Sorrow Without End (21 page)

Chapter Forty-four

They found Walter kneeling at the altar in Tyndal’s main chapel, his head bowed in prayer. When he heard their echoing footsteps behind him, he rose, turned, and drew his sword, placing it point down in front of him. Otherwise, he was unarmed.

“Peace, good sir,” Eleanor said as the three halted just a few feet away.

“There is never peace on earth, my lady.” He brought his other hand to rest on the hilt. “Only fools think there is.”

Ralf reached for his own weapon.

Eleanor gently touched her palm to the crowner’s hand. Ralf pushed his sword back into its scabbard and stepped back.

“There is peace in God’s love,” she said. “And in His mercy.”

Walter’s laugh rang out like a raven’s cry.

“Do you doubt this, sir?”

“Doubt? Nay, I do not doubt that He forgives when it pleases Him, my lady, but God can be both wrathful and cruel. Women may believe He is merciful, even kind, but I have seen only God’s vengeful face.”

“In battle most certainly, but you stand on priory grounds, a place of compassion and absolution.”

Walter shook his head sadly. “Yet you come to take me to my hanging. Is that not vengeance?”

“Justice,” Ralf replied.

“Words that may have many meanings,” Eleanor countered, looking only at the man with drawn sword. “You brought violence to my priory, sir. I would know why.”

“That was not our intent, my lady. We came for healing.”

“Maurice murdered a soldier outside these walls. Soon after, you killed your nephew with a blow to his heart. Where is the healing in this bloodshed?”

Walter’s lips twisted into a bitter smile. “Ask your merciful God why He put that soldier and Maurice on the same path. As for my nephew’s heart, He struck him there long before I did. If you knew what he had suffered, you might understand why I thought my deed was kind and one for which I willingly face the rope.” He nodded at Thomas. “Did I not ask your priest to shrive him after Maurice thought he saw the angel of death? I may be angry with God for the cruelty he has shown my nephew, but He has promised forgiveness to those who confess. Surely, He will forgive whatever sins were forgotten because my nephew’s wits were gone.” The last was said with a sob.

Thomas turned pale. “I never would have agreed had I known confession would allow this uncle to become an angel of death himself and thus...”

“Brother, I saw the future no more than you did and believed the knight’s soul would regain peace when shriven. The only one here who bears any guilt in failing to prevent this death is I. The signs were plain, but I allowed other things to distract me from seeing them with clarity.” Eleanor turned to Walter. “As for your nephew, sir, you did send him to God with a cleansed soul.”

Walter’s grief had etched deep lines into his face. “What company he has in Heaven, my lady! He must have longed to meet his wife there. Instead, she burns in Hell, while he sits, until the Day of Judgement, with the man who butchered her. Is that God’s mercy as well?”

Eleanor gestured in supplication. “Sir, how can I answer when I know nothing of you or your nephew?”

“I will bring some brevity to the tale. Will you hear it?”

“We must,” Eleanor replied.

“My beloved nephew might never have come to Acre and gone mad had it not been for me. For that, good people, I bear full blame. To understand why, you must first know that I am a younger son with neither wife nor child and went to Outremer as a mercenary for gold as well as the good of my soul. Then an arrow took out this eye, and the Hospitallers saved my life. By then I was most weary of both the world and war. I approached the Order to enter their number and end my days in service to the wounded. They were willing enough, but before I could take vows, Maurice arrived from England.”

“A man you loved as much as King David did his son, Absalom.” Eleanor’s tone was gentle.

“From birth.” Walter’s good eye seemed to be staring at something in the vast distance, then he smiled. “Nor could he have loved me more had I been his sire.”

“His father had died?” Thomas asked.

Walter shook his head. “My brother is not unkind but had little time to show love to any child, even his son. His lands lie near the northern border and, although he husbands them with competence, his yield is determined more by the raids he suffers than the weather. Thus he was rarely at home, and I became the father he could not be.”

“Until you went on crusade,” Ralf said.

“When Maurice took the cross, my brother blamed me. Had I not gone to Acre, he said, his son would have remained by his side in England. Thus it was my responsibility, he said, to watch over his only son and bring him safely home. I chose to delay my vows.”

“Your nephew was severely wounded. His scar was terrible,” Eleanor added.

“When his men came back without him, I grieved so deeply that I could not even send word of his death to his father. Then Maurice was found alive, and I rejoiced.” Walter laughed but it had a bitter sound. “I praised God’s grace too soon for he had brought with him the woman, a Saracen. Soon after, he married her.”

“An infidel?” Ralf shook his head. “How could…”

“At first I assumed she was just his whore. It was not until we were in Sicily that he explained how she had saved his life. When she converted, he had married her.”

“You said a man butchered her. Was her death the cause of his sickened soul? When did madness fall upon him?” Eleanor asked.

“In Acre.” In the wavering light of the candles near the altar, even his good eye looked black in its deep socket. “He loved the Saracen beyond reason!” As if speaking to himself, he muttered, “Surely his wits were disturbed when he married the infidel.”

“She converted,” Eleanor reminded him.

“My lady, forgive me, but you are ignorant of the world. Her kin had slaughtered ours. Converted or not, she was the enemy’s spawn,” Walter snapped. “Maurice knew his soldiers would consider this marriage a traitorous and sinful act. As would his father. As would I, had he but told me! Thus he hid the deed and sent her to live with the other captured women.”

Eleanor said nothing for a moment, then abruptly nodded once.

Tears flowed from the man’s one eye. “Soon after, a soldier from my nephew’s company went to the Saracen women’s quarters and happened upon Maurice’s wife. After satisfying his lust with her, the crusader mocked her with lewd jests. When he saw my nephew arrive, he assumed he had come to bed a whore as well and claimed this one had not fully satisfied him. Not knowing who she was, he skewered her like a pig with his sword as punishment. Maurice went mad.”

“And thus his secret was revealed?” Thomas asked, a tear slipping down his cheek as well.

“Only his love for her. That he screamed to Heaven, frothing and howling like a mad dog. The men who dragged him back to me said they knew little more than that his whore had died. I stripped him of his weapons and armor, tied him like a wild animal until he calmed, then carried him onto a ship for England.”

“Where he killed a crusader on the road outside this priory. Why?” Ralf asked.

“It was that man who had murdered his wife.”

“’S blood,” Ralf hissed. “I believed the man was one of God’s brave soldiers!” His eyes narrowed with fury. “Why did you do nothing to prevent this? Surely, you must have known...”

“I did not know who the man was until Maurice charged after him that day, screaming that the crusader had killed his wife. I tried to separate them but failed.”

“We heard the tale,” Thomas added. “Was it true or was the soldier an innocent man that your nephew mistook for the other?”

“When we boarded the ship, the man was there amongst the crowds. He was the only other crusader returning home, but I thought nothing of it at the time nor did Maurice say anything to me. Not long out of port, however, my nephew tried to throw himself into the sea. As you must understand, I cared nothing then about some common soldier. I could only pray that we would reach Sicily where I could take my nephew off the ship before he succeeded in killing himself.”

“And thus the man traveled on while you rested in Sicily. What strange fortune that you should happen to meet again on the road to Tyndal,” Ralf said, disbelief evident in his voice.

Walter shook his head. “Patience, Crowner. Let me finish with the monk’s question. During their struggles on the road, the soldier bragged about his deed in Acre. He mocked my nephew for caring what happened to a whore. Maurice did not kill an innocent man.”

“God may have forgiven this crusader his past wickedness,” Eleanor said, “but no one who so flaunts His benevolence will be free of His wrath. Have some comfort, therefore, in knowing that this crusader suffers a special torment in Hell.”

Walter looked at her in thoughtful silence.

“For the soldier’s cruelty, I most sincerely pray that you are correct about his punishment, my lady,” Ralf said. “Nonetheless, I find the accident of this meeting to be most remarkable.”

“With all my soul, Crowner, I wish it had not happened, nor can I explain why it did. The meeting between the two was like a miracle without grace. Perhaps the man went on by land while we took another ship from Sicily when my nephew had regained some clarity of mind. Perhaps the crusader’s ship was delayed by storms while we had clear sailing. Maybe the meeting was God’s joke.” He turned to Eleanor. “Or an example of His mercy?”

Ralf stepped forward. “Then it may remain one of God’s mysteries, but you have confessed to murder…”

“Wait, Ralf, there is more to this tale,” Eleanor said. “You and your nephew are from the west of England, yet you came here, begging for your nephew’s cure. Why?”

“Because I was given hope, my lady. Although most avoided Maurice after his wife’s murder, there was one who was kind, a man you should know.”

Eleanor’s hand went to her heart.

“Your brother told me that you had written him of Tyndal’s hospital. Someone here, he told me, might be able to treat a man’s broken soul.” Then he quickly added, “Lord Hugh was well when we left, my lady.”

“Yet you said nothing about this to Prioress Eleanor when you arrived?” Ralf asked. “I find that odd.”

“Tell me, Crowner, what you would do if your nephew had just killed the man who had slaughtered his wife? Might you decide it was a just, albeit regrettable, death or would you give your brother’s only son up for hanging?” Walter watched Ralf’s expression. “Aye, I thought so,” he said, then continued. “I knew the death would be discovered quickly, thus chose to cloak the deed with a semblance of truth, stabbing the corpse with a knife I had brought from Acre and wrapping the body in my crusader cloak. A sheriff might conclude that an infidel had done the murder or that another crusader was involved. Meanwhile, Maurice and I became a knight and his servant, two simple pilgrims seeking healing shrines.”

“In misdirecting the search you succeeded,” Ralf said. “Still, you need not have stayed here. As soon as the rain lessened, you could have left Tyndal and made your escape.”

“You forget how much I loved my nephew.” He turned to Eleanor. “His face glowed, and he grew quiet when Sister Christina came to pray. I was regaining hope that I might yet return a whole son to his father.”

“What changed?” Thomas asked.

“The night your nun was attacked, I had gone to the latrine, but Maurice was missing when I returned. I searched for him, heard a noise in the chapel, and found him there. Your nun was unconscious from his blows and, forgive me, my lady…”

“Speak plainly, sir.”

“He was trying to mount her.” He ran one hand over his mouth. “On my honor, I swear he did not know what he was doing, nor could he have broken her maidenhead. His manhood was limp.” Walter’s voice cracked. “When I pulled him away, he wept and asked why his wife had come back to him in a religious guise. Then he begged me to tell her he had meant only to close her eyes, not to hurt her. He fell into my arms like a child. I covered his nakedness, pulled him back to his bed, and gave him a potion to make him sleep. After that, I sought you out, Brother.”

“And left Sister Christina lying exposed so any crude man might stare. What kindness was in that?” Thomas asked.

“I wanted there to be no question that the attack was a violent act and hoped you would believe there might be a connection to the foul murder of the soldier, or even some random deed. Surely, I thought, no one would conclude that my mad, helpless, and weak nephew could have done either. As you all did, you looked elsewhere.”

“Why did you kill your nephew?” Ralf’s hand moved toward his sword hilt.

“That night I knew with certainty that Maurice was beyond all prayer and would remain forever mad. Not only had my brother lost his heir, but I also feared my nephew might harm others as well as himself. The kindest act would be to send him as gently as I could to God’s justice. For shriving him when you did, Brother, I am most grateful.”

“And you?” Eleanor asked. “Why did you stay when you could have escaped?”

“I am guilty of my nephew’s death. Perhaps he came to Acre of his own volition and not to follow me, but I am to blame for his madness. I failed him. Of course I would have argued against his ill-advised marriage had he come to me before he committed such an outrageous act. Nonetheless, if he had at least told me of it afterward, I could have found a better solution than to send the woman off to a place where she would surely meet with violence. I was like a father to him, yet I must have given him reason to think my heart was too hard…” Walter stopped, speech failing him. “I have no reason to live,” he whispered. “I wished only to tell God that I knew my place in Hell was ready. Had you not come for me when you did, I would have sought you out and confessed the deed, my lady.”

Eleanor looked over at Ralf, her head bent as if asking a question. He frowned, then shrugged with uncertainty.

“I have one favor to beg of you on my nephew’s behalf before your crowner takes me to the hangman,” Walter continued. “Will you grant it, my lady?”

“If it is a just one.”

“Send word to my brother that his son died of honorable wounds. Indeed, that is no lie. Having seen his face and witnessed his terrible agony, you would surely agree he never recovered from his sufferings in Outremer. Then, Crowner, you may hang me for the murder of the man on the road. One murder is as good as another, and my nephew may be kept innocent of it.”