Anne and Master Gamel are due much credit for saving your life. They did not draw the bolt out until pus formed, then washed the wound with wine. It has not grown foul.”

The baron’s son sighed. “Yet I think the vintage was wasted in the treatment. I would have preferred to drink it instead.” His tone was playful, but his eyes narrowed with memory of the pain.

“You did know about the smuggling.”

Raoul started at the abruptness. “You accuse me of being part of the scheme?”

Hugh’s lips twisted into a mirthless smile.

With the gesture of a defeated man, Raoul leaned his head back against the wall. “I am no more skilled at word play than I am with swords. If I speak plainly, will you swear to listen with the ears of a fair judge?”

“I shall.” At least, the knight promised himself, he would try to do so.

“After lights in the cove were reported, I watched from the ramparts until I witnessed them as well. They were no fantasy. The soldiers sent to investigate returned too quickly to have done their task properly. I was surprised that they were not sent back for a more extensive search. Whatever faults my father owns, his reputation speaks of a man who would never tolerate the failure to discover the cause for the lights.” He gnawed at his rough fingernail.

“Why did you not join the search to guarantee it was a careful one?”

“I have rarely found joy in raising questions, begging to be heard, or asking to be included,” Raoul snapped. “I learned caution in boyhood.” He raised his head and looked up at the knight, his face grey with weariness. “Whatever your opinion of me, remember that I am still my father’s son, and you did give your word to justly hear me out.”

Hugh agreed and rubbed a hand over his mouth as a reminder to keep it shut.

“Soon after, I went alone to the beach, thinking it odd that no one had mentioned the cave. Many of the soldiers might not know about it, I thought. Few grew up here or now have sons who play in the cove as you and my brothers did. I suspected that the entrance had been concealed and did discover that a large rock covered it.” Raoul looked nervously at the prioress’ brother.

Asking him to continue, Hugh stole a quick look at Thomas.

The monk was holding Umfrey’s hands, the wounded man’s expression soft with tranquility.

“I discovered those chests high on the ledges. They were empty, but I found broken pieces of gold and silver scattered about, some large enough to reveal fine crafting. When I discovered a large cross, fallen into a crevice, I concluded that the cave might be used to hide unlawful goods smuggled in by sea. The gold cross I kept, since I could sell the object as well as any other man.” Raoul gestured awkwardly toward his elder brother. “Later, I gave it to him as a comfort while he hid in the chapel.” He grimaced. “If confession is due, I am a thief, albeit one who robs from others who steal. There were more baubles, but I left them. My greed is easily satisfied, and too much glitter hurts my eyes.”

This time Hugh’s look was kind. “Master Gamel says the cross saved Umfrey’s life.”

“That pleases me. My stolen object served a higher purpose than the mere reflection of a fat priest’s eyes when he looked upon the smuggled goods for purchase.” Raoul turned his face away.

The knight inclined his head toward the monk. “Some would call that remark blasphemous.”

Nodding in the same direction, Raoul replied, “The one who might has suggested that God used me to assist in the miracle of my brother’s survival.”

The knight stared at Thomas.

“From the beginning I doubted the smugglers had come here accidentally,” Raoul said. “The closeness to the castle and the dangers of the cove in winter argued against that. As I told you, I discounted my father’s leadership and began to think one or all of my brothers were to blame. When they began to die, I also lost suspects. Although I doubted Umfrey had anything to do with the smuggling, I did ask him if he knew of any crime he or our dead brothers had committed. He didn’t, and I believed him. My brother owns a womanish nature and was never clever enough to scheme.” Raoul looked up at Hugh and was surprised.

The prioress’ brother was looking at him with an expression bordering on respect.

“When only Umfrey and I were left alive, my suspicions turned reluctantly to my cousin. Since all communications went through Leonel, I realized that he might never have spoken to my father about the lights. The hasty nature of the investigation may have been his decision, or else he jested that the soldier must have imagined the sighting. If the last, the search party would have learned his desired conclusion from his light manner. Had there been questions later about this, he could have claimed that he did not want to trouble my father with a matter than seemed so insignificant.”

“There were times in Outremer when I suspected your cousin of deciding problems on behalf of your father without consultation. The instances were minor, and I never questioned the baron.”

Raoul exhaled with evident relief.

Thomas rose from the bedside and made the sign of the cross over Umfrey. The baron’s son wore a smile radiant with joy.

Hugh shook his head, then turned his attention back to Raoul. “Yet you never spoke of your findings to anyone at all?” He hoped he had kept his tone devoid of accusation.

“Whom could I trust? I had no proof of guilt and little reason to believe my words would be greeted with anything except blows or insults.” He carefully shrugged the uninjured shoulder, then grinned to disguise his evident pain. “Although I did not suppose my cousin was the head of the smugglers, I suspected he knew and might have been getting a fee for his silence. So I delayed until I had irrefutable proof to name the leader of this band, and, had I done so, I could have demanded an audience alone with my father. He’d not mock facts. How better to prove myself a worthy son?” His grin vanished. “Or not. The wisest choice would have been to join the outlaws for a share in the wealth.”

With those words, Hugh’s lesser opinion of Raoul returned. “In the cave, your cousin confessed he had organized the smuggling.” He waited for a response, then sneered. “So you claim never to have approached Leonel?”

The son’s eyes flashed with guarded anger. “Why would I? If I’d found proof, I would have gone to my father!”

“I wonder that you did not suggest to your cousin that he could pay for your own silence about his involvement.”

“Despite your poor opinion of me, I own some sense of honor. I looked for more answers in the cave and found nothing. Some night I thought to spy on the men unloading the boats.” He glared at the knight. “If I had discovered the leader, I would have omitted any mention of my suspicions about my cousin.”

“You didn’t slip into his chambers and search his possessions for proof of his involvement?”

“Like some common thief?”

Hugh nodded.

“I have never met you before this visit,” a man said, “yet I believe you did go through his room for evidence.”

Startled, Sir Hugh instinctively gripped his dagger as he turned to face the speaker.

Brother Thomas smiled, then gestured at the baron’s son. “You argued well for the innocence of your father, took good measure of your brothers, and described your cousin as a master of semblance. Why not conclude that he was the chief smuggler, a task that requires just such careful stealth? Having pondered the question, I believe that you did think him guilty and most probably searched his room for proof. Greed may not be your favorite vice, but protecting yourself is your main strength. Roger had died unexpectedly and under questionable circumstances. Gervase soon followed him. You would have grown wary.”

Turning pale, Raoul stared at the monk.

“Had I been you, I would have waited for a chance to look through Leonel’s possessions.” Thomas folded his arms and waited.

“Why? I thought my cousin was a good man who served my father well. Now you suggest that I believed him guilty of murder as well as smuggling?”

“Only a fool would not have feared it to be so, and you are possessed of a clever mind. Even if the smuggling and deaths were unrelated, a wise man would not dismiss the connection too quickly until he was convinced otherwise.”

Raoul began to deny the accusation again but chose not to dispute further. “Although I did not conclude he was guilty of more than gaining coin from the smuggling, I did search his room.”

Hugh looked at both monk and Raoul with amazement.

“What did you find?” Thomas spoke gently.

“Naught that pointed to my cousin’s involvement in either transgression. I was both relieved and disappointed.”

The monk considered that response. “I hear hesitation in your reply. You found something.”

“An oddity, nothing more.”

Thomas reached into his pouch. “Something like this?” He pulled out a roughly rounded and flaky lump, cupped the dark object in his palm, and extended it so Raoul could see.

The baron’s son touched it and nodded. “I did not know what that was and thought little more about it.”

Hugh asked to see the thing, then sniffed and studied it for a moment. “I recognize it,” he said. “This explains what he meant by his reference to the Old Man of the Mountain and those who so willingly died after killing others.”

“Hashish.” Thomas took the lump back.

Hugh’s eyes widened. “You have knowledge of it?”

The monk shook his head. “A soldier from Outremer told me that the substance intoxicates and expels all fear of death. Before I found this in the dead priest’s belongings, I had never seen it. Events kept me from revealing my discovery before Leonel’s death, but Master Gamel has since identified it.”

“Leonel must have brought the hashish back with him from Acre,” Hugh said. “Perhaps he took it himself to gain the battle courage he did not otherwise own. And then he used it to slaughter the innocent in order to inherit his uncle’s lands and title.”

Raoul frowned. “I do not understand how.”

“If he slipped hashish into a spiced wine,” Hugh said, “the peppery taste would be disguised and all reason would not flee until some time later. By that time, Leonel would be elsewhere with witnesses to confirm his innocence. I suspect he persuaded Roger that the infusion would cure his fear of the sea and urged him to stand on a cliff edge to prove it. Unsteady and incautious, he fell to his death.”

Raoul shifted uncomfortably.

“You know still more than you have told?” The monk gently urged Raoul to explain.

“Roger visited me the night before he died and confided he would soon prove his manhood to our father. As I did his tales of swyving women, I took this boasting lightly. He was drunk. I was impatient to reclaim my solitude and refused to hear more of it. Blame rests on me for my selfishness. I might have saved him, Brother.” The young man looked like he was about to weep. “He brought a wineskin with him. A gift, he said, but refused to share it when I was rude. I drank a small cup with him, but the wine was my own.”

Thomas took pity. “Do not put the burden of this death on your soul and be grateful you were so bad-tempered. Had you drunk from this wineskin, the gift might have been the undoing of two sons instead of one.”

Raoul was little comforted. “What of Gervase? What caused him to leap from the window in front of both our mother and cousin?”

“You said that he was to meet with you over a questionable debt.” Hugh remained unsympathetic.

“I neither met with my brother nor did I understand the accusation. I was innocent.”

Blunt skepticism was evident in Hugh’s eyes.

“I believe you are,” Thomas said. Leonel must have tried to implicate Raoul in each death. Perhaps the nephew knew that the youngest son was least likely to fall into his devious traps, the monk thought. Leonel’s purpose would have been well-served if Raoul became the primary suspect in the deaths.

“You are pensive, Brother.” Raoul looked worried.

Dispelling the young man’s unease, Thomas finally remembered a discrepancy between the two stories told about Gervase’s death. There was a detail from Lady Margaret that was missing from Leonel’s version of the son’s fall.

According to Prioress Eleanor, the lady had mentioned the nephew’s remark about angels being angry if Gervase did not show manliness. From the description of his actions, this son was probably drunk, and Leonel must have laced the wine with hashish. Had Leonel suggested that he might prove the strength of his faith by leaping into the arms of angels? Was this the oath Grevase swore?