The Sanctity of Hate (2 page)

Although Eleanor knew no one could hear it, she could feel her heart pounding as if the Devil himself was beating a drum within her breast.

Chapter Three

Crowner Ralf heaved the corpse out of the water, dragged it to a wider part of the bank, and dropped it on the mud. Kneeling in the slimy muck, he rested his chin on his fist. “Not a pretty death,” he said and stuck a finger into the neck wound to mea- sure the depth. He looked up at the prioress standing near the edge of the bank. “That act took force and a long, sharp knife.”

Eleanor bit her lip and nodded.

Grabbing a handful of tunic, he flipped the corpse over and pulled the man’s black hair away from his neck. “There was a blow here as well.” He pointed to the injury just under the man’s ear.

The prioress stepped nearer the edge, as if considering whether to join the crowner in the mud, then knelt where she was and bent forward so she might better see the body. “Do you conclude that the head wound was suffered before his throat was slashed?”

“So I might. Why slit his throat, then strike him on the head? Unless, of course, the injury was suffered in a fall just after his throat was cut.” He fingered the back of the man’s head. “The bone is soft here. I’d say the blow might have cracked his skull, but I feel no loose fragments.” He rocked back on his haunches and looked around. “The stream banks are higher where it flows through the forest.” He gestured toward the village. “Had he fallen there, his head might have struck a large rock, but this

is summer and the water level is low. He would not have fallen into the stream. Most likely, he was killed near the water and either fell or was pushed in.”

“Why was he floating in our mill pond?” Eleanor consid- ered the short distance between priory wall and the pond with apparent unease.

The turning mill wheel groaned loudly as if protesting inno- cence of the crime.

Ralf rose to his feet with a grunt. “There is no cause to suspect anything besides chance occurrence for the body to be here, my lady. The hands and face on the corpse have swollen. From my experience, I’d say the body has probably been in the water for a couple of days at least. Cuthbert is searching the stream bank out- side this priory. It shouldn’t take long for my sergeant to discover where the fight took place. This death is the king’s problem.”

“A fight?” Prior Andrew frowned as he pointed to the muti- lated neck of the corpse. “You think that was the result of some petty disagreement?”

“A slashed throat suggests more than a minor quarrel between men with too much ale in their bellies,” Eleanor said.

“I would agree,” Ralf replied, “which may make solving this crime an easier matter.”

“So you believe the corpse drifted downstream, into priory grounds, and went over the mill wheel with the cascading water?” She raised a hand to shade her eyes from the sun, then looked down at Ralf. “As you said, the water level in the stream is low. If this man died farther up the road to Norwich, wouldn’t someone have seen the body as it floated past the village?”

“Unless he was killed at night. Then the body would have passed unnoticed, entered the pool above the mill where it may have sunk until the force of the water flowing over the wheel pulled it forward. You may be confident, my lady, that this death is under King Edward’s jurisdiction.”

Eleanor folded her arms as she considered this. Her expres- sion suggested polite doubt.

“If I may, I would look upon the body, my lady.” Sister Ruth gestured to her prioress for permission. Granted it, she stared down at the corpse for a long moment and scowled. “I do not recognize the fellow,” she said. “He is not from one of our vil- lage families.”

“Nor do I know his name, but that means little,” the prioress said. “Many strangers have come here in recent times, some of whom I have had no cause to meet.” She turned to her prior.

Andrew shook his head. “We could ask Mistress Gytha to come here and look upon the body.”

Eleanor winced. Perhaps she should have asked her maid to accompany them. But the sight of this corpse would unbalance anyone’s humors, and Gytha had been surprisingly downcast of late. “She knows those in the village,” the prior was saying, “and goes to market days as well as on visits to her brother.” He looked

down at the crowner and winked. “Others as well.”

Ralf flushed and looked down at his hands. “No need for her to look on this.” He rubbed his fingers together to brush off lumps of mud. “I’ve seen him. His name is Kenelm. Cuthbert said he came to Tyndal village last winter and remained. I know of no one here who will grieve over this death.”

“Has he no family then?” Eleanor gazed with fresh sorrow at the dead man.

“None that he claimed,” Ralf said. “Nor does any woman here hold his bastard at her breast.”

Sister Ruth lowered her gaze and glowered at a rock, suddenly deemed worthy of her displeasure.

“That is Kenelm?” Prior Andrew began to lean over the edge of the bank for a closer look, but his bad leg would not take his weight. He winced and stepped back. “I did meet him once. He came to the priory, seeking employment.”

“Did you take him on?” The crowner raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

“I turned him away. We needed no one, and his manner was churlish. He looked fat enough, and I fear his demeanor made me disinclined to offer work out of simple charity.”

“A wise decision, Prior. As I heard the tale, he was paid to guard some pilgrims traveling from the south to the shrine of Norwich’s sainted William. When they arrived here, he fell ill.” Ralf spat. “Or so he claimed. These pilgrims were simple souls and had given him all he demanded at the beginning of the journey, not at the end.”

Sister Ruth snorted. “Surely they could require him to com- plete the work for which he had been contracted, or else demand return of the fee.”

Ralf shrugged. “According to Cuthbert, they took pity on him in his sickness and let him keep the coins. And so they were left to travel without the protection of his stout cudgel. I hope God shielded those innocents for they had little else to keep outlaws from feasting on their purses.”

“To my knowledge, we never saw him at the hospital for any cure.” Sister Ruth considered this for a moment. “I shall ask Brother Beorn, who might remember this low-born stranger.” She spun around and glared at a lay brother but a short distance behind her.

Brother Gwydo seemed lost in prayer. Head lowered, his peaceful expression suggested his spirit was quite removed from the world in which he had found a corpse and this crime of murder. Then feeling the heat of her intense gaze, he started, bowed with respect, and asked how he might serve.

“Find Brother Beorn,” she ordered. “Bring him to me immediately.”

The man hurried off toward the hospital.

Ralf rubbed his face and stretched to see the banks of the pond above the mill wheel. A streak of damp mud now ran across his cheek like a scar.

“Why did Kenelm stay here? If he was known to cheat those who paid him, I wonder that anyone hired him,” the prioress said.

“He earned enough for his bread,” the crowner replied. “He did things other men would not.”

Eleanor awaited his explanation.

“You recall the large parties of Jewish travelers that came through our village on their way to Norwich late last year and in the early spring?” Ralf looked down at the corpse.

“I do,” Eleanor replied. “First, the Jews of Cambridge were cast from their homes at the command of the widowed Queen Eleanor, and then the exodus continued when King Edward ruled that all Jews could reside only in certain towns. Norwich was one.”

“That Statute of Jewry!” Sister Ruth grumbled. “How could the king be so permissive? Imagine saying those people could even become farmers, thus taking land from Christian men.”

The prioress bit her lip and ignored her sub-prioress. “We sorely missed your calming presence then, Crowner.”

“I should have been here, but Sir Fulke needed every man he could get to provide the protection of the Jews that the king decreed. Had I remained in the village, perhaps this murder might not have occurred.”

Sister Ruth’s face grew mottled with the effort to remain silent.

“The Jews belong to the king,” Andrew whispered to her. “He has the right to safeguard his property from harm.”

She glared at him. Her disapproval of the king’s protection was well-known.

Eleanor felt herself growing warm but not from the summer heat. “I do not understand. Was Kenelm involved in those matters?”

“Mistress Signy hired him during that time. She provided shelter and clean straw for the traveling Jews where she is now building more stables,” Ralf said. “They would not eat the food cooked at her inn, for that was against their religion, but they were eager to pay for a dry place to sleep and the care she gave their animals.”

“I recall that the families suffered theft along with other perils,” Eleanor said. “Lawless men took advantage of them.”

“That was why our innkeeper hired protection, adding the cost to her fee.” The crowner touched the corpse with a toe.

“This fellow was the only man willing to rent his cudgel for a good price.”

“Did he have occasion to use it?” The prioress looked grim. “Once or twice on village men,” Ralf said. “That did not

gain him any friends.”

“It probably gained him a few enemies,” Eleanor said. “Good Christian men, all,” Sister Ruth snapped. “The inn-

keeper should have turned the Jews away and let them sleep in the forest. If outlaws had fallen upon them, no one would have wept over the trials of such a stiff-necked people.”

“King Edward ordered that they pass freely to those cities where they must return,” Ralf replied with surprising sharpness. “No matter what you may think, the Statute refers to the will of the Holy Church that Jews be allowed to live unmolested. They have been under the English king’s protection since the Conqueror invited them to come here from Rouen.”

The sub-prioress turned her eyes heavenward.

Ralf hesitated, then seemed to think it best not to say more and instead bowed to the prioress. “I beg permission to leave this corpse in your priory, my lady. His death may fall under the king’s law, but his soul belongs to God.”

“Granted, Crowner,” Eleanor replied. “We will prepare him for burial, of course. Should anything of interest be noted while we do so, we shall let you know immediately.”

Pulling himself up and over the edge of the bank, Ralf stood and faced the prioress, a woman he called a friend. A grin twitched at the corners of his mouth. “As always, you are most kind in such matters.”

Smiling at him, Eleanor turned to the assembled religious. “We must leave our crowner to investigate this murder.” She raised her staff of office and started to walk away but after a short distance stepped aside and gestured for Prior Andrew to pass by. Motioning to Sister Ruth, she waited until the sub-prioress joined her.

“Whether or not Kenelm was a man of little merit or great,” Eleanor said softly to the disgruntled nun, “he did not deserve

an unlawful death. Even the wicked merit justice if the crime against them is unacceptable to both God and the king.”

Sister Ruth pointed a finger over her shoulder in the direction of the corpse. “Kenelm’s killer may be a godly man, my lady,” she said, “and rightly offended if he was struck by a cudgel simply because he mocked a Jew. A good Christian is not at fault if God directs his hand against one who protects the wicked against the righteous.”

“Whatever your thoughts in this matter, the death has noth- ing to do with us. Although the body was found here, it is a matter for the king’s justice. It is up to Crowner Ralf to find the killer and up to God to judge the man’s soul. And so you shall refrain from remarking any further on this death or on Kenelm. That is my command.”

The sub-prioress muttered a barely civil promise.

“When Brother Beorn meets with you, you may tell him that I wish the body sent to Sister Anne. Should our good lay brother have any information bearing on this death, you are not to request details. He shall go immediately to inform the crowner and no one else.”

Eleanor now took her sub-prioress by the arm and encouraged her to move swiftly along the path that led away from the corpse.

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Watching the two religious, the crowner smiled, suspecting what had passed between then. Then he sighed as he looked down at the swelling body in the mud. The investigation would be a weary one. His list of suspects included most of Tyndal village.

Chapter Four

Brother Thomas peered into the dark water of the mill pond. Sweat dripped into his eyes, and he carefully pressed a sleeve against them. Rubbing with the rough cloth only made the stinging worse.

Not that he regretted leaving his hermitage, but he did miss that easy access to a stream in summer where he could swim without being disturbed. A plunge into this pond was tempting. Then he watched the gentle current rock thick green scum back and forth in the rushes. Wading in that rank vegetation would only transform him into a mortal version of some moss- like imp, a grass-colored creature with auburn hair who frolicked like a hungry fish in the pond. He imagined how that might

frighten passers-by.

“Your smile suggests pleasant thoughts, Brother.”

“Brother Gwydo! I did not see you.” Thomas was startled but pleased over the unexpected encounter. Of late, he had found a rare ease in the lay brother’s company and often sought the man for conversation or even a quiet time filled with companionable silence. Gwydo seemed equally content when they met.

“Would you share some ale with me? I was about to get my jug and escape to the shade of that tree.” The lay brother gestured toward a small meadow bounded by fruit trees just off the path to the mill.

Grateful for the offer, Thomas nodded, knowing he could indulge in a few moments of peaceful company. Prioress Eleanor