Eleanor flushed with pride at the comparison and turned away to hide that failing. “You praise me too much, sweet brother.”
“And you are too kind to condemn me for my overweening pride, pricked because the baron did not include me in those he has called to his side. What I should pray for is enlightenment from Master Gamel. The baron may have slipped into deep melancholy after Roger drowned, but the subsequent deaths of Gervase and Umfrey are beyond any father’s endurance. Only Raoul is left now, a son who offers little comfort. I pray there is an earthly remedy to match the pain of such worldly woes.” He hesitated as if about to say more but fell silent.
Eleanor was about to ask questions about the baron’s relationship with his sons, when the sound of men’s voices echoed down the outside corridor. Their actual words were muted by the invading wind and thick stone walls.
Brother Thomas and Master Gamel walked slowly together, their heads bowed in thought. As they approached, they looked up, evidently startled by the presence of the knight and prioress.
Glancing at Brother Thomas, Eleanor was shocked. Rarely had she seen such misery as she noted in his eyes.
Master Gamel turned his face away as if he feared to meet anyone’s gaze.
What new tidings of dire import had the two men brought? Eleanor turned to Hugh and saw that he shared her apprehension.
The arrivals looked at each other, their expressions suggesting that each hoped the other would speak first.
“What have you learned?” The prioress could not will her voice to rise above a whisper.
Gamel‘s eyes shifted back and forth with evident discomfort. Then he bowed awkwardly. “My lady, I would reply but beg your indulgence. I must consult with your sub-infirmarian. May I ask where Sister Anne is?”
“She remains with the Lady Margaret, I believe. She was preparing a weak potion infused with poppy to allow the poor woman some healing sleep. Shall I summon her?”
“I see that she, too, has learned the use of that plant from those who came from Outremer. I am not surprised,” he murmured, a smile briefly smoothing the furrows in his brow. In the next instant, he grew somber again and studied his feet.
“I myself shall seek her. If her skills are no longer needed by the baron’s wife, I will sit with the lady until she falls asleep and allow Sister Anne to attend you. A woman servant can be found for company,” Eleanor said. “Where do you wish to meet?”
“In the Great Hall, if that is acceptable. She and I may have privacy to confer, and we shall be within the clear view of others for propriety.”
She wished she might join the pair, yet was wise enough to recognize that her presence would be less help and more of an intrusion. Now her heart began to pound, but she did not know whether that was due to fear or thwarted curiosity. In either case, these men knew something of significance. She was equally convinced the news, when related, would not be cause for joy.
With grace, the physician thanked her and left.
Eleanor also departed to seek Sister Anne, then glanced over her shoulder at the two men remaining.
Hugh and Thomas stood some distance apart, glaring at each other.
The prioress sighed and walked on, wishing she could stay to heal the discord between them. Other matters must take immediate precedence, she decided, and set her mind to the next task. As she entered the stairwell leading to Lady Margaret’s chambers, she felt a chill and spun around.
Hugh had turned to look out the window.
Thomas was watching her, his face pale with terror and woe.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The two men watched Prioress Eleanor disappear into the stairwell. The door fell shut behind her with a thud.
Folding his arms, Hugh turned to the monk. “I have the right to know what you learned from Baron Herbert,” he snarled. “Any new information might help capture a killer. Your willful delay of this hunt is reprehensible.” He rudely gestured at the monk. “A man of your ilk may find the need for principled action difficult to grasp, but surely even you can understand that the rest of us must react swiftly.”
There was such contempt in the knight’s narrowed eyes that Thomas felt his temper flare like a blacksmith’s fire. Only rarely did he want to cast aside the vocation thrust upon him and strike back like any other man whose honor was ridiculed. This was one of those times.
He put his hands behind his back and clenched them. This is my prioress’ brother and Richard’s father, he said to himself. Whatever Hugh had against him, he ought to simply remind the man that the priesthood was owed courtesy even if he himself was not. The words stuck in his throat and instead he chose to say, “I may not speak of it.”
Instantly he knew he had betrayed his fury with his tone.
“Master Gamel has decided otherwise, it seems, and chooses to share his knowledge even with a woman.”
Thomas ground his teeth but kept silent.
“Or is the truth of it that you know nothing at all? Perhaps my lord smelled your rank impiety, shut the door in your face, and spoke alone with Master Gamel. Surely you are not claiming the sanctity of confession for the baron?”
Thomas’ ears burned from the acidic scorn in the knight’s voice. “If you will,” he muttered, knowing that any attempt to explain or dispute would be futile.
Those three uttered words were still three too many.
“If I will? It is God’s command if you dare claim that the baron confessed anything to you for His ears.” He shrugged. “Yet your soul is so befouled that I doubt you even risk uttering His name. He might strike you with lightning for your blasphemy if you did.” Hugh stepped forward to wag a finger in the monk’s face. “I see rage burning inside you, Brother. In Outremer, King Edward’s gaze often turned earth into fire when he was displeased, but he is God’s anointed and that conflagration purifies. You are the Devil’s liegeman. Your passions pollute creation.”
Thomas grew dizzy as fury mixed with fear. This man did know who he was.
“You mock those of honest vocation when you wear a monk’s robe, Thomas of London.”
“All men sin, but God forgives those who beg His mercy.”
Hugh laughed. “You must have failed to repent and win His pardon. The stench of your true master still emanates from you.”
“What offence have I committed against you?” Thomas shouted, his words slicing the air like the sword he did not have. “Since I am a man who serves God, I may not take up a sharp blade and fight for my honor’s sake. My only recourse is to beg that you have mercy on me and forgive.” But his evident flash of anger contradicted any claim of meekness in his heart.
“What mercy did you grant Giles when you raped him?”
Thomas staggered backward.
Hugh pushed the monk up against the wall. “His father was my friend and told me the story of his only son. Giles screamed, did he not, begging you not to use him like some woman. Nonetheless, you defiled his manhood, an abomination that still festers, leaving him tormented with moments of madness.” Hugh grabbed the monk by the robe, twisting it in his hand until the cloth grew tight around Thomas’ throat. “His father is now dead, a good and pious man whose life was cut short by the ruination of his son.”
The monk gasped for air, and what little he was able to inhale was sharp with the rank sweat of panic.
“I should castrate you. Would that not be proper justice?” The knight laughed, then hit Thomas with the flat of his hand.
Blood splattered as a cut opened in the monk’s cheek.
Now outraged and desperate for air, Thomas swung his own fist, an ineffective blow on the ribs, but his knee hit the knight’s thigh.
Surprised, Hugh loosened his hold.
The monk shoved him away and struck again.
Ducking, the knight rammed his head into Thomas’ chest, forcing breath from the monk’s lungs.