Valley of Dry Bones

Chapter Thirty-three

Father Eliduc was accustomed to death, but this particular one caused a flutter of distress. Closing his eyes, he mumbled a prayer over Kenard’s corpse, then quickly leaned backward. The over-ripe stench of decay was pungent in the heavy heat.

He rose. Forcefully exhaling the reek of corruption that had invaded his nostrils, the priest nodded at the lay brother, standing watch by the body, and hastened to the chapel door. Once outside, in the bright sun and fresh sea breeze, he gulped air like a man who had just escaped drowning.

Kenard might have died by violence, not disease, but there was something hovering around the corpse that reminded Eliduc of a malevolent and contagious miasma. Were further prayers needed, he would let other priests expose themselves to whatever evil drifted in the shadows there. He had done his duty.

Now he hurried on, gaining needed distance from such loathsome decay. The farther he got from the chapel, the lighter his spirit felt.

This latest fatality might have been convenient. It had not been required. A better conclusion would have allowed the man to give his confession and not go directly to Hell. In Eliduc’s opinion, Kenard was not truly wicked. He was a man who still deserved a good death.

As the priest passed the low-walled cemetery, his gaze took in the many overgrown and sunken patches of older graves, mixed with the newer, rounded mounds of naked earth. How many lying there had been aware enough of all their vile sins before death, he wondered. Perhaps some had begged forgiveness for too little and found themselves condemned to interminable, unimaginable suffering because of their paltry confessions. Kenard might have been one of those even if a priest had been at his side. The thought eased Eliduc’s heart into a more trifling grief.

Once beyond the boundaries of the cemetery, he slowed his pace and now ambled along the path to the mill. Although he had no purpose for going in that direction, the path was long and gave him time to think.

Not that he was a meditative man by habit. He left ponderous debate to those inclined to philosophy, but he did pride himself on pursuing his lord’s best interests with precise attention to detail. He also took care never to do anything that might be discovered and reflect badly on the Church.

He was a man of deep faith, or else he would not have taken vows. He also knew he would never be granted sainthood, his skills being more suited to worldly matters. Let no one disparage the value of such talents, he thought. Clever manipulations and plotting were crucial if the Church were to vanquish its enemies.

Who dared forget how the faithful suffered the plight of the powerless before the Emperor Constantine was converted? Secular powers were often owned by the Prince of Darkness, and the Church must retain worldly power to keep its people safe until the Apocalypse. To that end, he had dedicated his life, and, when he took his last breath, he would die knowing he had served his God well.

Yet he grieved over the loss of Kenard’s soul to Satan. As for Baron Otes, he might have felt a similar sorrow had the man not tried to cheat the Church. The baron had behaved in a duplicitous manner when he threatened to go back on a promise made to Eliduc’s lord about very profitable lands. Some might argue that Tyndal, as a priory, was just as worthy a recipient. Eliduc found that argument specious. He knew which beneficiary would make better use of the profits for the betterment of Church interests in a choice between his lord and Prioress Eleanor.

He snorted.

Nonetheless, he had done his duty as a priest when he knelt in the mud to whisper to a soul that might have remained close to its fleshy corpse. That he did so with disgust and reluctance was something he might confess in due course, but priests were flawed mortals and surely he would be given light penance. He had tried harder with Kenard’s spirit, but both souls were now in God’s hands, facing judgement and no longer his particular concern. A few sequestered nuns somewhere would at least offer prayers for the baron’s soul. He would find a monk to remember Kenard.

Sighing, he walked on.

When coins were required to learn secrets, Eliduc paid. When the plots of both wicked and useful mortals must be learned, he never hesitated to press his ear to thin walls. During this journey on the queen’s behalf, he had concluded that the flaws and weakness of others would drag them down to inevitable disaster. All he had to do was step aside and let it happen.

His choice had been wise. Not only was the originally promised land saved for his lord, but Eliduc had kept his own hands unsullied.

The priest blinked. He had passed the mill and was now at the gate that opened onto the road which led to the hermit’s hut and the village farther on.

Eliduc had not intended to visit Brother Thomas just now, preferring to wait until a time closer to departure from the priory. As he thought more on it, he concluded it might be the right moment to claim young Simon after all. The monk had surely accomplished all Eliduc knew he would. To leave the youth there longer than absolutely necessary might not be wise.

“And knowing the skills of Prioress Eleanor in ferreting out murderers,” he said aloud, “I believe the hour of our departure from here will arrive most swiftly.”

With those words, he unlatched the gate and hastened toward the hermitage. Had anyone been nearby, they would have heard this dark-robed man softly humming a chorus from The Play of Daniel.