A Mortal Bane(145)

“And to whom was the bull to be delivered? Neither I nor any member of my Household received a message to come to the church that night.”

Another silence. This time the bishop did not wait for Bell to move but himself said sharply, “Well?”

Beaumeis’s head dropped. “I intended to receive the bull,” he whispered, and then, louder, almost indignantly, “There was no harm in it. It could not have mattered to you if you received the bull a few months later, and Archbishop Theobald would by then have been known to his bishops, and…and….”

Winchester unloosened his jaws, which had gritted together, and asked, almost mildly, “Why should we believe you did not kill Messer Baldassare? You wanted the bull. You wanted it badly enough to come to the Old Priory Guesthouse last night and threaten Magdalene with a knife.” He turned his head. “Come forth, Magdalene la Batarde and tell us what happened.”

Lowering her veil so that her face could be observed, Magdalene described being wakened by the knife pricking her throat and described the remaining events of the previous evening. The priest of St. Paul’s moved uneasily. Magdalene’s lips thinned. She knew he was going to ask haughtily why anyone should believe the word of a whore over that of an ordained deacon of the Church. Before he could speak, the bishop turned baleful eyes on Beaumeis.

“Is what the whore has told us true?” he thundered.

Beaumeis cowered and began to weep again. “What if it is?” he sobbed. “She is only a whore, and I thought she had stolen the pouch from Baldassare.”

Winchester shook his head. “Are you trying to tell me that Baldassare left a whore’s house without noticing his most precious possession was missing? Do not take us for idiots! You thought he trusted you so little that he had preferred to leave his pouch in a whore’s care and she had hidden it after she heard he was dead. But he had not. Baldassare might visit a whore, but he had faith. He had placed the pouch in safer hands, in the church. The pouch was found behind the statue of St. Christopher and the Christ Child yesterday morning.”

“That is impossible!” Beaumeis exclaimed, his weeping checked by surprise and disbelief. “I saw Baldassare enter the church from the north door. I was far back in the nave because I did not want him to see me, but there were torches and tapers in the chancel and I could see him. It was a mild night. His cloak was thrown back. He did not have the pouch. There! There is the proof I did not kill him. Why should I kill him if he was not carrying the pouch I wanted?”

Magdalene’s breath drew in sharply. She knew what Beaumeis said was true. She saw Bell’s head turn, his eyes flash a glance at her, saw that he also knew Beaumeis was speaking the truth, and that he had always suspected the pouch had been hidden in her house and later moved to the church.

Winchester must have known too, but his expression did not change, nor did he look toward her. To Beaumeis, he said, “Ah, you admit you were there and you noticed that Baldassare was not carrying his pouch. You must have asked him for it and killed him because he would not tell you where it was. Then you began to search for it. When Magdalene reported the murder, she told me her stable was searched, nearly torn apart.”

[page]“But that was before,” Beaumeis protested. “I came in through the front gate before it was locked and searched the stable. I saw the horse there. That was how I knew Baldassare did stay in Magdalene’s house.”

Father Benin looked startled. All the monks moved restlessly, and Brother Paulinus uttered a squawk of protest, but Brother Infirmarian hushed him. The bishop did not acknowledge their reactions and they subsided, realizing that Magdalene must have told him the truth; he only gestured to Beaumeis to continue.