Glancing at his face, Thomas knew the merchant had finished playing games with him. He should not have shown such evident doubt over Durant’s explanations. If he wanted to avoid equally overt misgivings from this troubling man about his own purpose here, he would have been wiser to play the innocent.
“I have not been in Walsingham before and thought to spend a little time walking about the town. Monks do not often see the outside of our priory walls.” He shrugged. “Improper or not, we always enjoy news of the outside world. I readily confess that I share this weakness, but seeing what some believe are the joys of the secular world only makes me stronger in my vocation.” There is enough truth in that, Thomas thought. He and Prioress Eleanor often found too much violence beyond the walls of Tyndal.
“Then we soon part,” Durant replied, “and I may not have the pleasure of your company again.” He pointed to a house some doors ahead which Thomas knew, from the painfully explicit details he had been given, belonged to Master Larcher.
“It shall be as God wills it,” the monk replied.
Thomas would give the wine merchant time to complete his business with the craftsman and hope Durant left soon. It would require stealth, but he might hide nearby and watch for the merchant to leave. Then it would be safe for him to visit Master Larcher.
He looked around. Unfortunately, there was nothing here to give him cause to tarry. Were he to try to hide somewhere, he might be reported. Despite his tonsure, householders did not trust strangers who lingered with no obvious purpose, and thieves never hesitated to disguise themselves. Pretending to be an innocent religious might add to their many sins, but robbers were not usually as rigorous in their faith as they were in their devotion to their trade.
Durant stopped close by the craftsman’s house. “Will you give me a blessing, Brother? I am a sinful man but wish I were a more virtuous one.” He knelt.
Thomas obliged him but did not add any prayer that God look with favor on this strange enterprise mentioned by the wine merchant. He doubted God would believe he meant such a thing and refused to insult Him by pretending he did.
Rising, Durant smiled at the monk. The warmth of the look seemed genuine and Thomas felt a twinge of guilt. The man still might not deserve his suspicion.
The two parted, the merchant to the door of Master Larcher and the monk to his aimless journey down the street as he tried to decide what he ought to do next.
But Thomas had not walked far before he heard running footsteps behind him.
“Brother Thomas! In God’s name, please stop!”
The monk spun around, shocked by the urgency in the man’s voice.
It was the wine merchant. Durant’s face was ashen. “I beg you to come quickly. I need your help.” His voice trembled with emotion.
Thomas nodded. This was unfeigned. Something had happened to toss aside all pretence.
Together the men rushed back toward Master Larcher’s house.
Chapter Twenty-four
Father Vincent looked over his shoulder and saw the monk and wine merchant running toward Master Larcher’s house. Terrified they would see him, he fled into a narrow alley.
Pressing his back against a wall, he prayed he would not faint. Were he to do so, and someone found him, he would be hard-pressed to explain what he was doing in this part of town. There was no one living here whom he had any cause to visit, except the craftsman Larcher, and that was the last person he wanted anyone to think he had just seen.
Why was he so cursed?
His head spun. Sweat ran down his back and sides. Even he could smell the sour fear oozing out of him. He whined and groaned, then muttered a prayer to God for forgiveness. Realizing he had spoken aloud, he glanced around, hoping no mortal was close enough to hear him.
There was no one around.
Easing away from the wall, he slowly peeked around the corner toward the place he had seen the two men.
No one was seeking him, or at least not yet.
Feeling a modicum of hope, he hurried down the short alley and emerged into an adjacent street.
He longed to run but knew he was wiser not to do so. If a man passed him by, he might remember that haste. If nothing else, the person might be a pious soul and stop him to ask if he could help. Why else would a priest be running unless there was a dire illness or impending death?
Again God showed His favor, and Father Vincent escaped from his questionable route and into the main road to the shrines. If anyone saw him, they would assume he was returning from worshiping at one of them.
Breathing a sigh of relief, he slowed his pace even more. Now that he was safe from pursuit, he could take the time to arrive at Ryehill Priory with the welcome news that they need no longer fear anything Master Larcher might say or do.
Chapter Twenty-five
Durant ordered the apprentices away from Master Larcher’s door. Three swiftly fled back to the workshop. One hesitated, looking over his shoulder as if enchanted by violent death. Once the private stairway to the house was cleared of the curious, the wine merchant turned to Thomas. “Let us go up,” he said. “I think you can guess what the lads found.”
The body of the manservant lay on his back in the stairwell a short distance from the entry to his master’s rooms. Thomas knelt by the man’s side, but his examination was brief. There was a dagger in the chest of the corpse.
“We must send word to the sheriff or crowner,” the monk said, looking down at the merchant standing a few steps below. Thomas put his hand on the servant’s neck. The flesh was still warm to the touch. “The murderer left not long ago, although I fear he has escaped beyond reasonable hope of capture.”
“We shall call the king’s men as soon as we see what lies in those chambers, Brother.” With that, Durant leapt up the stairs and past him to the entry door. He did not bother to call out or knock before going inside. The door was half open.
With a final glance at the dead man, Thomas slowly rose and followed. If he had only suspected before that this wine merchant was not all he claimed to be, he could now no longer doubt it.
Yet he followed him into the chambers without hesitation. Listening to his intuition when reason saw no logic, he believed that Durant had begged his assistance without guile. This time, Thomas was certain they shared an interest, if not an exact purpose. Whatever the man’s true vocation, the monk decided he had nothing to fear from him in this matter, although he was still unhappy that he had been used to obtain information and even more that he was fool enough at the time not to realize it.
As he walked through the door into Master Larcher’s living quarters, he looked around the room.
Durant knelt in front of a dark wooden chest, the three iron locks pulled up, and he was searching through the contents. A few rolls of parchment lay on the floor. A small box was upside down, the contents scattered. The smell in the room was foul, but the wine merchant paid no attention to the cause.
The body of Master Larcher was slumped over a table, his hand next to an overturned goblet, and his head in a pool of vomit.
Thomas walked over to the corpse and touched the neck. Like that of the servant, it was warm.
On the table was a pottery jug. He peered into it. It was half-filled with a wine that had a pleasant smell. The merchant apparently enjoyed fine wines, he thought. Bending to look under the table, he noticed a stain in the rushes on the side opposite where Larcher sat. He knelt, felt it, and sniffed his hand. The spot was still damp, and his fingers smelled of wine.
He glanced back at the table top. There was no second goblet, and the wine spilled from the merchant’s cup was dripping next to the body.