Chambers of Death by Priscilla Royal Read Free Book Online Page A

steps.
    Surely the woman must be Mistress Luce. Although many religious might rightly consider the apparent lapse of virtue a proper matter to address, Eleanor decided that both courtesy and wisdom demanded she say nothing about what she had beheld. As a guest, she had no wish to bring dissention to a house that had granted refuge and aid to her desperate little company.
    “The woman has a confessor,” she murmured, while fervently hoping that the errant wife would seek both counsel and penance before her actions festered into even greater evil.

Chapter Eight
    Despite wind so freezing that his nose ran, Thomas bent his head and walked through the courtyard mud with determination, while humming something Brother John had been teaching the novice choir at Tyndal.
    A calico cat from the kitchen raced past him, in pursuit of some real or imagined prey, then skidded and tumbled into a puddle. As the creature shook herself, Thomas grinned. “Prioress Eleanor’s orange cat would never display such lack of feline dignity,” he teased affably.
    Scrubbing with vigor, the cat pointedly ignored him.
    Thomas slogged on, delighted at his remarkably bright spirits on this glum morning. Considering his long-entrenched gloom, this change should perhaps trouble him, but he decided that sort of logic came from Satan. The Fiend would rather any mortal be cursed with such hopelessness that the soul took on the burnt hue of the Evil One himself. The monk banished his doubt. After all, if he chose to analyze it with more care, the root of his happier mood was easy enough to discover.
    After he had been shown to the kitchen last night, and dried himself by the hearth fire, he shared a late supper of hot soup and fresh bread with the cook and the kitchen servants. Although the arrival of the prioress’ party, and the anticipated return of Master Stevyn, would mean extra work on the morrow, the servants took advantage of whatever ease they could enjoy before dawn.
    And the company had most certainly been a merry one, reminding Thomas of boyhood days spent with the cook who raised him after his mother’s death. Adding to the cheerfulness was the addition of Master Huet, younger son to the steward, who had just arrived himself the night before.
    From a few overheard remarks by the servants, the monk concluded that the son’s return had been quite unexpected, but the man was greeted with great delight nonetheless. Of course Thomas had recognized the grown-out tonsure at the time, an observation he found rather disturbing, but no one else seemed bothered and thus he dismissed his curiosity. If the others found joy in Huet’s company, a man they knew far better than he, perhaps he should respect their view.
    That had, in fact, been easy enough, for Thomas was soon beguiled by the man’s graceful charm and quick wit. Now he shuddered in retrospect. Didn’t the Devil have that kind of charm, numbing the soul to danger as he transformed his vile and sinful shape into one of more pleasing appearance?
    Yet he had sensed no particular evil in Huet, either last night or this morning. Indeed, Huet had joined the servants with a humility uncommon in those of higher station. Many monks were rarely as modest, and imps most definitely never.
    And Huet was a good storyteller, with many interesting tales about his travels. What pleased Thomas most, however, was the man’s singing voice. He had amused them well with songs he had learned along the route, especially during his stay in Arras. The subject of the songs had been worldly love, but that did not matter to Thomas and most certainly not to Hilda, who alternately clutched her heart and wept joyfully over the lovers’ trials in the romance of Aucassin and Nicolette.
    Later, after the hearth fire had been banked and the company left to find sheltered corners and another body for warmth enough to sleep until sunrise, the cook had made a bed for Thomas near the hot ashes, then wrapped herself in a blanket