“We have debated the implications and details of these recent tragic deaths to little avail, so let us start at a different point. What if the source of the current troubles is to be found in the distant past, not during the baron’s time in Acre? You have told me what Baron Herbert said on the way to Outremer about his sons, but what do you remember from earlier years? How then did he act with them and what opinions did he hold? You visited here when you were not much older than a boy yourself, and we often note things better when we are young, even when we do not understand the implications.”
He folded his arms and stared at the ceiling for a long moment. “The baron has changed little over the years. To his mind, truth is unchanging, including the definition of honor and duty. To doubt this or say otherwise is second only to blasphemy. His concept of how men of rank should behave is narrowly defined, and his sons were expected to concur with his view.” Hugh paused. “As boys, they failed to show ardor in ways he thought they should.”
“Truth comes from God. As such, it is both perfect and eternal,” she replied. “But men are flawed creatures, often confusing their imperfect views with His. The greatest of God’s truths is the need for charity. Did he never exercise compassion with his babes?”
Hugh shook his head. “Whether he is right or wrong, the baron believes his way is God’s. Yet he is an honorable man, despite a dour and unbending nature. He adores his wife. His loyalty to friends and liege lord is fierce.” Touching his chest, he added, “Despite our disagreements in certain matters, he would remain at my side in battle, choosing to die rather than desert me.” He briefly smiled. “And he would bemoan my faults with his dying breath.”
Eleanor closed her eyes and imagined scales. Did this man’s code of honor outbalance his rigid interpretation of virtue? Would such a father go so far as to kill his unsatisfactory sons so that the more acceptable Leonel might inherit? Her mind allowed the premise. Her heart could not. “Would he defend his imperfect sons with equal ferocity or does he condemn them as so unworthy that the very earth must protest their feet upon it?”
“Had he not loved his wife so much, he might have claimed they were bastards for he saw none of himself in any. Yet he struggled to accept the merit owned when one tried to please him. I remember the day the eldest labored in the tilting yard to the amusement of all who watched. His lance usually missed the target by the length of a horse, yet he had a quick eye for catching the smallest error in accounting rolls.”
“This was the son who died of fever?”
Hugh nodded. “The baron pulled the lad from the horse, gave the beast to one of his men, and ordered his steward to train the boy in a clerk’s skills. When he left for Acre, he praised the young man for how well he had learned land management, although he made it clear he had wished for a warrior heir.”
“Gervase was the second.”
“As a boy, he cut his finger on a dull knife and never touched a weapon again, clinging instead to a priest’s softer robe. A man of faith, Baron Herbert was pleased enough to send one son to the Church. When he received word that this son was now heir, he roared with mockery. I doubt his letters back to the lad were gentle. When Gervase died, I asked myself if he had suffered unendurable melancholy when he traded the vocation he preferred for one in which he had no skill.”
“You think he committed self-murder by leaping from the window?”
“He lacked a man’s strength and drank too much to soften the world’s sharp edges.”
Eleanor said nothing for a moment and looked around. Except for the two of them, the corridor was empty of all but the bitter wind from the sea. “Then why wait so long after his eldest brother’s death?” she finally said. “He would not have been the first heir to choose a religious vocation, allowing the next-in-line to inherit title and lands. Peter Abelard chose a similar path, although his parents may have valued heavenly objectives more than the baron. They both took vows themselves as well as their son.”
Remembering the seal that Brother Thomas had found, she wondered if the baron had planned a similar retreat from the world. If so, he might have been more sympathetic to Gervase than he would have been in years past. In any case, why would Herbert have wanted to kill a son, albeit a weak one, whose religious vocation he did not condemn?
“I doubt Baron Herbert would have permitted it,” Hugh said. “Roger, the next-in-line, was neither devout nor clever.” Hearing a sound, he looked over his sister’s head. A servant scurried past and disappeared through a nearby door. “As I remember him, he was a dull lad but owned broad shoulders and merry enough ways to charm women into his bed. Most went to him eagerly in those early days, but the brightness of his smile often faded with their pains in bearing his children.”
“He showed no talent with a sword or lance?”
“He was too lazy. The only weapon he enjoyed wielding was the spear between his legs.”
Eleanor put a hand over her mouth to hide her mirth.
“His father abhorred this incontinence. I once overheard the baron shouting that the son had more bastards than the boy knew how to count. The lad next to me whispered that Roger surely had far more than his father knew because the son could not count at all.”
“Neither a man of war nor of God.” Eleanor frowned.
“Nor truly evil either, rather a middling creature, little inclined to adventure outside his chosen vice.”
“Would such a man venture out in a boat on a stormy night? Even to drown himself?”
“He would not have willingly gotten into a boat if Satan had placed a buxom lass with open arms in it. I agree that this death is questionable.”
“And what of poor Umfrey?”
“I knew little of him. He was a mere boy when I was last here.” Suddenly his face paled, and he turned away from her.
“Hugh?”
He remained silent.
“I am your sister, bound to keep your secrets for the love I bear you. As a prioress, I am obliged to treat all human frailties with compassion and justice. Speak. There is nothing you cannot say to me. We are here to solve foul crimes.”
When her brother looked back, his cheeks were red with anger. “I abhor those who mock and belittle others with scornful tales.”
“So do I, but I would hear the stories lest there be something in them of value to this situation.”
“Baron Herbert never spoke this son’s name, and for that reason I fear he had heard the rumors. Umfrey was commonly called the soldier’s wife. He never was a man. I grieve for the shame his father must have suffered.”
After the death of the eldest, the baron was left with a monkish heir, a son of little wit or skill, and one who played the woman with other men. Eleanor took a deep breath. “That leaves Raoul.”
“A whining insect.”
“Raoul was always the youngest?”
“There were no others. No one liked him, but he especially chose to buzz around me when I least wanted him about.”
For a moment, Eleanor saw the annoyed boy her brother must once have been. She almost smiled, despite her grim purpose. “Perhaps he admired you,” she said. “He had no elder brother worthy of emulation. He was too young to catch the interest of a distant father, a man who left England before the lad could even lift a wooden sword in play.”
Hugh stared at her, then turned sheepish. “I confess I treated Raoul no better than I would a midge, swatting him away. He was stubborn. Looking back, he did show more spirit and determination than his elder siblings.” He thought for a moment, then shook his head. “Nonetheless, he was still annoying.”
“What did his father say about him?”
“That he was tiresome. Even as a babe, Raoul crawled after Baron Herbert like a slobbering pup. When the baron took the cross, the lad beseeched him to take him too, although he was too young for a man’s vows. Raoul would not accept the understandable refusal. Finally, his father lost his temper and…”
“You told me about the public humiliation of
his son.” Eleanor lowered her gaze, hoping to hide her sadness over the mockery of a child. As she remembered other sons, roughly treated by their fathers, she knew it was possible that Raoul could wish for revenge. “Did he hate his father for this?”
Hugh turned away, went to a window, and looked out at the grey-misted island. He leaned against the thick wall, pressing the side of his head against it as if seeking comfort in the undoubted firmness of stone. “I do not know, for I never saw him again until you and I came here at his father’s request.”
Eleanor watched her brother and grieved over the change in him since he had left for Acre. Although his face still brightened with enthusiasm, as it did when he was a greener youth, melancholy too often chased all light from his soul. She walked over and clasped his hand, keeping her touch tender with love.
He squeezed her hand affectionately, then pointed toward the uneven surface of the island behind the castle walls. “Raoul might be out there.”
She squinted against the force of the wind. “Where on such a storm-blasted island might he hide or find shelter?”
“There are burrows and hillocks big enough to keep a small man safe against the gales. Also ledges of rock with small caves near the sea. Having followed us and watched when we hunted for bird eggs or played at being knights besieging a castle, he should know all the places. Perhaps more than we did. We did not always see him spying on us.”
“Especially when you had willing lasses whom you took to some secluded spot?”
Hugh’s eyes grew merry with her jest. He looked down at his sister and whispered: “You have put a balm on my hurt pride and chased away my anger. While Leonel searches the castle, I shall seek Raoul on the island and in the cove.”
“Take care,” she replied, “and may God be with you.”
As she watched him walk away, she was filled with doubt and fear. Were Leonel and her brother seeking the wrong man? Was the murderer sitting in his dark chamber, waiting for the capture of his guiltless son who might have little proof of innocence?
And if Raoul had killed his brothers out of jealousy, greed, or revenge, why would he remain nearby? Surely he would leave England entirely to escape hanging.
She grew more confused, unable to see clearly and find the answer that resolved everything. Why would Raoul even commit all these murders? Surely he knew he would be the obvious suspect after so many deaths. He would have to flee and could never become his father’s heir. Had he not wanted the inheritance but only revenge against his father for the cruelty he had suffered? She was dissatisfied with that conclusion.
Her thoughts swirled like a flock of birds, unable to find a place to land and settle into a logical form. She found no reasonable motive for the youngest son. If all the siblings died and Raoul was forced to flee as their murderer, Leonel would become the heir, a man his father loved more than any son.
That brought her back to the baron as the strongest suspect. Yet his cries of pain over the disappearance of his last son suggested a man who still cared for his progeny despite his disapproval of them. Could a man so rigid in his thinking be so clever in dissembling?
The many questions were like weeds, catching at her wits and tripping her before she could see the path to the solution. Rubbing her hand over her eyes, she felt as if the sea mist had befuddled her reason. Surely not, yet something had and she had little time left to regain her wits.
The prioress looked down the corridor, hoping to catch a comforting last glimpse of her eldest brother. But he had disappeared, gone to seek Baron Herbert’s youngest son, a creature who had never found a place in his father’s heart.
That was still a fact she could not easily set aside.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The sea wind howled, reeking of salt, and honed sharp by northern ice. To keep warm, Eleanor tucked her arms deep into her woolen sleeves and hunched forward as she hurried down the damp, narrow stairs from the chapel. She must take a cup of wine to chase away this chill, she thought, and entered the corridor surrounding the Great Hall.
She had jousted wits with liegemen of the Prince of Darkness often enough, but never had she felt his dark power so strongly. Without Brother Thomas and Sister Anne, she might have been overwhelmed by it, no matter how much she prayed for strength. She did not like this feeling of weakness and confusion.
Although she was not a fanciful woman, and believed that evil wore mortal flesh, she wondered if this fortress was enchanted. Had her brother not visited here in happier times, she might have concluded that their innocent party had stumbled into a mythical castle like knights often did in tales of King Arthur’s time. She abhorred and feared this sensation of being powerless, as if a spell had been cast.
Eleanor clenched her jaw. The perpetrator of these crimes was as clever as he was wicked. If this was a test for her, she was resolved to meet it. “Failure is unacceptable,” she muttered with new determination, but now a cup of wine and a few minutes in front of the fireplace were required. Her body and spirit had been rendered insensate by the cold.
Entering the hall, her spirit lightened.
Brother Thomas stood by the fireplace, staring into a goblet. His robe was mottled with damp, yet he seemed oblivious to any discomfort.
She slowed, noted his grim expression, and suspected the good monk might share her relief were she to announce that they would return to Tyndal Priory on the morrow. Calling out to him, she was warmed by how quickly his eyes lost their sadness when he recognized his prioress.
He bowed.
Anticipating the comfort his presence always brought her, she smiled.
A voice shattered her pleasure. “My lady!”
Turning, Eleanor saw Sir Leonel rushing toward them. His sodden woolen cloak clung to him. Odors of leather, wet sheep, and sweat grew strong as he came nearer.
She tensed with apprehension. Had Raoul been captured? Was he alive? She hoped that there had not been one more tragedy for this family to endure.
“I was on my way to Baron Herbert until I saw you here.” Leonel gasped the words as he caught his breath.
There was a troubled note in his voice. Had something happened to her brother? Despite her will to remain stern, she began to tremble.
Sir Leonel stepped closer. “You are chilled!” He reached out for her arm, as if to steady her, but pulled back before his fingers touched and did not commit the grave offense.
But his warm breath did brush her cheek. Her knees grew weak. Why had she not conquered her susceptibility to this man? She looked up at him and instantly knew that had been a mistake. Her eyes surely betrayed her longing.
The knight gazed back, a curious light dancing in his eyes.
“You have finished searching the castle grounds for Raoul?” Thomas put his goblet aside.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that the monk was now at her side. Not only had she sinned with lust for this knight, she feared she had betrayed herself to the one person she did not want to know of it. Anger and humiliation swirled into a lethal mix and burned her face with shame.
“I did fail to find him.” Leonel ignored Thomas and smiled at Eleanor, leaning against the wall as he watched her.
She shut her eyes.
“I had hoped to ask your brother some questions. Sadly, I cannot find him.” He rubbed at a spot on his chest just over his heart.
Taking a deep breath for control, she forced herself to turn to her monk. “Have you seen Sir Hugh since we all met last?”
Brother Thomas shook his head and scowled at the knight. The red slash on his cheek throbbed in the shimmering firelight.
“He has gone on his own search,” she replied, looking down at the stone floor.
“I tried to persuade him otherwise.” Sir Leonel’s teeth flashed white as he grinned. “But I should not be surprised. He has never been a man to sit idle when there is danger.” He paused, and his brow furrowed. “We did not meet in our separate hunts. More’s the pity.”
Eleanor nodded,
not trusting her voice to speak without breaking.
He rubbed at one eye which made him look as if he had winked.
Eleanor felt lightheaded, almost giddy. What was happening to her? She could not concentrate, then caught herself wondering why his eyes were grey in this light. She thought they had been violet.
“Your brother bested us all at the chase in Outremer, my lady. He always knew where the quarry might hide.” He turned to look toward the corridor and almost struck Brother Thomas. “I did not see you,” he said and offered an apology.
The monk muttered acceptance, but his eyes flashed with displeasure.
“He might well find Raoul.” Leonel turned back to face the prioress, his expression worried. “Do you know where he might have gone?”
Brother Thomas cleared his throat.
“He would have been wise to take you with him, Brother.” Sir Leonel spun around and slapped him on the shoulder. “A monk’s prayers are useful.”
Thomas stepped back.
“Do you have reason to fear for Hugh’s safety?” Eleanor reached behind her with one hand and felt the edge of a table. Pressing against it, she tried to recover some of her strength from the comforting wood.
The knight looked away.
“If so, please tell me.”
“I am not accusing my cousin, my lady. He is surely innocent of all wrong, but, if he is not, I fear him. When cornered, Raoul is like a wounded boar, dangerous and willing to chance anything to escape. Were I to accompany Sir Hugh, we would be stronger together and less likely, either of us, to be injured.
Brother Thomas gestured for permission to speak. “My lady, if I may say…”
“And your prayers to God on our behalf would surely add strength to our cause!” Leonel again tapped the monk on the shoulder, the gesture oddly dismissive although he quickly drew back his hand and gestured with polite appeal. Then he smiled at Eleanor. “Please tell me where your brother has gone so I might join him. I shall take a few soldiers along as well. Methinks that would be wise.”
Nodding, she repeated all Hugh had said about hiding places on the island and the cove.
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