Justice for the Damned (18 page)

That
easy reply was but a simple rephrasing of the knowledge I suggested I have,
Thomas thought. The man does not evade direct answers with much skill, but how
am I failing to get the information I need? "Surely the father was not so
virtuous himself?" he said, trying another path.

"I
see the old tales are still about! My father claimed that Wulfstan was well
rewarded for letting certain local men know when a fat mercantile purse would
be riding through Amesbury, the owner of which he also made sure enjoyed much
ale before departing the inn."

"How
dare Wulfstan condemn his son so cruelly then when he had committed crimes
himself? Sayer might have laughed at him for his belated discovery of virtue,
but I find it hard to imagine he would have threatened to kill him for
it."

"Sadly,
I cannot give details of their quarrel. I came too late, and the insults they
were throwing at each other might be said by any two men in a heated
argument."

"Have
you heard from anyone else...?"

Bernard
stiffened. "I did not listen to idle talk, nor did I ask questions. As I
told you last night, Brother, I am a man without a wife who goes to the inn,
not to trade tales of others, but for a decent meal, enjoyed in some solitude,
at reasonable cost."

"I
did not mean to suggest otherwise, but I am a stranger here in Amesbury and
long to bring peace to both Mistress Drifa and her son. For that reason, I
hoped you could educate me on the character of both father and son. For
instance, if I knew that Sayer was just a foolish youth who would never
actually kill his father..." Thomas looked at the glover with an
expression he hoped brought meek supplication to mind.

Bernard's
eyes still expressed wariness. "Murderer? That is a harsh accusation.
Sayer is a maker of mischief and has played boy's games too long, but I do not
think his failure to take on a man's duties and estate proves him to be a
brutal creature."

Thomas
said nothing, praying his silence would encourage the glover to say more. For
once, the garrulous merchant was thrifty in speech. "I thank you for
telling me what you have, Master Bernard," he said at last.

The
two bowed in courtesy, and, as Thomas watched the glover walk away, he groaned
in frustration. He was still failing to discover the identity of the ghost, and
he was getting nowhere in his mission of finding a manuscript thief.

Or
was he? Questions buzzed in his mind like irritating flies, but his attempts to
capture their significance failed. Why would a roofer want to learn so much
about the Psalter? Was the argument between Wulfstan and his son just a drunken
quarrel? Why did he sense that Drifa was lying, and what lay behind the meeting
he had witnessed between Bernard and Sayer?

Thomas
rubbed at his temples and wondered if his blindness was caused more by his lack
of wit or by his contradictory feelings about the man around whom all these
questions seemed to revolve.

Chapter
Twenty-One

Surely
he had seen a light in that window, Brother Baeda thought as he hurried up the
stone stairs to the library. Even though the light had now vanished, he felt
obliged to make sure nothing untoward had occurred. He would not have bothered
to check, but two nights ago some young novices had slipped in and poured ink
on one of Brother Jerome's parchments.

"The
brother is such a querulous fellow and so sensitive about his talent with color
and design," he muttered. No doubt of that. Jerome did rank his own work
more highly than was warranted, his efforts falling far from noteworthy
quality, but that did not excuse the lads for what they had done. Just because
the monk had unfairly accused them of impure thoughts, after they joked about
his drawing of Eve entwined with the snake in Eden, was no reason for them to
damage any work done for a holy purpose.

An
irreverent chuckle escaped the brother's lips, and he immediately prayed to be
forgiven. The snake's tail was most unfortunately placed as he remembered it,
and he should have said something to Jerome at the time. Knowing that the monk
would roar in fury at the very suggestion of creative incompetence had stopped
him, however, so perhaps he ought to have taken some blame for what had
happened the other night.

The
boys had been quite properly reprimanded for the damage and assigned the
penance of scrubbing the stones in the warming room, but might that have been
mitigated if he had come to their defense? Now he wondered if they had resented
the duty and returned to tweak Jerome's rather pointed nose one more time.

He
swung open the library door. His eyes were accustomed to the dark, and he saw
no boyish shadows in the room.

Quickly,
he walked over to where Jerome worked. All tools had been put away and no
undone manuscript left out. Apparently, the monk had not yet started anything
after the novices had ruined what he had been toiling over for days. He raised
a hand to his mouth, suppressing another laugh. That tail!

Some
movement or shifting shadow caught the corner of his eye and he turned toward
it. Must have been his imagination, he thought. If the boys had returned,
surely they would have betrayed themselves by now with the uncontrollable
laughter of mischievous youth.

"Come
forth!" he ordered nonetheless, hoping his voice expressed admonition
mixed with just the right amount of forgiveness.

Nothing.

"It
will be better for you if you come now. No damage has been done and thus no sin
committed!"

Nothing.

The
hairs on the back of his neck rose. Could the ghost of Queen Elfrida have
entered the room? Nonsense, he thought. He had only felt a chill draught from
the open door. Spring may have come, but didn't that night air still nip at
aged spines?

He
shook off the feeling and glanced around the area near Jerome's work place.
Something was different, he realized, and then he gasped.

The
Amesbury Psalter was lying on the floor.

Surely
he had not left this precious work out! He rushed to pick it up, praying that
no damage had been done, begging God's forgiveness for being so forgetful, so
careless.

As
the monk bent to retrieve the Psalter, he heard a sound and raised his head.

He
screamed only once.

Chapter
Twenty-Two

The
young novice, who had brought the news of Brother Baeda's death, trembled as if
facing God Himself. Those who knew Sister Beatrice understood why.

"No
ghost could have done this deed. How dare anyone suggest that conclusion to
me?"

"He
is just a boy," Eleanor whispered to her aunt. "Let him tell his
tale."

Beatrice
sighed. "Forgive me, lad." She closed her eyes and muttered a calming
prayer. "Repeat your story, and I shall not interrupt again. Truly, you
need not fear my anger nor shall I blame you for the thoughts and words of
others. Be assured that I do know the difference between the message and a
messenger's belief."

The
lad swallowed. "Brother Jerome heard the scream and rushed to the
library." His adolescent voice rose to boyish soprano, then cracked into a
baritone before falling into nervous silence.

"And
did he say why he was so near?" Eleanor's tone was gentle, not only for
the sake of the boy but her aunt as well. Sister Beatrice might be silent, but
the prioress knew from experience that the novice mistress was probably
grinding her teeth.

"My
lady, I should not..." The novice was sweating.

"Sister
Beatrice has promised that you will not be blamed for anything you say."
Eleanor gestured toward the novice mistress. "This murder is a grave
matter, and it is a man's duty to tell what he knows of such a vile deed, even
if the facts reek with the terrifying stink of the Devil's work." The
sharp odor drifting from the quivering novice enhanced the image. "I can
see a man's courage in your eyes so do not let your fear of frightening us keep
you from frank speech. We may be women but, as leaders in this Order, God
graces us with the strength of the Queen of Heaven herself."

"Well
said, my lady," Beatrice said, her eyes shining with delight. Pride may
harden most hearts into insensate things, but a woman's sin, looking at her
child, is a softer one.

The
novice straightened his back and pulled in his chin. "Brother Jerome said
he was on his way to the library after prayer because..." His face turned
scarlet with embarrassment but he went on with only a brief hesitation,
"...because he was afraid one of us would return to eke out more vengeance
on his work after he revealed we had cast ink on his image of Eden."

Beatrice's
lips twitched as she glanced at her niece. The story had given the two a merry
moment.

"Continue,"
Eleanor said, hoping her expression suggested encouragement, not the amusement
she felt.

"Brother
Jerome thought someone had been injured when he heard the cry so he shouted
that help was coming. As he approached the building, he saw a monstrous black
shape hovering about the door. The creature had no face, only eyes licked by
flames." The boy gulped. "Then the stench of Hell struck his
nostrils, and he felt his soul grow weak. Quickly he prayed for God's
protection from the great Fiend. It was this timely plea, he says, that must
have saved him from Brother Baeda's fate. Although he immediately lost all
consciousness, he soon awoke, still in this world and lying on the ground. The
damned soul was gone. My lady, I beg pardon for saying so, but Brother Jerome
claims the creature matched all descriptions of the ghost. Although he had
never seen any mortal man quite so huge, he believed it wore a woman's robes. I
only repeat..." The boy fell to his knees, shaking like a lone leaf in
winter's first storm.

Beatrice
spread her arms as if to hug the boy. "Like a man, you have bravely
reported the events, and I thank you for that. Fear not. I do bark but rarely
bite—or at least rarely bite the innocent. Go to the kitchen and ask for ale and
cheese on my orders." She shook her head. "You need filling out, lad.
You could pass for a ghost yourself."

The
boy stumbled to his feet and ran as if afraid the novice mistress might change
her mind and chew on him despite her words to the contrary. He was in such a
rush that he would have knocked over Sister Anne as she entered the room if
Brother Thomas had not been immediately behind her.

"Two
people of calm and reason," Beatrice sighed to her niece. "Are we not
grateful after the tales we have just heard?"

"Did
the poor corpse provide any hints to the cause of his death?" Eleanor
asked.

"A
sad sight," Anne replied. "He was choked with such strength that the
cord was still embedded in his neck. We left the body in the infirmary where
Brother Jerome is now praying for his soul."

"Our
librarian was a modest man in life." Beatrice's voice was edged with
weariness. "God will surely keep his spirit but little time in
Purgatory."

"This
second murder should not have happened." Eleanor's grey eyes turned to an ashen
dark as she looked at her aunt. "I have failed you."

"Cast
those thoughts from your mind now."

"But
I..."

"Hear
me out on this. Our priory has only the wits God gave us to bring the vile
murderer of these men to justice. As I did after Wulfstan's death, I will send
word to the sheriff. As he did then, he will insist that ghosts are outside his
authority, especially one that kills within a priory, and his hunting
companions will hear much about our presumption in troubling him with this
matter!"

"But
I am doing..."

"...
more than he. At least you and Brother Thomas are asking questions while Sister
Anne brings her knowledge and acute observations to our aid." She glanced
at Thomas. "Now is the time to tell us what more you have
discovered."

The
monk repeated the gist of his conversations with Mistress Drifa and Master
Bernard, although he continued to omit what he had heard from the dead
librarian about the roofer's interest in the Psalter.

"So
it would seem that Sayer, our man of many talents, is a possible suspect?"
Beatrice raised a cautioning finger. "I am not condemning Wulfstan's son
on such weak evidence, but that is more than the representative of King Henry's
justice would have discovered even if he had bothered to try. Let us see where
our combined knowledge might lead us."

"Did
you find anything else of note when you examined the librarian's body?"
Eleanor asked Anne.

"Nothing
on the body itself, my lady, but the position of the corpse might be of
interest. The body was lying on top of a Psalter, a most magnificent work if I
can judge from the depiction of Jacob's dream that lay open."

"That
could only be the one sent by Prioress Ida for repair," Beatrice
suggested. "We have no others with such remarkable images."

"That
was what Brother Jerome said. He was quite distraught when he saw it under the
corpse but waited until I was done to see if the work had suffered
damage."