Umfrey crossed himself and stepped back from his brother. “I shall listen to no more of your blasphemy!” His voice shook with fear. “Now methinks you are an imp, dressed up in Raoul’s image. Tell me why you came here.” Once more he made the sign of the cross. When his brother did not vanish in the expected puff of malodorous smoke, he looked relieved.
“You were not at our brother’s grave this morning. That was noticed.”
“I prayed for his soul. Here.”
“Some suspect you feared his corpse would sit up in its shroud and point you out as his killer.”
“He fell, unless the devil pushed him. But no man did! Leonel and our mother were witnesses.”
Raoul shrugged. “I only repeat what I have heard. When are you leaving the chapel?”
“When Satan is sent back to his own domain. Until then, he fiendishly works to destroy our family line.”
“Whether the Devil or God intends to obliterate this family, I cannot say, but I do know that only you and I remain alive of the sons.” He stood up. “Shall our parents survive, do you think? Maybe good-hearted Leonel is also on the list of those condemned. Who do you think will die next? There is no logical order to the deaths as far as I can see.” He waited.
His brother gagged as if something had stuck in his throat.
“If you are lucky, your time may come before you starve here. Are you praying that you be killed before our father, or mother, or…?”
Umfrey sobbed piteously.
“Hush! Father slapped me often enough for weeping. Did he not do the same to you? How could you fail to learn the art of swallowing tears when sorrow kicks you in the groin?”
“I may weep before the cross,” Umfrey whimpered.
“Like a woman.” Raoul snorted, then waited until his brother’s snuffling ceased. “Have you had anything to eat or drink since our brother’s death?”
“That monk from Tyndal Priory left me something.” He waved at the door leading to the corridor.
“A kinder deed than many others here would have thought of doing,” Raoul muttered and he reached for his pouch. “I shall make sure you are fed, brother. The family must care for its own, not by the good grace of a stranger, monk though he may be.”
“Dare I…” Umfrey did not finish his question.
“Trust me? No, but you have little choice unless God mistakes you for a sparrow and drops seed at your feet for nourishment. And you could drink your own piss… As for that, I shall send you a pot.” He grasped something in his pouch, then tossed it toward his brother.
Umfrey stepped back in horror and let the item drop at his feet. The thing glittered in the pale light.
“That is a cross to take with you for protection when you must leave the altar to set the pot outside the chapel for the servant to remove.” He rubbed his nose.
Umfrey bent down and snatched it up, kissing the object in penance for failing to catch it. Then he stared at the object. Quite large, it was ornately crafted in gold. “Where did you get this?”
“I found it. That is all you need know.”
“Then you have let kindness enter your…”
“I have done no such thing, Umfrey. I’d rather like to stay alive myself. If you survive as well, then I am content. But I have a price for my care of you.”
“Never will I agree to anything sinful!”
Raoul sneered. “Tell me all you know about our two dead brothers. Did you see or hear anything that could suggest why they died?”
The man shook his head.
“Treasonous plots? Thievery?” He pointed in the general direction of the baron’s chambers. “Even patricide?”
Covering his eyes, Umfrey groaned.
“Do you refuse to speak because you were also involved? If you confide in me, I promise to protect you from hanging, even if it means lying to the king’s men.” He waited a moment. “Since you are frightened enough for your own life, I suspect that you are not their murderer. But I may be wrong. At least your opportunities to kill again are limited if you remain in this chapel.” He gestured at the stone wall. “I ask once more. There is something amiss here, and the evil bears a man’s face. Confess what you know.”
“About murder?” Umfrey squealed the question like a piglet with a pinched tail.
“Surely you do not believe Roger drowned by his own hand or accidentally? That night, he was in my room, drinking wine and bragging about how many women he could swyve before Mass. I do not think he meant mermaids.”
“God must have so terrified him with a vision of how he would burn in Hell for those boasts,” the brother whispered, “that he threw himself…”
“Your logic is faulty if you conclude he would have set aside his terror of the sea and committed self-murder by swimming too far into the ocean from Lucifer’s Cauldron. You believe in God’s grace. Would He not want Roger to cleanse his soul first rather than go straight to the Devil’s arms without confessing and doing penance? Nay, brother, he was sent to Hell by a mortal hand.”
“Then Satan killed him. Otherwise, it was an accident!”
Raoul slammed his fist against the wall. “You have grain for wits, Umfrey. He was terrified of the water, would never go swimming in the sea, and there was no boat found. Besides, who would swim here in the middle of winter? He may have shared your lack of cleverness, but he was not a complete fool.”
“Dare you deny the Devil’s hand in this? As for Gervase’s fall, he was either driven to leap by an evil force or it was truly an accident!” Umfrey’s voice rose to an unnaturally high pitch.
“Mother says he acted drunk.” Raoul rubbed his chin. “Our beloved brother did love his wine, but he had always hidden his excesses well. He and our priest not only shared a fondness for the grape, they also feared that they never measured up to God’s expectations for those who take arduous vows. After a few flacons, they were more at ease with their failings. In sympathy with Gervase, the priest convinced our mother that her son was possessed of both great faith and a frail constitution when his head ached too often.” Raoul hesitated. “Maybe he did fall because he was drunk, but I see no reason for him to approach our mother in such a state after so carefully hiding his vice.”
“Then the Devil pushed him.”
“Something pushed him. I am ignorant of how it was done.” He fell silent.
Umfrey folded his arms in triumph. For the first time, he smiled with confidence.
“What do you know?”
“Maybe you did something to cause the death. I have heard that he was going to meet with you just before he fell.”
“If I did murder him, I must have very long arms. Has anyone claimed that I was present at his death? Or maybe you think our mother or Leonel pushed him?”
Umfrey wilted. “There can be no reason for these deaths other than the presence of the Evil One.”
“Very well,” Raoul threw his hands up in exasperation. “Besides food, drink, and a pot, is there anything else you need, sweet brother?”
Umfrey slunk back into the shadows. “I long to see my father,” he murmured.
Raoul gasped. “Father? If I were facing death, I’d rather choose a whore to distract me from my sorrows.”
Hissing, Umfrey stepped forward.
“That was a jest. I will seek out Leonel. Maybe he can plead on your behalf since I have been banned from our sire’s chambers.”
“Tell our father that I shall kneel and kiss his feet if he will only come here.”
Raoul grinned as if eager to mock his elder brother, but instead he turned away and walked to the chapel entrance. As he reached to shut the door, he looked back and peered into the gloom.
Umfrey squatted by the altar and clutched the corners like a drowning sailor might a spar.
He shut the door, then leaned against the stone wall and laughed.
Chapter Thirteen
Lady Margaret’s intended feast of hospitality soon became a burdensome thing.
The lute player’s string snapped, cutting his finger and ending the diversion. The ballads had been melancholy, but the music did mask the absence of conversation. Only the shuffling of servants’ feet, the clunk of platters, and an occasional cough now echoed through the Great Hall.