Ralf swatted through the cloud of midges swarming around his head as he walked the path along the stream. Whatever relief he had gained from the swim with Brother Thomas had quickly vanished. Even his sweat now failed to cool him.
“May Satan roast that infernal pig,” he muttered.
A swineherd had claimed one of his sows was missing and insisted someone had stolen it. Although it was not part of a crowner’s official duties, Ralf had agreed to hunt for the beast. After spending too long in the sun searching for that cloven-hoofed lump of lard, he finally found her, joyfully wallowing in a cool patch of mud. The curses Ralf directed at the swineherd might have been hellish enough to increase the day’s heat.
He slapped his cheek. Glancing at his palm, he saw a smear of blood. “I’m at least swift enough,” he said. “Had the damnable thing bitten my brother’s flesh, it might have lived longer.” Wiping his hand on his sleeve, he trudged on.
Ralf had never harbored much fraternal affection for his eldest brother, although he honored him as head of the family and was glad enough Fulke had been the one born first. The man was better suited than he to playing political chess games for worldly gain, an acknowledgment the crowner had no difficulty making.
“And he is usually more honest than our Odo,” he conceded with some reluctance, then kicked at a rock in his way to compensate for the admission. Contempt for their middle brother was one of the few things Ralf and Fulke shared.
When it came to gratitude to the sheriff for arranging his appointment as crowner here, Ralf was of two minds. There was no question that he loved this land, and, before King Henry’s death, Ralf had been allowed to perform his duties with little interference from Fulke, who was pleased not to have to soil his boots with East Anglian mud. After the old king died, the sheriff had begun to meddle, and Ralf was not happy with the change. So far he had been able to cope with it.
He hoped that situation would continue, although he had heard tales enough to trouble him. The new king, Edward, was intolerant of his father’s lax ways in matters of the law. Of course Ralf agreed that corrupt sheriffs should be removed and the rule of law be honored. What he did not like was being told exactly how he should enforce the codes and the precise definition of justice.
Then his thoughts moved on to even less comfortable matters, and he grunted with the sharp pain the memory brought him. The time when his world had shattered and Tyndal village became unbearable had been relegated to dreams. Acknowledging that Fulke had ever shown compassion for him remained an arduous thing. Although he tried to convince himself that it was his sister-in-law alone who forced her husband to show kindness, Ralf was honest enough to admit gratitude was due Fulke even if he kept the moment both unspoken and brief.
“In truth, my cursed brother did take me in,” the crowner growled. Then he spat out a few insects that had flown into his mouth. “His price may have been a land-rich and gloomy marriage, but I got my daughter from it.” What he did not like to think on was that the cost of the babe had been her mother’s life. “The lady deserved a far better husband than this rude man,” he muttered, his heart aching with remorse as it always did when he thought about his dead wife.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he banished the memory even if he was unable to outlaw tears. He stopped, wiped his eyes with his sleeve, and realized he had reached the end of the path.
He was standing at the edge of that land he had gained from his brief marriage. Although mostly hidden from view, the house was not far and he could just see the rooftop above the brush. All this would be his daughter’s one day, and he worked hard to make sure the land brought his beloved Sibely wealth enough by the time she finally reached marriageable age.
Or rather his bailiff and sergeant, Cuthbert, did. Unlike Ralf, that man was far happier farming and overseeing the construction of buildings than he ever was hunting miscreants, which was well enough as far as Ralf was concerned. Other than wayward sows, there were few real crimes to disturb the peace here, even though the reputation of Tyndal’s hospital was attracting many strangers. Some violence was inevitable. Most of the time, Cuthbert could remain happy especially now he had married his beloved lass.
As for happiness, that emotion had been a rare guest in Ralf’s heart before his daughter was born and taught him to laugh and even sing. The latter pleased only Sibely, but he cared not as long as his voice delighted her. Ralf fiercely cherished the time spent with his child. Was his newly discovered peace about to be destroyed by his accursed brother?
When Fulke sent word about this visit to the priory, he had hinted that he had another profitable marriage planned for his youngest brother. The arrival of the sheriff made the crowner feel like an apple about to be invaded by some ravenous worm.
Ralf clenched his fists. He would not agree to this union. He had paid his debt for any kindness his brother had given him. Head lowered, he stomped toward the house like some tormented bull, his humors shifting from choler to melancholy.
Then he heard a woman’s laugh and looked up.
Gytha stood in the doorway, his daughter in her arms. Beside her, the maid was playing peek-a-boo with the child.
His mood brightened, and he ran the rest of the way to the house.
“My little beauty!” Ralf took Sibely into his arms and raised her up so she could touch the sky.
“Any higher and she’ll need wings,” Gytha teased.
“Da!” the child giggled and grabbed at her father’s hair when he lowered her for a kiss.
“You have a guest within, Master Crowner,” the maid said, her voice signifying reluctance at being the bearer of such news.
Ralf looked at Gytha.
“A man who claims to be your eldest brother. I did believe him for his face bore a likeness to yours, although I fear it also bore a most disagreeable expression,” she said in a soft voice. “I brought him enough cider to mellow his ill humor and food as well. Nothing seemed to please him. I hope his arrival does not mean…”
“Trouble?” The crowner scowled. “Aye, I fear he usually brings it.” Hugging his child, Ralf passed her back, with more unwillingness than usual, into the arms of Gytha.
His forehead deeply furrowed, he strode through the door.
Fulke sat on a bench with his feet off the floor. A bowl of small wood strawberries next to a fine cheese lay untouched on the table. He glared at his brother with evident disgust.
In the spirit of that greeting, Ralf scowled back.
“The whore is comely enough for a Saxon, brother, but I had hoped you’d choose a creature of better birth for your leman.”
Flint could not have sparked fire quicker than the time it took for Ralf to wrap his hands around his brother’s throat.
Fulke’s eyes bulged with the need for air, and he impotently swung his fists in defense.
“You bawd!” Ralf roared. “She is Tostig’s sister!”
“Remember Cain and Abel, Master Crowner,” Gytha cried out from the doorway. “Might you not regret killing your brother-someday?”
He shoved Fulke onto the dirt floor, and then wiped his boots on the man as he lay gasping. “Aye, you have the right of it, Mistress Gytha. Were I to murder the badling, I would spend eternity with him in Hell instead of having some hope of Purgatory and a more peaceful torment.”
“You show wisdom in that logic, good sir,” she replied.
“He insulted you. I shall not tolerate it.” Ralf folded his arms and watched his brother’s cheeks fade from a shade much like that of ripe plums.
“For defending my honor, my lord, I am grateful to you. Remember that God does teach that truth will vanquish all of Satan’s lies in time.” Gytha smiled. “I have stayed overlong in visiting your daughter’s maid and must return to Prioress Eleanor’s service.” With a mischievous wink, Gytha gave the crowner obeisance proper to their difference in rank and disappeared out the door.