Thomas grasped the man’s hands, understanding one cause for his unhealed pain. “Do not blame yourself for what happened, Prior. You could have done nothing to save him.”
“For the sin of not trying, I should have died unshriven.”
“Your brother would have wanted you to live to pray for his soul.”
“As I have each day since.”
“Then you have served him far better than any hopeless attempt to save his life. You were too weak to succeed. For both of you to have been killed would have served no good purpose.”
As his gulping sobs ended, Andrew ground his fist into the rough wood of the table. “There are brief moments when God grants my heart peace, Brother, and many more when I know the long penance before me.” He bowed his head. “From this tale, you can understand why I have reason to hate the baron and might wickedly rejoice that someone murdered him.”
“You did sicken at the sight of his cut throat which speaks more of horror than any joy,” Thomas said with gentleness.
Andrew shrugged. “Father Eliduc did not reason so. When he suggested I cried out in shock at the sight of the baron in the queen’s party, I asked myself if he had seen the dark spot in my soul.”
This time it was Thomas who drank deeply of the ale and quickly refilled the mazer. “I doubt the priest knows anything of the history between you and the baron.”
Yet he feared Andrew might be right. Eliduc knew much about men’s sins and often used their secrets to make them do his bidding. That the priest never did this for personal gain made his intrigues no less terrifying to the victims.
“He smelled my fear,” the prior said.
“Then quickly added he must have misinterpreted your cry. Surely all this priest meant to do was reproach our crowner for suggesting that the murderer hid in the queen’s party.” To shift the focus of their discussion away from Andrew, Thomas added, “I suspect the intent of his remarks was to prove how illogical the crowner was, not to make an accusation that would cast suspicion on you or on the integrity of our priory.”
“Maybe you do have the right of it, Brother. As a priest, Father Eliduc would never impugn Tyndal, nor can I think of any reason for him to point an accusing finger at me. Although my kin own some land and a little wealth, they bear no title and have but small claim to one. Surely I am beneath the notice of a man who serves such a mighty lord of the Church.”
Were they discussing any priest but this one, Thomas might agree. The monk could not quickly discount the possibility that the priest had reason to malign Tyndal Priory or slander its prior, nor could he see any value in doing either. Nothing the priest did could surprise him, however. Eliduc was as illusive as a wily trout in serving his lord’s interests.
Yet Thomas knew that the Church was jealous of its authority over its vowed servants and fought like a she-bear with cubs against any claim of jurisdiction by secular law. It would be most unusual for a priest of Eliduc’s rank to hint to a king’s man that a prior might have motive for bloodshed or that any priory had been so lax as to harbor him.
“Surely Father Eliduc meant nothing ill,” Thomas said at last. “Lest someone be foolish enough to suggest your guilt in this crime, you would be well-advised to tell your tale to Prioress Eleanor, if you have not already done so. Like me, she will know you are innocent of any violence. Learning how cruelly Baron Otes treated your brother will stiffen her resolve on your behalf.”
“Should I tell Crowner Ralf as well?”
“Would you tell him?”
“He is an honest man. There is no reason to fear injustice from him.”
“Remember that it is the duty of our prioress to determine how the matter must be handled, were you to be accused. You are not ruled by the king’s law.”
“I shall leave the decision about informing our crowner to Prioress Eleanor.” Andrew rose. “You are a good man! In the past, I have confessed my hatred for the one who murdered my brother. Speaking with you has brought more peace to my heart.” He smiled. “We miss you at the priory. Will you remain in this hut much longer?”
“I cannot say. God has not indicated that I am released from my vow.”
“When He does, we shall welcome you back with joy.” Andrew held out his hands to the hermit. “There is no need to accompany me. I have fully recovered my strength, and the priory grounds are close by. May God grant you peace, Brother.”
Following his prior to the door, Thomas watched Andrew walk down the road until he disappeared around a bend in the direction of Tyndal.
Although he knew Prioress Eleanor had the right to decide if a king’s man ought to hear Andrew’s story, he feared Father Eliduc more than he dared admit to anyone. Ralf was a friend of Tyndal. The priest might not be, despite all the good reasons for believing he must. In case Eliduc planned to sacrifice the good prior in the pursuit of some unknown cause, Thomas was tempted to tell the crowner the prior’s tale.
Realizing he was about to circumvent Prioress Eleanor, the monk shook his head. None of this was his responsibility, he reminded himself. His prioress was the leader of all religious at Tyndal. She alone had the authority to make decisions in this matter.
He shut his eyes and begged pardon for such overweening pride. After all, he was only a monk, one with no authority at all.
Suddenly he sensed more than heard a soft-footed approach. The hair on his neck stiffened. He spun around, wary of danger.
In the hazy light of the hot sun, a young man stood quite still near the hermitage door. He was as beautiful as one of God’s angels.
Amazed by the handsome youth, Thomas was struck with uncommon lust.
The young man stepped toward him. “Are you the hermit of Tyndal?”
Thomas nodded.
“I beg a blessing,” the youth said, then knelt at the hermit’s feet.
“I will grant that wish,” Thomas replied, his voice trembling, “although I am neither a holy man nor worthy of such obeisance.” He reached out to pull the lad to his feet, then drew back, frightened by his overwhelming desire for the man. In a hoarse voice he asked, “What is your name?”
“Simon.”
Chapter Fifteen
Prioress Eleanor faced the open window that looked out on her priory’s extensive grounds. The weight on her heart stifled her as much as the summer heat. Pressing a fist against her breast, she prayed for masculine calm and the strength not to weep like the frail woman she was.
She turned around.
Prior Andrew’s cheeks were wet with tears enough for them both.
“I did not know the circumstances of your brother’s death,” she said softly.
“I should have confessed it sooner.”
“Although our families fought on different sides of the rebellion, you and I have vowed our allegiance to a far greater Lord than any earthly king.” She hesitated and looked on her prior with compassion. “Upon joining the Order of Fontevraud, you swore you would follow a prioress’ direction with the obedience any good son owes his mother. That vow you have honored in word and in the spirit of the command.” She smiled with wry amusement. “That is more than most mortals accord any rule.”
“Then I have doubly betrayed your confidence, my lady. I kept this part of my past hidden from you. In so doing, I may bring dishonor to this house.” Andrew bowed his head. “I shall resign my position. A worthier man than I must serve as your prior.”
Eleanor furtively ran her fingers under her eyes to make sure tears had not betrayed her feelings. “Before I make any decision on that plea, I must first ask a question, one to which I require an answer appropriate to your vows and dedication in God’s service.” She struggled to keep her voice steady. “Did you kill Baron Otes as you vowed on the battlefield of Evesham?”