Priscilla Royal - Chambers of Death

“And when he learned that she was swyving another?”

Stevyn’s face turned a wine-red hue as he slammed his cup on the wooden table.

“Might he not have killed her because of the horns she put on his forehead? Many men have done just so and few have condemned them for it.”

“Someone else has done this, Brother. As I now think on it, the crime ought to have been done by me. For the sake of my honor, I confess I might even wish that it had been, but I have learned something from my sins toward my first wife. I…”

“…chose to forgive?” The question was dutifully asked, as his vocation demanded, but Thomas knew well enough what the reply would be.

Stevyn snorted. “Nay, I am not a man inclined to turn the other cheek, no matter how often our priest reminds us of that duty. I contemplated sending her to a convent for her sins, with a dowry large enough to guarantee acceptance and everlasting enclosure behind thick walls, but never did I want to kill her. And if you doubt me, Brother, as you most certainly have reason to do, I ask that you consider this. Why would I have publicly strung her up naked for all to see her shame, which is mine as well? That is an act of someone who must have had cause to wound both my wife and me.”

Thomas nodded. For a husband to stab an adulterous wife in bed with her lover, or to suffocate her without leaving plain evidence of killing, were more common methods. Yet he was puzzled about one thing. “When did you learn of the adultery? I have heard it continued for some time.”

“You are a young man, devoted to God. This may be difficult for you to understand.” The steward shifted uncomfortably, then reached for the pitcher and poured himself another full cup.

Thomas refused the offer of more. This was not the time for a wine-dulled mind.

“It became obvious to me that she bore my swyving as a despised duty.” He smiled, but his eyes closed from the shame of the admission. “She was a lusty young woman, but her body was as dry as a desert after I tried to please her. Even the Church says a husband must give his wife joy in bed, but I failed and, in truth, she soon began to bore me.” He tilted his head to one side, some pride returning to his look. “Isn’t it odd, Brother, that I should find more joy with a woman who is beyond child-bearing and can never give me sons? Yet I have, although no man ever has sons enough. My wife’s adultery came after I had left her bed for that of another. If I learned late of my wife’s betrayal, it was because I was lying in the arms of the woman I have loved for far too many years.”

“Is your beloved now free to marry?” Thomas asked, a chill shuddering through him despite the warmth in the hall. Was he wrong in thinking the murderer must be a man? Might it be a mistress who longed to take this man as lawful husband at the church door? Although the Church frowned on marriages between a man and his mistress, it was a prohibition ignored often enough amongst those of lesser rank.

“Aye, she is, but, before you ask the question, Brother, I swear to you that she did not kill my wife either. A gentle woman, she has told me that she is willing enough to remain my leman. I have found great peace, lying in her arms, and her company soothes my angers and renders me a kinder man. I do not understand how this is possible, considering our great sin. Perhaps you can explain it to me?”

The monk chose to ignore the question for the moment. “You believe this woman did not kill your wife, but did she have the opportunity to murder either Tobye or Mistress Luce?”

“I cannot address the night of Tobye’s death, because I had fallen into chaste enough sleep by my wife’s side. But the night of my wife’s murder, I was in my lady’s arms.” Scowling, he leaned forward, his arms resting on his thighs. “Surely the one who killed my groom also attacked Hilda and murdered my wife. Why would there be two-or three-such evil men at large?”

Thomas turned his head away. The question was valid, but could he believe the steward’s protestations of innocence? Inclined though he was to do so, he also knew how fortunate it was that the man and his leman should be together on the night of Mistress Luce’s murder. Neither would admit that the other was ever out of sight. Either or both together might have killed.

And how convenient that Luce, the one able to provide the steward with a reason to be far from the stable the night of Tobye’s death should now be murdered also. As for the testimony of servants, they would never speak against the master either.

A movement caught the monk’s attention, and he looked up to see a man at the entrance to the hall.

“How much have you heard?” Stevyn called out to the figure, and then gestured for him to come forward.

“If you choose to recount any of this story, Father,” Huet said, “you had best tell all of it.”

Maud wept.

Kneeling beside the physician’s widow, Eleanor embraced her, murmuring words she hoped would soothe, and regretted that she had so quickly sent her guard to bring Brother Thomas out of fear that what she was about to hear was a tale of murder. Maud had her own confessor for the comfort she truly required, but the monk was a gentle priest, a man known in Tyndal for his compassion when told of mortal failings. Perhaps it was wise that she had sent for him. He might well bring this woman immediate peace.

“Does Huet know he is your son?” she whispered.

Maud sat back on her heels, her sobs quieting, and rubbed her cheeks dry. “Not until his recent return home, my lady.”

“I am amazed that no one knew of this and must ask why the secret was necessary. Even if you needed to conceal the birth for your own reasons, your son could have been passed off as another woman’s child by the steward. Bastard sons are often brought into the father’s family.”

“Master Stevyn knew his wife could not bear another, and he loved the boy from the moment he heard of my quickening. He wanted him to have a legitimate son’s status, a deception that would harm but little. Huet was a younger son, thus taking a trivial inheritance from his wife’s beloved Ranulf and nothing the elder would resent.”

“Other wives may have taken on the care of a husband’s by-blow, but few have been so willing to pretend the child is of their own body. Why?”

“She was a saint in her forbearance and willingness to forgive. Her husband was very grateful for her unique charity in this matter, as was I.”

Eleanor understood charity but acting the mother to Huet so well that no one suspected his bastardy was an act most generous by any measure. Had the woman believed this unusual deed would bring her soul special merit? Indeed it should.

Noting the prioress’ reflective frown, Maud explained further. “She was a devout woman, my lady, although her reputation as a mother was based more on the piety she required of her offspring than celebrated for the affection she bestowed. Methinks she hoped to wrench Huet’s soul away from the Prince of Darkness and into God’s hand. Considering his birth, she must have believed that he would be more likely to follow evil ways if she did not intervene.”

As she considered both the steward’s sons, Eleanor hoped his first wife never witnessed how imperfectly they interpreted her instruction. The eldest might be pious enough in outward ways, but she found him brittle of heart. Huet, on the other hand, was quite unsuited to the vocation chosen for him. That said, Brother Thomas had probably taken his own vows with a less than ardent calling, but he honored his oaths more faithfully than many who claimed greater purpose. Might Huet eventually become a similar cleric?

“Does something trouble you, my lady?”