Priscilla Royal - Chambers of Death

“I would offer God’s consolation before she is taken off to some cold cell,” Thomas said.

“She’ll have priests aplenty before her hanging. I promise you that. Meanwhile, we must swiftly be on our way. Other, unsolved crimes await our attention.” The sheriff gestured abruptly to one of his men. “Bind and bring her out of there.”

“Grant her that mercy of a priest’s comfort, Sir Reimund,” the steward said. “She and her kin have served this land well for many years, and Brother Thomas may bring her solace.”

Thomas was startled at the sorrow evident in the man’s tone.

The sheriff studied the steward as if he were assessing the value of a bale of wool.

Have you decided if there is some advantage to gain from consent? Thomas’ heart filled with more than a little anger.

Sir Reimund turned to the monk. “Give her a short prayer for the journey then, Brother. We’ll remain by the open door where she may see us. Perhaps the grave nature of her foul crime will at last pain her like the prick of the knife she used to slit the groom’s throat.”

Pray, I must, Thomas thought with bitter regret, for I shall be prevented from asking anything that might save the poor woman’s life. He walked to the hut door and waited as the assigned guard fumbled with the bar that bolted it. Finally, the man managed to raise it.

“We’ve come for thee, wretch,” the guard called out as he stepped into the hut. Almost immediately, he stumbled backward, crossing himself in terror. “The Devil’s been here!”

Shoving the man aside, Thomas rushed inside.

Hilda lay on her stomach. The air reeked with the sharp metallic odor of blood. Even in the dim light, it was obvious that her back was stained dark with it.

***

“Surely this proves her innocence, Sir Reimund,” the steward said, his tone brittle with barely controlled outrage.

His arms crossed, the sheriff scowled. “I’ve known a man to commit self-murder by driving his forehead against a bare nail in the wall of his cell. She probably did this to herself.”

“Bring me a torch,” Thomas ordered and knelt by the body.

The steward pushed his way through the sheriff’s men and shouted for one of his servants to fetch one. “Quickly!” he bellowed, then swiftly backed away from the entrance. “My lady!” he said, his voice softening.

Eleanor walked into the hut. “What has happened?”

The sheriff emitted a palpable groan before turning to greet her with a token bow. “Nothing to trouble you, my lady.”

“All sin is of interest to me for I obey a Master far greater than any earthly king,” she retorted, “and murder is amongst God’s first prohibited acts. Would that not qualify as a sin, Sir Reimund, and thus one of my concerns?” Without waiting for him to reply, she walked past him to where her monk was kneeling.

A servant rushed in with the requested torch.

“I need light here.” Thomas pointed, then leaned closer as the flickering light brightened the back of the woman’s head. Gently, he turned her over and touched her neck before bending to place his ear to her mouth.

“You need not do that, Brother. One of my men…”

“Be silent!” the prioress snapped.

Reimund and Stevyn glanced at each other. The steward shrugged, and the sheriff kicked at some straw before stepping away.

“I think she is still alive, my lady,” Thomas said. “For how much longer, however, I cannot say.”

Eleanor quickly removed her outer cloak and gave it to him. “Wrap her in that.” She turned to the steward. “She must be moved from here. If her soul continues to cling to this body, she may yet point out her attacker and perhaps the one who did murder Tobye.”

Stevyn went to the entrance and shouted an order.

“If only we had Sister Anne with us,” Thomas whispered, wrapping the woolen cloak around Hilda as tenderly as if she were a babe.

“You must do your best, Brother, and remember what you have seen her do in like situations.”

He looked at her, eyes darkened by worry, and finally nodded.

The sheriff grunted. “The woman is guilty and deserves to die, my lady. It matters not if she does so because of this wound, which she may well have inflicted on herself, or by the grace of the hangman’s noose. My only regret, should she die here, is that others, who might be tempted to kill, will not see her jerking body and thus be reminded that they shall suffer the same fate if they commit a similar crime. To see the hangman at work is a fine deterrent to murder.”

Several servants had just entered and now circled around Hilda. “Be gentle!” Thomas begged, helping them brace and lift the cook onto a rough wooden frame.

“Step aside, if you will,” Stevyn said to Sir Reimund, “so these men may carry our Hilda to the house.” Then the steward followed the servants outside.

“No one can stab themselves in the back, remove the knife, and hide it before losing all awareness,” Thomas growled. “Someone did this to her and for cause. Perhaps they feared she knew or might suggest the true killer.”

“Maybe she just dropped the knife in the straw,” the sheriff finally said. “My men will search for it.”

Thomas finally lost his temper. “And if you do not find it, shall you conclude that some other servant has a knife stained with blood? Whether that blood was animal or human would be irrelevant to you, would it not?”

“If you were not a monk, I’d throw you in prison for treasonable words against a king’s man.” The sheriff grabbed Thomas’ habit and jerked him closer.

“He belongs to God, Sir Reimund,” Eleanor said quietly. “Only the Church can order discipline against him. Yet I beg your forbearance, for we were given shelter here by Master Stevyn’s household out of Christian charity. Our gratitude makes us protective of our saviors and thus prone to some rashness on their behalf. Just as you would not trespass on the rights of God’s Church, however, neither do we wish to interfere with the just pursuit of the king’s justice.”

The sheriff released his grip.

Even though his face still felt as hot as hellfire, Thomas stepped back and bowed his head with a feigned show of meekness. At least the sheriff’s men were now forced to search the hut with witnesses present. He counted that as a small victory.

Master Stevyn bent low to re-enter the hut after giving further directions about Hilda’s care. Without evident emotion, he glanced at the men now shuffling around in the straw but turned to the prioress. “My last wife found much comfort at your priory and from your sub-infirmarian,” he said, his voice catching slightly, “even if Sister Anne was unable to save her life. Yet we have a healer with some talent here, my lady. I have asked the physician’s widow to tend to Hilda.”

“A wise as well as a kind decision,” Eleanor replied with the briefest of hesitations. “Brother Thomas has often assisted Sister Anne in her treatments, but a woman may treat another of her sex without offending modesty. Mistress Maud has shown much skill in the care of the poor child in our company.” She bowed in acceptance of his decision.

Brother Thomas watched the sheriff’s men continue to search unsuccessfully for the weapon used against the cook. The space was small enough that their hunt could not last much longer. He glanced over at the prioress.

Eleanor ignored him. “Yet she is not a physician, and I have heard there has been no one to replace her husband since his death. Although she is most skilled, she is still a woman and thus plagued on occasion with illogic and inability to clearly see the proper path to take. Might she be allowed to consult with Brother Thomas? He could offer direction if she faltered.”