Valley of Dry Bones (7 page)

Chapter Fourteen

The swelling corpse was covered by a writhing blanket of flies.

Prior Andrew’s face paled to sea-green. Cupping his hand over his mouth, he rushed into the nearby shrubbery and retched painfully.

“He’s been a soldier,” Ralf muttered to Thomas, “and has seen both living and dead with far worse wounds than that over-ripe carcass.”

Tilting his head in the direction of the dead man, the monk whispered, “Be prepared for greater amazement.”

Father Eliduc was kneeling in the blood-tinged mire.

Ralf’s eyes widened.

His robes pulled up around his thighs, the finely clothed priest was murmuring with fervency into an ear that would never again recognize human voice.

“I’ll see to our prior,” Brother Thomas said and disappeared into the bushes.

Ralf looked over at Brother Beorn who was standing several feet from the corpse. The lay brother remained motionless and silent, his eyes unblinking. The crowner could not decide if the man was stunned by the horror of this scene or had fallen into a trance.

Eliduc broke the silence with a disgusted grunt. Rising from the body, he looked with dismay at his filthy knees, then turned to Ralf. “God has granted your prayer for knowledge, Crowner.” He pointed at the body. “This is the mortal flesh of Baron Otes, his soul most cruelly torn away and sent to God’s hand.”

Were I to take an oath on this, Ralf thought, I would swear that yon priest was more distraught over the mud on his knees than unhappy about the murder of one of his company.

Father Eliduc briefly studied the crowner’s face, then scowled. “Without doubt, this is murder. Queen Eleanor will not be pleased to learn that she may not send any loyal servant here, lest some local felon kill him.”

“More likely, someone in your party had a quarrel with this man and found the timing of the journey propitious,” Ralf snapped.

Eliduc slowly raised an eyebrow. “Whom might you suspect, Crowner? Sir Fulke perhaps?”

Ralf reddened with fury.

The priest gestured toward Tyndal. “I only wish to point out how absurd your accusation is. If someone in the queen’s party had cause to commit this foul deed, do you think he would wait until now? There was frequent opportunity for murder on the long journey, and flight would have been easier as well. Had the killer hidden his identity and followed us, he would have found the bustle of inns better suited to swift murder and safe escape. For these reasons, I counsel you to look closer to those dwelling nearby for the man who did this.”

Although Ralf reluctantly conceded that the priest was right, he would not tell him so. He willed his temper to cool and turned to watch Brother Thomas assisting the prior down a slippery part of the embankment toward the pond.

Brother Beorn began to mumble something that sounded like a prayer, then covered his mouth as if fearful his words might be overheard.

With deepening frown, Ralf waited for the two men to approach.

“Forgive my weakness,” Prior Andrew begged with evident embarrassment. “I have been fasting today.”

“Might you have a name for this corpse?” Ralf asked.

Father Eliduc’s expression remained impassive as if taking no offense when the crowner requested confirmation of the priest’s word. Instead, he ripped a handful of tall grass up by the roots and began to scrape at the dirt on his knees.

Andrew nodded. “It is Baron Otes. I stood with Prioress Eleanor to greet the queen’s party and remember him well.”

Pausing, Eliduc glanced at the prior. “You seemed shocked to see him then,” he remarked, and then returned to rubbing the drying mud with renewed vigor.

If anyone so pale could blanch further, Andrew succeeded.

The long silence amongst the men was broken only by the bubbling murmur of the stream on its way to serve the priory mill.

Eliduc tossed the muddied grass into the flowing water and carefully lowered his robe. “I may have construed shock for pain when you cried out,” he continued, his tone devoid of any particular meaning. “You did step back awkwardly, and I feared you had injured yourself.”

“Aye.” Andrew’s ambiguous response was barely audible.

Thomas gently touched his superior on the arm. “Methinks our prior needs to rest in the shade of my hut. The day is hot, and this baron’s mutilated corpse stinks enough to trouble anyone, let alone one who has been fasting.”

The crowner nodded. As he turned around to speak with the other two men, he saw Father Eliduc walking away.

The priest gestured to the dazed Beorn that they should return to the priory. Ignoring all courtesy, Eliduc had not sought permission to leave from the king’s man, nor did he ask if the crowner had further questions.

Ralf said nothing. His lips twitched with amused satisfaction, knowing he had succeeded in insulting this arrogant priest. “Delighted to annoy you,” he murmured as he watched the religious disappear.

Meanwhile, Thomas helped Prior Andrew climb the steep path, leaving the crowner alone with the rank corpse.

***

Andrew grasped the empty mazer with such force his knuckles whitened.

Thomas poured more ale from the sweating jug. “I am curious to know why this priest joined you and the crowner on the way from Tyndal.”

“His name is Father Eliduc,” the prior whispered.

The monk almost confessed he knew this, then quickly thought the better of it. Instead, he sat down on the end of the rough bench and waited for what more this man, who rarely showed such unease, had to say.

Despite pressing his fingers against his eyes, the prior failed to stop the tears from rushing down his cheeks.

“Did you perchance know the dead man?” Thomas knew that fasting had never before caused his prior to weep.

“Aye, and have no cause to love him.” Andrew raised his cup and emptied it in one gulp.

Thomas refilled it. “Whatever quarrel you may have had with the baron was surely long ago and before you took vows.”

“Your loyalty and faith in me gladden my heart, Brother.” Andrew reached out and touched Thomas’ sleeve. “We both have lived long enough in the world to remember how the ways of men can bring mortal hearts pain and malignity.”

Briefly grasping his prior’s rough hand, the monk nodded. As for loyalty, Andrew earned that soon after Thomas’ arrival. The prior who was then porter had noted the strong resemblance between the new monk and another man of high rank. Sensing Thomas’ agitation, Andrew remarked that all men had secrets that could be left folded into the depths of the heart and never mentioned the matter again. From that day the monk knew this prior was a master craftsman in the art of compassion and quieting men’s fears.

“You are aware I served Simon de Montfort and fought at Evesham before I entered this priory.”

“That you told me not long after I arrived at Tyndal.”

“And I informed Prioress Eleanor of my past as well, knowing her family had supported King Henry. Our lady forgave me with her usual grace.”

“And you have rewarded her with loyal service ever since. Not only has God blessed this priory with a wise and compassionate prioress, He has given us a man of honor as its prior.”

“What I did not tell her, for I saw no reason at the time, was that my beloved brother also fought with me at that battle.”

Thomas raised an eyebrow, sipped his ale, and waited.

“He was killed.” Andrew fell silent. Although he covered his face, the deep furrows in his brow betrayed the grief he suffered. “Death in a battle fought for honorable reasons should not…” His last words stumbled on the sharp pain of his sorrow, and he could speak no further.

“Many praiseworthy men fought for de Montfort and some believe he is a saint, claiming miracles at his tomb. It is well-known that King Edward himself showed much favor to the earl’s cause until the end.”

“It was not the cause that brought disgrace to my sibling.” Straightening his back, Andrew wiped his cheeks, his face now scarlet with anger. “Dishonor was smeared on our family like ordure from a pig sty.”

“And Baron Otes was involved?”

“More! He was the man responsible.”

The monk poured more ale for them both.

Taking a deep breath, Andrew began talking as if the rush of words might heal him like the release of pus from a festering wound. “My brother and I were nearby when the Earl of Leicester fell. There I received the wound in my leg that still troubles me, and my brother staunched the blood flow, an act that saved my life. Had he not taken the time, he might have saved his own. Before he could escape, we were seized by Baron Otes’ men.”

“I thought you were captured by someone else.”

“Nay, Brother, although it was the Earl of Cornwall who finally decided my fate and demanded mercy for many others who fought for de Montfort.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “Had my brother been alive, I do not doubt we both would have received the same clemency.”

“Continue, please. I shall not interrupt you again.”

“There is little enough to tell. Baron Otes decided my wound would kill me soon enough, but he castrated my brother, as others had de Montfort, then stabbed him in the back to suggest he had been fleeing the battle out of cowardice. To further insult our family, the baron stuffed my brother’s genitals into his mouth.” Stretching his hands out as if begging God to banish the memory, Andrew wailed with indescribable agony.

Thomas grasped the man’s hands, understanding one cause for his unhealed pain. “Do not blame yourself for what happened, Prior. You could have done nothing to save him.”

“For the sin of not trying, I should have died unshriven.”

“Your brother would have wanted you to live to pray for his soul.”

“As I have each day since.”

“Then you have served him far better than any hopeless attempt to save his life. You were too weak to succeed. For both of you to have been killed would have served no good purpose.”

As his gulping sobs ended, Andrew ground his fist into the rough wood of the table. “There are brief moments when God grants my heart peace, Brother, and many more when I know the long penance before me.” He bowed his head. “From this tale, you can understand why I have reason to hate the baron and might wickedly rejoice that someone murdered him.”

“You did sicken at the sight of his cut throat which speaks more of horror than any joy,” Thomas said with gentleness.

Andrew shrugged. “Father Eliduc did not reason so. When he suggested I cried out in shock at the sight of the baron in the queen’s party, I asked myself if he had seen the dark spot in my soul.”

This time it was Thomas who drank deeply of the ale and quickly refilled the mazer. “I doubt the priest knows anything of the history between you and the baron.”

Yet he feared Andrew might be right. Eliduc knew much about men’s sins and often used their secrets to make them do his bidding. That the priest never did this for personal gain made his intrigues no less terrifying to the victims.

“He smelled my fear,” the prior said.

“Then quickly added he must have misinterpreted your cry. Surely all this priest meant to do was reproach our crowner for suggesting that the murderer hid in the queen’s party.” To shift the focus of their discussion away from Andrew, Thomas added, “I suspect the intent of his remarks was to prove how illogical the crowner was, not to make an accusation that would cast suspicion on you or on the integrity of our priory.”

“Maybe you do have the right of it, Brother. As a priest, Father Eliduc would never impugn Tyndal, nor can I think of any reason for him to point an accusing finger at me. Although my kin own some land and a little wealth, they bear no title and have but small claim to one. Surely I am beneath the notice of a man who serves such a mighty lord of the Church.”

Were they discussing any priest but this one, Thomas might agree. The monk could not quickly discount the possibility that the priest had reason to malign Tyndal Priory or slander its prior, nor could he see any value in doing either. Nothing the priest did could surprise him, however. Eliduc was as illusive as a wily trout in serving his lord’s interests.

Yet Thomas knew that the Church was jealous of its authority over its vowed servants and fought like a she-bear with cubs against any claim of jurisdiction by secular law. It would be most unusual for a priest of Eliduc’s rank to hint to a king’s man that a prior might have motive for bloodshed or that any priory had been so lax as to harbor him.

“Surely Father Eliduc meant nothing ill,” Thomas said at last. “Lest someone be foolish enough to suggest your guilt in this crime, you would be well-advised to tell your tale to Prioress Eleanor, if you have not already done so. Like me, she will know you are innocent of any violence. Learning how cruelly Baron Otes treated your brother will stiffen her resolve on your behalf.”

“Should I tell Crowner Ralf as well?”

“Would you tell him?”

“He is an honest man. There is no reason to fear injustice from him.”

“Remember that it is the duty of our prioress to determine how the matter must be handled, were you to be accused. You are not ruled by the king’s law.”

“I shall leave the decision about informing our crowner to Prioress Eleanor.” Andrew rose. “You are a good man! In the past, I have confessed my hatred for the one who murdered my brother. Speaking with you has brought more peace to my heart.” He smiled. “We miss you at the priory. Will you remain in this hut much longer?”

“I cannot say. God has not indicated that I am released from my vow.”

“When He does, we shall welcome you back with joy.” Andrew held out his hands to the hermit. “There is no need to accompany me. I have fully recovered my strength, and the priory grounds are close by. May God grant you peace, Brother.”

Following his prior to the door, Thomas watched Andrew walk down the road until he disappeared around a bend in the direction of Tyndal.

Although he knew Prioress Eleanor had the right to decide if a king’s man ought to hear Andrew’s story, he feared Father Eliduc more than he dared admit to anyone. Ralf was a friend of Tyndal. The priest might not be, despite all the good reasons for believing he must. In case Eliduc planned to sacrifice the good prior in the pursuit of some unknown cause, Thomas was tempted to tell the crowner the prior’s tale.