Wine of Violence (7 page)

The news that someone had been murdered and the prioress' query about questionable deaths took Thomas' mind back to the nights when he was a young lad and had heard muffled cries and scufflings in the dark passages of his father's castle just outside the room in which he slept. He was never sure if the sounds were those of ghosts and demons or were of human origin, but he remembered how rigid he had lain in his tiny bed, his eyes focused in terror on the wavering shadows and pale shifting lights that danced tauntingly on the walls of his room. As soon as the gray morning light illuminated the familiar forms of straw and wood, he would slip outside his door, where he'd sometimes find brown stains on the stones, then he would tremble with fear at what might have happened all too close to him in the hours of darkness.

Even later on in his adult years, there was the morning he had entered the chamber of a well-hated deacon to find the man's frozen and twisted body on the bed. Oh, he was told by a grinning servant, the master must have died from eating a dinner of bad eels. Did anyone die of food poisoning with such an expression of agonized horror on his face? Thomas suspected not but knew better than to voice his doubts.

So had he ever had occasion to investigate questionable deaths? No, he said to himself, he'd had more sense. Aloud, Thomas replied, "My education was academic, but both the study and practice of law require the exercise of reason and observation."

"Indeed. I hope you have a strong stomach as well. Brother Rupert is not a pretty sight."

Thomas lowered his eyes to hide his surprise at the bluntness of his new prioress. This woman did not behave like any of the other young women he had known. The sight of a tiny, live
mouse was enough to cause them to scream and throw themselves
into the arms of the nearest man, but this one was quite calm in her discussion of a man's mutilated corpse. He might have expected an older, married woman to be this composed. After all, he'd heard tales of how some wives successfully defended castles while their lords were elsewhere, but a woman of the prioress's youth? Never. Perhaps whatever changed some aging women into more manlike creatures happened to women of any age who devoted themselves to God? Thomas could think of no other explanation.

"My stomach will be strong enough, my lady," he replied at last.

"Good," the prioress said. "You must examine Brother Rupert's body now, if you will. Perhaps you will see something both Sister Anne and I missed. After that you will arrange to take his body to a more fitting place to lie. I have forbidden the nuns access to the garden until the crowner has done whatever examination he deems fit, but Brother Rupert should rest in peace in a chapel tonight. It is unseemly that the poor man remain exposed in the cloister garth until the morrow."

Thomas glanced over at both Prior Theobald and Brother Simeon for guidance. The good prior was stroking his cross, his eyes vague and his expression confused. The receiver stood with chin in hand, gazing at the prioress with a slight frown, then he turned and gave Thomas a quick nod.

"Of course, my lady," Thomas said. "As you wish."

Chapter Eight

Eleanor pressed her hand to her heart, then bit her lip. She was not surprised at the brief exchange between Thomas and Simeon. She should have expected that the young priest would seek approval from the two older men before obeying her. Still the gesture had stung her with a disproportionate pain. Thomas must be new to the Order, she told herself. Like both Simeon and Theobald he would soon learn that it was she who was in charge at Tyndal. Once he did, he would look to her for direction, not them.

Then she winced. Oh, don't be such a fool, Eleanor, she said to herself, shaking her head in disgust. It's not your position as head of the priory that you want him to recognize. You want him to see you as a woman. A worldly creature you still are, whatever your vows. Your muscles were like water walking so near him down the stone stairs from the prior's chambers, and you tremble with the sickness of lust. If God meant to purge your soul of any pride in becoming prioress to the religious at Tyndal, He has succeeded well.

She had always thought obedience would be the vow with which she'd struggle most. She was quite amply endowed with a
high spirit. For cert, the vow of poverty had never been a problem
for her. She had grown up in comfortable simplicity at Amesbury
and such was her definition of poverty. Being used to that life, she even preferred it.

But lust? Virgin she might be, but innocent she was not. Not after living with two older brothers and a castle full of young men in the year she'd spent with her father before she had taken her final vows. She had played at courtly love and quite enjoyed the feints and parries of it all, but it was only a game to her and she had never lost sight of or the desire for her vocation. This was surely the first test of her vows. And, she thought with grim determination, I shall win the contest.

As they stepped into the dappled light of the monks' cloister walk, Eleanor glanced at Sister Ruth walking next to her in
silence. The nun's eyes were downcast, and her mouth was pursed
as if she had just tasted something bitter. Had the older woman recognized what her young prioress was feeling? Perhaps God was kind and she had noticed nothing. Certainly Eleanor did not need any further marks against her in her new community. Or perhaps the porteress had never experienced lust and would not recognize the symptoms.

For just an instant, Eleanor felt a tinge of envy.

The trio passed in silence through the covered cloister walk, keeping a modest distance from the few monks strolling there, and on toward the passage leading into the outer court.

She heard a muffled laugh and glanced quickly over her shoul
der. The young monk was smiling in some private amusement. Seeing her turn to him, he looked down quickly. Had he noted the effect he had on her? Was that the source of his mirth? She scowled, hoping he noted her severity just as well. Then her own eyes turned traitor and quickly feasted on all of him from head to foot before she was able to drag her gaze back to a more seemly concentration on the stone walk at her feet.

He did look more suited to charger and armor than cowl and tonsure. Still, tonsured and cowled he was, whatever the true reason for his recent calling. She certainly did not believe the glib tale he had told her. He had shown a courtly manner and physical comfort with his body rarely found in younger monks. Although he towered over both Sister Ruth and Eleanor, he seemed in control of his size and strength and kept an easy, slow pace behind her as they walked into the dark, narrow passage under the monks' dormitory and up to the heavy wooden door.

"This is the path you will take when you come to serve us. And you will use it to return when you are done." Eleanor inserted a large key, unlocked the door, then turned and handed the key to Thomas. "This is now yours as priest to my nuns and the sick. Besides you, Prior Theobald has such a key and Brother Andrew also because he is porter. Of the nuns, only Sister Ruth as porteress, Sister Christina and Sister Anne, who are both in charge of the hospital, and I may have such keys. Please keep it safe and lend it to no one. These locked doors keep us protected from the world." Eleanor heard a sharp intake of breath from the nun beside her and winced. At least the doors had done so until the death of Brother Rupert, she thought.

"I will take you to the hospital before the crowner comes and introduce you to Sister Christina, the infirmarian. Sister Anne, her assistant, you will meet shortly. Until I can review the assignments of all the brothers at Tyndal, your duties will include service to the sick as well as priest for the nuns."

As they walked through the gate and approached the church, Eleanor pointed out the sacristy door that led to the priests' changing room and the altar. When they approached the entrance to the nuns' cloister, Brother Thomas bowed to Sister Ruth, who stepped back so he could take her place by the prioress' side.

"Since you have already examined the body, my lady, what specifically do you wish me to look for?"

Eleanor turned so quickly he almost trod on her.

"I did not mean..."

Eleanor was pleased that he looked abashed as he stumbled backward. At least there was little aggression to fear in the man. One prone to violence would have looked angry to be placed so suddenly at disadvantage.

She smiled with pleasure at her impromptu trick and at his flustered reaction, then nodded acceptance of the apology.

The boyish grin he gave in return was not only ingenuous but also calculated, Eleanor decided. The look did not extend to his expressionless eyes. Nonetheless, unwanted warmth rushed once again to her face. She quickly turned away from him and walked in determined silence to the nuns' gate, unlocked it with her own key, and led the two others into the cloister garth. As they reached the fountain where Sister Anne guarded the body, Eleanor finally stopped and turned to Thomas.

"Your opinion and observations, brother, would be both welcome and useful. Indeed Sister Anne and I did examine the body quite thoroughly. However, if the crowner is like most, he would more likely listen to the details and take them more seriously from you than from us. The world outside our small Order is unaccustomed to open female command and for me to assert this unusual authority as head of Tyndal might so unsettle him that he could be distracted from a timely pursuit of justice. I understand he has never had occasion to visit here before. I trust we will never have to invite him to our priory again. Therefore, in the interest of a clear-eyed, efficient hunt for the person who did this horrible thing to our brother, I think the issue of who runs Tyndal may remain a moot one."

"If I may be so blunt, my lady, you show rare judgement for..."

A woman?

"For any child born of sin."

Clever man with words you are, Eleanor thought and could not help smiling at him. She might fear Thomas and the unwelcome feelings and confusion he caused her, but she did like his quick wit.

Chapter Nine

Thomas retched. The sight of Brother Rupert's mutilated corpse had turned his stomach despite his brave words to the contrary. If he'd been alone in the garth, he probably would have instantly vomited the good wine he had just enjoyed, but he would never
show such weakness before women. Now that he was by himself,
he could throw up in peace. Bracing against the stone wall, he retched again into the tall grass.

Still sweating, he shook his head. How two women could have
examined that body with apparent composure and thoroughness was beyond his understanding. He at least had seen death in some of its uglier forms; neither stabbings nor poisonings were pretty, but to castrate a man like that?

"What horrible thing could an old priest have done to warrant such treatment? And who could have defiled him so?" He spat. Such desecration of manhood was usually reserved for the most hated of men. Traitors to a king came first to mind, although there was Abelard who'd been gelded as well as that unfortunate lover of a nun at Watton Priory.

After some dry heaving, nothing was left in his stomach. Thomas kicked up some dirt and tore some of the dry grass to cover his leavings, then locked the door to the nuns' quarters and headed down the gravel path to the monks' lodgings. At the nave of the church, he stopped and looked up at the granite and slate building. Moss streaked the shadowed stone and blackened
what might once have been colored light gray. The windows over
the high altar were narrow and dingy, and something brown was growing from the corners and joinings which must further inhibit light from illuminating the inside of the church.

"What cold and soggy land have I been sent to?" he asked himself. A sudden chill shook Thomas in the afternoon sun. Damp and mold permeated all. Everything reeked of gradual but inevitable decay. A black mood descended on him, and the manner of Brother Rupert's death seemed in keeping with the ambiance of the place.

Just as his thoughts grew grim, he looked around, then smiled
in spite of his sad temper at the incongruity he had just observed.
Women might run Fontevraud houses but they still lived to the north of the church, the side that symbolized benightedness, while the very monks they ruled lived on the south, the side of enlightenment. What did his new prioress think of that? Had she even noticed it? He shook his head. A more apt question would be whether there was much of anything she hadn't observed.

A single cloud scudded across the sun, briefly darkening the day with its shadow. Thomas watched as more clouds followed the first, dark bottomed and close to the earth. Rain was coming, he decided, as he felt the air turn slightly damp against his skin. He turned away from the nave and walked on.