A sharp flapping of wings over her head disrupted her thoughts. Looking up, she saw that a bird had flown in and was perched high in the rafters. In due course, it would fly out again. In the meantime, she was glad it had found refuge from the heat. Although Sister Ruth complained that birds often drank holy water, the prioress had no quarrel with the creatures. God made them too, and she doubted He begrudged the sips of water.
The concept of refuge reminded her that the location of the crime was close to Brother Thomas’ hermitage. And that made her think of Father Eliduc.
She asked herself if the priest had visited the hermit, hoping to lure him off for some task without her permission. That was an innocent thought compared to her second and more sinister one.
After visiting with her monk, Eliduc would have realized how remote the place was. If the priest had some quarrel with the baron, he might have lured him to the pond for private talk. If the two men then argued, the priest could have killed Otes.
A tiny voice within her quickly insisted that Eliduc would have done so only in self-defense. A louder one expressed doubt about that.
Eleanor shivered. Her logic was obviously flawed. She was equally certain there was a bit of truth in her suspicion.
The priest had shown interest in any gift of land that Otes might have offered Tyndal. As she thought more on her conversation with Eliduc, she remembered how relieved he had been when she said she had refused Otes’ offer. That land might have been the cause for disagreement between the men, especially if it was rich enough.
One flaw in this reasoning was that she had spoken with the priest after the killing. If Eliduc was the perpetrator, he would not have been so pleased to discover the baron’s death was not necessary after all.
“He is still a priest,” she murmured, bowing her head with shame that she would even consider him likely to break a major Commandment.
On the other hand, all mortals were prone to sin, priests included. Despite being convent-raised, Eleanor had not been sent out to head a priory like some lamb to face wolves. Her aunt, who had raised her in Amesbury, made sure her young niece understood that tonsures, vows, and pretty phrases were not always matched by honest or even kind hearts.
She made a fist and pressed it into the stone until pain made her stop. Would she have even considered the priest a suspect if she did not have a quarrel with him over Brother Thomas?
“My logic is fouled by my own anger,” she whispered. “Although his missions may have been to the Church’s benefit, Father Eliduc deceived me when he came, with sorrowing demeanor, to take Brother Thomas away on pretense of family illness. I have not forgiven him for those lies.”
Gritting her teeth, she reminded herself that she had been taught to be just even if the result was not to her liking. Aye, she hated the priest, even though God condemned that as a sin. The man was duplicitous, and she did have the right to complain of his treachery.
With significant effort she reversed her inclination to denounce. “Eliduc has done nothing on his own volition. The priest is only following the command of his own lord,” she muttered.
Those words had a hollow sound. “And were a poor defense,” she admitted to the surrounding silence. “Lies are unacceptable, but they are not the same as murder. I am still blinded by his deceptions.”
With a bitter sigh, she stepped away from the easy conclusion that a man she loathed must be capable of homicide, even if her heart refused to reject the idea as quickly as a logical mind demanded.
From behind the altar, an orange and grey-speckled kitten emerged and boldly approached to sniff at the Prioress of Tyndal. She whispered that this act was an arrogant presumption of familiarity, then contradicted her stern rebuke by petting him. As he wandered off, Eleanor noticed with guarded relief that the creature held no mouse clenched in its teeth. Of course, he might well have eaten it in the shadows.
As she tried to quiet that inner voice stubbornly arguing for Eliduc’s involvement in the violence, she knew that little was as straightforward as appearance suggested. “I do not know enough and have no actual reason to conclude Father Eliduc would slit a man’s throat,” she said to her willful heart.
In the silence of the chapel, she heard her heart reply that the priest might turn his head and let another do what he might not.
The fact remained that Eliduc acted only at the command of the man he served, someone who must be of high Church rank. The wily priest dressed simply, but his soft robes were finely made, his small gold cross skillfully crafted, and his grey horse notably well-bred. None of this spoke of a man in service to some poor lord. Surely such a mighty Church prince would never defile his own vows and order his servant to commit murder. The cost to both their souls was too great.
“And this piece of land must be of little value or the baron would not have offered it to my small priory. Should the gift be of more worth, a reasonable man would grasp that I might be agreeable to exchanging it for something just as useful to our needs here. Murder is far too extreme a solution for such a small problem.” Clenching her teeth, she muttered with forced charity, “Therefore, the killer cannot be Father Eliduc. He would understand all this. Who else might have murdered the baron?”
Was it Sir Fulke? She had little direct knowledge of him since he stayed with the king’s court and let Ralf handle all matters of wrongdoing in the county.
Her father, Baron Adam, had never said much about the sheriff except that he owned a fair cleverness and was reputed to suffer from no more than middling corruption. The crowner mentioned his eldest brother only with contempt, calling him a man who preferred comfort and prestige to catching thieves and keeping other lawless men far from Tyndal village. Between the two assessments, Eleanor concluded that Fulke might suffer a surfeit of ambition but shrink away from self-serving violence.
That assumption noted, many sheriffs were losing their positions as bribery and other unlawful deeds came to the king’s attention. King Edward was swiftly eradicating fraudulent practices in the shrievalty, corruption his father had let run rampant. If Sir Fulke had committed transgressions in the pursuit of power and feared he might lose his rank and influence, could he be driven to extreme measures to save himself?
If Fulke had something damaging to hide, Eleanor also wondered if the crowner knew about it. Dare she ask Ralf if his brother hid a secret that might drive him to kill a man known for using knowledge of such things for his own gain?
Out of family loyalty, Ralf might lie, no matter how honest he was himself. On the other hand, the crowner had always honored his friendship with Eleanor. Forcing her friend to choose between two conflicting, yet equally compelling, loyalties was not something she wanted to do.
She had grown weary with these numerous complications and unanswered questions. No firm conclusions could be made without more information, nor could any clear path to the truth be seen.
The prioress stood, bowed her head, and begged God to pardon her inattention and negligence in prayer. If He willed it, she added, she would be grateful if He enlightened her in this matter of violent death. Being a frail mortal, she conceded that she would better attend her religious duties if she did not have this crime to distract her.
In the meantime, her promised visit to Lady Avelina was long overdue. Father Eliduc had said the lady was weakened by the hard journey and fearful because of Otes’ murder. Providing hospitality demanded Eleanor also supply comfort and ease. Of course she must find out if the woman had need of Sister Anne’s expertise.