Valley of Dry Bones mm-7 Page 10

  “There is much praise for good kings in it. Darius is a man of his word and a just lord, as is King Edward. When he recognizes that evil men have taken advantage of his better nature, he demonstrates praiseworthy faith and says God shall save his friend and servant, Daniel. The play also shows a queen as both wise and prescient. I see no offense here.” Eleanor was amused to see the priest exhale with evident relief.

  Eliduc stiffened, embarrassed to have revealed a failing, and his expression grew solemn. “Very well, but I must see the full performance to make sure the quality is good enough for our lady’s ears and nothing ill can be construed.”

  “I shall happily arrange it for you. Our novice master will be deeply honored if you approve the entertainment.”

  “Let me know when the choir is ready. I shall inform both Sir Fulke and Lady Avelina of our present discussion.” He bowed and excused himself.

  As he strode off, he exclaimed in undisguised delight: “Ludus Danielis!”

  Eleanor had no idea Father Eliduc had such a weakness for music.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “When someone breaks God’s commandment against murder,” Signy said, “we all must aid the pursuit of justice.” Although her voice was steady, her eyes narrowed as she looked up at the crowner.

  “I am grateful you were willing to answer my questions.” The innkeeper’s suspicion pained Ralf. Nervously clearing his throat, he turned away and gazed around the busy inn.

  The early hour meant few were drinking, but those wishing a quick start on the road, to or from Norwich, were breaking their fast and leaving to seek the other members of their party, their horses, or their wagons. Such bustle was a profitable noise and surely most pleasing in the ears of any innkeeper.

  Perhaps that was why Signy’s mouth gradually relaxed into a smile. “This time I have no fear you might want to hang me.”

  “That day was in the past and I never intended…”

  “Hush, Ralf. For all your faults, and I have suffered from them, you are an honest man.”

  “Any pain I have given you distresses me beyond words. I am twice thankful that you deign to speak with me.” He flushed. “I would not cast blame if you had refused.”

  “You did not hang me, Crowner. For that mercy, I am beholden to you. As for my other complaint, God demands forgiveness, even though He never said we must forget.” Her expression was enigmatic. “In repenting my own multitude of sins, I am studying how to forgive yours.”

  A man far more comfortable with hard fists and sharp swords, Ralf was struck dumb when faced with what he considered saintly charity. Thus it happened that this third son of a Norman lord with noteworthy rank bent his knee to Signy, innkeeper and offspring of a landless freeman of Saxon birth.

  “Merciful God!” Her face shocked into pallor, she grabbed at his arm. “Stand up before people think I have bewitched you. Neither my rank nor virtue is worthy of this.”

  Obeying with a sheepish look, he was grateful when a nearby commotion caught his attention.

  A woman, whose stringy hair and pinched features suggested greater age than she might truly own, moved with evident pain on roughly made crutches toward the door. From outside, a man leaned into the inn and shouted that she must hurry. She stumbled, falling against a table from which she struggled to right herself.

  A young boy rushed to her aid.

  “Nute is a good lad,” Ralf said, nodding in the boy’s direction and happy he could so quickly change the subject.

  “He and his sister were gifts to me from God.” Signy looked equally relieved before she turned to watch Nute help the woman find her balance with the crutches.

  “More likely they believe you are His blessing on them,” he replied, his expression soft with respect. When Nute’s parents died of the sweating sickness, soon after the death of Signy’s uncle, she had taken in the child and his infant sister because they had no kin to care for them. This act was not the innkeeper’s only charity, as Ralf had good reason to suspect. It was one of the few she openly admitted.

  Signy ignored him and gestured to a man to bring ale for the crowner. “How may I help in this matter of murder?” Her tone announced that the sharp-witted owner of this inn had just supplanted the gentle saint.

  “You are lodging the men who brought the queen’s party to Tyndal Priory long after the bells for None. The murder occurred between their arrival and early this morning.”

  Gesturing with dismay, Signy’s laugh was harsh. “And you think I should know if any of these guards disappeared long enough to kill?” Then she shrugged and gave the crowner a sympathetic look. “How many men did Prioress Eleanor say she had sent to me?”

  He quoted a figure.

  “I can easily confirm that is the number who came here. They did arrive together about the time you suggest. I counted the free beds; we stabled the horses and showed them where they might sleep. Since we also happen to have a group of goldsmiths with their families on pilgrimage to Norwich, a company of soldiers stands out.” Briefly she flashed a mischievous smile. “Not that pilgrims always possess greater chastity and temperance than soldiers. They are simply more inclined to practice discretion with their sinning.”

  For just that instant, she became again the lively serving maid who had once shared his bed. Ralf grinned.

  Signy turned so he could no longer see her face.

  Fearing she had understood his thoughts, the crowner fell silent and hoped she would continue.

  Suddenly, her attention was caught by a disturbance in a far corner of the inn. She called a man over, gave brief instructions, and seemed to forget Ralf was even there until the man gestured that he had settled the matter. Then she went on as if the conversation had never been interrupted.

  “The queen’s guards kept to themselves as I recall. They took their evening meal at that table.” She pointed to a place just left of the door. “Drank profitably enough for the inn’s benefit. Not too much to start fights or cause the pilgrims to complain. Were you to ask if any one of them went missing that night, I could not swear to it either way.” She thought for a moment. “Surely the number gathered for supper must closely match those who arrived. If it would help, I could go over what the inn earned and see if that suggests how many of the soldiers ate here.”

  “Grateful as I am for the kind offer, I doubt the effort would point out a murderer. There is no way to connect a coin with the man who paid it,” Ralf said. “They drank and ate. What did they do afterward?”

  “Gambled. A few sought sleep. One tried to seduce a serving wench, but, knowing I do not tolerate any hint of whoring, she chose the pay I give over any babe with which he might have left her.”

  Ralf heard the trace of bitterness in her voice. Questions about Signy’s own virtue had fluttered about in the past. After her uncle’s death, when she became quite somber and forsook adornment in her dress as if she had been a grieving widow, rumors were finally silenced. Knowing he had a part in both the tales and the change in her, he saddened, yet he was happy the village now greeted her with respect, when she visited the stalls on market day, and that her business prospered.

  Nute raced past the crowner and skidded to a stop in front of Signy, looking up at her without speaking.

  She put an arm around him and hugged him close.

  The orphan’s eyes closed, but not before Ralf saw in them a child’s longing to trust mixed with an equal fear of it.

  “I saw your good deed, Nute,” she whispered. “I am proud of you.”

  He hid his face in her robe.

  Even though he wished otherwise, Ralf knew he must question the child. “Will it trouble Nute if I inquire about any knowledge he has of this matter?”

  He regretted he had not asked Signy more privately and earlier. If she refused permission now, he would have to find another way of getting the information. A crowner might have the right to demand answers from whomever might have them. Ralf was also a father who did not want to frighten any child.<
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  For a moment, she looked as if she might refuse his request, then she sat on the nearby bench and pulled the child into her lap. “Our crowner has some questions,” she said to Nute, holding him tight, “and you have no cause to fear him. He is a good man. If you are uncertain about any answer, whisper it into my ear. I shall decide whether you must reply, stay silent, or should let me answer on your behalf.”

  From her glance Ralf knew just how zealously she would protect the boy. He nodded that he understood this well.

  “Remember there is no excuse for hurtful lies or evasions. God honors those who speak the truth with courage and compassion.” Signy ruffled Nute’s hair.

  Giving Ralf a wary look, the boy snuggled closer to the innkeeper.

  The crowner cursed in silence. If he must do this, he hoped he caused no anguish.

  “Ask your questions,” Signy said, “but no harm shall come to my Nute.”

  Nute muttered something incomprehensible into her breast.

  “Even if he is guilty of doing something wrong,” she added, hugging the boy with fierce reassurance.

  Ralf got down on his knees so his eyes were almost level with Nute’s. The first question must be an easy one, he decided. “Our hermit is a terrifying sight and many fear him. Most do not have the courage to admit it.” He waited for a moment to let the boy think about this. “Are you afraid of him?”

  Nute nodded with vigor.

  “Had I not known him as gentle Brother Thomas from the priory, before he moved into that hut, he would frighten me too with that long beard and wild red hair.” Ralf winked companionably.

  “And his hair does shine like fire in the sunlight.” Signy added, her chin resting on top of Nute’s head. “Many have been awestruck.”

  The crowner was not too sure how to interpret all she meant by those words. Then Nute rewarded him with a weak smile, and Ralf’s thoughts returned to the problem of murder.

  “Some boys tell wicked tales,” he continued, “lies meant to foster terror because, out of false pride, they wish to hide their own, far greater dread.” Ralf saw from Nute’s expression that he had taken the right path here. “If you tell me what the stories were, I promise that those who lied to you will never know you told me.”

  “The hermit flies like a bat,” Nute mumbled, “and captures in his claws those boys who have neither father nor mother. Then he bites them to death.”

  “Even were that true, which it is not, you would have nothing to fear.” Despite his anger over the cruel teasing, Ralf forced a grin. “You have found a mother in Mistress Signy who has sworn to protect you and your sister against all evil.”

  Signy took the boy’s chin in her hand and turned his face so he must look into her eyes. “Aye,” she said, “and you heard me swear on a holy relic.”

  Nute wriggled in her lap until he could sit up, then he straighten his thin shoulders with manly purpose. “You speak the truth, Master Crowner! I watched the hermit. He never flew, morning or night, and he never tried to bite me although he surely knew I was hiding in the bushes near his door.”

  “He did that,” Ralf replied, “and swore to me he would die before he let you come to any harm. Since you did not know that, you showed a man’s courage to observe as you did, both day and night.” He watched the boy flush with pleasure at the compliment. “And I think you were in those bushes the night before last, waiting to see if he flew after dusk.”

  “Aye.” The voice now trembled.

  “All night?” Ralf looked at Signy.

  “He sometimes visits the hut where his parents died, and so I do not worry if he does not come to the inn for a night. He was absent at the time you mention, and I did not see him until late the next morning.” She pressed her cheek against the top of Nute’s head. “You are such a brave lad,” she whispered.

  “And what did you learn that night?” Ralf asked.

  Reaching up, the boy pulled Signy’s head down so he could whisper in her ear.

  “You may tell the crowner all that, child. He will praise you for it.” She winked at Ralf.

  “The hermit did not leave his hut, and I fell asleep. When I awoke, I was very thirsty. The half moon was bright so I could see well enough to slide down the path to the stream below.” He turned pale.

  “And you saw some men?” Ralf hoped he wasn’t suggesting answers to the boy.

  “Aye. Two. They were standing by the pond.”

  “What more did you see or hear?”

  “One turned to the other, asked where the man was that they were to meet, then shoved him to the ground. He laughed as he did it.” Nute looked at Signy.

  She nodded encouragement.

  “The man who had fallen stood up and said something I did not hear. The one who had pushed him replied, ‘Impossible’ and backed away. The other rushed at him. They struggled, and the man who had laughed fell to the ground. The other bent over him, then ran away along the stream toward the priory.”

  “Could you describe the men?”

  Nute squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. “One was very fat,” he said. “One was thin.”

  Ralf waited.

  The child said nothing more.

  “Did you see their faces?”

  The boy shook his head. Fear was painting his face an ashen shade.

  “What did you do after the man ran away?”

  “I waited, then crawled back up the path, and hid in the shrubbery.”

  Signy shook her head at Ralf.

  He indicated he would not force the lad to say more about the murder. “And when did you come back to the inn?”

  “I didn’t think I could sleep, but I must have. I awoke when the hermit came out of his hut the next morning. He didn’t fly then either. I slipped away after he went down the path.”

  “Good lad!” Ralf tousled the boy’s hair. “You proved those wicked lads to be liars about our hermit, and you have helped me beyond measure!”

  “Now go see if the soldiers are well served,” Signy said. “You have earned a reward this day for all you have done. I shall ask the cook if she has some sweet to give you.”

  As he watched Nute run off, the crowner turned to the innkeeper. “Might he know more?” He kept his voice low.

  “If he does, he is too frightened to speak of it. Let him be, and I shall find out if there is aught to learn. God has yet to heal his heart after his parents’ death. That he should have seen a murder is unbearably cruel. Were God merciful, Ralf, He would let him forget this violence he has witnessed.”

  Chapter Twenty

  The Office had ended. Nuns filed out to attend their tasks, whether prayer or less welcome work under the blistering sun.

  Eleanor remained in the shadows of the chapel, hands clasped and neck bent. Her spirit seethed. Rarely had prayer failed to soothe or bring her much needed insight. Now was that uncommon occasion.

  Every muscle and nerve tensed as she willed her mind to concentrate on those supplications she had promised to send to God. At the very least, she must pray that certain souls be granted an early release from Purgatory. The instant she completed each petition, her thoughts drifted away with mulish determination.

  From the world outside, voices of men and women wafted through the hot air, their words muted and all meaning lost. Closer by, she could hear the novice choir singing one portion of a chorus from the Play of Daniel over and over again.

  None of that was a distraction to her. A light scuffling sound nearer to hand was more difficult to overlook.

  She opened her eyes.

  A small, dark, and furry thing sped past her knees.

  One of her cat’s many feline progeny bounded after it.

  Although she had no love for rodents, and found the many kittens a delight, she rather hoped this mouse would escape. After all, this was God’s house and violent death had no place here.

  She sat back on her heels, let her unclasped hands fall to rest on her knees, and surrendered to her failure. No matter how hard
she tried, her prayers were as heavy as leaden tiles and would not rise heavenward. She’d not offer God any excuse for this inability to set worldly things aside even if one cause was not difficult to understand. She was troubled by murder.

  The killing of one of the queen’s men near the priory boded ill for future beneficence from either King Edward or his wife. When kings withdrew their favor, other men of rank followed their lead. Like any leader of a religious house, Eleanor depended on those small gifts of land, rents, or gold chalices to feed, clothe, and inspire her nuns and monks.

  The prioress was not just concerned with the state of her accounting rolls or how brightly the priory plate glittered, she was angry that anyone would dare commit violence against a priory guest. Since all staying here were presumed to be under God’s protection, the act was not only brutal but an affront to hospitality and an offense against God. Although Baron Otes had committed uncounted sins, the right to punish him belonged to God or the king. In this case, she believed the killer had encroached most on God’s authority.

  She gazed up at the window behind the altar. Dimmed by the moss outside, the light struggled to pass through the glass into the chapel. She had refused to order the growth scraped away. The weak glow reminded her and her religious that the human spirit must always strive to see light in the darkness of earthly sin. Now she needed the reminder more than ever to keep her seeking the elusive reason for this crime.

  The first inquiry must establish whether an outlaw or someone from the village was the perpetrator. Since the body was found by the stream outside the priory, both were reasonable possibilities and would be thoroughly investigated by Crowner Ralf. She prayed that investigation would solve the crime.

  She feared otherwise. To her mind, the most significant question lay in why Otes had left the guest quarters at all. He was not native to this region and, to the best of her knowledge, had neither kin nor allies in this part of England. Although he might have slipped out for an evening of whoring and drinking, Eleanor had strong doubts.