Otes glared down at this particular beast. Was it his imagination or had the creature given him an evil look this morning when he approached to mount? He shook his head and concluded that the heat had unbalanced his humors. After all, these animals were incapable of reason and could not foresee a fatiguing ride. Unlike Adam and Eve, horses had never eaten an apple from the Tree of Knowledge.
Suddenly he had a horrifying thought. Might Adam have fed an apple to this animal’s forbearer before he himself had taken that forbidden bite?
With a grimace, Otes dismissed the blasphemous thought and forced his mind to more practical matters. He also decided that he must find shelter from this sun.
It had been a long day, and he would be glad when the inevitable courtesies were over. Sweat stung his eyes, and his fingers were so swollen that he had difficulty holding the reins. He feared that this remote priory might not possess palatable enough wine to wash the dust from his throat. Then he recalled that the prioress was a baron’s daughter and grew confident. A woman of high birth would never tolerate inferior or austere food and drink.
As the delegation approached the large gathering of monks and nuns waiting to honor the queen’s representatives, Otes eyed those of greatest interest to him. He smiled with delight, his spirits rose, and he grew increasingly confident that his plans would be successful.
He had been right to demand that the party delay entrance to priory grounds until he had taken time to pray. Especially after his recent and most generous donations to the Church, God should not fail to recognize his piety. A small reminder that He owed the baron a great deal had clearly not been wasted, however.
Although he knew her father, Baron Adam of Wynethorpe, this prioress was younger than he had believed. Before Otes left the court, he learned the late king had appointed her to this position because her kin had been loyal during the de Montfort rebellion. That detail meant her fellow religious had not chosen her for any demonstrated competence.
Since she had been raised at Amesbury Priory from childhood, she would also be a naïve about worldly matters. That, plus her youth, meant she could be manipulated with even greater ease than he had assumed. Oh, he had heard rumors of things she had done here and there. Those, he discounted. Any alleged accomplishments were surely the work of some monk on her behalf. In this Order of Fontevrault, a woman might hold the title of leader, but he knew at least one man must direct her.
Perhaps that man was her prior, the one standing beside her. In this, God had doubly blessed Otes, and he was eager for the moment when Prior Andrew saw him. Perhaps Andrew would not recognize the baron immediately, for they had both changed in the years since their last meeting. The prior had grown as gaunt as Otes had grown fat, and all men knew which physical state proved His favor. The baron was confident of his superior standing in God’s eyes.
The dust slowly settled from the stamping of so many hooves. Otes wiped a hand across his forehead and looked with distaste at the smeared dirt. Then he chuckled. How he would savor the sight of Andrew’s eyes widening in proportion to the dread growing in the wretched prior’s heart. That moment was worth all the gritty dust caught in the baron’s sweat.
Otes stretched his aching shoulders back. After all my generosity to the Church, he said to himself, I should not have to beg that my soul be granted but a brief moment in Purgatory. Since it seems I must, according to my wretched confessor, someone ought to pay the price for the injustice. This prior is a despicable man, one who can be cast aside and forgotten, and Andrew surely deserved to suffer for having dared to live this long.
Otes caught himself smiling at the back of Sir Fulke, the sheriff.
Now there was a fool, neither corrupt enough to succeed through fear nor so honest that he basked in the warm esteem of others. Although Otes had learned something useful about the man, the baron had found no particular reason to exact a price for his knowledge. Until now, the way the man twitched every time they met, like a mouse facing a cat, was good enough. Soon, he might have to demand something more from Sir Fulke. Others had always paid well for the baron’s silence, and he took pride in getting full value for secrets. No man should ever die before gathering in everything owed him.
Pulling on his reins, Otes groaned with increasing discomfort and shifted in the saddle to ease his back. As he did, he saw Kenard walking next to the Lady Avelina.
At that moment, the servant also looked up. He met the baron’s glance with a bold stare.
Otes turned away so quickly his neck hurt. The very sight of that man with hooded eyes like some malevolent hawk always made him uneasy. Why had the Lady Avelina kept him in her service? The man was mute. Perhaps he earned his keep by spying on her imprudent son, Simon.
Otes shuddered. Had Kenard been lurking the other night when the baron whispered a few words in Simon’s ear and the young man almost pissed himself with terror? The baron assumed not. He had ever been careful to avoid witnesses to his tactics.
In any case, he found the servant loathsome and concluded the man needed to be reminded of his rank. Otes chose to meet the man’s gaze again, then spat in Kenard’s direction. The creature would not dare respond to the insult.
The servant turned his back and strode away.
Although this man might cause Otes discomfort, he knew Kenard could be punished if the baron chose to complain about some real or imagined offense. It was another member of this party who caused Otes real concern: the priest, Father Eliduc. While his voice was as soft as the cloth of his black robes, his very presence in a room made men break out in a sweat as if they suffered from a mortal fever.
Otes was not at all happy that this particular churchman was made a member of the company sent to Tyndal. A priest might be an obligatory part of the group, since the queen had proclaimed her journey a pilgrimage, but Eliduc was not the representative of God Otes wanted. The man was the one person who shouldn’t learn just yet of Otes’ purpose here, and the priest had a fine reputation for ferreting out secrets, a skill the baron conceded might well match his own.
“Foxes may be outwitted by clever hounds,” he reminded himself, believing that his wits were surely up to the mark. God was also showing too many signs of His favor. There could be nothing except triumph for Otes’ cause.
Exhaling with relief, he forced a smile. The sheriff was speaking with the prioress. Soon he could escape this heat and sit back in a chair with a goblet of cool wine to strengthen him. He sighed with pleasure at the very thought.
His horse snorted as if concurring with the sentiment.
Chapter Three
This journey had lasted far too long for the Lady Avelina. Each day, her weariness had deepened until her very bones now throbbed. Shutting her eyes, she refused to dwell on the unpleasant fact that the road must be traveled again for the return to court. Although the inns had been carefully chosen for their good fare and decent lodging, the mattresses had been scratchy, albeit stuffed with fresh straw, and she had suffered too many flea bites. Apparently none of these innkeepers had ever heard of using lavender.
She opened her eyes and gazed around at the priory grounds. To her right, she could see arching fruit trees and lush gardens, all green and dotted with the vibrant colors suggestive of seasonal abundance. To her left stood the guest quarters with stables, and in the distance she could hear the splashing groans of a mill.
“Most likely there are fish ponds as well,” she murmured. “How peaceful it is here.” Then she gasped as a sharp pain struck her breast.
Kenard was instantly by her side. Tilting his head, he furrowed his forehead with concern and pointed first to her mount and then to his arm.