Satan's Lullaby Read Free Page B

beauty,” Davoir smiled at his clerk, “the journey would feel endless.” He looked down and twisted the bejeweled ring on his finger. In the sunbeam coming through the window, one of the larger gems flickered with a murky light.
    Eleanor folded her hands and patiently waited.
    “Last night, there was no religious house to give us beds. We stopped at an inn. This morning, Jean went to the stable to seek his companion.” Davoir chewed on his lip. “He found the man’s corpse. Someone had cut his throat.”
    Jean gagged and looked away.
    The prioress’ eyes opened wide with shock.
    Davoir’s expression softened with concern over Jean. “When my clerk cried out, the innkeeper ran to his aid as did the captain of the soldiers. The local crowner might have been called, but the captain said there was no need.”
    Eleanor was surprised, then chose not to interrupt and to let this priest finish his tale.
    “The captain swore he knew the cause for the death. Since the soldiers were under his command, he was responsible for rendering the required justice. He gave me his solemn oath, his hand on a crucifix, that we had nothing to fear and were safe from all harm.”
    “The crowner was not summoned?”
    Davoir shook his head.
    Perhaps Ralf should be told anyway, Eleanor thought, but saw no purpose in saying anything to the priest. He had made his decision about the matter. She would make her own. “I shall pray for the poor man’s soul and that His comfort will ease the pain his death brought you,” she said, directing the last words to the clerk.
    The lad nodded, but his expression suggested he was not comforted in the slightest.
    “It was cruelty born in sin and executed by wicked men,” Davoir said. “You may thank God that you will never suffer this kind of violence within the safety of your priory walls.”
    Eleanor had seen far worse deaths and many more of them since entering the gates of Tyndal Priory but chose not to enlighten the abbess’ brother. Instead, she murmured the expected words and changed the subject.
    “Your sermon to the nuns was most instructive,” she said. The topic had been worldly temptations. She wondered if he preached the same message to the monks and lay brothers. Did the subject hold any clue to the reason he had been sent?
    “When we vow ourselves to God’s service, much is demanded from our imperfect flesh. It grows weak and eagerly reaches out for the false joys promised in Satan’s lullabies. The Devil strikes hardest at those who choose the path to Heaven, and he rejoices most in those he wins back from God.”
    Eleanor might have been offended at the suggestion that her monastics were lax in honoring their vows, but, as she studied the man seated before her, she felt he meant his words more as commentary than criticism.
    Her opinion of this priest remained ill-formed. Had he come dressed in chain mail with a sword by his side, he would not have looked out of place as the warrior son of a French nobleman. That he chose to fight the Prince of Darkness, not the English, was a decision she respected. Yet she had learned from her brother, a returned crusader, that God’s knights could be indistinguishable from those who longed less for Heaven and more for land and castles. Each maimed, killed, and tortured with equal ferocity. Did this man follow the gentler God she had discovered in her particular prayers?
    As she listened to Davoir elaborate on the theme of his earlier sermon, she noted that he was missing a few teeth but that his hair was still dark blond. If neither young nor old, she wondered if he was in that middle time, one she longed to achieve, when neither the passions of youth nor the fears of age fully ruled. His face bore furrows, which could suggest either worry or humor. His brown eyes were bright with intelligence, perhaps curiosity, maybe zeal. Davoir might be a man inclined to fairness, Eleanor thought, but she had already noted signs that he could harbor a