Chapter Sixteen
Bronwyn let out a cry and called for the guards. A shuddering sigh escaped her. Sister Joan, dead. Fear gripped her, making her chest feel tight. The woman was so young, not far off her own age. What had killed her?
“Theobold?” she croaked, her voice fraught with worry. “Theobold? Are you alive?” she called louder.
Silence.
“Theobold?” Her heart beat in her throat.
“I’m here,” a male voice called back. “What is it?”
He was alive. He lived. Thank the Lord.
But she didn’t have time to explain. Letting out a sigh of relief, she leaned close to Sister Joan’s cell, blinking back tears.
She peered at the bread. It looked to be coated in some substance. She reached for it, then stopped. A mouse scurried past and she moved her hand away.
The guards came. One stiffened at the sight of Sister Joan’s body and asked, “Is she dead?”
“Yes.”
The other guard tutted. “Shame. She was a pretty one.”
Bronwyn gritted her teeth. Never mind Sister Joan’s looks.
The fact that she’s lying there dead is slightly more important, she thought grimly.
Sister Joan was only supposed to have been there for one night, and she hadn’t survived.
If only Bronwyn had been able to convince Sir William to let her go.
“Who was it who came down here before?” she asked.
“Don’t know.” The guards exchanged a look.
“What did he look like?”
“Tall. Looked like any other man.”
“You need to report this, immediately,” Bronwyn said.
One of the guards glared at her. “We don’t take orders from you. You’re not the mistress of us. You’re just a maid.”
She glared right back. “You’re right. So you get to tell the queen why some poor girl died under your watch.”
“She’s just a prisoner. What does it matter? One less mouth to feed.” The guard sneered at her. The other looked at her mutely.
Bronwyn wished in that moment that she had someone with more rank with her, to tell, cajole, coax, or bully them into action.
Someone they would listen to. She felt powerless, hurt, and guilty over Sister Joan’s death.
She didn’t need to feel ignored as well.
“We need to see if anyone else died. Will you help me?” Bronwyn asked.
The guards did not speak but joined her as they made a sweep of the cells. “The nun is the only one who’s dead,” one of the guards reported.
“The man who brought the food, what did he say?” Bronwyn asked the guards.
“Just that he came with a gift from his mistress.”
“How long did he stay?”
“No long.”
“And he didn’t say anything else to you?” she asked.
“No. He left.”
Bronwyn’s shoulders slumped, and she stepped away to a familiar cell. “Theobold? Are you there?”
He came up to the bars. “Hullo, Bronwyn.” His voice was dull. He looked gaunt, with deep hollows beneath his eyes and in his cheeks. He still stood tall and handsome, but the curled black locks of his hair hung limp, and a dark beard covered his chin.
“Are you all right?”
His hand curled around hers. His fingers were big, and cold. “I’m fine.”
“You didn’t eat the bread?” Her words came out in a rush.
“No.”
“Oh, thank goodness.” She breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m so glad.”
“What happened? I heard—”
The brewer called, “It was the ghost. The ghost, I tell you. He’s come here before, walking the halls. He was there before, but now he’s here, and he’s coming for us all.”
Bronwyn squeezed Theobold’s hand. “I’ll be back.”
She went to Peter’s cell. “This ghost. What did he look like?”
“You know him, and he knows you.” The brewer cackled. “Don’t eat it. Don’t eat his gifts. He lies. They’re not gifts at all. They’re deadly.” He grinned, showing yellow teeth.
“This ghost. He brought food for all of you?”
“Yes,” he hissed. “He tossed rolls to me and the girl. The sweet nun. She stayed awake saying her prayers, but I told her, God is not watching over us. She thought it was Christian charity, but she was wrong. I told that pretty nun, but she didn’t listen.
She said God would protect her. But where is he now?
” He looked at his shoes. “I fed my bread to the rats, to see.” He stood back and pointed.
There in the back of his cell was a dead rat, the bread roll beside it.
“You see? Dead. Dead, like we all will be, if we stay here. Soon we will become like ghosts too.”
She returned to Theobold’s cell. “The bread was poisoned. Tell me, what did you see?”
“The man, whoever it was, came in during the night. I was sleeping, so I didn’t see him.
I only heard the brewer shouting about ghosts again.
I thought it was nothing. It wasn’t until this morning that he shouted to me not to eat it and said it was poison.
” He gestured to the partly-eaten bread roll on the floor of his cell.
“By the time I’d woken up, rats had nibbled mine. ”
Two dead mice and a rat lay a few feet away. Bronwyn repressed a shiver.
“Bronwyn,” said Theobold, “trying to make sense out of the brewer’s nonsense will have you running in circles. The man’s gone mad; there’s no reasoning with him.”
Bronwyn nodded. “Only eat the food I or the guards bring you.” She turned away, then paused.
“I’m glad you’re still alive.” She felt a treacherous flutter in her chest at the sight of him.
She was supposed to be focusing on this crime, not thinking about the darkness of his curls, his pale skin that reminded her of the moonlight, or the way his fingers had enveloped hers.
He looked at her. “Me too. Bronwyn, there’s something you should know.” He glanced down the corridor. “The other prisoners were complaining they didn’t get any food, whilst we from the empress’s camp did. I think whoever did this and managed to poison the nun, well…”
The realization clicked in her brain. “They are only targeting people who were staying with Empress Maud’s camp. But why?”
He shrugged. “Only the maid, myself, and the brewer got the dodgy bread rolls. Seems like someone doesn’t want us alive. Stay safe, Bronwyn.” He took her hand through the bars and kissed her fingers.
Another flutter went through her chest. She interlaced her fingers with this. Sometimes words didn’t need to be spoken. Just the barest touch was enough. She cared for him. Truly, deeply.
She went and distributed the fresh food to the prisoners, then, sparing a dirty look for the guards, she went up to report the body.
Queen Matilda had not yet risen for the day, but when Bronwyn explained to the queen’s guards about the dead nun, one of the maidservants went to wake her.
Ten minutes later, Bronwyn was shown into a room where the queen and Sir William stood.
The queen wore a long robe of soft, lilac silk, bound at the waist with a sash and embroidered with flowers.
Sir William looked like he had just been roused from sleep and let out a huge yawn.
He was dressed simply, wearing a stiff, burgundy-colored tunic over grey hose, belted at the waist. A small scabbard with a short blade hung at his belt.
Armed, even in the early hours, Bronwyn thought.
“Tell me what happened,” the queen said.
Bronwyn relayed what she’d discovered.
The queen’s eyes blazed. “His mistress sent him with those rolls? But I did not order any such thing. Why would I want to kill a nun?”
“This makes no sense. She was only there for the night. I’d planned to question her today about her attendance on Sir Robert. Why would she be killed, and by poison? From your kitchen.” He looked at Bronwyn pointedly.
She shook her head. “The only ones who are in there are the cooks and scullery maids, pot boys. Pages come in to deliver messages or take food out, but otherwise, no one would be allowed in. It’s not a community bakery.”
“Then how did he get in, this killer?” Sir William asked.
“Those guards should’ve been keeping a proper watch out for anything suspicious. And why am I hearing about this from a baker and not the guards themselves? Are they ill? I want them replaced. They let a murderer in to my jail.” The queen’s petite hands curled into fists.
“I’ll see to it at once, Your Grace,” Sir William said.
“And the kitchen. What a lapse of security. How did the man do it? That shouldn’t have been possible. Where were all the cooks? What were they doing, so this man was able to just walk in and poison some bread, unnoticed?”
Bronwyn felt obliged to defend the kitchen where she worked. “Your Grace, someone might have brought the poisoned bread in from outside the castle.”
Queen Matilda looked at Bronwyn pointedly. “May I remind you, this is the not the first time you have been at the scene of such a crime in my court.”
Bronwyn swallowed. She understood the queen’s suspicion. “Whoever it was must’ve done it in the night, when the kitchen was empty. Master Christopher wouldn’t let anyone just walk in. The man must’ve taken rolls from yesterday and poisoned them.”
“I’m curious about why he said it was a gift from his mistress,” Sir William said, pacing around the small room.
“You think he means Maud?” the queen asked.
“It’s possible. But why would she want to kill a nun? Besides, she wouldn’t know anything about it. She’s back on her way to Gloucester by now. She’s at least a few days’ ride away.”
“So then either she’d given orders for the nun to be killed, or this was a random attack. But who would want to kill a nun?”
“It wasn’t only the nun, Your Grace. Sir Robert’s squire, Theobold, and the brewer were also given the rolls.
” Bronwyn thought on this. “I think it was someone who felt Sister Joan was getting too close, or who had seen him. Maybe she recognized him.” She stopped.
“The ghost. The one she kept talking about.”
“Not you too. I thought you had some sense, girl. Ghosts don’t exist.”
“I know, but what if the man Sister Joan saw is supposed to be dead?”
“What do you mean? You’re speaking in riddles.”
Bronwyn said, “Your Grace, may I have two of the prisoners brought up for questioning?”