A Killing Season mm-8

by Priscilla Royal

  “If postponing the message that Umfrey lives will stop the killing, the delay will bring more joy than sorrow. Please forgive my reaction. I spoke only as…”

  “…any woman and mother would.” Eleanor smiled with gentle sympathy. “I only pray that the plot shall succeed, bring swift justice and eventual peace, so the outcome may outweigh the cruelty.”

  “I join you in that hope.”

  Glancing at her friend’s brief smile, Eleanor nodded, knowing well the dangers inherent in her ploy. After all, men not only denied God under such duress, they had slain themselves in despair.

  “My lady?”

  Master Gamel stood in the doorway, wiping his hands on a pink-tinted cloth.

  Eleanor forced a cheerful look. “How does your patient?”

  Gamel glanced at Sister Anne, his expression soft with evident affection. “He sleeps with a draught of mandrake to bring him respite from the pain I caused. I did not tell him what I was giving him because he had already refused the drink to numb the hurt of treatment. He said that his suffering would please God, yet men heal better when the torment is less acute. Or so I have observed.”

  The prioress squeezed shut her eyes, trying to banish the memory of Umfrey’s piteous cries when the physician bathed his deep cuts in wine, spread honey around the edges, and covered the wounds with dry, clean dressings. Gamel’s work was skillfully swift, but time slows to the speed of a worm’s crawl when raw flesh is further abused.

  “The potion was made by your sub-infirmarian. Had it not been for her knowledgeable assistance, I would not be as confident of the young man’s recovery.”

  Anne blushed. “I did nothing, good sir. It is your skill that shall save him.”

  Turning to Eleanor, his manner grew shy. “Many quarrel with this choice of treatment, my lady. Most prefer cautery of all wounds, regardless of weapon, and ointments to draw forth the laudable pus, but I have had much success treating dagger wounds in this other manner.”

  The prioress glanced at Anne who answered her unspoken question with a nod. “Then God has given you wisdom,” she said. “No man of faith should doubt His grace in doing so.”

  “Barring the wound turning foul, he has every hope of survival, although the injury will be long in healing.”

  “A careless killer, do you think, or one blessedly unskilled?” Although she suspected the former, Eleanor needed the physician’s opinion to be more certain.

  “More likely God’s grace,” he replied, “or so Umfrey believes.”

  The prioress raised an eyebrow in question.

  “The assassin must have been in a hurry. A moment’s reflection would have been sufficient to realize that the one blow could have been deflected.” Using a palm to represent the victim’s chest, he demonstrated the direction of the blow with his other. “The knife first hit the large gold cross the baron’s son was wearing, then his hair shirt. Although neither would have been enough to keep a knife from a plunging into the heart, both skewed the direction just enough so the knife hit his rib and slid away into flesh. Added to that good fortune was the timely arrival and wise actions of Brother Thomas. If he had not found him so quickly, Umfrey’s body would have emptied of all blood. Your monk saved his life by damming the flow.”

  Eleanor indicated understanding, then frowned. “Who knows that Umfrey still lives?”

  The physician looked confused. He began to ask her meaning, then answered her question instead. “The servants who carried him here knew he was barely alive. They all told me that Umfrey was more in need of a priest than a physician’s service. Umfrey did not regain his wits until after all had left. Only we must know that he is alive.” He hesitated. “And Brother Thomas as well.”

  Anne concurred.

  “The servant who entered the chapel with your monk certainly believed Umfrey was dead,” Gamel said. “He hurried to tell Lady Margaret that news. After he left her, his progress was slower as he stopped to alert all he met of the latest horror committed by the Devil against this family. I have heard much whispering in the halls to that effect.”

  “Then we shall confirm the rumor, less with deceitful word than by sad demeanor,” Eleanor replied. “We have little time to catch the attacker.” Her jaw clenched. “I will tell my brother this tragic news of Umfrey’s death, and he will be swift in gathering others for a discreet but organized search. Even though I trust his prudence, I must mislead my brother as well. A confidence, spoken in whispers, may still be overheard.”

  “The family will beg permission to prepare the corpse for burial,” Anne said.

  “And I shall dissuade them for a short time.” Eleanor pressed her hand over her eyes, as if trying to hide her dismay at such devious tactics. “Brother Thomas needs time alone in the room to struggle with the Devil for the possession of Umfrey’s soul before any burial can take place.”

  “There is one more matter, my lady.” Gamel nervously twisted his hands.

  From the physician’s expression, the prioress knew he had held back a distressing detail. Impatient and uneasy, she beseeched him to share it.

  “I should have told you this sooner, but the significance was so grave, so incomprehensible, I lost all ability to give speech to what I heard. This terrible thing may complicate your efforts to catch the killer.” He spoke so softly his words were almost impossible to hear.

  The prioress wondered what could be worse than these murders. “I implore you to speak plainly, good sir.”

  Gamel looked over his shoulder at the door. “While I was cleaning the son’s wounds, he remained conscious. I grieved that he was alert to suffer so much, but I thought the memory of greater pain might distract him from my current work. I asked what he recalled of the attack.”

  Eleanor nodded approval. Whatever fearful news the physician had learned, he had had the wit to seek details soon after the attack.

  “Umfrey told me that he had left the chapel to relieve himself. When he returned, his father greeted him by the altar.”

  “The baron never speaks directly with any of his immediate family,” Anne said.

  This was strange news indeed, the prioress thought. She gestured for him to continue.

  “Earlier, he had asked that Raoul beg their father to come to him.” Drops of sweat shone on Gamel’s forehead. “At first, I assumed the baron had found compassion for the lad who was suffering so much. Whatever their quarrel, no father would want his son to bear such anguish. I would never…”

  “Your conclusion is reasonable,” she replied, keeping her doubts about Herbert’s sympathy unspoken.

  Gamel rubbed at his eyes as if trying to rid them of an irritant. “When the young man finished his story, my heart almost ceased beating with his appalling revelation.”

  Anne and Eleanor stared at him with dread-filled anticipation.

  “Is it not an unnatural father who opens his arms to his child, only to stab him in the heart?”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Standing at her brother’s side, Eleanor rued all the lies she had told and must still utter. Some were deliberate falsehoods, others the easy failure to add details. She suspected these omissions of fact were the same as any other deception. Did the purpose ever cleanse the sin?

  She shook her head, then glanced at her brother and hoped he did not see how confused and troubled she was. “Surely you have learned something more,” she said and instantly regretted her sharp tone. Knowing Hugh, she realized that he would have told her if he had and did not deserve a rebuke born of no cause but her frustration.

  He clenched his fists, then cracked his knuckles.

  She winced. “Never do that again in my presence! Such a reminder of the sound when bones and shoulders are set is loathsome.”

  The knight stepped back and stared at his sister. “You are no longer the little girl I remember!” He bent and held his hand about knee level. “You have learned the voice of command, my lady.”

  Eleanor knew he was trying to defuse the tension
between them and was quite willing to allow it. With a forced laugh at his jest, she spun around and stared out of the window. “Oh, Hugh, what is happening here? Can you think of any reason for these deaths? Poor Umfrey!”

  “If I did, I would not be standing here like that weak-kneed monk of yours.”

  Eleanor hid her curiosity at the remark. Now was not the time to question it, and she chose instead to wait for what else he had to say.

  He cleared his throat with a growl. “We may learn something soon. A servant arrived not long ago and asked for Master Gamel and the monk. When Baron Herbert heard of his son’s death, he called them to his chambers. I was not summoned.”

  Surprised and perplexed in equal measure, she asked him for more detail.

  “Then you knew nothing of this either?”

  “After I finished speaking with the physician, I went to the chapel with Sister Anne to pray for Umfrey’s soul. She and I discussed the need to comfort Lady Margaret, then my sub-infirmarian left to wait upon that bereaved mother. I sought you. I have not seen Brother Thomas or Master Gamel since I left him.”

  Hugh scowled.

  Although the prioress understood her brother’s annoyance at being denied a place in the meeting with Herbert, she had greater hope that the baron might finally cast light on why these murders had occurred. Her plan to force the killer’s hand might have yielded early fruit.

  For so many reasons, she hoped the baron was not guilty of these crimes, but, until she knew more, she dared not discount Umfrey’s reported accusation. It had been very difficult to keep her brother ignorant of this son’s survival. Secrecy was one matter, but loyalty was another. Even though Hugh would share her horror at the possibility of filicide, Baron Herbert was his friend. She did not know the full extent of her brother’s devotion to his battlefield commander.

  He grunted. “Baron Herbert should have asked for you. On your behalf, I am offended that he chose the company of an ordinary monk over that of an esteemed prioress.”

  For a moment, Eleanor considered the tone of those words and concluded his meaning had little to do with concern over the difference in rank between a prioress and one of her religious. “He is a priest. When any mortal requires such a servant of God, there is no affront to my honor.” In silence, she studied her restless sibling. “Has Brother Thomas offended you, Hugh? As his prioress, I must know of any insult.”

  He shook his head.

  Eleanor’s first suspicion was that her brother knew of Thomas’ former work as a Church spy. If so, he might not wish to speak of it, fearing she was ignorant of the monk’s dual loyalties. He would still be angry at the trickery and might wish to resolve the matter without alerting her to the problem. Despite his protestations, he did think of her as a little girl. She struggled not to smile with affection.

  “We all have committed sins,” she said, “but God forgives us when we confess our transgressions. Mortals are then obliged to do the same. Should you know of any recent wrongdoing, however, that may be whispered into my ear.” She hoped her words suggested that she knew of Thomas’ past and had forgiven him.

  For a moment, Hugh seemed to mull what she had just said. “He has served you well, my lady, and I know of his kindness when Death danced around my son’s bed that winter I was in Outremer.” He grimaced as if those words had stuck like a fishbone in his throat.

  She nodded as another reason for his evident dislike of Thomas occurred to her. This, she hoped, was the true cause, one that could be more easily resolved than perceived disloyalty.

  “Are you angry that Richard grew fond of him? If so, chase that from your heart,” she said. “The monk brought comfort to your son during the years you were gone. Now that you have returned, the boy will turn again to you as his father. Give the lad time. The bond of your mutual love is strong despite the long absence.”

  Hugh bit his lips and stared up at the ceiling. “You give wise counsel.” He forced a smile. “Now that my son is at court in the service of our king, I see him often enough. Indeed, Richard has little enough time to…” He stopped. “Our father is proud of him,” he hurried to say. “Says he rarely indulges in boyish mischief-or at least is not often caught at it.” This time he grinned with evident pleasure.

  Inclined to agree that anything her nephew did was a matter for pride, Eleanor laughed, sharing her brother’s delight and choosing to accept the shift in the discussion away from her much-loved monk.

  But memory of recent violence blew a chill breath on their levity, and they quickly grew more somber.

  Hugh leaned against the wall and sighed. “I beg forgiveness for my sharp words. I have grown querulous over this delay in discovering Baron Herbert’s need to call us here.”

  “The unfortunate deaths give cause enough for postponement.”

  “Your charity is a credit to you.”

  “You did say he was not a man prone to undue fears or exaggeration.”

  “He has been called severe, but he is hardest on himself. Even when suffering a near-mortal fever, he demanded that he be tied to his horse so he might join his men in combat.” He shook his head. “That was one of the few times anything proved stronger than his will. The fever was so fierce it rendered him unconscious, and he was carried back to his bed. After he recovered, his hair dropped out, eyebrows as well, and he never recovered the feeling in one hand. Nonetheless, he still rode into battle. We honored him for his resolve and loved him for his courage.”

  “Your testimony to his valor is one reason I did not question his fears that some malign thing had taken residence.”

  “A prioress with your reputation would only honor his rank and be a match for any evil he suspected here.” Hugh’s eyes betrayed the love he had for this little sister who had grown into such a formidable woman. “You are much like our aunt at Amesbury,” he said.

  Eleanor flushed with pride at the comparison and turned away to hide that failing. “You praise me too much, sweet brother.”

  “And you are too kind to condemn me for my overweening pride, pricked because the baron did not include me in those he has called to his side. What I should pray for is enlightenment from Master Gamel. The baron may have slipped into deep melancholy after Roger drowned, but the subsequent deaths of Gervase and Umfrey are beyond any father’s endurance. Only Raoul is left now, a son who offers little comfort. I pray there is an earthly remedy to match the pain of such worldly woes.” He hesitated as if about to say more but fell silent.

  Eleanor was about to ask questions about the baron’s relationship with his sons, when the sound of men’s voices echoed down the outside corridor. Their actual words were muted by the invading wind and thick stone walls.

  Brother Thomas and Master Gamel walked slowly together, their heads bowed in thought. As they approached, they looked up, evidently startled by the presence of the knight and prioress.

  Glancing at Brother Thomas, Eleanor was shocked. Rarely had she seen such misery as she noted in his eyes.

  Master Gamel turned his face away as if he feared to meet anyone’s gaze.

  What new tidings of dire import had the two men brought? Eleanor turned to Hugh and saw that he shared her apprehension.

  The arrivals looked at each other, their expressions suggesting that each hoped the other would speak first.

  “What have you learned?” The prioress could not will her voice to rise above a whisper.

  Gamel‘s eyes shifted back and forth with evident discomfort. Then he bowed awkwardly. “My lady, I would reply but beg your indulgence. I must consult with your sub-infirmarian. May I ask where Sister Anne is?”

  “She remains with the Lady Margaret, I believe. She was preparing a weak potion infused with poppy to allow the poor woman some healing sleep. Shall I summon her?”

  “I see that she, too, has learned the use of that plant from those who came from Outremer. I am not surprised,” he murmured, a smile briefly smoothing the furrows in his brow. In the next instant, he grew somber again
and studied his feet.

  “I myself shall seek her. If her skills are no longer needed by the baron’s wife, I will sit with the lady until she falls asleep and allow Sister Anne to attend you. A woman servant can be found for company,” Eleanor said. “Where do you wish to meet?”

  “In the Great Hall, if that is acceptable. She and I may have privacy to confer, and we shall be within the clear view of others for propriety.”

  She wished she might join the pair, yet was wise enough to recognize that her presence would be less help and more of an intrusion. Now her heart began to pound, but she did not know whether that was due to fear or thwarted curiosity. In either case, these men knew something of significance. She was equally convinced the news, when related, would not be cause for joy.

  With grace, the physician thanked her and left.

  Eleanor also departed to seek Sister Anne, then glanced over her shoulder at the two men remaining.

  Hugh and Thomas stood some distance apart, glaring at each other.

  The prioress sighed and walked on, wishing she could stay to heal the discord between them. Other matters must take immediate precedence, she decided, and set her mind to the next task. As she entered the stairwell leading to Lady Margaret’s chambers, she felt a chill and spun around.

  Hugh had turned to look out the window.

  Thomas was watching her, his face pale with terror and woe.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The two men watched Prioress Eleanor disappear into the stairwell. The door fell shut behind her with a thud.

  Folding his arms, Hugh turned to the monk. “I have the right to know what you learned from Baron Herbert,” he snarled. “Any new information might help capture a killer. Your willful delay of this hunt is reprehensible.” He rudely gestured at the monk. “A man of your ilk may find the need for principled action difficult to grasp, but surely even you can understand that the rest of us must react swiftly.”