Thomas raised an eyebrow, then felt foolish. He saw vulnerability flicker in the man’s eyes, a betrayal of weakness he had not expected. “I am glad you did,” he said gently. “Not many knowing of my imprisonment and ancestry would be so kind.”
Durant looked away. “The rank of your sire puts you far above me.”
“And that of my mother places me far below.” The monk waited a moment. “Shall we agree that their union and the lack of God’s blessing on their bed places me somewhere in the middle of God’s greatest creation?”
“Still, I see your kin reflected in your eyes.”
Instinctively, Thomas shut them. “I may be a changeling for all you know and own no kinship with those you mention.” He reached out a hand. “Shall we agree that I am simply Brother Thomas of Tyndal Priory and due honor only as I best serve God?”
Durant took the offered hand. “You should have served the king. Did you take vows out of profound conviction?”
Thomas did not pull his hand away, finding comfort in the man’s touch. “I did not, but I discovered a home and true calling at Tyndal Priory. Prioress Eleanor is a wise leader, and I am happy in her service.”
“God has given you peace?”
“He granted me what may be the greater gift, that of patience.” Thomas realized that the merchant had withdrawn his hand. Looking up, he noticed that Durant’s eyes seemed to have changed color from green to a soft brown. “Peace comes from a purer faith than I own.”
The merchant sipped at his wine, as if considering a new aspect of it, and then nodded. “How does Prioress Eleanor?”
“Her arm was broken, but the infirmarian at Ryehill is skilled. She said the break was an easy one to set, and there is no sign of corruption in the flesh of the outer wounds.”
“You sound surprised to learn that the nun here is competent.” Durant chuckled.
“Are you not as well? Did you think anything good could come from that priory?”
The merchant shrugged. “Sister Roysia gave her life to save God’s anointed king.”
“That she did, and surely God has found a place in Heaven for her soul, but we failed to arrest the traitor.”
“That was my news, Brother.”
Thomas sat up. “You captured her?”
Durant poured them both more wine. “We were given her body.” He held up a hand to delay any questions. “I think God must have arranged this strange form of justice.”
“Can you tell me what happened?”
“Mistress Emelyne, or so she called herself, joined a party of pilgrims returning to their homes along the road leading to London.”
“Not back to Norwich then.”
“She was never from that place, Brother. I knew no one by that name, rank, or wealth, and discreet inquiries proved me right. Her masters provided all she brought here to establish her identity as a merchant’s wealthy widow.” He smiled. “At least Ryehill Priory has her fine horse and a few gems to sell for holier purposes. They will be allowed to keep them.”
“Please continue. I should not have interrupted.”
“Not far from here, in a part of the road overhung with trees, that traveling party was attacked by men on horseback. Outlaws, the poor pilgrims believed, and feared for their lives as well as their purses. Yet the men robbed only one of the more affluent and then cut the throat of our assassin. Suddenly, with no warning, they vanished back into the forest. By the time the pilgrims found help, the outlaws were long gone and Mistress Emelyne quite dead.”
Thomas looked at him for a long time. “Not outlaws, if I were to guess. King’s men?”
“Would the king not want her alive to reveal the names of those who sent her?”
“Unless her master was known already, and her silence was of greater value than her voice.”
Durant laughed. “Clever, Brother!” He bent forward. “Shall you believe me if I say that I know nothing more about her or her master?”
“You did not say ‘I swear,’” the monk replied. “It matters not if I do or do not. I doubt I will learn more than you have told me.”
“The king has many enemies, and some have coin enough to pay for a cunningly hidden assassin.”
Thomas raised one finger. “With this war I suspect the Welsh have little coin to spare, but they are a clever people.” He raised another. “The Muslims proved their talents with the man who stabbed King Edward in Acre, a servant the king had learned to trust, but I question whether they would send another so deep into the lands of Christians.” He studied his hand for a moment and then raised a third finger. “The estranged and disinherited from the last rebellion, a few of whom are in the courts of unfriendly kings…”
Durant cleared his throat.
The monk looked up from his hand.
“Do not try to discover the truth,” the merchant said. “It does not matter. The woman is dead and has been buried without a name in a grave no one shall find.”
Sighing, Thomas swallowed the last of his wine and refused more.
Durant looked at him with sadness darkening his face. “I thank you for not mentioning my name to Prioress Ursell. If you have told your own prioress, she will know it is best if she does not tell anyone else of my involvement in this matter.”
“Surely the king would like to use you again in his particular service.”
Durant did not reply. Instead, he said, “The king shall be told how loyally you both served him in this matter.”
“My name need not be mentioned. Instead, I would ask a boon on behalf of my prioress.”
“What favor does she wish?”
“Be kind in your report on Ryehill Priory. Father Vincent is a man with a shriveled soul but is not a traitor, and Prioress Ursell was distraught to discover she had unwittingly harbored the woman. It was a Ryehill nun who gave her life for King Edward. A gift to feed and clothe the nuns would be welcomed.”
Durant stood. “As Prioress Eleanor wishes, I shall make sure they suffer no more than they have through their own bad judgment and will suggest that the priory ought not to starve after the loyalty they have shown.”
“I am thankful for your hospitality, Master Durant.” Thomas rose from the table. “Tyndal may be grateful as well when they discover I have eaten too much here to eat there for many days.”
Durant walked to his window and stared down at the road. “I shall leave here soon. In truth, I did intend to make a pilgrimage part of my purpose here. That duty I have done as well as my work for the king.” He turned to face the monk. “I wish we could join forces again, Brother.”
For a moment, Thomas hesitated, and then said what he thought. “If God’s will unites with that of King Edward…”
“And your prioress…”
“If God demands a justice that the king does as well, I know she would be willing to lend my poor efforts.”
“We think too much alike, Brother.” Durant smiled and then strode toward the monk and knelt. “Will you give me a final blessing that I may share with my wife?”
When Thomas had done so, Durant rose and suddenly pulled him close, kissing him gently on each cheek.
It was an instant only, but Thomas felt an emotion he had not felt in years. It was the hint of joy, a feeling so unfamiliar he almost did not recognize it.
Durant stepped back and murmured, “After all we have done together here, are we not like brothers? I have none from my mother’s womb who remain in this world.”
“Nor have I any kin who would call me such,” Thomas replied, his voice hoarse.
“Then shall we exchange a kiss as brothers might who long to share the joy of each other’s accomplishment in a worthy endeavor?”
Thomas shut his eyes, his heart pounding so he could hear little else, but then he looked at Durant. “Yes,” he said.
The merchant took the monk into his arms and kissed him softly on the lips. “Thus we have honored our efforts as brothers of choice with a common goal,” he whispered in Thomas’ ear.
The monk knew he must have uttered a reply, but all he cared about was the brush of Durant’s breath against his cheek.