Priscilla Royal - Covenant With Hell

“Are you not as well? Did you think anything good could come from that priory?”

The merchant shrugged. “Sister Roysia gave her life to save God’s anointed king.”

“That she did, and surely God has found a place in Heaven for her soul, but we failed to arrest the traitor.”

“That was my news, Brother.”

Thomas sat up. “You captured her?”

Durant poured them both more wine. “We were given her body.” He held up a hand to delay any questions. “I think God must have arranged this strange form of justice.”

“Can you tell me what happened?”

“Mistress Emelyne, or so she called herself, joined a party of pilgrims returning to their homes along the road leading to London.”

“Not back to Norwich then.”

“She was never from that place, Brother. I knew no one by that name, rank, or wealth, and discreet inquiries proved me right. Her masters provided all she brought here to establish her identity as a merchant’s wealthy widow.” He smiled. “At least Ryehill Priory has her fine horse and a few gems to sell for holier purposes. They will be allowed to keep them.”

“Please continue. I should not have interrupted.”

“Not far from here, in a part of the road overhung with trees, that traveling party was attacked by men on horseback. Outlaws, the poor pilgrims believed, and feared for their lives as well as their purses. Yet the men robbed only one of the more affluent and then cut the throat of our assassin. Suddenly, with no warning, they vanished back into the forest. By the time the pilgrims found help, the outlaws were long gone and Mistress Emelyne quite dead.”

Thomas looked at him for a long time. “Not outlaws, if I were to guess. King’s men?”

“Would the king not want her alive to reveal the names of those who sent her?”

“Unless her master was known already, and her silence was of greater value than her voice.”

Durant laughed. “Clever, Brother!” He bent forward. “Shall you believe me if I say that I know nothing more about her or her master?”

“You did not say ‘I swear,’” the monk replied. “It matters not if I do or do not. I doubt I will learn more than you have told me.”

“The king has many enemies, and some have coin enough to pay for a cunningly hidden assassin.”

Thomas raised one finger. “With this war I suspect the Welsh have little coin to spare, but they are a clever people.” He raised another. “The Muslims proved their talents with the man who stabbed King Edward in Acre, a servant the king had learned to trust, but I question whether they would send another so deep into the lands of Christians.” He studied his hand for a moment and then raised a third finger. “The estranged and disinherited from the last rebellion, a few of whom are in the courts of unfriendly kings…”

Durant cleared his throat.

The monk looked up from his hand.

“Do not try to discover the truth,” the merchant said. “It does not matter. The woman is dead and has been buried without a name in a grave no one shall find.”

Sighing, Thomas swallowed the last of his wine and refused more.

Durant looked at him with sadness darkening his face. “I thank you for not mentioning my name to Prioress Ursell. If you have told your own prioress, she will know it is best if she does not tell anyone else of my involvement in this matter.”

“Surely the king would like to use you again in his particular service.”

Durant did not reply. Instead, he said, “The king shall be told how loyally you both served him in this matter.”

“My name need not be mentioned. Instead, I would ask a boon on behalf of my prioress.”

“What favor does she wish?”

“Be kind in your report on Ryehill Priory. Father Vincent is a man with a shriveled soul but is not a traitor, and Prioress Ursell was distraught to discover she had unwittingly harbored the woman. It was a Ryehill nun who gave her life for King Edward. A gift to feed and clothe the nuns would be welcomed.”

Durant stood. “As Prioress Eleanor wishes, I shall make sure they suffer no more than they have through their own bad judgment and will suggest that the priory ought not to starve after the loyalty they have shown.”

“I am thankful for your hospitality, Master Durant.” Thomas rose from the table. “Tyndal may be grateful as well when they discover I have eaten too much here to eat there for many days.”

Durant walked to his window and stared down at the road. “I shall leave here soon. In truth, I did intend to make a pilgrimage part of my purpose here. That duty I have done as well as my work for the king.” He turned to face the monk. “I wish we could join forces again, Brother.”

For a moment, Thomas hesitated, and then said what he thought. “If God’s will unites with that of King Edward…”

“And your prioress…”

“If God demands a justice that the king does as well, I know she would be willing to lend my poor efforts.”

“We think too much alike, Brother.” Durant smiled and then strode toward the monk and knelt. “Will you give me a final blessing that I may share with my wife?”

When Thomas had done so, Durant rose and suddenly pulled him close, kissing him gently on each cheek.

It was an instant only, but Thomas felt an emotion he had not felt in years. It was the hint of joy, a feeling so unfamiliar he almost did not recognize it.

Durant stepped back and murmured, “After all we have done together here, are we not like brothers? I have none from my mother’s womb who remain in this world.”

“Nor have I any kin who would call me such,” Thomas replied, his voice hoarse.

“Then shall we exchange a kiss as brothers might who long to share the joy of each other’s accomplishment in a worthy endeavor?”

Thomas shut his eyes, his heart pounding so he could hear little else, but then he looked at Durant. “Yes,” he said.

The merchant took the monk into his arms and kissed him softly on the lips. “Thus we have honored our efforts as brothers of choice with a common goal,” he whispered in Thomas’ ear.

The monk knew he must have uttered a reply, but all he cared about was the brush of Durant’s breath against his cheek.

The merchant stepped away. “I must beg this of you. Return to your prioress as I shall to my wife. Take Prioress Eleanor my good will and that of the king, who will surely honor her as he does her brother, Sir Hugh. And I shall share the blessing you have given me with my wife in Norwich.”

Thomas stared at him, noticing that the merchant’s face was pink. But from the heat he felt in his own cheeks, he feared his own were of like hue.

Durant spun around and strode back to his window. “Now go, Brother,” he murmured. “As you are bound to serve God, please go.”

Prioress Eleanor sat in the high-backed chair of Prioress Ursell’s audience chamber and listened to Brother Thomas convey the latest news.

Prioress Ursell had insisted that she take these quarters. Her immediate reaction had been a kind refusal, but Brother Thomas called on the infirmarian to provide the obligatory stern-faced authority. Together they argued that Eleanor must accept if she wished to speed her healing and return to her own priory sooner.

She conceded. Now she was glad, even though Prioress Ursell was obliged to retreat to a harder bed in the company of her nuns.

Today was her first extended time out of bed. Most of her injuries were minor annoyances, but her wounded arm throbbed and she lacked her usual vigor. As she looked at her monk, she saw his concern, smiled to reassure him, and then discreetly tried to find a more comfortable position to ease the broken arm before she commented on what he had just said.