Priscilla Royal - Sanctity of Hate

“The night of Kenelm’s death, the man you know as Brother Gwydo came to visit me.”

Ralf’s mouth dropped open. “Why?”

“He and I were boyhood friends in Cambridge. Then a bishop came and preached the call to save Jerusalem from those he condemned as infidels. The burning brand of his words lit a fire in Gwydo’s heart and he turned from me, for I was not of his faith. He demanded I accept his beliefs. I refused, saying that we had suffered too much from the cruelty of Christians to believe they were the new chosen people of The Merciful One . We fought. He would have slit my throat, had another not saved me, and then he left. His last words were that I must accept baptism or he would kill me on his return with a sword red with the blood of other unbelievers.”

The crowner’s jaw tightened. “I am no priest and have no wish to debate God’s favor. Keep your tale simple.”

“He went on his pilgrimage but did not return even when King Edward came back. I heard a rumor that his father and wife were mourning him so assumed he must be dead.” Jacob sighed. “The night of the guard’s death, however, someone tapped on the entrance to our stall. Thinking it might be the innkeeper, I pulled aside the curtain, but it was a man. He was tonsured. Suddenly, he fell to his knees and wept. Confused, I drew back, but I heard a tone of voice, saw a familiar gesture, and recognized my former friend. We embraced, my tears joining his, and he begged forgiveness for his cruelty to me. I did not ask how he learned I had come to this village. That detail meant so little.”

“To leave the priory without permission is not allowed,” was all Ralf managed to say.

“We sat outside the stall and talked. He told me why he had changed. Even when men kill for a cause deemed holy, he said, they sin grievously. He learned to abhor violence of all kinds and came to believe that one must never kill another man. The lesson of Cain and Abel is that we are all brothers. He had retreated to a priory as penance and begged me to keep his secret, for he had truly forsaken the world.”

“How long was he with you?”

“I do not know exactly when your Brother Gwydo left to return to the priory, but it had grown dark. Still, he is witness to my presence here for some time.” Jacob ran a finger under his eyes. “But if speaking on my behalf would bring him punishment for an act of gentle kindness, I would rather he not be questioned.”

Sitting back, Ralf thought for a moment. “He might have killed Kenelm on his way back to the priory. Did he have any reason to do so? Or perhaps the guard saw him and threatened to tell Prioress Eleanor?”

Jacob gasped. “The man with whom I reconciled that night was no longer one who could do such a thing! Perhaps his disobedience in leaving the priory is deemed a sin, but his intent was to seek forgiveness. Nor has he repeated this act. Surely your prioress, one who has offered protection to a helpless family, would not treat him harshly, and surely she knows him well enough to agree that he is a gentle man.”

“Brother Gwydo will never suffer,” the crowner said. “He is dead.”

Jacob rose to his feet in horror. “How? What plague has struck him down? Or did he die at the same hands as the one who killed the guard?”

The crowner grabbed the man’s robe and pulled him back down on the bench. “For the sake of your friend, if not yourself, you must not hold back anything more. The one who killed him surely murdered Kenelm and Adelard.”

“There is nothing else I can tell you,” Jacob said, his voice rough with tears. “After we had spoken of his life in Outremer and mine in Cambridge, he left. I went back into the stall. My wife, our young maid, and my mother-in-law had fallen asleep, but I could not. I sat until dawn and watched over them.”

“Might Gwydo have known Kenelm in Cambridge?”

“The guard came from the north, or so he claimed. And he was never in Jerusalem. He once said he had not taken the cross. Perhaps that was why he mocked us so cruelly.”

“Tell me about finding Adelard.” Ralf considered drinking what was left in the jug but pushed his cup aside.

“My wife and I had been talking about our son and our future after we return to Norwich. When she grew weary, I left her to sleep, but I was too restless and went into the courtyard for a short walk.”

“Did you see Brother Beorn?”

Jacob nodded. “The man glared at me.” Glancing at the crowner, he smiled briefly. “For that, I should be grateful. At least he can confirm when I left.”

“Then?”

“I walked behind the stables, away from the guard’s view. Suddenly, I stopped, thinking I had seen someone running away. Perhaps the one shadow had been a pair, lovers seeking a quiet moment together and whom I had frightened. But the moon was shrouded, and I could confirm nothing in fact. I decided I had imagined it all, but when I turned to walk on, I stumbled.”

“Aye?”

“I fell on something and feared it was a body. Terrified at what that might mean, I rolled away and got to my knees. When I felt around, I knew the shape was that of a man, one who lay quite still.”

“Why did you not shout for help? Brother Beorn was near.”

“Because I heard voices. I recognized yours and called for aid.”

Ralf reconsidered the contents of the jug and poured himself a last mazer of ale. “So you thought you saw someone fleeing before you tripped. There may have been a witness after all, or else a killer,” he muttered. “I need only find a shadow.”

“And the lad? How did he die? I pray he did not suffer.”

“You should have been able to tell something from the position of the stab wound.”

“I did not feel for any wound,” Jacob snapped, “and it was too dark to see.”

“What weapons do you own?”

“My kind jailor asked the same. I gave him my small table knife which he has hidden away. Ask him for it. You may check for blood and, if you think I cleaned it before you arrested me, I wear the same clothes now.” He stood. “Do you wish to look for stains?”

Ralf shook his head.

“As for any other weapon, I carry nothing else.”

“Then breath more easily,” Ralf said. “The lad who troubled your wife’s rest with his loud preaching will live.”

Jacob ben Asser covered his face with his hands and murmured a prayer of thanks.

Ralf, on the other hand, stared upward with less gratitude. He no longer had any good suspects but too many dead bodies.

Thomas did not like Adelard, but his heart softened when he saw the fear in the lad’s eyes. Many would say that the baker’s son was ready to take on the burdens of manhood along with a man’s beard, but there was a quivering child reflected in the gaze of this youth of eighteen summers. “I offer solace and guidance,” the monk said. The gentleness in his voice was sincere.

“My heart is heavy, Brother. Crimes oppress my soul. I must have your counsel.” Adelard’s words tumbled out in a rush.

“That I shall give, but you must speak the truth. Whatever sins have been committed, your soul is of greater worth than your body. Do you swear you shall be honest, whatever the consequences?”

“I do.” The youth looked away. “But I could not speak to the crowner until I was clear on what must be spoken and what might be left in silence.” His words were muffled. “Ask what you will, then guide me.”

Thomas decided it was kinder to begin with an event that had not led to a death. “Why were you by the stables?”

“I did not lie when I said I wished to pray for the Jews’ conversion, but there was another reason. I hoped God would take pity on me in the solitude of darkness if I continued to beg for enlightenment after your revelations.”