Whenever Anne grew formal in private, Eleanor knew she was expressing something she feared the prioress would dislike. “I must hear your reasons,” she said softly. For the good of my soul, she added in silence.
“You have said that Brother Thomas spoke of Satan’s shining face, a creature that once ranked amongst the highest angels and possessed great beauty while his heart oozed with rank corruption.” She stopped and looked with sorrowful countenance at the prioress.
“I beg you to continue.” Eleanor dreaded what Anne was about to say, fearing it would echo the voice in her own heart that she had silenced too long. Later, she would condemn herself for not seeing what her friend had recognized far earlier. Her own frailty was of little importance now. The only thing that mattered was catching a killer.
“Sir Leonel is a man possessed of many virtues others rightly praise. He has courage, charm, and stands by his uncle whatever his illness. Despite owning much that is praiseworthy, his manner toward you, a woman vowed to God’s service, is too bold. Brother Thomas has thought so as well and fears the man does not have a pure heart.”
“I am equal in guilt, if not more blameworthy, for allowing it,” Eleanor said, as the weight of her imperfections bore down on her once again with an awful heaviness. She shrugged, determined not to be distracted even by her failings. “You have said what I most needed to hear. My soul is lighter, my reason restored. Now, as always, God has lent His hand to your healing skills.”
Anne bowed her head.
“My lady?”
Startled, the two women looked up.
A manservant stood, shifting from foot to foot, just inside the chapel door. He stopped twitching and bowed with mumbled apology. “Baron Herbert seeks Brother Thomas for confession, but I cannot find the good monk anywhere in the keep.” He began to wring his hands. “I have gone to his room, the common chapel, and the hall. He was not walking in the passageways.” His eyes grew wide with fear. “My master grows impatient.”
Eleanor turned to Anne.
“I have not seen him,” the nun replied.
“Come!” Eleanor rushed past the astonished servant and into the hall. When she reached a window, she looked into the bailey and gestured to Anne. “Do you see him anywhere?” She stepped aside so her friend could take her place.
The sub-infirmarian peered down and studied the thinning crowd. Suddenly, she pointed. “Is that him?”
Eleanor edged next to her and squinted into the icy mist swirling past the window. “Near the gate?”
“To my knowledge, there is no other monk here and certainly not one with a soldier’s height and breadth. It must be Brother Thomas.” She stepped back and stared at the prioress. “Where can he be going? He is leaving the castle, and there is no nearby village.”
The prioress leaned back from the window and pressed her fingers against her eyes. “Not this!” Blinking and now wide-eyed, she cried out: “As You were merciful to Lot and his family, when you destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah, take pity on two innocent men. Destroy me for my wickedness, but let my brother and that good monk live!”
Anne gasped.
Eleanor spun around and summoned the servant. “Immediately take the two of us to Baron Herbert.”
“What has happened?” Anne clasped her hands in confusion.
The servant’s ruddy face turned grey, but he gestured for them to follow.
Her own face pale, the prioress spoke to Anne in a low voice. “I told Sir Leonel where Hugh had planned to search for Raoul. Brother Thomas overheard me. As you told me, our monk was not blinded by the nephew’s charms. Methinks he may have followed Sir Leonel out of the fortress. I not only fear for my brother’s safety now, I also worry that Brother Thomas has left to find my brother. Both men may be in danger from this nephew.”
“I did not say I thought Sir Leonel was the murderer.” Anne looked at the prioress in horror. “Only that he has fooled many into believing he is a more virtuous man than he…”
Eleanor put a finger to her lips as she pulled her friend along after the servant. “Who gains if Baron Herbert has no heirs?” she whispered. “Suffering symptoms that suggest her womb is no longer fertile, Lady Margaret fears she can no longer bear more sons. Her husband may be cursed with an incurable disease which prohibits him from bedding any wife out of fear of contagion.”
“Raoul could still be the killer. Does he not stand to inherit if Umfrey is dead?”
“That he does, but I now see reasons to doubt his guilt. Consider these points. The nephew knows the baron well enough to successfully pretend he is Umfrey’s father. Raoul is least likely to remember how his father spoke or gestured. How could he mimic the baron when he was so young when Baron Herbert left? The Lady Margaret has also told me that she sees much of her husband’s ways in Raoul. If the father would not kill his sons to make Sir Leonel his heir, would a like-spirited lad think it honorable to kill his brothers in order to raise himself in rank?”
Anne looked doubtful.
“I agree that a mother’s soft love would hold little weight in a disputation based in reason. My belief that the knight could dissemble better than the youngest son is also a weak argument. Yet even my brother, who has little love for Raoul and high regard for the nephew, hesitates to call the son a murderer. I grow more convinced that Leonel is the killer. He is a clever man and beguiles others so sweetly that they never ask what motive he has for doing so.”
“What is your plan?”
“I must convince Baron Herbert that his nephew is a dangerous man.”
“Surely he will defend Sir Leonel, a man who has served him well and like a son for years. Although I dislike him, the knight has proven virtues apart from his charm…” Anne’s eyes widened. “Your words ring true. Even though I saw a flaw, when he treated you with disrespect, I never thought to ask if the nephew had a base motive behind his well-played actions within this family.”
“The baron has grounds to discount anyone’s accusations against his nephew, especially those of a woman, no matter her rank or vocation.” Eleanor’s eyes narrowed.
The servant stopped at the door to the baron’s chamber and glanced back at the two women following.
“Announce us,” she said, then quickly turned to whisper in Anne’s ear. “But I shall use a woman’s power, if I must. I may weep, bend my knee, and plead with him to save Hugh from harm. Whether the murderer is Raoul or Leonel, I have cause, weak woman that I am, to fear for my brother’s safety and demand the rights of a guest. Baron Herbert is obliged to offer protection to his friend, a man who came at his behest, even if the danger comes from his family. Indeed, his sense of honor would require it if close kin were involved. At the very least, he will send a company of soldiers out to seek and protect my brother from the killer.”
“Have you no way to convince him that his beloved nephew might be the killer?”
“I have one that brings great weight.” She winced and pressed the heel of her hand over her left eye.
Recognizing the gesture as a symptom of the prioress’ blinding headaches, Anne prayed she would be spared.
“I have just come from the chapel where I begged God for guidance. Did He not bless me with enlightenment and point out my own errors of judgement regarding Sir Leonel? The baron is a man of faith. Without a priest immediately at hand to interrogate me, Baron Herbert would hesitate to conclude that my revelation is false. I may be a woman, but I am still Prioress of Tyndal, a religious office that demands respect.”
Emerging from the chamber, the servant bowed and gestured for the women to enter.
“I pray for your success and confess that I also fear for Brother Thomas’ safety,” Anne murmured.
“I fear most for him,” Eleanor replied. “Unlike my brother, he carries neither shield nor weapon. God must provide him with the armor he lacks.”
Chapter Thirty-One