Read Satan's Lullaby for Free Online Page B

up at the man. Had marriage softened him, he asked himself, and then determined that it was just fatigue. Since his wife did not sleep well, he often awoke himself and worried over her health.
    The man smiled down at him. “I am the captain of the guard sent by the king to accompany Father Etienne and his clerks from the coast to this priory. Conan is my name.”
    Ralf gestured to a serving woman for more ale. “A Breton?”
    The man laughed. “My forbearer followed the Conqueror, and the family has loyally served the kings since. It has long been the custom to name the first son William and the second Conan after the one who fought at Hastings.”
    And this man has swung enough swords himself, Ralf thought, considering the scarred face of the one who now sat across from him at the table. “You have seen a few battles.”
    “Ah, you see the beauty it has left me with!” Conan rubbed a hand over his scars. “The Welsh fight like demons and little care if a man might want to bed a woman before dark when she might still see his face.” He smiled, then looked around. “The only thing that saddens me is that I sometimes frighten the wee ones.”
    Ralf felt the sorrow and liked the man for that particular regret. “Guarding a priest and a company of clerks must be a relief from battling the Welshmen.”
    Conan raised the half eyebrow still remaining and bent closer to speak softly. “I’d rather the howls of the Welsh devils. I pray as much as any Christian, but we had to stop every time we heard a church bell toll on the journey here. The ride to this village took twice as long, and we did not always reach decent inns or priories by nightfall. These clerks are not accustomed to sleeping on beds of leaves. Soft creatures, they are, despite the hair shirts they claim to wear.”
    Ralf raised his cup in agreement.
    “Tell me about this inn and the village of Tyndal,” Conan took a long drink of ale and nodded with appreciation.
    “Yes, the ale is good here, as is the food. You will sleep in clean straw, suffer no flea bites, and get honest value for your coin.” Ralf hesitated. “No whores. The innkeeper will not allow her women to offer that comfort to any patrons.”
    “Are you sure?” Conan tilted his head in the direction of one woman.
    “If they do, they find another place to lie with a man.”
    The captain smiled. “And what pleasure does the village offer?”
    Ralf laughed. “If pious talk delights you, there are enough pilgrims stopping at the inn on the way to shrines in Norwich to the east or Walsingham to the west. Many more come to the priory to seek cures for the ills men suffer. The hospital there is known throughout England for successful cures.” He winked at Conan. “With the king’s invasion of Wales, Tyndal’s reputation may have spread to that land as well.” He waited but got no response. “Otherwise, there will be a market day soon for entertainment.”
    Conan briefly looked over his shoulder when someone shouted, then he turned his attention back to Ralf. “Can the hospital cure a man of ugliness?” Lest Ralf think he was serious, Conan laughed.
    “If it did,” Ralf retorted, “my face would have blinded you with its perfection.”
    A silence fell as the men drank.
    “Tell me more of this famous priory. I have heard that it has a mill and fine guest quarters.” He shrugged. “We did not enter the gate. Once we safely delivered the priest and his wagons full of clerks, we were directed to the inn. I was hoping to see more of this unusual place that houses both monks and nuns.”
    “If you walk back on the road toward the main entrance, you will find a gate in the wall. Those who use the mill take their grain in there, and so the grounds are open. Occasionally, you may see a monk, although it’s mostly lay brothers who trim the trees, tend the hives, and serve the needs of the mill. The guest quarters are to the right of that path, across a small bridge over a branch of the