“Or was possessed,” Sister Anne suggested.
Eleanor thought for a moment. “I believed he was going to kill me when I saw him with that knife in his hand. Now that I think about it, however, he did look frightened. Certainly, he ran as if he were. If he is possessed, I fear the spirit that has entered his body is more likely to hurt him than another.”
“Then he is to be pitied more than feared,” Anne replied as she turned to the crowner. “The townspeople have seen us away from the priory on occasion, albeit rarely, and usually in the woods. I have looked for herbs abroad when our garden has run short, and Sister Matilda used to search for mushrooms in the forest when she was in charge of the kitchen.” She shook her head as Ralf opened his mouth to speak. “No, the villagers are not there for criminal reasons and steal nothing of interest to the King. They usually come for the same reasons we have. When we meet, they greet us with courtesy and pass on.”
Gytha quietly lifted the ewer of cooled wine and filled the goblets for both Eleanor and Ralf. When the girl offered to pour wine for her, Sister Anne put her hand over her cup.
“You’ve been that far from the priory?” Ralf asked the nun.
“Not I, Ralf,” Anne said. “The wild herbs I use require sun or light shade. My needs were met closer by, but Sister Matilda might have gone deeper into the forest for her mushrooms.”
Ralf coughed, then belched with immense satisfaction. “I would be most grateful, my lady, if you would speak to the sister. I don’t know why, but I seem to frighten your nuns, or else turn them into angry amazons. If Sister Ruth had had a lance in hand when she saw me approach your cloister gate today, I do believe she would have run me through.”
Eleanor laughed. “Indeed! Then be grateful we cannot be warrior nuns in the manner of the Templar monks. Still, I will be happy to talk to Sister Matilda. Perhaps you would be good enough to return tomorrow. I will tell you what I have discovered.”
Ralf swept the table with one last look, grabbed the remaining piece of cheese, which he raised to Eleanor in salute, then bowed and left. As soon as the chamber door shut behind him, Eleanor and Anne looked at each other and burst out in loud laughter.
Gytha blinked in amazement as the two women continued to howl in shared mirth.
“Fear not, child,” Eleanor said, reaching out to touch Gytha’s arm. “We are not mad but simply ungracious enough to enjoy the thought of our elder porteress as a warrior maiden, donning armor and baring her breast to joust with our crowner, who, I should think, would be more interested in a fine cheese than her naked breast.”
“Forgive me, my lady, but Sister Ruth would need no weapon save her bared breast to slay Crowner Ralf,” Gytha replied, eyes twinkling despite her sober look.
The two nuns flushed red, but this time all three bent over in uncontrolled laughter.
Chapter Nineteen
Thomas lied to Sister Anne.
Despite his aching head, he could not stand yet another full day of enforced rest. She had called it a miraculous recovery and let him go with a look that said she knew full well that he was more impatient than fully fit. Out of guilt he had promised not to overdo and to come back at once if he began to vomit or show other symptoms of ill health within the next few days.
As he left the hospital, every muscle in his body cried to run for all he was worth or find a horse and gallop until he and the beast were too exhausted to go further. Then his head began to pound at the very thought, and he knew that Sister Anne was right. He would be cautious, he decided grudgingly.
Still he wanted to be useful so he walked into the hut just outside the entrance to the hospital. There were few people awaiting treatment. A lay brother gave one such person something to treat what looked like a minor cut. Another man blushed as he pointed to his genitals and made a scratching gesture. Tomorrow, Thomas thought, his wife may be in for the same reason and the husband back as well with a cracked skull for sharing the ailment he most likely got from his whore.
No one needed the services of a priest so he left and walked toward the church. As he reached the split in the path that would take him toward the sacristy, he heard the gravel crunch behind him and he turned.
“How does your head feel, brother?” Brother Simeon’s expression was grave and his hand gentle as he reached over and touched Thomas on the shoulder.
Thomas put his hand on the wound as if he had already forgotten about it. It was still sore. “Hardly notice it,” he shrugged.
Simeon beamed with returned good humor. “Good! Then you’ll be back with the nuns soon. Brother John will be most grateful to return full time to his little novices and his music. He does so miss them.” He snorted with ill-disguised contempt.
“He may do so today. I am on my way there now.”
“Then I shall walk with you,” Simeon said and the two monks started back along the path to the sacristy. “Has your memory returned as well, or have you heard anything more about who might have attacked you?”
“No, my lord. Neither. I am beginning to think it was some malevolent spirit whose nocturnal wanderings I interrupted.”
“Or you got too close to the hiding place of some villein escaped from his master.” Simeon sighed. “Then you have heard nothing either about any progress in the hunt for Brother Rupert’s killer?”
A loud laugh made both men spin around. Standing just a few paces behind them was Ralf. Fatigue edged the crowner’s eyes in black, but, as he looked down the path at the two monks, his grin was almost boyish. “Neither of you was ever in the army, for cert. Had you been sentries, you’d be dead by now. Never even heard me come up behind you!”
Thomas watched Simeon’s face turn scarlet with rage. “It seems I must remind you that this is a house of God, not a military camp, Crowner. Your worldly skills have no value here.” Simeon almost spat the last words.
“And if Brother Rupert, or our brother here, had had my worldly skills as you call them, the former might be alive and the latter might be without that bump on his head. And how is your tender pate, my saintly friend?”
“Were I saintly, Crowner, I would feel it less. And if I had your thick skull, I might never have felt it at all,” Thomas replied.
Ralf threw back his head and roared with laughter.
Simeon looked at Thomas in surprise.
“You missed your calling, monk,” Ralf said. “You should have been a Templar. From what Annie told me, you got quite the crack on your skull, yet your tongue is quick and ready despite your injured wits, and you’re walking around quite freely again. Had you been a warrior monk, methinks you’d be back on your horse and ready for battle. The Templars could use someone like you in the Holy Land.”
The crowner brought his hand down on Thomas’ shoulder so hard the monk saw flashes of light and swayed ever so slightly. For an instant, Thomas’ mood darkened. Perhaps he would have been happier with the fighting monks. He was not suited to inconsequential investigations of account rolls, but then he hadn’t been given much of a choice. Still, this assignment had not been without its adventures, he decided. His mood brightened.
“Enough childish waste of time, Crowner. Are you here because you finally have some news about Brother Rupert’s murderer?” Simeon drew himself up to his full height and stuffed his fists into his sleeves.
“It’s only right I tell your mistress first,” Ralf said, and, with an impish grin, watched the colors of frustration and anger rise and fall in the receiver’s face. “And I must confess I find your prioress a rare sort of woman. What think you of her?”
“A woman is a woman. Whatever her titular position here, she can never be more than what God has made her, a ward in need of man’s firm direction.”
The crowner winked at him, but Thomas decided silence was the wiser response.