The bishop, having stated that the most important task facing the monks was the purification and reconsecration of their church, then winnowed out the facts surrounding Brother Godwine’s death with brutal efficiency. He listened with a stone countenance to the sacristan’s hysterical accusations and then to Magdalene’s soft-voiced defense and Bell’s firm confirmation of her statements. He then agreed with the sacristan that Magdalene’s profession was an evil—called it a necessary evil since men were imperfect creatures—and recommended that Brother Paulinus pray for Magdalene’s soul in the hope of correcting her, instead of accusing her of crimes she could not have committed.
He then determined in short order that the sacristan had gone into the church to make sure that Brother Godwine had indeed checked that the safe box was locked and had locked the door to the north porch. Instead, he had found what he insisted was the dead body of the porter and had run to catch the thief and murderer before she escaped. He assumed she had been hiding in the church and had attacked Brother Godwine to get the key to the strongbox.
Bell had started to speak, but the bishop shook his head and he subsided. Brother Patric was next. He and Brother Godwine had gone to the gate after the Compline service to let out those from the neighborhood who had attended. At about a half candlemark after Compline, Brother Godwine had gone to the church to check the safe box and lock the north door—as they had been doing since the loss of the pyx. Brother Godwine had said he would pray for a while because he was troubled over something he had seen. When Brother Elwin came to relieve Patric at the gate about a candlemark before Matins, he had gone to the church himself. He did not know why, he said, sobbing again. He had just been uneasy. He had found the body and run to fetch the prior.
When all the times and the succession of events were straight, the bishop looked down at the bent candlestick, which, now cleaned of gore, lay on the table before him. The cleaning had made more apparent the fact that the silver was only a plating over a lead base. Winchester sighed.
“It hardly seems worthwhile to kill a man for a lead candlestick.”
The prior, who had been looking at the floor and weeping softly, looked up. “It would not have been worthwhile if the candlestick was pure gold. But it is not lead. That is one of a pair of candlesticks that is solid silver.”
The bishop smiled cynically. “Alas, sometimes those who give cannot resist magnifying the worth of their gift to the Church. It is a handsome design, but—
“That pair of candlesticks was my gift,” the prior said. “And I cannot believe that Master Jacob the Alderman, who was the goldsmith that made them, cheated me.”
“I would not think so myself,” Winchester agreed, frowning. “He is a man of spotless reputation and a great artist, too. I have used him myself for a chalice for my chapel here. Nonetheless, this candlestick is lead, covered with a thin coating of silver. Come and look, Father Prior.”
The prior rose and approached the table, taking the candlestick in a hand that trembled with reluctance. Bell had followed him to the table. At first Father Benin seemed to be having difficulty even looking at what he held, his thumb running over the break that showed the base metal. But suddenly, as his thumb passed over the elaborate design, his eyes fixed and he began to examine the candlestick closely.
“No,” he said, beginning to shake his head. “This is not my candlestick. The carving is all blurred. No, no, this is not Master Jacob’s work. His was clean, every edge sharp and clear.” He turned it upside down to look under the base and nodded with satisfaction. “See, no master’s mark is here.”
The bishop and Bell both leaned forward to look. “There is not,” the bishop agreed.
Bell reached out for the candlestick, saying, “May I?” and took it from the prior’s hand, twisting it this way and that. A moment later he said, “There is a mark. See, very small, in that corner.”
Someone in the room drew a sharp breath, but Bell could not tell who, and a brief argument began about whether what Bell saw was a craftmark or some irregularity in the metal.
Bell turned his head, “Magdalene,” he said, “you are used to making out small patterns. Come and look.”
She rose with some reluctance, afraid she would not only see a mark, but recognize it. Then she thought of Brother Godwine’s battered head. Her lips firmed. There had been no need for that. A single blow would have rendered Brother Godwine unconscious; then the thief could have taken whatever he wanted and gone away. She would not protect the man who had battered in Brother Godwine’s head, client or no client. Besides, the man who made the candlestick was not necessarily connected with the murder. She lowered her gaze to the foot of the candlestick and shifted it to catch the light.
“That is a made mark,” she said, concealing a sigh of relief. Despite all her reasoning, she was glad she did not know the sign—except for one thing. “I do not know the mark,” she added, “but look here, just below it. Is that not an S? Could that mean Southwark?”
“It could mean anything,” the prior said. “Some craft-masters can read. It might be the initial of his name.”