“And Brother Beorn will be able to confirm whether the adoring new father has left the stable since.” Eleanor looked at Brother Thomas. “You can speak with him soon enough about that.”
“Before we continue, I must add a detail about this murder that may eliminate some suspects,” Anne said, pointing to the neck of the corpse. “Brother Gwydo was a strong man, albeit of average height.” She glanced briefly at Ralf. “Most women would be too short and not powerful enough to do this.”
Eleanor turned to Anne. “Which would eliminate any woman of, shall we say, Gytha’s approximate height and strength. I believe she is similar to most women in the village?”
“Indeed.”
Eleanor was sorry she had directed that minor lash of her tongue at the crowner and looked at him with evident regret.
The crowner stared at his feet. “Yet I must ask if a woman could have strangled Brother Gwydo if he had been kneeling?”
“He did not die willingly,” Sister Anne said. “Two of his fingers were deeply cut where he tried to loosen the thin band around his throat. I found no earth stains on his robes that would suggest he was kneeling. Anything is possible, but I believe it most likely that a man did this.”
Eleanor gestured to the crowner to let her whisper in his ear. “It was not Gytha,” she murmured. “She was with Sister Anne during and after the birth of Master Jacob’s son. Before that, she was in my company and returned from the village with our nun.”
Ralf straightened. “You have convinced me, Annie.”
“Very well, then. First, we have the murder of Kenelm, which might have been committed by Master Jacob.” Eleanor nodded to the crowner. “That one might even have been committed by a woman, although the deeply slashed throat and other details make such a conclusion less likely. Second, we have Brother Gwydo’s murder, which could not have been done by Master Jacob and probably not by a woman. And our lay brother would not have strangled himself any more than Kenelm would have slit his own throat.”
“Unless we have two murderers, we have gone from too many suspects to none,” Ralf said. “Both Brother Gwydo and Kenelm were strangers here. No one knows anything about Kenelm’s past, a matter still worth more questioning. As for the lay brother, you knew most about him, my lady. We must find out why he left the priory.”
“His home was once Cambridge,” Eleanor said.
Ralf was surprised. “Jacob ben Asser and his family traveled from that city as well.”
“Many live there,” Eleanor replied, but she paused a moment. “Did he suggest he knew either our lay brother or Kenelm?”
“He did not, nor is there anything to suggest Kenelm was from Cambridge or knew the Jewish family from the past. His taunts did not indicate a dislike beyond the family’s faith. As for Brother Gwydo, we should ask Master Jacob if they knew one another.” Ralf gestured at the corpse. “But ben Asser could not have killed this man. I am not sure we would learn much even if the two did know each other in Cambridge.”
“And I know little more about our lay brother. He had some family still living, but he begged me to leave them in ignorance of his situation. They believed he had died in Outremer. Since he was taking vows, he did not want them to say farewell twice.”
“You would say if his kin had reason to kill him.” Ralf knew he could not pry out more.
“An aged father, a wife, and at least one brother who would take his place as heir whether or not Brother Gwydo lived,” Eleanor replied.
Ralf glanced briefly at Sister Anne. “His wife might prefer him dead if she wanted to remarry.”
“So she sent someone, perhaps Kenelm, to kill him? That would be an even graver sin than adultery.” The prioress shook her head. “The guard’s only visit to the priory was in search of work. When refused, he was not seen here again. That said, your suggestion would be plausible, except Kenelm died first and then Brother Gwydo.” She turned to Brother Thomas. “You have been quiet,” she said gently. “What are you thinking? I would hear what you might have to say.”
The monk’s eyes refocused as her question registered. His mind had wandered some distance from those matters currently under discussion. “I fear my judgment may have been in error about one person we have not mentioned.” He pulled the silver cross from his pouch. “Does anyone know the owner of this object that I recovered near our lay brother’s body?”
“Adelard, the baker’s son?” Ralf reached out to take the article.
“Are you sure it is his?” Eleanor asked. “If anyone else could have owned this one…”
“I first saw it when I was questioning him on his calling,” Thomas said.
“And I, when I sent him off to his father to prevent a fight with Master Jacob.” Ralf looked down at the cross, tilting it back and forth. When it caught the light, it glittered like raindrops in the sun. “Few in the village could afford such a fine thing. I remember hearing that his father had given him this when he first spoke of becoming a monk. Even if others might have been able to buy such a thing, no one, to my knowledge, has.”
“May I?” Sister Anne held out her hand.
Ralf passed the cross to her.
“Yet I do not recall whether Adelard was wearing it when I addressed the villagers outside the inn’s stables.” Thomas closed his eyes as he tried to remember the details. “He stood near the front, and we did speak. The sun was shining, and the cross should have caught the light.” He fell silent.
“This cross has a loop for a cord or chain.” Anne looked up from examining the dead man’s neck. “The cord used to strangle Brother Gwydo is knotted but could have fit through that loop.” She tugged a bit of the cord loose from the corpse and studied it. “This is good leather work and might complement a fine cross.”
“I found no other cord for the cross when I looked,” Thomas said.
Eleanor went to the nun’s side and stared at the loosened cord. It reminded her of the one Father Eliduc always wore around his own neck, then she chastised herself for wishing the body had been her nemesis and not Brother Gwydo. “Why did you say your judgment was faulty, Brother?”
“Adelard has his failings. He is rigid, arrogant, and spies on others to catch them in their sinning. I have found him lacking in compassion and charity.”
“And yet?” Eleanor raised her eyebrow at the annoyance her monk made so evident.
“During the riot, when I told the villagers that the Church and its saints had forbidden violence against those of Jewish faith, he grew agitated.” Thomas pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose, trying to picture the scene more clearly. “He did not seem distraught because he believed I was lying to him but rather because he had never heard this prohibition before. I think he feared he had been in error about the condemnations he was advocating with such enthusiasm.”
“Indeed?” Eleanor’s eyes betrayed her amazement.
Sister Anne passed the cross to the crowner.
“And yet you found his cross near Brother Gwydo’s body.” Ralf fingered the loop on the top of the cross.
“Somehow I have misjudged the youth,” Thomas replied, “but I am not sure whether I erred more in believing him capable of attacking those he called sinners or in thinking he might be converted to reason.”
The prioress turned to the crowner. “Brother Gwydo has left the priory on a least one other occasion. On the day Kenelm was murdered, Adelard told Brother Thomas he had seen Gytha and our lay brother coupling.”
Anne gasped. “That cannot be true. Those who take religious vows are not more chaste than she!”
The prioress waited.
Ralf stared at her in distressed silence.
She decided to lessen his misery. “He may well have seen them together, but he misinterpreted what he saw,” she said. “Gytha had tumbled down the embankment on her way home from visiting her brother and
hit her head. When she recovered her wits, the lay brother was beside her. He helped her to her feet and back to the priory.”
“Other evidence I found before discovering the corpse would support her story,” Thomas said. “When I took the shortcut to the village, I found a root that had been pulled up and signs that someone might have tripped and fallen over the side to the stream bank below. I went down to investigate, fearing our lay brother had been injured, but found no one.”
“What Adelard must have seen is Brother Gwydo either kneeling by her side or helping her to her feet. She was dizzy and could not do so by herself.” Eleanor spoke these words to the crowner.
“If the light was poor,” he muttered. “Adelard might have misinterpreted that as an embrace. Since Brother Gwydo was a lay brother, he was not supposed to touch women.”
“Well argued,” Eleanor said gently.
“It was an act of compassion,” Anne said.
“And not a violation of the spirit of his vows,” Thomas added.
“Why would Adelard have killed Brother Gwydo or Kenelm?” Ralf tore his eyes away from the steady gaze of the prioress. “He is now the most likely suspect.”
“He has established that he hated Master Jacob and his family for their faith and believes the blood libel and well-poisoning tales so common in the land,” the prioress said. “To his mind, Kenelm sinned grievously by protecting those Adelard condemned. As for the death of Brother Gwydo, he may have decided to render his interpretation of God’s justice because he believed the lay brother had broken his vows with my maid. For a religious to give in to lust is a profound wickedness.” Eleanor gestured toward Thomas. “Finally, his cross has been found near our brother’s corpse.”
“If he is choosing to execute those whose behavior he finds most sinful, then our Gytha is in danger.” Anne’s face turned white. “Fool that Adelard is, he believes she lay with Brother Gwydo.”
Eleanor spun around in horror.
“She must not leave your side, my lady,” Ralf said, emotion cracking his voice.
Chapter Twenty-two
Jacob ben Asser knelt a short distance from Belia and cuddled their son in his arms. In this tiny stall they had little privacy with only a thick cloth over the door to keep the outside world away. Malka had just stepped outside to give the new parents time with their child, but she would not have wandered far. The riot had been quelled, but the danger of attack remained.
“You are worried,” his wife said in a low voice.
“Have I ever been able to hide my thoughts from you?”
Belia smiled. “Even in childhood, we were one in both joy and sorrow.”
“And we were fortunate that our families found our marriage to be of mutual benefit.”
Belia whispered, “My mother always loved you like a son.”
His eyebrows twitched upward. “You married me only to please your mother?”
She threw him a kiss.
He looked down at his sleeping son and watched silently as the boy blew bubbles from his mouth. “I would have lain down and died beside you had you not…”
Belia turned her face away. “The nun said I might not be able to bear more children,” she murmured.
Shifting the precious burden into the crook of one arm, Jacob reached out to touch her cheek, then quickly drew back his hand. “Do not grieve,” he said. “We have a fine son.”
“Do not say it! Our boy is a poor thing, ugly and ill-natured. To say otherwise is to tempt evil things.”
“Very well,” he replied, frowning at the child with difficulty. “Then it is well if you are unable to bear more for this creature will shame me. It seems I must also suffer the grief of having you at my side for the rest of my life.” He could jest no further and he bent as close as he dared. “I love you,” he whispered.
“You need other children, Jacob. Divorce me. Marry a woman with a fruitful womb. My mother would grieve but not stop you.”
“As your husband, I may order you to do as I wish, a right I have never exercised. Now I must and so decree that you shall never again speak of this. I have no wish to marry another. If it is meet, you may bear us more children as Sarah did in her old age to Abraham, but I will not cast you aside for another. As I was named Jacob, so are you my Rachel.”
“Then you are a fool, beloved.”
“And hence you exceeded all other women in pious compassion when you wedded me without protest.”
They laughed and, for a long moment, said nothing more but took comfort in watching their son innocently dream.
“Yet you are still troubled,” Belia said again. “If the reason is not my future barrenness, or the health of either your son or wife, what causes that shadow to drift across your eyes?”
“We cannot remain in England. I want our child to grow up in a land where he may laugh and find joy without fear.”
“My mother would say that our people will never find such a land until the mashiach leads us back to Jerusalem and our Temple is rebuilt.”
“A time we may never live to see,” he said, his brow furrowed, “but we shall make plans after our return to Norwich. Others are less fortunate than we and have little means to escape. You have an uncle in Avignon who speaks well of the conditions there, although the quarter allowed us is crowded. I have merchant cousins who claim that Fez is a safer place. Finding a new home may be hard, but I have skills to start a new life. We had already agreed that this new king has taken too much with nothing given in return.”
She pressed a hand to her heart. “I feel a greater sorrow yet in you.” Taking a deep breath, she continued. “I know more than you realize about what happened. Now that my trials are over, there is nothing you need keep from me.”
Jacob tilted his head back toward the stall entrance. “He has not come back.”
“Did he say he would?”
The babe grew restless in his arms and began to whimper.
The curtain flew back and Malka rushed in. Taking the child from Jacob, she placed him into her daughter’s open arms. “He is ready to nurse,” she said, “and you are forbidden to touch your wife.”
Her son-in-law looked at her, his expression shifting from annoyance to gratitude.
“I listen only for the needs of my grandchild,” Malka said, holding her twisted hands to her ears. “Therefore speak softly when you compliment me.” She smiled and retreated to the stall entrance. Turning briefly, she added, “Otherwise, I shall wait to be summoned.”
“Your heart will tell you of any need even if your ears do not,” he replied, the words fondly spoken.
His mother-in-law laughed and left them alone.
Belia put the babe to her breast, her face glowing.
“Our son is a lusty eater,” her husband said in amazement.
“Just like his father,” Belia replied with a twinkle in her eye.
In awe the parents watched until the child had suckled, belched, and fallen back asleep.
“Continue your story,” his wife said.
Jacob shifted to rest his back against the stall. “He and I were like brothers when we were children. I went to his house and he to mine. On baking day, ours was the most popular place to meet. Until she died, my mother gave all the children sweets.”
“But boys become men, and the difference in faith builds walls between us as it did with that poor boy, William, in Norwich. We were cruelly condemned for killing a child our mothers welcomed and fed.”
“Would that boys never become men if hate is the result.” There was sorrow in his voice.
“You should be grateful the man you considered a brother did not stab you to death when you last met. Did he not threaten to kill you once before?”
He looked upon his sleeping son, and tears glistened in the corner of his eyes. “He did, swearing
to slit my throat if I did not forsake my faith for his. I refused, saying that no man respects another who breaks an oath, even one deemed in error. So how could Christians not look at a man with suspicion and doubt if he abandons his faith to follow another? Is that not an oath broken? There is no safety for us in that choice, and those who convert often suffer much grief.”
“Do you truly believe he means now to make peace with you?”
“Not all Christians in this land hold us in contempt.”
“My mother would concur and refuses to praise or condemn any, whether Jewish or Christian, on the basis of faith alone. But dare you believe that this man, who once held his knife to your throat, has changed his mind?”
“He did not kill me then either.”
“Only because my mother walked into the courtyard and reminded him that murder was against every law, a rule honored by all good men.”
“He does now beg forgiveness for what he did.”
“Then seek my mother’s advice on what you should do. She rarely errs in judging men’s hearts. Did she not allow a nun to help me give birth to our child?”
“She knew the nun’s father in Norwich, a physician and one whom she and your father both respected.”
“Despite my birth pains, I heard them talking as if there was no difference between them. Since my mother can look beyond the symbols of faith, she will tell you honestly if she questions the sincerity of your boyhood friend.”
Jacob nodded in the direction of the absent mother-in-law. “Your mother did know him when he was a child. I shall listen to her opinion and shall seek it again about what we should plan to do after we are safely in Norwich.”
“My mother has learned to survive the vagaries of Christian tolerance. In this kingdom, we once knew kindness from King Henry II. Even the late king, Henry III, took our part in court, but his son finds persecution more profitable. I agree with her that we shall always be guests in any realm. Even if we travel to the Great Sea and seek asylum in the land of Hagar’s descendants, we must never forget that the welcome offered is only for a brief time.” Her voice dulled with growing fatigue.
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