Hob leaned across the table, his face so close to the crowner’s that Ralf could smell the ale on his breath. “None of that means he’s a murderer either, but Will told me you’d arrest him nonetheless.”
“Your brother did kill, as you well remember. Why shouldn’t I think he would do so again?”
The man turned his head and spat. “That one time with the boy was an accident. Besides, Will only threw the rope over the tree limb and held him. It was Martin who dropped the noose around his neck and hauled him up.”
The crowner sat back and folded his arms.
Hob did the same.
“Very well. I do not accuse your brother of murder. But he does know more than he admits, maybe to you as well as to me. All I want from him are frank answers. Then he can return to the smithy in peace and beat hot metal into submission all he likes. Tell him that. His rank stench is enough to keep me far away, unless the king’s justice demands it.”
Hob nodded, his expression softening. “If I tell you what I know of this, will you leave my brother alone?”
“You shall confess your knowledge whether I decide it proves your brother’s innocence or not.” Ralf’s tone indicated some hope of concession.
The man thought for a moment, then shook his head. “I’ve already told you that Will could not have murdered Martin. He wasn’t at the inn…”
“The cooper was poisoned, not beaten to death as rumor should have told you by now. Your brother could have slipped the stuff into the drink before he left.”
“Poison?” Hob threw his head back and roared with laughter. “My brother not only has no skill with herbs, Crowner, he wouldn’t know a beet top from that of a carrot. Nor does he seek the skill of those who understand the healing herbs even when he falls ill which, thanks be to God, has been rare. Like most of us, he fears mortality and rejects any reminder of it. As for the night of Martin’s death, Will was more interested in proving his manhood by rubbing up Signy. Whatever else you might think of him, my brother is a simple man with simple desires.”
“And the night Ivetta was killed?”
“He went to see old Tibia…”
“What business did he have with her? Surely she is too old to find a use for his limp rod, and you have just said he had no love of herbs. Was it to make cruel fun…?”
“My brother left her alone after her son’s death! He was hot-tempered but not cruel.”
Ralf pointed under the table. “Tell that to your cur.”
Hob swallowed hard and turned away.
“When did he go to the herb woman? When did he return? Why did he want to speak to her?”
“I told him to forget the night with Ivetta-although he had more than one such failure to overlook. As much as he hated potions and powders, the one thing Will could not bear was the loss of his manhood. He admitted to me that he would seek out Tibia’s cure. Others had praised her for it, but, when he went to her hut, she would not answer his knock. He stayed for some time at her door.”
“Perhaps she knew who it was and did not wish to help him.”
“She had promised earlier that she would.”
So far Hob was confirming what the elder brother had already told him. “Are there witnesses? And, again, what time was this and when did he come back to the smithy?”
“Enough questions! He left the smithy not long after the sun disappeared, for that was the hour she told him to come. When she did not let him in, he went to the inn, thinking she might be there since the innkeeper and his niece often fed her for the good of their souls. When he didn’t see her, Will drank until the thatcher carried him home and dropped him outside the smithy. I know this because I awoke from the noise and pulled him to his pallet. The next morning he cursed the herb woman for going back on her promise.”
“Someone saw your brother talking to her just before he disappeared.”
“Maybe that was when they agreed to meet at her hut?”
Ralf silently cursed himself for not asking Gytha exactly when the baker’s wife had seen the two together. Perhaps Hob was right. “Did he ask anyone where she was when he did not find her there?”
“You think Will would let a man besides his brother know he had need of her special skills?”
Ralf turned thoughtful. “And you, Hob? What were you doing that night?”
The blacksmith winced as if pricked with a nail. Bending toward the crowner, he beckoned for him to bring his ear closer. “Swear you will keep this secret?” he whispered uneasily.
“If it has naught to do with murder.”
“I had a woman in my bed. Her father does not know we meet….”
“Will she confirm this to me?”
“I would prefer you not ask her, but she will answer readily enough if need be. Aye, Crowner, I read your thoughts in that frown.” Hob sheepishly lowered his eyes and studied his open hands. “She is a praiseworthy woman, sensible, and far too good for me. When I can prove to her father that I am steady enough, we shall make public the vows we have spoken to each other in secret. In God’s eyes, at least, we are married.”
Casually fingering the hilt of his sword, Ralf leaned back. As he continued to glare at the man in front of him, he knew that those with greater reason to fear him would soon break down into tears and confession. Would the blacksmith?
Hob did not blink.
“Tell your brother to come home,” Ralf said at last, conceding defeat. “He has nothing to fear from me.”
Those anticipated tears now threatened to overflow from the younger blacksmith’s eyes. “I would if I knew where he hides. In that, as in all the rest I’ve said, I did tell the truth.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Brother John was a wiry man, well over a foot taller than the woman who accompanied him, but he was having difficulty keeping pace with the tiny prioress of Tyndal.
She glanced behind and said with a hint of impatience, “Did you not say that Sister Juliana begged you to bring me quickly?”
“Aye,” he panted as he raced after her.
“What brought about this plea? Did you question her as I asked? Was it that?”
“I do not know the cause, my lady. I did question her.”
“Do we have God’s creature or Satan’s in our anchorage?”
Although sweat was now beading on his gaunt face, a sweet look conquered his usual somber expression. “God’s, I think.”
“Yet you would agree that her behavior is most strange.”
“Many holy women have behaved in ways men have found questionable. Beatrice of Nazareth cinched her waist with a girdle of thorns and even feigned madness to show the depth of her ecstasy, but Jesus favored her by speaking in Latin only. Saint Mary of Egypt lived over five decades on herbs alone. Saint Euphrosyne dressed herself as a man and lived chastely with other monks in a monastery for almost four.” He gulped in a breath. “I find no fault in our own sister here.”
“How do we know she does not commune with Satan in secret?”
“After I spoke with her, I hid and watched her from the squint that opens into the church. She prays, either on her knees or lying with her face pressing into the ground. I did see her shake once as if convulsing, but her expression glowed with a most holy joy afterward.”
“Does she eat or sleep?” Eleanor’s pace did not slow.
“A rat ate the meal placed on the floor just inside the door. As for rest, God may grant it to her in some marvelous way, but I never saw her lie on her bed. Not that I was there for long…”
“She has asked to be given nothing to eat that was once living flesh, including both fish and fowl. Although we all should reject venison and other such meat to keep our bodies free from lust, I have heard that such extreme renunciation may suggest unorthodoxy. Those of the Cathar heresy often denied themselves in a similar way, did they not?”
“She strives to follow the desert fathers who fasted in a similar manner, not to deny or punish the body, but to cleanse it of those sins that drove Adam and Eve from Eden. I myself see no problem with her wish to live as if Lent must extend the length of her days on earth.”