“I do, father.” Eleanor proceeded to tell them what she had learned from Isabelle, omitting only the woman’s cruder insinuations and softening the more tactless remarks. The dream she mentioned not at all.
“If I may say so,” Thomas said at the conclusion of her story, “that would give Sir Geoffrey’s wife good reason to kill Lord Henry.”
Adam shook his head. “I have never approved of my friend’s choice for a second wife, if the whore may still be called that considering Henry’s prior knowledge of her. Now rage at what she has done to a decent man blinds my judgment even more.”
Eleanor bit her tongue. Her father’s easy equation of the violence of rape with the bland “prior knowledge” might strike her woman’s heart sharply, but now was not the time to argue the point. That he listen with a clear mind to what Thomas had found after examining Henry’s corpse was of greater importance. After all, he would not be pleased that she had maneuvered around his prohibition against Sister Anne doing the same, and she feared his displeasure over Thomas’ examination might take precedence over the importance of his findings. She forced her anger into firm retreat.
“How I handle this ugly truth of her deception,” the baron continued, “and what I say to Sir Geoffrey are issues I must decide after a cooler reason returns. Nonetheless, even now, when I would love to concur with the possibility of her guilt in this murder, I confess I hesitate to conclude that a woman could have done this deed.” Adam looked over at Thomas. “She might have wounded him, if she surprised him, but not with a deep or fatal blow. I cannot see her successfully stabbing him to death except by stealth. The body would tell some of the tale, of course.”
“Brother Thomas did examine Henry’s corpse, my lord,” Eleanor said. She could not tell if her father’s surprised look held anger or not, but she knew better than to think she had won any easy victory over the man.
“Indeed,” he said at last in a dangerously composed voice, “and what expertise does a contemplative man bring to the study of wounds gained from violence?”
“If I may speak on the good brother’s behalf, my lord?” Sister Anne said quickly.
The baron’s smile was grim. “Why not?”
“Brother Thomas regularly assists me at Tyndal’s hospital. We often have cause to treat knife wounds when men from the village drink too deeply or find they share the favors of the same woman.”
Adam leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable as he looked back and forth between the nun and his daughter. “Sister Anne, I respect both your skill and your plain speech,” Adam said at last. “When I denied my daughter’s demand to allow your examination of the corpse, I did so to honor the request of my grieving friend, not to insult you.”
“I took no offense at your words, my lord.”
“And respected them more than did my own child,” he said with a side-glance at the prioress. “Yet your strategy worked well, Eleanor. I give you due credit for that and for coming to a solution which may be the most useful and equitable. Despite having far greater knowledge in such matters from my days on the battlefield than either Sister Anne or Brother Thomas could possibly have, I cannot look on Henry’s corpse with any impartiality. It was, after all, my son who held the bloody dagger. Neither Sir Geoffrey nor any of his men has the requisite detachment either, for it was his son who was killed. He and I may not put the burden of impartiality on anyone under our respective commands since it is a man’s nature to look first to his master before he looks to the facts.”
Eleanor resumed breathing.
The baron turned to Thomas. “We must therefore trust you, as a man whose only true master is God, to give an objective and informed opinion while the body is still uncorrupted and until this snow storm ceases and the sheriff comes.”
“May God be merciful and this storm continue,” Eleanor said under her breath.
“So, brother, what did you discover?” The baron sipped at his wine and nervously rapped his knuckles against the underside of the table.
“Henry suffered several cuts and abrasions on his face and under his arm, although the deepest wound was in his back.” Thomas continued to describe the wounds in detail.
Adam shook his head in thought. “Not a clean killing then. Perhaps Henry was grabbed from behind but struggled free before his assassin had time to cut his throat? I also find the wound under his arm troubling. It would appear that one man attacked in front and one from behind Henry? Could there be two men? Robbery perhaps. Nor can I understand the scratches on his face. What is your conclusion, brother?”
Eleanor began to allow herself hope that her father shared her confidence in Robert’s innocence. Although she instinctively believed he must share her conviction, she did not know that as a fact. The circumstances were so very damning, but for the first time his words suggested that he might entertain the idea that another had done the deed. If convinced, he would work hard in his son’s defense.
“Sir Geoffrey would know best if anything had been stolen,” Thomas was saying, “yet I saw a gold brooch on Henry’s cloak while his body lay in the corridor. I could not check for his purse at the time, of course, but surely a thief would have taken the brooch. It would have been so easily removed even if the thief had been frightened away before he finished plundering the corpse.”
“You must be with me when I ask Sir Geoffrey what might have been taken from his son,” Adam said, his fingers now tapping impatiently on the top of the wooden table. “His wounds. What is your interpretation of them?”
“Some would certainly suggest a woman’s hand, my lord: the scratches on his face, perhaps even the wound in his side.” Or so Sister Anne had thought when he related his findings to her. However, he did know better than to reveal his consultation with Tyndal’s sub-infirmarian. “The latter was a small and a shallow one, I believe, although the knife may have punctured a lung. More I cannot say. A strong and angry woman could definitely stab a man deeply in the back. I saw such done once, but she was successful only because she surprised him. He had not seen her knife when he so unwisely turned his back on her.” Thomas glanced quickly at Sister Anne, who concurred with an almost imperceptible nod. “No man would turn his back on a woman with a knife in her hand,” he continued. “He would disarm her. I thought there might be two assailants as well, but the sum of the wounds does not point to a clear answer.”
“If I may say something, father? The Lady Isabelle may have had enough anger and cause to kill her stepson, but she would not have had success unless Henry had turned his back to her. Henry might have been a small man but he was quick with his sword, according to Robert, and fast on his feet. Nor, may I add, did she mention he had visited her.”
“Now if she had been the one to kill him, she would not have done so, would she, daughter?” Adam rose, wincing as he flexed his bad leg.
“Two questions, if I may, my lord?” Thomas asked.
Adam nodded.
“There was only one knife found at the site?”
“Yes. I have it locked away. There were no identifying marks, if that is your second question.”
“What was the size of the knife?”
Adam frowned in thought. “Now that you mention it, the knife was a small one. The size one might take to table, not to war.”
“Then it could have been a woman’s dagger as well as a man’s.” Eleanor frowned.
“Again you point to Sir Geoffrey’s wife. However agreeable the thought and as much as I may hate her, I would still conclude that two men attacked Henry,” he said. “We will handle this matter with the utmost fairness, no matter what the consequences. I have, of course, arranged for the questioning of the soldiers, servants and tradesmen who were here between the closing of the castle gates for the night and the opening for the morning trade. Perhaps the murderer hides in those ranks and we shall quickly find the truth of what happened there.”
Thomas coughed and glanced nervously at his prioress.
“My lord, might this murder have any connection with the death of your retainer?”
“I have thought of that. Henry was a thoughtless whelp, and, although I do believe that Hywel’s death was an accident, it would not have occurred if Henry had been taking due care with his own horse. Perhaps there are some here who would wish to take revenge, although I pray that such is not the case. I have worked hard to gain the trust of those in my service. Nonetheless, the possibility will be investigated and should be resolved when everyone in the castle has been questioned.”
Thomas opened his mouth to continue, but the baron raised his hand to signify he would hear no more. It was clear to all that they had been dismissed.
“In the meantime,” Anne said in a low voice to Eleanor and Thomas, as they left the hall, “we must pray for the snow to fall unabated, thus keeping the sheriff with his chains from Wynethorpe Castle until we can present him with those who did this to Lord Henry.”
“Indeed,” Eleanor whispered back.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Sunlight had never quite won the battle over the stubborn murkiness of the day. The gray light, increasingly obscured by tumbling snowflakes, was now retreating into a twilight sometimes called the blue hour before black night once again took precedence over the land.
Thomas leaned against the hard cold stone near the window in the stairway between dining hall and living quarters and, lost in thought as vague as the dying light, looked down on the castle ward from his vantage point. The Baron Adam had been as good as his word and with impressive efficiency had gathered together those tradesmen and servants who had been in Wynethorpe Castle overnight. A few dark shapes were still leaving the hall, some singly and a few in pairs.
The townspeople had been brought to the dining hall where the crackling hearth had provided warmth for those waiting to be questioned. In addition, the baron had shown no meanness in providing all with warm, spiced ale, sufficient to increase comfort, foster good will and encourage a greater willingness to talk, yet not enough to promote an unprofitable jollity or querulousness. Perhaps the tradesmen saw this as more their due, being largely an English group of some affluence, but the mostly local Welsh servants sipped their unexpected bounty with silent appreciation of the equitable consideration this Norman lord had shown to his underlings.
Adam had asked Sir Geoffrey and Thomas to assist him in developing what would be asked and in what order so there would be consistency and equity in the investigation. As the baron said, each of them brought his own objectivity as well as self-interest to the asking that neither of the others did. Thomas had realized he had been chosen for balance between the two other men and, as a stranger to the castle, he took his choosing as a compliment. With some amusement, he noted how alike father and daughter were in the ways they used the abilities of those under their command. He wondered if they saw the similarity as well.
One English sergeant had been assigned to the questioning of the English tradesmen. Respect was shown for the needs of their businesses, a tactic that warmed a few hearts along with the ale. For those who did not know the King’s tongue, a Welshman, loyal to the family and one who served as the house steward, had been assigned the inquiry of local townspeople. Soldiers were held in the barracks and interrogated by the other trusted sergeant. The process had taken all day but was finally coming to an end.
A rank draft wafted under Thomas’ nose. He did not need to turn around to know who had just joined him in the stairwell.
“You missed a fine supper, monk,” Anselm observed with great cheer. “Baron Adam was most generous to those of us who remained for questioning.” He looked carefully at Thomas’ face. “Perhaps you have been fasting?”
“Thinking rather. I forgot the time, and, with this icy storm, night and day seem to have blended more than usual.” Indeed, Thomas had been mulling over the events of the previous evening, trying to find something odd, something out of place, but nothing had come to him. Now that Anselm had mentioned the meal, however, his stomach began to growl.
“This world is an evil place, brother. There is much to think on.”
“At times evil stalks the earth with more vengeance than at others. Last night was such an occasion. Murder is an especial evil, I think.”
“So you say, but I do believe that evil is always with us, waiting to catch us unawares. Being frail mortals, we are often blind to its presence until it wears a brighter cloak to catch our eye, as it did when the Lord Henry’s blood was so sinfully shed.”
“Perhaps.”
“For a tonsured man, you express many doubts.”
Thomas smiled. “As my name would suggest.”
Anselm blinked and then grinned, showing several gaps in his brownish teeth. “Ah, of course, Doubting Thomas who asked for proof that it was our resurrected Lord who stood before him! You were being witty, brother, and I fear I am not accustomed to such a thing.”
“Does no one in Wynethorpe Castle jest?”
“All have become rather more somber in recent times. With Lord Hugh off on crusade with our King’s son, the summer raids of the Welsh and the de Montfort rebellion, there are many scars which are still tender and have left us with unabated worry.”
“The residents of Wynethorpe have you to give them spiritual comfort, however, and that must fill their hearts with much peace in these troubled times. You have served the family and soldiers for many years, I believe?”
“I have.”
Thomas noted with gentle amusement that Anselm had replied with a straightened back that suggested just a modicum of earthly pride. “You know the Lavenham family as well?”
“From better days than these.”
“Perhaps happier times as well?”
Anselm shrugged. “There was more merriment when Sir Geoffrey’s first wife was alive and in good health. More frivolity and a joy in earthly things. I must say that I thought the change to a more restrained manner after her death was a good one at first for it surely pleases God when men jest less and pray more.” He looked at Thomas and frowned. “Do not misunderstand me, brother. There is no sin in happiness. Our Lord was known to smile himself and we have the marriage feast at Cana as evidence for that.”
“Of course, brother. Men must be joyful in the Lord for therein they find their heart’s peace.” For a moment, Thomas wondered where he might have previously heard such thoughts. They surely were not of his own making.
“Well said, brother! So you see, I soon realized that the new solemnity came, not from a turn to a greater pleasure in godly things, but from lack of all joy. Peace deserted the family after the marriage of Sir Geoffrey with the Lady Isabelle.”
“The marriage was a matter of discord in the family?” Thomas leaned back against the edge of the window.
“I could not say.” Anselm sniffed a little sanctimoniously, then fell silent.
“Do not think I was asking for secrets from the confessional,” Thomas quickly added, then waited until the priest recovered from his fit of self-righteousness. “Rather I do not know the families involved so did wonder what had been the origin of such discord between Robert and Henry that murder could be the result.”
Anselm shook his head. “I was quite surprised myself that such did happen. Lord Henry had always been a willful boy, thoughtless and selfish often, but not cruel as I recall. Lord Robert has never been close to him, but I thought that was due most to the difference in their ages. Henry was the elder and looked with contempt, as children often do, on the antics of younger siblings. He treated Robert and his own brother and sister with an equal disdain.”
Thomas smiled. “I hear the voice of experience in your words. You must come from a large family yourself?”
Anselm blushed and lowered his head. “You have read my words well. My elder brother and two sisters were much older than I, my parents having lost several children to a kinder world
between our births, but my father and mother had further offspring after me. I fear I followed my elder brother in his sinful pride with regard to those younger brothers.”
“Yet you were wise and learned it was a practice well put behind you along with other games of childhood.”
Anselm actually beamed. “Nonetheless, my younger brothers never fail to remind me of my past sins against them, albeit in good grace, when they visit here. Their words prompt me to strive for greater humility.”
“Henry did not learn as you did?”
“Perhaps it is sinful for me to judge so, but Henry did not gain in restraint as he grew older. He wanted his way and he tried everything he could to get it.”
“What could Henry have possibly done to so provoke Robert that he would kill him, a man he’d grown up with and a man who would soon be his brother-in-law?”
“This I find as strange as you, my friend. The two may not have been close in youth, but they were not enemies. They maintained a correct, however stiff courtesy when together. It was not until recently that I saw anger between them.”
“What changed?”
“I do not know. I first saw the change when the two families came together to discuss the marital union.”
“Do you think Henry resented the loss of lands?” Thomas then shook his head in disagreement with his own notion. “Nay, I do indeed think that too petty, for he would have known that any man who married his sister would receive something as her marriage portion. At least the lands would not go to a stranger if Robert were her husband.”
“I cannot say, brother, for I have heard nothing about the cause for conflict. I would agree that such a reaction would be excessive even for Henry. Despite his selfish and fleshly nature, he would more likely prefer the lands go to the amenable Robert. I do believe he knew this brother-in-law would be more generous than most in providing additional funds should the Lord Henry find himself in difficulties from worldly excesses.”
Tyrant of the Mind Page 13
