Justice for the Damned

Chapter Twelve

A spotty-faced serving woman gaped when Thomas walked in, licked her lips, and tossed her head in the direction of the rooms upstairs. He lowered his gaze and inched into the mass of sweating men.

One burgundy-cheeked fellow, a wooden tankard of brown ale in hand, stared pointedly at the monk's tonsure, poked him in the ribs, and made a lewd gesture. Feeling his face turn hot, Thomas transformed his blush of outrage into an expression of sheepish unworldliness. The man snorted but let the monk edge by.

If God were willing to grant him just a little grace, Thomas thought, He would lead him to the plump merchant and keep him away from Sayer. If He were truly merciful, He would let him get answers to his questions and allow him to escape this place before he broke some lout's jaw.

When he had at last untangled himself from the milling crowd, Thomas found himself in a comparatively quiet corner of the hostel. At a small table, next to a large pitcher of wine, sat the round young man with dimpled pink face.

He was in luck.

The man rested his cup against his lips as if interrupted by a thought in the act of drinking. Something heavy crashed overhead and he blinked, raising his pale brown eyes and studying the ceiling, fearing perhaps that those carousing above might fall into his lap.

Thomas smiled. "May I join you in what passes for solitude in this worldly place?"

The young man's eyes came to rest on the monk's tonsure. "You are new to the area, Brother?"

"Aye," Thomas replied, happy to answer this one question with truthfulness.

"There is the priory of Amesbury across the river. You would find more congenial company there." He examined the monk with some curiosity. "Your habit is not one commonly seen on the king's roads. Is your Order…?"

"…that of Fontevraud. In truth, I knew about the priory, since I bring a message of greeting from another daughter house, but my journey has been long. The hour is now late, and I fear the gates have been closed." Thomas looked around him with wide-eyed amazement. "I thought I might clear the travel dust from my throat before I found a stable in which to sleep, but I have long been out of the world. I had no idea that this inn would be so…"

"Popular?" The man's laugh was merry and utterly devoid of ridicule. "Forgive my discourtesy, Brother." He gestured to a seat opposite him. "I am Bernard of Amesbury, a glover in this town. Will you join me in some wine?"

Although this Bernard was as sober as he had looked, he turned out to be a most sociable man, much inclined to talk as he poured Thomas a generous cup of wine. The stout fellow might be a merchant, but Thomas warmed to him as he sat back and listened to the glover tell him about Amesbury and its unusual environs. With more drink, he thought, the man's tongue would surely loosen, and he could pose some questions.

"There is a great stone circle not far away. If you came to Amesbury by the western road, surely you saw it."

Thomas shrugged. It was just as well, he decided, to remain vague about his journey. Even though they had traveled from the east, he had heard talk of this circle on the way. "The sun was setting, and our party was hurrying to reach the village before dark. I noted it but little. A strange pile of huge rocks?"

"Perhaps you were wise not to tarry, for many believe it a haunt of Satan and his minions. The plain on which it sits is bleak enough for hellish things, and there are always robbers to beset lone travelers even if the Devil is not about."

"Robbers, imps, or both? What is your opinion?" Thomas carefully sipped his drink and was surprised to find that the wine was a pleasant one. He hoped he was not sampling Master Herbert's wares.

"Lawless men are everywhere in England, Brother, but I cannot believe the stones shelter imps." Bernard shut his eyes and smiled as if falling into a pleasant dream. "It is a wondrous place. Sometimes I have imagined that a knight of the Round Table raised it as a monument after King Arthur's death on Salisbury Plain, or else Brutus of Troy came here, hoping to rebuild the city of his father. When the days are at their longest, I ride out to watch the light playing amongst the stones and how the shadows dance. I feel no fear, even when I walk to the center. Instead, there is only profound silence, one that is as calming as if God had blessed the place. I doubt any evil lives there." He laughed, dimples plunging deep into his cheeks. "I burden you with my fanciful thoughts and beg pardon!"

"Nay, Master Bernard, do not apologize, but please forgive me if I ask this: do you write verse? Singing well-turned phrases at court might serve both you and your gloves well!" Thomas grinned with genuine pleasantry. "I have heard that King Henry and his queen happily part with coin and gifts for finely crafted art. Business might come your way as well."

Bernard quickly sang the one English line from Dou Way Robyn. His voice grated like a saw on metal. "That may prove my lack of talent in the art of music, Brother. In truth, one of my neighbors has forbidden me to sing, lest my voice hurt the ears of his pigs. He claims the sows would miscarry should they hear me."

"Surely your neighbor jests."

"He is my sister's husband."

Thomas laughed and took another appreciative sip of the wine. "Your stone circle does intrigue me. If there are no imps in residence, our party had only lawless men to fear. We must have been most fortunate to avoid them."

"They do not bother large or armed groups, nor those from our village. I suspect they are local men." The glover's expression soured. "Were there not some honor amongst them, we would be severely troubled. Our sheriff fancies boar chasing more than he does the pursuit of men who break the king's law."

Thomas raised an eyebrow. "A corrupt sheriff?"

"Nay. A lazy one."

The monk fell silent as he pretended to drink. Since he had gained little from the discussion so far, he had to turn the discussion into another path. "Your priory here is famous in our Order. Was it not founded by a Saxon queen who murdered her stepson and sought forgiveness for her sin?"

Bernard brightened. "Queen Elfrida. She died not long before King William came from Normandy, yet many claim the site is far older than that. Others in England may say that Queen Guinevere died elsewhere, but we in Amesbury insist it was here. After all, it would have been fitting that she live her last days in penance near the place Mordred slew the king she wronged."

"For cert! The presence of such an ancient place of faith should be the reason the village is little disturbed by evil, even if your sheriff is lax. The prayers of so many monks and nuns would surely save you from all demons."

As the monk had hoped, Bernard's expression turned gloomy. "One would think so, yet a strange spirit now troubles us."

Thomas leaned back, gazing at the glover with expectant curiosity.

Bernard bent across the wooden table, his voice lowered as if he feared someone would overhear. "Some weeks ago, men first reported seeing a ghost near the River Avon, just around dusk or early dawn. Soon after, a few monks claimed that the phantom had drifted within the walls of the priory as well." Bernard sat back, drank deeply from his cup, and stared in silence at a spot over Thomas' shoulder. "This morning a man's body was found, beheaded. Now men say that this ghost must be a most vengeful spirit for it has turned murderous."

"Why has this hellish thing come to Amesbury? What sin could the village or, God forbid, the priory have committed that Satan would let loose this creature from his domain?" Thomas shook his head. "Pardon my questions but I am filled with wonder at your story!"

Bernard gave him a thin smile. "Forgive me if my words offend, Brother, but some from the priory came to this inn to satisfy worldly longings. Did you note the reaction to your presence? I hope no one approached you with base intent?"

"I fear I might not understand their meaning if they did, Master Glover, for I came to my vocation as a youth…" Thomas lowered his head to suggest modest innocence while praying that the lie that should have shone in his eyes would remain hidden.

Bernard straightened his back. "The lapse in monastic chastity was but a momentary one! Since the grandfather of our current king cast the sinful Benedictines out and invited those of your Order to take their place, this priory has been steadfast in God's service. If He was offended by the weakness of a few, He would have been pleased when Prioress Ida swiftly made amends and chased the Devil back to Hell. I do believe, if Queen Elfrida's spirit was the one loosed by Satan as some have claimed, that she would have returned to Purgatory by now and not slain this man."

"You do not believe a ghost killed him?"

"There is another spirit that might be abroad, that of a local merchant's wife. She drowned in the Avon. Although some believe she committed self-murder, others think she was unfairly condemned by the crowner's jury to be buried in unsanctified ground as a suicide."

"So her ghost might blame both village and priory for her place in Hell." Thomas rested his chin on folded hands. "Was the murdered man the one who brought witness against this dead woman?"

"He had no part in the verdict," Bernard snapped. "I do not know why she should have any quarrel with him."

Thomas sipped more wine, unsure of where he should go from here. "Might the killer be mortal?" he asked at last, deciding that the direct question might not seem strange.

"Wulfstan had no enemies."

How can a man be slaughtered so brutally, yet have no foe? Thomas wondered. "Then he must have been killed by this heinous phantom of a woman."

The man's knuckles turned white as he gripped his cup. "Eda was ever a virtuous creature. Although no mortal can live without sin, she came near enough in her devotion to God's commandments. I cannot believe she would ever commit such a crime, even after suffering the tortures of Hell."

Thomas blinked at the sharpness in tone. The boyishness had fled and left behind an angry man.

The glover silently filled the monk's cup and poured a modest amount of wine for himself. His hand was steady.

The man is quite calm, Thomas thought, almost too calm.

Suddenly, Bernard slammed the cup down on the table and covered his face with his hands. "Cursed be that priory! It brings grief to mortal men."

Stunned at the outburst, Thomas sat back. What contradictory views of the priory! After what he had overheard between Bernard and Sayer, he wondered if some wish for vengeance was the cause of this passionate cry. Might a clue to the identity of the ghost be found in it or even something about the Psalter theft? He reached out and touched the man's arm in sympathy but said nothing. Silence was the better tool for bringing truth to a man's lips.

"Ah, forgive me, Brother," Bernard said at last, his now exposed eyes wet with tears. "I should not burden you with minor woes. You asked about ghosts, but I cannot imagine who would stalk innocent men and kill them so cruelly. I can only suggest that it could not be sweet Eda."

Sincerity colors that speech, Thomas decided. "Are there any strangers in town or at the priory, Master Bernard? Might the phantom be found amongst them?"

"Our town is known for hospitality, else we would not have this well-stocked inn, nor is the priory ungenerous to travelers. There are always strangers here, but they come and go. A few in their late years have made accommodation with the priory for care in exchange for lands or other wealth, but I cannot see any silver-haired man or his hunched dame playing a cruel spirit that beheads innocent men."

"No younger strangers who have shown a special interest in the priory?"

"Other than you, Brother? Nay."

"And I but long to learn more of the Evil One's devious ways!" The monk folded his hands and lowered his eyes. "Does anyone local have a quarrel with the monks and nuns there?"

Bernard snorted and quickly swallowed his cup of wine. "You are looking at the only man who might."

Thomas' eyes widened with hope.