roofer swayed for a moment,
then passed out.
Thomas
sprang from the bench and elbowed his way through the crowd, not caring what
pain he might cause any man. He had to get as far from Sayer as he could.
Although the inn was hot, Thomas knew the heated air was not the cause for the
sweat that now bathed his entire body. Surely it was rage that filled him, he
thought, but something within him laughed.
Thomas
rubbed his coarse sleeve over his face and leaned against a rough support beam.
His humors were just out of balance. That was the reason for his strange mood
tonight. He had had no time to mourn his own father, then Sayer's had been murdered,
and the roofer's grief rekindled his own unhappiness. He had had too much to
drink. Sayer had as well. Surely the man had been too drunk to know what he was
doing. With God's grace, he thought, Sayer would not even remember meeting him
at the inn this night.
As
he pressed his back against the beam, Thomas breathed in the rank stench of inn
air, finding comfort in the smell of living men. Satan had best take his imps
back to Hell, he growled to himself, for he would not fall prey to them again.
He had work to do and valuable time had been lost.
With
all that now firmly decided, he shouldered his way through the inn door and
plunged into night's restless and less-defined shadows.
Chapter
Fourteen
It
was following the midday meal that Eleanor set off for Amesbury village.
In
the morning she had risen with an unusual eagerness to face the day, and, when
she joined the others for prayer, she felt a fresh surge of strength. Like any
mortal who has stood with one foot raised to step into the dark mouth of Death,
she savored the sensation while likewise fearing it would recede. Thankfully
the vigor remained and she gained hope. Besides, the weather was too sweet for
bleak imaginings.
As
she walked through the cloister garth after Chapter, she had lifted her gaze to
the blue sky and expressed gratitude to God for the warmth of this day so near
to Saint Melor's feast. Despite Death's recent dance for her soul, as he
pleaded to win it before her hair turned white, Sister Anne had dropped a portcullis
on his grim supplication, and Eleanor had no wish to raise the gate.
Lest
the clattering creature hold onto any illusion that Eleanor might still be his,
the prioress of Tyndal had sipped with determination her dark, meaty broth at
dinner and even found appetite for the eel with herbs and onions. The religious
in charge of Amesbury's kitchens had done well with the dish, she had thought
with appreciation, although she did prefer the defter hand of Sister Matilda at
Tyndal.
It
was afterward she told Anne and her aunt of her plans to visit Alys' mother.
She should offer that family comfort considering their kinsman's horrible
death, she said. It was her duty, and, if she happened to find out anything
about the ghost, Brother Thomas could pursue the details.
The
distance to the house of Mistress Jhone was not far, the novice mistress
reluctantly confirmed, and Eleanor promised to stay only as long as her
strength allowed. Needless to say, she would take two religious with her as
proper attendants, but they could be from the priory. After all, the Prioress
of Tyndal said with a playful smile, hadn't her aunt just expressed concern
about cankerworm in the fruit trees and wasn't Anne planning to teach Brother
Infirmarian how to make some of her most effective potions?
As
she kissed her aunt and hugged her dear friend, Eleanor felt a deep joy as if
she had just been freed from some dark prison. Eternity in the embrace of God
is a thing for which we all long, she thought, but surely it is not a sin to
look upon the earth He made so sweet with particular delight after hearing the
hushed and seductive voice of Death.
Now
outside the parish church, she turned to her attendants and asked to be given a
moment alone. Bowing her head in reverence, she continued on a few steps and
looked up at the
then passed out.
Thomas
sprang from the bench and elbowed his way through the crowd, not caring what
pain he might cause any man. He had to get as far from Sayer as he could.
Although the inn was hot, Thomas knew the heated air was not the cause for the
sweat that now bathed his entire body. Surely it was rage that filled him, he
thought, but something within him laughed.
Thomas
rubbed his coarse sleeve over his face and leaned against a rough support beam.
His humors were just out of balance. That was the reason for his strange mood
tonight. He had had no time to mourn his own father, then Sayer's had been murdered,
and the roofer's grief rekindled his own unhappiness. He had had too much to
drink. Sayer had as well. Surely the man had been too drunk to know what he was
doing. With God's grace, he thought, Sayer would not even remember meeting him
at the inn this night.
As
he pressed his back against the beam, Thomas breathed in the rank stench of inn
air, finding comfort in the smell of living men. Satan had best take his imps
back to Hell, he growled to himself, for he would not fall prey to them again.
He had work to do and valuable time had been lost.
With
all that now firmly decided, he shouldered his way through the inn door and
plunged into night's restless and less-defined shadows.
Chapter
Fourteen
It
was following the midday meal that Eleanor set off for Amesbury village.
In
the morning she had risen with an unusual eagerness to face the day, and, when
she joined the others for prayer, she felt a fresh surge of strength. Like any
mortal who has stood with one foot raised to step into the dark mouth of Death,
she savored the sensation while likewise fearing it would recede. Thankfully
the vigor remained and she gained hope. Besides, the weather was too sweet for
bleak imaginings.
As
she walked through the cloister garth after Chapter, she had lifted her gaze to
the blue sky and expressed gratitude to God for the warmth of this day so near
to Saint Melor's feast. Despite Death's recent dance for her soul, as he
pleaded to win it before her hair turned white, Sister Anne had dropped a portcullis
on his grim supplication, and Eleanor had no wish to raise the gate.
Lest
the clattering creature hold onto any illusion that Eleanor might still be his,
the prioress of Tyndal had sipped with determination her dark, meaty broth at
dinner and even found appetite for the eel with herbs and onions. The religious
in charge of Amesbury's kitchens had done well with the dish, she had thought
with appreciation, although she did prefer the defter hand of Sister Matilda at
Tyndal.
It
was afterward she told Anne and her aunt of her plans to visit Alys' mother.
She should offer that family comfort considering their kinsman's horrible
death, she said. It was her duty, and, if she happened to find out anything
about the ghost, Brother Thomas could pursue the details.
The
distance to the house of Mistress Jhone was not far, the novice mistress
reluctantly confirmed, and Eleanor promised to stay only as long as her
strength allowed. Needless to say, she would take two religious with her as
proper attendants, but they could be from the priory. After all, the Prioress
of Tyndal said with a playful smile, hadn't her aunt just expressed concern
about cankerworm in the fruit trees and wasn't Anne planning to teach Brother
Infirmarian how to make some of her most effective potions?
As
she kissed her aunt and hugged her dear friend, Eleanor felt a deep joy as if
she had just been freed from some dark prison. Eternity in the embrace of God
is a thing for which we all long, she thought, but surely it is not a sin to
look upon the earth He made so sweet with particular delight after hearing the
hushed and seductive voice of Death.
Now
outside the parish church, she turned to her attendants and asked to be given a
moment alone. Bowing her head in reverence, she continued on a few steps and
looked up at the
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