Her deep concern pleased him. It was clear she valued his services, and he could not have felt more honored if she had been the king himself. Had she been the king, he thought with amusement, he might have earned a knighthood by now and made his dead father proud of his bastard son. Yet Thomas was content. The respect given by one whom he revered ranked far higher than the rewards granted by mortals in less favor with God than Tyndal’s leader.
His prioress also expressed concern for the wellbeing of Gracia. “Larcher knew she had overheard them discussing treason,” she had said. “Might he not kill her for the knowledge even if he is King Edward’s man and innocent of Sister Roysia’s death? Dare he let any untrustworthy witness to his secrets survive?”
“It is unlikely Larcher would kill a child,” he replied, but knew the argument was weak. He was unacquainted with the man. As additional reassurance to his prioress and himself, he pointed out that Gracia had long survived due to the swiftness of her wit and feet.
“Yet the girl was afraid of some threat and fled from us,” Eleanor said, “despite the protection offered by two adults and before we had finished talking. Although she fears her rapist, I doubt that man would dare approach when we were with her.”
His prioress was right, he decided, and Gracia’s safety was one more reason he wanted to interrogate the badge craftsman now. Even if he discovered nothing about the nun’s death, he needed to learn what kind of person the merchant was.
Larcher might not be the king’s man. He could be the assassin himself and have killed the nun because she had learned more about him than he deemed wise. If this were true, Gracia’s life was in danger.
Having worked as a spy himself, albeit for the Church, the monk knew that men often lied about their loyalties to obtain information for their true masters. Even if Larcher were loyal to the king, the monk was quite aware that those who did this work did not always obey God’s law. Despite his assurances to his prioress, Thomas was uncertain whether the craftsman would or would not kill the child to silence her.
Swearing to observe caution, he and Prioress Eleanor had separated, she to the protection of priory walls and he to the unknown dangers of Master Larcher’s house. Before they did, he had begged a blessing from his lady and she had given it, adding a prayer to God for His special protection.
***
As he walked down the road toward the shrines, he stopped a carpenter and asked the way to the craftsman’s house. This man had been one the monk questioned outside the inn when he and his prioress sought information on Gracia. Proud that the monk wished further information from him, the man’s chest swelled with pride and he grew talkative.
As the carpenter described, with impressive detail, each landmark on the way, Thomas’ patience was sorely tried. Every turn in the road was matched by the man’s torturous twists of body and hand. The monk’s mouth ached with the effort to keep his lips smiling with appreciation.
Finally, the tradesman paused to catch his breath. The monk thanked him, and then raced down the road, looking back briefly to wave in gratitude. That thankfulness extended to escaping the man himself.
Master Larcher’s house lay closer to the holy shrines, along a street that was wider than the ones he and his prioress had visited with Gracia. A raker was pulling refuse away from doors and dragging it into piles. A short distance away, a cart waited to haul the garbage away. With delight, Thomas noted that the cart horse appeared to be taking a nap.
Suddenly, he became aware that someone was walking close behind him. Veering toward the middle of the road, Thomas spun around and faced the man following him.
Durant stopped, raised his open hands to prove good will and that he held no weapon. “I did not mean to startle you, Brother. I was about to call your name.”
You were too close, the monk thought. If you had intended as you claim and meant no ill, you would have called to me from a greater distance. “Master Durant.” He did his best hide his nervousness and smiled ingenuously.
“I am honored that you remembered my name.” The wine merchant’s smile could have meant anything.
“I recall our conversation in the inn. You promised to stop any further rumors about the Devil being involved in Sister Roysia’s death. Thus you helped preserve Ryehill Priory’s reputation. That was a kind gesture.”
The wine merchant bowed, but his gaze only briefly left the monk.
Thomas felt a growing apprehension. This was a puzzling man, one who probably had many secrets buried inside him, but the monk did not know if they were benign or malevolent things. He had seen the prioress’ cat kill a mouse with more directness than this wine merchant played with his fellow men. And those mortals, the monk suspected, might well include himself.
“I see we are walking in the same direction. May I join you?”
Thomas was about to reply when the merchant stepped so close to him that he could feel the heat of the man’s body. Durant grasped his arm and very firmly pushed the monk to move on.
Glaring, Thomas resisted, forcing the wine merchant to stop. There was no doubt that Master Durant wished to control this chance meeting. The monk was not about to become a willing follower.
Durant dropped his hand, stepped back, and laughed.
This was not the reaction Thomas had expected. Perhaps he had misjudged the merchant, or else the man was cleverer than he had assumed.
“Forgive me, Brother. I am accustomed to the world of commerce. We rarely stand still to discuss anything.”
Clever, Thomas decided, but even more certainly a lie.
“I am going to visit Master Larcher and noted that you are walking that way as well. If I have not offended you, I would share that part of my journey in your company.” He waved in the direction of the shrines. “I would appreciate hearing about your experiences at the holy sites.”
Silently, Thomas uttered an unholy oath. Although he had also planned to meet with the craftsman, he did not want Master Durant to know that. A satisfactory explanation of why he happened to be walking this street did not come swiftly to mind, so he took the offensive before the question was asked of him. “You have business with him?” He hoped his question did not suggest he was deliberately prying.
“I learned that he is the craftsman who makes the pilgrimage badges for the shrines here.” He clapped his hands together in pleasure. “God chose to smile on me, and I met him at the inn where I am staying. In the course of sharing a very pleasant wine, I suggested we might become partners in a business venture.”
Thomas looked at him with amusement. “I see that miracles do not always take place in shrines but in the world of commerce as well. That a wine merchant from Norwich sees a reason to join with a craftsman of Walsingham pilgrimage badges amazes me.”
A twinkle of what might have been appreciation shone from the man’s eyes. “Men who love coin are ever alert to the ways of acquiring more. I see no reason not to tell you that we thought we might extend his sales to Norwich for those planning a pilgrimage here. If a penitent owns the badge before departing, he may be more likely to fulfill his vow.”
Thomas uttered a sound that could be interpreted as disbelief or delighted surprise.
“The idea may come to nothing, but the offer of compensation was a fair one to us both. I hoped to meet with him and discuss it further.”
The two continued on in silence, each man lost in his own musing.
“What brings you to this part of Walsingham, Brother? It is far from any shrine.” Durant’s voice bit into the monk’s thoughts.