A Killing Season

Chapter Twenty-Five

Baron Herbert sat in the shadows, the physician by his side. Glancing sideways at the waiting servant, he gestured toward the chamber door.

The man held it open, and a small party filed in.

“Come no closer, I beg you,” Master Gamel said, raising his hand in warning. “The air may be rife with contagion.”

They dutifully stopped.

The wide-eyed servant edged nearer to the door.

Herbert dismissed him.

Lowering her gaze, Sister Anne modestly tucked her hands into her sleeves. Sir Hugh moved closer to his sister’s side, his expression fierce with protective defiance. Brother Thomas stepped aside, as the servant swiftly retreated, and then firmly shut the door.

“You have news for me, healer?” The baron looked up at the window, his unblinking eyes willing the day’s light to put an end to all nightmares.

“I do not wish to raise your hopes, my lord, but the symptoms you present are not definitive. This means I cannot say that you absolutely have or do not have leprosy.” Gamel looked down at Herbert but kept the focus of his gaze just to the left of the man.

Herbert closed his eyes for a moment, then resumed his intense contemplation of the streaming light from the window.

“As you must surely understand, the decision that a man has contracted leprosy should be made with solemn care. Since some believe the cause of the disease arises from the commission of a dreadful wickedness, it became imperative that Prioress Eleanor and Brother Thomas join us. I can speak only as an imperfect mortal with some poor knowledge of the medical classics.”

Herbert snorted. “You have not yet broken the flask containing my urine, Master Gamel. That must mean you do not believe my condition to be incurable.”

The physician glanced at Sister Anne.

Catching his look, she nodded her head.

“As I said, my lord, the signs you present do not absolutely prove…”

“What else must you see, or not see, to be sure.” The baron’s voice was sharp with impatience. “Others of your profession have already blathered to me like witless birds. One insisted on rubbing goat urine, salt, and honey on my head. I stank but gained no relief. I want a firm decision.”

“If you will kindly allow me, my lord, I shall explain.” Gamel tucked in his chin and cleared his throat. “There are approximately forty signs of leprosy, some strongly indicative of the disease, others of lesser import.”

Herbert covered his eyes in despair.

Gamel continued. “Your voice is hoarse, an unequivocal sign, but your breath is not foul nor does your body stink. The absence of those last factors argues against a diagnosis of the disease. You have lost feeling in your hands, some in your feet. This is strongly suggestive of leprosy. Your hair has fallen out, but this is a lesser sign, often found in those, like you, who have suffered a high fever or other ailments. Another hopeful sign is that you do not have leprous nodules; you do not suffer a fixed stare; and your face presents no disfigurement of lips and nose.” He took a breath.

“Father Aylmer in Outremer was certain soon after he met with me that I had contracted it. Why was he so confident while you are not?”

“Surely he gave you a reasoned analysis, my lord. Were you to tell me what that was, I would happily respond to each of his observations with full commentary.”

“`When the cause is great mortal sin, need men of God provide reasons?’ That was his answer when I queried him,” the baron said. “I bowed my head in shame that I had put a worldly practice above the plain fact of my wickedness.”

Sister Anne discreetly gestured to the physician.

“May I ask the cause of this horrible offense to God?” Gamel raised an eyebrow in question as he looked back at the nun.

She nodded approval.

Herbert said nothing for a long moment, then whispered: “Although I tried to remain celibate out of respect for my vows, in Outremer, I began to suffer so greatly from dreams of my wife that I feared for my health and sought relief with a prostitute in the city. Father Aylmer looked into my soul and knew this. He informed me that this whore was even more wicked than Jezebel. She coupled with lepers and then lay with clean men immediately after. For surrendering to the sin of lust, I contracted the disease from her.”

Hugh stiffened. “I can no longer remain silent,” he said. “I know something of this priest’s reputation.”

Herbert leapt to his feet and strode to the chamber wall, striking the stones with an open hand. “If you value the friendship between us, do not say a word. Those who spoke against him were known servants of Satan.”

“So the priest claimed, but your life is worth far more to me than his self-serving condemnation. If there is still hope that you might be clean, I shall not withhold what I heard.” He stretched his hand out in the direction of Prioress Eleanor and Sister Anne. “Included in this present company are those who have dedicated their lives to God’s service. Let them decide if my words have merit. I shall abide by their decision.” He did not even glance at Brother Thomas.

“You will blaspheme!”

“Then let God curse me. I would never claim purity of heart, but, in this one matter, my motives are as innocent as any mortal’s can be.”

“You base your opinion on an infidel’s word.”

“A man who took the name of a sainted physician when he was christened.”

“A false conversion, like the assassin who attempted to kill our king. That creature also lied about abjuring his hellish beliefs in order to disguise his wicked intentions.”

Eleanor gave Hugh a brief warning touch on his arm, then stepped forward. “If I may speak, my lord?” She waited for the baron’s assent. “Let us hear what my brother has to say. He shall tell the tale with simple words, then you may counter with cool reason. As for transgressions, remember that God always forgives the truly repentant. If you have sinned, then confess it with a heart longing for mercy.” She turned and gestured toward Brother Thomas.

“There are times when God has even granted the miracle of a cure in such cases,” the monk said dutifully.

The baron uttered a soft cry.

“As for what we may hear in this room,” she continued, “none of my company shall ever speak of it to another. In the name of the sainted Magdalene, whose own transgressions were forgiven and now gives strength to the penitent sinner, I vow us all to silence.”

Baron Herbert nodded, but, unmistakably weary, he rested his forehead against the wall.

“First, if I may, a brief story?” Hugh looked to his sister.

She gave her consent.

“When several of us lay wounded on the battlefield in the burning sun, a passing Muslim soldier paused, not to slit our throats, but to give us water. That act of mercy surely saved our lives. When Father Aylmer heard the tale, he dismissed the man’s compassion and condemned us all for choosing life over death because survival came at the hands of an infidel.”

The baron said nothing.

“Since Man, despite his frailties, is still made in the image of God, tell me which flawed creature showed the greater understanding of His teaching: the infidel or the priest? Is not mercy one of the great virtues? It is a quality I found most lacking in Father Aylmer.” He hesitated. “Do not forget the parable of the despised Samaritan who proved to be the more godly man.”

Eleanor looked up at her brother with amazement, deciding that he would have made a fine abbot had he not been their father’s heir. Then sorrow promptly quenched delight. Hugh had never mentioned those wounds he had suffered in Outremer.

The baron shrugged, but the gesture was half-hearted.

“Even before the attack on our king, Father Aylmer doubted the sincerity of all conversions, but he especially hated the physician, Lucas, because he had discovered too many of the priest’s own transgressions.”

“A priest, however frail himself, may always point out another’s errors. That is his duty as God’s creature on earth.” The baron half-turned to Thomas. “Am I not correct, Brother?”

The monk glanced at the prioress’ brother, then nodded with reluctance.

Hugh continued, ignoring both the baron’s defense of Aylmer and Thomas’ response. “As you often remarked, my lord, you had many enemies in Outremer. Knowing this, Lucas told me that he had overheard Father Aylmer talking to a man who told him of your visits to the prostitute. I questioned the healer further. He could not identify this informant, nor all that was said. The meeting took place in shadows, and much of the conversation was whispered. Yet he was quite certain that a bag exchanged hands, one that jingled with coin.” Hugh looked with sorrow on his friend.

“Lucas is akin to the snake in Eden, a creature whose purpose was to cause discord amongst true Christian men. Even if your heathen did not lie to you, this story only proves that he is the spy I always believed him to be. In whose pay was he? Did you ever ask that?” Herbert hissed the last few words.

“If Lucas was a spy, it was on my behalf. Knowing that you had recently become deeply troubled, I asked him to watch you in secret. You did not wish to confide in me, your closest friend, yet I still feared for your safety, wondering if you had been threatened or fallen ill. Lucas happened upon this strange meeting on just such an undertaking. If condemnation is due, it is I who must suffer it.”

“I wonder that you dare repeat this preposterous tale.”

“Despite your contempt for Lucas, I can vouch for his honesty.”

Gamel cleared his throat. “Did this physician observe any symptoms of illness, Sir Hugh?”

The knight shook his head. “He did note some troubling changes such as the loss of hair. As for the numbness, Baron Herbert failed to speak of it, although he sometimes dropped things he held in his right hand. Lucas suspected the baron’s severe fever might have caused the hair to fall out but said nothing to me of leprosy.” A muscle in his jaw twitched, and he turned to Herbert. “I repeat this tale, my lord, because I now suspect Father Aylmer may have been paid by one of your enemies to give this diagnosis of leprosy, thus causing you to flee Acre. As I recall, you soon set sail for England and before the king left.”

Herbert did not reply and kept his back turned to the company. When he finally spoke, his tone was harsh. “Yet despite all your fine theories about plots, I may indeed have the dread disease. Father Aylmer has not been proven wrong, and, if you claim he erred about the severity of my transgressions, then explain why my sons are dying.” He spun around, raising his fist. “Are their deaths not a continuation of God’s curse?”

Gamel jumped in front of the baron. Keeping his back to Herbert, he raised his arms so that the man’s face was hidden. “In God’s sacred name,” he shouted, “keep your eyes averted, my lord, until we know whether or not you have leprosy!”

Herbert fell to his knees and covered his face. “May God forgive me if I have infected any innocent here with my contagious gaze!” Raising his hidden eyes heavenward, he said, “My sins stink like gangrene, but others do not deserve my curse.”

“My lord!” Eleanor cried out. “Your sons may have been killed, not by God, but by a mortal hand. We know that Umfrey was murdered by a man. The killer was seen leaving the chapel.”

Herbert’s hands slid from his face.

The prioress saw his look of horror and continued. “If one son was murdered by a creature of flesh and blood, then Roger and Gervase may have been dispatched by the same hand.”

Herbert recoiled on his heels as if struck, then bowed his head and groaned. Slowly rising, he turned his back. “With due respect, my lady, I must disagree. Roger drowned. No one was seen with him. As for Gervase, he showed many signs of being drunk. I grieve that I had such weak sons, yet my sorrow is greater that they died with all their sins upon them. No man did this. Satan may have or else God in his wrath.”

The baron’s words were sharply spoken, but Eleanor heard his voice falter at the end. Behind that unbending exterior, did he truly mourn his sons’ deaths? Or was the hesitation after the mention of their names a sign of guilt? After all, Gamel said that Umfrey had been quite certain that Herbert had been the one to stab him. Yet Eleanor still hoped this father was not the killer of the sons, no matter how much he might wish that Sir Leonel had been his own eldest son and heir. “Did anyone examine the bodies?” She kept her voice soft to dull the pointed question.

“There was no reason. We buried the first…” He coughed. “Although some claim Roger drowned himself, our old priest let us put my son in sanctified ground. There was no proof of sin, he said. Thanks to Brother Thomas, who granted the hovering soul some peace, we were able to bury Gervase next to his brother. No sheriff or crowner was summoned. The deaths were not suspicious.”

Or so you determined, Eleanor concluded, her hopes about the baron’s innocence fading. If the king’s men can be kept from asking questions, murder may be hidden with ease.

There was a loud pounding on the closed door.

Someone gasped in fright.

“Who dares to come here?” Herbert roared with pent-up anger but lowered his head as he turned around and resumed his seat in the shadows. “Enter,” he shouted, then muttered, “But prepare to have cause. Pray for mercy if you have paltry need to speak with me.”

Thomas stepped back and swung the door open.

Sir Leonel entered the room. Bowing deeply to his uncle, he said, “Forgive this intrusion, my lord. This is news you must hear.”

The baron tilted his head against the back of his chair, clearly relieved that his beloved nephew had arrived. “Your presence brings me a little joy. Speak.”

“Raoul cannot be found. He has vanished.”

The howl rising from the baron’s throat was like that of a wounded wolf. “My last son!” he shouted to the ceiling. “My youngest boy! Is this cur yet another Absalom?”

Eleanor might still be undecided about Baron Herbert’s guilt or innocence, but now she trembled with another fear. Might it not be a crueler fate if the baron was blameless, yet his only remaining son was the murderer?