Valley of Dry Bones (14 page)

Chapter Twenty-six

As they strolled along the path from the chapel to the guest lodging, Eliduc stole a look at the Lady Avelina. Her expression was too sad for such a bright day. Stopping, he bent over a yellow wild flower, as if admiring its simple beauty. “Do you remain troubled in spirit?”

Her hands, modestly folded against her waist, began to twist and intertwine with nervous distress. “Although I should not be, the turmoil does continue.”

Plucking the flower out of the ground, he straightened and continued to study the delicate color in the petals. “Simon is with the local hermit.” He turned to look at her. “That he has stayed with the holy man this long, speaks well for your son. Methinks he wishes a better understanding of God’s desires. Although his longing may be recently discovered, our Lord must be pleased.”

“Is it sinful of me to doubt that my son has found a deeper faith?”

“I cannot imagine what other reason he would have to choose the hermit’s company.” Bringing the flower closer to his eyes, he touched one petal with the tip of a finger. Lacking moisture to sustain it in the heat, the flower was beginning to wilt. He frowned.

“He has always desired a warrior’s life and never shown any inclination to serve God by taking vows.”

“Saint Paul actively persecuted the faithful until he traveled the road to Damascus.”

She paled. “I do not want my son to suffer such a hard revelation! A mother’s heart never wants to see her child in pain.”

“We all come to God by differing paths. Perhaps Simon has finally set aside childish things and become a man, as that same Saint Paul once said to the Corinthians.”

Her forehead marked with anxiety, she walked on.

He tossed the flower aside and followed.

Avelina turned and waited for him to catch up. “He swears I shall never succeed in regaining his father’s lands and title.”

“Do you truly have any hope of it?” Eliduc shaded his eyes from the bright sun and looked over her shoulder to watch the lay brothers hoeing in the priory garden. From the chapel he heard the raucous banging on drums and winced, fearing it was practice for the advent of Darius the Mede in the liturgical drama. He had longed for delicately plucked harps and lightly rung finger cymbals. Subtlety was evidently beyond rustic novices, as he had dreaded from the start. He prayed he might endure this performance of
Daniel.

“I thought I did until…” She shook her head and fell silent.

“As God’s priest, you may speak freely with me, my lady.” His teeth flashed white under the shadow cast by his hand. “I would never tell any man about the secrets confided in me.”

“You have bestowed so much kindness on us, Father. I am grateful for the interest you have shown my poor lad as well as the time you have spent soothing my own weary soul.”

With undeniable modesty, he bowed his head. “Such is the duty of God’s servant.”

“An obligation that you perform with a benevolence worthy of your calling.” After a moment of hesitation, she continued. “My son is often imprudent and, I fear, did destroy the one possibility he had to regain at least some of his lands. A man of rank showed willingness to argue Simon’s case before the king, then my son cruelly beat the man’s daughter when she refused to lie with him. Although the father was absent when this happened, her mother was outraged and, I fear, will most certainly tell her husband of the act.”

“Perhaps he might permit your son to marry his child.”

“He had greater plans for her than union with a boy of unfortunate paternity, no wealth, and little standing at court.” She shook her head. “Even this man never led me to believe that the king would return both title and all the land to my lad. Now Simon must remain poor, thanks not only to his father’s injudicious acts but because he was foolish as well.”

“Does Simon realize the gravity of his error in offending a man who might have supported his claims?”

Her smile twisted with bitterness. “He protests that he is cursed by the perfidy of women and even hates the rule of his own mother because I am Eve’s daughter as well.” Realizing she had failed to hide her frustration, she glanced at the priest to see how he responded to this indiscretion.

He met her eyes, his features transforming into an expression of sweet compassion.

“He longs to earn his fortune by jousting in tournaments,” Avelina said.

“For that, he needs horse, armor…” Eliduc nodded encouragement for her to continue.

“All of which requires more than I can give him or borrow.” She shifted her gaze so the priest could not see her eyes. “Recently, he suggested he has made contact with a man outside England who might help him with his ambitions.”

Raising an eyebrow, the priest spoke in tones of innocent curiosity while probing for dark sins. “In France, perhaps? Or even Scotland?” There were de Montfort supporters in France, many of whom had escaped into exile with Countess Eleanor short months after the earl’s death. And those cattle thieves to the north were always happy to trouble the English.

Avelina rested a hand over her throat. “France, I think. Are there not many tournaments there where Englishmen often go?”

“The events were prohibited in England while King Henry lived. Now that the Lord Edward is king, he has also failed to show them favor.” He smiled. France suggested contact with those who plotted the king’s death, or at least held little love for Edward in their hearts.

“Our lord king ignored his own father’s prohibition often enough on this matter of tournaments.” Her words were sharply spoken.

“Our new lord is no longer a prince. He must now be a king, my lady. Boys often take on their father’s ways when they reach a man’s estate.”

Avelina cried out, her hand pressed hard against her heart.

“Are you ill, my lady? Shall I call for…?”

“It is no matter, gentle priest.” She dropped her hand but her face remained pale. “I am well enough. I suffer only the sorrow of a mother who has birthed a child too much like his father in his willful ways.”

“If I troubled you with some thoughtless remark, I beg pardon.” His forehead creased with concern while his lips twitched into a fleeting smile.

She began to moan. Tears flowed down her cheeks which she did nothing to hide.

“I can promise you God’s peace, if you will let Him into your heart,” he murmured, stepping closer to encourage any confidence she might long to reveal.

Each word broken in two by sobs, she whispered, “Will He forgive treason?”

“Surely you have not done such a thing,” he said, his tone a purr of comfort with no hint of condemnation.

“My son may have. Baron Otes visited me the evening before we arrived at this priory and claimed that Simon’s name had been mentioned in the company of others who regret de Montfort’s death. These
others
are men who plot to assassinate our new king because, they believe, he has turned his back on the principles of monarchial restraint for which the earl stood.”

“Did you believe this story? The baron was not always correct about details or fully honest in his accusations.” He waved a hand. “You son may have uttered little more than ill-advised words. Perhaps something about wishing his father had not been killed at Evesham so Simon would not be obliged to seek charity, or that his godfather showed him favor as a child. Innocent enough remarks by themselves, if Baron Otes did not tint them with a darker hue and suggest a deeper disaffection.”

Avelina shook her head. “I did not have the courage to question the lad before he went to see the hermit. I pray you are right.” Hope returned color to her cheeks. “My boy often says and does things without thinking, things that are truly of little note.” Then the short-lived optimism faded. “Yet he hated the baron and was unwise in voicing his feelings. Might someone have overheard Simon and thought he had something to do with his death?”

“Your son is still a boy. Surely no one thinks him a threat. Was he not with you the night of the murder? He and I spoke some little while, then he said he intended to return to your side.”

“In truth, I cannot confirm where he slept that night. In the morning, when I arose, he had left for the hermit’s hut.” All color fled Avelina’s face. “Wasn’t the baron found near that place? Did he not die just after we arrived here? Oh, I pray no one has thought to accuse Simon! I do fear for my son.” She wrung her hands. “Child though he may be in my heart, he has the body of a man. That does not argue for his innocence if someone heard him speak ill of Baron Otes!”

Eliduc dismissed her fears with a smile. “I have heard no rumors about your son, either here or at the court. As for any accusation of murder, if others in this party had overheard Simon speak in anger against the baron, they would surely have accused the lad by now of the murder. Your son may own a man’s body, but he speaks like a child as many know well enough. Nay, my lady, have no fear. Instead, go back to the chapel and pray for your son to find a true vocation serving God. With no hope of worldly wealth and a tendency to ill-conceived ideas, Simon might find safety and purpose serving the Church.”

She nodded, the muscles in her face sagging with weariness.

This time he did not trouble himself to hide a satisfied smirk.

Chapter Twenty-seven

“I am your nearest kin, you lout!”

Ralf grabbed the seething Fulke by his robe and hauled him up from the bench. “I asked a simple question, dearest brother. Where were you the night Otes was killed? Answer it, or I shall assume you are either a greater knave than you sometimes act or else a fool.”

The sheriff’s face was a bright puce, although rage was not the only cause. From the number of empty pitchers on the table, it was evident he had drunk deeply. And then there was the serving wench who might have added color to his cheeks as well. When Ralf arrived, she had been wiggling with some enthusiasm on his brother’s lap.

Releasing Fulke, the crowner reached for the nearest jug. Tipping it, he saw there was only a small amount of ale left and it was far from fresh. He dumped the few mouthfuls into his brother’s cup, shoved it at Fulke, and raised a hand to demand a new pitcher.

With some surprise, he realized that the serving wench who had just been pleasuring Fulke had not fled when the brothers began to argue. She was standing, with sour expression and arms akimbo, near the sheriff’s side.

Ralf waved her off to bring more drink. Although she was young and buxom enough, her sharp-angled face was deeply pitted. Either Fulke cared little about such things, as long as the woman would lie on her back, or he was too drunk to notice. Shrugging, the crowner decided his brother’s choice of women was not his problem.

“What do you think I was doing that night?” Fulke swallowed the flat ale in one gulp, then stared at the cup as if it had insulted him.

Ralf shook his head.

“I was swyving that one.” He gestured at the woman approaching with a jug of frothy ale.

“I hope Signy doesn’t know of it,” Ralf muttered.

The woman put the pitcher down with a thump and marched away.

Grimacing, the sheriff poured for himself. “Is Signy the inn’s bawd?”

“How little you know your own shire. She owns this place and does not tolerate whoring.”

“I left this land to your care because you begged to have it so, insolent cur. As long as you behave, I concern myself little about petty village matters.” Fulke jerked his head in the direction of the vanished wench. “And this innkeeper of yours? If she does not allow a whore or two, she’ll never make a profit of this inn. A bordel brings comfort to the weary traveler. Tell her to marry, breed, and let her husband take over the business.”

Ralf folded his arms and said nothing.

Fulke gave him a lopsided leer. “Perhaps this Signy doesn’t know what goes on here or else she winks at it with a hand behind her back to accept the slipped coin. In any case, the serving wench did meet me later in the stable, and she served me well and freely.” He belched. “
Freely,
I repeat and you should note. I paid nothing to her or to this righteous innkeeper.”

“Will the woman swear to that as well as how long she bounced you in the hay?”

“Surely you ask just to annoy me. As your eldest brother and head of our family, my word and my innocence are beyond question.”

“So are the demands of justice, otherwise known as the king’s law, in case you have forgotten the responsibilities inherent in your duties as
sheriff.
” Ralf made a face. “Despite our differences, I long neither for your hanging nor that suspicion fall upon you. I do pray you are blameless. It would be a waste of good coin, bribing some hangman to grant you a faster death.” He turned away for a moment, his brow furrowed. “Tell me the truth. If you did kill the man, I will do all I can to save you. As you said, we are kin, whether we wish it or not.”

“I am innocent. How many times must I declare it? Would my oath mean more if I swore on my desire for heaven or on Odo’s hope that he not go to Hell?”

Ralf laughed. “The latter.” He again raised a hand and gestured for service. “You have drunk enough. It is time to put food in your belly.”

Apparently, the woman under discussion had remained nearby with an eye on the men, for it was the same wench who returned. Promising to bring the best the inn had to offer, she ignored the crowner and flirted enough with Fulke that Ralf suspected they may well have spent the night together as his brother claimed. What surprised him more was the growing notion that the swyving might have, in fact, given the woman some joy. Inexplicably annoyed, he growled a specific request for stew.

The two men said little until the portions were brought, then slurped and chewed without speaking. They scraped the bowls clean of any remnants with fistfuls of coarse bread.

“Is that Signy?” Fulke bent his thumb at a woman easing her way through the crowd, stopping at the occasional table, and simply dressed in black.

Ralf nodded.

“My manhood might complain about how she runs the inn. My belly does not. The ale is good. So is the fare. And if it weren’t for her mourning weeds, she’d be comely enough. Does she long for the priory or is there another reason for this wayward piety?”

“Leave her be,” Ralf snarled. “She is a good woman.”

Fulke raised an eyebrow, then snorted with glee. “Methinks she’s the one who warms your bed, since the other lass isn’t your leman.”

The crowner brought his fist down on the table so hard, all vessels on the table bounced. “Another slur on an honorable woman and I will make sure you can do naught but suck your meals henceforth! Now tell me what you know of Otes. What is his relationship with the other members of the queen’s party? You have surely heard enough rumors at court before this journey. And tell me if he had offered land to any of late, when, and the price. That question includes any deals you had or hoped to have with him.”

Fulke groaned. “My bladder is too full to chatter on like some woman to amuse you. You demand much information.”

“Go find a wall outside before you piss yourself.”

As soon as Fulke had left the bench, Ralf called over the pock-marked wench. “Did my brother treat you gently enough the other night?” His smile suggested benign concern.

She stiffened. “What law have I broken that you should ask that of me?”

“None! I…”

“Then you’ll get no answer. I’ll not have you prating to the mistress, Crowner. She’d chase me from the inn if there were any accusation of whoring. And don’t I have a babe to feed with no husband to hunt for faggots when autumn comes?”

“What a man and woman choose to do in some pile of hay on a summer eve is not my business. Since Sir Fulke is my brother, I am duty bound to make sure my kin treat all with just kindness. That is my sole concern.”

She snorted. “Aren’t you the right courteous knight? Straight out of some story of King Arthur, I swear, but I’m neither Queen Guinevere nor a fool.” She tossed her head. “For your information, he did offer a pretty enough coin, and I refused. If you tell tales to Mistress Signy, make sure you pass that bit on as well.”

“I swear not to pass anything on. I’m just surprised he wasn’t too drunk to bed you.”

“Although he did drink enough, Crowner, I served him for several hours.” Folding her arms under her ample breasts, her expression softened. “Even if he did need help staggering to the stables, I’ve never known any other man, drunk or sober, who could stay rigid as a pole until the sun returned.”

Ralf sat back with unmistakable surprise. “This time of year, darkness may be short-lived, but…! All night?”

She smirked.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Fulke returning. “Pleased to hear it.” He grinned. “Now maybe another jug of ale, quickly served, would be in order.” He touched her hand. The edge of a small coin briefly flashed between his fingers.

It disappeared in a trice, as did she.

“Getting her side of the story?” Fulke slid back onto the bench. “Why would a woman’s word be more trustworthy than your brother’s?”

Ralf chuckled. “I never knew you had such endurance in bed sports! She came to tell me that,” he lied, then slapped the sheriff on the shoulder.

Fulke flushed with evident pleasure. “You wanted to know about Otes and the rest of us.”

As the serving wench put down a jug, she added a platter of bread and cheese.

With a wink, Ralf handed over more coin.

“The baron has never demanded payment from me for his silence. Sometimes I suspected that my obvious fear was pleasure enough for him.” He looked at his brother out of the corner of his eye.

Ralf knew how difficult it had been for Fulke to admit a weakness. Respecting his brother’s pride, he said nothing.

“When you asked about acres, did you mean for sale, in trade for some favor, or as a free gift?”

“All.”

“Baron Otes never spoke to me of such a thing. I have heard rumor that the baron promised to donate profitable land in his will to the man Father Eliduc serves. Since Otes had already given land to found a leper hospital, I assumed any other such gift to the Church was meant to buy more prayers for his mottled soul.” He laughed. “Lest you think any of his get had a quarrel with his new-found piety, there was plenty left to satisfy his sons and his daughters’ husbands.”

“Otes was widowed, was he not?”

“To the grief of every pretty serving woman in his castle! And it is true that he banned the ones he deemed ugly. No bantlings, though. God showed mercy.”

“If the land was profitable enough to bring joy to his lord’s heart, Father Eliduc might grow fearful should the baron change his mind and offer the same land to another.”

Fulke tore a handful of bread in half. “Methinks you have heard more than I about this matter.” Taking a bite, he lifted his cup, then smiled at Ralf. “As we both learned from watching our Odo, a religious calling is no deterrent to avarice or violence.”

“So Father Eliduc might have a motive for making sure Otes never changed his will.” He scowled. “I do not like matters involving a struggle of authority between the Church and the king’s justice. As sheriff, neither should you.”

“Then we must pray he is as innocent as a priest should be, although I confess I neither like nor trust the man. He’s as slippery as a trout, but I have no proof of any guilt.”

“What of Lady Avelina and her son?”

“If they have deep secrets concealed, I have heard nothing of them. What more could be hidden? Their story is known well-enough. There can be little worse than being the widow and son of a dead traitor.”

“Not all followers of de Montfort lost favor with our new king,” Ralf said thoughtfully. “King Edward also knows the dangers involved should he seek retribution against them when so many claim miracles have been wrought at the earl’s gravesite. He himself smiled on the man at one time, and there are many of all ranks that continue to believe the earl served the interests of every man while King Henry served only his own.”

Fulke put his palm against his brother’s mouth. “Do not speak treason!”

Ralf shoved the hand aside. “I report what I hear. As for treason, I am as loyal to this king as I was to the last. All I suggest is that Lady Avelina might have cause to hope her son’s inheritance will be restored. Or did Baron Otes know something that would prevent that from happening?”

“Others may be returned to favor. Not this particular family. The father loudly and foolishly proclaimed that de Montfort should be king, not just an honored counselor. Some call it blasphemy that the earl raised a sword against God’s anointed. Of those who stay silent, many shiver in fear. None dare speak up for declared traitors and few for their get. King Edward might forgive any who changed course, as he himself did. He will never pardon anyone who stubbornly fought against the very kingship he now owns. And Simon is much like his sire, imprudent in his ways and blinded by his passions. I do not think the boy is likely to breed trust in a king’s heart, no matter how sweetly the mother begs.”

Ralf stabbed at a hunk of cheese. “That matches what little I have seen of Simon. The boy troubles me, Fulke. He is now staying with Brother Thomas, a monk who is living as a hermit in the forest hut near the priory mill. Although I might believe the lad opened his eyes one morning, saw the horror of his sins, and fled to a man of God for guidance, I find it strange that he should run away at the very sight of me after Otes’ corpse was found.” He gnawed in silence. “Is there nothing more you can tell me about Simon and his mother?”

“Staying with a hermit nearby, you say?”

The crowner nodded. “Aye. Just above the pond where the baron was killed.”

The sheriff thought for a moment, then shrugged. “I know nothing about the young fool other than the usual boyish swinking and maternal outrage when he can’t keep his pintle in his braes. I heard rumor that he tried to breach the wrong girl recently, then struck her with his fists for refusing him. That news was silenced as well as might be.”

“None of this explains why Simon hid from me when Brother Thomas and I spoke. Maybe Simon has another secret, apart from tearing maidenheads. I had best pay a visit to our good hermit and his recent guest.” He rose.

Fulke glanced through the crowd, eager to catch the eye of his favored wench.

The crowner slammed his hand down on the sheriff’s shoulder. “In the meantime, brother, take my advice and keep your own tarse strapped down tonight. If Signy discovers you riding one of her women in the stable, she might mistake you for a bull that needs some trimming.”

Grinning with wicked delight at his horrified brother, Ralf walked away.