A Killing Season (12 page)

Chapter Twenty-Four

The prioress’ offer of solace to Lady Margaret was rejected without a word. Not one utterance, even of polite greeting, had the mother spoken, nor were any tears shed. The woman’s grief had passed beyond mortal expression. Lying on her bed, arms limply crossed on her chest, the lady stared without blinking at the ceiling.

Eleanor sat next to her and watched, grateful when the potion Sister Anne administered finally let the bereaved mother fall into deep sleep. As the prioress left the chambers of the baron’s wife, she prayed that God would chase away dreams as well.

All I have brought with my stratagem is unconscionable anguish, she thought. Her guilt over keeping Umfrey’s survival hidden grew bitter.

She turned around, longing to return and tell Lady Margaret that she still had two sons living. Instead, she dug her nails into her palms and forced herself back to the open windows of the corridor. The mother was sleeping, and the death of so many sons already was hard enough to bear.

The wind screeched through the opening, buffeting Eleanor as if enraged at her despicable abuse of nature. “Whatever imperfections mortals have, we were also made in God’s image,” she whispered into the grey storm. “A mother’s love for her children is part of that more perfect heritage. I know this for the Queen of Heaven exemplified it.”

She leaned forward and let the rain whip her. In the distance, she could hear the sea lash the coast and knew that the suffering she had caused Lady Margaret was no less profound that the beating the earth endured with the battering of merciless waves.

“My lady?”

The prioress stepped back and looked over her shoulder. A girl stood behind her, eyes round with terror and hands tucked into her armpits. She trembled.

Cringing at this further proof of her lack of charity, Eleanor swore penance for forgetting that she had required a young servant, in the absence of Sister Anne, to accompany her on this chilly walk through the corridors of the keep.

“You are white with the cold, child. Let us walk on.” It was one thing for her to amble along this icy corridor, protected by a long woolen cloak, but this servant, little more than a babe, was not so thankfully dressed.

“Come.” Eleanor stretched out her arm and pulled the girl close to her. “We shall leave this place and find a warm fire.”

The child tensed, fearing surrender to such ease might suggest disrespect to a religious of such high rank, but then she snuggled into the prioress, sensing that the warmth offered was padded with honest compassion.

As they walked toward the doorway leading to the Great Hall, Eleanor saw Brother Thomas leaning against the wall and staring down into the bailey below. She hesitated, wondering if she should speak with him about his meeting with the baron. Quickly deciding that her curiosity was not idle, she called out to the monk.

He started, then turned to face her. There was a deep cut under his cheekbone, and the skin beneath his left eye was swollen.

“That must hurt,” Eleanor said, glad that her evident alarm was appropriate for any prioress to express over an injury suffered by one of her charges. “Have you spoken with Sister Anne?”

“I slipped on the wet floor and fell against the stone wall. The cut is minor and does not pain me, my lady.”

His grin was sheepish enough to almost convince her that the tale was true, but she knew he was lying. When she last left them, the tension between her brother and this monk had been too evident. If blows had been exchanged, she would find a way to learn more of it.

She looked down at the burrowed child and decided she took precedence over minor quarrels between honorable men, even if neither had the right to strike the other. “Brother Thomas and I shall follow close by, child, but you must hurry to the Great Hall,” she said. “Make sure that the servants have built a fire adequate enough to warm us all. Once you have done that, we shall need some hot cider to chase away the chill. Take a cup for yourself as well.”

The girl looked up at her, blinking with uncertainty at the last remark.

“That is my command.”

Appreciation flashed across the girl’s face, and she raced off to do the bidding.

Sadness stung her heart. No child should be so grateful over such a small kindness, she thought. Eleanor shook her head and gestured for Thomas to follow her. “Can you tell me what is troubling the baron?” Her voice was soft.

He shook his head with evident reluctance.

She nodded. There were some conversations she had no right to hear.

They hurried through the hall in silence. The cold from the outside storm chased after them with fiendish zeal.

“Not all of my conversation with the baron was confided in confession, my lady,” he murmured, “but I hesitate to say much else until Master Gamel has spoken with our sub-infirmarian.”

“You may speak in confidence, Brother, and perhaps that would be the wisest choice. When you and the physician returned from Baron Herbert, and Master Gamel asked to speak with Sister Anne, I suspected that the baron might suffer an illness so severe that even an eminent medical man required a second opinion. Then and now your eyes express a rare gravity.”

“What I might say remains conjecture until Master Gamel and Sister Anne reach their conclusions.”

“Lack of knowledge has never stopped mortals from forming opinions. God hopes that some are wise enough to wait until they are taught the truth, but we are impatient creatures.” She gave Thomas a brief smile. “I confess I am one. Mindful of my ignorance, I shall treat what you can tell me with caution.”

“Baron Herbert believes he has been cursed with leprosy.”

Eleanor gasped.

“He has not told his wife nor has he spoken with any of his sons about this. The only one here who knows is Sir Leonel because he observed some of the symptoms in Outremer.”

“That explains why he refuses the company of his family and shuns daylight. You and Master Gamel had time to observe him. Is there anything in his appearance that gives reason to hope that he has some other disease?”

“Although not an expert, I have seen a few afflicted with such severity that the nose has collapsed, they have lost fingers and even their eyes. The baron suffers no significant deformity. That fact allowed Master Gamel some hope. What troubles the physician is that Baron Herbert has lost all body hair, his voice is hoarse, and he has no feeling in his hands. To speed diagnosis, Master Gamel bled him and took a sample of his urine.”

They entered the Great Hall. As they arrived, the young servant girl rushed forward and led them quickly to seats she had prepared by the fire. Eleanor glanced around but did not see either physician or sub-infirmarian. Had they gone together to see the baron?

Sitting, both prioress and monk were served mulled wine. Eleanor thanked the girl and asked her to sit some distance away, close enough for propriety and far enough to allow private speech. A bit of color had returned to the child’s cheeks, and the prioress was pleased to see that she had a slice of cheese to nibble. The girl was little more than skin and bones, she thought, but someone kind had cared enough to slip her a little food.

“Did anyone examine him in Acre or on his journey back to England?” Eleanor kept her voice low as she turned to Thomas. Although no one was near, conversations could carry in the cavernous room.

“Before Baron Herbert set sail for home, a priest was found who agreed to see him in confidence. He confirmed the baron’s fears and said that his affliction was God’s curse for his terrible wickedness.”

“A soldier who sins were forgiven when he took the cross?”

“We have learned to our own grief that men, cleansed of all transgression by that vow, later committed horrible acts.”

Eleanor nodded, recalling an event some years back when a madman had threatened Tyndal Priory. She frowned. “I assume he has confessed those offenses to you.”

“Although I dare not reveal his words, I will say to you alone that nothing seemed so dreadful that God would likely condemn him to this ghastly fate. Perhaps he withheld something from me, although surely not. Since he has called us here, he no longer has cause if ever he did.”

“He remains convinced of God’s curse?” She raised an eyebrow.

“He sought a miracle in Rome and consulted with physicians in Solerno and Paris,” Thomas said. “The physicians were divided in their opinions. The priest in Rome agreed with the one in Acre. Baron Herbert is confused by earthly medicine and horrified by the sacred. As he said, he might understand being so wicked that God flung this disease upon him. He does not see why his sons must die.”

In truth, neither did Eleanor. As for his illness, she quietly prayed that Master Gamel and Sister Anne could give the man a definitive answer. “His desire to avoid spreading the contagion to his family is a wise one, but why did he return home? He endangered all on the ship, any with whom he shared companionship, a meal, or a bed. Even if Sir Leonel is free of contagion, he has been put at risk as well.”

“Mortals commit illogical acts when terrified, my lady. He longs to be near his wife, even if he may never look upon her again. As for his sons, he hoped to learn that at least one has become worthy of this patrimony if he must surrender it all.”

“And yet they die, one after another.” Eleanor grew thoughtful.

“At least he has not succumbed to utter hopelessness and wants to save his remaining son from God’s scourge. All others from whom he sought advice were strangers, owing him neither loyalty nor love. That was why he turned to Sir Hugh for aid, a man he calls
brother
.”

Eleanor bent to stroke a thick-furred cat that had inched closer to the heat. “Acknowledging that he must be certain, did the physician confide his initial impressions to you?”

“Any diagnosis of the disease is cruel for the person and the family, he said, nor is the decision a simple one. He told me that there are many signs to note before a man is declared cursed with leprosy. Although he is familiar with the disease, he begged to confer with Sister Anne.” His lips twitched into a brief smile. “He knows of her reputation as a healer, and their conversations have confirmed the tales told.”

“And if Master Gamel concludes that Baron Herbert is afflicted as the priest in Outremer determined?”

“Surely there are places in England he might travel in his quest for a divine reprieve.”

“Sister Anne once mentioned Canterbury. Some lepers have been cleansed after bathing in water to which a drop of St. Thomas’ blood has been added. Others, who have gone on pilgrimage to great shrines, have been cured or granted a long return of good health. Occasionally, a man has been found clean after a more thorough examination.”

Thomas nodded and looked around. The young servant was dozing, the cheese rind still held loosely in her hand. “There is something else I wanted to discuss with you, my lady. It has nothing to do with this matter of leprosy, but it might have relevance to the death of his sons.”

“Indeed?”

“The other night, I met a soldier walking on the ramparts. It was he who discovered the old priest’s body. When he looked at the corpse, he noticed that the open eyes were streaked with red. His conclusion was that Satan or one of his imps had stolen the priest’s soul and branded his eyes with the color of hellfire.” He hesitated.

The prioress nodded for him to continue.

“He fears consequences if this information should be traced to him.”

“Some means of protection shall be arranged if his testimony is required.”

“When he said the eyes were marked with blood, I suspected the priest had been suffocated.” He cleared his throat and looked away. “I have seen a man killed in like manner before and remembered that these signs pointed to that method of execution.”

Eleanor chose not to ask for any details of this knowledge. “This is frightening news. Did you learn more?”

“Since I am staying in the priest’s old chambers, I returned to search but found little. He may have been fond of wine, but he honored his vow of poverty. The very simplicity of his room was so austere that I almost failed to find two strange things. The first appears to be a seal depicting St. Lazarus.”

She smiled. “I am sure that you have kept this safe.”

He reached into his pouch and gave her the seal.

Gazing at it, she grew pensive. “This belongs to the Order of St. Lazarus.”

“The leper knights in Outremer?”

She nodded. “Their main center in England is a monastery called Burton Lazars.”

“Might this mean that the baron intended to join them?”

“Either that or he was in communication with them about a proposed gift and they had replied.”

“He did not mention this when he spoke with Master Gamel and me.”

“Perhaps he thought it of less import than other matters, although I do wonder where the priest found it and why he kept it.” She hesitated. Her jaw tightened as she made a difficult decision. “Brother, I have heard that the baron loves none of his sons and much prefers his nephew.”

“He spoke little enough of them, except to say that God must have reason to hate him or He would not slaughter his offspring like Job’s sons.” Thomas raised a hand. “He did mention Raoul, calling the youth an ill-natured cur.”

“Other than Sir Leonel, son of his dead brother, I believe that Baron Herbert has no other living nephews. Should all his own offspring die, this nephew would become his heir, a man he loves and honors above any of his own brood.”

Thomas looked confused.

“It is possible,” she whispered, “that the baron is killing his sons so they will not stand in the way of his beloved nephew’s inheritance.”

The monk sat back in horror. “Surely not!”

“Since you know that Umfrey is still alive, I shall confide this to you with the understanding that you speak to no one about it. Umfrey believes it was his father who tried to kill him.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Baron Herbert sat in the shadows, the physician by his side. Glancing sideways at the waiting servant, he gestured toward the chamber door.

The man held it open, and a small party filed in.

“Come no closer, I beg you,” Master Gamel said, raising his hand in warning. “The air may be rife with contagion.”

They dutifully stopped.

The wide-eyed servant edged nearer to the door.

Herbert dismissed him.

Lowering her gaze, Sister Anne modestly tucked her hands into her sleeves. Sir Hugh moved closer to his sister’s side, his expression fierce with protective defiance. Brother Thomas stepped aside, as the servant swiftly retreated, and then firmly shut the door.

“You have news for me, healer?” The baron looked up at the window, his unblinking eyes willing the day’s light to put an end to all nightmares.

“I do not wish to raise your hopes, my lord, but the symptoms you present are not definitive. This means I cannot say that you absolutely have or do not have leprosy.” Gamel looked down at Herbert but kept the focus of his gaze just to the left of the man.

Herbert closed his eyes for a moment, then resumed his intense contemplation of the streaming light from the window.

“As you must surely understand, the decision that a man has contracted leprosy should be made with solemn care. Since some believe the cause of the disease arises from the commission of a dreadful wickedness, it became imperative that Prioress Eleanor and Brother Thomas join us. I can speak only as an imperfect mortal with some poor knowledge of the medical classics.”

Herbert snorted. “You have not yet broken the flask containing my urine, Master Gamel. That must mean you do not believe my condition to be incurable.”

The physician glanced at Sister Anne.

Catching his look, she nodded her head.

“As I said, my lord, the signs you present do not absolutely prove…”

“What else must you see, or not see, to be sure.” The baron’s voice was sharp with impatience. “Others of your profession have already blathered to me like witless birds. One insisted on rubbing goat urine, salt, and honey on my head. I stank but gained no relief. I want a firm decision.”

“If you will kindly allow me, my lord, I shall explain.” Gamel tucked in his chin and cleared his throat. “There are approximately forty signs of leprosy, some strongly indicative of the disease, others of lesser import.”

Herbert covered his eyes in despair.

Gamel continued. “Your voice is hoarse, an unequivocal sign, but your breath is not foul nor does your body stink. The absence of those last factors argues against a diagnosis of the disease. You have lost feeling in your hands, some in your feet. This is strongly suggestive of leprosy. Your hair has fallen out, but this is a lesser sign, often found in those, like you, who have suffered a high fever or other ailments. Another hopeful sign is that you do not have leprous nodules; you do not suffer a fixed stare; and your face presents no disfigurement of lips and nose.” He took a breath.

“Father Aylmer in Outremer was certain soon after he met with me that I had contracted it. Why was he so confident while you are not?”

“Surely he gave you a reasoned analysis, my lord. Were you to tell me what that was, I would happily respond to each of his observations with full commentary.”

“`When the cause is great mortal sin, need men of God provide
reasons
?’ That was his answer when I queried him,” the baron said. “I bowed my head in shame that I had put a worldly practice above the plain fact of my wickedness.”

Sister Anne discreetly gestured to the physician.

“May I ask the cause of this horrible offense to God?” Gamel raised an eyebrow in question as he looked back at the nun.

She nodded approval.

Herbert said nothing for a long moment, then whispered: “Although I tried to remain celibate out of respect for my vows, in Outremer, I began to suffer so greatly from dreams of my wife that I feared for my health and sought relief with a prostitute in the city. Father Aylmer looked into my soul and knew this. He informed me that this whore was even more wicked than Jezebel. She coupled with lepers and then lay with clean men immediately after. For surrendering to the sin of lust, I contracted the disease from her.”

Hugh stiffened. “I can no longer remain silent,” he said. “I know something of this priest’s reputation.”

Herbert leapt to his feet and strode to the chamber wall, striking the stones with an open hand. “If you value the friendship between us, do not say a word. Those who spoke against him were known servants of Satan.”

“So the priest claimed, but your life is worth far more to me than his self-serving condemnation. If there is still hope that you might be clean, I shall not withhold what I heard.” He stretched his hand out in the direction of Prioress Eleanor and Sister Anne. “Included in this present company are those who have dedicated their lives to God’s service. Let them decide if my words have merit. I shall abide by their decision.” He did not even glance at Brother Thomas.

“You will blaspheme!”

“Then let God curse me. I would never claim purity of heart, but, in this one matter, my motives are as innocent as any mortal’s can be.”

“You base your opinion on an infidel’s word.”

“A man who took the name of a sainted physician when he was christened.”

“A false conversion, like the assassin who attempted to kill our king. That creature also lied about abjuring his hellish beliefs in order to disguise his wicked intentions.”

Eleanor gave Hugh a brief warning touch on his arm, then stepped forward. “If I may speak, my lord?” She waited for the baron’s assent. “Let us hear what my brother has to say. He shall tell the tale with simple words, then you may counter with cool reason. As for transgressions, remember that God always forgives the truly repentant. If you have sinned, then confess it with a heart longing for mercy.” She turned and gestured toward Brother Thomas.

“There are times when God has even granted the miracle of a cure in such cases,” the monk said dutifully.

The baron uttered a soft cry.

“As for what we may hear in this room,” she continued, “none of my company shall ever speak of it to another. In the name of the sainted Magdalene, whose own transgressions were forgiven and now gives strength to the penitent sinner, I vow us all to silence.”

Baron Herbert nodded, but, unmistakably weary, he rested his forehead against the wall.

“First, if I may, a brief story?” Hugh looked to his sister.

She gave her consent.

“When several of us lay wounded on the battlefield in the burning sun, a passing Muslim soldier paused, not to slit our throats, but to give us water. That act of mercy surely saved our lives. When Father Aylmer heard the tale, he dismissed the man’s compassion and condemned us all for choosing life over death because survival came at the hands of an infidel.”

The baron said nothing.

“Since Man, despite his frailties, is still made in the image of God, tell me which flawed creature showed the greater understanding of His teaching: the infidel or the priest? Is not mercy one of the great virtues? It is a quality I found most lacking in Father Aylmer.” He hesitated. “Do not forget the parable of the despised Samaritan who proved to be the more godly man.”

Eleanor looked up at her brother with amazement, deciding that he would have made a fine abbot had he not been their father’s heir. Then sorrow promptly quenched delight. Hugh had never mentioned those wounds he had suffered in Outremer.

The baron shrugged, but the gesture was half-hearted.

“Even before the attack on our king, Father Aylmer doubted the sincerity of all conversions, but he especially hated the physician, Lucas, because he had discovered too many of the priest’s own transgressions.”

“A priest, however frail himself, may always point out another’s errors. That is his duty as God’s creature on earth.” The baron half-turned to Thomas. “Am I not correct, Brother?”

The monk glanced at the prioress’ brother, then nodded with reluctance.

Hugh continued, ignoring both the baron’s defense of Aylmer and Thomas’ response. “As you often remarked, my lord, you had many enemies in Outremer. Knowing this, Lucas told me that he had overheard Father Aylmer talking to a man who told him of your visits to the prostitute. I questioned the healer further. He could not identify this informant, nor all that was said. The meeting took place in shadows, and much of the conversation was whispered. Yet he was quite certain that a bag exchanged hands, one that jingled with coin.” Hugh looked with sorrow on his friend.

“Lucas is akin to the snake in Eden, a creature whose purpose was to cause discord amongst true Christian men. Even if your heathen did not lie to you, this story only proves that he is the spy I always believed him to be. In whose pay was he? Did you ever ask that?” Herbert hissed the last few words.

“If Lucas was a spy, it was on my behalf. Knowing that you had recently become deeply troubled, I asked him to watch you in secret. You did not wish to confide in me, your closest friend, yet I still feared for your safety, wondering if you had been threatened or fallen ill. Lucas happened upon this strange meeting on just such an undertaking. If condemnation is due, it is I who must suffer it.”

“I wonder that you dare repeat this preposterous tale.”

“Despite your contempt for Lucas, I can vouch for his honesty.”

Gamel cleared his throat. “Did this physician observe any symptoms of illness, Sir Hugh?”

The knight shook his head. “He did note some troubling changes such as the loss of hair. As for the numbness, Baron Herbert failed to speak of it, although he sometimes dropped things he held in his right hand. Lucas suspected the baron’s severe fever might have caused the hair to fall out but said nothing to me of leprosy.” A muscle in his jaw twitched, and he turned to Herbert. “I repeat this tale, my lord, because I now suspect Father Aylmer may have been paid by one of your enemies to give this diagnosis of leprosy, thus causing you to flee Acre. As I recall, you soon set sail for England and before the king left.”

Herbert did not reply and kept his back turned to the company. When he finally spoke, his tone was harsh. “Yet despite all your fine theories about plots, I may indeed have the dread disease. Father Aylmer has not been proven wrong, and, if you claim he erred about the severity of my transgressions, then explain why my sons are dying.” He spun around, raising his fist. “Are their deaths not a continuation of God’s curse?”

Gamel jumped in front of the baron. Keeping his back to Herbert, he raised his arms so that the man’s face was hidden. “In God’s sacred name,” he shouted, “keep your eyes averted, my lord, until we know whether or not you have leprosy!”

Herbert fell to his knees and covered his face. “May God forgive me if I have infected any innocent here with my contagious gaze!” Raising his hidden eyes heavenward, he said, “My sins stink like gangrene, but others do not deserve my curse.”

“My lord!” Eleanor cried out. “Your sons may have been killed, not by God, but by a mortal hand. We know that Umfrey was murdered by a man. The killer was seen leaving the chapel.”

Herbert’s hands slid from his face.

The prioress saw his look of horror and continued. “If one son was murdered by a creature of flesh and blood, then Roger and Gervase may have been dispatched by the same hand.”

Herbert recoiled on his heels as if struck, then bowed his head and groaned. Slowly rising, he turned his back. “With due respect, my lady, I must disagree. Roger drowned. No one was seen with him. As for Gervase, he showed many signs of being drunk. I grieve that I had such weak sons, yet my sorrow is greater that they died with all their sins upon them. No man did this. Satan may have or else God in his wrath.”

The baron’s words were sharply spoken, but Eleanor heard his voice falter at the end. Behind that unbending exterior, did he truly mourn his sons’ deaths? Or was the hesitation after the mention of their names a sign of guilt? After all, Gamel said that Umfrey had been quite certain that Herbert had been the one to stab him. Yet Eleanor still hoped this father was not the killer of the sons, no matter how much he might wish that Sir Leonel had been his own eldest son and heir. “Did anyone examine the bodies?” She kept her voice soft to dull the pointed question.

“There was no reason. We buried the first…” He coughed. “Although some claim Roger drowned himself, our old priest let us put my son in sanctified ground. There was no proof of sin, he said. Thanks to Brother Thomas, who granted the hovering soul some peace, we were able to bury Gervase next to his brother. No sheriff or crowner was summoned. The deaths were not suspicious.”

Or so you determined, Eleanor concluded, her hopes about the baron’s innocence fading. If the king’s men can be kept from asking questions, murder may be hidden with ease.

There was a loud pounding on the closed door.

Someone gasped in fright.

“Who dares to come here?” Herbert roared with pent-up anger but lowered his head as he turned around and resumed his seat in the shadows. “Enter,” he shouted, then muttered, “But prepare to have cause. Pray for mercy if you have paltry need to speak with me.”

Thomas stepped back and swung the door open.

Sir Leonel entered the room. Bowing deeply to his uncle, he said, “Forgive this intrusion, my lord. This is news you must hear.”

The baron tilted his head against the back of his chair, clearly relieved that his beloved nephew had arrived. “Your presence brings me a little joy. Speak.”

“Raoul cannot be found. He has vanished.”

The howl rising from the baron’s throat was like that of a wounded wolf. “My last son!” he shouted to the ceiling. “My youngest boy! Is this cur yet another Absalom?”

Eleanor might still be undecided about Baron Herbert’s guilt or innocence, but now she trembled with another fear. Might it not be a crueler fate if the baron was blameless, yet his only remaining son was the murderer?