Sorrow Without End (18 page)

Chapter Thirty-seven

“Sir!”

Ralf opened one eye again, then the other. The brightly sweet glow of last night’s ale had been transformed into a bitter foretaste of Hell. In this morning after, he understood too well why drunkenness and lechery were sins. His head hurt. His sex felt raw. Swearing he would never drink so much again and that he would find himself a wife, the crowner rolled off the bed and vomited sour liquid into the chamber pot.

“Sir?” Cuthbert stood, arms crossed in a determined pose at the entrance to the room above the inn.

“May your balls fry in Hell.” Ralf wiped his mouth. At this precise moment, he understood why men like Thomas took the cowl.

“Indeed, sir, but you are called to Tyndal.”

“You woke me with that news.” Ralf dry retched. “You failed to tell me why.”

“Prioress Eleanor sent word that someone has been beaten in the priory,” Cuthbert replied.

“Why should I be so blessed?” Ralf muttered, his head spinning as he pushed himself to his knees.

“I knew you would immediately ask who had suffered the attack and the severity.” Cuthbert waited while the naked crowner staggered to the basin of water near the bed.

“So give me the answers to those questions I have just asked,” the crowner growled, pouring icy water over his head. When the freezing water hit his genitals, he winced, then grabbed his braies from the floor.

“Sister Christina. She was battered but will survive, and Sister Anne says the infirmarian is still a virgin.”

Ralf drew his shirt over his head. It stank but there was no time for the nicety of a fresher one. “Pity,” he spat.

“Sir!” Cuthbert’s eyes widened in horror.

“Hush, man. That she remains an uncracked nut proves God’s grace and confirms her saintliness. I only wish that someone more deserving, perhaps Brother Matthew, had been the victim, not the little nun.”

Ralf reached for his sword, then sat heavily on his bed. Along with waves of dizziness, a memory began to flicker through his head. What was important about it? “Last night,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes as if that would help give substance to the image. “Last night…”

“Sir?”

“Silence!” The crowner swatted as if grabbing at the memory, but it slipped through his grasp. Did it have to do with soft Signy?

He grimaced. She had joined him willingly enough for several couplings until he cried out Annie’s name by mistake. Then the lass had jumped from the bed, grabbed her clothes, and cursed him. He shook his head, carefully. Nay, it was not that, although perhaps she did have something to do with...

Cuthbert cleared his throat. “The prioress is waiting…”

Like an angry dog Ralf growled, then rested his bristled chin in one hand. When he had arrived at the inn, Signy came to dally with him. The innkeeper had not been pleased and for good reason. With the storm last night, there had been a good crowd at the inn and that meant profits. A merry, attentive serving wench increased the willingness of men to part with their coin...

His head throbbed. The image he was chasing shimmered seductively at the edge of his memory. The crowd? Was it that? “It was large,” he repeated. “The crowd…”

“Sir!”

It was gone. Ralf swore at the sergeant and grabbed his sword.

Cuthbert jumped back.

“To Tyndal, then, where I will hear all the details of last night,” Ralf said, buckling the sword with shaking hands, “and you may entertain me with tales of your sheep hunt while we ride.”

As the crowner walked past his sergeant, he saw Cuthbert shake his head with annoyance. His sour mood sweetened slightly. Cuthbert might be a good man, but he deserved some whipping about for daring to tell him what he should have asked had he not been busy tossing his guts into a chamber pot.

Chapter Thirty-eight

Although the daylight held too gray a cast to claim the sun had ever fully risen, the major force of the storm had passed. The wind was now soft, as if apologetic for its recent fury. Rainwater dripped from the roof with a moist, melodic tone, and drops tapped sporadically against the wooden shutters of the prioress’ chamber.

Ralf and Thomas stared at each other.

“Now that you have heard what Brother Thomas has said about the attack on our infirmarian, what do you think?” Eleanor asked, breaking the silence.

“Someone is lying.” The crowner belched.

“A reasonable conclusion, Ralf.” Eleanor’s mouth twitched upward despite the cautionary look she shot at Gytha. “Who is lying?”

“If you will forgive me for saying so, and I have no wish to cast doubt on Sister Christina’s most admirable faith,” Ralf said carefully, “but I do not believe her beating was done by Our Lord.” He looked at Anne. “Not that I think she is lying…”

“Nor do we, although I pray she may one day be granted a true vision, one that is kinder than this she believes she has received.” Eleanor turned to her maid. “Would you see if Sister Matilda has some fresh bread and ale for all? I fear some have not had time to break their fast.” She glanced at the crowner.

After Gytha shut the door, she continued, “I thank you, Brother Thomas, for not describing the details of the attempted rape. There are some things a young girl should not hear.”

Thomas bent his head.

“Now it seems we may have both a murderer and a rapist at Tyndal,” Anne said.

Eleanor frowned. “Might they not be the same?”

“We know of no connection between Sister Christina and the dead soldier,” Ralf replied. “Unless they are kin?”

“This man was a common soldier. Sister Christina’s family is of much higher rank,” Anne replied. “Nor was he a family servant. Our infirmarian did not recognize him.”

“If I may speak further on this, my lady?”

“Your observations are always welcome, Brother.”

“Although Brother Beorn confirmed that Sir Maurice has been a most peaceful patient, except for that one incident in the chapel, he seems the most likely suspect if we accept Sister Christina’s description of the color of her attacker’s face.”

“What of the man Walter assumed was an attendant assigned to watch over his master?” Anne asked.

“That may be a lie…” Thomas started.

“Or the truth,” Ralf finished.

“Why do you think it might be true, Ralf?” Eleanor looked thoughtful.

“As Brother Thomas noted, Sir Maurice has caused no trouble, and you have not found anyone who has ever seen his servant elsewhere than by his side. Aye, the knight lashed out in fear when I showed him the corpse, but his man had warned me and I failed to heed him.” Ralf flushed with the memory. “I would also point out that his only violence was against other men. Can any of us imagine how a gentle nun could frighten him into beating her?” The crowner shrugged. “Sister Christina was making progress with the knight’s sick soul. He has been quiet in her presence, according to his servant. Why would he suddenly try to rape her? I would look to someone else.”

“Well argued, Ralf,” Thomas replied.

Ralf gave the monk a weak smile. “You have confirmed that no one was assigned to watch Sir Maurice. There is, however, one now resting in your hospital whose face bears a reddish hue. His dress is also much like that of a religious, especially in the dim light of nighttime.”

Eleanor nodded, although her expression suggested some doubt. “You speak of our madman, someone you dismissed as a suspect in the soldier’s murder?”

“Aye.” Ralf scratched at his stubbled cheeks. “When I talked with him, he seemed too weak to have committed that crime but would not be incapable of rape against a meek woman. I was also convinced that he did suffer moments of madness. Might he not attempt rape during such a fit?” Ralf looked sheepish. “After what you overheard between the fellow and Brother Thomas, however, I fear my prior observations are sadly flawed.”

“Do not dismiss your thoughts so readily, Ralf,” the prioress replied. “I was wrong in my assumptions about the man for I hoped to frighten him into renouncing his false witness if he saw Brother Thomas and realized he had failed to cast blame on our innocent brother. Instead, we learned that the man had only told part of his tale, thus making it seem that our brother had more knowledge of the crime than he did.”

Ralf’s face was as gray as the sky outside. “I regret that I was not here to assist, my lady, but you were clever to take Brother Thomas down to the man’s cell to see how he would react. You learned far more from him than I. Had I questioned him better, I would never have concluded that our brother...”

“A deduction that I stubbornly encouraged out of angry pride.” Thomas folded his arms. “Nay, crowner, like you I thought him mad, yet not so. His speech is not that of an ordinary man, for cert, and he is either witless or else possessed of more wit than most. I still wonder. Whatever the truth there, the man’s face does have a reddish cast, a color that might be seen as purple if the light is dim, the sight is poor, and the viewer is convinced she is seeing a vision.”

“Sister Christina has also spent time in prayer with him,” Anne added. “Sir Maurice was not her only concern.”

“What motive would he have?” Eleanor asked. “We should not forget that Sir Maurice is deeply disturbed by the presence of women, and we do not know the reason for the unease.”

“Yet he has shown no violence to any,” Anne replied. “When I was with him, he ignored me. Sister Christina has assured me that she carefully heeded the servant’s advice and was never with Sir Maurice when his man was not there.”

“Which does leave us with the madman,” Thomas said. “He was quite clever with his riddles, Ralf. I did wonder if he was hiding something, something to do with the murder.”

“I doubted he had the might to do the deed, yet…” The crowner looked at Sister Anne.

The nun nodded. “The murderer did need great strength, but both lunatics and men possessed by demons could have that power, Ralf.”

“I do wonder if the attack on our dear sister was meant to distract us from our hunt for the soldier’s killer,” Eleanor said softly as if talking to herself.

Thomas continued. “Walter has not kept his master’s fear of women secret. This strange madman, who will not even give us a name, might have overheard the servant speak of that, for the fellow rests not far from the two men. Perhaps he wanted to cast suspicion on Sir Maurice when he saw that blame no longer rested on me?”

“Or he heard the lay brothers speak of it,” Ralf said.

“Or heard Walter discuss it with Sister Christina when she came to pray,” Anne continued.

“If so many were cognizant of this,” Ralf said, “then the man might well have known it and taken action to divert suspicion on to Sir Maurice.”

Eleanor shook her head, then rose, gesturing to Ralf and Thomas. “If this man ranks so high in your suspicions of one or both crimes, then we cannot delay further. Come. We must talk with this nameless man now. If he is innocent of both murder and the attack, he has nothing to fear from us, for we shall treat him and his ills most kindly. If he is guilty of either, we cannot let him freely roam our priory hospital any longer.”

Thus the prioress, the crowner, and the monk all left for the hospital, but when they converged on the cell belonging to the madman, he had quite disappeared.

***

“No one knows when or where he went,” Sister Anne said, looking up at the stained glass window above the altar, its bright colors now dimmed with the diminished light of the season and the mold that had found new life in the corners.

“None of the patients or lay brothers saw him leave?” Ralf asked, his tone abrupt. “Have you questioned all the monks and nuns as well as lay brothers and sisters?”

“We have questioned almost everyone. Not one, so far, has seen anything,” Thomas replied.

“Our knight and his man? What say they?” The crowner rubbed at his chin, his growing beard clearly annoying him.

Anne shook her head. “Thomas questioned Walter…”

“…who did not hear the man singing as he was wont to do. I did confirm that he knew what the fellow looked like. How could he forget the merry chase the man had led the lay brothers through the hospital was how he answered me.”

“Your lady prioress will not be pleased with this,” Ralf said.

“Nor am I.” Thomas curled his hand into a fist. “The man will wear a fine mark from the blow I’ll give him for fooling us so.”

“A wish I hope will be confessed, Brother, but I concede there is some justice in your desire and that your anger is understandable. God may attend to the needs of simple sparrows, but He gave us the responsibility to look after our brethren. As imperfect creatures, we often render violence unto the violent.”

The two men spun around in unison. “My lady!”

Eleanor stood just behind them, her hands neatly tucked into her woolen winter robe. “I assume the man we seek has not been found? This is not good news.” She turned to Thomas. “Do I understand that you and Ralf now believe that our madman was less than mad?”

As Thomas looked into his prioress’ eyes, dark as a North Sea winter storm, he shuddered. That look was not for him, he quickly reminded himself. After all, she had been most gentle since he had told her of his imprisonment. He nodded.

The crowner did as well.

“Does no one know the man’s name or whence he came?”

Ralf looked at Thomas. Thomas shook his head.

“Nor I. None of the lay people have recognized him either,” Anne added.

“Not a local man then.” With a slight smile, Eleanor glanced over at Ralf. “I would not presume to direct you in your work outside Tyndal, Crowner, but I am curious what you may have found in the questioning of the villagers and anyone at the inn.”

“Nothing has been discovered that we did not already know. Cuthbert has been talking with the villagers. I have just come from the inn.” He bowed his head to hide his discomfort. Signy, of course, had refused to speak to him, saying that she would only answer questions from his sergeant. “Nor has anyone seen him since he disappeared.”

“Our time is short,” Eleanor replied, her lips white with anger. “We must find this man.”

Chapter Thirty-nine

“As soon as I found him, my lady, I confirmed that he was dead, then came to you immediately. I bear the guilt, as your porter, for failing to keep Tyndal safe from violence.”

Eleanor hoped he could not see her hands tremble and quickly hid them in her sleeves. “It is not you who is to blame, Brother Andrew. It is I. This is the second time our priory has suffered a violent death within its walls since I arrived.”

“At least this body was not left in the cloister garth,” Anne said from behind the monk, her voice a whisper.

“Nonetheless, my responsibility is to everyone inside the walls of Tyndal,” Eleanor said, both frustration and anger evident in her tone. “My full attention has not been on the crimes…”

A knock at the door interrupted her. When Gytha opened it, the prioress gestured for Crowner Ralf and Brother Thomas to enter.

“Now that our crowner has arrived, Brother Andrew,” she said, “please repeat to all what has transpired.”

“Lord Maurice has been murdered. I found his body near the parish church.”

The prioress nodded for the porter to continue.

“Stabbed in the back, he was, but I could find no weapon. We have not moved the body, but I believe we should do so before light. If others see what has happened, I fear panic will ensue.”

“In that I concur. Crowner?”

“I will immediately examine the corpse, my lady.”

“Since this occurred on priory grounds, Sister Anne and Brother Thomas will assist you. My first concern may be for the safety of this priory, but much else is at stake. If panic and fear drive the needy from our hospital, that would be a tragedy. We must capture the killer before the news spreads.”

“I left two lay brothers to guard the body. Two,” Andrew added, “whose silence I can depend upon.”

The prioress nodded agreement. The porter had handled this situation to her liking, and her approval was apparent.

“Shall I shall fetch his servant?” Brother Andrew asked her. “I have not told him of this.”

“Since Walter sleeps little, he may be searching for his missing master even now. Let us go to him quickly with the news, Brother Porter. He must have what comfort we can bring. In the meantime, Crowner Ralf, Sister Anne, and Brother Thomas will take torches and learn what they can from the dead man where he lies. Before we bring Walter to see the body of Sir Maurice, however, we must move the corpse to the chapel where none will question the presence of another body. Daylight will not wait for us.”

***

Walter fell across the body, his legs losing any strength to hold him upright. As he put his arms around the shell of the man he had called
master
, he uttered a cry so poignant that tears rose in the eyes of any who overheard.

While Walter hugged the body of Sir Maurice like a father might his dead child, Eleanor gestured for Brother Andrew to join the others standing a respectful distance away. Although the man’s grief seared her heart, Eleanor found herself studying Walter with a detached mind. This was not a servant mourning his master, no matter how devoted he might be. Of course, she had suspected early on that he had lied about his relationship to Sir Maurice as well as his own rank. Perhaps it was time to ask.

“Was he your son?” she whispered, bending close to the man.

Walter looked at her, tears streaming from one dark-rimmed eye while the other remained dry as if empty of emotion as well as sight. He shook his head. “He was my brother’s son, my lady.” Then he struck his heart. “But to this childless man he was near enough.” Although he spoke, as did she, in a whisper, the sound was like the last rattling breath of a dying man.

“You wished no one learn of this?”

“He was my Absalom!” the man murmured, then threw his head back and wailed with an intensity that should have caused the very angels themselves to weep for his agony.

Eleanor rested one hand gently on the man’s back, then turned her head. “Come, Brother Thomas. He needs a priest’s comfort.” She knew there was little she could say to ease this man’s sorrow. Tomorrow, her reminders of God’s promises might bring solace. Today, the pain was too raw for any woman’s balm.

This man was answerable for much, she knew, but now was not the time for confrontations and accusations. There were many other questions to resolve first before she was certain that would be necessary. For now, she would let him grieve.