When Thomas asked if he would accompany his wretched clerk to the cell, Davoir refused without explanation. The monk suspected that his decision had more to do with his unwillingness to see Sister Anne freed than it did with any pain he might have felt over Renaud’s attempt to kill him. Thomas, however, looked forward to joining Prioress Eleanor and Crowner Ralf in welcoming the sub-infirmarian as she left the cell.
After Conan and the clerks bore Renaud away, the lad singing curious ditties under his breath, the priest returned to his prie-dieu and cross. In the ashen morning light, the jewels lost all color.
As he turned to leave the guest quarters as well, Thomas chose not to ask Father Etienne if he needed another priest’s comfort.
***
When the cell door opened, and Sister Anne emerged to the joyful greetings of her friends, the nun stopped in horror as three clerks dragged the bound Renaud inside. The youth stank of excrement and urine.
The heavy wooden door of the cell slammed shut. Two more of Davoir’s clerks remained outside and positioned themselves in front of it. Their boyish cheeks were round and utterly devoid of a man’s beard, but they folded their arms with adult solemnity. Considering the tragic fate of their fellow clerk, their dedication to the assigned responsibility was poignant.
Prioress Eleanor quickly explained to her friend what had happened, and the nun gasped in dismay. Her expression grew solemn when she learned that the clerks must remain with the youth out of fear he might commit self-murder. Then tears wended their way down the sub-infirmarian’s cheeks. “Surely he did this out of madness, not evil,” she said to her friends, all of whom were inclined to agree.
Looking back at the door, which did not mute all screaming, Sister Anne asked how Renaud had been able to confess anything, considering how far his sense had fled.
Prioress Eleanor explained that Brother Thomas had been as gentle with his questions as a father might when a beloved son was in great pain.
The nun nodded. “If the clerk had received that kindness before, he might not have lost his reason so completely,” she said. “Does He not command us to be compassionate?”
At no time did Sister Anne ask if Father Etienne had shown grief over these events or if he had sent an apology for misjudging her. She simply said she would pray for this youth who was so tormented that he might choose self-murder and an eternity in Hell to escape his temporal agony.
As the foursome left the corridor and Renaud’s howls faded, Thomas thought about what must happen next. Of course the Church would not execute Renaud, although the alternative could be a more chilling punishment.
The monk shuddered. Exorcism would be performed. If that did not bring the youth back to his senses, Renaud might well spend the rest of his life chained in a tower or locked monastery cell where demons, real or imaginary, would infest his remaining days and nights with vicious mockery and obscene taunts. Thomas had heard tales of men ripping off ears, and blinding or castrating themselves to escape the torments. None of this helped when nightmares had bored so deep into their souls.
Crowner Ralf would say the lad might be better off hanged. If Renaud were truly mad, Thomas asked himself, might that be the kinder justice? A cure for the satanic possession of a soul was possible. As he had once been told, the imp that allegedly forced his friend, Giles, to lie in sin with Thomas had been exorcised. But there was no cure for madness, a fate so cruel that many found a way to kill themselves despite all precautions and thus fell into an eternity of misery because they had done so.
Thomas wanted to raise his fist to the heavens and demand an explanation for this doom he believed unjust, but he was weary and the wound in his arm stung. Today, he must concentrate on his next duty. Tomorrow, he swore, he would spend the day on his knees and argue with God.
All but Davoir were delighted that Sister Anne was free, and the monk longed to share the joy to the fullest, but he knew he must talk with his prioress for advice about one more matter. Even if it was no longer urgent, he believed the question still called for an answer.
And if he needed the crowner, Ralf must be close to hand. As he now overheard, the crowner was begging Sister Anne to examine Gytha as soon as possible and swearing he would arrange for his wife to be brought to the priory. From the smile on the nun’s face, the monk had no doubt of her reply.
He hurried to his prioress’ side.
She turned with an expression of encouragement as if she had anticipated his request. “Of course, we may meet, Brother,” she said. Inclining her head toward the pair discussing the perils of birth, she added, “And now might be the best time to do so.”
Chapter Thirty-four
The north wind swept through the priory grounds, lashing the sea mist into razor-sharp swirls. Thomas pulled his cloak closer to his body. He had heard tales of northern lands covered in eternal ice. Today, he believed them.
Why had he decided he must make this effort? His treated knife wound still ached. Other monks were huddled around a warming fire in the Calefactory while his tonsure grew numb with the cold despite the hood over his head. But as he pressed against the wind he knew he had little choice. Some matters should be left to God for resolution. As his prioress said, this was not one of them.
Peering through the fog, he still could not distinguish any outline of the hospital even with its dark stone. In fact, he could only see a few feet in front of him on the path. At least he knew Sister Anne would soon be back at the apothecary hut, treating the suffering with her gentle touch and keen insights. That brought warmth to his heart, and the cold retreated just a little.
As the path curved, Thomas stopped, uncertain of his direction, and then realized he had taken the wrong turn. Instead of going to the hospital, he was walking to the main gate. Through the mist, he could just recognize the dim shape of the priory walls. Sighing, he decided he could find another way from the gate back to the hospital with ease. He certainly had no wish to retrace his steps in this bitter wind.
As he approached the gate, the fog suddenly thinned, and he noticed a party of men milling about. In that group, Thomas saw the one he had come to find. Picking up his pace, he hurried toward the man.
Philippe saw the monk coming toward him. He looked around as if seeking a way to escape, then grew still, his shoulders hunched with resignation. “You are seeking me,” he said as Thomas reached his side. The words were a statement of fact, not a question.
“And I believe you know the reason,” Thomas replied, keeping his voice low so those nearby could not overhear.
“Shall we step further away, Brother? These men are pilgrims on the way to Canterbury. I would not have them distracted from their pious intent by the tale of my unique wickedness.”
“You expected to flee, hidden in their midst?” Thomas kept close to the man, although he had no great fear that the man would run off.
“I had meant to join them.” Philippe’s smile was thin-lipped. “There is a difference.”
Thomas said nothing.
The man stared longingly at the pilgrims he had planned to accompany. His eyes lost the little hope they had briefly owned.
“Why did you attack the priest’s clerk that night?” Thomas kept his voice low although he knew the fog muffled speech.
“I came to kill the priest.” Philippe’s reply was equally muted. “I did tell the truth about blood being the purpose for my journey here when you last asked, Brother. I failed to mention that it was blood I wished to shed.”
The monk folded his arms and waited.
“You are a man, Brother. In the days before you took vows, did you ever wish to kill another?”
Of course he had, both before and after he took his enforced vows, but Thomas knew that did not matter. Only his acknowledgement of understanding did, and so he nodded once.