Then he swiftly looked around. When he saw no one nearby, he closed his eyes and allowed himself just a moment to turn from the world and let his spirit drift in peace. Standing motionless, he listened to the birds sing, a sound so sweet his heart ached.
“I do miss the fine choirs of my lord’s church,” he sighed. Men’s deep voices raised to honor God’s glory uplifted his soul, something he often needed when his earthly work grew wearisome.
The instant passed. He opened his eyes.
Eliduc never allowed his soul self-indulgence for long.
As the priest’s gaze dropped back to earth, he saw Lady Avelina’s mute servant hurrying toward the guest quarters with something in hand. “Men say that one has been cursed by God for his part in assisting Simon’s wicked father when the de Montfort faction captured King Henry at Lewes,” he murmured, in part to himself and partially to God. “The old king may have been unwise in enriching his wife’s foreign kin and choosing too many counselors amongst them, but he was anointed with holy oil at his coronation. God frowns when men fail to honor those whom He has blessed.”
In contrast to any sins committed against the old king, Kenard had shown tender devotion to his mistress during the long journey here. Had the man not lost all voice, Eliduc wondered if he would be praised for his faithful service, not feared for his lack of speech.
For a moment, the priest pondered the scope of such loyalty which was both laudable and useful. Piously folding his hands, Eliduc bent his head as if in prayer while he continued to watch the servant until the man disappeared into the quarters.
In Eliduc’s experience, common assumptions must often be discounted. The priest never cast inconvenient reality aside so he might continue to lie in the soft comfort of convention. He formed his own conclusions. Men who ignored exceptions to any general rule did not survive long in struggles for power.
His thin lips bent with subdued humor as he turned that logic from Kenard’s situation to the oft bemoaned inadequacies of Eve’s progeny, one of whom ruled here.
No matter what the Church preached about Eve’s daughters, suppositions he himself willingly voiced in the company of his fellows, Eliduc knew there were women who did not suffer from the illogical minds and feeble resolve that were the common faults of their sex. One of those women who possessed a man’s stout heart and a masculine mind was Prioress Eleanor.
Eliduc liked the Fontevraudine prioress and enjoyed jousting wits with her. Even though he had always been confident of his eventual triumph, he found her more of a challenge than most men and he did like a good contest. He was not so foolish as to imagine she might not hone her talents into more formidable skill over time. Her errors were youthful ones, born of inexperience.
If God granted the two of them a long life, the priest hoped to have many future contests with Baron Adam’s youngest child. Despite Tyndal Priory’s insignificant status, its leader was exceptional in birth and ability. Competent kings took note of such things, their queens often more so. What also delighted Eliduc was the possibility that he and this prioress might one day find themselves joined together to achieve some mutual purpose. After all, they both served God and the Church.
“In the meantime,” he sighed wistfully, “this visit might be my last victory over her for some time.” Before he left the priory, he planned to accomplish something of great significance to him and his own liege lord. Although the deed would be done almost before her eyes, he hoped she would not be aware of its value to him now or for some long time to come.
In return for her unwitting cooperation, he would leave her a gift. It would be one that both showed his appreciation and be of great worth to her. For this he knew she would suffer profound gratitude, and suffer she most certainly would. An honorable woman, she’d understand the debt she owed him and that she must repay the favor in the future. To that time, he definitely looked forward.
The sound of voices behind him caught his attention. Shading his eyes against the sun, he turned around.
Three men approached.
Eliduc recognized Prior Andrew. Accompanying him was a gaunt giant of a lay brother with an angry expression and a secular man who bore a strong resemblance to Sir Fulke. The priest concluded this must be the sheriff’s younger brother.
Eliduc folded his hands, inclined his head with proper gravity, and waited for the men to come closer.
It was Crowner Ralf who spoke to the priest first. “You are from the queen’s party?”
A lesser man might have taken offense at the brusque tone. Balancing the potential insult against other matters and concluding it was of little moment, Eliduc simply nodded assent. He knew the crowner’s reputation for honesty and believed him cleverer than the elder Fulke.
“A dead man was found nearby,” Prior Andrew said, his voice noticeably unsteady. “Brother Beorn and I wish to see if we recognize him as one who might have sought care at the hospital.”
Eliduc’s expression reflected surprise, quickly blended with caution. “This discovery has brought the crowner within the walls of a house dedicated to God’s peace. Might I conclude the death was not natural?”
Ralf nodded concurrence, then his expression brightened with a wicked grin. “Perhaps he was one of the men who provided protection for you on the journey here, Father. Would you like to come with us? Although his throat was cut, he’s not too bloody.”
“Your brother might be the better choice to accompany you, Crowner.”
Ralf snorted with contempt at Eliduc’s quick response. Brother Thomas excepted, the crowner believed that most priests had strong stomachs for feasting on succulent meats, accompanied by better wine, and weak ones when confronted by mortal violence.
Crossing his arms, he continued to prick at the man. “A soul may hover, Father. Our hermit has tried to give it comfort. A familiar priest might be more effective in easing it toward God.”
Eliduc thoughtfully nodded. “Since I was the one you first met, He must intend that I do as you have suggested. When the body is identified, there will be time enough for the sheriff and the king’s law to take over.”
He walked to the prior’s side and gestured his willingness to continue on.
Ralf scowled. His expression betrayed just how deeply he disliked underestimating this priest.
As they started toward the mill and the path leading to Tyndal village, Eliduc’s heart filled with joy. Dare he hope that this discovery meant God favored his cause?
Then he realized that the murder might have other meanings as well, implications that would bode ill for his hopes. He hurried on, his spirit subdued by caution.
Chapter Fourteen
The swelling corpse was covered by a writhing blanket of flies.
Prior Andrew’s face paled to sea-green. Cupping his hand over his mouth, he rushed into the nearby shrubbery and retched painfully.
“He’s been a soldier,” Ralf muttered to Thomas, “and has seen both living and dead with far worse wounds than that over-ripe carcass.”
Tilting his head in the direction of the dead man, the monk whispered, “Be prepared for greater amazement.”
Father Eliduc was kneeling in the blood-tinged mire.
Ralf’s eyes widened.
His robes pulled up around his thighs, the finely clothed priest was murmuring with fervency into an ear that would never again recognize human voice.
“I’ll see to our prior,” Brother Thomas said and disappeared into the bushes.
Ralf looked over at Brother Beorn who was standing several feet from the corpse. The lay brother remained motionless and silent, his eyes unblinking. The crowner could not decide if the man was stunned by the horror of this scene or had fallen into a trance.
Eliduc broke the silence with a disgusted grunt. Rising from the body, he looked with dismay at his filthy knees, then turned to Ralf. “God has granted your prayer for knowledge, Crowner.” He pointed at the body. “This is the mortal flesh of Baron Otes, his soul most cruelly torn away and sent to God’s hand.”