And so Death hovers over us all, she mused. We can only pray it comes as a good death and not against God’s plan.
She rubbed the palm of her hand on the stone and felt jagged spots, although the bench was well-crafted. There was an allegory in that, she decided. Tyndal was dedicated to purity of thought and deed, but sharp-toothed serpents lived within the walls. No one wished to hear that anyone sworn to God’s service could commit a heinous crime, but she had seen too much of Man’s darker side to ever ignore the possibility.
“But who could it be this time?” she murmured and ran through a list of all who dwelt here. The nuns were sequestered with a few exceptions. Her sub-prioress dealt with the world, but she was no killer despite her querulous nature. Sister Anne and Sister Christina oversaw the care given at the hospital. The former was a healer, and the latter utterly incapable of violence. Almost all the women, lay sisters included, had been here when she came to lead them. Anchoress Juliana was the exception, but Eleanor had cause to know that she had faithfully remained in her enclosure.
As for the monks, they were few in number and, again, most had been in residence long before she arrived. Brother Thomas was more recent, but he had entered Tyndal shortly after she did.
She had already spoken with Prior Andrew about those under his authority, both lay and choir brothers. After that trouble when Father Eliduc visited two summers ago, she was confident Andrew had thoroughly investigated the possibility that a monk might have killed Kenelm. According to the prior, no one knew this man who had come so recently to the village. Gossip always breached priory walls, but only one monk admitted he had heard the dead man’s name.
That left the lay brothers, who labored in the fields or hospital so the choir monks might spend a greater portion of their hours on their knees. Beseeching God to save the souls of His flawed creation kept the latter too busy to harvest or tend crops. Many courtiers had paid for this mercy, with land or other wealth given to the priory. There were many lay brothers at Tyndal as a consequence.
Last evening, Andrew had questioned the eldest and most reliable of the lay brothers. Although Brother Beorn was quarrelsome and judgmental, the man struggled to be fair, humbly prefacing his remarks with a warning that he suffered many imperfections. After uttering complaints about the laziness of one lay brother and the garrulousness of another, Brother Beorn finally mentioned Brother Gwydo, the newest member at the priory. Prior Andrew told his prioress that Beorn was uncharacteristically reluctant to speak ill of the man, yet he had expressed some unease.
Both she and Prior Andrew had approved Gwydo’s plea to remain here for the rest of his days. Having been a soldier, Andrew especially understood the need for a man to leave a warrior’s life, no matter how noble the cause of war. Eleanor’s eldest brother had joined King Edward on crusade, and she had seen the change wrought in her once joyful sibling. The decision to admit Gwydo was an easy one.
When she asked the cause of Beorn’s discomfort, Andrew had shaken his head and confirmed that the elder lay brother could not explain it. “I have often thought Brother Gwydo to be of higher birth than he has claimed,” the prior said. “Once he responded when Brother Thomas used a Latin phrase as if he knew the language. That suggests more education than a common soldier might own.”
“Or else his parish priest taught him, hoping the bright lad might find a calling with the Church,” Eleanor had replied.
Perhaps they should have questioned Gwydo more about his past, she wondered, but he had come to their hospital to die, his eventual survival counting as one of the many miracles here.
Now sitting in the garth and watching a bumblebee roll inside a bright pink flower, she could think of no good reason to suspect a man of murder because he might know a little Latin or be a soldier of undisclosed rank. A desire for humble service should be cause for celebration, not suspicion, especially if the supplicant was of high rank. A rare event perhaps, but there were examples to be found amongst the saints.
Watching the bee fly away, she rose and began to stroll along the gravel pathways of the garth, keeping her thoughts still. Here and there, Eleanor paused to smell a sweet scent or wonder at the delicate beauty of the local wildflowers Sister Edith chose to intermingle with other flowers deemed nobler.
She glanced behind her.
Her cat followed, now accompanied by a brown-striped female of his ilk.
Eleanor chuckled. Her beloved Arthur had shown extraordinary devotion to this particular cat, who served to keep the hospital free of offending rodents. This pair must have produced enough kittens over the last six years to rid all East Anglia of mice and rats.
Had she truly been prioress that long? Naive as she may have been when first appointed to the position by King Henry III, she had lost much innocence since her twentieth year. Although Brother Gwydo did not trouble her for the same reasons he did Brother Beorn, she could not assume he was completely innocent of any wrong. Since he was the newest member of the priory, and the one whose past was least well known, she must seek more information about the man. If there was anything pertinent found, she would consider the details with an uncompromising impartiality. Any error made in approving his entrance would be hers, a mistake she’d openly confess.
Hearing the bells ring for the next office, she was thankful. Her prayers would include a plea that God grant her that clear and just mind she needed. In this, He had rarely failed her.
And soon she would meet with Crowner Ralf, show him the latest findings, and pose her questions. In truth, what troubled her most was not that one of her religious might have sinned but that the crime had been committed on priory land. There was no doubt in her mind that there was a reason for that.
Might the killer have such an extreme quarrel with Tyndal that he would ignore God’s wrath to shed blood here? That conclusion seemed unlikely, yet… She willed herself not to think further on that.
Taking one last deep breath of the summer air, Prioress Eleanor turned into the path that led to the chapel.
As she drew closer to God’s house, she felt lighter in spirit. Surely she had done all she could, given what she knew of Kenelm’s death. Sending Brother Thomas to visit the baker, Oseberne, and his son, Adelard, was a good decision. Of course her monk’s opinion on the suitability of the young man as a novice was crucial, but she also knew Thomas would take time to learn more about the dead man as she had suggested. Whether gossip or fact, something must cast light on why this slaying had been done and why in Tyndal. She should not worry about possibilities without cause.
Just before she left the garth, she heard a noise and looked over her shoulder. Her cat and his lady were just slipping into the greenery, those loud meows suggestive of amorous intent.
More kittens to terrify mice and serve God? Amused, she laughed quietly but suspected He might share her mirth.
12
Standing behind his kneeling son, Oseberne stared without blinking at the monk and waited.
Adelard’s eyes glowed with rampant hope.
Thomas bowed his head to gain some time before continuing this difficult interview. Someone else ought to have been sent here. Of all people, he had no right to render judgment on any suppliant novice. Never had he had a true calling and, considering his ongoing quarrel with God, his own faith was questionable.
Taking a deep breath, he avoided the father’s sharp gaze and turned his attention back to the youth. Looking upon him with feigned gravity, Thomas prayed he appeared sufficiently pious.