A Killing Season by Priscilla Royal Page A

I am a sinner.”
    “Are not we all?”
    “Most certainly.” He pointed at Hugh. “And you were the greater one, or so I told you once. God has since proven me wrong.” His voice cracked. “I cannot yet point to what unspeakable transgression I committed, but He is punishing me beyond endurance for something.”
    Herbert rose from his chair and walked over to the window. For a long time, he stared outside. The silver moonlight cast an eerie glow around him, then clouds the color of soot extinguished the light.
    “I understand why you required a priest from me, although there must have been many who could have consoled you on the road back from Acre.”
    The baron stood in silence, running the palm of his hand up and down the stones of the cold wall.
    Another cloud, trimmed grey with moonlight, scudded across the backdrop of night sky.
    Hugh grew impatient. “Out of friendship I came in this winter season, although you gave little enough reason for your plea. Master Gamel, one of the most respected physicians in London, awaits your pleasure. In deference to your rank, Prioress Eleanor agreed to leave Tyndal Priory and bring her own priest to serve your particular spiritual needs. Her sub-infirmarian, Sister Anne, also accompanied her, a renowned healer whose skills are highly praised by many at court.”
    “Be not angry with me.”
    Hugh heard a catch in the baron’s voice. Was he weeping?
    “For all our disagreements over certain matters, I knew I could trust you, not only to come to my aid without question but also never to betray me.”
    “Each of us was always the other’s shield in battle, my lord.”
    “Let me bury my son tomorrow. Afterward, I shall explain, to the best of my ability, what is happening here. Aye, I have begged much from you, but I fear some hideous plague has struck my family. Whether God has cursed them for my sins, or Satan has taken residence in this castle because it delights his corroded heart, I fail to comprehend. Do you not feel a malign presence here?”
    In reply, Hugh put a hand to his heart and nodded.

Chapter Nine
    “Identify yourself!”
    Brother Thomas uttered an oath and jumped back from the creneled curtain wall.
    A soldier emerged from the shadows. His spear glittered in the moonlight.
    “Brother Thomas.” Despite the cold, Thomas pushed back his hood, hoping there was enough light to reveal his tonsure and give strength to the honesty of his claim.
    “A monk? Where did you come from?”
    “I am with the party of Prioress Eleanor and her brother, Sir Hugh of Wynethorpe. We arrived yesterday.”
    “An ill-timed visit.” The soldier stepped companionably close to the monk like any creature seeking precious warmth in a biting wind.
    Thomas swiftly pulled the hood back over his head and nodded.
    “I advise you not to stand still, lest you become a pillar of ice. I’d not like having to explain to my sergeant how a monk came to resemble Lot’s wife, albeit in a more frozen form.” He laughed at his own humor.
    There was enough truth in the poor jest, Thomas decided, and walked on.
    The soldier kept pace beside him. “As I said, the arrival day was badly chosen if the prioress and her brother sought merriment and feasting. You’re a welcome enough sight though. We need God to save us from the Devil’s claws, Brother.”
    Thomas stopped. “All mortals do. Are you suggesting there is more reason than usual here?”
    “Demons abound.”
    “Satan’s legions are always about. Why conclude there is a more formidable invasion?”
    “Unnatural deaths.” The soldier’s voice trembled more than the cold would explain.
    “Surely not murder?” Growing increasingly numb, Thomas resumed walking at a brisk pace toward the watchtower.
    The soldier trotted alongside. “Not by any human hand.”
    “Truly?”
    “Nor is this current death the first here committed by the Evil One.”
    “You would serve God well if you helped me understand what you mean. I have only heard