The Sanctity of Hate (11 page)

of his eye, he realized that the crowd had disappeared, leaving behind a haze of dust over the road.

Near the path to the stables, Ralf was speaking to a small group. The armed men, who had come with him, lounged against the wall of the inn but stepped aside to let Nute run in to seek Mistress Signy.

A few houses down, Oseberne greeted the distraught Adelard, grabbed him by the shoulder, and tried to pull him toward the house.

The young man shouted at his father, tore himself loose, and ran down the road toward the priory.

Thomas hesitated, then turned back to comfort Cuthbert. The sergeant was no longer there.

Chapter Fourteen

The crowner slapped the monk’s back. “I heard how you saved my sergeant and quelled the mob, Brother. ‘Tis a pity you cannot change allegiance to a more earthly lord. King Edward could use your talents.” He jerked his head at his men who were now slipping into the inn. “In truth, those lads I pulled away from the fields wouldn’t have raised a hand against kin and friends. They only came after I let the sun fall on a pretty coin and promised a jack of ale.” He snorted. “My brother shall return the coin. I am willing enough to pay for Tostig’s finest.”

“I was grateful to see you,” Thomas said and hoped his friend did not see him tremble. The fear he had held back now struck him with especial force. “Nute deserves praise for his courage and swift feet. I did not want to put him in danger but had no other way of sending a message to you.”

The monk glanced over the crowner’s shoulder at the baker’s house. Or so I believed, he said to himself, and tried not to resent how Oseberne had barred the door and failed to say that he would summon the crowner. Instead of sending Nute through the mob, Thomas could have given the child safe haven inside the house.

“I will give him the sling he wants as reward and teach him how to hunt with it after this murder is solved.” Ralf’s eyes filled with the affection he felt for the boy.

“Was he or Oseberne the one to fi bring the news of the riot?” Thomas hoped he did not betray his annoyance with the baker.

“Nute, but the baker met us outside the priory gate and con- firmed that you were trapped by the mob. He himself was just able to escape through a back window.” The crowner laughed. “I think he was displeased that the boy came first with the news. He scowled when he saw Nute pulling me along.”

“The man owns a surfeit of pride if a child’s achievement angers him.”

“Oh, he softened fast enough when Nute told him how he ran without stopping and head down to make sure he did not fall in the uneven road. The baker smiled then, and who would not when a lad so young takes on a man’s responsibility.”

Not for the first time, Thomas concluded that the crowner would make as good father to a son as he was to his daughter. “However it came, I am grateful word got to you. Had you not arrived when you did, matters might have grown far beyond my small ability to control them.”

“Nothing diminishes what you did, Brother,” Ralf said, then gestured his intent to walk back to the stables. “Did you find out who was responsible for priming that mob like a pump with the details of Kenelm’s death?”

The monk shook his head. “While I was speaking with Adelard before the riot, Oseberne mentioned he heard women discussing the circumstances on market day. Now that village passions have cooled, someone might recall the source of the tale. Whether the first rumor included the suggestion that the Jewish family killed the man, a detail conveniently exonerating any villager who murdered an unpopular man, I cannot say.”

“I wonder whether the mob decided if the sick wife or the terrified husband had slit Kenelm’s throat.”

Thomas blinked at the crowner’s mocking tone.

Ralf glanced sideways at the monk, crossed himself, and walked on without further comment.

As they approached the new stables, they saw Cuthbert drying his legs. An uneven puddle in the dirt and a bucket sideways on the ground close by suggested the man had been trying to clean himself.

The moment the sergeant saw Ralf, he groaned and threw himself at the crowner’s feet. “I have failed you.” Cuthbert buried his face in his hands.

“You have always been loyal to me,” Ralf replied, his expres- sion sad at the humiliation this man had endured. “We may face death alone with courage, but a threat to our families will unman us all. Had I known your neighbors would threaten your loved ones, I would not have asked you to stand guard here.”

He clapped a hand on the sergeant’s shoulder and ordered him to rise. Not only was this man Ralf ’s sergeant but his bailiff, a position of responsibility won for both faithful service and competence. Nothing that had happened this day would change the crowner’s mind about Cuthbert’s character.

“Indeed, I now have a more important duty for you,” he said with his more usual gruffness. “Take your family to my manor house and watch over my child and her nursemaid until this trouble has passed. If any man from this village dares to even breathe over one silken hair on my daughter’s head, you will smite him in half or I shall later.”

Cuthbert turned away, his face red with shame. He knew that no man would dare attack the crowner’s manor. Ralf had just given him a haven for his family, disguised as a task that the sergeant knew was meaningless. “My family need not…”

“Those are my orders. Your family must go with you. A child cannot do without a father for so many days, and I know your wife would mourn your absence.”

The sergeant’s expression betrayed his longing to argue, but he chose silence instead and nodded. As they both well knew, Ralf could send his child and her nurse to the priory for safety, if there were any real danger. In any case, Cuthbert knew he must obey. It would be insolent to refuse the crowner’s kind gesture.

“Go!” Ralf ordered and gently shoved the man on his way.

As he watched Cuthbert run down the path that led to his dwelling on the edge of the village, the crowner felt at a com- plete loss. He had no one else to guard this vulnerable Jewish family. It would take too long to send word to his brother, now

in Winchester, that soldiers were needed. The men from the farms would return to their fields, and he doubted any amount of silver he could cast at their feet would tempt them to raise a hand against neighbors to protect a group they, too, despised.

Signy had made it clear that only Kenelm had been willing to shield these hated people. How could this family be kept safe until he determined whether or not Jacob ben Asser was the killer? Even if he was, the pregnant wife, her mother, and a maid must be protected from mob violence.

Ralf looked around. It would take very little to spark another riot.

The fishermen had not been part of this recent turmoil. They never left the sea until nightfall. The other villagers had now gone back to anvil, tanning pit, and barrel making, except for a few still clustered near the inn. When these saw his glare, their expressions turned sheepish and they scurried into the inn. Whatever they had been talking over, the men seemed calm, and the crowner prayed that the ale not overheat their blood again. Ralf turned to Brother Thomas. “I must question Jacob ben Asser about the fight he had with Kenelm.” He gestured in the direction of the departed sergeant. “I need a good head to help me and witness what is said. I should have asked Cuthbert…” “You were right to send him home, Crowner. I am happy to

take his place.”

“I heard the tale of the argument between Kenelm and ben Asser from Signy. Had you heard of it?”

“Oseberne and his son told me as well.” Although he was happy to share what he had learned about this with his friend, he chose to remain silent about the accusations against Gytha. Ralf turned to face the stable entrance. “Jacob ben Asser!” he shouted. “In the name of King Edward, I order you to come

forth.”

The face of the man who emerged was as pale as a corpse, and profound fatigue had bruised the skin with black circles under his eyes. Even his back was bent like that of an old man, but his gaze at the crowner was sharp with defiance.

This man had expected to be ripped apart by the howling mob, yet he refuses to cower and still honors the king’s com- mand. Suddenly Thomas understood that, if ben Asser had killed Kenelm, he could not demand sanctuary in the priory church, clutching the altar as a Christian might. He had no such option to avoid the hangman’s rope by foreswearing the realm and sail- ing to France. This saddened the monk, and he found himself respecting the man’s courage even more.

Jacob glanced at the monk. His jaw clenched.

Thomas stretched out his hand, then dropped it. This was one who had no desire for his blessing, let alone any comforting words he might speak. He was a monk, and his very presence was menacing to one of ben Asser’s faith. Although Thomas meant no ill, he now saw that he had been wrong to come with Ralf for this questioning. His presence had been misinterpreted as a threat. In an attempt to convey a peaceful intent, the monk bowed his head.

Jacob studied at the monk, then nodded almost impercep- tibly in response. Looking back at the crowner, he replied, “I obey, my lord.”

“You have much to answer for,” Ralf said.

Jacob spread his arms. “Ask what you must. I am ready.” “Witnesses have claimed you threatened to kill Kenelm not

long before he was found dead.”

Jacob’s lips twisted into a bitter smile. “He and I argued. Each of us exchanged hot words. Had my corpse been found, would these villagers be so eager to riot and announce that he had threatened me in like fashion? Whether my words made him angry enough to kill is something he can no longer answer. As for me, his words did not drive me to murder.”

“You exchanged blows.”

“We shoved each other. Nothing more.” “What caused this quarrel?”

“He did mock my faith.” Jacob’s look betrayed resignation. “That, by itself, is little enough if the violence suffered is only

with stinging words, my lord. We have learned to turn away when those, like Kenelm, ridicule what is holy to us.”

“But you did not retreat this time.”

Jacob gestured with a sigh toward the stables behind him. “As I said to you before, my wife is close to her term and suffers griev- ously. She needs rest to keep her strength for the coming ordeal. Kenelm, like that other youth whom you sent away, would not allow her to sleep. With courtesy, I asked him to lower his voice. He…” The man’s face turned red with controlled fury. “I need not repeat what he said, but he insulted my wife’s virtue and raised his voice so she could not help but hear his vile words.”

Ralf nodded, gesturing for the man to continue.

“It was then that I shoved him. Perhaps we did exchange some blows.” He raised his arms, then let them fall to his sides.

“You did not threaten to kill him?”

“I cannot swear to any verbal restraint in that moment. I might have said such a thing, as he might have responded in like fashion to me as well. But words are but sounds, often mean- ing nothing as wise men have said. Yet he is dead, and I stand before you, still breathing. Some will surely say that proves my guilt. I can only deny it, and I give you my oath that it is true.”

“Have you any proof of innocence besides your oath?” “Will you take a woman’s word?”

Ralf said nothing.

“I thought not, but my wife and her mother can confirm that I did not leave them that night.”

“No one else.”

“No Christian man, my lord.”

Thomas looked at Ralf and saw a glimpse of sympathy in his friend’s eyes.

“Yet no one can say that I left the hut either. May two nega- tives prove the positive that is innocence?”

Had the matter been less grave, the crowner might have laughed at the man’s jest. Thomas allowed himself to smile.

“Jacob!”

The man spun around.

A white-haired woman emerged from the stable, gesturing with cruelly crippled hands. “Belia’s water has broken. She will soon give birth. We must have a doctor…”

“There is none!” Jacob finally lost control, and tears poured down his cheeks.

For just a moment, Ralf forgot that this man was a murder suspect and grabbed Jacob’s shoulder. “I shall send for Sister Anne from the priory hospital.”

“You must not!” Jacob’s voice was raw with pain. “Our child will be baptized and taken from us.” He fell to his knees and began to pray in a language Thomas recognized as Hebrew.

“You would let your wife and babe die…”

Suddenly Thomas put a restraining hand on the crowner’s shoulder. “Wait!” he said and drew closer to Jacob and the white-haired woman. “Did your family not come originally from Norwich?”

Belia’s mother nodded.

“Sister Anne’s father was a respected physician there. His name was Benedict.”

Malka gasped, covering her mouth in shock. “Benedict of Norwich? My husband and I knew him well. We…” She stared at the monk. “His daughter is a nun at this priory?”

“She is also an apothecary and trained in medical wisdom by her father before he died.”

Malka’s eyes grew large as she placed the heel of her palms against her cheeks. Then she knelt beside Jacob. “We must let her come. I knew her father. He was a good man, and I remember this daughter when she was a child.”

“She is a nun,” Jacob replied in horror. He gestured at Thomas. “They, she, he will…”

“…do nothing except allow Benedict’s daughter to save Belia’s life and that of my grandchild. I shall remain by my daughter’s side.” She looked up at the monk. “Do you swear it? Give me your word that you will not strip my Belia and her child of their faith and heritage.”