Justice for the Damned Read online

  In the distance, a crow cawed, the grating sound heard clearly above the rush of the river’s waters.

  “My daughter most heartily agrees!” Jhone’s tone was flat with forced enthusiasm. “And would have answered herself were she not dreaming of how happy she shall be upon your marriage.” Although she remained some feet behind the wooing couple, the sharp rebuke in these last words was not softened by the separation.

  Alys said nothing, and the color in her face now darkened even more. She stopped and kicked at a rock in the path. The force sent the stone flying over the tall grass and into the river.

  Herbert folded his arms and studied the flight of the rock with a thoughtful look. When he saw the splash, he turned around and motioned Jhone to turn away.

  “Oh!” the mother exclaimed softly, reading his meaning well. Studying the ground as if she had dropped something, she began to walk slowly back toward the village.

  The vintner stepped close to Alys and reached for her hand.

  The girl folded her arms into the sleeves of her robe.

  He bent to her ear and whispered: “I may be twice your age, but my breath is still sweet and my rod can give much joy to one who has known only callow boys.”

  Alys glared, and her nose wrinkled with disgust.

  “My first wife was pleased enough with me as husband, mistress. Take heart in that. Few of us marry as we wish, but many find joy nonetheless. You will forget Bernard’s fumblings in time.”

  Alys raised her hand to strike.

  Herbert stepped back. “Ah, see how modest your daughter is!” he called out with merry laughter. “I promise her a tender wedding night, and she blushes with such innocence.”

  Jhone turned around and waved brightly at the couple. To herself, she prayed that she could get her still virginal daughter into this merchant’s bed before the girl gave up that virtue to her precious glover.

  Alys froze, her mouth open to protest, and her hand still raised. Then she shuddered, spun around, and raced off toward the priory.

  Herbert watched the young woman hurry away. As his gaze dropped below her waist, his tongue circled his lips. Although this union had been arranged for economic benefit, he seemed to have concluded that some of Alys’ other charms might be equally compelling. He shook his head and strolled back toward the widow.

  “Your daughter is fortunate to have you as an example of wifely virtue, Mistress Jhone,” he said as he reached her side. “You were a most worthy spouse to your dead husband, and he spoke often of your thoughtful obedience and sweet modesty, qualities all Christian women should share. He may have spent many hours drinking with his friends at the inn, but he always went home to you. Not once did he dishonor your marriage by bedding another woman, although there were many to tempt him.” He smiled down at her. “As his close friend, I can confirm his fidelity.”

  Jhone bit her lip.

  “Are you sure you will not reconsider my offer?” Herbert’s breath brushed the widow’s ear.

  “You are generous to offer marriage to a poor widow of my years, sir,” she whispered hoarsely, “but I cannot remarry. To share another man’s bed would be like putting horns on my dead husband’s brow. Nay, I shall go to him at death as faithful a spouse as I have been since we wed.”

  “The Church would give its blessing. Remarriage is no sin.”

  “To some it is, and I am one who believes it so. Which man would I call my earthly lord, and at whose side should I stand on Judgement Day? Nay, Master Herbert, my daughter is the better choice and more likely to bear you sons as well. Remember that I bore my husband only one living child and that a daughter.” She winced as if stabbed with a sudden pain.

  The vintner’s palm lightly touched Jhone’s waist but did not stay. “Your late husband gave you no sons, mistress. With due respect to my old friend and your honored spouse, my seed has proven stronger. My dead wife, may God have mercy upon her, bore three sons for me, but they all died soon after birth. She was weak of body, I fear. Even all the daughters failed to thrive.” He rubbed the corner of his eyes with one finger. “I wish that had not been true, but you were her childhood friend and saw how quickly my beloved Eda grew frail.”

  “She suffered so!” An unrestrained tear slipped from the widow’s eye. “No, I could never take her place in your bed. To do so would be a betrayal.”

  “Betrayal? Never! Nor would she think such a thing, even though her soul twists in Hell’s fires. Your fidelity to her memory has been constant enough to prove your loyalty. You are amongst the few who share my belief that she was wrongly accused of self-murder and should have been buried in sanctified ground.”

  “I pray daily at her grave.”

  “Just so! On my own hope of heaven, I swear it would please our Eda to see us comfortably wed to each other. May I not persuade you to take me as spouse?” He bent to kiss her.

  Jhone turned her head away from the vintner’s lips, although the slowness with which she did so suggested some reluctance. “You need sons, sir. Your seed should be planted, not in the weak body of this aging widow, but in a strong girl like my Alys…”

  “…a daughter who appears inclined to reject my suit and join this Order of Fontevraud where Eve rules Adam. A most unnatural Order methinks, although I believe it is much favored at the king’s court.” Herbert stepped away to put a more respectable distance between them.

  “Fear not! My daughter shall take vows for cert, but they will be earthly ones as your wife at the church door.”

  “So you say, yet she continues to refuse marriage with me with unwomanly determination.”

  Jhone’s face flushed. “She will be persuaded. As for her plea to become a nun at this priory, I swear that I shall not allow such a thing.”

  Herbert frowned as if deep in thought, reached for her hand, and placed it lightly on his arm. “Nor would I, were she my child. This priory is most undeserving of her, a cursed place I think. Although I have said that the spirit haunting this priory must be our Eda, longing for proper burial, I cannot discount those who say the founding queen has returned to condemn those false monastics for their lewdness.”

  “Yet the priory has been of assistance to the village. My sister’s son and husband both earn their bread there, along with many others from Amesbury. Prioress Ida is known for her generosity to the poor, feeding their bodies and praying for their souls.”

  “She is a chaste and honorable virgin herself, but we cannot ignore with what disgrace priory monks follow Satan’s song over the broken wall to the inn where they satisfy their unholy lusts.”

  “That is surely past! My sister told me the wall has been repaired and no one has since…”

  “Your sister says? Forgive me, but I cannot give credence to her opinions. Honest though she may be, your sister is not known for her judgement in worldly matters. Did she not resist, like your daughter does now, when your parents proposed an honorable marriage many years ago? Did she not instead marry a rogue, a man who once spied on tradesmen, men traveling to make fair profit, for the purpose of sending masterless men to rob them of their wealth?” Herbert let his words sink in. “Nay, I am not convinced that the priory has ceased sinning and have long questioned the competence of its leadership. How wise was it, for example, to give work in priory fields to a man like your sister’s husband?”

  “Wulfstan was never found guilty of any crime…” Jhone quickly lowered her head as if apologizing for her quick speech. “I thought the priory kind…”

  Herbert patted her hand. “What sweet, feminine charity you show! Even though he was never arrested for his foul deeds, most of us know your brother-in-law was a felon.” Sighing, he continued. “The old prioress, who is most assuredly in Heaven for her charitable spirit, may have been ill-advised to hire such a man, but I cannot dispute her soft-hearted motives in doing so, nor yours in defending them.”

  The two fell silent as the May sun enfolded them with amiable warmth. To their ri
ght, a row of yellow-cheeked Great Tit chicks, evenly spaced along a tree branch, filled the air with raucous protest over an unacceptable parental delay in their feeding.

  Jhone’s lips curved into a brief smile at the sight.

  “Very well, I trouble you no longer with my pleas, although I trust that you will tame your wayward Alys and keep her from following the ill-advised example of her aunt.”

  “I shall.”

  “And teach your daughter how to serve a husband as you yourself did with your dear spouse? That is not so much to ask in return for my devotion and the sharing of my wealth.”

  “You may count on it, sir.”

  “And persuade her that convent vows are not for her?”

  She nodded.

  “I shall be most thankful to you for all of this and will demonstrate my gratitude in a more tangible form as soon as the marriage takes place.” His lips smiled, but his eyes lacked the glow of comparable joy.

  A scream shattered the peaceful morning.

  Jhone picked up her robe and raced toward the river. The vintner was not far behind.

  When they reached the trembling Alys, the pair quickly saw the cause of her horror. A dead body bobbed gently in the tangled growth at the edge of the Avon. Although each of them knew most of the townspeople of Amesbury, none could identify whose body it might be.

  The corpse had quite lost its head.

  Chapter Eight

  “He is my father.” Sayer stumbled backwards as if the pale, headless body had pushed him away with spectral hand.

  Thomas put a comforting arm around the son’s shoulders but quickly drew it back when he saw Sayer’s eyes narrow with anger.

  “We feared as much,” replied Brother Infirmarian. “I recognized the broken arm I had set some years ago. The bone had broken the skin just there. Wulfstan was lucky to have survived that one.”

  “A cruel kindness since he lived only to be murdered.” The son’s voice was flat.

  “The deed was a most foul thing,” Sister Anne said. Standing behind Thomas, she frowned in thought. “To behead a man after killing him is a devilish act.”

  Brother Infirmarian shrugged, then gave her a sheepish look. “I treat the living and leave the cause of death to God, but Sister Beatrice told me that you have skill with both.”

  “Beheaded. Stabbed. Pushed into the river to drown. What does any of that matter? My father is dead. He should have gone to God as an old man with a cleansed soul and whispers of love in his ears.” Sayer stared at the body now fully covered on the trestle table. Tears had yet to dampen his cheeks.

  Thomas felt a kindred sting in his own heart. He, too, was bereft of any final word with the man who had sired him. “Your mother…” he began.

  “She will live.”

  “I pray she will! My concern was…”

  “She has a plot of land.” Sayer’s hands formed fists. “We need no charity.”

  “Nor did I think otherwise.” Thomas’ voice softened. “Does she not have you?”

  The bright anger in Sayer’s eyes faded, leaving only a muted but flickering glow.

  “I knew not if she had been told about your father’s death.” Thomas looked first at the other monk, then at Sister Anne. “That was my question.”

  Brother Infirmarian shook his head.

  The young man put his hands over his eyes, pressing his fingers into his brow as if he suffered an intolerable pain. “Will you bury my father in sanctified ground?”

  “There is no reason to do otherwise,” Brother Infirmarian replied. “Although he was not shrived before his death, we will surely pray for his soul. In that you may find comfort…”

  “What if the ghost killed him?” Sayer interrupted.

  Brother Infirmarian’s eyes opened wide with horror. Clearly he had not thought about this complication. “If Satan seized his soul…”

  “Ghosts do not kill,” Thomas snapped.

  “I would not be so certain,” the son replied, his voice as cold as the corpse on the table. Then he turned his back on them all and strode out of the chapel.

  ***

  “Not Wulfstan!” Jhone put her hand to her mouth, her eyes round with shock.

  “You were acquainted with him?” Thomas asked as gently as he could.

  Herbert answered for the woman beside him. “He was married to Mistress Jhone’s sister.”

  “What will Drifa do alone?” she whispered. “Their children!”

  Realizing it would be cruel to question a woman lost in the distress of both murder and its consequences, Thomas turned to the tall, dark-haired man. “How could this have happened?” he asked.

  Herbert shrugged. “Who knows? Our laws are lax, and evil men are everywhere. Any one of them might have met this man on the road and killed him for some little thing. Of the man himself, I can say little. He was free, of course, but a poor creature with few skills, unless thievery…”

  Thief? Thomas blinked at the word.

  “Even if the tales were true, all that was many years ago!” Tears slipped down Jhone’s cheeks. “He had long been an honest man. I beg you to show compassion!”

  “I did not mean to do otherwise, although I could never include him amongst those I would call upright men.”

  “I am not unmindful of this dreadful thing you have just seen,” Thomas said, “but if Wulfstan had enemies or was engaged in something outside the law, please tell me now.”

  “Why?” Herbert asked. “Surely this is a matter for secular law. The body was found beyond the priory walls.”

  Thomas cursed himself for not thinking before he spoke. Quickly he tried to cloak his odd demand with some reason. “The sheriff is delayed. If you give me the details now, I will pass them on to him when he arrives, and you will not be troubled by questions from him.” His mind raced. If Wulfstan had the reputation for thievery, could he have been part of some band that planned to steal the Amesbury Psalter? Had something gone wrong that had resulted in his murder? Maybe not, but he had to know whether or not this was a possibility.

  “As Mistress Jhone has said, my comment dealt with events long ago.” Herbert’s lips curled into a sneer. “I did not respect the man, but I know of no crime he committed in recent years.”

  “Old sins sometimes return to haunt.” Anything, Thomas thought, just tell me anything.

  “He labored on priory lands,” Herbert continued. “You must ask Prioress Ida, or Sister Beatrice in her stead, about his service. For my part, I have not heard any tales to suggest his work was not diligently done or that any of his fellow laborers had issue with him.”

  “No rumors? No suggestion of problems or worry?”

  The man folded his arms. “I will be happy to talk to the sheriff when he returns.”

  Jhone suddenly looked up at Herbert. “There was that one matter…” Her voice was just above a whisper.

  With an abrupt gesture of his hand, Herbert interrupted her. “Nay, mistress, do not even mention that petty thing. It would never have resulted in such a brutal killing.” He scowled at Thomas. “I fear our brother here merely longs to satisfy some worldly interest in gossip, for he has no authority in this matter. You and I shall talk further in private, once you have recovered from your shock, and I will discuss what is needed with the sheriff.”

  “I meant only to save you distress,” Thomas said through clenched teeth.

  “And have forgotten charity, a virtue all monks should both learn and practice? Perhaps your intentions were benign, Brother, but your questions are impertinent and inconsiderate. As you should see, Mistress Jhone is too upset to remain here.” Herbert waved at the monk with barely concealed contempt. “To humor you, I will say this. Please listen carefully for I will not repeat it.” The merchant bent forward as if talking to a child and enunciated each word slowly. “Neither of us knows any mortal who had such a wicked hatred for the man that they would slay him in so foul a manner.” He stepped back. “
Does that satisfy your small curiosity?”

  Thomas felt his face turn hot with humiliation. How dare the merchant speak to him in this way? Bastard I might be, he shouted to himself, but I am no churl! In thoughtless fury, he spun around and faced the pale Jhone. “You have no idea who might have done this either?” he snapped.

  The woman looked up at the vintner with pleading eyes.

  Herbert’s face darkened.

  Instantly, the monk regretted his action. Like a coward he had attacked a weak and innocent person.

  “For a monk who claims to love compassion, Brother, you have a harsh enough tongue. I think we have humored you enough.” Herbert took the widow’s arm with tenderness. “Come, mistress. We have answered all we need of this monk’s rude queries.” Firmly, he turned the woman away from Thomas, but not before giving him a thin but triumphant smile.

  The monk denounced himself for his burst of temper that had allowed the merchant’s easy victory in this battle of wills.

  When the couple reached the entry door to the small chapel, however, Herbert suddenly stopped. Looking back at the monk with a thoughtful expression, he said in a tone that was almost conciliatory: “You might ask if the ghost killed him, Brother, and if her spirit had some quarrel with him.”

  The words were like cold water in Thomas’ face, quenching all his fury in a trice. As he watched the pair leave, he stared with growing uneasiness at the sunshine streaming through the open door. If he hoped the brightness would present him with a real killer instead of murderous ghosts, he was disappointed. The light revealed only dust motes that drifted about with unruly grace.

  Chapter Nine

  Leaning back into her chair, Eleanor stared at Adam and Eve in the tapestry above the chamber door and pondered the news of Wulfstan’s murder.

  Her first reaction had been outrage. Not only was her beloved priory troubled with this vile and unlawful act, but had she not come here to escape death? For the last two years, she had been forced to deal with murders and had nearly died of a fever herself. Could God not grant her some respite?