“Many praiseworthy men fought for de Montfort and some believe he is a saint, claiming miracles at his tomb. It is well-known that King Edward himself showed much favor to the earl’s cause until the end.”
“It was not the cause that brought disgrace to my sibling.” Straightening his back, Andrew wiped his cheeks, his face now scarlet with anger. “Dishonor was smeared on our family like ordure from a pig sty.”
“And Baron Otes was involved?”
“More! He was the man responsible.”
The monk poured more ale for them both.
Taking a deep breath, Andrew began talking as if the rush of words might heal him like the release of pus from a festering wound. “My brother and I were nearby when the Earl of Leicester fell. There I received the wound in my leg that still troubles me, and my brother staunched the blood flow, an act that saved my life. Had he not taken the time, he might have saved his own. Before he could escape, we were seized by Baron Otes’ men.”
“I thought you were captured by someone else.”
“Nay, Brother, although it was the Earl of Cornwall who finally decided my fate and demanded mercy for many others who fought for de Montfort.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “Had my brother been alive, I do not doubt we both would have received the same clemency.”
“Continue, please. I shall not interrupt you again.”
“There is little enough to tell. Baron Otes decided my wound would kill me soon enough, but he castrated my brother, as others had de Montfort, then stabbed him in the back to suggest he had been fleeing the battle out of cowardice. To further insult our family, the baron stuffed my brother’s genitals into his mouth.” Stretching his hands out as if begging God to banish the memory, Andrew wailed with indescribable agony.
Thomas grasped the man’s hands, understanding one cause for his unhealed pain. “Do not blame yourself for what happened, Prior. You could have done nothing to save him.”
“For the sin of not trying, I should have died unshriven.”
“Your brother would have wanted you to live to pray for his soul.”
“As I have each day since.”
“Then you have served him far better than any hopeless attempt to save his life. You were too weak to succeed. For both of you to have been killed would have served no good purpose.”
As his gulping sobs ended, Andrew ground his fist into the rough wood of the table. “There are brief moments when God grants my heart peace, Brother, and many more when I know the long penance before me.” He bowed his head. “From this tale, you can understand why I have reason to hate the baron and might wickedly rejoice that someone murdered him.”
“You did sicken at the sight of his cut throat which speaks more of horror than any joy,” Thomas said with gentleness.
Andrew shrugged. “Father Eliduc did not reason so. When he suggested I cried out in shock at the sight of the baron in the queen’s party, I asked myself if he had seen the dark spot in my soul.”
This time it was Thomas who drank deeply of the ale and quickly refilled the mazer. “I doubt the priest knows anything of the history between you and the baron.”
Yet he feared Andrew might be right. Eliduc knew much about men’s sins and often used their secrets to make them do his bidding. That the priest never did this for personal gain made his intrigues no less terrifying to the victims.
“He smelled my fear,” the prior said.
“Then quickly added he must have misinterpreted your cry. Surely all this priest meant to do was reproach our crowner for suggesting that the murderer hid in the queen’s party.” To shift the focus of their discussion away from Andrew, Thomas added, “I suspect the intent of his remarks was to prove how illogical the crowner was, not to make an accusation that would cast suspicion on you or on the integrity of our priory.”
“Maybe you do have the right of it, Brother. As a priest, Father Eliduc would never impugn Tyndal, nor can I think of any reason for him to point an accusing finger at me. Although my kin own some land and a little wealth, they bear no title and have but small claim to one. Surely I am beneath the notice of a man who serves such a mighty lord of the Church.”
Were they discussing any priest but this one, Thomas might agree. The monk could not quickly discount the possibility that the priest had reason to malign Tyndal Priory or slander its prior, nor could he see any value in doing either. Nothing the priest did could surprise him, however. Eliduc was as illusive as a wily trout in serving his lord’s interests.
Yet Thomas knew that the Church was jealous of its authority over its vowed servants and fought like a she-bear with cubs against any claim of jurisdiction by secular law. It would be most unusual for a priest of Eliduc’s rank to hint to a king’s man that a prior might have motive for bloodshed or that any priory had been so lax as to harbor him.
“Surely Father Eliduc meant nothing ill,” Thomas said at last. “Lest someone be foolish enough to suggest your guilt in this crime, you would be well-advised to tell your tale to Prioress Eleanor, if you have not already done so. Like me, she will know you are innocent of any violence. Learning how cruelly Baron Otes treated your brother will stiffen her resolve on your behalf.”
“Should I tell Crowner Ralf as well?”
“Would you tell him?”
“He is an honest man. There is no reason to fear injustice from him.”
“Remember that it is the duty of our prioress to determine how the matter must be handled, were you to be accused. You are not ruled by the king’s law.”
“I shall leave the decision about informing our crowner to Prioress Eleanor.” Andrew rose. “You are a good man! In the past, I have confessed my hatred for the one who murdered my brother. Speaking with you has brought more peace to my heart.” He smiled. “We miss you at the priory. Will you remain in this hut much longer?”
“I cannot say. God has not indicated that I am released from my vow.”
“When He does, we shall welcome you back with joy.” Andrew held out his hands to the hermit. “There is no need to accompany me. I have fully recovered my strength, and the priory grounds are close by. May God grant you peace, Brother.”
Following his prior to the door, Thomas watched Andrew walk down the road until he disappeared around a bend in the direction of Tyndal.
Although he knew Prioress Eleanor had the right to decide if a king’s man ought to hear Andrew’s story, he feared Father Eliduc more than he dared admit to anyone. Ralf was a friend of Tyndal. The priest might not be, despite all the good reasons for believing he must. In case Eliduc planned to sacrifice the good prior in the pursuit of some unknown cause, Thomas was tempted to tell the crowner the prior’s tale.
Realizing he was about to circumvent Prioress Eleanor, the monk shook his head. None of this was his responsibility, he reminded himself. His prioress was the leader of all religious at Tyndal. She alone had the authority to make decisions in this matter.
He shut his eyes and begged pardon for such overweening pride. After all, he was only a monk, one with no authority at all.
Suddenly he sensed more than heard a soft-footed approach. The hair on his neck stiffened. He spun around, wary of danger.
In the hazy light of the hot sun, a young man stood quite still near the hermitage door. He was as beautiful as one of God’s angels.
Amazed by the handsome youth, Thomas was struck with uncommon lust.
The young man stepped toward him. “Are you the hermit of Tyndal?”
Thomas nodded.
“I beg a blessing,” the youth said, then knelt at the hermit’s feet.
“I will grant that wish,” Thomas replied, his voice trembling, “although I am neither a holy man nor worthy of such obeisance.” He reached out to pull the lad to his feet, then drew back, frightened by his overwhelming desire for the man. In a hoarse voice he asked, “What is your name?”
“Simon.”
Chapter Fifteen
Prioress Eleanor faced the open window that
looked out on her priory’s extensive grounds. The weight on her heart stifled her as much as the summer heat. Pressing a fist against her breast, she prayed for masculine calm and the strength not to weep like the frail woman she was.
She turned around.
Prior Andrew’s cheeks were wet with tears enough for them both.
“I did not know the circumstances of your brother’s death,” she said softly.
“I should have confessed it sooner.”
“Although our families fought on different sides of the rebellion, you and I have vowed our allegiance to a far greater Lord than any earthly king.” She hesitated and looked on her prior with compassion. “Upon joining the Order of Fontevraud, you swore you would follow a prioress’ direction with the obedience any good son owes his mother. That vow you have honored in word and in the spirit of the command.” She smiled with wry amusement. “That is more than most mortals accord any rule.”
“Then I have doubly betrayed your confidence, my lady. I kept this part of my past hidden from you. In so doing, I may bring dishonor to this house.” Andrew bowed his head. “I shall resign my position. A worthier man than I must serve as your prior.”
Eleanor furtively ran her fingers under her eyes to make sure tears had not betrayed her feelings. “Before I make any decision on that plea, I must first ask a question, one to which I require an answer appropriate to your vows and dedication in God’s service.” She struggled to keep her voice steady. “Did you kill Baron Otes as you vowed on the battlefield of Evesham?”
Andrew did not hesitate. “I am innocent of his murder. That oath after my brother’s death was made in the agony of grief and was fueled by the misery of my feverish body. Without hesitation I confess I hated the baron beyond all reason and even imagined the torture I wanted to inflict on him in retaliation. Since then, I have learned how empty revenge is. Every morning, upon rising, I recite God’s commandments before I say my prayers. Thus am I reminded that He abominates murder, even for righteous vengeance.”
“You show much wisdom, Prior. We all would be well-advised to follow your practice.”
“Those kind words are more than this wretched man deserves.”
Lest her trembling hands betray her distress, Eleanor tucked them into her sleeves and frowned. “As for your request to return to the life of a simple monk…” She stopped and waited for him to meet her gaze as she uttered her decision. “I cannot grant your wish. Remaining in your position, with all the burdens that brings, is not only your duty but shall be your penance.”
“My lady…”
“Nor will I allow further debate on the subject.” Her grey eyes darkened. “What happened to your brother was criminal, under God’s law as well as the rules of combat, and his name shall be included from this day forth in the daily prayers of our nuns. I, too, shall beg God’s mercy for him for as long as I remain on this earth.”
“My gratitude is beyond mortal speech.” He fell to his knees.
“You and your brother did support de Montfort, however.”
“We fought for his principles, my lady, that all men have the right to just governance. War was waged solely to win a greater voice for Englishmen, not to remove King Henry from the throne. Had we believed the Earl of Leicester wanted to replace an anointed king, we would not have joined his cause.”
“My father believed his ambition reached for the throne. Equally honorable men agreed with you and your brother. Whatever the truth of it, our new king also rode alongside the earl, with my eldest brother at Lord Edward’s side, until both felt threatened by de Montfort’s power.”
“I have never been traitor to kingship,” Andrew whispered, “and remain a true subject of our king.”
“Rise, Prior. I never doubted your loyalty, but worldly allegiances are often changeable things. Men’s reason and hearts are too flawed to follow without question. Only God’s purpose is trustworthy for He alone is perfect.” She sighed. “And Tyndal Priory belongs to God. Faithful though we may be to anointed kings, we have a higher allegiance and must be steadfast in following His direction. Unworthy though I may be, I am leader here and you are under my dominion. In the name of the Queen of Heaven, I require that you swear never again to hide anything from me which I ought to know.”
He opened his mouth to speak. No words came forth. He nodded agreement.
Fearing for his weak leg, Eleanor gave him leave to sit in her presence. “You have proven yourself a good son to me. Your brother, by his unselfish act that saved your life, was equally devoted to the demands of kinship. In both of you, I see honorable men.” She took a deep breath. “My father may have told me some tales of the baron, but I was unaware of the depths of his wickedness. You must tell me more of him. I have an obligation to the other envoys, our new queen, and our priory’s reputation. Although Baron Otes was surely the victim of someone from outside Tyndal, he was our guest.”
“I have never sought news of him since taking vows and finding my home here, my lady.”
“Surely you remember something of his habits and character from the past.”
The prior grasped his thigh and winced. “Muddied as my memory is with grief, some may doubt the truth of what I say. Others will swear they share my opinion. Like a hound, the baron was zealous in his hunt for any prey whose downfall would benefit him. Although the pursuit of worldly influence on behalf of family is expected and honorable, he lacked all restraint in his methods. With coin and threats he bought information that destroyed some and forced others to support him with acclamation far louder than he deserved.”
“Surely not all his ploys worked.”
“I point to his murder.”
“That deed does suggest at least one failure,” she replied, settling into her own chair. With one finger, she traced the deep carving on the arms and fell into troubled thought. “When he spoke with me, he did show deep concern for his soul’s fate.”
“The man I knew had little room in his heart for God.”
“Perhaps he came belatedly to a fear of hellfire.”
Andrew’s expression betrayed a fleeting doubt before he nodded.
“He wished to leave land to the priory in exchange for prayers after his death.”
“On arrival, he recognized me, as I did him. I doubt he would have given such a gift without demanding that I suffer in some way. Although fear of Hell may have finally crawled into his heart, a snail could traverse the earth’s surface before that man ever gave a gift without expecting some worldly gain.”
“You have the right of it,” Eleanor said. “Without fees, wool, and fertile land for ample harvests, Tyndal cannot provide for our religious whose duty is to pray. Even though most gifts come with honorable requests, God does not countenance doing anything ignoble to keep a priory out of debt. I told the baron I must decline any gift that came with the price he asked.”
Andrew lowered his eyes, and then looked up with evident horror. “When you refused him, did he not threaten reprisal?”
Eleanor took time to choose her words as she recalled the baron’s suggestion that King Edward might grow angry with those who succored a man who had once drawn a sword against an anointed king. “I believe he was too surprised by my decision to come up with a suitable revenge,” she said at last, hoping Andrew did not hear the lie in her voice.
Chapter Sixteen
“You’re drunk.” Ralf reached for the jug of ale.
“Had you any sense, you’d be too,” Fulke replied, pulling the pitcher out of his brother’s grasp. After staring inside with long and careful study, he tipped the last of the amber liquid into his mouth. “Is that all you have to offer me?” He slammed the thing down on the table, belching like a hog grunts over slops.
“’S Blood, Fulke! My daughter is asleep. If you frighten her, I’ll skin your balls.”
“Not before the Devil fries yours, little brother.” His scowl wavered. “There was a time when you drank men under the table and swyved their wenches afterward. Y
ou’re no saint.”
“I’ve since become a husband and father.”
“As have I, or at least I was a father until the babes died. My wife has long been barren. Of late, she has refused her bed to me. Seems the priest believes coupling without issue is no more than sinful lust. Now I seek relief…”
“God keep me from your tales of feeble gropings and pitiful couplings. I do not care.”
Fulke raised his fist and bellowed outrage.
Ralf grabbed him by the wrist. “If you disturb Sibely,” he hissed, “I swear I’ll make sure you have nothing left between your legs to poke any woman.”
“Cokenay,” the sheriff growled, but his voice had dropped and his wrath quickly wilted. With his free hand, he gestured agreement.
The two men fell silent as they both listened for any sound of distress from the sleeping child.
All was quiet.
“More ale,” Fulke whispered, “if you haven’t any decent wine to serve your noble brother.”
In response, Ralf pushed a platter of cold fowl and bread toward him, then relented and refilled the pitcher with ale. “Out of compassion for soulless beasts, you can stay the night. Were you to walk back to the priory, you’d pass out, be eaten by some wild creature, and poison the poor animal with your foul flesh.” He gestured to a corner of the room. “There is straw enough there for a bed.”
Fulke said nothing as he grasped the cup close to his chest. He was visibly shivering.
“I’ll not geld you in your sleep,” Ralf said, grabbing a handful of fowl from the platter. “You have my word.”
Shaking his head, the sheriff noisily sucked his cup dry and reached for the jug.
With great deliberation, Ralf tore off bits of flesh from the wing and stuffed them into his mouth.
“I’m scared.” Fulke’s words were almost inaudible.
The crowner grinned.
“Not of you.”
Ralf shrugged.
“I did not kill him.”
“You had cause enough.”
“I just affirmed my innocence.”
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