24
Adelard blinked. Shadows swirled around him like smoke. “Am I in Heaven?” he murmured, but the words echoed in his ears as if he were standing on the edge of an abyss. One vague form bent closer, and he grew frightened. “Or have my sins sent me to Hell?”
Prioress Eleanor stepped into a flickering pale ray of candlelight. “Neither. You are in the hospital at Tyndal Priory.”
“Are you sure?” the youth asked, wondering at the halo of light around this woman who spoke. Then Sister Christina rose from her knees and laid a hand on his forehead. Her expression was beatifically vague. He gasped and drew the sheet closer around his neck. “An angel!”
Stirring something in a tan pottery bowl, Sister Anne walked up to the bed. “Our infirmarian’s prayers have surely wrought a miracle. We thought you were dead when the men carried you here.”
Sister Christina stepped away, silently bowed to her prioress, and left. Her footsteps were so light that it was doubtful her feet ever touched the dusty earth.
Sister Anne glanced fondly at her retreating, near-sighted and gentle superior, then turned around to pour her potion into a small mazer. Sniffing at it to confirm potency, she brought it close to Adelard’s lips. “Drink,” she said. “It is bitter but will ease your pain.”
Squeezing his eyes shut, Adelard dutifully swallowed. Despite being told that the vision he had just seen was not an angel, he was convinced she was at least a saint, and thus he grew inclined to obedience.
“Are you able to answer questions?”
The deep voice came from somewhere the youth could not see, and his body visibly jerked with fright.
Eleanor looked at Ralf and gestured for him to come where the young man could see him.
Adelard seemed relieved that the voice was a mortal one, but his expression still suggested that he saw little difference between an imp and this king’s man. “I will try to do so, my lord.”
“Why did you go to the stables?” Ralf’s voice was rough with impatience.
“I went to pray for the souls of the Jews.” He began to tremble again. “I did not mean to trouble their sleep, my lord. I know you sent me back to my father the last time you saw me there, but I swear that these prayers were to be quiet ones.”
“Did Brother Beorn see you?”
“He did and queried me about my purpose. When I told him that I wished to pray for their conversions, he nodded approval but asked if I had any weapon. I gave him my eating knife. He let me pass.”
“Odd that the toad never said anything to me about this,” Ralf muttered, then continued: “Where did you go?”
“The back of the stables. I did not want anyone else to see me.”
At least Adelard had been found where he claimed to have gone. Ralf told the young man to continue.
“I knelt near the wall and began to beseech God to change the hearts of these infidels. I had only begun when I felt a sharp pain. Then I remember nothing more.”
“Were you kneeling when you were attacked?”
“Yes, my lord.”
Ralf grunted and glanced at Sister Anne.
“The nature of his head wound suggests he tells the truth,” she said.
“I would not lie!” Adelard gestured around him. “I am in God’s house. To say aught but the truth would condemn my soul.”
The crowner opened his mouth, but one glance from Sister Anne was enough for him to shut it instantly. She knew him too well, and this was neither the time nor place for his retort that lies were spoken here as well as on secular lands.
“I swear I had not been there long before I was struck.” Adelard looked away.
Eleanor noticed the gesture and looked over her shoulder at Brother Thomas standing quietly behind her. She tilted her head toward the youth.
He nodded, indicating that he, too, suspected the baker’s son had more to say but also had some reason to hesitate.
“What do you recall before the blow? I want to know everything: shadows, smells, sounds.” Ralf raised his hand. “And swear that you shall tell the truth as God demands.”
Brother Thomas moved into the youth’s line of vision and gave him the comfort of a blessing.
“But what if I say something that points to blame in the wrong direction? Is that not a sin?” Adelard addressed this to Brother Thomas.
“You must reveal all that you can,” the monk replied. “From that, Crowner Ralf shall weave your memories into a tapestry of truth.”
The young man scowled with evident worry and fell silent.
“Did the Jew strike you?” Ralf bent down until his nose almost touched that of the young man.
Tears began to run down the sides of Adelard’s face.
Sister Anne cleared her throat. “Enough, Ralf. The youth suffers from his wound and needs rest. Come back when he has slept and regained at least a little strength. Surely there is nothing more you can do until after the sun rises.” She looked up at the gray color in one of the nearby windows. “That will be soon enough.”
The crowner threw his hands up in disgust and strode away.
As he passed Thomas, the monk grasped his arm. “Let us walk a short way together,” he said and then whispered something into the crowner’s ear.
Ralf stopped and turned back to look at Adelard. In the deeper shadows, the crowner’s expression was softer as he addressed the wounded young man. “I seek only the truth and do not want to hang a man who is not guilty. But I am still the crown’s representative, and King Edward’s law must be upheld. However, if something troubles your soul…” He waited for a response.
Adelard stared back hopefully.
“Brother Thomas is here to offer advice and succor,” Ralf continued. Although he did little to disguise his annoyance with this delay, the crowner managed to convey some kindness. “I can wait. After you have spoken with the good monk, you may feel able to add more details to what you said this night.”
“I thank you,” Adelard whispered. “I would speak with Brother Thomas, for I need his wisdom in order to recover my spiritual strength.”
Ralf bowed to the monk and smiled but there was no mockery in that. Usually he agreed with this prioress and her monk, although he saw some danger in their current stratagem. Nonetheless, the method was clever if it worked. He spun on his heel and left.
Prioress Eleanor followed, keeping a short distance behind him as they walked between the rows of sick and dying. One woman in great pain begged for a blessing to help her endure the struggle. Next, the prioress stopped to kneel beside Brother John, who was comforting a man fighting to draw in his last earthly breath.
When she emerged into the courtyard, she looked around, fearing the crowner had left the priory, but then she saw him leaning against the wall and waiting. Eleanor approached and bent her head back to look up at him. “What do you think now about the baker’s son?”
“He is no longer the primary suspect,” he said, “although the discovery of that cross near Brother Gwydo’s corpse must be explained. The youth’s moral condemnations in the past may have smelled rank to many noses, but, since the Jewish family became his target, the village would deem those rants as fragrant as a lily. I doubt anyone except our killer is the one who did this. Adelard must have seen something.”
“And he cannot have struck such a blow to the back of his own head any more than Brother Gwydo could have strangled himself.”
“Nor do I like Jacob ben Asser for the killer.” He scratched his back against the rough stones.
“As we previously discussed, he could not have killed our lay brother. If Adelard did pray quietly, as he claims, and did nothing else to molest the family, what reason would the new father have for striking the youth?”
“Had ben Asser not leapt up and called out to me, I might not have seen him kneeling beside the youth. Guilty men do strange things, but few deliberately bring unwanted attention to themselves.” He rubbed his aching eyes. “It was dark. He could have slipped away.”