A Mortal Bane(148)

“He was once in my keeping,” the prior said; his voice held apology for crossing the bishop’s will, but also the determination of a martyr, and he went to his monks, where he told the infirmarian to follow and do what he could for Beaumeis.

Bell drew a breath, waiting for the thunder of Winchester’s rage to explode, but the bishop sat like a graven image and Bell finally came around the table, bent close and said, “My lord, I have sent a trusty man to St. Albans and he will discover the truth of this, but I am afraid it is true. I must tell you that my men have been through all the clothing Beaumeis had in his lodgings. None were stained with what could be blood, and the woman who rents to him and does his laundry says she has found no worse than mud and vomit on his garments and nothing missing since he returned from Rome.”

[page]Without speaking, the bishop rose, possibly to leave the room, but when he turned, he saw Magdalene. To her surprise, he said, “You know Beaumeis best, I think, despite the fact that he lived with the monks in the priory. To them, he always tried to pretend virtue; he did not think enough of you or your women to pretend. Do you believe what he told us?”

Magdalene sighed. “My lord, I hate to admit it, but I do. Perhaps he is even a better actor than Guiscard said, but that tale was very convincing. I would swear he really did not know the pouch had been found in the church or that Brother Godwine had been murdered. And what he did when Baldassare was killed is just like his actions last night. He made a plan, but the moment a little thing went wrong, he ran away. Still, he is a dreadful man. I shudder to think what he will do if he is confirmed in office as a deacon.”

The rigidity of the bishop’s face eased. “Oh, I do not think that will happen. Even if he can prove himself innocent of murder, his attempt to steal a papal bull is no light fault. I think even his uncle will not object if I arrange for him to retire for many years to some monastery, perhaps as a lay brother.”

“That might be worse for him than being hanged.”

Magdalene could not help smiling as she offered that sop to the spirit of vengeance, but she had really lost interest in Beaumeis. The murderer was still not marked and she and her women were still at risk—and Winchester might be less interested in identifying the murderer now that the pouch was found and he had his bull.

“If Beaumeis is not guilty,” she went on before the bishop could move away, “and if what he said is true, it is clear that Baldassare knew the man who stopped beside the altar. My lord, do you remember that the safe box was under the altar?”

The bishop looked confused. “The safe box? But what has that to do with the pouch and Baldassare’s murder?”

“Perhaps everything,” Bell said, leaning down again and keeping his voice low. “What if Baldassare was not murdered for the pouch but for chancing upon someone he knew was stealing, or about to steal, the church plate?”

“I see,” the bishop said, sitting down again. “I see.”

“But then—” Magdalene’s voice was loud with excitement as what Beaumeis said finally made sense. Hearing it, she put a hand over her lips and looked hastily around the room.

She expected to see every churchman staring angrily at the whore who was shouting at a bishop, but she was mistaken about that. The monks were far more concerned about whether the Abbot of St. Albans would blame them for what had happened and were indifferent to her. All except the sacristan were clustered around Father Benin, and even the sacristan was not paying attention to her; he was standing a little apart, staring down at the floor. The Archdeacon of St. Paul’s was beside Guiscard, reading over his notes of the interrogation, and the priest was holding Buchuinte—who Magdalene thought was looking longingly at the door—by the sleeve and talking earnestly.