Satan's Lullaby

Chapter Twenty-nine

Father Davoir sat in silence.

Although Brother Thomas and Crowner Ralf remained, the two nuns had left the chambers.

Prioress Eleanor waited.

Gracia stood by the door, her eyes wide with curiosity. As she looked from priest to her mistress and back again, her shifting gaze was the only motion in the deceptively still room.

At last the priest spoke. “I am a judicious man, Prioress Eleanor. I did not come to Tyndal with an ardent desire to find you guilty of the charge against you. I wished to gather all the facts and dispassionately establish the truth based on reasoned judgement.”

Reasoned judgement? Eleanor bit her lip. When he suggested she might have ordered the death of the clerk, he most certainly was not basing his decision on facts. When he ordered Sister Anne thrust into that cell, he did so out of anger and grief, not logic. The effort not to admonish him was almost more than she could bear.

But then she heard a low growl from Crowner Ralf and knew it was her responsibility to remain calm and keep this meeting civil. It did not matter whether she liked this priest or not, he was the brother of her abbess and a man of great influence in the French court.

If she said what she wished, she could endanger far more than the release of Sister Anne in time to help at Gytha’s birthing and the conclusion that she and Brother Thomas were irrefutably innocent of the charge against them. Were she rash, the consequences of her actions might well nip at the pride of kings. The past was littered with corpses slaughtered in battles waged for lesser insults than what an English baron’s daughter and prioress might inflict on a French religious whose head would soon wear a bishop’s miter.

With effort, Eleanor’s smile successfully conveyed the expected appreciation in response to Davoir’s words.

“But when my clerk was killed and the only cause seemed to be the medicine sent by your sub-infirmarian, I had reason to suspect that she was either incompetent or had tried to protect you out of some benighted hope that I would be frightened away or perhaps less inclined to find you guilty of the charges against you.” He raised his hands to suggest how obvious his conclusion must have been.

Eleanor nodded. Her neck ached from the effort to do so politely.

“Now I fear that someone wishes me ill and the attack against Renaud suggests that the death of Jean might not be solely due to your sub-infirmarian’s incompetence.”

Eleanor could understand why someone might want to wring this priest’s neck. “Indeed,” she said.

“I might still be inclined to suspect you had a hand in this, considering the seriousness of the allegations against you…”

Ralf stepped forward.

“Peace, Crowner,” the prioress whispered.

“…but the words of your sub-prioress made me pause in thought. She had no love for you after your king sent you to replace her, a woman so respected by the religious of this house that she was duly elected to succeed the former prioress. Her great resentment is a sin, but, for once, truth was strengthened by her human wickedness.” He smiled. “Her testimony on your behalf was powerful.”

Eleanor smiled back. “I shall long remember that insight, Father.”

For a moment, he said nothing and sat watching her with a preoccupied look. Then his brow smoothed, and he waved one hand in a gesture of surrender. “I have erred in suspecting you of complicity in murder,” he said, “and your sub-prioress has convinced me that you are innocent of the charges laid against you.”

“Although Sister Ruth is an honorable woman and strives to speak with honesty under all circumstances, I would not want you to take the word of only one member of our community, Father. I hope you will question others here as well.”

“I have.”

Of course, you have, Eleanor thought, but in this one instance I am glad you did pursue your investigation beyond all good sense. “And have you found support or condemnation? I do not ask for the names of those who gave witness to either.”

“Nothing but praise,” he replied. “Some have called you blessed.”

“Which I am not,” she quickly replied with a modest bow of her head, “being a frail mortal and a lowly daughter of Eve.” Seeing he was about to say more, she decided she must control the conversation until he had admitted all she wished in front of Crowner Ralf, the one presumed impartial witness. “I am sure you found none who had any criticism of Brother Thomas.” She was tempted to smile up at the monk but deemed it unwise lest her gesture be misinterpreted.

“Again, I heard only acclaim. Some have even said he most resembles the founder of this Order in the strength of his virtue.” Davoir looked briefly at the monk, his expression suggesting that he had found this discovery regrettable.

Brother Thomas followed the example of his prioress and lowered his gaze in silent humility.

“May I speak, my lady?”

Crowner Ralf rarely sounded so meek. Had the circumstances been different, Eleanor might have teased him. Instead, she gravely gave consent to his request. Looking at his eyes, she saw them glittering with fury, although his demeanor otherwise suggested calm. Taking a deep breath, she decided she must trust him not to decapitate the priest in front of her.

“The leader of the soldiers, who provided you with protection on the journey here, believes you are in danger. I concur. You now agree.”

The priest clenched his jaw as if preparing for a test of wills.

“Since you have found Prioress Eleanor and Brother Thomas innocent of the foul lies leveled against them, I pray that you will allow them to join the captain and me in keeping you safe within the priory walls. In doing so, I believe we also have the opportunity to capture the miscreant who killed your beloved clerk, something for which you must deeply long.”

Davoir said nothing, tapped his chin, and turned his gaze to a fat fly resting on the table nearby.

“Modesty prevents Prioress Eleanor and Brother Thomas from saying this,” Ralf continued, “but they are both well-known in our land for their ability to bring evil men to justice.” With a reverent expression and an unusual acknowledgement to God, the crowner looked heavenward. “Only those in His favor could do as well as these two in rendering His justice when we more flawed mortals fail.”

Ralf lowered his gaze and shut his eyes so no one could read his thoughts, but Eleanor noted that he had blood on his lip from biting it. Although the crowner had long been a friend, and was the husband of her cherished Gytha, she suddenly loved him even more, knowing the effort it took for him not to rage against this man who had insulted his friends and put his wife in mortal danger with his arrogant blindness.

Davoir seemed oblivious to all the details and problems involved in finding the cause of the recent violence. The priest’s face betrayed his profound struggle to determine what he thought was best. He shifted the honor of his gaze from the fly to the rushes under his feet.

Think of your bishopric, Eleanor prayed, and do what is in your own interest to survive long enough to enjoy it. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to conclude that Davoir was not a truly evil man. The priest believed he had the gift of superior reason and thus his decisions must be beyond question. Yet if anyone was born unable to see beyond his nose, it was Father Etienne Davoir.

“You do think I am in danger of my life?” The priest continued to stare at the floor.

“We do,” Ralf replied.

“If I may speak, my lady?”

Eleanor was surprised that her monk had broken his silence, but she quickly nodded.

“In order to more swiftly decide who might wish you ill, Father, we must know if you have acquired any enemies, men so angry that they would wreak violence against you.” Brother Thomas’ tone was respectful.

“Any man, especially one who has found favor with mortals of great standing and God, acquires enemies.” Davoir glanced up, his expression revealing that he was perplexed by the question.

“As soon as you return to court, you will be elevated to a bishopric?” Thomas waited for the man to nod. “And you will carry your most talented clerks with you to higher rank as well, a well-known practice. When you arrived here, Jean and Renaud rode by your side, a position suggesting you held them in great favor.” He paused.

“All of this is well known. Please be brief.” Davoir glared at the monk as if Thomas were one of his clerks.

The monk ignored him. “Jean has been murdered. Renaud has been attacked. This violence suggests the culprit might bear a festering resentment against you. Perhaps he suffered some punishment you meted out or expected some favor you failed to grant. Are there any men who were once clerks but whom you sent away, or families who hoped you might accept a son into your service but for whom you found no position…?” His voice trailed off.

As Eleanor watched Davoir strive to put these elements together, she was grateful that her monk had asked the question. The priest would take that probing query better from him than from a woman, even if she was a prioress, or a man bound to secular law like Ralf.

Davoir frowned. “I have always made my decisions well-founded in logic.”

“Even if their conclusion was in error, who might have disagreed with you despite the aptness of your judgement?”

Not for the first time, Eleanor was proud of her monk’s calm.

“I am not in the habit of discharging clerks. My initial verdict on their suitability is rarely wrong, although I did choose one youth based on his father’s service to my family. That was a mistake, but the family has not yet been informed of his pending dismissal.” He thought a moment longer, and then raised one finger. “A few years ago, I had occasion to release one of my clerks. He was a promising lad from a respectable, albeit not titled, family. Sadly, he was found in a brothel and, when brought before me, confessed he spent much time there. I dismissed him.”

Thomas glanced at his prioress.

That means something to him, she thought and grew hopeful that he had discovered a clue.

Davoir sighed. “His family begged me to reconsider. I could not, of course, but promised to find him a living suitable for a penitent. It was in a poor parish, and he died months after of a fever, but none of us is exempt from death. Later, I heard that his brother blamed me for the youth’s fate and swore to take revenge, but nothing has ever come of these threats, perhaps because I rarely travel far from our king’s court.” He paled. “Until now.”

“It is possible that the brother may have followed you here. I spoke to a man who swore he was on pilgrimage from France to Canterbury, claims to have injured his ankle, and is in our hospital. I have no proof…”

Davoir turned to the crowner and roared, “You must arrest him!”

“We have nothing but a vague suspicion.” Ralf’s tone betrayed his anger at the very idea of complying with Davoir’s demand when the priest had also jailed Sister Anne with no evidence.

Eleanor winced at his ill-advised response.

Davoir jumped to his feet. “How dare you deny this request? I am in danger, a conclusion with which you all concur. You mention the logical suspect but now refuse to put him in irons.” He rudely jabbed his finger at the prioress. “Is this revenge because I did my duty as my sister required?”

“No, Father, but I think you would agree that capturing the man, with enough proof of ill intent to keep him in custody while we get a full confession, would serve all far better than arresting him on suspicion alone.” Eleanor tilted her head and glared at the priest, her patience at the snapping point.

“Without proof, he will be released.” Thomas smiled without humor. “And would probably try again to harm you at a later date.”

Defeated and frightened, Davoir sat back down with a thump. “I concur,” he muttered.

Eleanor realized she had been holding her breath.

“Let us plan a trap for him,” Thomas said.

“And release Sister Anne,” Ralf added. “Her innocence is proven.”

Slamming his hand down on the arm of the chair, Davoir shouted, “Not until there is as much proof of her innocence as you demand to establish the guilt of this alleged pilgrim! I am not yet convinced that she did not kill my clerk out of incompetence or malice.”

Ralf turned scarlet with outrage.

“Ralf, be calm,” Eleanor murmured. She knew the priest’s outburst was the cry of pain from a proud man who had been humiliated. A man, who believed himself almost godlike in judgement, had been publicly proven wrong several times since arriving at Tyndal. She chose to let Davoir have a small victory in exchange for his cooperation. “Let us plan the capture of the real killer and then our sub-infirmarian will be free. It is only a short time longer, and she is not suffering great deprivation.”

“If my wife…”

“If Gytha’s pains begin, I swear that she will have the comfort and skill needed for her travail.” And the prioress looked into the crowner’s eyes with a promise she prayed he could read well.

“Very well,” he snarled. “Now let us plan how to catch the real murderer.”