Satan's Lullaby

by Royal, Priscilla

  The crowner raised another finger to the lay brother and mouthed his promise that this question would be his last. “Other than the ghost that was urging you forward, did you hear anything else? Any sound at all?”

  “Only the wind.” Renaud’s voice was weak.

  “Enough,” the lay brother said and waved the men away. “You will have time after the sun rises to ask more. The lad needs rest.”

  Ralf agreed and turned away. As he passed by Conan, he grabbed him by the arm and pulled him along beside him.

  Together and in silence, the two men left the hospital.

  As they entered the courtyard leading to the priory main entrance, Ralf stopped and loosened his grip on the captain’s arm.

  Conan turned to face him, his lips curled in a sneer. “You are fortunate that I respect the king’s men, Crowner. Were it otherwise, you would be missing a hand by now.”

  Ralf ignored that. “Why were you at the guest quarters and not in your bed at the inn?”

  “Because it is my duty to safeguard this French priest and his mewling clerks. Davoir believes that God will protect him from all evil. Being a man most likely destined to entertain the Prince of Darkness for all eternity instead of the Prince of Peace, I put my faith in a sharp sword rather than wafting prayers. If this man, destined for a bishopric and beloved by the French king’s brother, were harmed, our English king might have a war on his hands. I doubt he fancies that idea while he is away, taming the Welsh.” His laugh resembled a growl.

  “You have gone there every night?”

  “Every night, Crowner.” Conan bent forward and murmured. “And why have you had me followed? Are you really the king’s man or in league with another?”

  Ralf came within a heartbeat of striking the man but drew back. It would not help matters if he lost his temper. If Conan was involved in Jean’s death and responsible for Renaud’s attack, Ralf needed indisputable proof. If the man were honest, he could help the crowner solve Jean’s murder. Either way, there was no doubt the captain was clever and not an easy man to trick into confession.

  But the crowner had one more issue to resolve and laid his hand back on his sword hilt when he asked the question. “Why did you not report the death of the one of your men on the journey to Tyndal?”

  Conan looked surprised, then shook his head. “It was not a matter worthy of your interest, Crowner.”

  “I should be the judge of that.”

  Noticing Ralf’s hand on his sword hilt, Conan raised his own hand and placed it against his heart. “The explanation is a long one, but I pray that the simple version will satisfy you. Need I remind you that I command this company of military guards under the authority of the king, and, as such, I determine the action required if a crime is committed?”

  “I understand.”

  “When I was in Wales, this particular soldier was accused of the mutilation and rape of several young women.” Conan shrugged. “There were probably witnesses to his crimes, but those men may have joined him in his acts or else feared his wrath if they spoke against him. Only the Welsh kin of the women gave testimony. The man’s commander decided that the charges against the soldier could not be proved. When I was chosen to lead the company on this journey, I discovered that this soldier would be under my command. I objected, but my plea was rejected. The man had friends.”

  “Hell spawn,” Ralf said, his voice low with fury.

  “On the way to this priory, I noticed that the soldier often rode beside the clerk, Jean, but I found no cause to intervene. When we arrived at an inn, I overheard him tell the youth to meet him in the stable early the following morning and he would show him something wondrous. Noting the youth’s feminine face and soft body, I feared ill intent.”

  Ralf nodded.

  “I have given my oath to protect this company of French liegemen so rose early myself lest the clerk need assistance.” He stopped and studied the crowner for a moment before continuing. “Imagine my surprise, indeed my relief, when I found the soldier dead.”

  “And who killed him?” Ralf asked, then wondered if he truly wanted to know.

  “One, it seems, who wished justice rendered. The soldier’s crimes were known to many, even if no one had spoken in support of the violated and tortured Welshwomen. We fight against their men in honorable combat, Crowner. What he did made angels and saints weep.”

  For a long moment, both men looked at each other without speaking.

  “Are you finished questioning me?’ Conan finally said and gestured toward the entrance gate.

  With only a slight hesitation, Ralf stepped aside.

  Conan walked out of the priory and back toward the village.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Gracia opened the door to the prioress’ audience chamber.

  Davoir strode in.

  Seated in her carved wooden chair, Eleanor held her staff of office, an unequivocal symbol of her leadership over Tyndal Priory.

  On her right side stood Brother Thomas, on the left Crowner Ralf.

  “We have just received word that your clerk, Renaud, has regained consciousness,” she announced in a gentle voice, “and has suffered no significant harm.”

  The priest nodded once, his body rigid and his expression replete with disapproval over the presence of the two men. The news of his clerk’s recovery did not merit even a blink of interest.

  Eleanor tried not to judge him for his lack of compassion, but, to her knowledge, he had neither gone to his clerk’s side nor sent anyone on his behalf. She suspected that the first positive word he had received about the condition of his wounded clerk was what she had just relayed. As hard as she struggled not to condemn, she could not completely set aside her conclusion that he owned a stone heart.

  His expression almost luminous with disdain, the priest folded his hands into a prayerful attitude, raised his chin, and cleared his throat. “I have decided that you are not fit to rule this priory,” he announced. “Although you will be treated with courtesy, I shall now take your place.” He stepped forward with his hand outstretched to take the staff from her hands.

  “Indeed?” Eleanor swallowed her fury at his presumption and kept her tone even. “Although I choose to believe you spoke those words without malice or intent to defame the king who appointed me to my position here, I find your words offensive and, of course, refuse to comply.”

  He reddened. “You have no right to contradict me. My clerks, if needed, will lock you away as we have your wicked sub-infirmarian.”

  Ralf stepped forward.

  Eleanor murmured something, and he stopped. She turned back to the priest. “Your authority in this investigation lies in discovery of wrongdoing and the offering of recommendations to our abbess in Anjou. When we last spoke, you said you had found no fault with Tyndal, other than some minor repairs, all of which we had planned to correct. Apart from your conviction that Sister Anne killed Jean, an unproven accusation, you have given me no reason to believe that Tyndal is in such fearful peril that you must take extraordinary measures beyond your authority.” She tilted her head and smiled. That expression might have been benign, but her eyes flashed with contempt for his arrogance.

  He stiffened. “You allowed an incompetent woman to treat my clerk. She killed him out of ignorance or spite.”

  “Unproven and thus irrelevant,” Thomas said.

  “Silence!” the priest roared.

  “I have given him permission to speak, and he shall.” Eleanor voice remained calm.

  “You both are the Devil’s creatures, filthy with lust and rotten with sin!”

  “Other than an allegation from an unnamed source, have you any proof that this tale is true?” Eleanor held her breath for just a moment and silently prayed.

  The room filled with a silence that was as heavy as the air before a summer storm.

  Davoir
began to sway as if suddenly faint, and he put a hand over his face.

  At a sign from the prioress, Thomas brought a chair for the priest and helped him to sit.

  “Jean is dead. Renaud was attacked trying to protect me. My life is surely in danger. You cannot protect me. No woman could,” he mumbled.

  “Again, Father, I ask whether or not the accusation against Brother Thomas and me has been proven.”

  “No,” he muttered. “All hold you both in the highest regard.”

  Briefly, Eleanor shut her eyes in gratitude. “Then you have no cause to remove me from the leadership of this priory.”

  He slammed his fist down on the chair arm. “You have failed to safeguard my clerks!”

  “You have failed to allow anyone to properly protect you,” Ralf snapped.

  “This is God’s earth! Armed men have no right to be here,” the priest replied, half rising to his feet.

  “And your clerks failed when they tried to use prayer as you insisted,” Ralf said. “Tell me how that proves you should wrest the priory from its proper leader and take over yourself.”

  Davoir’s face turned blood red.

  Eleanor bent toward the crowner, said something only the two of them could hear, and again faced the priest. “Father Etienne, you and I agree that the Church rules over this priory. We also agree that your two clerks have suffered violence, one fatal and one not.” She studied him for an instant and noted that his high color was fading. “You have also exonerated Brother Thomas and me from the vile accusations hurled at us.” She waited.

  “I have found no evidence that the allegations are true, but I have not yet questioned everyone…”

  “Have you spoken with Sub-Prioress Ruth?”

  He nodded with evident reluctance.

  “Surely you know that King Henry, as a boon to my father for his loyalty, sent me to lead this priory, although Tyndal had already chosen Sister Ruth, as she was then, to be their prioress.” Surely he did, she thought, but it was a fact that bore repeating.

  He mumbled concurrence.

  “She has good cause to resent that decision by our king, but Sub-Prioress Ruth is God’s most devoted servant.” She smiled. “She and I rarely agree, but I chose her as my sub-prioress over all others because of her competence and honor. If anyone would tell you of my failings, including the breaking of my vows, she would be honest enough to do so.”

  “And she has not,” the priest replied, once again slumping in his chair. The admission had obviously and deeply distressed him. “She defended your virtue and that of Brother Thomas with fervor.” Unable to look at either monk or prioress, he turned his face away.

  “Then let us agree that you have no cause to remove me from my position as head of Tyndal…”

  “That statement in support of your innocence aside, I still do! You are a weak woman…”

  She raised her hand. “Please let me finish, Father. You have not questioned all those whom you would like. That is understood, but you have yet to discover any proof that would suggest my guilt.” She hesitated for a moment, then continued. “Regarding the attacks against your clerks, I am obliged to protect all guests here from assault. We may debate which of us was the most negligent in this tragedy, but such an argument is futile when swift action is needed to catch a killer.”

  “Action is what I require,” Davoir growled.

  She ignored his tone. “I believe we agree that we must find a method to do this without the use of swords.”

  The priest blinked.

  “I wish to make the situation perfectly clear,” Ralf said, returning the prioress’ subtle nod at him. “Jean was murdered. You accused Sister Anne of this. Renaud was subsequently struck down. This attack could not have been done by the sub-infirmarian. It is my suspicion that you are the ultimate target for this violence. Even if you are not, you could still be in danger. Your other clerks have not been troubled in their duties, and they sleep in the monks’ dormitory where they are far safer. You, however…” He shrugged as if suggesting the final conclusion was obvious.

  “This sub-infirmarian may have a host of imps under her control, those who are eager to turn suspicion away from her.” The priest’s voice shook.

  “According to the lay brother who treated Renaud, the blow was a heavy one, not a woman’s light tap. For that reason, we can eliminate the possibility that the assailant was a nun or lay sister,” Ralf said. “When I questioned your clerk, he believed he had seen a ghost beckoning him, a shade that bore a man’s shape. I spoke with Prior Andrew. He knows his monks and lay brothers. He did not see any empty dormitory beds or notice anyone missing at an Office. Although this is not absolute proof that no monk or lay brother could be guilty of attacking Renaud, Prior Andrew’s testimony suggests that the men in Tyndal are innocent.”

  Davoir’s eyes still flashed with annoyance, but his hot fury had muted. “Then what do you suggest?”

  Ralf did not hesitate. “Allow the priory to free Sister Anne.”

  Seeing the high color return to the priest’s cheeks, Eleanor winced. Although she longed to release her friend from her narrow cell, she knew she had to lead this reluctant priest to that decision slowly. Patience came hard, but the desire for a complete victory over this man made it easier. She asked the crowner to remain silent.

  “You are probably safe in the company of your many clerks during the day,” she said to Davoir in a conciliatory tone. “At night, we must provide you with a proper guard and preferably set a trap for the guilty man. If we can catch him, we will end this chain of tragedies and bring justice to the dead and injured.”

  “No weapons,” Davoir replied.

  Eleanor was pleased that he had accepted the basic plan. “I agree in principle,” she said, “and believe the plan would not require several armed guards. I do fear that one sharp sword is advisable, lest the killer be armed himself or the man fall under the jurisdiction of the king’s law.”

  Davoir scowled. “God will protect us here.”

  “And He often does that by urging us to use the sagacity He gave us. Although I would not want more than one sword, two at most, I have learned that our crowner only uses his when God gives him no other choice. He would be the one chosen to carry the weapon, a sword which was once blessed on our altar.”

  Ralf instantly stared at his feet with apparent humility. Only the prioress knew how shocked he was to learn that anything of his had been on the priory altar.

  Davoir’s eyes shifted unhappily as he tried to find grounds to reject this idea. Finally, he sighed. “Very well.”

  Eleanor tried not to betray her joy. “You may, of course, continue to question all whom you wish during the day in the continuation of your investigation. I would advise you to keep several of your clerks with you at all times.”

  He nodded.

  Ralf whispered a request to the prioress. When she agreed, he asked, “Do your clerks have any enemies? I apologize for this next question, but I must know. Is there anyone who might wish you ill?”

  For the first time since his initial roars of outrage, Father Etienne gave some indication of cooperation. “My clerks are virtuous and have no enemies, other than some who might envy them. But I can think of no one who would let resentment morph into murder.” He looked up at the ceiling for a moment. “As for myself, I have been shown great favor by King Philip and his brother. Even more honor awaits me on my return home. As all men are sinners, there will be those who wish me ill. But I can think of none who so hate me that they would endanger their souls by killing me.”

  Ralf was not confident about that. He found the man reprehensible, an opinion he was wise enough not to express.

  “Do you agree to set a trap for this creature that has killed one of your clerks and injured another?” Prioress Eleanor opted for a mollifying tone. Her own position and authority once again secure, she
believed it tactful to offer the priest a choice. “It will be done at night.”

  “I do, if I must,” Davoir replied, but his gaze remained on the ceiling as if hoping God might offer a better option.

  With a sideways glance at Brother Thomas, she said, “Then let us plan it now.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Gracia stood outside the hospital trying to decide how to help her mistress in this matter of the autumn crocus jar without actually disobeying her commands. Were she still dwelling on the streets of Walsingham, she would have done whatever she deemed necessary, but she had a home again, different concerns, and others to consider. Dwelling in a priory was no different from residing with any family. There were rules.

  But after her family had died and she was left to subsist by her own wits, she could no longer afford the habits or practices that the well-fed and warmly clothed deemed immutable. Survival demanded different precepts, and those lessons remained useful, even if they must be modified. In this matter of the clerk’s murder, all she had to do was look beyond the obvious, recognize the perfect opportunity to assist Prioress Eleanor, and not do anything foolish.

  That opportunity presented itself.

  “Sister Christina,” Gracia cried out and quickly rushed to the infirmarian’s side. “You look troubled. May I help in some way?”

  The nun stopped and squinted. “Gracia,” she said, her face softening as she recognized the girl’s voice.

  Gracia took Christina’s arm. Although Sister Anne was kind, the girl sometimes felt intimidated by her gravity and well-honed intelligence. With the gentle, extremely near-sighted infirmarian, Gracia felt only affection. “I was going to the hospital. If you were as well, may I accompany you?” While she would willingly take the nun wherever she wished, Gracia fervently hoped the planned destination was the apothecary hut.

  “Sub-Prioress Ruth sent me to seek Sister Oliva, my child. Do you know where I might find her?”