Wine of Violence by Priscilla Royal Page B

weak man's weapon. Could Theobald have finally rebelled against the man who had dominated him for so long? It would not surprise him. He had met a few others like Theobald in the higher orders. For the most part, they were harmless and vacant men, although often personable, who had been raised to positions that bewildered them. Indeed their advancements so far exceeded their abilities that even those more experienced in Church politics were often mystified by their elevation. The reason for their prominence usually involved the accident of high birth in combination with the ambition of men of lesser rank who used them as a shield to push themselves forward into positions of influence they could never otherwise reach. Such men then taught the Theobalds to say the words they themselves had no authority to speak, and if the ambitious men were competent and wise, well then, there was no harm and perhaps even some good done in the name of those who held the title. If they were not wise or were tainted with malevolence, however...
     
    Was Simeon a wise man as well as a skilled administrator? Thomas did not doubt the monk's intelligence, but Simeon seemed uneasy with the new prioress and had treated her in a disrespectful manner at their first meeting. That was a surprising mistake for such a worldly and ambitious man. Perhaps it was a mere stumble. After all, the prioress had just arrived and he had had no chance to learn how to deal with a woman of will, something the Prioress Felicia had not apparently been.
     
    Willful women! He smiled. In truth, Thomas had met more such in the house of God than he had ever encountered in the world of men, but he rather liked at least two of them. Even the crowner, a blunt, rough man and no courtier in his dealings with either monks or women, had shown respect for Sister Anne's logic.
     
    And Thomas himself liked the evident but understated intelligence of the youthful prioress. She listened to others, a tactic the wise man learned quickly if he wished to survive into old age. Those high in the Church who had successfully kept their positions over decades of endless, sometimes daily, contradictory political storms would probably agree. That she had already learned it made him feel more confident about her strength and permanence as a leader. Perhaps that was why he chose to tell the prioress about finding the wooden cross and not Brother Simeon, about whose skills Thomas was still unsure. Choosing to show her the crucifix he had found was his way of aligning himself with the prioress and whatever faction of power she represented outside Tyndal. An unorthodox choice to be sure. Had he made a mistake? Thomas had honed his instincts on who was best to follow since he was a child. He had to trust himself.
     
    A door creaked loudly as it opened.
     
    Thomas froze. He heard the sound of steps and whispers. From the tone of their voices he knew the men who had just entered both wanted and expected to be alone. Thomas slipped to the ground and crawled quickly out of the dimly lighted chapel to a pillar in the dark nave closest by him. He had learned long ago that it was prudent and useful not to be seen by those who whispered together in darkness.
     
    Thomas waited until the voices came no nearer, then carefully looked out from the shadows. At some distance away, he could see two men kneeling and facing each other. Neither was identifiable in the gloom of the monk's choir. Their words were muffled. Then one began to sob, neither child nor quite a man by his voice. Thomas watched as the other man reached out and drew him into an embrace.
     
    Then the youth pushed the man away, leapt up, and, covering his face with his hands, ran through the nave to the sacristy.
     
    With a hoarse cry, the man jumped up and raced after him. As the monk passed through a pale stream of moonlight from the window over the high altar, Thomas saw his face. It was the grim and green-eyed monk who had summoned him to