“I shall pray for a miracle,” she murmured, too tired to realize she had spoken aloud.
Bracing her with firmer grasp, Kenard nodded.
Yearning to find ease, Avelina now gestured to the lay brother that she was ready to follow him. Too exhausted to bear the additional burden of pride, she learned heavily on Kenard’s arm.
In this way, lady and servant walked in silence and with heavy step to the guest quarters.
Chapter Four
A crowner and a hermit lay naked on the bank of a stream while the gracefully tumbling water flashed sparks in the sunlight. The priory mill served by its meandering course was not far, and the rhythmic thump of the great wooden wheel provided deep counterpoint to the higher pitched murmur of flowing water.
With an unabashed grunt of pleasure, Crowner Ralf stretched, his body wet from the recent swim in the nearby pond. “Have I been changed into a lizard, Brother?” he asked.
Brother Thomas, now better known as the hermit of Tyndal, kept his eyes closed against the blinding sun. “You must be a man, for I have never heard a reptile speak. Although Eden’s serpent was eloquent enough, his descendants have long been rendered mute.”
Ralf rolled over and propped his head on his hand as he studied the man he considered a friend despite their difference in vocation. “Nor have you changed at all yourself. I confess I cannot see any hermit’s nature in you, although I never quite saw a monk either.”
Thomas abruptly sat up, grabbed for his robe, and pulled the rough garment over his head.
Rubbing at his eyes, the crowner winced. “Forgive me. I intended no offense. Gytha must oft remind me that my blunt tongue wounds more than my sword ever could.”
The frown on Thomas’ forehead smoothed, and he turned to the crowner with a grin. “Gytha is cruel to reveal your unhappy secret. How did you survive as a soldier with such poor skills? Did you have a dog to bite where your sword could not?”
“There have been enough corpses to prove my competence. Methinks she meant my sword is so dulled from use that it could not cut the beard you’ve grown nor your length of hair.” Sitting up, he scratched at his armpit. “Those at the hospital miss your gentle touch with the dying. I should have said that. My words were ill-chosen.”
The monk raised an eyebrow. “Have you been to the priory then? I pray there has been no misdeed to trouble Tyndal’s peace.”
“Nay, unless my dear brother has brought it.”
“Sir Fulke is at Tyndal?”
“I thought the boy from the inn brought you tidings along with food and drink?”
“He fears to intrude, or else I frighten him with my wild look.” Thomas tried to run his hand through his shoulder-length auburn hair. His fingers caught in the tangles. “I suspect he hides until I leave the hut, then he sets the jug and basket at the door and runs away.”
Ralf slammed his palm down on the ground with joy. “Perhaps I must visit you often so you will learn all the local tales!” Just as quickly, his expression darkened into a solemn one. “Unless my presence offends you. I have hesitated to come before now, knowing full well I am a wicked man and you have sworn yourself to a holy desert father’s life.”
“We are all sinful creatures, Ralf. You less than most.” The monk tossed a small pebble into the running stream. “I am no different than I was when I comforted the sick at the hospital. As for becoming like a desert father, I can swear that no wild thing feeds me. Rather it is Signy from the inn who does so for the good of her soul. I am no more saintly than you, giving you no cause to avoid me. The sight of your face is ever welcome here.”
“Then I do not understand why you sought this lonely place as a hermitage?”
“Did Gytha not counsel you against digging up a man’s motives when no crime has been committed?”
The crowner’s face flushed with embarrassment before realizing Thomas was jesting. “I have little experience of hermits. When I was a soldier, I did meet a few along the road. They may have offered me a dutiful hospitality, but there was evidence of honest glee when I left them in the morning.”
“As you noted, no hermit is ever completely alone. In truth, Crowner, my stay here was always meant to be temporary. Our anchoress advised me to seek greater solitude if I wished to hear God’s voice more clearly. Beyond those admissions, I shall confess nothing more to you.” He smiled to temper his words, then wrapped his arms around his knees and looked in the direction of Tyndal. “Tell me more of your brother’s strange visit. Surely he does not seek a monastic life.”
Ralf spat. “One of the few things he and I share is contempt for our middle brother who glistens with fat after vowing himself to poverty.”
Amused rather than offended by the remark, Thomas put his hand over his mouth to hide a smile.
“Nay, our new queen has mentioned she might undertake a pilgrimage in gratitude to God for bringing her and her lord safely home to England. Fulke, as sheriff here, volunteered to lead a party of those who must confirm that the route, fare, and accommodations are suited to royal needs. Tyndal Priory lies at the end of the journey.”
“With Norwich so close, with a fine abbey and softer beds, I wonder that Queen Eleanor would choose to stay at our humble priory.”
“My brother’s very question. I suggested that Sister Anne’s fame and her hospital may have caught the attention of our new king. Nor is it unreasonable to conclude that Prioress Eleanor’s reputation for solving murders might be of interest to the queen.”
“I concede the former to you. As for the latter, the queen might find it troubling that murder and our prioress are so often linked. If I were King Edward’s wife, I would not greet with especial joy anyone who brings Death along as her frequent companion!”
“Granted. Tyndal Priory might not be the queen’s first choice, should she ever wish to retire from the world and your prioress be its leader still.”
“It does seem more likely that our lady queen wishes to visit the hospital.” Thomas bent his head back as if his neck had stiffened. “Have the new guest quarters and stables been completed? They were being built when I left the priory grounds.”
Ralf nodded.
“The chambers should be comfortable, albeit austere. Even though there is a need for such lodging, our prioress will not change this priory into a manor house for courtiers. As for the fare offered, whatever comes from Sister Matilda’s kitchen could convert any queen into a Fontevraudine nun.”
The crowner gnawed at the side of his middle finger.
“And the voices of our novice choir under Brother John would awe one of God’s angels, let alone a king’s wife.”
“Aye.”
“And knowing the passion with which you long for this, I am sure Sir Fulke will finally agree to join with you in becoming friars together.”
Ralf nodded. Then he realized what the monk had just said. Horror paled his face.
“Forgive my jest. Why are you troubled? Something has distracted you.” Thomas hesitated. “Is all well with your daughter?”
“Sibely thrives, and Gytha comes often enough to spoil her should my child lack any attention from this fond father or from the gentle maid who tends her.”
Thomas nodded with relief. Although Ralf’s dead wife had never won the crowner’s heart, she had given him a child he adored. The monk was grateful no tragedy had struck the wee babe.
“It is Fulke’s visit.” Grabbing his clothes, the crowner tugged them on with angry impatience. “Methinks he plans another marriage for me.” His voice was taut with fury.
“Are you so set against it? Having a mother of her own might be a wise thing for your daughter. However much Gytha loves her, she will surely marry, bear children of her own, and have less time for Sibely. The nurse may wed as well. She is a local lass and, with what you pay her, she must have lads preening like cocks at her door.”