Priscilla Royal - Sanctity of Hate

“You do not remember seeing Kenelm again?”

“I can recollect nothing about him at all after I fell down the bank.”

“Do you recall whether Brother Gwydo followed you back into the priory?”

Gytha hesitated, then suddenly looked horrified. “Might he have seen Kenelm lying on me, witnessed the killing, and tried to hide my sins by throwing the corpse into the mill pond?”

Eleanor leaned back in her chair. He might have done so. She would question him about it as well as the reason he was outside the priory. Although she could not completely dismiss the possibility that her maid had killed Kenelm with the blow to the head, Anne had not believed the wound to be fatal. In any case, she did not think Gytha was lying to her, nor did she think the maid had deliberately left anything out of her tale.

One crucial question remained unanswered: who had slit the man’s throat and why? Gytha had not mentioned this detail, and Eleanor knew the evidence suggested that Kenelm had suffered the certain fatal wound after the blow to his head.

“My lady?”

“Forgive me. I do not know if the lay brother did as you suggested. When Brother Thomas brings him to me, I shall question him about this.”

Gytha looked away. “I regret any sorrow I have brought on him. He was kind to me when I needed aid, and no one here has ever spoken ill of him.”

“I shall not forget his gentler nature. Should any rebuke be required, it will be for something he took upon himself.”

“But surely you cannot keep me in your service if I killed a man, my lady.” The maid’s face was pale, but she stiffened with resolve. “I will accept the punishment I am due.”

“Of course, you will continue to serve me. You struck a man who did violence against you. For that, I find no fault that cannot be cleansed through confession. Yet I must still summon Crowner Ralf.” She bent forward and took Gytha’s hand in hers. “You are obliged to tell him your tale as well, my child, but we both know him to be a just man.”

What she omitted saying was that the king might not find reason for clemency if Gytha were judged guilty of Kenelm’s death, even if she protested that the deed was committed to protect her virtue. Other than the possibility of Brother Gwydo, there were no witnesses who could confirm the truth of her allegation. If asked, Adelard would say he had seen the maid and lay brother together and swear he had observed sinful pleasure. That would destroy Gytha’s claim to chastity and any statement by Brother Gwydo. The only hope was that the one who slit Kenelm’s throat could be found.

Although the maid was not under the Church’s authority, the prioress decided she would beg the king’s leniency should Gytha be found guilty of murder. King Edward would set a price for such mercy, and Eleanor now swore a silent oath to pay it.

Gytha nodded and fell silent. Her expression spoke of both grief and resignation.

Eleanor watched her maid and the crowner look away from each other. Had she not already concluded that the love between them had grown to the point of imminent confession, she would have known it now. Sadly, this encounter would be a far less joyful moment. She grieved for the pain both must be enduring.

Ralf cleared his throat. “I must speak with Mistress Gytha alone, my lady.”

Gytha turned to look at the prioress, her eyes begging for the mercy of Eleanor’s company.

The prioress nodded with an equal measure of reluctance and firmness. “I know you must, crowner. But I shall remain in my private chamber, with the door left open for propriety. There is no one else who could be spared to attend this interview, the details of which we all pray shall remain private.” A lie, of course, and surely he knew it, but after all these years of friendship, she had learned to read his face well. He did not want her completely absent, any more than Gytha did, and none of them wanted to chance disclosure by another about what would be spoken here.

As expected, he muttered concurrence.

Folding her hands into her sleeves, she looked up at Ralf, her expression stern. “No matter what you resolve to do after hearing what Mistress Gytha has to say, be advised that I shall defend her with every means at my disposal.”

“I would expect no less, my lady.” Ralf’s demeanor was formal, but his voice shook.

“Nor shall you take her from this priory. I give you my sacred oath that she will arrive when summoned for trial, if such be needed, but I will not have her dishonored by confinement in some foul prison cell.”

“Were it necessary to place Mistress Gytha under arrest, I myself would beg you for that mercy you have just offered.”

“Then I shall go to my chambers.” As she passed by her maid, the prioress stopped and drew the young woman into her arms. “I believe you to be innocent of any crime,” she murmured, “and Crowner Ralf will surely concur. He must do his duty, my child, but do not think he takes any pleasure in this.”

Gytha held onto Eleanor for a long moment and then drew back, raising her chin with proud determination.

“Be honest with him. There may be something in what you recall that will give him a detail needed to capture the one who did kill Kenelm.” Quickly, she kissed her maid’s cheek and blessed her. “Have courage!”

Gytha watched the prioress walk from the room, then turned to face the crowner, her expression like that of a woman irrevocably facing her executioner, alone and struggling to retain her dignity.

“Mistress Gytha, I must ask you to repeat all you have told Prioress Eleanor.”

Pale, but voice firm, she did.

Ralf did not once interrupt, but his face turned red and his eyes narrowed. When Gytha had finished, he turned his back on her and strode to the window.

Gytha waited, then trembled with growing anxiety.

He ground his fist into the stones of the wall. “If Kenelm raped you…”

“I remain a virgin.” Her voice cracked. “On that matter, I give you my oath.”

“But he forced himself on you! Kenelm was strong, a large man. How could you have had time to strike him with the rock before he…?”

“I did, but I did not mean to kill him. I only wanted to save my honor.”

“A fine hope!” He spun around and shouted: “But I cannot believe you stopped him in time.”

Gytha’s eyes widened.

“He deserved to die for destroying your chastity!”

“He succeeded only in bruising and frightening me.” Confusion mixed with anger sharpened her tone. “Do not make a mockery of my plight. My sin is a killing that I swear was never intended. Why shout so about a loss that did not occur?”

He shook his head.

Gytha’s face turned scarlet. “Oh, now I see what you are about, my lord. You have decided my guilt. My oath is without merit because I am a woman, and you grieve that Tostig’s sister must now be called a whore !”

“I can defend you against the murder,” he replied, “but you cannot recover…” The crowner covered his eyes.

Anger flashed from hers.

He opened his hands to plead with her. “How can I believe that Kenelm did not violate you? It is against all logic.”

She stepped back from him. “For all your flaws, my lord, I have always called you a just man. Sadly, I find that you are no different from any other, all of whom believe women are besotted with lust. Perhaps you have also concluded that I seduced Kenelm, then struck him so he would not tell how I forced him to couple with me?”

“I do not…”

“In truth,” she shouted, “do not all men demand that their wives bloody the nuptial sheet while they mount other women without a thought to any consequences? And should a man shatter a woman’s virginity without her consent, you, like any son of Adam, cast the woman aside, claiming that the rapist erred only in failing to pray hard enough for the strength to resist her wiles.”