Wine of Violence mm-1

by Priscilla Royal

  “I am Prioress Eleanor of Tyndal,” she announced to the man, who had not even turned to acknowledge her presence. An unkempt and careless man, she thought, as she glanced at the clothing he wore. It was in need of mending, and where mended it was badly done. His back was stained from sweat and other liquids of less well-defined origins. Here was a man with little time for fashion and even less for the good opinion of others, Eleanor decided with grim humor. Was he even sober?

  “A fine thing to find in your garden, my lady,” the crowner said, continuing to bend over the monk’s body.

  His voice was steady, his words unslurred. At least he wasn’t drunk, Eleanor concluded with some relief.

  “Not a proper sight for virgins.” He grunted as he turned the corpse over on one side and yanked up the corpse’s robe to expose the mutilation. “Seeing this mess would be good for a few Hail Marys to ease the shock, I’d think.”

  Brother Thomas coughed, then gagged at the sight of the putrefying mutilation.

  “Oh, and a man of God too. Well, this is the most blood you’ll ever see, brother. Thank the good Lord for that, unless you’re a fighting bishop that is.” Ralf was the only one to laugh at his joke, but he seemed neither to notice nor to mind. The crowner continued his examination.

  “You’ll not find much blood to mark his lost manhood, Crowner.” Eleanor’s voice was stern. No one in her family had ever spoken favorably of the lower ranks assigned to administer the king’s justice. Indeed, she had always assumed such men were mostly dishonest, or lazy and incompetent at best. She’d rather hoped this one would be different. At least his study of the dead priest was unhurried and seemed careful. Perhaps the crowner had merit, despite his clothes and rather earthy smell.

  “And how would you know that, my lady?” The man sighed with barely concealed annoyance at the continued interruptions.

  “We looked.”

  Crowner Ralf straightened up slowly, put one hand on his hip, turned and glowered equally at Eleanor and Thomas.

  “Indeed. And what are your conclusions then, good people? Did God strike him down in your priory for his sins? Or was it for your sins? Do you think I’ll close my eyes to all human intervention just because the corpse’s a monk and you’re a bunch of…?”

  “Shush, Ralf! You are being impious. Be silent, and let us tell you what we did find.” Sister Anne stepped out of the shadow behind Thomas, shook her finger at the crowner, and glared with a ferocity equal to his own.

  Eleanor and Thomas both turned to look at her in shock.

  “Well, Annie,” the crowner said, his face relaxing into a surprised but delighted smile. “I’d hoped you hadn’t lost all your sense when you left the apothecary shop for the convent.”

  Sister Anne turned to Eleanor. “Forgive me for speaking without permission, my lady. We knew Ralf, my husband and I, when we were in the world.”

  Ralf nodded. “Aye, and leaving it was the world’s loss. You saved my lazy brother’s life with that green and foul smelling poultice when the boar gored his leg, you know.” He looked over at Eleanor. “He that is sheriff and too busy with the affairs of the high and mighty to attend to such matters as this.” He gestured at the corpse.

  “It was my husband who…”

  The crowner’s face reddened. “S’Blood, woman! ’Twas you, not that sexless, bloodless thing you called husband.”

  “Ralf! You forget yourself and where you are.”

  The man turned and bowed to Eleanor. “Perhaps. Forgive me, my lady. Sister Anne has reminded me that I have strayed from my task. You had observations you wished to share?”

  Eleanor smiled in spite of herself. However crude the crowner might seem, his blunt speech and ill manners seemed based more in choice than nature. Indeed, she could understand impatience with hollow gestures when something important had to be done. She struggled herself with them at times, she realized, remembering her recent encounter with Prior Theobald. Then she noticed that the crowner was looking at her with some intensity as he scowled. He isn’t just staring, Eleanor thought with surprise; he’s studying me.

  “Sister Anne discovered him,” she said quickly and nodded in the nun’s direction. “She should tell you what she noted. Brother Thomas and I came to the site later. If need be, we will confirm or add to whatever she says.”

  As Ralf looked at the tall woman beside her, Eleanor caught a fleeting look of sadness in his face. Something must have happened between them before Sister Anne left the world, she thought. Indeed, the entire interchange between crowner and nun had intrigued her.

  “He’s been moved since his death, Ralf. That coloring on the body you can see for yourself, but his clothing has also been changed. There was no tear from the entry of the knife into his garment, nor was there blood on the ground where we found him. And little staining on the inside of the robe near the chest wound. None near his genitals. In fact, as you see, there is but little blood around the mutilation itself.”

  The crowner had been listening intently. Suddenly, he laughed. “So you did not clean up the corpse. I wondered when I found it so neatly placed here in the chapel with little evidence of bleeding where I most expected it and a fresh robe.”

  “Our prioress forbade the washing until you had been here to examine the body.”

  Ralf acknowledged Eleanor with a slight smile. “And did you all examine the earth around as well?” he asked.

  The three nodded.

  “And did none of you find blood?”

  The three shook their heads.

  “Nor any dagger hilt?” He touched the spot where the knife had entered.

  “None,” the trio said, almost in unison.

  “Well, now, what have you left to tell me?”

  “One thing,” Thomas said, pulling the crucifix from his sleeve and handing it to the crowner. “I found this near the sacristy door on the path to the monks’ quarters yesterday afternoon after I left the garden. The ground may have been stained with blood. I couldn’t quite tell and was interrupted before I could confirm my suspicions.”

  Ralf turned it around in his hand and held it up to the light. “Blood stains on the cross itself, and I’d say the cord was soaked with it. You were wise to pick it up, brother. Given last night’s summer downpour, any trace of blood in the earth will be washed away, and the rain might have cleansed this as well if you hadn’t taken it.” He looked around. “Can any of you confirm if it belonged to him?” He waved at the corpse.

  “Look at it, please, sister. You would know best,” Eleanor said.

  Anne reached out, and the crowner dropped the thing lightly into her hand, carefully not touching her. She looked at it for a moment, her eyes closing as she briefly shut her hand over the cross.

  “It was his, my lady. He carved it himself. ‘A simple cross for a simpler man,’ he said to me once.” Then the tears began to trickle down her cheeks. “He was a good man, my lady. A very good man.”

  Thomas and Ralf looked down at the floor.

  Eleanor reached out for the nun’s hand and squeezed it. “Who did not deserve what was done to him,” she whispered.

  Anne wiped the moisture from her face. “We must find who did it…”

  “I will that, Annie. I promise you.”

  “Then hear this as well, Ralf. I believe the person who killed him was left-handed and either did not think about what he was doing or was in a hurry.”

  The crowner raised one eyebrow.

  “If you were gelding a man, you would hold the genitals in your left hand as you cut with your right.” Sister Anne held up her left fist as if she had just done it.

  Ralf swallowed and nodded.

  “And then you would take your victim’s left hand thus and place them in his grasp so it would appear he had done it himself.” She demonstrated, using Eleanor’s hands as an example.

  Ralf blinked. “Aye?”

  “But Brother Rupert held his severed organs in his right hand.”

  “He did indeed.
”

  “Brother Rupert was right-handed. If the murderer wanted us to believe our priest had done this act himself, he would have put his genitals in his left hand, a natural enough thing to do if the murderer is also right-handed, but not if he is left-handed. Come now, Ralf! Don’t look at me with such doubt. If you were going to geld yourself, wouldn’t you hold your balls in your weaker hand and cut with your stronger one?”

  “That I would!” he said.

  “Well, our murderer forgot.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Please join me in some refreshment before you go back to the hospital, sister.”

  Eleanor put her hand on Anne’s arm. The unusual animation she had seen in the tall nun’s face during the exchange with the crowner had faded back into her habitual look of sorrow.

  Anne glanced down at the ground. “My lady, I overstepped my bounds today and I beg forgiveness.” Her voice was soft.

  “Come.” Eleanor gently squeezed her arm. “Explain what you mean. After that, I have some questions for you.”

  “You are too kind, my lady.”

  Eleanor looked over at Thomas. “Brother, please take the crowner to the cloister to examine the spot where Sister Anne found the body and answer any questions he may have. Should either of you need me,” she nodded to the men, “I will be in my chambers.” Then the prioress gestured to Anne to accompany her down the nuns’ choir to the private steps leading to her rooms.

  “Do you mean I am too kind when I offer wine after your trying encounter with our gentle crowner?”

  Anne gave her a faint smile. “It was not trying. I have known Ralf since childhood and understand the good heart under the dark looks and singular manner. No, I meant that you were kind to tolerate my outspokenness in front of you and Brother Thomas.”

  “I asked you to speak your mind.”

  “You asked me to tell what I saw, not what I had concluded.”

  Eleanor frowned. “I do not understand. Your observations and conclusions were astute. None of us noticed the details as you had, or put together the facts as well as you did. I must believe you made the crowner’s task easier.”

  Sister Anne looked away. “I must tell you that our late prioress found my ways arrogant and chastised me often for lack of humility.”

  Eleanor stopped and in silence looked up at the ceiling of the long choir. The simple triangular design of dark wooden braces and supports, repeated along the length of the pitched roof, was soothing in its geometrical certainty. If the minds of mortal men were so formed, as many believe they should be, we’d have no cause for dispute, she thought, then prayed briefly for greater wisdom than she possessed.

  “It is true that although we are made in the image of God, we must never forget we are flawed. In that, Prioress Felicia was right,” she said, “but to ignore inspired insight is also a sin. I saw no sin in your words. I saw unusual perception, a gift from God surely. Would my predecessor not have agreed?”

  “As you say, my lady.”

  Eleanor caught a fleeting smile of amusement on her companion’s face. Perhaps the older prioress had not appreciated the questioning intelligence and independent mind of the sub-infirmarian. These were not qualities that fit easily and amiably into a standard conventual life, but Eleanor had not grown up with meek and spiritless nuns at Amesbury. Sister Beatrice was not the only religious who believed mindless humility often suffered from its own form of sinful pride.

  As they continued their walk, Eleanor reached over and touched Anne’s sleeve. “Tell me why Sister Christina was put in charge of the hospital and you were made sub-infirmarian.” She asked the question not just for the information but to see how it was answered.

  “Sister Christina is ardent in her prayers for the sinful souls of the sick. Prioress Felicia said that it is sin that brings sickness to a person, and thus prayer for them is the most effective treatment for their disease. My herbs and potions treat only symptoms, not the cause. Indeed she felt I should pray more and spend less time with my secular treatments.”

  “And what did you think?”

  “Surely you do not expect me to contradict my superior!”

  “By your heated response, I must assume you did contradict her, in thought, if not in words.” Eleanor looked up at Anne. The woman’s eyes were as unblinking as those of a child awaiting chastisement for some misstep. Did she think Eleanor was trying to trap her into saying something for which she would be punished? Eleanor shook her head in answer if that was indeed the unspoken fear. “When I ask for honesty, I do not punish it even if I disagree with what I hear. Tell me, sister, what you really thought of her conclusion.”

  Sister Anne stood silently, her face averted. Then she turned and looked straight down into Eleanor’s eyes. “My lady, I have no desire to offend with my frankness and limited understanding. If I do so, I beg your pardon. To answer your question, I did not resent or disagree with Prioress Felicia’s decision. Sister Christina gives much comfort to the ailing with her prayers. The sick who come to us are frightened. They not only fear their own physical pain and the effect of their deaths on their families but they are also terrified about the fate of their souls. In comforting their souls, Sister Christina has often cured their bodies. This I have seen.”

  Eleanor nodded. “And?”

  “I have also seen the good effects of the remedies I was taught by my father. He was a physician and studied manuscripts brought back by those who had been to the Holy Land. Before his death, he was famous for his treatments.”

  “And he taught you, his daughter?”

  “Aye, my lady, he did.” Sister Anne smiled. “I loved to follow him and help whenever he would let me.” She measured a short distance from the floor with her hand. “When I was this tall, he let me grind herbs and make simple potions. He spoiled me, I fear.”

  Eleanor looked at the height of the nun’s hand, then glanced up at the top of her head. “You were young indeed to begin such learning!”

  For the first time, the laughter between the two women was comfortable.

  “I did interrupt you, sister.”

  “My lady, I work best with the physical body, but Sister Christina labors more effectively with man’s immortal soul. Since she is better at curing the sinful, it was wise of Prioress Felicia to choose her to head the hospital instead of me. I was, and I am, content.”

  “Then I shall make no changes, sister, at least for the time being. Someday you must tell me more about your father, however, and what he learned from the Holy Land.”

  The two had almost reached the top of the stone steps when the wooden door to the prioress’s chambers flew open, booming loudly as it crashed against the wall. A bright orange streak with a large, dark object gripped firmly in its mouth flashed by, just ahead of a swinging broom.

  “Shoo! Out! Begone!”

  The female voice behind the broom had a quite un-Norman, very local cadence to it.

  Eleanor put her hand on Sister Anne’s arm, cautioning her to stay where she was, then climbed the few remaining steps and stuck her head around the door.

  A short but sturdy-looking girl, of just marriageable age, with heavy blond hair twisted into two long braids, stood staring at her. She held a broom raised to strike in her hands.

  “You meant me, perchance?” Eleanor smiled.

  “I did not see you, my lady. Forgive me!” Flushed with apprehension and embarrassment, the young girl dropped the broom, lowered her eyes, and curtsied.

  “Fear not. I do not bite.”

  Eleanor stepped into the room and gestured to Sister Anne to follow.

  “What just passed us on the steps?” the prioress asked, glancing back down the dark passageway.

  “That wretched cat! Prioress Felicia hated him. Dirty, sneaky thing, she called him. He’d slip in when the door was open, then hide and drop mice at her bedside. She ordered me to drown him, but I could never catch…” The young woman blushed again and turned her head away, unable to finish an obv
ious lie.

  “Dead ones, I hope?”

  “My lady?”

  “He left only dead mice at her bedside?”

  “Aye. He’s a good hunter, he is.”

  “And your name, child?”

  “Gytha, from the village. I served Prioress Felicia.”

  “And well?”

  The girl straightened herself to full height and looked at Eleanor with pride. “I am honest, my lady. Neat and efficient.”

  “And you would serve me as well?”

  “If you’ll have me.” The girl then dropped her head and stared at the rush-covered floor.

  And if I won’t, your family will suffer, Eleanor thought. Even more than two hundred years after William the Great’s conquest of England, life for someone not of Norman descent was beset with trials, regardless of education or former status.

  “What complaints did Prioress Felicia have of you, Gytha?”

  “I sometimes forgot my place and spoke out of turn.”

  “And?”

  “She caught me feeding my dinner scraps to the cat.”

  Eleanor tried not to smile. “Do you not take direction well?”

  The girl hesitated. Her face was square, body lithe but strong, and her gaze was guileless. “In all but the matter of the cat.”

  “Then I must assume you had words together over the cat?”

  The girl’s blue eyes flashed with indignation. “A house of God is no place for killing, is what I said! She told me killing that filthy thing was against no law. But I couldn’t do it. I pretended I couldn’t catch him.” The look of outrage faded quickly and Gytha lowered her voice. “It really was hard to catch him, my lady. As you saw, he is very quick.”

  Eleanor sighed. “I think you would be a trial to one’s patience, child.”