Priscilla Royal - Chambers of Death

“Perhaps Sir Reimund had already examined the site before he ordered the body removed.”

“I do not believe so. According to the cur I questioned, the sheriff did not want Master Stevyn offended by the splattered gore when he came to identify the body. Thus he ordered the wound covered and the corpse dragged over there.”

As she looked in the direction the monk was indicating, Eleanor realized that Ranulf had not left the courtyard. Instead, he was standing next to the man with the black horse and seemed to be discussing something with great passion. Nearby, the dead body lay in the mud.

“As you see, Tobye’s corpse still lies like some slaughtered animal for anyone to stare at. When I asked that the body be handled with greater respect at the very least, I was mocked. I fear I lost my temper.”

“We can do little about evidence which is no real concern of ours, Brother, but I shall ask that the dead man be taken away so his body may be properly prepared for burial.”

He bowed his head. A muscle twitched in his cheek.

Eleanor realized her tone had been dismissive, yet she did understand just how angry her monk was. Without doubt, she shared the feeling and felt a prick of irritation over the carelessness shown. Their own Crowner Ralf would never have been so lax about searching for evidence. But the crime was not theirs to solve, and thus they had no right to intervene.

That acknowledged, she thought, no one should show such callous disregard for any man’s dead body. God treated all souls equally, whatever their rank on earth, and the soul would seek to reclaim its body at the resurrection. To mistreat Tobye’s corpse, as the sheriff was doing, touched on the blasphemous. She shut her eyes, trying to calm her growing outrage. Surely the man would not take his obvious disdain for the lower ranks so far as to defile…

She spun around and faced the monk. “I have some information that I should probably share with Sir Reimund,” she said, keeping her voice low.

“Indeed, my lady?” Anger was still evident in the high color of his cheeks.

“I have cause to suspect that Tobye was committing adultery with Master Stevyn’s wife.”

His head shot up, but he was too shocked to speak.

“I saw them together just before the steward and his men returned to the manor. Their behavior was such that no reasonable man would say their relationship was solely that of servant and mistress.”

“Then Master Stevyn must be a suspect in this murder,” he whispered back.

“I fear so, yet this sheriff may not share that belief.”

“Surely he cannot ignore what you witnessed. Stranger though you may be here, you are still the Prioress of Tyndal.”

“And one who is no stranger to this manor has told me that Sir Reimund will do his best to avoid troubling the powerful. If the Earl of Lincoln holds Master Stevyn in high regard…”

“…the sheriff will seek some way to discount any suggestion of his guilt.”

“Thus I question the wisdom of revealing what I saw.” Eleanor gave Thomas an inquiring look. “At least until I can weigh the measure of Sir Reimund for myself and see how this matter proceeds.”

“In the meantime, what do you want me to do?” The monk’s eyes sparkled with anticipation.

How I do love this man, Eleanor exclaimed to herself as she watched eagerness paint his face with a boy’s excitement. But when she spoke to him, her words betrayed nothing but calm purpose. “Accompany me to the sheriff, then step away and I shall play a game or two with him. The very least we should be able to accomplish is proper treatment of the corpse. Perhaps I shall also learn that Sir Reimund is more amenable to a just resolution of this crime than rumor suggests is likely.”

“My lady, I am most eager to do whatever you wish!”

Eleanor was grateful that Brother Thomas had bowed for her cheeks had grown too hot with pleasure at those words.

Sir Reimund frowned when he saw a tiny nun walking toward him. Surely God had not suddenly dropped him into a convent’s cloister. Might she be a vision?

The creature now stood in front of him, hands modestly tucked into her sleeves. He shut his eyes, hoping the apparition would be gone when he looked again.

She was no vision.

He bowed.

A phantasm would have been preferable. He had dealt with evil often enough that the Devil himself might arrive for a friendly supper and he would be little bothered. But a nun? Solving a murder on a manor run by the Earl of Lincoln’s steward without setting either earl or steward against him was difficult enough. Now he had to get this Bride of Christ back to the chapel where she belonged without offending God.

Eleanor nodded her head in acknowledgement of his courtesy. “Forgive me, Sir Reimund, but I have heard that the Prince of Darkness has caused some wicked soul to commit murder in this place.”

“You did understand correctly, Sister, and thus I most ardently pray that you return to the chapel and beseech God for mercy. Your immediate intercession with Him shall give us the strength needed to find the perpetrator.”

“Pray, I most certainly shall. First, however, I must beg a favor.”

“If you want a gift for your convent, I will consider it amongst the other worthy requests I receive almost daily.” He stared down into the gray eyes looking up at him. “I will send a suitable person to the chapel later to hear you out on this.” He turned away, feeling oddly discomfited by her look.

“My request has nothing to do with gold or property.”

He squeezed his eyes shut against a deluge of frustration. “A most persistent member of her ilk,” he muttered under his breath. “God preserve me from that kind.”

“Sir Reimund…”

He spun around. “This is no place for a woman dedicated to God’s gentler service. I will have you escorted away immediately.” While seeking out one of his men to attend him, he gripped her arm as he might any common woman who had gotten in his way.

As if a lightning bolt had just coursed through her, Eleanor went rigid with shock.

Perhaps it was the stiffening of her arm that awoke him to the profanity of his act, but Sir Reimund suddenly froze, then painfully willed open each offending finger and stepped back.

Eyes blazing with fury, the prioress remained speechless.

Sweating despite the chill air, the sheriff looked around. A monk stood just beyond a circle of men. Sir Reimund sighed as if a sharp attack of indigestion had just eased. “Brother,” he called out in a voice tight with tension, “will you please lead this lost sister to a safer haven?”

Thomas looked at the woman in question. “If my lady wills it.”

“My lady?” Sir Reimund gazed around the courtyard. What woman of rank had just arrived? Then he looked down at the nun he had so offended, and, for the first time, noted the signet ring on her now exposed finger.

***

Watching apprehension blanch his face, Eleanor willfully allowed wicked pleasure to fill her soul. “I am Prioress Eleanor of Tyndal,” she said, “granted hospitality here when a member of my party fell too ill to travel farther in the storm.”

“I know of your father, my lady.” The sheriff’s cheeks now became mottled. “I hope I have not offended for such was never meant.” He stiffly bowed.

Eleanor answered his concern with an ambiguous inclination of her head and caught the mild curse he muttered under his breath. “The favor I ask is a simple thing. I did not wish to interrupt your work, but the poor dead body, lying there in the mud, cries out for pity. I beg your permission to have it borne to the chapel. If you and your men are finished examining the sad corpse for clues, will you not allow the mercy? It seems a cruelty to let the body lie there in public view as if it belonged to some common criminal.”