The Sanctity of Hate by Priscilla Royal Page B

himself loose, and ran down the road toward the priory.
    Thomas hesitated, then turned back to comfort Cuthbert. The sergeant was no longer there.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Fourteen
    The crowner slapped the monk’s back. “I heard how you saved my sergeant and quelled the mob, Brother. ‘Tis a pity you cannot change allegiance to a more earthly lord. King Edward could use your talents.” He jerked his head at his men who were now slipping into the inn. “In truth, those lads I pulled away from the fields wouldn’t have raised a hand against kin and friends. They only came after I let the sun fall on a pretty coin and promised a jack of ale.” He snorted. “My brother shall return the coin. I am willing enough to pay for Tostig’s finest.”
    “I was grateful to see you,” Thomas said and hoped his friend did not see him tremble. The fear he had held back now struck him with especial force. “Nute deserves praise for his courage and swift feet. I did not want to put him in danger but had no other way of sending a message to you.”
    The monk glanced over the crowner’s shoulder at the baker’s house. Or so I believed, he said to himself, and tried not to resent how Oseberne had barred the door and failed to say that he would summon the crowner. Instead of sending Nute through the mob, Thomas could have given the child safe haven inside the house.
    “I will give him the sling he wants as reward and teach him how to hunt with it after this murder is solved.” Ralf’s eyes filled with the affection he felt for the boy.
    “Was he or Oseberne the one to fi bring the news of the riot?” Thomas hoped he did not betray his annoyance with the baker.
     
    “Nute, but the baker met us outside the priory gate and con- firmed that you were trapped by the mob. He himself was just able to escape through a back window.” The crowner laughed. “I think he was displeased that the boy came first with the news. He scowled when he saw Nute pulling me along.”
    “The man owns a surfeit of pride if a child’s achievement angers him.”
    “Oh, he softened fast enough when Nute told him how he ran without stopping and head down to make sure he did not fall in the uneven road. The baker smiled then, and who would not when a lad so young takes on a man’s responsibility.”
    Not for the first time, Thomas concluded that the crowner would make as good father to a son as he was to his daughter. “However it came, I am grateful word got to you. Had you not arrived when you did, matters might have grown far beyond my small ability to control them.”
    “Nothing diminishes what you did, Brother,” Ralf said, then gestured his intent to walk back to the stables. “Did you find out who was responsible for priming that mob like a pump with the details of Kenelm’s death?”
    The monk shook his head. “While I was speaking with Adelard before the riot, Oseberne mentioned he heard women discussing the circumstances on market day. Now that village passions have cooled, someone might recall the source of the tale. Whether the first rumor included the suggestion that the Jewish family killed the man, a detail conveniently exonerating any villager who murdered an unpopular man, I cannot say.”
    “I wonder whether the mob decided if the sick wife or the terrified husband had slit Kenelm’s throat.”
    Thomas blinked at the crowner’s mocking tone.
    Ralf glanced sideways at the monk, crossed himself, and walked on without further comment.
    As they approached the new stables, they saw Cuthbert drying his legs. An uneven puddle in the dirt and a bucket sideways on the ground close by suggested the man had been trying to clean himself.
     
    The moment the sergeant saw Ralf, he groaned and threw himself at the crowner’s feet. “I have failed you.” Cuthbert buried his face in his hands.
    “You have always been loyal to me,” Ralf replied, his expres- sion sad at the humiliation this man had endured. “We may