The Sanctity of Hate (4 page)

meanings hidden behind the intense blue of her eyes. “A killer,” he muttered after hesitating too long.

“Whose?” Signy’s tone announced that she had ceased jesting. “Kenelm’s body was found in the priory mill pond this morn-

ing. His throat was cut.”

The news caused a flutter of surprise to cross her face. “No one will weep when he hears that news,” she said. “I pray the killer did not have just cause for his deed, else many will protest his hanging for it.”

“I know he was disliked, yet he must not have been without some merit. You told me you had hired him when the Jews trav- eled through here on their way to Norwich after their expulsion from nearby towns.”

“And hired him again when another small party of them arrived a few nights ago.” She shook her head with contempt. “You speak of merit, but Kenelm’s merit lay solely in his broad shoulders, strong cudgel, and deep love for shiny coin. Many in this village have no tolerance for the Jews. Since my wages were high enough, he was willing to guard them against injury and theft.”

The Crowner scowled. “Why is there so much ill-will here against the king’s people? They have never lived in Tyndal, nor are they ever like to do so. No one has suffered from their prac- tice of usury. Men of higher rank were the ones to quarrel with the Jews over debts, not ones like our blacksmith, Hob, or the new wheelwright.”

Signy glanced quickly over her shoulder. “As I learned from a merchant passing through, the king ordered that the Jews give up usury and earn their bread by other labor. One of his unfortunate suggestions seems to have been that they might toil in the fields. The rumor spreads that Christians will be forced to sell or even give up land and other property to them without due recompense. One fisherman has hidden his boat so he won’t have to surrender it.”

“That is untrue! When King Edward declared that the Jews might take land, he meant that they could buy it with proper

compensation and only from willing sellers. No one will be forced to give up anything.”

“Then you know the exact words of this Statute?”

He nodded. “When I was in Norwich, my brother and I dis- cussed the implications at length. It was our duty to administer the Statute as the king intended.”

“The villagers are not so well-informed, Ralf, and, as you should know, good sense rarely wins after rumor surrounds men with thick walls of fear.”

Lifting his pitch-coated leather jack, Ralf swallowed the last of his ale and stared around the inn. Other than the pilgrims and traveling merchants, he knew the men here, some from child- hood but the rest for years enough to know they were neither better nor worse than God’s average creation. And that meant they were as capable of hate as they were of love.

He rubbed his hand over his bristled cheeks and turned back to the innkeeper. “Yet you gave safe haven to the Jews on their way to Norwich. Why not tell them to pass on, that there was no room in your inn?”

Signy did not reply and turned instead to gesture to a boy who was carefully transporting a jug through the crowd. The child nodded in acknowledgement, delivered his burden, and quickly wove through the groups of men to her side.

“Bring our crowner a half jug of the best ale, Nute,” she said and smiled at her foster child.

“I would be most grateful.” Ralf added a comradely wink. Blushing with happiness, the boy disappeared.

Ralf looked back at Signy and waited to see if she would reply to his question or continue to avoid the subject.

She was studying him with amusement. “It is time you mar- ried again and had a son of your own, Crowner.”

He was not ready for this. Turning scarlet, Ralf croaked a protest. “Shush.” She swatted at him as if waving aside a fly. “Do not prove yourself more of a fool than I know you are. If you do not soon take Mistress Gytha to wife, she will wed a merchant who will thumb his nose at you as he takes her far away. You have

delayed unreasonably, and the maiden is too worthy to remain unwed much longer.”

The crowner’s mouth became too dry for speech.

Signy held his gaze for a long moment, then she twisted around to watch Nute at the far side of the inn. When she looked back, her eyes had softened. “That boy and his sister are my joys,” she murmured. “He is eager to learn the business of inn-keeping. I have just set him the work of collecting empty pitchers for cleaning and bringing the occasional order of small jugs.”

“A good’un you have.” Ralf said and waited for his answer.

Signy had delayed long enough to consider her reply.

“You asked why I housed Jews when the village would have praised me for telling them to sleep in the outlaw-infested woodland instead.”

Ralf knew Signy had meant no harm with that sharp jab about Gytha, but he also suspected she was uneasy over the question about the Jews. The concern for her friend may have come from the heart, but it had also succeeded in putting him off-balance and less able to pry when she did answer his question. He quietly forgave the stratagem and nodded.

Signy tilted her head and let silence again fall between them. After a quick glance to see who might be seated nearby, she leaned closer to reply. “They asked only for shelter from the bitter wind and dry straw on which to sleep one night.” She studied the palm of her hand. “God has blessed me with prosperity, and I had just bought much of the land surrounding this inn, before their exodus to Norwich, but could do little with it because of the winter season.”

Nute suddenly appeared at Ralf’s side, his expression grave as he lifted the jug as high as he could. The crowner quickly relieved him of his burden and whispered thanks in the lad’s ear, taking the opportunity to slip a shiny object into the small fist. Nute grinned and rushed off, carefully avoiding Signy’s eyes.

“That coin was unnecessary, Crowner, but any gift from you is cherished. He’ll save it, not spend.” Pressing a finger into the corner of one eye, she smiled. “He worships you.”

For all the sins he had committed against this woman in the past, cruelties she had reasons never to forgive, he knew he would always be bonded to Signy in ways undefined by any known word. Nute had certainly earned a place in his heart, but any kindness he showed the lad was meant for this woman as well. She blinked, as if a dust mote had stung her eyes, and then stiffened her back. “In brief, Crowner, I saw something to gain from their need and charged them for each service. I hired a guard to keep them safe, their animals were cared for, and I offered wine to banish the cold. For all this, I found profit in land that would be otherwise useless until spring. To anyone who criticizes me in this, I reply that my actions were nothing

more than good business.”

“Or else it was charity,” Ralf whispered.

Signy gripped her hands until the knuckles turned bone-white. Although her quiet kindness to the unfortunate had made her beloved in the village, he was sure she must have been con- demned, her faith even questioned, for sheltering a despised people. This was not the first time he had cause to admire her

courage.

Leaning forward, the inn-keeper replied, her voice so soft he could barely hear the words: “I will tell you this, my Lord Crowner. Never once did a Jew feel up a serving woman, vomit on my floor from too much drink, or fail to pay what was owed and with courtesy. There are many Christian men for whom I could not say the same.”

“I must still ask why you hired Kenelm to be a guard, a man known to cheat and, aye, steal from honest men.”

“I never paid him until he performed the task, and I paid him more than he could get elsewhere. Had I found any other man willing to do the work, I would never have hired him.”

“And you again asked him to do the same for these latest arrivals, a group that must have hurried on by now for they have long delayed obedience to the king’s orders.” He frowned. Need he chase after these people and investigate that matter too?

“The family of Jacob ben Asser is still here, and I shall be hard-pressed to promise them safety now that Kenelm is dead.” The innkeeper sighed. “They cannot travel yet.”

“And the cause for this?”

“The wife is close to term in her pregnancy. Giving birth on the road to Norwich, without any skilled woman to aid in the labor, would be dangerous for both babe and mother.”

Ralf shuddered as if the ghost of his own wife, who died after childbirth, had just laid an icy hand on the back of his neck. “Sister Anne…”

“I mentioned her skills, but the husband will not allow his child and wife to be tended by a nun. I may have to help the woman myself, inexperienced as I am, even though I must swear not to christen the newborn in secret.” Her mouth tightened.

“I shall tell Cuthbert to protect the family,” he said.

“I am grateful. He will be reliable. Kenelm was not, although I now know he may have been dead when he did not arrive for the work two nights ago.”

Ralf noted that fact. “Did he fail to appear on other occa- sions?” Perhaps that answer would reveal some pathway to solving this crime. With luck, he might discover that Kenelm did have a woman…

Signy’s lips formed a thin smile. “In the winter, he would sometimes fail to arrive, later claiming it was too cold for him or the pay was not enough to suffer villager abuse. If thefts occurred, or other damage done, I refunded money paid for protection. With this family, however, he was quite reliable but took especial pleasure in mocking them for their faith. I often heard the husband shouting at him.”

Ralf lifted his jack of ale and quickly downed the contents to ease his growing discontent. The list of suspects had just increased.

Chapter Six

Prioress Eleanor crouched on the bank by the mill pond and brushed her fingers through the grass.

“It was there.” The monk pointed to a spot just to the left of her hand.

Sister Anne watched, hoping that Brother Thomas would be wrong for once.

The prioress dug into the ground and brought up a handful of russet-colored earth.

“Might the blood have come from a wild animal?” The sub- infirmarian’s expression suggested she already knew the answer to her own question.

“The high walls keep them out,” the prioress said, “although some might still slip in.” She bent over to look more closely at the place where Thomas believed grass had been pulled up. “If I am not mistaken, that is a footprint.” She gestured for the two monastics to view the mark in the ground.

Sister Anne nodded. “Some force was required to make that deep a gouge.”

“I saw it, my lady,” Thomas said, “but concluded it might have been made at any time.”

Eleanor stood. “In that, I would agree, for this is a well-worn path, but we had a heavy summer downpour late the day before last. Gytha said that kept her from returning earlier. This print is both distinct and deep which suggests it was recently made when the earth was still wet.”

“Few would step off the path after that rain. The mud would be slippery and a misstep might cause someone to fall into the water,” Anne replied.

The prioress considered the possibilities in that, then shook her head. “A man might slip into the pond and drown but not slit his throat while doing it.”

“That patch.” Thomas bent down and sketched a wide circle above the spot with his hand. “I think the killer and Kenelm struggled there. In fact, I’d say those were heel marks near the footprint.”

Eleanor frowned. “Or else the body was dragged off the path. See those marks over there. Yet we cannot prove whether a fight occurred or something quite benign.”

“I think he was killed here. That patch of blood would suggest it.” Thomas walked to the edge of the bank and looked into the water. “It is not far from here to the mill wheel.”

“We must tell Ralf about this,” Anne said. “If Cuthbert has found no stronger evidence upstream to prove where Kenelm went into the water, the sergeant might not have to look further than this place.”

“I have sent Brother Beorn to seek out our crowner.” Shading her eyes, Eleanor gazed down the path. The gate into the priory was not far from the mill, allowing villagers to carry their grain with ease from the road that passed by.

She frowned and turned to the sub-infirmarian. “You have looked at Kenelm’s corpse. If the murder took place here, so close to the mill, surely the dead body would have been found sooner. Ralf thinks the body was in the water for a couple of days. Might the death have occurred outside our priory as he believes?”

“I agree with Ralf about the length of time the body was in the water. Although there were cuts on Kenelm’s face, our crowner did not see the ones on his back. I cannot be sure about the cause, but they could mean his body was trapped by something underwater and only went over the mill wheel when the current finally pulled it loose.”

“Might those hidden marks have been caused by a fight?” “The ones on his face perhaps,” the nun replied, “but the

scrapes on his back suggest that something large hit him several times. If the body was trapped under the wheel, that would explain those wounds.”

“We must ask why anyone would kill another here.” Thomas looked around. “It is a crime only the impious or the mad would commit.”

They fell silent, and Eleanor felt cold despite the hot day.

The monk was right, and she feared the answer.

Tyndal Priory had suffered violence within its walls before, but surely God’s servants had given Him no cause to curse them again. She required all her monks and nuns to obey the Rule on diet, labor, and prayer. The priory was respected for charity given and vows kept. Her own private transgressions she acknowledged and did hard penance. All mortals sinned, but, as far as she knew, her religious were no worse than those in other pious communities. Why must this priory endure so much bloodshed?

As if to belie the gravity of blood spilled on sacred ground, peace felt as tangible to Eleanor as this dense heat. She looked up at the sky. A growing number of clouds scudded overhead, hint- ing that another summer cloudburst was imminent. Birdsong was muted. Leaves rustled briefly as a sudden gust of sea breeze brought a hint of coolness down from the northern regions. If God were so angry, wouldn’t He would give her some sign, something to point out the offense that must be corrected?

The prioress looked back at her two companions, regretting the question she must ask. “Do either of you know whether any of our monks, lay or choir, might have had a quarrel with Kenelm?”

“None of whom I was aware,” Thomas replied. He looked at Anne.

“Those within these walls had little opportunity to suffer injury from him. The dead man only arrived here after the harvest was taken in,” the nun said. “As our crowner suggested,