A Mortal Bane(146)

“I thought Baldassare would have hidden the pouch in the stable, not wanting to bring it into a whorehouse. I thought I could get it and get away without ever meeting him in the church, without ever taking the chance that he would recognize me.”

“But he did recognize you when you came to ask for the pouch, so you had a double reason to silence him.”

“No, I did not. I did not. I never came near him,” Beaumeis cried, beginning to sob again. “I never had a chance to ask for the pouch. I told you. I was in the back of the nave and I saw he did not have the pouch, but I could not approach him. He had stayed near the north door, waiting for the monks and those who came to the service to leave. I had to wait, too, of course, and I was thinking, how to disguise my voice and who I should say I was. And it was dark, because when the monks left, they took their torches and tapers with them, so I was feeling my way forward when I saw a light coming from the monks’ entrance.”

Everyone tensed with interest. Father Benin and several others in the room drew breath sharply. Another witness, even another suspect, would be welcome. All knew of the grudge Winchester held against Beaumeis. All were sure they had been summoned to listen to Beaumeis so they could testify that he was guilty and that the bishop had not punished him to satisfy his own spite; and all feared everyone would say they bowed to Winchester’s will only because they feared him.

Perfectly aware of his audience’s emotions, Winchester asked eagerly, “Who was it? Did he see Baldassare?”

“I do not know who it was.” Beaumeis sounded exhausted now, almost indifferent. “One of the monks. He wore a robe with the hood pulled well forward. And he did not see Baldassare at first. He just walked across the chancel to the apse, went behind the altar, and started to stoop down.”

Although he was disappointed that Beaumeis could not identify the man, Winchester was not completely dissatisfied. Once a miscreant reached exhaustion, he was very likely to tell everything he knew, being more eager to escape the questioning and rest than to save himself.

“Your eyes must have been accustomed to the dark by then.” Winchester made his voice sharp and accusatory. “The light from the altar lamp and his taper should have been bright enough for you to see him clearly.”

“It was, but his back was to me and I could not see his face or why he was stooping. But Baldassare must have seen him, because he came forward and said, ‘So it is you. Well, I suppose you know what you are doing. Wait here. I will go and—’ Then the monk jerked upright, hushed him, and hurried toward him. He said, ‘I can explain it all.’ And Baldassare said, ‘You do not need to explain. I understand very well.’ The monk then put his hand on Baldassare’s shoulder and urged him toward the north door. He was holding the light out and it guttered, and Baldassare was in the way. I still could not see his face.”

“How unfortunate.” The bishop’s voice was cold.

“It is the truth. I would tell you if I could.” Beaumeis burst into tears again. “God’s curse on him for killing Baldassare and laying that burden on my soul. I meant no ill, only to help Archbishop Theobald, who is a good man.” His voice checked; he glanced at the bishop’s face and shivered, and his eyes moved around the room like those of a hunted animal. Then suddenly he burst out, “It was the sacristan. I was afraid to speak before. I was sure you would not believe me.”

There was a dead silence. Every head in the room turned toward Brother Paulinus. Father Benin rose from his seat, but the bishop put a hand on his arm and he stood still.

“I was in the church that night,” Brother Paulinus said. He spoke calmly, without the frantic excitement that had marked both of his visits to Magdalene’s house and his accusation of her in the prior’s chamber. “I had been walking in the cloister after Compline service, and when I entered the slype, I thought I heard voices in the church. Naturally, I looked in the door, and I thought I saw a gleam of light moving, so I lit a candle and went in. I think I called out, ‘Who is there?’ but I cannot swear to that. No one answered, but a breeze almost blew out my candle and I realized the north door was open. I went and closed it.”