Satan's Lullaby (17 page)

Davoir waved his hand at Thomas. “You do reach above your authority in this matter, and I am showing remarkable tolerance only out of deference to your prioress.”

Thomas bowed his head. “You show a saintly patience, Father. I am humbled by your example.” Not wishing to waste more time humoring the man, the monk quickly knelt at the clerk’s side.

Renaud’s eyes were tightly closed, and he repeatedly muttered, “I did not know I was killing him. I swear I did not know.”

“But when Jean died, you hoped to take his place.” The monk’s voice was as soft as a feather.

The clerk’s body jerked like one suffering a seizure. “Father Etienne mocked me! After I had risked my life to protect him, he told me that I could never replace his beloved Jean, that he had planned and still planned to dismiss me!” He began to strike his head on the floor. “Tell me where my reward is. The master is no master. He was sent by the Devil to torment me! Was it not right that I send him back to Hell like I sent Jean?”

Thomas grabbed the clerk before he reopened the wound in his head.

Renaud tried to bite him.

Ralf shouted at the priest. “If he is your creature, take responsibility for him!”

Stepping back in horror, Davoir cried out, “But he is possessed! His demon will attack us!”

“Pray?” Conan called out from the doorway. “Isn’t that your chosen weapon?”

Suddenly, Renaud collapsed into Thomas’ arms. “I didn’t want to kill Jean! But he has come back as a damned soul to torment me. I saw him in the courtyard before he struck me down. I was sure his soul was cleansed before he died. I tried to tell him that. I did not mean to condemn him, but something went wrong.” The clerk began to squirm in agony. “He is in Hell, and it is my fault!”

Thomas looked up at the trembling priest. “We have a confession from Renaud that he did kill your clerk, although I doubt there was any clear intent or malice in it. I witnessed his attempt to murder you. There was no accomplice. Tonight proves Sister Anne is innocent of all wrong, and we may free her and use that cell for Renaud.”

The clerk began to scream that Jean was in the room and wearing a fiendish tail.

“Send for clerks from the monks´ quarters,” Davoir said, his voice hoarse with terror.

“I have just done so,” Ralf replied.

“And agree to Sister Anne’s release,” Thomas added before the crowner had a chance to demand it.

Swallowing what must have been bitter bile, Davoir agreed.

Renaud went limp in his restraints and wept like a whipped child.

“Are there any more questions?” Thomas asked. “Quickly, if you do, and be brief. His wits are fleeing.”

“I shall ask mine when the Evil One is beaten out of his body,” Davoir said.

“One,” Ralf said. “Who was Brother Imbert?”

The monk bent over the wretched clerk and asked.

“I made him up,” Renaud mumbled, then grinned as his eyes again grew unfocused. “Wasn’t I clever?”

Thomas frowned. “You have said it was Jean who struck you down. Was it only…?”

Renaud twisted his head around and screamed, “It was Jean! I saw his spirit in the shadows, waving his arms and howling that he had come from Hell.” The clerk began to foam at the mouth. “Ask him yourself! The hellish minion is there, standing by his priest!”

Conan looked uneasily at Davoir, shook his head, and then shrugged at the crowner.

Ralf raised an eyebrow at the monk.

“If Renaud truly believed he saw the ghost of his fellow clerk coming for vengeance,” Thomas said, “he might have fainted from shock and struck his head on the stones of the path. That might have caused the wound.”

The two men nodded.

Thomas was not convinced by his own argument, but he decided that the cause of the injury no longer mattered as much as he once thought it might.

In the distance, the church bell sounded for the morning Office. The men dutifully bowed their heads, but the call to prayer brought little peace to any and most certainly none to the guilty one who now lay still in a pool of his own urine.

Chapter Thirty-three

After that early morning prayer, Father Etienne reluctantly swore to his agreement that the sub-infirmarian be released, and Ralf left to take the news to Prioress Eleanor. Even faced with the indisputable fact of her innocence, the priest struggled against the truth. “Surely,” he had muttered, “the woman is guilty of something.”

When Thomas asked if he would accompany his wretched clerk to the cell, Davoir refused without explanation. The monk suspected that his decision had more to do with his unwillingness to see Sister Anne freed than it did with any pain he might have felt over Renaud’s attempt to kill him. Thomas, however, looked forward to joining Prioress Eleanor and Crowner Ralf in welcoming the sub-infirmarian as she left the cell.

After Conan and the clerks bore Renaud away, the lad singing curious ditties under his breath, the priest returned to his prie-dieu and cross. In the ashen morning light, the jewels lost all color.

As he turned to leave the guest quarters as well, Thomas chose not to ask Father Etienne if he needed another priest’s comfort.

***

When the cell door opened, and Sister Anne emerged to the joyful greetings of her friends, the nun stopped in horror as three clerks dragged the bound Renaud inside. The youth stank of excrement and urine.

The heavy wooden door of the cell slammed shut. Two more of Davoir’s clerks remained outside and positioned themselves in front of it. Their boyish cheeks were round and utterly devoid of a man’s beard, but they folded their arms with adult solemnity. Considering the tragic fate of their fellow clerk, their dedication to the assigned responsibility was poignant.

Prioress Eleanor quickly explained to her friend what had happened, and the nun gasped in dismay. Her expression grew solemn when she learned that the clerks must remain with the youth out of fear he might commit self-murder. Then tears wended their way down the sub-infirmarian’s cheeks. “Surely he did this out of madness, not evil,” she said to her friends, all of whom were inclined to agree.

Looking back at the door, which did not mute all screaming, Sister Anne asked how Renaud had been able to confess anything, considering how far his sense had fled.

Prioress Eleanor explained that Brother Thomas had been as gentle with his questions as a father might when a beloved son was in great pain.

The nun nodded. “If the clerk had received that kindness before, he might not have lost his reason so completely,” she said. “Does He not command us to be compassionate?”

At no time did Sister Anne ask if Father Etienne had shown grief over these events or if he had sent an apology for misjudging her. She simply said she would pray for this youth who was so tormented that he might choose self-murder and an eternity in Hell to escape his temporal agony.

As the foursome left the corridor and Renaud’s howls faded, Thomas thought about what must happen next. Of course the Church would not execute Renaud, although the alternative could be a more chilling punishment.

The monk shuddered. Exorcism would be performed. If that did not bring the youth back to his senses, Renaud might well spend the rest of his life chained in a tower or locked monastery cell where demons, real or imaginary, would infest his remaining days and nights with vicious mockery and obscene taunts. Thomas had heard tales of men ripping off ears, and blinding or castrating themselves to escape the torments. None of this helped when nightmares had bored so deep into their souls.

Crowner Ralf would say the lad might be better off hanged. If Renaud were truly mad, Thomas asked himself, might that be the kinder justice? A cure for the satanic possession of a soul was possible. As he had once been told, the imp that allegedly forced his friend, Giles, to lie in sin with Thomas had been exorcised. But there was no cure for madness, a fate so cruel that many found a way to kill themselves despite all precautions and thus fell into an eternity of misery because they had done so.

Thomas wanted to raise his fist to the heavens and demand an explanation for this doom he believed unjust, but he was weary and the wound in his arm stung. Today, he must concentrate on his next duty. Tomorrow, he swore, he would spend the day on his knees and argue with God.

All but Davoir were delighted that Sister Anne was free, and the monk longed to share the joy to the fullest, but he knew he must talk with his prioress for advice about one more matter. Even if it was no longer urgent, he believed the question still called for an answer.

And if he needed the crowner, Ralf must be close to hand. As he now overheard, the crowner was begging Sister Anne to examine Gytha as soon as possible and swearing he would arrange for his wife to be brought to the priory. From the smile on the nun’s face, the monk had no doubt of her reply.

He hurried to his prioress’ side.

She turned with an expression of encouragement as if she had anticipated his request. “Of course, we may meet, Brother,” she said. Inclining her head toward the pair discussing the perils of birth, she added, “And now might be the best time to do so.”

Chapter Thirty-four

The north wind swept through the priory grounds, lashing the sea mist into razor-sharp swirls. Thomas pulled his cloak closer to his body. He had heard tales of northern lands covered in eternal ice. Today, he believed them.

Why had he decided he must make this effort? His treated knife wound still ached. Other monks were huddled around a warming fire in the Calefactory while his tonsure grew numb with the cold despite the hood over his head. But as he pressed against the wind he knew he had little choice. Some matters should be left to God for resolution. As his prioress said, this was not one of them.

Peering through the fog, he still could not distinguish any outline of the hospital even with its dark stone. In fact, he could only see a few feet in front of him on the path. At least he knew Sister Anne would soon be back at the apothecary hut, treating the suffering with her gentle touch and keen insights. That brought warmth to his heart, and the cold retreated just a little.

As the path curved, Thomas stopped, uncertain of his direction, and then realized he had taken the wrong turn. Instead of going to the hospital, he was walking to the main gate. Through the mist, he could just recognize the dim shape of the priory walls. Sighing, he decided he could find another way from the gate back to the hospital with ease. He certainly had no wish to retrace his steps in this bitter wind.

As he approached the gate, the fog suddenly thinned, and he noticed a party of men milling about. In that group, Thomas saw the one he had come to find. Picking up his pace, he hurried toward the man.

Philippe saw the monk coming toward him. He looked around as if seeking a way to escape, then grew still, his shoulders hunched with resignation. “You are seeking me,” he said as Thomas reached his side. The words were a statement of fact, not a question.

“And I believe you know the reason,” Thomas replied, keeping his voice low so those nearby could not overhear.

“Shall we step further away, Brother? These men are pilgrims on the way to Canterbury. I would not have them distracted from their pious intent by the tale of my unique wickedness.”

“You expected to flee, hidden in their midst?” Thomas kept close to the man, although he had no great fear that the man would run off.

“I had meant to join them.” Philippe’s smile was thin-lipped. “There is a difference.”

Thomas said nothing.

The man stared longingly at the pilgrims he had planned to accompany. His eyes lost the little hope they had briefly owned.

“Why did you attack the priest’s clerk that night?” Thomas kept his voice low although he knew the fog muffled speech.

“I came to kill the priest.” Philippe’s reply was equally muted. “I did tell the truth about blood being the purpose for my journey here when you last asked, Brother. I failed to mention that it was blood I wished to shed.”

The monk folded his arms and waited.

“You are a man, Brother. In the days before you took vows, did you ever wish to kill another?”

Of course he had, both before and after he took his enforced vows, but Thomas knew that did not matter. Only his acknowledgement of understanding did, and so he nodded once.

“We all do, I fear, but I did not know that there is a great difference between longing to do the deed, even planning it, and actually striking the blow.”

With growing interest, Thomas encouraged him to go on.

“I came here under the guise of being a pilgrim, walking to Canterbury in expiation of my many sins.” Philippe rubbed at his eyes. “Surely it is blasphemy to go on pilgrimage with the intention of committing murder. I did not think of that when I began my journey, but heated and willful obsessions blind us.”

“You would not be the first to commit that sin,” the monk replied as the events in Walsingham last year flooded his memory.

“After I had obtained a bed in the hospital, I decided to search the apothecary hut for a poison I could use to kill the priest.” He shrugged. “My hope was to slip something lethal into Father Etienne’s food.” His laugh was a brittle thing. “I must thank you for catching me there, Brother. I think you brought God with you, for my eyes were opened slightly and I saw how foolish I had been to plan such a deed. I realized I could never come close enough to the priory kitchen, or to the lay brother who brought the meals, unless I wished to injure an innocent. My heart held no passion for that crime.”

“Yet you struck the priest’s clerk.”

“With a very light blow. The youth lived. I saw him leave the hospital with his master after a brief stay. I now believe that God stayed my hand and allowed that clerk to take the blow in order to save his master’s life.”

And later try to kill the priest himself, Thomas thought sadly, but this information was also irrelevant to the man from Picardy. “We shall return to that,” the monk said. “Go back in time with your tale. Did you know that Jean, the clerk, had died?”

“I did and that perplexed me. My fear was that someone else had arrived with a deep grievance and accidentally poisoned the clerk instead of the priest. Yet I knew of no one with a cause as terrible as mine, and so I assumed the clerk had been felled by a swift fever with no earthly cure.” He hesitated. “Then I heard a rumor that his death was not from a fever but a deadly herb.” He began to shake. “I swear I had nothing to do with the lad’s death, Brother. On the cross I give my word.”

“Nor do I accuse you. The killer has confessed.”

Philippe looked hopeful that the monk would elaborate.

The monk shook his head. “You have not told me the reason for following Father Etienne here with this murderous intent. After you have explained that, I want to hear how you pursued your desire, after you rejected poison as the means, and yet failed to accomplish it.”

Philippe again looked into the fog at the ghostly figures of the gathering pilgrims. “My brother was once a clerk to Father Etienne, his most favored clerk in fact. But my brother fell from grace when it was discovered that he had a weakness for female flesh. Although he fought against it, he needed help to gain the strength to resist, a gift he dared not beg from his master. Father Etienne may be flawed like all mortals, but women have never tempted him, and he has no tolerance for men who copulate. My brother would have been banished in disgrace just for the sin of craving the act. Instead, he was caught in a brothel, dragged before his master, and mocked for his frailty.”

“And sent away from the grace of his master’s smile.”

“To a poor parish, filled with whores, to whom he administered the compassion he had never received. Some might say the appointment was a blessing, for he lost all lust and was able to counsel the women in chaste encounters. But he ate little and drank only water until he grew too weak and fell victim to a plague that killed him slowly and in great agony.”

Thomas suffered enough from weakness of the flesh, although mostly in his dreams. He shook his head, not in condemnation of the dead man, but out of profound sympathy.

“I blamed Father Etienne for his lack of charity. I saw him as my brother’s murderer.”

“And for that you chose to follow him here.”

“And kill him, Brother, without the chance for confession, with all his sins festering in his soul. I wanted him to go to Hell.”

The Church could not condone that, Thomas thought, for all mortals had the right to cleanse their souls before death. And yet he heard an insistent voice from his heart suggest that this favored priest might never recognize his harshness as a sin and never confess the wickedness. With such an inadequate confession, the man would certainly suffer longer in Purgatory. The image did not trouble him unduly, nor was this the first time he had felt this way about those he thought cruel.

Shaking the image from his mind, he continued. “After you learned of Jean’s death, you were seen spying on the guest quarters.”

“Something was not right, and I became curious. One of the lay brothers said the sub-infirmarian had been arrested for killing the lad, and yet there was talk of setting a guard for the priest. If she had been locked away or the lad had only died of a fever, I asked myself, why have a guard? Then I worried that the priest had learned of my arrival. He knew I had sworn to kill him after the death of my brother. Had he seen and recognized me?”

“He had not,” Thomas said.

“I concluded I must swiftly act if I was to achieve my desire and even escape before the deed was discovered. That night, I found the gate to the guest quarters unlocked so eagerly slipped in. When I saw that only Renaud patrolled, I knew I had my best chance. As quietly as possible, I followed the clerk and waited for the right moment. When he stopped to peer into the shrubbery, I struck him down.”

“You might have accomplished your intent, had you entered the chambers after hitting Renaud. The priest would surely have been asleep and most assuredly alone.” The monk did not mention that Conan had been close by and might have caught him in the act. It was this man’s failure to proceed that interested Thomas. “What stopped you from entering the guest quarters and killing the priest?”

“God took mercy on my soul and his. As I looked on the fallen clerk, I knew I had only rendered him unconscious. If I did not kill him, he might awaken and raise the hue and cry. May God forgive my evil heart! I raised my hand for the fatal blow, but my hand inexplicably faltered and slipped to my side. I knew I would be unable to crack open his skull and sent him for judgement. Like Saint Paul on the road to Damascus, I fell to the ground as if the hand of God had struck me. It was then I heard a voice telling me that murder is an act beloved by Satan, one forbidden by the Commandments and abhorred by Him. I rose and fled the grounds.”

And in that moment Thomas believed God had spoken to the man whose eyes were glazed with the wonder he had experienced. The monk waited to hear what more this would-be assassin might say.

Philippe covered his eyes as if he could no longer bear what they now saw. “My brother feeds worms in his grave, whether or not I kill the priest. Were I to plunge a dagger into Father Etienne’s heart as reprisal, I would still never hold my brother in my arms again. I would only add the horror of my crime to the pain of loss. How could I live with the understanding that I had willingly committed a great wickedness and was no better than the man I hated? Revenge is not the balm for grief. At least my brother was shriven of his sins before he died. God has said that such men will not suffer the agonies of Hell.”

“And the suffering he endured on earth may also cut short his time in Purgatory.”

“I confess that I still can not forgive Father Etienne for what he did to my brother. May God give me the strength to do so! But He did stop me from committing an act that would never heal my heart and would only add to the chains which may yet drag me down to Hell.”

“Father Etienne must face God’s judgement for the sins he has committed against your brother and others.”

“Henceforth, I shall try to find peace in that, but I fear he will never see his condemnation of my brother as the heartlessness it was.”

Thomas remained silent about his own condemnation of the priest’s soul. Instead, he smiled approval for the man’s resolution. “And so you fled the quarters to avoid killing the priest.”

“And went back to the hospital chapel where I lay prostrate before the altar, weeping and begging God to show me how to expiate my sins.”

“Did He answer your prayer?”

“His reply came from the quiet flickering of a candle.” Philippe gestured at the men close by. “That small group of penitents had just arrived on their way to Canterbury and had been given mats next to mine on which to sleep one night. I was to join them in their journey, but this time I must do so as a true pilgrim. After which, I might return home to my wife and children. Holy vows are not my calling, but my wife has long urged me to give more of the income from my trade to the poor. As I rose from my knees, I could hear my wife’s joyous cry when I returned from Becket’s shrine and announced that I would follow her pious advice and found a small hospital, based on what I had seen here, for the sick and dying poor.”

Thomas solemnly nodded. “But now I keep you from your devout journey and holy purpose.”

“I conclude that is God’s will, Brother. The innocent clerk meant only to protect his master and did nothing to merit the wound I gave him. It is only just that you take me to the crowner for punishment.”

Thomas quietly looked at this man but found the struggle to decide what was best easier than he had imagined.

Philippe had folded his hands and meekly waited for the monk to lead him off to chains and the king’s justice.

“Go to Canterbury,” Thomas said and pointed to the other penitents waiting for the fog to lift so they could commence their travel on the road to a saint’s tomb. “There is no reason for you to remain here.” With a brief blessing, he walked away.

Had Thomas looked back, he would have seen Philippe fall to his knees, his arms raised to heaven, and his heart filled with astounded gratitude.