ago. The bone had broken the skin just there.
Wulfstan was lucky to have survived that one."
"A
cruel kindness since he lived only to be murdered." The son's voice was
flat.
"The
deed was a most foul thing," Sister Anne said. Standing behind Thomas, she
frowned in thought. "To behead a man after killing him is a devilish
act."
Brother
Infirmarian shrugged, then gave her a sheepish look. "I treat the living
and leave the cause of death to God, but Sister Beatrice told me that you have
skill with both."
"Beheaded.
Stabbed. Pushed into the river to drown. What does any of that matter? My
father is dead. He should have gone to God as an old man with a cleansed soul
and whispers of love in his ears." Sayer stared at the body now fully
covered on the trestle table. Tears had yet to dampen his cheeks.
Thomas
felt a kindred sting in his own heart. He, too, was bereft of any final word
with the man who had sired him. "Your mother..." he began.
"She
will live."
"I
pray she will! My concern was.
"She
has a plot of land." Sayer's hands formed fists. "We need no
charity."
"Nor
did I think otherwise." Thomas' voice softened. "Does she not have
you?"
The
bright anger in Sayer's eyes faded, leaving only a muted but flickering glow.
"I
knew not if she had been told about your father's death." Thomas looked
first at the other monk, then at Sister Anne. "That was my question."
Brother
Infirmarian shook his head.
The
young man put his hands over his eyes, pressing his fingers into his brow as if
he suffered an intolerable pain. "Will you bury my father in sanctified
ground?"
"There
is no reason to do otherwise," Brother Infirmarian replied. "Although
he was not shrived before his death, we will surely pray for his soul. In that
you may find comfort.
"What
if the ghost killed him?" Sayer interrupted.
Brother
Infirmarian's eyes opened wide with horror. Clearly he had not thought about
this complication. "If Satan seized his soul..."
"Ghosts
do not kill," Thomas snapped.
"I
would not be so certain," the son replied, his voice as cold as the corpse
on the table. Then he turned his back on them all and strode out of the chapel.
"Not
Wulfstan!" Jhone put her hand to her mouth, her eyes round with shock.
"You
were acquainted with him?" Thomas asked as gently as he could.
Herbert
answered for the woman beside him. "He was married to Mistress Jhone's
sister."
"What
will Drifa do alone?" she whispered. "Their children!"
Realizing
it would be cruel to question a woman lost in the distress of both murder and
its consequences, Thomas turned to the tall, dark-haired man. "How could
this have happened?" he asked.
Herbert
shrugged. "Who knows? Our laws are lax, and evil men are everywhere. Any
one of them might have met this man on the road and killed him for some little
thing. Of the man himself, I can say little. He was free, of course, but a poor
creature with few skills, unless thievery..."
Thief?
Thomas blinked at the word.
"Even
if the tales were true, all that was many years ago!" Tears slipped down
Jhone's cheeks. "He had long been an honest man. I beg you to show
compassion!"
"I
did not mean to do otherwise, although I could never include him amongst those
I would call upright men."
"I
am not unmindful of this dreadful thing you have just seen," Thomas said,
"but if Wulfstan had enemies or was engaged in something outside the law,
please tell me now."
"Why?"
Herbert asked. "Surely this is a matter for secular law. The body was
found beyond the priory walls."
Thomas
cursed himself for not thinking before he spoke. Quickly he tried to cloak his
odd demand with some reason. "The sheriff is delayed. If you give me the
details now, I will pass them on to him when he arrives, and you will not be
troubled by questions from him." His mind raced. If Wulfstan had the
reputation for thievery, could he have been part of some band that planned to
steal the Amesbury Psalter? Had something gone wrong that had resulted in his
murder? Maybe
Wulfstan was lucky to have survived that one."
"A
cruel kindness since he lived only to be murdered." The son's voice was
flat.
"The
deed was a most foul thing," Sister Anne said. Standing behind Thomas, she
frowned in thought. "To behead a man after killing him is a devilish
act."
Brother
Infirmarian shrugged, then gave her a sheepish look. "I treat the living
and leave the cause of death to God, but Sister Beatrice told me that you have
skill with both."
"Beheaded.
Stabbed. Pushed into the river to drown. What does any of that matter? My
father is dead. He should have gone to God as an old man with a cleansed soul
and whispers of love in his ears." Sayer stared at the body now fully
covered on the trestle table. Tears had yet to dampen his cheeks.
Thomas
felt a kindred sting in his own heart. He, too, was bereft of any final word
with the man who had sired him. "Your mother..." he began.
"She
will live."
"I
pray she will! My concern was.
"She
has a plot of land." Sayer's hands formed fists. "We need no
charity."
"Nor
did I think otherwise." Thomas' voice softened. "Does she not have
you?"
The
bright anger in Sayer's eyes faded, leaving only a muted but flickering glow.
"I
knew not if she had been told about your father's death." Thomas looked
first at the other monk, then at Sister Anne. "That was my question."
Brother
Infirmarian shook his head.
The
young man put his hands over his eyes, pressing his fingers into his brow as if
he suffered an intolerable pain. "Will you bury my father in sanctified
ground?"
"There
is no reason to do otherwise," Brother Infirmarian replied. "Although
he was not shrived before his death, we will surely pray for his soul. In that
you may find comfort.
"What
if the ghost killed him?" Sayer interrupted.
Brother
Infirmarian's eyes opened wide with horror. Clearly he had not thought about
this complication. "If Satan seized his soul..."
"Ghosts
do not kill," Thomas snapped.
"I
would not be so certain," the son replied, his voice as cold as the corpse
on the table. Then he turned his back on them all and strode out of the chapel.
"Not
Wulfstan!" Jhone put her hand to her mouth, her eyes round with shock.
"You
were acquainted with him?" Thomas asked as gently as he could.
Herbert
answered for the woman beside him. "He was married to Mistress Jhone's
sister."
"What
will Drifa do alone?" she whispered. "Their children!"
Realizing
it would be cruel to question a woman lost in the distress of both murder and
its consequences, Thomas turned to the tall, dark-haired man. "How could
this have happened?" he asked.
Herbert
shrugged. "Who knows? Our laws are lax, and evil men are everywhere. Any
one of them might have met this man on the road and killed him for some little
thing. Of the man himself, I can say little. He was free, of course, but a poor
creature with few skills, unless thievery..."
Thief?
Thomas blinked at the word.
"Even
if the tales were true, all that was many years ago!" Tears slipped down
Jhone's cheeks. "He had long been an honest man. I beg you to show
compassion!"
"I
did not mean to do otherwise, although I could never include him amongst those
I would call upright men."
"I
am not unmindful of this dreadful thing you have just seen," Thomas said,
"but if Wulfstan had enemies or was engaged in something outside the law,
please tell me now."
"Why?"
Herbert asked. "Surely this is a matter for secular law. The body was
found beyond the priory walls."
Thomas
cursed himself for not thinking before he spoke. Quickly he tried to cloak his
odd demand with some reason. "The sheriff is delayed. If you give me the
details now, I will pass them on to him when he arrives, and you will not be
troubled by questions from him." His mind raced. If Wulfstan had the
reputation for thievery, could he have been part of some band that planned to
steal the Amesbury Psalter? Had something gone wrong that had resulted in his
murder? Maybe
Similar Books
