Magdalene stepped off the stool and bent to wash the chosen strip of wall down to where Sabina had already cleaned the stone course that met the floor. She bit her lip, feeling a fool, as she so often did when dealing with William. Almost everyone in Southwark knew he frequented her house and was her protector. Naturally, he could not ignore her. It was necessary for him to greet her and then for him to pass her by as if she were just one more of the large number of men and women from the surrounding area who were cleaning as she was. And how could she believe he would not have a good and sufficient reason for being in full armor? Likely he had a full troop with him, too. That would be only natural if he was going to speak to Waleran de Meulan’s brother.
William had reached the dais, and the prior sat back on his heels, lifting a swollen-eyed, tear-streaked face to him. “A thousand men could not remove the stain, I fear,” he said, his voice rough with weeping.
“Why do you wish to remove it?” William asked, looking astonished. His harsh voice was loud above the soft sounds of rags on stone and splashing, dripping water. “Surely you have already cleaned away the pollution of murder. You should not want to wipe away the memory of the good brother’s death also. Was he not a martyr because of the sin of greed? The spilled blood of war makes the earth rich and fruitful. Will not the stains in the stone make more fervent your prayers for escape from temptation and for the grace of mercy?”
Father Benin blinked, then stared up at William of Ypres’s coarse-featured face with its hard mouth and cold eyes. Slowly his terror, his oppression of hopeless grief, diminished. He had not been comforted by the statements of the Bishop of Winchester, who knew the rules of the Church as a scholar knows the rules of mathematics but had little faith and little love of God. But this! Such a sentiment could not come from so brutal a man unless it was God-inspired. A question rose to Father Benin’s lips, but Lord William had already transferred his attention to the Bishop of Winchester. The prior swallowed what he had wished to ask. Whatever had inspired Lord William was gone now.
“What happened?” Ypres asked. “Got a crazy story of a gang of thieves that came to rob the church and killed a monk while they were getting the plate. Did they get it all? I could help with a chalice and an offering dish.”
“It is not so bad as that,” Winchester said. “We do not actually know whether anything was taken. What we do know is that some of the pieces that were solid silver and gold have been replaced by plated copies.”
“Plated copies?” William repeated. “How can that be possible? The real piece would have had to be taken to whoever did the copying. I am no metalsmith, but if the plate of St. Mary Overy is anything like that of my church, it is ornate and could not be copied in a candlemark or two. Would not the sacristan have noticed that a piece was gone before the copy could be substituted?”
“I had not thought of that, but you are quite right, Lord William,” the bishop said.
“God have mercy on us!” The prior sighed as he got to his feet. “That means it must be someone in the priory, someone who would be able to remove the pieces, then return them while the goldsmith created the copies, and then bring the copies to replace the originals.”
Stepping up on the stool again to begin washing another section of the wall, Magdalene had to struggle to keep her expression indifferent. That William! He had turned so he could see both Winchester and the prior; his back was to the church. No one could seem less interested in the cleaning process or expect less that anything would come of it. Moreover, she suspected he had about as much interest in what had happened to the church plate as he had in what the monks would have for dinner. It was the subject of primary interest to the bishop and the prior, however, and one they would be unable to resist talking about and speculating over. And if that topic failed to keep their interest long enough, she was quite sure that William would have another one ready.
Fortunately, providing another topic was not necessary. Father Benin would not have noticed, but Winchester might well have smelled bad fish if William lingered after discussion of the theft ended. As she began to wash another strip of wall, Magdalene found herself mentally urging more speed and less scrupulous care on the part of the workers on the other side. Probably that had not the smallest effect; however, before the prior had fully described the discovery of the fakes, the novice washing the opposite wall moved his ladder beside the St. Christopher relief. He wrung out his cleaning cloth, climbed three rungs, and cried out with surprise that something was lodged between the Christ Child and His bearer.
Magdalene could have cheered when William only looked from the prior, who had been speaking, to Winchester. It was the bishop who turned swiftly, stepped down from the dais, and as he saw what the boy was drawing from the hollow behind the Christ Child, almost ran to the foot of the ladder. By then, everyone in the church had stopped work to look, and it was safe for Magdalene to turn and stare with the others.
The prior and William had followed Winchester and were beside him as he reached up to take the pouch from the boy’s hand. Winchester was staring at the complex knot of the cords that bound the pouch, and the prior bent his head toward it, too, sighing, “Sealed. It is still sealed.”