“If he had witnessed it, he would have come to me,” Eleanor said. “He might have seen Oseberne do something that troubled him, but I doubt he saw him push the body into the pond. Again, he would have told me about that. I suspect he did not recognize the baker. Our lay brother knew few in the village.” She turned to Thomas. “He took you to the place where the body entered the water but did not name any man.”
The monk confirmed it. “Oseberne may have feared Brother Gwydo saw more than he actually did. Perhaps our brother heard a loud splash and only saw some man walk back to the road? He had no cause to question this further until he found the body floating in the pond. Then, as Brother Gwydo told me, he did examine the area further.” Thomas clenched his fist. “In truth, there was no reason at all for the murderer to have killed our lay brother. Brother Gwydo saw nothing!”
“There is still the silver cross,” Ralf said.
“What father casts blame on his son, knowing he might hang for a deed he did not commit?” Thomas’ expression showed his outrage over such an act. “If the baker found the cross his son had lost, why would he drop it next to our lay brother’s body? I may not like Oseberne’s thievery, and may even believe him to be a killer, but I cannot accept that he would want his son to face a hangman’s noose!”
“We do not know why the cross was dropped there,” Eleanor said. “We could continue to speculate, but there is little value in that until we have more facts.”
“I did find it some steps away,” the monk said, unwilling to set this problem aside. “It is possible that the cross was never intended to cast guilt upon Adelard. Yet how can we accept that a father would strike his son so brutally and leave him for dead?”
“He might not have intended to kill his son,” Eleanor said. “The attack took place near Master Jacob’s stall.” She turned to Ralf. “As you told me after you arrested him, if the village believed him guilty of killing Kenelm, a crime that took place some distance away, the villagers would be more likely to condemn him for a villainy committed just outside his door.”
“Once again suspicion is cast upon the Jews,” Ralf said, “as it was when the corpse was dropped into your pond.”
“If the baker is guilty of Kenelm’s death, he seems to have killed the one he thought might have witnessed the deed. We have no other reason for his assumed violence against our lay brother.” Eleanor looked at each of the men, waiting for a response.
Thomas paled.
Ralf stared at the monk. “Which leaves one more in danger.” He turned to the prioress, horror painting his face gray. “Where is Mistress Gytha?”
“Not within the safety of our priory,” Eleanor said, color fleeing her cheeks as well. “Because we believed all danger was over, I gave her permission to visit her brother. She has left to…”
Ralf roared a curse that might have offended had it not been born of terror.
Eleanor leapt to her feet.
The heavy door of the chambers crashed against the wall.
The crowner had fled the room.
28
Nute had directed Gytha to the cooking shed behind the inn. As she turned the corner, she saw Signy in conversation with the inn’s cook, a woman of impressive heft, a ruddy face, and autumn brown eyes. Her plump arms waved in the air like a fat bird attempting flight.
The innkeeper tossed her head back and laughed.
Although she had long known Signy, Gytha often marveled at the woman’s beauty, a reaction shared by men and women alike. The red highlights of the innkeeper’s blonde hair flashed in the sun. Her breasts promised intense joy, then soft ease to a fortunate lover. Yet this woman kept men at arms’ length, dressed plainly, and devoted all her love to two adopted orphans and any villagers in need. The cook was one of the latter, a widow whose fisherman husband had drowned in a sudden gale.
Signy turned to see the prioress’ maid and bid her join them. After sharing jests over one well known village sot, the cook pointed to the bubbling pot and asked for a critical tasting of her rabbit stew. Although Gytha never thought the cook had cause for worry, her skills adding to the reasons this inn was a favored stop on the road to Norwich, the maid dutifully sipped the broth and considered the flavor for a convincing moment. “The seasoning is perfect,” she said with a broad smile.
The cook put a hand to her heart, looked to scudding clouds overhead, and exhaled with relief as if granted a miracle.
“Come,” Signy said, taking Gytha’s arm. As they walked away, the innkeeper bent toward the maid’s ear: “You are troubled,” she murmured.
“I need your advice.”
“Stop for awhile, and you shall have my opinion, plain as it always is. Are you hungry or thirsty?”
Gytha shook her head.
“Not thirsty in this heat? Then your problem is no small thing. We shall talk in my room.”
As they approached the small hut, a large dog rose to his feet and wagged his dusty tail. Signy greeted the happy beast with a soft touch, then gave him an even more welcome gift from the cooking shed. With a grunt of joy, he settled in to enjoy the meal.
The innkeeper invited Gytha to enter and shut the huge wooden slab of a door behind them. After she inherited the inn, she had replaced the small space allotted her as the inn’s serving wench. Her uncle might have found an enclosed portion of the loft suitable for his needs, but his niece required a strong door and thick walls.
She pulled a bench away from the wall and offered Gytha a seat. The room was small but adequate for a woman with two small children. Against one wall, a few toys were neatly placed out of the way, as were the rolled-up bedding and straw-stuffed mattresses on which the children slept.
“It is Ralf,” Gytha said with her accustomed directness.
Signy smiled. “Is he still unable to admit his love for you?”
The young woman blushed. “He has decided I am not suitable for him.”
Looking down her nose, the innkeeper scoffed. “Now what has that foolish man done?”
Gytha hesitated, and then told the innkeeper about the struggle with Kenelm and her escape into the forest.
Taking her friend’s hand, Signy expressed sympathy. “And you kept this to yourself? Not even telling your prioress? How you have suffered!”
“I was ashamed but would have confided in Prioress Eleanor had Kenelm not been murdered. Then I grew fearful, but she saw my turmoil and drew the truth from me. Because the man was killed, she said I must tell Ralf. Without doubt she was right, but the conversation with him turned cruel.” Gytha spoke of his angry manner and rude questions. “Prioress Eleanor berated him for insulting my virtue,” she said. “He sputtered and fussed, but she silenced him.”
“Our prioress may be convent-raised, but she is no innocent,” Signy said. “And the crowner will suffer from the wounds her sharp rebukes gave him.” Nodding, she added, “Each pain is one he well deserves for his cruelty to you.”
“Then I should not forgive him and am a fool to love him.” Gytha looked away.
“All lovers are fools. It is our mortal nature, but that is no reason to turn your heart into stone.” She reached out with gentle hand and made Gytha face her, noting her damp cheeks.
“But I must now seek another as husband.”
“I did not say that. Ralf is a Norman and is no different from his ancestors who conquered our land under William the Bastard. He is rough, crude, and takes when he ought to beg leave.”
That produced a brief smile from the prioress’ maid.
“But his heart is tender, and he suffers when he hurts those he does not mean to harm.”
Gytha sighed and waited for her friend to continue. She had never asked Signy if the crowner had once been her lover and had treated her ill, as rumors suggested. Nor would she mention it, for she felt no jealousy and loved Signy like a sister. What may have happened was long ago and long over. Like most women, Gytha believed that all Eve’s daughters had the right to keep secrets in a world where truth often hurt women deeply.