Justice for the Damned (5 page)

He
shook his head with indignation. "So why should her spirit trouble
me?" he growled, his breath gray against the growing dark. He, Wulfstan,
had done her no harm. She should haunt the monks that had lengthened her time
in Purgatory when they chose lust over prayer.

The
hairs on the back of his neck rose. He looked around. Nay, it was not yet dark
enough for ghosts to be fluttering about, troubling the likes of the honest
living. Nevertheless, he could not stop shaking, and his temper began to cool
in the darkening light.

Maybe
he had no wish to swyve that wife of his tonight after all, he thought. He did
not want any red-haired child either, and she had been a good woman to him in
so
many ways over the years. Briefly he smiled. Aye, she always made sure one
of the children put wood on for a fire, and she would have a hot meal waiting
for him. And, if he mentioned the ache he had, she would even rub his shoulders
with that balm...

A
movement on his left caught his eye.

He
stopped.

A
tall, black figure stood by the priory wall.

Monks!
Even with the wall repaired, this one had discovered a way to get through. He
cursed. Once more the inn would gain from the ale the man drank to dull his
guilt before he found soft breasts to fondle.

The
figure remained motionless, watching him.

Wulfstan
glared.

The
dark and hooded shape glided toward him.

"Off
to play at thrusting like a gelded goat," Wulfstan said in a low growl,
then raised his voice. "Others might stay silent, but I shall go to Sister
Beatrice about this!"

The
figure halted in front of him.

Wulfstan
stepped back. "What
were you
doing... ?"

The
first burst of pain was unbearable, but Death came with compassionate speed.

Chapter
Six

The
cresset lamps in the prioress' chambers flickered unevenly and cast moving
shadows on the faces of the four monastics.

Prioress
Eleanor was seated. The others remained standing.

"I'm
told you have a talent for clever investigations, Brother," Sister
Beatrice said. Soft though her words may have been to the ear, her piercing
gaze sharpened their meaning.

Thomas
lowered his eyes, but this had nothing to do with modesty. The novice mistress
reminded him of the cook who had raised him, a woman who could read everything
in a boy's soul, including those secrets left unformed by word or image. The
man began to sweat.

The
silence lasted a heartbeat too long. Mercifully, his prioress broke it.
"Brother Thomas is humble," she said, her voice tender as the May
air. "I shall respect that virtue and confirm myself what you have heard.
Not only has his pursuit of justice been of great value to my priory, but it
saved our family's honor..." She began to cough, bending forward with the
force of it.

How
thin she is, Thomas thought, watching Eleanor gasp for breath. As he saw the
quick glances now passing between sub-infirmarian and novice mistress, the monk
knew they shared his concern that this once energetic young woman was still so
wan and frail.

When
the prioress' fever had spiked to dangerous heights just after Twelfth Night,
Sister Anne had remained by her bedside, sending him orders for herbs and
potions. Dark-eyed with worry and ashen with fatigue herself, Anne confided her
worst fears when he delivered the medicines to the nuns' cloister door. Then
Eleanor's fever broke at last, and Tyndal's religious offered grateful prayers
that their respected leader had spurned Death's skeletal hand.

Or
had she but delayed her acceptance?

Although
he had realized from the day he arrived at Tyndal that he owed Prioress Eleanor
a liegeman's loyalty, he was surprised to discover that his sense of duty had
deepened with warm affection. She had always treated him with kindness, and,
after he had been forced to tell her something of his past before her illness,
she had shown him sensitive compassion. Aye, he thought, he very much wanted
this woman to live.

Eleanor
straightened. A worrisome flush painted her cheeks, but Thomas saw a sparkle in
her eyes he had not seen since last autumn and a look not unlike that gleam in
a huntsman's eye when he saw a fine boar he wished to kill for dinner.

"My
lady is most generous," he said, bowing. Since he had no reason to believe
her look was directed at him, he welcomed this sign of returning vigor with
joy. Thomas found his prioress' iron will and determination most daunting, but
he admired it as well. For once he was not embarrassed by the tremor in his
voice. Relief was the cause.

Sister
Beatrice tilted her head to one side, her lips easing into a reflective smile.
"My niece would not have praised your actions out of a magnanimous spirit,
nor would my beloved brother of Wynethorpe. He liked you, he said. That remark,
from a man more likely to bark reproach than sing approval, has greater value
than the gift of a furred robe from King Henry."

"I
am honored," he replied and once again bowed his head, but this act of
humility masked amusement. The convent nun and her warrior brother did share a
fondness for candid speech.

Beatrice
nodded approval. "Courtesy has now been given its due, I believe. We have
a problem to solve." She gestured at the monk. "Do you believe in
ghosts?"

Thomas
blinked. "Ghosts?"

"Aye."
The corners of the novice mistress' thin lips twitched upward.

"Forgive
my hesitancy, but I am amazed. This is the second time today I have heard such
spirits mentioned. Sayer, the roofer, warned me that one was troubling the
priory, but I did not take his tale too seriously. He seemed a very merry
fellow and quite fond of jokes."

"Indeed
he is. Now I would hear what you know of the restless dead."

"Saint Augustine did not believe in them, nor do I think our Brother Aquinas would from
what I have been told. Although there have been sightings of saints as well as
demons in the guise of humans, there does seem to be general agreement, amongst
the wise scholars of the Church, that the dead remain with their own. I bow to
their superior knowledge."

"Such
sweet phrasing is worthy of a bishopric, Brother." Beatrice raised an
amused eyebrow. "Within that speech, I conclude that you do not personally
believe in these spirits who some claim rise from their graves after
dusk?"

In
spite of himself, Thomas grinned in reply.

"Excellent.
I concur. Yet others have declared that we have such a phantom nearby,
insisting that they have seen it on several occasions. The sightings have
become more frequent of late, and there is panic growing in the village as well
as amongst our monastics."

"What
form has this spirit taken, to whom has it appeared, and when?"

"A
man who wastes no time." Beatrice clapped her hands with satisfaction.
"I like that!"

Thomas
stared at her for a brief moment. Nay, he was not back at Wynethorpe Castle, and he was not facing Baron Adam.

As
if acknowledging his thoughts, the novice mistress shook her head. "Our
nuns have not seen the creature at all. Some of the men, who work in the nearby
priory lands and live in the village, have. Several lay brothers and monks as
well. Although they say the spirit has no face, they think it wears a woman's
robe.

The
majority claim the shade is that of our alleged founder, Queen Elfrida. Based
on such imprecise details, I might not conclude that King Edgar's long dead
wife has come to us all the way from Wherwell Abbey, but many believe they have
seen a crown on her head. The description of that has been both varied and
vague."

"You
told me others say the ghost is that of a local woman." Eleanor learned
forward, resting her chin in her hand.

"Who
has also been described as wearing a crown, but this one is made of fiery nails
for her spirit comes from Hell," Beatrice replied. "In either case,
the shade appears at twilight, when men are returning from work in our fields,
or else very early in the morning, especially when the fog rises from the
river. She walks along the road by the Avon, although some monks have claimed
to have seen her within our walls on priory land."

"So
said your roofer." Thomas glanced over at his prioress. "He seemed to
think the ghost was the queen."

Beatrice
closed her eyes in a brief attempt to hide her disdain for the whole debate.
"The first sighting was before Prioress Ida left on her journey," she
continued. "A worker saw a woman on the path and, noting her veil and
plain dress, thought it odd that a nun would be walking alone outside the
walls, especially at that hour. When she drew closer, he saw she had no face.
Others have reported that she came from the river, her attire wet as if she had
just emerged from the water."

"Which
might explain why a few think she is the local woman."

"One
reason certainly," Beatrice replied to Eleanor. "Opinions on that
vary, but one man went to offer aid. When he saw she had no hands and nothing
where a face should be, he ran away."

Thomas
began to pace, then asked, "Why do some think the ghost of a local woman
would haunt the area?"

"Mistress
Eda was the wife of a vintner in the village. After she drowned in the Avon, the crowner and his jury determined that she had committed self-murder. We then
buried her in unconsecrated ground. Despite his verdict, there are those who
still believe she died by accident and has been wrongly accursed."

"I
can understand why the villagers might conclude that the ghost is the vintner's
wife, if her corpse was dishonored in burial, but why do so many think your
founder has returned?"

"Our
young rogue, Sayer, did not give you a clue?"

Thomas
felt his face flush. "Aye, he did."

"Come,
now, Brother! Surely you know there are those who come to a monastery with
little longing for the life, and that others arrive with a vocation but must
struggle with the flesh more than they imagined? Our priory has had our share
of these and, like any villager who saw them at the inn, Sayer knows them
well—as do those of us who are responsible for this priory's reputation."

"He
did tell me as well that these monks had repented."

"And
he is right. Our prioress made sure the break in our wall was repaired. Those
monks who chose to lie between the legs of Eve's daughters instead of praying
on their knees for the queen's spotted soul have been punished and now have
renewed enthusiasm for the chaste life."

"That
the creature continues to bother the priory argues in favor of those who think
she is the vintner's wife," Eleanor suggested.

"Or
else there was some delay receiving the news in Purgatory that Prioress Ida had
destroyed the easy path to sin?" Anne did not betray, by either tone or
expression, whether her words were said in jest.

"There
is no ghost," Beatrice snapped, the V between her eyes darkening.

"The
alleged
spirit has committed no violence?" Thomas asked with
careful emphasis.

Eleanor's
brief smile expressed her approval of this speech.

"An
older man fainted, but a companion soon found him. Our Brother Infirmarian
treated him and he survived."

"Have
most of these sightings occurred outside or within the priory walls?" he
continued.

"Nearly
all without."

"The
king's justice..."

"Lest
you think our local sheriff should be interested, I must lay waste to any hope.
According to him, no harm has been committed; therefore, there is no crime.
Even if some ill had befallen someone, he says that all ghosts fall under
Church authority, not secular justice. Besides his evident laziness, he has not
the intelligence of your own local crowner, as my niece has told me. I would
not trust our fellow to know a ghost from a bed sheet."

Sister
Anne chuckled.

"If
the ghost prefers to walk outside the priory, I may be of little help in this
matter, Sister. Since I am a monk..."

"That
is easily remedied." Beatrice poured a measure of wine into a footed mazer
and handed it to him. "We can let you out the gate. Monks do travel the
roads, and a late arrival might find his way to the inn. You are not known in
the village."

"Sayer
might recognize me." Thomas hesitated before quickly adding, "We did
have some conversation. I was walking nearby and had cause."

"And
he does spend time at the inn. Nay, blush not, Brother. I know he provided both
women and drink for our weaker brethren. Since you are a stranger to this
priory, I would not be surprised if he tried to tempt you, for the rediscovered
piety of those monks has surely cost him. Perchance he even cursed this
ghost
for that."

"If
he sees me, I cannot play either a virtuous or a traveling monk. He will think
I have come for sinful purposes. How then shall I...?"