“Who was in the room when you arrived?” Eleanor asked the crowner.
“The innkeeper and Signy were just in front of me as I climbed the stairs. They could not have destroyed evidence without my seeing the act. Only Ivetta was alone with the corpse and the method of killing him. For all her cleverly professed affection for Martin, she had the best opportunity to do the deed, then destroy the poisoned wine.”
“For just a moment, let us assume that one of the others killed him. What reason might either Hob or Will, perhaps both, have for doing such a thing?” Eleanor continued.
Ralf shrugged. “They have long been friends with the cooper and used to his ways. The brothers drank, and when they did, they got into fights-with Martin as well as others. The difference is that all was forgotten by the three men before the aching heads were healed. That has long been their pattern.”
“Ivetta said that Martin was mocking Will’s impotence. Was that a longtime jest?” Anne asked.
The crowner frowned. “That I had not heard. If true, would it be cause for murder? I wonder.”
“Would it be if he had said the same about you?” Anne snapped.
Ralf’s face turned scarlet.
“I have made my argument,” the sub-infirmarian replied.
“And Hob?” Eleanor added.
“As a boy, Hob always followed his elder brother in wickedness. Then he changed his ways but still works at the smithy with Will, and thus is not removed from that influence. Tostig claims Hob has grown more independent in the last several months, however. Of the two, the younger has long been the more restrained, but he is fiercely loyal to his brother. Of all their family, only they remain on this earth. So I could believe Hob might have struck out to protect his brother, but I doubt he is a murderer. Nay, I still think the whore had more reason to kill than either man.”
“Because she was with child?” Anne asked.
“Surely it is not the first time! Maybe she thought this quickening would change a bawd into a husband. Her value as a common woman is diminishing, and even she must have realized that Martin would have been contemplating the acquisition of a younger harlot. Perhaps she thought he owed her the security of marriage, and, when he laughed at the prospect, she killed him.”
“Slipping ground yew seeds into a man’s wine suggests some planning, Ralf.”
“Are you certain that was the case, Annie?”
“Before I heard what Ivetta had to say, I suspected yew or nightshade. Now I am fairly sure it was the seeds from a yew tree. There were tiny bits left where the wine had spilled. The symptoms described and what I noted about the corpse were consistent with that kind of poisoning.”
“Something easily slipped into a drink?” Eleanor asked.
“The taste of wine, especially a flavored one, hides many things. The poison can work quickly, and we do not know exactly when the cooper might have started to drink it. Of course, it could have been put into the stew, both food and drink were brought together, but little of the stew had been eaten. A potion slipped into wine is more likely to achieve the murderous effect than something scattered over food. Some men reach for the cup before the spoon.” Anne hesitated. “I fear that yew has also been used to abort unborn babes, usually with cruel consequences to mother and child.”
“Of course a prostitute would be familiar with it.” Ralf paused to let the comment sink in.
“Or an apothecary and many more women than we might commonly assume. Dangerous though it is, the method is well known, Ralf.”
“Which reminds me that we have yet to consider any motive Signy might have,” Eleanor said.
“None!” Ralf struck a fist into his other hand.
“Why are you so convinced?” Anne asked.
He threw up his hands. “Ivetta has committed sins that would make the Devil blush. Signy is a decent woman.”
“Very well, Ralf, but we will question her shortly.” Eleanor’s stern expression was enough to quell any potential argument.
“I am grateful.” Ralf lowered his eyes.
The sub-infirmarian tilted her head and studied the crowner in silence.
“She refuses to speak with me,” the crowner sputtered in response to Anne’s unspoken query.
“Why am I not surprised?”
Ralf threw up his hands. “Very well, I will not arrest Ivetta yet, but she is still my strongest suspect. Signy is innocent, but you may well learn something valuable from her. The innkeeper and other possible witnesses, I will question myself, including Will and Hob.”
“I praise the wisdom of your direction, Ralf,” Anne said wryly.
Eleanor laughed to lighten the mood. “Our priory is attracting the most interesting visitors these days. A prostitute and a serving wench? The Kingdom of Heaven must be nigh when such come to a priory and give up the secrets of their souls.”
Anne nodded. “Ivetta was quite blunt in telling her tales. I wonder what the innkeeper’s niece might have to say…” She hesitated, then gave the crowner a mischievous look. “…about many little things.”
Although Ralf’s muttered response was not completely clear, the two nuns later agreed that he had first complained about being a much maligned man with nothing small about him, and then had uttered a most impressive oath before stomping out the door.
Chapter Thirteen
“You’re a godly monk, Brother.” Old Tibia’s voice began to slur as the sleep-inducing draught took effect.
Godly was not a word he would have used to describe himself, Thomas thought, but opted not to contradict her gentle words.
“And have a consoling angel’s smile.”
“You are most kind, but I am a sinful man like any other. I will convey your gratitude to those who make this potion. I am but the courier who delivers restful sleep from the priory.”
Tibia laid a light hand on Thomas’ arm and watched him as she did. “You don’t draw back at the touch of this crone?”
“Why should I?”
“Most bearing the tonsure do. How can a feeble old woman like me corrupt chastity? I’ve oft asked that.” Her expression suggested some distant memory had drifted like a cloud’s shadow across her face. “If the sex that bore them troubles monks so, how could they have been good sons? But you, you’re like a proper son, Brother. Touching you with a mother’s hand comforts me and makes the absence of my own boy more bearable.”
“We should praise the God who sent me to you.”
She turned her sharp-featured face from him.
Remembering his earlier, less compassionate thoughts about her, shame filled his heart. Why was it that we sing paeans to lush but wicked youth, he asked himself, and mock the hooked noses and hollow cheeks of those whose souls were soon to see God? Should we not pray instead for these scars left by grueling life and condemn the plump callousness of youth? At the moment, age’s pale warmth seemed preferable to Thomas than the heat of youth. What joy had the latter ever brought him?
“Is your mother dead?” Tibia’s voice was just a whisper.
“Aye, as are the women who took me in as a babe and young boy.”
“Your father?”
“He also.”
“More recently? There’s fresh sadness in your voice.”
“The brothers and sisters at the priory are my kin,” he replied, realizing that there was much truth in what he said, more than he had intended.
“A kind family,” Tibia murmured. “Your holy prioress brought good with her when she came to Tyndal Priory. The Evil One stays where he should in his stinking pit longer than he did in the past.”
“Like the beloved disciple, who took care of Our Lord’s mother after the crucifixion, I gain honor by serving Prioress Eleanor,” Thomas said. The words might have been spoken out of common courtesy, but his heart meant them.