Priscilla Royal - Justice for the Damned

She nodded.

"I shall be most thankful to you for all of this and will demonstrate my gratitude in a more tangible form as soon as the marriage takes place." His lips smiled, but his eyes lacked the glow of comparable joy.

A scream shattered the peaceful morning.

Jhone picked up her robe and raced toward the river. The vintner was not far behind.

When they reached the trembling Alys, the pair quickly saw the cause of her horror. A dead body bobbed gently in the tangled growth at the edge of the Avon. Although each of them knew most of the townspeople of Amesbury, none could identify whose body it might be.

The corpse had quite lost its head.

"He is my father." Sayer stumbled backwards as if the pale, headless body had pushed him away with spectral hand.

Thomas put a comforting arm around the son's shoulders but quickly drew it back when he saw Sayer's eyes narrow with anger.

"We feared as much," replied Brother Infirmarian. "I recognized the broken arm I had set some years ago. The bone had broken the skin just there. Wulfstan was lucky to have survived that one."

"A cruel kindness since he lived only to be murdered." The son's voice was flat.

"The deed was a most foul thing," Sister Anne said. Standing behind Thomas, she frowned in thought. "To behead a man after killing him is a devilish act."

Brother Infirmarian shrugged, then gave her a sheepish look. "I treat the living and leave the cause of death to God, but Sister Beatrice told me that you have skill with both."

"Beheaded. Stabbed. Pushed into the river to drown. What does any of that matter? My father is dead. He should have gone to God as an old man with a cleansed soul and whispers of love in his ears." Sayer stared at the body now fully covered on the trestle table. Tears had yet to dampen his cheeks.

Thomas felt a kindred sting in his own heart. He, too, was bereft of any final word with the man who had sired him. "Your mother…" he began.

"She will live."

"I pray she will! My concern was.

"She has a plot of land." Sayer's hands formed fists. "We need no charity."

"Nor did I think otherwise." Thomas' voice softened. "Does she not have you?"

The bright anger in Sayer's eyes faded, leaving only a muted but flickering glow.

"I knew not if she had been told about your father's death." Thomas looked first at the other monk, then at Sister Anne. "That was my question."

Brother Infirmarian shook his head.

The young man put his hands over his eyes, pressing his fingers into his brow as if he suffered an intolerable pain. "Will you bury my father in sanctified ground?"

"There is no reason to do otherwise," Brother Infirmarian replied. "Although he was not shrived before his death, we will surely pray for his soul. In that you may find comfort.

"What if the ghost killed him?" Sayer interrupted.

Brother Infirmarian's eyes opened wide with horror. Clearly he had not thought about this complication. "If Satan seized his soul…"

"Ghosts do not kill," Thomas snapped.

"I would not be so certain," the son replied, his voice as cold as the corpse on the table. Then he turned his back on them all and strode out of the chapel.

"Not Wulfstan!" Jhone put her hand to her mouth, her eyes round with shock.

"You were acquainted with him?" Thomas asked as gently as he could.

Herbert answered for the woman beside him. "He was married to Mistress Jhone's sister."

"What will Drifa do alone?" she whispered. "Their children!"

Realizing it would be cruel to question a woman lost in the distress of both murder and its consequences, Thomas turned to the tall, dark-haired man. "How could this have happened?" he asked.

Herbert shrugged. "Who knows? Our laws are lax, and evil men are everywhere. Any one of them might have met this man on the road and killed him for some little thing. Of the man himself, I can say little. He was free, of course, but a poor creature with few skills, unless thievery…"

Thief? Thomas blinked at the word.

"Even if the tales were true, all that was many years ago!" Tears slipped down Jhone's cheeks. "He had long been an honest man. I beg you to show compassion!"

"I did not mean to do otherwise, although I could never include him amongst those I would call upright men."

"I am not unmindful of this dreadful thing you have just seen," Thomas said, "but if Wulfstan had enemies or was engaged in something outside the law, please tell me now."

"Why?" Herbert asked. "Surely this is a matter for secular law. The body was found beyond the priory walls."

Thomas cursed himself for not thinking before he spoke. Quickly he tried to cloak his odd demand with some reason. "The sheriff is delayed. If you give me the details now, I will pass them on to him when he arrives, and you will not be troubled by questions from him." His mind raced. If Wulfstan had the reputation for thievery, could he have been part of some band that planned to steal the Amesbury Psalter? Had something gone wrong that had resulted in his murder? Maybe not, but he had to know whether or not this was a possibility.

"As Mistress Jhone has said, my comment dealt with events long ago." Herbert's lips curled into a sneer. "I did not respect the man, but I know of no crime he committed in recent years."

"Old sins sometimes return to haunt." Anything, Thomas thought, just tell me anything.

"He labored on priory lands," Herbert continued. "You must ask Prioress Ida, or Sister Beatrice in her stead, about his service. For my part, I have not heard any tales to suggest his work was not diligently done or that any of his fellow laborers had issue with him."

"No rumors? No suggestion of problems or worry?"

The man folded his arms. "I will be happy to talk to the sheriff when he returns."

Jhone suddenly looked up at Herbert. "There was that one matter…" Her voice was just above a whisper.

With an abrupt gesture of his hand, Herbert interrupted her. "Nay, mistress, do not even mention that petty thing. It would never have resulted in such a brutal killing." He scowled at Thomas. "I fear our brother here merely longs to satisfy some worldly interest in gossip, for he has no authority in this matter. You and I shall talk further in private, once you have recovered from your shock, and I will discuss what is needed with the sheriff."

"I meant only to save you distress," Thomas said through clenched teeth.

"And have forgotten charity, a virtue all monks should both learn and practice? Perhaps your intentions were benign, Brother, but your questions are impertinent and inconsiderate. As you should see, Mistress Jhone is too upset to remain here." Herbert waved at the monk with barely concealed contempt. "To humor you, I will say this. Please listen carefully for I will not repeat it." The merchant bent forward as if talking to a child and enunciated each word slowly. "Neither of us knows any mortal who had such a wicked hatred for the man that they would slay him in so foul a manner." He stepped back. "Does that satisfy your small curiosity?"

Thomas felt his face turn hot with humiliation. How dare the merchant speak to him in this way? Bastard I might be, he shouted to himself, but I am no churl! In thoughtless fury, he spun around and faced the pale Jhone. "You have no idea who might have done this either?" he snapped.

The woman looked up at the vintner with pleading eyes.

Herbert's face darkened.

Instantly, the monk regretted his action. Like a coward he had attacked a weak and innocent person.

"For a monk who claims to love compassion, Brother, you have a harsh enough tongue. I think we have humored you enough." Herbert took the widow's arm with tenderness. "Come, mistress. We have answered all we need of this monk's rude queries." Firmly, he turned the woman away from Thomas, but not before giving him a thin but triumphant smile.