“We are all imperfect and often ignorant, my son,” the monk said directly to him. “It is only sinful to remain willfully blind to knowledge. Seeking truth and wisdom is never a transgression. As for the Jews, remember also this teaching. How can we do violence against those we call enemy? Are we not enjoined to love them?”
“Must we let these people live then?” The breath of the man who asked was foul.
“God demands it.”
“And if they did kill a Christian?” The same man’s eyes narrowed.
“The king’s law shall rule on the killer’s fate. Were you to proceed, as you intended, you would either commit treason by disregarding the king’s will or you would be committing a graver sin by going against God’s own commands. For the safety of your souls and your necks, I beg you to turn aside from this wicked purpose and return, in peace, to your homes.”
The man with the pitchfork lowered it.
“Have faith that God’s anointed king and our lord on earth shall seek justice for Kenelm’s death. Indeed, Crowner Ralf is diligently pursuing the truth. As all of us know, he is a good man and a loyal subject of King Edward.”
Thomas took a deep breath. Folding his arms into his sleeves, he tried to think of what more he could say to these men but failed to come up with any stronger arguments. Then he heard a commotion from the back of the crowd.
Ralf was approaching. Beside him walked several armed men, little Nute…and Oseberne?
Not believing what he saw, Thomas rubbed at his eyes.
The baker leaned over to say something to one of the men, then abruptly turned toward his own house.
How had Oseberne left without being seen?
Voices around him drew the monk’s attention back to the throng. Although there was a low grumbling amongst them, they were dispersing. With gratitude, Thomas glanced upward and almost wept with relief. The oration and the crowner’s timely arrival had worked.
Adelard, however, had not moved. His head remained bowed. With a groan, he now turned around and trudged slowly back to his father’s house.
Perhaps the young man has learned something, Thomas thought as he watched the youth walk away. He ought to speak with the hopeful novice now, for this might be the time to uproot Adelard’s irrational zeal and plant the seeds of a gentle compassion in him instead.
The monk jumped down from the trough.
A tug at his robe stopped him from following the baker’s son.
Cuthbert knelt at the monk’s feet. “Thank you, Brother. At the risk of your own, you saved my life!”
Thomas protested that he had done nothing so brave.
Grabbing the monk’s robe, the man kissed the hem. “They were threatening to tear me to pieces, if I did not let them into the stables. They even swore they’d kill my family in front of me before they let me die!”
Thomas grasped the trembling sergeant, pulled him to his feet, and whispered soothing words in his ear. Out of the corner of his eye, he realized that the crowd had disappeared, leaving behind a haze of dust over the road.
Near the path to the stables, Ralf was speaking to a small group. The armed men, who had come with him, lounged against the wall of the inn but stepped aside to let Nute run in to seek Mistress Signy.
A few houses down, Oseberne greeted the distraught Adelard, grabbed him by the shoulder, and tried to pull him toward the house.
The young man shouted at his father, tore himself loose, and ran down the road toward the priory.
Thomas hesitated, then turned back to comfort Cuthbert.
The sergeant was no longer there.
14
The crowner slapped the monk’s back. “I heard how you saved my sergeant and quelled the mob, Brother. ’Tis a pity you cannot change allegiance to a more earthly lord. King Edward could use your talents.” He jerked his head at his men who were now slipping into the inn. “In truth, those lads I pulled away from the fields wouldn’t have raised a hand against kin and friends. They only came after I let the sun fall on a pretty coin and promised a jack of ale.” He snorted. “My brother shall return the coin. I am willing enough to pay for Tostig’s finest.”
“I was grateful to see you,” Thomas said and hoped his friend did not see him tremble. The fear he had held back now struck him with especial force. “Nute deserves praise for his courage and swift feet. I did not want to put him in danger but had no other way of sending a message to you.”
The monk glanced over the crowner’s shoulder at the baker’s house. Or so I believed, he said to himself, and tried not to resent how Oseberne had barred the door and failed to say that he would summon the crowner. Instead of sending Nute through the mob, Thomas could have given the child safe haven inside the house.
“I will give him the sling he wants as reward and teach him how to hunt with it after this murder is solved.” Ralf’s eyes filled with the affection he felt for the boy.
“Was he or Oseberne the one to first bring the news of the riot?” Thomas hoped he did not betray his annoyance with the baker.
“Nute, but the baker met us outside the priory gate and confirmed that you were trapped by the mob. He himself was just able to escape through a back window.” The crowner laughed. “I think he was displeased that the boy came first with the news. He scowled when he saw Nute pulling me along.”
“The man owns a surfeit of pride if a child’s achievement angers him.”
“Oh, he softened fast enough when Nute told him how he ran without stopping and head down to make sure he did not fall in the uneven road. The baker smiled then, and who would not when a lad so young takes on a man’s responsibility.”
Not for the first time, Thomas concluded that the crowner would make as good father to a son as he was to his daughter. “However it came, I am grateful word got to you. Had you not arrived when you did, matters might have grown far beyond my small ability to control them.”
“Nothing diminishes what you did, Brother,” Ralf said, then gestured his intent to walk back to the stables. “Did you find out who was responsible for priming that mob like a pump with the details of Kenelm’s death?”
The monk shook his head. “While I was speaking with Adelard before the riot, Oseberne mentioned he heard women discussing the circumstances on market day. Now that village passions have cooled, someone might recall the source of the tale. Whether the first rumor included the suggestion that the Jewish family killed the man, a detail conveniently exonerating any villager who murdered an unpopular man, I cannot say.”
“I wonder whether the mob decided if the sick wife or the terrified husband had slit Kenelm’s throat.”
Thomas blinked at the crowner’s mocking tone.
Ralf glanced sideways at the monk, crossed himself, and walked on without further comment.
As they approached the new stables, they saw Cuthbert drying his legs. An uneven puddle in the dirt and a bucket sideways on the ground close by suggested the man had been trying to clean himself.
The moment the sergeant saw Ralf, he groaned and threw himself at the crowner’s feet. “I have failed you.” Cuthbert buried his face in his hands.
“You have always been loyal to me,” Ralf replied, his expression sad at the humiliation this man had endured. “We may face death alone with courage, but a threat to our families will unman us all. Had I known your neighbors would threaten your loved ones, I would not have asked you to stand guard here.”
He clapped a hand on the sergeant’s shoulder and ordered him to rise. Not only was this man Ralf’s sergeant but his bailiff, a position of responsibility won for both faithful service and competence. Nothing that had happened this day would change the crowner’s mind about Cuthbert’s character.
“Indeed, I now have a more important duty for you,” he said with his more usual gruffness. “Take your family to my manor house and watch over my child and her nursemaid until this trouble has passed. If any man from this village dares to even breathe over one silken hair on my daughter’s head, you will smite him in half or I shall later.”