A Mortal Bane(67)

Bell nodded acknowledgment and released Knud’s arm, but said only, “I need to speak to the infirmarian now.”

Knud bowed slightly and gestured toward the south end of the hall, where a sturdy partition was broken by a solid door. “You will find him within.”

With a hand on the infirmary door, Bell watched Knud walk away. Then he opened the door and stepped inside. His first impression was one of pleasure. The room was full of light from three windows, east, west, and south, open to the spring air. It was also warm from fires blazing in two hearths, which were obviously new additions as the stone was different from that of the walls. The air was redolent of spices; Bell took a deep breath and then coughed. Beneath that pleasant scent was a musk of sickness. An elderly monk with kind eyes and a worried expression hurried up to him.

“Are you ill, my son?”

“No, Brother,” Bell replied. “I am the bishop’s knight, and he has asked me to look into this dreadful murder. I understand that you examined the body and cared for it. Can you tell me when you think Messer Baldassare died and what killed him?”

The infirmarian looked over his shoulder at the four occupied cots. In two, near the hearth on the west wall, a pair of very old men were sleeping. In one near the window on the south wall, a young monk was sitting propped up praying, sliding the beads of his rosary through his fingers. The last cot was on the east wall, and another young monk was tossing to and fro on it, a lay brother seated beside him on a stool. The infirmarian sighed and shook his head.

“Come, we can walk in the cloister while I tell you what little I learned of Messer Baldassare’s death.”

Here, Bell thought, listening to Brother Infirmarian, was no withholding and little doubt. He was glad to learn that the infirmarian’s observations tallied exactly with his own, although the monk had drawn no conclusions from the condition of the wound or the body’s stiffness. Bell put forward his ideas about the killing. The infirmarian’s eyes widened with surprise and recognition.

“Yes, I agree. I would never have thought of it, but so clean a cut and so deep a wound must mean that the murderer took deliberate aim and meant to kill, and poor Messer Baldassare did not expect the blow or try to defend himself against it. Oh, dear! How dreadful! Why?”

“When I know why, I may also know who,” Bell said. He thought for a moment, but could find nothing more he wanted to ask. The infirmarian, he believed, was hiding nothing and was likely unaware of any undercurrents flowing through the priory. “Thank you, Brother Infirmarian,” he said. “I am very glad to have your confirmation of my conclusions.”

“I do not understand men who do such things,” the old monk said sadly, and then smiled. “I suppose that is why I am here and not out in the world.” Then his eyes grew shadowed. “But there is no escape from evil. It has followed us right to the door of our church, has it not? It must be fought.”

“That is my work, Brother,” Bell said. “I hope I can root it out for you. That is the bishop’s order.”

“A good man.” The smile was back. “Not perhaps totally patient and submissive to God’s will, but of good heart and great wisdom.”

When the infirmarian had nodded at him and returned to his duties, Bell stood irresolute. What he wanted to do was go to the Old Priory Guesthouse, and because he recognized the strength of the desire as being unhealthy, he sought to curb it, but there really was nothing else he could think of to ask, except…yes, ask for a list of the visitors who had stayed at the priory on Wednesday night. At the gate, he communicated this need to the porter.