“Surely Prioress Eleanor requires your presence, Brother.” Hugh’s tone was barely civil. “I seek a private conversation with Master Gamel.”
Willing his features into feigned humility, the monk strode off until he could take a deep breath and calm his rising anger at the knight’s discourtesy. What had he done to make Sir Hugh dislike him so?
He found himself by the stables and walked inside. The smell of warm horse flesh and dry hay soothed his spirits. He leaned against one of the stalls.
One fear was that Hugh had learned of his work for the Church as a spy. That would cause the knight to doubt the monk’s honest fealty to Prioress Eleanor, a concern Thomas could well understand.
As he considered this more, Thomas decided it was unlikely that the knight had discovered the secret. Father Eliduc was too careful to let the information slip out, and, had his prioress learned of his dual allegiance, she surely would have banished him from that trusted circle of counselors she called upon for advice.
A horse nickered at him from the stall. Bending over the wooden frame, Thomas recognized his mare. “Eat,” he said. “You’ll need the strength for our journey home.” She gazed at him with liquid-eyed disdain.
Stroking her neck, Thomas then wondered if Hugh knew of his imprisonment. Although the story had been hushed, it could be learned, even if few would speak loudly of it. He might only be his father’s bastard, but too many owed his sire respect to defile his name with any son’s transgressions.
“The trip home will be easier,” the monk whispered to the mare. “And may it come soon. We shall both be happy to see the walls of our priory.” She shook and turned back to her fodder.
As he pushed away from the stall and walked out of the stable, Thomas doubted the revelation of his sodomy would even matter to Hugh. After all, he had atoned for the deed. The Church had accepted him as a religious, which meant he had done acceptable penance or else payment of some form had been exchanged to ease the process of total forgiveness. If boys could become bishops and bishops fathered babes, Thomas knew his own father was of high enough secular rank to permit one bastard son a place in a remote priory as a simple monk.
A little girl tugged at his robe, and Thomas stopped to give his blessing. With an understanding smile, he assured the red-faced mother that he had not been offended by the child’s innocent assault on his clothing.
As he continued on toward the keep, he realized that the thing troubling him most in this matter was not so much Sir Hugh’s cold manner as the recent change in the knight’s young son, Richard.
A few years ago, he had met the boy at Wynethorpe Castle and developed a father’s love for him. And since the lad’s own sire had been in Outremer, Richard often turned to Thomas for advice in matters he felt uncomfortable discussing with his grandfather, Baron Adam. In short, affection between monk and lad was mutual.
Soon after Sir Hugh’s return, all communication abruptly ceased.
Thomas lamented the loss. On this journey, he had been tempted to confront Sir Hugh and seek the cause. Since the lad still sent messages to his aunt, Prioress Eleanor, courtesy would have required him to at least add that he included Thomas in his daily prayers. Richard no longer mentioned him.
He was not sure why he hesitated to ask Hugh the reason the contact had been severed. It may have been the knight’s coldness toward him or else some niggling fear. In any case, Thomas had not spoken of it. A father must take precedence in a son’s heart, he repeated often, and the boy’s sire was now home. It was a poor argument, but he consoled himself with the knowledge that Sir Hugh loved Richard beyond measure.
He paused and glanced back.
Sir Hugh was gone, and Master Gamel was now talking with a servant who was pointing to a spot on his outstretched arm.
Did the knight really need to discuss anything with the physician? The monk decided it was petty to conclude that Hugh had dismissed him solely to banish the monk from his presence.
Thomas rubbed his cold hands together and decided he had best seek hot, mulled wine to warm his bones and silence this troubling chatter of his uneasy spirit.
Chapter Twelve
“Where are you hiding, Umfrey?” Raoul peered around the chapel but could see no one, let alone his timorous brother. “I am not an imp, although you have called me one often enough in time past.”
A shadow quivered near the altar.
“Let go of the altar. I’ve not come to slit your throat.”
Silence.
“You are not that well-hidden.” He sniffed loudly. “I smell your sweat.”
Not even the intake of breath.
After a moment of waiting, Raoul shouted that he had come to butcher the sibling who was now their father’s heir, detailing two uniquely violent acts he was contemplating. He stopped and waited.
Someone opened the chapel door and peered in.
“It is I, Raoul, youngest son to Baron Herbert. I have come to talk with Umfrey, not bludgeon him.”
The man slipped away but left the door noticeably open.
“As you have heard, I announced myself and my purpose.” He motioned toward the door with an exaggerated gesture. “Be comforted. That man will return after I leave. Should he find you dead, all will know who did it. Ask yourself if screaming bloody intent is the rational act of a brother who wants to inherit your eventual title and land.”
Umfrey thrust his head above the altar. “If you meant that as a jest, it was a vile one.” He now rose and shuffled to the dim light, cast from the window into a puddle by the altar. “Even pretending that you might commit violence in God’s place is impious.”
“Since our brother’s death elevates you to heir and me to a religious vocation, it becomes my duty to say that your stench must offend God. Surely it is blasphemy to piss so close to the cross. Could you not have left long enough to use the latrine?”
“Satan lives in this castle. I dare not leave Our Lord’s protection.”
Raoul studied his cheerless brother. Umfrey was hunched over, head bowed, thin arms hugging his sides as if to keep his heart from beating its way out of his chest. “Although we have never loved each other,” he said, “I pity you.”
“Neither of us was ever favored. You and I should have grown closer as brothers.”
“The former I’ll grant you.” He spat.
Umfrey opened his mouth to protest this latest churlish act, then changed his mind. “Our mother was fondest of the one buried today,” he muttered instead.
“In recent days, that could have been true. Mother always was changeable about her affections within the brood. But our father remained consistent. I was born last yet have heard it said that he looked on none of his sons with love after Leonel arrived. Do you remember anything about that?”
“Our father did not show me favor, but then Leonel came here before my birth. I am not that much older than you.”
“Yet we never banded together against our cousin. Why do you think that was?” Raoul leaned against the wall and peeled off a torn fingernail.
“We all liked Leonel. When our father discovered that one of us committed some offense, our cousin would plead for mercy on behalf of the guilty one.”
“And didn’t our sire always seem to find out our crimes, no matter how clever we thought we were! I, for one, needed much advocacy for the many times I was caught out.” Raoul snorted. “And I was oft given lesser punishments when our cousin pled my cause. Leonel must have learned how to cast charms, considering his success in halving the beatings I was due.”
“Charms?” Umfrey gasped. “Surely you do not suggest that our cousin is an imp?”
Raoul sighed and slid down to sit on the planked floor. “I shall make a poor religious, for I do not think men need imps to prick them into evil. All the Devil need do is sit and watch as men devise wicked deeds to perpetrate on others.” He chuckled. “Maybe we were created in Satan’s image, not God’s?”