A Killing Season mm-8

by Priscilla Royal

  “He is my sire, one who slaughtered many in God’s name. How can I believe that the Devil has found any place in such a Christian heart?”

  Respectful though this reply was, Thomas heard doubt in Umfrey’s tone. Possessed or not, the baron was a troubled man. His behavior toward his family was baffling. Added to that was the issue of why he had begged Sir Hugh to bring healers of both body and soul to this castle, a question yet unanswered.

  Hearing a scratching sound, Thomas nervously glanced over his shoulder.

  A small, round shadow raced across the floor and vanished into a gap in the wall.

  He sighed, grateful that it was not the Devil he had heard, scraping his claws on the stones. Nonetheless, he wondered if the Evil One was about as this baron’s son believed.

  Like Umfrey, Herbert might fear that Satan had spread his foul embrace around this castle. Or did he think some unnamed plague was raging here? When he sent for Sir Hugh, one son had died in an unusual manner, if Umfrey were to be believed. The baron could have some reason to think that death meant an exorcism should be done. With this second death, the baron might either be convinced of the need for godly intervention, or else he suspected that an unknown illness was driving his sons mad.

  Umfrey was now staring at the ceiling, his lips moving in silent conversation with some invisible entity.

  Thomas hoped it was God.

  Why had the baron refused any contact with his wife and sons? Why was he reportedly seen only at night? Despite taking the cross, Herbert could have subsequently committed an unspeakable sin. As punishment, God might have inflicted his sons with wild frenzy so they lost all reason, the one drowning despite his fear of the sea and the other believing he could fly. Thomas had his doubts about this but concluded that the need for healers of souls was clearer than why the baron had also called for medical help.

  Sin was always the most common worry. Rampant plagues, particularly confined to one family, were infrequent. The secular healers might have been requested for the baron himself, but if Herbert had suffered a grievous wound in Outremer, he would have felt no shame in admitting to it. It would have been suffered in God’s service.

  Shaking his head, the monk decided that the baron must fear that some illness, requiring the most knowledgeable physicians, had infected his family. In any event, Thomas could see no rational answer to what was happening. He knew too little.

  “Brother?”

  “Aye.”

  “Although I do not know how he did it, Satan has killed two of my brothers.” Umfrey’s voice trembled. “And I believe the Evil One lurks just outside that door, waiting to murder me next.” He reached out a hand in supplication. “Save me! I do not want to die. I do not want to spend eternity in Hell.” Leaning his head back against the altar, he gazed at the ceiling and began to wail. The despair in his choking sobs was unbearable.

  “I promise that I shall seek out this evil,” Thomas replied. “There are three of us here who serve God, one of whom is Prioress Eleanor. Her service to His justice has gained enough respect that even the Devil must surely quail when he sees her.” Then the monk stepped closer to the cowering man, put his hands on his shoulders and urged him to pray.

  By the time Thomas left, Umfrey had slunk back into the gloom surrounding the altar. When the monk shut the door to the chapel, he looked down the narrow, dark corridor and shivered.

  “I hope I have not made a promise that is impossible to keep,” he whispered and hurried back through the changing shadows to his chambers.

  Chapter Seven

  Supper that evening was a dreary affair. None of the baron’s family joined their guests in the Great Hall, although the servants were attentive and the kitchen had provided ample fare for all who cared to sit down at table.

  Master Gamel showed some appetite. No one else did. Sir Hugh picked at the little he had placed on his trencher. Those under monastic rule ate sparingly of the rich sauces and dripping slabs of roasted boar. More accustomed to an austere diet of fish, aged fowl and many vegetables, they were overwhelmed by this secular bounty. Under different circumstances, they might have found pleasure in such a rare feast, but Death blunted it.

  Glancing at her fellow religious, Eleanor concluded that their feigned attention to the generous meal had long ago exceeded the requirements of expected courtesy. She rose, and they followed with evident relief. Even Sir Hugh took advantage of the chance to escape, and Master Gamel swallowed one more mouthful of red wine before abandoning his soaked trencher. With a courteous bow to his table companions, he left to seek his bed.

  While the servants removed the food and plate, stripped the linen, and began folding the trestle tables against the wall, Eleanor walked to the fireplace. At least the poor will benefit from our meager appetites, she thought, convinced that the kitchen would have an abundance, even after the servants ate, to hand out the next morning for charity.

  Sister Anne joined her and asked if the prioress wished to come to the chapel. Eleanor knew she should accompany the nun and Brother Thomas, but the time was apt to seek more details from her brother about Baron Herbert’s family. She promised to join the pair later.

  Looking around for Hugh, she found him leaning against a window in the corridor just outside the hall. He stared down at the bailey, his expression indicative of a mood no brighter than the coming long night. As Eleanor approached, he turned to greet her with a distracted smile. It was manifestly contrived.

  She told him her concerns and pretended not to notice his darkened spirit.

  “I am as ignorant as you about the reason for these tragedies. Even though this current one should have added to his urgency, Baron Herbert has not yet chosen to summon me.” His tone was rough with impatience. “Because his missive spoke of great need, I endangered your health, that of your sub-infirmarian and a noted physician by urging this perilous winter journey. Forgive me for begging you to join me in this folly.” He threw up his hands in disgust.

  “My decision was freely made, as was my choice to bring Brother Thomas, but I do wonder why you asked for Sister Anne if you intended to bring a physician.” That her brother had omitted mentioning the monk struck her as odd. She gave him a questioning look. “I might have chosen another nun to accompany me for modesty’s sake and left her to care for the dying.”

  He looked sheepish. “I do owe you an explanation and must add a plea for forgiveness. Even now I think of you as my young sister, a child whom I must guide and protect.”

  She laughed. “Since I remain much shorter than most women, you are easily forgiven for considering me your little sister.”

  His grin was instant, then he grew pensive. “Baron Herbert is a man of strong opinions. Having little confidence in those not trained at a university, he asked for a physician of high repute. He considers apothecaries, and any woman amongst them, as mere grinders of powders and mixers of strange potions. They are lesser talents to him.”

  “Then why bring Sister Anne at all?”

  “Surely you know that many at court praise her skill as God’s gift. Although Master Gamel is a learned man, I believed she might be the better healer, but the baron would never have accepted her judgement on any illness. Her observations and conclusions might be invaluable but accepted by the baron only if spoken with the tongue of a physician.”

  “I wonder that you imagined this man of medicine would be agreeable to the deception. Even if he were willing to discuss matters with Sister Anne, his own opinions must take precedence with him.”

  “Master Gamel is a scholar, one whom I have learned to respect. He, too, has heard of your sub-infirmarian’s reputation and expressed eagerness to meet her.” He fell silent and looked back to the window.

  Tucking her hands into her sleeves for warmth, Eleanor decided to drop the subject. “Then feel no more guilt over bringing any of us here, my brother. God often guides us into inexplicable situations only to reveal His purpose later.” Even if Hugh’s handling of this situation tur
ned out to be misguided, his intent was founded in love and charity. “Should this journey not prove instructive for our souls,” she continued with a gentle smile, “I shall find joy enough spending time with a brother I have not seen in far too long.”

  With evident affection, Hugh put a hand over his heart as he looked back at her. “Such words are like the balm of honey to your unworthy kinsman, my lady.”

  Eleanor was about to reply when she heard footsteps. Bending to look around her brother, she stared down the shadowy corridor.

  Hugh spun around.

  A tall man greeted the pair with a deep bow. “You would be justified in feeling anger over how this family has ignored your arrival,” he said. “On behalf of Baron Herbert, I wish to apologize for our lack of hospitality and beg your forgiveness. The circumstances may be unusual, but we still owe our invited guests courtesy.”

  The prioress was struck dumb by the man’s beauty. His eyes were the color of violets, shoulders broad, and his golden hair was cut short in the fashion of most fighting men. There was one deep scar along his left cheek, but that did nothing to mar his appearance. A battle wound was a mark of honor and courage, she thought, and found she quite liked it.

  “You have no need to apologize,” Hugh said. He embraced the man, then introduced Sir Leonel, the baron’s nephew, to his sister.

  Eleanor realized she was staring and quickly bowed her head when the man smiled at her.

  “You have been most kind to my aunt.” His soft words were like a caress. “She told me that your counsel and prayers were deeply comforting.”

  Feeling her cheeks grow hot, she hoped the bright color would be mistaken for modesty. “You were at her side when your cousin fell to his death,” she replied, willing her thoughts to a loftier purpose. “If you have not yet done so, I implore you to seek God’s comfort with your priest. Grief over Gervase’s death must be sharp indeed.”

  A muscle twitched in his jaw.

  She briefly wondered what that meant before logic abandoned her, vanquished by her wayward passions. Even her eyes burned. She shut them.

  “We no longer have one. Our family priest died just before you arrived, my lady. It seems that God demands many souls from this place. Although my wish may be wicked, I do pray He is satisfied at last with the number He has gathered.”

  She looked up at him.

  His mouth twisted with a hint of bitterness.

  “Brother Thomas is here with us,” she murmured. “God understands anguish when too many of our beloved ones die. He would want you to find solace.” Sir Leonel’s lips were full, she noticed. In another, that might be considered feminine but not in this very masculine nephew. “I urge you to seek our priest’s counsel.”

  Without warning, Leonel fell to his knees in front of her, his hands folded prayerfully.

  Her heart pounded so hard she feared both he and her brother would hear it.

  “Bless me,” he begged.

  Eleanor did not remember what phrases she spoke but knew how her voice trembled.

  Jumping to his feet, his eyes glowed.

  She stepped back as quickly as if he had been flames leaping from the hearth.

  Then Leonel abruptly turned grave, thanked her for the grace, and turned all his attention to her brother.

  “We came at your uncle’s behest,” Hugh said, although no question had been asked.

  “And I have also come at his. He asks that you attend him.”

  “I shall come whenever he wishes.”

  “Now, if you would be so kind.”

  This is welcome news, Eleanor thought, and was relieved that her reason was returning. She turned to her brother. “Before you leave, Sister Anne must be summoned to my side for propriety. I may not linger here alone.” She was also much in need of the steady, comforting companionship of her friend and fellow religious after this unsettling encounter with the baron’s nephew.

  A servant was dispatched to bring the nun from the chapel. Within a few moments, the sub-infirmarian arrived, and the two men left.

  Eleanor willed herself not to watch Sir Leonel walk away. He is a man of decided charm, she concluded as she forced her gaze in the other direction.

  As prioress and nun walked back to the briskly dancing fire in the hall, Anne leaned close to her friend’s ear. “I sense something amiss,” she murmured. “Have you cause to be troubled?”

  Aye, Eleanor thought, then firmly cast aside all thoughts of Sir Leonel. “These deaths. They have multiplied,” she said. “When my brother asked me to accompany him here, he confessed that Baron Herbert had said little about the reason for his plea. I understood that one son’s death must have caused deep melancholy, but I was perplexed by the request to bring healers of both body and soul. Nonetheless, I took Hugh’s word that the baron would never have begged the favor without cause.”

  “Brother Thomas’ spiritual consolation added to my experience as an apothecary would serve the baron’s need, as you reasonably assumed. Have you learned something that proves your conclusion erroneous?”

  “I should have questioned my brother further. I fear that you may have suffered this long journey without cause.”

  “I confess I was startled to see a physician riding with Sir Hugh’s company of soldiers.”

  Eleanor rubbed her hands to enhance the fire’s warmth.

  Aware that the servants were still about, Anne bent closer for more private conversation. “You have no cause for regret. I am always pleased to come with you on your travels, whether or not my humble skills are needed. On this journey, however, I have learned so much. Master Gamel has generously shared some of his knowledge with me on the road. The time I have spent learning from him will bring great benefit to our hospital at Tyndal.”

  Eleanor suspected that her sub-infirmarian had taught this fur-cloaked London man more than he had her, but she did not speak her thoughts. “With those words, you exemplify the meekness required of us all.”

  “I did ask Master Gamel what your brother told him about the baron’s concerns.” Anne’s eyes twinkled.

  “And how did he respond?” As always, her friend had guessed what the prioress might want to know.

  “The baron specifically asked for a skilled doctor, one with particular experience in treating soldiers returning from Outremer.”

  The prioress raised an eyebrow. Hugh had not mentioned this to her. Perhaps the request was of no significance to him, but it aroused her curiosity. “What reason was given for this?”

  Anne shook her head.

  Might this physician be interested in a particular injury or malady, an affliction found primarily amongst those coming home from the holy wars? “I am surprised that Master Gamel agreed to leave his patients. Something about this request must have sparked an interest.”

  “Sir Hugh has done him many favors, he said, including the opportunity to consult with this man in your brother’s service.” She hesitated. “The one from Acre?”

  “Lucas,” Eleanor replied.

  “I was not quite sure how he served your brother.”

  Eleanor was uncomfortable with the question. “He is a convert from Islam, a physician in his own land,” she said. “I know little more than that.” Rarely did she lie to Anne, but now was not the time to reveal the rumors surrounding her brother’s companion.

  “Lucas? That is an unusual name for an infidel.”

  “He took the name at baptism,” Eleanor said. “My brother explained the name change was to honor Saint Luke, the physician, companion to the sainted Paul.” And that was all she wished to say about the man. Quickly she changed the subject: “Even if he did wish to repay my brother for past kindness, surely Master Gamel has many patients who will suffer in his absence.”

  “He has a son, one who followed him in the study of healing arts. The physician is proud of his son’s talents so had little hesitation about leaving the suffering with him.” Anne smiled. “His only concern was that many might learn to prefer the younger man
to the father. He told me that he is not so old that his only desire is to sit by the fire and play with his grandchildren.”

  “Master Gamel is a good man to offer his services so generously to the baron.” If this physician was willing to discuss medical theory with a man from Outremer, she thought, he might even ponder the opinions of a woman as her brother claimed.

  Anne hesitated. “He does hope we may all soon learn the purpose for our journey.”

  “As do I.” Eleanor shivered and began to pace. “I am uneasy about this place. There is something amiss, and I am beginning to fear that Satan has taken residence in the castle.”

  Anne gasped.

  Eleanor knew it was not like her to make such statements, believing as she did that mortals were more likely to be the Devil’s henchmen than tailed demons. “I have just met the baron’s nephew, Sir Leonel, and believe he is right when he says that Death has been vigorously plowing this field for souls. One son drowned. Since then, the castle priest has died. Yesterday, the heir tumbled to his death from a keep window.” She stopped and stared into the writhing flames. “Death has been too merry here.”

  “Perhaps Brother Thomas should perform an exorcism.”

  The prioress’ expression darkened.

  “I mention this only because you fear that Satan…”

  “I do feel a malign presence,” Eleanor said, “and conclude the baron may well have had cause to call for a priest. Indeed, if there is a plague of imps, he might be most grateful now that he has three of us vowed to God’s service. That noted, I still wonder why he asked for a physician. We know not whether the disease in this place is of the soul, the body, or both, and it may well take the wisdom of us all to find out.”

  “Have you spoken with anyone else here about this matter?”

  “The baron’s wife. Unfortunately, she knows nothing of her husband’s wishes or concerns because of some unexplained estrangement from him. As for the sons’ deaths, Lady Margaret witnessed her Gervase’s fall, as did Sir Leonel.”