Although Sir Reimund was surely accustomed to horses, he shifted uncomfortably in the saddle.
Standing beside him, in the company of Brother Thomas, Eleanor wondered if the sheriff had just bitten into something bitter when he winced, his eyes focused on the scene at the manor house door.
Two of his men pulled Ranulf, hobbled and arms bound, through the entryway.
Close behind strode the steward, his head bowed.
Mistress Maud followed Stevyn, as he approached the sheriff’s horse, and gently touched his arm, the gesture so swiftly done that most in the courtyard would have missed it.
The steward glanced down, his grim expression softening as he felt her comfort. “Hang him, Sir Reimund,” he said, looking back at the uneasy sheriff. “He may be the son of my loins, but I have cast him from my heart. Yet, when the day comes, I’ll be there. The only favor I ask is that my men be allowed to pull his legs so his neck will break and some family dignity retained. No one who bears my name should dance and buck for common amusement.”
Eleanor looked at the pitiful creature to whom the steward referred. Surrounded by the sheriff’s men, Ranulf was ragged, bent, and reeking of his own filth. According to Thomas, Ranulf had been rolling naked in his excrement and howling like courtyard scavenger dogs when the monk visited him at dawn for prayer and confession.
“I wish the outcome of these crimes had been otherwise,” Reimund said, carefully looking at a spot over the steward’s head.
“No less than I,” Stevyn retorted. “But he killed three people, three whose sins were God’s to punish, not his.”
“Three?” Reimund blinked.
“His wife,” Maud said, her voice catching. “We found her corpse in the chapel, stabbed through the heart.”
“A deed that Ranulf admitted with some glee as we locked him safely away,” Thomas added, his eyes narrowing as he nodded at the trussed man. “All the ones he slaughtered cry out for justice, but one murder is crime enough in God’s eyes.”
“Perhaps the total will be four. Hilda’s fate is still in God’s hands,” Eleanor said. Indeed, she offered many prayers for the cook last night, and Hilda’s eyes had opened this morning. Nonetheless, there was no recognition in the woman’s gaze, nor had she spoken. The prioress lowered her eyes to hide the tears they held. If God took Hilda’s soul, He would most surely treat it with infinite mercy and pull it gently enough from this world. Yet mortals will grieve, and her laughter would be sorely missed.
The sheriff nervously cleared his throat.
Startled out of her thoughts, she looked up at this man, who weighed the cost of justice in the scales of ambition, and found she was not yet capable of forgiving him.
“My lady, if the guard I set to protect you offended in any way, please let me know. I shall punish him accordingly.”
Eleanor swallowed her anger. That he was so willing to cast blame on another, one who had no choice but to obey orders, meant this wretched sheriff had learned nothing. “He was most courteous, Sir Reimund, and, most worthy of reward for his care. I am sure that a larger bit of land from you, so he might marry again and support a growing family, would not go amiss. When I tell my father of the events here, I will mention his name.” Thus you dare not treat him ill for the kindness and good service he did render me, despite your spiteful intent. With a pleasure she knew was wicked enough to require confession, she fell into a pointed silence.
“Then I hope you bear me no malice, my lady, for my wish to keep you safe with a killer about.”
She tilted her head and smiled but said nothing more.
A flush rose from Sir Reimund’s neck and bathed his face with a scarlet hue. He waited for a very long minute, then bowed his head. “You are most kind, my lady,” he muttered, willing her indifferent smile into a sign of favoring grace to him.
Quickly, he gave the order for his contingent of men to leave. When the sad party moved toward the manor courtyard gate, a man poked at Ranulf to indicate he must walk on as well. Staggering forward, the elder son of Master Stevyn neither cried out, nor did he turn to give any farewell to his father.
As she watched the small procession, Eleanor realized she was saddened by the thought of hanging this man. Without doubt he had murdered several people, but Satan had so blinded him with obscene obsessions that he could not see it was Evil who had directed his hand against those victims, not God. According to Brother Thomas, the man’s wits had fled, leaving him utterly possessed by madness, and thus rendered incapable of repentance or confession.
Would Ranulf ever be able to feel the horror of his crimes and beg forgiveness, even when the hangman draped the rope around his neck? Shouldn’t all men have the chance to cleanse their souls? Perhaps she should not grieve for him, murderer that he was, but her heart was not easily silenced on the matter. To distract herself from the murmurings of that womanish organ, she turned to consider whether there had been a lesson in the events of the last few days for her.
She thought back on all the times she had involved herself in mortal crime and wondered if she had committed the same error as Ranulf when she decided she knew better than others what God’s justice meant. Had the Prince of Darkness blinded her to the dangers of her own arrogance?
In this case, her motive for interfering with a matter of justice, which belonged under the jurisdiction of an earthly king, was not pure. The sheriff had treated her with disrespect, and her pride in rank had been offended. Had she been less concerned with thwarting the sheriff, might she have saved Mistress Luce’s life, perhaps even that of Ranulf’s wife? Had her failure to discover the truth in time been due, at least in part, to her own sinful motivations?
Just a few months ago, after Martin the Cooper was poisoned, she had been blinded by her jealousy and failed to see events with needed clarity. If she finally succeeded in conquering her own lusts and pride, would she not serve God’s justice better?
Yet the mortal heart had much to teach, especially about the power of love. From old Tibia last summer, she had learned the force of a mother’s love. Even Ivetta the Whore had demonstrated loyalty, albeit to a man who little deserved it. This time, Stevyn and Maud had lessons for her. But finding the jewel of love amidst the dross of sin required a craftsman’s skill, and Eleanor felt so pitifully ignorant.
She folded her hands, closed her eyes for a moment, and begged God for forgiveness. When she returned to Tyndal, she promised to ask a hard penance from her confessor for her failings. In the meantime, she would pray for Ranulf, as difficult as that would surely be. When the steward’s son died and his quaking soul discovered that his true master had been Satan, might God still grant him at least some mercy for having lost all reason? Or was that a blasphemous hope?
She looked up. The gates to the manor were closed. The sheriff’s party was well along on the road with their prisoner.
Eleanor turned away, pressed a hand against her heart that ached with unhappiness, and walked back to the chamber she shared with Mariota. During those days and years of prayer she owed God, there would be many questions for which she would seek answers. The truth of this particular situation was one, relegated to that shadowy corner of her mind where it would await His enlightenment.