Thomas uttered a sound that could be interpreted as disbelief or delighted surprise.
“The idea may come to nothing, but the offer of compensation was a fair one to us both. I hoped to meet with him and discuss it further.”
The two continued on in silence, each man lost in his own musing.
“What brings you to this part of Walsingham, Brother? It is far from any shrine.” Durant’s voice bit into the monk’s thoughts.
Glancing at his face, Thomas knew the merchant had finished playing games with him. He should not have shown such evident doubt over Durant’s explanations. If he wanted to avoid equally overt misgivings from this troubling man about his own purpose here, he would have been wiser to play the innocent.
“I have not been in Walsingham before and thought to spend a little time walking about the town. Monks do not often see the outside of our priory walls.” He shrugged. “Improper or not, we always enjoy news of the outside world. I readily confess that I share this weakness, but seeing what some believe are the joys of the secular world only makes me stronger in my vocation.” There is enough truth in that, Thomas thought. He and Prioress Eleanor often found too much violence beyond the walls of Tyndal.
“Then we soon part,” Durant replied, “and I may not have the pleasure of your company again.” He pointed to a house some doors ahead which Thomas knew, from the painfully explicit details he had been given, belonged to Master Larcher.
“It shall be as God wills it,” the monk replied.
Thomas would give the wine merchant time to complete his business with the craftsman and hope Durant left soon. It would require stealth, but he might hide nearby and watch for the merchant to leave. Then it would be safe for him to visit Master Larcher.
He looked around. Unfortunately, there was nothing here to give him cause to tarry. Were he to try to hide somewhere, he might be reported. Despite his tonsure, householders did not trust strangers who lingered with no obvious purpose, and thieves never hesitated to disguise themselves. Pretending to be an innocent religious might add to their many sins, but robbers were not usually as rigorous in their faith as they were in their devotion to their trade.
Durant stopped close by the craftsman’s house. “Will you give me a blessing, Brother? I am a sinful man but wish I were a more virtuous one.” He knelt.
Thomas obliged him but did not add any prayer that God look with favor on this strange enterprise mentioned by the wine merchant. He doubted God would believe he meant such a thing and refused to insult Him by pretending he did.
Rising, Durant smiled at the monk. The warmth of the look seemed genuine and Thomas felt a twinge of guilt. The man still might not deserve his suspicion.
The two parted, the merchant to the door of Master Larcher and the monk to his aimless journey down the street as he tried to decide what he ought to do next.
But Thomas had not walked far before he heard running footsteps behind him.
“Brother Thomas! In God’s name, please stop!”
The monk spun around, shocked by the urgency in the man’s voice.
It was the wine merchant. Durant’s face was ashen. “I beg you to come quickly. I need your help.” His voice trembled with emotion.
Thomas nodded. This was unfeigned. Something had happened to toss aside all pretence.
Together the men rushed back toward Master Larcher’s house.
Chapter Twenty-four
Father Vincent looked over his shoulder and saw the monk and wine merchant running toward Master Larcher’s house. Terrified they would see him, he fled into a narrow alley.
Pressing his back against a wall, he prayed he would not faint. Were he to do so, and someone found him, he would be hard-pressed to explain what he was doing in this part of town. There was no one living here whom he had any cause to visit, except the craftsman Larcher, and that was the last person he wanted anyone to think he had just seen.
Why was he so cursed?
His head spun. Sweat ran down his back and sides. Even he could smell the sour fear oozing out of him. He whined and groaned, then muttered a prayer to God for forgiveness. Realizing he had spoken aloud, he glanced around, hoping no mortal was close enough to hear him.
There was no one around.
Easing away from the wall, he slowly peeked around the corner toward the place he had seen the two men.
No one was seeking him, or at least not yet.
Feeling a modicum of hope, he hurried down the short alley and emerged into an adjacent street.
He longed to run but knew he was wiser not to do so. If a man passed him by, he might remember that haste. If nothing else, the person might be a pious soul and stop him to ask if he could help. Why else would a priest be running unless there was a dire illness or impending death?
Again God showed His favor, and Father Vincent escaped from his questionable route and into the main road to the shrines. If anyone saw him, they would assume he was returning from worshiping at one of them.
Breathing a sigh of relief, he slowed his pace even more. Now that he was safe from pursuit, he could take the time to arrive at Ryehill Priory with the welcome news that they need no longer fear anything Master Larcher might say or do.
Chapter Twenty-five
Durant ordered the apprentices away from Master Larcher’s door. Three swiftly fled back to the workshop. One hesitated, looking over his shoulder as if enchanted by violent death. Once the private stairway to the house was cleared of the curious, the wine merchant turned to Thomas. “Let us go up,” he said. “I think you can guess what the lads found.”
The body of the manservant lay on his back in the stairwell a short distance from the entry to his master’s rooms. Thomas knelt by the man’s side, but his examination was brief. There was a dagger in the chest of the corpse.
“We must send word to the sheriff or crowner,” the monk said, looking down at the merchant standing a few steps below. Thomas put his hand on the servant’s neck. The flesh was still warm to the touch. “The murderer left not long ago, although I fear he has escaped beyond reasonable hope of capture.”
“We shall call the king’s men as soon as we see what lies in those chambers, Brother.” With that, Durant leapt up the stairs and past him to the entry door. He did not bother to call out or knock before going inside. The door was half open.
With a final glance at the dead man, Thomas slowly rose and followed. If he had only suspected before that this wine merchant was not all he claimed to be, he could now no longer doubt it.
Yet he followed him into the chambers without hesitation. Listening to his intuition when reason saw no logic, he believed that Durant had begged his assistance without guile. This time, Thomas was certain they shared an interest, if not an exact purpose. Whatever the man’s true vocation, the monk decided he had nothing to fear from him in this matter, although he was still unhappy that he had been used to obtain information and even more that he was fool enough at the time not to realize it.
As he walked through the door into Master Larcher’s living quarters, he looked around the room.
Durant knelt in front of a dark wooden chest, the three iron locks pulled up, and he was searching through the contents. A few rolls of parchment lay on the floor. A small box was upside down, the contents scattered. The smell in the room was foul, but the wine merchant paid no attention to the cause.
The body of Master Larcher was slumped over a table, his hand next to an overturned goblet, and his head in a pool of vomit.
Thomas walked over to the corpse and touched the neck. Like that of the servant, it was warm.
On the table was a pottery jug. He peered into it. It was half-filled with a wine that had a pleasant smell. The merchant apparently enjoyed fine wines, he thought. Bending to look under the table, he noticed a stain in the rushes on the side opposite where Larcher sat. He knelt, felt it, and sniffed his hand. The spot was still damp, and his fingers smelled of wine.
He glanced back at the table
top. There was no second goblet, and the wine spilled from the merchant’s cup was dripping next to the body.
When he stood, he saw that there were few household articles to examine. Like many people of his rank, the craftsman established his affluence by quality of craftsmanship rather than quantity of movables. Master Larcher made sure that his prosperity was on display.
Atop a heavy oaken chest, there were two large and intricately designed pewter plates, in front of which rested several well-crafted goblets. Surely, Thomas thought, Larcher had made these items himself. There was also another pitcher, full of wine. This container was made of silver.
He sniffed. Although his experience of wine was limited, the monk noted that this vintage had a harsher odor and suspected the quality was more ordinary than the one near the corpse.
Ignoring the plate, he examined the goblets. One felt damp inside. He sniffed and caught a light scent of wine. Had Larcher invited the killer to drink a cup with him, hospitality that was repaid with murder? Afterward, the man must have poured his own wine into the rushes and replaced the goblet with its fellows on the chest. How odd, Thomas thought, and walked back to the corpse.
He pulled the body back into the chair. There was no blood, no knife in the chest, but Larcher’s face was contorted. Bending closer, he looked into the man’s staring eyes. They were dilated, and his cheeks bore red patches. Thomas had seen this before.
Master Larcher had been poisoned.
Dipping his finger into the wine still at the bottom of the goblet, he sniffed again. There was no particular odor, although he caught just a hint of something slightly flowery. He wiped his finger on his robe.
“What have you found, Brother?” Durant rose to his feet and shut the lid to the chest with a slam. He did not look pleased.
“This was not a robbery.” Thomas gestured around the room. “There is too much of value left, and I see no empty space where an item may have sat. I think the craftsman had a guest who did not want to be remembered,” he said. “Yet the evidence of his visit was poorly disguised.”
Durant went over to the corpse and did a quick examination. “Stab the servant. Poison the craftsman.”
“That knife thrust was skillfully directed into the servant’s chest for a swift death. The attacker may have stabbed him after he killed the master and as he was leaving. The servant was lying on his back, facing the chamber door. Surely Master Larcher would have been suspicious if the guest was not announced by the manservant.”
Durant frowned. “It was still a dangerous plan. What if one of the apprentices had a question for his master and found the servant’s body in the stairwell? Or the apprentice might have arrived after the craftsman was killed but before the servant was. If the servant caught him.”
“If the former, he still would have had time to flee. Even if the apprentice saw him, but had never met the killer, escape is easy in town streets. If the latter, both apprentice and servant might have suffered a quick death, although two would have had a better chance of apprehending one murderer. I do suspect the servant was killed last, yet I agree that either plan was imperfect. I doubt the slayer stayed here long.” Thomas pointed at the corpse. “That poison must have killed him quickly.”
Durant nodded.
“I suspect you know the type well. Lily of the Valley?”
The wine merchant smiled, then examined the contents of the pitcher. “I know the wine. It has a fine flavor but also a smooth texture. If Master Larcher had had more than one cup, he might have preferred the feeling of it more than the taste and swallowed without noticing the sweeter flavor.” He glanced back into the ewer. “Someone stewed a potent brew to kill him this swiftly.”
“There is another wine over there.” Thomas pointed to the jug.
Durant examined it. “A common vintage. I fear it will turn soon and find a better use in the kitchen as flavoring.” He nodded at the pitcher on the table. “His guest must have been a special one to be served that.” He glanced down at the stain on the floor, and his expression grew sad.
Thomas looked at the silver wine container on the chest, and then back at the more humble one made of pottery on the table. “Is it significant that the better vintage was in a common pot but the lesser in a finer pitcher?”
Durant chuckled. “I fear it means that our craftsman wished to hide the wine’s poorer quality by placing it in a very attractive container.”
Thomas glanced at the corpse and found he could not laugh at a dead man’s foolishness. “Surely now we may send word….”
“Soon.” The merchant walked over to an inside door, peered around it, and entered.
Thomas followed. The room was a bedchamber. “You have not found what you are looking for?”
Kneeling beside the bed, Durant started to peer under the mattress. “Nor what I feared I might.” He glanced up at the monk.
Thomas swallowed his impatience. “If you tell me what you seek, I could help. It would take less time.”
Durant sat back, lost in thought, and stared at his hands.
“The apprentices know we are in these chambers. To remain here longer without calling the king’s men would cast suspicion on one of us,” Thomas said. “My vocation protects me from many things, but I do not believe yours does. We both want the killer caught, even if our reasons might be different.”
“You ask as if you did not fear my cause,” Durant replied. His expression lacked all pretense, and his tone was firm as if he had just made an important choice.
“Should I?”
“I know who your father was.”
Thomas felt as if an icy hand had grasped his heart. He willed himself to stay calm. “It is not a secret.”
Durant got to his feet and waited for the monk to say more.
Thomas took a deep breath. Although he had chosen to remain silent about his parentage since his time in prison, the reasons for doing so no longer seemed relevant. Yet he had never spoken of it, fearing that he would still bring disgrace on the innocent and because he preferred the anonymity of being a simple monk with an ill-defined past. “I am not ashamed of my birth, sire or dam.”
“Does your prioress know the circumstances of your birth?”
“When I took vows, I was taken into God’s wider family. She is my sister and I her brother. That is the only kinship that matters in our priory.”
But Thomas began to feel uncomfortable. In truth, he doubted Prioress Eleanor did know and feared her reaction should she learn his story. What did this man want of him? Now he feared the merchant was jabbing at his soft spots for some malevolent reason.
“But she has not forsaken her earthly kin. Why have you?”
“Why ask these things? Of what merit are they that you take this time to pry?”
“I ask because I must, Brother, but my heart tells me to trust you. One matter more. Do you swear to answer honestly if I promise to leave you in peace even if your reply does not please me?”
Confused, Thomas hesitated and then nodded once.
“Do you follow your family’s loyalty to King Edward?”
The question was not what he feared the most—the one regarding his time in prison—but his immense relief shattered his self-control. He replied with a burst of fury. “You think I would admit to treason? You assume I would be fool enough to believe a man who says he would accept such an admission? I know you not, Durant of Norwich. I do not even know if you are a wine merchant. If you are a king’s man, prove it. If not, I shall depart now before I break my vows and crack your neck!”
Durant reached deep into his robe and pulled out a tiny document, tightly rolled. “Read this. Since I trust you enough to show it to you, you must trust me enough to believe it.”
Thomas unrolled it and read the brief note. His face paled. “If this is true, and the seal suggests it is, why trust me or anyone? You play a dangerous game.”
“I know your story, Brother. Not just your kinship but the reason you were imprisoned and your later
service for the Church. I am in a position to guarantee you will not betray me.”
Thomas turned away as if he had been slapped. It had been many years since he had felt shame this fresh. He ached with it. “Let me be. I have finished my penance,” he whispered. “Since that time, I have served my prioress and done so honorably.”
“You do not mention God, Brother.” Durant’s voice was gentle.
“Her word comes from God.” He looked back at the wine merchant and clenched his fists. “If you think to silence me by threatening to tell Prioress Eleanor of my past misdeeds and mixed loyalties, then tell her all. I serve her will, not yours.”
“I have no intention of doing so and have said what I have for one reason only. Your loyalty to your prioress and the Church is unquestioned. I need you to serve your king with equal fervor.”
Thomas knew he could bear no more of this. His head swam with the agony of old wounds torn open. The room stank of foul death. He hated this man and yet he was drawn to him for reasons he had no energy to explore. “I honor King Edward. Bastard though I am, I am still my father’s son and his loyalty to the anointed king was unquestioned.” He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then said, “If I had answered otherwise, would you have let me walk away a free man as you swore?”
Durant suddenly embraced the monk, then gently pushed him back. “I gave my word, and I am, in my way, an honorable man. Had you been traitor to our liege lord—”
“Yours, not mine.” Thomas briefly smiled. “Mine represents the Queen of Heaven on earth.”
Throwing his hands up with mild exasperation, Durant continued, “I had little doubt of you. Few men can feign loyalty for long when their hearts do not own it. It is a rare skill, and I mean it as a compliment to you that I never believed that to be one of your many talents.”
“May we now cease this talk and concentrate on a swift search so the authorities may be summoned.” The monk gestured around the room. “What do you want me to do?”
Covenant With Hell (Medieval Mysteries) Page 15
