Priscilla Royal - Covenant With Hell

Peering around the corner, the killer confirmed that no one was approaching this alley and decided it was safe to leave as well.

Some would say it was unwise to remain in Walsingham after killing the craftsman and advise escape. But that counsel failed to take into account what was involved in the greater goal of killing a king. Not only was it necessary to stay until the king came to Walsingham, but fleeing without good cause sparked interest. By themselves, the king’s men might not recognize a fugitive as a murderer, but Master Durant could and would not hesitate to point a finger in the right direction.

Mistakes in the execution of lofty deeds must never be made. Even little ones could be fatal to the purpose. Careful though the assassin had been, there was one thing that had not been done, something that should have been destroyed after the death of Sister Roysia.

But discovery of the nun’s body had been unfortunately swift. There had been little time or privacy to take care of the matter then. Ryehill Priory might be small, but the nuns did occasionally walk the hall outside the tower door. Escape without detection from the bell tower had been paramount.

With all the nuns at prayer, now was the right moment to remedy that error.

***

If anyone had been standing outside Master Larcher’s house just then, they might have seen a vague shape become one with the darkness of that narrow alley leading to the nun’s priory. Perhaps they would have asked, in this town of sacred shrines, if the creature they witnessed was mortal at all. Might it be a damned soul still seeking absolution when there was no longer any hope of it?

In their tiny private chapel within the priory, the nuns of Ryehill softly intoned the words of the Office. The chant, which usually calmed her, stabbed at Eleanor’s ears like pricking thorns. To dull the pain, she pressed her hands against the sides of her head.

A nun glanced at her with an anxious look as if closing her ears to the chant meant the prioress of Tyndal was struggling with Satan.

Eleanor ignored her. This was the start of one of her terrible headaches.

With the turmoil after the death of Sister Roysia, she had failed to take her daily doses of feverfew prescribed by Sister Anne, and she was about to suffer for that negligence. Her stomach roiled, and she silently berated herself.

The life of King Edward was in danger, and a nun had been killed. This was not the time to flee to a dark room where she prayed she might endure a pounding so fierce that it promised to burst her skull like a stone shot from a trebuchet. She must try to lessen the severity of this illness.

When she had joined them all at prayer, she chose to kneel away from any direct sunlight in the back of the chapel. She should have realized then that the sensitivity of her eyes to a paltry light did not bode well. Soon she could not bear the pain from the flickering candles, let alone the weak sunlight from the one window, and she began to feel nauseous.

Eleanor rose. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the frightened nun cross herself. The prioress quickly slipped out of the chapel.

The hallway on the way back to the pilgrims’ chamber was empty. Briefly, she hesitated at the ill-fitting entry door to the bell tower. It grieved her that Ryehill was so poor that the only proper door it could afford was the one seen by the world.

But she quickly walked on. The pain had grown too much to bear no matter how much she longed to concentrate on prayer or to seek more clues that might lead to a killer. She must find the feverfew that Sister Anne had put in linen packets for the journey.

When she entered the guest chamber, no one was there. The woman and her child, who so kindly accompanied her to meet Brother Thomas at the Shrine of the Virgin’s Lock, had returned home with her husband. Only she and Mistress Emelyne now shared the quarters, although the nuns had laid down several new straw mattresses for the pilgrims who would arrive in droves during Easter week. The relative peace of seeing the shrines without the crowds would soon end.

She was grateful she had chosen this quieter time to visit the pilgrimage sites. The very thought of the coming hubbub caused the throbbing in her head to increase unbearably.

The feverfew was in the chest where she and the widow kept their few personal belongings. It would not take long to find the carefully apportioned herbs. Little would be left in the chest now that the other pilgrim had gone. Eleanor took hold of the heavy lid and raised it.

The articles inside had been disturbed. Apparently the young mother had not respected the rights of others to share the space and left all in a tumble. Desperately, Eleanor dug through the things in the chest to find the feverfew. A stronger wave of nausea hit her, and she swallowed several times, desperate not to vomit.

Then one item caught her attention. When she pulled it out of the chest, she saw something that so stunned her that it numbed her pain.

It was a robe, finely woven and of somber hue. As she examined it more closely, she saw the ripped sleeve. A piece of cloth was missing. This had not been left behind by the woman and her child, too poor to have owned clothing of such fine workmanship.

She gasped.

From behind her, a hand reached around and clamped her mouth shut. Something very sharp bit into her back.

“I see you have found what I hoped no one would, my lady. In particular I prayed that God would save you from this, for I never slay unless I have no other choice.”

Thomas stood outside the walls of Ryehill Priory and looked up at the sky. It was light blue with a wisp of clouds to dull the color. How deceptive, he thought. The promise of fair weather could turn into a howling storm with little warning beyond the ache in an old man’s bones.

A voice called out to him. The wine merchant approached.

Thomas reminded himself that it was not just the weather that could be deceptive. “You look pleased, Master Durant.”

“I found one witness, Brother. Someone was seen leaving Master Larcher’s house before we arrived.”

“That is good news!”

“Perhaps it is not. The man said it was Father Vincent.”

Thomas was shocked. “The man is malevolent, but stoning innocents is his favored cruelty. I doubt he would poison the craftsman who made badges for this priory.”

Durant bent closer. “Look behind you. I think we shall have an opportunity to find out.”

When Thomas turned, he saw the priest and prioress in close conversation at the door to the priory. The pair did not look happy.

“Is it wise to confront him with Prioress Ursell? Might he be more willing to confess his sins if alone?” A small voice whispered in the monk’s heart that it would be good to humiliate the merciless priest. Another tiny murmur suggested he should be kinder than the man he loathed.

“I would like to see how he explains himself in front of her. If he is a killer, it is the duty of the Church to punish him.” The wine merchant gave him a wry smile. “If not, but his transgressions are grievous enough, I have heard that Prioress Ursell whips erring nuns. Perhaps she will be allowed to assist in his penance.”

Although the monk was disinclined to believe the priest would murder two people with poison and knife, he knew the man was capable of allowing someone to die with deliberate neglect. Was it not murder to let Gracia perish for lack of food, or unthinkable cruelty to withhold comfort from a battered child? His heart hardened. “Let us confront him then and press him without mercy.”

The two religious stepped back from each other the moment they saw Brother Thomas and Master Durant approach.