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Authors: Priscilla Royal
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eyes shone briefly with mirth.
“To gift us with a corpse is more like the crowner we know,” Thomas grinned.
Eleanor’s gray eyes darkened. “I fear your jest is out of place, Brother. A corpse is not something to treat with levity.” Her words cut like the edge of a sharply honed knife.
Thomas blinked. Hadn’t Sister Anne said much the same as he? Why did the prioress single him out for chastisement? He had meant no ill with his remark nor had he taken the crowner’s tidings lightly. Surely she knew that. “I beg pardon, my lady.” He bowed his head to hide his confusion. “I grieve that any should die before reaching our hospital.”
“And that he did, Brother,” the prioress said, “but the cause of his death was not any of man’s many mortal ills, unless you consider murder such a thing.”
Anne turned pale.
Ralf bent toward them and lowered his voice. “Since the man died violently, a death that took place in the woods nearby, I had to bring the tidings to Prioress Eleanor immediately before rumor spread.”
“Surely we have suffered enough bloodshed at Tyndal! Why should murder come to our gates again?” Anne raised her hands in a gesture of frustration, then crossed herself. “Forgive me. It was selfish to think only of our peace, not of the poor soul who has been robbed of life and without a priest to ease his soul.”
“You have reason enough to be upset after the events of last year.” Ralf reached out his hand as if to give Anne a comforting touch, then quickly dropped it.
“You did not say if he was a local man,” Eleanor said.
“I do not recognize him.” Ralf looked briefly at Anne. “Someone else might. His dress is that of a soldier, and, if the red cross on his cloak is a true sign, I would conclude that he must be a crusader just home from Outremer. My sergeant and I found him lying alone, not a half-mile from here in the clearing by the road that passes through the village. When we first saw him, we feared he had suffered injury from a fall or an attack. Instead, we found him freshly slain.”
“Clearing by the road?” Thomas asked, his expression a troubled one. He, too, had just traveled that road but had left it before he reached the clearing to take the shortcut through the woods. Had he seen or heard anything untoward? Only the scream of the high wind that he had taken for Satan’s laughter. Could that sound have been human, not demonic?
“I have failed to welcome you home, Brother,” Eleanor said, breaking into his thoughts.
Thomas looked at her with puzzlement. Her voice fell like a drop of chill water on his ears. Why so cold to me, Thomas wondered? Not only had she rebuked him unreasonably, she had certainly failed to welcome him, a most unusual breach of courtesy from his usually gracious prioress.
“The nuns have prayed for the speedy return of their confessor, and I am sure Sister Anne is grateful as well that you are back.” Eleanor hesitated, thoughtfully studying the monk. “All Tyndal has missed you. Sorely.”
Thomas bowed in silence. Although her words now expressed kind concern, her tone suggested but a token interest. Had he somehow fallen into disfavor in his absence?
Sister Anne looked confused as well. “His brother was ill…” she began.
“Forgive me, Brother Thomas,” Eleanor said, flushing despite the autumn chill. “I fear these tidings of murder have so taken me by surprise that I have been discourteous. How fares your brother? We have all prayed for his improved health.”
“I thank you for that, my lady,” Thomas muttered, then willed himself through his litany of lies. “Your prayers have been heard, and my brother is fully recovered.”
Did she suspect or had she even learned that his story was false? When the man in black had sent Thomas off on this latest mission, the monk had warned his spymaster that this pretense could not continue forever. Prioress Eleanor must be told how else he served the Church. If she
“To gift us with a corpse is more like the crowner we know,” Thomas grinned.
Eleanor’s gray eyes darkened. “I fear your jest is out of place, Brother. A corpse is not something to treat with levity.” Her words cut like the edge of a sharply honed knife.
Thomas blinked. Hadn’t Sister Anne said much the same as he? Why did the prioress single him out for chastisement? He had meant no ill with his remark nor had he taken the crowner’s tidings lightly. Surely she knew that. “I beg pardon, my lady.” He bowed his head to hide his confusion. “I grieve that any should die before reaching our hospital.”
“And that he did, Brother,” the prioress said, “but the cause of his death was not any of man’s many mortal ills, unless you consider murder such a thing.”
Anne turned pale.
Ralf bent toward them and lowered his voice. “Since the man died violently, a death that took place in the woods nearby, I had to bring the tidings to Prioress Eleanor immediately before rumor spread.”
“Surely we have suffered enough bloodshed at Tyndal! Why should murder come to our gates again?” Anne raised her hands in a gesture of frustration, then crossed herself. “Forgive me. It was selfish to think only of our peace, not of the poor soul who has been robbed of life and without a priest to ease his soul.”
“You have reason enough to be upset after the events of last year.” Ralf reached out his hand as if to give Anne a comforting touch, then quickly dropped it.
“You did not say if he was a local man,” Eleanor said.
“I do not recognize him.” Ralf looked briefly at Anne. “Someone else might. His dress is that of a soldier, and, if the red cross on his cloak is a true sign, I would conclude that he must be a crusader just home from Outremer. My sergeant and I found him lying alone, not a half-mile from here in the clearing by the road that passes through the village. When we first saw him, we feared he had suffered injury from a fall or an attack. Instead, we found him freshly slain.”
“Clearing by the road?” Thomas asked, his expression a troubled one. He, too, had just traveled that road but had left it before he reached the clearing to take the shortcut through the woods. Had he seen or heard anything untoward? Only the scream of the high wind that he had taken for Satan’s laughter. Could that sound have been human, not demonic?
“I have failed to welcome you home, Brother,” Eleanor said, breaking into his thoughts.
Thomas looked at her with puzzlement. Her voice fell like a drop of chill water on his ears. Why so cold to me, Thomas wondered? Not only had she rebuked him unreasonably, she had certainly failed to welcome him, a most unusual breach of courtesy from his usually gracious prioress.
“The nuns have prayed for the speedy return of their confessor, and I am sure Sister Anne is grateful as well that you are back.” Eleanor hesitated, thoughtfully studying the monk. “All Tyndal has missed you. Sorely.”
Thomas bowed in silence. Although her words now expressed kind concern, her tone suggested but a token interest. Had he somehow fallen into disfavor in his absence?
Sister Anne looked confused as well. “His brother was ill…” she began.
“Forgive me, Brother Thomas,” Eleanor said, flushing despite the autumn chill. “I fear these tidings of murder have so taken me by surprise that I have been discourteous. How fares your brother? We have all prayed for his improved health.”
“I thank you for that, my lady,” Thomas muttered, then willed himself through his litany of lies. “Your prayers have been heard, and my brother is fully recovered.”
Did she suspect or had she even learned that his story was false? When the man in black had sent Thomas off on this latest mission, the monk had warned his spymaster that this pretense could not continue forever. Prioress Eleanor must be told how else he served the Church. If she
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