The baron shrugged, but the gesture was half-hearted.
“Even before the attack on our king, Father Aylmer doubted the sincerity of all conversions, but he especially hated the physician, Lucas, because he had discovered too many of the priest’s own transgressions.”
“A priest, however frail himself, may always point out another’s errors. That is his duty as God’s creature on earth.” The baron half-turned to Thomas. “Am I not correct, Brother?”
The monk glanced at the prioress’ brother, then nodded with reluctance.
Hugh continued, ignoring both the baron’s defense of Aylmer and Thomas’ response. “As you often remarked, my lord, you had many enemies in Outremer. Knowing this, Lucas told me that he had overheard Father Aylmer talking to a man who told him of your visits to the prostitute. I questioned the healer further. He could not identify this informant, nor all that was said. The meeting took place in shadows, and much of the conversation was whispered. Yet he was quite certain that a bag exchanged hands, one that jingled with coin.” Hugh looked with sorrow on his friend.
“Lucas is akin to the snake in Eden, a creature whose purpose was to cause discord amongst true Christian men. Even if your heathen did not lie to you, this story only proves that he is the spy I always believed him to be. In whose pay was he? Did you ever ask that?” Herbert hissed the last few words.
“If Lucas was a spy, it was on my behalf. Knowing that you had recently become deeply troubled, I asked him to watch you in secret. You did not wish to confide in me, your closest friend, yet I still feared for your safety, wondering if you had been threatened or fallen ill. Lucas happened upon this strange meeting on just such an undertaking. If condemnation is due, it is I who must suffer it.”
“I wonder that you dare repeat this preposterous tale.”
“Despite your contempt for Lucas, I can vouch for his honesty.”
Gamel cleared his throat. “Did this physician observe any symptoms of illness, Sir Hugh?”
The knight shook his head. “He did note some troubling changes such as the loss of hair. As for the numbness, Baron Herbert failed to speak of it, although he sometimes dropped things he held in his right hand. Lucas suspected the baron’s severe fever might have caused the hair to fall out but said nothing to me of leprosy.” A muscle in his jaw twitched, and he turned to Herbert. “I repeat this tale, my lord, because I now suspect Father Aylmer may have been paid by one of your enemies to give this diagnosis of leprosy, thus causing you to flee Acre. As I recall, you soon set sail for England and before the king left.”
Herbert did not reply and kept his back turned to the company. When he finally spoke, his tone was harsh. “Yet despite all your fine theories about plots, I may indeed have the dread disease. Father Aylmer has not been proven wrong, and, if you claim he erred about the severity of my transgressions, then explain why my sons are dying.” He spun around, raising his fist. “Are their deaths not a continuation of God’s curse?”
Gamel jumped in front of the baron. Keeping his back to Herbert, he raised his arms so that the man’s face was hidden. “In God’s sacred name,” he shouted, “keep your eyes averted, my lord, until we know whether or not you have leprosy!”
Herbert fell to his knees and covered his face. “May God forgive me if I have infected any innocent here with my contagious gaze!” Raising his hidden eyes heavenward, he said, “My sins stink like gangrene, but others do not deserve my curse.”
“My lord!” Eleanor cried out. “Your sons may have been killed, not by God, but by a mortal hand. We know that Umfrey was murdered by a man. The killer was seen leaving the chapel.”
Herbert’s hands slid from his face.
The prioress saw his look of horror and continued. “If one son was murdered by a creature of flesh and blood, then Roger and Gervase may have been dispatched by the same hand.”
Herbert recoiled on his heels as if struck, then bowed his head and groaned. Slowly rising, he turned his back. “With due respect, my lady, I must disagree. Roger drowned. No one was seen with him. As for Gervase, he showed many signs of being drunk. I grieve that I had such weak sons, yet my sorrow is greater that they died with all their sins upon them. No man did this. Satan may have or else God in his wrath.”
The baron’s words were sharply spoken, but Eleanor heard his voice falter at the end. Behind that unbending exterior, did he truly mourn his sons’ deaths? Or was the hesitation after the mention of their names a sign of guilt? After all, Gamel said that Umfrey had been quite certain that Herbert had been the one to stab him. Yet Eleanor still hoped this father was not the killer of the sons, no matter how much he might wish that Sir Leonel had been his own eldest son and heir. “Did anyone examine the bodies?” She kept her voice soft to dull the pointed question.
“There was no reason. We buried the first…” He coughed. “Although some claim Roger drowned himself, our old priest let us put my son in sanctified ground. There was no proof of sin, he said. Thanks to Brother Thomas, who granted the hovering soul some peace, we were able to bury Gervase next to his brother. No sheriff or crowner was summoned. The deaths were not suspicious.”
Or so you determined, Eleanor concluded, her hopes about the baron’s innocence fading. If the king’s men can be kept from asking questions, murder may be hidden with ease.
There was a loud pounding on the closed door.
Someone gasped in fright.
“Who dares to come here?” Herbert roared with pent-up anger but lowered his head as he turned around and resumed his seat in the shadows. “Enter,” he shouted, then muttered, “But prepare to have cause. Pray for mercy if you have paltry need to speak with me.”
Thomas stepped back and swung the door open.
Sir Leonel entered the room. Bowing deeply to his uncle, he said, “Forgive this intrusion, my lord. This is news you must hear.”
The baron tilted his head against the back of his chair, clearly relieved that his beloved nephew had arrived. “Your presence brings me a little joy. Speak.”
“Raoul cannot be found. He has vanished.”
The howl rising from the baron’s throat was like that of a wounded wolf. “My last son!” he shouted to the ceiling. “My youngest boy! Is this cur yet another Absalom?”
Eleanor might still be undecided about Baron Herbert’s guilt or innocence, but now she trembled with another fear. Might it not be a crueler fate if the baron was blameless, yet his only remaining son was the murderer?
Chapter Twenty-Six
Scowling, Hugh muttered an almost incomprehensible oath as he watched Leonel walk away.
Eleanor approached her brother and stopped in front of him. “You are not joining the search for Raoul?”
“I offered my assistance.”
Her frown was sufficient question.
“He refused, arguing that he and his chosen men would know best the secret places where his cousin might be found. If I wanted to serve the family, he said, I should remain here and comfort his uncle.”
Glancing at the firmly shut door to the baron’s chambers, Eleanor assumed what Herbert’s response to such an offer of solace had been.
“I ought to have gone with Leonel,” he growled. “I am not a wet nurse, nor is the baron in need of one.”
“Do not let anger overcome your usual good judgement, brother.”
Looking down at his sword, he fingered the hilt.
“If you allow reason to repossess your spirit, you may find some way to satisfy your desire to contribute to this endeavor without the need to beg leave.”
Hugh looked surprised, then grinned. “While I sputter over injured pride, you find answers. I am humbled. Our aunt taught you well, sweet sister, and must have found joy in your kindred spirit.”