A Killing Season (2 page)

Chapter Two

Prioress Eleanor clutched her mazer of sweet mulled wine closer to her chest. If only her hands would stop shaking from the cold, she thought and bent her head forward to sip.

Standing on the other side of the Great Hall hearth, Sir Hugh stared into the leaping flames, lost in thought as if pondering the nature of fire. A burning log cracked, scattering bright sparks around his feet. The prioress’ brother did not flinch.

A grey-bearded servant scuffled toward them, paused at a respectful distance, and bowed.

Eleanor glanced at Hugh but he seemed oblivious to the man’s presence. “We desire nothing more,” she said.

The servant’s eyes brightened as if grateful for the dismissal. Bowing again, he departed. The bottom of his shoes grazed the rushes as if he did not have the strength to step higher.

Slowly, the fire’s warmth began to penetrate into her bones. Eleanor relaxed her tight grip on the mazer and studied the profile of her silent brother. Hugh had changed since he sailed for Outremer with Lord Edward. Although he bore few observable battle scars, the once pink-faced lad, possessed of irrepressible enthusiasm, was now a hollow-cheeked man with changeable moods.

She shut her eyes. When he first retuned, she heard him tell entertaining stories about his journey home from Acre, tales that provoked much laughter and not a little awe at table. Then she had looked into his eyes and saw a soul draped in mourning.

Footsteps from the outer corridor shattered the musings of both brother and sister.

A lean young man strode through the doorway.

Sir Hugh blinked, then offered a fleeting smile.

There is less warmth and more caution in that look, Eleanor noted, before turning to greet the arrival.

“I came to beg forgiveness for our rude greeting.” The youth bowed to the prioress and ignored the knight. “I am Raoul, youngest son of Baron Herbert.” He shrugged. “Or perhaps I should say youngest but advancing in rank with unseemly speed.”

“The Prioress of Tyndal.” Hugh gestured with courtesy toward his sister, and then hesitated with evident confusion. “I am Hugh of Wynethorpe, a friend of your father. He and I were close companions in Outremer.”

Raoul responded with a barely civil nod before turning his attention back to Eleanor. “I speak for all my family in welcoming you here. Your prayers on our behalf are sorely needed.”

“We are much grieved by the unfortunate accident. The man who fell…” Hugh spread his hands.

“Gervase? He had become the heir to our father’s fortune, the second son of five. To his parents’ grief, he learned today that God did not intend for him to fly.” Raoul scratched at some faint bristles on his chin. His expression shifted between amusement and unease. “The current heir, Umfrey, has now locked himself in the family chapel. I think he would have been happy enough to become the family’s oblate to the Church. To his grief, that role falls to me while my prayerful brother shall be obliged to learn how to wield a sword.” His tone was jesting, his look impudent. “Perhaps your timely arrival means I am destined to find a monk’s cell at Tyndal Priory.”

Eleanor swallowed a sharp retort. “I shall bring God’s comfort to your father and mother as well as prayers,” she replied, choosing to respond only to the request for her pleas to God. The youth’s demeanor was somewhat impertinent, but grief and shock often produced strange, inappropriate reactions. Some wept at the news of a loved one’s death, others might laugh, but this was the first time she had met a man who considered a brother’s horrible death as little more than an inconvenient change in his own vocation.

“I’m told my father is with the corpse. My mother is in her chamber with our cousin, Leonel.” Raoul pointed upward. “The dead one may have been her favorite, or so I have heard. I am amazed that you cannot hear her wailing.” He shrugged. “Leonel will have found a way to comfort her. He could soothe a soul on the way to Hell.”

Raoul might be the Benjamin of this family, so young that his beard was more promise than fact, but his words suggested that this youth was never anyone’s favored child. Eleanor felt her annoyance dissipate, and her heart softened a little.

“I remember that Baron Herbert had five sons. You claim that only two remain?” Turning his back on the youngest one, Hugh poured himself some wine from a pottery jug and failed to offer Raoul any of it. “’Tis a pity that your mother did not bear a worthy son soon after your father left England.”

The baron’s son flushed. “You said you were close by my lord father’s side, yet you did not hear of his eldest son’s death? I am surprised.”

Eleanor set down her mazer on a nearby table, slipped her hands into her sleeves, and waited for her brother’s response. Raoul may have spoken with mockery, but Hugh had goaded with stinging words.

“Baron Herbert left for home soon after he heard. I stayed longer with King Edward and had little opportunity to offer comfort.”

“Ah, yes!” Raoul’s mouth twisted into a sneer. “Until after the assassination attempt against our king. That I had heard.”

Eleanor grew uneasy. What quarrel lay between these two?

Hugh stiffened. He said nothing, but his expression betrayed a fury that matched the intensity of the wind outside.

As if suddenly aware that he was gravely offending his father’s guest, Raoul stepped back with a sheepish look and continued in a softer voice. “Then you could not have learned that the third eldest brother recently drowned. He was called
Roger
.” His tone was painstakingly courteous.

Hugh’s was not. “I received word.”

“Which accounts for the honor of your visit?”

“If you were not told of any particular reason why your father may have desired our company, then the fact that he simply wished it should be sufficient for you.”

With that prickly rebuke, the color in Raoul’s face deepened into burgundy, but he held his tongue.

This sharp exchange between her brother and Baron Herbert’s youngest resounded in her mind like the crashing of lances on shields. This was a house in mourning, she thought, not some tournament. The dispute between these two had gone on too long.

Turning to Raoul, she said, “Your grief over these recent family deaths must be profound, my son. Our visit may be sadly ill-timed, but Brother Thomas and I are here to give what consolation we can. Please tell your mother that I shall visit when she wishes. Brother Thomas awaits your father’s summons.”

Before turning to face the hearth, Hugh unexpectedly gave his sister an appreciative nod.

Raoul bowed to the prioress. “Then I shall leave to convey your kind words. In the meantime, I pray that all comforts have been provided you and your fellow travelers. If not, tell me at once. My father would have no guest lack any desire or need.”

Before Hugh could say a word, Eleanor quickly assured Raoul, on behalf of the entire company, that all was as it should be.

***

The prioress waited until the sound of Raoul’s footsteps had faded down the corridor before walking to her brother’s side.

“Well done, sweet sister!” He grinned and offered wine. “If God be willing and the king need one highly skilled in the art of making peace, I shall mention your talents. To separate two men so hot for battle took courage.”

“Why do you dislike Raoul?”

“On the voyage to Acre, his father told me that his seed must have been too weak when that boy was bred. If the lad was denied some desire, he sniveled like a babe denied the teat. If reprimanded by his father, Raoul whined like a beaten dog and ran off with tail between his legs. Herbert complained that his son seemed incapable of facing adversity like a man must.” He sighed. “As for my own knowledge of the boy, I spent as little time as I could with him during my early visits here. He was too young for companionship, and I cannot recall that he was ever welcome company for anyone.”

“He could not have been much more than a child when his father left.”

“That child is now a man. He still whines.”

Eleanor playfully swatted her brother’s arm. “He was rude enough to you. I have known boars to show more courtesy to their hunters, but you did provoke him.”

“You cannot excuse his boorish behavior for that reason. He may be trying to grow a man’s beard, sister, but he is nothing like his father.” Hugh made a point of rubbing the place his sister touched as if she had hurt him, then laughed. “Men are flawed creatures, sometimes cruel and often ill-mannered, yet we must all exhibit courage and restraint. A few have learned the lesson so well they have become saints.”

A log burst in the fireplace. Sparks flew like shooting stars.

Eleanor stepped back a safe distance from the hearth. “Unless God performs a miracle, Raoul will not be one of them.” She looked up at her brother with an amused expression. “I do not defend him. He lacked all sympathy for his parents, cared little enough about the deaths of his brothers, and suggested that taking vows was much like establishing his proper place near the salt at table.” She hesitated. “The only one to whom he bestowed a meager compliment was a man he called
Leonel
. Do I correctly remember the man’s name? Raoul called him
cousin.
”

“Even Raoul could find little for which to fault Sir Leonel. The man is Baron Herbert’s nephew, son of a brother who died many years ago. The baron and his wife gave a home to the boy and his mother, a woman who sorrowed so much over her dead husband that she soon sickened and died. I know the nephew. Leonel accompanied the baron to Outremer and showed such bravery that he was knighted.”

“This man finds favor with you?”

“On Herbert’s behalf, many of us grieved that Leonel was not his heir.”

Nodding, the prioress fell silent and watched as her brother’s thoughts seemed to drift away. “Do you not like any of the baron’s sons?” Her voice was soft.

He blinked as if she had just shaken him out of a dream. “Baron Herbert must have been born with a sword in his hand. He never turned his back on danger and inspired greater courage in all of us during battle. Should it surprise that he expected sons of equal merit? Aye, he was disappointed in his offspring. The first, however, was a good steward of the land, and his father was content to give at least one to the Church, saying that the family needed a holy man to pray for their souls. As for the second who just fell to his death, the third who drowned, and the fourth, now hiding in the family chapel, he never spoke much about them. I’ve told you what he said about Raoul.”

Hugh rubbed his hands and walked to the table where he considered pouring another mazer of wine. “In truth, I knew none of them well,” he said. Deciding he would drink no more, he faced his sister. “What cause had I to doubt the baron’s judgement on his own children?”

“Why take his nephew with him to Outremer? Surely he would have been happier bringing one of his sons? Were they disinclined to war, they still would have understood the service to God in reclaiming Jerusalem. Even the one bound for the Church would agree, although he might have chosen not to wield a sword.” Eleanor knew that bishops had often used maces to avoid the prohibition against shedding blood when they decided to go into battle. The fine distinction between mace and sword had always escaped her.

“Leonel was the best choice for more than one reason. The nephew inherited nothing from his own father, a man most imprudent and cursed with foolish vices. What land he owned as the second son was sold by Baron Herbert to pay off gaming debts. The babe and mother would have starved, had the uncle been a less honorable man. With five sons of his own and those debts to clear, he had nothing to give his nephew except horse and armor. He hoped Leonel would acquire enough wealth for himself in Outremer.”

“And the baron’s sons were content to stay in England, rejecting the glory of taking the cross?”

“The eldest did complain, but his father refused his request. He trusted him to guard all he possessed, then accepted the plea of the second-born to remain in England as well. The other three were too young to go. Since the eldest died of a mortal fever, Herbert was wise to leave two sons of mature years to safeguard his lands. As we all learned, a crusader’s lands may have been placed under God’s protection by Rome, but men do not always honor God’s will. Too many men who took the cross came home to nothing.” He shook his head. “Apart from the eldest, only Raoul demanded to go with his father.”

“Raoul?”

“Puppy that he was, he whimpered and moaned. When Herbert wearied of the noise, he stood the boy on a table in front of witnesses, stripped him, and felt between his legs. The baron declared the lad still a babe and sent Raoul off to find his mother, wailing like a newborn.”

A cruel story, Eleanor thought, and noted that her brother’s expression revealed no joy in the tale either. When Hugh’s own son, Richard, came to him in like manner and begged to be taken on the voyage with Lord Edward, her brother denied the child’s request with gentle words and then convinced him he would be a braver boy for staying home.

In the firelight, Hugh’s face was grey with fatigue.

“It is late,” Eleanor said. “Sister Anne has long since sought our quarters to rest. I should join her.”

Hugh took her hand and kissed it. “I must seek my own bed as well. Ask your good nun to pray for me, sweet sister.” Then he vanished into the corridor to find the winding staircase leading to the chambers above.

Eleanor’s own eyes grew heavy with weariness. As she walked through the windy corridor, the stone floor damp from the storm, she wondered how troubled her dreams would be in this place so devoid of peace.

Chapter Three

Baron Herbert looked down at the bloody corpse. Was there anything in the mess of battered flesh he still recognized as his second child?

Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to remember all that this hollow shell had once been, and, although his heart screamed in agony, his eyes remained dry, refusing to grieve. He opened them and reached out to caress his son’s twisted neck. His fingers touched skin, but he felt nothing.

“Of course I would not,” he whispered, turning his callused palm upward. “This is not my son, only inanimate clay.”

He knelt by the body and took a deep breath. The odor of death was little different from that of a slaughtered deer.

Rage filled him. Like a possessed man, he began to pound the stone floor until his hands bled. “This is still my boy,” he roared, then stared at his torn fists.

Death, violent and irreverent, was well-known to him. In war he had seen countless dead bodies: some slaughtered in combat, others in villages by soldiers still crazed with battle frenzy. He watched as men were burned to charcoal, screaming for their mothers, and walked past bodies of women raped with spears while their wailing babies were smashed against walls.

Many of these were infidels, for whom he felt no sorrow. Their death agonies were paltry aches compared to what their benighted souls would suffer in the eternal flames of Hell.

Others were known to him, men with whom he had shared wine before battle or a fire on a bitter night. For these, he felt a prick of grief, yet any sadness was offset by the knowledge that their souls were in Heaven, freed of worldly imperfections or any care.

“But this is my flesh and blood, made with my seed,” he wailed, shaking his fist at God. “My son!”

Slowly he reached up and touched the torn clothing that covered the corpse.

“Nothing,” he whispered. “Nothing.”

In utter despair, he bent double and howled like a wolf under the full moon.

***

A woman stepped back from the chapel’s open door. For a moment she stood, eyes raised, and listened to her lord husband’s wild keening.

Then Lady Margaret turned her back and walked slowly away.