Eleanor’s eyes widened. “I never would have thought such a thing.”
Ralf stared at the rushes on the floor. Although no one could read his expression, his shoulders were rounded as if heavy melancholy had weighed them down.
“Nor do I now,” Sister Anne replied. “Signy may have faults like the rest of us, but I cannot imagine why she would bed a man like Martin. I had never heard that she was fond of the rougher sort.”
Ralf glanced up and blinked as if waging war against enemy tears.
“Perhaps I misspoke,” Anne said, her tone softened by compassion. “When a man chooses to ignore sweet courtesies and fine fashion, he may still own a gentle heart. Martin was a cruel man. I meant the latter when I spoke of roughness.”
“The innkeeper’s niece is a woman beyond reproach,” the crowner replied, his words barely audible. “Were she otherwise, Tostig would not…” He coughed uncomfortably.
“Of course, Ralf.” Anne nodded.
“None of us gives credence to this comment by the smithy.” Eleanor’s dismissive gesture gave emphasis to her words. “Nonetheless, it provides me with cause to call Signy back. I wanted to clarify some details of her story. And,” she continued, “I have more questions for Ivetta as well, although the latter may find a second visit to the priory more unwelcome than the first. I fear the contemplative nature of our life failed to attract her.”
Anne raised a hopeful eyebrow. “Our Order has welcomed women of her trade who repent. Not all religious houses do. Her exposure was surely all too brief. Perhaps another walk through our cloister would open her heart to the murmured wisdom of Saint Mary Magdalene.”
“That is a miracle for which we might well pray.” The prioress smiled before turning her attention back to the crowner. “Meanwhile, I shall see what more I can learn that relates to murder.”
“My lady, you are most kind to take on this task,” he said, this time meeting her gaze. “The cooper’s death does not affect Tyndal Priory, and I shall never forget your generous help when I could not get answers.”
“God requires it. First, our priory does serve both the spiritual and many temporal needs of this village. Second, when any mortal falls victim to violence, even one as sinful as Martin, all men are blighted. Whether they follow a secular or religious life matters not. Because you are striving to emulate God’s most perfect justice, Crowner, we have good reason to assist you in that pursuit.” Her smile was warm with affection.
Ralf flushed unhappily. “I could never achieve perfection, my lady. My soul is so fat with its many transgressions that even the Devil must doubt he can find room for my spirit in Hell.”
“All I said was strive, Ralf,” she replied, her tone turning curiously chill. “With God’s help, we imperfect mortals may even succeed on rare occasion. As for the number of our sins, we all suffer from mortal flaws, whether sworn to enforce an earthly king’s law or that of God.”
Not long after, the crowner left—as did Sister Anne. When the Prioress of Tyndal’s eyes darkened to that color of storm clouds scudding above the North Sea, even friends felt safer elsewhere.
***
Eleanor marched into her private chambers.
From his nest in a worn piece of wool, the cat raised his head and scrutinized his mistress as she stood over him. His yellow-green eyes were round with grave concern.
“What a hypocrite I am!”
She picked the cat up and carried him in the crook of her arm to the nearby chair. “My perfect knight, I need your soothing company for I am most distraught. Did you overhear my words? Did I not speak convincingly of our duty to strive toward perfection in justice?”
As soon as she sat, the cat circled into a comfortable position on her lap.
“I am wallowing in self-pity. My heart rots with foul anger. The putrefying stench of my sins overcomes me, and my prayers bring neither answer nor comfort.”
Arthur, it seems, was less troubled and quickly fell asleep.
“Why should Signy not hide secrets from me that might bring disgrace, perhaps even connect her to murder? My own soul thrashes in a reeking slough. Would I readily speak of my shame, except to a confessor or my aunt?” She threw her head back against the chair.
Startled by the abrupt gesture, Arthur leapt to the floor but remained at her feet.
“And Ivetta? She is an honest whore while I most truly resemble a whited sepulcher, filled with dead bones and uncleanness.” She bent over to stroke the wary cat and sighed. “Strive, was the word I used,” she whispered. “Strive. That is all God asks, and I must never say He fails to answer my prayers. My greatest fault lies in not listening for His consolation.”
Muffled voices from below her window caught her attention. She stiffened. Were visitors arriving to disrupt this time she needed for musing, she wondered. With relief, Eleanor recognized the familiar laughter of lay sisters passing by, and she slipped back into her troubled thoughts.
“This matter of Brother Thomas has cast my wits into a dungeon and chained them with rough iron to the stone wall,” she continued. “There Lust, Jealousy, and Anger are let loose like mad dogs by Satan to torment my frail reason. I should have asked our abbess in Anjou to send the monk elsewhere many months ago!”
She sighed. “But cooler logic showed me the selfishness of doing so, and I did not. Now that I know his traitorous secret, do I truly have any better cause than my lust to cast him forth? Even if I did, my request might be refused. Perhaps I would be wiser to keep my knowledge hidden. The Abbess herself might have been involved in making the decision to send him here.”
Eleanor patted her lap and the cat jumped back causing the prioress to smile in spite of herself. “Besides, you and my aunt seem to find him pleasing, snake in the garden though he might be,” she said to Arthur. “Dare I ignore your greater wisdom and my aunt’s pointed remark that he has proven his keenness for justice and the willingness to serve me? Surely I am out-argued by you both and must concede the debate.”
Arthur started to scrub her hand with studied care.
She laughed. “That rough tongue of yours is far more effective than any hair shirt, good sir!”
A fly buzzed by, slow and lazy with the summer warmth. The cat tensed, eyed the threat, then jumped down to the floor and began stalking it with due diligence.
“Perhaps a hair shirt would scour away this feminine imperfection of rampant lust and recloak my soul with a cooler, manlier reason? While I sit immobilized by my weaknesses, a soul draped in evil, one that has broken God’s commandment against murder, walks free in Tyndal village. My sins will multiply even more if I allow myself to be blinded by my frailty over Brother Thomas and not help bring that viler creature to earthly justice.”
Eleanor fell into a meditative silence.
The cat, meanwhile, twisted and jumped at the diverting insect.
“As my aunt told me, lusting after my monk gives Satan joy, but there is no sin in finding pleasure in the company of the man if that leads us both to better serve Our Lord. God gave Eve to Adam for companionship. Surely she found a like contentment with him before their fall from grace. That proves there is no wickedness in chaste affection.”
She rose and walked over to the window. The sun was favoring the land outside with benevolent warmth. “Nonetheless, no man may have two masters.”
The fly disappeared out the same window, leaving the cat baffled.
The prioress clenched her fists. “And I shall claim first loyalty! Brother Thomas is my liegeman. I do not know the reason he became a spy, nor do I understand why he was sent specifically to Tyndal Priory.” Her lips curled with grim humor. “Perhaps the assumption was that I, a simple woman with few years on earth, would be easily deceived and manipulated. Until now, that was certainly true; but anyone who underestimates the niece of Sister Beatrice is the greater fool.”
The breeze shifted and brought the smell of the eastern sea into her room. Eleanor breathed deeply, finding calming pleasure in it.
“And now that I have been alerted to my monk’s other duties, this unnamed but arrogant churchman who claims his obedience would be well-advised to reconsider his methods.” Folding her arms, she looked back at her cat. “Of course, I shall let Brother Thomas leave Tyndal on missions to serve God, as he has been wont to do already, but henceforth he shall do so only by my grace! Perhaps I may even enjoy my next encounter with the priest, who comes with overt lies to purloin my monk, and shall consider how to make it quite clear that I am willing to let my monk serve God’s justice elsewhere, but only when it suits me.”
She looked heavenward, her eyes narrowing with ardent determination. “As prioress of Tyndal, I may rightfully lay claim to the obedience of my flock. Brother Thomas is mine and shall be only mine until God takes either of our souls to judgement!”
With that the prioress bent to pick up the disgruntled insect hunter and carried him out of her private chambers. Whatever grief Brother Thomas might bring her heart, Eleanor still had properties to manage and a murder to solve, whereas Arthur must clear the kitchen of thieving rodents.
When they departed, a small mouse, that had been lying very still in a far corner, quickly disappeared through a crack in the wall some feet away. Were it able to thank God for the life-saving distractions of a languid fly and a woman’s angst, this one tiny creature most certainly would have done so.