Valley of Dry Bones

by Priscilla Royal

  Now turning her attention to the others in the nave, she saw Crowner Ralf, arms folded and leaning against a pillar near the edge of the group. Surprised at his presence, she wondered what could possibly have drawn him to this event, a limited and unpolished performance intended solely to satisfy Eliduc that the final creation might be worthy of a queen’s gentle edification. Although Ralf was a good man, Eleanor was well aware he possessed only a common faith, and his appearance inside a church, apart from formal celebrations, was rare enough to be noted.

  He might have come in his brother’s stead. Sir Fulke had sent his regrets, pleading an unruly stomach. If recent rumors were true and he had honored the local inn with his presence last night, he probably suffered more from a sour head than belly. In any case, the prioress suspected the sheriff cared little more than his younger brother about liturgical drama. Any excuse to avoid suffering through it would suffice.

  When both the Lady Avelina and Father Eliduc would be here, she did think it unnecessary to send Ralf as replacement. Putting a hand over her mouth to hide a grin, she imagined just how sharply Ralf would have raised that same question with his brother. Perhaps Sir Fulke had requested his presence as a way to torment him.

  As she watched the crowner and his steady gaze, she began to comprehend that he had not come here to listen to the sweet voices of the novice choir. He was looking to discover a murderer, and the man he was staring at was the priest.

  The realization gave her pause. He must have learned something that made him suspect Father Eliduc of either killing the baron or being implicated in some way. If the king’s man now shared her distrust of the creature, she might have to reconsider whether the priest could be guilty of murder, although she hesitated doing so.

  Her intuition continued to insist he had limits to his evil, a conclusion based less in reason than her woman’s frail insight. As she thought more on this, she grew convinced her instinct was not so lacking in virile logic.

  After all, Brother Thomas had served the priest, and, despite the monk’s duplicity in concealing his fealty to another, he had proven to be diligent in her service. She had learned to respect his judgement. Even if she dare not trust her own opinion of him, there were others who shared it, like Sister Anne, who called the monk a good man. Even Sister Ruth had once commented favorably on his work with the sick and dying.

  She rubbed her fist against the hard wood of the railing.

  With so many praising him, Brother Thomas would be unlikely to agree to doing anything truly wicked. If a man like that had followed Father Eliduc’s direction, the priest could not have taken Satan as his sole liege lord and must have some constraints on his wickedness.

  Even if he had not slit the baron’s throat, however, Eleanor was unable to say that he was not implicated somehow in the death. The extent of Eliduc’s possible guilt remained unclear. The thought did little to dispel her uneasiness.

  Sighing, Eleanor sat back in her chair, then realized she had been contemplating murder instead of entertaining her guest. Embarrassed, she turned to the Lady Avelina.

  Even in the light shadows of the ill-lit gallery, the prioress could see the mottled skin of Avelina’s cheeks and the dark circles under her eyes. At least Eleanor had ordered a chair brought for the lady to sit on. Others might stand, the prioress had told her, but Avelina’s rank demanded the comfort even though Eleanor had actually provided it out of concern for the woman’s fragile health. To allow the lady to save face, the prioress had also asked for her own chair.

  “Can you see well enough from here?” Eleanor leaned closer to her guest.

  “I can,” Avelina said, her reply barely audible. The woman had shrunk so deeply into the chair that she seemed almost part of the wood itself.

  How profound was this woman’s fatigue? Had the heat and long journey strained her health so much or was she sickening? Eleanor stole a quick look over her shoulder to make certain that Sister Anne had arrived and was close by.

  Surely, the lady would not have come if she had been unwell, the prioress concluded. The heat was certainly intense in this gallery, or perhaps Avelina’s lethargy was due to boredom. Eleanor decided to see if a few details about what they were about to see would spark interest.

  “We have had little time to improve the presentation. If God graces us, the pleasure with which Brother John has prepared the novice choir and the boys’ enthusiasm may dim the imperfections. Our novice master himself will sing one of the parts. The role of Daniel went to a man who came to our hospital for healing and has remained to serve the priory both as recompense and penance. Our performance may be crude, compared to what the queen has seen elsewhere. May our zeal and dedication to God’s teachings make up for the deficiencies, touch her heart, and allow her to smile on our efforts.”

  “Edward’s queen is a pious lady. This pilgrimage was never intended to seek worldly amusements, and her heart will grow joyful in your company of God’s servants.” Sweat glistened on Avelina’s forehead in the reflected light. “I know Father Eliduc expressed doubts that Tyndal Priory could entertain our queen. After he spoke with the novice master this morning about this Play of Daniel, he has grown quite enthusiastic.” Avelina smiled. “I have rarely seen him so excited by anything. He reminds me of my son when he was a little boy and was given a toy trebuchet!”

  Eleanor bowed her head, a gesture that suggested humility while hiding her delight in surprising her adversary. “With his joy, the good priest reminds us that God is always generous when simple hearts honor Him with well-intended offerings,” she murmured, “even if they do lack worldly elegance.” And, she prayed with some apprehension, may Brother John’s art not disappoint this priest who bowed more to kings than he bent knees to God.

  Avelina swallowed several times and then bent forward to gaze down into the nave. “Father Eliduc told me that this rendering of Daniel would not be as rustic as he feared.”

  The prioress nodded modestly in acceptance of the compliment. Concerning his work with the novice choir, Brother John was as self-effacing as his vocation demanded. Brother Thomas balanced this humility with high praise. Although she herself had little understanding of music, other than to take pleasure in the reverent joy it brought her spirit, she believed her monk knew far more about the subject. After all, he had heard the finest choirs in London churches before he took a monk’s vows.

  Suddenly her heart suffered a familiar ache. How she missed Brother Thomas. His absence had cooled her wretched longing to couple with him, but she also missed his wit and insight, pleasures that gave her a more chaste joy.

  Curtailing further thoughts of the auburn-haired monk, she prayed that Eliduc would not be dissatisfied after he saw Ludus Danielis and quickly turned her attention back to the small group of men below.

  Father Eliduc now stood alone. In the beam of dusty sunlight, his robe had taken on the hue of burned wood. All but the crowner kept their distance from the priest, and even Ralf stood several feet away.

  How strange, Eleanor thought, and wondered if they had stepped back out of respect for the priest’s status as envoy from the queen or whether they shared her almost primordial unease in the man’s company. She shook the question away and studied the others who had come to watch this play.

  There were lay brothers and monks, all to be expected, and several in secular dress as well. Although Eleanor recognized the religious, the others were unknown to her and thus not from the village. One man balanced on a crutch; another had a large poultice wrapped around the back of his neck. They must have walked from the priory hospital.

  If the crippled and suffering could find the strength to come here, surely she could set aside her own troubling concerns. There was much to learn from this Daniel tale, Eleanor thought, and she should open her spirit to the lessons, rather than brood over murder, lust, and the whims of worldly creatures. Leaning back in her chair, she willed herself to relax and eagerly waited to see what Brother John had created.

 
No matter what Father Eliduc thought of it, Eleanor knew the performance would be special for the faithful in both Tyndal Priory and village. The Play of Daniel was a favorite, traditionally performed during the season of Christ’s birth, but it had not been done here since Eleanor had become prioress. Although she had been told how much Brother John’s choir delighted all several years ago, those novices had grown into men, their clear voices cracking, and the monks who sang in deeper tones had died. If Queen Eleanor was truly coming to Tyndal at the time announced, it was propitious that the choir master had again found that combination of voices he wanted to best portray the contrast between virtue and iniquity.

  Quickly glancing around the nun’s gallery, she decided there was not a better place for the queen to see the drama than here. Although it was now only used by the nuns on those rare occasions when the entire priory and village came together, the prioress believed that the location was a special favor to women.

  When the monks performed the Quem quaeritis at Easter, the sound of their voices rose with especial power and resonated in her ears like the voices of angels, not mortals. When she had spoken of her experience with Prior Andrew, he confessed he might have felt like a real witness to the empty tomb with the Marys on Easter morning, but he had not heard the voices as she had.

  The ringing of hand bells and the mellow tones of a recorder brought silence to those in the church.

  A hooded monk walked out of a side chapel and stood, head bowed, in the center of the nave. Behind him, two youths appeared with a chair, placed it to the monk’s right, and quickly disappeared.

  “It is about to start,” the prioress whispered.

  Avelina moved to the edge of her chair, and Sister Anne slipped forward to stand behind her prioress.

  The monk raised his head and began to speak, each word of his deep voice resounding with a cornet’s clarity throughout the church.

  “He tells the tale in our language,” Avelina murmured.

  “So that the meaning of the story may be understood by all, not just the religious who can follow the Latin in the choral songs,” the prioress said. “See! Here comes the novice choir.”

  The high, bright voices of the young boys blended with the eager joy of the hand bells and the warmth of a recorder as the choir walked through the nave from the back of the church. Following behind were four monks, their deep voices lending both gravity and foreboding to the celebratory processional. Brother John, at the very end, carried a simple scepter to indicate he was meant to be King Belshazzar.

  Avelina clasped her hands together as the novice master sat in the chair and waved his hand.

  From the left chapel, two boys emerged, one raising a golden chalice and the other a glittering platter as they approached the king’s throne. When they placed them on the ground at his feet, two deep-voiced singers rejoiced that the sacred vessels from Jerusalem’s desecrated temple had become mere ornaments for the royal table.

  Awestruck, Avelina looked at Eleanor.

  “The plate belongs to the priory,” the prioress whispered. Brother John had welcomed the offer to use them in the play, and they both hoped the items might finally be cleansed of their sad origin by performing this sacred role as vessels from Jerusalem’s holiest site. They had been bought at the time when a former sub-prior had almost destroyed the priory with his greed for the flashing plate. That had also been a time when blood stained the cloister garth and Brother John had been accused of murder.

  Suddenly the scene below froze in place. All song ceased. From the right chapel, two shadowy figures appeared and unfurled a banner that stretched behind the king’s chair. On it were embroidered the words: Mane, Thechel, Phares.

  Avelina gasped.

  Recovering from the fright herself, Eleanor was delighted. She would congratulate Brother John on that chilling touch.

  After the magi failed to interpret the meaning, the moment came that the prioress had been eager to see: the queen’s processional and her speech to the king.

  Accompanied by the choir, the tinkling of hand cymbals, and the softness of a harp, a young novice, his amice unfolded and draped over his head to represent a woman’s veil, approached the king and began to sing in such sweet tones that Eleanor almost wept. Even if Queen Eleanor did not find favor in this, she knew God would.

  Avelina leaned toward Eleanor. “Belshazzar’s queen is finely portrayed! Our own noble lady should be delighted. Is it not a wife’s duty, when her lord husband strays from virtue, to bring him back to the path of righteous acts?” Then she sat back, her hands folded prayerfully.

  Overjoyed herself with the singing, Eleanor was pleased that the play had so far met with Avelina’s approval. Even though she worried about Father Eliduc’s final judgement, the performance seemed to be gaining strong support from this lady-in-waiting.

  Two youths began to beat drums with an ominous cadence, then stopped. From the shadows, a harpist began to play as he led another king, Darius, to the king’s chair. The choir began to sing the new king’s praises, and when the monk playing Darius reached the chair, the two young men with drums chased Belshazzar into a side chapel. Hidden from view, Brother John loudly announced that he had been killed.

  Avelina whispered, “And so all wives must learn to turn their lords from evil before it is too late.”

  As Eleanor bent to reply, the lady now clapped her hands together with delight. “Oh, how beautifully Daniel sings! Methinks he has the finest voice of all.”

  The prioress nodded and looked down at the man, now standing before the king. This was the one who had come here for healing and then stayed to offer his skills as repayment for the miracle of renewed health. Brother John had heard him singing in the fields as he tilled the earth with the lay brothers. Although the man had not taken vows, the novice master chose him as the perfect Daniel, liege man of God, because he could reach notes of unusual purity. If only Brother Thomas returned before Daniel was performed again. She knew how much joy he would receive from this man’s voice.

  “He must sing well for he is God’s voice on earth,” Eleanor quickly replied.

  Once he was raised to high position, all knew that envy would bring Daniel and his grateful king down. The mood darkened as two monks, acting as the evil counselors, sang in high-pitched, nasal tones, of their plot to dupe the king and send Daniel to the lions.

  Avelina slid back into her chair and groaned.

  For just a moment, Eleanor feared the lady had become ill. She looked back at Sister Anne, but the nun shook her head. When the prioress leaned closer to Avelina, she realized the woman was so engrossed by the tale that she believed what she was watching was true. The sound of pain was nothing more. The performance was a success.

  Only when Darius was fooled into signing a law that could be used against his beloved counselor, did Avelina frown and gesture for Eleanor to lend an ear. “I fear the queen might find that troubling,” she said to the prioress. “Does it not suggest that an anointed king can err when he creates laws?”

  “All mortals do err, but God knows the difference between honest mistakes and evil hearts,” Eleanor whispered back. “This king is well-intentioned, and so God saves both Darius and Daniel as you will see. I doubt the queen would find offence in that.”

  And it was then that the lions roared from the left chapel.

  Avelina muffled a scream.

  Eleanor touched her gently on the arm. “We have no such beasts here, and Brother John did warn me that the boys especially love this part. They roar like lions with all their might.”

  Avelina gave her a very grateful smile.

  The prioress hoped Brother John had offered the same reassurance to those below, although she had heard more than one man’s voice express horror at the sound. With a brief prick of hope, she wondered if one of those voices belonged to Father Eliduc. Then she caught herself asking if the man even owned a mortal heart. She prayed she be forgiven that unkind thought, even though she also knew she had meant i
t.

  “As you will hear,” Eleanor whispered, “the lions turn quite meek when the door is slammed shut on Daniel in their den. Do be prepared for the time they next do roar. When they are given the wicked counselors, the boys have their finest moment as lions.”

  Daniel was led to a side chapel. A monk appeared behind him, in the white robe of God’s angel, and raised his sword when the door was closed. The lions produced a fine imitation of loudly mewing kittens.

  In the nave, Ralf and the man with the poultice applauded.

  The moment Daniel was released and the malicious counselors were finally taken to the den, Avelina and Eleanor braced for the roar of delight from the eager lions.

  When one of them screamed, however, Eleanor knew something had gone horribly wrong.

  Chapter Thirty

  The body of Kenard lay curled in a patch of shade outside the chapel door. An eager complement of flies circled and buzzed over the vomit, urine, and feces pooled around his corpse. As if taunting the dead man, an empty wineskin rested only a finger’s breadth beyond the reach of his outstretched hand.

  Eleanor ordered two lay brothers to move the horrified onlookers back. “Do not come near. No one may touch him except on my command.”

  Although the stench should have been enough to drive anyone away, the small crowd retreated with a collective sigh as if grateful she had thought to demand it.

  Even Eliduc edged backward until checked by the stones of the chapel wall, his face revealing no less shock than other bystanders.

  Ralf stood beside the prioress, his expression a mix of hope and anger as he stared at the priest.

  The prioress searched the faces of those surrounding her. “Brother John?”

  “I am here, my lady.” The choir master was close to the chapel door, kneeling next to a chalk-faced novice. Keeping a hand on the boy’s shoulder, he rose.

  This lad must have discovered the corpse, she thought, and grieved that he had. Since her own mother died when Eleanor was six, she knew how soon children became acquainted with death and wished the knowledge came later. “Will you examine the body, Crowner? Although I would ask Brother John to help you, I think that boy needs the care of his novice master.”