Magdalene sighed. “Doubtless they will call you in the middle of the night. When the last man leaves, I will show you where the keys are kept.”
The last to go was Buchuinte, who did not depart until very nearly full dark. He went out still grumbling about the invasion of his privacy and his property. Ella came from her room, also disgruntled, and pouted all through the evening meal because Poppe had kept talking about the questioning and the search of his house and had not been his usual energetic self.
Aside from that, however, Bell and the women ate their evening meal in peace. Afterward, to appease Ella, who was not tired enough to want to go to bed, Magdalene allowed them to be drawn into a silly game. In fact, because they had one deaf, one blind, and one mute player, it became far more amusing than anyone had expected. Soon they were all whooping with laughter, completely absorbed. However, some time after the church bells had rung Compline, Magdalene’s head turned toward the window.
Bell immediately raised his head alertly, also listening. “What?” he asked.
“I thought I heard the bell at the gate.”
Sabina uttered a soft groan, and Magdalene frowned. Even Ella looked disappointed over the interruption of their game. All listened intently, but the bell did not ring again. Giggles ran around the table as they picked up where they had left off, feeling both guilty and triumphant over ignoring a possible summons. Fortunately, the interruption did not spoil their fun and none were inclined to retire at their usual bedtime. In fact, the hour was nearer Matins than Compline before the last round was played. Magdalene, wiping away tears of laughter, had just forbidden the start of another round when a wild pounding on the back door began, accompanied by a man’s hoarse screaming.
Bell leapt to his feet and ran to his chamber to get his sword. As he came out, bared weapon in hand, he found Magdalene, carrying a stout cudgel, coming up the corridor and Dulcie standing at the kitchen door, her long-handled pan in her hand.
“Who is there?” he shouted.
“Murderers! Murderers!” a hysterical voice shrieked. “Open the door! You cannot escape! Open the door! I will drag you to justice.”
Magdalene and Bell exchanged wide-eyed glances. “The back door,” Magdalene breathed. “He must be from the priory.”
Dulcie may or may not have heard the voice through the door or Magdalene’s remark, but she must have come to the same conclusion or decided no one would stick a weapon in the window, because she went back into the kitchen, opened the shutter, and peered out.
“It’s that lunatic sacristan again,” she said, slamming the shutter closed in disgust and coming out into the corridor. “Be he goin’ t’ave mad fits ev’ry Wednesday night?” Even as she uttered the complaint, she turned to look for the key to the door. Then she remembered that Bell had it. “Ye’ve th’ key,” she reminded him. “Be y’goin’ t’let him in and deal wit’ him so the rest of us can get some sleep?”
“My God,” Magdalene cried over the shouts and pounding. “Could Brother Paulinus have lost his mind? He was very disturbed when I last saw him in the prior’s house, but that was about the stolen pyx. Why is he crying ‘murder’ again?”
The sacristan was still pounding on the door and screaming that he must drag the murderers forth. He did sound mad, but he had shown no sign of hysteria when Bell had questioned him about Baldassare’s death. Bell’s heart sank. He could not believe that all of a sudden, a week after the event, Brother Paulinus would be precipitated into madness without cause. Something must have set him off. He propped his sword against the wall, making sure it would not fall, took the key to the door out of his purse, and turned the bolt.
As the door opened, the sacristan plunged through, fortunately right into Bell’s arms because his eyes were fixed on Magdalene, his hands in fists swinging wildly. The full impact of a double blow on Bell’s chest brought an oof from him, but did not stagger or shake him. In the next instant he had seized Brother Paulinus’s wrists and controlled the man’s madly flailing arms.
“Murdered!” the sacristan shrieked. “The church desecrated! Blood all over. All over.”
“That was last week,” Magdalene said, trying to keep her voice low and soothing. “Brother Sacristan, try to—“
“Murderess! Whore! Is nothing too foul for you? For a silver candlestick, you killed a good and holy man right at the altar.” Brother Paulinus began to sob. “The altar, the very altar was desecrated with blood.”
He began to struggle again and Bell folded him against his chest, holding him tight while his eyes met Magdalene’s. For a long moment neither spoke, then Magdalene said, “Surely he is mad?” Tears ran down her face. “It could not have happened again. It could not.”