"I understand your argument," Anne said, "but he has not given you a good reason for his current and most unusual interest in this sacred work. Reverence does not appear to be one of his virtues. We must conclude he has another purpose."
"I agree that there is no explanation for his questions about the storage of the work." Thomas took a deep breath. "On the other hand, he is only in the priory during the day. How could he steal the Psalter then? It would have to be done at night. Only a monk would know the habits of the religious best and when it would be safe to remove the work from the library without the chance of witnesses."
"We cannot dismiss the wandering phantom that has been seen both inside and without the priory walls," Eleanor said. "The library is on the monks' side. If the ghost was created to keep formerly lusty monks quivering fearfully in their chaste beds, someone could climb the wall at night and steal the manuscript without fear of detection. Although this could have been a monk, I suspect the spirit has a more secular form. Based on Brother Jerome's statement, all religious were at prayers when Brother Baeda faced his killer. Therefore, no monk is guilty of this deed, an act that must have occurred during one attempt to steal the Psalter." Her expression was grim. "These two murders continue to trouble me. Brother Baedas death might be easily explained, but I fail to comprehend why Wulfstan should have died. I asked myself if he was involved because he repaired that wall and may have left the toeholds. Nonetheless, all have claimed he was a man who honored the law for so very many years." She stopped. "I need your thoughts, Brother."
"I cannot cast light on your questions, my lady, yet I see no fault with your conclusions," Thomas replied, his tone hesitant.
Eleanor put her hands together and studied the monk over the tips of her fingers. "Although I believe our roofer is the thief, your argument that someone else has to be involved is well-considered." She frowned. "Tell me, Brother, do you think Sayer capable of murder?"
Thomas gazed at the ground. "He fought with his father before Wulfstan died and even threatened to kill him. Although I cannot discover the reason for the argument, we know that father and son have worked outside the law, both the king's and God's, for personal gain. The father may have reformed, but the son has not, if his attempt to draw me into sin is any indication. If a man commits one crime, may he not be suspect for another?" His voice faded on those last words.
Eleanor grew thoughtful as she mulled over her monk's question. "If you mean the corruption of weak-fleshed monks, I agree that was a wicked deed." She knew the reason for the quarrel but would not speak of it. Cold reason might dismiss Drifa's easy forgiveness and her own aunt's fond tolerance of the man, but her mind could not reject one doubt about the accusation of sodomy: Wulfstan might have been mistaken in what he saw. There was no corroborating evidence. She closed her eyes and said, "Man may sin, yet not be guilty of all evil. Nor is he beyond redemption in God's eyes." At least she had faith in that, no matter how confused she was about the rest of this matter.
"And repent he may have done. As you yourself have said, only one religious has visited the inn of late, and that man is you," Anne added.
"Despite your last words, Brother, I have also heard you express doubt about the roofer's guilt. Do you believe Sayer is innocent in the murder of his father and Brother Baeda?"
"He has charmed me, my lady." Thomas' voice broke, his words stumbling out of his mouth as if he hated to say them. "Perhaps Satan has blinded me to his evil, but I do not think he killed his father. I heard love in his voice when he spoke of Wulfstan. Nor can I imagine that Sayer murdered Brother Baeda. The method of killing was a ruthless act, and I have not seen such cruelty in the roofer. Nonetheless, I cannot overlook his unusual interest in the manuscript." Thomas exhaled, the sound akin to a sob. "Nor can I deny that Satan might not have given him a pleasing countenance to hide a dark soul."
Eleanor said nothing for a very long time.
Sister Anne looked from one to the other, then rose and poured a mazer of wine for her prioress and the monk. "If Sayer is working on behalf of someone else, might that person be involved in the murders instead?"
Eleanor nodded in agreement. "Someone who has access to buyers of precious manuscripts, and someone who sells at some distance."
"And that might be who?" Anne asked.
"Merchants travel," Thomas said, looking hopeful.
"Bernard the glover needs money to win the hand of his beloved Alys." Eleanor put her mazer down without tasting the wine. "He himself creates most artful designs and might well know others who appreciate beautiful things. Among such men there may be those who, if their own eyes covet it, choose to ignore that a work was intended to please God. I also saw him walking by the river with another of like enough age who might have been Sayer. Were they plotting?" She looked upward in silence for a moment. "Yet Satan may have blinded me as well, Brother. I cannot believe the glover is a murderer, and my woman's frail heart hopes that he and Alys can wed. I see no great evil in him."
"On the night I went to the inn, I saw Sayer and the glover in close conversation. When I learned that Master Bernard wanted to marry the woolmonger's daughter, I thought that such speech with a cousin would not be unusual and did not consider any other meaning. Yet I, too, doubt…" Thomas suddenly brightened. "What about Master Herbert?"
"Ah, our vintner! You have little liking for the man, do you?"
"I do not trust him, my lady," the monk replied with open disdain.
Eleanor grew pensive, sipped at her wine, and then smiled. "His dress and manner suggest wealth, but his first wife endured a long illness. If he could not travel to his vineyards because of her ill health, or the cost of her sickness was high, I wonder if his income suffered as a consequence. He is very eager, despite his protestations, to take on a woolmonger's business."
Thomas nodded, both surprise and pleasure obvious in his expression.
"I have not met the man," Anne said, "but I must also ask if he is so eager for wealth that he longs only for a new source of it."
"And I should ask if it is logical that a man steal a manuscript from this priory but remain here and sell wool." From the way Thomas clenched his fists, this statement took some effort for him to make.
"Are there any others in the village who might be allied to Sayer in this matter?" Anne asked.
"I do not believe the innkeeper cares to sell anything but ale and whores," Thomas said. "According to the glover, there are still robbers who lurk near that strange pile of pagan stones, but they do not trouble the merchants of Amesbury and thus must be local men. If they do not torment the village, why would they steal the priory's Psalter?"
"Is the thief a man from somewhere else?" Anne continued.
"According to the glover, no strangers have shown any interest in the Psalter," Thomas replied.
"Then he is either lying or the thief is a local man. We have solved nothing here," Anne sighed.
"We have not, nor do we have time for further debate or questions. Brother Jerome is in danger." Eleanor's eyes turned dark with anger. "Now is the time to weave a web like a skillful spider and trap whatever flies we may." She turned to Thomas. "I have a plot in mind, Brother, but it would require that you return to the inn."
"The trap, my lady. How do you propose to set it?"
Chapter Thirty-Five
The crow from the nest near the library soared into the sky when Thomas left the priory. Had he not been told that birds had no souls, he might have concluded that hers felt an especial delight over her young. With the world rejoicing in the renewal of life, he grumbled to himself, why must he deal with death?