Sister Ruth’s face was deepening to the color of a fine wine from the Aquitaine.
“Nor does our Order turn aside any with a true calling to serve God,” Andrew said.
Eleanor nodded. “The mother house in Anjou serves as our model by taking not only the children of craftsmen but repentant prostitutes as well. All souls are equal in God’s eyes.”
“Surely we need not follow their practices in every respect!” Sister Ruth’s forehead began to glisten, and the sour odor of fear wafted from her square body. “The abbey is large, and our small priory does not have the space or resources to imitate their singular benevolence.”
Eleanor took mercy on the woman. “To our grief, you are correct. Even though our village is poor in magdalenes, we may at least follow the mother house’s example and accept novices of lowlier parentage.”
Andrew gestured with enthusiasm. “And we have done so already, much to the benefit of our priory and hospital. Sister Anne’s father was a physician. Brother John was an apothecary when he lived in the world…”
The sub-prioress waved his observation aside. “The charity of our hospital is ultimately under the guidance of the infirmarian, Sister Christina, who is not only a woman of inestimable virtue but is also the daughter of…”
Eleanor thudded her staff on the floor. “We are drifting from the purpose of this discussion. The question before us is whether or not to admit Adelard, son of Oseberne the baker, as a novice to our priory.”
The prior swatted at a fly. “I believe we should.”
“I disagree.” Sister Ruth sat upright with an implacable rigidity. Her thick body probably resembled the unyielding curtain wall of her noble brother’s Norman fortress.
Shutting her eyes, the prioress knew she had lost patience. Her two subordinates had failed to compromise and seemed unwilling ever to do so. Could this meeting grow any more difficult?
When she heard a soft knock on the chamber door, Eleanor gratefully gave permission to enter.
As she stepped into the room, Gytha, the prioress’ maid, looked uncommonly pale. “I beg pardon for the interruption, my lady.”
Exuding rank displeasure at the intrusion, Sister Ruth eloquently turned her head away and muttered something incomprehensible.
“You surely have cause,” Eleanor replied with especial gentleness. Her usually cheerful maid was uncommonly subdued.
Gytha bit her lip. “Brother Gwydo has found a man’s body in the mill pond. He prays that you may come as soon as possible.”
There was a collective gasp in the room.
“Send Brother Beorn to inform Crowner Ralf,” the prioress replied as she rose from her chair and firmly gripped her staff of office. Then she gestured to her prior and sub-prioress. “We shall meet him at the site.”
Although Eleanor knew no one could hear it, she could feel her heart pounding as if the Devil himself was beating a drum within her breast.
3
Crowner Ralf heaved the corpse out of the water, dragged it to a wider part of the bank, and dropped it on the mud. Kneeling in the slimy muck, he rested his chin on his fist. “Not a pretty death,” he said and stuck a finger into the neck wound to measure the depth. He looked up at the prioress standing near the edge of the bank. “That act took force and a long, sharp knife.”
Eleanor bit her lip and nodded.
Grabbing a handful of tunic, he flipped the corpse over and pulled the man’s black hair away from his neck. “There was a blow here as well.” He pointed to the injury just under the man’s ear.
The prioress stepped nearer the edge, as if considering whether to join the crowner in the mud, then knelt where she was and bent forward so she might better see the body. “Do you conclude that the head wound was suffered before his throat was slashed?”
“So I might. Why slit his throat, then strike him on the head? Unless, of course, the injury was suffered in a fall just after his throat was cut.” He fingered the back of the man’s head. “The bone is soft here. I’d say the blow might have cracked his skull, but I feel no loose fragments.” He rocked back on his haunches and looked around. “The stream banks are higher where it flows through the forest.” He gestured toward the village. “Had he fallen there, his head might have struck a large rock, but this is summer and the water level is low. He would not have fallen into the stream. Most likely, he was killed near the water and either fell or was pushed in.”
“Why was he floating in our mill pond?” Eleanor considered the short distance between priory wall and the pond with apparent unease.
The turning mill wheel groaned loudly as if protesting innocence of the crime.
Ralf rose to his feet with a grunt. “There is no cause to suspect anything besides chance occurrence for the body to be here, my lady. The hands and face on the corpse have swollen. From my experience, I’d say the body has probably been in the water for a couple of days at least. Cuthbert is searching the stream bank outside this priory. It shouldn’t take long for my sergeant to discover where the fight took place. This death is the king’s problem.”
“A fight?” Prior Andrew frowned as he pointed to the mutilated neck of the corpse. “You think that was the result of some petty disagreement?”
“A slashed throat suggests more than a minor quarrel between men with too much ale in their bellies,” Eleanor said.
“I would agree,” Ralf replied, “which may make solving this crime an easier matter.”
“So you believe the corpse drifted downstream, into priory grounds, and went over the mill wheel with the cascading water?” She raised a hand to shade her eyes from the sun, then looked down at Ralf. “As you said, the water level in the stream is low. If this man died farther up the road to Norwich, wouldn’t someone have seen the body as it floated past the village?”
“Unless he was killed at night. Then the body would have passed unnoticed, entered the pool above the mill where it may have sunk until the force of the water flowing over the wheel pulled it forward. You may be confident, my lady, that this death is under King Edward’s jurisdiction.”
Eleanor folded her arms as she considered this. Her expression suggested polite doubt.
“If I may, I would look upon the body, my lady.” Sister Ruth gestured to her prioress for permission. Granted it, she stared down at the corpse for a long moment and scowled. “I do not recognize the fellow,” she said. “He is not from one of our village families.”
“Nor do I know his name, but that means little,” the prioress said. “Many strangers have come here in recent times, some of whom I have had no cause to meet.” She turned to her prior.
Andrew shook his head. “We could ask Mistress Gytha to come here and look upon the body.”
Eleanor winced. Perhaps she should have asked her maid to accompany them. But the sight of this corpse would unbalance anyone’s humors, and Gytha had been surprisingly downcast of late.
“She knows those in the village,” the prior was saying, “and goes to market days as well as on visits to her brother.” He looked down at the crowner and winked. “Others as well.”
Ralf flushed and looked down at his hands. “No need for her to look on this.” He rubbed his fingers together to brush off lumps of mud. “I’ve seen him. His name is Kenelm. Cuthbert said he came to Tyndal village last winter and remained. I know of no one here who will grieve over this death.”
“Has he no family, then?” Eleanor gazed with fresh sorrow at the dead man.
“None that he claimed,” Ralf said. “Nor does any woman here hold his bastard at her breast.”
Sister Ruth lowered her gaze and glowered at a rock, suddenly deemed worthy of her displeasure.
“That is Kenelm?” Prior Andrew began to lean over the edge of the bank for a closer look, but his bad leg would not take his weight. He winced and stepped back. “I did meet him once. He came to the priory, seeking employment.”