“He did that,” Ralf replied, “and swore to me he would die before he let you come to any harm. Since you did not know that, you showed a man’s courage to observe as you did, both day and night.” He watched the boy flush with pleasure at the compliment. “And I think you were in those bushes the night before last, waiting to see if he flew after dusk.”
“Aye.” The voice now trembled.
“All night?” Ralf looked at Signy.
“He sometimes visits the hut where his parents died, and so I do not worry if he does not come to the inn for a night. He was absent at the time you mention, and I did not see him until late the next morning.” She pressed her cheek against the top of Nute’s head. “You are such a brave lad,” she whispered.
“And what did you learn that night?” Ralf asked.
Reaching up, the boy pulled Signy’s head down so he could whisper in her ear.
“You may tell the crowner all that, child. He will praise you for it.” She winked at Ralf.
“The hermit did not leave his hut, and I fell asleep. When I awoke, I was very thirsty. The half moon was bright so I could see well enough to slide down the path to the stream below.” He turned pale.
“And you saw some men?” Ralf hoped he wasn’t suggesting answers to the boy.
“Aye. Two. They were standing by the pond.”
“What more did you see or hear?”
“One turned to the other, asked where the man was that they were to meet, then shoved him to the ground. He laughed as he did it.” Nute looked at Signy.
She nodded encouragement.
“The man who had fallen stood up and said something I did not hear. The one who had pushed him replied, ‘Impossible’ and backed away. The other rushed at him. They struggled, and the man who had laughed fell to the ground. The other bent over him, then ran away along the stream toward the priory.”
“Could you describe the men?”
Nute squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. “One was very fat,” he said. “One was thin.”
Ralf waited.
The child said nothing more.
“Did you see their faces?”
The boy shook his head. Fear was painting his face an ashen shade.
“What did you do after the man ran away?”
“I waited, then crawled back up the path, and hid in the shrubbery.”
Signy shook her head at Ralf.
He indicated he would not force the lad to say more about the murder. “And when did you come back to the inn?”
“I didn’t think I could sleep, but I must have. I awoke when the hermit came out of his hut the next morning. He didn’t fly then either. I slipped away after he went down the path.”
“Good lad!” Ralf tousled the boy’s hair. “You proved those wicked lads to be liars about our hermit, and you have helped me beyond measure!”
“Now go see if the soldiers are well served,” Signy said. “You have earned a reward this day for all you have done. I shall ask the cook if she has some sweet to give you.”
As he watched Nute run off, the crowner turned to the innkeeper. “Might he know more?” He kept his voice low.
“If he does, he is too frightened to speak of it. Let him be, and I shall find out if there is aught to learn. God has yet to heal his heart after his parents’ death. That he should have seen a murder is unbearably cruel. Were God merciful, Ralf, He would let him forget this violence he has witnessed.”
Chapter Twenty
The Office had ended. Nuns filed out to attend their tasks, whether prayer or less welcome work under the blistering sun.
Eleanor remained in the shadows of the chapel, hands clasped and neck bent. Her spirit seethed. Rarely had prayer failed to soothe or bring her much needed insight. Now was that uncommon occasion.
Every muscle and nerve tensed as she willed her mind to concentrate on those supplications she had promised to send to God. At the very least, she must pray that certain souls be granted an early release from Purgatory. The instant she completed each petition, her thoughts drifted away with mulish determination.
From the world outside, voices of men and women wafted through the hot air, their words muted and all meaning lost. Closer by, she could hear the novice choir singing one portion of a chorus from the Play of Daniel over and over again.
None of that was a distraction to her. A light scuffling sound nearer to hand was more difficult to overlook.
She opened her eyes.
A small, dark, and furry thing sped past her knees.
One of her cat’s many feline progeny bounded after it.
Although she had no love for rodents, and found the many kittens a delight, she rather hoped this mouse would escape. After all, this was God’s house and violent death had no place here.
She sat back on her heels, let her unclasped hands fall to rest on her knees, and surrendered to her failure. No matter how hard she tried, her prayers were as heavy as leaden tiles and would not rise heavenward. She’d not offer God any excuse for this inability to set worldly things aside even if one cause was not difficult to understand. She was troubled by murder.
The killing of one of the queen’s men near the priory boded ill for future beneficence from either King Edward or his wife. When kings withdrew their favor, other men of rank followed their lead. Like any leader of a religious house, Eleanor depended on those small gifts of land, rents, or gold chalices to feed, clothe, and inspire her nuns and monks.
The prioress was not just concerned with the state of her accounting rolls or how brightly the priory plate glittered, she was angry that anyone would dare commit violence against a priory guest. Since all staying here were presumed to be under God’s protection, the act was not only brutal but an affront to hospitality and an offense against God. Although Baron Otes had committed uncounted sins, the right to punish him belonged to God or the king. In this case, she believed the killer had encroached most on God’s authority.
She gazed up at the window behind the altar. Dimmed by the moss outside, the light struggled to pass through the glass into the chapel. She had refused to order the growth scraped away. The weak glow reminded her and her religious that the human spirit must always strive to see light in the darkness of earthly sin. Now she needed the reminder more than ever to keep her seeking the elusive reason for this crime.
The first inquiry must establish whether an outlaw or someone from the village was the perpetrator. Since the body was found by the stream outside the priory, both were reasonable possibilities and would be thoroughly investigated by Crowner Ralf. She prayed that investigation would solve the crime.
She feared otherwise. To her mind, the most significant question lay in why Otes had left the guest quarters at all. He was not native to this region and, to the best of her knowledge, had neither kin nor allies in this part of England. Although he might have slipped out for an evening of whoring and drinking, Eleanor had strong doubts.
Otes was no longer young and had been giving lavish gifts to the Church. These efforts on behalf of his soul suggested he was either moved to repent his sins or, unable to satisfy favorite lusts with the ease of younger days, he had grown to fear the eternal consequences of past pleasures as each day brought him reminders of mortal decay.
Whether the baron was trying to bribe God to forget his sins or had learned He did love mended hearts, Otes’ pattern of munificent gifts suggested a man who was now responding more to the rotten stench of Purgatory than the perfume of willing women.
She ran her fingertips over the rough stone on which she knelt. Whoring was probably not the baron’s aim, yet she suspected he had left Tyndal to meet someone. With no reason to think that person was a local man, she concluded the killer was another member of the queen’s party. If so, she was left with the question of why the meeting took place in that particular spot. The men might have met within the walls of the priory, unless the murderer did not want to add sacrilege to murder.