Brother Simeon. He was, without doubt, a vain man, even pompous, but he was also competent. That reputation was known at Grovebury, and Brother Andrew had confirmed the general opinion. Thomas had also found the receiver vigorous and jovial, the kind of man who drew boys, just on the brink of manhood, to him. A man who’d stand, legs splayed, with a waster in hand, one of those blunt wooden practice swords, and invite the lads to fight with him. Afterward he’d cuff them like a great bear; show them skills to save their lives, which he’d call little tricks; praise them for their recklessness, which he’d call courage; and then slip them treats like the children they still were. Thomas had known a man like that when he was a boy and the memory warmed him briefly. Of course a man like Simeon would emerge a leader in this world of sometimes childlike monks.
That aside, someone had obviously thought there was a problem with Simeon or Thomas would not be here. An anonymous message with vague suggestions of even vaguer improprieties had been sent to the Abbess at the mother house in France. Thomas suspected some monk at Tyndal had become jealous of Simeon’s growing reputation, but so far he had neither heard nor seen anything suggestive. Perhaps someone was just trying to blacken Simeon’s name, or at least tarnish it a bit, so his promotion to prior at either Amesbury or Tyndal might not be considered such a foregone conclusion.
Thomas shrugged. He had yet to persuade Simeon to show him the account rolls. In fact, despite the receiver’s frequent invitations to join him in a cup of good Gascon wine and talk about the new priest’s day with the nuns and at the hospital, Simeon seemed disinclined to take Thomas on as his apprentice as Thomas had hoped. It would have made the task of investigating the lost income so much simpler. Now Thomas would have to wait until the prioress ordered the receiver to bring his accounts to her and trust she would invite Thomas to the meeting as a man familiar with law and with contracts and grants.
So far, she had not done so. The discovery of the mutilated corpse well within the sanctity of the priory gardens had profoundly terrified all at Tyndal. Not only did the prioress have to calm them, she had to question each, on the crowner’s behalf, to discover anything that may have been seen on the day Brother Rupert’s body was found. All this had delayed any review of revenues.
Perhaps the postponement was just as well, for Simeon had shown no dread of presenting his accounts. This suggested that the whole problem rested, not with the receiver’s incompetence or even malfeasance, but rather with a resentful troublemaker who only wished to throw a little sand in Simeon’s face.
Who might that be? In Thomas’ opinion, the use of anonymous and vague accusations was a weak man’s weapon. Could Theobald have finally rebelled against the man who had dominated him for so long? It would not surprise him. He had met a few others like Theobald in the higher orders. For the most part, they were harmless and vacant men, although often personable, who had been raised to positions that bewildered them. Indeed their advancements so far exceeded their abilities that even those more experienced in Church politics were often mystified by their elevation. The reason for their prominence usually involved the accident of high birth in combination with the ambition of men of lesser rank who used them as a shield to push themselves forward into positions of influence they could never otherwise reach. Such men then taught the Theobalds to say the words they themselves had no authority to speak, and if the ambitious men were competent and wise, well then, there was no harm and perhaps even some good done in the name of those who held the title. If they were not wise or were tainted with malevolence, however…
Was Simeon a wise man as well as a skilled administrator? Thomas did not doubt the monk’s intelligence, but Simeon seemed uneasy with the new prioress and had treated her in a disrespectful manner at their first meeting. That was a surprising mistake for such a worldly and ambitious man. Perhaps it was a mere stumble. After all, the prioress had just arrived and he had had no chance to learn how to deal with a woman of will, something the Prioress Felicia had not apparently been.
Willful women! He smiled. In truth, Thomas had met more such in the house of God than he had ever encountered in the world of men, but he rather liked at least two of them. Even the crowner, a blunt, rough man and no courtier in his dealings with either monks or women, had shown respect for Sister Anne’s logic.
And Thomas himself liked the evident but understated intelligence of the youthful prioress. She listened to others, a tactic the wise man learned quickly if he wished to survive into old age. Those high in the Church who had successfully kept their positions over decades of endless, sometimes daily, contradictory political storms would probably agree. That she had already learned it made him feel more confident about her strength and permanence as a leader. Perhaps that was why he chose to tell the prioress about finding the wooden cross and not Brother Simeon, about whose skills Thomas was still unsure. Choosing to show her the crucifix he had found was his way of aligning himself with the prioress and whatever faction of power she represented outside Tyndal. An unorthodox choice to be sure. Had he made a mistake? Thomas had honed his instincts on who was best to follow since he was a child. He had to trust himself.
A door creaked loudly as it opened.
Thomas froze. He heard the sound of steps and whispers. From the tone of their voices he knew the men who had just entered both wanted and expected to be alone. Thomas slipped to the ground and crawled quickly out of the dimly lighted chapel to a pillar in the dark nave closest by him. He had learned long ago that it was prudent and useful not to be seen by those who whispered together in darkness.
Thomas waited until the voices came no nearer, then carefully looked out from the shadows. At some distance away, he could see two men kneeling and facing each other. Neither was identifiable in the gloom of the monk’s choir. Their words were muffled. Then one began to sob, neither child nor quite a man by his voice. Thomas watched as the other man reached out and drew him into an embrace.
Then the youth pushed the man away, leapt up, and, covering his face with his hands, ran through the nave to the sacristy.
With a hoarse cry, the man jumped up and raced after him. As the monk passed through a pale stream of moonlight from the window over the high altar, Thomas saw his face. It was the grim and green-eyed monk who had summoned him to Brother Simeon.
Thomas got to his feet and followed.
Chapter Fourteen
Eleanor finished her prayers. She opened her eyes and looked toward the high window over her small altar. The early morning sunlight shone down with a damp but welcome warmth, and, as she rose from her prie-dieu, she could hear the sounds of the awakening, hungry livestock from the stables and pens across the southern branch of the priory creek. The light rain had finally stopped and sunshine, weak as it was, lifted her spirit.
Today she had vowed to fast and drink only watered wine. Perhaps that would help quell the unwelcome and distracting emotions the new priest had inspired. Thomas was indeed a handsome man, but she had met his like in earlier days without feeling more than a fleeting interest. And those days had been before she became a bride of Christ. If those longings had been but negligible aches of transient lust, now they surely qualified as the more serious sin of infidelity, in thought at the very least. She had prayed the feelings would pass just as quickly as they had before.