Chambers of Death

Chapter Twelve

Eleanor stood at the entrance to the manor house and tried to find some safe pathway through the turmoil.

A few paces from her, their piles of soiled linen stuffed into woven baskets, two laundry women chattered, pale faces close together.

To their right, several men argued, their gestures wild and their loud voices suggesting the disagreements were growing less than amicable.

Horses neighed. Babes cried.

And, somewhere in this madness of fear, a man’s unshriven soul had been sent to Hell.

The prioress shuddered, as if Satan himself had just brushed her cheek with impious touch.

“My lady!”

Startled, Eleanor turned to face the stranger who had appeared by her side.

“I am Ranulf, eldest son of Master Stevyn. You should not be in this profane place, even with proper attendance.” He scowled with evident disdain as he looked around. “Of which I see none.”

She stiffened at his presumptuous tone. How dare this man tell her where she should and should not be? On the other hand, she did not want to imagine what he would think if she told him she had come to stop her monk from getting into a fistfight. “A man has been unlawfully slaughtered,” she chose to say. “I wish to bring God’s comfort to his family.” After all, she had intended to seek them out.

“The Devil was his only kin.” He gestured at the crowd. “And here before you are many more the Evil One can claim as his own, vile creatures that should be frying in Hell’s fires.” His jabbing finger stopped to point at a plump, middle-aged woman, whose face was red with weeping as she clutched her fists to her heart.

What cause had this woman to mourn Tobye’s death, Eleanor asked herself, or were her tears born of shock and fear?

“Let me escort you from this obscene display.” Ranulf placed himself in front of the prioress as if intending to herd her backwards like some recalcitrant sheep. “A woman dedicated to God’s service rejects this evil world for good reason, and your presence here is most improper.”

A firestorm of anger at this impudence roared through her. “You are very kind to remind me of the corruption my soul may suffer,” she replied through clenched teeth, “but I…”

Like a prayer answered, the crowd parted and revealed the solution to her predicament. Over by the stable, the prioress saw that her monk was not rolling in the mud, trading blows with another man; he was still standing, albeit with fist firmly held prisoner by his other hand, and shouting. The object of his wrath had turned his back.

“Brother Thomas stands over there,” she said to Ranulf. “I would consider it an act of charity if you brought him to my side.”

Refusing to budge from his position in front of the prioress, he muttered, “I cannot leave you without protection here.”

She glared and folded her arms into her sleeves.

“Brother Thomas!” the man bellowed. The pitch was high enough to penetrate the crowd noise.

When the monk spun around and saw Eleanor, his expression shifted from anger to a thankful obedience.

She exhaled with relief and gestured for him to join her. “I owe you gratitude, Master Ranulf,” she said when Thomas was a few steps away. “I must no longer keep you from your more pressing duties. As you will agree, with a priest by my side, I now have suitable protection from the wickedness here.”

Ranulf hesitated longer than was proper, but he did finally bow and march off.

Thomas frowned as he watched the man leave.

“The steward’s eldest son,” Eleanor explained, her eyes following Ranulf’s progress across the courtyard.

“A grim face,” Thomas said. “When I heard him shout, I first thought someone had stepped on a goat’s teat.”

The prioress swiftly covered her mouth to keep laughter back, but the monk had seen the smile and grinned with companionable amusement.

“For this lack of charity, we must both do penance, Brother,” Eleanor replied, recognizing that she had failed to color her words with proper sternness. Ranulf might have been rude, but he had only meant to offer her protection and an escort away from harm. It was cruel to mock the steward’s son. After all, she was a nun and had no obvious cause to be in this place. If she were to point her finger at the greatest sin in this brief encounter, she would have to choose her own puffed-up pride.

“I have met his wife,” Thomas said.

“As have I.”

The two glanced at each other.

“Methinks he merits our prayers, Brother,” Eleanor replied.

The monk nodded, having the grace to turn away and hide this grin. “What may I do to serve you, my lady?”

“The reason I am here, thus causing Master Ranulf such distress, was something I saw from that window.” She tilted her head. “Please explain why you were about to strike that man?”

“I beg forgiveness…”

“When we return to our priory, I am sure Brother John will provide his usual wise counsel and remind you that it is the meek who shall inherit the earth. However, even though no monk, especially a religious of Tyndal, should ever trade blows with another mortal, I must hear the cause for your singular behavior today.”

“You have been told that a man was murdered?”

“One who worked in the stables: Tobye.”

“When I heard the commotion, I rushed into the courtyard and learned that his body had been found in the stable. Then I saw the sheriff’s men pulling the corpse outside.” He gestured toward the stable door. “I feared evidence had been destroyed by that thoughtless act and tried to explain my concerns to one of the men involved.”

“Perhaps Sir Reimund had already examined the site before he ordered the body removed.”

“I do not believe so. According to the cur I questioned, the sheriff did not want Master Stevyn offended by the splattered gore when he came to identify the body. Thus he ordered the wound covered and the corpse dragged over there.”

As she looked in the direction the monk was indicating, Eleanor realized that Ranulf had not left the courtyard. Instead, he was standing next to the man with the black horse and seemed to be discussing something with great passion. Nearby, the dead body lay in the mud.

“As you see, Tobye’s corpse still lies like some slaughtered animal for anyone to stare at. When I asked that the body be handled with greater respect at the very least, I was mocked. I fear I lost my temper.”

“We can do little about evidence which is no real concern of ours, Brother, but I shall ask that the dead man be taken away so his body may be properly prepared for burial.”

He bowed his head. A muscle twitched in his cheek.

Eleanor realized her tone had been dismissive, yet she did understand just how angry her monk was. Without doubt, she shared the feeling and felt a prick of irritation over the carelessness shown. Their own Crowner Ralf would never have been so lax about searching for evidence. But the crime was not theirs to solve, and thus they had no right to intervene.

That acknowledged, she thought, no one should show such callous disregard for any man’s dead body. God treated all souls equally, whatever their rank on earth, and the soul would seek to reclaim its body at the resurrection. To mistreat Tobye’s corpse, as the sheriff was doing, touched on the blasphemous. She shut her eyes, trying to calm her growing outrage. Surely the man would not take his obvious disdain for the lower ranks so far as to defile…

She spun around and faced the monk. “I have some information that I should probably share with Sir Reimund,” she said, keeping her voice low.

“Indeed, my lady?” Anger was still evident in the high color of his cheeks.

“I have cause to suspect that Tobye was committing adultery with Master Stevyn’s wife.”

His head shot up, but he was too shocked to speak.

“I saw them together just before the steward and his men returned to the manor. Their behavior was such that no reasonable man would say their relationship was solely that of servant and mistress.”

“Then Master Stevyn must be a suspect in this murder,” he whispered back.

“I fear so, yet this sheriff may not share that belief.”

“Surely he cannot ignore what you witnessed. Stranger though you may be here, you are still the Prioress of Tyndal.”

“And one who is no stranger to this manor has told me that Sir Reimund will do his best to avoid troubling the powerful. If the Earl of Lincoln holds Master Stevyn in high regard…”

“…the sheriff will seek some way to discount any suggestion of his guilt.”

“Thus I question the wisdom of revealing what I saw.” Eleanor gave Thomas an inquiring look. “At least until I can weigh the measure of Sir Reimund for myself and see how this matter proceeds.”

“In the meantime, what do you want me to do?” The monk’s eyes sparkled with anticipation.

How I do love this man, Eleanor exclaimed to herself as she watched eagerness paint his face with a boy’s excitement. But when she spoke to him, her words betrayed nothing but calm purpose. “Accompany me to the sheriff, then step away and I shall play a game or two with him. The very least we should be able to accomplish is proper treatment of the corpse. Perhaps I shall also learn that Sir Reimund is more amenable to a just resolution of this crime than rumor suggests is likely.”

“My lady, I am most eager to do whatever you wish!”

Eleanor was grateful that Brother Thomas had bowed for her cheeks had grown too hot with pleasure at those words.