He bowed. “The days here have brought great sadness to this young man,” Eliduc said, his tone grave, “although God often brings us trials for good reason.”
Had the comment not come from this particular priest, Eleanor might have readily agreed. Instead, she feared his remark hinted at some ominous portent. At times she wondered if the two of them even worshiped the same God, for hers spoke of peace and justice while his seemed ever to howl with anger and vengeance like winter storm winds.
“Simon now wishes to take vows and serve God as his liege lord.” The priest put a hand on the young man’s shoulder and gripped it possessively.
Eleanor failed to see any joy reflected in the young man’s expression. Instead, she detected a glittering light in his eyes, as if flames flickered in his soul. She trembled. This was not the gaze of someone imbued with tranquility.
“I shall fight God’s enemies,” Simon said, unblinking, “and bring the firestorm of His wrath to any who seek to thwart His true purpose.”
“And I shall pray that He grants you true wisdom,” Eleanor replied softly. Glancing at the dark-clad priest, then back at Simon, she had the fleeting impression she had just met two of the four horsemen of the Apocalypse.
The priest smiled down at the lad, his thin lips taut with restrained glee. “Go, now, and see that all your mother’s belongings have been placed in the cart. We shall leave soon.” He watched as the young man walked away.
“May he find peace,” Eleanor murmured, then realized she had, perhaps unwisely, spoken aloud.
Turning back to her, Eliduc’s face had a pained look. “He has found purpose, my lady.”
She glanced heavenward, expecting to see dark clouds racing to hide the sunlight.
The sky was quite blue.
“We may thank Brother Thomas for that,” the man continued. “During Simon’s stay at the hermitage, the good monk was able to persuade him to turn his zeal for combat on behalf of an earthly lord into a more righteous passion.”
The prioress modestly bowed her head and managed to disguise her conflicting thoughts about this news.
Eliduc sighed. “I know Brother Thomas has oft served you well, my lady. Indeed, he has also come to the aid of his family when they most needed him. Like a dutiful son, I might almost say.”
“I pray no one has fallen ill of late.” Eleanor instantly regretted expressing the sarcasm she felt.
Eliduc’s eyes closed like those of a cat who has just fed on some unlucky prey. “A hermit should never be called from his hut, my lady, although I know his intent to remain there has always been a temporary choice.”
Surely she had never told him this, because she hoped he would conclude that the monk would remain in his hermitage until death. Who, then, had reported the truth to Father Eliduc? Was it Brother Thomas himself or, she asked herself once again, did she have an unknown spy amongst her religious?
“That is no longer of consequence, for God is ever merciful, and the hermit’s family remains in good health. In fact, I am optimistic that His blessing on them shall continue, and Brother Thomas need not be called forth by me again from his service to God in this priory.” With a most munificent look, he bowed.
Eleanor knew she was staring at the priest, but she let the sound of those words echo several times in her mind before she dared respond. “Then we shall not see you in the future, Father Eliduc?”
“Although my visits here were always darkened by the sad news I brought, I found your hospitality worthy of what our dear Lord required as one of the Seven Comfortable Acts.” A wistful look darted across his face. “The vessel in which it was served might have been properly humble for a priory, but your wine was a worthy descendant of that served at Cana.”
Just this once Eleanor knew he had spoken with sincerity.
“I regret I shall probably not return to Tyndal, my lady.” He briefly shut his eyes. “Any yet none of us can ever predict what God has planned for us. As you see, I was chosen to accompany others sent by our queen on this journey.” He smiled. “We may well meet again, and I pray that we shall, for I have always found our meetings most agreeable.”
In reply, Eleanor mumbled something incomprehensible which she hoped suggested courtesy. Most certainly, she did not dare speak her true thoughts. Thinking more on this, she suspected that bluntness might actually amuse rather than offend the man. He was a strange enough creature that the obvious assumptions might not apply.
“Until that day, I wish you God’s grace, my lady,” Eliduc said, “and pray that Brother Thomas will soon complete his penance and return here. That would surely bring pleasure to the hearts…” The priest held her gaze for a long moment. “…of all who have mourned his absence.” He then bowed abruptly and quickly took his leave.
Shutting her eyes, Eleanor begged God grant her the mercy of never seeing the priest again.
***
Ralf glared at his brother.
Fulke gazed longingly at his saddled horse.
The horse flicked its ears, successfully dislodging a flying irritant.
“We are quite clear on this? I shall suffer no more from your marital plotting on my behalf,” the crowner growled.
Fulke continued to stare at his horse, then nodded once.
“Ah, sweet brother, do not look so glum. Have I not proven myself to be a loyal kinsman when I made sure there could be no doubt of your innocence in these recent, unhappy matters?”
Fulke frowned.
“Have I ever spoken a word about your past, might one say, misdeeds?” Then he leaned forward and whispered, “Nor shall I say anything to your virtuous wife about a certain local wench, although I praise you for seeking the wisdom of a holy hermit for those…”
“I need a male heir.”
“That is in God’s hands.”
“And requires your seed.”
“Then be at peace. I promise to help His purpose by marrying again. Whether my efforts on your behalf produce male or female babes is something I cannot control.”
Brightening, Fulke gestured toward the village. “That woman who owns the inn is comely and has a strong enough will she might even breed robust sons. If you insist on choosing a local wench, you would do worse than that one and even gain a profitable inn with the marriage.”
Ralf shook his head. “You promised me your plotting would cease.”
“Or, if you insist, the Saxon creature.” He waved his hand. “She’s young, has many years to breed, and should drop enough rams amongst the ewes.” He frowned for a moment. “Or even your daughter’s nurse. She’s got wide enough hips to bear.”
“Perhaps you would prefer that I take all three to the church door.”
For an instant, Fulke looked as if he were considering the idea before finally asking, “Do any have land to bring you?”
Ralf grabbed his brother by the front of his robe and pulled him close. “You shall provide all land for my eldest son. Sibely inherits her mother’s manor. I have bits of land purchased by selling my sword as a mercenary. For a dowry, those may suit a simple but honest man who wishes to marry any other daughter I may have. As for extra sons, should God be so generous, they will fend for themselves as I did. Now you have all the answers you need to any questions. Again, I demand your oath that you shall leave me alone to find my own wife.”
“Release me! Have you forgotten who I am and whom I serve?”
“Was I choking you?” Ralf laughed and shoved his brother away. “Swear on any dim hope you may have for Heaven.”
“You have my word, as long as you fulfill yours and give me an heir.”
Ralf slapped Fulke on the shoulder. “I shall work diligently on that. In the meantime, go back to court, increase the wealth you have sworn to my son, give my greetings to your wife, a saint for tolerating you, and leave me to render justice here in your name and that of the king without your interference.”