Valley of Dry Bones (10 page)

Chapter Nineteen

“When someone breaks God’s commandment against murder,” Signy said, “we all must aid the pursuit of justice.” Although her voice was steady, her eyes narrowed as she looked up at the crowner.

“I am grateful you were willing to answer my questions.” The innkeeper’s suspicion pained Ralf. Nervously clearing his throat, he turned away and gazed around the busy inn.

The early hour meant few were drinking, but those wishing a quick start on the road, to or from Norwich, were breaking their fast and leaving to seek the other members of their party, their horses, or their wagons. Such bustle was a profitable noise and surely most pleasing in the ears of any innkeeper.

Perhaps that was why Signy’s mouth gradually relaxed into a smile. “This time I have no fear you might want to hang me.”

“That day was in the past and I never intended…”

“Hush, Ralf. For all your faults, and I have suffered from them, you are an honest man.”

“Any pain I have given you distresses me beyond words. I am twice thankful that you deign to speak with me.” He flushed. “I would not cast blame if you had refused.”

“You did not hang me, Crowner. For that mercy, I am beholden to you. As for my other complaint, God demands forgiveness, even though He never said we must forget.” Her expression was enigmatic. “In repenting my own multitude of sins, I am studying how to forgive yours.”

A man far more comfortable with hard fists and sharp swords, Ralf was struck dumb when faced with what he considered saintly charity. Thus it happened that this third son of a Norman lord with noteworthy rank bent his knee to Signy, innkeeper and offspring of a landless freeman of Saxon birth.

“Merciful God!” Her face shocked into pallor, she grabbed at his arm. “Stand up before people think I have bewitched you. Neither my rank nor virtue is worthy of this.”

Obeying with a sheepish look, he was grateful when a nearby commotion caught his attention.

A woman, whose stringy hair and pinched features suggested greater age than she might truly own, moved with evident pain on roughly made crutches toward the door. From outside, a man leaned into the inn and shouted that she must hurry. She stumbled, falling against a table from which she struggled to right herself.

A young boy rushed to her aid.

“Nute is a good lad,” Ralf said, nodding in the boy’s direction and happy he could so quickly change the subject.

“He and his sister were gifts to me from God.” Signy looked equally relieved before she turned to watch Nute help the woman find her balance with the crutches.

“More likely they believe you are His blessing on them,” he replied, his expression soft with respect. When Nute’s parents died of the sweating sickness, soon after the death of Signy’s uncle, she had taken in the child and his infant sister because they had no kin to care for them. This act was not the innkeeper’s only charity, as Ralf had good reason to suspect. It was one of the few she openly admitted.

Signy ignored him and gestured to a man to bring ale for the crowner. “How may I help in this matter of murder?” Her tone announced that the sharp-witted owner of this inn had just supplanted the gentle saint.

“You are lodging the men who brought the queen’s party to Tyndal Priory long after the bells for None. The murder occurred between their arrival and early this morning.”

Gesturing with dismay, Signy’s laugh was harsh. “And you think I should know if any of these guards disappeared long enough to kill?” Then she shrugged and gave the crowner a sympathetic look. “How many men did Prioress Eleanor say she had sent to me?”

He quoted a figure.

“I can easily confirm that is the number who came here. They did arrive together about the time you suggest. I counted the free beds; we stabled the horses and showed them where they might sleep. Since we also happen to have a group of goldsmiths with their families on pilgrimage to Norwich, a company of soldiers stands out.” Briefly she flashed a mischievous smile. “Not that pilgrims always possess greater chastity and temperance than soldiers. They are simply more inclined to practice discretion with their sinning.”

For just that instant, she became again the lively serving maid who had once shared his bed. Ralf grinned.

Signy turned so he could no longer see her face.

Fearing she had understood his thoughts, the crowner fell silent and hoped she would continue.

Suddenly, her attention was caught by a disturbance in a far corner of the inn. She called a man over, gave brief instructions, and seemed to forget Ralf was even there until the man gestured that he had settled the matter. Then she went on as if the conversation had never been interrupted.

“The queen’s guards kept to themselves as I recall. They took their evening meal at that table.” She pointed to a place just left of the door. “Drank profitably enough for the inn’s benefit. Not too much to start fights or cause the pilgrims to complain. Were you to ask if any one of them went missing that night, I could not swear to it either way.” She thought for a moment. “Surely the number gathered for supper must closely match those who arrived. If it would help, I could go over what the inn earned and see if that suggests how many of the soldiers ate here.”

“Grateful as I am for the kind offer, I doubt the effort would point out a murderer. There is no way to connect a coin with the man who paid it,” Ralf said. “They drank and ate. What did they do afterward?”

“Gambled. A few sought sleep. One tried to seduce a serving wench, but, knowing I do not tolerate any hint of whoring, she chose the pay I give over any babe with which he might have left her.”

Ralf heard the trace of bitterness in her voice. Questions about Signy’s own virtue had fluttered about in the past. After her uncle’s death, when she became quite somber and forsook adornment in her dress as if she had been a grieving widow, rumors were finally silenced. Knowing he had a part in both the tales and the change in her, he saddened, yet he was happy the village now greeted her with respect, when she visited the stalls on market day, and that her business prospered.

Nute raced past the crowner and skidded to a stop in front of Signy, looking up at her without speaking.

She put an arm around him and hugged him close.

The orphan’s eyes closed, but not before Ralf saw in them a child’s longing to trust mixed with an equal fear of it.

“I saw your good deed, Nute,” she whispered. “I am proud of you.”

He hid his face in her robe.

Even though he wished otherwise, Ralf knew he must question the child. “Will it trouble Nute if I inquire about any knowledge he has of this matter?”

He regretted he had not asked Signy more privately and earlier. If she refused permission now, he would have to find another way of getting the information. A crowner might have the right to demand answers from whomever might have them. Ralf was also a father who did not want to frighten any child.

For a moment, she looked as if she might refuse his request, then she sat on the nearby bench and pulled the child into her lap. “Our crowner has some questions,” she said to Nute, holding him tight, “and you have no cause to fear him. He is a good man. If you are uncertain about any answer, whisper it into my ear. I shall decide whether you must reply, stay silent, or should let me answer on your behalf.”

From her glance Ralf knew just how zealously she would protect the boy. He nodded that he understood this well.

“Remember there is no excuse for hurtful lies or evasions. God honors those who speak the truth with courage and compassion.” Signy ruffled Nute’s hair.

Giving Ralf a wary look, the boy snuggled closer to the innkeeper.

The crowner cursed in silence. If he must do this, he hoped he caused no anguish.

“Ask your questions,” Signy said, “but no harm shall come to my Nute.”

Nute muttered something incomprehensible into her breast.

“Even if he is guilty of doing something wrong,” she added, hugging the boy with fierce reassurance.

Ralf got down on his knees so his eyes were almost level with Nute’s. The first question must be an easy one, he decided. “Our hermit is a terrifying sight and many fear him. Most do not have the courage to admit it.” He waited for a moment to let the boy think about this. “Are you afraid of him?”

Nute nodded with vigor.

“Had I not known him as gentle Brother Thomas from the priory, before he moved into that hut, he would frighten me too with that long beard and wild red hair.” Ralf winked companionably.

“And his hair does shine like fire in the sunlight.” Signy added, her chin resting on top of Nute’s head. “Many have been awestruck.”

The crowner was not too sure how to interpret all she meant by those words. Then Nute rewarded him with a weak smile, and Ralf’s thoughts returned to the problem of murder.

“Some boys tell wicked tales,” he continued, “lies meant to foster terror because, out of false pride, they wish to hide their own, far greater dread.” Ralf saw from Nute’s expression that he had taken the right path here. “If you tell me what the stories were, I promise that those who lied to you will never know you told me.”

“The hermit flies like a bat,” Nute mumbled, “and captures in his claws those boys who have neither father nor mother. Then he bites them to death.”

“Even were that true, which it is not, you would have nothing to fear.” Despite his anger over the cruel teasing, Ralf forced a grin. “You have found a mother in Mistress Signy who has sworn to protect you and your sister against all evil.”

Signy took the boy’s chin in her hand and turned his face so he must look into her eyes. “Aye,” she said, “and you heard me swear on a holy relic.”

Nute wriggled in her lap until he could sit up, then he straighten his thin shoulders with manly purpose. “You speak the truth, Master Crowner! I watched the hermit. He never flew, morning or night, and he never tried to bite me although he surely knew I was hiding in the bushes near his door.”

“He did that,” Ralf replied, “and swore to me he would die before he let you come to any harm. Since you did not know that, you showed a man’s courage to observe as you did, both day and night.” He watched the boy flush with pleasure at the compliment. “And I think you were in those bushes the night before last, waiting to see if he flew after dusk.”

“Aye.” The voice now trembled.

“All night?” Ralf looked at Signy.

“He sometimes visits the hut where his parents died, and so I do not worry if he does not come to the inn for a night. He was absent at the time you mention, and I did not see him until late the next morning.” She pressed her cheek against the top of Nute’s head. “You are such a brave lad,” she whispered.

“And what did you learn that night?” Ralf asked.

Reaching up, the boy pulled Signy’s head down so he could whisper in her ear.

“You may tell the crowner all that, child. He will praise you for it.” She winked at Ralf.

“The hermit did not leave his hut, and I fell asleep. When I awoke, I was very thirsty. The half moon was bright so I could see well enough to slide down the path to the stream below.” He turned pale.

“And you saw some men?” Ralf hoped he wasn’t suggesting answers to the boy.

“Aye. Two. They were standing by the pond.”

“What more did you see or hear?”

“One turned to the other, asked where the man was that they were to meet, then shoved him to the ground. He laughed as he did it.” Nute looked at Signy.

She nodded encouragement.

“The man who had fallen stood up and said something I did not hear. The one who had pushed him replied, ‘Impossible’ and backed away. The other rushed at him. They struggled, and the man who had laughed fell to the ground. The other bent over him, then ran away along the stream toward the priory.”

“Could you describe the men?”

Nute squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. “One was very fat,” he said. “One was thin.”

Ralf waited.

The child said nothing more.

“Did you see their faces?”

The boy shook his head. Fear was painting his face an ashen shade.

“What did you do after the man ran away?”

“I waited, then crawled back up the path, and hid in the shrubbery.”

Signy shook her head at Ralf.

He indicated he would not force the lad to say more about the murder. “And when did you come back to the inn?”

“I didn’t think I could sleep, but I must have. I awoke when the hermit came out of his hut the next morning. He didn’t fly then either. I slipped away after he went down the path.”

“Good lad!” Ralf tousled the boy’s hair. “You proved those wicked lads to be liars about our hermit, and you have helped me beyond measure!”

“Now go see if the soldiers are well served,” Signy said. “You have earned a reward this day for all you have done. I shall ask the cook if she has some sweet to give you.”

As he watched Nute run off, the crowner turned to the innkeeper. “Might he know more?” He kept his voice low.

“If he does, he is too frightened to speak of it. Let him be, and I shall find out if there is aught to learn. God has yet to heal his heart after his parents’ death. That he should have seen a murder is unbearably cruel. Were God merciful, Ralf, He would let him forget this violence he has witnessed.”

Chapter Twenty

The Office had ended. Nuns filed out to attend their tasks, whether prayer or less welcome work under the blistering sun.

Eleanor remained in the shadows of the chapel, hands clasped and neck bent. Her spirit seethed. Rarely had prayer failed to soothe or bring her much needed insight. Now was that uncommon occasion.

Every muscle and nerve tensed as she willed her mind to concentrate on those supplications she had promised to send to God. At the very least, she must pray that certain souls be granted an early release from Purgatory. The instant she completed each petition, her thoughts drifted away with mulish determination.

From the world outside, voices of men and women wafted through the hot air, their words muted and all meaning lost. Closer by, she could hear the novice choir singing one portion of a chorus from the
Play of Daniel
over and over again.

None of that was a distraction to her. A light scuffling sound nearer to hand was more difficult to overlook.

She opened her eyes.

A small, dark, and furry thing sped past her knees.

One of her cat’s many feline progeny bounded after it.

Although she had no love for rodents, and found the many kittens a delight, she rather hoped this mouse would escape. After all, this was God’s house and violent death had no place here.

She sat back on her heels, let her unclasped hands fall to rest on her knees, and surrendered to her failure. No matter how hard she tried, her prayers were as heavy as leaden tiles and would not rise heavenward. She’d not offer God any excuse for this inability to set worldly things aside even if one cause was not difficult to understand. She was troubled by murder.

The killing of one of the queen’s men near the priory boded ill for future beneficence from either King Edward or his wife. When kings withdrew their favor, other men of rank followed their lead. Like any leader of a religious house, Eleanor depended on those small gifts of land, rents, or gold chalices to feed, clothe, and inspire her nuns and monks.

The prioress was not just concerned with the state of her accounting rolls or how brightly the priory plate glittered, she was angry that anyone would dare commit violence against a priory guest. Since all staying here were presumed to be under God’s protection, the act was not only brutal but an affront to hospitality and an offense against God. Although Baron Otes had committed uncounted sins, the right to punish him belonged to God or the king. In this case, she believed the killer had encroached most on God’s authority.

She gazed up at the window behind the altar. Dimmed by the moss outside, the light struggled to pass through the glass into the chapel. She had refused to order the growth scraped away. The weak glow reminded her and her religious that the human spirit must always strive to see light in the darkness of earthly sin. Now she needed the reminder more than ever to keep her seeking the elusive reason for this crime.

The first inquiry must establish whether an outlaw or someone from the village was the perpetrator. Since the body was found by the stream outside the priory, both were reasonable possibilities and would be thoroughly investigated by Crowner Ralf. She prayed that investigation would solve the crime.

She feared otherwise. To her mind, the most significant question lay in why Otes had left the guest quarters at all. He was not native to this region and, to the best of her knowledge, had neither kin nor allies in this part of England. Although he might have slipped out for an evening of whoring and drinking, Eleanor had strong doubts.

Otes was no longer young and had been giving lavish gifts to the Church. These efforts on behalf of his soul suggested he was either moved to repent his sins or, unable to satisfy favorite lusts with the ease of younger days, he had grown to fear the eternal consequences of past pleasures as each day brought him reminders of mortal decay.

Whether the baron was trying to bribe God to forget his sins or had learned He did love mended hearts, Otes’ pattern of munificent gifts suggested a man who was now responding more to the rotten stench of Purgatory than the perfume of willing women.

She ran her fingertips over the rough stone on which she knelt. Whoring was probably not the baron’s aim, yet she suspected he had left Tyndal to meet someone. With no reason to think that person was a local man, she concluded the killer was another member of the queen’s party. If so, she was left with the question of why the meeting took place in that particular spot. The men might have met within the walls of the priory, unless the murderer did not want to add sacrilege to murder.

A sharp flapping of wings over her head disrupted her thoughts. Looking up, she saw that a bird had flown in and was perched high in the rafters. In due course, it would fly out again. In the meantime, she was glad it had found refuge from the heat. Although Sister Ruth complained that birds often drank holy water, the prioress had no quarrel with the creatures. God made them too, and she doubted He begrudged the sips of water.

The concept of refuge reminded her that the location of the crime was close to Brother Thomas’ hermitage. And that made her think of Father Eliduc.

She asked herself if the priest had visited the hermit, hoping to lure him off for some task without her permission. That was an innocent thought compared to her second and more sinister one.

After visiting with her monk, Eliduc would have realized how remote the place was. If the priest had some quarrel with the baron, he might have lured him to the pond for private talk. If the two men then argued, the priest could have killed Otes.

A tiny voice within her quickly insisted that Eliduc would have done so only in self-defense. A louder one expressed doubt about that.

Eleanor shivered. Her logic was obviously flawed. She was equally certain there was a bit of truth in her suspicion.

The priest had shown interest in any gift of land that Otes might have offered Tyndal. As she thought more on her conversation with Eliduc, she remembered how relieved he had been when she said she had refused Otes’ offer. That land might have been the cause for disagreement between the men, especially if it was rich enough.

One flaw in this reasoning was that she had spoken with the priest after the killing. If Eliduc was the perpetrator, he would not have been so pleased to discover the baron’s death was not necessary after all.

“He is still a priest,” she murmured, bowing her head with shame that she would even consider him likely to break a major Commandment.

On the other hand, all mortals were prone to sin, priests included. Despite being convent-raised, Eleanor had not been sent out to head a priory like some lamb to face wolves. Her aunt, who had raised her in Amesbury, made sure her young niece understood that tonsures, vows, and pretty phrases were not always matched by honest or even kind hearts.

She made a fist and pressed it into the stone until pain made her stop. Would she have even considered the priest a suspect if she did not have a quarrel with him over Brother Thomas?

“My logic is fouled by my own anger,” she whispered. “Although his missions may have been to the Church’s benefit, Father Eliduc deceived me when he came, with sorrowing demeanor, to take Brother Thomas away on pretense of family illness. I have not forgiven him for those lies.”

Gritting her teeth, she reminded herself that she had been taught to be just even if the result was not to her liking. Aye, she hated the priest, even though God condemned that as a sin. The man was duplicitous, and she did have the right to complain of his treachery.

With significant effort she reversed her inclination to denounce. “Eliduc has done nothing on his own volition. The priest is only following the command of his own lord,” she muttered.

Those words had a hollow sound. “And were a poor defense,” she admitted to the surrounding silence. “Lies are unacceptable, but they are not the same as murder. I am still blinded by his deceptions.”

With a bitter sigh, she stepped away from the easy conclusion that a man she loathed must be capable of homicide, even if her heart refused to reject the idea as quickly as a logical mind demanded.

From behind the altar, an orange and grey-speckled kitten emerged and boldly approached to sniff at the Prioress of Tyndal. She whispered that this act was an arrogant presumption of familiarity, then contradicted her stern rebuke by petting him. As he wandered off, Eleanor noticed with guarded relief that the creature held no mouse clenched in its teeth. Of course, he might well have eaten it in the shadows.

As she tried to quiet that inner voice stubbornly arguing for Eliduc’s involvement in the violence, she knew that little was as straightforward as appearance suggested. “I do not know enough and have no actual reason to conclude Father Eliduc would slit a man’s throat,” she said to her willful heart.

In the silence of the chapel, she heard her heart reply that the priest might turn his head and let another do what he might not.

The fact remained that Eliduc acted only at the command of the man he served, someone who must be of high Church rank. The wily priest dressed simply, but his soft robes were finely made, his small gold cross skillfully crafted, and his grey horse notably well-bred. None of this spoke of a man in service to some poor lord. Surely such a mighty Church prince would never defile his own vows and order his servant to commit murder. The cost to both their souls was too great.

“And this piece of land must be of little value or the baron would not have offered it to my small priory. Should the gift be of more worth, a reasonable man would grasp that I might be agreeable to exchanging it for something just as useful to our needs here. Murder is far too extreme a solution for such a small problem.” Clenching her teeth, she muttered with forced charity, “Therefore, the killer cannot be Father Eliduc. He would understand all this. Who else might have murdered the baron?”

Was it Sir Fulke? She had little direct knowledge of him since he stayed with the king’s court and let Ralf handle all matters of wrongdoing in the county.

Her father, Baron Adam, had never said much about the sheriff except that he owned a fair cleverness and was reputed to suffer from no more than middling corruption. The crowner mentioned his eldest brother only with contempt, calling him a man who preferred comfort and prestige to catching thieves and keeping other lawless men far from Tyndal village. Between the two assessments, Eleanor concluded that Fulke might suffer a surfeit of ambition but shrink away from self-serving violence.

That assumption noted, many sheriffs were losing their positions as bribery and other unlawful deeds came to the king’s attention. King Edward was swiftly eradicating fraudulent practices in the shrievalty, corruption his father had let run rampant. If Sir Fulke had committed transgressions in the pursuit of power and feared he might lose his rank and influence, could he be driven to extreme measures to save himself?

If Fulke had something damaging to hide, Eleanor also wondered if the crowner knew about it. Dare she ask Ralf if his brother hid a secret that might drive him to kill a man known for using knowledge of such things for his own gain?

Out of family loyalty, Ralf might lie, no matter how honest he was himself. On the other hand, the crowner had always honored his friendship with Eleanor. Forcing her friend to choose between two conflicting, yet equally compelling, loyalties was not something she wanted to do.

She had grown weary with these numerous complications and unanswered questions. No firm conclusions could be made without more information, nor could any clear path to the truth be seen.

The prioress stood, bowed her head, and begged God to pardon her inattention and negligence in prayer. If He willed it, she added, she would be grateful if He enlightened her in this matter of violent death. Being a frail mortal, she conceded that she would better attend her religious duties if she did not have this crime to distract her.

In the meantime, her promised visit to Lady Avelina was long overdue. Father Eliduc had said the lady was weakened by the hard journey and fearful because of Otes’ murder. Providing hospitality demanded Eleanor also supply comfort and ease. Of course she must find out if the woman had need of Sister Anne’s expertise.

“May God forgive me,” Eleanor said, knowing full well what she also intended. She was not so oblivious to her failings that she did not recognize another, less benevolent motive in her concern for this woman.

She turned and walked out of the chapel into the harsh glare of the summer sun.