Eleanor caught herself wanting to talk to her aunt about all that had happened; then she felt a quick pain. “Now it is up to me to answer my own questions, is it not?” she asked aloud in a quiet voice. “And it is certainly up to me to keep my mind to the mark and my eyes open for whatever there is to find,” she added as she walked into the clearing.
The birds twittered as they flew in search of insects. The insects hummed as they went about their business in spite of the birds. And Eleanor stood with her hands tucked into her sleeves, looking about her.
The clearing looked innocent enough in the daylight. There were no signs of midnight fires or foul, rotting holes from which Satan’s creatures might have burst forth upon the earth during the night. No, the evil that had skulked here so recently had had a mortal form.
Yet the crowner and his men still found nothing. If Lucifer’s most monstrous deeds had been imperfect, and he had been one of God’s highest-ranking angels, then surely no mortal man could commit a crime without leaving behind evidence of some kind. There must be something…
Eleanor turned slowly around. What might the crowner and his men have failed to notice? They were, after all, men. She smiled with both love and gentle amusement. The image of her solemn-faced but sweetly earnest brother Hugh came to mind. A warrior in the mold of his hero, King Richard, Hugh could always see where a castle’s defense was weakest, but he would then trip over a sharp stone on the way to scale it.
The eyes of most men are more used to looking at the grander plans of intrigue and battle, she thought, and, in so doing, they often miss some small thing, perchance a commonplace thing that an eye impatient with tiny detail would pass over. A woman’s eye might be more useful here, an eye trained to the domestic and the mundane, and therefore more likely to note a simple object out of place. Indeed her own training had hardly been domestic, but, in learning to joust with the finer points of philosophers’ arguments and in the minute study of her mortal fellows, she had found great pleasure in details of a sort. Hers was still a woman’s mind trained to minutiae, she argued to herself, albeit somewhat different concerns than occupied most of her gentle sex.
As she walked passed the place, she looked down and saw the bloodstains in the grass where Thomas had lain. She recoiled slightly. Her feelings for him were still too tender and uncontrolled. Then she pressed her hand flat against her chest as if binding her heart with a bandage and walked away, up the slight hill toward the trees and the rushing sound of the nearby stream.
***
The brook was pretty in this season, the bubbling water flashing bursts of light where it flowed into the sun. After a storm, the stream might become a dangerous torrent, but now the water was low, although running swiftly. As it entered the priory grounds, it served to give Tyndal fresh fish and clean water for watering gardens, bathing, washing, and making ale, although few drank the water, knowing how dangerous it could be to their health. As it left the priory, it washed away the refuse from the latrines, and the kitchens, and carried all into the sea. Truly one of many gifts from God, Eleanor thought, as she started down the slope toward the banks.
Her foot slipped in the moist brown earth of the embankment, and she caught herself by grabbing an exposed tree root. A reminder that she was doing something she shouldn’t, perhaps? Of course, she should not be here alone. Even a prioress was required to have proper and prudent companionship wherever she went.
“Indeed, that is true, but I am still too new at Tyndal to know whom I can fully trust and whom I cannot,” she sighed. With a murderer possibly in their midst, she felt safer by herself than with someone who might be of danger to her, especially as she wandered around, looking for something to uncover that very culprit. Even the seemingly open and pragmatic Sister Anne had shadowy corners in her soul, although Eleanor felt increasing comfort in the company of the nun.
“No, I am safer alone,” she said aloud to nothing in particular.
As she walked along the edge of the stream, she knew she hadn’t the vaguest idea what she was looking for. She stopped and glanced around, in part to mark her path back to the priory and in part to look for something out of the ordinary.
The ground was rocky near the stream. No footprints surely.
As she looked up at the high banks, she imagined this charming little stream as it turned into a raging river and gouged this deep channel into the earth. Indeed, several of the trees, not just the one at her descent, extended tangled and naked roots into the space above her head. She would have to check whether the stream’s course through the priory was sufficiently constrained when she got back.
With her mind distracted and her gaze turned upward, Eleanor stumbled and fell on the uneven, rocky ground. She cried out when her ankle turned and her hands scraped against the gravelly surface as she broke her fall. For just a moment, she shut her eyes tight against the sharpness of the pain; then she twisted herself around into a sitting position and concentrated on feeling her throbbing ankle.
“Not broken,” she said with relief and considerable gratitude. It would be difficult enough to get back to the priory by herself with a sprain, let alone with a cracked or shattered bone.
She looked around for a broken branch close by that would be sturdy enough to support her. Nearer to the bank, there were a couple of promising limbs. She half-crawled, half-pulled herself toward the branches.
The first one was rotten and broke in half as soon as she put pressure on it; however, the second held, and she began to pull herself up. As she did, an intermittent breeze rose and fell, and she noticed the movement of something against the bank.
She eased herself back into a sitting position. Close against the bank lay a huge boulder, over which a netting of roots lay, attached to a large tree. The tree sat precariously balanced between rock and bank, some of its roots still bound deep into the earth. From one of the largest roots a woven grass mat hung down between rock and cliff. One edge of the mat was weighed down with a heavy stone, but the other, the one that moved in the breeze, had lost its weight.
Eleanor once again pulled herself up with her strong branch, and, grabbing the broken one as she did so, limped closer. The breeze moved the matting again. Behind it, there seemed to be a small gap.
“Is anyone there?” she asked.
Silence.
Cautiously, she extended the point of the broken branch and pushed the mat aside.
No one was there.
She pulled the mat away. It covered a narrow entrance between rock and bank to a cave, presumably gouged out by the stream and deep enough to provide shelter for two or three people. Had the boulder not been there to brace it, she thought, looking up at the huge trunk above her head, the tree would have fallen and the remaining roots would have ripped away the roof of the small cave, destroying the shelter entirely.
As she looked further into the enclosure, she could see marks in the walls where nature’s results had been deliberately enlarged. There was no sign of a fire or utensils for cooking, but there was a narrow, raised, and sturdy wooden bed frame with a clean straw mat and some pegs jammed into the earthen wall. Over one peg was hung what appeared to be a small whip.
Eleanor hopped awkwardly up to the peg and looked with care at the object in the dim light. There was no question that it was a crude whip made of twigs bundled together. It was darkly stained. Was this blood?
“Whatever is this all for?” she asked quietly as she fingered the stiff switches and looked around the small space.
She shuddered, then spoke aloud to calm herself with the sound of a human voice. “This is something for the crowner to look at, not me. And, methinks, I would be wise to leave!”
She pushed the mat aside and hobbled into the feathered sunlight, but the shadows playing on the sparkling water were no longer beautiful and the utter silence of the birds was ominous.
Eleanor looked around quickly. There was no one and nothing to be seen. Bracing herself with her
makeshift crutch, she bent and replaced the rock that had held the mat down. With the mat securely anchored and pushed into the shadows of the narrow opening, she realized that the cave entrance was barely visible.
As she straightened, adjusting the branch to support her weight, she heard a rustling sound just above her and looked up.
Standing on the bank above her, a bearded and unkempt man stared at her for what seemed a very long time, a knife glinting in his hand. His left hand, Eleanor observed with the icy precision of fear.
Then he turned and ran. Eleanor stood frozen in place until the sound of his escape, crashing through the brush, had faded into the sound of the stream flowing beside her.
And in that instant, she understood what it meant to meet Death face to face.
Chapter Eighteen
Sister Anne stood up, hands on hips, and looked at her prioress with undisguised disapproval. “If I may be so blunt, my lady…”
“And you may, sister.”
“You put yourself in unnecessary danger out there beyond the priory today. Although I agree that you may have found something of interest, perhaps even of great value to our crowner in his investigations, the risk you took was, well, rash.”
Eleanor was sitting in her chambers with her injured foot bound and propped on a stool, a goblet of watered wine at hand and Arthur in her lap. She sighed.
“Blunt indeed, but tactful considering. Let me speak your true thoughts. I was reckless, thoughtless, and stupid to do what I did.”
Anne nodded, then smiled.
“And I have learned my lesson. I was quite happy to send word to our crowner and let him investigate the cave more thoroughly.” Eleanor shifted slightly, and the cat meowed with instant feline annoyance.
“Let me take him.” Anne reached out. “His added weight is not helpful to you.”
“Let him be.” Eleanor looked fondly at the furry creature. “He has a soothing softness.”
Sister Anne started to laugh, then stopped. There was a sharp rap at the chamber door, and she turned toward it with a frown.
“Enter,” Eleanor called out.
Gytha rushed in and curtseyed awkwardly. “My lady, the crowner is here. He begs an audience with you.”
“He has done his investigation quickly,” Eleanor said, turning to Anne and raising her eyebrows in surprise.
Gytha spun around on one foot and was about to speed out the door.
“Gytha! A moment, if you please. I will need you to provide refreshment for the good man.”
“Shall I bring bread as well as wine, my lady?”
“And cheese. He will need something to regain his strength after all his efforts. And perhaps something for…” She pointed to the cat. “I understand he brought three fine dead rats to Sister Edith today.”
“Who squealed loud enough the whole priory knew of his success at the hunt!” Gytha giggled, then rushed from the room to fetch the food.
“Such energy!” Eleanor chuckled.
“Such youth,” Sister Anne sighed.
***
Ralf stood over the heavy wooden table and, with ravenous eagerness, eyed the already razed stack of bread and hacked mound of cheese set before him. “Blood it was on the whip. I’m sure of it,” he said as he reached out with his stained knife to spear another piece of deep orange cheese. He wrapped a hefty chunk of fresh bread around it before taking a huge bite. “I’m grateful for this, my lady. Haven’t been able to break my fast yet today.” Crumbs flew as he chomped at the food with dogged enthusiasm.
Eleanor glanced up at the angle of light coming through her window. The day was well into the afternoon hours. “Do sit and relax. I can wait for a report,” she replied.
Anne rolled her eyes heavenward with gentle amusement as she watched the crowner saw off another slab of cheese.
Ralf shook his head. “If I sit, I’ll fall asleep.” Then he took another monstrous bite and couldn’t quite close his mouth as he chewed. “I must say that the purpose of the cave is still puzzling.” He continued munching cheerfully, his cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk with a winter’s cache in its mouth.
Eleanor took a sip of wine. “What are your thoughts on it?”
Ralf paused for a brief second in mid-chew. “My first thought was that it was a hideaway for a villein running away from his lord, but the pegs suggested it was being used for more than a temporary hiding spot. They and the raised bed were not things a poor tenant farmer on the run would bother with. At most he might make a mat of leaves or a pallet of dried grass.”
“Did you find any evidence of cooking?”
“No evidence of fire at all, or discarded bones from eating, and that was passing strange as well.” Ralf shook his head. “The whip did make me wonder about one possibility. Have you heard of any hermit recently come to the area?”
Eleanor looked up at Anne, who shook her head. “No. We have heard of no one. I would not expect a hermit to make himself an elevated bed either. Although, now that you raise the question, I wonder about the man I saw.”
“Surely a hermit would have come to us by now, my lady. He would want to have the services of one of our priests,” Anne suggested.
“I wish I had gotten a better look at the man before he ran from me. Perhaps the cave was his. I also find it strange that the sight of a mere nun would frighten him so.”
“A bearded man with long hair and brindled clothes would match most of the men from the village.” Ralf grunted. “Fishermen and men who work the fields care not for fashion. And the knife does not surprise me. Perhaps he didn’t mean to threaten you at all. Perhaps he was cleaning a bird or some wild animal he’d just killed, but running from you does surprise me. The sight of a nun should not be surprising or strange to anyone in the area. The townspeople have all benefited from your hospital and they come to your church for services. Unless he ran because he did not expect to see a nun alone and did not know what he should do? Perhaps he feared God’s wrath if he spoke to you.”
“He did not necessarily know I was alone. Indeed, he would have expected someone to be with me. He might have been surprised to see a nun where he did not think to see one, but he would have had no reason to run unless he was afraid. Or had something to hide.”
“Or was possessed,” Sister Anne suggested.
Eleanor thought for a moment. “I believed he was going to kill me when I saw him with that knife in his hand. Now that I think about it, however, he did look frightened. Certainly, he ran as if he were. If he is possessed, I fear the spirit that has entered his body is more likely to hurt him than another.”
“Then he is to be pitied more than feared,” Anne replied as she turned to the crowner. “The townspeople have seen us away from the priory on occasion, albeit rarely, and usually in the woods. I have looked for herbs abroad when our garden has run short, and Sister Matilda used to search for mushrooms in the forest when she was in charge of the kitchen.” She shook her head as Ralf opened his mouth to speak. “No, the villagers are not there for criminal reasons and steal nothing of interest to the King. They usually come for the same reasons we have. When we meet, they greet us with courtesy and pass on.”
Gytha quietly lifted the ewer of cooled wine and filled the goblets for both Eleanor and Ralf. When the girl offered to pour wine for her, Sister Anne put her hand over her cup.
“You’ve been that far from the priory?” Ralf asked the nun.
“Not I, Ralf,” Anne said. “The wild herbs I use require sun or light shade. My needs were met closer by, but Sister Matilda might have gone deeper into the forest for her mushrooms.”
Ralf coughed, then belched with immense satisfaction. “I would be most grateful, my lady, if you would speak to the sister. I don’t know why, but I seem to frighten your nuns, or else turn them into angry amazons. If Sister Ruth had had a lance in hand when she saw me approach your cloister gate today, I do believe she would have run me through.”
Eleanor laughed. “Indeed! Then be grateful we cannot be warrior nuns in the manner of the Templar monks. Still, I will be happy to talk to Sister Matilda. Perhaps you would be good enough to return tomorrow. I will tell you what I have discovered.”
Ralf swept the table with one last look, grabbed the remaining piece of cheese, which he raised to Eleanor in salute, then bowed and left. As soon as the chamber door shut behind him, Eleanor and Anne looked at each other and burst out in loud laughter.
Gytha blinked in amazement as the two women continued to howl in shared mirth.
“Fear not, child,” Eleanor said, reaching out to touch Gytha’s arm. “We are not mad but simply ungracious enough to enjoy the thought of our elder porteress as a warrior maiden, donning armor and baring her breast to joust with our crowner, who, I should think, would be more interested in a fine cheese than her naked breast.”
“Forgive me, my lady, but Sister Ruth would need no weapon save her bared breast to slay Crowner Ralf,” Gytha replied, eyes twinkling despite her sober look.
The two nuns flushed red, but this time all three bent over in uncontrolled laughter.
Chapter Nineteen
Thomas lied to Sister Anne.
Despite his aching head, he could not stand yet another full day of enforced rest. She had called it a miraculous recovery and let him go with a look that said she knew full well that he was more impatient than fully fit. Out of guilt he had promised not to overdo and to come back at once if he began to vomit or show other symptoms of ill health within the next few days.
Wine of Violence Page 12
