“We can’t always understand His will.”
Bjorn laced his fingers together, resting them against his chin. “Let me tell you what I understand: Prayer changed nothing here.” He sighed, dropping his hands, preparing to lift Catarina’s body. He turned around, avoiding Stefan’s face and addressing the crowd. “This is what I suspect: Catarina was unfaithful. That is why Cronwall left in the middle of the storm: to confront her lover. We all knew him to be a proud man. As for her, she paid for her sin—at the hands of her lover, I am sure.”
His last words could barely be heard over the crowd.
“Why dump them here?” Stefan asked. “Why would he not conceal his crime?”
Bjorn looked at Stefan, his eyes narrowing, as if willing him to understand. “Who committed the greatest crime? Catarina cuckolded two men.”
“But why would he murder Cronwall?” Stefan said. He wished he knew more of why lovers came together and what drove them apart. He wouldn’t feel so stupid in the face of their senseless crimes.
“Cronwall must have attacked the man. The man struck back in self-defense,” Bjorn suggested. Stefan noticed that many in the crowd were still listening to Bjorn. “My wife saw the whole thing last night,” he said, looking at the crowd. “You don’t see her here, do you? She knows justice has been done.”
The crowd erupted into whispers. One of the younger girls, Iris, noticed Bjorn staring at her and tucked her chin down with a blush. Stefan understood very little of women. Older women had cold hatred in their eyes, even as their mouths worked furiously, chattering to each other. He shook his head in wonder. A scandal worthy of Avignon had come to his quiet town, and Mia had seen the whole thing, though she had smiled at him this morning and offered him breakfast.
Bjorn trotted down the church steps, parting the crowd to get through. Stefan ran to catch up to him.
“Are you angry with me?” Bjorn asked. Stefan waved him off, embarrassed. Bjorn knew him well. “I am just curious. What should be done next?”
“You could try praying.”
“Don’t mock me.” Stefan looked at Bjorn to see if his friend teased.
“I’m not. I’m mocking prayer.”
Bjorn ducked into a doorway with room only for Stefan to follow, giving them privacy.
“I know you do not understand what goes on between a man and a woman,” Bjorn said. “But the murders are God’s failure, not mine. I am out here every night. I answer every cry for help that I hear.”
“That’s not fair. We can’t know the mind of God. That does not mean He does not hear our cries.”
“Are you sure? That makes Him a devil, doesn’t it? That He hears and does not act?”
“You do not mean that.”
Bjorn opened his mouth to say something else, then sighed. “I’m sorry. I can’t escape these questions.”
Stefan patted him on the back. “Your profession is to blame, not you.” He gestured back toward the square. “The merchants are afraid of losing the best weeks of the market. What are you going to do?”
“A tart stirred up two men and paid for it. It doesn’t involve the merchants.”
“Two bodies left on the steps of the church? You have to arrest the man. It’s a scandal.”
Bjorn laughed, stepping out of the doorway. Stefan caught him by the arm. “You do not understand my meaning.”
“What would you have me do? Ask politely at every door, ‘Are you the man who was seduced by Cronwall’s wife and murdered them? Would you mind coming with me so I can hang you?’”
“The women are superstitious and fearful. If you do not make an arrest, they’ll travel in another direction to go to market. The first weeks of market are critical while we wait for the crops to ripen. We need the money. The church needs the money.”
“What is the reason you are so frightened? Is it the money or the scandal?”
Stefan held a finger up to stop Bjorn from saying anything more. Bjorn was failing him. But there might be a solution that saved them all. “There is an Inquisitor in nearby Eichschan,” Stefan said as the idea surfaced. “The bishop has said the Inquisitor is highly regarded by the pope, even commissioned in Nuremberg.”
“What are you saying?”
“Hear me out.”
“But this is not witchcraft. Just wickedness.”
Stefan swallowed, rubbing his hands together before weaving them through the air, as if to stir Bjorn’s imagination. “Wickedness is the Devil’s work. These circumstances are unusual for Dinfoil, and I think they merit a visit from such a man. A man of higher learning will have answers for you and the merchants. If it goes well, other villages will be talking about it too. We’ll have more visitors. More money. The prince would be pleased. Perhaps he would even mention us to the emperor.” Stefan had never argued with Bjorn. He did not know what to do after speaking, so he dropped his hands and waited.