Reaching down, he picked up the jug of ale he had brought outside. There was some left, and he inhaled the sharp scent before draining it all. He sighed and rubbed his face. At least he had not succumbed to lust when Simon embraced him and, in tears, begged for kisses. Thomas knew that was his clear victory. The rest remained questionable.
“Simon ached only for a miracle,” Thomas muttered, “that his dead father would return to praise and advise him. He may own the features of a man, but his soul has a child’s fat cheeks.” So the monk had given soft words and chaste caresses. What he feared he had not done was give the lad wise direction. Indeed, he worried whether he himself had become complicit in treason.
What else could he have done except listen? He had heard the lad’s tale as a priest hears confession. The lad may have longed to turn traitor against God’s anointed king, but he had truly done little. Hadn’t his mother suffered enough with her own husband’s death? Must she lose her only son as well because he was more foolish than wicked?
And thus he had wrestled with the Devil a second time this night and tried to drag Simon from a sure and horrendous death as a traitor to a safer path. “Have I truly saved him or have I sent him along a road that may lead nowhere near God?”
“Are you talking to yourself, Brother?” a voice asked.
Thomas grew cold, despite the warm air, then realized the shadow standing a few feet away had the comfortable outline of a familiar crowner, not an imp.
“I did not mean to startle you,” Ralf said, coming closer. “I brought a fresh pitcher of ale from the inn.”
“My own company has grown tiresome. To enliven the hours, I have taken to arguing with myself, only to find I lose both sides of any debate.”
“You’re not meant for this hut. Go back to caring for the sick. They miss your soothing words.”
Thomas smiled, grateful that the darkness kept his friend from reading anything more in his expression than humor.
“Have some ale.” Ralf tilted his head toward the hut. “Where is Simon?”
Again, despite the heat, Thomas shivered and quickly drank from the jug. “He sleeps. Deeply, I think.”
“When did he first come to you?”
The monk knew the question was not based in mere curiosity. “Just after the corpse was found, identified, and examined on site.” His spirit instantly grew more cheerful, not with prayer but with the promise of a murder inquiry. Since he felt no guilt over this, he suspected the influence of evil and then wondered if God instead was actually pleased.
“You know he is the son of Lady Avelina and part of the group that traveled here on Queen Eleanor’s behalf?”
“Aye, and he has also told me of his father’s death at Evesham, the allegiance with de Montfort, and the loss of his inheritance.”
The crowner chuckled, his white teeth a flash of brightness in the greying light that promised dawn. “To save time in this matter, I should have come to you first. What is your opinion of the boy?”
“He longs to be a man but has little understanding of what that means. For him, battles are full of glorious deeds, not cleaved skulls and festering wounds that send soldiers to Hell, screaming from their own agony and stench. Whether he will become worthy or a man with greater fondness for indulgence than charity is beyond my ability to foresee.”
“Words like these make me suspect again you were something more than a soft-fingered clerk before you took vows, Brother.”
The monk retreated into silence.
“Simon ran from me when I met you at the stream. Why?”
“He said he came here to seek God’s wisdom. You and your brother remind him too much of the world. For this reason, he fled.”
“Do you believe that tale?”
“A boy who thinks a knight’s life is like some story from the adventures of Lancelot might well conclude that God’s direction comes from another sinful mortal who lives alone in a whore’s cottage. And it is possible such a lad would resent the intrusion of the world when he longed to escape any reminder of it.” Catching the bitterness in his tone, he laughed as if he had intended to jest. “Let me reply to what I think you meant by asking such a question. I do not believe he killed the baron.”
“Why?”
“As we both have described him, Simon is a boy. If he had slit the man’s throat, his nostrils would no longer quiver as if the gates to Eden had just slammed shut and he still held the scent of the garden within him. Murder brands a man with the especial mark of Cain. That is not to say he might not have committed lesser sins, but I smell his mother’s milk on him, even though I do not like the lad.”
“Have you learned where he was when the baron was killed?”
“First he spent much time in conversation with Father Eliduc who counseled him on God’s mercy and compassion. This moved him to attend his mother, a duty he admits neglecting often. The lady suffers dizziness and nausea, especially if she is fatigued, and she was unwell after the tiring journey here. When his mother fell asleep, his still troubled spirit drove him to the chapel, where he spent the remainder of the night in prayer. He claims it was there God showed him the path he must start to follow.”
“I should have known that you would have questioned him.”
The monk paused to take breath. “Although there were no witnesses to his actions after he left his mother, Ralf, I am inclined to believe his story for the reasons I have given.”
“Like your prioress, Brother, I learned early after we first met to respect your conclusions.”
“I, too, was troubled by his quick retreat when you appeared at the pond. As God knows well enough, I’m a flawed monk and sometimes doubt loud protestations of ardor in faith. Thus I question the depth of Simon’s piety, even though I think he believes he is sincere. The latter may prove him innocent of killing Baron Otes. I do not think he has yet learned to cover insincerity with the tapestry of delusion.”
“Was all of this learned in confession?”
“What I have just told you was not. Anything I did hear in formal confession must remain only in God’s ears now.”
“Would you tell me if he confessed to murder?”
“Had he admitted to killing the baron, I would have urged him to seek you out immediately.”
Ralf took the jug and swallowed several deep draughts of cool ale.
“And if he refused to honor my plea, he would not be sleeping in my hut.”
Laughing, the crowner handed over the jug. “Thank you, Brother. I may not quite dismiss him as a suspect, although I hear his snores and believe he would not be in your bed if you thought him a killer.”
“Might it help if I told you more about what he and I discussed after his arrival?”
Ralf nodded.
“I told Simon he could find adventure enough serving God if he cannot win wealth and a knighthood with a borrowed lance and his mother fails to regain the lands taken from his dead sire. Tonight he grew more eager for God’s service. This might suggest he feels greater inclination toward peace than violence.”
“Indeed? Have you told him tales of your exploits in the service of Prioress Eleanor?”
Thomas shrugged. “He thinks little of Eve ruling Adam, and so our Order will not find him begging to serve it. Before he fell asleep, he did say that God had opened his eyes, and he could now see how glorious deeds were possible in the service of other Orders.”
Ralf stood and stretched. “His high birth merits a horse. Maybe Father Eliduc will find the money to help the lad become a Hospitaller, Templar, or member of some other military Order. Considering the heritage of treason he got from his father, I fear that only his mother will weep if he goes to Outremer.”
“Have you any other suspects besides Simon?” The monk held the nearly empty pitcher out to his friend.