Authors: Priscilla Royal
Tags: #Fiction, #Mystery & Detective, #General, #Women Sleuths, #Historical
“Whores. The women were but whores,” he snarled. “I successfully sent all their souls to hell, with God’s blessing, saving only that cook who still breathes there and whom you have wickedly tried to save. I shall now finish my task.”
“Does He not grant everyone the right to repent their sins?” Eleanor asked quietly, noting the knife he held in his right hand. “By what right did you assume God wanted any quivering soul condemned without the chance for mercy?”
“God is wrathful and sends His fire down on all who defy Him like the foul creatures in Sodom and Gomorrah.” Ranulf’s eyes glittered. “What lusts do you hide?”
The prioress winced at this accurate blow, then modestly lowered her eyes, hoping to cool his rage with meek humility while she concentrated on the more immediate problem of staying alive. “Being mortal, we all sin, but surely God wants us to recognize the evil we have done and strive never to repeat those errors.” Glancing to her left, she saw a jug and basin on a nearby table.
“Women are Devil-spawned, bitches in heat!” Spittle flew from his white-flecked lips. “Adam would still be in Eden were it not for his fickle wife.”
Theological debate with this man was clearly not the path to travel, and Eleanor prayed for the calmness needed to discover how best to protect Hilda, Maud, and herself from his frenzy.
“Our cook was guilty as well?” Maud asked in a timorous voice. “Teach me, Master Ranulf, for I do not understand her sin.”
“The Devil bought her soul and thus she lusted after the groom! The breath she exhaled befouled the air like some stinking mist and rotted the souls of other daughters of Eve when they came near her. Even the food she cooked for those at the manor was contaminated by her touch.” He gulped air. “The proof of that lies in the number of women who coupled with Tobye. She has to die.”
“And when God sent an avenger to slay the groom, did her profane eyes witness the deed?” Maud clutched her hands together as if in prayer. “Did she also have to suffer because no one so foul should look upon the splendor of righteous vengeance?”
The steward’s son frowned as he considered those words, and then nodded as if pleased to agree.
Keeping a diffident silence, Eleanor backed toward the table.
Suddenly, Ranulf spun to face the prioress and gestured at her with his knife. “You! You whited sepulcher that leads men into all manner of mortal error, daring to question the cook’s guilt when I spoke out on the side of virtue! What Order founded in God’s rule would allow a woman to rule over the sons of Adam? Satan hides in your robes.” He stepped forward. “I smell him.”
Eleanor retreated another couple of steps, put her hands behind her, and felt the edge of the table.
“Then it was you who wielded God’s sword against Tobye!” Maud’s cried out, extending her hands toward Ranulf in supplication. “But wasn’t he Adam’s heir, like you? Surely he deserved mercy. Why punish him when it was women who tempted him beyond endurance?”
Ranulf turned away from the prioress, lowered the knife, and blinked as if he had not thought about that aspect.
Eleanor took advantage of the moment and stretched a hand back in the direction of at least one of the items that lay behind her.
“But you killed Tobye on God’s behalf, did you not?” Maud’s tone quivered with submissiveness, as if longing only to be taught and belying any accusatory intent.
“Aye! He was low-born, yet all the women lusted after him while I…” The man began to swallow convulsively.
Eleanor was grateful that Ranulf had hesitated, showing more reluctance to attack the widow than he had her. Perhaps Maud had given him comfort when his mother’s pious demands were too much for the young lad to bear. Would that past mothering now save them both until Brother Thomas and the guard could arrive?
Then fear chilled her heart as she stared at the wooden bar lying firmly across the door. Two men could not break through such reinforced thickness. Either she or Maud must somehow open that door from the inside.
“And Mistress Luce? Why kill her later?” Maud’s question was ever so softly spoken.
“Because she made me burn with lust for her,” he screamed. “While she wallowed like a sow in the stinking mud with that man, she had Satan send a succubus in her shape to torture me. Once Tobye was dead, I believed she would repent her sins and turn to me for comfort.”
And what difference in transgression was there between a groom’s lust and that of a step-son, the prioress wondered as her fingers groped for basin or jug. Couldn’t the man see that adultery compounded with the sin of uncovering the nakedness of a near kin was even fouler in God’s eyes? No wonder Mistress Luce had not wanted to be widowed and left alone with Ranulf as her only protector.
“And this she failed to do?” Maud glanced at the prioress.
“I begged for her embrace, but she turned from me with pale disgust. It was then that my heart hardened with virtuous fury. If the whore could not see the difference between me, a man who honors God, and Tobye, I knew it was my duty to send her soul to Hell, along with that succubus.”
“How did you draw her to the stable?” the widow continued.
“I suspected that she lusted after my shameless brother, since wantonness is attracted by depravity, and thus used her wickedness against her. I told her that Huet wanted to meet her there that night. When she expressed doubt, I explained that he had good news for her but feared the steward’s anger if he saw them together. After all, he was not in our father’s favor after his sudden return home.” Ranulf smirked.
“She believed your tale, kept the tryst, and discovered you instead.”
He gnawed at his lips.
Eleanor grasped the handle of the jug, hesitated, then recalled that God had never condemned David for battling against Goliath.
“And once again rejected my offer. She was no different from all other women, preferring to lie with a baseborn man than me!” Ranulf shouted and spun around, pointing his finger at the prioress and raising his knife to strike. “Like you, she was the Whore of Babylon!”
Eleanor flung the jug at him, striking him squarely on the side of his head.
Maud swung her foot into Ranulf’s groin.
As the man fell to the ground with a high-pitched howl, Eleanor leapt to the door and unbolted it.
Thomas and Huet were but a few feet away when she swung the door wide.
The monk ran to the squirming man, whipped the belt from the man’s waist, and quickly bound Ranulf’s wrists behind him.
Stepping inside, Huet put his hands to his hips, in unconscious imitation of Mistress Maud, and grinned.
“Well done, Mother!”
Although Sir Reimund was surely accustomed to horses, he shifted uncomfortably in the saddle.
Standing beside him, in the company of Brother Thomas, Eleanor wondered if the sheriff had just bitten into something bitter when he winced, his eyes focused on the scene at the manor house door.
Two of his men pulled Ranulf, hobbled and arms bound, through the entryway.
Close behind strode the steward, his head bowed.
Mistress Maud followed Stevyn, as he approached the sheriff’s horse, and gently touched his arm, the gesture so swiftly done that most in the courtyard would have missed it.
The steward glanced down, his grim expression softening as he felt her comfort. “Hang him, Sir Reimund,” he said, looking back at the uneasy sheriff. “He may be the son of my loins, but I have cast him from my heart. Yet, when the day comes, I’ll be there. The only favor I ask is that my men be allowed to pull his legs so his neck will break and some family dignity retained. No one who bears my name should dance and buck for common amusement.”
Eleanor looked at the pitiful creature to whom the steward referred. Surrounded by the sheriff’s men, Ranulf was ragged, bent, and reeking of his own filth. According to Thomas, Ranulf had been rolling naked in his excrement and howling like courtyard scavenger dogs when the monk visited him at dawn for prayer and confession.
“I wish the outcome of these crimes had been otherwise,” Reimund said, carefully looking at a spot over the steward’s head.
“No less than I,” Stevyn retorted. “But he killed three people, three whose sins were God’s to punish, not his.”
“Three?” Reimund blinked.
“His wife,” Maud said, her voice catching. “We found her corpse in the chapel, stabbed through the heart.”
“A deed that Ranulf admitted with some glee as we locked him safely away,” Thomas added, his eyes narrowing as he nodded at the trussed man. “All the ones he slaughtered cry out for justice, but one murder is crime enough in God’s eyes.”
“Perhaps the total will be four. Hilda’s fate is still in God’s hands,” Eleanor said. Indeed, she offered many prayers for the cook last night, and Hilda’s eyes had opened this morning. Nonetheless, there was no recognition in the woman’s gaze, nor had she spoken. The prioress lowered her eyes to hide the tears they held. If God took Hilda’s soul, He would most surely treat it with infinite mercy and pull it gently enough from this world. Yet mortals will grieve, and her laughter would be sorely missed.
The sheriff nervously cleared his throat.
Startled out of her thoughts, she looked up at this man, who weighed the cost of justice in the scales of ambition, and found she was not yet capable of forgiving him.
“My lady, if the guard I set to protect you offended in any way, please let me know. I shall punish him accordingly.”
Eleanor swallowed her anger. That he was so willing to cast blame on another, one who had no choice but to obey orders, meant this wretched sheriff had learned nothing. “He was most courteous, Sir Reimund, and, most worthy of reward for his care. I am sure that a larger bit of land from you, so he might marry again and support a growing family, would not go amiss. When I tell my father of the events here, I will mention his name.” Thus you dare not treat him ill for the kindness and good service he did render me, despite your spiteful intent. With a pleasure she knew was wicked enough to require confession, she fell into a pointed silence.
“Then I hope you bear me no malice, my lady, for my wish to keep you safe with a killer about.”
She tilted her head and smiled but said nothing more.
A flush rose from Sir Reimund’s neck and bathed his face with a scarlet hue. He waited for a very long minute, then bowed his head. “You are most kind, my lady,” he muttered, willing her indifferent smile into a sign of favoring grace to him.
Quickly, he gave the order for his contingent of men to leave. When the sad party moved toward the manor courtyard gate, a man poked at Ranulf to indicate he must walk on as well. Staggering forward, the elder son of Master Stevyn neither cried out, nor did he turn to give any farewell to his father.
As she watched the small procession, Eleanor realized she was saddened by the thought of hanging this man. Without doubt he had murdered several people, but Satan had so blinded him with obscene obsessions that he could not see it was Evil who had directed his hand against those victims, not God. According to Brother Thomas, the man’s wits had fled, leaving him utterly possessed by madness, and thus rendered incapable of repentance or confession.
Would Ranulf ever be able to feel the horror of his crimes and beg forgiveness, even when the hangman draped the rope around his neck? Shouldn’t all men have the chance to cleanse their souls? Perhaps she should not grieve for him, murderer that he was, but her heart was not easily silenced on the matter. To distract herself from the murmurings of that womanish organ, she turned to consider whether there had been a lesson in the events of the last few days for her.
She thought back on all the times she had involved herself in mortal crime and wondered if she had committed the same error as Ranulf when she decided she knew better than others what God’s justice meant. Had the Prince of Darkness blinded her to the dangers of her own arrogance?
In this case, her motive for interfering with a matter of justice, which belonged under the jurisdiction of an earthly king, was not pure. The sheriff had treated her with disrespect, and her pride in rank had been offended. Had she been less concerned with thwarting the sheriff, might she have saved Mistress Luce’s life, perhaps even that of Ranulf’s wife? Had her failure to discover the truth in time been due, at least in part, to her own sinful motivations?
Just a few months ago, after Martin the Cooper was poisoned, she had been blinded by her jealousy and failed to see events with needed clarity. If she finally succeeded in conquering her own lusts and pride, would she not serve God’s justice better?
Yet the mortal heart had much to teach, especially about the power of love. From old Tibia last summer, she had learned the force of a mother’s love. Even Ivetta the Whore had demonstrated loyalty, albeit to a man who little deserved it. This time, Stevyn and Maud had lessons for her. But finding the jewel of love amidst the dross of sin required a craftsman’s skill, and Eleanor felt so pitifully ignorant.
She folded her hands, closed her eyes for a moment, and begged God for forgiveness. When she returned to Tyndal, she promised to ask a hard penance from her confessor for her failings. In the meantime, she would pray for Ranulf, as difficult as that would surely be. When the steward’s son died and his quaking soul discovered that his true master had been Satan, might God still grant him at least some mercy for having lost all reason? Or was that a blasphemous hope?
She looked up. The gates to the manor were closed. The sheriff’s party was well along on the road with their prisoner.
Eleanor turned away, pressed a hand against her heart that ached with unhappiness, and walked back to the chamber she shared with Mariota. During those days and years of prayer she owed God, there would be many questions for which she would seek answers. The truth of this particular situation was one, relegated to that shadowy corner of her mind where it would await His enlightenment.
The cold air nipped their cheeks, but there was enough promising blue in the sky to suggest that this journey home to Tyndal would have a good beginning.
Eleanor and Maud stood next to each other, the shared regret at the parting tinged with additional sadness that the bond of their emergent friendship had been forged in such tragic circumstances.
“Would you give me your blessing, my lady?” Maud bowed her head and eased herself down on her knees.
“With a heart most willing,” the prioress replied.
As the widow rose, they both began to weep and drew each other into a warm embrace of farewell.
“I shall never forget what you have done for my charge,” Eleanor said, standing back and wiping her tears away. “Nor will I cease to be grateful to you for saving my life.”
Maud folded her arms, her expression amused as if she had just won a friendly argument. “My lady, had you not struck the man with such force and accuracy, I would never have had the chance to fell him so. Methinks it was your vigorous attack that saved us both.”
“This weak creature?” the prioress replied, looking at her hands with mock amazement. “I believe we must thank God who gave my arm an unwomanly strength. Did He not do so for Jael, the wife of Heber, when she drove the nail into Sisera’s head?”
“This manor is but a sparrow compared to the eagle that is the land of Israel…” Maud’s words began as a jest but her abrupt silence suggested she had been overcome with uneasiness.
“I pray that He brings comfort to you and Master Stevyn.” The prioress grasped the woman’s hand. “Violence has claimed too many here, and the pain must be intensified by the identity of the killer.”
The widow turned her head away. “I fear this scourge has been the result of our sin.”
“Some would concur, and I should not presume to counter those deemed far wiser than I,” Eleanor replied, “yet my woman’s imperfect heart stubbornly rebels against the conclusion. That you sinned is indisputable, but you saw the error of your ways with clarity and repented with sorrow. Ranulf did not and howled so loudly over the wickedness of others that the noise drowned out the cries of his own soul. Then he bathed in their blood as if violence would somehow make him a less tainted mortal. I cannot see that you and Master Stevyn were to blame for all that.”
“Then I must ask this question, my lady. Is it sinful for us to marry? We hoped to do so after a proper mourning for Mistress Luce.”
Perhaps she should confirm Maud’s fears that some in the Church might argue against that comfort, Eleanor thought, falling silent as she watched servants help Mariota into a cart and arrange blankets to keep the girl warm. Yet de Lacy was a powerful man, and Stevyn had found favor with his faithful, competent stewardship. Were there a problem with the union, a priest to marry them would be easy enough to locate. After all, he might conclude they had vowed themselves to each other in a marital bond many years ago and thus any subsequent marriage by each was defective. The prioress was well aware that the donation of a valuable chalice would help cast such logic in a strong light.
“I would think it wrong if you did not,” she said at last. “Indeed,” she continued with a gentle smile, “I will pray that you live your remaining years together in God’s grace.”
With that, the women embraced one last time.
***
“Brother!”
Thomas spun around and saw Huet hastening toward him. His eyes stung, and he quickly rubbed at them. Why was he not stronger about hiding his failings? A traitorous moisture remained on his cheeks.
As the younger son stopped in front of the monk, the two men looked at each other in awkward silence.
“I shall miss you,” Huet said at last, his voice hoarse.
“You only regret the departure of my admiration when you sing and tell fine tales, but others, who have a finer ear for your talents, will replace me soon enough.” Thomas smiled but he knew his jest had fallen flat.
“Now that my brother is off for hanging, I must trade my lute for accounting rolls and a horse for a minstrel’s ill-shod feet.” Huet covered his eyes and groaned. “That remark was foul with cruelty, and I shall do penance for it. Ranulf is my brother, and, despite our differences and his crimes, I grieve over his fate.”
“I did not doubt it.” Thomas hesitated, then asked: “No one will learn the truth of your birth?”
“There is little reason to fear the revelation. My father speaks of giving his own lands to some monastery in exchange for prayers after he and my mother die. As for my future, the Earl of Lincoln had promised me a place and now that shall most likely be here as his steward. He has that right, whatever my birth.”
Thomas nodded. “Will you return to Cambridge?”
“More likely to study outside the university walls where I shall better learn how to manage lands.” His look suggested he was less than pleased.
“Will that be so hard?” Thomas asked gently.
“Ah, Brother, how I wish you could remain and give me counsel, for I am a man who dwells in some middle land, suited neither to a priory nor to the world.”
“Your priest…”
“…sees men as warriors, religious, or servants to great lords. It was he who advised I give my body to God when my woman and our babe died. It was a choice I discovered fit me ill.”
“Yet I have heard you followed his guidance gladly enough.”
Huet shook his head, began to answer, but then hesitated as if having second thoughts. “I cannot blame our priest for my decision. It was I who chose the path—for the wrong reasons.”
“Grief over the death of beloved ones leads many men to seek comfort in His service. Yet, whether you take final vows or remain in the world, God will provide balm for your wounded heart if you let Him.”
Huet looked away.
Thomas grasped the man’s shoulder. “As you see, I provide sorry advice, but I have faith that you shall find another who can give far better.”
Huet tried to hide his tears but failed. “I shall miss you, Brother. That is all I can say.”
With trembling hands, the monk drew him into a rough embrace, then pushed him back and walked away.
***
With prayers for a safe journey from those gathered to say farewell, the party of horsemen started down the road, the prioress on her donkey riding next to the cart that carried the young Mariota.
Eleanor looked down at her charge, now warmly bundled against the brisk wind. In the past, she would have urged this reluctant postulant to pray for the strength and faith to continue in the vocation, even though her heart longed to stay in the world. Many times this was the wisest advice, for acceptance of the inevitable made a woman’s life easier. Yet the experience of Maud and Stevyn had taught her something about the tenacity of mortal love, a persistence that was not always without merit.
Although the pair had most certainly sinned, they had shown a stubborn fidelity to each other. Despite their transgressions, Eleanor believed their marriage would be a strong one. Each would provide the other with the fortitude to continue through whatever life demanded of them, until Death arrived to steal their souls.
In many ways, they reminded her of David and Bathsheba, although Master Stevyn had not sent Maud’s husband off to die. For cert, God had demanded repentance from that famous couple, but afterwards He had blessed their union with a son named Solomon. On the other hand, Ranulf and Constance might have bent their knees at the altar with notable fervor, but their faith had grown putrid with brittle sanctimony. Matters were often not as simple as some would wish, and perhaps that was one more lesson God wished her to learn.
Mariota’s swallowed sob brought the prioress back to the moment. “What troubles you, my child?” she asked, noting the girl’s eyes were full of tears.
“I have caused much grief to the innocent, my lady.”
“Although I concur that you would have been better advised to speak earlier of your illness, I cannot say that God did not have a hand in directing us to the manor. He knows men’s hearts and may well have sent us there to render His justice where men would fail.”
“It was I who suggested that the embrace of Mistress Maud and Master Huet was sinful. I feel deep regret for my error.”
“You told me what you saw, and I interpreted the information with my own blindness. The fault lies with me.” She tilted her head in surprise. “How did you learn it was otherwise?”
“Master Huet suspected I had seen them and did not want me to be troubled, fearing for my health. Before we left, he explained that Mistress Maud had taken on the role of a mother to him, after his own had died. She had been comforting him as she would any son when he confessed his soul’s torments.”
“He was thoughtful to care about your weakened state,” Eleanor replied. “She taught him well, as his own mother would wish, and I know she will continue to guide him on the right path.”
The two traveled on in silence for some moments before the prioress turned back to Mariota. “May I say, however, that I suspect your thoughts continue to drift to your own situation?”
“My selfishness has been revealed. I fear you are correct.”
Eleanor reached out to stroke her donkey’s neck and was answered with a contented bray, not a pleasing sound to most but a delight to the ears of his particular rider. “We shall pass through the town where your family lives, and I had hoped to rest there briefly. They would be most happy to see you, and your diminished strength does require a less strenuous journey. We would be well-advised to take an extra day on the return to Tyndal Priory.”
“As much as I would love to see my mother and brother, I fear they will be deeply disappointed over my ongoing doubts…”
“…doubts you might be wise not to express during this visit. I had hoped to talk with your brother, Mariota. Although I cannot promise anything, I want to suggest to him that honoring your father’s wishes might be fulfilled by other means. Many believe that enforced prayer brings steel to the soul and merit to those who demand it, but the Devil finds fertile fields for his wickedness in unwilling hearts. On the other hand, God rejoices when mortals feed and clothe the needy. If you and the man you would marry prove diligent and honorable, you may find that prosperity follows and generosity to the poor and other noble causes may serve God’s commandments far better.”
And thus the two women continued in easy conversation, hope entering the heart of the younger and compassion the soul of the elder.
***
When the travellers rounded the turn in the road that led eastward, Thomas pulled back on his horse’s reins and turned around for one last look at a place he might never see again.
A small figure now, Huet stood alone at the manor gate and raised his hand in farewell.
The monk returned the gesture and watched the steward’s son retreat into the courtyard and his new responsibilities.
I shall miss the man, Thomas thought. Should he allow himself to dwell on it, he knew he would grieve over this parting as much as Huet had seemed to do. Not since Giles had he felt so at ease with another man, one with whom he might have founded a pleasurable friendship had they been clerks together at another time and before he had suffered so cruelly.
But he willed himself not dwell on an occurrence that would not happen and, perhaps, one that should not. Instead, he urged his horse to travel on and mulled over all that had happened during the last many weeks, including the murders at the manor.
How strange, he thought, that his wayward spirit had been so peaceful during this ill-fated journey, and he tried to examine what had caused such a change.
One reason was surely the service he had been able to render his prioress. Although she had relied on his knowledge of charters and other legal issues before, never had they worked as closely as they had in these weeks, determining the proper action to take on those matters involving priory lands. Once their task had been completed, she had expressed much appreciation and even unusually warm regard for his efforts.
Then they had arrived at the manor and, once again, she had turned to him for consultation and assistance. In the past, Sister Anne or Crowner Ralf had been by her side to help bring a murderer to justice. This time, she had only him, and, again, she had seemed well pleased.
Had he been a man filled with the usual ambitions, he might have used this regard to advance in his vocation. He was not. In fact, he knew he was fortunate to have survived his time in prison, and his greatest aspiration was to ease the melancholy he so often suffered. Were he to make use of Prioress Eleanor’s pleasure in his service, perhaps he should ask again for permission to spend a year as a hermit?
But did he still want to escape the world, even the world in a priory? If he were honest with himself, he would confess that he had enjoyed these many days outside Tyndal, befouled as some of them were with murder. He rather enjoyed investigations into crime of greater and lesser evil. Were it not for his malignant grief over Giles and the troubling nature of his feelings for the man in Amesbury, might he not have found his work as a spy both satisfying and challenging?
If that were the case, he realized with a pang of fear, perhaps he was not suited to the religious life at all. Might he find more contentment in the world, working instead for the king?
Although he longed for a simple answer, there was none.
Briefly, he looked back in the direction of the now invisible manor. Huet had been right in a way. Perhaps he did understand the man’s confusion, having neither a strong religious vocation nor a comfort with the demands of a worldly life. Yet he had found neither peace nor satisfactory answer to the difficulty himself and thus had no advice for another.
How would Huet resolve his quandary over the Church? As his father’s presumed heir in the stewardship, his path lay in the world, and the Earl of Lincoln would surely find a way to let him ease out of any vows taken. Huet dare not let his doubts rule him. He must make choices and wise ones at that. Indeed, Huet’s travails might well enlighten Thomas. If anyone was bereft of counsel, the monk thought, it was he. And for that reason alone, he would miss the steward’s son. All other reasons, he would lock away in the dungeon of his melancholy.