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promised not to tell the clerk’s master.”
    “An ailment most clerks suffer frequently enough,” Thomas replied with a grin. “I am sure that Father Etienne sleeps deeply in the arms of righteousness, but his clerks may dance in the embrace of imps while he does.”
    “Surely he knows this!” Prior Andrew gave an almost accurate imitation of amazement.
    “When I was a clerk, my masters either did not or chose not to know.” For an instant, a dark cloud from that memory settled over his soul, but it quickly moved away. “’Tis a pity the priest would not let me talk with the youth. I might have given Jean some advice about how to chase away the effects of wine, remedies learned in my own sinful youth.”
    Sister Anne looked at her friend with gentle amusement. “And for your sins you came to Tyndal and blessed us with your goodness.”
    Thomas felt his face turn hot with embarrassment.
    Gracia looked at him and wanted to weep. Had she spoken to Sister Anne about the prioress’ orders, her beloved monk would have been spared the indignity of Davoir’s contempt.

Chapter Seven
    Ralf drank his ale, rubbed his hand on the edge of the wood table to ease an itch, and stared at nothing in particular.
    He had stopped by the inn to tell Signy the latest details of his wife’s health. Although he and the innkeeper shared a troubled history, the tension between them eased after his marriage. Signy’s close friendship with Gytha tempered the innkeeper’s bitterness, and she no longer greeted him with sharp words and mockery as was her wont in times past. She even sat with him willingly now, something she had refused to do before his marriage unless he came with questions in his position as crowner.
    But the innkeeper was eager for news of her friend. It was rare that she could take time from the business to walk out to the manor house, although she gave her word that she would be there with Sister Anne for the birth. “And I shall even if the inn is burning to the ground,” she had solemnly vowed. Ralf had no doubt she meant it.
    When he sat down to drink his ale today, Ralf had commented to Signy about the large number of strange men at the inn tables, and she explained their presence. He had heard that the abbess of the Order of Fontevraud was sending a host of clerks to the priory but not the date of their arrival.
    He glanced around and decided the men should be a peaceful enough group. If these soldiers were sent by the king to protect the company of quill-bearing clerks, they would have been warned to behave themselves near the priory. The most he had to fear was drunkenness and a few unwelcome hands on the buttocks of the inn’s serving women.
    Thinking about the latter, he grinned over his cup of ale. The soldiers would have to seek their pleasures elsewhere. Signy was more than capable of dealing with rude gropings, protecting herself and her women.
    Having left him with the finest ale brewed by Tostig, a man who was now the crowner’s brother-in-law, the innkeeper walked around the benches of patrons, stopping briefly to chat but never pausing long. Without regret or lingering desire, Ralf watched her.
    Signy was a strikingly beautiful woman, despite her somber attire. Had he not known who she was, he might have wondered why a nun or widow dwelled in such a rough place. Although he never quite understood the reason, Signy had chosen not to marry yet expressed no longing to take vows. Instead, she had taken over the inn on her uncle’s death and brought two orphans to her home and into her heart as foster children. One of them, Nute, was growing tall and looked more like a man each day. He never saw Nute’s younger sister, whom Signy kept away from the eyes of men.
    “May I join you?”
    Ralf started with unwelcome surprise. It was rare for him to let down his guard. Representatives of the king’s justice did not live long if they did, although he was safe enough in Signy’s inn. He grunted as he looked