The crowner paled and ran from the house. The three religious were close behind. Stumbling through the snow, all prayed that they would be able to reach the priory before another death occurred.
Chapter Thirty-four
Winter is not kind to stone, but maintenance on priory walls and roofs is often dangerous or impossible between the harvest season and Easter.
Prior Andrew had taken his prioress on a tour of the damage done so far by ice and storms to the structures in Tyndal. As he showed her each crack, leak, and broken stone, they discussed whether the damage was too hazardous to leave until spring and in what order the repairs should be made.
“We are fortunate that you have found good workmen,” Eleanor said to her prior. “The last repairs have all held. These are new defects, and you have gotten the most serious leak fixed.”
“I claim no credit, my lady. It is Tostig who found the men for us.” Prior Andrew leaned heavily on his stick, his face taut from the pain of his old wound sharpened by the pervasive cold.
She agreed in part. Tostig, Gytha’s brother, was a man of many talents who had taken over the priory brewery to the great profit of Tyndal and was also gaining much wealth in his other business endeavors. A man of quiet faith and much gratitude, he did all he could for the benefit of the priory in appreciation for God’s kindness to him in his ventures.
“You still deserve praise. Tostig may have sent the men to us, but it is you who have made sure the work was well done,” she said, then suggested they quickly seek the warmth of a fire.
Prior Andrew was a humble man, but her comment made him blush with happiness.
As they approached the path that led to her chambers, they heard a man cry out, begging them to stop.
Abbot Didier was running toward them, his arms waving frantically. The priory lay brother assigned to guard him was valiantly trying to keep up.
“My lady, please!”
“Calm yourself,” the prioress said to the sweating, wheezing abbot.
He took a deep breath and gasped the words: “You must come immediately! My servant is dead!”
Eleanor was horrified. How could this happen? She turned to Prior Andrew. “Quickly send a messenger to the village. Crowner Ralf, Brother Thomas, and Sister Anne are at the inn. They must return immediately.”
The prior hobbled away as quickly as he could until he disappeared into the icy mist that presaged the next snowstorm.
“Take me to see the corpse,” she said to Didier, and they hurried to the guest quarters. The red-faced guardian, a man of significant size, puffed steadily behind.
***
The body lay near the dining table. As Eleanor knelt beside it, she saw the cup which had fallen from his hand, the contents seeping into the cracks of the wooden floor. Bending close to examine the liquid, she saw bits of herbs, a few with the spiked appearance indicative of monkshood. The man had vomited, and his mouth was frozen open in an expression of horror. His face still glistened with sweat, and when she touched his neck, the flesh was warm. He had died recently.
She stood and looked at the trembling abbot. “Tell me what happened.”
Didier opened and shut his mouth, but he had lost all power of speech.
“If I may, my lady, I shall speak for him.” The sturdy lay brother, recovered from the run, took the abbot’s arm and led him to a chair next to the table. Gently, he pushed him into the seat.
Didier was shaking, and his face was as white as the outside snow, but he managed to nod approval.
She gave the lay brother permission.
“Abbot Didier and I went to the church to pray. After Abbot Mordredus was taken to the cell, the abbot needed to retreat to the church altar several times before his soul regained calm. This last time, we spent a long time on our knees before returning to the guest quarters, finally refreshed in spirit.” He gestured at the body. “Only to find…”
“He was still alive!” Didier began to weep.
“How did you know? Forgive my questions,” Eleanor said gently. “I must have answers to help me understand how this terrible crime can be solved.”
“He was still convulsing like Abbot Gifre did before he died,” the lay brother replied.
Didier began to hiccup with painful sobs.
The lay brother put an arm around the abbot’s shoulders and whispered comfort into his ear before looking back at the prioress. “Abbot Didier and I decided we must both seek you or someone from the hospital. I was not going to leave his side out of fear for his safety.”
Abbot Odo’s guard opened the door to his charge’s room and asked what was happening.
“Is all well with the abbot?” Eleanor asked, feeling an eerie chill spread through her.
“It is, my lady.”
“What sounds have you heard recently from the dining hall?”
“Nothing,” the man replied. “I have been reading to the abbot.”
“Stay with him. Do not move from your chamber. Bar the door. Let no one enter unless you hear my voice or that of Brother Thomas.”
He asked no questions and quickly shut the door. She heard him bolt it.
Eleanor spun around to face the chamber of Abbot Ancell. Terrified by what she might find, she ran to his door, hesitated for just a moment, and then knocked.
There was no response from within.
She knocked louder, waiting again for what felt like an eternity. Hesitating no longer, she threw open the door and stared inside.
On the floor lay two corpses: a bald lay brother and the priory man assigned to guard the abbot. After a brief examination, the prioress concluded they had both been poisoned in the same way as Didier’s servant.
Abbot Ancell, however, was nowhere to be seen.
“May God forgive me,” she whispered in horror. “I have been so terribly wrong.”
Chapter Thirty-five
After ordering Didier and his guard to lock themselves in their room and follow the precautions she gave the man caring for Odo, Eleanor ran from the guest quarters to the stables.
Where else could the man have fled? These murders had just been committed. If God were kind, the prioress was confident she could catch up with the killer before the lay brothers in the stable had provided him with a horse to escape.
The frozen snow broke sharply under her feet, slowing her, but she was relieved to see that only one set of footprints had preceded her.
As she entered the stables, daylight was fading, and there was so little light inside she could barely see. A few horses snorted. Some shifted position.
That was the only sound.
Suddenly, she realized that it was the hour for prayer. The lay brothers she expected to find here had left for the church.
Eleanor was utterly alone.
“You are a fool to be here!” she muttered softly, then stopped and listened carefully for any noise. Cautiously watching the shadows, she began to back out of the stables before her presence was noted and she was trapped.
A hand clamped against her mouth, and she felt the sharp edge of a knife blade against her throat. She had not even heard the man’s step behind her.
“You are indeed a fool,” Abbot Ancell hissed into her ear, “but women can never match a man’s wits.”
Eleanor prayed for calm.
The abbot shoved her into an empty stall and thrust her against the wall.
For an old man, he is very strong, the prioress thought, and tried to shift her head. Her cheek was pressed against the rough wood, and she feared splinters would be lodged in her eye.
He snorted with contempt at her movement and let the knife bite her skin. A small trickle of blood from the cut rose, broke, and began to wend its way down her throat.
She willed herself not to acknowledge her pain.
“See how helpless you are, you whore. As
you face death, I pray that you see how wicked it is for you to command men. Eve’s daughter must never rule the sons of Adam. It is unnatural. Your Order serves only Satan.”
She grunted, hoping he would interpret her sound as agreement and release his grip just enough….
He pushed her harder against the wooden planks. “To send your soul back to your dark master is a righteous act, for a virtuous man must rid the world of evil, but I never meant to kill any of my brothers in Christ.”
If only she could keep him talking, she thought, she had a chance to survive if Ralf arrived in time. She chose to ignore the likelihood that Ancell would kill her anyway if the crowner tried to save her. Doing her best to sound appropriately piteous, she whined.
“Heretical and unnatural creature! Are you fearful enough of God’s wrath?” He laughed. “Unlike you, my fellow six abbots were pious men, and I knew they must be given the chance to repent. They had dared to assume they were worthy of a bishopric, and God chose me to teach them each a lesson. I tried to sicken them. When a man is deathly ill, he trembles for his sins and repents. I had hoped they would hurry back to their abbeys to do penance, and then I, alone, would meet with the envoy and gain the reward I deserved. But Ilbert and Tristram were so befouled by their wickedness that the Devil coveted their souls.” He chuckled with glee. “And since God took no action to save them from eternal damnation, He must have been pleased when those first two died.”
Eleanor grunted in an attempt to speak, but he pressed his hand harder against her mouth until her teeth began to hurt. If only she could find a way to bite his hand, but he had pinched her lips shut to prevent just that. A drop of blood slipped into one eye from a new cut in her forehead.
Ancell’s face was so close to hers that Eleanor almost gagged from the fetid breath of his unhealthy gums. If she vomited, he would let her choke on it, and she struggled to swallow.
“After that, I knew God wanted me to have no mercy. When it came time to attack another, I had to kill. The victim was Gifre, but it mattered not who died. Odo should have succumbed too, yet God must have believed he was still able to repent. But you, whore of the Prince of Darkness, tried to subvert God’s will and surrounded the living abbots with guards. You had one of your wicked minions taste the food. I could not kill the rest as they deserved.” He sighed. “I almost succeeded in getting Didier to kill Mordredus over that obscene drawing I slipped into his chambers when both men left the dining hall.” He banged her head against the wall. “Had it not been for you and that thin-rumped imp disguised as a lay brother, God would have been victorious once more, aided by my hand, His most faithful servant!”
Eleanor was dizzy from the blows but willed herself to think. Could she kick back with her foot and strike the man’s genitals? All she needed to escape was for him to lessen his hold for an instant. Even if he was strong for his age, surely she could still run faster.
“Then Didier’s servant demanded more money than I had offered for his willingness to assist and remain silent. Instead of taking joy in the virtuous deeds he had helped wreak with Ilbert and Tristram, he fell in love with Satan and became infected with the vice of greed. The man may not have seen me sprinkle the monkshood on the tart, when I pretended to appreciate the hot food, but he knew it was I. He threatened to reveal all I had asked him to do unless I rewarded him more generously. God demanded that this covetous liegeman of the Devil die.”
Eleanor swung her foot back, but she had miscalculated her timing and how the abbot stood. She only hit his knee.
With all his strength, Ancell slammed her repeatedly against the stall.
Her nose began to bleed, her head screamed with pain, and her knees were weak.
“You are still rebelling against God’s will, whore. Your death will not be as swift as I might have offered you,” he muttered into her ear. “It will not be monkshood. I promise you that.”
Eleanor could not even imagine what method he would use, choosing instead to hold on to that modicum of hope that someone would find her here in time. How long had it been since the bells rang for the Office? Her next trick was to pretend she was fainting, something she was near enough to doing anyway.
She slumped.
He grabbed her and held her up against the stable wall.
Might the effort of holding my full weight up tire him enough, she wondered. If nothing else, she decided, he might kill me swiftly if it does.
“Was it you who planted that spider that bit me?’
She had forgotten that detail. If only she had known the crimes he had committed, she might have been tempted to do what he accused. Only I would have chosen a more venomous spider, she thought, then begged God to forgive her.
In reply, she tried a grunt that sounded vaguely like a denial.
“You lie!” He took a deep breath.
She knew the moment had come and began to pray for the forgiveness of all her sins.
Suddenly, he made a strange noise, and his knife slipped from her throat.
He had let her go?
Spinning around, she saw him lying unconscious in the straw. Standing over him was Crowner Ralf holding a large stick. He grinned, although his face was pale. “Do you think God will forgive me for striking an abbot, my lady?”
“You saved my life, Ralf. I shall pray that He forgive every sin you have even thought of committing.”
Chapter Thirty-six
The storm had come and gone during the night, covering the hushed earth with a heavy mantle of snow. Cold though the air was, a warm sense of peace now surrounded the village and priory. As word spread of the crimes committed in that holy place, all felt a sense of relief that the violence had ended and no new plague of sickness had come to gather souls.
In the prioress’ chambers, Gracia added another piece of wood to the fire before taking a fresh ewer of hippocras and heating it with a red hot poker. The steam rose, and with it the peppery scent of spices, blended by Sister Matilda, filled the air.
As Eleanor watched her maid, she saw that the young woman’s look was now tranquil and suddenly knew that she had made her decision. A chill froze the prioress’ heart. With determination, Eleanor banished the dread and turned back to the conversation between Sister Anne and Brother Thomas.
“At least Ralf did come to wish his brother a safe journey back to his abbey,” Sister Anne said, her eyes twinkling with mirth.
“And with some joy since Abbot Odo’s hopes for a bishopric died with the papal envoy.” Brother Thomas smiled at Gracia who beamed in response to the monk she loved like kin.
“Some might say the timing of the envoy’s death in Norwich from the lung disease was unfortunate,” the sub-infirmarian replied.
“But Ralf told me that the news made him fall to his knees in gratitude that God had kept the iniquitous from gaining more power in the Church.” Eleanor sipped at her wine before her eyes once again sought her maid.
“Ralf has always been wicked.” Anne laughed.
“Which is why our love for him grows ever stronger,” Thomas said and let Gracia fill his cup. He looked up at her and winked. “Our crowner is a good man,” he said, “but I often tell him it is our friendship that saves him from himself.”
“Do you think Abbot Ancell will be punished for his acts?” The sub-infirmarian refused the offer of more wine.
“Abbot Didier’s servant is dead. His cousin has disappeared.” Eleanor gave Brother Thomas a side glance.
The monk looked away and said nothing. He had not yet decided how he felt about the crowner’s rare carelessness in letting Ned escape. Or was it intentional? He knew the crowner well enough to suspect he blamed Ancell and Didier’s servant most.
The escaped man had never known that his acts might lead to murder. Ralf told the monk that Ned grew angry when he learned his cousin had used him to commit such crimes and wept to learn of how the abbots di
ed. Apparently, his cousin had always loved bright coin and rarely questioned the source. But Ned believed his cousin would have balked at murder and may have tried for more gold from Ancell so he could escape and avoid the gallows. He did not show any grief over his cousin’s murder, however, since his own neck remained at risk for the noose. Although Ned had safely vanished, Thomas doubted he would ever shed a tear for his cousin’s wretched death.
“Abbot Ancell is an old man.” Eleanor shook her head but regretted the motion. Her wounds, although healing, still stung. “He admits his deeds, arguing he did not intend to kill. Because the men died, he claims that God must have willed the result and thus he killed with God’s blessing. He has become confident that the Church will find no crime in his acts, which he calls virtuous.”
Suddenly, Gracia put the ewer on the table and asked her mistress for permission to speak.
“Of course, my child.”
“Does that mean that Abbot Ancell will escape all punishment?” Gracia’s expression could not have been clearer. She was outraged.
Eleanor chose to reply with caution. “Nothing escapes God’s notice or judgment. The abbot assumed he was so perfect that his opinions were the equivalent of God’s wisdom. Such arrogance is why pride is the worst of all the seven deadly sins. None of us can ever be the equal of God.”
Gracia nodded. “How shall he be punished?”
“One of the wisest things my aunt, Sister Beatrice, taught me was that God will punish the wicked in ways that will distress them the most. You and I might wish one punishment on those who bring torment to the innocent, but we must let God respond in His own time and way. Our concept of what is justice in the situation will often fall short.”
Although Gracia did not speak, her eyes revealed she was not satisfied.
“Our friend, Crowner Ralf, believes that the abbot should hang for his crimes,” Thomas said, knowing that Gracia must hear Prioress Eleanor’s answer.
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