Satan's Lullaby (11 page)

Chapter Twenty-one

Renaud pulled his cloak tighter around his thin body, bent his head, and willed himself to walk another circle around the guest quarters. Although the breeze had been soft when he first toured the lodgings, this sudden northern blast was as jagged as Satan’s claws and ripped at him until he was sure he bled. When would they leave this cursed priory, he wondered as he pushed himself against the merciless wind.

The gust began to whistle an obscene tune in his ears, and shadows mocked his terror as he felt evil beings crowding ever closer. He began to shake so hard he feared he would piss on himself for this was the hour owned by the Prince of Darkness when ghosts, fiends, and the damned ruled the earth. All god-fearing men were wise to look over their shoulders for hellish creatures that lurked with malign intent in the gloom.

From a frail part of his soul, a wicked voice whispered that God slept during these bleak hours and would do nothing to help any mortal foolish enough to walk alone where some imp could drag him into Hell. Renaud would never confess to any man about this weakness in his conviction that God was all-knowing and all-caring. Indeed, he dared not. His confessor was Father Etienne, a man most intolerant of delicate faith.

Like a fool, Renaud thought, I took the captain’s advice and sent the other clerks off to their beds. I should have kept a companion. He longed to fly to the monk’s dormitory and shake one of his fellows awake so he would not be alone in this darkness replete with frolicking hell spawn. It took every ounce of resolve and pride not to do just that.

Suddenly, he stopped, his mouth opening in fear. What was that sound?

He froze, held his breath, and then spun around with the cross, worn on a rope around his neck, held high.

Nothing.

Surely the howling is only from the wind, he assured himself, and those twisting shadows will be born again in the morning sun as shrubs.

Bending to lift his robe, he determined that the cloth and his legs were dry, and then sighed with relief that he had not suffered complete humiliation by losing control of his bladder. That was enough to give him sufficient courage to lower his head and continue marching through the brush and grass behind the guest quarters.

As he turned the corner of the building, that tiny reserve of strength vanished. He again whimpered with longing for the companionship of a fellow soul. Even the servant, who usually sat near the gate, had gone to his bed soon after the last Office was sung. If Renaud had dared, he would have cursed, but even an innocent oath took on a more sinister meaning in the night where the creatures from Hell found cheer in any hint of blasphemy.

As he resumed his patrol into the small garden near the entrance gate, he slid to another stop, put a hand to his mouth, and bit back a horrified cry.

Something was in the shadows. Not a shrub. Not a wild creature. The twisting shape resembled a man, featureless and hooded.

Renaud wanted to scream, but his tongue froze with terror. He wanted to flee, but his feet were bound to the earth. All he could do was gape with an awful fascination. This shape had not been there before. He was certain of it. As the shade writhed, the clerk suddenly recognized the creature.

“Jean?”

The only response was the wind’s high-pitched shriek.

Renaud staggered backward. “Surely it is not your spirit that has come to haunt me,” he sobbed. “Your soul must be in Heaven.”

There was no answer. The wind now calmed, but the shape continued to writhe, one long arm raised in a beckoning gesture.

He slipped to his knees. “Father Etienne swears that you died pure in body and soul. He never knew a man so worthy of Paradise.”

The shadow appeared to reach out to him as if longing to draw him into an embrace, doomed and eternal.

“No!” Renaud scrabbled backward. A stone cut into his knee, but he did not notice. “I did nothing to endanger your soul,” he howled. “I swear it, Jean. I meant only to get you drunk in jest. If that tainted you with sin, you committed the transgression in ignorance. Surely God knows that.”

He was certain the spirit had begun to approach, its gait heavy with the weight of damnation.

Again opening his mouth to scream, he could only moan. Now he feared no one could hear him except this menacing phantom. “I was jealous of you. I wanted to prove to our master that you were imperfect like other mortals. Just one failing, nothing grave!” He stretched forth a pleading hand. “Anything to show him that you were no better than I!” He put his hands over his eyes and wept.

Blinded by tears and weak with terror, he began to sway. What had he done to cause this horror? How could Jean’s soul have gone to perdition because of a silly prank? No matter what he had tricked Jean into doing, Renaud believed that his fellow clerk was cleansed of all sin when he died. No matter how much he longed for Jean to show flaws in the eyes of the priest, he had never wanted him to lose all chance for Heaven.

“Forgive me!” he cried out, then stared into the infinite darkness above him. “It was I who sinned, Lord, not Jean!”

Those were the last words he spoke before the blow fell.

Chapter Twenty-two

Ralf eyed the man next to him. His fingers itched to truss him up like a chicken and lock him away so he could not endanger another man.

Innocent of his companion’s thoughts, Conan stared down at the still form of Renaud, the clerk. The deep scars in the guard captain’s forehead darkened with concern.

The lay brother rose to his feet. “I think he will live. The blow left a bloody welt on this side of his head, but the bone seems intact. His breathing is steady, and I bound a poultice of comfrey and marsh mallow against the cut.” Looking at Ralf, he sighed. “I would feel more confident if Sister Anne could examine him. God has blessed her hands with the healing touch.” He looked back down at the youth who seemed to stir. “But I shall pray that God have mercy on this lad and not condemn him for my ignorance of earthly remedies.” Then he begged leave to treat another patient and hurried off.

Ralf laid a heavy hand on the guard’s shoulder. “I expect the miracle of Renaud’s recovery, don’t you? Is it not a matter for wonder that you were so near the guest quarters? Did He whisper in your ear that you would find the wounded clerk if you walked through the unlocked gate into the place where the priory guests slept? I stand awestruck by the marvel of these circumstances.”

Conan stepped away from the crowner’s touch.

Ralf’s expression resembled that of a hangman about to perform the duty for which he was justly proud.

Conan’s mirthless smile matched the crowner’s. “If you arrest me, must you wait to see if an angel frees me from prison like one did Saint Peter from the dungeons of Herod?” He grunted in contempt. “Such proof of innocence is not required. I may be a wicked man, Crowner, but I did not attack this youth.”

“And why should I believe that?”

“Had I been the one to strike Renaud, I would have killed him. I am not a man who wastes time on trifling blows.”

With reluctance, Ralf nodded and some of his anger dissipated. He had no proof that Conan was lying, but the man’s blunt response suggested innocence. Having been a soldier himself, one paid for his killing skills, Ralf knew men like this captain well. They did not bother with the simple wounding of their prey.

When Nute told Ralf that he had followed Conan to the priory grounds and watched him go through the unlocked gate of the guest quarters, the crowner raced there with a speed that impressed the boy who tried to follow lest there be need for a messenger. By the time the crowner arrived, he met Conan, with Renaud in his arms, on the path to the hospital.

Conan might be innocent of this attack, Ralf thought, but he had not explained why he was on priory land and within the guest area when there was no known purpose for him to be there.

Renaud groaned and put a hand to his head.

Ralf shouted for the lay brother who ran back and knelt by the youth.

After a swift examination of the clerk, the lay brother said, “He may be recovering his wits.” Then before the crowner could speak, the man looked up at Ralf and added, “He needs rest, not probing by the king’s man. Tomorrow, perhaps, he will have strength enough to answer your questions.”

“By your leave, Brother, I shall ask but one question now, and then I will leave him in peace until the morrow.” He gestured at Conan beside him. “You will see neither of us until then, and this one may not visit without me.”

Conan seemed not to have heard the crowner. With an odd expression, he stared down at the clerk.

Ralf slammed his palm on the man’s shoulder.

Startled, the captain put a hand to his sword and stepped back.

“Did you hear me?” the crowner growled.

The lay brother shook his fist at the two men. “Hush!” he ordered. “The clerk is awakening.” Then he gestured to the crowner. “You are allowed one question, and then you must leave.”

Both Ralf and Conan knelt by Renaud’s side and watched the youth open his eyes.

“Am I dead?” The clerk tried to sit up, his eyes wild with terror.

The lay brother gently pushed him back. “You are in the priory hospital, in this world, and still bound by your mortal body.”

Renaud’s eyes widened as if this news did nothing to diminish his fear, then he rubbed at them and winced. “I am in pain.”

“You were struck by a mighty blow on the side of your head,” the lay brother said.

The clerk dropped his hands and blinked. “Who…?”

“We don’t know,” the crowner said.

Suddenly, Renaud recognized the guard captain. “I failed!” he cried.

Reaching out to touch the clerk’s arm with more gentleness than might be expected of this soldier, Conan replied. “You did your best. I came to see how you were faring in your patrol and found you lying on the path near the gate.”

All this sounds so reasonable, Ralf thought, but he remained uneasy. “What do you remember?” he asked, and then raised one finger at the lay brother.

The man raised his own finger in acknowledgement.

“The quarters were haunted,” Renaud replied and began to shiver.

The lay brother took off his own cloak and tucked it around the youth.

Ralf glanced at the guard captain. Conan looked as bewildered as he.

“Jean was in the shadows. I swear it!”

“Jean? You mean the dead clerk?”

“His soul is damned for eternity! It was lurking in the shrubbery, waiting to drag me away to burn in perdition’s fires with him. He was stretching out his arms to grab me when I…”

“You were struck from behind.”

“Cannot the Devil do extraordinary things? Surely Jean’s ghost could reach out to me, as I believe he did, and then fell me with a blow from behind. Or else it came from Satan’s hand.” He squeezed his eyes shut, either from pain or the fear of Hell.

Were there two men involved? Ralf scowled at the possibility of a more tangled crime.

The lay brother was now giving him a warning shake of his head.

The crowner truly did not want to tire the wounded youth with too many questions. Renaud seemed obsessed with his belief that he had been attacked by a malevolent spirit, a conclusion that might weaken with a good night’s sleep. As far as the crowner was concerned, demons were as unlikely as guard captains to waste energy on feckless blows.

The crowner raised another finger to the lay brother and mouthed his promise that this question would be his last. “Other than the ghost that was urging you forward, did you hear anything else? Any sound at all?”

“Only the wind.” Renaud’s voice was weak.

“Enough,” the lay brother said and waved the men away. “You will have time after the sun rises to ask more. The lad needs rest.”

Ralf agreed and turned away. As he passed by Conan, he grabbed him by the arm and pulled him along beside him.

Together and in silence, the two men left the hospital.

As they entered the courtyard leading to the priory main entrance, Ralf stopped and loosened his grip on the captain’s arm.

Conan turned to face him, his lips curled in a sneer. “You are fortunate that I respect the king’s men, Crowner. Were it otherwise, you would be missing a hand by now.”

Ralf ignored that. “Why were you at the guest quarters and not in your bed at the inn?”

“Because it is my duty to safeguard this French priest and his mewling clerks. Davoir believes that God will protect him from all evil. Being a man most likely destined to entertain the Prince of Darkness for all eternity instead of the Prince of Peace, I put my faith in a sharp sword rather than wafting prayers. If this man, destined for a bishopric and beloved by the French king’s brother, were harmed, our English king might have a war on his hands. I doubt he fancies that idea while he is away, taming the Welsh.” His laugh resembled a growl.

“You have gone there every night?”

“Every night, Crowner.” Conan bent forward and murmured. “And why have you had me followed? Are you really the king’s man or in league with another?”

Ralf came within a heartbeat of striking the man but drew back. It would not help matters if he lost his temper. If Conan was involved in Jean’s death and responsible for Renaud’s attack, Ralf needed indisputable proof. If the man were honest, he could help the crowner solve Jean’s murder. Either way, there was no doubt the captain was clever and not an easy man to trick into confession.

But the crowner had one more issue to resolve and laid his hand back on his sword hilt when he asked the question. “Why did you not report the death of the one of your men on the journey to Tyndal?”

Conan looked surprised, then shook his head. “It was not a matter worthy of your interest, Crowner.”

“I should be the judge of that.”

Noticing Ralf’s hand on his sword hilt, Conan raised his own hand and placed it against his heart. “The explanation is a long one, but I pray that the simple version will satisfy you. Need I remind you that I command this company of military guards under the authority of the king, and, as such, I determine the action required if a crime is committed?”

“I understand.”

“When I was in Wales, this particular soldier was accused of the mutilation and rape of several young women.” Conan shrugged. “There were probably witnesses to his crimes, but those men may have joined him in his acts or else feared his wrath if they spoke against him. Only the Welsh kin of the women gave testimony. The man’s commander decided that the charges against the soldier could not be proved. When I was chosen to lead the company on this journey, I discovered that this soldier would be under my command. I objected, but my plea was rejected. The man had friends.”

“Hell spawn,” Ralf said, his voice low with fury.

“On the way to this priory, I noticed that the soldier often rode beside the clerk, Jean, but I found no cause to intervene. When we arrived at an inn, I overheard him tell the youth to meet him in the stable early the following morning and he would show him something wondrous. Noting the youth’s feminine face and soft body, I feared ill intent.”

Ralf nodded.

“I have given my oath to protect this company of French liegemen so rose early myself lest the clerk need assistance.” He stopped and studied the crowner for a moment before continuing. “Imagine my surprise, indeed my relief, when I found the soldier dead.”

“And who killed him?” Ralf asked, then wondered if he truly wanted to know.

“One, it seems, who wished justice rendered. The soldier’s crimes were known to many, even if no one had spoken in support of the violated and tortured Welshwomen. We fight against their men in honorable combat, Crowner. What he did made angels and saints weep.”

For a long moment, both men looked at each other without speaking.

“Are you finished questioning me?’ Conan finally said and gestured toward the entrance gate.

With only a slight hesitation, Ralf stepped aside.

Conan walked out of the priory and back toward the village.