Valley of Dry Bones (6 page)

Chapter Eleven

Thomas opened his eyes and stared at the pitched roof above his straw bed.

Dust motes drifted about in the fresh sunlight of the new day. From outside, he could hear the musical twittering of birds as they swooped to feast on the many summer insects. Before Father Eliduc’s arrival yesterday, he would have risen with innocent delight, rejoicing in God’s creations. This morning, despondency chained him to his mat.

“Why?” he groaned, unable to even face the altar of the invisible presence he served. “Have I not done this penance? Do I not honor my vows and seek atonement when I fail? Why must I suffer more than other men? Are their sins fewer? Surely the wickedness of some is even more loathsome!” He might have wept, but his melancholy was too great. Thomas turned over on his side, dug his fingers into the earth, and willed himself to lie utterly still.

As Anchoress Juliana once promised him, Thomas did learn, during these months as a hermit, that a little peace and the occasional revelation could be discovered in silence. Lying motionless and without thought, he felt an easing of the crushing weight on his heart and then enough strength to stand. Rising, he tightened the rope he wore around his robe and turned to face the altar.

Sunlight now warmed his back. The chirping birds sounded impatient, demanding that he get on with his day so their fowl-worthy labor might not be unduly disturbed by his traipsing about. Without giving voice to his prayers, he bowed his head for a few moments and then stepped out into the world.

A few feet from the hut, he hesitated, believing he had seen movement in the brush near the road. “Nute?” he called out.

There was no reply.

“You need not fear me. Ask your mistress, if you doubt it. She will confirm I am no monster and you have no cause to flee.”

Once again, there was no response.

He was saddened that Nute hid from him, while understanding all too well why the orphan child was wary. When he was even younger than this boy, Thomas’ own mother had died, and he had been left beset by dreadful fears, both in his waking hours and in his dreams.

“At least you have Signy to care for you, as I had my father’s cook,” he murmured. A woman with soft arms and a good heart could do much to soothe the inexpressible anguish of a child whose mother was buried in the earth.

Thomas shook off the thoughts. Since he was later in his rising, he suspected that the boy must have been waiting to see him depart before leaving the basket and jug. Not wanting to delay Nute any longer, the monk quickly turned toward the narrow path leading down to the pond.

The exercise of swimming should help rebalance his humors. Looking at the drying grass, he thought it a pity the earlier light rain had cooled the air so little.

Gently pushing branches aside on the descent, Thomas felt his spirits firmly brighten. Perhaps God did not hate him, he decided with renewed confidence. “Did you not test Job, a much beloved servant, far more than other mortals?” Then afraid he had been arrogant to suggest he might resemble that exemplary man of faith, he added, “Not that I am as good as he.”

Considering the pain suffered by Job, faith and patience might not be the only lessons taught in the story. God could use unease, doubt, or even anguish like a cowherd did his goad to make a man change or question his direction if such were necessary. There was more than one similarity between himself and an ox, Thomas concluded. God might well have to goad him.

Pausing to stare through the tree tops with their halo of sunlight, the monk knew he must decide what he should do next. He could not continue to loudly spew questions at God without listening for the small voice whispering answers.

As he continued, wary of his footing on the steep path, he grew convinced that change was due. Enough signs were there. Not only did Ralf visit for the first time in months, but Father Eliduc had arrived in the priory. That coincidence of events caught his attention, even if he did not understand their precise significance. He vowed again to consult Brother John.

As often as he cursed Father Eliduc, his visits also meant adventures for Thomas, times he enjoyed. Although he had hated Tyndal Priory when he first arrived, he found friendship here, with Crowner Ralf and Sister Anne in particular, and some purpose comforting the sick at the hospital or in the village. Maybe he could finally find contentment as a monk in this Order of Fontevraud. Even serving a woman had taught him a little humility, and Thomas knew how easily a man fell into sinful pride. All these things must be taken into account in his choice.

For cert, he could not remain a hermit. He was no holy man. No longer could he tolerate visitors at his door, begging for his touch that they might be healed. Even though he sent them to Sister Anne and Sister Christina at the priory hospital, the look in their eyes as they gazed on him both horrified and brought him evil dreams.

“I am committing blasphemy by staying here,” he whispered, then willed these thoughts aside as he reached the path’s end.

The pond was just a few steps away, and he eagerly pulled his robe over his head. For just a moment, he shut his eyes and stood still, letting the sun warm his body before he plunged into the glinting water. His fear of Father Eliduc and all his other torments diminished.

Then he smelled an unsettling odor and opened his eyes. Clouds of hungry flies caught his attention. All newborn serenity faded when he saw the cause.

A twisted body lay under the bush to his left.

Thomas knew the man was dead.

Chapter Twelve

A large orange cat with round eyes the color of emeralds sat flicking his tail while Prioress Eleanor knelt at her prie-dieu.

She opened her eyes and looked down at the creature.

He began to purr.

“I know your ways, Arthur. Did you bring a rat, a bird, or something else to delight Gytha and terrify me?” Sighing, she picked the cat up, folded him into her arms, and rose. A dusting of bright fur settled on her dark robe.

“It was a rat, my lady,” Gytha replied, walking through the door to the private chambers. “A fine one. Methinks Sister Matilda will be most pleased to hear of this.”

Eleanor shuddered at the very thought but hugged the mighty hunter close. “I assume you have removed the gift?”

Gytha nodded and quickly disappeared. Someone was begging entrance at the door to the prioress’ public rooms.

When she returned, the maid’s face was pale. “Crowner Ralf begs a word, my lady.”

“Your expression tells me to expect troubling news.” She eased Arthur down onto her narrow bed where he quickly curled into a comfortable spot for a well-earned nap.

“A corpse has been found near the hermit’s hut.”

Eleanor’s hand flew to her mouth. “Brother Thomas!”

A man’s voice called out, “Fear not, my lady. He was the one to find the dead man on the stream bank below his hermitage.”

Eleanor felt the sweat of fear begin to creep between her breasts. First terrified that her beloved monk had been slain, she now worried that her cry had betrayed her uncured passion for him. The prioress straightened and entered the public chambers with what she hoped was a somber demeanor.

Ralf expression grew sheepish when he saw her scowl. “Forgive my rudeness. When I overheard your concern, I wanted to assure you all was well. None of us wants ill to befall that good man.”

“I thank you for the swift assurance that our hermit remains unharmed by evil men for he is truly beloved by those in both priory and village.” Sighing with relief that she seemed not to have betrayed her secret, Eleanor gestured permission for Ralf to sit.

Gytha brought a jug of ale and platter of fruit for the table. Although many believed uncooked fruit to be unhealthy, she knew the crowner cared little for such common advice and preferred his fruit raw. He was also infamous for his appetite. The platter was piled high.

Ralf tried to catch the maid’s eye.

She kept her back to him, then hurried away until she stood, head bowed, a suitable distance from the pair.

He turned to face the prioress. “I fear the corpse may have some connection to this priory.”

“How so, good friend?”

“The man was not from the village or priory, at least neither Brother Thomas nor I recognized him, and his clothing suggested he was a man of wealth.” He took a bite out of an apple, and half of it disappeared into his mouth. “Your monk suggested the man might have traveled to Tyndal, seeking cure for some ill. I said I would seek your help in identifying him.”

Eleanor tilted her head with interest. “Did Brother Thomas think the man died of some illness or do you suspect violence as the cause?”

“His throat was cut, my lady.”

Instinctively, Eleanor touched her own neck. “It is possible the poor wretch never reached Tyndal. If he did and was seen at the hospital, Brother Beorn is the most likely to recognize him. He talks with those who seek ease and consolation here. Since it would be unseemly for me to do so, Prior Andrew shall accompany him, as representative of the priory, to look on the body.”

“I am grateful, my lady. Any information will open or close paths of inquiry to follow and save time in the hunt for the one who did this.”

“Can you tell how long the corpse may have lain there?”

“Brother Thomas found him this morning on the bank of the pond where he takes frequent exercise. Since I joined him there yesterday, when the sun was highest in the sky, I can confirm the absence of any corpse then.”

“I assume neither of you recalls anything that might now be significant?” She smiled to show she meant the question in jest.

Ralf considered her query in earnest. “Nor smelled the stink, which would have developed quickly given the heat. That means the body wasn’t lying hidden and the killer waiting to move it until after we left the pond.”

Some found offence in the crowner’s rough speech. Eleanor never did. She nodded in reply, having little patience herself with time-wasting circumlocutions.

“Fortunately, the morning rain was light. When we searched the bank today, we found much blood where the man had been killed, near the path to the hermitage and in the open. From there we saw drag marks to the bush where Brother Thomas found the body. Since the killer did not hide the corpse with more skill, or even bury it, I suspect he was in haste, or else had no reason to do more than briefly delay discovery.” He shook his head. “No knife was found either.”

“Did our hermit see any strangers along the road or nearby?”

“He said not. After we parted yesterday, he returned to his hut and never left it. The afternoon and evening were spent much as usual, he said. A little work in his garden. Prayers. Another visitor, besides me. One whom he swears would not commit such violence. He never even saw Nute come for the jug and basket, although he sometimes does not. The wee lad tries not to disturb him.” He shrugged.

“What about strange noises at night? He observes the Offices and therefore lies in bed less than other men.” Although she carefully phrased this, she knew Brother Thomas suffered sleepless hours when he was in the priory and was wont to pace the dark cloister garth, seeking relief.

“Lovers occasionally slip down the path to the pond, he said. He knows their whisperings and step. Beasts wander by as well, but he is familiar with the ways of wild things.” Ralf was counting on his fingers. “Travelers seek refuge and avoid the roads at night. A party that did not would be numerous, armed, and loud enough to wake our monk.” He hesitated, holding his thumb. “That was all, I think.”

“I am not sure what I had hoped to accomplish with my questions and beg forgiveness for intruding in a matter where I have no cause.” Eleanor fell silent as her grey eyes darkened with worry.

“Your questions lead me on the way to a more reasoned approach, and so I am grateful for your interest. Let us pray this man was a member of some lawless band passing by the village and was killed in a quarrel.”

Crowner and prioress glanced at each other, neither of them for a moment believing that such a thing had happened.

“You are kind, and I have kept you from your work long enough.” She gestured to Gytha. “The prior and lay brother will be summoned at once. I know they must see the body as soon as possible.”

“Unnatural death is never welcome, my lady, but this one is especially ill-timed with the arrival of my brother and others from court yesterday.” The last words were uttered in a tone akin to a dog’s growl. “Methinks this death may cause some of them to grow uneasy.”

“We shall calm any fears,” she replied, her confident words hiding her own worry. She suspected the crowner was anxious about the reaction of his less-than-beloved sibling while she was more concerned with that of Father Eliduc. “I confess none will be pleased to find murder committed at the very gates of a priory where Queen Eleanor thought to stay.”

Rising, the crowner bowed. “I spoke rashly. You cannot be blamed if men fight or die outside these walls. Please be assured that my brother, who has no quarrel with Tyndal, will do his best to calm all who came on the queen’s behalf.”

A brief smile twitched at the prioress’ lips. “I do trust Sir Fulke shall argue that he keeps his county safe and no innocent need fear violence under his watch. The force with which he must present his case shall depend on the nature of this foulness. Come back with word as quickly as you can. Your brother must be told of this matter and soon enough.”

“I hope to put a name to the corpse first,” Ralf replied. “If I can assure my brother that the pursuit of justice is well in hand, he may not feel obliged to muddle my quest for the killer with ill-conceived interference and vain posing.”

“Then I shall add my prayers to yours,” Eleanor replied and summoned Gytha so she might instruct her on what was required to assist the crowner.

Chapter Thirteen

Father Eliduc walked along the path leading from the church. Glancing back at the dank stone building, he saw how thick moss blackened the glass of the window behind the altar. He stopped to glare at the offending growth. How reprehensible and inexcusable!

He also breathed a sigh of relief.

Earlier, when he had knelt inside for prayer, he noticed that the light in the chapel was inexplicably murky despite the intense summer sun outside. This dimness had distracted his worship and filled him with foreboding. Now he knew that God had not draped a cloud over the sun to signify ominous displeasure with mortals or to announce that the Day of Judgement had come. The darkness was due solely to improper care of the altar window.

Surely there was someone to perform the simple task of removing the foul moss. Was the priory so poor that a village man might not be found to clean the windows for the good of his soul and a pittance for his belly? Turning his eyes skyward, he muttered, “I should not expect competence in a place run by daughters of Eve.” His expression suggested he was confident that God would concur.

Then he swiftly looked around. When he saw no one nearby, he closed his eyes and allowed himself just a moment to turn from the world and let his spirit drift in peace. Standing motionless, he listened to the birds sing, a sound so sweet his heart ached.

“I do miss the fine choirs of my lord’s church,” he sighed. Men’s deep voices raised to honor God’s glory uplifted his soul, something he often needed when his earthly work grew wearisome.

The instant passed. He opened his eyes.

Eliduc never allowed his soul self-indulgence for long.

As the priest’s gaze dropped back to earth, he saw Lady Avelina’s mute servant hurrying toward the guest quarters with something in hand. “Men say that one has been cursed by God for his part in assisting Simon’s wicked father when the de Montfort faction captured King Henry at Lewes,” he murmured, in part to himself and partially to God. “The old king may have been unwise in enriching his wife’s foreign kin and choosing too many counselors amongst them, but he was anointed with holy oil at his coronation. God frowns when men fail to honor those whom He has blessed.”

In contrast to any sins committed against the old king, Kenard had shown tender devotion to his mistress during the long journey here. Had the man not lost all voice, Eliduc wondered if he would be praised for his faithful service, not feared for his lack of speech.

For a moment, the priest pondered the scope of such loyalty which was both laudable and useful. Piously folding his hands, Eliduc bent his head as if in prayer while he continued to watch the servant until the man disappeared into the quarters.

In Eliduc’s experience, common assumptions must often be discounted. The priest never cast inconvenient reality aside so he might continue to lie in the soft comfort of convention. He formed his own conclusions. Men who ignored exceptions to any general rule did not survive long in struggles for power.

His thin lips bent with subdued humor as he turned that logic from Kenard’s situation to the oft bemoaned inadequacies of Eve’s progeny, one of whom ruled here.

No matter what the Church preached about Eve’s daughters, suppositions he himself willingly voiced in the company of his fellows, Eliduc knew there were women who did not suffer from the illogical minds and feeble resolve that were the common faults of their sex. One of those women who possessed a man’s stout heart and a masculine mind was Prioress Eleanor.

Eliduc liked the Fontevraudine prioress and enjoyed jousting wits with her. Even though he had always been confident of his eventual triumph, he found her more of a challenge than most men and he did like a good contest. He was not so foolish as to imagine she might not hone her talents into more formidable skill over time. Her errors were youthful ones, born of inexperience.

If God granted the two of them a long life, the priest hoped to have many future contests with Baron Adam’s youngest child. Despite Tyndal Priory’s insignificant status, its leader was exceptional in birth and ability. Competent kings took note of such things, their queens often more so. What also delighted Eliduc was the possibility that he and this prioress might one day find themselves joined together to achieve some mutual purpose. After all, they both served God and the Church.

“In the meantime,” he sighed wistfully, “this visit might be my last victory over her for some time.” Before he left the priory, he planned to accomplish something of great significance to him and his own liege lord. Although the deed would be done almost before her eyes, he hoped she would not be aware of its value to him now or for some long time to come.

In return for her unwitting cooperation, he would leave her a gift. It would be one that both showed his appreciation and be of great worth to her. For this he knew she would suffer profound gratitude, and
suffer
she most certainly would. An honorable woman, she’d understand the debt she owed him and that she must repay the favor in the future. To that time, he definitely looked forward.

The sound of voices behind him caught his attention. Shading his eyes against the sun, he turned around.

Three men approached.

Eliduc recognized Prior Andrew. Accompanying him was a gaunt giant of a lay brother with an angry expression and a secular man who bore a strong resemblance to Sir Fulke. The priest concluded this must be the sheriff’s younger brother.

Eliduc folded his hands, inclined his head with proper gravity, and waited for the men to come closer.

It was Crowner Ralf who spoke to the priest first. “You are from the queen’s party?”

A lesser man might have taken offense at the brusque tone. Balancing the potential insult against other matters and concluding it was of little moment, Eliduc simply nodded assent. He knew the crowner’s reputation for honesty and believed him cleverer than the elder Fulke.

“A dead man was found nearby,” Prior Andrew said, his voice noticeably unsteady. “Brother Beorn and I wish to see if we recognize him as one who might have sought care at the hospital.”

Eliduc’s expression reflected surprise, quickly blended with caution. “This discovery has brought the crowner within the walls of a house dedicated to God’s peace. Might I conclude the death was not natural?”

Ralf nodded concurrence, then his expression brightened with a wicked grin. “Perhaps he was one of the men who provided protection for you on the journey here, Father. Would you like to come with us? Although his throat was cut, he’s not too bloody.”

“Your brother might be the better choice to accompany you, Crowner.”

Ralf snorted with contempt at Eliduc’s quick response. Brother Thomas excepted, the crowner believed that most priests had strong stomachs for feasting on succulent meats, accompanied by better wine, and weak ones when confronted by mortal violence.

Crossing his arms, he continued to prick at the man. “A soul may hover, Father. Our hermit has tried to give it comfort. A familiar priest might be more effective in easing it toward God.”

Eliduc thoughtfully nodded. “Since I was the one you first met, He must intend that I do as you have suggested. When the body is identified, there will be time enough for the sheriff and the king’s law to take over.”

He walked to the prior’s side and gestured his willingness to continue on.

Ralf scowled. His expression betrayed just how deeply he disliked underestimating this priest.

As they started toward the mill and the path leading to Tyndal village, Eliduc’s heart filled with joy. Dare he hope that this discovery meant God favored his cause?

Then he realized that the murder might have other meanings as well, implications that would bode ill for his hopes. He hurried on, his spirit subdued by caution.