The Twice-Hanged Man

by Priscilla Royal

  Suddenly, the merchant pointed to a person hurrying toward them. “I think that is a messenger for you.”

  “Brother Thomas,” the servant said, gasping for breath as he stopped in front of the monk, “Prioress Eleanor wishes you to return with me to the lodge. She has immediate need of your assistance.”

  His first thought was that Robert’s wife or their child had fallen ill, and he paled.

  “Go, Brother, and we can continue our discussion another time. My name is Lambard, if you wish to find me later. Everyone in the village can direct you to my house and shop. In the meantime, I shall offer my prayers for the Wynethorpe family.” His smile was both warm and sympathetic. “If medicine is required, I will send whatever is needed and, for the good of my soul, charge nothing.” He motioned to his wares.

  Feeling his face grow warm, Thomas thanked him and hurried off with the servant.

  Had he ever looked over his shoulder, he might have seen Lambard watching him with great interest.

  Chapter Five

  When Eleanor returned to the hall after her brief conversation with Sister Anne, she found Robert and Abbot Gerald engaged in a conversation that might politely be called a very one-sided one.

  The abbot spoke at a breathless pace. His hands drew great round circles in the air with evident passion.

  Robert watched in silence, arms folded and eyes narrowed.

  “Ah! You are back!” Abbot Gerald turned to the prioress, his eyes brightening with fresh enthusiasm. “I was hoping to…”

  “You were suggesting that you take my sister on a walk through the village to your abbey.” Robert interrupted with a rare sharpness.

  Even in her weary state, Eleanor knew that the two men were at swords’ points over something, and she was not willing to seek the reason or to kneel at their feet and beg tearfully for reconciliation as a woman was sometimes expected to do. Now that her sister-in-law was safely delivered and their anxious journey from the Marcher lands was over, she wanted sleep and was in no mood for the arduous demands of peacemaking. And that was something Robert should know, she thought with annoyance.

  “I welcome the opportunity, but I fear I may not take more than a very short walk.” She cast her brother a baleful glance. “Sister Anne will be leaving my sister-in-law’s side for a short while, and I will take her place. I must also speak with Brother Thomas.”

  “I shall come with you,” Robert said. “I have a matter to resolve in the village.” He ignored her angry look.

  The abbot nodded begrudging agreement, but his expression did not suggest defeat in whatever he had been so keen to promote.

  After calling for a woman servant to accompany her for propriety, Eleanor and her companions set off.

  The air was still brisk. The rain no longer threatened. Sunlight warmed the earth between the scudding clouds, and Eleanor was grateful. Her fatigue ebbed away, and she looked around at her surroundings with more interest than she had expected.

  The river between the lodge and village was narrow as was the small stone bridge that bent over it.

  “It is wide enough to get carts with supplies across to the lodge,” Robert said as he watched his sister mentally measuring it.

  She smiled at how well he often read her thoughts and nodded.

  The abbot bent to look around Robert at the prioress. “I was remiss in not asking how your journey was. Am I wrong in concluding that you were forced to leave because of some danger?”

  Usually, Eleanor could quickly decide how much to tell a questioner when many details might best be left out or were simply unnecessary. Her obvious hesitation annoyed her even though her fatigue was a reasonable cause.

  “We had heard tales that a large number of raiders were close to us,” she finally said, praying that her vagueness was not perceived as deliberate rudeness, “and my sister-in-law was near term. We deemed it wise to move to safer land.”

  “Of course! Baron Hugh must be with King Edward and sent you word.”

  Robert looked sharply at the abbot. “We do not know exactly where our brother is, nor do we know the location of the king.” His tone hinted that further questioning would not be tolerated.

  Abbot Gerald’s look suggested that he was not about to cooperate.

  Eleanor spoke before either of the men could continue. “I think I had better know more of this story about the hanged man whose spirit is haunting the village,” she said, “since you have asked my help in this matter.”

  “It is a simple enough tale.” Gerald sighed, signifying that he had conceded at least temporary defeat in whatever else he had in mind to present to Prioress Eleanor and her brother.

  They crossed the bridge and now turned into the road which became the main route through the village. So small was the village that the road was the only one of note and widened into a town square, now crowded with stalls for the market day.

  As she drew closer, Eleanor could see several paths that branched off from that road, although they were so narrow she could not see where most of them went. Behind the village was a thick forest that extended across the river where the lodge sat and became the baronial hunting lands.

  Eleanor pointed to a low rectangular tower of dark stone just beyond the busy market. “Is that the abbey?”

  “It is the church that serves the village and sits next to our abbey,” Gerald replied. “It is of great age, plain and small, but it is also where all the abbots are buried in the vault under the apse. The cemetery within our walls is for the monks and priests. The abbey chapel is tiny and was only intended for our own monastics to honor the Offices and for each man to pray alone when his spirit needs God’s comfort.”

  She nodded. “Now tell me the tale of the hanged man.”

  “We lie close enough to Marcher lands that some of these villagers are Welsh.”

  “As are you,” Robert added, and then looked at his sister.

  Gerald bristled. “Only half, my lord. My mother was Welsh but of high birth.”

  Eleanor concluded that her brother wanted her to know this for some reason, but she chose not to comment on the information. “Do continue,” she said to the abbot with deliberate gentleness.

  Like a wet dog, he shook himself. “The few Welsh here have always lived peacefully amongst us and never quarreled with English law or customs until recently. Such was true of this Hywel and his brothers. But Hywel became corrupted by the arrogance that infected those base men who call themselves princes, and he led a band of raiders to slaughter innocent English soldiers while they slept. When it became evident that Hywel might be arrested, he confessed to Sir William, a local knight and sheriff, and was given up for a fair and proper trial.”

  “Was the crime committed locally?”

  “Near enough. Just over that border.” He pointed to the northwest. “Methinks you crossed at the same location into England proper, for that is where this road goes from here.”

  Eleanor nodded. It was indeed the way she, her family, some armed men, and their small band of servants had come, but she had seen no details of the countryside in the darkness. All her eyes had strained to see were signs of the village which meant that the lodge and an easier birthing place for Elizabeth were nigh.

  “The evidence against him was clear. He was easily convicted and soon hanged.” He gestured to an area just beyond the village. “The gallows are on the low hill, at the boundary of the village and alongside the road. Do you see that passage next to the inn behind those stalls? That leads to the gallows.” He waved generally at the crowd.

  Eleanor squinted but could see nothing of the gallows. “When did the execution take place?”

  “Several weeks ago. I cannot recall the specific day. There were no saints to be honored or other celebrations to bring it to mind.” He frowned in thought for a moment more and then continued. “Sir William insisted Hywel’s two b
rothers accompany him to the hangman and lead him by the noose around his neck. This was meant as a warning to others of their race who might be inclined to a similar rebellion against English law.”

  Eleanor winced. The man might have been lawfully tried and convicted, but she felt a pang of sorrow for the suffering forced upon the brothers whose only apparent guilt was that of kinship. She often suspected there was a thin line between rightful punishment of a heinous crime and the added extreme of sinful cruelty.

  “His death was confirmed?” Eleanor knew it was a fair question. On rare occasion, a felon had not hanged long enough to choke to death and, after being cut down, had risen to his knees, gasping for air.

  “The hangman is experienced and knows the signs of death well enough. He even checked to make sure the brothers had not tampered with the noose. After Hywel had dangled for the proper length of time, the hangman let the brothers take the corpse for burial.” He shrugged. “I assume they found somewhere for it to rot. The villagers would never have allowed a traitor’s corpse to be buried amongst loyal subjects of the king.”

  “Was he allowed to see a confessor?” Even though a man who had murdered Englishmen was a despicable sinner, he could still confess, repent, and find some mercy with God. If this man called Hywel had spoken with a priest, what reason would his spirit have to wander about like a hellish thing and even kill?

  “Of course he did. It was Father Payn, but he was outraged because the brute refused to admit he had killed those men in their sleep. At the gallows, before Hywel was hauled up, our good priest told him he could not shrive him if he was not honest about all his sins, especially the most egregious one.”

  And it was Father Payn whom this ghost allegedly killed. Eleanor felt a shiver of unease as if the ghost himself had just brushed against her. “Were there many witnesses to the execution?”

  “Most of the village,” the abbot replied. “Should you wish to question anyone, no one will hesitate to assist. We all want this imp banished back to Hell.” He looked up and gestured happily toward the other walls that were more clearly visible behind the church. “Now you can see my abbey!”

  The stone wall that encircled the neighboring set of buildings was grim, austere, and black with damp. The aged and squat Romanesque-style church looked cheerful in comparison.

  Suddenly, Eleanor was struck with an unbearable yearning for Tyndal Priory. It was dour and simple too, but it was her home and she longed to be back within its walls. Unruly tears crested and rolled down her cheeks. Hoping that no one noticed this frailty, she swiped at them as if a rude insect had landed there.

  “You are weary, sister! Let me take you back to the lodge.” Robert gently took her arm and firmly directed her toward the woman servant who had dutifully followed them in silence.

  Eleanor did not argue. “Your wife needs me by her side,” she replied, then looked at the mournful abbot. He looked so desolate that she pitied him. “We shall talk again and soon. You have more to tell me about this matter, but I must also send off my two monastics to examine the corpse and find out what they are able to learn.” Her smile took effort but she wanted to be kind.

  He bowed to her with courtesy and mumbled polite phrases.

  Eleanor observed that he said nothing to her brother.

  Robert seemed not to care, but his lips twitched as if he were struggling not to betray a glee common to the victorious.

  And so the Wynethorpe siblings left the abbot and the village, returning across the stone bridge to their property and the shelter of the warm lodge. Although neither chose to speak, they could never remain at odds with each other for long. Their silence was companionable.

  Not long after, Brother Thomas also returned. Worried that something dire had occurred, he had outpaced the servant sent to bring him back to the lodge.

  Chapter Six

  Sister Anne and Brother Thomas stood at the entry to the abbey chapel and waited for the monk within to finish his prayers.

  “The servant should have told you that the pressing matter had nothing to do with the mother and babe,” she whispered. “I grieve that you suffered so needlessly.”

  Thomas gently shook his head to dismiss her worry. “I could have asked. But, when I learned the urgency involved a corpse to examine, I almost laughed. After our anxious flight from the manor, and fears for the health of Robert’s wife, I was oddly grateful that the new problem was just another dilemma for our prioress to solve.” He looked sad. “May God forgive me for that. I owe this poor dead man’s soul many prayers. He deserved more compassion than I just gave him.”

  She looked at him for a long moment with much tenderness. “Surely, God will not condemn you, Brother. Your heart is never cruel, and laughter is a sound we have rarely heard from you of late.” She waited, hoping for an explanation of his recent solemnity or at least a clue to it.

  Instead, Thomas turned toward the chapel door and nodded to the monk who was now approaching.

  “You have come from Prioress Eleanor?” The man addressed Brother Thomas and ignored Sister Anne except for a brief glance of disapproval.

  Thomas read his meaning with annoyance and replied, “Sister Anne is the sub-infirmarian at Tyndal Priory, famous throughout England for her knowledge of healing and causes of death. Although her expertise is essential in this matter, she will respect the priest’s body. I shall be the one to touch and view Father Payn’s corpse. Nonetheless, I must consult with Sister Anne. Surely, Abbot Gerald told you to let anyone from Prioress Eleanor examine the body.”

  “He said nothing about a nun, and the cause of death is clear. One of Satan’s imps killed him. Of course, you, Brother, may examine the earthly remains if it will help you vanquish this evil spirit.” He again shot a censorious look at the nun. “I see little reason for a nun to be present, and there will be little enough time for any consultation. Father Payn’s family will be here very soon, and burial must then occur quickly.” The monk squeezed his nostrils together. “The body is rotting into dust rather faster than usual, I fear. That is certain proof that the Devil was involved.”

  “We promise to be swift in the examination,” Thomas replied with gritted teeth. “It would be more efficient, however, if Sister Anne and I were both there should any question arise that requires her knowledge.”

  “I could summon our own infirmarian.”

  “It would take time to do so, and, as you said, the family will be here before long.”

  The monk bowed his head in defeat and gestured toward the door. “I shall remain close by lest the family arrive or you have need for me.”

  * * *

  In fact, the examination did not take long.

  As Sister Anne stood a respectful distance away, Thomas felt the priest’s head for any obvious wounds, checked the neck for bruising or fractures, looked into the eyes for anomalies, and examined the chest and back for indications of violence. As he did so, the sub-infirmarian whispered suggestions about what to look for and then considered the facts he relayed.

  When he had repositioned the body and covered it up to the neck for modesty, he turned to the nun. “I see nothing that points to murder, but you must at least look at his face. I fear I might have missed a subtlety.”

  Hearing the sound of people approaching the chapel door, Anne hurried to the corpse and stared down at the face with intense concentration.

  “His lips are still frozen in a grimace,” she said, then bent to look at his cheeks, lips, and quickly looked under the covering at his hands. “He has been dead too long for any informative color to remain. Decay has been rapid, and that hides clues to what might have caused his death.” She frowned. “His face is purplish, and his fingertips are gray. I wish we had seen his body soon after death. These signs could have been his natural coloring in life.”

  “What do you think?”

  She swiftly retreated away from the
body as the voices came nearer. “There are no signs of a struggle. He is not a young man. Unless there are details we do not have time to discover, I would have to conclude the death was natural.”

  A loud wail erupted from a woman standing in the entry.

  The two monastics glanced at each other, then hurried out of the chapel.

  “The family,” the abbey monk said, his hands fluttering helplessly. “Brother.” He pointed to the man. “And sister.” He nervously shifted one finger to the woman.

  “Come with me, daughter,” Sister Anne said to the sobbing woman. “We shall pray together by the body of Father Payn, and God shall bring you comfort.” Then the sub-infirmarian gently led her into the chapel.

  “Summon the abbot,” Thomas suggested.

  The monk nodded gratefully and vanished.

  Thomas turned to the priest’s brother. “Is it best to leave your sister…?”

  The man grasped the monk’s sleeve. “I need to speak with you first.” His speech was rough with emotion.

  Thomas suggested they step further away from the chapel entrance.

  The man looked around, his eyes round with fear. “My sister knows none of this, but I live in terror for my brother’s soul! He was a wicked man.”

  “We are all mortal and thus sinful.” For once, Thomas was glad his own troubles gave these routine phrases the greater force of conviction.

  “You misunderstand, Brother. Perhaps you did not know him well? I imagine there are many religious here.”

  Deciding there was no reason to tell the man that he was not a monk of this abbey, Thomas simply nodded.

  Father Payn’s brother tugged so hard on the monk’s sleeve that it might have ripped had it been made of cheaper cloth. “He died with all his sins upon him. I know he was coming back from riding his whore when he died. He has been breaking his vows with her for years!”