Justice for the Damned

Chapter Ten

"My name is Alys," the girl said, wiping her cheeks dry with her fingers. "I live with my widowed mother in Amesbury village, just beyond the bridge in a house near the inn."

"Come walk in the nearby garden," Eleanor said. "Your prayers must have drawn us to you. Speaking of your sadness might give you some ease."

Although her look lacked any disdain, Alys' expression reflected much doubt.

Eleanor read the look well. "No cloister ever put a wall around a woman's heart, and surely I have been on this earth only a few summers longer than you. I might understand your plight." Her laughter was soft with caring.

The young woman had the grace to blush. "I meant no discourtesy, Sister."

"Nor did I think otherwise. This is Sister Anne. I am called Eleanor. We are both members of this Order but not of this priory, rather visitors from another daughter house on the coast near Norwich." She gestured in the direction of the priory gates. "Anything you wish to say leaves Amesbury with us."

"Your words are sweet like balm on a wound, Sister Eleanor, but the cause of my grief is well known." Another tear crested in the corner of the young woman's eye. "You have not heard the news, methinks, but a man was found murdered outside this priory." With firm determination, she tossed her head to chase any tears back. "The man so cruelly slaughtered was my uncle, Wulfstan. I was the one to discover his body."

"God grant you solace! I heard the story, although not your name until now. We were horrified. No one in the priory could imagine who might have so hated your uncle that he was driven to do such a terrible thing."

"It must have been Satan's imp. My uncle has no enemies, or rather no more than any man does who has reached his age. Although my mother claims he is a rude man, he is always sweet-natured to me."

Eleanor noted the young woman's use of the present tense. How we do cling to our loved ones even as Death drags their souls away, she thought.

Tears resumed their course down Alys' cheeks. "I weep for his son, my cousin, as well. Sayer must be bitter with grief for he had quarreled with his father just the other night. My uncle is quick to anger but does not stay so for long." She sobbed, then resolutely faced what had happened. "The time was too short, and they were never able to make peace!"

"I pray your cousin will find consolation. Surely the argument was minor and soon forgotten?"

Alys brightened a bit. "I do not know the cause of their disagreement, but it must have been a petty thing. Sayer is a sweet lad."

Eleanor hesitated, feeling her fatigue. Her usual quickness of mind was another casualty of her illness, and the moment to pursue any more questions under the guise of innocence passed. Taking a deep breath of regret, she continued. "You have been quite brave in this matter. Were you out walking with your mother and affianced.

The girl covered her face and moaned with renewed anguish.

Anne and Eleanor stared at each other. What had Eleanor said to expose even greater grief? Had Brother Thomas failed to tell them something?

"Please forgive me," the prioress begged, clasping the girl to her for comforting.

After a few minutes, Alys calmed. "You said nothing amiss, Sister. I sorrow most for my uncle's death and hope God will have mercy on his blemished soul. I pray as well that my mother, whose husband died most recently, may find ease. Yet I have a secret grief as well."

Anne stepped away so they could speak privately.

"I will keep your tale in confidence," Eleanor said.

"My mother wants me to marry a man I hate!" she burst out. "I confess that my feelings may do him some injustice. Were my heart not joined with that of another, I might feel…" Giving up the struggle to find a word, she went on. "I can view no other man with joy. If I did not say so, I would not be truthful."

Eleanor liked the young woman for that. Her blunt speech reminded the prioress of Gytha, her maid at Tyndal and a woman not much different in age. "Will you join us?" She gestured toward the gardens where she knew she could sit.

Alys agreed, her face slowly regaining its natural rosy color.

The trio set off along a path, the stones worn deep by the rough elements and soft shoes of many nuns over even more centuries. With silent discretion, Anne dropped back to examine a yellow-flowered Planta Genista, the Broom plant doubtless placed in the garden to honor the current king's grandfather who had rededicated the priory to the Order of Fontevraud.

Eleanor drew Alys into a corner of the garden, bounded by a trinity of ancient yews. "A woman has the legal right to refuse a husband, for cert, but our parents often see things with more wisdom than we do," she said. "Do not misunderstand. I have not chosen to ignore your grief, but you seem a sensible woman. I would hear why you have concluded that your heart is wiser than your mother."

"I long to do as commanded, Sister, but I fear I am much confused. I do not understand why my parents decided Master Herbert must be the only choice. He is older, although not without favor, and dresses well, which speaks of wealth. I can see the merit in that. My father, before he died, had apparently found in him a proper match for me."

Eleanor laid a sympathetic hand on Alys' arm.

Gaining solace from the supportive touch, the young woman continued. "My Bernard is the son of a glover in the village, one who had an established business when he died last year…"

"… a man closer to your age who has not yet acquired much or any wealth?" The failure to add the word profitable had not escaped Eleanor's notice.

"But one who will in due course! Of that I am confident. If my parents had found him so unacceptable as a husband, why was he never discouraged, even barred from coming to court me? Surely our blushes must have spoken the truth of our desire to marry. We did nothing to hide our feelings. We had no cause. Yet, after my father's death, my mother became obsessed with this vintner and now claims Bernard is unsuitable!"

"Did your father never speak of this arrangement to you?"

"No."

The prioress noted with curiosity that the girl's eyes remained quite dry when she spoke of this recently deceased father. "Was his death sudden?" she asked softly. "Perhaps he did not have time…"

Alys turned away from Eleanor. "He and I spoke together as little as possible. What he wished to convey to me, he usually did through my mother. You need not waste comforting words on me, Sister. Although I sought to obey the man's will, as one must a sire, I bore no love for him. For that I shall gladly serve my time in Purgatory, but I cannot feel repentant." She pressed tight fists into her thighs, before continuing in a hoarse whisper: "He beat my mother when he drank more than he ought and mounted her with as little tenderness as if she were a common whore rather than his wife. My first memory of them both was this."

The cruelty in the tale hit Eleanor's heart with brutal force. She closed her eyes but could not stop herself from exclaiming, "You poor child!"

When Alys turned back to face the nun, all adult defiance had faded from her voice, replaced with a child's confusion. "When my father died, I thought my mother would see Bernard's fine qualities and how kind he is to me. My mother is a loving woman, Sister! After she had suffered so, I was sure she would wish just such a sweet man as husband for her daughter, but I was mistaken. She holds to Master Herbert as if her very soul depended on our marriage. Had I not known otherwise, I would now think my mother, not my dead father, had chosen him for me."

The deep exhaustion, which Eleanor had tried firmly to will away, now returned with unavoidable force. Quickly, she gestured toward the stone seats. When they sat, Eleanor hid the trembling of her body by bracing herself on the stone and bending toward Alys as if encouraging the confidential talk. "What lack do you see in the man your mother is so set on?"

"Oh, he has enough of his teeth left," Alys said, her anger glowing in the bright spots on her cheeks, "and his breath does not reek of the grave!" She wilted into the seat with utter defeat. "I cannot explain my objections. When I am with him, he makes sure my mother is in attendance. He has never tried to dishonor me, yet he whispers things in my ears that I do not care for. When I protest, he claims I have misunderstood, and his reasons are well expressed. I often conclude I am misjudging him." Her lips twisted as if she had just tasted something foul. "Nonetheless, I draw back from him and cannot bear even the touch of his robe. I am unable to explain further, Sister. Truly I cannot!"

"What sort of things does he say?"

Alys flushed, her face now completely scarlet. "He has suggested that Bernard and I have already bedded."

"Have you?" Eleanor asked gently.

The young woman turned her head away as if she were confessing her sins. "I have fondled him most lovingly, and Bernard has kissed me in such a way that I have almost swooned. Yet, on my faith, I am still a virgin." She glanced at the nun beside her as if to gauge her reaction.

Eleanor compared one sweet summer eve at Wynethorpe Castle, before she took final vows, with her lustful dreams at Tyndal and knew just how innocent these two young people were of mortal sin. She nodded.

With pleased surprise, Alys smiled.

"Was the vintner married before?"

"Aye, for some years, but his wife drowned. Master Herbert has always claimed she slipped. Others say she committed self-murder, for she was in much pain from a running sore in her womb that refused to heal. The crowner believed she had willfully drowned and so her soul was cursed and her body laid in an unsanctified grave."

This would be Mistress Eda, Eleanor thought. The other ghost. Yet she could see no way to turn her questions to restless spirits when this girl needed a compassionate ear. "Might the vintner be unaccustomed to wooing after years of marriage? Could he have meant well and intended only to show that he understands the passions of youth?"

Alys shrugged. "As I have said, I cannot explain why his words trouble me. When he murmurs in my ear that he is capable of riding me until I scream with joy, I should conclude that he means to convey how skilled a lover he will be. Yet I hear only that I will scream. In that prospect, I find neither comfort nor joy."

Surely the man was not cruel, Eleanor thought, and is unaware of the violent mating between the girl's parents. Yet there was something in the way Alys had repeated the man's words that troubled her. "This Master Herbert may not possess skilled phrasing, but surely… Was he not acquainted with your father?"

"Aye, and must have known full well what manner of a husband he was to my mother. Only she believed that she hid the bruises from the neighbors, and, if I could hear her piercing cries outside the house, they did as well. Master Herbert cannot be ignorant of any of this."

After hearing this tale, I shall always be grateful that I knew how tenderly my parents loved each other before my mother's cruel death, Eleanor thought. Children are not without ears or eyes, although many seem to think they are.

Alys looked up at the sky in shock. "Sister, I did not hear the bells, but the time must be past None! I promised my mother that I would accompany her to prayers, and she will be worried." She reached out her hand and grasped Eleanor's much smaller one in hers. "I thank you for listening to my woes."

The prioress squeezed the hand that held hers. "Should you wish to speak further, ask Brother Porter to summon Eleanor of Tyndal."

Watching the girl rush away along the path to the gate, Eleanor knew she had not served her well. She must seek the young woman out on the morrow, before fatigue had dulled her wits, and provide wiser and more comforting advice.

Anne helped her rise, and the two walked slowly back through the gardens. Alys' sadness over the death of her uncle reminded Eleanor of the black humors cursing Brother Thomas.

He should go into the village to seek the truth behind these apparitions, she decided, and do so tonight. The sub-infirmarian had been right about the eagerness that had returned to his eyes when Sister Beatrice suggested he find meaning behind the ghost. If she did not have to snatch that joy from him, she would not. A crowded inn was safe enough. The task should not pose any danger.

Before Wulfstan's death, the hauntings had been benign. Why would they have suddenly turned deadly? She could see no apparent reason, which surely suggested there was no connection between some jape and murder. The sooner the two things were separated, the better. Cautious fear of a mortal killer was reasonable, but rumors of ghosts often allowed Dread to let loose her most foul child, Panic.

She had already warned the monk to take care lest the spirit turn out to be a man or imp with malicious intent. Now she would order him to leave the inn if he began to suspect that the phantom and slayer were the same, or if he learned something that pointed to the murderer's identity. Under no circumstances was he to investigate further. She would not allow it. That was the work of the sheriff.

After all, Wulfstan had been killed outside religious walls. Once the ghost had been revealed as a man, the sheriff would no longer have his pretence of an argument and must drag himself back from his boar hunting.

Eleanor brightened at the thought. Then she might consider her own duty to Wulfstan's family done and retreat to her sanctuary from the world's violence with a clear conscience. She grew eager to resolve this matter quickly.