Valley of Dry Bones mm-7 Page 2

  “We have a new king, my son, and I now serve his lady wife. Although she knows of my marriage to your father, she shows no fear when I am about her person. This proves I have reason to hope…”

  “Hope is well enough for women. A man should be forceful and carve his own destiny. You would do better to find someone who would loan me money for a horse and armor. Then I might gain a fine reputation by fighting in tournaments abroad. King Edward is more likely to smile on a man who has won honor in combat than on one who waits for a woman to soften a path for him.”

  “Do not be so impatient for good fortune. Patience and prudence are not traits only the weak possess. They are also virtues much respected by earthly kings.”

  His forehead creased with annoyance.

  As Avelina gazed upon her only living child, her look turned gentle. She patted the arm which had just shrugged off her touch. Although her son might not love her, and did resent this journey she insisted he take, she was relieved he could acknowledge how hard she had worked to regain what his father had lost by bad judgement.

  This time, Simon tolerated her affectionate gesture. “Men with tonsures or grey beards may agree with you. King Edward is young, a crusader and not a monk. Youth is fleeting,” he replied, his voice dropping to add gravity to his speech. “Coming with you has only delayed me in my quest to prove my sword arm worthy of land and title. You should have left me at court. Alone, I might have gotten the weapons I need to gain the notice of a warrior king.”

  His words made her shiver. “While you argue with some merit, my son, your actions contradict those fine words. Had you shown more restraint with your tongue and lusts, I might have left you behind, but you willfully ignored my warnings. Swyving willing servant girls may be one thing. Trying to force a virgin of rank into your bed is quite another.”

  He snorted. “So she tells the tale! She was eager enough to seduce me. To my shame, I weakened. Immediately, she pretended to protest. Lustful creature, she knew that resistance would enflame a man’s desire beyond any hope of containment.”

  “Her mother said she screamed and tried to flee.”

  “You take her word over mine, as all women would.”

  Weary with the pointless arguing, Avelina shook her head. “Although I may own that weakness of my sex, know that fathers often believe their daughters too. If nothing else, they may seek revenge when a daughter is cruelly beaten because she tries to protect her chastity.” She squeezed her eyes shut with increasing weariness. “Whether or not you understand the implications of your actions,” she continued with a sigh, “I knew it was best to remove you from court for a while and can only pray the girl’s mother succeeds in hushing the deed by the time we return.”

  Simon’s mouth settled into a pout.

  Avelina looked away from her son, again savoring the beauty of Tyndal’s grounds and inhaling the soft scent of brightly petalled flowers and ripe fruit. Were she to turn her back on worldly matters and repent her many sins in such a place as this, she might find that peace with which she had rarely been blessed.

  Maybe she should permit Simon to go his own way, as he had demanded. Doing so, she might at last cut herself free of that bitterness of heart stemming from the family’s downfall. How easily prestige had been won, she thought, and then how quickly lost. For an instant, she imagined the tranquility of serving God.

  Doubt began to nibble at the calm. Were she to take vows and Simon failed in his plans, falling even farther from a king’s grace, could she ignore the cries of the boy whom she bore with both pain and joy? Would she stay on her knees, deaf to her son while she lifted her arms to Heaven? She knew she would cast all hopes of Heaven aside and rush to the boy’s side.

  “Mother.”

  The young man’s tone was so chill that her heart clenched with jagged pain. Pressing her hand against her breast to subdue the hurt into numbness, Avelina knew she would forgive all his failings if only he loved her again as he had as a bright-eyed babe.

  His narrowed eyes were not directed toward her, however. He was glaring at another, and his mouth twisted into a snarl. “Do you know why Baron Otes was included in our party?”

  Exhaling in relief that she was not the object of Simon’s disdain, she quickly replied, “I believe he has the king’s favor.”

  “What a pity,” the young man muttered. “I hate him.”

  Before Avelina could respond to those words, a lay brother appeared to take her mare, another to lead her to the chamber she would occupy for the visit.

  In an instant, Kenard was by her side.

  Simon walked away.

  Saddened that her son never thought to show her a like courtesy, she took the servant’s arm and nodded her appreciation. The fatigue, briefly set aside, now returned, and she realized that every step she made required force of will.

  As they turned toward the guest lodgings, Avelina hesitated to gather herself to the task and watched Sir Fulke talking with the tiny woman who held a crosier in her hand.

  “How young to be a prioress,” she remarked in a low voice, “and her manner is so grave. One might conclude that God has endowed her with wisdom far beyond her years.”

  Kenard followed his mistress’ gaze. He nodded with solemnity.

  Close to losing the battle against exhaustion, Avelina closed her eyes. Quickly she opened them as she felt herself falling into sleep.

  Kenard gripped her arm.

  The lady turned to look for Simon.

  He was talking with Father Eliduc.

  Perhaps the kind priest could succeed in directing her son onto a wiser path, she thought, something all others had failed to do. The boy had sought the company of Father Eliduc frequently during the journey, although Simon had never expressed more than a perfunctory faith. Just the other night, the priest had suggested to her that this visit to Tyndal might be beneficial to her son’s soul.

  “I shall pray for a miracle,” she murmured, too tired to realize she had spoken aloud.

  Bracing her with firmer grasp, Kenard nodded.

  Yearning to find ease, Avelina now gestured to the lay brother that she was ready to follow him. Too exhausted to bear the additional burden of pride, she learned heavily on Kenard’s arm.

  In this way, lady and servant walked in silence and with heavy step to the guest quarters.

  Chapter Four

  A crowner and a hermit lay naked on the bank of a stream while the gracefully tumbling water flashed sparks in the sunlight. The priory mill served by its meandering course was not far, and the rhythmic thump of the great wooden wheel provided deep counterpoint to the higher pitched murmur of flowing water.

  With an unabashed grunt of pleasure, Crowner Ralf stretched, his body wet from the recent swim in the nearby pond. “Have I been changed into a lizard, Brother?” he asked.

  Brother Thomas, now better known as the hermit of Tyndal, kept his eyes closed against the blinding sun. “You must be a man, for I have never heard a reptile speak. Although Eden’s serpent was eloquent enough, his descendants have long been rendered mute.”

  Ralf rolled over and propped his head on his hand as he studied the man he considered a friend despite their difference in vocation. “Nor have you changed at all yourself. I confess I cannot see any hermit’s nature in you, although I never quite saw a monk either.”

  Thomas abruptly sat up, grabbed for his robe, and pulled the rough garment over his head.

  Rubbing at his eyes, the crowner winced. “Forgive me. I intended no offense. Gytha must oft remind me that my blunt tongue wounds more than my sword ever could.”

  The frown on Thomas’ forehead smoothed, and he turned to the crowner with a grin. “Gytha is cruel to reveal your unhappy secret. How did you survive as a soldier with such poor skills? Did you have a dog to bite where your sword could not?”

  “There have been enough corpses to prove my competence. Methinks she meant my sword is so dulled from use that it could not cut the beard you’ve grown nor your length
of hair.” Sitting up, he scratched at his armpit. “Those at the hospital miss your gentle touch with the dying. I should have said that. My words were ill-chosen.”

  The monk raised an eyebrow. “Have you been to the priory then? I pray there has been no misdeed to trouble Tyndal’s peace.”

  “Nay, unless my dear brother has brought it.”

  “Sir Fulke is at Tyndal?”

  “I thought the boy from the inn brought you tidings along with food and drink?”

  “He fears to intrude, or else I frighten him with my wild look.” Thomas tried to run his hand through his shoulder-length auburn hair. His fingers caught in the tangles. “I suspect he hides until I leave the hut, then he sets the jug and basket at the door and runs away.”

  Ralf slammed his palm down on the ground with joy. “Perhaps I must visit you often so you will learn all the local tales!” Just as quickly, his expression darkened into a solemn one. “Unless my presence offends you. I have hesitated to come before now, knowing full well I am a wicked man and you have sworn yourself to a holy desert father’s life.”

  “We are all sinful creatures, Ralf. You less than most.” The monk tossed a small pebble into the running stream. “I am no different than I was when I comforted the sick at the hospital. As for becoming like a desert father, I can swear that no wild thing feeds me. Rather it is Signy from the inn who does so for the good of her soul. I am no more saintly than you, giving you no cause to avoid me. The sight of your face is ever welcome here.”

  “Then I do not understand why you sought this lonely place as a hermitage?”

  “Did Gytha not counsel you against digging up a man’s motives when no crime has been committed?”

  The crowner’s face flushed with embarrassment before realizing Thomas was jesting. “I have little experience of hermits. When I was a soldier, I did meet a few along the road. They may have offered me a dutiful hospitality, but there was evidence of honest glee when I left them in the morning.”

  “As you noted, no hermit is ever completely alone. In truth, Crowner, my stay here was always meant to be temporary. Our anchoress advised me to seek greater solitude if I wished to hear God’s voice more clearly. Beyond those admissions, I shall confess nothing more to you.” He smiled to temper his words, then wrapped his arms around his knees and looked in the direction of Tyndal. “Tell me more of your brother’s strange visit. Surely he does not seek a monastic life.”

  Ralf spat. “One of the few things he and I share is contempt for our middle brother who glistens with fat after vowing himself to poverty.”

  Amused rather than offended by the remark, Thomas put his hand over his mouth to hide a smile.

  “Nay, our new queen has mentioned she might undertake a pilgrimage in gratitude to God for bringing her and her lord safely home to England. Fulke, as sheriff here, volunteered to lead a party of those who must confirm that the route, fare, and accommodations are suited to royal needs. Tyndal Priory lies at the end of the journey.”

  “With Norwich so close, with a fine abbey and softer beds, I wonder that Queen Eleanor would choose to stay at our humble priory.”

  “My brother’s very question. I suggested that Sister Anne’s fame and her hospital may have caught the attention of our new king. Nor is it unreasonable to conclude that Prioress Eleanor’s reputation for solving murders might be of interest to the queen.”

  “I concede the former to you. As for the latter, the queen might find it troubling that murder and our prioress are so often linked. If I were King Edward’s wife, I would not greet with especial joy anyone who brings Death along as her frequent companion!”

  “Granted. Tyndal Priory might not be the queen’s first choice, should she ever wish to retire from the world and your prioress be its leader still.”

  “It does seem more likely that our lady queen wishes to visit the hospital.” Thomas bent his head back as if his neck had stiffened. “Have the new guest quarters and stables been completed? They were being built when I left the priory grounds.”

  Ralf nodded.

  “The chambers should be comfortable, albeit austere. Even though there is a need for such lodging, our prioress will not change this priory into a manor house for courtiers. As for the fare offered, whatever comes from Sister Matilda’s kitchen could convert any queen into a Fontevraudine nun.”

  The crowner gnawed at the side of his middle finger.

  “And the voices of our novice choir under Brother John would awe one of God’s angels, let alone a king’s wife.”

  “Aye.”

  “And knowing the passion with which you long for this, I am sure Sir Fulke will finally agree to join with you in becoming friars together.”

  Ralf nodded. Then he realized what the monk had just said. Horror paled his face.

  “Forgive my jest. Why are you troubled? Something has distracted you.” Thomas hesitated. “Is all well with your daughter?”

  “Sibely thrives, and Gytha comes often enough to spoil her should my child lack any attention from this fond father or from the gentle maid who tends her.”

  Thomas nodded with relief. Although Ralf’s dead wife had never won the crowner’s heart, she had given him a child he adored. The monk was grateful no tragedy had struck the wee babe.

  “It is Fulke’s visit.” Grabbing his clothes, the crowner tugged them on with angry impatience. “Methinks he plans another marriage for me.” His voice was taut with fury.

  “Are you so set against it? Having a mother of her own might be a wise thing for your daughter. However much Gytha loves her, she will surely marry, bear children of her own, and have less time for Sibely. The nurse may wed as well. She is a local lass and, with what you pay her, she must have lads preening like cocks at her door.”

  “Satan’s tits!” Ralf snatched up a rock and hurled it at the closest tree. Bark exploded off the trunk from the force of the impact.

  Awaiting an explanation for the outburst, Thomas said nothing.

  “I did Fulke’s bidding once,” the crowner growled. “If I do take another wife, I shall wed as I choose.”

  Chapter Five

  Sir Fulke paced like an anxious fox seeking refuge from a pack of hounds. Where were those lay brothers who swore they’d stable the horses, then return to take the party to the guest quarters? Although the men had appeared once to serve the Lady Avelina, they had long since vanished.

  Now that the requisite words of courtesy had been spoken and graceful bows executed with that horde of religious gathered to greet the queen’s party, Fulke was impatient to be freed from this company of courtiers, none of whom he liked. He had been traveling for much too long and itched from the dust that had bonded firmly with his sticky flesh. Today the hot ride had been made interminable because Baron Otes had insisted on retreating into the bushes for lengthy prayer.

  “Or more likely relief of his leaden bowels,” he muttered. Rubbing his neck, the sheriff winced. In addition to everything else, his skin was burned raw by the sun.

  To further befoul his mood, Fulke had a proposal he must present to his youngest brother, a conversation he dreaded. Of the three brothers, Ralf was the contrary one, prone to resisting any reasonable plan and possessed of a tongue that was sharp and profane. The sheriff longed to complete the unpleasant task as quickly as possible. Although the queen’s business with Tyndal Priory might be amicably settled in the time between Sext and dinner, the discussion with his youngest brother promised to sour Fulke’s stomach for days.

  Growing ever more disgusted with this long wait, he scrutinized the priory grounds. If the lay brothers did not return soon, he might seek out the fish ponds, strip, and wade around to cool his reddened flesh. If nothing else, the sight of his naked body splashing companionably with the evening meal might force either prior or prioress to find those errant lay brothers. He grinned with impudent pleasure.

  Then he looked at the walls of the priory, darkly stained with stubborn moss, and lost even that brief joy. “The o
nly things thriving in this place are rot and mold,” he muttered to his sweating horse. “In this heat, the ponds have surely gone dry, and all fish must long be dead.”

  His eyes stung, his head ached, and his heart filled with hatred for this vile land. He had lost nothing by leaving behind the noxious fogs, plagues of biting insects, brutal storms, and pervasive mold. Since boyhood, he had hated the fens and the sea. His nights had often been filled with sweet dreams of escape.

  Glaring at the earth beneath his feet, Fulke grudgingly acknowledged he was grateful Ralf had taken on the position of crowner here. While his brother handled all those trifling matters of local justice in this forsaken mud hole, Fulke was free to stay at court and further family interests. Ralf was not only tolerant of East Anglian winter mire and the thick summer air, he seemed to like it. A modicum of fond appreciation for this insolent brother slipped into Fulke’s heart. It was just as quickly chased away.

  After all, his rough brother was possessed of little subtlety, less tact, and was far better suited to examining rotting corpses and hunting down lawless men. Fulke might own the title of sheriff, but he cared nothing about assessed fines, unless the money came from his own coffers, or whether a man, other than one of his villeins, was murdered or died by accident. Why should he waste his talents on these matters when he could play the intricate political games at the king’s court and thereby increase family land and wealth?

  Unfortunately, the question reminded him of the matter he must discuss with prickly Ralf. He rubbed his eyes and groaned.

  “You are troubled, my lord?”

  Turning to see Father Eliduc nearby, Fulke swallowed a curse. The fellow made him uneasy.

  The man in black smiled.

  Could the creature read thoughts? Fulke instinctively shut his eyes to protect his soul. Maybe this man was no priest at all, but rather Satan’s liegeman instead of God’s. For an instant, the sheriff hoped that was the case and wondered if God would forgive him if he throttled Eliduc.