Simeon waved his hand in a dismissive gesture reminiscent of the prior. “Ah, our worldly sister! She’s a very physical woman.” He wiggled his fingers in disgust. “I almost suspected she was his slayer until we realized he must have killed himself. Sister Anne’s a trial to us, I’m afraid. What did you think of her?”
Thomas hesitated. “Indeed, I have not had your long experience with her, but she did seem very…perhaps direct is the word?”
“Immodest or ill-advised are better ones. Has an unwomanly arrogance about her, which you will learn from your work at the hospital. Her judgement is unsound and she will not listen to those wiser than she. A word of advice to you, brother. The infirmarian, Sister Christina, is a woman whose understanding of the spiritual roots of physical ill far surpasses that of Sister Anne.” Simeon snorted. “And I have good reason to know that, in certain respects, Sister Anne has never left the world.”
Thomas nodded. “She was appointed sub-infirmarian, I understand.”
“One of those mistakes made by our late prioress and condoned by Brother Rupert, blinded as we now know by lust. I would have set Sister Anne to cleaning pots in the kitchen to teach her humility. When I heard that she was the one to find our poor brother, I knew that any conclusions she came to would be questionable. That is why I took them so lightly, but now that you have examined the corpse, I feel more confidence, brother.” Simeon sighed and gave another dismissive wave. “But please amuse me. What outlandish explanation did our obstinate sister have, if he did not castrate himself?”
“Murder. She also noted that his robes had been changed after he died.”
Thomas expected Simeon to whoop with laughter. Instead he paled. “What?” the monk asked, his voice hoarse.
“You see, there was no tear in his cloak where the knife went into his chest, and little staining on the garment.”
“Surely she just didn’t see the tear or the blood. Sister Anne thinks she knows everything, but women haven’t a man’s ability to reason and observe. Perhaps I had better look myself…”
“I did, my lord, and with great care.” Thomas hesitated. “There was no tear. There was not the expected amount of blood on his robe.”
For a long time, Simeon looked at Thomas without speaking, his expression inscrutable. Then the receiver reached for his goblet and took a long, pensive sip of wine. “In truth, brother, then I believe we do have a murderer to find,” he said.
Chapter Ten
“Woman, get out of my light and get thyself away from my ears if you must moan so balefully! No man can think with such flapping around him.” Crowner Ralf swatted in the general direction of Sister Christina as if she were an annoying insect, then turned his broad back to her.
It was the day after the sad discovery of Brother Rupert’s mutilated corpse, and Christina had been interrupted by the arrival of the crowner while she was kneeling in the Chapel of Saint Mary Magdalene that lay on the cloister side of the nuns’ choir. Except for Brother Rupert’s body, she, a servant of the spiritual King, was completely alone with this loud and abrupt retainer of the secular monarch. Her quiet prayers interrupted, she wrung her hands and continued to make piteous cries of uncertainty. She was not only alone in the chapel with this worldly man, she was quite sure such unchaperoned contact was forbidden. She was absolutely terrified by him.
Ignoring her distress, the local representative of King Henry’s justice bent over the body of the late Brother Rupert and resumed his careful examination while continuing to wave one hand absent-mindedly at the nun as if she were a pesky fly to keep at bay.
***
Eleanor stepped into the chapel, took one look at the young nun rocking from side to side in near hysteria, and called out: “You may go, sister. We will deal with the crowner.” Then she turned to Sister Ruth and asked in a low voice, “Was Sister Christina here when you let the crowner in?”
Ruth looked genuinely distressed. “Forgive me, my lady! In my rush to announce him and bring both Sister Anne and Brother Thomas to accompany you, I did not notice if anyone was here. If I may, I will escort her away.”
“Do. Please. She looks quite pale. Perhaps a sip of medicinal wine would be in order in view of her distress.”
“Immediately, my lady.” The elder nun stepped forward, took the arm of the trembling younger one and led her with speed and surprising gentleness toward the cloister walk. Whatever Eleanor may have thought of Sister Christina, this was one time she felt sorry for her. However severe Sister Ruth might be with Eleanor, the porteress was showing kindness to the terrified girl. That was worth remembering.
“I am Prioress Eleanor of Tyndal,” she announced to the man, who had not even turned to acknowledge her presence. An unkempt and careless man, she thought, as she glanced at the clothing he wore. It was in need of mending, and where mended it was badly done. His back was stained from sweat and other liquids of less well-defined origins. Here was a man with little time for fashion and even less for the good opinion of others, Eleanor decided with grim humor. Was he even sober?
“A fine thing to find in your garden, my lady,” the crowner said, continuing to bend over the monk’s body.
His voice was steady, his words unslurred. At least he wasn’t drunk, Eleanor concluded with some relief.
“Not a proper sight for virgins.” He grunted as he turned the corpse over on one side and yanked up the corpse’s robe to expose the mutilation. “Seeing this mess would be good for a few Hail Marys to ease the shock, I’d think.”
Brother Thomas coughed, then gagged at the sight of the putrefying mutilation.
“Oh, and a man of God too. Well, this is the most blood you’ll ever see, brother. Thank the good Lord for that, unless you’re a fighting bishop that is.” Ralf was the only one to laugh at his joke, but he seemed neither to notice nor to mind. The crowner continued his examination.
“You’ll not find much blood to mark his lost manhood, Crowner.” Eleanor’s voice was stern. No one in her family had ever spoken favorably of the lower ranks assigned to administer the king’s justice. Indeed, she had always assumed such men were mostly dishonest, or lazy and incompetent at best. She’d rather hoped this one would be different. At least his study of the dead priest was unhurried and seemed careful. Perhaps the crowner had merit, despite his clothes and rather earthy smell.
“And how would you know that, my lady?” The man sighed with barely concealed annoyance at the continued interruptions.
“We looked.”
Crowner Ralf straightened up slowly, put one hand on his hip, turned and glowered equally at Eleanor and Thomas.
“Indeed. And what are your conclusions then, good people? Did God strike him down in your priory for his sins? Or was it for your sins? Do you think I’ll close my eyes to all human intervention just because the corpse’s a monk and you’re a bunch of…?”
“Shush, Ralf! You are being impious. Be silent, and let us tell you what we did find.” Sister Anne stepped out of the shadow behind Thomas, shook her finger at the crowner, and glared with a ferocity equal to his own.
Eleanor and Thomas both turned to look at her in shock.
“Well, Annie,” the crowner said, his face relaxing into a surprised but delighted smile. “I’d hoped you hadn’t lost all your sense when you left the apothecary shop for the convent.”
Sister Anne turned to Eleanor. “Forgive me for speaking without permission, my lady. We knew Ralf, my husband and I, when we were in the world.”
Ralf nodded. “Aye, and leaving it was the world’s loss. You saved my lazy brother’s life with that green and foul smelling poultice when the boar gored his leg, you know.” He looked over at Eleanor. “He that is sheriff and too busy with the affairs of the high and mighty to attend to such matters as this.” He gestured at the corpse.