Magdalene drew back. ‘That is a horrible picture. But can it be real? If they knew each other and were not arguing, why should whoever it was kill poor Messer Baldassare?”
“I have no idea,” Bell replied, staring sadly down at the man he had known and liked. “But I think I am near right about what happened. If they were close because they were in a nose-to-nose quarrel, Baldassare would never have allowed the other man to bring up his knife hand without raising an arm to protect himself, pushing the man away, pulling his own knife, or trying to dodge. He was well able to defend himself, for he had carried the pope’s messages for years and had fought outlaws and others. Perhaps he thought his killer was going to place a hand on his shoulder or make some similar gesture. In the dark, he might not have seen the knife. This could only have been done by someone he knew and had no reason to distrust.”
He rearranged the body, pulled up the shroud, and turned toward Brother Godwine. “When he was found, was his knife in its sheath as it is now? Also, do you have the knife that killed him?”
“A friend?” the porter whispered. “A friend did this?”
Bell shrugged. “Someone he did not fear.”
“One of the whores did it,” Brother Godwine said, his voice stronger. “He would not fear one of them.”
“Not impossible,” Bell remarked, and then grinned and glanced at Magdalene. “But I generally treat such women with caution, and I suspect Baldassare did, too.”
“The pope’s messenger?” Brother Godwine’s voice rose in horror. “What would he know of such creatures?”
“Whatever any man knows. He was not in holy orders, and I am sure he did not stint himself in common comforts—fine clothes, food, wine. I doubt he stinted himself in women, either, but I also doubt a woman did this. Few are as tall as Magdalene here, and from the bruising, that knife went in with more force than most women could muster. Let me look at the knife, Brother Porter.”
“If it is not there on the bench, I do not know where it is,” Brother Godwine replied and looked restlessly over his shoulder. “Knud might know. He found the body and helped move it. That is the lay brother who assists Brother Paulinus.”
Bell glanced quickly at Magdalene. He really could not find an excuse to take her with him when he questioned the lay brother and the infirmarian, yet he was not willing to send her back to her house where she and her women might prepare answers to questions that would be the same for all. He saw another over-the-shoulder glance.
“Is there somewhere you should be, Brother Porter?” he asked.
Brother Godwine flushed slightly. “It is dinnertime,” he said. “I know I should not care for that, and I would not if Father Prior were here, but—”
Relieved, Bell smiled. “Never mind,” he said. “Go and have your dinner. Knud and the infirmarian would not be pleased if I should call them away from their meal. I have other questions to ask. I will return later.”
“Thank you,” Brother Godwine said and turned to lead them out of the church.
When they came to the priory gate, Bell said, “One more word, Brother Porter. You now know who is lying dead and can say proper prayers for his soul. Please do so. Also, please do not bury him until Monday. The body will hold that long, will it not? I need to talk to the bishop about what arrangements he wishes to make if no friend of Baldassare’s comes forward to arrange the burial.”
The porter nodded brusquely, closed the gate behind them with some finality, barred it, and hurried back to enter the monastery buildings. Bell grinned.
“What will you learn from the knife and the infirmarian?” Magdalene asked as they walked along beside the priory wall. She was developing a marked respect for Sir Bellamy of Itchen and a real hope was growing in her that with his help, the murderer might be exposed.
“From the knife…possibly whether it was newly honed, as if it were being made ready for this act. It is no proof. A man—or woman—may hone a knife for many purposes, and I might not be able to tell anyway. With the knife in the wound for so long, the blood might have eaten away at the brightness of new honing. And the infirmarian will know far more about what becomes of a body after death. I know some things from seeing men who died in battle. I know the body stiffens and if it is left long enough, softens again, but the infirmarian may know how long this takes better than I.”
“But I told you poor Messer Baldassare was dead soon after Compline. Sabina found him not long after the service was ended.”
“I know when you said he was dead. I need to be sure. And speaking of Sabina and what you told me about her experience, why are we walking all around the priory? Did you not say that there was a gate between the back of the church and your back garden?”
“Yes, but the sacristan locked it.”
“When did you discover that?”