Justice for the Damned

by Priscilla Royal

  ***

  Thomas raced from the library, his heart pounding with fear. Brother Jerome might be the next to die if this mystery was not quickly resolved.

  Was Sayer both murderer and thief? Although Thomas’ heart shouted that the roofer was incapable of such brutality, his monk’s mind argued with equal force that Satan was blinding him to the truth. Hadn’t he just seen a man, struck by Sayer in a fight at the inn? Was that not proof enough of the roofer’s violence?

  “Prioress Eleanor will see everything with the light Satan has chased from my soul,” Thomas whispered as he sped through the priory. Indeed she must.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Silence fell while the servant laid refreshments on a table.

  Sister Anne followed the woman from the chambers, paused to make sure no one was outside the door, then shut it. “Our brother is right when he says we must delay no longer,” she said.

  “Sayer’s unusual interest in the Psalter suggests he may be the thief,” Eleanor said, turning to Thomas.

  “I agree, yet...” Thomas looked away. “…yet Wulfstan’s son may be innocent or only a pawn in this game, my lady. Are you sure no one from the priory could be involved?”

  “It would be difficult for a monk to sell a Psalter, Brother.”

  Thomas folded his arms. “For cert, but that also applies to Sayer. Where could a mere roofer sell such a manuscript? Someone else must be involved, making Sayer’s crime a limited one. He might be acting on behalf of a monk, stealing the Psalter which he would then deliver to a man outside the priory who could sell it. If he did this while all monks were at prayer, no accusing finger could be pointed at any monastic. He may be little more than a courier.”

  Eleanor nodded for him to continue.

  “He may even be innocent. When I first met the man, he showed no distress that this priory’s monks had ceased to visit the inn, although he was willing enough to offer a complete stranger, me, a way to break my vows.” The monk swallowed audibly. “If Sayer had some way to sell the Psalter, or else knew someone who could do so, he might have arranged with some monk to deliver the manuscript to him at the inn long before now.”

  “I understand your argument,” Anne said, “but he has not given you a good reason for his current and most unusual interest in this sacred work. Reverence does not appear to be one of his virtues. We must conclude he has another purpose.”

  “I agree that there is no explanation for his questions about the storage of the work.” Thomas took a deep breath. “On the other hand, he is only in the priory during the day. How could he steal the Psalter then? It would have to be done at night. Only a monk would know the habits of the religious best and when it would be safe to remove the work from the library without the chance of witnesses.”

  “We cannot dismiss the wandering phantom that has been seen both inside and without the priory walls,” Eleanor said. “The library is on the monks’ side. If the ghost was created to keep formerly lusty monks quivering fearfully in their chaste beds, someone could climb the wall at night and steal the manuscript without fear of detection. Although this could have been a monk, I suspect the spirit has a more secular form. Based on Brother Jerome’s statement, all religious were at prayers when Brother Baeda faced his killer. Therefore, no monk is guilty of this deed, an act that must have occurred during one attempt to steal the Psalter.” Her expression was grim. “These two murders continue to trouble me. Brother Baeda’s death might be easily explained, but I fail to comprehend why Wulfstan should have died. I asked myself if he was involved because he repaired that wall and may have left the toeholds. Nonetheless, all have claimed he was a man who honored the law for so very many years.” She stopped. “I need your thoughts, Brother.”

  “I cannot cast light on your questions, my lady, yet I see no fault with your conclusions,” Thomas replied, his tone hesitant.

  Eleanor put her hands together and studied the monk over the tips of her fingers. “Although I believe our roofer is the thief, your argument that someone else has to be involved is well-considered.” She frowned. “Tell me, Brother, do you think Sayer capable of murder?”

  Thomas gazed at the ground. “He fought with his father before Wulfstan died and even threatened to kill him. Although I cannot discover the reason for the argument, we know that father and son have worked outside the law, both the king’s and God’s, for personal gain. The father may have reformed, but the son has not, if his attempt to draw me into sin is any indication. If a man commits one crime, may he not be suspect for another?” His voice faded on those last words.

  Eleanor grew thoughtful as she mulled over her monk’s question. “If you mean the corruption of weak-fleshed monks, I agree that was a wicked deed.” She knew the reason for the quarrel but would not speak of it. Cold reason might dismiss Drifa’s easy forgiveness and her own aunt’s fond tolerance of the man, but her mind could not reject one doubt about the accusation of sodomy: Wulfstan might have been mistaken in what he saw. There was no corroborating evidence. She closed her eyes and said, “Man may sin, yet not be guilty of all evil. Nor is he beyond redemption in God’s eyes.” At least she had faith in that, no matter how confused she was about the rest of this matter.

  “And repent he may have done. As you yourself have said, only one religious has visited the inn of late, and that man is you,” Anne added.

  “Despite your last words, Brother, I have also heard you express doubt about the roofer’s guilt. Do you believe Sayer is innocent in the murder of his father and Brother Baeda?”

  “He has charmed me, my lady.” Thomas’ voice broke, his words stumbling out of his mouth as if he hated to say them. “Perhaps Satan has blinded me to his evil, but I do not think he killed his father. I heard love in his voice when he spoke of Wulfstan. Nor can I imagine that Sayer murdered Brother Baeda. The method of killing was a ruthless act, and I have not seen such cruelty in the roofer. Nonetheless, I cannot overlook his unusual interest in the manuscript.” Thomas exhaled, the sound akin to a sob. “Nor can I deny that Satan might not have given him a pleasing countenance to hide a dark soul.”

  Eleanor said nothing for a very long time.

  Sister Anne looked from one to the other, then rose and poured a mazer of wine for her prioress and the monk. “If Sayer is working on behalf of someone else, might that person be involved in the murders instead?”

  Eleanor nodded in agreement. “Someone who has access to buyers of precious manuscripts, and someone who sells at some distance.”

  “And that might be who?” Anne asked.

  “Merchants travel,” Thomas said, looking hopeful.

  “Bernard the glover needs money to win the hand of his beloved Alys.” Eleanor put her mazer down without tasting the wine. “He himself creates most artful designs and might well know others who appreciate beautiful things. Among such men there may be those who, if their own eyes covet it, choose to ignore that a work was intended to please God. I also saw him walking by the river with another of like enough age who might have been Sayer. Were they plotting?” She looked upward in silence for a moment. “Yet Satan may have blinded me as well, Brother. I cannot believe the glover is a murderer, and my woman’s frail heart hopes that he and Alys can wed. I see no great evil in him.”

  “On the night I went to the inn, I saw Sayer and the glover in close conversation. When I learned that Master Bernard wanted to marry the woolmonger’s daughter, I thought that such speech with a cousin would not be unusual and did not consider any other meaning. Yet I, too, doubt…” Thomas suddenly brightened. “What about Master Herbert?”

  “Ah, our vintner! You have little liking for the man, do you?”

  “I do not trust him, my lady,” the monk replied with open disdain.

  Eleanor grew pensive, sipped at her wine, and then smiled. “His dress and manner suggest wealth, but his first wife endured a long illness. If he could not travel to his vineyards because of her ill health, or th
e cost of her sickness was high, I wonder if his income suffered as a consequence. He is very eager, despite his protestations, to take on a woolmonger’s business.”

  Thomas nodded, both surprise and pleasure obvious in his expression.

  “I have not met the man,” Anne said, “but I must also ask if he is so eager for wealth that he longs only for a new source of it.”

  “And I should ask if it is logical that a man steal a manuscript from this priory but remain here and sell wool.” From the way Thomas clenched his fists, this statement took some effort for him to make.

  “Are there any others in the village who might be allied to Sayer in this matter?” Anne asked.

  “I do not believe the innkeeper cares to sell anything but ale and whores,” Thomas said. “According to the glover, there are still robbers who lurk near that strange pile of pagan stones, but they do not trouble the merchants of Amesbury and thus must be local men. If they do not torment the village, why would they steal the priory’s Psalter?”

  “Is the thief a man from somewhere else?” Anne continued.

  “According to the glover, no strangers have shown any interest in the Psalter,” Thomas replied.

  “Then he is either lying or the thief is a local man. We have solved nothing here,” Anne sighed.

  “We have not, nor do we have time for further debate or questions. Brother Jerome is in danger.” Eleanor’s eyes turned dark with anger. “Now is the time to weave a web like a skillful spider and trap whatever flies we may.” She turned to Thomas. “I have a plot in mind, Brother, but it would require that you return to the inn.”

  “The trap, my lady. How do you propose to set it?”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The crow from the nest near the library soared into the sky when Thomas left the priory. Had he not been told that birds had no souls, he might have concluded that hers felt an especial delight over her young. With the world rejoicing in the renewal of life, he grumbled to himself, why must he deal with death?

  Nay, it was neither death nor the suspicion thereof that pricked sharply at his heart. He knew that well enough. It was the knowledge that he must send Sayer into a trap, one that might well lead to the man’s hanging. The earth joined his spirit in protest and seemed to snatch at his feet to keep him from his destination.

  When Thomas reached the inn, he stopped, willing a firmness of purpose to fill his soul. After all, Prioress Eleanor had ordered him to perform a task, and he owed her obedience. He might be blinded by the wiles of the Prince of Darkness, but she was not. He had no right to whine like some swaddled babe. He must…

  “Why such hesitancy, Brother? After two visits, you have second thoughts about entering our inn?”

  Thomas spun around.

  Sayer stood behind him.

  The monk swallowed, the flame of guilt turning his face hot. “I am distressed,” he said quickly. “Will you share some ale with me?”

  “More questions, monk? I weary of them and even the promise of ale is not tempting enough to make tolerance bloom.”

  “I am through with that. Amesbury Priory must find someone else to solve their problems.”

  Sayer’s look softened. He stepped in front of the monk and held the door open for him. “The priory coin has come most often from your hand, Brother. Let it now drop from mine. Enter and tell me what troubles you.”

  Thomas walked inside. Behind him, the door creaked shut. He blinked at the smoky darkness and breathed in the sour reek of old sweat.

  Sayer gestured for the monk to follow.

  Can I do this? Thomas asked himself as he settled on the bench. But once the drink arrived and they were alone, he willed himself to the game and uttered a painful sigh.

  “What causes your brow to furrow so, Brother?”

  “My prioress says we must leave on the morrow. Although I have ignored all this until now…” He gestured at the ale, then nodded in the direction of the vanished serving wench. “My heart grieves for I shall have no such joys at Tyndal.”

  Sayer gazed at him in silence. “Then your last evening must be especially memorable.”

  Thomas tried to look both sheepish and eager, an effort made more difficult by the new chill in the roofer’s voice.

  “I could promise you such a time but do ask if you can leave the priory tonight?”

  Thomas nodded. “I believe that I can.”

  “The wall has been repaired, and the ghost lurks.”

  Was the man trying to dissuade him? Thomas asked himself. Was he ignorant of the toeholds scraped into the repaired wall? Hope warmed his heart. “I have seen no ghost. Since Brother Baeda’s death, Sister Beatrice has ordered me to lock the library after Compline. Now I sleep apart from other monks and patrol outside the building with a cross in hand to protect the sacred works therein from any hellish imps.”

  “How clever of Sister Beatrice.”

  He shrugged. “None would know if I slipped away as long as I returned by Matins.”

  “Then come to the inn when darkness falls, Brother.”

  “After Compline...”

  “Nay, before. Pray if you must, but remember that Matins comes early. I would not have you cheated of any joy when none will warm you once you return to your own priory.”

  “The library…”

  “…shall be safe enough for one night. You have seen no ghost. Most likely, the queen’s spirit has found whatever she went there to seek. She might well choose to trouble the monks in their dorter next, or else she has gone back to Purgatory.” He bent his head to one side and studied the monk. “If you come early enough, I can promise you a private room and an able woman to serve you the inn’s best wine.”

  Thomas put a hand to his heart as if to still its sinful beating. “Barring some demand by my prioress, I will meet you after the evening meal and before Compline.”

  Sayer nodded, slid from the bench, and left the monk alone.

  A black robe of mourning draped over Thomas’ heart.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  At the appointed time that night, Thomas went to the inn. He sat on a bench, called for ale, and waited for Sayer, but his hand shook when he reached for the tankard soon placed in front of him. Firmly grasping the thing with both hands, he managed to quell the disloyal tremor.

  Anyone seeing this sign of apprehension would surely blame it on his great struggle between the demands of frail flesh and his equally great longing for Heaven, or so he told himself. Unfortunately, his flesh showed no evidence of interest in this planned tryst, an observation he hoped no one else made.

  Sayer arrived shortly after, and Thomas persuaded him that he longed for the most popular serving wench. Maybe he only imagined the hint of disappointment on the man’s face, but once he had given Sayer payment for his night of pleasuring, the man spoke to the innkeeper and disappeared.

  The moment Thomas and the woman had closed the door to the private room, he fell to his knees, raised his still trembling hands heavenward, and loudly thanked God for granting him the strength to win his battle over the flesh.

  At first the woman expressed indignation, but he assured her that he would slip away unnoticed and the money agreed upon would not be taken back no matter his change of heart. Her weary face brightened and she winked at him, assuring the monk that she would enjoy the wine and an empty bed.

  Thomas soon found himself back in the night and hurrying along the path to the priory and the dark library.

  That the sheriff was still in distant pursuit of his fowl and boar mattered not. Sister Beatrice had agreed to her niece’s plan and promised there would be men in the shadows surrounding the building, robust lay brothers armed with blessed cudgels, most likely under the command of Brother Infirmarian. Thomas would not be alone.

  He looked around. At least I trust the men are there, he said to himself. He could see no one but took comfort in the hope that they were ready to come to his rescue with due speed i
f needed.

  In truth, he did not know exactly what to expect inside the library, although he had ardently beseeched to go there alone. Prioress Eleanor had conceded that one man would be less likely to betray the trap, thus increasing the chances of catching the thief in the act, but she did not think his plan quite safe. Only when he promised to cry out for the aid of others once he had caught the man had she agreed. Thomas prayed she was not angry with him, seeing his stubborn insistence as either disrespectful or disobedient.

  He had another reason for wanting to be alone. Although he knew that Sayer would be the one most likely caught with his hand on the Psalter, the monk’s unruly heart refused to be silenced, arguing with growing persistence that the roofer was more misguided than evil. Might Thomas not reason with him tonight, persuading the man to reveal who was behind the theft and even agree to give witness to the murderer’s deeds? If so, the monk could argue for leniency on Sayer’s behalf.

  If he was wrong and the roofer was a brutal killer, he should be able to detain him for a short time until the others arrived. The other problem lay in the number he might meet in the darkness of the library. If more than one was there, he would be in great danger. In that case, he must count on his own strength, wits, and the element of surprise to get him out of the situation.

  ***

  The library was as profoundly silent as it was deep in shadow. Although Thomas’ eyes were used to the gloom, he felt his way to a hiding place with difficulty. At least anyone else who came through the darkness would be at equal disadvantage, he thought, settling into a crouch behind Brother Jerome’s work area. The book chest was directly in front of him.

  His ears prickled. Had he heard a sound or was it just a mouse skittering along the floor? The silence now seemed full of tiny noises, but as he strained to hear, he was almost certain that someone was coming.

  The door opened.

  A man entered. He was holding a flickering light.

  Silently Thomas swore at himself for not considering this possibility. Could he be seen by the light of that flame? He bent down as much as he could.