Chambers of Death mm-6

by Priscilla Royal

  What a strange reaction, Eleanor thought as she looked down at Hilda and touched her cheek. Although the skin had regained a suspicious coloring, she was relieved to note there was no feverous heat. “Might he have told this news to anyone else?”

  “To whom, my lady? He and Ranulf are not close, and he has not sought out any boyhood friends due to the reasons for his sudden return. He is wise enough to stay silent in any case.” Preparing to defend her lad’s good sense, Maud tensed.

  Not having any cause to debate this, Eleanor nodded, and then grew thoughtful. Perhaps Huet’s response had not been so odd. Jests were an honored means of speaking truth through laughter. Even wise kings encouraged their fools to do it, thus allowing bitter honesty to counter the honeyed words of flatterers. The manner in which Huet had defended Hilda had been similar. Maybe he knew how difficult this confession had been for his mother and he had simply tried to make her laugh. That would point to a kind nature and not one prone to murder.

  “Indeed, I soon saw hope that Huet might return to Cambridge. As we spoke more in private about the matter, he listened with the grave earnestness befitting a man. When I reminded him that a position with the Earl would bring him a comfortable lot in life, whatever the truth of his birth, he said he would refuse to take even one mazer of a true son’s inheritance from Ranulf.”

  “You tell me that you and Huet were together the night Tobye was murdered. Brother Thomas has argued persuasively that Mistress Luce’s death could not have been by her own hand, but you and Master Stevyn were together the night she was killed. Finally, I see no reason why any of you would attack Hilda.” Eleanor threw up her hands in frustration. “Who, then, is the murderer?”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  “I had cause enough to kill my step-mother,” Huet said, leaning back against the stone wall. He sampled the wine and then pointed to his cup. “Congratulations on finding an honest wine merchant. In university, they gave us vinegar, although some claimed drinking it was intended to be a foretaste of Hell.”

  “Why are you trying to put the hangman’s noose around your neck? You have no reason to kill anyone,” Stevyn snapped.

  “If you were to ask Ranulf, or his pious wife, they would say that a mortal as stained with sin as I am must be capable of any foul crime. When the shepherd culls his flock, they declare the black sheep are slaughtered with more joy than the white ones, and that the Devil thinks the former taste better roasted on the spit. Never mind that white sheep are not so pure in hue, nor black ones as dark.” He shrugged.

  “This is nothing to jest about!” The steward spun around to Thomas. “Don’t listen to him!”

  “But he must,” Huet countered, winking at the monk. “Does our dear brother not have ears?”

  “As do asses,” Thomas replied, “but I am a priest, not a sheriff, and thus prefer saving souls to hanging mortals.”

  “And a priest who reads what truth there may be in any man’s smile, I think.” Huet produced a patently false grin.

  Thomas gave Huet a look advising caution.

  The steward uttered such a deep growl that one passing dog yelped, then skittered off with tail between its legs. “Do not be fooled by a tonsure, my son. I have never known any monk who would try to stop a condemned man from hanging.” Stevyn shook his finger at the young man. “Brother Thomas has been asking enough questions to suggest he wants a murderer hanged for the killings here, whatever his claimed interest in the cleansing of souls.”

  “Will you forgive my sins, and then lead me by the hand to Sir Reimund, Brother?” Huet gazed at the monk over the edge of his mazer, a look that could be interpreted as playful-or carefully feigned innocence.

  Thomas suddenly lost his own patience with Huet’s glib responses, although he suspected the son’s motive was less frivolous than a very sober attempt to turn suspicion away from his father. How long would it take before the son gave up the noble effort? He decided to test Huet and see what truths that method might reveal. “Explain your purpose in killing Mistress Luce.”

  “How dare you!” The steward took a step toward the monk.

  “Please, Father. Let me speak freely.”

  “I have no wish to falsely entrap your son. If he is innocent, his words will prove it.”

  “No matter what he says, he had no part in this violence,” Stevyn replied, then reluctantly nodded his permission for Huet to continue.

  “My brother has always longed to buy a space in Heaven, and his wife will not even countenance lust long enough to produce heirs. In addition, most would conclude he is less capable of managing an estate than your prioress’ donkey is of winning a race against my father’s horse. As a second son, I might have hopes of inheriting my father’s position as steward, and the lands he holds in his own right, if the saintly Ranulf turns his back on the world and takes vows.”

  “You should know better than to assume your brother would do so. He may have calluses on his knees, but he is no saint,” Stevyn muttered. “I never told his mother of the times I caught him pleasuring himself in full view of the laundry maids.”

  Huet gave his cup to his father for more wine. “Even if Ranulf never forswears lust, he may die without issue unless his wife relents on her refusal to pay the marriage debt. As the second son, I would inherit.” He turned to Thomas. “As you have now learned, Brother, I may be my father’s son but Mistress Maud birthed me instead of a wedded wife. That fact, once I learned it, was reason enough to kill Mistress Luce to prevent any new and legitimate heir from displacing me.”

  Thomas gestured at the fuming steward to remain silent. “Should Master Ranulf take vows as penance or die without issue, you would inherit over any son of Mistress Luce as long as the truth of your birth remains secret.”

  “And if my bastardy is revealed now, or the truth is subsequently discovered, I would be stripped of the inheritance and Mistress Luce’s child would gain all. That is reason enough to kill her before she breeds.”

  “You would never…you could not…you are not…” Stevyn’s eyes grew wider with each dismayed protestation.

  “There is more to this,” Thomas replied. “All you have said is true, Huet, but you are not a foolish man. Being perceptive enough to think beyond the moment, you would not have waited until now to kill her. If you wanted to avoid losing any part of your inheritance, you would have murdered her shortly after the marriage and before there was any chance that she might grow big with child. Why wait until you returned home? By then, she had much opportunity to quicken in your absence.”

  “But I did not learn of my true parentage until recently, Brother. Were this a simple matter of losing some minor inheritance because my father’s new wife bore sons, I would agree with your logic.”

  Thomas smiled his concession of the point. “Yet men are often greedy beyond reason and will kill for a clipped penny as quickly as for a jeweled ring. Even if I agree with you on this, however, you must still explain why you stabbed Hilda. Did you not profess love for her and even defend her innocence before the entire manor? Why do so if she witnessed your foul deed and might be hanged for it instead of you?”

  Huet began to argue further, but his shoulders hunched and he fell silent. The expression on his face declared that he had lost all taste for this dispute when asked to confess the stabbing of a woman he cared about.

  Yet Thomas had seen how well this man took on the nature of others for the sake of entertainment. Dare he believe this particular show of emotion to be honest?

  “Will you now end your foolishness, my son? If you are trying to save me by building a case for your own hanging, there is no reason to do so.” Stevyn stretched his hands toward the monk. They trembled with his pleading. “Tell him that you do not suspect me of killing my wife!”

  For a moment, Thomas hesitated. Was he convinced of the steward’s innocence? Did he believe his story? Finally, he nodded agreement. “Your father was elsewhere the night Mistress Luce was killed, a story easily confirmed. As f
or Tobye, however, you might have had good reason to kill him. Surely you heard that he was swyving your stepmother?”

  Some enigmatic emotion flickered in Huet’s eyes. “I might have beaten Tobye for taking that which did not belong to him, but kill him? Nay,” he whispered. “It was my stepmother who dishonored my father’s bed. The groom only took what was thrust at him. I might have killed her for the pain she gave my sire, had my attention not been redirected to the matter of my bastardy.” Sighing, he stood up, walked over to his father, and gently placed a hand on Stevyn’s shoulder. “Father, I do not condemn you, my mother, or your first wife in this matter of my birth. My true mother gave much love to me as a boy, and you gave me your favor. As for the woman who called herself my mother, she taught me the meaning of charity, even if I had to learn how she practiced it after her death.”

  “Where were you while Mistress Luce was being murdered?” Thomas asked softly.

  Master Stevyn looked up at his son. A rising of tears now glistened in his eyes.

  Here was a man accustomed to facing many trials without flinching, Thomas thought. Now he quakes with fear for the safety of his beloved Huet. He hoped the ordeal would soon be over.

  Huet squeezed his father’s shoulder in reassurance. “I was at Hilda’s side. Mistress Maud asked me to watch over her when a servant came to her door, calling her away. I did suspect you had summoned her and thus I promised to watch over our cook in case Death came for her and a priest should be called. That is where I was when I heard the hue and cry from the courtyard.” Turning to Thomas, he met his gaze without blinking. “I even prayed that she regain consciousness and name her attacker. Sadly, she did not.”

  “Very well,” Thomas said after a moment. “If you both are innocent of sending unshriven souls to Hell, who might have done the deed?” He looked first to the steward, then to the son. “Surely you have suspicions.”

  Stevyn sank into the bench and rubbed at his eyes.

  Huet fell into a contemplative stance.

  “Brother Thomas, I have finally found you!”

  Startled, the monk turned to look behind him.

  His prioress’ guard stood at the door.

  “Prioress Eleanor begs you come immediately!” the man cried. “To the room where the cook lies. There has been a confession.”

  Thomas set off at a run.

  Huet snatched a dagger from the table, the blade flashing in the hearth firelight, and followed close behind.

  The steward stared after them, his hands trembling as if a severe palsy had just struck. Then he threw his head back and cried out like a wounded animal alone in the forest.

  Chapter Forty

  Eleanor gasped in shock.

  “Forgive me, my lady. I have no wish to point an accusing finger at an innocent,” Maud said. “Although I do find the creature obnoxious, I mention the name only to suggest there were others who might have had cause enough to do violence.”

  “What reason would Constance have to kill anyone? I thought her eyes looked only to Heaven, however benighted her vision of it might be.”

  “Mistress Constance hated her husband. I was not the only one who heard her loudly refuse to lie with him and plead that they take vows of celibacy for the salvation of their souls. Yet she was not without carnal longings and had a hot eye for a well-formed man. When my son first returned home, now more a man than the boy who left here, she even gazed upon him like a hungry traveler might look upon an innkeeper’s savory stew. Then he bluntly told her that he would be no woman’s supper.” Her lips briefly twitched with a smile.

  Eleanor mind began to race with this new possibility. Ranulf was quite certain he had seen a woman visiting the groom the night he was murdered. Might it have been the elder son’s wife? Yet surely he would have recognized her. There must have been too little moonlight to identify the person. Perhaps he had just assumed it was Hilda?

  But Constance was a slight woman, unlike the cook, and thus more like the steward’s wife at a glance. How could he have confused such different women? As for Luce, now that she had been murdered, she was unlikely to have been Tobye’s killer. Indeed, this mysterious woman visiting Tobye might be innocent as well. The killer could have arrived later.

  Eleanor wiped her face as if removing an annoying cobweb. “Tobye had quite the following of women. Was Mistress Constance one?”

  The widow might be mistaken for Hilda in poor light, the prioress thought. As much as she believed Maud was innocent, dare she finally eliminate her from the list of suspects? Aye, she could. What Mariota had seen was not a lover’s embrace but that of mother and son. In light of what she had just heard about the longtime relationship between steward and widow, she doubted Maud would invite Tobye to her bed. What she knew of the widow just did not suggest the woman was a killer.

  Then whom had Ranulf seen?

  “There is much common gossip,” Maud said with evident hesitation. “I do not want to spread malicious untruths.”

  “I am a stranger here and thus seek to learn what others know. If you believe the tales are born only of spite, I have no wish to hear them. That said, I beg your opinion on how much truth lies in others.”

  The widow sighed. “There was a rumor that Mistress Constance was obsessed with the groom. Even Tobye laughed about her with his fellows, and I did overhear him once jest that her eye was often on his groin while she bent her knee to God. Whether this was true, I cannot confirm.” She looked at the prioress as if hoping this was sufficient.

  “Did he ever claim to have lain with her?”

  “I can avow no direct knowledge of that, my lady, although I never heard such a story. Perhaps there was pleasure enough in telling the tale that this stern and pious wife might chase after a lusty groom. What I did notice, however, is that his jests about her, which I overheard from others, grew quite cruel. One might think he had grown weary of her longings?”

  “Public mockery is hard enough to bear for any mortal, but more so to one who purports to be righteous,” Eleanor replied. “The humiliation has most certainly driven some to murder. And a woman could slip up on a sleeping man and slit his throat. Perhaps she is also the one who drove a knife into Hilda’s back. But I wonder if Mistress Constance was strong enough to strangle a younger woman and hoist her body to simulate a hanging? Ranulf’s wife was too slight, was she not?”

  “Aye, but might not jealousy add strength to a hand already driven by shame? Surely she had heard that Tobye was bedding Mistress Luce.”

  “Although envy is a very malignant sin, especially when joined to lust and public shame, I am not convinced that Mistress Constance is our murderer. Out of fear, a woman might strike a man with a dagger, or even in a moment of rage, but she does not usually choose that means to kill and Tobye’s death was most certainly planned.”

  “Yet Jael, the wife of Heber, drove a nail into Sisera’s head…”

  “…with the strength of God’s hand to save Israel. Nonetheless, you may be right. Yet is it truly reasonable to conclude that a woman could strangle another, one who would fight back with equal vigor, and then pull her dead body…?” Eleanor gasped.

  “My lady?” Maud stretched out a supporting hand as if she feared the prioress had just been stricken with illness.

  “I am well enough, good mistress, but have reason to curse my slow wit! There is another I have never considered, one whose motives for the violent acts are becoming clearer now.”

  The door to the chamber crashed open.

  Both women whirled around.

  Master Ranulf was bolting the door shut behind him.

  Chapter Forty-One

  “Whores. The women were but whores,” he snarled. “I successfully sent all their souls to hell, with God’s blessing, saving only that cook who still breathes there and whom you have wickedly tried to save. I shall now finish my task.”

  “Does He not grant everyone the right to repent their sins?” Eleanor asked quietly, noting the knife he held in his righ
t hand. “By what right did you assume God wanted any quivering soul condemned without the chance for mercy?”

  “God is wrathful and sends His fire down on all who defy Him like the foul creatures in Sodom and Gomorrah.” Ranulf’s eyes glittered. “What lusts do you hide?”

  The prioress winced at this accurate blow, then modestly lowered her eyes, hoping to cool his rage with meek humility while she concentrated on the more immediate problem of staying alive. “Being mortal, we all sin, but surely God wants us to recognize the evil we have done and strive never to repeat those errors.” Glancing to her left, she saw a jug and basin on a nearby table.

  “Women are Devil-spawned, bitches in heat!” Spittle flew from his white-flecked lips. “Adam would still be in Eden were it not for his fickle wife.”

  Theological debate with this man was clearly not the path to travel, and Eleanor prayed for the calmness needed to discover how best to protect Hilda, Maud, and herself from his frenzy.

  “Our cook was guilty as well?” Maud asked in a timorous voice. “Teach me, Master Ranulf, for I do not understand her sin.”

  “The Devil bought her soul and thus she lusted after the groom! The breath she exhaled befouled the air like some stinking mist and rotted the souls of other daughters of Eve when they came near her. Even the food she cooked for those at the manor was contaminated by her touch.” He gulped air. “The proof of that lies in the number of women who coupled with Tobye. She has to die.”

  “And when God sent an avenger to slay the groom, did her profane eyes witness the deed?” Maud clutched her hands together as if in prayer. “Did she also have to suffer because no one so foul should look upon the splendor of righteous vengeance?”

  The steward’s son frowned as he considered those words, and then nodded as if pleased to agree.

  Keeping a diffident silence, Eleanor backed toward the table.

  Suddenly, Ranulf spun to face the prioress and gestured at her with his knife. “You! You whited sepulcher that leads men into all manner of mortal error, daring to question the cook’s guilt when I spoke out on the side of virtue! What Order founded in God’s rule would allow a woman to rule over the sons of Adam? Satan hides in your robes.” He stepped forward. “I smell him.”