The north wind swept through the priory grounds, lashing the sea mist into razor-sharp swirls. Thomas pulled his cloak closer to his body. He had heard tales of northern lands covered in eternal ice. Today, he believed them.
Why had he decided he must make this effort? His treated knife wound still ached. Other monks were huddled around a warming fire in the Calefactory while his tonsure grew numb with the cold despite the hood over his head. But as he pressed against the wind he knew he had little choice. Some matters should be left to God for resolution. As his prioress said, this was not one of them.
Peering through the fog, he still could not distinguish any outline of the hospital even with its dark stone. In fact, he could only see a few feet in front of him on the path. At least he knew Sister Anne would soon be back at the apothecary hut, treating the suffering with her gentle touch and keen insights. That brought warmth to his heart, and the cold retreated just a little.
As the path curved, Thomas stopped, uncertain of his direction, and then realized he had taken the wrong turn. Instead of going to the hospital, he was walking to the main gate. Through the mist, he could just recognize the dim shape of the priory walls. Sighing, he decided he could find another way from the gate back to the hospital with ease. He certainly had no wish to retrace his steps in this bitter wind.
As he approached the gate, the fog suddenly thinned, and he noticed a party of men milling about. In that group, Thomas saw the one he had come to find. Picking up his pace, he hurried toward the man.
Philippe saw the monk coming toward him. He looked around as if seeking a way to escape, then grew still, his shoulders hunched with resignation. “You are seeking me,” he said as Thomas reached his side. The words were a statement of fact, not a question.
“And I believe you know the reason,” Thomas replied, keeping his voice low so those nearby could not overhear.
“Shall we step further away, Brother? These men are pilgrims on the way to Canterbury. I would not have them distracted from their pious intent by the tale of my unique wickedness.”
“You expected to flee, hidden in their midst?” Thomas kept close to the man, although he had no great fear that the man would run off.
“I had meant to join them.” Philippe’s smile was thin-lipped. “There is a difference.”
Thomas said nothing.
The man stared longingly at the pilgrims he had planned to accompany. His eyes lost the little hope they had briefly owned.
“Why did you attack the priest’s clerk that night?” Thomas kept his voice low although he knew the fog muffled speech.
“I came to kill the priest.” Philippe’s reply was equally muted. “I did tell the truth about blood being the purpose for my journey here when you last asked, Brother. I failed to mention that it was blood I wished to shed.”
The monk folded his arms and waited.
“You are a man, Brother. In the days before you took vows, did you ever wish to kill another?”
Of course he had, both before and after he took his enforced vows, but Thomas knew that did not matter. Only his acknowledgement of understanding did, and so he nodded once.
“We all do, I fear, but I did not know that there is a great difference between longing to do the deed, even planning it, and actually striking the blow.”
With growing interest, Thomas encouraged him to go on.
“I came here under the guise of being a pilgrim, walking to Canterbury in expiation of my many sins.” Philippe rubbed at his eyes. “Surely it is blasphemy to go on pilgrimage with the intention of committing murder. I did not think of that when I began my journey, but heated and willful obsessions blind us.”
“You would not be the first to commit that sin,” the monk replied as the events in Walsingham last year flooded his memory.
“After I had obtained a bed in the hospital, I decided to search the apothecary hut for a poison I could use to kill the priest.” He shrugged. “My hope was to slip something lethal into Father Etienne’s food.” His laugh was a brittle thing. “I must thank you for catching me there, Brother. I think you brought God with you, for my eyes were opened slightly and I saw how foolish I had been to plan such a deed. I realized I could never come close enough to the priory kitchen, or to the lay brother who brought the meals, unless I wished to injure an innocent. My heart held no passion for that crime.”
“Yet you struck the priest’s clerk.”
“With a very light blow. The youth lived. I saw him leave the hospital with his master after a brief stay. I now believe that God stayed my hand and allowed that clerk to take the blow in order to save his master’s life.”
And later try to kill the priest himself, Thomas thought sadly, but this information was also irrelevant to the man from Picardy. “We shall return to that,” the monk said. “Go back in time with your tale. Did you know that Jean, the clerk, had died?”
“I did and that perplexed me. My fear was that someone else had arrived with a deep grievance and accidentally poisoned the clerk instead of the priest. Yet I knew of no one with a cause as terrible as mine, and so I assumed the clerk had been felled by a swift fever with no earthly cure.” He hesitated. “Then I heard a rumor that his death was not from a fever but a deadly herb.” He began to shake. “I swear I had nothing to do with the lad’s death, Brother. On the cross I give my word.”
“Nor do I accuse you. The killer has confessed.”
Philippe looked hopeful that the monk would elaborate.
The monk shook his head. “You have not told me the reason for following Father Etienne here with this murderous intent. After you have explained that, I want to hear how you pursued your desire, after you rejected poison as the means, and yet failed to accomplish it.”
Philippe again looked into the fog at the ghostly figures of the gathering pilgrims. “My brother was once a clerk to Father Etienne, his most favored clerk in fact. But my brother fell from grace when it was discovered that he had a weakness for female flesh. Although he fought against it, he needed help to gain the strength to resist, a gift he dared not beg from his master. Father Etienne may be flawed like all mortals, but women have never tempted him, and he has no tolerance for men who copulate. My brother would have been banished in disgrace just for the sin of craving the act. Instead, he was caught in a brothel, dragged before his master, and mocked for his frailty.”
“And sent away from the grace of his master’s smile.”
“To a poor parish, filled with whores, to whom he administered the compassion he had never received. Some might say the appointment was a blessing, for he lost all lust and was able to counsel the women in chaste encounters. But he ate little and drank only water until he grew too weak and fell victim to a plague that killed him slowly and in great agony.”
Thomas suffered enough from weakness of the flesh, although mostly in his dreams. He shook his head, not in condemnation of the dead man, but out of profound sympathy.
“I blamed Father Etienne for his lack of charity. I saw him as my brother’s murderer.”
“And for that you chose to follow him here.”
“And kill him, Brother, without the chance for confession, with all his sins festering in his soul. I wanted him to go to Hell.”
The Church could not condone that, Thomas thought, for all mortals had the right to cleanse their souls before death. And yet he heard an insistent voice from his heart suggest that this favored priest might never recognize his harshness as a sin and never confess the wickedness. With such an inadequate confession, the man would certainly suffer longer in Purgatory. The image did not trouble him unduly, nor was this the first time he had felt this way about those he thought cruel.
Shaking the image from his mind, he continued. “After you learned of Jean’s death, you were seen spying on the guest quarters.”
“Something was not right, and I became curious. O
ne of the lay brothers said the sub-infirmarian had been arrested for killing the lad, and yet there was talk of setting a guard for the priest. If she had been locked away or the lad had only died of a fever, I asked myself, why have a guard? Then I worried that the priest had learned of my arrival. He knew I had sworn to kill him after the death of my brother. Had he seen and recognized me?”
“He had not,” Thomas said.
“I concluded I must swiftly act if I was to achieve my desire and even escape before the deed was discovered. That night, I found the gate to the guest quarters unlocked so eagerly slipped in. When I saw that only Renaud patrolled, I knew I had my best chance. As quietly as possible, I followed the clerk and waited for the right moment. When he stopped to peer into the shrubbery, I struck him down.”
“You might have accomplished your intent, had you entered the chambers after hitting Renaud. The priest would surely have been asleep and most assuredly alone.” The monk did not mention that Conan had been close by and might have caught him in the act. It was this man’s failure to proceed that interested Thomas. “What stopped you from entering the guest quarters and killing the priest?”
“God took mercy on my soul and his. As I looked on the fallen clerk, I knew I had only rendered him unconscious. If I did not kill him, he might awaken and raise the hue and cry. May God forgive my evil heart! I raised my hand for the fatal blow, but my hand inexplicably faltered and slipped to my side. I knew I would be unable to crack open his skull and sent him for judgement. Like Saint Paul on the road to Damascus, I fell to the ground as if the hand of God had struck me. It was then I heard a voice telling me that murder is an act beloved by Satan, one forbidden by the Commandments and abhorred by Him. I rose and fled the grounds.”
And in that moment Thomas believed God had spoken to the man whose eyes were glazed with the wonder he had experienced. The monk waited to hear what more this would-be assassin might say.
Philippe covered his eyes as if he could no longer bear what they now saw. “My brother feeds worms in his grave, whether or not I kill the priest. Were I to plunge a dagger into Father Etienne’s heart as reprisal, I would still never hold my brother in my arms again. I would only add the horror of my crime to the pain of loss. How could I live with the understanding that I had willingly committed a great wickedness and was no better than the man I hated? Revenge is not the balm for grief. At least my brother was shriven of his sins before he died. God has said that such men will not suffer the agonies of Hell.”
“And the suffering he endured on earth may also cut short his time in Purgatory.”
“I confess that I still can not forgive Father Etienne for what he did to my brother. May God give me the strength to do so! But He did stop me from committing an act that would never heal my heart and would only add to the chains which may yet drag me down to Hell.”
“Father Etienne must face God’s judgement for the sins he has committed against your brother and others.”
“Henceforth, I shall try to find peace in that, but I fear he will never see his condemnation of my brother as the heartlessness it was.”
Thomas remained silent about his own condemnation of the priest’s soul. Instead, he smiled approval for the man’s resolution. “And so you fled the quarters to avoid killing the priest.”
“And went back to the hospital chapel where I lay prostrate before the altar, weeping and begging God to show me how to expiate my sins.”
“Did He answer your prayer?”
“His reply came from the quiet flickering of a candle.” Philippe gestured at the men close by. “That small group of penitents had just arrived on their way to Canterbury and had been given mats next to mine on which to sleep one night. I was to join them in their journey, but this time I must do so as a true pilgrim. After which, I might return home to my wife and children. Holy vows are not my calling, but my wife has long urged me to give more of the income from my trade to the poor. As I rose from my knees, I could hear my wife’s joyous cry when I returned from Becket’s shrine and announced that I would follow her pious advice and found a small hospital, based on what I had seen here, for the sick and dying poor.”
Thomas solemnly nodded. “But now I keep you from your devout journey and holy purpose.”
“I conclude that is God’s will, Brother. The innocent clerk meant only to protect his master and did nothing to merit the wound I gave him. It is only just that you take me to the crowner for punishment.”
Thomas quietly looked at this man but found the struggle to decide what was best easier than he had imagined.
Philippe had folded his hands and meekly waited for the monk to lead him off to chains and the king’s justice.
“Go to Canterbury,” Thomas said and pointed to the other penitents waiting for the fog to lift so they could commence their travel on the road to a saint’s tomb. “There is no reason for you to remain here.” With a brief blessing, he walked away.
Had Thomas looked back, he would have seen Philippe fall to his knees, his arms raised to heaven, and his heart filled with astounded gratitude.
Chapter Thirty-five
Although the sea mist had finally dissipated, the earth remained wet with its tears. Multicolored leaves, once proudly announcing the rich harvest in the priory orchard, lay on the ground, dull with mold and rotting into the soil. The chill, eager to herald the coming months of bitter cold, lingered in the air. It was that time when men’s souls grow fearful, for the dark season is when Death most loves to garner souls.
Brother Thomas and Prioress Eleanor were not part of that tremulous multitude. As they approached the courtyard inside the main gate, their expressions spoke of keen anticipation.
“Have you received any news?’ he asked.
The prioress nodded. “Nute was chosen to be the messenger for Gytha’s travail. He has confirmed that Sister Anne arrived at the manor and immediately ordered Ralf out of the house. After she had examined Gytha, she sent Signy outside long enough to announce that our sub-infirmarian was pleased with the progress of the child’s birth.” Eleanor smiled. “The crowner is sweating drops the size of crossbow bolts. Nute said that Ralf had even fallen to his knees in prayer at least once.”
Thomas looked surprised. “If Ralf is doing that on a day that is neither a Sunday nor a feast day, he is truly frightened.”
“Our crowner may growl and sputter about the Church, but he tithes faithfully,” she replied with a smile. “And he may not attend Mass every Sunday, but he most certainly can recite all of the Seven Deadly Sins.”
“His wife may help him forget a few of those,” Thomas replied with a lighter heart, then grew solemn. “Sister Anne is certain there is no problem with the birthing?”
“I did not want to postpone Nute’s return to the manor with questions he could not answer, but I am confident that our beloved Gytha is doing well. Before Sister Anne sent the boy to us, she urged him to emphasize that Gytha was having as easy a time as any woman could with birth pains.” The prioress looked quickly behind her as if hoping to see the lad arrive with word that the babe had been born and all was well. “Nute vowed to come to the priory every time there was news.”
“After we wish Godspeed to our abbess’ brother, I beg leave to go to the manor and help Ralf through this time. Men may not give birth, but it would be a heartless husband who did not weep when he heard his wife scream with pain. Ralf cherishes Gytha, and he recently asked me if God minded the curses he gave Eve for burdening good women with such agony just because their foremother couldn’t resist a pretty apple.” Thomas grinned. “I told him God might condemn him if he didn’t.”
Looking at him with fondness, Eleanor said, “You would have been a good husband had you chosen another calling.” Then she flushed with embarrassment and quickly added, “Of course you must give comfort to our dear friend. I would suggest you leave now, but we both must see Father Etienne off.
” She grimaced at the very thought of the man. “I need your strength to prevent me from saying something I should not.”
“My lady, it is your strength I shall need not to forget my vows and strike him.”
At that, they both laughed.
“Fear not, my lady,” he said. “I have never regretted my oaths, although they are not always easy to obey.” Those were words he would not have meant years ago when he was forced to take the vows, but they had become true since—with one unsettling exception.
Although he no longer mourned the loss of the man he had once deeply loved, he now found he often thought of Durant, a wine merchant he had met in Walsingham. Surely the cause was Gytha’s pregnancy, he decided, for Durant had spoken of the longing he and his wife had for a child. When Thomas and the wine merchant last parted, the monk had given him a blessing and added his prayers that the union between husband and wife would be fruitful. A babe would bring much joy to Durant, he thought, and wondered again if God had heard his plea.
“Not once have I doubted your devotion,” the prioress replied, then paused. “Before we see Father Etienne, you should tell me the details of your recent meeting with the man from Picardy. Was he interested in our honored guest?”
It was Thomas’ turn to blush as he prayed Prioress Eleanor would never discover his longing for a man’s love. To hide his face, he bowed his head and told her the tale of Philippe as well as the reason for letting the man go. “I beg forgiveness for doing this without consulting you,” he said.
She stopped and looked up at him, her gray eyes warm. “We often think as one in serving God, Brother. Had you sought advice, I would have agreed that justice was best honored by letting the man expiate his sins as he wished. Perhaps God did enlighten him on how murder blights the mortal soul. Despite the Commandments, many try to distinguish between righteous and sinful killing, an often confusing difference.” She sighed. “Our world has become so violent. Under King Henry, we had longer periods of peace, but his son has changed that.”
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