But that was as far as he could reason, the monk decided. He did not have enough facts. All he was going on was intuition, a woman’s weakness from which he frequently suffered. “Yet I have not often been failed by it,” he muttered, feeling uncomfortable and obliged to defend himself despite being alone.
Rising from the bench, he chose to visit the pond below the hut where he had once enjoyed a daily swim in summer. Perhaps, Thomas decided with little hope, he would find Gwydo snoring on the bank.
When he reached the path leading downward, he suddenly stopped.
Something was not right. He sniffed the air.
Animals often died, and perhaps that was the sweet rot of death he smelled, but the odor was pungent. He stepped cautiously into the immediate undergrowth and began to pull aside bushes and jab into piles of fallen debris.
It did not take him long to find the body.
Just a few feet from the path, Gwydo lay on his back, bulging eyes empty of meaning, lips stretched in a silent scream, and hands clenched against his neck. The lay brother had been strangled with a cord that still bit into the flesh under his chin.
Thomas knelt, bent to the corpse’s ear, and whispered the ritual of forgiveness.
In a beam of sunlight, just a short distance away, something glittered and caught the monk’s attention. When he took it into his hand, he realized the object was a cross. It was one made of silver.
There was no question about what the discovery meant. The last time he had seen this, it was hanging around Adelard’s own neck.
21
Sister Anne laid her hand on the head of the new corpse. Her touch was as gentle as a mother’s on her son. “Garroted. From the state of rigor, signs of decay, and the last time anyone saw him, I assume the killing was probably done on the same day as the riot.”
“Why did he have to be killed?” Eleanor gripped her hands tightly against her waist as if fearing she might raise a fist in anger to the heavens. “He came to our priory seeking peace. We failed him.”
“He left the protection of our walls, my lady,” Thomas said, his voice soft.
“That alone was a small enough failing, one I might have forgiven quickly if the cause for disobedience owned a higher virtue.” She closed her eyes. “We do not know if his act was based in good or ill, but I grieve that he died without the consolation of faith.”
“I pray his soul was still hovering over his corpse for I absolved him of his sins,” Thomas said. “I knew little of his past life, but he was gentle enough in his current one. No man ought to face God’s judgment without the chance to shed any mortal failings.”
“There is no question that he shall be buried with the respect due any of our religious.” The prioress turned to Ralf. “What are your thoughts on this latest death?”
The crowner swallowed as if his throat was too dry for speech.
Eleanor attempted to soften her sharply asked question with a smile. Ralf might be a rough man, often insensitive and rude, but he longed for justice as much as she. His keen wits were needed here. For this reason, more than any demand of faith, she must be kinder, despite her hot anger over what he had done to Gytha.
“Perhaps we should begin with the premise that Master Jacob might have killed Kenelm,” he said tentatively.
“Yet he is innocent of this murder since our brother was probably killed yesterday when the village was howling for ben Asser’s own death,” Eleanor replied. “Would you agree?”
The crowner nodded. “After the riot ended, I was questioning him when his wife began her birth pains. While Brother Thomas left to seek help, I remained and am a witness to the man’s presence at the inn.”
“I stayed with Master Jacob while Mistress Belia suffered her travail,” the monk said.
“And Brother Beorn will be able to confirm whether the adoring new father has left the stable since.” Eleanor looked at Brother Thomas. “You can speak with him soon enough about that.”
“Before we continue, I must add a detail about this murder that may eliminate some suspects,” Anne said, pointing to the neck of the corpse. “Brother Gwydo was a strong man, albeit of average height.” She glanced briefly at Ralf. “Most women would be too short and not powerful enough to do this.”
Eleanor turned to Anne. “Which would eliminate any woman of, shall we say, Gytha’s approximate height and strength. I believe she is similar to most women in the village?”
“Indeed.”
Eleanor was sorry she had directed that minor lash of her tongue at the crowner and looked at him with evident regret.
The crowner stared at his feet. “Yet I must ask if a woman could have strangled Brother Gwydo if he had been kneeling?”
“He did not die willingly,” Sister Anne said. “Two of his fingers were deeply cut where he tried to loosen the thin band around his throat. I found no earth stains on his robes that would suggest he was kneeling. Anything is possible, but I believe it most likely that a man did this.”
Eleanor gestured to the crowner to let her whisper in his ear. “It was not Gytha,” she murmured. “She was with Sister Anne during and after the birth of Master Jacob’s son. Before that, she was in my company and returned from the village with our nun.”
Ralf straightened. “You have convinced me, Annie.”
“Very well, then. First, we have the murder of Kenelm, which might have been committed by Master Jacob.” Eleanor nodded to the crowner. “That one might even have been committed by a woman, although the deeply slashed throat and other details make such a conclusion less likely. Second, we have Brother Gwydo’s murder, which could not have been done by Master Jacob and probably not by a woman. And our lay brother would not have strangled himself any more than Kenelm would have slit his own throat.”
“Unless we have two murderers, we have gone from too many suspects to none,” Ralf said. “Both Brother Gwydo and Kenelm were strangers here. No one knows anything about Kenelm’s past, a matter still worth more questioning. As for the lay brother, you knew most about him, my lady. We must find out why he left the priory.”
“His home was once Cambridge,” Eleanor said.
Ralf was surprised. “Jacob ben Asser and his family traveled from that city as well.”
“Many live there,” Eleanor replied, but she paused a moment. “Did he suggest he knew either our lay brother or Kenelm?”
“He did not, nor is there anything to suggest Kenelm was from Cambridge or knew the Jewish family from the past. His taunts did not indicate a dislike beyond the family’s faith. As for Brother Gwydo, we should ask Master Jacob if they knew one another.” Ralf gestured at the corpse. “But ben Asser could not have killed this man. I am not sure we would learn much even if the two did know each other in Cambridge.”
“And I know little more about our lay brother. He had some family still living, but he begged me to leave them in ignorance of his situation. They believed he had died in Outremer. Since he was taking vows, he did not want them to say farewell twice.”
“You would say if his kin had reason to kill him.” Ralf knew he could not pry out more.
“An aged father, a wife, and at least one brother who would take his place as heir whether or not Brother Gwydo lived,” Eleanor replied.
Ralf glanced briefly at Sister Anne. “His wife might prefer him dead if she wanted to remarry.”
“So she sent someone, perhaps Kenelm, to kill him? That would be an even graver sin than adultery.” The prioress shook her head. “The guard’s only visit to the priory was in search of work. When refused, he was not seen here again. That said, your suggestion would be plausible, except Kenelm died first and then Brother Gwydo.” She turned to Brother Thomas. “You have been quiet,” she said gently. “What are you thinking? I would hear what you might have to say.”