Valley of Dry Bones

Chapter Twenty-two

Fulke knelt in the darkest part of the chapel and prayed. Even in these shadows, his head throbbed after that night of drinking.

If someone offered to chop off the offending part, he might have considered the proposition. Only the state of his soul would have stopped him, a concern that rarely troubled the sheriff except when he was reminded of death. Seeing Baron Otes’ corpse was one of those painful moments.

“I have sinned,” he muttered, dutifully herding guilt into his heart.

An insistent hiss of protest rose above the thundering inside his skull. Were his transgressions worse than others? Hadn’t he been less corrupt than most in his situation? He had taken only one substantial bribe, looking the other way when a man paid far less into the king’s treasury than was due.

Fulke had used that coin to buy a rich, ecclesiastic position for his brother, Odo. Since the money had gone to Church coffers, he deemed it only just that the ultimate beneficiary of the bribe count in his favor and that his deed be cleansed of any wrong.

Odo had also vowed to pray daily for his elder sibling’s soul in gratitude for the gift. Since his middle brother spent more time lusting over his accounting rolls than he did bending his fat knees in prayer, Fulke had little confidence in the efficacy of that promise.

Even without Odo’s infrequent intercessions with God, there must surely be less cause for apprehension now that the baron was dead. How would King Edward learn about that one act of corruption? Few had ever known what the sheriff had done, and they were unlikely to reveal the secret.

The man who had given him the bribe died long ago with neither wife nor sons surviving. Odo had gotten the position he craved and would never endanger his smooth wine, fat meat that crackled on the spit, and the soft pillow on which to kneel at his artfully carved prie-dieu. As for the crowner, his code of honor might be peculiar, but he did have one. Despite his errant ways, Ralf was loyal to family.

Fulke sat back on his heels and smiled up at the cross on the altar. He had nothing to fear. He was secure in his position as sheriff. The baron’s death was fortunate. Countless men could now sleep easily, and many would bless the man who had killed Otes.

As for his soul’s more common transgressions, Fulke also grew confident that God would not be too harsh. Muttering contrition for his drunkenness and whoring, the sheriff vowed he would seek the required penance once this unfortunate journey had ended. Briefly, he imagined his wife’s oval face brightened with an approving smile.

His heart now beating so loud with its celebratory joy, Fulke belatedly became aware of another sound in the chapel: the whisper of soft shoes gliding across the stone floor.

The sheriff opened one eye and cautiously glanced to his right.

Father Eliduc moved toward the altar with the lightness of a spirit, his hands raised heavenward with reverence. Slowly he knelt, lowered his head, and began murmuring hushed prayers with a chanting cadence.

Fulke edged deeper into the shadows, inexplicably fearing the priest had seen him. There is no good reason to care if he had, the sheriff thought, and just as quickly hoped Eliduc had not recognized him.

Eliduc sighed between prayers.

Fulke shivered.

It was irrational to be frightened of this man of God. He could not be some imp in disguise, for no creature from Hell ever wore a cross around his neck. Although Satan was clever in the ways he used to deceive mortals, fallen angels did have their limits. Eliduc must be a true priest.

Maybe my soul is more troubled with sin when I am in the priest’s presence, Fulke thought. The image of his wife returned, this time scowling. How often he had betrayed her with other women after he was refused her bed. “She is virtuous and kind,” he murmured, swearing he would be a better husband.

He winced. He could not deceive God. Any vow he made to remain chaste was brittle and therefore he might well have good reason to avoid Eliduc’s company if the man did read thoughts as the sheriff suspected. The more he thought on that, the stronger his sins began to stink like rotting fish.

Another, darker image came to him next. Might this priest, who wore such vibrant black, be Death’s messenger? Cold sweat was now rolling down the sheriff’s back. Otes was already dead. With Eliduc still here, Death might harvest other souls. And whose might they be?

Fulke clenched his chattering teeth. Such fears were foolish things, more suitable to old women and little children. Wasn’t he a full-grown man?

Then a third possibility struck him, one that gave him far greater cause to panic. He covered his face and bent forward until his brow hit the stone floor.

What if Baron Otes had confided to Father Eliduc all he knew about the corruption that had occurred during the reign of the old king? Whether or not the knowledge was conveyed to the priest as a confession or the simple sharing of information by an uneasy soul, Fulke knew he remained in great danger despite the baron’s death.

He took a deep breath and calmed himself. Otes only cared for his own advancement. Eliduc played for higher stakes in the struggles for power between the Church and kings. Whereas the baron pondered the value of each man’s secrets as if they were gemstones he might want to purchase, Eliduc had no interest in the individual sin or man, caring only about the value of the aggregate. Even if Eliduc knew all the sheriff had done, the priest would find little of it useful to the Church. Fulke was not powerful enough, and surely Eliduc never dealt in trivial matters.

Yet there were others who might find benefit in minor secrets. If someone had overheard Otes talking to the priest, Fulke was not as safe as he had assumed.

Overwhelmed by uncertainty, he began to weep in self-pity. Since his father’s death, the sheriff had devoted his life to increasing family prestige and wealth. The baron might be dead, but Fulke remained in danger of losing rank and all he had struggled to gain. Should the new king chose harsh measures to punish wrongdoers, he might also be stripped of his freedom or even his life.

After some time, Fulke’s tears did cease. When he looked around, Father Eliduc had disappeared.

Had he only imagined the priest was here? God might have sent the man’s image as a fearsome reminder to Fulke that his sins were many and grievous.

Once again the sheriff’s teeth began to chatter as if he had been struck with an ague.