Free The Falconer's Knot by Mary Hoffman Page B

are my novices, Paola and Orsola. Brother Rufino is the Infirmarian.’
    ‘And the person who found the body,’ added Bonsignore, ‘which has not been moved since. Though, of course, we have sent to his wife in Gubbio. We assume she will want the body transported there for burial.’
    His wife, thought Chiara. Of course. He was a rich man and even a poor one may have a family. It made the thought of what they were about to do much worse.
    ‘And please come to my cell when your work is done,’ said the Abbot. ‘I shall be pleased to offer you a glass of wine.’
    The door of the cell was pushed inward and Chiara strained her eyes in the gloom to see the figure on the bed. The cell had no window.
    ‘Please leave the door open,’ said Sister Eufemia, taking charge. ‘So that we may have enough light.’
    ‘I shall have water and cloths brought to you, Sisters,’ said the Infirmarian. ‘But first . . .’
    Brother Rufino stepped in and moved towards the thing on the bed. He had a cloth in his hand. Chiara saw the flash of the dagger as he drew it from the body and it made a sound like her brother carving meat at table. Before she realised what was happening, the cold stone of the cell floor was rushing up to meet her.
    When she opened her eyes, she was in the corridor again, with the not very reassuring sight of the Infirmarian standing over her with the dagger wrapped in a white cloth, which was slowly turning red.
    Sister Eufemia fussed round her but Chiara struggled to her feet, mortified. Sister Paola hadn’t fainted.
    ‘I am perfectly all right,’ she said. ‘Do not let me hinder you.’
    ‘If you are quite sure,’ said Brother Rufino anxiously. Sister Eufemia nodded to him and he left, taking the dagger with him.
    The corpse was much less frightening without it. The merchant was just a man after all and a dead man can’t do any harm. At least, that was what Chiara told herself. Then she saw with a shock that this corpse was the drunken man who had laughed at her and Sister Veronica on the road the day before. Chiara felt again how fragile life was, how a vigorous man could be snuffed out in an instant. The thought made her shudder.
    Under Sister Eufemia’s instruction, she helped wash the body, even round the wound, without feeling sick or faint again. They removed his clothes down to his undershirt and then Sister Eufemia pulled a long white shift, brought by a friar from the infirmary, over the dead man’s head. Then they washed and combed his hair and beard, which was not too bad because Sister Eufemia had closed his eyes first. There were bad smells though: stale wine and sweat and something metallic that must have been the blood.
    Sister Eufemia had saved one bowl of water to wash their hands in when the task was finished and she let the novices go first.
    ‘Time to visit the Abbot, my dears,’ she said, quite kindly.
    Chiara was glad to get out of the cell into the comparatively fresh air of the corridor. The sisters walked to the far end, where Sister Eufemia knocked on a large wooden door. When they entered the room, she saw that the Abbot had another friar with him, the kind Brother Anselmo that she had met in Assisi. She felt very pleased to see him, though he was looking just as grave and strained as Father Bonsignore.
    ‘It is done,’ said Sister Eufemia simply. But Chiara saw that the hand with which she accepted her cup of wine was not altogether steady.

    Brother Fazio, the Illuminator, was explaining to anyone who would listen to him, that the merchant Ubaldo had been perfectly well and in good humour when he had parted with him at the door of his cell.
    ‘But that is irrelevant, surely?’ said Brother Taddeo. ‘A man may be as well or sick as he likes before he is stabbed to death. He will be just as unwell afterwards.’
    Brother Fazio glared at him but conceded that he had a point. The friars were all gathered in the refectory, where the Abbot had asked them to wait. From time