Murder at Penwood Manor

Murder at Penwood Manor

For Amina, who dreams . . . perseveres . . . inspires “Seek and you shall find.”

Murder at Penwood Manor

The Harwood Mysteries

Book 5

Antony Barone Kolenc

Copyright © 2023 Antony Barone Kolenc

All rights reserved.

Cover art credit: Martin Beckett, MahirAtes/iStockphoto/Getty Images. p. viii-x Map art credit: Martin Beckett

Back cover author photo, SSSPHOTOGRAPHIC, LLC.

ISBN: 978-0-8294-5554-0

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023938678

How to Read Historical Fiction

MurderatPenwoodManor isaworkofhistoricalfiction.Thistype ofbookdiffersfromnonfictionbecausethestoryisimaginedbythe authoranddoesmorethansimplytellyou“whathappened.”Rather, thistypeofbookhelpsyou,thereader,understandwhathappenedin historywhiledrawingyouinandentertainingyou.Thestoryinvites youtomakeconnectionswithsituationsandcharactersandtodiscoverwhatstaysthesameforpeopleofanyperiodandalsodetermine what might have changed over time.

Eventhoughthecharactersandeventsareimagined,anauthorof historicalfictiontriestobeaccuratewhenpresentingwhatitmight havebeenlikeforaspecificgroupofpeopletoliveandworkinaparticulartimeandplace.That’swhyanauthormightpresentscenesand dialogue that differ greatly from what we experience today.

Thesedifferencesarealsowhysomeofwhatyoureadmightfeelforeignorevenshocking.Asyouread,rememberthatinsomecases,the charactersaren’tdoingsomething“wrong”;theyaresimplydoingwhat wasconsideredacceptableatthattime.Asthereader,it’simportant foryoutoreadcriticallythroughout.Ifyou’reinterestedinlearning moreaboutthehistoricalcontextof MurderatPenwoodManor,you’ll findmoreinformationinthebackofthebook,intheAuthor’sHistorical Note.

Herearesometipsformakingthemostof MurderatPenwood Manor

Before Reading

DosomebriefInternetresearchaboutlifein twelfth-century England andinatypicalcityofthattime.Watchavideo,viewillustrations,or read an article to gain some historical context.

During Reading

Ask yourself questions such as the following:

• In what ways are the actions and reactions of young characters like those of kids today? In what ways are they different?

• God and religion played a significant role in the lives of people during the Middle Ages. What religious terms and ideas in Murder at Penwood Manor seem strange to you, and why? What aspects of religion in the story are more familiar to you, and why?

• Xanandhisfriendsrelyonthecareandhonestyoftheadultsin theirlives.Howaretheseexpectationschallenged?Whatgoalsand dreamsinfluencedpeopleinthisstory?Doyouseeanythingsimilarhappeningtoday?Whyorwhy not?

After Reading

Ask yourself questions such as the following:

• Inwhatwaysdopeoplenowthinkandactdifferentlyfrompeople inXan’stime?Doyouthinktoday’swaysarebetterornot? Why?

• Why did Xan and others suspect that the returned Crusader might be demon-possessed? How did Father Andrew and others discern about this?

• Xan felt that God had given Lucy light and clarity for her life but had withheld these things from Xan. What did Xan discover by the end of the story?

1 Crusader Road

Xanpeeredatthethreateningcloudsgatheringabovethe creaky wagon. “The sky grows darker.”

Hesatinbackonthewoodenbench,nexttoChristinaand acrossfromFatherPhilip.Infront,UncleWilliamdrovetwosweaty horses, their hooves kicking up earth with each step.

Behindthethinface-veilthatcoveredhernoseandcheeks, Christinaturnedtothesky.“Maybetherainiscomingatlasttowet downallthisdustbeforeitchokesustodeath.”Shecoughedand brusheddirtfromherdress,whichwasthesameemeraldcoloras her eyes.

Shewasright:theblackhidesofthecarthorseshadbecomegray fromtherelentlessdust.EventhegreenwoolofXan’stunichadgrown dimmer.Thismustbethedriestweekof1187—surelythethirstiest Easter season in all the long history of England.

YetChristinashouldbecarefulaboutprayingforrain.Thisdustwas betterthanthestormthathadwreckedXan’sjourneyalongthissame roadtwoyearsago.Inthatthunderousdownpour,theircartfromHarwood Abbey had met disaster.

FatherPhilipgrippedtheedgeofhisbrownrobe.“Weshouldrest soon,William.Mysorebonesneedabreakbeforewereachthevillage.” Theoldpriestwasprobablywornoutfromallthecratersthey’dridden oversincethey’dleftLincolnontheirjourneynorthtoPenwood Manor.

Xanpointedtothepath.“’TisthisbumpyRomanroad,Father. ’Twasbuiltoversevenhundredyearsago,andtheysayKingHenry hardly repairs it.”

“IsthatwhatthemonksatHarwoodAbbeycallthispath?”Uncle said.“YourgrandfatherusedtocallitCrusaderRoad,’twassofilled withbravemenreturninghomefromCrusade—andluckiermerchants than I, who found easy fortunes on their travels.”

“Notonly men camehome.”Christinastraightenedherface-veil, whichshehadrecentlyfastenedtoher head-covering tohidethe jaggedscarthatstretchedfromherlipstothetopofherright cheek—the badgeofshame carveduponherlastyearbyadaggerinthe ruinsofLincolnCathedral.“Womenwent,too.Mygrandmotherwas a washerwoman in the last Crusade.”

“A what?” Xan said. “They let girls go to war?”

Shesighed.“A washerwoman,Alexander:cleaningclothes,preparingmeals,stitchinggarments.Youthinkmencoulddoallthat without women?”

“There were afewwomenwhofoughtinthewar,mydear,”thepriest said. “Famous ones. ”

“Didyouhearthat,Xan?Womenwarriors.”Christinamusthave been grinning behind her veil.

Sheoftenteasedhimthesedayswithstoriesofthewomeninhistory whohadneverneededhusbands.Butnomatterhowgoodacompanionhe’dbeentoChristinathispastyear,hisfriendshiphadn’tcured thesadnessveiledbeneathherplayfulstories.Norhadhisworkasa merchant’sapprenticerestoredUncle’swealthaftertheirterriblemisfortunes last year.

When will you give me some light on this path, Lord?

Nodoubt,hewaswalkingthepathGodhadpavedforhimsince thedaythosebanditsburnedhisvillageandkilledMotherandFather, causinghimtoliveatHarwoodAbbeywiththemonksandthenuns andtheotherorphans,andLucy,ofcourse.Butthepathhadbeendim andwinding.He’dfollowedGod’swilltoleavetheabbeyandmoveto Lincoln,wherehe’dworkedwithUncleandChristina.He’dkepttothat pathfortwoyears,yethiseverystephadbeenindarkness.Hownice itmustbeforLucy—nowanoviceintheabbey’snunnery—towalkon herwell-litpath,knowinginadvancethepeaceeachdaywouldgive to her.

“Whomight that be?”FatherPhilippointedattwofiguresstruggling on the road ahead.

UncleWilliampulledthehorsestoahalt,andthewoodenchests neartheirfeetslidalongthewagon’sfloor.Twoofthechestscontained suppliesfortheirjourney,butthethirdhadbeenfilledbyUncleinprivate, its secrets secured by a heavy lock to which only Uncle had a key.

Xanstoodtolook,butsodidUncle,blockingtheviewwithhiswide shoulders.

“Two men . . . battling each other,” Uncle William said.

FatherPhiliprose,thetipofhisnosepointedtowardthescene.“Are theytrulyfighting,oristheonetryingtohelptheother?Therearetwo horses tied to a nearby tree.”

XantiltedtoUncle’ssidetoseebetter.Inthedistance,atall,bearded manhadbotharmslockedaroundastockiermanwiththick,dark hair.Iftheywerebattling,thetalleronemustbesqueezingthelifefrom hisopponent.Yetthatdidn’tseemtobehisintent,forthemanhad spotted their wagon on the road and was crying out for them to help.

“What do we do, Father?” Uncle said. “’Tis no business of ours. ”

Unclewasright.Theyhadn’ttakenthisjourneyforadventurebut foranEastervisittoFatherAndrewandtheothersatHarwoodAbbey andPenwoodManor.Unclehadcomealongasasortofpilgrimageto thanktheBenedictinemonksforallthey’ddoneincaringforXan.And Christinahadcomeastheirassistant,afterUncleandFatherPhiliphad

convincedherparentsthatherdepressedmoodmightbeliftedonthe holy grounds of an abbey.

“What should we do?” Uncle said again. “Shall we pass them by?”

Thepriestscratchedathissilverhair.“Goddidnotpass us by despitealloursinfulness,butraisedHisSonfromthedeadtosaveus. Plus,ifthesetwohavetraveledsofaruponthisroad,thenPenwood Manor must also be their destination.”

Xantightenedtheleatherbeltaroundhistunic.“I’llgoseewhat’s happening.”

Lord, give me the strength I need.

Christinablockedhispath.“You’rebarelyfourteenyearsold!Ifanyoneshouldhelpthosemen,itshouldbeyouruncle.”Herwordsstung. Afterall,hewasonlyayearyoungerthansheandhadprovedhisbravery many times. Yet her tone sounded not with insult but concern.

“We should all go,” Father Philip said. “Drive the horses, William.”

TheysatbackdownasUnclecuedthehorsesalongtheroadtoward themen.Bythetimethecarthadstopped,theclashbetweenthetwo foeshadended.Thebeardedman—pantingandsweating—clungto his shorter opponent, whose body had gone entirely limp.

Father Philip stood in the wagon. “What is happening here?”

“Giveaid!”themansaid.Heworefittedblackpantsandacrimson shirt,suchasawealthycraftsmanmightwear.“Heistooheavyforme.” Nodoubt,thestockyman’sleathershirtofarmoraddedtotheweight of his unconscious frame.

“C’mon, Uncle!”

XanrushedpastChristinaandleaptfromthewagontothedusty road,thethinsolesofhisshoesslappinguponthedirt.UncleWilliam followed.

Theyeachtookholdofoneofthelimpman’sshoulders,while thebeardedmansupportedtheback.Togethertheyslidthebody alongthedirtandlaiditgentlyuponthegrassunderatree,notfar fromwherethetwobrownhorsesweretied.Abroadironswordlay

unsheathedinthedirtnearby,thewords“Godwillsit”carvedintoits hilt in the Latin tongue.

Thebeardedmancollapsedtothegrassandputhiselbowsonhis knees,restinghisheadinhispalms.“Thankyou,”hesaidbetween huffs. “I was entirely spent.”

Christinahurrieddowntotheunconsciousman’sside.Sheplaceda gentlehanduponhisforeheadandbentclosetohisface.“Heisbreathing as though in a deep sleep.”

FatherPhilipdismountedwithgreatcare.“Whathappened?Who are you?”

“Iamamerchant,”themansaid,stilloutofbreath.“Robertis my name. ”

Uncleperkedupanddrewcloser.“Itooamamerchant—fromLincoln.MynameisWilliam,andthisismynephewandapprentice,Xan. Where do you conduct your business?”

“Please,William,”thepriestsaid.“Therewillbetimetotalkofyour shop later.”

Uncle nodded and took a step back.

“IamamerchantofYork,”Robertsaid.“Ihavetraveledfaronthe roadwiththisman,Laurence—eversincewedebarkedourshipat Dartmouth, newly returned from the Holy Land.”

“Areyoucrusaders?”Xanasked.Thatwouldexplainthearmorand the iron sword.

“LaurencefoughttoprotecttheKingdomofJerusalem,andItooam acrusaderofsorts—thoughmymissionforjewelryandotherfineries is far more worldly.”

“Whatisthematterwiththeman?”FatherPhilipsaid.“Whywere you two struggling?”

“Anevilmoodovertookhim—afitoffury,ashashappenedseveral timesbefore.”Robert’sbearddroopedlower.“ThesepastdaysIhave discoveredthatsomedevilhauntshisnightmares.Attimesheawakes inapanicinthedark—orevenifwerestindaylight,ashappened momentsago—shoutingandclawingathisface,beatinghimselfabout

thechestandhead.Iknownotwhythesefitsovertakehim,thoughhe often mutters about demons when he dreams.”

“Demons?” Christina said. “Is he cursed, then?”

Robertgaveashrug.“Whenthefoulmoodscomeuponhim,allI can do is try to prevent him from causing too much harm to himself.”

“Does he ever attack you?” Xan said.

“Notwithmalice.Ihavelearnedthatrestraininghimfrombehind is my safest course. ”

FatherPhilipblessedthemerchant.“’TisveryChristianofyouto care for this crusader.”

“Heisagoodman,Father.Hehassufferedmuchforthesakeof God’s kingdom on earth.”

ChristinatouchedLaurence’sforeheadagain.“Howlongwillhe sleep like this?”

“Perhapsamoment,perhapsanhour.Whoknows?”Robertstood. “Whenhedoesawake,hewilllikelynotrememberthatweeverstruggled, nor how he got beneath that tree.”

Uncledrewneartothemerchant.“AreyoutwotravelingtoPenwood Manor?”

“Aye.Laurencesayshelivesthere,andIwillrestadaybeforeheading to York.”

“Perhapswecanridetogether,”Unclesaid.“Iwishtohearmoreof yourbusinessasamerchantinJerusalem.Mygoodfortuneseemsto haverunoutontheshoresofEngland.Everyshipmentismoreastruggle for me than the last.”

Robertsmiled.“TherearemanyfortunestobemadeintheHoly Land,myfriend.Iwillreturntheresoonenough.ItraveltoYorkonly to check on my home’s affairs and to resupply.”

FatherPhilipclearedhisthroatandraisedasilvereyebrow.“Later, William.Wemustwakethiscrusadernowandgetbackonthismiserable road before night befalls us. ”

Asifoverhearingthepriest’swords,Laurencestirred.Hisbreathing becameshallower,hisfacegrewpaler,andhislipsformedwhispered words: “Daemonium . . . daemonium!”

He’s speaking in Latin.

XansteppedclosertoChristina.“Haveacare.Hetalksof demons again.”

Father Philip fell back. “Is this the start of another fit, Robert?”

Beforethemancouldanswer,thecrusaderopenedhiseyesand sprang up with a fierce cry.

New Threats

XanleaptinfrontofChristina,plantinghimselfbetweenher andthecrusader,whohadspunaroundinacircle,wide-eyed and panicked.

Not again! Protect her, Lord.

ChristinahadsufferedenoughbecauseofXan.Intheruinsofthe cathedral,she’dthrownherselfintothepathofdangertoprotecthim. Itwasnowonderherparentshadblamedhimforherscar,though they’d recently forgiven him because he’d shown her such loyalty.

“Youaresafe,Laurence,”Robertsaid,bothhandsraisedtocalmhis companion.

“What?”Thecrusaderplacedahanduponaclopofdirtontheback ofhisthickhair.Hisbulgingeyestookinthescenearoundhim:his horsetiedtoatree,hisswordunsheathedupontheground,Xan’sarm outtodefendChristina,UncleWilliamcrouchinginsurprise,Father Philip making the Sign of the Cross. “W-what happened?”

“Anotherfit,”Robertsaid.“TheseGoodSamaritansstoppedalong the road to help us. ”

“Another . . .fit.”Laurenceeyedhisarmor,thethickleatherpouch attachedtohisbelt,thesturdybootsatthebottomofhisblackpant legs. “Another fit,” he repeated in a whisper. “Aye.”

Withthat,thetensemoodfaded.Reliefgrewintheireyesasseveral quiet moments passed.

Finally,Robertbenttothegroundtorecoverablanket.“Nightwill beonuserewegettoPenwood,myfriend,unlesswedepartsoon.Let us ride together with our new companions.”

ChristinaplacedherhandonXan’sarm—stilloutstretched—and forcedittohisside.“Calloffthebattle,Alexander.I’msafe.”Shewas teasing again, yet her voice was gentle.

“Right.”Hebrushedhissweatyhairbehindhisears.“Ofcourse you are. ”

Laurencebowedunsteadily.“Forgiveme,Ihavemywitsnow.Iam Laurence of Leeds.”

“Leeds?” Uncle said. “I thought you lived at Penwood Manor.”

“MybrotherRolfelivesatPenwood.Ialsostayedthereafewyears beforeItookuptheCrossfortheHolyLand,departingforthemighty castle fortress at Kerak.”

FatherPhilipsteppedforwardandintroducedeachofthemtothe crusader.“ThankyouforyourservicetoGod’skingdom,Laurence. Men such as you keep Jerusalem in Christian hands.”

Thecrusaderflinchedatthecompliment,hiseyesturningdownward.“Ideservenopraise,Father,andJerusalemwillsoonbeinthe hands of Saladin, I fear.”

Thename Saladin hadbeenutteredmanytimesthepastfewyears, bothbythemonksofHarwoodAbbeyandthemenofLincoln.Saladin:sultanandrulerofthe Saracens—thecountlessfollowersof MohammedthroughouttheHolyLand.Thesultan’slegendarywisdomandgenerosityweresurpassedonlybyhisreputationfor ruthlessness toward his enemies.

XanturnedtoUncle.“Didn’tyoutellmethattheChristianssigned a truce with Saladin to keep peace between the two kingdoms?”

“Yourunclespoketruly,”thecrusadersaid.“Butnoneofthatwill matter in the end.”

FatherPhilipshookhishead.“Hasthatsultanbecomesoambitious astobreakasworntruce?DoeshealreadyfeelJerusalemwithinhis grasp, though so many Christian strongholds still stand?”

“TheyshallnotstandmuchlongeragainsttheSaracens,”Laurence said. “Mark my words.”

Asiftoconfirmhisprediction,drizzlefellupontheirheadsatthat verymoment.Butmaybe’twasnotanillomen;rainwouldhelpkeep the dust in its place for the final hours of their journey.

Robertuntiedoneoftheirhorses.“Come.Wecanspeakmoreaswe ride to the manor. ”

Thecrusaderstillseemedshaken,however,withhiseyesunsettled. “Givemeamomenttocomposemyself.”Withthat,heheadedintothe woodland,asRobertpackedtheirgearandtheothersmountedthe wagon again, their faces lifted to the cool raindrops.

WhenLaurencereturned,heseemedtransformed.Gonewerethe jitterynervesandfearfuleyes,theshakinghandsanddoubtfulglances. Hewalkedwithconfidence,throwinghispackontheotherhorseand mounting it in a single motion. “We ride!”

ThisversionofLaurencetrulyactedthepartofacrusader,nowthat his mood had passed.

Withlightraintocomfortthemalongtheroad,theymetnofurther delays.WhileRobertledhishorsebesideUncletotalkmerchant business,Laurencerodenearthebackofthewagonwiththeothers, speakingwithFatherPhilipatlengthaboutthediresituationinthe Holy Land. The topic seemed to dampen the crusader’s spirits.

“YoumustlovetheHolyLandverymuch,”Christinasaid,withgreat feeling.

“More than I can say. ”

“Isthatwhyyoutookthevowtogothere?”Xansaid.“Toseeitfor yourself?”

Laurencenodded.“ItookuptheCrossthreeyearsago,when rumorswererunningwildthatSaladinwaspoisedforall-outwar againsttheChristians.”Thecrusaderwentontoexplainhowthe peacehadbeenkeptuntillastyear,whenKingBaldwin—theone theycalledthe leperking becausehe’dbeenstrickenwithleprosyasa child—died,leadingtomuchpoliticalupheaval.Hissuccessorapparently was unpopular with his subjects.

“Why do they dislike this new king so much?” Xan said.

“Becauseheisafool,andfoolsmakefordangerousleaders.”Laurence grew silent again.

Infrontofthewagon,RobertwasspeakingwithUncleaboutthe easewithwhichmerchantsweremakingfortunesinLisbonandXelb and other places with odd names.

“Forthosewhoriskit,therearerichestobegainedeveninDamascus,” Robert said.

Unclesmiled.“HowIenvyyou.InLincoln,Istruggledfortwenty yearstobuildupthekindofbusinessyouhavenegotiatedinasingle month. I suffered some ill luck, unfortunately.”

Unclemustbereferringtothedoomedshipmentsthathadwasted hislifesavings,causinghimtorecklesslytakealoanfromthatevil usurer,theMaster.ThatwasbeforeXanhadcometoLincolnthatfirst timeinthecompanyoftherepentantprisoner,Carlo—theverybandit responsibleforthedeathsofMotherandFather.XanhadsavedUncle fromtheMasterintheend,butmoretragedyhadstruckthembecause of events in Lincoln last year.

“Ifearmydaysofmerchantingarenearinganend,”Unclesaidto Robert in a hushed voice.

DespiteXan’shardworkandsupport,Unclehadbarelypaidoffthe debtsthathadremainedaftertheirmisfortunelastyear.They’dput awayamodestsavingsnow,butforUncleitneverseemedenough. Healwaysworriedthattheirprogresshadbeentoolittleforlasting success.

Inthebackofthewagon,FatherPhilipaskedLaurenceanother question about Jerusalem.

Thecrusader’sanswerwasevenbleakerthanbefore:“Jerusalem hangsbyathread.WhileSaladingatheredhispoweramongtheSaracens,ourpettyChristianlordsconspiredagainstoneanother,plotting waystokeepthekingshipfromeachotherafterthedeathofour beloved leper king.”

“Whataboutthecrusaders?”Xansaid.“Aretherenototherslikeyou taking up the Cross?”

“Notnearlyenoughofthem.Foryears,ourleadershavebeggedthe EnglishandtheFrankstosendmoremenonCrusadetostrengthen ourdefenses,buttheircrieshavefallenondeafears.KingHenrysends atitheoftreasureeachyear,butwhattheyreallyneedismenwith swords.”

LastyearinLincoln,they’dallseenfirsthandthekindofdistractions KingHenrywasfacinginhisoldage.Hissonswerefightingamong themselvestogainpowerinthehopeofbecomingthenextkingafter theirfatherdied.Itwasnowonderthekinghadhesitatedtosendhis knights to the far-off Holy Land.

“Enoughnewsofdespair,”FatherPhilipsaid.“Tellusaboutyour family.”

Laurenceeasedintohissaddle.“IhaveanuncleatPenwoodManor. AndthereismybrotherRolfe,whommyfathersenttoPenwoodasa boywhenmyuncle’ssondiedinaplague.Ijoinedmybrotheratthe manor a few years later. That is where I met my Muriel.”

Atthementionofthewoman’sname,asmilefinallyformedonLaurence ’ s lips.

“Muriel?”Christinasaid,apparentlyfindingatopicofinterestat last. “Is she your wife?”

“Notyet,”Laurencesaid.“ButIsoughtpermissionfromherfather tomakeaproposalofmarriageereIdepartedtoJerusalem.He promised I could have her hand if I ever returned.”

“Andhereyouare,”Christinasaid,probablysmilingbehindthethin, white face-covering.

Laurence’s eyes lit up. “And here I am. ”

“AndhereisPenwoodManor!”UncleWilliamannounced,pointing to the path ahead.

FatherAndrewusedtospeakoftenaboutPenwoodManor:oneofa pairofmanorsthatsupportedHarwoodAbbey’sblackmonks,asthey werecalledbecauseofthecoloroftheirrobes.Xanhadneverbeen toPenwood,butitcouldn’tbemuchdifferentfromhisoldmanor, Hardonbury,withfieldsofcropsandtinycottagesandachurchforthe people to worship in.

Thedustyroad—nowtamedbytherain—ledthempastawooden fence,wheresheepgrazedinapasture.He’dtendedsuchsheepwith Fatherasachild,whenhewasn’thelpingtoharvestthecropsinthe EastField.ThosedayswerelongafterUnclehaddepartedHardonbury forLincolntobecomeamerchant.Theywerealsosomeofthebest days of Xan’s life.

“WherewillyouallbestayinginPenwood?”LaurenceaskedFather Philip.

“OneofmyparishionersfromLincolnhasfamilyherethatwewill visit,”thepriestsaid.“Theyhaveagreedtoletusstayonextramattresses in their cottage for a few nights, at least.”

Robert seemed concerned. “Must you all sleep on the floor, then?”

“We’llbegoingtoHarwoodAbbeysoon,”Xansaid.“They’llhave spaceforusintheguestroomsfortherestofourtrip.”Truthbetold, therewasnoneedtoworryabouttheiraccommodations.ThehospitalityoftheBenedictinemonkstowardtravelerswaslegendary,and theirweeklongvisitwouldlikelyinvolvesleepinginseverallocations before it was over.

“Wearedrawingneartomyhome,”Laurencesaid.“Letmeintroduce you to my uncle.”

Theyrodepastarowofwoodencottageswiththatchedroofs, granderthanthoseatHardonbury.Theyhaltedthehorsesinfrontofa

structurethriceaslargeasXan’soldcottage—itevenhadtwowindows onthesameside.PerhapsHardonbury had beenthepoorestmanorin England.

Atallmanwithstragglyhairemergedfromthecottagedoorwearingalonggrayshirtpulledoverblackpants.“Isthatyou,brother?Can it truly be so?”

ThemanrushedtoLaurence’shorse,whichthecrusaderdismounted in a single motion.

They embraced. “Rolfe! You look healthier than I remember.”

XanelbowedChristina.“Helooksabitsicklytome,don’t you think?”

Shenoddedinagreement,forRolfe’spalefacewasmarkedbydark bags under his eyes.

“Thesepastfewdaystheweatherhasbeenabitbetterformycondition,”Rolfesaid.“ButIheartheHolyLandismiserablyhot.Ifonlymy health would have let me join you there.”

Laurencesteppedback.“Iamhomenow,brother,sodonotworry anylongeraboutyourhealthanditslimits.Whereisouruncle?Why has he not come out to greet us?”

Rolfepointedtowardthemainroad.“HehasgonetoLeedstovisit our cousins for Easter.”

“Ofcourse,”Laurencesaid.HepointedtoXanandtheothers. “Wherearemymanners?Letmeintroducemycompanions.”Hepresented each of them to Rolfe in turn.

“Ifyouarefriendsofmybrother,thenyouareverywelcomehere,” Rolfe said.

Laurenceswiveledhisheadtotakeinthearea,asthoughhewere searchingforsomeone.“AndhowismyMuriel?Haveyoubeenlooking after her, as you promised?”

ThebagsunderRolfe’sweakeyesseemedtodarkenevenfurther. “Well . . .I—Icansaythatsheisnot unwell;sheisstillstayingwithher father near the West Field.”

“Notunwell?”LaurencedrewnearerandplacedhishandonRolfe’s arm. “What is the matter, brother? Has something happened to her?”

Rolfehesitated.“It—’TisonlythatRogerSmithyhastakenupmuch of her time of late.”

“Roger!”Laurence’svoicedroppedtoagrowl.“Thatblacksmithsets hisambitionsoneveryyoungwomaninthisvillage!Hebestkeephis filthy hands away from what is mine.”

“Murielhastriedtokeephimatbay,but . . .well,Rogercanbevery persuasive.”

Laurencegraspedthehiltofhisswordanddrewitfromitssheath. “Thisbladehasbeenstainedwiththebloodofgreatermenthana blacksmith, Rolfe.”

ThedarkfirethataroseinLaurence’seyesseemedtohavecome fromtheverydemonsthathadplaguedhisdreams.Heangrilyjabbed his sword into the air.

“Markmywords,brother.RogershallleavemyMurielinpeaceifhe values his life.”

3

Old Friends

XanpassedanuncomfortablefirstnightatPenwoodManor. Hesleptuponastrawmattresssetoutinthemainroomof thecottageofFatherPhilip’sfriend.ThepriestandUncle Williamsleptinaspareroom,whileChristinarestedonamattressin the cottage’s tiny storage area.

OnWednesdaymorning,Uncletookleaveofthemforanhourto meetwithRobertbeforetheothermerchantheadedhometoYork. Whilehewasgone,alltheothersinthecottageaccompaniedFather Philiptotheparishchurch,wherethepriestcelebratedMassatthe altarwiththelocalcleric.Later,whenUnclereturned,theybroke theirfasttogetherandloadedthewagonfortheshortridetoHarwood Abbey.

WhentheyreachedthecenterofPenwoodManor,theyfoundthe mainsquareeruptingwithchaos.AcrowdhadgatheredasLaurence thecrusader—stillinhisleatherarmor—stoodnose-to-nosewitha manmuchbrawnierthanhimself,shoutingthreatsintheman’sface. Allthewhile,apetitewomanwithhoney-goldhairandabluedress

criedoutinfear,whilethecrusader’sbrotherRolfestoodnearby, pleading for the men not to resort to violence.

AsUnclehaltedthewagon,XanturnedtoChristina.“Thatmustbe Roger the blacksmith.”

“AndthatmustbeMuriel,”shereplied.“Shehasaprettyface, doesn’t she?”

Heansweredheronlywithanoncommittalshrug.Truthbetold, Murielwasbeautiful,especiallyforawomanlikelytwiceXan’sage.But nogoodwouldcomefromhimcomplimentingthewoman’sface—not while Christina was wearing a veil to hide her scar.

WhenLaurence’sshoutssubsided,Rogerraisedhiscallousedhands highandthrustouthisproudchin.“Youhavenorighttotellmehow tolivemylife.YouforgetyouhavereturnedfromyourCrusadeto aplacewherethevoiceofthelawspeakslouderthanthemightof the sword.”

Laurenceshovedhardatthecenteroftheblacksmith’sbroadchest, sendinghimstumblingbackward.“Callforthesheriff,then!Callfor KingHenryhimself,ifyouwish.ButifIeverseeyounearmyMuriel again, you will sorely learn about the might of my sword.”

“Stopallthis!”Muriel’svoicetrembledassheclaspedherhands togetherandsteppedbetweenthemintears.“Thismanhasnot harmed me, Laurence. I promise you that.”

Muriel’sweepingovercamethecrusader’sanger.Hisshoulders slumpedandhewrappedherinhisarms.“Forgiveme,mydear.I—I willtrytokeepmyfoulmoodsincheck.Butthis . . .this devil must agree to leave you in peace from now on. ”

Rogermadenosuchagreement.Instead,heturnedhisbackonLaurenceandstrodeawayintheotherdirectionwithoutfurthercomment.

Whenhe’dgone,Laurencefloppedtothedirtwithhisbackagainstthe wall, while Muriel begged him to do no harm to Roger.

“Come,”FatherPhilipsaid.“Givethiscouplesomeprivacy.Letus hurrytotheabbey,William,beforethosemonksretiretothechurch again for their prayers. ”

“Aye.” Uncle cued the horses.

TheycontinuedtowardHarwoodAbbeyinsilence.Aftertheyhad traveledawhile,thefamiliarlineoftheabbey’sfencingarounditsfarthest pasture came into sight.

Xanshiftedinhisseat.“IwonderhowmuchhaschangedsinceIleft this place.”

“You’vebeengonealongtime,”Christinasaid.“Isupposemuchis different now. ”

He’dlastriddenthisroadwithUncleWilliam’smessengeronhisway toLincolnayearandahalfearlier.LittleJoshuahadrunalongside, shoutingforhimtoalwaysremembertheboy.FatherAndrewhadheld up a sad hand in blessing, while Sister Regina had stood weeping.

I’ve tried to keep faith on this dim path, Lord.

Backthen,Godhadgrantedasinglerayoflight,revealingthathis pathledtoLincolnasUncle’sapprentice.He’deventoldFatherAndrew thatonedayhispathmightleadhimbacktotheabbeytobecomea monk.Today,thatroad had broughthimback,butnottobeamonk. Instead,herodewithChristina,asdeartohimasanypersonhad everbeen—evendearerthanLucy,whomhe’doncewishedtomarry. YetthechangeinChristinafollowingherwoundhadsnuffedoutall thoughtsofmarriage,andtherayoflightonhisbumpypathhadbeen absent far too long now.

NotsoforLucy.Sheprobablybaskedinpurelightonherstraight road to becoming a nun.

Uncleguidedtheirwagonundertheabbeygates,alongthedirttrail thatwouldsoonleadtothepathofflat,cobbledstonesthatwound throughthemonasterycomplex.Surroundedonallsidesbywoodland andgrangesofwheat,theabbeyhadonceseemedaloftyislandofgray stoneinaseaofgreenandgold—thatis,untilXanhadtraveledtoLincoln.There,he’dseenhowtinytheabbeywascomparedtobuildings such as Lincoln Castle and the now-ruined cathedral.

Asthehorses clip-clopped uponthecobbles,itseemedthat nothing hadchangedinthepastyearandahalf.Theabbey’s ivy-covered

buildings stillstoodasbefore:thescriptorium,wherethemonks copiedtheSacredScriptures;thedormitory,wherethemonksslept; therefectory,wherethemonksdined;thelibrary,whereFather AndrewhadgivenhimlessonsinLatinandhistory;theconfinement cell,wherethebanditCarlohadbeenheldforalmostayearbefore theirjourneytoLincoln;theeight-sidedchapterhouse,wherethe monks met for important meetings.

Uncledrovethewagontowardthemainabbeychurch,thegrandest buildinginthecomplex,withits high-arched ceilingsandawindow ofcoloredglassthathadbeendonatedyearsearlierbyLordGodfrey. Onthestepsstoodtwomonksinblackwoolenrobes,hoodedcowls hangingoverthebacksoftheirsleevelessscapulars,whichhungto theirkneesonthefrontandbackoftheirrobes.Theoldermonkhad wild,silvereyebrows,andhewaspointingathickfingeratapudgy, clean-shaven monk.

Xanchuckled.“There’sBrotherLeolecturingpoorBrother Bernard.”

“That thieving monk you told me about?” Christina said.

He’dtoldherhowBrotherBernardhadleftGrentonPrioryindisgraceafterXanandhisfriendshadsolvedthemysteryofthestolen ruby.FatherClement,thenewabbotatHarwood,hadacceptedthe waywardmonkontheconditionthatBrotherLeowouldsupervisehis rehabilitation.

“Don’tworry.I’msurethatgrumpyBrotherLeohasbeatenhissins out of him by now. ”

Heandtheirritableoldmonkhadneverseeneyetoeye.Indeed, perhapsBrotherLeo’stwobestactshadbeentopaddlethebullyJohn inpublicand,later,toconvincetheblindedJohntoaccompanythem to Grenton Priory for Father Andrew’s ordination.

Unclehaltedthewagoninfrontofthemonks,whoseemedsurprised by its passengers.

“Icannotbelievemyeyes,”BrotherLeosaidtoXan,athinsmile gracinghissour,wrinkledface.“Youhavereturned,boy,afterallthis time. Father Andrew will be in his glory today.”

BrotherBernardraisedhishandsinacheer.“Suchacleverboy!” Themonkhadlostsomeweightsincehe’dcometoHarwoodAbbey. He probably hadn’t been hunting conies anymore.

FatherPhilipdismountedandtooktheleadwiththeintroductions andformalgreetings.Asluckwouldhaveit,they’dmadeittotheabbey just after terce, the monks’ midmorning prayers.

“Let me run and find the prior and abbot,” Brother Bernard said.

Therewasnoneedforthat.Bothmonksrushedupthesteps,having heardthehorses’hoofbeatsandseentheir long-awaited guests.Father Clement,thenewabbot,stillworeathickwhitebeard,althoughhis once-protruding bellynolongerpushedoutfromunderhisrobe. FatherAndrew,thenewprior,nowboreabeardasfullastheabbot’s, withspecksofgraywithinhisdarkwhiskers.Hiseyeswerestilldifferent colors: blue and brown.

“Xan!”

FatherAndrewspokenoothergreetingexcepttowrapbothrobed armsaroundhimandsqueezeforaslongasthemomentwouldallow. When he finally let go, tears streamed to his beard.

“Youhavebecomeaman,myson.Youreyeshavegrownbrowner andwisersinceyouleft.Thechoicesofyourlifehaveservedyou well.”

Littledidthemonkknowhowoftenhestillwonderedaboutallthe choices he’d made.

“So,Prior;you’rethemonkXanalwaystalksabout,”Christinasaid, curtsying. “He thinks you’re the holiest man in England, you know.”

FatherAndrewgrinned.“ByAdam,ifthatiswhatXansays,then hehasbecomeabold-facedliar.”Thenhiseyesgrewrounder,noting theface-veilthathidChristina’sjaggedscar.“Hehasalsowrittentome about your courage and kind heart, young lady.”

She gave a nod but turned her face away from him.

“AndIcome,Abbot,withagiftforthisabbey,”UncleWilliamsaid, bowing.“Youmonkssavedmynephew’slifewhenthosebanditsleft himfordead.ForthatIameternallygrateful.”MaybeUnclehad packedsomeoftheirsavingsintothatthirdchestasanofferingof thanks.

Theystoodawhileonthestepsofthechurch,catchinguponbits ofnews.LordGodfreyhadrebuiltHardonburyManoringreaterglory thanithadbeenbeforeCarloandthebanditRummyhadburnedit totheground.FatherAndrew’smotherhadpaidavisittotheabbey duringLent,communingwarmlywithhersonandprayingbythe gravesideoftheoldabbot,hercousin.Themostsurprisingtiding, though,wasthattheformerbullyJohnhadbecomeoneoftheabbey’s topnovicesandwouldtakehisfinalvowsasamonkwhenheturned sixteen.

“ItprovesagainhowGodbringsgoodfromtheunlikeliestplaces,” Father Andrew said.

Still,howoddthatJohn’sbriefblindnesshadopenedhiseyestothe truelightandgivenhimXan’sspotattheabbey,whileXanhadjourneyed away only to stumble upon a blind path.

Asthebellstolledthemonksbacktotheirlabors,atallerboywith redhairandabroomstickinhisfistdartedupthesteps,nearlybowling themoverwithhisenthusiasm.“You’reback!”Hisfreckledcheekshad matured,andhewassotallthathecouldstandeye-to-eyewithXan. Still,therecouldbenodoubtwhothiswas,fromthejoyinhiseyesto the fire in his hair.

“Joshua?”Hegrabbedtheboybytheshoulders.“Isthatreally you?” Joshuagrinned.“I’masbigasyounow,Xan!Didtheyshrinkyouin Lincoln?”

Theabbotlaughedandthengazedatagroupofmonksheadingto thescriptorium.“Themornisescapingalready.Willyoustayhereas our guests in the dormitory during your trip?”

“Thankyou,Abbot,”FatherPhilipsaid.“WemustreturntoPenwoodlatertodaytospendtimewithsomefriendsIknow,butwewill return on the morrow and gladly be your guests.”

Theabbotpointedtotherefectory.“Verywell,butbeforeyou depart,youandWilliammustatleastjointhepriorandmeforsome conversation over a pint of ale.”

“Joshua,”FatherAndrewsaid,smiling.“TakeXanovertotheconvent.Iknowsomeonewhowillwishtoseehim.”Hewasspeaking about Lucy, of course—or perhaps Sister Regina.

Joshua bobbed his head. “C’mon, Xan! You know how to get there.”

Soontheywereheadingtowardthegranges,withChristinafollowingclosebehind.Butonlywhensheclearedherthroatloudlydidhe realize that he’d failed to introduce her.

“Oh,right!Joshua,thisisChristina,my—well,she’s . . .she’smy dearest friend, actually.”

Hereyesstudiedhisfacefromaboveherveil.Perhapsshewas searchingforsignsofajestbecauseLucyhadalwaysbeenhisbest friend.

“Well,Alexander,we’llseejusthowdearIreallyamwhenwegetto that nunnery. ”

About the Author

AntonyBaroneKolencretiredasaLieutenantColonelfromtheU.S. AirForceJudgeAdvocateGeneral’sCorpsaftertwenty-oneyearsof militaryservice.Hehasbeenalawprofessorforoveradecade,publishingnumerouslegalworks.Hespeaksin middle-school classrooms aroundthenation,aswellasatconferencesonwriting,homeeducation,andlegaltopics.Heandhiswife,Alisa,haveseveralwonderful children and grandchildren.

Other Books by Antony Barone Kolenc

Harwood Mystery Series

Shadow in the Dark

The Haunted Cathedral

The Fire of Eden

The Merchant’s Curse

Xan and Christina embark on a journey to Harwood Abbey, where they reunite with their old friends, Lucy and Joshua. When a brutal murder occurs at nearby Penwood Manor, all evidence points to Laurence, a Crusader recently returned from the Holy Land. Unconvinced of the man’s guilt, Xan and his friends must act swiftly to solve the crime.

Who could have committed such a horrible killing? Is anyone safe?

Is Laurence tormented by demons, or is he haunted by some other secret?

And will Xan be forever changed by the choice Lucy and Christina present to him? ISBN: