Nay, it was neither death nor the suspicion thereof that pricked sharply at his heart. He knew that well enough. It was the knowledge that he must send Sayer into a trap, one that might well lead to the man's hanging. The earth joined his spirit in protest and seemed to snatch at his feet to keep him from his destination.
When Thomas reached the inn, he stopped, willing a firmness of purpose to fill his soul. After all, Prioress Eleanor had ordered him to perform a task, and he owed her obedience. He might be blinded by the wiles of the Prince of Darkness, but she was not. He had no right to whine like some swaddled babe. He must…
"Why such hesitancy, Brother? After two visits, you have second thoughts about entering our inn?"
Thomas spun around.
Sayer stood behind him.
The monk swallowed, the flame of guilt turning his face hot. "I am distressed," he said quickly. "Will you share some ale with me?"
"More questions, monk? I weary of them and even the promise of ale is not tempting enough to make tolerance bloom."
"I am through with that. Amesbury Priory must find someone else to solve their problems."
Sayer's look softened. He stepped in front of the monk and held the door open for him. "The priory coin has come most often from your hand, Brother. Let it now drop from mine. Enter and tell me what troubles you."
Thomas walked inside. Behind him, the door creaked shut. He blinked at the smoky darkness and breathed in the sour reek of old sweat.
Sayer gestured for the monk to follow.
Can I do this? Thomas asked himself as he settled on the bench. But once the drink arrived and they were alone, he willed himself to the game and uttered a painful sigh.
"What causes your brow to furrow so, Brother?"
"My prioress says we must leave on the morrow. Although I have ignored all this until now…" He gestured at the ale, then nodded in the direction of the vanished serving wench. "My heart grieves for I shall have no such joys at Tyndal."
Sayer gazed at him in silence. "Then your last evening must be especially memorable."
Thomas tried to look both sheepish and eager, an effort made more difficult by the new chill in the roofer's voice.
"I could promise you such a time but do ask if you can leave the priory tonight?"
Thomas nodded. "I believe that I can."
"The wall has been repaired, and the ghost lurks."
Was the man trying to dissuade him? Thomas asked himself. Was he ignorant of the toeholds scraped into the repaired wall? Hope warmed his heart. "I have seen no ghost. Since Brother Baeda's death, Sister Beatrice has ordered me to lock the library after Compline. Now I sleep apart from other monks and patrol outside the building with a cross in hand to protect the sacred works therein from any hellish imps."
"How clever of Sister Beatrice."
He shrugged. "None would know if I slipped away as long as I returned by Matins."
"Then come to the inn when darkness falls, Brother."
"After Compline…"
"Nay, before. Pray if you must, but remember that Matins comes early. I would not have you cheated of any joy when none will warm you once you return to your own priory."
"The library…"
"… shall be safe enough for one night. You have seen no ghost. Most likely, the queen's spirit has found whatever she went there to seek. She might well choose to trouble the monks in their dorter next, or else she has gone back to Purgatory." He bent his head to one side and studied the monk. "If you come early enough, I can promise you a private room and an able woman to serve you the inn's best wine."
Thomas put a hand to his heart as if to still its sinful beating. "Barring some demand by my prioress, I will meet you after the evening meal and before Compline."
Sayer nodded, slid from the bench, and left the monk alone.
A black robe of mourning draped over Thomas' heart.
Chapter Thirty-Six
At the appointed time that night, Thomas went to the inn. He sat on a bench, called for ale, and waited for Sayer, but his hand shook when he reached for the tankard soon placed in front of him. Firmly grasping the thing with both hands, he managed to quell the disloyal tremor.
Anyone seeing this sign of apprehension would surely blame it on his great struggle between the demands of frail flesh and his equally great longing for Heaven, or so he told himself. Unfortunately, his flesh showed no evidence of interest in this planned tryst, an observation he hoped no one else made.
Sayer arrived shortly after, and Thomas persuaded him that he longed for the most popular serving wench. Maybe he only imagined the hint of disappointment on the man's face, but once he had given Sayer payment for his night of pleasuring, the man spoke to the innkeeper and disappeared.
The moment Thomas and the woman had closed the door to the private room, he fell to his knees, raised his still trembling hands heavenward, and loudly thanked God for granting him the strength to win his battle over the flesh.
At first the woman expressed indignation, but he assured her that he would slip away unnoticed and the money agreed upon would not be taken back no matter his change of heart. Her weary face brightened and she winked at him, assuring the monk that she would enjoy the wine and an empty bed.
Thomas soon found himself back in the night and hurrying along the path to the priory and the dark library.
That the sheriff was still in distant pursuit of his fowl and boar mattered not. Sister Beatrice had agreed to her niece's plan and promised there would be men in the shadows surrounding the building, robust lay brothers armed with blessed cudgels, most likely under the command of Brother Infirmarian. Thomas would not be alone.
He looked around. At least I trust the men are there, he said to himself. He could see no one but took comfort in the hope that they were ready to come to his rescue with due speed if needed.
In truth, he did not know exactly what to expect inside the library, although he had ardently beseeched to go there alone. Prioress Eleanor had conceded that one man would be less likely to betray the trap, thus increasing the chances of catching the thief in the act, but she did not think his plan quite safe. Only when he promised to cry out for the aid of others once he had caught the man had she agreed. Thomas prayed she was not angry with him, seeing his stubborn insistence as either disrespectful or disobedient.
He had another reason for wanting to be alone. Although he knew that Sayer would be the one most likely caught with his hand on the Psalter, the monk's unruly heart refused to be silenced, arguing with growing persistence that the roofer was more misguided than evil. Might Thomas not reason with him tonight, persuading the man to reveal who was behind the theft and even agree to give witness to the murderer's deeds? If so, the monk could argue for leniency on Sayer's behalf.
If he was wrong and the roofer was a brutal killer, he should be able to detain him for a short time until the others arrived. The other problem lay in the number he might meet in the darkness of the library. If more than one was there, he would be in great danger. In that case, he must count on his own strength, wits, and the element of surprise to get him out of the situation.
The library was as profoundly silent as it was deep in shadow. Although Thomas' eyes were used to the gloom, he felt his way to a hiding place with difficulty. At least anyone else who came through the darkness would be at equal disadvantage, he thought, settling into a crouch behind Brother Jerome's work area. The book chest was directly in front of him.
His ears prickled. Had he heard a sound or was it just a mouse skittering along the floor? The silence now seemed full of tiny noises, but as he strained to hear, he was almost certain that someone was coming.
The door opened.
A man entered. He was holding a flickering light.
Silently Thomas swore at himself for not considering this possibility. Could he be seen by the light of that flame? He bent down as much as he could.
His pounding heart quieted as he realized that the thief would not h
ave brought light if there was anyone outside to see it. That meant he knew the monk was the only one who might be nearby, and he was supposedly across the river, busily swyving a woman. The lay brothers must have seen it as well and known that the thief had arrived. He should take comfort in that, Thomas decided.
The man hesitated, then silently walked to the book chest.
Thomas was sure it was Sayer. So that there would be no doubt about the man's intent, he would wait until the roofer began to leave with the Psalter in his arms.
The figure bent, holding the light close to the storage box. Within the briefest of moments, he had broken the lock, lifted the lid, and grasped the Psalter. The lid dropped with a dull thud. The man turned and walked toward the monk.
Thomas rose to face him, but something to his left caught his attention. He jerked to one side. The blow struck the side of his head. Light flashed before his eyes, and everything went black.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Thomas blinked. He was lying on his side. His head hurt, and there was something warm trickling down his neck. How long had he been unconscious?
"I said I would bring it to you." The voice was Sayer's.
Thomas shut his eyes and held his breath.
"Stupid pup," a man replied, his hoarse voice barely above a whisper.
Feeling a wave of nausea, Thomas willed himself not to vomit.
"You did not recognize a trap when you saw it." The man kicked at Thomas.
The monk bit his lip but did not groan.
"You are fortunate that foolish women run this place and sent but one monk to stop you."
"Did you kill him?" Sayer asked.
"Bring your light."
As the small flame flickered with weak warmth over his face, Thomas willed himself to look like a man who had just died. He should have seen enough of them, he thought, to feign the expression well. If he failed, he would no longer have to pretend.
"He's bled enough to be a dead man," Sayer said, touching the monk's neck gently with his fingers. The light moved quickly away.
Thomas prayed God would take mercy on his soul.
"I will make sure of it."
"You need not bother. I felt his neck. There is no life in him." Sayer's voice was angry.
"Fancied him, did we?" the man scoffed.
Sayer did not reply, but Thomas heard a noise as if something was being shaken.
"Stop that, whelp! Have you no idea what a valuable work the Psalter is? You'll damage it!"
"Then take the thing if you do not want harm to come to it."
The light went out, and Thomas heard a grunt. As much as he longed to rise, he knew he might faint from his injury. There was nothing he could do but lie in his own blood.
Sayer laughed. "A child could have done more harm with that blow. I think I shall keep this for myself."
"Mock if you will, but the Psalter is worthless without me."
Thomas felt himself drift toward unconsciousness. He willed himself back.
"I might have another buyer."
"Your lies are as wanting as your manhood."
"You are not the only one in Amesbury who needs money and knows the worth of this piece of painted sheep skin."
The man hissed. "You could not have found another."
"Can you afford to doubt me? Or consider this: I might choose to save my soul, rather than take money, and confess who has led me to this crime."
"You would gain nothing by trying to expose me. Who would believe you, blasphemous rogue that you are?"
"Dare you chance that? You have now killed three men, including my own father."
"A robber? Two womanish monks? Killing your father was but long-delayed justice for ancient sins. As for the monks, I was kind, sending them to Heaven sooner than either had dared hope."
"And Eda? Even you dare not claim she killed herself. You drowned her, did you not? She had overheard us talking about plans to steal…"
"I'll kill you!" the man roared.
Sayer laughed.
"Give me the manuscript, cokenay."
"Only if you can catch me."
The sound of running feet echoed in the floor under Thomas' ear. He heard the door crash against the wall.
Slowly he opened one eye. Both men must be gone, he decided, but hesitated a moment to make sure. Weak and dizzy, he began struggling to his knees.
A hand came to rest on his shoulder.
"It seems you are still alive, Brother," a man said.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Brother Infirmarian cursed the clouds that had just covered the moon. His phrasing was most secular.
"Brother Thomas has not called for help, and the light has been extinguished in the library." A lay brother pointed to the now dark window.
"The agreement was to do nothing until our brother gave the signal," the infirmarian whispered back. "We must wait a while longer before going inside." He fell silent and stared with evident unease at the gloomy building. "I dare not spring the trap too soon, but I do not wish harm to come to our brave monk either."
"Wait!" another exclaimed softly. "I heard a man's voice. That must be the sign!"
Brother Infirmarian rose and called for the group of lay brothers to follow him. As he did, the clouds mercifully parted like a fortress gate and the moon shone forth just enough to outline two figures emerging onto the scaffolding high above the band of monastic rescuers.
The first shadow leapt onto the roof, scrambling loudly up the steep incline. The second stumbled, caught himself, and awkwardly crawled after him.
Brother Infirmarian ordered his men to halt.
"Is one Brother Thomas?" a lay brother asked him.
A cloud drifted back across the moon, dimming the light.
"I think not, but I cannot be sure. They could both be the Devil's imps." Brother Infirmarian quickly ordered several of the lay brothers to assail the library but gestured for one to remain behind with him. The two men slipped closer to the walls and stared upward, raising their crosses to frighten any demon that might lurk there.
The grey forms on the roof looked like sooty ghosts against the darker roofing. The apparition higher up laughed with wicked merriment.
The men below clutched their crosses to their hearts. "Has the Devil released his minions to befoul God's priory with obscene antics?" the lay brother whispered.
The moon once again escaped its cloud, and the men on the ground could see one apparent mortal stand and wave something over his head.
"Give me that!" the other shadow shouted.
Brother Infirmarian looked at his companion. "Do you recognize that voice?"
The lay brother said nothing, his eyes wide-open with terror.
"Catch me if you can," the first one sang and climbed farther upward.
"Devil's spawn!"
"How fond you are of slandering others! I may be a rogue, but I would never defame the innocent. Now that you are on God's ground, surely you must confess that you lied about Eda. She never committed adultery, did she? Shout the truth to God, and I may give you this Psalter."
"She never forsook virtue," Herbert roared. "Give me the manuscript!" He pulled himself closer to the desired object.
The leaner shadow waved it over his head once again. "And a woman who so loved God would never have committed self-murder, would she? Even you could not claim otherwise, although you let others condemn her. Come," he said, holding the Psalter just out of reach. "Tell me how she died, and I shall release this."
"I held her head under the water until she drowned." The vintner grabbed at the Psalter, then slipped. As he slid down the roof, he screamed, but he landed safely on the scaffolding.
"On this holy ground, will you not ask His forgiveness?"
"Give me that Psalter! Dare you call me a sinner when you are Satan's own bedmate?"
"Now you have hurt my feelings."
To the right, two more men could be seen pulling themselves through a window onto the narrow wooden walkw
ay.
The figure high on the roof lifted the Psalter over his head. "Beg for this." Suddenly he lost his footing. "Here! Catch it!" the man cried out, tossing the manuscript out into the darkness as he tumbled downward.
Master Herbert bent backwards to seize the manuscript as it flew over his head. The thin railing at his back snapped.
Brother Infirmarian, ignoring the screams above him, raced to the man who had just hit the ground.
"The hangman has been thwarted," he said softly.
The vintner's neck was broken in two.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Sayer lay in the monks' infirmary, his face pale and one arm bound to his chest.
"Does your shoulder hurt?" Bernard asked with frank concern.
"Brother Infirmarian pushed the bone back in quickly enough." Sayer's expression spoke more of indifference than any relief. "I am weak and may not move this arm. That is all."
"When we pulled you back onto the scaffolding, I wept for your pain." The glover wrung his hands and glanced over at the monk beside him. "Had Brother Thomas not been with me, you would have died. I did not have the strength to save you by myself."
"I should thank you both for that," the roofer said, "but I heal only to face the hangman. You should have let me fall to my death and saved the cost of a rope."
"You have killed no one," Brother Thomas replied.
"If I had not agreed to play a ghost to keep everyone inside at night so the vintner might steal the manuscript, my father would have lived. Although I did not strike the blow, I still murdered my father with my greed and wicked foolishness."
"God wants to forgive, and your actions tonight will do much to assuage the evil you have done in the past," Thomas replied, touching the binding around his head without thinking. He winced. "You did not know that my prioress had a plan to catch the guilty, yet you had already plotted to expose both killer and thief."
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