Sorrow Without End (20 page)

“Two crusaders?” Ralf frowned as he considered this. “And the third?”

“The third man, standing with his back to me, looked like a leper with his long robe and the cloth wrapped around his head. Suddenly, he screamed, and the crusader in the middle spun around. The common soldier began to run. That third man darted around the crusader and gave chase.”

“He killed him?” Thomas interrupted.

“He threw a rock, hitting the soldier on the back of the head. The man fell. As he did, the crusader grabbed the third and they struggled. The soldier was only dazed. He rose and began to laugh as he watched the other two. With the roar like that of a wild beast, the dark-robed man threw the crusader aside as if he were a stick and leapt at the soldier, lifting him into the air. I was terrified! No mortal could have that strength!”

“Unless the Evil One gives them the power.” It was the first time Sister Ruth had spoken.

“Then the demonic one lowered the soldier, pulled out a knife, and thrust it into the man’s belly, ripping it upward toward the heart. The man must have been alive when his guts fell out. I heard him scream. Once. I could not bear to look any longer.” The prisoner retched.

No one said a word.

The man began to weep and slipped to his knees. “I was scared! I did not know what to do. What could I do against three men?”

“You are not to blame, for cert,” Eleanor whispered.

The relic seller lowered his head. “Good people, I have been in battle and seen monstrous things, but they are done only when the soul sleeps and the blood burns hot. This killing was done as if the killer savored the act.”

Ralf broke the silence. “The rest of the tale. There is more.”

“I have told the truth!” the man howled. “God is my witness! I have told…”

Ralf grabbed the relic seller by his robe and yanked him upward. “Nay, not everything. By all that is holy I will hang you, then watch you slowly choke as you spin in the air…”

The man began to sob.

Ralf dropped him.

“There is little more. The demon started to weep as the corpse twitched. The other crusader rose, then walked to the body and pulled the dagger out.” The prisoner gulped air. “He cleaned it in a puddle of water.”

“The demon, as you call him, was…?” Thomas asked.

“He was squirming in the mud like a witless creature. The crusader pulled him up into his arms and held him ’til he calmed. Then he turned him around so he’d face away and drew a short dagger from under his robe.” The man’s eyes grew large. “I thought he was going to kill the demon!”

“But he did not.” Eleanor spoke as if lost in thought.

“Instead, he stabbed the dead man in the chest, took off his own robe, and wrapped the corpse in it as if the man were but asleep and needed the warmth.”

“You saw their faces?” Thomas asked.

The man nodded vigorously. “The man who gave up his cloak later called himself
Walter. In the fray, the cloth hiding the demon’s features fell away, and I recognized the man I later knew as Sir Maurice.”

“And then?” Ralf asked.

“That is the story, Crowner. When I saw these men in the priory hospital, I kept silent out of fear.”

Ralf shook his fist at the man. “Nay. Cuthbert, take the man away. He longs for the rope.”

“No! I am innocent. Please!” The man struggled back to his knees. “I have done no murder and have been promised mercy over the matter of the sheep!”

“I think you killed the soldier for his fat purse,” Ralf said.

“You have no proof!”

Ralf reached for the cut purse that rested on the table. “I found this hidden in your bedding.”

The captive squealed like a pig. “I confess! I stole from a corpse who would have no further use for a mortal man’s coin where he was going, but I did not kill him for it.” He turned, stretching toward Eleanor. “I waited until the two men had left the glade. Then I took the purse from the dead soldier. It belonged to no one. I am a poor man, my lady. He had a fat purse filled with blinding bright coins. I was starving…”

“Silence, knave. You have eaten too many fat sheep,” Ralf said. “Why should any of us believe you? You commit crimes against the innocent by selling false relics to earn your bread. You are a proven liar.” He shrugged. “You believed Sir Maurice saw you kill the soldier and thus you killed him. In order to divert attention elsewhere, and thus give yourself time to escape, you attacked the infirmarian.” He looked around at everyone assembled. “I think we have our killer.”

Chapter Forty-two

“I did not murder any man, my lady!” The man tried to drag himself on his knees to Eleanor, but Cuthbert pulled him back. “Knave I may well be,” he cried, “but never would I do such a thing as was done to that crusader!” He raised his wide eyes to the heavens and wailed. “By all that is holy, my lady, I have been a soldier myself!”

Ralf put his hand on his sword.

“Do not draw a weapon in this place, Crowner.” The prioress looked down at the groveling man. In his terror, he had now pissed on himself and stank of both urine and sweat. “You cannot deny that you disappeared around the time Sister Christina was beaten and Sir Maurice was killed. Although Cuthbert saw you killing a sheep, you still could have committed the other two crimes. Have you a witness who can confirm that you were elsewhere at the time of either event?”

Brother Matthew cleared his throat. “My lady.”

Eleanor looked at the monk with pleasant surprise. “You have something to say in this man’s behalf?”

“He is innocent. I cannot speak to the murder of the soldier, but, on my hope of Heaven, he is blameless, both of the attack on our beloved infirmarian and the murder of Sir Maurice.” Matthew spoke in a hoarse whisper.

“Please explain, Brother.”

“I would prefer to do so in private.” The monk briefly glanced at Brother Andrew, Brother Thomas, and Sister Anne, then settled his gaze on Sister Ruth. “If I speak in front of these, word will spread throughout the priory.”

“Not from my lips, Brother,” Andrew said.

“Nor mine,” Thomas seconded.

Anne nodded concurrence.

Brother Matthew continued to gaze at Sister Ruth, his look quite sad.

She turned an angry red. “You, of all people, should know that I do not run about spreading gossip.”

The monk bent his head.

“It is important that we have witnesses, Brother, but whatever you have to say shall remain within these walls, unless the protection of the innocent and justice require otherwise. So I do order.” Eleanor looked at each person in the room. All nodded. “Should I find that this command has been disobeyed, my punishment will be swift and severe.” Eleanor gestured for the monk to continue.

Brother Matthew sputtered as if longing to protest, then gave up and continued. “This man and I met the night Sister Christina was attacked.” He stared at the prioress as if no one else was in the room. “When you hesitated about buying this purported relic for a pilgrimage shrine, I knew I must do something to make you see the merit in my decision...” He coughed. “…rather, my way of thinking.”

Eleanor smiled. “And thus gain greater support in the coming election.”

“Persuading you to make Tyndal a station on the pilgrimage route would have enhanced my standing amongst the monks.” His eyes flashed with some indignation. “Yet I was, and am, convinced of the rightness of such a decision, my lady. My error was in the choice of the relic, not the premise.”

“As I said at our last meeting, Brother, your idea had merit. Sadly, the bone you offered was that of a sheep, not a saint. Fraud is not unusual in the sale of relics; therefore, I felt caution was advisable.”

Brother Matthew looked down at his long feet.

“Do continue with your tale,” Eleanor said.

“I had arranged with this man to get the relic…” He spat out the word.

Eleanor nodded.

“…believing that you would change your mind in the presence of the sainted…”

“Indeed,” Eleanor said.

“So I slipped out of the priory grounds and met him…” He shot a glance at the grim-faced Sister Ruth. “…at the local inn where we…”

“Do not fear for the reputation of the priory, my lady,” the prisoner interrupted, his voice no longer trembling. “Brother Matthew was quite disguised. He borrowed a cloak left by one of the men building the stable and had put up the hood so his tonsure would not show...”

“Silence, fool!” the monk shouted. “I’m trying to save your filthy neck!”

“Do continue with your forthright tale, Brother,” Eleanor suggested mildly. “God does so love the truth.”

The monk flushed vividly. “We shared a jug of priory ale at the inn, which, I might add, was quite good. We are wise to sell it to…”

“Of that, we are well aware.”

Brother Matthew walked over to the table and put his hand on the bones. “It was there that he gave me these for which he also had a most ancient box.”

“When did you bring them back to the priory?” Thomas asked.

“After we shared much more ale,” the relic seller added, “the pleasure of which was increased by the sight of the sweet serving wench.”

“I protest, my lady! I am willing to provide this cur with an alibi, yet he insists on trying to defame me. Aye, I did drink more than one mug of ale. Surely you would agree that confirmation of quality is a prudent measure? I thought there might be improvements we could make in the flavor. Our only discussion of the serving wench, however, involved this impious crowner’s lewd attentions to her that evening. Under no circumstances would I ever participate in…” he spat, “…lustful talk!”

“Would you not?” Sister Ruth asked under her breath.

Eleanor glanced with sympathy at her sub-prioress.

“When I left, our crowner had just disappeared up the stairs with the wench,” Matthew continued. “He was quite drunk. Respectable men were seeking more honorable beds.”

“Not as drunk as you hoped, Brother, although I did not recognize either of you when you arrived. Then I noticed how careful you both were not to let your hoods slip after you saw me. Were you just dishonest men, I wondered, or priory monks come to test your virtue in a place rumored to provide worldly pleasures? As I recall, Brother, you were especially entranced by the bouncing breasts of the lass on my lap.”

“Impious dog!”

“Fie! I meant only to compliment you on your self-control. I admired your ability to hold your cowl with one hand so I could not see your face while, under the table, your other hand was so busy…”

“How dare you accuse me…”

“Which would you prefer? I could tell of your not-so-private pleasuring or I could charge you with corroboration in the murders. You may decide.”

Brother Matthew stepped forward, but Brother Thomas grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

Ralf shook his head. “Fear not, monk. You may be guilty of lust like every other mortal man, but I know that you and your companion were still there, as you said, when I went upstairs with Signy. It was past the Night Office, for I heard the bell ring. By then, I understand that Walter had reported the attack on Sister Christina to Brother Thomas.”

“Why did you not say any of this before, Ralf?” Anne asked, her question voiced with tenderness.

The crowner looked at her for a long time, his expression as grief-stricken as if he were biding her a final farewell. “I did drink deeply that night, and thus details of the earlier evening faded from memory until I searched the relic seller’s hospital cot. As my mind cleared, I thought back on the two men at the inn. One was so tall I thought he was the monk I had seen standing near where our relic seller rested. At the time I had thought he resembled Brother Thomas whom I believed still to be in…”

“…protective custody, lest I be harmed by a most violent man for what I might have seen,” Thomas finished.

“There was only one other monk at Tyndal with similar height, and thus I realized he was the same man at the inn who was engaged in eager...”

“May Satan fry your…” Matthew was writhing.

“Silence, Brother,” Sister Ruth hissed.

“This tale clears you of the attack on Sister Christina,” Eleanor said to the relic seller. “There is still the murder of Sir Maurice to resolve.”

Matthew fell to his knees and raised his hands in supplication. “Please, my lady! I pray you to let me tell this in private!”

“Surely there is little else to relate that would cause you much more shame,” Eleanor replied, “and this matter is so serious that we must have witnesses to all you have to say. The need for the crowner’s presence is, of course, indisputable.”

The monk gestured at Sister Ruth. “Must all stay?” he begged piteously.

The sub-prioress’ expression now changed from disgust and sorrow to one of deep humiliation. She rose and bowed to Eleanor. “Others should remain as witnesses, but is it truly necessary that I do so? For the sake of modesty, will you excuse me, my lady?”

“Of course, Sister,” Eleanor said gently.

The nun glared at the monk. “I thought you a better man than this, Brother. You have much for which to beg forgiveness.”

He reached out a hand to her, then drew it back.

“I will pray for you,” Sister Ruth said, then stormed out of the chambers.

After the door slammed, Ralf turned to the monk. “I will make your confession easier by telling it myself,” he said. “According to Brother Thomas, you met with our relic seller at the inn just after the pilgrim had left with his vial of blood. Perhaps you came with some payment for the bones, but, from what our good brother has described, I must ask you this: did you and the relic seller pray before or after sharing the bed of a village whore that night?”

Chapter Forty-three

Cuthbert had taken the relic seller into custody. Brother Matthew begged leave to find his confessor. Sister Anne and Brother Andrew returned to the sick and the watching of gates. Still seated in the chambers were Thomas, Ralf, and Eleanor. Before departing with her prioress’ blessing, Gytha set out more ale and a fine creamy cheese on the table for the renewal of everyone’s strength.

Strength was needed.

Thomas cut into the cheese and offered his prioress the slice. “In truth, I did hope at one time that he was the murderer,” he said with evident discomfort.

“There was cause enough to wonder,” Eleanor replied. “We had to establish his exact involvement, and we needed to know what he had seen.”

Shaking his head, Thomas ran one finger around the rim of his pottery cup.

Ralf thumped the monk’s shoulder. “I do not blame you for wishing so. At first, I doubted he could have done the killing. After he fooled me into believing you were involved, I grew angry, thus was blinded and thought to change my mind. His theft of the soldier’s purse made more sense, although I confess I had little enough evidence of the thievery. The purse was in his bedding, but anyone might have placed it there. In fact, it might have belonged to any man, except for the bloodstains. Fortunately, he was so frightened that he spilled his tale.”

“We were wise to keep secret the story of the attack on Sister Christina. Had our relic seller heard it, he might have fled the area entirely for fear that he would be the suspect,” Eleanor said, then fell silent, noting that Ralf’s usually fine appetite had abandoned him.

“You promised him mercy in exchange for the truth, my lady,” the crowner said at last. “For a knave, he showed some honor and did serve justice today, thus I will gladly agree to whatever punishment you think is meet. The farmer, however, must be paid for his dead sheep.”

With a brief smile, Eleanor nodded, but her look grew distracted.

Thomas watched his prioress with curiosity before speaking. “So Ralf has found his seller of false relics, and the death of the crusader has been solved. Sir Maurice killed him.”

“Your brother will be satisfied.” Eleanor studied the crowner.

Ralf started as if his thoughts had drifted elsewhere. “Aye.”

Thomas frowned. “The murder of the knight and the attack on Sister Christina remain mysteries. Now, it seems, those crimes were separate.”

For one long moment, the crowner seemed not to hear, then he scowled and picked up his mazer of ale.

“Have those who did the deeds escaped, then? Will they never be brought to justice?” Thomas asked, his voice sharp with anger.

Eleanor cradled her cup and gazed at Thomas. “Perhaps he will, Brother.”

Ralf lowered his ale before the mazer even reached his mouth. “What do you mean, my lady?”

“We must question Walter.”

“That we must surely do to confirm the details of the soldier’s murder,” the crowner said, his expression puzzled.

“He is not the servant he claimed to be,” Eleanor said. “Sir Maurice was his nephew. He has much to explain, I fear.”

Ralf slammed his fist on the table. “You are not suggesting that he murdered his own kin?”

“He lamented like a grieving father over the corpse. No man could weep so over someone he had just slain,” Thomas said.

“I think we must hear the tale from him,” Eleanor replied.

“If he did murder the man, he will surely be on a boat to Normandy by now.”

“Ah, Crowner, is there no difference between
kill
and
murder
in the world of secular justice?” Eleanor’s lips turned up with grim humor. “He has not fled.”

Ralf shook his head. “Forgive me, my lady, but this is not a matter for philosophical dispute. A murderer does not seek the rope. He flees.”

“Engaging in entertaining debate was not my intent. We should put the question directly to the test.” Eleanor rose. “If you are correct, Ralf, then Walter has left Tyndal. If I am right, he waits for us to come for him.”

The crowner stood up and bowed. “My lady, lead the way.”