A Mortal Bane(89)

The fatal knife wound could have been an accident, Bell thought, but many of Magdalene’s clients were knights and some could be attached to the Empress Matilda’s party. Still, he would expect an accounting of every minute of Beaumeis’s time before forgetting that the man had traveled all the way from Rome with Baldassare. All the way from Rome? And never found an opportunity to steal the bull or murder his companion? The journey together was something Bell had not considered.

“It is most worrisome,” Father Benin said, and Bell realized the prior had been telling him something he had not taken in.

“I am sorry—” he began.

“Oh, please do not say that Brother Paulinus must be the thief because he was the only one who had a key to the safe box. Sometimes Brother Paulinus can be difficult—even violent—because of his strong convictions, but I cannot believe he would steal from the church.”

Bell blinked. “Steal from the church? For what purpose? Not for luxurious living. What did you say was stolen? I am afraid I was still thinking about the murder.”

Father Benin, who was as much troubled by the theft of the pyx because of the shadow it cast on Brother Paulinus as by the death of Baldassare, told the story again willingly, repeating in a voice that now trembled with doubt how impossible it was for the sacristan, even to repair his beloved buildings, to be guilty.

“And when did this theft take place?” Bell asked.

Father Benin sighed. “We do not really know. It would have to be after the plate was cleaned and inspected for the Sunday service last week and before it was again removed from the safe box yesterday.”

“It could have been stolen Wednesday night, then?”

“The same night as the murder? Would that not be too much of a coincidence?”

“If it was a coincidence at all,” Bell said.





Chapter Twelve



23 April 1139





Old Priory Guesthouse



“That Brother Patric be a nice boy,” Dulcie said as she brought in a large bowl of porridge and began to serve it into smaller bowls. “He said he be sorry I had t’ walk so far t’ attend th’ service this mornin’ ‘stead o’ just coming across th’ back like I did before.”

Magdalene waited until Dulcie’s eyes came to her face and said slowly and loudly, “Most of the monks do not blame you for our sins. They know one must work to eat.” She saw Dulcie nod, to indicate that she had understood, and went on. “That was why I said you must go to Mass. You are still a good daughter of the Church, not excommunicate. If you swear under oath we were all here when Baldassare was murdered, they must accept your word.”

[page]Dulcie laughed at that. “It even be true—not that it matters,” she said. “I be dead in th’ street if you didn’ take me in. Yair, I be a good daughter o’ th’ Church. An’ don’ I know how easy it be t’ get absolution fer a lie—a lie tol’ t’ help a friend. No need t’ say what lie. Priest never asks. If penance be in silver—you pay. I know that. ‘Nd I don’ mind extra aves. Like to pray, I do. Sounds pretty in me head.”

Finished serving out the porridge, she brought a platter of thin-sliced ham from the kitchen and a tray of yesterday’s bread fried in lard. Then she went back to fetch pitchers of milk and ale before sitting down at the end of the table, as she often did when there were no clients and none were expected. Sunday breakfast was a big, leisurely meal. The morning was always free because nearly everyone was in church, and those hardened sinners who did not attend Mass were not the kind of men that Magdalene accepted as clients.