After a longer wait than he thought necessary, he was ushered into a small visitor’s cell adjoining the lay brothers’ building. He had thought those cells had fallen out of use when the nuns gave up St. Mary Overy, but then he realized that a cell would be kept in case one of the novices or postulants had a female visitor. Shaking his head, he sat down on the stone ledge provided, undecided as to whether to laugh or be annoyed. He was amusing himself by wondering what sort of contamination Brother Paulinus thought he carried, when the monk entered through the opposite door and sat down behind the grille that separated the cell into two parts.
Bell immediately lost all sense of amusement; he would be able to hear well enough through the stone fretwork, but not be able to make out the sacristan’s expressions. To save an aspiring brother from the unhealthy excitement that might be engendered by seeing a woman’s face, the pierced stone was perfect. For examining the expression of someone answering questions about a murder, it was highly inappropriate. Bell stood up.
“I have been sent by the Bishop of Winchester to ask some questions about the death of the papal messenger, Baldassare de Firenze,” he said. “It is necessary that I speak to you face-to-face, Brother Sacristan.”
“Since I know nothing whatever about the death of Messer Baldassare, and I prefer not to come into contact with men of such worldly—
“Worldly? But you thought nothing of visiting a whorehouse on Thursday morning,” Bell snapped.
“Whorehouse!” Paulinus gasped, jumping up. “Never! I have never in my life visited a whorehouse.”
“I did not say you sought carnal satisfaction there, but I offer less threat of corruption by speaking to you in your own monastery than you suffered from your visit to a whorehouse on the morning after Baldassare was killed. You seemed then to be very certain how he came to die, so you must have some knowledge of his death. Now will you tell me where to meet you so I can see to whom I am speaking—or do I need to tell the bishop that you refused to answer questions about the death of the pope’s messenger?”
There was a long moment of utter silence. Then Paulinus said, “You are godless and damned and without proper respect for your betters, but you are the bishop’s messenger. Whom God loveth, He chastiseth. Very well, I will accede to your demand. Go around the end of the lay brothers’ building. Between that and the kitchen, you will find an entrance to the cloister. I will speak with you there.”
Bell was not overjoyed at the choice because the cloister, at the very center of the monastic buildings, was well traveled, which might lead to interruptions; however, he thought he knew how to obtain greater privacy if he needed it, so he simply did as he was told. He was the first to arrive, but before he began to grow impatient, he saw the tall, cadaverous form of the sacristan coming toward him.
“I have only the knowledge of Messer Baldassare’s death granted by God to a pure heart,” Brother Paulinus said before Bell could open his mouth. “It came to me as soon as I heard of the murder that we in this monastery are pure and holy; we do not kill. In the pesthole beyond our wall are foul, corrupt creatures who engage in every vile practice. Clearly then, they must be guilty of murder. That is what I know.”
“In other words, you had no reason—beyond your dislike of them and what they do—to accuse the women of the Old Priory Guesthouse?”
“The man did not come through the front gate. Brother Porter will swear to that. Thus, he came from the whores. No one else could have known he was coming to the church. They must have killed him.”
Bell was tempted to ask “Why?” but he already knew the answer he would get. He was sure the sacristan would have told him had he had any better evidence against Magdalene or her women, and he decided not to waste time going through arguments that proved nothing.
“I do not think so,” he said instead. “Had they wished to kill Baldassare, he would have died by poison or strangulation and his body would have been disposed of in the nearby river. No one would have known of his death. Such women might be willing to kill, but not in any way as to endanger themselves.”
“You are as corrupt as they. How can you be a servant of a bishop and defend them? Clearly, they spilled blood to desecrate the church, to bring shame on this holy place. You are only trying to protect your paramours.”
Bell laughed. “I cannot afford such women. I assure you, I have never lain with any of them. And if the intention was to desecrate the church, why kill the man on the porch outside?”
“Because they knew no better, of course. They are blinded, deafened, and made mute by sin. God protected His church. It is through His will I learned of their guilt.”
“And also by His will that you did not inform the bishop that the pope’s messenger had been slain?”
The sacristan blinked as if Bell had slapped him. “Did not inform the bishop? Why should I inform the bishop? I told Knud, the lay brother who assists me, to send a messenger to the abbot of our order.”
“You sent a messenger to the abbot of your order twenty miles away but not to the bishop’s house across the road? But Lord Winchester is the administrator of the diocese of London as well as bishop of the see of Winchester. How could you withhold the news of Baldassare’s death from him?”