The Sanctity of Hate (8 page)

Gwydo began to shake as if he suffered an ague, and his teeth chattered. Fearing the pair could hear the sound, he jammed his fingers into his mouth.

But the couple said little more. Gytha declined the monk’s offer of assistance back to the prioress’ chambers.

Thomas’ brow was furrowed with worry, but he bowed silent acceptance of her refusal and walked on toward the gate leading to the village.

The maid hurried off, stopping once to look over her shoulder before disappearing into the nuns’ quarters.

Gwydo pulled himself out of his hiding place and stood up, stretching his stiff back. His heart was heavy. Although neither maid nor monk had committed a grave wrongdoing, the lay brother was deeply troubled. Thomas should never have embraced her as he did. Was the gesture an innocent error or had it signified something unchaste between them?

Had he been wrong about the monk’s virtue? As for Gytha, she was a woman, a temptress like all of her sex. Just one touch, even one suffered in a compassionate act, and a man’s chastity was endangered. He knew how he weakened in his resolve. But perhaps Brother Thomas was as strong in his faith as Robert of Arbrissel, founder of this Order who went into bordels to preach? Once again, Gwydo doubted his ability to differentiate between virtue and sin.

“Most certainly I erred in pointing out that this murder may have occurred here. It was wicked pride that made me do it. I wanted Brother Thomas to look with favor on me for discover- ing something no one else had.”

Deep in thought, Gwydo walked back to where he had left his coils of woven straw and bent to pick them up. Suddenly, he turned pale, straightened, and shook his fists at the heavens. “Wherever you may be, Satan,” he roared, “I curse you for blind- ing me so I could not see the consequences of my heinous deed!” What was he to do? He struck his head and groaned. “I must,

I shall make amends for my sins.” In frustration, he squeezed his eyes shut and moaned.

He could do nothing now. The road outside the priory would be filled with men, wearied from many hours of labor and traveling back to their homes in the village. Taking a deep breath, he tried to calm himself. Later he could hunt for some- thing that would convince Crowner Ralf and Prioress Eleanor that the murder had actually happened outside the priory walls. He would apologize for his error in believing he had discovered evidence to prove otherwise, an arrogance for which he would welcome any penance.

But he must find a way to leave the priory while it was still light enough to hunt for what he might use to do this. How to explain this new discovery to the prioress was a problem he would cope with later. After all, he had no right to leave these grounds without her permission. He must expect severe punish- ment for this act alone.

Compared to the sins he had already committed, he decided that was the least of his transgressions.

Chapter Eleven

The air was cool after the late night rain. Birds rejoiced as the moist soil yielded fat worms. Plants glistened, stretched forth their leaves and welcomed the morning sun.

Chapter had ended, and the nuns left the chamber in an orderly fashion to attend their various tasks. They were silent, arms folded into their sleeves and heads bowed. For most, prayer was their primary duty in this life they had chosen, and they longed to return to it.

Prioress Eleanor, however, was restless. Although the reports on wool profits and incoming rents needed attention, she feared she could not concentrate on them. Instead, she went back to her private quarters, knelt at her prie-dieu and sought the relief found in more prayer.

The worldly businesses of the priory might not have kept her mind tethered to the earth, but other matters most certainly did. With a courteous apology to God, she leapt up and hurried back down the stone steps to the cloister garth. Her favored cat, named after the King Arthur of legend and dreams, trotted after

with a noticeable joy in his gait.

As she entered the garden, Eleanor let herself be lost in the profuse growth that hid walls and only allowed an open view of the sky above. This was a peaceful place, one where all the nuns went from time to time to find the silence needed to rediscover God, for noise and human pain were still found in cloistered worlds. In gardens, even the wind was hushed.

Arthur, the orange tabby, sprinted ahead of her and began to investigate what might lie hidden under the moist leaves. Eleanor smiled at him with love, then briefly closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

This garth was tended by Sister Edith, a nun whose touch was so skilled that many believed God had shared some of His secrets from the creation of Eden with her. When winter brought bitter cold, life here never quite ended. There remained a sense that all was simply asleep until the spring. Some said the garth reminded them of the promise of resurrection. All found balm for wounded souls.

Only here did Eleanor find that absolute stillness which allowed God to whisper in her ear. The chapel might be a setting for contemplation but bustling creatures, praying mortals, and the stones themselves produced intrusive sounds. In this place, nature took a submissive role, demanding no notice and offering only a gentle comfort. She glanced down. Even in heat of the day, flowers were soft and fragrant; the purple star-shaped ones with yellow centers were among her favorites.

As she turned to look at the murmuring fountain, however, she recalled that even this sanctuary had once been blighted with murder. Only days after her arrival years ago, Sister Anne had found a corpse here. Eleanor’s memory of Brother Rupert’s cruelly mutilated body was as vivid as if he still lay just in front of her. She sat on a stone bench and began to feel a slight throbbing over her left eye. Pressing her fingers against the spot, she prayed that God would be merciful and not let one of her severe head- aches strike now of all times. Although the feverfew she took at Sister Anne’s suggestion eased much of the pain, she had begun to suffer more from flashing lights, shimmering colors, and other

strange sights as a forewarning of the headaches.

She stared back at the purple flower. There was no glitter- ing halo of light surrounding it. The mild throbbing began to recede. God had been kind.

She must think clearly about Kenelm’s slaying. Stiffening both back and will, she drove the panic she felt over this new

murder on priory grounds into exile. Just because violence had invaded Tyndal again did not mean one of her religious was guilty of the crime.

It would not be the first time she had had to consider the possibility. Each time she prayed it would be the last. Now her stomach roiled with fury that the question must even be addressed. She looked up and silently asked God why He chose to vex her so over and over. Surely the death of Brother Rupert several years ago had not been meant as a sign.

Eleanor stared upward as she fought to quiet her soul’s com- plaint. It was not for her to demand. It was her duty to serve God without question. “If my function on this earth is to war against those who commit the ultimate crime, so be it,” she conceded, but she still did so with teeth clenched.

The clouds, like tangles of sheep wool, scuttled across the blue sky. Overhead, a dark-headed hawk flew by. Its flight was leisurely, seemingly without purpose, but such languor belied its deadly mission. In the open grounds of Tyndal Priory, an unlucky rodent would soon be dinner.

And so Death hovers over us all, she mused. We can only pray it comes as a good death and not against God’s plan.

She rubbed the palm of her hand on the stone and felt jagged spots, although the bench was well-crafted. There was an allegory in that, she decided. Tyndal was dedicated to purity of thought and deed, but sharp-toothed serpents lived within the walls No one wished to hear that anyone sworn to God’s service could commit a heinous crime, but she had seen too much of Man’s darker side to ever ignore the possibility.

“But who could it be this time?” she murmured and ran through a list of all who dwelt here. The nuns were sequestered with a few exceptions. Her sub-prioress dealt with the world, but she was no killer despite her querulous nature. Sister Anne and Sister Christina oversaw the care given at the hospital. The former was a healer, and the latter utterly incapable of violence. Almost all the women, lay sisters included, had been here when she came to lead them. Anchoress Juliana was the exception, but

Eleanor had cause to know that she had faithfully remained in her enclosure.

As for the monks, they were few in number and, again, most had been in residence long before she arrived. Brother Thomas was more recent, but he had entered Tyndal shortly after she did. She had already spoken with Prior Andrew about those under his authority, both lay and choir brothers. After that trouble when Father Eliduc visited two summers ago, she was confident Andrew had thoroughly investigated the possibility that a monk might have killed Kenelm. According to the prior, no one knew this man who had come so recently to the village. Gossip always breached priory walls, but only one monk admitted he had heard

the dead man’s name.

That left the lay brothers, who labored in the fields or hospital so the choir monks might spend a greater portion of their hours on their knees. Beseeching God to save the souls of His flawed creation kept the latter too busy to harvest or tend coughs. Many courtiers had paid for this mercy, with land or other wealth given to the priory. There were many lay brothers at Tyndal as a consequence.

Last evening, Andrew had questioned the eldest and most reli- able of the lay brothers. Although Brother Beorn was quarrelsome and judgemental, the man struggled to be fair, humbly prefacing his remarks with a warning that he suffered many imperfections. After uttering complaints about the laziness of one lay brother and the garrulousness of another, Brother Beorn finally mentioned Brother Gwydo, the newest member at the priory. Prior Andrew told his prioress that Beorn was uncharacteristically reluctant to speak ill of the man, yet he had expressed some unease.

Both she and Prior Andrew had approved Gwydo’s plea to remain here for the rest of his days. Having been a soldier, Andrew especially understood the need for a man to leave a war- rior’s life, no matter how noble the cause of war. Eleanor’s eldest brother had joined King Edward on crusade, and she had seen the change wrought in her once joyful sibling. The decision to admit Gwydo was an easy one.

When she asked the cause of Beorn’s discomfort, Andrew had shaken his head and confirmed that the elder lay brother could not explain it. “I have often thought Brother Gwydo to be of higher birth than he has claimed,” the prior said. “Once he responded when Brother Thomas used a Latin phrase as if he knew the language. That suggests more education than a common soldier might own.”

“Or else his parish priest taught him, hoping the bright lad might find a calling with the Church,” Eleanor had replied.

Perhaps they should have questioned Gwydo more about his past, she wondered, but he had come to their hospital to die, his eventual survival counting as one of the many miracles here. Now sitting in the garth and watching a bumblebee roll inside a bright pink flower, she could think of no good reason to suspect a man of murder because he might know a little Latin or be a soldier of undisclosed rank. A desire for humble service should be cause for celebration, not suspicion, especially if the supplicant was of high rank. A rare event perhaps, but there

were examples to be found amongst the saints.

Watching the bee fly away, she rose and began to stroll along the gravel pathways of the garth, keeping her thoughts still. Here and there, Eleanor paused to smell a sweet scent or wonder at the delicate beauty of the local wildflowers Sister Edith chose to intermingle with other flowers deemed nobler.

She glanced behind her.

Her cat followed, now accompanied by a brown-striped female of his ilk.

Eleanor chucked. Her beloved Arthur had shown extraor- dinary devotion to this particular cat who served to keep the hospital free of offending rodents. This pair must have produced enough kittens over the last six years to rid all East Anglia of mice and rats.

Had she truly been prioress that long? Naïve as she may have been when first appointed to the position by King Henry III, she had lost much innocence since her twentieth year. Although Brother Gwydo did not trouble her for the same reasons he did

Brother Beorn, she could not assume he was completely innocent of any wrong. Since he was the newest member of the priory, and the one whose past was least well-known, she must seek more information about the man. If there was anything pertinent found, she would consider the details with an uncompromising impartiality. Any error made in approving his entrance would be hers, a mistake she’d openly confess.

Hearing the bells ring for the next Office, she was thankful. Her prayers would include a plea that God grant her that clear and just mind she needed. In this, He had rarely failed her.

And soon she would meet with Crowner Ralf, show him the latest findings, and pose her questions. In truth, what troubled her most was not that one of her religious might have sinned but that the crime had been committed on priory land. There was no doubt in her mind that there was a reason for that.

Might the killer have such an extreme quarrel with Tyndal that he would ignore God’s wrath to shed blood here? That conclusion seemed unlikely, yet… She willed herself not to think further on that.

Taking one last deep breath of the summer air, Prioress Elea- nor turned into the path that led to the chapel.

As she drew closer to God’s house, she felt lighter in spirit. Surely she had done all she could, given what she knew of Kenelm’s death. Sending Brother Thomas to visit the baker, Oseberne, and his son, Adelard, was a good decision. Of course her monk’s opinion on the suitability of the young man as a novice was crucial, but she also knew Thomas would take time to learn more about the dead man as she had suggested. Whether gossip or fact, something must cast light on why this slaying had been done and why in Tyndal. She should not worry about possibilities without cause.

Just before she left the garth, she heard a noise and looked over her shoulder. Her cat and his lady were just slipping into the greenery, those loud meows suggestive of amorous intent.

More kittens to terrify mice and serve God? Amused, she laughed quietly but suspected He might share her mirth.