Sorrow Without End by Priscilla Royal Page B

When Ralf did not move, the madman rose from his bed and once more began to dance. This time, his feet moved slowly as if his silent harpist played a most melancholy tune.

Chapter Seventeen
    “I swear to you, Ralf, that I did not see him!”
    Thomas and the crowner were standing outside the parish church where the monk had just emerged from the sacristy. Cuthbert stood at a discreet distance.
    “He described you.”
    “I do not doubt it, but he also saw me when we were standing together near the hospital chapel. If the man is mad, as he appears to be, he could have taken the reality of one sighting and made a fantasy for a prior one. I did not notice him on that road.”
    “The man’s madness comes and goes. He may be as mad as you or I.”
    “If he is neither mad nor possessed, then he may have other reasons for wanting to cast some suspicion upon me. Perhaps he is the murderer.”
    “I have made inquiries. Brother Matthew told Brother Beorn earlier that he had found the man in the village, unable to travel farther due to his affliction. According to the lay brother, your fellow monk believes the man to be a true penitent who, quite sadly, must travel to Norwich for a final cure at the shrine of Saint William. In the meantime, he sent him here, claiming that Sister Christina’s prayers might give him a short respite so that he could continue on to Norwich.”
    “That does not mean he did not commit the crime.”
    “Look at him, monk,” Ralf said impatiently. “He is as tall and slender as your Brother Matthew, not a man likely to win a struggle with a soldier. Besides, he was sweating like a horse when he told his tale about you and wailed like a child that he would be sent to Hell for pointing any finger at a priest. As I told him, monk, I am in no mood for word jousts. I have a murder to solve. What did you see on that road that you have failed to tell me?”
    Thomas fell silent. “I am trying to remember if I passed him or…”
    Ralf cut him off. “You are sure you did not pass by the clearing? You are sure you saw no one?”
    “As I have said, I also took the shortcut through the woods to the mill gate. I did not go around the bend in the road nor see the clearing. Perhaps he was behind me and I noted him not, but he was wrong if he claims I went farther than I did.” The monk’s mouth twitched with the effort to retain self-control.
    “Do you have witnesses?”
    “Only God,” the monk snapped.
    Ralf said nothing in the face of his friend’s anger. He stared at the ground and began grinding his heel into the earth with a circling motion. At last, he looked up, his expression both troubled and cold as stone. “Thomas, you were much disturbed when you saw the murdered man. You examined him at greater length than a man would who was trying to remember a face. You were seen near the body. I believe that you do know more than you are telling me.”
    “For the love of God, Crowner, I did not do this deed!”
    “My heart may believe you, Thomas, but there is something you are refusing to tell me. Perhaps you did not kill the soldier, but I cannot ignore either what this man says or your unexplained behavior.” He raised one hand in protest. “Nay, do not give me the story about your weakness from hunger. I have yet to know any monk who failed to find bread when he needed it.” Then he hesitated, dropping his voice. “I must say something further. Will you hear it?”
    Thomas nodded with angry reluctance.
    “You know me to be a man of justice as well as your friend. If you are in any way involved with this murder and tell me so now, I promise you will not suffer cruelly for it. If you are protecting someone…” He waved his hand as the monk began to protest. “Very well, but if you have important knowledge and do not confess it, I promise I will render full justice on you myself. What friendship there was between us ceases.”
    Colors from the white of rage to the red of humiliation waved through