Valley of Dry Bones by Priscilla Royal

waiting for a gasp of horror. When his comment was greeted with continued silence, he scowled. “I fear that King Edward might misconstrue any gift I give you as my approval of such betrayal to kingship.”
    “I am quite ignorant of your meaning, my lord,” Eleanor said at last. Although she knew she had concealed it, she was shocked by this accusation. Glancing at Sister Ruth’s blank expression, she saw that the sub-prioress was just as unacquainted with the news as she. “What traitor’s kin do you think we harbor?”
    Otes looked appalled. “You do not know?”
    Most certainly I do not, she thought. Then with great relief she realized that the baron must have heard false rumor about her prior.
    Andrew, before he took vows, had fought in Simon de Montfort’s army. When she first arrived as Tyndal’s prioress, the monk had confessed this past to her, knowing her father had remained loyal to King Henry. As they were obliged to do under God’s commandments, they forgave each other for any offenses committed by themselves or kin. Soon thereafter they had learned mutual respect. After Prior Theobald’s death, she had prayed that Andrew would be elected to replace him.
    “Surely you do not mean Prior Andrew,” Eleanor replied at last. “He received a pardon after the battle at Evesham on condition he expiate his sins by entering a monastery, as he himself had ardently requested. Perhaps you had not learned that information.”
    Sister Ruth gasped.
    The prioress bit back a groan. Although Sister Ruth would never spread rumors amongst the nuns, she’d not treat this knowledge with tact or compassion and would make sure Prior Andrew suffered her scorn. Eleanor regretted this had been revealed in her hearing. On the other hand, considering Sister Ruth’s reverent attitude toward any of high rank, a reminder that the present king’s uncle had pardoned Andrew might be sufficient to dull the woman’s sharp tongue.
    Eleanor grew ever more eager to conclude this increasingly unpleasant audience.
    Baron Otes licked his lips as if savoring the taste of roasted venison. “Although Prior Andrew might have been forgiven, his elder brother was not, and it fell to me to execute him. For my loyal obedience to our anointed king, this prior of yours vowed to murder me.”
    An icy stillness filled the room like snowfall at the midnight hour.
    This was news of which she most certainly did not have knowledge. Eleanor tucked her hands into her sleeves and gripped her arms with such ferocity that she feared she’d bruised herself. To give herself another moment to respond, she gave the baron a stern look.
    “If that is the case, my lord, I must ask why you considered offering any gift at all to this priory.”
    “I believed that you would understand both the value of my gift and the need to rid your priory of a man who has shown disloyalty to a rightful king and has sworn to break one of God’s commandments.”
    “And thus your gift is contingent upon my willingness to arrange the banishment of Prior Andrew from this house?” Eleanor began to smell something sharp in the air. Considering the day’s heat, she might have concluded that the odor was honest sweat. She now suspected it was the stench of cruel arrogance emanating from the baron.
    Otes nodded. “The land is very rich.”
    “Then I must refuse your most generous offer, my lord. Perhaps you were not told this: the man who issued the pardon was close kin to our King Edward. Soon after, Prior Andrew took vows and swore allegiance to God and all His commandments. Although he may have uttered menacing words after the execution of his brother, I see you before me many years later and in good health.” Her smile was fleeting. “Since he has not acted on that threat and has long been a dutiful servant of God, I conclude he has regretted, confessed, and done penance for those heated words.”
    “He recognized me when I arrived, and his look belied such a