Valley of Dry Bones (8 page)

Realizing he was about to circumvent Prioress Eleanor, the monk shook his head. None of this was his responsibility, he reminded himself. His prioress was the leader of all religious at Tyndal. She alone had the authority to make decisions in this matter.

He shut his eyes and begged pardon for such overweening pride. After all, he was only a monk, one with no authority at all.

Suddenly he sensed more than heard a soft-footed approach. The hair on his neck stiffened. He spun around, wary of danger.

In the hazy light of the hot sun, a young man stood quite still near the hermitage door. He was as beautiful as one of God’s angels.

Amazed by the handsome youth, Thomas was struck with uncommon lust.

The young man stepped toward him. “Are you the hermit of Tyndal?”

Thomas nodded.

“I beg a blessing,” the youth said, then knelt at the hermit’s feet.

“I will grant that wish,” Thomas replied, his voice trembling, “although I am neither a holy man nor worthy of such obeisance.” He reached out to pull the lad to his feet, then drew back, frightened by his overwhelming desire for the man. In a hoarse voice he asked, “What is your name?”

“Simon.”

Chapter Fifteen

Prioress Eleanor faced the open window that looked out on her priory’s extensive grounds. The weight on her heart stifled her as much as the summer heat. Pressing a fist against her breast, she prayed for masculine calm and the strength not to weep like the frail woman she was.

She turned around.

Prior Andrew’s cheeks were wet with tears enough for them both.

“I did not know the circumstances of your brother’s death,” she said softly.

“I should have confessed it sooner.”

“Although our families fought on different sides of the rebellion, you and I have vowed our allegiance to a far greater Lord than any earthly king.” She hesitated and looked on her prior with compassion. “Upon joining the Order of Fontevraud, you swore you would follow a prioress’ direction with the obedience any good son owes his mother. That vow you have honored in word and in the spirit of the command.” She smiled with wry amusement. “That is more than most mortals accord any rule.”

“Then I have doubly betrayed your confidence, my lady. I kept this part of my past hidden from you. In so doing, I may bring dishonor to this house.” Andrew bowed his head. “I shall resign my position. A worthier man than I must serve as your prior.”

Eleanor furtively ran her fingers under her eyes to make sure tears had not betrayed her feelings. “Before I make any decision on that plea, I must first ask a question, one to which I require an answer appropriate to your vows and dedication in God’s service.” She struggled to keep her voice steady. “Did you kill Baron Otes as you vowed on the battlefield of Evesham?”

Andrew did not hesitate. “I am innocent of his murder. That oath after my brother’s death was made in the agony of grief and was fueled by the misery of my feverish body. Without hesitation I confess I hated the baron beyond all reason and even imagined the torture I wanted to inflict on him in retaliation. Since then, I have learned how empty revenge is. Every morning, upon rising, I recite God’s commandments before I say my prayers. Thus am I reminded that He abominates murder, even for righteous vengeance.”

“You show much wisdom, Prior. We all would be well-advised to follow your practice.”

“Those kind words are more than this wretched man deserves.”

Lest her trembling hands betray her distress, Eleanor tucked them into her sleeves and frowned. “As for your request to return to the life of a simple monk…” She stopped and waited for him to meet her gaze as she uttered her decision. “I cannot grant your wish. Remaining in your position, with all the burdens that brings, is not only your duty but shall be your penance.”

“My lady…”

“Nor will I allow further debate on the subject.” Her grey eyes darkened. “What happened to your brother was criminal, under God’s law as well as the rules of combat, and his name shall be included from this day forth in the daily prayers of our nuns. I, too, shall beg God’s mercy for him for as long as I remain on this earth.”

“My gratitude is beyond mortal speech.” He fell to his knees.

“You and your brother did support de Montfort, however.”

“We fought for his principles, my lady, that all men have the right to just governance. War was waged solely to win a greater voice for Englishmen, not to remove King Henry from the throne. Had we believed the Earl of Leicester wanted to replace an anointed king, we would not have joined his cause.”

“My father believed his ambition reached for the throne. Equally honorable men agreed with you and your brother. Whatever the truth of it, our new king also rode alongside the earl, with my eldest brother at Lord Edward’s side, until both felt threatened by de Montfort’s power.”

“I have never been traitor to kingship,” Andrew whispered, “and remain a true subject of our king.”

“Rise, Prior. I never doubted your loyalty, but worldly allegiances are often changeable things. Men’s reason and hearts are too flawed to follow without question. Only God’s purpose is trustworthy for He alone is perfect.” She sighed. “And Tyndal Priory belongs to God. Faithful though we may be to anointed kings, we have a higher allegiance and must be steadfast in following His direction. Unworthy though I may be, I am leader here and you are under my dominion. In the name of the Queen of Heaven, I require that you swear never again to hide anything from me which I ought to know.”

He opened his mouth to speak. No words came forth. He nodded agreement.

Fearing for his weak leg, Eleanor gave him leave to sit in her presence. “You have proven yourself a good son to me. Your brother, by his unselfish act that saved your life, was equally devoted to the demands of kinship. In both of you, I see honorable men.” She took a deep breath. “My father may have told me some tales of the baron, but I was unaware of the depths of his wickedness. You must tell me more of him. I have an obligation to the other envoys, our new queen, and our priory’s reputation. Although Baron Otes was surely the victim of someone from outside Tyndal, he was our guest.”

“I have never sought news of him since taking vows and finding my home here, my lady.”

“Surely you remember something of his habits and character from the past.”

The prior grasped his thigh and winced. “Muddied as my memory is with grief, some may doubt the truth of what I say. Others will swear they share my opinion. Like a hound, the baron was zealous in his hunt for any prey whose downfall would benefit him. Although the pursuit of worldly influence on behalf of family is expected and honorable, he lacked all restraint in his methods. With coin and threats he bought information that destroyed some and forced others to support him with acclamation far louder than he deserved.”

“Surely not all his ploys worked.”

“I point to his murder.”

“That deed does suggest at least one failure,” she replied, settling into her own chair. With one finger, she traced the deep carving on the arms and fell into troubled thought. “When he spoke with me, he did show deep concern for his soul’s fate.”

“The man I knew had little room in his heart for God.”

“Perhaps he came belatedly to a fear of hellfire.”

Andrew’s expression betrayed a fleeting doubt before he nodded.

“He wished to leave land to the priory in exchange for prayers after his death.”

“On arrival, he recognized me, as I did him. I doubt he would have given such a gift without demanding that I suffer in some way. Although fear of Hell may have finally crawled into his heart, a snail could traverse the earth’s surface before that man ever gave a gift without expecting some worldly gain.”

“You have the right of it,” Eleanor said. “Without fees, wool, and fertile land for ample harvests, Tyndal cannot provide for our religious whose duty is to pray. Even though most gifts come with honorable requests, God does not countenance doing anything ignoble to keep a priory out of debt. I told the baron I must decline any gift that came with the price he asked.”

Andrew lowered his eyes, and then looked up with evident horror. “When you refused him, did he not threaten reprisal?”

Eleanor took time to choose her words as she recalled the baron’s suggestion that King Edward might grow angry with those who succored a man who had once drawn a sword against an anointed king. “I believe he was too surprised by my decision to come up with a suitable revenge,” she said at last, hoping Andrew did not hear the lie in her voice.

Chapter Sixteen

“You’re drunk.” Ralf reached for the jug of ale.

“Had you any sense, you’d be too,” Fulke replied, pulling the pitcher out of his brother’s grasp. After staring inside with long and careful study, he tipped the last of the amber liquid into his mouth. “Is that all you have to offer me?” He slammed the thing down on the table, belching like a hog grunts over slops.

“’S Blood, Fulke! My daughter is asleep. If you frighten her, I’ll skin your balls.”

“Not before the Devil fries yours, little brother.” His scowl wavered. “There was a time when you drank men under the table and swyved their wenches afterward. You’re no saint.”

“I’ve since become a husband and father.”

“As have I, or at least I was a father until the babes died. My wife has long been barren. Of late, she has refused her bed to me. Seems the priest believes coupling without issue is no more than sinful lust. Now I seek relief…”

“God keep me from your tales of feeble gropings and pitiful couplings. I do not care.”

Fulke raised his fist and bellowed outrage.

Ralf grabbed him by the wrist. “If you disturb Sibely,” he hissed, “I swear I’ll make sure you have nothing left between your legs to poke any woman.”

“Cokenay,” the sheriff growled, but his voice had dropped and his wrath quickly wilted. With his free hand, he gestured agreement.

The two men fell silent as they both listened for any sound of distress from the sleeping child.

All was quiet.

“More ale,” Fulke whispered, “if you haven’t any decent wine to serve your noble brother.”

In response, Ralf pushed a platter of cold fowl and bread toward him, then relented and refilled the pitcher with ale. “Out of compassion for soulless beasts, you can stay the night. Were you to walk back to the priory, you’d pass out, be eaten by some wild creature, and poison the poor animal with your foul flesh.” He gestured to a corner of the room. “There is straw enough there for a bed.”

Fulke said nothing as he grasped the cup close to his chest. He was visibly shivering.

“I’ll not geld you in your sleep,” Ralf said, grabbing a handful of fowl from the platter. “You have my word.”

Shaking his head, the sheriff noisily sucked his cup dry and reached for the jug.

With great deliberation, Ralf tore off bits of flesh from the wing and stuffed them into his mouth.

“I’m scared.” Fulke’s words were almost inaudible.

The crowner grinned.

“Not of you.”

Ralf shrugged.

“I did not kill him.”

“You had cause enough.”

“I just affirmed my innocence.”

“God was gracious and I never met the man in my short time at court. From tales I’ve heard of him, perhaps you should have slit his throat.” Ralf tossed the denuded bird bones at the sheriff’s feet. “As for questioning your honesty, you would question mine were our situations reversed. Tell me why I must conclude you are telling the truth.”

“Be careful how you continue. If I hang, remember that Odo would get the land to use as he defines God’s work, sweet brother. You would gain little except, perhaps, the responsibility of caring for my widow.”

“You have been too long amongst devious men, Fulke. If I had longed for either title or inheritance, I could have killed you when we were boys and disguised the deed well enough as an accident. Why wait until now?”

Reaching across the table, Fulke clutched his brother’s arm. “If you don’t believe me, I will swear on any holy relic of your choosing! I did not kill Baron Otes, although you know well enough I might wish to.”

Ralf looked down with disgust at the sheriff’s hand. “Swear not. I think you’d lie to God Himself.”

“Why do you hate me?” Fulke sat back. Even with his expression disguised by shadows, he looked defeated.

“You never gave me reason to love.”

The older brother shook his head as if amazed.

“If you cannot recall the tauntings or the cruel jests when we were boys, then I have no wish, as a man, to remind you. As long as we stay far apart, Fulke, we shall remain peaceful enough brothers.”

“We are kin.”

“Saying that only means you want something from me.”

“Find the man who killed Baron Otes, do so quickly, and keep all suspicion from ever falling on me.”

“You are the sheriff of this land. I am only your lowly crowner and the brother for whom you show little respect.”

“Did I not take you into my home when you fled this place? Did I not find you a woman with land?”

“It was your spouse who welcomed me with kindness in my grief. You greeted me once, then spoke only when it suited your purpose. As for the wife you gave me, she gifted me with a daughter who has brought the taste of honey back to my life. I cherish the child far more than the land.”

“You owe me.”

“As I have said already, I have repaid that debt.”

Fulke leaned forward, his teeth clenched in fury.

Shoving his drunken brother backwards, Ralf filled his own mazer and drank deeply. “If you agree to a few simple conditions, I’ll do as you ask.”

The sheriff lowered his head.

Ralf walked over to the wall where his sword hung on a peg and returned with the weapon in hand. “As this represents the cross on which our Lord was crucified, I ask that you put your hand on the hilt and swear you will agree to my demands and never turn traitor to your word.”

Fulke rested one palm on the hilt and grunted.

“Good.” Laying the weapon down on the table, he turned back to his brother. “My conditions are simple. First, stay out of my way until the killer is found. Later, you can preen like a capon all you like and lie to your friends at court about how clever you were in trapping the murderer. I swear to support your tale if required. The last conditions are that you cease to plan any further marriage propositions for me and that you return to kneel at the king’s feet, leaving me forever in peace.”

Fulke did nod, but his head had grown too heavy to hold up. His eyes closed, and he slid off the bench onto the floor.

Ralf walked around the table and looked down at the man, dressed in robes of finely woven cloth, sprawled on an earthen floor. Did he believe Fulke’s assertion of innocence in this murder? Whether or not he did, he knew he must confirm the truth either way and then decide what to do if his brother had lied.

The sheriff began to snore.

“God has cursed me with such brothers,” the crowner muttered. Then he grabbed Fulke by the armpits and dragged him to a pile of straw where the head of the family could sleep off his drunken stupor.