“What of her sleepless nights at the window, waiting to attend all those souls in pain?”
“Satan and his imps may have claimed the night as theirs, but is not God mightier than evil?” He stopped for a moment but his prioress did not and he hurried to catch up. “Not one frail woman has suffered ill effects. I would suggest that God smiles on her and protects those who come to hear His words, spoken through her mouth. She may be unusual in greeting seekers to come to her window only after the sun sets, but other anchoresses have ministered to the suffering who prostrate themselves at the curtained window during the night. Her ways are not without precedence.”
“And her resistance to having any woman serve her? What is the point of that?”
The monk brushed the burning sweat from his eyes. “Sister Juliana told me that the women sent by our sub-prioress do not understand that she does not want to hear their voices while she is listening for God’s. A few have tried to tell her when to eat or sleep, while others frown or wince and in other ways express silent criticism of behavior they find troublesome or incomprehensible. Some have even tried to gossip and chatter with her, finding the solitude of an anchorage uncomfortable.”
“She wants a monk to serve her. Did she tell you that?”
“My lady, have mercy on me!” The monk bent forward, hands on knees. “God has given you a fleet foot whereas I have ever been a sluggish man and find it difficult to answer your concerns properly when I lack the breath to do them justice.”
Eleanor skidded to a stop. “Forgive me, Brother, for my thoughtlessness.”
The monk did his best to smile while gasping for air.
“Let us sit over there in the garden and rest before we see Sister Juliana.” She gestured toward a bench, hesitating briefly. Rarely did she come here without remembering the day, soon after she had first come to Tyndal, that a dead monk was found nearby. She prayed Brother John had forgotten.
The monk settled on a corner of the bench, apparently more grateful for the chance to rest than unsettled by any distressing memory. When his breathing returned to normal, he continued. “Had I not heard of Saint Euphrosyne or Christina of Markyake who lived chastely with the hermit Roger, albeit hidden in a miserable hole from which only he could release her, I might have questioned this desire more. Yet I find nothing lewd in her request. She seems to think men more peaceful creatures.” He pondered that for a silent moment. “I wonder what our new king would have to say about that.”
“Then it seems we must ask God to send her a woman with a man’s nature,” she replied.
A rustling sound came from the shrubbery a foot or two away, startling the prioress, but it was only the hospital cat. Trailing behind the creature were two kittens, one of which bore the distinctive markings of the prioress’ own orange tabby.
Brother John smiled. “You ask for a difficult resolution, my lady.”
A small bird landed a short distance away.
“We must continue to believe in miracles,” the prioress replied.
The cat hunched into the hunting pose. The kittens mimicked their mother.
The monk bent his head in modest agreement. “I shall add my prayers to yours.”
The bird flew off, accompanied by the high chirps of feline annoyance.
Eleanor rose. “Perhaps we should continue to the anchorage,” she said. “How did Sister Juliana learn that you were watching her?”
This time, Brother John kept pace. “I do not know how she could have discovered me, my lady, for I crouched close to the wall and held my breath when I thought she was near. Nevertheless, when she threw herself on her knees near the squint, begging that I send for you and crying that her soul was cursed, I did not ask questions but came for you at once.”
“We shall soon find out the source of her pain, Brother.” Then the prioress looked back at the kittens. They had forgotten all birds and were now engaged in an intense new hunt for bugs.
Suddenly Eleanor knew she had a solution to at least one of her problems.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Tibia clutched her staff with such force that her knuckles shone bone-white.
“You must go to the priory hospital,” Signy urged as she eased the tortured woman onto an inside bench near the inn door. “I will take you there.”
Her jaw tight and eyes squeezed shut, Tibia shook her head with the impatience of the suffering.
“You need not fear walking. We will find a cart or men to carry you.”
Tibia’s groan was like the cry of an animal, uncomprehending yet instinctively fearing the cause of its torment. She opened her eyes and turned her pale gaze on the innkeeper’s niece. “You’re a good woman. My son should have married you. He’d have lived then,” she gasped through lips thinned by pain.
Signy said nothing. What merit was there in reminding this woman, whose mind seemingly wandered with grief and agony, that she had been too young to wed when Tibia’s son had died?
“Methinks it’s easing,” the old woman whispered. Indeed some color was returning to her face.
The innkeeper’s niece gently pushed a steaming bowl of pottage toward her.
“I can’t eat.”
“You must.” Gently, Signy rested her hand on a bony arm.
“The Devil’s coming soon enough for my soul. I don’t mind if it be sooner than later. Give this to another in need, one whom God might love more.” The old woman sucked in her lips. With so few teeth, her sharp nose almost touched her chin. “Is it true the crowner thinks you killed Martin and his whore?”
“I do not know what he thinks. We rarely speak.” Signy’s words sounded brave enough, but her trembling lips betrayed her fear.
“He must know better!”
The innkeeper’s niece shrugged. “He thought Ivetta killed Martin, but she has proven her innocence by dying herself. Perhaps I’ll be next. If so, I needn’t fret about the hangman’s mercy or whether my uncle will show kindness and pull my legs to break my neck as I dangle and choke.” She laughed in bitter jest.
“What reason would anyone have to kill you?” Tibia’s eyes narrowed.
“Why murder Martin, or why Ivetta?”
“Does anyone mourn them? Martin was a skilled cooper, but he was a cruel man and another will come to take over his trade. Ivetta was evil. Simple as that.”
“My heart held no love for either,” Signy said, reaching out to stroke the old woman’s arm, “and confessed as much to Prioress Eleanor. Perhaps I should not have done so. My honesty may suit our crowner well if he cannot catch the murderer but must find someone to hang.”
“You’re innocent! Unlike the man before him, this crowner’s an honest man.”
“The crowner before was honest enough, but he did make mistakes. Is Ralf so different?”
“Honest?” The old woman snorted. “Perhaps he was for those who could reward him for it. Since I couldn’t, he ignored my son’s death. I don’t think the current king’s man is as blinded by the glow of a coin.”
“So you believe our current crowner is less fond of gold or inclined to error? In the past, we did think him different from his two brothers, but hasn’t he come back from court a richer man? Methinks he is now beholden to the powerful and become much like you think his predecessor was.” Her voice cracked on that last and she bent her head, perhaps to hide tears.
Tibia drooped wearily. “You think he’d find an innocent guilty of murder then?”
“Have you not heard the tale?” Signy asked, rubbing her eyes.
“I hear little from my hut.”
“The thatcher said the butcher told him that Ralf had gone to seize both Hob and Will for the murder of Martin.” Signy turned thoughtful. “Although the fishwife did claim she heard the men arguing, she said there was no mention of any arrest. In short, the crowner did not take either into custody because Hob struck him on the head and hurried Will away. Now Will has disappeared, and even his brother does not know his whereabouts. Or so my uncle has said.”