There was such contempt in the knight’s narrowed eyes that Thomas felt his temper flare like a blacksmith’s fire. Only rarely did he want to cast aside the vocation thrust upon him and strike back like any other man whose honor was ridiculed. This was one of those times.
He put his hands behind his back and clenched them. This is my prioress’ brother and Richard’s father, he said to himself. Whatever Hugh had against him, he ought to simply remind the man that the priesthood was owed courtesy even if he himself was not. The words stuck in his throat and instead he chose to say, “I may not speak of it.”
Instantly he knew he had betrayed his fury with his tone.
“Master Gamel has decided otherwise, it seems, and chooses to share his knowledge even with a woman.”
Thomas ground his teeth but kept silent.
“Or is the truth of it that you know nothing at all? Perhaps my lord smelled your rank impiety, shut the door in your face, and spoke alone with Master Gamel. Surely you are not claiming the sanctity of confession for the baron?”
Thomas’ ears burned from the acidic scorn in the knight’s voice. “If you will,” he muttered, knowing that any attempt to explain or dispute would be futile.
Those three uttered words were still three too many.
“If I will? It is God’s command if you dare claim that the baron confessed anything to you for His ears.” He shrugged. “Yet your soul is so befouled that I doubt you even risk uttering His name. He might strike you with lightning for your blasphemy if you did.” Hugh stepped forward to wag a finger in the monk’s face. “I see rage burning inside you, Brother. In Outremer, King Edward’s gaze often turned earth into fire when he was displeased, but he is God’s anointed and that conflagration purifies. You are the Devil’s liegeman. Your passions pollute creation.”
Thomas grew dizzy as fury mixed with fear. This man did know who he was.
“You mock those of honest vocation when you wear a monk’s robe, Thomas of London.”
“All men sin, but God forgives those who beg His mercy.”
Hugh laughed. “You must have failed to repent and win His pardon. The stench of your true master still emanates from you.”
“What offence have I committed against you?” Thomas shouted, his words slicing the air like the sword he did not have. “Since I am a man who serves God, I may not take up a sharp blade and fight for my honor’s sake. My only recourse is to beg that you have mercy on me and forgive.” But his evident flash of anger contradicted any claim of meekness in his heart.
“What mercy did you grant Giles when you raped him?”
Thomas staggered backward.
Hugh pushed the monk up against the wall. “His father was my friend and told me the story of his only son. Giles screamed, did he not, begging you not to use him like some woman. Nonetheless, you defiled his manhood, an abomination that still festers, leaving him tormented with moments of madness.” Hugh grabbed the monk by the robe, twisting it in his hand until the cloth grew tight around Thomas’ throat. “His father is now dead, a good and pious man whose life was cut short by the ruination of his son.”
The monk gasped for air, and what little he was able to inhale was sharp with the rank sweat of panic.
“I should castrate you. Would that not be proper justice?” The knight laughed, then hit Thomas with the flat of his hand.
Blood splattered as a cut opened in the monk’s cheek.
Now outraged and desperate for air, Thomas swung his own fist, an ineffective blow on the ribs, but his knee hit the knight’s thigh.
Surprised, Hugh loosened his hold.
The monk shoved him away and struck again.
Ducking, the knight rammed his head into Thomas’ chest, forcing breath from the monk’s lungs.
Wide-eyed and gasping for air, Thomas summoned will and strength enough to grab Hugh around the neck, immobilize him, and strike again at his groin. This time he succeeded.
Howling with pain, the knight fell to the floor.
The monk collapsed as well. Crouching on all fours, Thomas struggled to pull air back into his lungs.
Hugh cupped his genitals and moaned.
The smell of hate filled the hall like acrid smoke.
It was Hugh who first staggered to his feet.
Thomas sat back on his heels and looked up at his adversary, fully aware that he would lose any further fight. He was weak, his position vulnerable. Should the knight press his advantage, however, the monk swore he would not leave the man unscarred. After the cruel lies Hugh had flung at him, Thomas would not face defeat without making sure that the knight had permanent mementos of the monk he had attacked.
But Hugh stepped away. “Grovel to God, cokenay,” he jeered, “and thank Him that I did not cut off your balls. For the good service you have rendered my family, I shall leave you in peace unless you ever fail my sister or address one word to my son. Should you do either, remember this fair warning: I shall find you, tie you to a tree, and slowly peel your genitals as if they were apples until you beg Satan to take you home to Hell.”
Biting his tongue to keep silent, Thomas nodded. His temper cooled. Reason returned. No matter how Hugh treated him, the monk repeated to himself, the knight was still Prioress Eleanor’s brother. Owing her fealty, he must also honor her kin, even when the sibling was this man who hated him for a horrible crime Thomas had never committed.
Bowing his head, the monk hoped he could hide his agonized grief. From Hugh’s tale, profound anguish had festered in Giles, unbalancing his humors with even greater severity than Thomas endured. Were he to insist on telling the truth of what happened, his boyhood friend would suffer still greater humiliation and far more than his fragile spirit could ever bear.
Thomas had loved Giles too much and too long to cause him further distress. He had little choice but to remain silent and accept full blame. Tears, bitter with loss and outrage, stung his eyes.
Hugh strode down the corridor.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The prioress’ offer of solace to Lady Margaret was rejected without a word. Not one utterance, even of polite greeting, had the mother spoken, nor were any tears shed. The woman’s grief had passed beyond mortal expression. Lying on her bed, arms limply crossed on her chest, the lady stared without blinking at the ceiling.
Eleanor sat next to her and watched, grateful when the potion Sister Anne administered finally let the bereaved mother fall into deep sleep. As the prioress left the chambers of the baron’s wife, she prayed that God would chase away dreams as well.
All I have brought with my stratagem is unconscionable anguish, she thought. Her guilt over keeping Umfrey’s survival hidden grew bitter.
She turned around, longing to return and tell Lady Margaret that she still had two sons living. Instead, she dug her nails into her palms and forced herself back to the open windows of the corridor. The mother was sleeping, and the death of so many sons already was hard enough to bear.
The wind screeched through the opening, buffeting Eleanor as if enraged at her despicable abuse of nature. “Whatever imperfections mortals have, we were also made in God’s image,” she whispered into the grey storm. “A mother’s love for her children is part of that more perfect heritage. I know this for the Queen of Heaven exemplified it.”
She leaned forward and let the rain whip her. In the distance, she could hear the sea lash the coast and knew that the suffering she had caused Lady Margaret was no less profound that the beating the earth endured with the battering of merciless waves.
“My lady?”
The prioress stepped back and looked over her shoulder. A girl stood behind her, eyes round with terror and hands tucked into her armpits. She trembled.
Cringing at this further proof of her lack of charity, Eleanor swore penance for forgetting that she had required a young servant, in the absence of Sister Anne, to accompany her on this chilly walk through the corridors of the keep.
“You are white with the cold, chil
d. Let us walk on.” It was one thing for her to amble along this icy corridor, protected by a long woolen cloak, but this servant, little more than a babe, was not so thankfully dressed.
“Come.” Eleanor stretched out her arm and pulled the girl close to her. “We shall leave this place and find a warm fire.”
The child tensed, fearing surrender to such ease might suggest disrespect to a religious of such high rank, but then she snuggled into the prioress, sensing that the warmth offered was padded with honest compassion.
As they walked toward the doorway leading to the Great Hall, Eleanor saw Brother Thomas leaning against the wall and staring down into the bailey below. She hesitated, wondering if she should speak with him about his meeting with the baron. Quickly deciding that her curiosity was not idle, she called out to the monk.
He started, then turned to face her. There was a deep cut under his cheekbone, and the skin beneath his left eye was swollen.
“That must hurt,” Eleanor said, glad that her evident alarm was appropriate for any prioress to express over an injury suffered by one of her charges. “Have you spoken with Sister Anne?”
“I slipped on the wet floor and fell against the stone wall. The cut is minor and does not pain me, my lady.”
His grin was sheepish enough to almost convince her that the tale was true, but she knew he was lying. When she last left them, the tension between her brother and this monk had been too evident. If blows had been exchanged, she would find a way to learn more of it.
She looked down at the burrowed child and decided she took precedence over minor quarrels between honorable men, even if neither had the right to strike the other. “Brother Thomas and I shall follow close by, child, but you must hurry to the Great Hall,” she said. “Make sure that the servants have built a fire adequate enough to warm us all. Once you have done that, we shall need some hot cider to chase away the chill. Take a cup for yourself as well.”
The girl looked up at her, blinking with uncertainty at the last remark.
“That is my command.”
Appreciation flashed across the girl’s face, and she raced off to do the bidding.
Sadness stung her heart. No child should be so grateful over such a small kindness, she thought. Eleanor shook her head and gestured for Thomas to follow her. “Can you tell me what is troubling the baron?” Her voice was soft.
He shook his head with evident reluctance.
She nodded. There were some conversations she had no right to hear.
They hurried through the hall in silence. The cold from the outside storm chased after them with fiendish zeal.
“Not all of my conversation with the baron was confided in confession, my lady,” he murmured, “but I hesitate to say much else until Master Gamel has spoken with our sub-infirmarian.”
“You may speak in confidence, Brother, and perhaps that would be the wisest choice. When you and the physician returned from Baron Herbert, and Master Gamel asked to speak with Sister Anne, I suspected that the baron might suffer an illness so severe that even an eminent medical man required a second opinion. Then and now your eyes express a rare gravity.”
“What I might say remains conjecture until Master Gamel and Sister Anne reach their conclusions.”
“Lack of knowledge has never stopped mortals from forming opinions. God hopes that some are wise enough to wait until they are taught the truth, but we are impatient creatures.” She gave Thomas a brief smile. “I confess I am one. Mindful of my ignorance, I shall treat what you can tell me with caution.”
“Baron Herbert believes he has been cursed with leprosy.”
Eleanor gasped.
“He has not told his wife nor has he spoken with any of his sons about this. The only one here who knows is Sir Leonel because he observed some of the symptoms in Outremer.”
“That explains why he refuses the company of his family and shuns daylight. You and Master Gamel had time to observe him. Is there anything in his appearance that gives reason to hope that he has some other disease?”
“Although not an expert, I have seen a few afflicted with such severity that the nose has collapsed, they have lost fingers and even their eyes. The baron suffers no significant deformity. That fact allowed Master Gamel some hope. What troubles the physician is that Baron Herbert has lost all body hair, his voice is hoarse, and he has no feeling in his hands. To speed diagnosis, Master Gamel bled him and took a sample of his urine.”
They entered the Great Hall. As they arrived, the young servant girl rushed forward and led them quickly to seats she had prepared by the fire. Eleanor glanced around but did not see either physician or sub-infirmarian. Had they gone together to see the baron?
Sitting, both prioress and monk were served mulled wine. Eleanor thanked the girl and asked her to sit some distance away, close enough for propriety and far enough to allow private speech. A bit of color had returned to the child’s cheeks, and the prioress was pleased to see that she had a slice of cheese to nibble. The girl was little more than skin and bones, she thought, but someone kind had cared enough to slip her a little food.
“Did anyone examine him in Acre or on his journey back to England?” Eleanor kept her voice low as she turned to Thomas. Although no one was near, conversations could carry in the cavernous room.
“Before Baron Herbert set sail for home, a priest was found who agreed to see him in confidence. He confirmed the baron’s fears and said that his affliction was God’s curse for his terrible wickedness.”
“A soldier who sins were forgiven when he took the cross?”
“We have learned to our own grief that men, cleansed of all transgression by that vow, later committed horrible acts.”
Eleanor nodded, recalling an event some years back when a madman had threatened Tyndal Priory. She frowned. “I assume he has confessed those offenses to you.”
“Although I dare not reveal his words, I will say to you alone that nothing seemed so dreadful that God would likely condemn him to this ghastly fate. Perhaps he withheld something from me, although surely not. Since he has called us here, he no longer has cause if ever he did.”
“He remains convinced of God’s curse?” She raised an eyebrow.
“He sought a miracle in Rome and consulted with physicians in Solerno and Paris,” Thomas said. “The physicians were divided in their opinions. The priest in Rome agreed with the one in Acre. Baron Herbert is confused by earthly medicine and horrified by the sacred. As he said, he might understand being so wicked that God flung this disease upon him. He does not see why his sons must die.”
In truth, neither did Eleanor. As for his illness, she quietly prayed that Master Gamel and Sister Anne could give the man a definitive answer. “His desire to avoid spreading the contagion to his family is a wise one, but why did he return home? He endangered all on the ship, any with whom he shared companionship, a meal, or a bed. Even if Sir Leonel is free of contagion, he has been put at risk as well.”
“Mortals commit illogical acts when terrified, my lady. He longs to be near his wife, even if he may never look upon her again. As for his sons, he hoped to learn that at least one has become worthy of this patrimony if he must surrender it all.”
“And yet they die, one after another.” Eleanor grew thoughtful.
“At least he has not succumbed to utter hopelessness and wants to save his remaining son from God’s scourge. All others from whom he sought advice were strangers, owing him neither loyalty nor love. That was why he turned to Sir Hugh for aid, a man he calls brother.”
Eleanor bent to stroke a thick-furred cat that had inched closer to the heat. “Acknowledging that he must be certain, did the physician confide his initial impressions to you?”
“Any diagnosis of the disease is cruel for the person and the family, he said, nor is the decision a simple one. He told me that there are many signs to note before a man is declared cursed with leprosy. Although he is familiar with the disease, he begged to confer with Sister Anne.” His li
ps twitched into a brief smile. “He knows of her reputation as a healer, and their conversations have confirmed the tales told.”
“And if Master Gamel concludes that Baron Herbert is afflicted as the priest in Outremer determined?”
“Surely there are places in England he might travel in his quest for a divine reprieve.”
“Sister Anne once mentioned Canterbury. Some lepers have been cleansed after bathing in water to which a drop of St. Thomas’ blood has been added. Others, who have gone on pilgrimage to great shrines, have been cured or granted a long return of good health. Occasionally, a man has been found clean after a more thorough examination.”
Thomas nodded and looked around. The young servant was dozing, the cheese rind still held loosely in her hand. “There is something else I wanted to discuss with you, my lady. It has nothing to do with this matter of leprosy, but it might have relevance to the death of his sons.”
“Indeed?”
“The other night, I met a soldier walking on the ramparts. It was he who discovered the old priest’s body. When he looked at the corpse, he noticed that the open eyes were streaked with red. His conclusion was that Satan or one of his imps had stolen the priest’s soul and branded his eyes with the color of hellfire.” He hesitated.
The prioress nodded for him to continue.
“He fears consequences if this information should be traced to him.”
“Some means of protection shall be arranged if his testimony is required.”
“When he said the eyes were marked with blood, I suspected the priest had been suffocated.” He cleared his throat and looked away. “I have seen a man killed in like manner before and remembered that these signs pointed to that method of execution.”
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