Eleanor suspected that the image of what might have been her son’s fate was too much to bear.
“After the baron left, I confess I showed a woman’s weakness and railed against the baron, tearing at my hair and begging God to smite the man for his greed and lack of pity.”
“Whose ears heard you?” Eleanor asked softly.
“Kenard’s.”
“And he took pity.”
Avelina looked away.
For a moment, the prioress said nothing, hoping the lady would continue her tale. Instead, the woman stared at the ceiling in silence. Her breathing was labored.
“Have you need of your potion?” Eleanor whispered. When she looked at the table where the vial had once sat, she saw only the mortar and pestle. That was the detail which had troubled her. The implications grieved her.
Avelina shook her head. “Only Kenard knew how to make it.”
“Sister Anne might…”
“You do not need to summon her.”
Although the woman’s appearance concerned her, Eleanor knew from the lady’s tone that she would not win any debate on this matter. Instead, she hastened the discussion. “You confess guilt in the baron’s murder, but I do not think you capable of cutting his throat.”
“You think not?” Avelina laughed and tapped a hand against her breast. “Unlike this weak and errant child of Eve, you have never brought forth a man’s babe in agony and blood, and then put the wee suckling to your breast. Methinks a child drinks, not milk, but the heart’s blood from his mother. When he is wounded, it is she who bleeds the most.”
Eleanor knew silence was wisest.
“Like the old King Henry, when the saintly Becket offended him, I bewailed the curse laid on my son, a babe when his father fell in battle, and asked God to mercifully lift it from my lad. My prayers were answered. The baron was killed. It was I who caused another to commit murder.”
“By the man who was your husband’s servant, saw him killed at Evesham, and fell mute with grief. How did you learn of Kenard’s deed, my lady?”
Turning her face away, Avelina pressed her hands against her cheeks and groaned. “The day after. He came to me and spoke for the first time, claiming God had restored his speech when he lured the baron to a death the man had long deserved. I can still hear the rasp of his voice.” She whimpered like a sleeper longing to awaken from an evil dream. “He believed the deed could not have been evil if God had granted this miracle of giving him back his voice.” With piteous expression, she looked at the prioress. “Can that be true?”
How could it be? Yet Eleanor had heard many incomprehensible tales of men and women who had been cured of grave afflictions in strange ways. Perhaps God had shown favor to this former servant when he killed a very wicked man. She doubted it. “Have you confided any of this to a priest?”
“I have told Father Eliduc of my son’s indiscretion, although I said nothing of Kenard’s deed.”
Eleanor recoiled. She prayed the man would keep the confidence, although she still feared he might find some use for this knowledge. On the other hand, Simon had sought the counsel of Brother Thomas with Eliduc’s urging. The priest may have hoped to save the youth. If Prior Andrew’s past could be forgiven in exchange for his dedication to God, then Simon should be given the same opportunity to cleanse his sins with penance and service. She tried to silence her persistent suspicions.
“I understand why you take responsibility for the murder,” Eleanor finally said, “but it was Kenard who did the deed and the blood remains on his hands.” She did understand why Avelina believed she bore guilt in this, and, in truth, the prioress agreed with her.
“Kenard was an honorable man! He might have wielded the knife, but the deed that brought about the murder was my foolish moaning as well as my son’s poor judgement. Yet my lad cannot be condemned. He is a child in so many ways. I, as his mother, ought to have been wiser. I take full blame.”
“Kenard did far more than even the most loyal of servants.”
“I thank you for not accusing me of unlawful lust, although I heard that meaning in your tone. He was my husband’s servant and chose to serve me out of love for him. He and I never shared a bed. What we did share was love for Simon, as my husband’s only son.”
“I must ask how your loyal servant died.”
“I bear the guilt of that sin as well. He never would have committed self-murder if…” She began to cough.
Eleanor reached for a pitcher on the table near Avelina’s chair and poured watered ale into a cup. “Please drink this. It will revive you.”
Her face quite scarlet, Avelina gulped the drink and set the cup down.
Then the prioress took the lady’s hand and stroked it as if it were that of a sorrowing child. “Sister Anne is within call,” she reminded her.
Shaking her head, the woman continued. “Were he arrested as a suspect in the baron’s murder, Kenard planned to claim that he had done the deed out of revenge for my husband’s death. He swore he would hang and not reveal Simon’s secret. If tortured, however, he was terrified, since he had recovered his speech, that he might confess to killing the baron to protect the boy.”
“He took your potion with him to the chapel. It was made from Lily of the Valley, was it not?”
“A physician believed it might help slow my racing heart, and he showed Kenard how to make it safely.” She began to sob. “I saw that the vial kept by my bed was missing. Aye, I feared he had taken it. More than that, I did nothing to seek him out and stop him.” Then Avelina threw back her head and screamed. “Have I not done all I could for my son? Could any mother have done more? I let a good man go to Hell because I, too, feared he might reveal my boy’s wickedness under duress. I let Kenard commit self-murder!”
Eleanor put her arms around the woman and held her close. “He did choose to die within sight of the altar,” she whispered. “By doing so, God surely knew he had not given his soul completely to Satan.” Although she was uncertain whether this would ameliorate the sin of self-murder, she felt that comfort was paramount at the moment.
For a moment, Avelina clutched the prioress and wailed piteously, “May God forgive me!” Again and again, she repeated the plea.
As Eleanor bent to murmur more solace into the lady’s ears, Avelina’s body stiffened. Her eyes widened as if she had just seen the Devil fly through the window.
Eleanor straightened and stared at her face.
“Bring Sister Anne,” Avelina gasped, her face chalk-white with terror.
Eleanor ran to the door, calling out for the sub-infirmarian to hurry.
Entering quickly, Sister Anne rushed to kneel by the stricken woman. First, she felt her neck and then pressed her ear to Avelina’s chest.
“Her heart has stopped,” the nun said, looking up at the prioress.
“Grief did break it,” Eleanor whispered, then closed her eyes and wept.
Chapter Thirty-five
Dust swirled as men carried baggage to load on carts. Horses, impatient to leave, pawed the ground and twitched their tails to chase off annoying flies. The dry air was thick with heat, but nothing was quite as arid as Simon’s eyes.
Eleanor studied the young man for any small sign of grief. Did his lip just quiver or had she imagined it? “I shall pray for your mother’s soul,” she said at last, determined to be charitable. After all, the lad must be eager to leave this place where his mother had died, and, once away, he would surely allow himself to express sorrow.
He smiled. The implied emotion did not extend beyond his lips.
“We shall bury her here, as you asked.”
“Facing the chapel so she will be ready to look on God’s terrible face when the trumpet announces the Day of Judgement.” Simon’s tone made clear he believed the prioress had been incapable of comprehending his request the first time he had made it, necessitating a stern repetition to enforce understanding.
Eleanor nodded, willing her flaring temper to subside. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Father Eliduc approach. At least he would be leaving as well. For such kindness, she thanked God, and, with the promise of imminent calm, she greeted the priest with courtesy.