Priscilla Royal - Satan's Lullaby

With effort, Eleanor’s smile successfully conveyed the expected appreciation in response to Davoir’s words.

“But when my clerk was killed and the only cause seemed to be the medicine sent by your sub-infirmarian, I had reason to suspect that she was either incompetent or had tried to protect you out of some benighted hope that I would be frightened away or perhaps less inclined to find you guilty of the charges against you.” He raised his hands to suggest how obvious his conclusion must have been.

Eleanor nodded. Her neck ached from the effort to do so politely.

“Now I fear that someone wishes me ill and the attack against Renaud suggests that the death of Jean might not be solely due to your sub-infirmarian’s incompetence.”

Eleanor could understand why someone might want to wring this priest’s neck. “Indeed,” she said.

“I might still be inclined to suspect you had a hand in this, considering the seriousness of the allegations against you…”

Ralf stepped forward.

“Peace, Crowner,” the prioress whispered.

“…but the words of your sub-prioress made me pause in thought. She had no love for you after your king sent you to replace her, a woman so respected by the religious of this house that she was duly elected to succeed the former prioress. Her great resentment is a sin, but, for once, truth was strengthened by her human wickedness.” He smiled. “Her testimony on your behalf was powerful.”

Eleanor smiled back. “I shall long remember that insight, Father.”

For a moment, he said nothing and sat watching her with a preoccupied look. Then his brow smoothed, and he waved one hand in a gesture of surrender. “I have erred in suspecting you of complicity in murder,” he said, “and your sub-prioress has convinced me that you are innocent of the charges laid against you.”

“Although Sister Ruth is an honorable woman and strives to speak with honesty under all circumstances, I would not want you to take the word of only one member of our community, Father. I hope you will question others here as well.”

“I have.”

Of course, you have, Eleanor thought, but in this one instance I am glad you did pursue your investigation beyond all good sense. “And have you found support or condemnation? I do not ask for the names of those who gave witness to either.”

“Nothing but praise,” he replied. “Some have called you blessed. ”

“Which I am not,” she quickly replied with a modest bow of her head, “being a frail mortal and a lowly daughter of Eve.” Seeing he was about to say more, she decided she must control the conversation until he had admitted all she wished in front of Crowner Ralf, the one presumed impartial witness. “I am sure you found none who had any criticism of Brother Thomas.” She was tempted to smile up at the monk but deemed it unwise lest her gesture be misinterpreted.

“Again, I heard only acclaim. Some have even said he most resembles the founder of this Order in the strength of his virtue.” Davoir looked briefly at the monk, his expression suggesting that he had found this discovery regrettable.

Brother Thomas followed the example of his prioress and lowered his gaze in silent humility.

“May I speak, my lady?”

Crowner Ralf rarely sounded so meek. Had the circumstances been different, Eleanor might have teased him. Instead, she gravely gave consent to his request. Looking at his eyes, she saw them glittering with fury, although his demeanor otherwise suggested calm. Taking a deep breath, she decided she must trust him not to decapitate the priest in front of her.

“The leader of the soldiers, who provided you with protection on the journey here, believes you are in danger. I concur. You now agree.”

The priest clenched his jaw as if preparing for a test of wills.

“Since you have found Prioress Eleanor and Brother Thomas innocent of the foul lies leveled against them, I pray that you will allow them to join the captain and me in keeping you safe within the priory walls. In doing so, I believe we also have the opportunity to capture the miscreant who killed your beloved clerk, something for which you must deeply long.”

Davoir said nothing, tapped his chin, and turned his gaze to a fat fly resting on the table nearby.

“Modesty prevents Prioress Eleanor and Brother Thomas from saying this,” Ralf continued, “but they are both well-known in our land for their ability to bring evil men to justice.” With a reverent expression and an unusual acknowledgement to God, the crowner looked heavenward. “Only those in His favor could do as well as these two in rendering His justice when we more flawed mortals fail.”

Ralf lowered his gaze and shut his eyes so no one could read his thoughts, but Eleanor noted that he had blood on his lip from biting it. Although the crowner had long been a friend, and was the husband of her cherished Gytha, she suddenly loved him even more, knowing the effort it took for him not to rage against this man who had insulted his friends and put his wife in mortal danger with his arrogant blindness.

Davoir seemed oblivious to all the details and problems involved in finding the cause of the recent violence. The priest’s face betrayed his profound struggle to determine what he thought was best. He shifted the honor of his gaze from the fly to the rushes under his feet.

Think of your bishopric, Eleanor prayed, and do what is in your own interest to survive long enough to enjoy it. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to conclude that Davoir was not a truly evil man. The priest believed he had the gift of superior reason and thus his decisions must be beyond question. Yet if anyone was born unable to see beyond his nose, it was Father Etienne Davoir.

“You do think I am in danger of my life?” The priest continued to stare at the floor.

“We do,” Ralf replied.

“If I may speak, my lady?”

Eleanor was surprised that her monk had broken his silence, but she quickly nodded.

“In order to more swiftly decide who might wish you ill, Father, we must know if you have acquired any enemies, men so angry that they would wreak violence against you.” Brother Thomas’ tone was respectful.

“Any man, especially one who has found favor with mortals of great standing and God, acquires enemies.” Davoir glanced up, his expression revealing that he was perplexed by the question.

“As soon as you return to court, you will be elevated to a bishopric?” Thomas waited for the man to nod. “And you will carry your most talented clerks with you to higher rank as well, a well-known practice. When you arrived here, Jean and Renaud rode by your side, a position suggesting you held them in great favor.” He paused.

“All of this is well known. Please be brief.” Davoir glared at the monk as if Thomas were one of his clerks.

The monk ignored him. “Jean has been murdered. Renaud has been attacked. This violence suggests the culprit might bear a festering resentment against you. Perhaps he suffered some punishment you meted out or expected some favor you failed to grant. Are there any men who were once clerks but whom you sent away, or families who hoped you might accept a son into your service but for whom you found no position…?” His voice trailed off.

As Eleanor watched Davoir strive to put these elements together, she was grateful that her monk had asked the question. The priest would take that probing query better from him than from a woman, even if she was a prioress, or a man bound to secular law like Ralf.

Davoir frowned. “I have always made my decisions well-founded in logic.”

“Even if their conclusion was in error, who might have disagreed with you despite the aptness of your judgement?”

Not for the first time, Eleanor was proud of her monk’s calm.