The Sanctity of Hate (21 page)

doubted it. Whatever the youth’s faults, and he owned enough, Thomas also felt some hope that he might choose a kinder life than Oseberne had.

“Sometimes,” he murmured as he walked down the path to seek Prioress Eleanor, “I would like to believe that Man can be good.”

Chapter Twenty-seven

Eleanor listened as both Ralf and Thomas conveyed what they had learned. She sat quite still in her audience chair, but her gray eyes shifted restlessly between the two men.

The monk turned to Ralf. “Do you see any cause to doubt Master Jacob’s tale about Brother Gwydo? The story of their boyhood friendship could be confirmed, were you to question their old companions in Cambridge.”

“I think he was telling the truth,” Ralf said. “The man seems honest. After I left the house, I met Tostig on the way. He told me that he believed his prisoner to be a good man and that Master Jacob feared more for his family’s safety than his own. In my experience, a guilty man worries most about his own neck.” “Or he may have decided he will hang simply because he is

a Jew.” Thomas knew he had spoken with a sharper tone than intended. “Knowing there is no hope for himself, the man may well fear for those he loves.” Nor were these words any softer.

“Surely you do not think I would hang a man for murder just because he was not a good Christian?” The crowner’s tone was curt. “If so, most men would find ropes around their necks, and I might be nervous of my own.”

“I did not mean to offend. You have never sought the easy road to justice, Crowner, but others have,” the monk replied. “From what little I have seen of Master Jacob, I am inclined to agree with you and Tostig. Whatever his faith, he speaks and behaves like any upright man.”

Ralf looked ready to argue further, but Eleanor raised her hand. “We have no doubt of you, but your prisoner does not know your reputation for diligence in these matters. During the reign of King Richard, the sheriff of Yorkshire was complicit in the massacre of the Jews in York. That is but one example of the failure of the king’s law, and our current king has recently demonstrated an inclination to retreat further from the protec- tion traditionally promised his people. Do you not think the Jewish community has seen the same thing and grown fearful for their safety in this realm?”

Deflating, the crowner nodded.

“Therefore, let us turn our wits to better purpose and consider the new information and possibilities. You have both spoken of several. Shall we not set them against the facts and consider where that might take us?” There was a hint of impatience in Eleanor’s voice. “Brother Gwydo was strangled and most certainly did not murder himself. His death after that of Kenelm suggests he was not the guard’s slayer, but I think it likely he saw something he ought not to have witnessed.”

“He might have aided another in Kenelm’s death.” Ralf looked uncomfortable.

“Even if he did, someone killed him as well. There is at least one killer who remains free, although reason suggests there is only one.” Eleanor looked at both monk and crowner.

They nodded although Thomas’ expression remained troubled.

“I also believe Mistress Gytha’s tale.” Eleanor’s tone remained even, although she watched Ralf carefully. “She could not have slit Kenelm’s throat, nor easily dragged him from the road to the priory millstream. Would you agree, Crowner?”

“She is a most honorable woman.” He glanced away. Eleanor raised an eyebrow but continued. “According to her,

our lay brother found her unconscious in the forest and, when sense returned, he took her back to the priory grounds. She did not see Kenelm lying in the road where she left him. This sug- gests that the guard had already been taken to the mill pond.

Although we might argue that our lay brother committed the crime before he found Gytha, I find other details strongly rebut that conclusion.” She waited for a moment.

Neither man had any comment.

“Master Jacob,” she said, “has confided that his boyhood friend was horrified at the extent of violence perpetrated on the helpless in Outremer. For this reason, he felt remorse over his threats against his old friend after taking the cross, which is why he chanced my wrath and punishment to leave the priory and beg forgiveness for his words and actions.”

“I can confi that he hated violence, an opinion he expressed in our conversations before Kenelm’s death and the arrival of this Jewish family. Such a man is unlikely to kill another for no reason,” Thomas said.

“Might he have seen the attempted rape, become enraged, and sought to punish Kenelm?” Ralf opened his hand in a gesture that begged forbearance. “I ask only for the sake of discussion.” Thomas shook his head. “By dragging him into priory land, slitting his throat, and dropping him into the mill pond? Such violation of our land would be blasphemy for a man vowed to God’s service. If he had responded out of anger as you suggest, would it not make more sense to drag the body into the forest?”

“You have argued well,” Ralf replied.

“I confess that I cannot believe he would have killed a man at all, but, considering his fresh vows, I think he would have confessed it and thrown himself on the mercy of our prioress if he had.” Thomas looked hopefully at her.

“I agree, Brother,” Eleanor said. “When he begged to take vows, Prior Andrew and I examined him. Now I see we may have erred in failing to pose the questions we would have asked a man whose survival was not deemed a miracle, but he presented himself as humbled by the mercy God had shown in healing him. And, although he understood the war in Outremer was sanctioned by the Pope, he had seen too much bloodshed. We found his longing for a monk’s life quite credible.”

“I cannot argue with your reasons but that still leaves us with the question of why anyone would pollute God’s earth with a murdered man’s blood?” Ralf hit his palm with a fist in frustra- tion. “I can think of no one.”

“Of course, the Jewish family has been accused,” Eleanor said, “condemned by a false legend in which they poison wells. Even if we were inclined to wonder if this one instance might be true, the facts disprove it. Not only why but how could one woman about to give birth, another with hands so twisted she could not assist in the birth, and a frightened husband slay the sole person who protected them from theft and other forms of persecution? So we must ask: who would profit by casting sus- picion upon them, an accusation least likely to be questioned as evidenced by the village riot?”

“We have also not resolved the question of why the silver cross was found by Brother Gwydo’s body. With great zeal, Adelard joined the rioters,” Thomas said. “He might have killed Kenelm because the man protected the very people the youth believed were infidels. Since he thought our lay brother had sinned, he may have strangled him as well, and yet…”

“You believe him to have changed. When you spoke of Pope Gregory’s letter, you said his certainty in the right to kill Jews was shaken.” Ralf shrugged to suggest he found this explana- tion a thin one.

“He was attacked himself,” Thomas added. “That is a stronger argument against his guilt.”

“You are both reasonable men.” Eleanor smiled, although the knuckles of her folded hands were white from gripping them together. “Might we conclude, for good cause, that Master Jacob is innocent of killing Kenelm and Brother Gwydo as well as the attack on Adelard?”

“To do any of those things would have put his family in danger, and he is not a fool,” Ralf said.

Thomas nodded.

“Adelard may have had reason to kill Kenelm or even Brother Gwydo.” The prioress looked at Brother Thomas.

“But he could not have attacked himself. I think he would have confessed murder to me, my lady. He is deeply troubled by fear of having offended God in light of what both Pope Gregory and St. Bernard have said. He also worries that his father has led him into sin by insisting he help with the thefts. Had he committed murder, his current state of mind would have driven him to cleanse his soul even at the cost of the hangman’s noose.” “I do not share your belief that he would care more for his soul than his neck, but you have spoken to him. I have not.”

Ralf gnawed his finger.

“He has begged admission to the priory, Crowner,” Eleanor said softly.

“You have never allowed a known murderer to take vows, my lady!”

“Nor would I now, but I mention it to suggest that some men do care more for their souls than their necks. Considering his prior interest in a monastic life, this one might.”

He bowed with deference.

Eleanor acknowledged the gesture with grace but also knew that he had not changed his opinion. “Let me suggest another path to follow for a moment,” she said. “Is Oseberne, the baker, our killer?”

“He stole from the Jews,” Thomas said.

“So his son claims and further states that his father required him to spy on the travelers to determine what wealth they car- ried,” the crowner replied. “Is the son’s word trustworthy?”

“I believe it is,” Thomas said. He had no proof, but Adelard could have accused his father of both stealing and murder earlier if he wanted to save himself. Instead, he had refused to talk to the crowner without first seeking a priest’s advice. The youth’s torment over his filial duty was convincing, and the only crime he said his father had committed was robbery.

“Is there a connection between the thefts and Kenelm’s murder?” Eleanor gestured to the monk. “Can you see an argu- ment in favor of that premise?”

“Kenelm was hired to protect the families after they suffered from thievery. He could have caught the baker stealing. Since the guard was reputed to love coin above honor, perhaps he demanded payment to remain silent.” Thomas looked up at the ceiling.

Eleanor thought for a moment. “If he killed Kenelm, surely he was the one who pushed the body into our mill pond. He is a strong enough man to have done both. But why? He is a man of faith.”

“To suggest that the Jewish family did it to poison our water, thus draping his crime in the robes of common myth. Kenelm was not liked here. Master Jacob and his family are hated for their faith. No one wanted a village man to be condemned.” Thomas’ face colored with anger. “Men are so easily turned away from displeasing truths by more satisfying lies.”

“And Brother Gwydo might have been killed because he saw the baker kill the guard?” Ralf did not sound satisfied with the idea.

“If he had witnessed it, he would have come to me,” Eleanor said. “He might have seen Oseberne do something that troubled him, but I doubt he saw him push the body into the pond. Again, he would have told me about that. I suspect he did not recognize the baker. Our lay brother knew few in the village.” She turned to Thomas. “He took you to the place where the body entered the water but did not name any man.”

The monk confirmed it. “Oseberne may have feared Brother Gwydo saw more than he actually did. Perhaps our brother heard a loud splash and only saw some man walk back to the road? He had no cause to question this further until he found the body floating in the pond. Then, as Brother Gwydo told me, he did examine the area further.” Thomas clenched his fist. “In truth, there was no reason at all for the murderer to have killed our lay brother. Brother Gwydo saw nothing!”

“There is still the silver cross,” Ralf said.

“What father casts blame on his son, knowing he might hang for a deed he did not commit?” Thomas’ expression showed his

outrage over such an act. “If the baker found the cross his son had lost, why would he drop it next to our lay brother’s body? I may not like Oseberne’s thievery, and may even believe him to be a killer, but I cannot accept that he would want his son to face a hangman’s noose!”

“We do not know why the cross was dropped there,” Eleanor said. “We could continue to speculate, but there is little value in that until we have more facts.”

“I did find it some steps away,” the monk said, unwilling to set this problem aside. “It is possible that the cross was never intended to cast guilt upon Adelard. Yet how can we accept that a father would strike his son so brutally and leave him for dead?” “He might not have intended to kill his son,” Eleanor said. “The attack took place near Master Jacob’s stall.” She turned to Ralf. “As you told me after you arrested him, if the village believed him guilty of killing Kenelm, a crime that took place some distance away, the villagers would be more likely to con-

demn him for a villainy committed just outside his door.” “Once again suspicion is cast upon the Jews,” Ralf said, “as

it was when the corpse was dropped into your pond.”

“If the baker is guilty of Kenelm’s death, he seems to have killed the one he thought might have witnessed the deed. We have no other reason for his assumed violence against our lay brother.” Eleanor looked at each of the men, waiting for a response.

Thomas paled.

Ralf stared at the monk. “Which leaves one more in danger.” He turned to the prioress, horror painting his face gray. “Where is Mistress Gytha?”

“Not within the safety of our priory,” Eleanor said, color fleeing her cheeks as well. “Because we believed all danger was over, I gave her permission to visit her brother. She has left to…”

Ralf roared a curse that might have offended had it not been born of terror.

Eleanor leapt to her feet.

The heavy door of the chambers crashed against the wall. The crowner had fled the room.