Read Online The Sanctity of Hate by Priscilla Royal - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Priscilla Royal
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Satan was devious, but the Prince of Darkness never sent his minions to kneel before God’s altar, find joy in service to the needy, and to toil in the cleansing of their souls.
Sighing, he turned his head and looked through the brush- wood toward the mill pond. For a moment, his eyes grew heavy and he almost fell asleep.
But from just beyond the mill a woman appeared, walking slowly down the path toward him. Her head was bowed, and her pace suggested little eagerness to reach her destination.
Sliding into a sitting position against the tree, he recognized Gytha. She had been visiting the market day stalls, he concluded, seeing her full basket. Sister Matilda would be eager for whatever the maid had found for her. Indeed, the simple meals at Tyndal Priory gave him far greater delight than anything he had eaten at his father’s more sumptuous table.
The maid stopped near where Gwydo sat under his tree. She quickly ran the edge of her hand under her eyes and down both cheeks. Was she weeping?
His heart began to pound with both sympathy and fear. Although he sometimes spoke with the worthy virgins vowed to God’s service, he never did so alone. To be in the company of one who had never sworn herself to holy chastity made him tremble. Gwydo squirmed under the bush on his belly. The maid must not see him. But he still had a full view of the path. Looking to his right toward the priory church, he saw Brother Thomas
approaching.
The monk stopped. “Are you well?” he asked the young woman, his voice deep with concern.
“A bit of dust got in my eye.” Gytha smiled with stiff brightness.
Now Brother Gwydo feared most that the pair would discover his presence and accuse him of deliberately listening in secret. Embarrassed, he pulled himself deeper into the brushwood.
Thomas did not pursue his suspicion that the maid had been crying. Instead, he pointed to the basket on the young woman’s arm. “And what did you bring to delight Sister Matilda?” He grinned with the happier change of subject.
“Have you heard of saffron?” Gytha sounded relieved. “Shall you give me a hint? Is it beast or herb?”
“A miracle of healing which also brings delight to the tongue, if the spice merchant is to be believed.”
He peered into the basket. “Since I do not see it, I fear that Solomon’s sword will be too large to divide the marvelous thing between kitchen and hospital.”
Gytha pulled out the small jar and let him look. “It is the color of your hair, Brother.” She looked up at him and smiled with evident affection. “If the merchant had not sworn this was edible, I might have believed someone stole a pinch from your head when it was last shaven.”
Thomas rubbed the dense auburn thatch around his tonsure. “Most would say this was my curse,” he replied softly.
“Are you going into the village?” Gytha carefully tucked the precious spice back into her basket.
“Prioress Eleanor wants me to question young Adelard about his longing to become a novice here.”
A shadow clearly passed over her face. Gwydo found that curious.
“Perhaps I shall also discover something useful regarding the murder.” Staring over her shoulder at the gate leading to the village, he asked, “Did you hear anything in the market about Kenelm’s death? Have men begun to discuss the crime?”
She visibly shivered. “As I was passing by the baker’s stall, two women were talking and wondered if the Jewish family had something to do with it. They had heard that Kenelm was murdered on priory grounds.”
“The word has spread quickly.” Thomas looked unhappy. “Someone must have seen us searching above the mill wheel near the gate.”
“Then you did find evidence he was killed here?” She raised a hand to her mouth. “Not on the road…or above the village, as our crowner thought?”
Thomas nodded. “So it would appear. There is still a chance that he was grievously wounded outside the priory but crawled through
Sighing, he turned his head and looked through the brush- wood toward the mill pond. For a moment, his eyes grew heavy and he almost fell asleep.
But from just beyond the mill a woman appeared, walking slowly down the path toward him. Her head was bowed, and her pace suggested little eagerness to reach her destination.
Sliding into a sitting position against the tree, he recognized Gytha. She had been visiting the market day stalls, he concluded, seeing her full basket. Sister Matilda would be eager for whatever the maid had found for her. Indeed, the simple meals at Tyndal Priory gave him far greater delight than anything he had eaten at his father’s more sumptuous table.
The maid stopped near where Gwydo sat under his tree. She quickly ran the edge of her hand under her eyes and down both cheeks. Was she weeping?
His heart began to pound with both sympathy and fear. Although he sometimes spoke with the worthy virgins vowed to God’s service, he never did so alone. To be in the company of one who had never sworn herself to holy chastity made him tremble. Gwydo squirmed under the bush on his belly. The maid must not see him. But he still had a full view of the path. Looking to his right toward the priory church, he saw Brother Thomas
approaching.
The monk stopped. “Are you well?” he asked the young woman, his voice deep with concern.
“A bit of dust got in my eye.” Gytha smiled with stiff brightness.
Now Brother Gwydo feared most that the pair would discover his presence and accuse him of deliberately listening in secret. Embarrassed, he pulled himself deeper into the brushwood.
Thomas did not pursue his suspicion that the maid had been crying. Instead, he pointed to the basket on the young woman’s arm. “And what did you bring to delight Sister Matilda?” He grinned with the happier change of subject.
“Have you heard of saffron?” Gytha sounded relieved. “Shall you give me a hint? Is it beast or herb?”
“A miracle of healing which also brings delight to the tongue, if the spice merchant is to be believed.”
He peered into the basket. “Since I do not see it, I fear that Solomon’s sword will be too large to divide the marvelous thing between kitchen and hospital.”
Gytha pulled out the small jar and let him look. “It is the color of your hair, Brother.” She looked up at him and smiled with evident affection. “If the merchant had not sworn this was edible, I might have believed someone stole a pinch from your head when it was last shaven.”
Thomas rubbed the dense auburn thatch around his tonsure. “Most would say this was my curse,” he replied softly.
“Are you going into the village?” Gytha carefully tucked the precious spice back into her basket.
“Prioress Eleanor wants me to question young Adelard about his longing to become a novice here.”
A shadow clearly passed over her face. Gwydo found that curious.
“Perhaps I shall also discover something useful regarding the murder.” Staring over her shoulder at the gate leading to the village, he asked, “Did you hear anything in the market about Kenelm’s death? Have men begun to discuss the crime?”
She visibly shivered. “As I was passing by the baker’s stall, two women were talking and wondered if the Jewish family had something to do with it. They had heard that Kenelm was murdered on priory grounds.”
“The word has spread quickly.” Thomas looked unhappy. “Someone must have seen us searching above the mill wheel near the gate.”
“Then you did find evidence he was killed here?” She raised a hand to her mouth. “Not on the road…or above the village, as our crowner thought?”
Thomas nodded. “So it would appear. There is still a chance that he was grievously wounded outside the priory but crawled through
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