Priscilla Royal - Chambers of Death

Perhaps the sheriff believed he would gain by proving she had willfully and unjustifiably interfered with the king’s matters. The ways and concerns of King Edward were still unknown to her, indeed to her father as well, for this new king was known more for changes in direction than the steadiness of his purpose. Were she to make a misstep and find disfavor with the new regime, Eleanor knew that she, her family, and her priory would be in danger. And, should she suffer a fall from grace, there might well be those at court who would rejoice and smile on the man who had brought it about.

It would be wise not to trust Maud, or to give Sir Reimund cause to complain to her superiors, she decided. She must tread more carefully than she had in this matter. After all, she had no wish to ruin her family or her priory, especially by foolish actions born more of sinful pride than anything else.

“At Tyndal Priory, I have an obligation to render God’s justice,” she replied with care. “In the world, I have no more authority than any other woman. This land belongs to the Earl of Lincoln and the king’s law rules here. Sir Reimund has nothing to fear from any feminine interference.”

“More’s the pity,” Maud sighed. “He is not an evil man but…” She shrugged.

Eleanor refused to be drawn into any criticism of the sheriff. “I am sure he will find Tobye’s killer as well as Hilda’s attacker.” Eleanor fell silent long enough to let her firmly stated confidence in the man sink in. As she had learned, people are often lulled into complacency after hearing the accepted point of view expressed. She would now chance a question. “I never met the groom, but wonder that Master Stevyn kept such a man if he was so despised.”

“Tobye was reliable and skilled with horses, whatever his other faults might be. My jest aside about the scorned women, I cannot say he was truly hated. A few husbands had cause to give him a beating, but the blows dealt were only hard enough to make his member droop when next he thought to smile upon their wives. There was a father or two who had wished his daughter could stand at the church door with maidenhead taut enough to bloody the marriage bed, but Tobye was clever and often able to point out other likely and equally randy youths as culprits there. He may have been less guilty of lewdness than he was accused.”

“Aye, but someone most certainly hated him more than those,” Eleanor said, letting her words fall as comment more than question.

Maud looked perplexed.

Deciding she had best turn away from all further inquiry, the prioress shook her head. “I pray that terror does not take residence in the hearts of those who live and work here. Murder is a frightening thing.”

“There was less unease after Hilda’s arrest and before she was attacked.”

Eleanor could not read the expression on Maud’s face quickly enough and turned her attention to the cook. An almost imperceptible rise and fall in the warm coverings over her proved life still had a hold on the sorely wounded woman.

“Although few believed she had done the deed, many were comforted by the swiftness of resolution in the crime,” the widow said.

“Perhaps there will be an equally quick solution in this matter,” Eleanor replied, deciding it was wiser to let the woman believe that she, too, was equally comforted by justice rendered with such shallowness. In truth, she had to bite her tongue to keep from crying out that she found no justice in that hasty arrest of an innocent.

Maud looked surprised by this answer.

The prioress nodded with due courtesy and took her leave.

***

As she walked toward the room where Mariota lay, Eleanor felt thwarted but now realized she had another problem. If she continued to ask questions, no matter how innocently she presented them, she might endanger others in her company as well as herself. Had she the right to do such a thing to innocent people just because she questioned the sheriff’s judgment?

Of course she had felt insulted by his manner toward her, even rightly so. His behavior had been unacceptable toward any woman of religious calling, let alone a prioress and a baron’s daughter. That said, she must balance her response with an understanding that her worldly pride might well be leading her in a foolhardy direction.

She stopped by a window and looked down on the busy courtyard below. Smoke rose from the smithy. A woman was feeding a flock of chickens. Animal noises mingled companionably with human shouts and the din of work. There was something soothing about watching people, going about their labors as if nothing had ever troubled them. As she well knew, however, routine might suggest calm, but fear could yet be a hidden resident.

Should she tell Sir Reimund about seeing Mistress Luce in an unchaste embrace with Tobye? What about this other woman who slipped into the stable and begged some favor of the man? Who was she? If both Ranulf and Hilda had witnessed the same thing, the prioress had to believe the event probably occurred.

Eleanor glanced back at the room she had just left. Was it Maud? Hadn’t this woman seemed troubled when she mentioned lust burning in one past such foolishness ? Didn’t that understanding sing of experience? Was she an older woman who longed for the embrace of a handsome man, a woman too old to bear a child?

“No,” she whispered, “surely not Maud.”

Despite her fears that there was some collusion between sheriff and physician’s widow, Eleanor owed Maud gratitude for her care of Mariota. Had Maud’s one good deed blinded her to darker elements in the woman’s nature? Was Maud’s name the one Hilda meant to whisper in Brother Thomas’ ear?

“All mortals are sinners,” she groaned, resting her cheek against the rough stone, “but some dance the earth, shouting of sweet virtue to disguise the stench of their own rotting hearts. Others suffer men’s mockery because they gently embrace lepers and defend the suffering or weak with the compassion God intended. The rest wander through their lives, doing no greater evil and owning no finer virtue than any other man. Which is she?”

There were other suspects. She had not dismissed the strong possibility that Master Stevyn knew of his wife’s adultery and had killed the man who set horns on his forehead. But could he be guilty of the attack on Hilda? The steward might have struck her down because she knew or had witnessed something that would send him to the hangman.

Or did Mistress Luce kill her lover because he threatened to tell her husband, should she grow quick with child, unless she gave him bright coin for his silence? Or had she faced being replaced in his bed?

Had Huet killed the groom because he was his step-mother’s lover? Again, perhaps Hilda had been a witness or knew more than was safe for her.

And what about this older woman?

There was too much to consider.

“Nor do I know these people,” Eleanor complained softly, “and this manor is even smaller than the village of Tyndal. Surely the perpetrator is suspected. I should no longer question Sir Reimund’s arrests for he must know far better than I who might have committed these crimes.”

Yet she could not escape the fact that he had chosen to put Hilda in chains for no other apparent reason than she was convenient and would offend no one of rank. Surely he had heard rumor enough about Mistress Luce’s adultery, even if it was from the bawdy jests of his men. That said, to accuse her or her husband of this crime might bring down on his head the wrath of an earl. Master Stevyn was esteemed for his skilled running of this estate. Henry de Lacy would not look kindly on the man who hanged his steward or caused Stevyn deep humiliation by publicly crowning him as a cuckold.