Chambers of Death (13 page)

Chapter Twenty-Six

When Thomas saw the gate to the courtyard open and the sheriff with his company ride in, he uttered a curse for which he would surely owe penance. Sunlight was still but a promise. Sir Reimund had arrived earlier than expected.

“Shouldn’t you be in the chapel praying, Brother? As we approached the manor, I heard bells announce the Office.”

“This woman’s soul cried out to me,” the monk replied, gesturing at the dark outline of the hut. “For such a cause, God may allow postponement of my prayers.”

The saddle creaked as Sir Reimund twisted to look around. “And where is your prioress? Have you sent her off to pray in the chapel, a place most proper for her to remain?”

Itching to pull this man off his horse and strike him for his insolence, Thomas folded his hands firmly into his sleeves and let his heavy silence be the sole expression of his fury.

The sheriff grinned, his teeth white against the gray light of morning. “Forgive me, Brother. I did forget the ways of your Order. Unnatural as the practice may be to most of us, she rules
you
, does she not?”

“Do not all men honor their mothers and bow to the Queen of Heaven?”

Reimund nodded, his assent perfunctory.

“In like manner, I obey my prioress, a woman who represents our Lord’s mother on earth.”

“Then I must beg her prayers on my behalf,” the sheriff replied with a brusque courtesy that did little to hide his impatience to get on with the task at hand. “I have come for the accused. Will someone announce my arrival to Master Stevyn?”

“I need no servant to roust me from my bed at this hour,” the steward called out as he rounded the side of the hut. Even against the dreary light of a struggling morning, his face was pale.

“I would offer God’s consolation before she is taken off to some cold cell,” Thomas said.

“She’ll have priests aplenty before her hanging. I promise you that. Meanwhile, we must swiftly be on our way. Other, unsolved crimes await our attention.” The sheriff gestured abruptly to one of his men. “Bind and bring her out of there.”

“Grant her that mercy of a priest’s comfort, Sir Reimund,” the steward said. “She and her kin have served this land well for many years, and Brother Thomas may bring her solace.”

Thomas was startled at the sorrow evident in the man’s tone.

The sheriff studied the steward as if he were assessing the value of a bale of wool.

Have you decided if there is some advantage to gain from consent? Thomas’ heart filled with more than a little anger.

Sir Reimund turned to the monk. “Give her a short prayer for the journey then, Brother. We’ll remain by the open door where she may see us. Perhaps the grave nature of her foul crime will at last pain her like the prick of the knife she used to slit the groom’s throat.”

Pray, I must, Thomas thought with bitter regret, for I shall be prevented from asking anything that might save the poor woman’s life. He walked to the hut door and waited as the assigned guard fumbled with the bar that bolted it. Finally, the man managed to raise it.

“We’ve come for thee, wretch,” the guard called out as he stepped into the hut. Almost immediately, he stumbled backward, crossing himself in terror. “The Devil’s been here!”

Shoving the man aside, Thomas rushed inside.

Hilda lay on her stomach. The air reeked with the sharp metallic odor of blood. Even in the dim light, it was obvious that her back was stained dark with it.

***

“Surely this proves her innocence, Sir Reimund,” the steward said, his tone brittle with barely controlled outrage.

His arms crossed, the sheriff scowled. “I’ve known a man to commit self-murder by driving his forehead against a bare nail in the wall of his cell. She probably did this to herself.”

“Bring me a torch,” Thomas ordered and knelt by the body.

The steward pushed his way through the sheriff’s men and shouted for one of his servants to fetch one. “Quickly!” he bellowed, then swiftly backed away from the entrance. “My lady!” he said, his voice softening.

Eleanor walked into the hut. “What has happened?”

The sheriff emitted a palpable groan before turning to greet her with a token bow. “Nothing to trouble you, my lady.”

“All sin is of interest to me for I obey a Master far greater than any earthly king,” she retorted, “and murder is amongst God’s first prohibited acts. Would that not qualify as a sin, Sir Reimund, and thus one of my concerns?” Without waiting for him to reply, she walked past him to where her monk was kneeling.

A servant rushed in with the requested torch.

“I need light here.” Thomas pointed, then leaned closer as the flickering light brightened the back of the woman’s head. Gently, he turned her over and touched her neck before bending to place his ear to her mouth.

“You need not do that, Brother. One of my men…”

“Be silent!” the prioress snapped.

Reimund and Stevyn glanced at each other. The steward shrugged, and the sheriff kicked at some straw before stepping away.

“I think she is still alive, my lady,” Thomas said. “For how much longer, however, I cannot say.”

Eleanor quickly removed her outer cloak and gave it to him. “Wrap her in that.” She turned to the steward. “She must be moved from here. If her soul continues to cling to this body, she may yet point out her attacker and perhaps the one who did murder Tobye.”

Stevyn went to the entrance and shouted an order.

“If only we had Sister Anne with us,” Thomas whispered, wrapping the woolen cloak around Hilda as tenderly as if she were a babe.

“You must do your best, Brother, and remember what you have seen her do in like situations.”

He looked at her, eyes darkened by worry, and finally nodded.

The sheriff grunted. “The woman is guilty and deserves to die, my lady. It matters not if she does so because of this wound, which she may well have inflicted on herself, or by the grace of the hangman’s noose. My only regret, should she die here, is that others, who might be tempted to kill, will not see her jerking body and thus be reminded that they shall suffer the same fate if they commit a similar crime. To see the hangman at work is a fine deterrent to murder.”

Several servants had just entered and now circled around Hilda. “Be gentle!” Thomas begged, helping them brace and lift the cook onto a rough wooden frame.

“Step aside, if you will,” Stevyn said to Sir Reimund, “so these men may carry our Hilda to the house.” Then the steward followed the servants outside.

“No one can stab themselves in the back, remove the knife, and hide it before losing all awareness,” Thomas growled. “Someone did this to her and for cause. Perhaps they feared she knew or might suggest the true killer.”

“Maybe she just dropped the knife in the straw,” the sheriff finally said. “My men will search for it.”

Thomas finally lost his temper. “And if you do not find it, shall you conclude that some other servant has a knife stained with blood? Whether that blood was animal or human would be irrelevant to you, would it not?”

“If you were not a monk, I’d throw you in prison for treasonable words against a king’s man.” The sheriff grabbed Thomas’ habit and jerked him closer.

“He belongs to God, Sir Reimund,” Eleanor said quietly. “Only the Church can order discipline against him. Yet I beg your forbearance, for we were given shelter here by Master Stevyn’s household out of Christian charity. Our gratitude makes us protective of our saviors and thus prone to some rashness on their behalf. Just as you would not trespass on the rights of God’s Church, however, neither do we wish to interfere with the just pursuit of the king’s justice.”

The sheriff released his grip.

Even though his face still felt as hot as hellfire, Thomas stepped back and bowed his head with a feigned show of meekness. At least the sheriff’s men were now forced to search the hut with witnesses present. He counted that as a small victory.

Master Stevyn bent low to re-enter the hut after giving further directions about Hilda’s care. Without evident emotion, he glanced at the men now shuffling around in the straw but turned to the prioress. “My last wife found much comfort at your priory and from your sub-infirmarian,” he said, his voice catching slightly, “even if Sister Anne was unable to save her life. Yet we have a healer with some talent here, my lady. I have asked the physician’s widow to tend to Hilda.”

“A wise as well as a kind decision,” Eleanor replied with the briefest of hesitations. “Brother Thomas has often assisted Sister Anne in her treatments, but a woman may treat another of her sex without offending modesty. Mistress Maud has shown much skill in the care of the poor child in our company.” She bowed in acceptance of his decision.

Brother Thomas watched the sheriff’s men continue to search unsuccessfully for the weapon used against the cook. The space was small enough that their hunt could not last much longer. He glanced over at the prioress.

Eleanor ignored him. “Yet she is not a physician, and I have heard there has been no one to replace her husband since his death. Although she is most skilled, she is still a woman and thus plagued on occasion with illogic and inability to clearly see the proper path to take. Might she be allowed to consult with Brother Thomas? He could offer direction if she faltered.”

After a brief conference, one of the searchers went to the sheriff, who now stood just outside the hut. Although their words could not be overheard, the man’s gestures suggested he was convinced of the futility in their hunt for the knife.

Thomas noticed that his prioress was also watching this interaction and suddenly realized that she had planned her discussion with the steward to last as long as the weapon search.

“As you wish, my lady. I am sure that Mistress Maud will appreciate any guidance Brother Thomas can offer her.” The steward bowed.

“I am most grateful to you, Master Stevyn.” She lowered her eyes. “Now we must leave and let these men continue their efforts. I have stayed far too long and shall return to the care of my young companion.”

As the two monastics left the hut, the sheriff turned his back and immediately walked away so he did not have to utter even the most rudimentary courtesies to them.

On their way back to the house, however, Eleanor looked over her shoulder and saw that her guard still trotted close behind. After the attack on Hilda, the sheriff would claim that the protection was proven necessary, and thus he would continue his attempt to prevent her from interfering with his preferred investigative techniques.

Glancing back, Brother Thomas also took note of the faithful shadow and waved in a friendly fashion, then chose Latin to tell his prioress: “They found no knife, my lady.”

“Nor did either of us think they might,” she replied with a preoccupied frown.

“I wonder where our killer dropped this one. I cannot imagine using the blade to kill another mortal in the morning and then cutting your meat at dinner with the same thing.”

Eleanor raised an eyebrow. “When the Prince of Darkness drives a man to such madness that he murders another made in God’s likeness, he might well do just that.”

“I fear you have the right of it, my lady.” He paused before continuing. “I doubt the importance of either weapon as evidence. Although I will keep it safely hidden, the first had no distinctive markings. The second, should I find it, will most probably be equally undistinguished, thus my delight at the discovery in the stable has dampened more than this ground on which we stand.”

“Nonetheless, you must search the area nearby. Even though I agree with your assessment, we must not ignore the possibility that we may both be proven wrong.” Her monk’s sad face made her long to cheer him. “No evidence may ever be discounted until the crime is solved.”

“At least you were able to keep witnesses present while the sheriff’s men searched the hut. Now it is clear that Hilda did not commit self-murder. I feared Sir Reimund would
arrange
for a knife to be found.”

“There were no windows through which to toss it. No rational person would conclude that she could unbar a door, bolted from the outside, and throw away a knife with which she had stabbed herself. Although our king’s man may begrudge the loss of his choice for the groom’s killer, I think he might concede that the cook was attacked by someone besides herself.”

“You are most generous in your assessment of his wits, my lady. I am not sure they are quite that keen, having been blunted by his ambition,” Thomas replied.

Eleanor chuckled. “I assume you will confess that lack of charity, Brother, when we return to Tyndal. On the other hand, your confessor may well decide that any sin is wiped clean because your words hold some truth in them.”

Exchanging amused looks, the pair continued to the manor house in companionable silence.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“Death grasps her hand with great strength, my lady. I doubt Hilda will ever again greet fellow mortals on this earth.” Mistress Maud stood back from the pallet where the cook lay, her breath almost imperceptible.

Looking down at the body, which had quickly become little more than a frail mortal shell eager to release a struggling soul, Eleanor nodded understanding. She might wish the outcome to be otherwise, but she had asked Brother Thomas to give the last rites. “You have known her long?” The prioress’ voice was soft with sympathy.

“I have. She is a good woman. I never believed she killed Tobye.”

“You do not think she lusted after the man and grew jealous enough to strike out?”

“Oh, she itched for him but, as sins go, hers were trifling enough. Was she jealous?” Maud’s smile was cheerless. “Most likely, but she would have sooner wept over it than turned to murder. Women may dream, my lady, but men either seize what they want or destroy what they can’t have.” She shrugged. “Yet God made Adam before Eve, thus wise men say he was His more perfect creature. Imaginings, being womanish, must be the greater folly.”

Eleanor was surprised by the well-whetted edge she heard in those words. What was the source of this woman’s bitterness? But no question formed quickly enough for the asking, and she knew the cause might well have nothing to do with this crime. Perhaps she would be wiser to let the widow continue on.

“I do not doubt that Hilda suffered from her longings. The Devil may find it easier to torment youth with unrelenting lust, but I sometimes think he gains special merriment by pricking those who believe they have grown past that foolishness.” Maud blinked as if surprised by what she had just said. “Yet I am sure Tobye lent his shape to incubi that tormented many other women at night, both the wrinkled and the smooth-fleshed. If thwarted lust is a motive in this murder, my lady, the sheriff may find there was a long line of women, who stood outside the stable on that night, waiting their turn to kill the groom.”

Since she often hoped that age would calm her own passions, Eleanor prayed the widow was wrong about Satan’s ways. “Did the cook have any enemy who might have hated her enough to attack her with intent to kill?” she asked, redirecting the conversation from her own uncomfortable thoughts.

“Hilda? Never! She slipped savories to lads and sweets to the girls. Her meals pleased those of both high and low birth. The only creatures that had cause to loathe her were fowl, and even there she chose to wring the necks of ones closest to their natural death. She took pride in making a tough old cock taste like a tender young hen.”

Eleanor smiled. “So I have heard.”

Maud looked down at the woman lying in bed and sighed.

“Can you think of any reason why Tobye was murdered or why Hilda was attacked so cruelly?”

“Have you found reason not to trust the sheriff to find the killer, my lady?” Maude raised an eyebrow as she studied the prioress.

Eleanor lowered her eyes with suitable meekness. “Like many women, I suffer from the weakness of curiosity. My questions are nothing more than whimsical things. As the king’s man, I have no doubt that Sir Reimund will prove up to the task.” Her face hidden, the prioress frowned. And why ask such a question, she wondered, when it was you who first planted the seed of doubt in my mind about his peculiar methods of seeking justice? Eleanor grew uneasy.

“He would not have assigned a guard to keep an eye on you if he thought you so harmless and docile.” Maud chuckled. “Our sheriff is not the only one who knows your reputation as a woman with an unsettling and masculine mind.”

Was this widow part of some trap set by Sir Reimund to catch her interfering where she should not? Had Maud’s earlier suggestion that the sheriff cared most about his own interests been part of a scheme? Eleanor tried to calm herself and think logically.

Although she had gained a reputation for solving criminal matters, her greatest success involved financial solvency for her priory. Power was ever linked to coin so, if there were concerns that she was growing too influential, they were based in the increasing wealth of Tyndal.

Perhaps the sheriff believed he would gain by proving she had willfully and unjustifiably interfered with the king’s matters. The ways and concerns of King Edward were still unknown to her, indeed to her father as well, for this new king was known more for changes in direction than the steadiness of his purpose. Were she to make a misstep and find disfavor with the new regime, Eleanor knew that she, her family, and her priory would be in danger. And, should she suffer a fall from grace, there might well be those at court who would rejoice and smile on the man who had brought it about.

It would be wise not to trust Maud, or to give Sir Reimund cause to complain to her superiors, she decided. She must tread more carefully than she had in this matter. After all, she had no wish to ruin her family or her priory, especially by foolish actions born more of sinful pride than anything else.

“At Tyndal Priory, I have an obligation to render God’s justice,” she replied with care. “In the world, I have no more authority than any other woman. This land belongs to the Earl of Lincoln and the king’s law rules here. Sir Reimund has nothing to fear from any feminine interference.”

“More’s the pity,” Maud sighed. “He is not an evil man but…” She shrugged.

Eleanor refused to be drawn into any criticism of the sheriff. “I am sure he will find Tobye’s killer as well as Hilda’s attacker.” Eleanor fell silent long enough to let her firmly stated confidence in the man sink in. As she had learned, people are often lulled into complacency after hearing the accepted point of view expressed. She would now chance a question. “I never met the groom, but wonder that Master Stevyn kept such a man if he was so despised.”

“Tobye was reliable and skilled with horses, whatever his other faults might be. My jest aside about the scorned women, I cannot say he was truly hated. A few husbands had cause to give him a beating, but the blows dealt were only hard enough to make his member droop when next he thought to smile upon their wives. There was a father or two who had wished his daughter could stand at the church door with maidenhead taut enough to bloody the marriage bed, but Tobye was clever and often able to point out other likely and equally randy youths as culprits there. He may have been less guilty of lewdness than he was accused.”

“Aye, but someone most certainly hated him more than those,” Eleanor said, letting her words fall as comment more than question.

Maud looked perplexed.

Deciding she had best turn away from all further inquiry, the prioress shook her head. “I pray that terror does not take residence in the hearts of those who live and work here. Murder is a frightening thing.”

“There was less unease after Hilda’s arrest and before she was attacked.”

Eleanor could not read the expression on Maud’s face quickly enough and turned her attention to the cook. An almost imperceptible rise and fall in the warm coverings over her proved life still had a hold on the sorely wounded woman.

“Although few believed she had done the deed, many were comforted by the swiftness of resolution in the crime,” the widow said.

“Perhaps there will be an equally quick solution in this matter,” Eleanor replied, deciding it was wiser to let the woman believe that she, too, was equally comforted by justice rendered with such shallowness. In truth, she had to bite her tongue to keep from crying out that she found no justice in that hasty arrest of an innocent.

Maud looked surprised by this answer.

The prioress nodded with due courtesy and took her leave.

***

As she walked toward the room where Mariota lay, Eleanor felt thwarted but now realized she had another problem. If she continued to ask questions, no matter how innocently she presented them, she might endanger others in her company as well as herself. Had she the right to do such a thing to innocent people just because she questioned the sheriff’s judgment?

Of course she had felt insulted by his manner toward her, even rightly so. His behavior had been unacceptable toward any woman of religious calling, let alone a prioress and a baron’s daughter. That said, she must balance her response with an understanding that her worldly pride might well be leading her in a foolhardy direction.

She stopped by a window and looked down on the busy courtyard below. Smoke rose from the smithy. A woman was feeding a flock of chickens. Animal noises mingled companionably with human shouts and the din of work. There was something soothing about watching people, going about their labors as if nothing had ever troubled them. As she well knew, however, routine might suggest calm, but fear could yet be a hidden resident.

Should she tell Sir Reimund about seeing Mistress Luce in an unchaste embrace with Tobye? What about this other woman who slipped into the stable and begged some favor of the man? Who was she? If both Ranulf and Hilda had witnessed the same thing, the prioress had to believe the event probably occurred.

Eleanor glanced back at the room she had just left. Was it Maud? Hadn’t this woman seemed troubled when she mentioned lust burning in one
past such foolishness
? Didn’t that understanding sing of experience? Was she an older woman who longed for the embrace of a handsome man, a woman too old to bear a child?

“No,” she whispered, “surely not Maud.”

Despite her fears that there was some collusion between sheriff and physician’s widow, Eleanor owed Maud gratitude for her care of Mariota. Had Maud’s one good deed blinded her to darker elements in the woman’s nature? Was Maud’s name the one Hilda meant to whisper in Brother Thomas’ ear?

“All mortals are sinners,” she groaned, resting her cheek against the rough stone, “but some dance the earth, shouting of sweet virtue to disguise the stench of their own rotting hearts. Others suffer men’s mockery because they gently embrace lepers and defend the suffering or weak with the compassion God intended. The rest wander through their lives, doing no greater evil and owning no finer virtue than any other man. Which is she?”

There were other suspects. She had not dismissed the strong possibility that Master Stevyn knew of his wife’s adultery and had killed the man who set horns on his forehead. But could he be guilty of the attack on Hilda? The steward might have struck her down because she knew or had witnessed something that would send him to the hangman.

Or did Mistress Luce kill her lover because he threatened to tell her husband, should she grow quick with child, unless she gave him bright coin for his silence? Or had she faced being replaced in his bed?

Had Huet killed the groom because he was his step-mother’s lover? Again, perhaps Hilda had been a witness or knew more than was safe for her.

And what about this older woman?

There was too much to consider.

“Nor do I know these people,” Eleanor complained softly, “and this manor is even smaller than the village of Tyndal. Surely the perpetrator is suspected. I should no longer question Sir Reimund’s arrests for he must know far better than I who might have committed these crimes.”

Yet she could not escape the fact that he had chosen to put Hilda in chains for no other apparent reason than she was convenient and would offend no one of rank. Surely he had heard rumor enough about Mistress Luce’s adultery, even if it was from the bawdy jests of his men. That said, to accuse her or her husband of this crime might bring down on his head the wrath of an earl. Master Stevyn was esteemed for his skilled running of this estate. Henry de Lacy would not look kindly on the man who hanged his steward or caused Stevyn deep humiliation by publicly crowning him as a cuckold.

Eleanor pressed her fist against the stone. “My primary responsibility is for the safety of those who came with me, a journey that grows even more ill-advised each day that I insist on meddling in affairs that are not mine to resolve,” she muttered. “And shall I repay the kindness of hospitality by pointing an accusing finger at those same good souls just because their motivations in killing this groom have not been questioned? What arrogance to think that I know better than those who have far greater understanding of the ways of this place! Since when has ignorance proven wiser than knowledge? And have I forgotten that I have authority over others in Tyndal Priory only because I stand as the symbol of a perfect woman and not because I am less frail than others of my sex? Dare I endanger my priory and my family with this wild imprudence?”

Having now presented herself with logical reasons why she should not continue this ill-advised pursuit of justice, she fell silent. But her heart had ever been rebellious, and in that stillness, she knew it had conceded nothing to logic or any of these reasonable concerns.

Feeling her face turn hot with frustration and fury, the prioress spun away and marched toward the room where her young charge lay healing from the winter fever.

As many had learned in the past, Prioress Eleanor was most dangerous when she was angry.