With all the nuns at prayer, now was the right moment to remedy that error.
***
If anyone had been standing outside Master Larcher’s house just then, they might have seen a vague shape become one with the darkness of that narrow alley leading to the nun’s priory. Perhaps they would have asked, in this town of sacred shrines, if the creature they witnessed was mortal at all. Might it be a damned soul still seeking absolution when there was no longer any hope of it?
Chapter Twenty-eight
In their tiny private chapel within the priory, the nuns of Ryehill softly intoned the words of the Office. The chant, which usually calmed her, stabbed at Eleanor’s ears like pricking thorns. To dull the pain, she pressed her hands against the sides of her head.
A nun glanced at her with an anxious look as if closing her ears to the chant meant the prioress of Tyndal was struggling with Satan.
Eleanor ignored her. This was the start of one of her terrible headaches.
With the turmoil after the death of Sister Roysia, she had failed to take her daily doses of feverfew prescribed by Sister Anne, and she was about to suffer for that negligence. Her stomach roiled, and she silently berated herself.
The life of King Edward was in danger, and a nun had been killed. This was not the time to flee to a dark room where she prayed she might endure a pounding so fierce that it promised to burst her skull like a stone shot from a trebuchet. She must try to lessen the severity of this illness.
When she had joined them all at prayer, she chose to kneel away from any direct sunlight in the back of the chapel. She should have realized then that the sensitivity of her eyes to a paltry light did not bode well. Soon she could not bear the pain from the flickering candles, let alone the weak sunlight from the one window, and she began to feel nauseous.
Eleanor rose. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the frightened nun cross herself. The prioress quickly slipped out of the chapel.
The hallway on the way back to the pilgrims’ chamber was empty. Briefly, she hesitated at the ill-fitting entry door to the bell tower. It grieved her that Ryehill was so poor that the only proper door it could afford was the one seen by the world.
But she quickly walked on. The pain had grown too much to bear no matter how much she longed to concentrate on prayer or to seek more clues that might lead to a killer. She must find the feverfew that Sister Anne had put in linen packets for the journey.
When she entered the guest chamber, no one was there. The woman and her child, who so kindly accompanied her to meet Brother Thomas at the Shrine of the Virgin’s Lock, had returned home with her husband. Only she and Mistress Emelyne now shared the quarters, although the nuns had laid down several new straw mattresses for the pilgrims who would arrive in droves during Easter week. The relative peace of seeing the shrines without the crowds would soon end.
She was grateful she had chosen this quieter time to visit the pilgrimage sites. The very thought of the coming hubbub caused the throbbing in her head to increase unbearably.
The feverfew was in the chest where she and the widow kept their few personal belongings. It would not take long to find the carefully apportioned herbs. Little would be left in the chest now that the other pilgrim had gone. Eleanor took hold of the heavy lid and raised it.
The articles inside had been disturbed. Apparently the young mother had not respected the rights of others to share the space and left all in a tumble. Desperately, Eleanor dug through the things in the chest to find the feverfew. A stronger wave of nausea hit her, and she swallowed several times, desperate not to vomit.
Then one item caught her attention. When she pulled it out of the chest, she saw something that so stunned her that it numbed her pain.
It was a robe, finely woven and of somber hue. As she examined it more closely, she saw the ripped sleeve. A piece of cloth was missing. This had not been left behind by the woman and her child, too poor to have owned clothing of such fine workmanship.
She gasped.
From behind her, a hand reached around and clamped her mouth shut. Something very sharp bit into her back.
“I see you have found what I hoped no one would, my lady. In particular I prayed that God would save you from this, for I never slay unless I have no other choice.”
Chapter Twenty-nine
Thomas stood outside the walls of Ryehill Priory and looked up at the sky. It was light blue with a wisp of clouds to dull the color. How deceptive, he thought. The promise of fair weather could turn into a howling storm with little warning beyond the ache in an old man’s bones.
A voice called out to him. The wine merchant approached.
Thomas reminded himself that it was not just the weather that could be deceptive. “You look pleased, Master Durant.”
“I found one witness, Brother. Someone was seen leaving Master Larcher’s house before we arrived.”
“That is good news!”
“Perhaps it is not. The man said it was Father Vincent.”
Thomas was shocked. “The man is malevolent, but stoning innocents is his favored cruelty. I doubt he would poison the craftsman who made badges for this priory.”
Durant bent closer. “Look behind you. I think we shall have an opportunity to find out.”
When Thomas turned, he saw the priest and prioress in close conversation at the door to the priory. The pair did not look happy.
“Is it wise to confront him with Prioress Ursell? Might he be more willing to confess his sins if alone?” A small voice whispered in the monk’s heart that it would be good to humiliate the merciless priest. Another tiny murmur suggested he should be kinder than the man he loathed.
“I would like to see how he explains himself in front of her. If he is a killer, it is the duty of the Church to punish him.” The wine merchant gave him a wry smile. “If not, but his transgressions are grievous enough, I have heard that Prioress Ursell whips erring nuns. Perhaps she will be allowed to assist in his penance.”
Although the monk was disinclined to believe the priest would murder two people with poison and knife, he knew the man was capable of allowing someone to die with deliberate neglect. Was it not murder to let Gracia perish for lack of food, or unthinkable cruelty to withhold comfort from a battered child? His heart hardened. “Let us confront him then and press him without mercy.”
The two religious stepped back from each other the moment they saw Brother Thomas and Master Durant approach.
Remembering his first meeting with them, Thomas wondered how the pair would try to hide evidence of foulness committed this time. Bile seared his mouth, but he could not summon charity.
Father Vincent scowled. “You were missed at prayer, Brother.”
“I take the blame for that, Father,” Durant replied. “Brother Thomas and I met on the way to Master Larcher’s house.” He glanced at the monk with a grateful smile. “And I asked if he would walk a while with me to answer some theological questions.”
Father Vincent became as pale as snow.
If Thomas was not mistaken, Durant chuckled softly at the sight of the priest’s dismay.
But the wine merchant’s eyes grew cold. “When we reached the craftsman’s house, I entered.” He bent his head to one side and waited, gazing at the priest. “I was greeted with such a horrible sight that I was obliged to summon Brother Thomas back before he returned to the chapel.”
The prioress started with surprise, her expression suggesting puzzlement as she looked at the priest.
Father Vincent swayed on his feet.
“Master Larcher and his manservant had been murdered most cruelly.” Durant turned to the prioress and waited.
Thomas continued to watch the priest.
“His servant as well?” Ursell cried out. “May God have mercy on their souls!”
“And for that reason, Brother Thomas was not in the chapel for the last Office. He was tending to the souls of two slaughtered men.”
“Has the guilty one been caught?”
Ursell put a hand to her mouth, and her eyes rounded in terror. “Master Larcher made the badges we sold to pilgrims. Death has grown too fond of our priory.”
“I feel unwell,” the priest murmured. “I must…”
As he addressed the prioress, Master Durant’s sharp smile might have cut flesh. “There is a witness who saw Father Vincent leaving the craftsman’s house just before we arrived.”
The priest covered his face and slid to his knees.
Horrified, the prioress shouted at Father Vincent. “You lied to me! When you claimed we no longer had reason to fear him, you led me to believe you had spoken harshly to him, threatened him with hellfire, and made him eager to protect this priory from his wrongdoings and those of our nun. Did you kill him?”
Vincent began to whimper.
Although Thomas felt no pity for this trembling creature, he had a duty to offer counsel to all, even those he despised. He walked over to the quivering priest and knelt in front of him.
“The Church will not hang you for your sins,” he said, “but you will never see your beloved shrine again, nor, should I think, God’s sunlight. Now is the time to stop honoring Satan with your lies and tell us all that happened.” He glanced up at the prioress whose face was splotched with the colors of both wrath and fear. “As well as putting yourself in danger of hellfire, you have led this good lady, the prioress of Ryehill, into mortal error with your falsehoods. You must speak the truth for her sake as well as your own. If you do not do this, your soul will drop into the lake of fire when you die.”
A rivulet of urine began to twist around the priest’s knees. “I have sinned. Oh, dear God, I have sinned, but I am not a murderer.” He bent over until his forehead touched the damp earth. “Believe me! And, may it please God, forgive me!”
“You were seen leaving the house just before we found the bodies,” Durant said in an even tone, his expression suggesting he felt no more distress for the priest than he might for boys playing in a quiet street.
“I was there. I confess it!” Vincent looked up, his forehead smeared with mud. “Have mercy and believe me when I say that I, too, found the bodies, but I am innocent of killing the men.”
“Convince me, priest,” the merchant said. “The circumstances do not argue in your favor.”
Father Vincent tried to look outraged. “I am a man of God. How dare you question my word?”
Durant laughed. “Yet you did not summon the sheriff or alert anyone else to what you had discovered. We did. Why did you fail to perform this duty if you were innocent?”
“God’s law rules me! Not the king’s.”
“Such a declaration from you is ill-advised,” Thomas hissed, “unless you want witnesses called to reveal how poorly you observe God’s laws.”
“Who would dare…?”
Prioress Ursell’s head was twisting back and forth, first to stare at her priest and then at his accusers. Although her first inclination would have been to defend her fellow religious, her scowl proved she was changing her mind.
Thomas stood. “All know how you favored a man who raped a child because he gave you donations for the shrine while she was denied the comfort of mercy. Was this because she had no gold to give you? Many say so and even wonder why God has allowed this to happen. And we have witnesses who report that your dealings with Master Larcher were dubious at best.”
“Dubious?” This time the prioress moved away from the priest as if she had just discovered he was a leper. Glancing at the puddle surrounding him, she sniffed, then grimaced in distaste.
The priest waved his muddy hands heavenward. “God knows my reasons were praiseworthy. My heart was pure!”
“Pure?” Durant noted what Thomas had just suggested about dealings with the craftsman and used it to strengthen his attack. “There is nothing pure about murder. Perhaps you had reason to kill Master Larcher to keep the truth of your arrangement with him hidden.”
“What dealings, Father Vincent?” The prioress stepped forward and rammed the butt of her staff just in front of his knees. “What have you done?”
He gazed up at her, his mouth opening and shutting like a pike lying on the edge of a fish pond.
“The truth,” she snarled. “The bishop will hear of this if you do not tell me. Have you done something to endanger the good name of Ryehill Priory?”
“It is your nun that fouled that, my lady.” Vincent’s voice rose in pale imitation of moral indignation.
“A sin you were eager to abet,” Thomas replied.
Prioress Ursell stared at the monk, then looked down at the priest. As she considered the implications of what she had just heard, her look took on the expression of a hawk eyeing its prey.
“How dare you!” Father Vincent squirmed. “He who is without sin may cast stones. You have much to answer for, monk. A lack of piety—”
“How dare I? It is easy, Father,” Thomas continued. “You were overheard talking to Master Larcher whom you caught climbing down from the bell tower. Do you want a repetition of your exact words?”
“Lies!”
“I think not. You told him that violating a bride of Christ was worse than adultery and that his soul would go directly to Hell. When he begged you not to reveal their meeting, you told him that there was a price for your silence. Shall I continue?”
“No! It is all lies. A misunderstanding!”
“Lies or misunderstanding? I believe there is a difference, Father.” Durant glanced at Thomas.
“I think you must tell the whole story, Brother,” Prioress Ursell said with a voice so quiet that sailors would say a sea storm must be brewing.
“I grieve that you must hear this tale from a stranger, my lady.” Thomas bowed his head to her. Despite her earlier incivility, he was beginning to realize just how much Father Vincent had duped her. As Prioress Eleanor told him, this woman, like any leader of nuns, had good reason to fear scandal, and this priest had brought that curse down on her head for his own selfish motives.
“I lament more this wickedness you have uncovered,” she replied, “and do not condemn you for bringing it to my attention.”
The monk nodded, then looked back at the priest. “You made a pact with the craftsman. He would donate generously to your shrine, and you would do nothing to stop the meetings in the tower with Sister Roysia.”
“It was that child, demon from Hell, who told you this, wasn’t it?” Vincent raised a fist and shook it. “A lying, whoring—”
“The tale comes not just from her but others in the town,” Thomas said. All he knew, apart from what Gracia had witnessed, were the stories Mistress Emelyne had told his prioress, including the one about Father Vincent being the nun’s lover himself. He did not believe that but preferred to spare Prioress Ursell an additional humiliation for no purpose. If the priest believed the tale of his bribery was more widespread, he might confess, and Thomas would be content. This was not a secular matter, subject to the king’s justice. A confession would satisfy the Church, precise evidence would not be needed, and Father Vincent would be punished.
Prioress Ursell gasped. “You told me about their sins but said I must not stop the pair from meeting.” Ursell looked away. “You forbade me to punish Sister Roysia, swore you would deal with the craftsman’s wickedness but needed time to do so in a way that would not harm the priory. A simple woman, I obeyed you.” Her voice faded into a whisper. “I trusted you.”
Thomas thought he saw tears on her cheeks. Despite her faults, he caught himself pitying her for an instant.
Father Vincent was not quite defeated. “The craftsman threatened to spread rumors that I was Sister Roysia’s lover. Does not that make him the more sinful man?” His voice rasped. “The whore heard this and must have aided him in the wickedness.”
Prioress Ursell’s mouth dropped open.
The wine merchant’s eyes twinkled. He seemed pleased that the craftsman might have been cleverer than he had thought probable.
Thomas shrugged. He had
chosen to keep that story to himself. If the priest wanted to wallow deeper in the pigsty, let him do so.
“It was his revenge. He told me that when last he paid…” Realizing what he had just admitted, Father Vincent shut his mouth.
Prioress Ursell was no fool. “You are guilty of taking bribes, letting this wicked affair continue, and putting my priory in danger of condemnation. You should have stopped Master Larcher and come to me with his threatened and vile accusation. I could have dealt with my sinful nun.”
“And for this petty greed you killed the craftsman and his innocent servant?” Durant shook his head in disbelief.
All this, the monk hoped, might finally push the priest into confession.
“No! I admit I took bribes to benefit the Shrine of the Virgin’s Lock. I confess to that, but I did not kill anyone. I went to Larcher’s house to force him to remain silent about the affair for the good of Ryehill’s reputation and to stop telling the stories that I had broken my sacred vows with a nun. I found the servant and the craftsman dead. I fled in fear. I—”
The prioress snorted in contempt. “How little you cared for our reputation before.”
“Sadly, my lady, the situation is far graver than that.” Master Durant stepped closer and lowered his voice. “Shall we meet in your chambers?”
Prioress Ursell looked dazed, as if she might crumple under the weight of one more horrible revelation, but she stiffened her back and nodded, turning to lead them into the priory.
As they reached the entrance, a white-faced nun appeared at the door. “My lady, come quickly!” Unable to say more, she began to weep.
Gracia pushed past the young woman and raced up to Thomas, grasping his sleeve. “To the bell tower, Brother. I fear Prioress Eleanor has been murdered.”
Chapter Thirty
Covenant With Hell (Medieval Mysteries) Page 17
