Otes had possibly offered the gift to several religious leaders to see which man offered his soul the best terms for escaping Purgatory. To Eleanor’s mind, no land had such high value that possession of it was worth committing murder. Then she scolded herself for being a fool. Others would disagree about killing over a bit of fertile earth, and she had been wrong before in making similar conclusions.
So the priest again became a foremost suspect, and Eleanor found herself still uncomfortable with the conclusion. Eliduc might suffer from worldly ambition, but, for all his flaws, she did believe he feared God too much to utterly damn his soul.
There was far more to learn, and Eleanor suspected she must seek elsewhere for answers. In fact, Lady Avelina might not know much more that was pertinent. Even if she did, the prioress doubted she would dare question the lady more closely in this matter that rightfully belonged to the king’s justice.
“Such earthly concerns!” the prioress said with proper dismay over her weakness in gossiping. “I came, not to speak of such sad matters, rather to offer some relief to you. I fear the journey here has unbalanced your humors.”
“You have the right of it,” Avelina responded. “I am no longer a young woman and long journeys require rest.” She gestured to a small vial on a table nearby, next to which sat a mortar and pestle. “I do have a tonic which will revive me. When I am ready to sleep, Kenard prepares it. I usually awaken to find myself improved the next day. After so many days, the relief does take longer. My strength will return by tomorrow.”
“If you or your servant need anything from our herb garden, Sister Anne is an experienced apothecary and can make whatever you might require.”
Lady Avelina nodded. “Her reputation for skillful treatments has reached the court.”
“If you would like her to visit and discuss your health, I will send her to you.”
“I would be grateful for her opinion.”
“Then she will await your summons, and I shall not fatigue you further.” Eleanor rose. As she turned to leave, she recalled another matter she meant to mention. “Our novice and choir master had hoped to perform The Play of Daniel for the queen. Father Eliduc wishes to see it, and Brother John readies his choir for a performance. If you are well enough, I would be honored if you joined me in the nuns’ gallery when this occurs. Although undue pride is a sin, I believe Brother John is most talented and that his choir sings like angels must. This enactment of the tale might both entertain and cheer your soul.”
“I would be delighted!”
“Then I will let you know when it is to take place and send someone to accompany you to the chapel.”
Assuring the lady she did not need Kenard to accompany her to the door, Eleanor left the guest quarters, relieved she did not have to see the troubling servant again.
She may have been disappointed with her failure to get the information she had hoped, but her visit did seem to raise Lady Avelina’s spirits. The invitation to watch The Play of Daniel certainly pleased her. Whatever Eleanor did not accomplish, she had honored the commandment to practice charity.
Hurrying back to her chambers, the prioress remembered she had promised to call for Brother Beorn. If God is kind, she thought, the matter distressing him will be of minor consequence.
Chapter Twenty-two
Fulke knelt in the darkest part of the chapel and prayed. Even in these shadows, his head throbbed after that night of drinking.
If someone offered to chop off the offending part, he might have considered the proposition. Only the state of his soul would have stopped him, a concern that rarely troubled the sheriff except when he was reminded of death. Seeing Baron Otes’ corpse was one of those painful moments.
“I have sinned,” he muttered, dutifully herding guilt into his heart.
An insistent hiss of protest rose above the thundering inside his skull. Were his transgressions worse than others? Hadn’t he been less corrupt than most in his situation? He had taken only one substantial bribe, looking the other way when a man paid far less into the king’s treasury than was due.
Fulke had used that coin to buy a rich, ecclesiastic position for his brother, Odo. Since the money had gone to Church coffers, he deemed it only just that the ultimate beneficiary of the bribe count in his favor and that his deed be cleansed of any wrong.
Odo had also vowed to pray daily for his elder sibling’s soul in gratitude for the gift. Since his middle brother spent more time lusting over his accounting rolls than he did bending his fat knees in prayer, Fulke had little confidence in the efficacy of that promise.
Even without Odo’s infrequent intercessions with God, there must surely be less cause for apprehension now that the baron was dead. How would King Edward learn about that one act of corruption? Few had ever known what the sheriff had done, and they were unlikely to reveal the secret.
The man who had given him the bribe died long ago with neither wife nor sons surviving. Odo had gotten the position he craved and would never endanger his smooth wine, fat meat that crackled on the spit, and the soft pillow on which to kneel at his artfully carved prie-dieu. As for the crowner, his code of honor might be peculiar, but he did have one. Despite his errant ways, Ralf was loyal to family.
Fulke sat back on his heels and smiled up at the cross on the altar. He had nothing to fear. He was secure in his position as sheriff. The baron’s death was fortunate. Countless men could now sleep easily, and many would bless the man who had killed Otes.
As for his soul’s more common transgressions, Fulke also grew confident that God would not be too harsh. Muttering contrition for his drunkenness and whoring, the sheriff vowed he would seek the required penance once this unfortunate journey had ended. Briefly, he imagined his wife’s oval face brightened with an approving smile.
His heart now beating so loud with its celebratory joy, Fulke belatedly became aware of another sound in the chapeclass="underline" the whisper of soft shoes gliding across the stone floor.
The sheriff opened one eye and cautiously glanced to his right.
Father Eliduc moved toward the altar with the lightness of a spirit, his hands raised heavenward with reverence. Slowly he knelt, lowered his head, and began murmuring hushed prayers with a chanting cadence.
Fulke edged deeper into the shadows, inexplicably fearing the priest had seen him. There is no good reason to care if he had, the sheriff thought, and just as quickly hoped Eliduc had not recognized him.
Eliduc sighed between prayers.
Fulke shivered.
It was irrational to be frightened of this man of God. He could not be some imp in disguise, for no creature from Hell ever wore a cross around his neck. Although Satan was clever in the ways he used to deceive mortals, fallen angels did have their limits. Eliduc must be a true priest.
Maybe my soul is more troubled with sin when I am in the priest’s presence, Fulke thought. The image of his wife returned, this time scowling. How often he had betrayed her with other women after he was refused her bed. “She is virtuous and kind,” he murmured, swearing he would be a better husband.
He winced. He could not deceive God. Any vow he made to remain chaste was brittle and therefore he might well have good reason to avoid Eliduc’s company if the man did read thoughts as the sheriff suspected. The more he thought on that, the stronger his sins began to stink like rotting fish.
Another, darker image came to him next. Might this priest, who wore such vibrant black, be Death’s messenger? Cold sweat was now rolling down the sheriff’s back. Otes was already dead. With Eliduc still here, Death might harvest other souls. And whose might they be?
Fulke clenched his chattering teeth. Such fears were foolish things, more suitable to old women and little children. Wasn’t he a full-grown man?