A Mortal Bane(127)

“My God,” he breathed, “he was struck so hard and so often that the shaft was bent.” He went down on one knee to examine the weapon more closely and soon shook his head. “No, I see. No man’s head could make such a mark.”

There was a dent in the shaft where the candlestick was bent, the bright silver deeply scratched and a duller substance showing below. Gingerly, Bell picked up the murder weapon to look closer, then turned his eyes to the altar. Not far from Brother Godwine’s head, the corner of the stone was chipped. Bell bent closer. A tiny sparkle of silver marked the edge of the chip.

Brother Patric, sobbing bitterly, had helped Prior Benin to his feet. His hands and the front of his robe were smeared with blood as if he had taken Brother Godwine’s head on his lap. “Are you—” Bell began, but was interrupted by voices and looked across the church to see another weeping monk leading through the monks’ entrance the infirmarian and two burly lay brothers bearing a stretcher and blankets.

“Brother Porter, rise up!” the sacristan cried out suddenly. “Show us the guilty one.” And when the body did not move, he raised his hands, also bloodstained, to heaven. “God! God!” he wailed. “Is it because we are not strict enough in keeping Your law that You will not vouchsafe us this miracle? Let the dead accuse his killer. There she stands!”

“Brother Sacristan!” The prior’s voice was rough with pain. “We have been granted free will so that we can solve our own problems. This killing is Satan’s work, not God’s, and we must deal with the devil ourselves.” He turned his head. “Magdalene, why are you here?”

“The sacristan insisted I should come to confront the…the body.” Her voice broke and she uttered a sob. “I am so sorry, so sorry, but it is nothing to do with me.”

The infirmarian pushed past the group of monks standing around the altar and took his turn kneeling by the body. “He did not die when this was done,” he murmured. “And what—”

Bell held out the candlestick.

Brother Patric cried out, “He was not dead? You mean if I came sooner, you could have saved him?”

“No!” the sacristan exclaimed. “No! He was dead.”

“How do you know?” Brother Patric gasped. “How could you bring the whore here so soon after Brother Elwin found him and ran for the infirmarian? You must have found him first, and instead of trying to save him, you went to accuse the whore. He died because to you, the sins of the flesh are—”

“He died because some thief beat in his head with this candlestick,” the infirmarian said firmly, then sighed. “Be at peace, brothers. Even if I had come as soon as the blow fell, I could not have saved him. The skull was crushed. There is no mending that.”





Chapter Seventeen



27 April 1139





Prior’s House; Old Priory Guesthouse



After what seemed an endless time of confusion, during which Brother Godwine’s body was carried away to be laid out for burial and Bell had gone to give the bishop the news, Magdalene found herself seated on a stool in the prior’s private chambers. Not far from her, also seated on a stool, was the prior himself, while the Bishop of Winchester occupied the prior’s chair. Beside the bishop was Guiscard de Tournai with pens and ink and parchment, recording what each had said about the crime that would make it necessary to reconsecrate St. Mary Overy church. The other monks involved in finding Brother Godwine’s body were also in the room, as was Bell.