Free Valley of Dry Bones by Priscilla Royal Page A

mouth. “Brother Thomas!”
    A man’s voice called out, “Fear not, my lady. He was the one to find the dead man on the stream bank below his hermitage.”
    Eleanor felt the sweat of fear begin to creep between her breasts. First terrified that her beloved monk had been slain, she now worried that her cry had betrayed her uncured passion for him. The prioress straightened and entered the public chambers with what she hoped was a somber demeanor.
    Ralf expression grew sheepish when he saw her scowl. “Forgive my rudeness. When I overheard your concern, I wanted to assure you all was well. None of us wants ill to befall that good man.”
    “I thank you for the swift assurance that our hermit remains unharmed by evil men for he is truly beloved by those in both priory and village.” Sighing with relief that she seemed not to have betrayed her secret, Eleanor gestured permission for Ralf to sit.
    Gytha brought a jug of ale and platter of fruit for the table. Although many believed uncooked fruit to be unhealthy, she knew the crowner cared little for such common advice and preferred his fruit raw. He was also infamous for his appetite. The platter was piled high.
    Ralf tried to catch the maid’s eye.
    She kept her back to him, then hurried away until she stood, head bowed, a suitable distance from the pair.
    He turned to face the prioress. “I fear the corpse may have some connection to this priory.”
    “How so, good friend?”
    “The man was not from the village or priory, at least neither Brother Thomas nor I recognized him, and his clothing suggested he was a man of wealth.” He took a bite out of an apple, and half of it disappeared into his mouth. “Your monk suggested the man might have traveled to Tyndal, seeking cure for some ill. I said I would seek your help in identifying him.”
    Eleanor tilted her head with interest. “Did Brother Thomas think the man died of some illness or do you suspect violence as the cause?”
    “His throat was cut, my lady.”
    Instinctively, Eleanor touched her own neck. “It is possible the poor wretch never reached Tyndal. If he did and was seen at the hospital, Brother Beorn is the most likely to recognize him. He talks with those who seek ease and consolation here. Since it would be unseemly for me to do so, Prior Andrew shall accompany him, as representative of the priory, to look on the body.”
    “I am grateful, my lady. Any information will open or close paths of inquiry to follow and save time in the hunt for the one who did this.”
    “Can you tell how long the corpse may have lain there?”
    “Brother Thomas found him this morning on the bank of the pond where he takes frequent exercise. Since I joined him there yesterday, when the sun was highest in the sky, I can confirm the absence of any corpse then.”
    “I assume neither of you recalls anything that might now be significant?” She smiled to show she meant the question in jest.
    Ralf considered her query in earnest. “Nor smelled the stink, which would have developed quickly given the heat. That means the body wasn’t lying hidden and the killer waiting to move it until after we left the pond.”
    Some found offence in the crowner’s rough speech. Eleanor never did. She nodded in reply, having little patience herself with time-wasting circumlocutions.
    “Fortunately, the morning rain was light. When we searched the bank today, we found much blood where the man had been killed, near the path to the hermitage and in the open. From there we saw drag marks to the bush where Brother Thomas found the body. Since the killer did not hide the corpse with more skill, or even bury it, I suspect he was in haste, or else had no reason to do more than briefly delay discovery.” He shook his head. “No knife was found either.”
    “Did our hermit see any strangers along the road or nearby?”
    “He said not. After we parted yesterday, he returned to his hut and never left it. The afternoon and evening were spent