She had heard many call him cruel and selfish but she knew better. Hadn’t his smile betrayed his joy when she gave him her news? Surely he had only meant to be considerate when he said she could birth or bury the child for all he cared. Foolish man! Of course she was happy but he had only wanted to make sure she was.
She shut her eyes again and tried to remember his exact expression. Wasn’t that a delighted smile he gave her? His lips were twisted as they always were when he spoke mean words, but didn’t that sparkling in his eyes shout a most paternal happiness? An uneasy doubt pricked at her heart, but she quickly disregarded it.
And then there was that business about Signy. At first, she had grown angry when he said he would soon replace her in his bed with the innkeeper’s niece, but her temper had cooled when he began to fondle her as he always did. No matter that she did not like the idea of another in Martin’s arms, but a man must have a woman lest his seed grow weak and die. Accordingly, she had decided he could swyve the tavern wench for relief if he wanted, while she herself was big with child, but it would be a temporary thing as it had always been.
Yet he had been cruel to tease her and bring up things she’d rather never remember like the other women he’d bedded. Of all times, why did he also have to do it that night when she was so happy about their first son and the coming marriage he had once promised her?
And why did he have to die? Who would have been so pitiless as to kill him, especially before he could marry her? As his wife under law, she would have gained possession of all he owned, a portion for herself and the rest for their child. Now she had nothing and might starve before the babe was even born. She began to shake with icy terror and pulled herself closer to the stable wall for support.
When she felt some ease, she loosened her grip on the rough surface and looked with longing toward the inn where her beloved had died. A figure coming along the path from the priory caught her eye.
Ivetta tensed. Anger rose with the heat of Hell’s fire from her belly, and an idea burned itself into her mind. Why had she not thought of this before? Now she knew what had happened that night. Like a wild woman, she flung herself away from the stable.
“You killed him!” she screamed and ran toward the innkeeper’s niece.
Startled by the screeching woman racing toward her, Signy stopped so quickly that she stumbled, lost her balance in the rutted ground, and fell to her knees.
In an instant, Ivetta was on top of her, pummeling Signy with both fists. “You murdered him because he loved me! You knew you could never have him to yourself!”
The innkeeper’s niece twisted first to one side and then the next, shouting for help and trying to protect her eyes and face. Being far taller and heavier-boned than Ivetta, she finally dislodged her attacker and jumped to her feet. “You’re mad!” she shouted.
Ivetta struggled to her feet. “Lecherous woman! Martin only bedded you out of pity. When he came back to me, he mimicked how you had howled with longing, and then writhed with lust under him.”
“How dare you call me wanton!”
A crowd was now gathering outside the inn.
Ivetta noted the growing audience and gleefully threw her arms out to them. “May not an honest whore expose a dishonest one? Of course, I can. Shall I be more specific to prove the truth of what I say?”
A few voices urged her to continue.
“Do you deny that you have a red mark on your left breast, just above the tit? Was that where the Devil bit you when even he failed to sate your lusts?” Ivetta shouted.
Signy froze.
“And the mole on your pryvete?”
“Liar!” The innkeeper’s niece screamed, covering her ears.
Ivetta threw her head back and laughed.
Signy began to weep.
A heavy-set man suddenly appeared at the doorway of the inn, then pushed his way through the crowd toward the women.
Seeing the innkeeper amongst them, a few men left, assuming the entertainment was over. Others stayed to watch what would happen next.
“Go back inside,” he ordered. “This is but a spat between women, of no greater import than the sparring of two cats over a vole. Tonight we have a band of jugglers passing through, far better amusement than this silliness.”
In good humor after such merry sport and needing ale to wet their throats on a summer eve, the crowd dispersed, most returning to the inn.
The innkeeper took the trembling Signy by the arm. “Come, niece,” he said gently. “Dry your tears. The cook needs help with the fish.”
By then, Ivetta had disappeared into the shadows of the slowly fading light.
Chapter Twenty
Eleanor’s eyes widened. “I never would have thought such a thing.”
Ralf stared at the rushes on the floor. Although no one could read his expression, his shoulders were rounded as if heavy melancholy had weighed them down.
“Nor do I now,” Sister Anne replied. “Signy may have faults like the rest of us, but I cannot imagine why she would bed a man like Martin. I had never heard that she was fond of the rougher sort.”
Ralf glanced up and blinked as if waging war against enemy tears.
“Perhaps I misspoke,” Anne said, her tone softened by compassion. “When a man chooses to ignore sweet courtesies and fine fashion, he may still own a gentle heart. Martin was a cruel man. I meant the latter when I spoke of roughness.”
“The innkeeper’s niece is a woman beyond reproach,” the crowner replied, his words barely audible. “Were she otherwise, Tostig would not…” He coughed uncomfortably.
“Of course, Ralf.” Anne nodded.
“None of us gives credence to this comment by the smithy.” Eleanor’s dismissive gesture gave emphasis to her words. “Nonetheless, it provides me with cause to call Signy back. I wanted to clarify some details of her story. And,” she continued, “I have more questions for Ivetta as well, although the latter may find a second visit to the priory more unwelcome than the first. I fear the contemplative nature of our life failed to attract her.”
Anne raised a hopeful eyebrow. “Our Order has welcomed women of her trade who repent. Not all religious houses do. Her exposure was surely all too brief. Perhaps another walk through our cloister would open her heart to the murmured wisdom of Saint Mary Magdalene.”
“That is a miracle for which we might well pray.” The prioress smiled before turning her attention back to the crowner. “Meanwhile, I shall see what more I can learn that relates to murder.”
“My lady, you are most kind to take on this task,” he said, this time meeting her gaze. “The cooper’s death does not affect Tyndal Priory, and I shall never forget your generous help when I could not get answers.”
“God requires it. First, our priory does serve both the spiritual and many temporal needs of this village. Second, when any mortal falls victim to violence, even one as sinful as Martin, all men are blighted. Whether they follow a secular or religious life matters not. Because you are striving to emulate God’s most perfect justice, Crowner, we have good reason to assist you in that pursuit.” Her smile was warm with affection.
Ralf flushed unhappily. “I could never achieve perfection, my lady. My soul is so fat with its many transgressions that even the Devil must doubt he can find room for my spirit in Hell.”
“All I said was strive, Ralf,” she replied, her tone turning curiously chill. “With God’s help, we imperfect mortals may even succeed on rare occasion. As for the number of our sins, we all suffer from mortal flaws, whether sworn to enforce an earthly king’s law or that of God.”