Perhaps the man did not dance naked in the winter storms with fork-tailed creatures owning hooves and hairy buttocks, but that did not mean the knight was uninvolved in worldly wickedness. Not only was there murder to explain, Thomas thought, but that troubling matter of the lights in the cove remained unexplored.
Raoul was the most likely suspect in the murder of his brothers, but Sir Leonel might be guilty of some other plotting, the exact nature of which remained unclear. The two might also be linked in some wrongdoing. Whatever the answers, Thomas was growing more inclined to point at least one cold finger of accusation at the baron’s nephew.
“May God keep me charitable,” he muttered, “lest I be no wiser than many other men and send curses down upon an innocent man merely because he has angered me.”
Wrapping his cloak tighter against his body, he hurried into the icy fog, searching for a pale horse and a well-armed rider.
Chapter Thirty
Eleanor bowed, until her head touched the rough wooden floor of the family chapel, and murmured inaudible pleas into God’s ear.
The high howling wind from the single window grew soft as if ordered to respect this penitent’s remorse. Even the flickering light from the rushes, brought by a servant and set into wall brackets, exposed only delicate shadows against the walls.
The prioress began to sob.
A woman’s hand gently touched her shoulder. “Shall I summon Brother Thomas?” Sister Anne whispered as she knelt. Her breath was soft on the prioress’ ear.
Raising her head, Eleanor rubbed her cheeks dry. “Nay,” she murmured, banishing all future tears and further evidence of sorrow. She turned to the sub-infirmarian with a weary look.
“I have stood outside the chapel door since you entered,” Anne said. “No one has approached to disturb your prayers.”
“How long have I been here?”
“Since you spoke with Sir Leonel and our monk.”
Eleanor clutched her hands to her chest and groaned.
“What troubles you?”
“How foul my wickedness has been that it has taken so much prayer to heal it!” She seized her friend’s hand. “I need your wisest counsel. I fear my soul continues to be blinded.”
Anne helped the prioress rise to her feet. Except when a mortal fever had struck her friend, Anne had never seen Eleanor so frail in spirit and body. “I am always ready to offer my poor service,” she said and disguised her deep concern.
For a long moment, the two women stared in silence at the altar.
“The smell of death is still strong,” Eleanor whispered. “Neither this place nor the common chapel is free of blood.” Clearly agitated, the prioress began to pace around the small area of the room. “Is it any wonder that no one comes here to pray? Or does the cause lie in the evil charm enchanting this castle?”
Anne shivered at the question but knew her friend had not finished her thought. She slipped her hands into the woolen sleeves of her robe and waited.
“I have felt evil in this place from the moment of our arrival, yet even knowing the danger, I have fallen victim to it.” Eleanor hesitated under the high window that cast a grey shadow down upon her. “After Sir Leonel left us, Brother Thomas reminded me that Satan’s exceptional beauty can blind us to his deeds.” She turned to face Anne. “I have been dazzled by that splendor, and for the sin I have been begging God’s pardon.”
Her friend’s expression softened with compassion.
“With proper penance, He will forgive, but now that my eyes are opening, I must look again at the events here. Your observations must keep me on the side of angels, lest I am ensnared once more by the glitter of evil.”
“May He give me strength,” Anne replied.
Eleanor ceased her restless stride and approached her friend. “Baron Herbert loves his nephew more than his own lads. Perhaps with cause. Sir Leonel has demonstrated wit and courage in war, qualities the sons lack. I have heard it said that the nephew should have been the heir, rather than any of the baron’s many progeny.”
Anne was startled to see the prioress grinding a fist into her palm. Her friend rarely betrayed so much overt anger.
“I find it difficult to ask this question about a father, but I must. Now that he fears he has leprosy, do you think Baron Herbert capable of murdering his own children so Sir Leonel will inherit?”
Anne paled. “If the baron has spoken, either of a preference in heirs or about his sons’ failings, he would have done so in private to Master Gamel or Brother Thomas.”
“The good doctor confides in you, respecting your opinion and knowledge as do I and all at our priory. He is university trained, yet you bring knowledge of a patient’s soul as well as experience in the healing arts. Your words are only for my ears. Be plain-spoken with me.”
Nodding, Anne quickly glanced at the chapel door. “Baron Herbert owns no tolerance for weakness.” She leaned closer to the prioress’ ear and lowered her voice. “This, you have surely observed yourself. A man must be like iron, firm in his faith, unflinching in battle, resolute in loyalty and honor. As he said to Master Gamel, a man who falters is a coward, worthy only of dishonorable death.”
“Had he sired daughters, he might have been kinder to them for I believe he loves his wife profoundly.”
Anne was relieved to see that Eleanor had unclenched her fist.
“Despite the harshness to his sons, his eyes moistened when he spoke of their deaths. His outrage was scorching when he thought they had been sacrificed as penance for his own sins. Even Raoul, whom the baron called cur, was also named Absalom, the son loved best by King David despite the boy’s rebellion.” Her brow creased with thought.
“When the baron confessed he might have leprosy, he asked Master Gamel if fathering weak sons had been an early symptom of the disease. The good physician disabused him of that worry.” Anne smiled. “He also told him that he might find the men, who greeted him on his return, different from the boys he left. At first, the baron seemed inclined to dispute this, then fell silent and nodded.”
Eleanor contemplated how the pale light bathed the gold altar cross with a sickly glow. “My brother came back from Outremer a much changed man, yet his love for his son has grown stronger with the absence.” She turned to Anne. “Why did the baron not feel the same?”
“Sir Hugh did not come home condemned to live while he watched his body rot like a corpse.”
Eleanor spoke her agreement while silently asking herself if any man returned without bringing the dead with them to populate dreams.
“You asked my opinion of what I have heard and seen.”
The prioress nodded.
“The baron is not one to show his love with open arms. Had he not been terrified of his illness, however, he might have cast a more patient gaze on his sons, willing to gauge their characters as men, not babes. Instead, he fled to a distant part of the castle, unable to bear the thought of infecting his family by looking or breathing on them. Nonetheless, he longed to die as close to them as possible. Baron Herbert may be a hard man, but I think he loves as passionately as he holds to his principles. In my opinion, this is not someone who would murder his sons so that Sir Leonel was left as his heir. He may love his nephew, but the man is his brother’s seed, not his own.”
A thin smile twitched at Eleanor’s lips. “You have confirmed what I have suspected, indeed hoped, would be the character of the man. Umfrey may have thought that the man who struck him was his father, but my belief grows stronger that it was someone else.” Then she tilted her head. “Before we speak of that, I know you have more to say but hesitate to utter your thoughts. I hear it in your voice.”
“My lady, I do not like the baron’s nephew.”