A Killing Season

Chapter Twenty-Six

Scowling, Hugh muttered an almost incomprehensible oath as he watched Leonel walk away.

Eleanor approached her brother and stopped in front of him. “You are not joining the search for Raoul?”

“I offered my assistance.”

Her frown was sufficient question.

“He refused, arguing that he and his chosen men would know best the secret places where his cousin might be found. If I wanted to serve the family, he said, I should remain here and comfort his uncle.”

Glancing at the firmly shut door to the baron’s chambers, Eleanor assumed what Herbert’s response to such an offer of solace had been.

“I ought to have gone with Leonel,” he growled. “I am not a wet nurse, nor is the baron in need of one.”

“Do not let anger overcome your usual good judgement, brother.”

Looking down at his sword, he fingered the hilt.

“If you allow reason to repossess your spirit, you may find some way to satisfy your desire to contribute to this endeavor without the need to beg leave.”

Hugh looked surprised, then grinned. “While I sputter over injured pride, you find answers. I am humbled. Our aunt taught you well, sweet sister, and must have found joy in your kindred spirit.”

Laughing, Eleanor waved his compliment away. “Do not be fooled by a calm demeanor. Not only am I determined to discover the truth of what is happening here, I am now resolved that we shall discover it first. Although he surely did not mean to do so, Leonel offended with his easy dismissal of your worth to this undertaking.” She looked up and down the hall. No one was nearby. “I have questions.”

“Ask them, my lady. I shall bring my few wits to join in your effort.” He leaned against the wall and waited.

“We have debated the implications and details of these recent tragic deaths to little avail, so let us start at a different point. What if the source of the current troubles is to be found in the distant past, not during the baron’s time in Acre? You have told me what Baron Herbert said on the way to Outremer about his sons, but what do you remember from earlier years? How then did he act with them and what opinions did he hold? You visited here when you were not much older than a boy yourself, and we often note things better when we are young, even when we do not understand the implications.”

He folded his arms and stared at the ceiling for a long moment. “The baron has changed little over the years. To his mind, truth is unchanging, including the definition of honor and duty. To doubt this or say otherwise is second only to blasphemy. His concept of how men of rank should behave is narrowly defined, and his sons were expected to concur with his view.” Hugh paused. “As boys, they failed to show ardor in ways he thought they should.”

“Truth comes from God. As such, it is both perfect and eternal,” she replied. “But men are flawed creatures, often confusing their imperfect views with His. The greatest of God’s truths is the need for charity. Did he never exercise compassion with his babes?”

Hugh shook his head. “Whether he is right or wrong, the baron believes his way is God’s. Yet he is an honorable man, despite a dour and unbending nature. He adores his wife. His loyalty to friends and liege lord is fierce.” Touching his chest, he added, “Despite our disagreements in certain matters, he would remain at my side in battle, choosing to die rather than desert me.” He briefly smiled. “And he would bemoan my faults with his dying breath.”

Eleanor closed her eyes and imagined scales. Did this man’s code of honor outbalance his rigid interpretation of virtue? Would such a father go so far as to kill his unsatisfactory sons so that the more acceptable Leonel might inherit? Her mind allowed the premise. Her heart could not. “Would he defend his imperfect sons with equal ferocity or does he condemn them as so unworthy that the very earth must protest their feet upon it?”

“Had he not loved his wife so much, he might have claimed they were bastards for he saw none of himself in any. Yet he struggled to accept the merit owned when one tried to please him. I remember the day the eldest labored in the tilting yard to the amusement of all who watched. His lance usually missed the target by the length of a horse, yet he had a quick eye for catching the smallest error in accounting rolls.”

“This was the son who died of fever?”

Hugh nodded. “The baron pulled the lad from the horse, gave the beast to one of his men, and ordered his steward to train the boy in a clerk’s skills. When he left for Acre, he praised the young man for how well he had learned land management, although he made it clear he had wished for a warrior heir.”

“Gervase was the second.”

“As a boy, he cut his finger on a dull knife and never touched a weapon again, clinging instead to a priest’s softer robe. A man of faith, Baron Herbert was pleased enough to send one son to the Church. When he received word that this son was now heir, he roared with mockery. I doubt his letters back to the lad were gentle. When Gervase died, I asked myself if he had suffered unendurable melancholy when he traded the vocation he preferred for one in which he had no skill.”

“You think he committed self-murder by leaping from the window?”

“He lacked a man’s strength and drank too much to soften the world’s sharp edges.”

Eleanor said nothing for a moment and looked around. Except for the two of them, the corridor was empty of all but the bitter wind from the sea. “Then why wait so long after his eldest brother’s death?” she finally said. “He would not have been the first heir to choose a religious vocation, allowing the next-in-line to inherit title and lands. Peter Abelard chose a similar path, although his parents may have valued heavenly objectives more than the baron. They both took vows themselves as well as their son.”

Remembering the seal that Brother Thomas had found, she wondered if the baron had planned a similar retreat from the world. If so, he might have been more sympathetic to Gervase than he would have been in years past. In any case, why would Herbert have wanted to kill a son, albeit a weak one, whose religious vocation he did not condemn?

“I doubt Baron Herbert would have permitted it,” Hugh said. “Roger, the next-in-line, was neither devout nor clever.” Hearing a sound, he looked over his sister’s head. A servant scurried past and disappeared through a nearby door. “As I remember him, he was a dull lad but owned broad shoulders and merry enough ways to charm women into his bed. Most went to him eagerly in those early days, but the brightness of his smile often faded with their pains in bearing his children.”

“He showed no talent with a sword or lance?”

“He was too lazy. The only weapon he enjoyed wielding was the spear between his legs.”

Eleanor put a hand over her mouth to hide her mirth.

“His father abhorred this incontinence. I once overheard the baron shouting that the son had more bastards than the boy knew how to count. The lad next to me whispered that Roger surely had far more than his father knew because the son could not count at all.”

“Neither a man of war nor of God.” Eleanor frowned.

“Nor truly evil either, rather a middling creature, little inclined to adventure outside his chosen vice.”

“Would such a man venture out in a boat on a stormy night? Even to drown himself?”

“He would not have willingly gotten into a boat if Satan had placed a buxom lass with open arms in it. I agree that this death is questionable.”

“And what of poor Umfrey?”

“I knew little of him. He was a mere boy when I was last here.” Suddenly his face paled, and he turned away from her.

“Hugh?”

He remained silent.

“I am your sister, bound to keep your secrets for the love I bear you. As a prioress, I am obliged to treat all human frailties with compassion and justice. Speak. There is nothing you cannot say to me. We are here to solve foul crimes.”

When her brother looked back, his cheeks were red with anger. “I abhor those who mock and belittle others with scornful tales.”

“So do I, but I would hear the stories lest there be something in them of value to this situation.”

“Baron Herbert never spoke this son’s name, and for that reason I fear he had heard the rumors. Umfrey was commonly called the soldier’s wife. He never was a man. I grieve for the shame his father must have suffered.”

After the death of the eldest, the baron was left with a monkish heir, a son of little wit or skill, and one who played the woman with other men. Eleanor took a deep breath. “That leaves Raoul.”

“A whining insect.”

“Raoul was always the youngest?”

“There were no others. No one liked him, but he especially chose to buzz around me when I least wanted him about.”

For a moment, Eleanor saw the annoyed boy her brother must once have been. She almost smiled, despite her grim purpose. “Perhaps he admired you,” she said. “He had no elder brother worthy of emulation. He was too young to catch the interest of a distant father, a man who left England before the lad could even lift a wooden sword in play.”

Hugh stared at her, then turned sheepish. “I confess I treated Raoul no better than I would a midge, swatting him away. He was stubborn. Looking back, he did show more spirit and determination than his elder siblings.” He thought for a moment, then shook his head. “Nonetheless, he was still annoying.”

“What did his father say about him?”

“That he was tiresome. Even as a babe, Raoul crawled after Baron Herbert like a slobbering pup. When the baron took the cross, the lad beseeched him to take him too, although he was too young for a man’s vows. Raoul would not accept the understandable refusal. Finally, his father lost his temper and…”

“You told me about the public humiliation of his son.” Eleanor lowered her gaze, hoping to hide her sadness over the mockery of a child. As she remembered other sons, roughly treated by their fathers, she knew it was possible that Raoul could wish for revenge. “Did he hate his father for this?”

Hugh turned away, went to a window, and looked out at the grey-misted island. He leaned against the thick wall, pressing the side of his head against it as if seeking comfort in the undoubted firmness of stone. “I do not know, for I never saw him again until you and I came here at his father’s request.”

Eleanor watched her brother and grieved over the change in him since he had left for Acre. Although his face still brightened with enthusiasm, as it did when he was a greener youth, melancholy too often chased all light from his soul. She walked over and clasped his hand, keeping her touch tender with love.

He squeezed her hand affectionately, then pointed toward the uneven surface of the island behind the castle walls. “Raoul might be out there.”

She squinted against the force of the wind. “Where on such a storm-blasted island might he hide or find shelter?”

“There are burrows and hillocks big enough to keep a small man safe against the gales. Also ledges of rock with small caves near the sea. Having followed us and watched when we hunted for bird eggs or played at being knights besieging a castle, he should know all the places. Perhaps more than we did. We did not always see him spying on us.”

“Especially when you had willing lasses whom you took to some secluded spot?”

Hugh’s eyes grew merry with her jest. He looked down at his sister and whispered: “You have put a balm on my hurt pride and chased away my anger. While Leonel searches the castle, I shall seek Raoul on the island and in the cove.”

“Take care,” she replied, “and may God be with you.”

As she watched him walk away, she was filled with doubt and fear. Were Leonel and her brother seeking the wrong man? Was the murderer sitting in his dark chamber, waiting for the capture of his guiltless son who might have little proof of innocence?

And if Raoul had killed his brothers out of jealousy, greed, or revenge, why would he remain nearby? Surely he would leave England entirely to escape hanging.

She grew more confused, unable to see clearly and find the answer that resolved everything. Why would Raoul even commit all these murders? Surely he knew he would be the obvious suspect after so many deaths. He would have to flee and could never become his father’s heir. Had he not wanted the inheritance but only revenge against his father for the cruelty he had suffered? She was dissatisfied with that conclusion.

Her thoughts swirled like a flock of birds, unable to find a place to land and settle into a logical form. She found no reasonable motive for the youngest son. If all the siblings died and Raoul was forced to flee as their murderer, Leonel would become the heir, a man his father loved more than any son.

That brought her back to the baron as the strongest suspect. Yet his cries of pain over the disappearance of his last son suggested a man who still cared for his progeny despite his disapproval of them. Could a man so rigid in his thinking be so clever in dissembling?

The many questions were like weeds, catching at her wits and tripping her before she could see the path to the solution. Rubbing her hand over her eyes, she felt as if the sea mist had befuddled her reason. Surely not, yet something had and she had little time left to regain her wits.

The prioress looked down the corridor, hoping to catch a comforting last glimpse of her eldest brother. But he had disappeared, gone to seek Baron Herbert’s youngest son, a creature who had never found a place in his father’s heart.

That was still a fact she could not easily set aside.