Chambers of Death

Chapter Forty-Three

The cold air nipped their cheeks, but there was enough promising blue in the sky to suggest that this journey home to Tyndal would have a good beginning.

Eleanor and Maud stood next to each other, the shared regret at the parting tinged with additional sadness that the bond of their emergent friendship had been forged in such tragic circumstances.

“Would you give me your blessing, my lady?” Maud bowed her head and eased herself down on her knees.

“With a heart most willing,” the prioress replied.

As the widow rose, they both began to weep and drew each other into a warm embrace of farewell.

“I shall never forget what you have done for my charge,” Eleanor said, standing back and wiping her tears away. “Nor will I cease to be grateful to you for saving my life.”

Maud folded her arms, her expression amused as if she had just won a friendly argument. “My lady, had you not struck the man with such force and accuracy, I would never have had the chance to fell him so. Methinks it was your vigorous attack that saved us both.”

“This weak creature?” the prioress replied, looking at her hands with mock amazement. “I believe we must thank God who gave my arm an unwomanly strength. Did He not do so for Jael, the wife of Heber, when she drove the nail into Sisera’s head?”

“This manor is but a sparrow compared to the eagle that is the land of Israel…” Maud’s words began as a jest but her abrupt silence suggested she had been overcome with uneasiness.

“I pray that He brings comfort to you and Master Stevyn.” The prioress grasped the woman’s hand. “Violence has claimed too many here, and the pain must be intensified by the identity of the killer.”

The widow turned her head away. “I fear this scourge has been the result of our sin.”

“Some would concur, and I should not presume to counter those deemed far wiser than I,” Eleanor replied, “yet my woman’s imperfect heart stubbornly rebels against the conclusion. That you sinned is indisputable, but you saw the error of your ways with clarity and repented with sorrow. Ranulf did not and howled so loudly over the wickedness of others that the noise drowned out the cries of his own soul. Then he bathed in their blood as if violence would somehow make him a less tainted mortal. I cannot see that you and Master Stevyn were to blame for all that.”

“Then I must ask this question, my lady. Is it sinful for us to marry? We hoped to do so after a proper mourning for Mistress Luce.”

Perhaps she should confirm Maud’s fears that some in the Church might argue against that comfort, Eleanor thought, falling silent as she watched servants help Mariota into a cart and arrange blankets to keep the girl warm. Yet de Lacy was a powerful man, and Stevyn had found favor with his faithful, competent stewardship. Were there a problem with the union, a priest to marry them would be easy enough to locate. After all, he might conclude they had vowed themselves to each other in a marital bond many years ago and thus any subsequent marriage by each was defective. The prioress was well aware that the donation of a valuable chalice would help cast such logic in a strong light.

“I would think it wrong if you did not,” she said at last. “Indeed,” she continued with a gentle smile, “I will pray that you live your remaining years together in God’s grace.”

With that, the women embraced one last time.

***

“Brother!”

Thomas spun around and saw Huet hastening toward him. His eyes stung, and he quickly rubbed at them. Why was he not stronger about hiding his failings? A traitorous moisture remained on his cheeks.

As the younger son stopped in front of the monk, the two men looked at each other in awkward silence.

“I shall miss you,” Huet said at last, his voice hoarse.

“You only regret the departure of my admiration when you sing and tell fine tales, but others, who have a finer ear for your talents, will replace me soon enough.” Thomas smiled but he knew his jest had fallen flat.

“Now that my brother is off for hanging, I must trade my lute for accounting rolls and a horse for a minstrel’s ill-shod feet.” Huet covered his eyes and groaned. “That remark was foul with cruelty, and I shall do penance for it. Ranulf is my brother, and, despite our differences and his crimes, I grieve over his fate.”

“I did not doubt it.” Thomas hesitated, then asked: “No one will learn the truth of your birth?”

“There is little reason to fear the revelation. My father speaks of giving his own lands to some monastery in exchange for prayers after he and my mother die. As for my future, the Earl of Lincoln had promised me a place and now that shall most likely be here as his steward. He has that right, whatever my birth.”

Thomas nodded. “Will you return to Cambridge?”

“More likely to study outside the university walls where I shall better learn how to manage lands.” His look suggested he was less than pleased.

“Will that be so hard?” Thomas asked gently.

“Ah, Brother, how I wish you could remain and give me counsel, for I am a man who dwells in some middle land, suited neither to a priory nor to the world.”

“Your priest…”

“…sees men as warriors, religious, or servants to great lords. It was he who advised I give my body to God when my woman and our babe died. It was a choice I discovered fit me ill.”

“Yet I have heard you followed his guidance gladly enough.”

Huet shook his head, began to answer, but then hesitated as if having second thoughts. “I cannot blame our priest for my decision. It was I who chose the path-for the wrong reasons.”

“Grief over the death of beloved ones leads many men to seek comfort in His service. Yet, whether you take final vows or remain in the world, God will provide balm for your wounded heart if you let Him.”

Huet looked away.

Thomas grasped the man’s shoulder. “As you see, I provide sorry advice, but I have faith that you shall find another who can give far better.”

Huet tried to hide his tears but failed. “I shall miss you, Brother. That is all I can say.”

With trembling hands, the monk drew him into a rough embrace, then pushed him back and walked away.

***

With prayers for a safe journey from those gathered to say farewell, the party of horsemen started down the road, the prioress on her donkey riding next to the cart that carried the young Mariota.

Eleanor looked down at her charge, now warmly bundled against the brisk wind. In the past, she would have urged this reluctant postulant to pray for the strength and faith to continue in the vocation, even though her heart longed to stay in the world. Many times this was the wisest advice, for acceptance of the inevitable made a woman’s life easier. Yet the experience of Maud and Stevyn had taught her something about the tenacity of mortal love, a persistence that was not always without merit.

Although the pair had most certainly sinned, they had shown a stubborn fidelity to each other. Despite their transgressions, Eleanor believed their marriage would be a strong one. Each would provide the other with the fortitude to continue through whatever life demanded of them, until Death arrived to steal their souls.

In many ways, they reminded her of David and Bathsheba, although Master Stevyn had not sent Maud’s husband off to die. For cert, God had demanded repentance from that famous couple, but afterwards He had blessed their union with a son named Solomon. On the other hand, Ranulf and Constance might have bent their knees at the altar with notable fervor, but their faith had grown putrid with brittle sanctimony. Matters were often not as simple as some would wish, and perhaps that was one more lesson God wished her to learn.

Mariota’s swallowed sob brought the prioress back to the moment. “What troubles you, my child?” she asked, noting the girl’s eyes were full of tears.

“I have caused much grief to the innocent, my lady.”

“Although I concur that you would have been better advised to speak earlier of your illness, I cannot say that God did not have a hand in directing us to the manor. He knows men’s hearts and may well have sent us there to render His justice where men would fail.”

“It was I who suggested that the embrace of Mistress Maud and Master Huet was sinful. I feel deep regret for my error.”

“You told me what you saw, and I interpreted the information with my own blindness. The fault lies with me.” She tilted her head in surprise. “How did you learn it was otherwise?”

“Master Huet suspected I had seen them and did not want me to be troubled, fearing for my health. Before we left, he explained that Mistress Maud had taken on the role of a mother to him, after his own had died. She had been comforting him as she would any son when he confessed his soul’s torments.”

“He was thoughtful to care about your weakened state,” Eleanor replied. “She taught him well, as his own mother would wish, and I know she will continue to guide him on the right path.”

The two traveled on in silence for some moments before the prioress turned back to Mariota. “May I say, however, that I suspect your thoughts continue to drift to your own situation?”

“My selfishness has been revealed. I fear you are correct.”

Eleanor reached out to stroke her donkey’s neck and was answered with a contented bray, not a pleasing sound to most but a delight to the ears of his particular rider. “We shall pass through the town where your family lives, and I had hoped to rest there briefly. They would be most happy to see you, and your diminished strength does require a less strenuous journey. We would be well-advised to take an extra day on the return to Tyndal Priory.”

“As much as I would love to see my mother and brother, I fear they will be deeply disappointed over my ongoing doubts…”

“…doubts you might be wise not to express during this visit. I had hoped to talk with your brother, Mariota. Although I cannot promise anything, I want to suggest to him that honoring your father’s wishes might be fulfilled by other means. Many believe that enforced prayer brings steel to the soul and merit to those who demand it, but the Devil finds fertile fields for his wickedness in unwilling hearts. On the other hand, God rejoices when mortals feed and clothe the needy. If you and the man you would marry prove diligent and honorable, you may find that prosperity follows and generosity to the poor and other noble causes may serve God’s commandments far better.”

And thus the two women continued in easy conversation, hope entering the heart of the younger and compassion the soul of the elder.

***

When the travellers rounded the turn in the road that led eastward, Thomas pulled back on his horse’s reins and turned around for one last look at a place he might never see again.

A small figure now, Huet stood alone at the manor gate and raised his hand in farewell.

The monk returned the gesture and watched the steward’s son retreat into the courtyard and his new responsibilities.

I shall miss the man, Thomas thought. Should he allow himself to dwell on it, he knew he would grieve over this parting as much as Huet had seemed to do. Not since Giles had he felt so at ease with another man, one with whom he might have founded a pleasurable friendship had they been clerks together at another time and before he had suffered so cruelly.

But he willed himself not dwell on an occurrence that would not happen and, perhaps, one that should not. Instead, he urged his horse to travel on and mulled over all that had happened during the last many weeks, including the murders at the manor.

How strange, he thought, that his wayward spirit had been so peaceful during this ill-fated journey, and he tried to examine what had caused such a change.

One reason was surely the service he had been able to render his prioress. Although she had relied on his knowledge of charters and other legal issues before, never had they worked as closely as they had in these weeks, determining the proper action to take on those matters involving priory lands. Once their task had been completed, she had expressed much appreciation and even unusually warm regard for his efforts.

Then they had arrived at the manor and, once again, she had turned to him for consultation and assistance. In the past, Sister Anne or Crowner Ralf had been by her side to help bring a murderer to justice. This time, she had only him, and, again, she had seemed well pleased.

Had he been a man filled with the usual ambitions, he might have used this regard to advance in his vocation. He was not. In fact, he knew he was fortunate to have survived his time in prison, and his greatest aspiration was to ease the melancholy he so often suffered. Were he to make use of Prioress Eleanor’s pleasure in his service, perhaps he should ask again for permission to spend a year as a hermit?

But did he still want to escape the world, even the world in a priory? If he were honest with himself, he would confess that he had enjoyed these many days outside Tyndal, befouled as some of them were with murder. He rather enjoyed investigations into crime of greater and lesser evil. Were it not for his malignant grief over Giles and the troubling nature of his feelings for the man in Amesbury, might he not have found his work as a spy both satisfying and challenging?

If that were the case, he realized with a pang of fear, perhaps he was not suited to the religious life at all. Might he find more contentment in the world, working instead for the king?

Although he longed for a simple answer, there was none.

Briefly, he looked back in the direction of the now invisible manor. Huet had been right in a way. Perhaps he did understand the man’s confusion, having neither a strong religious vocation nor a comfort with the demands of a worldly life. Yet he had found neither peace nor satisfactory answer to the difficulty himself and thus had no advice for another.

How would Huet resolve his quandary over the Church? As his father’s presumed heir in the stewardship, his path lay in the world, and the Earl of Lincoln would surely find a way to let him ease out of any vows taken. Huet dare not let his doubts rule him. He must make choices and wise ones at that. Indeed, Huet’s travails might well enlighten Thomas. If anyone was bereft of counsel, the monk thought, it was he. And for that reason alone, he would miss the steward’s son. All other reasons, he would lock away in the dungeon of his melancholy.

He sighed. Nothing had ever been uncomplicated for him, and he had no cause to think that would change. All men owed God allegiance, whether king or villein. For those sent to a religious house, even the ones who doubted or felt undeserving, they must bend the knee and find ways to pray. And he was most certainly one of the most unworthy to enter any priory.

Yet Anchoress Juliana had given him both direction and hope with her advice. Patience was a virtue he was trying to learn, and he could only wait for something to happen to guide him into the right choices. Friends he most certainly had in this life and now, it seemed, the favor of his prioress. With grim humor he considered how often she was placed in the middle of unnatural deaths. If he wanted adventure, he might be well-advised to stay at her side.

With that thought, Thomas took a deep breath, urged his horse forward, and followed his prioress and their company on the road leading back to Tyndal Priory.