Priscilla Royal - Chambers of Death

After a brief conference, one of the searchers went to the sheriff, who now stood just outside the hut. Although their words could not be overheard, the man’s gestures suggested he was convinced of the futility in their hunt for the knife.

Thomas noticed that his prioress was also watching this interaction and suddenly realized that she had planned her discussion with the steward to last as long as the weapon search.

“As you wish, my lady. I am sure that Mistress Maud will appreciate any guidance Brother Thomas can offer her.” The steward bowed.

“I am most grateful to you, Master Stevyn.” She lowered her eyes. “Now we must leave and let these men continue their efforts. I have stayed far too long and shall return to the care of my young companion.”

As the two monastics left the hut, the sheriff turned his back and immediately walked away so he did not have to utter even the most rudimentary courtesies to them.

On their way back to the house, however, Eleanor looked over her shoulder and saw that her guard still trotted close behind. After the attack on Hilda, the sheriff would claim that the protection was proven necessary, and thus he would continue his attempt to prevent her from interfering with his preferred investigative techniques.

Glancing back, Brother Thomas also took note of the faithful shadow and waved in a friendly fashion, then chose Latin to tell his prioress: “They found no knife, my lady.”

“Nor did either of us think they might,” she replied with a preoccupied frown.

“I wonder where our killer dropped this one. I cannot imagine using the blade to kill another mortal in the morning and then cutting your meat at dinner with the same thing.”

Eleanor raised an eyebrow. “When the Prince of Darkness drives a man to such madness that he murders another made in God’s likeness, he might well do just that.”

“I fear you have the right of it, my lady.” He paused before continuing. “I doubt the importance of either weapon as evidence. Although I will keep it safely hidden, the first had no distinctive markings. The second, should I find it, will most probably be equally undistinguished, thus my delight at the discovery in the stable has dampened more than this ground on which we stand.”

“Nonetheless, you must search the area nearby. Even though I agree with your assessment, we must not ignore the possibility that we may both be proven wrong.” Her monk’s sad face made her long to cheer him. “No evidence may ever be discounted until the crime is solved.”

“At least you were able to keep witnesses present while the sheriff’s men searched the hut. Now it is clear that Hilda did not commit self-murder. I feared Sir Reimund would arrange for a knife to be found.”

“There were no windows through which to toss it. No rational person would conclude that she could unbar a door, bolted from the outside, and throw away a knife with which she had stabbed herself. Although our king’s man may begrudge the loss of his choice for the groom’s killer, I think he might concede that the cook was attacked by someone besides herself.”

“You are most generous in your assessment of his wits, my lady. I am not sure they are quite that keen, having been blunted by his ambition,” Thomas replied.

Eleanor chuckled. “I assume you will confess that lack of charity, Brother, when we return to Tyndal. On the other hand, your confessor may well decide that any sin is wiped clean because your words hold some truth in them.”

Exchanging amused looks, the pair continued to the manor house in companionable silence.

“Death grasps her hand with great strength, my lady. I doubt Hilda will ever again greet fellow mortals on this earth.” Mistress Maud stood back from the pallet where the cook lay, her breath almost imperceptible.

Looking down at the body, which had quickly become little more than a frail mortal shell eager to release a struggling soul, Eleanor nodded understanding. She might wish the outcome to be otherwise, but she had asked Brother Thomas to give the last rites. “You have known her long?” The prioress’ voice was soft with sympathy.

“I have. She is a good woman. I never believed she killed Tobye.”

“You do not think she lusted after the man and grew jealous enough to strike out?”

“Oh, she itched for him but, as sins go, hers were trifling enough. Was she jealous?” Maud’s smile was cheerless. “Most likely, but she would have sooner wept over it than turned to murder. Women may dream, my lady, but men either seize what they want or destroy what they can’t have.” She shrugged. “Yet God made Adam before Eve, thus wise men say he was His more perfect creature. Imaginings, being womanish, must be the greater folly.”

Eleanor was surprised by the well-whetted edge she heard in those words. What was the source of this woman’s bitterness? But no question formed quickly enough for the asking, and she knew the cause might well have nothing to do with this crime. Perhaps she would be wiser to let the widow continue on.

“I do not doubt that Hilda suffered from her longings. The Devil may find it easier to torment youth with unrelenting lust, but I sometimes think he gains special merriment by pricking those who believe they have grown past that foolishness.” Maud blinked as if surprised by what she had just said. “Yet I am sure Tobye lent his shape to incubi that tormented many other women at night, both the wrinkled and the smooth-fleshed. If thwarted lust is a motive in this murder, my lady, the sheriff may find there was a long line of women, who stood outside the stable on that night, waiting their turn to kill the groom.”

Since she often hoped that age would calm her own passions, Eleanor prayed the widow was wrong about Satan’s ways. “Did the cook have any enemy who might have hated her enough to attack her with intent to kill?” she asked, redirecting the conversation from her own uncomfortable thoughts.

“Hilda? Never! She slipped savories to lads and sweets to the girls. Her meals pleased those of both high and low birth. The only creatures that had cause to loathe her were fowl, and even there she chose to wring the necks of ones closest to their natural death. She took pride in making a tough old cock taste like a tender young hen.”

Eleanor smiled. “So I have heard.”

Maud looked down at the woman lying in bed and sighed.

“Can you think of any reason why Tobye was murdered or why Hilda was attacked so cruelly?”

“Have you found reason not to trust the sheriff to find the killer, my lady?” Maude raised an eyebrow as she studied the prioress.

Eleanor lowered her eyes with suitable meekness. “Like many women, I suffer from the weakness of curiosity. My questions are nothing more than whimsical things. As the king’s man, I have no doubt that Sir Reimund will prove up to the task.” Her face hidden, the prioress frowned. And why ask such a question, she wondered, when it was you who first planted the seed of doubt in my mind about his peculiar methods of seeking justice? Eleanor grew uneasy.

“He would not have assigned a guard to keep an eye on you if he thought you so harmless and docile.” Maud chuckled. “Our sheriff is not the only one who knows your reputation as a woman with an unsettling and masculine mind.”

Was this widow part of some trap set by Sir Reimund to catch her interfering where she should not? Had Maud’s earlier suggestion that the sheriff cared most about his own interests been part of a scheme? Eleanor tried to calm herself and think logically.

Although she had gained a reputation for solving criminal matters, her greatest success involved financial solvency for her priory. Power was ever linked to coin so, if there were concerns that she was growing too influential, they were based in the increasing wealth of Tyndal.