A Mortal Bane (36 page)

William had reached the dais, and the prior sat back on his heels, lifting a swollen-eyed, tear-streaked face to him. “A thousand men could not remove the stain, I fear,” he said, his voice rough with weeping.

“Why do you wish to remove it?” William asked, looking astonished. His harsh voice was loud above the soft sounds of rags on stone and splashing, dripping water. “Surely you have already cleaned away the pollution of murder. You should not want to wipe away the memory of the good brother’s death also. Was he not a martyr because of the sin of greed? The spilled blood of war makes the earth rich and fruitful. Will not the stains in the stone make more fervent your prayers for escape from temptation and for the grace of mercy?”

Father Benin blinked, then stared up at William of Ypres’s coarse-featured face with its hard mouth and cold eyes. Slowly his terror, his oppression of hopeless grief, diminished. He had not been comforted by the statements of the Bishop of Winchester, who knew the rules of the Church as a scholar knows the rules of mathematics but had little faith and little love of God. But this! Such a sentiment could not come from so brutal a man unless it was God-inspired. A question rose to Father Benin’s lips, but Lord William had already transferred his attention to the Bishop of Winchester. The prior swallowed what he had wished to ask. Whatever had inspired Lord William was gone now.

“What happened?” Ypres asked. “Got a crazy story of a gang of thieves that came to rob the church and killed a monk while they were getting the plate. Did they get it all? I could help with a chalice and an offering dish.”

“It is not so bad as that,” Winchester said. “We do not actually know whether anything was taken. What we do know is that some of the pieces that were solid silver and gold have been replaced by plated copies.”

“Plated copies?” William repeated. “How can that be possible? The real piece would have had to be taken to whoever did the copying. I am no metalsmith, but if the plate of St. Mary Overy is anything like that of my church, it is ornate and could not be copied in a candlemark or two. Would not the sacristan have noticed that a piece was gone before the copy could be substituted?”

“I had not thought of that, but you are quite right, Lord William,” the bishop said.

“God have mercy on us!” The prior sighed as he got to his feet. “That means it
must
be someone in the priory, someone who would be able to remove the pieces, then return them while the goldsmith created the copies, and then bring the copies to replace the originals.”

Stepping up on the stool again to begin washing another section of the wall, Magdalene had to struggle to keep her expression indifferent. That William! He had turned so he could see both Winchester and the prior; his back was to the church. No one could seem less interested in the cleaning process or expect less that anything would come of it. Moreover, she suspected he had about as much interest in what had happened to the church plate as he had in what the monks would have for dinner. It was the subject of primary interest to the bishop and the prior, however, and one they would be unable to resist talking about and speculating over. And if that topic failed to keep their interest long enough, she was quite sure that William would have another one ready.

Fortunately, providing another topic was not necessary. Father Benin would not have noticed, but Winchester might well have smelled bad fish if William lingered after discussion of the theft ended. As she began to wash another strip of wall, Magdalene found herself mentally urging more speed and less scrupulous care on the part of the workers on the other side. Probably that had not the smallest effect; however, before the prior had fully described the discovery of the fakes, the novice washing the opposite wall moved his ladder beside the St. Christopher relief. He wrung out his cleaning cloth, climbed three rungs, and cried out with surprise that something was lodged between the Christ Child and His bearer.

Magdalene could have cheered when William only looked from the prior, who had been speaking, to Winchester. It was the bishop who turned swiftly, stepped down from the dais, and as he saw what the boy was drawing from the hollow behind the Christ Child, almost ran to the foot of the ladder. By then, everyone in the church had stopped work to look, and it was safe for Magdalene to turn and stare with the others.

The prior and William had followed Winchester and were beside him as he reached up to take the pouch from the boy’s hand. Winchester was staring at the complex knot of the cords that bound the pouch, and the prior bent his head toward it, too, sighing, “Sealed. It is still sealed.”

Over their heads, William’s eyes met Magdalene’s for a brief, meaningful moment. Then he laid a hand on Winchester’s arm and asked, “Have we any right to open this? Should it not be taken to the king?”

“This is Church business,” Winchester replied immediately. “What has it to do with the king? If the archbishop—” He sounded as if he wished to spit, but his voice smoothed as he added, “—were here, it might be his right, but likely he is still in Rome—”

“Whatever must be done were better decided in private,” Father Benin interrupted.

William and the bishop agreed at once. Each, Magdalene knew, had his own plans for the contents of the pouch, but both realized that their arguments had best be made out of public hearing. She returned to her scrubbing as the prior led the others not to the monks’ entrance, but out the main door. Her surprise lasted only a moment before she realized that the prior wished to avoid the chapel where Brother Godwine lay—as Baldassare had lain before him.

The thought brought a pang of regret into the relief she felt over the discovery of the pouch. Her hope that the killer would betray himself either by searching for it in her house or trying to discover whether she knew what had become of it had not been fulfilled. No one had searched after the stable had been turned over…except Bell.

Magdalene swallowed and scrubbed harder. No. That was mad. Even if the bishop and Bell were both monsters, what reason could Winchester have to order Baldassare’s murder? The messenger would have delivered the bull to him in any case. And neither of them could have any reason to kill Brother Godwine or meddle with the church plate.

William? No, she knew him well. He was likely enough to order a murder without a second thought, but she was ready to swear on her life that he had not known when Baldassare would arrive and had hoped, until she sent him news of the messenger’s death, that Baldassare would come to Rochester and accept his escort to the king. And William would have no more reason than Bell or the bishop to attack Godwine.

She reached the bottom, moved her stool, rinsed and wrung out her rag, and began to wash a new area of wall. She hardly realized what she had done. All she could think of was that Godwine’s death might have nothing at all to do with Baldassare’s. Or it might. Godwine was the porter at the gate. He might have recognized someone who had come in that night and not left, or had done some other suspicious thing. Had not Brother Patric said Godwine wished to pray over something that troubled him? But how did that fit with the open safe box? The faked plate? The candlestick used to kill him? Surely Brother Godwine had surprised a thief and died of it.

By dinnertime, Magdalene had got no further in her thoughts, but more than half the church had been purified and more townsfolk were coming in to help clean. Magdalene gathered her women and took them home to eat, rest, and welcome the day’s clients. They found Bell waiting for them, tired and frustrated.

“We still have not laid hands on Beaumeis,” he said to Magdalene as soon as Dulcie had disappeared into the kitchen and the other women into their chambers. “He did not show his face once at his lodging, nor in the cathedral, nor to any friend, nor in those haunts known to his friends.”

“Maybe for good reason,” Magdalene said, sinking down on the bench and wearily placing her elbows on the table. “He may have given up on getting the pouch when he did not find it in Buchuinte’s house and fled, but one thing troubles me. I cannot imagine how he could have gotten hold of the keys of the priory. No one trusted him enough to lend them to him or, probably, to allow him even to touch them to do an errand.”

“That may be true, but his absence from his lodging last night is very suspicious. And Godwine may have let him into the priory. How would we know now that Godwine is dead? Most significant is that he had the most compelling reasons to want Baldassare dead, for if Winchester did not get the bull, surely Baldassare would have spoken out about having carried it to England.”

“But how could Beaumeis have gotten the candlestick?”

“I can guess that. Say Godwine went to look at the candlesticks because he had noticed something different about them. Remember he told Brother Patric he was troubled. Say he took the candlestick out and was examining it and Beaumeis came in with the intention of searching for the pouch. If Brother Godwine had been kneeling behind the altar, Beaumeis would not have seen him—whatever light he carried would have mingled with that of the altar lamp—and Godwine might not have noticed Beaumeis. If Brother Godwine then rose and saw Beaumeis, he could have challenged him, asked what he was doing, possibly even remembered that he had seen Beaumeis after Vespers on the night Baldassare was killed.”

“Yes, I see.” Magdalene shivered. “If Brother Godwine had put the candlestick down on the altar and asked Beaumeis his business, that little rat could easily have come over to Brother Godwine sure he could lie his way out of anything, but if Brother Godwine would not be satisfied and perhaps asked what he was doing so late in the priory on the day Baldassare was killed, Beaumeis might have snatched up the candlestick and…. He had killed before. I have heard it grows easier each time.” She shuddered again. “I cannot imagine that.”

“It is true, I assure you,” Bell said, his mouth tightening into a grim line. “If Beaumeis had killed Baldassare, he would have found it easier to silence Brother Godwine.”

“Do you think he has fled?”

“Yes, and I think I know where he went. I sent a good man to St. Albans. Father Benin told me that Beaumeis is a nephew—sister’s son—to the abbot—”

“So that was why he was forgiven so many transgressions,” Magdalene exclaimed. “I often wondered why the prior did not put him out. He was forever cheating and skipping classes to come here to whine about my prices.” She shook her head. “I wonder what the abbot would have said if he learned what Beaumeis bought with the money he was given for living expenses.” Then she frowned. “If he
is
there, I doubt the abbot will give him up to your man.”

“I will leave that problem to the bishop. I know how difficult it might be to drag Beaumeis out of the monastery even if I can prove him guilty. The Church prefers to deal with its own, and he has been ordained a deacon. For now, I only want to talk to him, and I think the abbot will permit that. Knowing he is safe, he may even be willing to tell the truth, which is what I need to hear. I have made a good case for his being the murderer, but I have no evidence—except that he was in the priory the day Baldassare was killed. All the rest is guesswork.”

Magdalene sighed. “Well, I suppose it is better that it be he than another. Let me go wash and dress. I think Dulcie will bring in dinner in a quarter candlemark.”

Bell nodded. “May I join you for the meal? I meant to find something at a cookshop, but I had to tell the bishop about Beaumeis’s absence from his lodgings and the result of my search for the goldsmith, so I came here….”

“Of course. You are more than welcome.”

When they had gathered around the table, however, to everyone’s surprise, Ella did not seem to subscribe to that sentiment. She scowled at Bell and asked severely, “Did you not care that you left us in danger of our lives last night?”

“In danger?” Bell looked from one face to another. “Did something happen last night after Magdalene returned? I thought it was safe enough for her to walk through the back gate. The monks had scoured the churchyard.”

“Nothing happened,” Magdalene said, shaking her head at Ella. “I came home quite safely. I cannot imagine what Ella is talking about.”

“The door was unlocked,” Ella said. “You took the key and left us in an open house while a murderer is loose. He could have come in and slain us all in our beds. And I heard noises in the night and saw a light in the stable. I was so frightened….”

“Someone was in the stable?” Bell asked sharply.

Magdalene sighed; that secret was out. “It was I, you silly girl.” She turned her head toward Bell. “I sent Tom the Watchman with a message to William to tell him about the murder. I was trying to avoid frightening the others. I suppose the bishop told you that the pouch was discovered?”

“Yes, and that William of Ypres was there.” Bell’s gaze was definitely sardonic, but Magdalene met his eyes with bland indifference.

“Did Lord Winchester tell you what was in the pouch?” she asked. “I am so curious. We have talked about it so often. Were our guesses right?”

“Yes, in fact, they were, at least about the bull naming the bishop as legate. There was also a letter to the king. Of course, we do not know what it said, but since it is just a letter, the bishop and Lord William assumed it must be a confirmation of Stephen’s right to be king. If the pope had changed that decision, he would surely have sent one of his cardinals to Stephen to explain what he had done and why.”

“And did they decide to send the pouch to the king?” Magdalene asked eagerly, not because she cared, but to disguise her relief at having the contents described to her; now she would not need to fear mentioning what was in the pouch when she was not supposed to know. “I know William wanted the king to give Lord Winchester the bull to show his good will,” she added. “He hopes to effect a reconciliation between the brothers.”

“Well, he did not succeed in that. I was there by accident—I will tell you about that later—but Lord William and the bishop finally agreed to divide the spoils. Winchester kept the bull and Lord William took the letter and the remainder of the contents—letters of introduction and credit and some money—to the king.”