Satan's Lullaby

Chapter Seven

Ralf drank his ale, rubbed his hand on the edge of the wood table to ease an itch, and stared at nothing in particular.

He had stopped by the inn to tell Signy the latest details of his wife’s health. Although he and the innkeeper shared a troubled history, the tension between them eased after his marriage. Signy’s close friendship with Gytha tempered the innkeeper’s bitterness, and she no longer greeted him with sharp words and mockery as was her wont in times past. She even sat with him willingly now, something she had refused to do before his marriage unless he came with questions in his position as crowner.

But the innkeeper was eager for news of her friend. It was rare that she could take time from the business to walk out to the manor house, although she gave her word that she would be there with Sister Anne for the birth. “And I shall even if the inn is burning to the ground,” she had solemnly vowed. Ralf had no doubt she meant it.

When he sat down to drink his ale today, Ralf had commented to Signy about the large number of strange men at the inn tables, and she explained their presence. He had heard that the abbess of the Order of Fontevraud was sending a host of clerks to the priory but not the date of their arrival.

He glanced around and decided the men should be a peaceful enough group. If these soldiers were sent by the king to protect the company of quill-bearing clerks, they would have been warned to behave themselves near the priory. The most he had to fear was drunkenness and a few unwelcome hands on the buttocks of the inn’s serving women.

Thinking about the latter, he grinned over his cup of ale. The soldiers would have to seek their pleasures elsewhere. Signy was more than capable of dealing with rude gropings, protecting herself and her women.

Having left him with the finest ale brewed by Tostig, a man who was now the crowner’s brother-in-law, the innkeeper walked around the benches of patrons, stopping briefly to chat but never pausing long. Without regret or lingering desire, Ralf watched her.

Signy was a strikingly beautiful woman, despite her somber attire. Had he not known who she was, he might have wondered why a nun or widow dwelled in such a rough place. Although he never quite understood the reason, Signy had chosen not to marry yet expressed no longing to take vows. Instead, she had taken over the inn on her uncle’s death and brought two orphans to her home and into her heart as foster children. One of them, Nute, was growing tall and looked more like a man each day. He never saw Nute’s younger sister, whom Signy kept away from the eyes of men.

“May I join you?”

Ralf started with unwelcome surprise. It was rare for him to let down his guard. Representatives of the king’s justice did not live long if they did, although he was safe enough in Signy’s inn. He grunted as he looked up at the man. Had marriage softened him, he asked himself, and then determined that it was just fatigue. Since his wife did not sleep well, he often awoke himself and worried over her health.

The man smiled down at him. “I am the captain of the guard sent by the king to accompany Father Etienne and his clerks from the coast to this priory. Conan is my name.”

Ralf gestured to a serving woman for more ale. “A Breton?”

The man laughed. “My forbearer followed the Conqueror, and the family has loyally served the kings since. It has long been the custom to name the first son William and the second Conan after the one who fought at Hastings.”

And this man has swung enough swords himself, Ralf thought, considering the scarred face of the one who now sat across from him at the table. “You have seen a few battles.”

“Ah, you see the beauty it has left me with!” Conan rubbed a hand over his scars. “The Welsh fight like demons and little care if a man might want to bed a woman before dark when she might still see his face.” He smiled, then looked around. “The only thing that saddens me is that I sometimes frighten the wee ones.”

Ralf felt the sorrow and liked the man for that particular regret. “Guarding a priest and a company of clerks must be a relief from battling the Welshmen.”

Conan raised the half eyebrow still remaining and bent closer to speak softly. “I’d rather the howls of the Welsh devils. I pray as much as any Christian, but we had to stop every time we heard a church bell toll on the journey here. The ride to this village took twice as long, and we did not always reach decent inns or priories by nightfall. These clerks are not accustomed to sleeping on beds of leaves. Soft creatures, they are, despite the hair shirts they claim to wear.”

Ralf raised his cup in agreement.

“Tell me about this inn and the village of Tyndal,” Conan took a long drink of ale and nodded with appreciation.

“Yes, the ale is good here, as is the food. You will sleep in clean straw, suffer no flea bites, and get honest value for your coin.” Ralf hesitated. “No whores. The innkeeper will not allow her women to offer that comfort to any patrons.”

“Are you sure?” Conan tilted his head in the direction of one woman.

“If they do, they find another place to lie with a man.”

The captain smiled. “And what pleasure does the village offer?”

Ralf laughed. “If pious talk delights you, there are enough pilgrims stopping at the inn on the way to shrines in Norwich to the east or Walsingham to the west. Many more come to the priory to seek cures for the ills men suffer. The hospital there is known throughout England for successful cures.” He winked at Conan. “With the king’s invasion of Wales, Tyndal’s reputation may have spread to that land as well.” He waited but got no response. “Otherwise, there will be a market day soon for entertainment.”

Conan briefly looked over his shoulder when someone shouted, then he turned his attention back to Ralf. “Can the hospital cure a man of ugliness?” Lest Ralf think he was serious, Conan laughed.

“If it did,” Ralf retorted, “my face would have blinded you with its perfection.”

A silence fell as the men drank.

“Tell me more of this famous priory. I have heard that it has a mill and fine guest quarters.” He shrugged. “We did not enter the gate. Once we safely delivered the priest and his wagons full of clerks, we were directed to the inn. I was hoping to see more of this unusual place that houses both monks and nuns.”

“If you walk back on the road toward the main entrance, you will find a gate in the wall. Those who use the mill take their grain in there, and so the grounds are open. Occasionally, you may see a monk, although it’s mostly lay brothers who trim the trees, tend the hives, and serve the needs of the mill. The guest quarters are to the right of that path, across a small bridge over a branch of the stream. You can see the buildings easily enough from the path.”

Conan smiled. “I will need exercise. I have been a soldier too long and cannot sit still as merchants can.” He reached for the pitcher and poured more ale.

“You still serve the king?” Ralf asked as he also poured himself another cup.

“Aye, and the men under me. To provide this safe passage for these guests from the continent is our reward for battles well fought.”

For a while, the two men shared stories of wars and battles, Ralf as a mercenary and Conan as the king’s man.

Finally, Conan rose. “I have enjoyed our talk, Crowner. I hope we may meet again. Indeed, I have much time on my hands until those clerks are done, and we can deliver them safely to their ships for France. I’ll be glad to see their backs. I do not like the idleness here or fancy the long journey back. The priest and his lead clerks speak enough of our language to offer conversation on the road, but no one else does and we do not understand either Latin or their Frankish tongue. Pity King Edward could not offer us something in the nature of coin or proper land instead of this.” He grinned, turning what might be called ingratitude into a jest, then walked off through the inn to the door and disappeared into the village street.

Ralf wondered what this man might do in an isolated East Anglian village with little vice to tempt a man who did not seem inclined to great virtue.

Then he sat back and frowned. The captain had called him crowner. How did he know that? Ralf knew he had not mentioned it.

He shrugged. Presumably, someone had told him, but, if so, why had this Conan chosen his company? Few did, even men with no cause to fear one whose work was to seek those who ran afoul of the king’s justice.