Kenard might have died by violence, not disease, but there was something hovering around the corpse that reminded Eliduc of a malevolent and contagious miasma. Were further prayers needed, he would let other priests expose themselves to whatever evil drifted in the shadows there. He had done his duty.
Now he hurried on, gaining needed distance from such loathsome decay. The farther he got from the chapel, the lighter his spirit felt.
This latest fatality might have been convenient. It had not been required. A better conclusion would have allowed the man to give his confession and not go directly to Hell. In Eliduc’s opinion, Kenard was not truly wicked. He was a man who still deserved a good death.
As the priest passed the low-walled cemetery, his gaze took in the many overgrown and sunken patches of older graves, mixed with the newer, rounded mounds of naked earth. How many lying there had been aware enough of all their vile sins before death, he wondered. Perhaps some had begged forgiveness for too little and found themselves condemned to interminable, unimaginable suffering because of their paltry confessions. Kenard might have been one of those even if a priest had been at his side. The thought eased Eliduc’s heart into a more trifling grief.
Once beyond the boundaries of the cemetery, he slowed his pace and now ambled along the path to the mill. Although he had no purpose for going in that direction, the path was long and gave him time to think.
Not that he was a meditative man by habit. He left ponderous debate to those inclined to philosophy, but he did pride himself on pursuing his lord’s best interests with precise attention to detail. He also took care never to do anything that might be discovered and reflect badly on the Church.
He was a man of deep faith, or else he would not have taken vows. He also knew he would never be granted sainthood, his skills being more suited to worldly matters. Let no one disparage the value of such talents, he thought. Clever manipulations and plotting were crucial if the Church were to vanquish its enemies.
Who dared forget how the faithful suffered the plight of the powerless before the Emperor Constantine was converted? Secular powers were often owned by the Prince of Darkness, and the Church must retain worldly power to keep its people safe until the Apocalypse. To that end, he had dedicated his life, and, when he took his last breath, he would die knowing he had served his God well.
Yet he grieved over the loss of Kenard’s soul to Satan. As for Baron Otes, he might have felt a similar sorrow had the man not tried to cheat the Church. The baron had behaved in a duplicitous manner when he threatened to go back on a promise made to Eliduc’s lord about very profitable lands. Some might argue that Tyndal, as a priory, was just as worthy a recipient. Eliduc found that argument specious. He knew which beneficiary would make better use of the profits for the betterment of Church interests in a choice between his lord and Prioress Eleanor.
He snorted.
Nonetheless, he had done his duty as a priest when he knelt in the mud to whisper to a soul that might have remained close to its fleshy corpse. That he did so with disgust and reluctance was something he might confess in due course, but priests were flawed mortals and surely he would be given light penance. He had tried harder with Kenard’s spirit, but both souls were now in God’s hands, facing judgement and no longer his particular concern. A few sequestered nuns somewhere would at least offer prayers for the baron’s soul. He would find a monk to remember Kenard.
Sighing, he walked on.
When coins were required to learn secrets, Eliduc paid. When the plots of both wicked and useful mortals must be learned, he never hesitated to press his ear to thin walls. During this journey on the queen’s behalf, he had concluded that the flaws and weakness of others would drag them down to inevitable disaster. All he had to do was step aside and let it happen.
His choice had been wise. Not only was the originally promised land saved for his lord, but Eliduc had kept his own hands unsullied.
The priest blinked. He had passed the mill and was now at the gate that opened onto the road which led to the hermit’s hut and the village farther on.
Eliduc had not intended to visit Brother Thomas just now, preferring to wait until a time closer to departure from the priory. As he thought more on it, he concluded it might be the right moment to claim young Simon after all. The monk had surely accomplished all Eliduc knew he would. To leave the youth there longer than absolutely necessary might not be wise.
“And knowing the skills of Prioress Eleanor in ferreting out murderers,” he said aloud, “I believe the hour of our departure from here will arrive most swiftly.”
With those words, he unlatched the gate and hastened toward the hermitage. Had anyone been nearby, they would have heard this dark-robed man softly humming a chorus from The Play of Daniel.
Chapter Thirty-four
The Lady Avelina sat bolt upright in the chair, her face in shadow. Although a timid light did creep through the shuttered window, it remained a pallid glow as if uncertain whether or not clarity was welcome.
“I have been waiting for you, Prioress Eleanor.”
“I beg pardon for the delay. Your servant’s death required…”
“I am guilty.”
Eleanor stepped back, struck dumb by the blunt confession. Had she expected this, she would not have asked Sister Anne to wait outside the room until called. She regretted not having her friend’s reaction to this unexpected statement. Unsure exactly how to respond, the prioress chose to say nothing.
“Where is my son?”
“He has been with the hermit outside the priory since soon after you arrived.”
“Has anyone accused him of involvement in this crime?”
Eleanor felt her body tremble with nervous uncertainty and was grateful the lady could not see her lack of composure in the faded light. Taking a deep breath, she willed herself to calm and to listen carefully, less to what was said than how it was spoken. “Crowner Ralf confirmed he has not left the hermitage, or, if he did, Simon’s absences have been too short to travel to the priory and return.”
Avelina laughed, the sound more akin to the screech of a knife against a whetstone than any merriment.
“There is no doubt that your son is innocent in the death of your servant, and so you have no cause to shield him.”
“The death of Baron Otes remains unsolved.”
Eleanor stepped closer, hoping to better read the woman’s expression. “If the person who killed the baron also killed Kenard, then your son is innocent of the former since he is most certainly blameless of the latter.”
Uttering a soft groan, Avelina pressed her hand against her breast. Even in the muted light, Eleanor could see sweat glistening on her face.
“Are you unwell, my lady?”
“A mild indisposition. I ate something that disagreed with me. It will soon pass.”
“Sister Anne waits just outside the door. Shall I send for her?”
“You are kind, but I need her not.” The lady smiled, and then bit her lips as if the effort exceeded her strength. “Let us return to the subject of murder. Is that not why you came?”
Indeed it was, but Eleanor now regretted she had not spoken with Brother Thomas before coming to see Lady Avelina. Once she understood how blinded she had been by the land gift, she realized that two killers might be involved. Her reasons for changing her mind could also be wrong. She had rushed to this meeting ill-prepared.
And now something else troubled her, although the cause was elusive. She had little time to ponder it and was growing anxious to get to the truth of this matter. “Why did you claim guilt?” she asked, choosing to be as direct as this woman had been with her admission.
Avelina bowed her head. “The evening we arrived here, Baron Otes begged a private audience with me. I was well acquainted with his reputation as a man who collected secrets to his benefit.” Her eyes narrowed as she glanced up at the prioress. “What did I have to fear? The widow of a known traitor has nothing left to hide.” She fell silen
t as the words required for further explanation refused to be spoken.
Hearing the bitterness in her tone, Eleanor wondered if the woman had any tears left to weep. She nodded sympathetically.
“Although I could not imagine what the baron wanted from me, I decided to grant the man’s wish. It is often wiser, I have found, not to remain in ignorance when it comes to the ways of wicked men.” She rubbed nervously at her eyes.
“Had you any fears or suspicions of what he came to discuss?”
Avelina shook her head. “How clearly does a mother ever see the true nature of her beloved son? How can a dutiful wife ever judge her lord husband?”
Eleanor answered with care and, she hoped, compassion. “Mothers and wives may see the flaw but love the man in spite of it. When a man pledges loyalty to another mortal, his unbending fealty may be honorable although his judgement may be in error. Sons are often much like their sires.”
Avelina’s eyes betrayed her surprise. “You are kind! I doubted that Baron Otes could have discovered some horrible secret related to my dead husband. Ghosts cannot surpass the crime of treason, and God is the final judge of blasphemy.” She began to gasp as if the summer air had become too thick to breath.
Eleanor moved closer to the woman. “Are you sure you are well?”
“It is only my sorrow you observe. I beg you to let me finish!”
The prioress stepped back.
“As you noted, my son is much like his father, both in his longing to serve a lord well and his inability to recognize which one is strong enough to survive any fray.” She coughed. “Will you swear to me that what I tell you shall remain in confidence?”
“I cannot, unless Simon is innocent of both murder and treason.” Eleanor shuddered at the implications of what the woman had just told her. All she really needed to know was who killed two men, not necessarily the details of why. “I shall be frank with you,” she said. “Two souls have been sent to God unshriven. Although Baron Otes was a cruel man, his killer had no right to execute him in that manner. Our Lord has said that only those without sin should ever cast stones. God alone has that prerogative. As for your servant, I know nothing of him, virtues or vices, but the same applies to him. For the sake of proper justice, I seek the murderer.”
“I am grateful for your honesty,” Avelina said. “I shall only say that my son has been unwise in his choice of men to support his ambitions, and Baron Otes came to inform me of Simon’s entanglements. Even though I should not have been surprised, the shock was quite hard to bear.”
Then the boy’s foot had at least slipped into treason’s quicksand. If she was to learn the names of murderers, Eleanor knew she must step away from the further unveiling of Simon’s crimes. She knew she was too close to the discovery for any distraction. “What did he demand for his silence?”
“Oh, he wanted more than a small price for keeping that secret!” Avelina looked around as if fearing an unseen presence. “He offered to help my son regain some of his lands, although not the title. As recompense for his efforts, he demanded half what he had recovered for Simon or else the value of it in coin.”
Eleanor winced. “Were the remaining lands adequate to support your son?”
“Not as his birth deserved, and I have little enough to add when I die.”
“What did he say he would do if you refused the offer?”
“He swore to tell the king the names of the men who demanded Simon’s support in return for funds to pay for horse and armor.”
“So I must conclude your son was in peril of his life.” Had the dimming light cast the lady’s face in greater shadow or had her cheeks turned sickly grey?
Avelina nodded.
“Were you alone when the baron spoke with you?”
“Except for Kenard. Since he was both mute and a servant, the baron found him only an object of mockery.”
Now Eleanor grew confident that Brother Thomas had been right, at least in principle. There were two who were complicit in these crimes, and she knew she must proceed with care. “Did you tell Simon of this discussion?”
“As a woman, I may be imprudent. As a mother, I am not so foolish as to tell a boy, already condemned for unwise behavior, of matters that might cause him to act with even greater rashness.” She covered her eyes.
Eleanor suspected that the image of what might have been her son’s fate was too much to bear.
“After the baron left, I confess I showed a woman’s weakness and railed against the baron, tearing at my hair and begging God to smite the man for his greed and lack of pity.”
“Whose ears heard you?” Eleanor asked softly.
“Kenard’s.”
“And he took pity.”
Avelina looked away.
For a moment, the prioress said nothing, hoping the lady would continue her tale. Instead, the woman stared at the ceiling in silence. Her breathing was labored.
“Have you need of your potion?” Eleanor whispered. When she looked at the table where the vial had once sat, she saw only the mortar and pestle. That was the detail which had troubled her. The implications grieved her.
Avelina shook her head. “Only Kenard knew how to make it.”
“Sister Anne might…”
“You do not need to summon her.”
Although the woman’s appearance concerned her, Eleanor knew from the lady’s tone that she would not win any debate on this matter. Instead, she hastened the discussion. “You confess guilt in the baron’s murder, but I do not think you capable of cutting his throat.”
“You think not?” Avelina laughed and tapped a hand against her breast. “Unlike this weak and errant child of Eve, you have never brought forth a man’s babe in agony and blood, and then put the wee suckling to your breast. Methinks a child drinks, not milk, but the heart’s blood from his mother. When he is wounded, it is she who bleeds the most.”
Eleanor knew silence was wisest.
“Like the old King Henry, when the saintly Becket offended him, I bewailed the curse laid on my son, a babe when his father fell in battle, and asked God to mercifully lift it from my lad. My prayers were answered. The baron was killed. It was I who caused another to commit murder.”
“By the man who was your husband’s servant, saw him killed at Evesham, and fell mute with grief. How did you learn of Kenard’s deed, my lady?”
Turning her face away, Avelina pressed her hands against her cheeks and groaned. “The day after. He came to me and spoke for the first time, claiming God had restored his speech when he lured the baron to a death the man had long deserved. I can still hear the rasp of his voice.” She whimpered like a sleeper longing to awaken from an evil dream. “He believed the deed could not have been evil if God had granted this miracle of giving him back his voice.” With piteous expression, she looked at the prioress. “Can that be true?”
How could it be? Yet Eleanor had heard many incomprehensible tales of men and women who had been cured of grave afflictions in strange ways. Perhaps God had shown favor to this former servant when he killed a very wicked man. She doubted it. “Have you confided any of this to a priest?”
“I have told Father Eliduc of my son’s indiscretion, although I said nothing of Kenard’s deed.”
Eleanor recoiled. She prayed the man would keep the confidence, although she still feared he might find some use for this knowledge. On the other hand, Simon had sought the counsel of Brother Thomas with Eliduc’s urging. The priest may have hoped to save the youth. If Prior Andrew’s past could be forgiven in exchange for his dedication to God, then Simon should be given the same opportunity to cleanse his sins with penance and service. She tried to silence her persistent suspicions.
“I understand why you take responsibility for the murder,” Eleanor finally said, “but it was Kenard who did the deed and the blood remains on his hands.” She did understand why Avelina believed she bore guilt in this, and, in truth, the prioress agreed with her.
“Kenard was an honorable man! He
might have wielded the knife, but the deed that brought about the murder was my foolish moaning as well as my son’s poor judgement. Yet my lad cannot be condemned. He is a child in so many ways. I, as his mother, ought to have been wiser. I take full blame.”
“Kenard did far more than even the most loyal of servants.”
“I thank you for not accusing me of unlawful lust, although I heard that meaning in your tone. He was my husband’s servant and chose to serve me out of love for him. He and I never shared a bed. What we did share was love for Simon, as my husband’s only son.”
“I must ask how your loyal servant died.”
“I bear the guilt of that sin as well. He never would have committed self-murder if…” She began to cough.
Eleanor reached for a pitcher on the table near Avelina’s chair and poured watered ale into a cup. “Please drink this. It will revive you.”
Her face quite scarlet, Avelina gulped the drink and set the cup down.
Then the prioress took the lady’s hand and stroked it as if it were that of a sorrowing child. “Sister Anne is within call,” she reminded her.
Shaking her head, the woman continued. “Were he arrested as a suspect in the baron’s murder, Kenard planned to claim that he had done the deed out of revenge for my husband’s death. He swore he would hang and not reveal Simon’s secret. If tortured, however, he was terrified, since he had recovered his speech, that he might confess to killing the baron to protect the boy.”
“He took your potion with him to the chapel. It was made from Lily of the Valley, was it not?”
“A physician believed it might help slow my racing heart, and he showed Kenard how to make it safely.” She began to sob. “I saw that the vial kept by my bed was missing. Aye, I feared he had taken it. More than that, I did nothing to seek him out and stop him.” Then Avelina threw back her head and screamed. “Have I not done all I could for my son? Could any mother have done more? I let a good man go to Hell because I, too, feared he might reveal my boy’s wickedness under duress. I let Kenard commit self-murder!”
Valley of Dry Bones Page 20
