Chambers of Death

Chapter Thirteen

Sir Reimund frowned when he saw a tiny nun walking toward him. Surely God had not suddenly dropped him into a convent’s cloister. Might she be a vision?

The creature now stood in front of him, hands modestly tucked into her sleeves. He shut his eyes, hoping the apparition would be gone when he looked again.

She was no vision.

He bowed.

A phantasm would have been preferable. He had dealt with evil often enough that the Devil himself might arrive for a friendly supper and he would be little bothered. But a nun? Solving a murder on a manor run by the Earl of Lincoln’s steward without setting either earl or steward against him was difficult enough. Now he had to get this Bride of Christ back to the chapel where she belonged without offending God.

Eleanor nodded her head in acknowledgement of his courtesy. “Forgive me, Sir Reimund, but I have heard that the Prince of Darkness has caused some wicked soul to commit murder in this place.”

“You did understand correctly, Sister, and thus I most ardently pray that you return to the chapel and beseech God for mercy. Your immediate intercession with Him shall give us the strength needed to find the perpetrator.”

“Pray, I most certainly shall. First, however, I must beg a favor.”

“If you want a gift for your convent, I will consider it amongst the other worthy requests I receive almost daily.” He stared down into the gray eyes looking up at him. “I will send a suitable person to the chapel later to hear you out on this.” He turned away, feeling oddly discomfited by her look.

“My request has nothing to do with gold or property.”

He squeezed his eyes shut against a deluge of frustration. “A most persistent member of her ilk,” he muttered under his breath. “God preserve me from that kind.”

“Sir Reimund…”

He spun around. “This is no place for a woman dedicated to God’s gentler service. I will have you escorted away immediately.” While seeking out one of his men to attend him, he gripped her arm as he might any common woman who had gotten in his way.

As if a lightning bolt had just coursed through her, Eleanor went rigid with shock.

Perhaps it was the stiffening of her arm that awoke him to the profanity of his act, but Sir Reimund suddenly froze, then painfully willed open each offending finger and stepped back.

Eyes blazing with fury, the prioress remained speechless.

Sweating despite the chill air, the sheriff looked around. A monk stood just beyond a circle of men. Sir Reimund sighed as if a sharp attack of indigestion had just eased. “Brother,” he called out in a voice tight with tension, “will you please lead this lost sister to a safer haven?”

Thomas looked at the woman in question. “If my lady wills it.”

“My lady?” Sir Reimund gazed around the courtyard. What woman of rank had just arrived? Then he looked down at the nun he had so offended, and, for the first time, noted the signet ring on her now exposed finger.

***

Watching apprehension blanch his face, Eleanor willfully allowed wicked pleasure to fill her soul. “I am Prioress Eleanor of Tyndal,” she said, “granted hospitality here when a member of my party fell too ill to travel farther in the storm.”

“I know of your father, my lady.” The sheriff’s cheeks now became mottled. “I hope I have not offended for such was never meant.” He stiffly bowed.

Eleanor answered his concern with an ambiguous inclination of her head and caught the mild curse he muttered under his breath. “The favor I ask is a simple thing. I did not wish to interrupt your work, but the poor dead body, lying there in the mud, cries out for pity. I beg your permission to have it borne to the chapel. If you and your men are finished examining the sad corpse for clues, will you not allow the mercy? It seems a cruelty to let the body lie there in public view as if it belonged to some common criminal.”

“Gladly.” He shouted for two men close by to approach. “These will carry the dead man away as you wish. In fact, there is little enough the body has to reveal. The method of killing is common enough amongst those of low rank, and I expect we shall have the murderer in custody before long.”

Which poor, and most probably innocent soul will you weigh down with chains, the prioress wondered, the thought chilling her. Mistress Maud seemed to have the true measure of this man. Although she had intended to tell him what she had witnessed from that window, doubts stopped all speech. The sheriff’s outrageous behavior to her, when he knew she was a religious but not her rank, suggested he had little regard for those he deemed of little merit. Would he not toss aside any information that threatened an easy solution and one that would offend no one of high station?

There was another concern that troubled her as well. With the death of King Henry, a shift in power at court was inevitable. There was no guarantee that her father’s former influence would continue under King Edward. If the winds were changing even before the new king’s return, and Sir Reimund was cognizant of the fresh direction, he might choose either to ignore her testimony or somehow use it for ill if he saw political advantage in doing just that.

Prudence suggested she delay giving her evidence until she was sure it would be used in a proper manner.

“You said you were staying here because a member of your party had fallen ill?”

Eleanor tensed. Sir Reimund‘s expression reminded her of the look in a feral creature’s eyes before it killed the prey. “One of my charges, a young woman from our priory who seeks advice on entering God’s service with us,” she replied uneasily.

“And does she mend?”

Why would this man suddenly show such interest in the health of a potential nun? Did he know her family? “She remains ill,” she said warily, “although there are hopeful signs of improvement.”

“Ah! That means you must remain here for some time. I shall have a man sent to guard you.”

“There is no need,” she protested. “I was accompanied by several men and am sure you will require the services of all yours.”

“Your safety is my responsibility while you are in this shire, my lady. If I did not assign one of mine to protect you, and you came to some grief, I would suffer well-deserved censure for my carelessness. The man I will select shall be discreet and respect your vocation, but he must remain nearby at all times until this foul killer is captured.”

She had been bested! Eleanor seethed. This man, who must spend time at court, had apparently learned more about her than her father’s position. Why had she not realized this? Her aunt had told her that her exploits against those in Satan’s thrall had reached many ears. Sir Reimund had obviously heard the tales of how she had brought some to justice.

“After these men have removed the corpse to the chapel and out of profane sight, I am sure you will want to follow immediately and pray for the poor man’s soul.” With a deep bow, he turned and walked away, his bearing confident as if he had just won at chess.

Eleanor watched him, grinding her teeth with fury. This sheriff was no fool. Although she had never intended to meddle, he must have feared she might do just that. By placing her under guard, however reasonable that might seem, he effectively prevented her from doing anything that might embarrass him or keep him from making a quick arrest, one made with minimal concern for justice but maximum benefit to his ambitions.

“But you erred in your judgment of me,” she muttered, “and now shall pay both for your insult and your presumption.”

A lanky young man approached, most probably her guard.

She smiled sweetly at the sheriff’s man. As she remembered her brother once saying, an army might lose battles but still win the war.