Satan's Lullaby

Chapter Twenty

The night air was as soft as a lover’s kiss, but Nute was not yet old enough to know of these things and instead stood trembling in the shadows. Touching the sling tucked into his belt, he gained confidence and was determined to make Crowner Ralf proud of him before this night was over. He held that thought close to his heart, and it warmed him a little.

Stalking a man would surely prove to be little different from hunting game for the table, he thought, and threw his thin shoulders back. But a man was far larger than a rabbit and much more dangerous. Casting that thought from his mind, he hardened his resolve and waited.

It did not take long for the man to emerge from the inn. Despite the darkness, Nute knew he was the one to follow. His foster mother had made sure he served the man his ale and pie at supper so he could study the soldier’s shape. With no moon, Nute could not see the deep scars across the guard captain’s face, but this man’s walk and build matched the one the boy had been waiting for.

Although Conan was not tall, he walked at a pace that forced Nute to run. Fortunately, the road out of the village toward the priory was one the lad knew well or he might have tripped in the ruts and injured himself. That the man he followed did not know the road yet walked swiftly and with self-assurance astonished the boy. Perhaps he was one of those who saw well in diminished light. Some men did and were better soldiers for it.

When Conan reached the mill entrance gate to the priory, he hesitated, pressed himself against the stone wall, and peered around.

Nute rushed into the shrubbery by the road side as quietly as possible and felt certain that he remained undetected, even if the captain was sharp-eyed in the night. He held his breath.

Conan slowly opened the gate and disappeared inside.

Creeping up to the entrance, Nute peered around the gate.

Suddenly, the thick clouds above slipped aside to reveal a full moon.

Nute groaned. With the cloak of darkness lost, he would not find it easy to follow anyone on that open path to the mill. He forcefully reminded himself that the crowner had entrusted him with a man’s job this night. Clenching his teeth, he swore he would not disappoint Ralf.

He looked down and gripped the sling for courage, then entered the priory.

Once inside, Nute noticed that Conan had slowed his pace. The man looked neither right nor left but seemed intent on getting to some planned destination. The boy tried to keep his step light so the soldier would not hear the distinctive crunch of gravel behind him.

Other than the cries of scurrying night creatures, the rhythmic thump of the mill wheel, and the soft whisper of a gentle wind brushing through the trees, Tyndal Priory was quiet. The evening prayer done, the religious were asleep, although it would not be many more hours before they rose to greet the morning with orisons. Other than the moon, the only light came from the hospital where lay brothers remained awake and carried flickering candles as they tended the sick and dying. In that moment, the priory seemed as devoid of iniquity as Eden.

Suddenly, Conan veered off the path and down into the clearing where the bees dozed in their woven skeps.

There was no place for Nute to hide. Falling to the ground, he wiggled into deep grass and hoped that it would hide him well enough. A sudden chill wind blew across his back. He tensed and willed himself not to shiver.

Cautiously lifting his head, he saw a shadow crossing the bridge over the branch of the stream that ran alongside the guest quarters. At this distance, Nute could not say whether the shape was a man or a woman, but the figure was moving quickly in this direction.

Trembling more from fear than any cold, he desperately tried to control his breathing so no one could hear him. To his own ears, each breath sounded like a drum beat.

Nute waited.

The shadow turned down the path leading to the main gate and hospital, merged into the darkness, and disappeared.

Conan reemerged on the path and began to run to the bridge.

Nute jumped to his feet and tried to keep up. In his ears, he could hear his foster mother cautioning him not to take chances. It was a warning echoed by the crowner when he agreed to let Nute follow Conan.

He slowed his pace. Was it enough to have seen this man entering the priory? Dare he follow him further?

The choice was a hard one, and he had little time to make it. Finally, he stopped, asking himself what would be most helpful to the crowner while also keeping his word not to be foolish. “I must learn exactly where the soldier is going,” he muttered and continued to follow but at a safe distance.

Conan crossed the bridge and hurried to the guest quarters.

Halfway across the bridge, Nute halted and watched the man open the gate and slip into the courtyard leading to Davoir’s chambers.

Nute knew he should go no further. If he followed the man into the quarters, he would probably be caught. How could he explain why he was following the soldier? And even if he succeeded in hiding, would he be able to see anything of significance should the soldier enter the priest’s chambers? That was one place Nute most certainly dare not go.

On one hand, the boy longed to prove his courage. On the other, he feared breaking an oath he had been required to make while touching the crowner’s sword hilt. Even if he was willing to disobey his foster mother and Ralf, Nute knew he could not defy God.

Spinning around, the boy fled back to the inn where Signy and Crowner Ralf waited for his report.