Renaud humbly bowed his head, but his heart beat faster with a stirring of pride.
“Your suggestion was wiser than the Captain’s. I fear he is a godless man.”
“Why else would he have suggested bringing armed men to stand on holy ground?” the clerk murmured, head still lowered. It was a gesture often used by Jean, he recalled. Although he had not meant to imitate the dead youth, Renaud found it so easy to slip into Jean’s habits. Surely this was an omen that he was meant to take the favored one’s place in his master’s heart. He stole a glance over his shoulder to make sure the dead clerk’s spirit was not hovering.
“Although the man was correct on one point. God blesses the swords of those who fight the Infidel.”
Renaud blinked. Did the priest mean he saw some virtue in the captain? How should he respond to this? He raised his eyes to look at Father Etienne and reassured himself that his wits must be agile enough to keep up with his master’s unexpected twists and turns of thought. Jean’s always were. “Without doubt,” he replied.
“Without doubt?” Davoir’s eyes narrowed.
The clerk began to sweat. Why was the priest testing him now of all times? He had just suffered a blow to his head by one of the damned. He felt dizzy. “Dare one say otherwise about those who seek to recover Jerusalem?” That was a good response, he thought.
“And if those pilgrims turn their swords against other Christians? Does God also bless that deed?”
Burning sweat from his forehead dripped into his eyes. “Perhaps the Christians have been wicked and deserve the attack.” He was stammering, and he hated himself for it. Jean would have presented his opinion in a confident tone.
Davoir laughed, his tone mocking. “Poor reasoning. I had hoped to hear better from you after your solution to the guard problem.” He sighed. “But, having considered that apparent spark of competence more thoroughly, I can see that your plan held the same flaws as the rest of your work.”
Renaud began to tremble. He wanted to shout that he was still weak from his injuries. The priest ought not to press him so hard on these difficult questions. But he did not cry out or beg for mercy. Instead, he stood like a child, gaze bound to the earth and hands folded. Although the tears sliding down his cheeks were caused by sweat in his eyes, not sorrow, he felt humiliated as he always did when Father Etienne chided him. At least Jean was not there to witness this.
Or was he? Renaud had not told the priest that he believed the dead clerk had attacked him for sending his spirit to Hell. Maybe Jean, reeking of burnt souls, had come to Father Etienne in a dream and told him of Renaud’s sin. He longed to look over his shoulder again but did not, lest the priest ask him why.
“You chose to take the darkest hours to patrol alone instead of assigning more clerks to do so. I would have praised your judgement if you had taken a daylight tour by yourself when there was less danger of attack. At night, the Devil brings all his minions with him, and the fellowship of more clerks, chanting prayers as they circled the quarters, would have kept the Evil One at bay.”
The clerk wanted to blame the guard captain who had suggested he take the night watch alone. But Renaud had still accepted the plan although he could now see the faulty logic of his choice. Why had he listened to that soldier? Maybe the captain was not just weak of faith but a servant of evil. His ugly, scarred face suggested that for there was no beauty unless God was present. Yes, he had been duped, but it was not something he could confess or he would suffer even greater admonishment from Father Etienne.
“Jean would not have made that mistake.”
This was too much! Renaud whimpered like a mongrel facing a wild boar.
“Stop whining!”
“Yes, master,” the youth mumbled.
“Jean made errors too, but he never acted like a witless babe when shown his mistakes.” Davoir waved his hand in disgust at the clerk and strode away.
Renaud ran after him. He wanted to shout that the priest’s beloved clerk had been no saint. He had gotten drunk, admittedly with Renaud’s help, and had behaved like a feckless girl over the attentions of one of the guards on the way from the coast. But he knew Davoir would not care. When he once told the priest about seeing Jean commit a secret sin, Davoir had scolded him for tattling and said that his favored clerk had already come to him for penance. Even when Jean sinned, he always did the right thing in the priest’s mind.
“Father!” Renaud fell to his knees.
“What is it?” Davoir turned around and glared with repugnance at the squirming clerk.
“Have I not served you well and dutifully?”
Father Etienne folded his arms and stared at the miserable youth. “You meant well with the planned defense, and I grieve that you were injured in that duty. Yes, Renaud, you do the best you can to serve me, although you rarely do anything ably.”
Reaching out his hands in supplication, the clerk did not even know what more he wanted from his master, but these words of little comfort bore into his ears like hot iron from the smith’s fire. He heard screams, as if from a tortured man, but those sounds came from inside his own head.
“Despite your ambition, you can never hope to replace Jean. Indeed, that is something even you must have known would be unreasonable.”
Jean! Jean! It was always Jean. Even with his soul in Hell, he was keeping Renaud out of favor. The clerk’s heart beat painfully against his chest.
“You are incompetent. You always have been, lad. For your father’s sake, I wished it otherwise. He was a good and loyal steward to my father, and so I kept you by my side longer than I ought. Your Latin is abysmal. Your debate lacks force of logic. I cannot read your writing, nor can the other clerks.”
“You will keep me with you, surely!” Renaud crawled on his knees, grabbed the priest’s robe, and pressed his face against the man’s feet.
Davoir pulled himself free and stepped back. “Get up! This display is unseemly!”
“You will keep me with you!” Renaud wailed.
“On your feet, lad,” the priest replied with unexpected gentleness. “I will not cast you aside without finding a place for you that is suited to your skills. You have chosen to serve God, and that is what He wishes most from us.” Then he turned his back and briskly walked down the path to the quarters.
Renaud scrabbled to his feet and stared at the man who had the power to lift him into prominence or dash him into oblivion. He wiped his hand across his dusty cheek and under his dripping nose. He knew the kind of service Father Etienne would find for a discarded clerk. The last one got a small parish that could barely feed and clothe him while he preached to whores and beggars. Davoir might believe God would find this suitable, but Renaud did not.
As he trailed behind his master along a path that felt like the road to his own Golgotha, Renaud no longer suffered grief, nor had his misery been replaced by anger.
His heart had turned to ice.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Eleanor sat in the cloister garth and closed her eyes.
Bees hummed love songs to the flowers. A gentle breeze caressed her cheek. In the distance, a seagull called out its pride in the successful hunt for food. Even the autumn sun gave what vigor it had left to warm her.
This peace should have cheered and strengthened. Instead, like a prisoner granted one final glance of the bright world, she felt the heaviness of despondency.
“Oh, you are a foolish creature,” she muttered aloud.
“May I help, my lady?”
The prioress had forgotten that Gracia was so close. She had brought her maid along so the child might have a few moments for simple play, something the girl rarely had time to do.