Several servants had just entered and now circled around Hilda. “Be gentle!” Thomas begged, helping them brace and lift the cook onto a rough wooden frame.
“Step aside, if you will,” Stevyn said to Sir Reimund, “so these men may carry our Hilda to the house.” Then the steward followed the servants outside.
“No one can stab themselves in the back, remove the knife, and hide it before losing all awareness,” Thomas growled. “Someone did this to her and for cause. Perhaps they feared she knew or might suggest the true killer.”
“Maybe she just dropped the knife in the straw,” the sheriff finally said. “My men will search for it.”
Thomas finally lost his temper. “And if you do not find it, shall you conclude that some other servant has a knife stained with blood? Whether that blood was animal or human would be irrelevant to you, would it not?”
“If you were not a monk, I’d throw you in prison for treasonable words against a king’s man.” The sheriff grabbed Thomas’ habit and jerked him closer.
“He belongs to God, Sir Reimund,” Eleanor said quietly. “Only the Church can order discipline against him. Yet I beg your forbearance, for we were given shelter here by Master Stevyn’s household out of Christian charity. Our gratitude makes us protective of our saviors and thus prone to some rashness on their behalf. Just as you would not trespass on the rights of God’s Church, however, neither do we wish to interfere with the just pursuit of the king’s justice.”
The sheriff released his grip.
Even though his face still felt as hot as hellfire, Thomas stepped back and bowed his head with a feigned show of meekness. At least the sheriff’s men were now forced to search the hut with witnesses present. He counted that as a small victory.
Master Stevyn bent low to re-enter the hut after giving further directions about Hilda’s care. Without evident emotion, he glanced at the men now shuffling around in the straw but turned to the prioress. “My last wife found much comfort at your priory and from your sub-infirmarian,” he said, his voice catching slightly, “even if Sister Anne was unable to save her life. Yet we have a healer with some talent here, my lady. I have asked the physician’s widow to tend to Hilda.”
“A wise as well as a kind decision,” Eleanor replied with the briefest of hesitations. “Brother Thomas has often assisted Sister Anne in her treatments, but a woman may treat another of her sex without offending modesty. Mistress Maud has shown much skill in the care of the poor child in our company.” She bowed in acceptance of his decision.
Brother Thomas watched the sheriff’s men continue to search unsuccessfully for the weapon used against the cook. The space was small enough that their hunt could not last much longer. He glanced over at the prioress.
Eleanor ignored him. “Yet she is not a physician, and I have heard there has been no one to replace her husband since his death. Although she is most skilled, she is still a woman and thus plagued on occasion with illogic and inability to clearly see the proper path to take. Might she be allowed to consult with Brother Thomas? He could offer direction if she faltered.”
After a brief conference, one of the searchers went to the sheriff, who now stood just outside the hut. Although their words could not be overheard, the man’s gestures suggested he was convinced of the futility in their hunt for the knife.
Thomas noticed that his prioress was also watching this interaction and suddenly realized that she had planned her discussion with the steward to last as long as the weapon search.
“As you wish, my lady. I am sure that Mistress Maud will appreciate any guidance Brother Thomas can offer her.” The steward bowed.
“I am most grateful to you, Master Stevyn.” She lowered her eyes. “Now we must leave and let these men continue their efforts. I have stayed far too long and shall return to the care of my young companion.”
As the two monastics left the hut, the sheriff turned his back and immediately walked away so he did not have to utter even the most rudimentary courtesies to them.
On their way back to the house, however, Eleanor looked over her shoulder and saw that her guard still trotted close behind. After the attack on Hilda, the sheriff would claim that the protection was proven necessary, and thus he would continue his attempt to prevent her from interfering with his preferred investigative techniques.
Glancing back, Brother Thomas also took note of the faithful shadow and waved in a friendly fashion, then chose Latin to tell his prioress: “They found no knife, my lady.”
“Nor did either of us think they might,” she replied with a preoccupied frown.
“I wonder where our killer dropped this one. I cannot imagine using the blade to kill another mortal in the morning and then cutting your meat at dinner with the same thing.”
Eleanor raised an eyebrow. “When the Prince of Darkness drives a man to such madness that he murders another made in God’s likeness, he might well do just that.”
“I fear you have the right of it, my lady.” He paused before continuing. “I doubt the importance of either weapon as evidence. Although I will keep it safely hidden, the first had no distinctive markings. The second, should I find it, will most probably be equally undistinguished, thus my delight at the discovery in the stable has dampened more than this ground on which we stand.”
“Nonetheless, you must search the area nearby. Even though I agree with your assessment, we must not ignore the possibility that we may both be proven wrong.” Her monk’s sad face made her long to cheer him. “No evidence may ever be discounted until the crime is solved.”
“At least you were able to keep witnesses present while the sheriff’s men searched the hut. Now it is clear that Hilda did not commit self-murder. I feared Sir Reimund would arrange for a knife to be found.”
“There were no windows through which to toss it. No rational person would conclude that she could unbar a door, bolted from the outside, and throw away a knife with which she had stabbed herself. Although our king’s man may begrudge the loss of his choice for the groom’s killer, I think he might concede that the cook was attacked by someone besides herself.”
“You are most generous in your assessment of his wits, my lady. I am not sure they are quite that keen, having been blunted by his ambition,” Thomas replied.
Eleanor chuckled. “I assume you will confess that lack of charity, Brother, when we return to Tyndal. On the other hand, your confessor may well decide that any sin is wiped clean because your words hold some truth in them.”
Exchanging amused looks, the pair continued to the manor house in companionable silence.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Death grasps her hand with great strength, my lady. I doubt Hilda will ever again greet fellow mortals on this earth.” Mistress Maud stood back from the pallet where the cook lay, her breath almost imperceptible.
Looking down at the body, which had quickly become little more than a frail mortal shell eager to release a struggling soul, Eleanor nodded understanding. She might wish the outcome to be otherwise, but she had asked Brother Thomas to give the last rites. “You have known her long?” The prioress’ voice was soft with sympathy.
“I have. She is a good woman. I never believed she killed Tobye.”
“You do not think she lusted after the man and grew jealous enough to strike out?”
“Oh, she itched for him but, as sins go, hers were trifling enough. Was she jealous?” Maud’s smile was cheerless. “Most likely, but she would have sooner wept over it than turned to murder. Women may dream, my lady, but men either seize what they want or destroy what they can’t have.” She shrugged. “Yet God made Adam before Eve, thus wise men say he was His more perfect creature. Imaginings, being womanish, must be the greater folly.”