Free A Killing Season by Priscilla Royal Page B

concern. A priest may have been murdered, and now two sons were dead, the circumstances unusual and the deaths in rapid succession. As for Baron Herbert’s lack of overt grief, Thomas refused to conclude anything. He had never met the man.
    “Forgive me, Brother. My words were callous. I have little cause for complaint. The delay is such a minor thing, compared to this tragedy.” Gamel bowed his head with regret.
    “You left many behind in London who still have need of your skills. Some impatience to return is understandable.” Thomas chose to be gentle. Mortals often inflated themselves with self-importance; few admitted when they did so for petty reasons. Gamel had shown a rare humility.
    “My son is skilled enough to take my place.” He brightened. “I am proud of the lad, although I take care not to praise him too highly. When I was his age, I thought I knew everything there was to know. Now I fear I know very little indeed.” His eyelids drooped with sadness. “Not only did I fail to keep Death from wresting my cherished wife from my arms, I was also unsuccessful in persuading the dark creature to take my soul as well.”
    Growing pensive, the monk looked around. This was the hour when most daily labor had begun, yet all activity was muffled as if any boisterous din would offend the dead. Blacksmiths muted their hammering. The laundry maids whispered. Even the cattle lowed softly. In grief, this physician wept while Baron Herbert refused to watch his son’s body consigned to the earth. Gervase’s mother railed against Heaven. He himself had never found a way to lament over the death of his own father. Who dares to measure the depth of anyone else’s mourning?
    Thomas turned back to Master Gamel and said, “Sometimes God’s purpose differs from any mortal’s wish. When this is the case, we shall fail despite the skills we possess. You cannot blame yourself for your wife’s death or your own continuing life.”
    Thomas turned away and avoided meeting the physician’s eyes. His statements were conventional, and he did long for them to be true, but God knew how often he failed to see any purpose in the suffering of innocents.
    Gamel grunted.
    Perhaps the physician had the same doubts as he, Thomas thought, but neither would admit to the impiety except to a confessor.
    “May I ask after Sister Anne? I feared for her health because of the chill she suffered.”
    Brother Thomas raised an eyebrow, momentarily bewildered by the unrelated subject. “If our sub-infirmarian had fallen ill, I would have learned of it. You would have been called as well.”
    Gamel smiled with relief. “You have removed the weight from my heart, Brother. Indeed, I was grateful for her company on the way here. She is well-educated in the healing arts, far more than most that have practiced the apothecary trade. Although she is also a woman, she taught me many things I did not know. Her father was a physician, I believe, and she learned from him. And her manner is so modest that I did not even realize at the time that she had given me knowledge I lacked…” He stuttered to a stop, his cheeks flushing as he realized he had been chattering on with unseemly enthusiasm.
    “I did notice that you spent much time by her side.” The monk winced at his poor phrasing. He had meant to banish any hint of disapproval
    Gamel clasped his hands until the knuckles turned white. “The nun is most virtuous! I have never met any woman of her vocation more chaste or humble. Sometimes I did wonder if I was in the presence of a saint.”
    Bowing his head in acknowledgement of Sister Anne’s virtue, Thomas no longer doubted that this man had lost his heart to the sub-infirmarian. He tried to feel outrage over Gamel’s transgression but utterly failed to summon indignation. To his knowledge, no sin had been committed except in the heart. Surely God would deem such relative innocence a minor failing.
    Although faithful to her vows, Thomas knew that