Wine of Violence

Chapter Ten

“Woman, get out of my light and get thyself away from my ears if you must moan so balefully! No man can think with such flapping around him.” Crowner Ralf swatted in the general direction of Sister Christina as if she were an annoying insect, then turned his broad back to her.

It was the day after the sad discovery of Brother Rupert’s mutilated corpse, and Christina had been interrupted by the arrival of the crowner while she was kneeling in the Chapel of Saint Mary Magdalene that lay on the cloister side of the nuns’ choir. Except for Brother Rupert’s body, she, a servant of the spiritual King, was completely alone with this loud and abrupt retainer of the secular monarch. Her quiet prayers interrupted, she wrung her hands and continued to make piteous cries of uncertainty. She was not only alone in the chapel with this worldly man, she was quite sure such unchaperoned contact was forbidden. She was absolutely terrified by him.

Ignoring her distress, the local representative of King Henry’s justice bent over the body of the late Brother Rupert and resumed his careful examination while continuing to wave one hand absent-mindedly at the nun as if she were a pesky fly to keep at bay.

***

Eleanor stepped into the chapel, took one look at the young nun rocking from side to side in near hysteria, and called out: “You may go, sister. We will deal with the crowner.” Then she turned to Sister Ruth and asked in a low voice, “Was Sister Christina here when you let the crowner in?”

Ruth looked genuinely distressed. “Forgive me, my lady! In my rush to announce him and bring both Sister Anne and Brother Thomas to accompany you, I did not notice if anyone was here. If I may, I will escort her away.”

“Do. Please. She looks quite pale. Perhaps a sip of medicinal wine would be in order in view of her distress.”

“Immediately, my lady.” The elder nun stepped forward, took the arm of the trembling younger one and led her with speed and surprising gentleness toward the cloister walk. Whatever Eleanor may have thought of Sister Christina, this was one time she felt sorry for her. However severe Sister Ruth might be with Eleanor, the porteress was showing kindness to the terrified girl. That was worth remembering.

“I am Prioress Eleanor of Tyndal,” she announced to the man, who had not even turned to acknowledge her presence. An unkempt and careless man, she thought, as she glanced at the clothing he wore. It was in need of mending, and where mended it was badly done. His back was stained from sweat and other liquids of less well-defined origins. Here was a man with little time for fashion and even less for the good opinion of others, Eleanor decided with grim humor. Was he even sober?

“A fine thing to find in your garden, my lady,” the crowner said, continuing to bend over the monk’s body.

His voice was steady, his words unslurred. At least he wasn’t drunk, Eleanor concluded with some relief.

“Not a proper sight for virgins.” He grunted as he turned the corpse over on one side and yanked up the corpse’s robe to expose the mutilation. “Seeing this mess would be good for a few Hail Marys to ease the shock, I’d think.”

Brother Thomas coughed, then gagged at the sight of the putrefying mutilation.

“Oh, and a man of God too. Well, this is the most blood you’ll ever see, brother. Thank the good Lord for that, unless you’re a fighting bishop that is.” Ralf was the only one to laugh at his joke, but he seemed neither to notice nor to mind. The crowner continued his examination.

“You’ll not find much blood to mark his lost manhood, Crowner.” Eleanor’s voice was stern. No one in her family had ever spoken favorably of the lower ranks assigned to administer the king’s justice. Indeed, she had always assumed such men were mostly dishonest, or lazy and incompetent at best. She’d rather hoped this one would be different. At least his study of the dead priest was unhurried and seemed careful. Perhaps the crowner had merit, despite his clothes and rather earthy smell.

“And how would you know that, my lady?” The man sighed with barely concealed annoyance at the continued interruptions.

“We looked.”

Crowner Ralf straightened up slowly, put one hand on his hip, turned and glowered equally at Eleanor and Thomas.

“Indeed. And what are your conclusions then, good people? Did God strike him down in your priory for his sins? Or was it for your sins? Do you think I’ll close my eyes to all human intervention just because the corpse’s a monk and you’re a bunch of…?”

“Shush, Ralf! You are being impious. Be silent, and let us tell you what we did find.” Sister Anne stepped out of the shadow behind Thomas, shook her finger at the crowner, and glared with a ferocity equal to his own.

Eleanor and Thomas both turned to look at her in shock.

“Well, Annie,” the crowner said, his face relaxing into a surprised but delighted smile. “I’d hoped you hadn’t lost all your sense when you left the apothecary shop for the convent.”

Sister Anne turned to Eleanor. “Forgive me for speaking without permission, my lady. We knew Ralf, my husband and I, when we were in the world.”

Ralf nodded. “Aye, and leaving it was the world’s loss. You saved my lazy brother’s life with that green and foul smelling poultice when the boar gored his leg, you know.” He looked over at Eleanor. “He that is sheriff and too busy with the affairs of the high and mighty to attend to such matters as this.” He gestured at the corpse.

“It was my husband who…”

The crowner’s face reddened. “S’Blood, woman! ’Twas you, not that sexless, bloodless thing you called husband.”

“Ralf! You forget yourself and where you are.”

The man turned and bowed to Eleanor. “Perhaps. Forgive me, my lady. Sister Anne has reminded me that I have strayed from my task. You had observations you wished to share?”

Eleanor smiled in spite of herself. However crude the crowner might seem, his blunt speech and ill manners seemed based more in choice than nature. Indeed, she could understand impatience with hollow gestures when something important had to be done. She struggled herself with them at times, she realized, remembering her recent encounter with Prior Theobald. Then she noticed that the crowner was looking at her with some intensity as he scowled. He isn’t just staring, Eleanor thought with surprise; he’s studying me.

“Sister Anne discovered him,” she said quickly and nodded in the nun’s direction. “She should tell you what she noted. Brother Thomas and I came to the site later. If need be, we will confirm or add to whatever she says.”

As Ralf looked at the tall woman beside her, Eleanor caught a fleeting look of sadness in his face. Something must have happened between them before Sister Anne left the world, she thought. Indeed, the entire interchange between crowner and nun had intrigued her.

“He’s been moved since his death, Ralf. That coloring on the body you can see for yourself, but his clothing has also been changed. There was no tear from the entry of the knife into his garment, nor was there blood on the ground where we found him. And little staining on the inside of the robe near the chest wound. None near his genitals. In fact, as you see, there is but little blood around the mutilation itself.”

The crowner had been listening intently. Suddenly, he laughed. “So you did not clean up the corpse. I wondered when I found it so neatly placed here in the chapel with little evidence of bleeding where I most expected it and a fresh robe.”

“Our prioress forbade the washing until you had been here to examine the body.”

Ralf acknowledged Eleanor with a slight smile. “And did you all examine the earth around as well?” he asked.

The three nodded.

“And did none of you find blood?”

The three shook their heads.

“Nor any dagger hilt?” He touched the spot where the knife had entered.

“None,” the trio said, almost in unison.

“Well, now, what have you left to tell me?”

“One thing,” Thomas said, pulling the crucifix from his sleeve and handing it to the crowner. “I found this near the sacristy door on the path to the monks’ quarters yesterday afternoon after I left the garden. The ground may have been stained with blood. I couldn’t quite tell and was interrupted before I could confirm my suspicions.”

Ralf turned it around in his hand and held it up to the light. “Blood stains on the cross itself, and I’d say the cord was soaked with it. You were wise to pick it up, brother. Given last night’s summer downpour, any trace of blood in the earth will be washed away, and the rain might have cleansed this as well if you hadn’t taken it.” He looked around. “Can any of you confirm if it belonged to him?” He waved at the corpse.

“Look at it, please, sister. You would know best,” Eleanor said.

Anne reached out, and the crowner dropped the thing lightly into her hand, carefully not touching her. She looked at it for a moment, her eyes closing as she briefly shut her hand over the cross.

“It was his, my lady. He carved it himself. ‘A simple cross for a simpler man,’ he said to me once.” Then the tears began to trickle down her cheeks. “He was a good man, my lady. A very good man.”

Thomas and Ralf looked down at the floor.

Eleanor reached out for the nun’s hand and squeezed it. “Who did not deserve what was done to him,” she whispered.

Anne wiped the moisture from her face. “We must find who did it…”

“I will that, Annie. I promise you.”

“Then hear this as well, Ralf. I believe the person who killed him was left-handed and either did not think about what he was doing or was in a hurry.”

The crowner raised one eyebrow.

“If you were gelding a man, you would hold the genitals in your left hand as you cut with your right.” Sister Anne held up her left fist as if she had just done it.

Ralf swallowed and nodded.

“And then you would take your victim’s left hand thus and place them in his grasp so it would appear he had done it himself.” She demonstrated, using Eleanor’s hands as an example.

Ralf blinked. “Aye?”

“But Brother Rupert held his severed organs in his right hand.”

“He did indeed.”

“Brother Rupert was right-handed. If the murderer wanted us to believe our priest had done this act himself, he would have put his genitals in his left hand, a natural enough thing to do if the murderer is also right-handed, but not if he is left-handed. Come now, Ralf! Don’t look at me with such doubt. If you were going to geld yourself, wouldn’t you hold your balls in your weaker hand and cut with your stronger one?”

“That I would!” he said.

“Well, our murderer forgot.”