Anne watched as he turned his gaze to the south and, not for the first time, caught herself thinking on what his past had been. She was fond of Thomas and had never pried into the life he’d led before coming to Tyndal, but she worried when dark clouds drifted across his eyes as they did now. If she knew more about him, she thought, perhaps she could offer a comfort she had been unable to give heretofore.
“I cannot help wondering how he could have borne separation from the boy, even knowing he’d be well cared for,” he continued.
“I suspect in much the same way you do as you leave him, brother. You must return to your duties to God at Tyndal. The Lord Hugh’s duty took him with Prince Edward on crusade. I doubt either of you grieves less at leaving this dear lad.”
“Do you not think it odd that a monk should love a child so? I swear I have no desire for one of my own…”
“Are you telling me that you did not beget any children before you came to us?” Anne asked, giving him a teasing but openly appraising look.
“I did not, sister, but I confess it was not for lack of trying.” Thomas returned frankness with frankness, then grinned. How grateful he was for the friendship of this forthright nun.
“That, I never doubted!”
“But now…” His eyes turned sad.
“One does not doff love with the donning of a monkish cowl, brother. Sometimes we enter the contemplative life to better understand the many manifestations of that emotion.” Anne nodded at the figure of Juliana standing far behind Baron Adam and well apart from everyone with her head bowed. “There stands such a seeker.”
“Do you think she will find the object of her search?”
“May we all find what we desire,” Anne replied, her pensive gaze resting on the monk.
Thomas looked at the Lady Juliana. As he did, she raised her head and smiled at him. He was startled. Her expression was kind enough, but her eyes were as dark as they had been that day on the parapet when he thought her mad.
Was she? He shifted uneasily in his saddle. Assuming all the secular and religious parties agreed, this woman would be coming to Tyndal, and he would be her confessor as part of his duties to the priory. As he thought about it, he knew that likelihood should have made him more apprehensive than it did. Instead, the prospect was oddly comforting. So Thomas smiled back at Juliana, then continued to study her as she lowered her head and became, once again, a solitary figure standing apart as if waiting patiently for something to happen.
***
As they, too, said their farewells, the baron bent close to his daughter’s ear.
“You shock me, daughter,” Adam said, his voice low and hoarse.
“I do not condemn, father.”
He stood back, arms folded. “You are dedicated to God. How can you not?”
“My vocation does not mean I am less a sinner. As such, I have no right to cast stones.”
“You might as well have. You suggest I have committed a very grave sin. Whether or not you condemn me, the Church would surely judge me harshly for it,” he retorted. “Thus your accusation is as cruel as the wound of any stone cast.”
“Father, I intend no cruelty, and the Church’s judgment is what your confessor deems proper penance.” Eleanor glanced briefly at the auburn-haired Brother Thomas some distance behind. A sigh escaped her. God might condemn her passion for the monk, but for the loyalty he had shown her family and the love he had given so freely to her nephew, she loved him more. Why was she so cursed? She shook her head and turned back to the baron. “Since I am still in my youth, there are many sins I have not yet been tempted to commit. Others, I have. None of us may say what we will or will not do until we are faced with the choice. If we make hard choices with a good heart, God may perhaps deal more gently with us.”
“Something your Aunt Beatrice would say.”
“Perhaps, but do you still deny what I have suggested?”
“A hungry dog with a bone, you are!”
“Why is that? Do I not remind you of someone, father?”
“Your mother.”
“If you will,” Eleanor said, thinking somewhat otherwise. “And how often was she right to pursue a steady course?”
“Often.” He looked down, avoiding his daughter’s eyes. “Usually.”
“Then I am right, am I not? After Sir Geoffrey confessed to Brother Thomas, you came to your old friend, and, in a gesture of mercy, reopened the wound so he would bleed to death. He had neither to face the hangman nor condemn his soul by the taking of his own life. A reopening of the wound would not be uncommon with so grievous an injury. Who would even question such a thing, especially after the distress he suffered when his wife and daughter each confessed to the crime he had committed?”
“Knowing such could happen, why accuse me, or anyone, of deliberately reopening it?”
“Because the rewrapping of the bandages did not quite match Sister Anne’s careful work. She knew from the way they were redone that he could not have tied them so with only one hand and it was certainly not how she had done it. You were the last to see Sir Geoffrey and the one who forbade anyone from entering his room, until he would have died.” She gazed at her father for a long minute. “Father, remember that I am her prioress to whom she owes allegiance. In truth, she is a loyal friend as well. She spoke only to me about this, and, as you should know, I would never betray you.”
Adam turned his face away and said nothing.
“Sir Geoffrey was not an evil man,” Eleanor said quietly. “In Satan’s quest for souls, he had bound a cloth of green about your dear friend’s eyes. All he could see was tinged with jealousy, yet even in his blinded state, he struggled to do the right thing. He tried to save Robert’s life at the cost not only of his own life but that of his soul. Perhaps as Sir Geoffrey struck the killing blow at his son, he did so less out of jealousy than out of love for his wife. He may well have deserved punishment for the killing of his son, but your way of sending him to God’s judgment may have been the kinder act than the hanging and humiliation he would surely have faced. Who is to say that your way was less just? Men, convicted of crimes, are sent from this world to face God by equally mortal and imperfect men who may err in both judgment and punishment. The only perfect judgment is God’s, and, as we speak, Sir Geoffrey is facing both that judgment and His mercy.”
Adam looked at his daughter. “I had heard tales at court of your talented leadership of Tyndal, daughter, but I confess I discounted some as exaggerated for the sake of flattery. Now I must say that, had you been born male, your wits might well have found a welcome in the courts of kings. For a woman, your view of justice is quite practical, yet,” he said with gentle tone, “it is tinged with a woman’s kindness.”
“At Amesbury I did learn that God’s justice may not always be the same as Man’s. I shall not take credit for the wisdom of others.”
“If I did commit the act you suggest, what do you think I will suffer for my crime?”
“That is between you and your confessor.”
“As you have mentioned confessors, I must tell you that since Father Anselm has been so gravely ill and will not recover for some time…”
“…you found another priest when you felt the need to cleanse your soul of whatever sins were oppressing you. Indeed, Brother Thomas was a good choice for, like all of us who love you, he will take any secrets far from Wynethorpe Castle and bury them at the altar in the priory of Tyndal.”
“I appreciate your kindness in allowing me to use him as confessor while he was here. Indeed, I found the compassion of your handsome Brother Thomas formed much in same mold as that of his prioress.”
Eleanor felt her face flush. “He has proven himself to be invaluable at Tyndal. I could not replace him.”
“So I see, my child,” her father retorted, raising one eyebrow.