Wolves Among Us(11)

Bjorn turned back, shaking his head, and handed the money to Stefan. “Keep this.”

Erick came out of the church with a blanket, offering it to Bjorn.

“Set it there. I’ll cover them when I’m done,” Bjorn said.

Erick did what he was told. He looked as if he, too, was wandering about in a dream, lost and confused.

“Erick? Check on Mia and her home. She will worry if she hears news of this and is alone,” Stefan said. The young man nodded and disappeared into the crowd.

Bjorn turned and knelt by Catarina’s body, ran his fingers along her neck, then pushed against her cheek. Her head twisted as far as he pushed it. “Broken,” Bjorn said. The words carried to the back of the crowd with great urgency by the onlookers.

“Those are new bruises, Bjorn,” Stefan whispered. “They’re not the same bruises I saw on her last week after Cronwall disappeared.”

“Do not add to her shame,” Bjorn whispered. “Say nothing of those injuries.”

Bjorn spoke rightly, Stefan thought. Catarina had been so modest. She should not have her marriage picked over in plain view of the village. Stefan’s heart pinched a little. Why did Bjorn always know what to do and he did not?

“Bring a horse and cart here,” Bjorn said to him before turning to the crowd. “Who among you loved Catarina?”

The astronomer’s wife, Ducinda, stepped forward. She kept a palm flat on her face, her eyes red with grief.

Bjorn put his arm around her, leading her between Stefan and himself. He spoke down to her, keeping one arm around her shoulders, his hand rubbing her other shoulder. She calmed somewhat, swallowing down great sobs.

“Ducinda, you say Catarina was your friend?”

She nodded yes.

“Then you must know who would have done this.”

Ducinda looked up at him with wide eyes. “I surely do not know, sir. She was a lamb. No one would want to hurt her.”

“She said nothing to you? Nothing at all? No hints of trouble?”

Ducinda shook her head no.

Bjorn closed his eyes and exhaled. “A shame. Now, Ducinda, will you do something for your friend?”

“Anything for her, sir. And for you, of course.”

“I’ll remove the bodies to the church. Father Stefan will give you access to them. See to it they are prepared for a burial by tomorrow morning. Stefan will make sure you are reimbursed for all your expenses. But Ducinda, please,” he added, “no gossip. Gossip dishonors your friend and muddies the waters I am to fish in. Do you understand?”

Ducinda looked back at the crowd doubtfully. She pressed her arms closer into her body. “But who did this?”

“I will find out.” Bjorn rested his hand on her shoulder. “Ducinda, your job is to see that your friend is well cared for now.”

Stefan approached Bjorn. “Surely you must have an idea.”

“Look at the bodies. Cronwall has been dead for a while. Catarina is still fresh. What do you think this means?”

Stefan’s cheeks flushed, and he cleared his throat, looking at the crowd. They were of no help, looking away as soon as he met their eyes. Stefan saw all the directions they looked instead—at their feet, at the clouds, or at their hands, which were picking at dead lice clinging to their wool cloaks.

Bjorn nudged him for an answer. “All right, then,” Bjorn said, shaking his head. “Tell me this: Where was God? If God is good, why didn’t He stop this?”

“We can’t always understand His will.”

Bjorn laced his fingers together, resting them against his chin. “Let me tell you what I understand: Prayer changed nothing here.” He sighed, dropping his hands, preparing to lift Catarina’s body. He turned around, avoiding Stefan’s face and addressing the crowd. “This is what I suspect: Catarina was unfaithful. That is why Cronwall left in the middle of the storm: to confront her lover. We all knew him to be a proud man. As for her, she paid for her sin—at the hands of her lover, I am sure.”

His last words could barely be heard over the crowd.

“Why dump them here?” Stefan asked. “Why would he not conceal his crime?”

Bjorn looked at Stefan, his eyes narrowing, as if willing him to understand. “Who committed the greatest crime? Catarina cuckolded two men.”

“But why would he murder Cronwall?” Stefan said. He wished he knew more of why lovers came together and what drove them apart. He wouldn’t feel so stupid in the face of their senseless crimes.

“Cronwall must have attacked the man. The man struck back in self-defense,” Bjorn suggested. Stefan noticed that many in the crowd were still listening to Bjorn. “My wife saw the whole thing last night,” he said, looking at the crowd. “You don’t see her here, do you? She knows justice has been done.”

The crowd erupted into whispers. One of the younger girls, Iris, noticed Bjorn staring at her and tucked her chin down with a blush. Stefan understood very little of women. Older women had cold hatred in their eyes, even as their mouths worked furiously, chattering to each other. He shook his head in wonder. A scandal worthy of Avignon had come to his quiet town, and Mia had seen the whole thing, though she had smiled at him this morning and offered him breakfast.

Bjorn trotted down the church steps, parting the crowd to get through. Stefan ran to catch up to him.