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  This woman most certainly deserves my gentler sympathy, Eleanor thought.

  “Have you been offered wine?” Prioress Emelyne’s voice was warm with courtesy.

  Eleanor assured her that she had and desired no more.

  “I regret the delay in greeting you. Your message arrived, but I fear we expected you later in the day. Yet that is an excuse that offends both the spirit of hospitality and God. I offer my most humble apologies. The nun who brought you to me has orders to make sure your two companions are quickly given food and warm, dry clothes. Your own quarters are being prepared as well, and the monk, who traveled with you, will be taken to the men’s house to stay. It is close by.”

  With an understanding look, Eleanor nodded at the clutter of documents. “I have no wish to delay you further in your duties, but Baron Hugh of Wynethorpe, my brother, gave me specific instructions that the charter granting Mynchen Buckland rents must be given to Prioress Amicia and no other. Neither he nor I were aware that you had replaced her.”

  Prioress Emelyne’s face revealed no hint of her thoughts. “Did he give you an explanation for this very specific edict?”

  “Only that he was insistent upon it.”

  “I fear it is impossible to comply. Perhaps you have not heard…?”

  “While I waited outside, I was told that the former prioress, Amicia, has been found guilty of murder and is currently imprisoned here until her sentence is determined in Clerkenwell.”

  Prioress Emelyne nodded. For a moment, she lowered her eyes suggesting that she was struggling with a response.

  Eleanor knew the woman was trying to reply with courtesy but also make it clear that her refusal to obey the baron’s command could not be changed. Having no wish to be unreasonable, she reached into her robe, carefully pulled out the document, and handed it over.

  “Of course, it is impossible for you to abide by Baron Hugh’s demand, but I was obliged to mention it. If you have elder brothers, you know how we must obey them.” Briefly, she raised a questioning eyebrow.

  “I do.” Responding with a cool smile, Emelyne unrolled the charter and began to read.

  While she did, Eleanor noted with interest that the woman was not only able to read the Latin with ease but, from her growing expression of amazed pleasure, had swiftly calculated the generosity and how it would enrich her priory. Hugh might not have explained to his sister why he had chosen to honor this priory, but he had told her the immensity of the gift.

  “He asks for nothing in return?”

  “He is too humble to do so, but he wrote this as he prepared to join King Edward in his current war against the Welsh. I know he would appreciate the prayers of all for his soul.” Hugh would ask for no such thing until he lay on his deathbed, as Eleanor well knew, and would scoff should he ever learn of her request, but she chose to ignore his casual faith. If he was going into the Welsh wilderness, she was determined to beg God’s protection for him against lethal arrows and unexpected attacks in those dense forests.

  “This is most magnanimous. Of course we shall pray for him daily.”

  “I would also beg a smaller favor.”

  “Which shall be granted if I am able.” Emelyne had hesitated an instant too long.

  “I would visit the former prioress, Amicia, in her cell and tell her of my brother’s gift. By so doing, I may obey his wishes and truthfully say I did meet with her.”

  Emelyne appeared about to deny the request.

  “Baron Hugh has known her for a long time, and he would be grateful if I did see her, especially because I must send him word of her sad fate.” She smiled, hoping to convey her need for this favor to placate a difficult but most generous eldest brother. In truth, Hugh had never mentioned this prioress before, and she had only concluded he must know the woman when he also gave her a private letter to deliver to Prioress Amicia. This particular detail Eleanor had not mentioned to Prioress Emelyne, nor did she intend to do so.

  Emelyne’s brown eyes darkened into the color of a smoldering coal.

  Eleanor’s curiosity was sparked. Why this shadow of anger? And why would such a simple entreaty trouble this woman so? Without question, the new prioress was overburdened, but the plea demanded only a simple reply. Were Eleanor refused with a brief but courteous reason, she must accept the decision as surely Emelyne knew.

  Emelyne looked again at the charter and rested a finger on the amount of the gift.

  “I would prefer the meeting be private,” Eleanor said. “Neither you nor I would wish any tales told of this part of my visit.” Her supportive tone was calculated to win Emelyne’s concurrence.

  “An unusual request, but one that may be granted.” Emelyne turned to place the charter on the table behind her. Returning her attention to her guest, she said, “There is no danger of violence in a private meeting. Amicia never contested the accusations against her and spends her days praying to God for mercy.”

  “I will not interrupt her orisons for long. If I could go now, I can honor my brother’s wish and leave her in peace.”

  Emelyne went to the door and gestured to someone outside. “Janeta, her former maid, will take you to the cell,” she said to her guest. “Afterward, she will show you to your quarters and make sure you are comfortable. If you wish your evening meal brought to you instead of joining me…”

  “If I may, I would prefer to eat in silence with the sisters of the priory so I may contemplate His bountiful mercy as do they.”

  Emelyne smiled at the hint that her guest did not expect to be entertained at the prioress’ table.

  And she is also grateful to be relieved of the burden, Eleanor thought, including my intent to observe silence during the meal.

  When the sullen-faced woman entered, Eleanor saw that she was the one who had previously served the mulled wine. She nodded, and then the two prioresses took courteous leave of each other.

  As the Prioress of Tyndal followed the maid to Amicia’s cell, she briefly touched the private letter, hidden inside her robes, which Hugh had given her to deliver. At the time, she had asked no questions but assumed that the woman might be the widow of a man whom Hugh had known in Outremer. Many prioresses of high rank were taking vows on the deaths of husbands if they had no wish to remarry. Although Eleanor was curious about this woman, she had not read it, honoring her brother’s right to remain silent about both content and reason for writing. At least, she could meet this former prioress who was now condemned as a murderer.

  Her eyes on the broad back of the silent Janeta, Eleanor also mused on the inexplicable, albeit short, display of anger exhibited by the prioress. And had there been a growing coolness after the otherwise apologetic and seemingly genuine courtesy with which Prioress Emelyne had initially greeted her and the charitable gift? Perhaps her impression of that had grown out of the long wait they had suffered, as well as her own brittle impatience.

  And yet she was certain that something lurked behind the properly phrased courtesy, even if the cause escaped her. Their arrival had been anticipated, so there had been time to plan for the required hospitality. Eleanor had not placed any unexpected or undue burden on the priory when she arrived. Even the usual invitation to dine with the prioress at her table had been politely refused in favor of the simpler meal with the nuns.

  Although she could think of no good reason why it would be so, Eleanor could not quite dismiss her budding suspicion that the arrival of their little party at Mynchen Buckland was unwelcome.

  Chapter Four

  The guard was elderly, bald, and asleep. His patched robe, faded to dull grey, bore a crude Hospitaller cross. As Eleanor and Janeta approached, his eyes flew open. Their brown coloring was so light it almost matched the unbleached white cross. He pressed his fingers against them, trying to clear his vision.

  Confused, he nodded at Prioress Eleanor. “Where’s Sister Richolda? I don’
t know this one.”

  Janeta gestured for him to stand. “Prioress Eleanor of Tyndal Priory. Come to see Sister Amicia.”

  Clumsily pulling himself onto his feet, he jerked his head up and down with awkward courtesy. “She’s a murderer, my lady. Quiet, though. Prays, mostly.”

  “I am to have an audience with her, alone, and with the door shut.” Eleanor kept her tone gentle, although firm enough to prevent any argument. Some might call the man’s behavior boorish, but she felt no ill will in him, and therefore took no offense.

  “And safe enough to visit alone,” he replied, now rubbing a hand against his bristled cheek. “God knows there is no need to even guard her. We could leave the door open, and she wouldn’t try to escape. Very docile for a murderer.” He blinked at the prioress as if surprised to discover he was speaking to someone other than himself. “Not that I have known other killers. Maybe…” He hesitated, trying to find more words to express whatever it was he had intended to say.

  Janeta cleared her throat and gestured at the door.

  Truly a woman of few words, the prioress thought.

  The guard banged on the cell door with the palm of his hand and then pressed his ear to the wood.

  “Just to let her know in case she’s on the pot or asleep,” he muttered before inserting a key to unlock the door.

  As the door opened, he immediately stepped back, but Janeta headed toward the open door.

  “I wish to be alone with Sister Amicia,” Eleanor said. She thought she had been quite clear about this. Perhaps Janeta had served Amicia so long that she was accustomed to remaining by her side even during private conversations? Yet she was young and thus unlikely to have been a treasured servant of many years. Might the woman lack wits? That had not been apparent. Eleanor simply didn’t know.

  Janeta stood aside and bowed her head. Her reaction was unreadable.

  Eleanor went inside and firmly shut the door. She noticed that no one locked it behind her.

  ***

  The dimly lit room smelled dry and clean. Against the stone wall, Eleanor could see a bed, presumably with a straw mattress, a tiny chest, a table, and a bench to sit on for meals. On the table, a candle flickered in a simple holder, a needed source of light because there was no window in the room.

  As her eyes adjusted to the shadows, she concluded that the place was austere but not uncomfortable. It was slightly bigger but otherwise little different from quarters familiar to most nuns in a larger priory.

  The former Prioress Amicia was kneeling in front of a roughly formed cross hanging on the wall. If she prayed, it was silently. But the delay in greeting her visitor was brief. She stood, folded her hands into her sleeves, and turned to face Eleanor with all the dignity of an older woman who still held high ecclesiastical rank.

  “I am Eleanor, Prioress of Tyndal Priory and sister of Baron Hugh of Wynethorpe.”

  It was hard to tell in the muted light, but Amicia’s expression seemed not to change, although her eyes might have briefly widened. “You are most welcome,” she replied. “My dead husband also went to Outremer to fight. Before he left, your brother brought him advice on the many details of such a pilgrimage and visited our castle to offer instructive tales he had learned from others who had returned from there.”

  “Your husband was martyred in the cause?” At least, she had been right about the reason for Hugh’s acquaintance with this former prioress.

  “He died in an accident not long after his return.” The woman announced this with no hint of sorrow.

  In courtesy, Eleanor bowed her head to express the requisite sympathy.

  “I fear I have no sustenance or wine to offer you.” Amicia gestured at the bare room. “I assume that Prioress Emelyne provided both on your arrival.”

  “She did.” A small lie, but Eleanor saw no need to say otherwise. Quickly retrieving her brother’s hidden letter, she handed it to Amicia. “Baron Hugh sent me with a charter of rents as a gift to this priory and this personal letter to you. Both were supposed to be given to you only…”

  “I assume the charter has been presented to Prioress Emelyne. As I well understand, that part of his wish could not be obeyed.” Amicia took the letter in one hand, briefly pressing it close to her breast before dropping the hand to her side.

  Eleanor told her the terms of her brother’s gift. “Prioress Emelyne knows nothing of this letter, however, nor do I know the contents. I felt I must honor his precise wishes in this one respect.”

  “That decision was extremely kind, Prioress Eleanor. I am sure you know that I have been accused of murder, found guilty by all in Chapter, and now await the final verdict on punishment by our prior in Clerkenwell.”

  “God is your judge, not I, and…”

  The former prioress held up a hand. “There is no need to say more. I have not contested the judgment.”

  Eleanor nodded and fell silent.

  Amicia opened the letter, bent closer to the candle, and began to read.

  Watching the woman, Eleanor concluded that, for whatever reason the former prioress had committed the crime, she had been suffering for her deed. Despite the subdued light, she could see the slack flesh on Amicia’s face and neck, suggesting she had lost weight. There was a jagged scar that sliced through her upper lip, although that may have been an old wound. Her wrists looked like fragile twigs, yet her hands were swollen. As Amicia turned to read another part of the letter, Eleanor noted the woman’s eyes. Sunken deep into her skull, they reflected the glittering flame of the candlelight like pools of black water.

  It was an eerie sight, and she shivered. Quickly, she turned her thoughts elsewhere.

  Of all the Orders he might have chosen to grant such generous rents, why did her brother choose the Hospitallers? Eleanor knew so little of Hugh’s life in Outremer. Was it because his friend’s widow had joined the Order, or was there another reason? She knew he had been wounded at least once. Perhaps he had been healed by the Hospitallers in Acre?

  Although she should chastise herself for it, Eleanor realized she also longed to know more about this crime and the person who had committed it. Here was a woman whose name she had never heard, yet her brother had taken the time to write her a letter, something he rarely did even to his own sister.

  Of course I am curious, Eleanor said to herself. It is no sin to want to understand what pain my brother must have suffered on crusade, or even to want to understand why he had granted this gift. Although he was the head of the family and had every right to make such decisions without consulting her or explaining his intent, he often did both. Despite the difference in their ages and long separation, they had developed a deeper bond since their father’s death.

  Suddenly, Amicia looked up at her visitor and sucked in her lips as if struggling to control an emotion too overwhelming to endure. With a cry, she sank to the floor, letter still clutched in her hand, and began to weep.

  Dropping to her knees, Eleanor put a hand on the woman’s bony shoulder. “Let me summon help! If you do not have an infirmarian…”

  Amicia grasped her arm, looking up at Eleanor with an expression of agony. “I do not need Sister Richolda. It is your help I beg.”

  “What can I offer…?”

  “I know your reputation well, my lady. Please, in the name of our merciful God, prove me innocent of this murder. I swear to you, on any hope I may still have of Heaven, that I never committed the foul deed for which I have been condemned!”

  And with that she thrust herself into Eleanor’s arms and sobbed uncontrollably.

  Chapter Five

  Eleanor was profoundly shaken by what had just occurred. Quietly shutting the door to the cell, she took a deep breath to recover her calm and then turned to Janeta and the guard.

  Neither seemed to notice her distress.

  “Does she want for anything?” Janeta gesture
d at the closed door with evident uneasiness.

  The maid may be abrupt and sullen in manner, Eleanor thought, but she shows great concern for her former mistress. Perhaps she belonged to the few who believed her innocent, or else she was one of those servants so loyal the verdict did not matter.

  “Only to be left in peace,” the prioress replied in a kind voice.

  In truth, Amicia had told Eleanor that she found increasing solace in the quiet of her murky cell. At her request, meals were delivered and removed without a word by the server. Prioress Emelyne had ceased to come, and the priest visited only when Amicia called for him. She tolerated the obligatory visits by the infirmarian, but those would end soon. The ailment she was treating, the former prioress said, would not trouble her for long.

  “She’s never a bother,” the guard said, jabbing a finger into his mouth as if a tooth hurt. Then his eyes widened, and he hurried to lock the door as if just remembering that it confined a murderer inside.

  “Shall I take you to your quarters, my lady?” The brief light in Janeta’s eyes had faded, and once again her gaze was as dull as her tone.

  “I wish to see Sister Anne and Brother Thomas first. Please take me to them.”

  Janeta brusquely nodded and strode off like a lady of rank who fully expected her minions to follow close behind.

  Deep in thought, Eleanor trailed the maid along the stone corridor. As the distance from the cell increased, her uneasiness over Amicia’s plea and the decision to help her grew greater.

  Might she have been bewitched by the darkness in the cell and only now, in the brightness of God’s light, able to see how the Devil had weakened her reason and used her for some evil purpose? Was Amicia a killer, after all?

  She forgot Janeta and paused by a window to watch the sunlight dance and play with the raindrops on a nearby roof.