Ralf lifted his jack of ale and quickly downed the contents to ease his growing discontent. The list of suspects had just increased.
6
Prioress Eleanor crouched on the bank by the mill pond and brushed her fingers through the grass.
“It was there.” The monk pointed to a spot just to the left of her hand.
Sister Anne watched, hoping that Brother Thomas would be wrong for once.
The prioress dug into the ground and brought up a handful of russet-colored earth.
“Might the blood have come from a wild animal?” The sub-infirmarian’s expression suggested she already knew the answer to her own question.
“The high walls keep them out,” the prioress said, “although some might still slip in.” She bent over to look more closely at the place where Thomas believed grass had been pulled up. “If I am not mistaken, that is a footprint.” She gestured for the two monastics to view the mark in the ground.
Sister Anne nodded. “Some force was required to make that deep a gouge.”
“I saw it, my lady,” Thomas said, “but concluded it might have been made at any time.”
Eleanor stood. “In that, I would agree, for this is a well-worn path, but we had a heavy summer downpour late the day before last. Gytha said that kept her from returning earlier. This print is both distinct and deep, which suggests it was recently made, when the earth was still wet.”
“Few would step off the path after that rain. The mud would be slippery and a misstep might cause someone to fall into the water,” Anne replied.
The prioress considered the possibilities in that, then shook her head. “A man might slip into the pond and drown but not slit his throat while doing it.”
“That patch.” Thomas bent down and sketched a wide circle above the spot with his hand. “I think the killer and Kenelm struggled there. In fact, I’d say those were heel marks near the footprint.”
Eleanor frowned. “Or else the body was dragged off the path. See those marks over there. Yet we cannot prove whether a fight occurred or something quite benign.”
“I think he was killed here. That patch of blood would suggest it.” Thomas walked to the edge of the bank and looked into the water. “It is not far from here to the mill wheel.”
“We must tell Ralf about this,” Anne said. “If Cuthbert has found no stronger evidence upstream to prove where Kenelm went into the water, the sergeant might not have to look further than this place.”
“I have sent Brother Beorn to seek out our crowner.” Shading her eyes, Eleanor gazed down the path. The gate into the priory was not far from the mill, allowing villagers to carry their grain with ease from the road that passed by.
She frowned and turned to the sub-infirmarian. “You have looked at Kenelm’s corpse. If the murder took place here, so close to the mill, surely the dead body would have been found sooner. Ralf thinks the body was in the water for a couple of days. Might the death have occurred outside our priory as he believes?”
“I agree with Ralf about the length of time the body was in the water. Although there were cuts on Kenelm’s face, our crowner did not see the ones on his back. I cannot be sure about the cause, but they could mean his body was trapped by something underwater and only went over the mill wheel when the current finally pulled it loose.”
“Might those hidden marks have been caused by a fight?”
“The ones on his face perhaps,” the nun replied, “but the scrapes on his back suggest that something large hit him several times. If the body was trapped under the wheel, that would explain those wounds.”
“We must ask why anyone would kill another here.” Thomas looked around. “It is a crime only the impious or the mad would commit.”
They fell silent, and Eleanor felt cold despite the hot day. The monk was right, and she feared the answer.
Tyndal Priory had suffered violence within its walls before, but surely God’s servants had given Him no cause to curse them again. She required all her monks and nuns to obey the Rule on diet, labor, and prayer. The priory was respected for charity given and vows kept. Her own private transgressions she acknowledged and did hard penance. All mortals sinned, but, as far as she knew, her religious were no worse than those in other pious communities. Why must this priory endure so much bloodshed?
As if to belie the gravity of blood spilled on sacred ground, peace felt as tangible to Eleanor as this dense heat. She looked up at the sky. A growing number of clouds scudded overhead, hinting that another summer cloudburst was imminent. Birdsong was muted. Leaves rustled briefly as a sudden gust of sea breeze brought a hint of coolness down from the northern regions. If God were so angry, wouldn’t He give her some sign, something to point out the offense that must be corrected?
The prioress looked back at her two companions, regretting the question she must ask. “Do either of you know whether any of our monks, lay or choir, might have had a quarrel with Kenelm?”
“None of whom I was aware,” Thomas replied. He looked at Anne.
“Those within these walls had little opportunity to suffer injury from him. The dead man only arrived here after the harvest was taken in,” the nun said. “As our crowner suggested, Kenelm was not well-loved by the villagers who did have contact with him. I never met the man, but I have overheard resentful comments about him made by some coming to us for care.”
“Since his arrival, have any of our religious been given leave to go outside our walls?” Thomas asked.
Eleanor denied it.
“I have, and I never met him,” he said.
“When the lay brothers brought the body to the hospital, those who saw it assumed he was a traveler found dead on the road.” Anne paused for a moment. “Not all dwelling in our priory did see the corpse, but our nuns are sequestered and we have few monks.”
“Brother Gwydo is the only one who has not been here long,” Eleanor said.
Thomas shook his head. “Surely he could not have had anything to do with this.”
“It is unlikely, Brother,” Sister Anne said. “He has only just recovered enough strength to oversee the honey production, a light enough task for him. I do not think he would have been able to kill a man as strong as Kenelm, even if he had had cause.”
“There was the blow to the head,” the monk said, his reluctance in mentioning this quite evident. “If Kenelm was stunned, a weaker man could have cut his throat.”
“Brother Thomas and I examined the body.” Anne turned to Eleanor. “I concluded that the skull may have been cracked, but the blow did not kill him. Why the killer did not strike him again but instead cut his throat is a fair question.”
“The murderer wanted to make sure he was dead?” Thomas looked doubtful. “He was so angry he both struck him and cut his throat?”
“It is odd to do both. A man suffering frenzy will stab more than once, if he uses a knife, or hit his victim repeatedly, if he first struck him,” Anne said. “We know very little, in fact. I grieve that I could not find anything of especial note from my examination. I doubt the corpse has more to teach us.”
“Then we shall bury him,” Eleanor replied. In the summer heat, quick burial was obligatory. Out of the corner of her eye, she glanced at Sister Anne.
After their return from Baron Herbert’s castle last winter, the sub-infirmarian had grown gaunt. Now, for the first time, there was a healthy blush in Anne’s cheeks and a long absent interest hovering in her eyes. “Your observations may own more merit than you think. I am grateful, and our crowner shall be as well,” the prioress said, feeling relief at the change in her friend.
Thomas, on the other hand, looked uneasy. “Do you still believe this matter belongs to the king’s justice?”
“The crime was committed on priory land,” Eleanor said. “Although we may feel confident that none of our religious were involved, I must still look more deeply into the question. Even if all of us are innocent, I must be kept informed and may wish to assist our crowner.” She smiled. “Ralf has always welcomed our assistance, so we shall freely offer our help.”