The cook groveled in the rank mud, then clambered to her knees and seized the sheriff’s wrist.
“I am innocent!”
“Take the vile creature away,” Sir Reimund shouted. He stared down at Hilda with loathing and tore his hand from her tremulous grasp.
Two men rushed to obey.
“She offends all honest souls.”
A man gave the sheriff a cloth.
Snatching it, he rubbed at the muck soiling his hand as if he were scouring a pot.
Stunned by the scene before them, Eleanor and her guard halted just outside the manor house entrance. The prioress gazed at the muttering, pushing crowd and wondered what she should do next. Had every servant gathered to watch the spectacle?
Somewhere dogs barked, and several chickens burst from the crowd, clucking with avian displeasure. Two men stood at the edge of the group, heads together, as if conferring over some significant thing. One straightened and roared with laughter. Nearby, a woman heavy with child cried out, a stain darkening her skirt. An older companion took her by the arm and eased her away.
From the vicinity of the stable, Master Stevyn shouted something incomprehensible. Eleanor could see his head as he began to shove his way to the center. Mistress Maud followed close behind him, effectively using sharp elbows to keep the path open even after they had passed through.
Seeing the pair, Eleanor assumed Mistress Luce was also here but could not identify the wife anywhere in the throng.
“What are you doing with my cook, Sheriff?” the steward roared.
“She killed your groom. I’m taking her to the castle jail until her trial and hanging.”
The cook screamed once, began beating her breast, and then raised her eyes to the sky and howled like a terrified dog.
“Hilda?” The steward stared in amazement at the mud-stained servant. “You think she killed Tobye?”
Mistress Maud put her hands on her hips as fury stiffened her square body. “She’s shown violence only to chickens and pigs, my lord. What proof have you to find her guilty of a more heinous act?”
Eleanor decided to push her way through the crowd, but so enthralled were they by the spectacle, they refused to budge.
“If I may, my lady?” her guard whispered, then stepped in front of her. “Stand aside for the Prioress of Tyndal,” he snarled as he thrust people out of the way. Like awkward statues, they tilted this way and that but did shift position enough to allow her space to walk.
The sheriff strode over to meet the steward. “She’s guilty enough,” he said, replying to Stevyn rather than the widow who had asked the specific question. “A woman past child-bearing who lusted after a young man and was mocked by him, probably rejected for one better suited to his taste in bed. She cut his throat in revenge, an act not unusual for women like that.”
“Even if she did want to lie in his arms,” Maud shouted, “there was nothing more between them than her dreams.”
The cook was still on her knees, her body steaming from the reeking mud and animal dung that stained her clothes. “I give you my word that I did not kill him, Master Stevyn,” she whimpered. “On God’s mercy and my soul’s hope of heaven…”
“Don’t blaspheme!” a man yelled, and Ranulf shoved two people out of his way to rush to his father’s side.
“God knows I bear no blame in this murder,” Hilda wailed. “When I swear my innocence on His name, I commit no sin.”
“Sir Reimund,” Eleanor called out in a tone that carried with authority over the heads of the crowd, “you have been asked a reasonable question. Since you have yet to respond, I must conclude that you did not hear it. Thus I shall repeat the query.”
The crowd hushed and turned to hear what the Prioress of Tyndal had to say.
“What evidence do you have of this woman’s guilt?” Eleanor asked. “Does she not deserve to hear the accusations in order to better answer them? Gentle King Henry was known for his mercy to sinners. Surely you do not dare to believe that his son, now our noble lord, would demand a less perfect justice?”
The sheriff’ brow furrowed with dark fury and the assault on his authority. “With all due respect, my lady, I do not think this matter is any of your concern.”
A loud voice from behind Eleanor replied: “God demands justice, Sir Sheriff, and no earthly king’s man could ever speak for Him as truly as the Prioress of Tyndal. I, on the other hand, have more worldly cares. We shall be without dinner if you arrest our cook. Has the Earl of Lincoln or his steward so offended you that you wish to get revenge by making us suffer so?”
When Eleanor turned around, she saw Huet close by. His tone may have been tinged with merriment, but his demeanor was devoid of it.
“Our honored guest has requested no more than fairness demands,” the steward replied. “In that, my younger son has argued well. What is your proof of guilt?”
Realizing he was outnumbered by those he dare not offend, the sheriff shrugged but his face paled with the effort of concession. “Her lust for the man and her outrage, when she believed he was swyving another woman, were observed by an impeccable witness. This same person saw her near the stable the night the groom was murdered, a time when the virtuous are in their beds or on their knees in prayer.”
“By your own words, Sir Reimund, you have also damned this witness as a vile sinner if he saw our cook wandering about at the Devil’s hour,” Huet replied. “Do you think any honorable man could hear the testimony of such a wicked soul and conclude it was honest?”
“How dare you!” Ranulf bellowed.
Huet grinned. “The witness must have been you, sweet brother. What were you doing, wandering around at such an hour? Looking for a horse to ride, or perhaps you sought help to raise your lance against the Prince of Darkness?”
The color of Ranulf’s face burst into apoplectic purple.
The sheriff said nothing and had apparently decided he would be well-advised to make sure his fingernails were perfectly clean.
“What have you to say for yourself?” Master Stevyn turned to Hilda, his customary roughness curiously softened.
The cook looked down at her filthy dress, then raised her reddened eyes to meet the gaze of every one in that crowd, people who would never forget this day of her humiliation. “Tobye did give me a kiss or two in payment for a few small sweets I baked,” she said, “things too imperfect and unworthy of your table. Aye, I felt a sinful pleasure in those kisses, but he was far younger than I.” Meandering tears whitened paths down her muddy cheeks as she wept anew. “Why should I feel jealousy when I always knew he would never love a woman like me with such a belly and hanging breasts?” Her speech dropped back to a whimper.
“Did you rage at him as you have been accused?” Stevyn’s face grew pale. “Did you go to him the night he was murdered?”
As if she had just been stripped naked, she wrapped her arms around her breasts and bent her head with shame. “Aye, I did roar at him once because of the woman—women he thoughtlessly swyved. As for being out the night Tobye was murdered, I went to the privy once, perhaps twice.”
“You were resentful because you are a woman, and lust banishes the little reason you possess,” Ranulf snarled. “Your defense is guided by Satan and it is his honeyed voice, spoken with your tongue that makes your wickedness sound almost innocent.”
Eleanor bit her lip. Hilda had slipped when she said she had berated Tobye for coupling with one woman, then tried to correct the error by making the number greater. Hilda was a loyal servant and would not give more information out of fear that she would lose Master Stevyn’s apparent sympathy. And she probably had the right of that. She might well be called a liar or traitorously ungrateful were she to name Luce. As matters now stood, however, her heated argument with Tobye sounded like the rant of a jealous woman, not a concerned condemnation of the affair between Tobye and the steward’s wife.
But was Hilda jealous? Could the cook be Tobye’s killer? Eleanor rather doubted the woman’s guilt. Unless Hilda was possessed of greater cunning than her demeanor would suggest, the prioress believed her innocent of this particular crime. But she was not so convinced that the woman had not been near the stable that night for some reason other than a mere trip to the privy. Her mention of that sounded hesitant as if she were desperate to find an excuse. Was there a way to question the terrified woman in private?
Huet’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Come, come, elder brother,” he was saying. “Surely you know that some women don’t suffer from lust at all. Is not your own wife an example of such perfect virtue?”
Ranulf’s glared, his face changing hue from red to white and back again.
Eleanor concluded that Mistress Constance must be notoriously in arrears on the marriage debt.
The sheriff was losing patience and finally interjected: “All that may be argued with differing opinions amongst honorable men, but the fact remains, an unarguable fact, that this woman, who has confessed to lust before you all, was seen near the stable the night the groom was foully sent to God with all his sins riding on the back of his crooked soul. On that alone, I must arrest her.”
“If you will give me leave, Master Stevyn, I must speak.”
Eleanor looked up in surprise to see her monk maneuvering through the crowd toward the sheriff.
Sir Reimund opened his mouth to protest.
“Let us hear what you have to say, Brother.” The steward seized the sheriff’s arm with such strength that the man winced.
Thomas nodded gratitude for the permission. “The night the groom was killed, Master Huet and I shared a straw mat in the kitchen near the hearth. Since we had huddled closer to retain warmth from the dying ashes as the night went on, I awoke when Master Huet rose to attend a call of nature. I saw the cook in the kitchen, fast asleep on the nearby bench. That was the same place I had seen her lie down before I, too, fell sleep.”
Eleanor overheard an abrupt intake of breath behind her but instinctively pretended she had not heard Huet’s reaction.
“She could have left the kitchen and returned either before you awoke or after you had fallen back to sleep, Brother,” the sheriff replied, his voice tense.
“Since I am accustomed to rising for the early Office, I stayed awake and prayed until just before dawn broke. Only then did the cook leave the kitchen but for no longer than it might take anyone to visit the latrine or do a quick morning wash before returning. By then others were about. I could hear them.”
Master Stevyn raised a questioning eyebrow at the sheriff.
“That does not give her an excuse for much earlier in the night, Brother.” Sir Reimund’s voice shook.
Was his visible dismay caused by anger or doubt? Eleanor wondered.
“Since you surely examined the corpse and noted the extent of its stiffness, you must know that he could not have been killed too close to the time the sun set.”
Instead of replying, the sheriff glowered at the guard he had assigned to the prioress, as if he had expected him to prevent interference from all others as well.
Fortunately, the man failed to see his lord’s displeasure since he was bent in close conversation with a young woman.
Eleanor lowered her eyes and prayed that Thomas would rein in his tongue. She may have decided to get involved in this crime for reasons she deemed proper, but she also knew they had no explicit right to do so. Giving testimony in private was one thing, but they must tread lightly and most certainly must not reveal so publicly that they knew details they should not. Justice might be cruelly thwarted if a protest was raised because of Church interference in matters rightfully under the king’s authority.
“As for witnesses, Sheriff,” Huet called out, “I can add my testimony that the cook was asleep when I went to the privy. Since my bowels were loose that night, I spent some time there, or pacing nearby in discomfort, and neither saw nor heard anything untoward. Hilda was snoring when I returned. Brother Thomas was on his knees in prayer.”
Thomas blinked and then nodded in silence.
“Thus we have a highly regarded witness to her probable guilt and reputable witnesses to her possible innocence,” the sheriff muttered. “Where there is conflict…”
“…there is reason for caution and doubt,” Master Stevyn finished. “As to the testimony of the first witness?” He turned to his eldest son. “Can you swear it was our cook whom you saw? Can you give an hour?”
“A woman slipped into the stable. When I saw her, I thought she was Hilda. Tobye greeted her with a laugh and, although I could not hear their exact words, I did note her wheedling tone. I remember thinking it odd that our cook would have any honest cause to seek out the groom at such a time and place. I confess I did not see her face, nor can I tell you the hour of the night.” He folded his arms. The gesture was defiant, but his face was ashen and he could not meet his father’s eye. “I was on my way to pray.”
Eleanor felt a chill shoot through her. Ranulf’s testimony suggested far more than a woman simply being in the general vicinity of the stable.
Mistress Maud briefly touched the steward’s arm, and he bent an ear to her whisperings.
Ranulf glared at Huet. “When I rise from my bed, my sins trouble me more than my bowels, but then I am more abstemious than certain sinners amongst us. I go to the chapel from my bed, not the privy because I have gotten drunk.”
And, of course, you would never stop in your rush to seek God’s mercy to eavesdrop on how others are progressing in their many lusts, Eleanor thought, disgusted at the man’s hypocrisy. She was not sure whether Ranulf or his wife was the more tiresome, but the former was no longer a minor irritant. Anyone who tried to shove a woman, possibly innocent of any wrongful act, to her hanging was a grave threat to justice. Yet was she so innocent?
“May I suggest a compromise, Sir Reimund?” Stevyn now asked.
“I always listen to a reasoned voice,” the sheriff replied, his teeth visibly clenched as if fighting a feverish chill.
“I do not believe my eldest son’s statements can be dismissed, yet we have all heard equally compelling stories that cast doubt on their precise accuracy.” He looked over to Eleanor. “Since we have the Prioress of Tyndal here as an honored guest, I would like to ask her permission to involve Brother Thomas in this matter.”
Well practiced in restraint, Eleanor did not visibly react. After delaying a suitable amount of time to suggest reflection, she nodded her agreement.
Stevyn bowed, then continued: “May we not keep our cook here under close guard and ask Brother Thomas to speak with Hilda about the future of her soul? A guard would make sure she did not escape, and you would have time to resolve any discrepancies between the statements given. If Hilda is guilty, she may well confess for the good of her soul or you may find a satisfactory resolution of the conflicts.”
The sheriff remained silent but glanced at Eleanor as if she were to blame for this.
“Your proposal holds merit,” she replied to the steward. How fortunate these people were, she thought, to have Master Stevyn to preside over the manor courts. The jury might decide the matters at hand in such situations, but his considered opinions would surely tilt them to a more just conclusion.
“Very well,” Sir Reimund replied. “Let me know where the cook will be housed, and I will set a proper guard.”
Stevyn pointed at a low hut nearby. “One door. No windows. It was storage, but we’ve just finished a larger building. This one is empty.”
Mistress Maud walked to the bedraggled cook, gently lifted her to her feet, and directed Hilda through the crowd.
Eleanor noted the kindness but then grew troubled. Her vague impression that the widow had left the chambers, where Mariota lay, on the night of the groom’s murder would not fade. Surely she was wrong and the memory false. Yet she could not set her question aside. If Ranulf had seen a woman with Tobye that night, a woman who was not Luce but bore a resemblance to Hilda, might she have been Maud? In truth, she hoped neither the cuckolded steward nor this healer was involved, but she knew she dare not base a fair judgment of either on such short acquaintance.
As everyone dispersed and the steward walked away with the sheriff, Brother Thomas made his way to Eleanor.
“Do you believe in Hilda’s innocence?” She kept her voice low enough that the guard, who was still talking to the woman next to him, would not hear.
“I do, my lady, but I am troubled.”
The prioress held up her hand for silence and walked over to her guard. “Brother Thomas has asked that we go to the chapel to pray for Hilda. Will you be kind enough to accompany us there? Afterward, I will make sure you get a good supper.”
A mother’s smile could not have been sweeter, but Eleanor did feel properly contrite over her use of prayer as deception.